Covert Commando: A Sam Harper Military Thriller

by Thomas Sewell

  In reality, to give what he demanded in order for her to survive.

  Her break-thought was to convince Omar he needed a female spotter to provide better cover. A male and female couple looked more innocent than two men.

  Unlike the other women, it allowed her out of the cave complex.

  For training, at first. Now for an actual mission to Manila. It helped she could drive. That growing up in Texas, she'd grown familiar with rifles as a teen.

  Now, he expected company. The unbeliever he'd spoken to on the phone.

  She'd hurry to prepare their repast.

  * * *

  Why can't bosses just listen once in a while?

  Larrikowal stood across the desk from the SAF Major in command of his district. He'd presented his paperwork requesting approval for a raid on the west coast resort they'd identified by tracking the counter-snipers.

  She'd spent the last two minutes reviewing in excruciating detail with him how much negative political impact there'd be if he screwed up in a high-profile way just before the election, especially right after being involved in an assassination attempt on one of the two major candidates.

  "Ma'am, if you'll approve the movement out of our district and over to the coast, my team can set up surveillance of the complex. Gather more information on who these people are. Perhaps even determine what they want. Make the decision about an assault clearer."

  "I don't like that they're mga puti. What if they're American, Australian, or British spies? What a mess."

  Should he put his cards on the table? "If they're allies, they should've let us know of their presence. Requested permission. They're most likely private contractors, hired by the Speaker because he doesn't trust the ministry run by his chief political opponent to protect him, but doesn't want to admit it."

  She rubbed her short hair. "That just makes it worse. We're dealing with presidential politics here. Way above my pay grade. What are the implications for the defense minister if we catch these guys and they're tied to the Speaker? Is it worse if we don't? Either way, my rear-end is on the line."

  "Make it Dorenza's problem? That's what he gets paid for as the political head, right? He can hardly blame us later for what he decides now."

  "You think so?" She laughed. "As much as I appreciate our current Secretary of Defense, and I'll even vote for him to be president, but politicians look for scapegoats when bad things happen. It's the way of the world."

  "He also won't thank you if you sit on the request. Might be argued later that you were impeding the investigation into the Speaker's attempted assassination for political reasons. To help him against the Speaker somehow. Our best bet is to follow wherever the leads take us and let the politicians make the political decisions. Let the pigs eat the slop while we milk the cows."

  "Whatever that means."

  "Everyone does their own job, that's all."

  "Load up your team and head out. Surveillance only. I'll send the request for a raid up the chain of command. They'll cover themselves by bucking it up further. Forward any new relevant info you develop to me. I'll keep the request updated in the system with the latest."

  Victory over the bureaucracy! He'd won this battle anyway, although not yet the war.

  "Thank you, Ma'am."

  He turned on his heels and strode out of her office. Now he just needed to call Sheila and explain that he'd be going out of town for work, but that he couldn't tell her why.

  Maybe he'd get his team going with a warning order first to grab their NODS and lasers and pack for a night surveillance mission followed by an assault on what would presumably be a well-defended complex.

  That'd be safer than phoning Sheila. He could talk to her on the way, safely out of reach and surrounded by well-armed commandos.

  Chapter Ten: Tracking The Wrong Tea Tree

  I sprinted away from the barking dogs. Across the dirt path. Through muddy fields.

  Did every rice farmer's hut on the island keep a pack to detect strangers? My only solution was to get away. Circle around their territory.

  Hunting for a way to find the tangos, I'd tried to avoid the roads, but that wasn't working.

  No clues, but maybe I could deal with the dogs.

  I stopped. Pulled out my sat phone. A nice piece of expensive equipment, with all the latest miniaturized bells and whistles.

  Called up an audio tuning app. Pumped up the volume. Set the frequency to higher than human hearing. Blasted out an unheard tone at 35 kHz.

  Like a dog whistle.

  The barking stopped. A whimper.

  For now.

  Local canines were annoyed. At least confused.

  I paused. Stared at my phone.

  That's it!

  Sent a message to my platoon. Told them to look for cell tower pings from devices which connected at the shooting site, the train station, and near the ferry terminal.

  If the tangos had a mobile phone, even a burner, as long as they kept it on them, powered-up, it'd leave a trail.

  At least until service ran out in the wilderness, but that'd get me close.

  I jogged between the rice furrows to find a place to rest up and wait for their reply.

  Maybe get something to eat before we tripped over our deadline from the Agency and the Eleventh Fleet.

  * * *

  Pahk squatted at Omar's table. Paint flecked off the oak door set on a pair of raw pine crates.

  No chairs. Instead, dark woven mats for seats.

  Not the classiest dining room he'd ever seen. A grotto carved out of the mountain's marble and granite, complete with a single bare bulb dangling from the center of the low ceiling.

  Presumably, wired back to a silent generator out of sight. Hydro-electric, embedded in a mountain river?

  Omar gestured generously at the bowl of fruit and pot of rice in the center of the door-turned-table.

  "Enjoy a feast with me."

  His American wife bowed respectfully. She rested a platter with roasted chicken next to the rice.

  Pahk wouldn't mind taking her out for a spin. Omar had offered other girls among his followers during past overnight visits to cement their deals, but his prize wife was probably off limits.

  She represented his ongoing domination of the imperialist Americans.

  Pahk smiled. "Your wife. A good omen."

  "Yes." Omar grinned back. "She brings me luck. Did you know the enemy sniper knocked the rear-view mirror out right below us? Another few inches higher and you would dine alone."

  Was he fishing for more of a reward than the additional weapons Pahk just gave his group?

  "With the missiles I've delivered, you can take your revenge on whoever you believe responsible."

  "Finding them is the problem. The enemy hides far from our lands."

  Set the hook. "Perhaps not as much of an issue as you might believe. My organization not only has excellent weapons but also many intelligence resources. They were American soldiers, not Filipino."

  Omar's eyes narrowed. "Americans? The government wouldn't stand for that."

  "Covert. Not here legally. Would lose much face if caught. Or found dead in suspicious circumstances. Would drive a further wedge between the President and the westerners. Perhaps even force them out of their remaining bases here."

  "Find them for me and we will destroy them."

  Pahk chewed on a piece of pineapple sugar-apple. Spat out one of the flat black seeds. The Muslim leader was right where he needed him to be. Ready to fight.

  Not that it took much to bring Omar to a boil.

  Raven brought a covered pot of hot tea with a spout and a pair of plastic cups. Set them on the table.

  Poured.

  That was a concession to him. A sign of respect for his recent payment in gold and weapons. Omar's group didn't normally drink tea.

  "What if I told you they were coming here?"

  "Here?" Omar laughed. "You mean the island, correct? No one who might betray us knows our base of operations. T
he previous occupants hid for decades without discovery."

  Pahk pulled out his tablet. Unlocked the screen. Held it up and turned it around to display the photograph of the American rangers. "These men. Look well so you'll recognize them."

  Omar leaned forward.

  Raven glanced at the tablet. Shifted the spout of the teapot forward. Splashed it on the table. "Oh!"

  She startled backward. Sloshed hot tea onto Omar's exposed wrist.

  He backhanded her across the face. "Stupid whore. Fetch water. Now!"

  She fell backward. Scuttled away, bowing. Muttered an apology for her clumsiness.

  "Send me the photo." Omar grimaced. "I'll distribute copies to my men. To my observers in the villages and ports. If they come to this island, we will see them."

  Pahk persisted. "They will come here. Perhaps in the night. In the surprise of the early morning. It is the American way."

  "Don't attempt to teach me the fighting ways of western armies. We've survived more than a decade of combat against them. They must locate us before they can attack us. The damp granite of the mountain is impervious to their infrared tracking. To outsiders, we vanish."

  "I know these men. They're resourceful. Special Operators. Engineers. We must take them seriously if we are to defeat them. Don't underestimate our enemy."

  "I have spoken. It is enough."

  Raven scurried back into the dining cave. She carried a pitcher of cool water from the nearby mountain stream.

  "Give it here, woman."

  Omar poured the water on his arm to relieve the pain of the burns he'd refused to recognize while they spoke.

  "They are like your burn." Pahk leaned forward. "Ignore it and it will continue to hurt you, but pour bullets into them and their lives will be washed away in their blood to trouble you no more."

  "What more would you have of me?"

  "Let us arrange ambush sites along the jungle trails. If they can't track you here, there is no harm, but if they come this way soon, your men will be prepared to stop them, to eradicate them, before they locate these caverns."

  "Very well. It will be good training for them. Get them used to the new weapons. After all, if they bring their helicopters, we can now deal with them, thanks to you."

  "We are in agreement, then."

  Pahk's payment of surface-to-air missiles would be perfect against typical American jungle tactics.

  Raven's face turned paler than usual. Made her look almost Korean, with her dark hair, if it weren't for her deep blue eyes.

  Probably anticipating how Omar would retaliate later for his burns.

  Pahk dug into the meal. Finally, an opportunity for revenge on those who humiliated him. Who cost him his home. His country.

  It would be a good night, even if he didn't manage to borrow one of Omar's spare women later.

  * * *

  Secretary of National Defense Lelfin Dorenza leaned his chair back and puffed on a Fighting Cock cigar, the extended wings, screeching beak, and sharp talons on the label ready to defeat Philippine's enemies.

  He approved of the cigar brand's symbolism for his duty.

  Should he approve the SAF's proposed raid, or not?

  Would the recent violence in the capital see him elected as the next president, or cause frightened people to rally to elect the current President's hand-picked successor, the Speaker of the House?

  This was the first time it appeared an incumbent President would actually abide by the constitutional term limitations.

  It helped that Dorenza, the President's primary political opponent, controlled the military and police. Part of their deal to prevent violence after the irregularities of the previous election.

  His senior naval aide stepped up to the edge of the polished walnut desk dominating Dorenza's office.

  "The Americans have communicated they will send one of their LCS ships to the West Philippine Sea. They've calling it a freedom of navigation exercise, but it's unscheduled."

  Dorenza stubbed out his cigar on a bauxite ashtray the Prime Minister of Australia sent to commemorate Dorenza's tenth year in office.

  He straightened his chair. Faced the white-shirted aide who'd interrupted his pondering. "Why the demonstration? Has there been an uptick in Chinese fishing vessels recently?"

  The aide pointed to a working map posted on the wall. It showed their beloved country surrounded by its sea moat and was covered in magnetic unit markers. "Our best estimate is a response to this Chinese naval squadron circling the airstrip they built on Pagasa."

  "Estimate? Guess, you mean. Only a handful of ships there now. Nothing like the 200 we chased off a few years ago."

  He traced one of the deep scar lines across his cheek with a thumb. Really, the Australians and Americans chased them off, but Dorenza was happy to take credit for the couple of old frigates his ministry had contributed to the effort.

  "We know of nothing else of interest to them in the area and the American 7th fleet are remaining tight-lipped allies, as usual."

  "One ship? Not nearly enough. Perhaps they plan for a reconnaissance mission. An American LCS carries a full complement of drones. They could track the Chinese from over the horizon."

  "That must be it, Mr. Secretary."

  The last thing he needed was another yes-man. It might be time to send this aide back to a line command.

  "Send 7th fleet our best wishes and an offer of any support needed."

  His aide paled to match his shirt. "May I remind—The President's orders…"

  Dorenza waved him away. Maybe not a total yes-man. "You have your orders from me. The President won't want to risk a confrontation this close to the election. Not when I can show our people the Chinese Navy in the Spratly Islands. Besides, I'm exhausted with his kowtowing to Beijing. His tame foreign minister makes us look weak enough already."

  "Sir." His aide took a deep breath. Gave a brief bow. "I'll pass the word as you command, Mr. Secretary."

  Interesting. How could he use this recent gesture of support from the Americans, despite the well-known wishes of the current Filipino president, as evidence it was time for a more western friendly regime?

  He re-lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. Propped his feet up on the corner of his desk.

  The Americans had a poor history, according to Filipino public perception, but they'd voluntarily granted them independence.

  The Chinese sought more control than that.

  He picked up his desk phone. It automatically connected to his secretary.

  He'd be seen to publicly do something about the recent attack, the recent violence, at the risk of it turning into a disaster.

  The SAF was competent enough. Captain Larrikowal wouldn't make a mess of the raid.

  "Tell the SAF I approve the resort mission. Once the on-scene commander believes he's gathered enough intel to keep his force safe, assault the complex."

  Chapter Eleven: Tracking Allies

  Not a literal deadline; The Agency wouldn't execute us if we crossed it, but as dusk encroached on Lubang Island, light would rise in the D.C. skies.

  My MI platoon sent me a string of map coordinates. A line where the tango's mobile phone had checked into cell towers.

  Their path led away from the coast. Off-road. Up a river that snaked across rice paddies.

  Into the jungle humidity. Away from any offshore breeze of relief.

  Great.

  I found a rusted-out boat with an ancient outboard motor. Pulled the starter string. It buzzed like a rusty machine gun on the third try.

  No night vision, just my Muslim female civilian disguise. Shouldn't raise any alarms, right? Lone lady in the wilderness?

  Farmland near the coast. Tall and wide fronds as the river approached the mountain.

  Not much time left. Needed to scout out the enemy. Locate them. Call in Schnier and his platoon to a confirmed target.

  Steeper white-water. The rapids strained the motor. Freshwater splashed over the rim. River currents batt
ered my boat left and right.

  Darkness fell. Time running out. Harder to navigate the narrower and faster river.

  Somewhere out there rested my enemy. Likely sitting down to dinner, unaware of my approach.

  I worried about the growling of the outboard motor, but surely the nearby green foliage dampened it? Even where it rained 15 inches a day during monsoon season, jungle growth, the thicker and taller trees, followed the river banks.

  Pulled out my sat phone. Tapped the button to record. Transmit. Switched on the low-light setting to pick up infrared and what photons remained of those scattered from the stars.

  Military shockproof. Watertight. No worries about dropping it. Could find it again by the light from its screen.

  Helped me see a little. Guided me up the river's turns. Set it to forward back to base. The images would help Schnier's follow-up team.

  Assuming they didn't depart before I had a confirmed location.

  Something tangled my boat's propeller. It ground to a halt with a scrape and snarl.

  SNAFU.

  Phone held in my left hand, I pointed its camera at whatever was caught in the prop. Looked like a wire-core net. Fishermen collecting on the river?

  A splash near the tall muddy bank. Two more. Motion through the water, like streaking torpedoes.

  Someone had seen me.

  Did they think me a Muslim woman, out after dark. Perhaps lost?

  Were they coming to rescue me from my predicament?

  A young man loomed from the river. Pushed down on the edge of my boat to climb aboard. Water streamed off his scraggly beard and bowl-cut black hair.

  Wet hair pressed beneath a jungle camouflage headband. A broad hunting knife clenched between his teeth.

  Not a civilian.

  With my right hand, I hammered his fingers gripping the edge of the boat. Kicked him in the nose with an unladylike boot.

  His head snapped backward. Dropped the knife with a splash. Blood gushed. He sunk back into the water.

  Could I get the prop untangled? I flipped off the power so it was safe to work on.

  Grabbed a piece of netting. Pulled.

  Two more military-age men. One on each side of the boat.