by Chris Lowry
Simon laughed.
“Hell no. I was hellbent on Recce though, and I thought you needed to be perfect for that.”
“He won't make a great soldier,” Becker said. “But he'll be a damn fine warrior.”
“Even broken?”
“Yeah I reckon. Kintsugi. He's damaged. We fill that imperfection up with gold and he's good to go.”
“What about diamonds?”
Becker glanced askance at Simon.
“Can't break diamonds.”
“We got word that the MPLA survivors are holed up at a diamond mine.”
“He's going with us?”
“He wants to. Can you keep him safe?”
“Let me see the layout and I'll let you know.”
“It's a fort. One road in and out. They'll be watching.”
“We get recon photo's?”
“Coming,” Simon said.
He nodded toward Brill as the boy jogged back to them.
“Get him ready.”
Simon marched to his command tent to prepare for the raid discussion as Brill made it back to the range.
“Let's get to it,” said Becker. “Ever heard of wabi sabi?”
“Put it on sushi,” Brill said as he lined up the target.
“Wasabi,” corrected Becker with a laugh. “Let me tell you about wabi sabi.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Command Tent was crowded with squad leaders.
Brill wasn't sure of the command structure, only that Simon was the leader and Becker was someone of importance as well.
There were ten other men in the room, each in charge of six or eight man squads.
They were dressed in black BDU's and were quiet and expectant displaying military discipline as they sat waiting for Simon to began.
Simon stood and unrolled a topography map across the table.
It showed an area of Angola called Cataco, a tiny village perched next to a giant hole gouged into the earth.
The village was a collection of huts surrounding several trailers several hundred yards from the pit.
"Alright," said Simon and the men sat straighter in their camp chairs.
"We did some aerial recon yesterday, and got intel that the MPLA we missed in the raid have holed up with sympathizers at the Cataco Diamond mine. We don't know how long they're going to stay, but if they have friendlies supporting them there they're going to get diamonds to keep funding their efforts. Our benefactor hired us to rescue his daughter,"
Simon glanced at Brill who stood quietly in the corner where Becker placed him.
"His next contract calls for their termination. All of them."
Becker moved up to the map and traced his fingers along a route.
"We can chopper into the River here. Looks like it's five kilometers or so to the village. We're going through bush so we don't encounter locals who can give them the heads up. Do we have a count?"
"Two companies, plus local support. The mine will have guards as well."
"So we're all in," said Becker.
"We take in a platoon, hold the second in reserve," answered Simon. "Recon will have to determine the location of the rebel forces and we'll have to move fast."
"At least they're not in the pit."
The pit was exactly how it sounded. A hole dug into the earth both deep and wide.
It was formed in levels as the soil was sieved through mesh screens and workers sorted out the gems that would be sold and polished into the most precious rocks in the world.
Each level was roughly twelve feet, and the pit extended two hundred feet into the ground.
Dirt roads swirled down around the edge of the pit walls in a narrow spiral that leveled off at the bottom of the hole.
"There are several crews working in the pit," Simon added. "If the locals join in, we're facing overwhelming numbers."
"How many?"
"A thousand, maybe more. You have the diamond miners, but I don't expect them to join in either side. Overseers and managers are armed, plus a guard force itself tasked with protecting the mine. There is a building crew making the roads, plus support personnel."
"Most of them will run," said Becker.
"Unless they're sympathetic."
"Unarmed."
"We don't dismiss the threat."
Becker nodded.
"One squad for crowd control, the rest of the men to close out the contract. A platoon in reserve as a contingency."
Simon pointed at where the river bisected a small road on the map. It crossed over a low water dam, a series of rocks dropped into the water over time to make a shallow water crossing.
"Our intel is a day old," he said. "So we're wheels up at two am. I want us on the ground and in position before first light."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"Is he ready?"
"Hell no," said Becker.
He and Simon leaned over the map and pretended to review the plan after the rest of the squad leaders departed to prepare the men.
"Leave him," Simon ordered.
"Ay," Becker nodded. "That'd be a good idea except we made him a promise."
"He'll put the mission at risk."
"Nah, I'll watch him."
"You can't watch him and lead the ground assault."
"I can and I will," Becker said. "I'll just use Arnoux on point."
Simon moved away from the table and settled into his chair. He reached over and flipped open the top to a foot locker and extracted a fifth of whiskey and two crystal tumblers from velvet padded cubby holders. He held the glasses in two fingers and unscrewed the top with the other hand so he could pour triple splashes into each cup.
He held them out for Becker to take one.
They toasted.
"There's something about this kid," Becker studied the bottom of his glass.
"Fire."
"And more. When I was in the States, they called it grit. He won't give up."
"But he's not ready."
"No."
Becker pulled one of the camp chairs over and sat across from Simon.
"It's easy for us to forget all of the training we went through to reach this point. This is our life, our lives. He's a natural shot, very comfortable with weapons and he's eager to learn, but no military training."
"So we leave him."
"I can't," said Becker. "If it happened to me, I'd need to put a bullet into the head of the man who did it. I can't take that from him."
"If he compromises our contract, we can't collect," Simon leaned up and counted off on his fingers. "He could get killed, he could get one of our men killed, he could get you killed, or all three."
"I'll keep him under wing," Becker answered.
"Back of the formation."
"Yes Sir."
"If he screws this up for us, I'm killing him myself."
Becker nodded.
"If he screws it up, I'll save you the trouble."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Choppers dropped them on the edge of a meandering river. The pilots were amazing.
The birds whirled in just above the treetops, settled softly on the waving grass beat back by blades, and spit the men out in a well-timed pattern.
Two choppers flew in circles while the third emptied on the ground, then resumed a lookout position as they switched places.
Brill was in the third helicopter to touch down.
He barely felt the wheel’s crunch clay on the one lane red dirt road leading out of the rock dam across the river when Becker grabbed him by the vest and double timed him down the ramp out of the back.
He could hardly believe he was flying again.
His first time in an airplane was two months ago, and now he was running out of a helicopter.
His heart raced as adrenaline flooded his system.
Becker motioned him to squat next to the road as he checked in with the squad leaders.
The helicopters swirled around in a circle and took off for a landing strip they were using a
s a Forward Operating Base twenty miles away.
Simon manned the Command Tent there, working with a set of radio operators and coordinating with Becker.
The men were fanned out along the edges of the road, rifles held up and ready, aimed at the jungle. If their incursion had been heard, or if stray rebels were about, they wanted to be ready.
The darkness was almost impenetrable.
Brill was from the South, an undeveloped portion of a backwater State many referred to as a Banana Republic in an almost joking manner, so he was used to a night sky mostly unadulterated by backwash from city lights.
His home sky was nothing compared to the jungle night.
There was no backwash because there were no lights.
Here, people used kerosene lamps or firelight, and at 4:15 am there were no lights.
The sky was amazing, the stars stacked so deep on top of each other it was hard to make out individual pinpricks of white light.
Becker reached down and lifted him up, breaking his reverie.
"Stay close," he whispered.
They took off down the road.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After four kilometers, the men veered off the road and into the jungle.
Becker sent a recon team ahead to scout out the location of the MPLA.
Brill watched the hard-looking men with green and black paint on their faces douse the green glow lights on their tactical vests and quietly disappear into the brush.
Becker pulled his squad leaders in.
"Pincer move here boys," he said softly. "A & B squad, like we practiced."
The two leaders grunted affirmation and peeled off their men to circle through the other side of the jungle.
"You're never more than a meter from me," Becker growled at Brill. "If we get in a firefight, keep your grouping tight. It's better to hit duck and cover when the bullets start flying, but if I'm moving you are on my ass. Understand me?"
Brill nodded.
"I need you to say it out loud."
"Yes Sir," said Brill.
His knuckles were aching on the stock of his rifle.
Sweat dripped down his palm making his grip slimy, it dripped down his face, but the black and green camo paint didn't run.
He was shivering while he baked. Even at night the jungle heat was relentless.
"Move up," said Becker.
The rest of the squad leaders dispersed and began their preassigned movements.
The mercenaries were approaching the edge of the camp where they would observe and wait for a signal from the Recon group.
Those squads would find the rebels hiding within the encampment, call in the position, at which point all teams would converge on the target.
The plan seemed sound in the comfort of a camp tent, but Becker told Brill before they loaded into the back of the modified Sea Stallion helicopter.
"No plan survives contact with the enemy."
The enemy was sleeping, that time before dawn when the dreams pull hardest and the REM is deepest.
Since war began men have attacked just before dawn for that very reason.
An enemy yanked from sleep is disoriented, half caught between what is real and what is imagined.
Those precious seconds could mean life or death.
They settled in next to the open expanse of the diamond mine camp and waited for the call.
CHAPTER TWENTY
They found them.
The radio crackled close to Brill and Becker took the proffered handset from his radio operator.
"Copy that," he grunted and circled a hand in the air.
They were moving out.
The rebel leaders were encamped on the other side of the compound, between the diamond pit and the small village of trailers and huts set away from the others.
The mine was owned by an international conglomerate with little regard for local politics except as it impacted their ability to extract diamonds from the ground.
It was often a case of which side to bribe, and most of the time cheaper to bribe both for "just in case" scenarios.
In country, it was different.
The supervisors were often involved with faction leaders, especially the existing government through which contracts were awarded.
Being caught supporting rebels was cause for revolt, and sometimes arrest.
That didn't mean they weren't sympathetic to the MPLA or other rebel groups.
Often it amounted to which ethnic group they belonged to, as groups were divided along tribal lines.
A supervisor who moved up the leadership structure in the mining company would overlook certain actions by members of his tribe, so long as it didn't jeopardize his job.
This must have been the case here.
The remnants of the MPLA group were away from the main encampment by close to a half mile, entrenched with the mining worker’s village.
Which meant the supervisor knew they were there.
Being with the workers meant rebels could pose and hide as the need arises.
It also meant they could secret small collections of diamonds away from the workers to further finance their campaigns of terror disguised under the banner of freedom fighters.
Brill thought about the politics he and Becker had discussed as he trained while they crept to the edge of village.
These freedom fighters used terror against innocent women and children.
They used terror tactics against young men, like him, and tried to kill their spirit, to break them.
They didn't value human life, they didn't value creating a better country or better world for anyone but themselves.
They were bad men.
And Brill hated the bad guys.
Maybe it was the way he was brought up, under the guidance of a very disciplined grandfather who saw the world in distinct black and white terms.
Or maybe it was a rebellion against his hippie mom and alcoholic stepfather, who took the gray line and waved it around like a flag.
All life was a gray area.
He knew he didn't know enough yet.
Brill knew he needed training, and experience and especially new memories to offset the nightmares that existed in his mind now.
Nightmares courtesy of bad men.
In a world without Laurette, he knew the nightmares wouldn't stop, not for a long time.
But there was a way to lessen the pain.
"It's not revenge," he told Becker. "But that's part of it. It's righting a wrong."
His mentor nodded.
"That's what we do," he said to the boy. "Only for money."
It didn't sound like a bad life to Brill.
There was no way he could go back home. Not after what happened to him.
But he could build a new life here, among the men under Simon's command and learning the law of the jungle with Becker.
He watched as they moved through the grass on the edge of the clearing, imperceptible shadows under the graying dawn sky.
These were men doing bad things in the name of good.
Righting the wrongs at a price.
It was a life he could get used to living.
"On my mark," Becker called into the radio.
He turned to Brill again, grabbed his vest and pulled his ear close to his mouth.
"One meter," he grunted. "Three feet. No more."
Brill nodded and readied his rifle.
Becker double clicked the radio mike, the signal to advance.
The squads stood up and converged on the village.
They moved in quick silent precision to three huts the recon team had identified.
Each hut was filled with rebels sleeping on the floor.
The MPLA members were all young, all men, dressed in scatterings of cast off clothing.
Some snored, some muttered, but all slept next to AK-47's resting on the mats next to them.