The Reich Legacy: A Jim Slater novel (The Jim Slater series Book 3)

by Stanley Salmons

  “What’s that?”

  “The Americans must have been thinking along exactly the same lines.”

  He nodded, and drew a breath between closed teeth. “That’s the other problem. I don’t want some gung-ho Yank targetting my people by mistake.” He stopped short and shot me a curious look. “Sorry, I, er, assumed you’d disapprove.”

  Gracey had obviously said something about my being on loan from the SAF.

  “Damn right, I do. This guy needs help, not their kind of solution. Where was your last sighting?”

  He pointed. “Here, two days ago. What do you need?”

  “A dozen of your people – men or women – if you can spare them. We can rope down near that village. See how far we can track the all-terrain from there.”

  “You don’t want them to engage, do you?”

  “Hell, no. I’ll do that part myself. Do you have a professional tracker?”

  “Yes, I can let you take Nwosu. He’s a local guy attached to the troop. He’s good.”

  *

  At daybreak they pushed out the Rotofan. Rotofans are perfect for operational conditions like these; they can take off vertically from a space not much bigger than you’d need to park that Army Endeavour. The twelve of us boarded and it flew for about thirty minutes in a north-easterly direction to a spot five ks from the village Stephen Pascale had identified. There it slowed to a hover and we roped down and continued on foot, the double whine of the Rotofan’s engines fading as it returned to base. The air was cool as we started off, and although the temperature soon began to rise it was a dry heat and quite tolerable. The route took us through savanna and it was hard to move quickly with the long grass dragging at our legs and boots. An hour later we sighted the village and proceeded with more caution. It looked like Stephen Pascale’s satellite images were on the mark. There wasn’t any smoke now, but even from here I could see that one of the huts had been reduced to a heap of ashes and another lay in ruins.

  Lieutenant Akbar was at my elbow. “You want to search it, Colonel?”

  “Not yet. Let Nwosu finish his recce.”

  We waited. A light breeze refreshed us, then changed direction, bringing with it the rancid, all-too-familiar smell of death. Decomposition starts quickly in hot climates.

  “Colonel, sir?”

  Nwosu had crept soundlessly up to us.

  “Yes, Nwosu?”

  “He stop the all-terrain just outside. Come in on foot. Some he shoot in the hut. One hut he burns, shoot them as they come out. They lying out there. The big hut, he hit that one with a grenade. Then he go back to the all-terrain and head out that way.” He pointed.

  “Good work, Nwosu.”

  So Scottie was headed out. Or did he just make it look like he was headed out? I was pretty sure he’d moved on, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Okay, Lieutenant.” I pointed to the village. “No need to put your men at risk. I’ll go in there alone.”

  He opened his mouth to protest but I didn’t wait for it, just turned and headed off.

  I went in quietly and worked from hut to hut. The only sound was the buzzing of flies, lots of flies. I buried my nose in the crook of my elbow to shut out the stench. In the entire village nothing had been left alive. Men, women, old, young, livestock, all dead. I came across a mother and baby, ripped to shreds by bullets.

  I felt the tears welling up.

  Why? Why did you do this, Scottie, why? What in hell’s name got into you?

  I wiped my eyes and composed myself before rejoining the men.

  “All right, Nwosu, we’ll rely on your tracking skills again. But remember: Major Scot Hayward is good, too. Sooner or later we’re going to lose him. When that happens we break into three patrols: Red, Green, Blue. Kelly, you lead Green; Akbar, you lead Blue; I’ll take Red. Stay in touch, okay? We’re on a select frequency, so he won’t hear our transmissions. If any group picks up the trail again, they tell the others right away. No engagement, understand? Right, Nwosu, you lead, we’ll follow.”

  The all-terrain had been travelling over hard-baked earth and grassland and there was seldom anything as obvious as a tyre track, yet Nwosu stayed on the trail for eight ks before he finally lost it. By that time the temperature was up in the high thirties and with a full load on we were cooking in the exposed landscape. I let the men settle down in a deep patch of grass for a rest and a drink while Akbar, Kelly and I looked at satellite views of the area. We agreed on three promising routes, all of which took in patches of jungle. Then we split up as planned. I mustered Red patrol and we moved off.

  It was late afternoon when I got the call. Nwosu was with Blue. They hadn’t just picked up the trail. They’d spotted Scottie’s vehicle.

  16

  We rendezvoused with Blue and Green.

  The all-terrain had been left in thick forest bordering a grassy plain. When I first joined them I couldn’t see anything. Then Nwosu pointed, and I saw something glinting in amongst the foliage; the low sun had penetrated far enough into the trees to reflect off a headlight. The vehicle certainly wouldn’t have been visible from the air or by infra-red satellites, even if the motor was hot. There was no sign of Scottie.

  I smeared more black camo on my face and hands for good measure. Then I told everyone except Nwosu to stay put, and the tracker and I made for the forest. To the right of the all-terrain the trees emerged from a dense understorey of tangled shrubs, and no one would have chosen to go that way. Nwosu clearly had the same thought because, keeping a good distance from the vehicle, he traced just a half-circle around it, looking for signs – perhaps disturbances in the leaf litter, crushed grass, broken twigs – reading the ground like a map. I stood still, watching him, and soon he straightened slightly and began to walk into the trees to the left of the vehicle. I followed him and quite soon daylight streamed through the foliage ahead of us. That explained it: this was just a finger of forest projecting outward, with grassland on either side. Nwosu raised a hand and pointed with a crooked forefinger. That was the direction Scottie had taken.

  I walked cautiously towards the edge of the trees. It was quiet and rather beautiful out there. The sun was shining through the tall grass, illuminating a constantly moving cloud of insects. There were intermittent screeches from birds somewhere in the forest behind me. I had the feeling Scottie wasn’t far away. He could be relieving himself, or making something to eat, or scouting ahead, or preparing a bivvy, he could even be waiting and watching, I just felt he was out there.

  I beckoned to Nwosu and we went back to the others. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Okay, help me deploy the equipment in there, then you can start walking. I want you a good 8 ks from here before I try to locate him.”

  There was a soft murmur. Lieutenant Akbar said quietly, “You’d be safer if we stayed with you, Colonel.”

  “Thank you, Akbar, I appreciate the offer but we need to do this my way.”

  “He could come back, drive off. Why don’t we take out the all-terrain?”

  “No, that’ll antagonize him and scotch any chances of getting him back.”

  Lieutenant Kelly said, “We could place a tracking device on it, though. Make it easier to find.”

  “Kelly, have you heard of pencil mines? You can arm them, even explode them, with a radiofrequency link. That all-terrain could be well protected, and I’m not risking any of you people trying to interfere with it.”

  Ten minutes later they moved out. I spent quite a bit of time finding myself a good hide. Finally I picked out a tree that divided into a fork low down. If I hunkered down behind it and looked between the trunks it afforded a good view of the open ground. I’d be in deep shade, and very hard to see, whereas everything outside was bathed in brilliant sunlight. It wasn’t very comfortable, but right now that was the least thing on my mind.

  I settled down to wait.

  *

  I was on maximum alert. It would be stupid to assume Scottie didn’t know what was going on. My guys were
well camo’d and stealthy, and they’d stayed among the trees while they were here, but ten people create a certain presence, which he’d almost certainly picked up. I remembered that house in Waziristan.

  Heard them breathing.

  The afternoon wore on. I shifted uncomfortably, but tried to minimize my movements. From time to time I thought I saw small movements in the grass, but it could have been caused by a reptile or a small animal. Even so, I was convinced he was still out there, watching and listening. Before he could use his all-terrain again he’d need to know what was going on over here.

  Two hours went by. Then the earpiece in my helmet buzzed. Lieutenant Akbar’s soft voice.

  “We’re in position, Colonel.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant. Stand by.”

  I wouldn’t shout to Scottie from where I was – that would be suicide. I was using the equipment, a small public address system, the microphone in my hand and the speaker hidden in the undergrowth a safe distance away.

  I brought the microphone up to my lips.

  “Major Scot Hayward. Talk to me, Scottie.”

  Silence.

  “Scottie, I know you’re out there. Talk to me.”

  This time the answer came: a burst of incoming. I half expected it, but I ducked instinctively. From the way the tree branches whipped away and came back it was at about head height. Behind me I could hear the bullets snapping their way through the leaves into the distance. There was a clattering of wings as birds rose in alarm from the forest. The noise stopped. My heart beat faster.

  I tried again. It would be safe to use my old name, the name by which Scottie knew me, because the troop was out of earshot. Which was precisely why I’d set things up this way. I steadied my voice.

  “Scottie, this is Jim. Remember me? Jim Forbes. We served in Libya and the Yemen together. We were both Lieutenants back then.”

  There was a short silence, then a voice exploded from quite close at hand. “Like fuck!”

  Another hail of bullets.

  I ran my tongue over my lips, breathing hard now. Of course, I sounded different to Jim Forbes. I looked different, too, but I’d deal with that when the time came. Right now I had to keep at it. I tried to sound casual.

  “Sorry about the voice, Scottie. I had a throat operation. But it’s me all right. It was me when you chucked those two guys out of a sixth floor window in Libya – the ones who used an old man and woman for target practice. Remember that? And it was my life you saved when you took out a raghead in the Yemen, my life and Bruce’s. Only you did it with a grenade launcher and it got Ryan killed. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that either.”

  His voice came from a totally different direction. He was moving fast, not giving away his position. “All on record. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou! Fuck all of you!”

  He fired again, a long traverse. To my left a branch sheared off and dropped heavily into the undergrowth. A couple of rounds plunked into the trunk above me, and for a few moments the forest behind was alive with the sounds of bullets whipping through the foliage.

  There was a hysterical sob in his voice. I remembered how he lost it when our Rotofan came down in the desert, but this was worse, much worse, and I wasn’t sure I could reach him.

  I took a deep breath. He was trying to kill me, but he was my friend. Only I could help him now. I lifted the microphone to my lips.

  “Come on, Scottie, you know very well none of those things were reported.”

  Another silence.

  “I’m on my own, Scottie. I’m not here to harm you. I came here at my own request. I want to talk to you.”

  Silence. I went on.

  “You need help. We can get help for you. What you’re doing – this isn’t you, Scottie. Some demon got inside you, sent you off on a killing spree. Was it that patrol, Scottie? Is that what did it?”

  A long silence. He was on the move again. My eyes darted around, watching for the slightest sound or movement, a crackle in the undergrowth, the rustle of a leaf, motion in the long grass. Nothing.

  He’s good, he’s really good.

  His voice, from another direction. “Fucking murderers, I’ll kill them all, every last fucking one of them. You too.”

  “This isn’t the way, Scottie. This way will just get you killed. I don’t want that, none of us wants that. Come and shake hands and we’ll go back together. You’re my friend, I owe you.”

  This time the answer was another stream of bullets. Again I ducked, but they were directed at the loudspeaker.

  He thinks it’s a loudhailer, and that’s just what I want him to think. But none of this is working. He doesn’t trust me, doesn’t believe I’m Jim Forbes.

  The voice from another direction. “You’re dead, fucker, I’m gonna kill you, you hear? You want a grenade up your arse, you can have a grenade up your arse.”

  I took a deep breath. This was getting serious. He almost certainly had a grenade launcher on that multi-rifle. If he used a smart grenade, fused to explode somewhere overhead, I’d be toast.

  Another burst of gunfire raked the forest, lower this time, near enough to lash through the bushes not ten feet away. That did it. I’d had enough.

  “For Christ’s sake, Scottie, will you stop playing silly bastards, shut the fuck up, and listen?”

  Silence. No bullets, no grenade. Had I said something that struck a chord?

  The voice, still high-pitched. “Jim?”

  I breathed out.

  “Yes, Scottie, it’s Jim. I told you it was Jim. Now be a good boy and come over here. We’ll give each other a hug and you can come back with me.“

  “Can’t do that, Jim.”

  “You can, Scottie, you can. All you have to do is—”

  I hunched into my collar as something passed low overhead. What the hell was it? I peered out between the branches, caught a glimpse, recognized the profile. It was banking, coming round, swift and silent. US Airforce markings.

  He was a sitting duck out there. His infra-red signature would be lighting up the terrain map in that drone like a bloody signal flare.

  “Scottie, for Christ’s sake run for cover!”

  He shouted, “You bastard! You led it here!”

  “No—”

  I saw a dark figure rise from the grass and race away, heading for the trees. Not far now, another thirty seconds and he might make it—

  The rocket came in right on target. A ball of fire expanded from the spot where I last saw Scottie and an almighty explosion shook the ground and sent a shockwave out that bent the grass like an ocean wave and swept through the trees, releasing a shower of leaves. A wall of hot air passed over me, and above my head small branches snapped and dropped, clattering through the trees and littering the ground. Again I hunched into my collar as something light bounced off my helmet. The pattering stopped. The only sound now was the crackle of burning grass.

  I emerged cautiously into the open, just in time to catch a glimpse of the drone as it gained height, heading back. A feeling of blind panic gripped me and I started to run towards the spot. The smoke was rolling over the ground and the air was full of the bonfire smell of it, stinging my nose, cutting my lungs. I was coughing and running and shouting “No-o-o!” and “Scottie!” and I don’t know what the fuck I was shouting any more. Then the breeze veered and pulled the smoke away in another direction and I stopped dead. There was nothing there, nothing whatever, just a blackened circle more than thirty feet across, a crater at its centre, the grass still burning all around the perimeter. My body went limp. I couldn’t move because my limbs were too heavy. I could feel the tears streaking my face, and I told myself it was just the smoke, even though I knew it wasn’t. There was a great emptiness inside me. Scottie was my mate. Twice he saved my life. Why, oh why, couldn’t I save his?

  My earpiece buzzed. “Colonel? Colonel, are you all right?”

  I swallowed. It was a struggle but I managed to keep my voice calm. “Yes, Lieutenant, I’m okay.”

  “What
the hell was that?”

  “Drone came in. Scot Hayward’s dead. Give me your coordinates and stay there. I’ll come to you.”

  I worked it out on the way. Gracey must have warned the Americans I was going in, asked them to hold off. They treated it as an open invitation, hacked our communications link, or maybe tracked my team on infra-red, pinpointed my position to the metre.

  I brushed my sleeve across my eyes. I was hoarse from coughing and crying. All I could do was say it over and over again.

  “I’m sorry, Scottie. I’m so, so sorry.”

  17

  “I’m so sorry.” This time it was Gracey saying it. “Really sorry, Jim. This shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Damned right, it shouldn’t.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You look like shit, Jim, if I may use the expression.”

  “Haven’t been sleeping too well. This whole damned business is one big nightmare.”

  He took a deep breath. “I can’t believe they sent in a bloody drone when they knew we had men operating out there. It could have been you it took out – they wouldn’t have known the difference. Have you thought about that?”

  “It’s crossed my mind. What’s going to happen about this?”

  “I’ve lodged a complaint, but I’ll be honest with you: I don’t know how high it will go. As far as the suits in Westminster and the Capitol are concerned, it’s a relief; the problem’s gone away. That’s all they care about.”

  “We’re supposed to be sharing security information, Owen. How can we do it if one side takes unilateral action? That’s something the suits should care about.” I looked at my hands, then straightened up. “You know what hurts, what really hurts? He died thinking I’d betrayed him. And I did. I led the bastards right to him.”

  “You couldn’t have known, Jim, none of us could. Don’t blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could.” He contemplated me, head tilted. “If it’s any comfort the word’s gone around. Your stock has gone up with every soldier on this base, myself included.”