Confirmed Kill

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Fresh tire tracks. They’d either called or had vehicles waiting.

  Bakri said, “I’ll send a team back for vehicles.”

  “Yes,” Wiesinger said. “We’ll wait.” They melted back several meters, so they could just see traffic, but should be invisible themselves as long as everyone was still and low.

  “We’ll take a gander a klick up or so,” Stephens said. “Try to find out how many and where.”

  “Roger that.”

  Kyle and Wade covered each other while doing a better cleaning of weapons. In this humid, warm environment it was necessary. Kyle had been amazed to find mildew on the nylon strap he used to carry the M4, but it was that soggy here.

  Anda and a man he didn’t recall came by with fruit they’d gathered and some dried beef. The fruit was warm, obviously, but sweet even if there were some insect bites. The beef was tough and not very flavorful apart from a hint of salt. A couple of stringy bits stuck between Kyle’s teeth. He knew they’d be there a day or more before he could floss or pick them out. He’d had that problem before. Still, it was fresh fruit and more protein. He was grateful.

  Stephens and his scouts returned. They infiltrated their own lines with barely a word or sound. Once alongside the Americans, he reported.

  “Looks like a dozen vehicles. Heavily laden. Some signs of either a struggle or casualties with limps being loaded. All have new tires. Heading north and west, farther into rebel territory.”

  “So we follow and ask as we go,” Wiesinger said.

  “Bakri, can you pull off being a lost member of the party trying to catch up?” Kyle asked.

  Bakri paused a moment. The idiom likely threw him off. “I can do so. Whether they believe I can’t say.”

  “Do what you can,” Wiesinger said. “We must be close.”

  They didn’t have to be, Kyle thought, but likely were. Which also had its dangers when dealing with men who knew they’d die and believed in a cause.

  Bakri led one squad of his troops along the edge of the road. The rest stayed in the trees with Kyle and the others. They were several meters in, where they could hide easily from vehicles and still be close enough to provide fire. Sooner or later—hopefully sooner—a vehicle would come along. Anyone using these remote roads was likely to have at least rumors.

  Of course, they might also not want to stop for a group of armed men, or they might be hostile.

  Kyle crawled over and under brush, thick and green and rich with rot and fungus. The jungle was an organism that sometimes seemed to move visibly as it fought to reconquer the holes people scraped in it. Down below, Bakri and his friends walked through thick, yellow mud rutted by trucks and rain. Roots and grasses were already attempting to move back into those wet depressions. It was easier, not to mention safer, to be where Kyle was.

  That explained the difficulty of tracking anyone here. A single sentry with a wired phone or cell could give an innocuous signal to shut down any threatening operation, once he sighted a threat on the road. Coming through the jungle limited one to carried gear only, and posed risks of terrain and traps. Helicopters were very viable, but one had to have a suspect before using them, and could expect to take fire on approach. It would take elite troops to handle an insertion fast enough to matter. This whole area was riddled with small villages scraping out a living in crops, which was quite easy with the climate and rainfall, or providing labor for oil and timber operations. It was a wonder there wasn’t more violence.

  It was near dusk when a vehicle came along. Twelve hours of driving, fighting, and rucking. Kyle was as drained as his Camelbak. The only good news was that there were enough trickles and streams that they were able to filter water and refill the Camelbaks after a fashion. It took some time to pump the little filter, and twice in three days they’d had to scrape the element clean of mildew and sediment, but they did have fresh water. Far better than the cold desert of northern Pakistan. Not as nice as the hotels of Europe. Same assholes trying to kill people, including Kyle Monroe.

  The incoming truck was a thirty-year-old Mercedes diesel stake-bed carrying timbers. Kyle and the others slunk into the growth so they wouldn’t be seen. The temptation was always to stand and stare, but the necessity was to stay out of view. Especially when the party might be nervous.

  Kyle heard voices, including Bakri’s. They were loud but not antagonistic. Kyle felt his phone, wondering if Syarief with the remaining phone would call for backup, but nothing happened. Shortly, the gears clashed as the engine revved, and the truck drove on.

  A few minutes later, Bakri called, “Come out!” He was past the treeline himself, barely visible in the grayness. “I think I know where,” he said. “We’ll need lorries. The fuel cost is starting to hurt me, too.”

  Wiesinger took that as a hint. As they closed up, still squatting, he drew out a thousand dollars worth of rupees. “I can issue more if need arises.”

  “You are gracious and I thank you,” Bakri said. Unlike the Pashtun, who would only take money as a carefully offered gift because of their pride, the Achinese were far more practical. This operation was costing them in people and money, and they saw no reason not to make the U.S. help defray costs. Kyle found that a lot easier to deal with. Which was good, because Wiesinger obviously wouldn’t have been able to handle Pakistan.

  “Where, then?” Wiesinger asked.

  “Closer to Lhokseumawe. That makes sense. They didn’t take the hostages far.”

  “Is your source reliable?” Stephens asked.

  “Yes, because they’re not a source,” Bakri grinned. “I just chatted, said we were patrolling for trouble, how were things? And they said they were fine, but had been ordered by members of the Movement to stay away from Impian, and we should, too. They expected a government fight soon. I can’t think why else they would order that.”

  No, there wasn’t a reason. If they suspected trouble, they’d simply be silent. Telling people to stay away indicated a fear. It also wasn’t that smart to offer that information, as they had no idea of Bakri’s loyalties.

  Which made sense. They were simple local workers and the exact type of intel source one looked for. The captors had to know their cover would be blown eventually, so were just stalling with the warnings to stay away. Tactically, they were better off in a village they controlled than the people who’d tried similar approaches in Iraq, where the neighborhoods were all shifting alliances and no one controlled an area.

  They moved deeper into the growth and set up shop, with one third on, two thirds sleeping, and got a few hours rest. It was near midnight before the transportation arrived. Kyle awoke bleary-eyed but ready to move when Wade nudged him, and started down the slope. The trucks of their local transport element were getting to be pretty messed up. He made note to suggest to Wiesinger that any balance of cash be donated to the cause. These people had put out a lot of effort and resources at great personal risk already. Once aboard the vehicle, they were served packs of rice and chicken with fruit and peppers. It was cold but filling and welcome. Rations had been very scarce for most of a day. A solid cupful of food with a good drink of water filled his belly and helped revive Kyle, but he was still groggy. He went back to a fugue state between wakefulness and dreaming. It was too rough a trip to sleep, but he was too fatigued to stay conscious.

  He’d passed days at a time in such states, reacting and responding as needed without actually recalling events until afterwards. Add in a tight position and slumped posture, and he was all aches within minutes. He knew it wasn’t going to be fun.

  Thirty kilometers, less than twenty miles. They scattered the four trucks with drivers along a couple of kilometers of road, and left a couple of cell phones. Two trucks were hidden well enough to not be a problem. The other two were noticeable, and ripe for questions or robbery.

  Back into the woods. They hunkered down again, well hidden under brush and deadfalls with ponchos for cover. They operated in darkness, using red-lensed flashlights sparingly, and set s
entries. Anda and Iverson slipped off to recon the target. It was a wonder, Kyle thought, with all the skulking around, that they hadn’t run into one of the other national patrols. But it was a long archipelago and the numbers involved were small. He wondered why they were having so much success at recon, but that was because all the factions were theoretically allies. They didn’t fight each other. Except now they were.

  He reflected now was a good time for this mission. In six months it was going to be ugly, with GAM possibly fratriciding and no one trusting anyone. The end result of this operation was going to make it much easier for the government to crack down on the rebels, because all cooperation would end. They’d be picked apart and defeated in detail.

  Which wasn’t his concern. His concern was U.S. interests. The Indonesians needed to fix their own country. He couldn’t and wasn’t allowed to, and was smart enough not to get involved, even if it hurt like hell to see it coming apart. Anda, Bakri, Akbar, all the others could be dead before the winter.

  He drifted into a restless sleep, not helped by the knotty root poking him in the back.

  CHAPTER 14

  The news wasn’t good the next morning. Iverson and Anda came in, wrung out, near delirious, and barely coherent. They couldn’t confirm hostages, but did confirm a large armed force. “At least one fifty, likely two hundred, bare chance of a few more,” Iverson said. He accepted a cup of tea and sat back under a canopy. He was blond somewhere under the dirt, and perhaps twenty-two. But he had a maturity years beyond that. His wrestler’s physique was suffering from the ordeal, but he swallowed water at a prodigious rate. He’d recover. Anda simply curled up to sleep, her head on her pack, clutching her rifle like a teddy bear, and looking disgustingly cute. It was a natural camouflage. She was one deadly little lady, and a better infiltrator than Kyle. He respected and was amazed by her talent. And she could walk him into the ground. These people lived on foot. Cars were a tool or luxury, not something taken for granted. Thus they had a lot of early training he wished he, and especially younger recruits, had.

  Kyle looked around. “We’ve got twenty-four now?” The odds weren’t promising. No matter how good the training and the troops, numbers did matter. He leaned back against a tree and stretched.

  “I can get another ten men in less than a day,” Bakri said.

  “We need to approach this slowly,” Kyle insisted, “but I don’t think we have a lot of time.”

  Wade concurred. “No. The Indos are about to start shooting ‘terrorists’ by the thousands in retaliation for the hostages. Morally I concur, but they’ll include our friends. Politically . . .” he tapered off.

  “Yeah,” Kyle agreed. There was nothing else to say. It was certain that the Indonesian military would wipe out most of the insurgents. It was certain that whatever word did leak out would be greeted largely with support, and it was certain the ringleaders and brains would use it as an excuse to escalate. With oilfields at stake here and elsewhere, and a goodly supply of suicidal fanatics, the situation would get a lot worse before it got better.

  “The thing is,” Wade said, “most people will agree with Indonesia, and if they don’t do something, China and India will start operations. Long term, I’m not sure the U.S. or Europe is going to like the direction that will take. We’ve got to get this fucker fast.”

  “I agree,” Wiesinger said. “We’ll have to sacrifice some stealth and supply intel to the Indonesians.”

  “The problem, Mel, is that the terrorists have sympathizers in the Indonesian military. This is the ongoing problem we face on these missions. Most of our allies are firmly behind us, but a handful are antagonistic or have simply been paid off.”

  “Yes, so we’ll be picky about who we talk to,” Wiesinger said with a smug look. “I’m not stupid, sergeant.”

  “Not implying you are, Mel,” Kyle said, shaking his head. Hell no. I’m on record as stating so.

  “So you gentlemen put together a briefing. I’ll review our options regarding who to talk to.”

  Paperwork, Kyle thoughts Yes, that’s the way to win a war. Paperwork. Against an enemy, with no defined force or mission, that evaporates into the jungle at a moment’s notice. Just bury them in red tape and international cooperation. You go, Colonel.

  “Yes, Mel.”

  Wiesinger walked toward their personal lodging while hefting his laptop. He seemed incapable of handling a decision without an office, even if that office was a couple of ponchos over rucks with a square of bark as a door.

  Kyle and Wade simply swapped looks of disbelief. Kyle wondered if Wade had the same churning in his stomach that Kyle did.

  Stephens had been silent. “What’s his story, then?” he asked now.

  They gave their ally a brief rundown. It didn’t appear to surprise Stephens much. “That’s dealable with. As long as we know what he’s like.” The sergeant was cheerful enough, and had likely seen similar things.

  “Actually, I think he’s correct on one count,” Wade said.

  “Huh?” Kyle asked.

  “We aren’t set to try to find a ton of explosives in an industrial area, nor do we blend in. The Indonesian military has to handle it. Besides, the hostages are more our department, and we’ve already cost the terrorists a few tons of hardware. Really, more cooperation at the beginning, with Bakri and Jack, had we known about him,” Wade nodded at their counterpart, “would have made a lot of this unnecessary.”

  “We might find the charges,” Bakri protested.

  “And if you’re around when it goes off? Who will get blamed?”

  Bakri chewed his lip. “Yes, that’s true. But I can’t contact the government. If they find out what I have done, they’re not likely to respond well.”

  “So it’s up to Wiesinger,” Kyle said. “But I bet State won’t listen to his theories. If he starts calling on his own authority, we can bet on a leak blowing any chance of interception. There goes our credibility, there goes the U.S. image over here, there go we, out of the country if we’re lucky, jail if not, and then a week later the thing blows up anyway.”

  They sat for several minutes, no real ideas developing. The desired result was clear, but the path wasn’t.

  Wiesinger came back. “Well, that was pointless,” he said. He sounded angry.

  “No dice with State?” Kyle asked.

  “I got treated like a beggar with his hat in hand,” the colonel said.

  “Mel, we concur on telling the Indonesians. We’re just not set to handle this.”

  “That option was just taken away from me. I may be the officer on the spot, but some bureaucrat with no experience in the field gets to ride over my operation.”

  Kyle almost had to laugh. Wiesinger really was starting to get it. If he’d just see his own role in this, he’d snap into place and have it. Somehow, though, he didn’t think that was going to happen.

  “So,” Wiesinger said, a thoughtful look on his face. Kyle wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such concentration. Rather than quoting the book, the man was actually going to make a judgment call. “If we don’t tell the government, but they find out anyway, we can deny any involvement. All we need is an incident like the last one, with the government showing up. Only we arrange it with the right people at the right time, and they nail the terrorists instead of us.”

  “Dangerous, Mel,” Kyle said. “But I agree, for what it’s worth.”

  Wiesinger nodded slowly. “Bakri, we need the best evidence you can find on where they’re hiding or traveling. Then we arrange a brief, loud mixup and some frightened phone calls. The trick is to leave just as the cavalry arrives and not too soon or too late.”

  “My job is finding them.” Bakri grinned. “I do not envy you yours.”

  Another patrol went out. Wade insisted he’d cover it. Kyle tried to argue with him.

  Wade said, “Dude, you’re ragged as hell. You’ve had less sleep than either of us, you’ve been handling a lot of the thinking, and you need more rest. Take it.” Wiesinger wa
sn’t in earshot. He was sleeping.

  “Okay,” Kyle agreed. Yeah, he was exhausted, fatigued, tired, hungry, and feeling chill in the 70-degree night. The dings and bruises didn’t help. The offer was too good to pass up, and he fell back against his ruck to sleep, covered from the sky by a poncho slung over branches.

  *****

  When Kyle awoke, it was to Wiesinger batting his foot. “Kyle,” he snapped. “We’ve got too much to do to spend the day in bed.”

  Kyle didn’t shoot him. He just rose and grabbed his toothbrush, then snuck out to a bush to drain. He calmed down enough to deal with the prick by the time he returned.

  Wade was back, too. He was out of water and grabbed the first offered canteen. It took him three gulps.

  “I was impressed,” Akbar said. As Stephens’s local guide, he’d gone along. “It was dangerous, getting so close.”

  “How close?” Kyle asked.

  “Thirty meters or so. I don’t see any signs of them there. No food taken in, no guards. It’s an armed camp and a staging area, but it’s not where they’re holding hostages.”

  “That’s too close, Wade. Don’t do that again,” Wiesinger said.

  Wade gasped. It appeared to be from the exertion of the march back, but it was probably to cover his annoyance.

  “It was dark, they weren’t inclined to go past the tree line, the ghillie covered me very well, and I didn’t see any night vision in use. Should I write a report for you?”

  He was half joking, from his tone, but didn’t flinch when Wiesinger said, “Yes,” and brought out his laptop. Kyle groaned silently. What a way to run a war. In fact, he had half expected and half hoped it would have failed by now. Jungle humidity and muck was rough on equipment.

  Wade made no complaint. He sat down with the computer in his lap and sipped more water while he ripped out a report. He typed fast. Kyle was okay, but Wade could throw text at probably eighty words per minute. In less than ten minutes, he had a substantial statement of what he’d seen at the village, detailing persons, weapons and other equipment, supplies, and events. It was almost certainly a rebel training and operations site. There didn’t appear to be anything that would suggest hostages. Dead end.