Tasmanian SFG: Welcome to Hell

by C. R. Daems

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Planet: Delphi: Fort Endeavor: Gong Luan

  I stood in Tasmanian fatigues, a camouflage of patches of blacks and grays tucked into leather boots, looking at some thirty Rangers in their fatigues, a patchwork of greens, browns, and blacks, and couldn’t help but thank my father for the thousandth time for the gift he bestowed upon that eight-year-old half dead girl. I vowed to take a vacation to visit him soon.

  “The good news is that the Tasmanian leadership has sanctioned me to conduct this training and has agreed men can participate. However, they cautioned me to inform you that neither they nor I promise this training will be enough for you to pass the Tasmanian school. Furthermore, you will get no special consideration if you choose to apply for admission or during training if accepted. This training is on your own time and will not preclude you being selected for assignments.” I paused, then smiled. “Of course, secretly they hope it helps produce more Tasmanians as our losses from deaths and retirements currently exceed the number of candidates that qualify to be Tasmanians.” I waited for comments other than snorts and a few snide what’s new comments.

  “The good news is that I’m going to share with you Gong Luan, a precious gift my father shared with me and the reason I believe I was able to survive the Tasmanian school,” I said, missing him and wishing he were here. “This training is voluntary and you may miss classes, stop for a time, and restart at your discretion and there is no commitment to apply for the Tasmanian school.” I paused to take a drink of water. “Tasmanians Paul and Frank, who are present today, and a few others have volunteered to help and fill in when I can’t. We will use first names during this training. Mine is Jolie. The training will start every Friday night and end Monday morning although training exercises will be given out for your free time during the week. The Rangers have committed to making a reasonable attempt to keep your weekends free from assignments but aren’t guaranteeing that. Unlike the Tasmanian school, I am making no attempt to break you. I will try to give you the skills that will help you succeed while giving you a taste of what you can expect if you apply for the Tasmanian school.” I gave a small laugh. “Your greeting at the start of school is: You want to be devils, well, welcome to hell. For me, it’s Welcome to the wonderful world of Gong Luan.”

  I began each day with the standard exercises and a ten-kilometer run, which increased by a kilometer each month, then began balance training.

  * * *

  During the week, I continued my normal Tasmanian day, exercise, running, attending specialty training, and participating in periodic field exercises.

  After three months, I had lost three men and three women and knew the next month I’d lose several more.

  “Good morning, today I am going to introduce you to the most important part of Gong Luan. If you can master it, this training will enhance your life whether you remain a Ranger, become a Tasmanian, or choose another course.” I paused, remembering my introduction to conquering fear, and shuddered. “Frank is passing out a piece of paper and a pencil. I want you to write your first name and your worst fears. I promise I will be the only person to see what you write. Everyone has fears, maybe from a childhood experience or a tragic event in your life, or just something you have always feared like heights or water or… But I want your worst. Frank, Paul, you too if you are interested.”

  That earned me a variety of looks ranging from concern to fear and defiance. I waited as one by one they began writing. Then I walked around collecting the folded papers. I smiled. “The good news is that my father’s training lasted three years, yours will be much shorter. Paul and Frank will take over today while I review your responses and decide on this phase of your training.” I left and went back to my room and began going through their worst fears. Mine had been vicious dogs, rats, storms, and the dark. I then went to see Simon.

  “Sir,” I began when I entered his office. He frowned.

  “You’re a Tasmanian, Jolie, so sir isn’t necessary. My handle is Chief, or Simon if you wish. What can I do for you?” he said. His expression was friendly, even warm.

  “I’d like permission to use the empty barracks on the south side of the fort.”

  “Why? Your class?”

  “Yes. Part of Gong Luan training is exercises to induce fear. It’s a very personalized training so each individual will require dedicated space,” I said.

  He laughed. “The reason Smitty couldn’t break you?”

  “Yes. An enhanced version of your interrogation exercise.”

  “Can I watch or help?” he asked, surprising me.

  “Yes…Chief. Paul, Frank, and the other Tasmanians helping me have agreed to participate in this phase of the training.”

  Simon arranged for us to use the empty barracks and helped me prepare the rooms for each participant. I set aside Sunday afternoon and evening for the individual events.

  * * *

  “My god, Jolie. Your father exposed you to that kind of…torture?” Simon asked late that first night.

  “For three years.” I smiled. “It felt like being released from a buried coffin when I could finally face what I feared with a clear mind.”

  “I would love to meet your father. He must be a great master of the art,” Simon said quietly with deep respect.

  I nodded. “And gentle and loving,” I added in an equally quiet and respectful tone.

  Simon had obviously talked to the other senior Tasmanians and over the next few months they visited the Sunday training.

  “Jolie, this makes our interrogation exercise appear like a fun day at an amusement park,” Howard said one night after he had watched the evening’s activities. We were sitting in a room I had set aside for me to monitor the participants. “I think the truly great Tasmanians learn to master fear during battles, but this is…more life changing.”

  “Yes, once you can master fear it helps with anger, frustration, and many other emotions. You tend to see things as they are and not through your emotions or others’ perception.”

  “Like your confrontation with Sergeant Duggin,” he said, surprising me that he had heard about it. “They said he insulted you again and again but you never got angry. They were beginning to think you a coward until he attacked you. They said you were so calm, like you two were having a small disagreement, which he lost. You enhanced the Tasmanians’ reputation by your calm and decisive reaction to his aggressiveness. You certainly would have been justified in attacking him for the insults.”

  “If he had been insulting the Tasmanians or one of my brothers, I would have,” I said. “But he was insulting me, and I didn’t care what he thought.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Planet: Delphi: Fort Endeavor: Assignment Selection

  “I’ve just returned from the Department of Defense Committee,” said Baldwin, the senior member on the Tasmanian assignment committee, which was comprised of Tasmanians who were considered too old to take field assignments, but too valuable to retire. “They have decided to send an army contingent to the planet Libian. The southern continent is slowly expanding but they have encountered continued resistance from the locals who inhabit the jungle. After several attempts to subdue the Zinwe, the name the jungle people use, the Libian government has asked the USP for help. The committee has decided to send one hundred Tasmanians supported by fifty Rangers and five hundred army.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Planet Libian: Assignment

  Sadler and Lacy approached as I was eating breakfast and reviewing my day’s schedule.

  “Mind if we join you?” Sadler asked. I shook my head as I had a mouthful of scrambled egg. They put their trays on the table and sat.

  “Everyone is talking about your weekend classes for the women,” Sadler said.

  “It’s actually open to anyone, but I believe the men feel they don’t need it…or they believe it will make them appear weak like they perceive the women,” I said after a sip of my milk.

  “Aren’
t the women weak?” Lacy asked.

  “Depends on how you define weak,” I said. “The Tasmanians are looking for strong individuals, therefore not weak. If strong referred to physical strength then more than half of us wouldn’t qualify. We would be weaker than the others. Our culture forces certain expectations on women and men, which causes women to consider themselves weak and for men to consider themselves strong. In reality we have weak men and women and strong men and women. I’m just trying to help the women determine if they are strong or weak in the sense that the Tasmanian school judges.”

  “You think the school criteria wrong?” Sadler asked, a hint of defiance in his tone.

  “No. But I do think it’s based on a man’s definition of strong and therefore stacked against women raised in our culture.”

  “You were raised a woman—”

  “No. I wasn’t raised in this culture and I was raised to be person, neither a man nor a woman—I wasn’t given dolls to play with, or dresses to wear, or guns to play with or told not to cry when I was hurt.”

  Before Sadler or Lacy could respond, I felt my TCom device vibrate. At the same time, they reached for their devices. “Looks like we have an assignment,” Lacy said as we rose and headed for the headquarters building. When the three of us arrived, only Howard, Clifton, Finley, and Smitty were waiting, which I thought strange.

  “Good morning,” Howard said, nodding in our direction. “We have an assignment in the Libian System. Apparently, the jungle people, the Zinwe, are raiding the cities and the local government has been unsuccessful in stopping them. They retreat into the jungle where the military either can’t find them or does and gets their ass kicked. The Tasmanians are sending one hundred as the lead unit and five hundred army to support us after we’ve found them.”

  “It will be all over then,” Finley said with a grin.

  “I’ll be in charge of the expedition. You four,” Howard said, pointing to Finley, Clifton, Lacy, and Sadler, “will each lead three seven-man squads. And you, Luan, will lead one seven-man squad.” He smiled, probably at my who me expression or maybe at my face turning white as the blood drained out in horror.

  “Luan, you impressed everyone at Harari, you managed to be at the right place at the right time, which saved hundreds of lives. In addition, many of your actions were innovative. The question is whether your actions were planned, foresight, intuition, or luck. I think a combination of intuition and luck along with your obsession with analyzing every situation before you act. I’ve decided to give you a seven-man squad reporting directly to me. This will give your unit more freedom of action. You may tag along with one of the other units or go off on your own.”

  “But sir…I’ve never commanded a team and I wouldn’t know how to select who should be on the team,” I said, on the verge of panic. I liked being responsible for me, not seven others.

  “I know you aren’t ready,” Howard said with genuine sympathy in his voice. “But I need to know your unique potential. Smitty will be your second in command and can help you pick your team and answer any questions you have…unless you have a problem with Smitty.”

  “No, sir. He was just following orders. Now he’s my brother,” I said and looked to Smitty.

  “My sister has earned my respect, above and beyond passing the school,” he said while looking me. “No candidate could have survived what I did to her.”

  “Good. I want your team ready to board the shuttles two days hence at zero six hundred hours. Dismissed,” he said and turned and walked back toward the headquarters building. Soon it was just Smitty and me.

  “Well, Luan, it’s a double-edged sword,” Smitty said, grinning.

  “I’m not sure if being considered successful or a failure would be worse,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to calm the panic I felt.

  Smitty laughed. “Good point. I wouldn’t trade places with you nor would most Tasmanians.” His smile faded. I closed my eyes and began addressing the fear I felt. When I opened them sometime later, Smitty was sitting on the ground typing on his TCom. He looked up.

  “All right, Smitty, how do you usually pick a team?” I said, feeling ready to think if not yet resolved to the situation.

  “That’s interesting. One of the Rangers in your class told me about your training to eliminate fear. If it can resolve these kinds of situations, maybe I’ll try your class.” He sat staring up at me. “Usually, the team has a specific purpose so you pick individuals with those or related specialties. In this case that doesn’t appear to fit. If it weren’t Tasmanians, I say pick people you know and are willing to follow you or people with less experience,” he said and grinned. “But Tasmanians aren’t like that. The unit leader is the leader because, like you right now, almost to a man they would prefer it were you and not them. After all, it’s not a promotion and doesn’t pay more… Sorry, but that’s the way it is in the Tasmanians.”

  “So if I screw up, I can count on being a team member from then on,” I quipped.

  “No. You could count on seldom being picked to go on assignment, since the team leader gets to pick his team’s members,” he said.

  “All right, Smitty…” I paused, considering what little I knew about the assignment: our adversaries were raiders who lived in the jungle and were excellent at fighting since the Libians were hiring us to fight them. “I want people noted for their scouting ability, at least two with a medical specialty, one with a sniper specialty, and two with a communications specialty.”

  Smitty laughed. “That’s sounds a lot like you have no idea what you are going to do with this unit and want to cover all the possibilities with redundancy.” I nodded. “Sounds like a good strategy, Jolie. I’ll put together a list for you to review. Normally, we don’t interview people because we pick from people we know…”

  “I trust you, Smitty. Besides, I’d imagine there is some negotiating that goes on between the unit leaders and some people will be in more demand than others.”

  “True, but we have an hour’s head start as the seven-man unit leaders hadn’t been picked yet.” He laughed and began typing on his TCom. Five minutes later he looked up and smiled. “Done.”

  * * *

  Three hours later, I sat on the ground in the shade of several old oak trees with Smitty, facing six Tasmanians. When everyone had arrived, Smitty began.

  “Our sister Luan, call handle Fox, managed to distinguish herself in Harari. As a punishment, she has been given a seven-man unit. I’m her second in command as a punishment for trying to kill her during an interrogation exercise as a candidate.” He paused, awaiting comments.

  “Serves you both right. Although sometimes you can’t help it—right place, wrong time,” said a wiry young man, shaking his head in understanding. When no one else said anything, I decided it was my turn.

  “We will report to the expedition leader, Howard, who has indicated I will be free to determine the unit’s mission. And although I’m responsible for the final outcome, I would appreciate any and all suggestions and ideas.”

  “Sounds like fun. Led by a Sentinel who is free to choose her strategy,” said a tall, muscular man, who then began slapping the ground with his right hand. Soon everyone was doing it.

  “Well, Fox, you have us all hyped,” Smitty said. “As you know, I’m Smitty Rios, call handle, Flintstone. Seven years in the Tasmanians, one specialty, explosives, which I doubt we are going to need in a jungle engagement.”

  I thought he introduced himself to get the introductions going. Smitty was slightly taller than average, muscular but lean, with a clean-shaven oval face and straight brown hair cut short above his ears. He had bright eyes and a sense of humor.

  “I’m Pete Norman, call handle, Taipan. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for eight years. I’m used often as a scout, and my specialty is sniper,” Pete said. He was average height, with a smooth angular face, short cut brown hair above his ears, large dark-brown eyes like an owl, and a penetrating stare.

  “I’m Cedric R
eid, call sign, Wolf. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for eight years. I’m used often as a scout, and my specialty is communications.” Cedric was short and wiry. His face was round and supported a goatee which was black like his short cut hair that just reached his ears.

  “I’m Van Lowe, call sign, Salamander. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for nine years. I’m also used often as a scout, and my specialty is medical.” Van was short and lean with soft-looking muscles indicating he probably didn’t work out with weights often.

  “I’m Art Watson, call sign, Spiderman. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for nine years. I’m used as a scout, and my specialty Communications.” Art was the tallest of the men with long arms and legs with ripcord muscles. His smooth face was angular and his reddish hair short and curly.

  “I’m Todd Bradley, call sign, Mamba. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for nine years. I’m also a scout, and my specialty is Sniper.” Todd was dark-skinned, tall, with a muscular body. Although big and strong looking like a weightlifter, his eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  “I’m Isaac Park, call sign, Peppermint. I’ve been with the Tasmanians for eight years. I’m another scout, and my specialty is medical.” Isaac was average height but stocky and muscular. He had long hair down to his shoulders.

  My conclusion was that Smitty had somehow acquired prime veterans judging not only by their years in the Tasmanians but also their handles.

  “Thank you. I’m Jolie Luan, new to the Tasmanians. My specialties are sniper, explosives, and medical. I give my adopted father the credit for my success in passing the Tasmanian qualifying school. He was a self-defense master in several styles that he combined into a unique art—Gong Luan. Throughout my training with him, he always stressed one thing—Ready, Aim, Fire, with emphasis on Ready, saying a rushed shot was a missed shot. I think that concept includes me listening to you. Meaning my Ready may be far more Ready if I have the benefit of your thoughts.” I paused for comments.