The Pilot

by Michael Cole

  One of them splattered all over Hawk’s face. Standing inside the Zodiac, she winced as the salt stung her eyes. The boat, secured by two cords that were strung on the rocks, bounced in the water. Rubbing her wrists over her eyes, she looked back up at the towering cliff. With each flash of lightning, she shook at the sight of the steep, jagged wall.

  The seven mercenaries took a foothold on a group of shallow rocks that acted as a platform for their landing. Seymour clipped his harness together, stringing the cable through his carabiner. Standing near him was Terrie and Ivan, both of them secure in their harnesses, holding loops of cables to serve as belayers.

  Hawk looked back up at the cliff, then back down at the rocky shore. One slip, one screw-up, and the climber would be at the mercy of the equipment. If one were to fall several feet down on these rocks, death would be a merciful conclusion.

  “You…” Hawk’s voice was lost in the wind. She took a breath, “You sure about this?!”

  She saw the incensed look on Seymour’s face. He pinched his index finger and thumb together, then brushed them over his mouth.

  “You trying to give away our position?” Hawk couldn’t hear him, but she understood.

  Ivan stepped toward her, stretching his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Agent-chick,” he said. “This is no more than a hundred-eighty-feet. This is nuttin.” He moved back, accepting a harness from Sutton.

  Seymour held his drill and bolts, ready to initiate his climb. His weapon was strung over his shoulder, overtop his harness. Standing next to him was Nagamine, equally ready to climb. Seymour turned toward the team. Hawk saw his lips moving, but couldn’t hear a word over the wind.

  God, how can they hear him?

  The realization immediately came to her. She looked down at the console and located her headphones. She placed them over her ears, and Seymour’s commanding voice boomed from the pads.

  “When he and I give the all-clear, the rest of you will ascend. The outpost should be less than half a click that way.” He held his hand out toward the south. “We’re gonna hit that first. When we do, we’ll move on to the harbor.” He turned his gaze towards the Zodiac. “Agent Hawk?”

  “Yes?’

  “Good, you can hear me,” he said. “Right now, your job is to keep out of sight. Keep your radio on. We will contact you when the harbor is secure. When it is, bring the boat and meet us there. We’ll find a place to secure it and keep it hidden.” Hawk simply nodded. She begrudged his instruction, and felt an intense urge to argue back. She wanted to reference her arms training and tactical knowledge. However, that same knowledge informed her that, at this point, arguing would do nothing but compromise the mission. She gave a thumbs-up, signaling her understanding.

  Seymour looked to his team. “Any questions?” Ivan raised his hand.

  “How come he always gets to go first?” he said, pointing at Nagamine. Seymour rolled his eyes and turned around.

  Imagine the drop-out rate if SEAL trainees suffered constant exposure to this guy.

  He and Nagamine initiated their climbs. They studied the wall with their hands, looking for an initial hold. Digging his gloved fingers into a rift, Seymour lifted himself, pressing his boots into small ledges. He found his next hold and elevated another six inches. At ten feet, he held position. He held his drill to the rock and paused. A large crack of thunder sounded, and he initiated the drill. The drill bit rotated, digging into the rock. After a few more cracks of thunder, Seymour had the hole deep enough, and inserted a bolt with an attached carabiner. Stringing the cord through it, he pressed upward.

  At thirty feet, he repeated, creating a route for the rest of the team to follow. Down below, the team secured their equipment in large black bags. Each would be hauled up by cable. With nothing else to do, Hawk watched as Seymour and Nagamine climbed the steep cliff. With every few feet of ascension, the duo grew smaller in view.

  Seymour placed a new bolt in the rock. As he continued his next climb, he glanced over to his partner. Nagamine was nearly twenty feet ahead of him. Seymour smiled to himself.

  Only because he’s smaller.

  With a focus as concentrated as diamonds, Nagamine located each hold with ease. Each movement he made was concealed in darkness, visible only to his leader. He checked each rock before drilling, checking to make sure it was hollow enough for drilling without compromising the structure. If the layer was too weak, then the weight from the next climber would cause the bolt to break free.

  Seymour felt the wind gradually dying. He checked the time. They had just over a half-hour until sunrise. They would need to take the first outpost by then.

  Rain pummeling his face, he climbed further. The ledge of the cliff was only a few meters away. He drilled a hole, inserted the bolt, then proceeded to the ledge. As he looked again, he saw Nagamine holding position under the ledge, waiting for him to catch up.

  “Yeah, yeah, showoff,” he whispered into his microphone. He climbed to the ledge, holding place beside Nagamine. They looked at each other, taking hold of their sidearms with a free hand, holding to the ledge with another. In unison, they peeked over the ledge.

  The ledge led to a thirty foot plain of tall grass, leading up to a gathering of trees. The outer layer of plants formed a wall of green that shifted in form as the wind tore into the jungle.

  “Clear left,” Seymour said.

  “Clear right,” Nagamine said. Holstering his revolver, Seymour pulled himself over the ledge. Immediately, he positioned onto one knee and scanned the area through the sights of his rifle. Other than the swaying plants, there was no movement. He held out a hand and helped Nagamine over the edge. Nagamine braced his hands on his weapon, serving as a lookout while Seymour secured the final posts for each cable route.

  “Alright,” Seymour spoke into his transmitter, “Initiate ascent.”

  Terrie and Sutton were the first to climb. With the aid of the cable, their climb was much faster than the first ascenders. Next were Ivan and Rex, with Easley coming up last, along with the supplies.

  Sitting inside the Zodiac, Hawk watched each of them disappear over the edge of the cliff, listening to the various chatter over the comm. Soon, she was alone near the rocky shoreline. Tapping the helm, she grew increasingly impatient. Being told to wait behind felt humiliating, and she questioned whether Seymour was actually concerned for her safety, or if he considered her a hinderance. The more she pondered, the more irritable she became. As the C.I.A. liaison, she was supposed to have command of this operation, and here she was taking orders from the contractor.

  She checked the time. Sunrise was in eleven minutes.

  “You guys better hurry up,” she said aloud.

  CHAPTER

  9

  The wind slowed to a strong breeze. The overcast gradually moved on, reducing the downpour to a drizzle. The southeast horizon turned a shadowy gold as the storm pushed east.

  Seymour crouched low in the trees, seamlessly blending in with the wilderness as he neared the outpost. He gazed through an opening in the angular tree line, measuring the outpost. Behind him were Rex and Ivan, both huddled in the dense forest, soaking in rain, mud, and grit. As the winds died down, the local insect life emerged. Flies and mosquitos buzzed around the brutes, landing on their bare arms and inserting their proboscis into the skin. All they could do was slowly rub their hands over their skin to help keep them off. Anything else would risk giving away their position.

  From his view, Seymour could see the rear of the outpost, as well as a shed to the left. Two Jeeps were parked in front of the shed, indicating the building could have as many as eight personnel. Behind the building was a generator, which rested in the grass. From what he could see there were no power cables hooked up to the building.

  “Terrie, report,” he whispered.

  Two hundred meters west, Terrie was huddled down in the brush behind the tree line. The disjointed trunks from two banyan trees formed an “X” shape in front of her. Behind it were two more tre
es with grass standing three feet high. It was the only decent sniping position she could find, where she could have a decent view and remain camouflaged. Looking through her scope, she gazed under the crossed trees, looking at the side of the outpost.

  Through the crosshairs, she examined the side of the building. The lights were off, and from her angle, there was no movement. She steadily panned left, putting the open door in her sights. It swayed to-and-fro with the wind, revealing an empty interior.

  “No movement,” she whispered. “No lights. Crew might be asleep.”

  “They should have at least one on lookout,” Seymour whispered back. The cover of darkness started fading away with the sunrise. He shouldered his rifle, ready to stand. “Team Two, move in on west exterior. We’ll take the southeast…on three…two…one…move!”

  Seymour exited the tree line first, swiftly moving toward the open door. Ivan and Red followed suit, eager to unleash their M60 machine guns on the unsuspecting squad. To the east, Easley, Sutton, and Nagamine emerged from a different point in the tree line. Easley stopped near the shed, peeking inside to confirm nobody was inside, then waited to provide backup. Easley and Nagamine stopped alongside the door.

  Positioned behind the open door, Seymour removed the pin to a stun grenade. He tossed it inside. An exploding flash illuminated the entire interior. The next instant, both teams rushed inside, guns pointed.

  Seymour and Rex burst into the main lookout chamber. Nobody. They immediately kicked down the next door, ready to unload a barrage of bullets. Stepping through, they found themselves inside the personnel quarters. Several empty bunks lay in rows, their occupants nowhere to be seen. Seymour turned and re-entered the lookout chamber.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear,” Sutton said. He entered the lookout chamber, lowering his weapon. Seymour walked about the large room. Three empty chairs were pushed away from the control panel, where several computer panels were powered off. The console was comprised of radar equipment, as well as long-range binoculars looking out toward the vast ocean. A radio unit lay on the floor. Two feet away, a Makarov pistol lay on its side.

  Sutton picked it up, removing the magazine. It was full. Nagamine entered the room.

  “Go scout ahead,” Seymour said to him. “I doubt they know we’re here, but I don’t want them laying any surprises for us.” Nagamine nodded and hurriedly moved out. Seymour pressed his transmitter. “Terrie, all clear. Scout ahead with Nagamine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Seymour noticed Sutton looking at him.

  “What’s going on here, Boss?” he said. Seymour shrugged.

  “That’s what we’re figuring out, Doc,” he said. “It appears they abandoned this outpost.”

  “Why? There’s no sign of a firefight. The only sign of conflict is that!” Sutton pointed at the Makarov. “And look at this.” He led Seymour around to the back through another doorway.

  It was a small armory, packed with several high powered automatic weapons and several explosives. However many men this outpost housed, they were armed well enough to repel a larger force. Several tables held bazookas and grenade launchers, with crates of ammo everywhere.

  Seymour stepped outside. The drizzle continued, though not for much longer as the clouds were beginning to scatter. The morning sunlight had fully lit the side of the island. The roaring jungle stilled as the wind calmed.

  Seymour looked to the Jeeps. There were no recent tread tracks around the building. The vehicles themselves didn’t look like they had been used in a while.

  Why would they leave all of this unattended? It was clear the military force was worried about an operation to counter whatever it was they were doing. All he could surmise was that this may have been part of the group that had departed on the ship.

  “Charlie?” he said into his microphone.

  “I see you guys,” Charlie responded. “So, there’s nobody?”

  “Negative,” Seymour said. “What about the harbor?”

  “I flew the drone that way, and I don’t see anybody,” Charlie said. “However, there’s canopy in that area, so I cannot confirm.”

  “So much for that college education,” Ivan said.

  “Should we let the Agent know about this?” Easley said.

  “Negative,” Seymour said. “Right now, I want to focus on securing the harbor. As you can see, they’ve trimmed out a half-assed trail for their vehicles there.” He pointed toward the opening in the trees. Several of the plants had been flattened down or removed completely, forming a five-foot wide path barely wide enough for the Jeeps. “We’ll stick to the jungle, out of sight, but keep that trail in sight. If we come across anybody, we’ll want to question one.”

  “Is it possible they knew we were coming?”

  “Maybe that’s why those other soldiers took off,” Rex said, chuckling.

  “I mean, they did look ready to piss their pants,” Ivan interjected.

  “Knock it off,” Seymour said. He grew tired of repeating the phrase. If you guys weren’t good soldiers…

  Seymour looked at the mud near the nearest entrance. There were no signs of footprints leaving the outpost. Even if there were, the torrential downpour would’ve severely impaired any physical evidence in the dirt. Seymour narrowed his gaze. Something in the mud had caught his eye. A single imprint near the entrance, like that from a stake that had been pounded into the ground. Only this was only an inch or two deep. Seymour scanned the mud with his eyes, but couldn’t see any more due to the prints left by his team.

  “Sir, we’re ready to move out,” Sutton said. Seymour studied the ground a moment more.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said. “The harbor is roughly a mile-and-a-half away. Let’s get moving.”

  In seconds, the team disappeared into the thick jungle, quickly becoming invisible among the plant life.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Ivan took point, with Rex trailing twelve feet behind. Being the towering man that he was, moving quietly in the dense jungle didn’t come as naturally. Leaves as large as road signs blocked every square foot of view. Trees crowded the landscapes, with smaller plants and vines hugging their trunks throughout the forest floor. For the mercenaries, this thick wilderness provided both an excellent cover, and a hazard. The slightest inevitable movement of plants could give away their position, meaning the team had to spread out. Brush moving in isolation, if seen by the enemy, would likely be written off as an animal passing by. However, if movement was detected in a large gathering, it would lead to suspicion of an intrusive force.

  A large mosquito made its landing. Like a tiny power drill, it plunged its proboscis into the back of Ivan’s ear.

  A piercing sting lit his nerves.

  “Dick-fuck!” he nearly yelled. He slapped his hand over his ear, smothering the insect over the side of his neck. He looked at his hand, then wiped it over his vest. “Little bastard.”

  “Big baby,” Sutton muttered.

  “Coming from the guy wearing all the bug cream,” Ivan said.

  “Stow it, guys,” Seymour said.

  “My bad, Boss,” Ivan said. Keeping his M60 pointed downward, he pushed through a blockade of plants. Several insects leapt from the leaves toward Ivan, who casually brushed them off. He glanced behind him, seeing Rex trailing behind him. He wore a smirk on his face. “What are you laughing at?” he whispered into his mic.

  “Dude, quit asking like you don’t know,” Rex said. “You’re freaking terrified of bugs.”

  “Guys…” Seymour’s voice came through their headsets. It was just one word. As usual, it was softly spoken, but it was enough to convey his annoyance. Ivan continued forward, entering a small clearing between two huge trees. Three steps ahead were another wall of plants. Small trees with dual trunks stretched out in crooked formations, reaching any sunlight that crept through the elevated canopy.

  Ivan stepped around the tree. He pointed his elbow to push through a large display of leaves.
A grasshopper, green with red lining throughout its body, launched himself inches past his face. Ivan jerked his head back, his senses heightened. He exhaled, then grinned.

  “Fucking-afraid-of-bugs-my-ass,” he muttered through a shark-like grin.

  Two large plants were bunched up in front of him. Their vines were entangled five feet off the ground. Ivan tried to gently pull them apart, but was unable to do so without creating too much ruckus. Underneath the vines was a small opening. He ducked down and slipped through it.

  He stood up. “Je---” he nearly shouted. The spider poised on a branch, inches from his face. Its legs were bent, as if it were ready to leap at him. Its abdomen was a yellow-green oval shape, its head perfectly round.

  Ivan scurried several feet backward until his boot hit something hard and stiff, his gun raised at the spider. Rex slipped under the vines. He looked at the spider, then over at his buddy. He shook his head.

  “My point exactly,” he whispered.

  “Fuck your mother,” Ivan muttered. Rex pressed his fist to his mouth, trying to keep his laughter contained. Sutton emerged from the plants. He looked at the spider.

  “It’s a fucking orb spider,” he whispered. “They’re not even deadly.”

  “Listen, Doctor Douche,” Ivan hissed. He pointed his finger at the arachnid. “That thing was poised and ready to come at me!”

  By now, Rex was shaking with repressed laughter. “Look how far it made him jump,” he said, pointing at Ivan’s boots. Sutton smiled. His eyes narrowed past Ivan’s feet. The smile faded.

  “What is that?” he muttered. Ivan squinted, barely able to hear him. Following the medic’s gaze, he realized he wasn’t looking at him. Ivan turned around.

  “…the hell?”

  He had assumed his boot had hit a log when he stepped back. Laying on the ground near his feet was a boar. Over four feet in length and weighing two hundred pounds, the animal lay in the mud, stiff as a brick. Red blood trickled from its mouth, forming a tiny red stream.