“Maybe he should come work with us. We could use that kind of help,” Reed chuckled from behind him.
“You sure could,” Ben agreed. “You usually don’t know what we did even after we did it.”
They both laughed.
The interpreter stopped at a small, but powerfully built, man who stood with one hand on his hip and the other on a heavily laden long pole which stretched back over his shoulder. The ‘terp said a few things in what sounded like a different gibberish from what they usually talked, and the half-naked man pointed and made a sound like “Gah.”
“Da leader be dis way,” the ‘terp said, leading them on through the village.
Ben tried to penetrate the wall of jungle encircling the village with his eyes, hoping to see Auger or Lash. But his SEAL buddies were easily concealed by the dense brush. The tingly feelings he remembered from growing up with his Traiteur Grandma in the bayou west of New Orleans had left him, and he tried to concentrate on the job.
“Creepy shit, man,” Reed said as he sped up beside him.
Ben just nodded at his best friend and tried to grin.
The old man squatted in front of a flat basket, woven from long strips of what looked like thin branches. Three clumps of different colored pastes were pushed to the sides, and in the middle of the basket the man stirred together varying amounts of the three into what became an orange oatmeal-looking clump. Ben knew immediately this was the village elder and that he healed, as well as led.
He had stirrings of home, of late nights peering down from his loft bedroom while his Gammy spoke in a strange tongue to the old man who came at night. The two would laugh and argue in the hybrid language of French, Native American, and English while mixing their own Traiteur potions. This seemed a lot like that, and he felt for a moment like the mesmerized child he had been then.
The ‘terp spoke to the man, who looked up and replied in a similar clipped gibberish. One word jumped out as familiar, and Ben felt the childhood pull again. The ‘terp turned to Chris.
“He welcome you here and say he knows you coming. He say you good men and dat you like da gagrow dat kill da evil tings around da living jungle, so you be friends to dem.”
Ben smiled when he saw the lieutenant put his cupped right hand over his heart – a habit from Iraq.
“Tell him we are his friends, and we wish to help his people. We have medicine to share and would like his help to find the evil men who lurk in his jungle and wish harm to good people. We hope he can help us find them.”
“What mean lurk?” the interpreter asked.
“Live – just say live,” Chris said with a little impatience.
The ‘terp and the old man spoke again.
“He wanna know’d if you find da road he send to you two days ago. Da one he help you find wit da heart message.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Ben noticed that his leader’s mouth had fallen open.
“What the hell does that mean, he sent it to me? What the fuck is a heart message?”
The ‘terp shrugged, and Chris shifted uncomfortably.
“Tell him we found a road two days ago, yes. Tell him evil men use that road. We want to know if those bad men, men with guns, have come to his village.”
The old man nodded and shifted back on his heels before the interpreter began to speak. Then, he listened and answered before he had finished.
“He say de evil come here, and he know dey man dat kill man. He say dey bad for living jungle also. Dey promise bad tings to village if he talk to you, but he not afraid.”
“Does he know where they are? When were they last here?”
While the interpreter spoke, Ben felt the old man’s eyes on him and looked up. The wrinkled and leathery face split into a wide grin over brown teeth.
I am glad it is you as the Living Jungle told me. You have great Ashe which you will need. The bad time cannot be stopped, but you can help us in ways your Grandmother understood.
A chill ran up Ben’s spine and gripped around his throat. The voice in his head had been clear and not his own. He flashed briefly to another night in the bayou – a terrible night best forgotten. The old man’s eyes left his, and he turned to the interpreter to answer. When he did, the cold that ran through Ben’s chest evaporated slowly.
Get a grip, bro. Jesus. This creepy place is making your mind do somersaults. That was not real, and there are some memories best left buried.
The interpreter was speaking again.
“He say evil men be here yesterday and leave da same hour. He say da road go to dem, and it take two or tree hours for a hunting man to go to it. Or maybe four hours for a ole man like he be.”
The old man nodded and laughed and winked at Ben who smiled uncomfortably.
Chris was all business.
“Tell him he should tell no one he told us this. Tell him we will make the evil leave his jungle, we promise. Then, tell him we have medicines with us and that Ben is our doctor who can help him take care of anyone in the village who may be sick.”
The old man laughed aloud, again before the ‘terp even got started. Then, he smiled and answered back.
“He say you to go in peace, and he believe you good men. He say you doctor more power than he know, but you medicine very weak, and he no need it. Then, he say you take his medicine dat he make for you friend who hide in da jungle. He say it make him ass feel better.”
The old man scraped the paste into a flat leaf, rolled it up like a little green envelope, and handed it to Ben. He took it and felt himself bow a little and nodded.
“Tell him thank you,” Ben said and slipped the leaf pouch of medicine into his cargo pants pocket. The old man spoke again. Another word jumped out at Ben, and he grabbed the interpreter’s arm.
“What was that word? Something‘wata’. What does that mean?”
The interpreter nodded to the old man and, then, turned to Ben.
“Mami Wata be da water serpent. She give medicine men dey healing power. He say water serpent strong in you and dat you soon find you be having many udder power also.”
Ben heard the words from far away. His eyes locked on the old man whose own eyes danced with youth and power from the frame of old and tired skin. The old man still nodded so Ben nodded back.
“He say you go now and take you friend from da jungle wall wit you. He say you stop evil men today.”
Ben and Chris nodded to the old man while Reed continued the nervous visual sweep of the village as he had throughout the conversation with the old man. Then, they all turned and left and the old man hugged his knees and watched them go.
I will see you when the loud and ugly time comes for my people. I will see you at the end time, Ben. Then, you will learn so much. I am glad the Living Jungle sent you.
Ben shook the voice out of his head and followed Chris and Reed back into the jungle. He turned for a moment and swept his gaze over the quiet and peaceful village. He felt certain something bad was coming here – something big and powerful.
He hoped they could stop it.
They were SEALs, after all.
* * *
The jungle became dark very quickly. Ben was accustomed to the speed with which the sun set in the Iraqi desert, but nothing matched the suddenness with which the dense jungle swallowed up the last ray of light with the dusk. He sat back against a thick and gnarled tree, his knees pulled up, and scooped what the folks the DoD contracted to package their MRE’s had ludicrously named “Jambalaya.” He usually avoided that particular “Meal-Ready-to-Eat,” just on principle, but as the choice tonight was that or “Captain’s Country Chicken” – which tasted like total ass – he shoveled the bland rice into his mouth with the green plastic fork that came with it. The packet of powdered Gatorade went into his pocket for later, and he sipped plain water instead.
Ben looked around at the darkening jungle and reflexively confirmed his night vision goggles (NVG’s) were hanging from the left side of his kit. Th
en, he finished his packaged meal and set about taking inventory of his kit for ammo and other supplies. They would move out in a few hours, once the Al Qaeda camp settled in from their own evening meal. He and Lash had scouted ahead earlier, creeping up slowly on the camp to confirm the place and distance, scout good fields of fire and retreat, and establish a potential rally point. Most importantly, they had come up with a rough tally of opposing forces. They had counted perhaps fifteen or sixteen men and boys, ranging from hardened and well-armed soldiers to young teen-agers who looked too frail to even hoist up their weapons. There were at least ten serious fighters he guessed. Then, they had pulled back, briefed their friends, and settled in to wait.
Reed slept curled in a fetal position at Ben’s feet and Auger flipped through a paperback book a few yards away, then looked up into the jungle canopy and cursed the darkness which rapidly engulfed them. He shoved the book back into the cargo pocket of his cammies, tipped his hat forward over his eyes, and crossed his arms across his chest. In moments his breathing slowed and deepened. With Chris and Lash patrolling quietly around their hide on watch, Ben sat basically alone. He adjusted the earpiece from his headset so he wouldn’t miss any calls from the guys on watch, and then settled back himself. He knew he couldn’t possibly sleep, but perhaps if he could get his mind to stop flying between the past and his bizarre feelings from the village, he could at least get a little rest before they hit the camp.
Ben closed his eyes and instead of fighting the memories chasing him, he just let them float around his mind. He drifted to happier thoughts of his grandmother and his early life in the boonies of Louisiana. They were mostly happy times, and, except for the few troubling memories he had convinced himself were merely bad dreams, his thoughts of Gammy were all good. He loved her very much and believed he chose his specialty training as a combat medic almost as a tribute to her memory.
She would be happy to know I’m now a Traiteur of sorts myself.
And more at times.
Ben didn’t remember falling asleep but he woke up to a gentle nudge and Reed’s hushed whisper.
“Gotta head out, bro.”
He felt on the ground beside him for his helmet and put it on his head, then reached without fumbling to the point on his kit where he knew his NVG’s would be. He snapped them into place on his helmet, swung the binocular-like eyepieces to his eyes, and turned the device on. Instantly the thick, ink-like blackness came alive with trees and his fellow Frogmen, all in eerie green and grey.
Ben got to his feet and re-slung his rifle into a combat position across his chest. He pulled the slide back half an inch and checked to see a chambered round, shoved the MRE remnants into a cargo pocket, and followed Reed to where Chris, Auger, and Lash waited. His footsteps were loud and metallic, magnified by the volume enhancement of his head set. He heard Chris’s voice in both his head set and his other ear.
“Set?”
The four other SEALs nodded, and they moved out into the jungle in single file, Chris in the lead and Auger in trail. It took only moments before the distracting feelings disappeared, and he settled into the familiar mindset of a combat operation. His mind ran through scenarios of the encounter to come. He checked off his plans for each of them, all the time scanning the grey-green jungle around them through his NVGs as they moved nearly silently towards their objective.
They made it to the rally point in just over half an hour. Chris used hand signals to move the other four SEALs out toward their positions as they had briefed at the rest area. They would remain silent until Lash called back with his survey and Chris gave the go. Then they would hit the camp under the cover of confusion provided by concussion grenades from four corners.
Ben turned left after Auger and moved low and silent along the periphery of the camp. He couldn’t see the Al Qaeda fighters yet, but he could hear them as he circled around behind Auger. When he had paced off to the halfway point he stopped and watched Auger continue around his arc. He glanced at his watch from beneath the NVGs, covering the face with his hand to prevent any light from escaping. He waited for a minute and thirty seconds then belly crawled slowly towards the edge of the camp.
What he saw confused him at first and, then, frightened him.
The camp looked virtually empty. Only two fighters remained, their faces aglow in the unmasked fire burning under a pot in the center of the clearing. They were boys and likely not much in the way of fighters. But it hardly mattered. The body nailed to the tree near where they sat remained motionless, and Ben doubted he was alive. He didn’t recognize the short, thin boy from the village, but he knew from the grey cloth around his waist and the matching arm band at his bicep where he had come from.
Both the boy’s legs bent impossibly forward at the knees and below the knees they had turned swollen and black. The eyelids were propped open with sticks over motionless eyes and blood, black in the green-grey world of the NVGs, had poured over the chin and chest where the boys tongue had been cut out.
Ben closed his eyes tightly. Then, he tried hard to focus.
He squeezed the button on the cord running from the radio in the front of his vest to his headset. He whispered into the mike at his lips.
“Lead – Three. Hold. Hold.”
There was a pause, and he pictured Chris furrowing his brow and trying to figure out what the hell the problem could be.
“Viper team, hold.” Another pause. “Go, three.”
“Dry site. Rally site fast,” Ben whispered.
“Rog,” came Chris’s voice. The others confirmed in his earpiece.
“Two.”
“Four.”
“Five.”
Ben pulled silently back until he felt himself a safe distance into the brush and, then, moved quickly but quietly back to the rally point. Auger overtook him on the way but said nothing.
Moments later the five SEALs huddled together and spoke in hushed whispers which were metallic but clear in their headsets.
“They’re gone, boss,” Ben said. “All but two kids. It looks like they tortured some young boy from the village to death, and now they’re gone.”
“Fuck,” Chris said and wiped his face. “You sure, Ben?”
“Yeah, man,” Ben answered without hesitation. “I never seen anyone else out here dressed like them villagers.”
“Shit,” Lash said quietly.
“They went to hit the village,” Reed said, a real pain in his voice. “They’re gonna slaughter those people.”
“We don’t know that,” Auger said, his deep voice tight and strained.
“Yeah, we do,” Chris said. “We gotta get the fuck back there.”
“It’ll be light by the time we get there,” Lash said calmly.
“I don’t give a shit,” Chris said. “I don’t want us to have killed those poor people. We gotta head back there now.” He pressed a thumb into his right temple and, then, looked around at his team. “Is everyone okay with that?”
“Fuck yeah,” Lash said. The others nodded.
“Okay,” Chris said. “Fast, but quiet. Lash on point then two-by-two, okay?”
The SEALs all nodded, and Lash moved out at a quick pace. Chris and Auger pushed out to the left with Reed and Ben to the right. Ben kept ten yards or so between him and his best friend and moved swiftly through the thick brush a few yards in from the road. He listened for Lash and tried to keep himself back, his mind racing and urging him to move faster than was safe.
He knew what they were headed for.
We won’t make it.
I will see you at the end time, Ben.
He moved towards the old man’s voice which echoed in his mind.
Chapter 3
They moved through the jungle much more quickly than on the way to the target, the noise of their passage loud in Ben’s headset, but still nearly imperceptible without them, he knew.
Nearly.
In different circumstances, it would not have been quiet enough. But desperation had settled i
nto the mission now, and they could only hope the enemy was as ragged and undisciplined as they looked.
The jungle suddenly began to lighten, and Ben saw the trees begin to emerge in his peripheral vision without his NVGs. Just shadows now, but in a few minutes the light would grow. They would have no choice but to slow down. He could see the movement of branches and broad, bushy leaves through his NVGs that marked where Reed moved through the brush to his left.
The crack of a rifle shattered the quiet of the jungle, and like in an old movie, it was followed by the “caw-caw” of birds nearby. Instinctively, Ben dropped low and remained motionless. His eyes scanned to and fro. Then, his headset crackled, and he heard Chris’s strained and whispered voice.
“Two – Lead – Position?”
“Half click past the turn from the road and five mikes from target.”
“Viper team – lead. That’s the rally, then. Fall in on Lash.”
“Three,” Ben choked into his microphone with a gravelly whisper.
“Four.”
“Five.”
He heard the calm voices of his friends and felt a momentary sense of inadequacy. His heart didn’t pound in his chest because he was afraid for himself, though. His mind’s eye saw quite clearly the chaos and horror the Al Qaeda fighters would be wreaking on the peaceful village.
And, we did that to them.
He swallowed the bile taste rising in his throat at the thought. He stood up and, only half crouched, began to move double time through the brush along the road, his ears listening for Reed’s position a few yards off his left side. He could hear the static-filled heavy breathing from his friend in his headset. Ben glanced down at the GPS on his wrist – only another hundred yards to the turn then a half a kilometer into the jungle to Lash.
Twelve minutes. Plus five more to the village.
Way too fucking long.
“Hurry,” Lash’s voice said in his earpiece. “I hear screams.” A bolt of lightning went through Ben, and he pushed the thoughts from his past out of his head. He moved left and joined up with Reed who swung his NVGs up and looked at him with eyes grey in the jungle morning’s soft light. Ben just nodded, and they turned left together. After a glance at the GPS, they moved quickly towards Lash. Ben didn’t know if Reed’s dark expression was because of the undisciplined noise their haste created and the danger associated with it or from the feelings he shared about what was assuredly happening in the village. Both, he decided.
The Traiteur's Ring Page 2