Confirmed Kill

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “Yes, and there are Dutch personnel with the oil companies, and mixed Malay and Chinese Indonesians who are Muslim, Christian, and Hindu.”

  “And a population way too high to make sneaking in the woods safe for any length of time,” Kyle added. Alarm bells were sounding in his head, and part of him really wanted to bail on this one. But he couldn’t. Not only would Wiesinger be an asshole over it, he owed it to Robash to finish what they’d started.

  And he owed it to himself and Wade to maintain their reputation. Not to mention the civilians who were being abducted, tortured, killed, and possibly raped.

  “So it’s a challenge,” he said. “We could ask Delta Force to handle it.”

  Wade snickered. “They’re trying to remain unseen, And they were likely smart enough to not accept this one. Or else they’re using us to see how not to do it.”

  “You are so reassuring,” Kyle said with a shake of his head. “But hell, if we quit when it looked ugly, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah, and I wouldn’t be hearing the stories about you in the bar two weeks ago.”

  “Ah, hell, what now?” Kyle asked. “And never you mind the stories.”

  “Heh . . . I’ll assume she’s a lady. Will she be waiting when you get back?”

  “That’s a question I haven’t even looked at yet.” Nor was he sure how. “Janie, I’m going to fly halfway around the world to skulk in the jungle and kill some asshole who likes to hack people’s heads off and blow up wage slaves and schoolkids. Will you miss me?”

  Somehow, that didn’t work, even if he could discuss it.

  “The Army is sending me halfway around the world. I can’t tell you where or why, and I may come back with holes in me again, or not at all.” No, that wasn’t much better.

  “Good luck with it,” Wade said.

  “Thanks,” Kyle said.

  Sighing, he leaned back over his desk to other issues.

  It was up to Kyle to inventory every damned thing they would take. It called for computer and book searches for National Stock Numbers, prices for items not on hand, weighing everything to ensure it would all fit under the 360-pound total mass allowance for these parachutes.

  “Man, I’ve got a problem here,” Kyle said.

  “Yes?” Wade looked up from his console, where he was sifting reports on Indonesia.

  “Wiesinger is seventy-two inches tall. Allowed one hundred ninety-five pounds. He claims two hundred ten and to make tape for body fat index.”

  “Okay.”

  “There is no way that bastard is under two twenty.”

  Wade looked thoughtful. “I’d say you’re right.”

  “Well, he insists he’s two ten. I can pack him a hundred and fifty pounds of gear. But if he’s two thirty, that’ll be twenty over. He goes splat. I’ve never seen the paperwork to do for a dead colonel. Pretty sure I don’t want to. If I leave that twenty out of the calculations, it could be twenty pounds of ammo we need and don’t have.”

  “Sucks to be you, pal. Split the difference? Pack him at two twenty? Ten pounds shouldn’t break the chute. Actually, I’d assume the engineers put fifty pounds of leeway in there. He’ll descend faster, but likely not fast enough to rip fabric or go in.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Kyle considered. “I might want to call Para-Flite and ask them to give me a no BS max.”

  “Then figure that for Wiesinger at two thirty and us at our weight plus three pounds for safety? Still means a risk, but a calculable one.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Glad to help keep us alive,”

  Kyle was still gritting his teeth at the thought of Wiesinger coming along. Wade and he worked well as a team. Adding in a third who hadn’t trained with them was a bad idea no matter how you looked at it.

  But he didn’t get a vote. And he was the one who had to deal with Wiesinger the next day. That conversation wasn’t fun.

  Wiesinger called in and said, “I’ve been looking over your list, Sergeant Monroe. Hell of a long list you’ve got here.”

  “Sometimes, sir, yes.” Kyle was tense. There were things on that list he didn’t mind one way or the other. There were some he would argue to keep. There were some he’d consider a court martial over.

  “I'll authorize you to take your forty-five,” Wiesinger said, “since it’s a military pattern and caliber. But you will carry ball ammunition only, none of that custom stuff. I don’t want to see any silencers or other doodads, and Uncle Sam sure as hell isn’t paying if you lose it.”

  “That’s fine, sir, thank you,” Kyle agreed. He hadn’t expected even that much cooperation. Maybe Wiesinger was just a bit stodgy and wouldn’t be in the way, rather than turning out to be the tinplated asshole he’d come across as in the past.

  “You can take the knives. I don’t have a problem with that, though why you want to carry all that crap is beyond me. But as long as you have your issue gear, have at it.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said. Two for two so far. And he carried “all that crap” because it had saved his life more than once.

  “SR25s, suppressors, and all related gear, that’s fine. I haven’t shot that one yet, but I’m told it’s good and you’d know.”

  “It is, sir. Thanks.” That meant he’d have to get Wiesinger out on the range for some practice time.

  “Aimpoints if you want them. That’s the standard, and the EOTech has not been tested as thoroughly.”

  “Got it, sir.” He and Wade had their own EOTech sights anyway. They’d take them as civilian luggage. And there were rave reviews coming out of Iraq. Part of him realized there wasn’t that much difference, and he was doing it just because he’d been told not to. His independent streak got him in trouble at times.

  “Please put together an appropriate list for me. Basic gear, an M4 and a standard M9 bayonet. I’ll work on our travel arrangements and finances.”

  “Got it, sir. It’ll be ready.”

  “Good. Don’t worry about any pre-mission briefings. We’ll deal with that in theater.”

  “We’re not consulting our usual experts, sir?” he asked, confused.

  “No, we’re going to dispense with that and work through local assets and phrase books this time,” Wiesinger said.

  “Sir? Why not learn some basics? It’s been very helpful in the past,” Wade asked.

  “According to your after-action reviews, it hasn’t mattered squat,” Wiesinger snapped. “Either you had translation books with you or a native. I don’t see any need to risk OPSEC by dealing with civilians.”

  Kyle was aghast. He wasn’t sure what clearance Mr. Gober, the ethnologist who advised them on languages had, but he knew the man was utterly reliable, never knew their actual destination, and was no threat at all to Operational Security. To not utilize a resource seemed to invite trouble later. It was impossible to have too much intel.

  “What about a cultural brief?” he asked.

  “That’s what the Internet is for. It’s not as if we’re trying to blend in and assimilate like Special Forces. We’re just going in to take a shot and get back out.”

  Wade seemed composed. Kyle was ready to throttle this idiot. The problems they’d had on the two previous missions all came down to a lack of intel on their part, and Wiesinger proposed to jump in blind.

  But the basis of the military was order and discipline. There was nothing they could, do. Any appeal would stop at Wiesinger, unless it went farther up to a command level. The answer from there Kyle didn’t need to hear—it would be to follow orders from the officer leading the mission, unless they could prove his doctrine was unsound . . . which would take longer than the time available and likely be fruitless.

  “Understood, sir,” Kyle said. “We’ll do it the way you suggest.” Officially, anyway, you fat clown, he added to himself. He hung up and sighed. It was sometimes harder to fight the chain of command than the enemy. You could at least shoot at the enemy.

  That afternoon, they drove to
Aberdeen Proving Ground to shoot. While Meade had a 600- meter known distance range, it was on land controlled by the Department of the Interior, and standard ball ammo was not allowed—only special environmentally safe rounds. As they needed to train with the ammunition they’d use, another facility was desirable.

  The time they spent at the range was useful, and quiet between shots. They adjusted sights, practiced correcting for wind, and made slow, methodical shots. They were quite capable of longer distances, but the range they had was sufficient to maintain proficiency and technique.

  It was seventy rounds each into it before Kyle said, “I’m happy. Let’s go to the office and talk.”

  “Okay. And clean weapons?”

  “Yes. It’s meditative.”

  “So it is. But only for a select few.”

  The vehicle assigned for their use didn’t get much of a workout. They drove it to and from the range, because military weapons couldn’t be transported in civilian vehicles, officially, and they used it for occasional supply runs. Otherwise, they found their own vehicles much more comfortable. Kyle was silent for the drive, and Wade followed his lead.

  Once inside the office, papers spread on the floor, weapons cleared and stripped—a process that took them less than a minute apiece—Wade finally raised the specter.

  “Kyle, you’re really not in your happy place regarding all this, are you?” He managed the sarcasm without sounding goofy. Quite a trick.

  “No, but I’m working on some ways to improve that.”

  “Oh?” Wade prodded.

  “We can’t consult Mister Gober regarding a mission. However, I’ve developed an interest in Indonesia. It has a fascinating history, a varied culture and could be strategically important in die future. As far as language goes, Mister Gober is the best man I can think of to talk to. Let’s look him up.”

  “It does sound like a fascinating place, and I think we should. Perhaps we’ll even vacation there, too.” Wade was grinning.

  “And luckily for us, he’s based out of the D.C. area. I gather he does a lot of consulting on this type of thing, and I heard him mention a paper for Georgetown.”

  “Meet where?”

  Kyle considered. While public would be less likely to be connected to any activity, that was in part because communications security sucked in the open, where any casual passerby or anyone with a parabolic mike could hear them.

  “My place,” he said. “Shouldn’t arouse suspicion to do it once.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Bill Gober was a little thinner than last time they’d met him. he was still portly and cheerful, but seemed to be more lively. His shirt and slacks were as casual as always, and the case and backpack he carried were stuffed with a laptop, disks, and books. He studied languages, and seemed to have a stack of references on the most obscure ones—Dari and Pashto for Pakistan, and no doubt something for here. Last time, he’d briefed them on Romanian.

  "Good morning,” he said.

  "Morning, Mister Gober,” Kyle replied. “Coffee?”

  "Please,” he agreed. "Some cream, some sugar. Languages?”

  “That will be fine,” Wade agreed. “Some familiar, some gobbledygook.”

  "That should be easy enough,” he agreed as he sat. Kyle had moved his coffee table closer to one chair. It wasn’t as if he ever used it for anything other than piles of reference material anyway.

  “So, you mentioned Indonesia, and you specified Aceh. That’s a rather contentious area.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Kyle agreed.

  “Well, the national language is Bahasa, and most people will speak it. However, Aceh also has the language of Aceh or Atjeh, with eight dialects. Officially, it’s Austronesian, Malayo-Polynesian, Western Malayo-Polynesian, Sundic, Malayic, Achinese-Chamic, Achinese. It’s actually distantly related to the languages of Madagascar and Hawaii. It’s fascinating to track the development of languages across such a large area.

  “Anyway, about three million people speak that. Actually, a phrase book should suffice, and some basic Bahasa, and some Dutch, as a lot of people still speak some Dutch.”

  “Dutch?” Kyle asked. He knew they were involved in the oil industry.

  “Yeah,” Wade said, “that was the Dutch East Indies until some bright boy decided to make it all one nation.”

  “Correct,” Gober said. “There are fifty-two languages in Sumatra alone, and a total of seven hundred and thirty-one for the whole nation, of which five are extinct or nearly so. It’s a very mixed area with a lot of cultural clashes.”

  “Sounds like,” Kyle said. Seven hundred languages. Damn. “Do you have phrase books for Achinese and Bahasa?”

  “No, but I can acquire some. Many military and technical words are actually English.”

  “Well, this isn’t a military mission,” Kyle said.

  “Yes, but I assume you will be talking shop?” Gober was obviously curious as to why they were pretending not to be running a mission. But he didn’t ask, and was simply offering the information he thought they could use. Kyle had to respect that, and was disgusted at the situation. The man was no security threat at all, and yet they were ordered to treat him as such.

  “We might talk shop with some Indonesian military people, yes. Actually, we might talk about oil, too. There’s a lot of jobs opening up out there.” That left the hint that he was looking for security or mercenary work after his enlistment was up. That should be all the misdirection needed.

  Not, he thought, that Wiesinger would give a crap. He’d be pissed about them “breaching security” and “going outside the approved sources.” Not that Kyle gave a crap what Wiesinger thought. Which, he reflected, was one hell of a way to start a mission.

  “Very well, I’ll put together some common r phrases for military and industry. I can send you online links to recommended phrase books you can buy. Will email work?”

  “Yeah, it’s not as if it’s a military secret or anything, we just don’t want any unfriendlies learning that U.S. personnel are coming, even off duty. My email should be fine.” He hoped that explanation would cover any potential allegations that Gober had been informed about the mission. As far as Kyle knew, Gober had never been informed about any mission, only that “troops are deploying to somewhere and need a brief on languages.”

  “Okay, then here’s what I have on Bahasa,” Gober said, pulling out a couple of burned CDs and a thick book. “Face price on the book. I can let you have the CDs for free; they’re public-domain sources. They’re dictionaries and basic grammar, the book is a proper style manual. And these,” he said as he pulled out four more slim, bright books.

  “Those are children’s books,” Wade observed.

  “Yes, with simple words and bright pictures that are easy to remember. An excellent way to learn some rudimentary vocabulary. And this is a CD of a speech, which is transcribed in Bahasa and phonetic English to display with the audio. It will help with aural recognition and inflection and accent.”

  “That’s incredibly helpful. Thank you,” Kyle said. They were loaded for bear, if they could find the time to review it.

  “You’re very welcome. I appreciate the business, and let me know how things go if you can.”

  “Once we return, we will.”

  “Good. And if you ever have a mission in Indonesia, you’ll be prepared.”

  Was that a hint that he suspected more than he was being told? Kyle didn’t let anything show. But he Was amused at the potential irony.

  “Well, anything’s possible with all the training we do. I don’t think we’re sharing tips with Indonesia yet, but things are improving.”

  “Excellent. Keep me informed on General Robash’s progress if you can. He’s a good man.”

  “Will do, and thank you, sir.” They all rose. Gober hefted his backpack and they escorted him to the door.

  Once the ethnologist left, Wade said, “Look through the stuff now?”

  “Sure, why not?” Kyle agreed. “At least a quic
k overview.”

  Wade brought out his laptop and plugged in. A quick connection with a LAN cable and they were ready to share data. They started downloading from the CDs.

  “Wow, this is weird,” Kyle said.

  “What?”

  “The number of words that are straight English. I see ‘white paper,’ ‘telkom,’ ‘konstruksi,’ ‘elektronika,’ ‘transportasi.’ ”

  “Lots of those could be from Dutch,” Wade said. “But yes, that does help. Quite a few tech words.”

  They continued reading. Several minutes later, Kyle did a double take.

  “Wait a minute,” he said.

  “Yeah, I saw that,” Wade replied. “So it’s not just me?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kyle said.

  The phrase on the screen in front of him was, “Prajurit itu tidak kompeten.” That officer is not very competent.

  Below that was, “Kolonel itu telah berbuat salah.” The colonel made a mistake.

  Beyond that were comments about engineering or artillery errors. But those two phrases together seemed to be telling.

  “Gober knows,” Kyle said.

  “So it seems,” Wade agreed. He was smiling a tight-lipped smile. “Which explains why he came over on less than twenty-four hours’ notice, without needing to prep. He was ready.”

  “Doesn’t help much,” Kyle said. “But it’s nice to have the support.”

  “I wonder if Robash had already contacted him and Wiesinger cancelled?”

  “Could be. But why? It seems like he’s trying to cover all bases himself.”

  “I think that’s exactly it. Cut the budget, keep the cards real close to the chest, keep all the credit within the unit, and proclaim his genius.”

  “Great. A glory seeker.” Kyle had several decorations and a couple of wounds from his missions. He’d never made the papers or even the military press. He didn’t care. They were all on the same team, and as long as the mission was accomplished, everyone knew who’d done what.

  “Let’s break for lunch.” He needed to unwind his brain for a few minutes.