Confirmed Kill

by Michael Z. Williamson

  “I doubt they’re operating on our schedule, sir,” Kyle replied. Every time you added a variable, things got more screwed up. Relying on any government to be there when you needed it was foolish.

  Now it was possible the target would bail out again. Enough well-placed attacks and they’d figure out, if they hadn’t already, that someone was closing in. In which case, they’d either disappear, go on the offensive against the much smaller unit, or pull some kind of fuck-you gesture that would kill a lot of people.

  Really, this mission had been badly set up, and it was probably no one’s fault. State didn’t want foreign troops with U.S. intel, neither did CIA or NSA. There wasn’t any way to field a large enough U.S. force. The choice of troops was wrong. Just like operations that required stealth, where the first reaction of the President or Congress was to toss in the Marines, who were first class shock troops, but not the kind for a subtle approach. Here, snipers for intel and precision shooting were being used as deep roving scouts and in a position that really required a suit with connections. Last time they’d had that, they’d just provided the shooting. This time . . .

  The whole point of using snipers was to avoid a face to face. In Pakistan, even when things went to hell, the al Qaeda target had had no idea what was happening until Kyle put two bullets through him. A face to face here was inevitable.

  “Right,” Wiesinger said, “I’m going to make a close patrol to get better intel. Bakri, I need one good man to go with me. Kyle, Wade, you provide overwatch from here. Stephens, can two men follow for backup against patrols, in case I need to exfil?”

  “Yes, Mel,” he agreed. “Though I recommend extreme caution. Any discovery at this point could be bad.” He was trying to hint that the idea was insane. If the military showed up on the ground while he was patrolling, Wiesinger would be a target himself.

  “I concur, Mel,” Kyle said. “I advise against it. Very strongly. But I’ll give you all the backup I can if you go ahead. ”

  “I am,” Wiesinger said. He didn’t get the hints. He didn’t sound scared, either. Either he was a lot braver than Kyle had figured him for, or he really had no clue what he was doing. The first was bad—it indicated recklessness. The second was potentially lethal.

  “I will go,” Anda said. She looked scared but determined, which Kyle thought was a good combination.

  “Ah ... why you?” Wiesinger asked, and the question was obviously posed because she was female.

  “I know the area and are small enough to hide. Scout is what I do,” she said.

  Bakri just nodded. “Hati hati,” he said. Be careful.

  “Okay,” Wiesinger agreed, looking unsure. “How long do you need to get ready?”

  She checked her weapon, unslung her pack, downed most of a canteen in a few gulps, and said, “Ready.” She had the SSI she’d acquired as booty from some battle across her chest and extra magazines filling her pockets and disrupting her slim figure.

  It was almost amusing to see big, bulky Colonel Wiesinger confused and unable to handle a woman half his age and size.

  “I’ll call with reports,” he said. “Expect us back in six hours.” He shouldered his patrol pack and ported the M4 he held.

  “Mel, if you can’t talk for stealth reasons, blow Morse Code into the mouthpiece,” Wade said.

  “Uh . . . I don’t know Morse,” he admitted.

  “Well then, blow SOS if you’re in trouble, wait five minutes and fire a burst if needed. We’ll find you,” Stephens said reasonably.

  “Right.” He stood for a moment, nodded at Anda, turned and walked off.

  Everyone held the tableau until he was safely distant. Stephens snickered tightly. While his advice was workable, the intent had clearly been to shake the man up.

  “I think he missed the whole point of being a sniper,” Kyle muttered.

  “Actually, Wiesinger’s almost like a sniper,” Wade said. “Except that he does it up close, without a lot of thinking, and doesn’t aim much.”

  “Funny. I notice you tell more jokes when you get scared. How funny are you feeling right now?”

  “Like Robin Williams, only darker and younger,” Wade replied, glibly and without pause.

  “Slow, but I don’t see a better way. Where else does this particular group operate?” Kyle frowned.

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Faisal was distraught. At some point, they’d crossed a line into sin. He didn’t know where that line was, but he was quite sure they were past it.

  Killing infidels and using them as object lessons for others was something he’d learned to accept.

  However, the current events struck him as very wrong. Imam Ayi said that they were not to rape or torture the new hostages, and expected that to satisfy Faisal’s reservations. The group would hold them safely until the West succumbed to logic and faith and removed itself from Islamic affairs. Or, as seemed likely with the recalcitrant dogs, the hostages would be quickly and mercifully killed to reinforce the demand. Their bodies would hang for all to see.

  Except, no matter the scripture and Ayi’s interpretation, Faisal couldn’t accept the killing of a little girl and a woman as justified. At every prayer he begged Allah to intercede and to show him what was right. By Muslim law, these were innocents. By Western law, both were merely family members and not active participants. No matter the shock value that would be gained, some things were unacceptable to God and man.

  Only, God was silent.

  He needed the advice of the imam, but couldn’t admit why. That was disturbing in itself. But if he asked gently, wisdom might reveal itself bit by bit. He rose and left the hut, grabbing his rifle on the way. The walk would help him phrase his questions.

  The foremost question was why he could get no answers. That was innocuous enough. He had that ready to ask when he reached the long, low building that served as the mosque, and also as Agung’s headquarters.

  The imam had tea steeping, and invited him in. Faisal studied him. His eyes seemed to be both at peace and driven. An intensity of peace. Faisal longed for that feeling himself, rather than shadows of doubt. He wouldn’t mind a beard, either, rather than the scraggly growth he wore.

  He accepted a cup of tea, and inhaled the aroma. It was sweet and fresh and fragrant. By itself, it cleared the mind. A sip teased his taste buds, adding another sensation added to all that he felt.

  “You are troubled,” Imam Ayi said. “Tell me and I will see what I can offer.”

  Faisal hesitated, then blurted out, “What does it mean when God is silent?”

  “God is never silent. One simply has to look for Him and His message. What is your question?” he probed.

  “I am not sure, Pak Hajji.” Pak Hajji, father of the Haij, the pilgrimage to Mecca. Would Faisal be able to make that trip someday? “There are issues of rightness in my thoughts that I must find answers for. Issues I can’t properly put into words.” He was leery of discussing his qualms. They might get him removed from the cause, his loyalty questioned. He was totally loyal and wished to serve, so he saw no point in suggesting otherwise. He held the cup tightly, not realizing it.

  “Then pray as you do. Sooner or later, when Allah sees fit, He will show you your questions and answer them. You will know.”

  “Thank you, Pak Hajji.” The wisdom was beyond his comprehension. He’d have to think it over for a while.

  “In the meantime, drink tea and think. I find it clears the mind.”

  Faisal hoped something would.

  *****

  Kyle was woken from a restless sleep at dawn. “What?” he asked, snapping awake and raising his rifle.

  “Easy,” Wade said. “Wiesinger got captured.”

  “Oh, fuck me.” No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was all too real.

  “Yeah. Anda came back, said they got close and he insisted on going in closer. Someone saw him and they gave chase. Firefight, which Stephens heard an hour ago, and they seemed to want him alive.”


  “Right.” Something occurred to him, and he asked very softly, “How sure are we of Anda?” Ripples were running up his spine. She had suggested going, was trying to charm Bakri, and he might not be catching hints of. . .

  “She is in tears, sobbing and hyperventilating. Poor girl thinks she’s created an international incident by ‘losing’ the American colonel.”

  “Good. I mean, not good but. . .”

  “I understand you.”

  “Right,” Kyle said. He was still waking up, eyes gritty even without the abuse of previous battles. Damn, they were taking serious fire this time. Worse than Bosnia. He was starting to get a grasp of what an earlier generation had dealt with in Vietnam. They had his increasing respect and sympathy. This crap sucked.

  “So we need to figure out what to do,” Wade hinted.

  Kyle woke up the rest of the way. He was the ranking American. Non-Americans couldn’t decide on this mission, so he had the job.

  His buzzing phone saved him from an immediate answer.

  He fumbled it out of his pocket. “Kyle,” he answered.

  “Kyle, Gilpin here. You heard about the colonel?” Mister Gilpin was the civilian executive for General Robash. He had a hellacious GS something pay grade and was retired military himself.

  “Yes, sir. Working on it now. I’m guessing you got a call from the enemy?”

  “Yes. What the hell happened?” The man might be a civilian, but he had the decision-making authority that General Robash did. This was no time for bullshit, and Kyle wasn’t the party on the spot—the colonel had made the decision himself.

  “He was on a patrol and got captured. The other element returned and told us.”

  “Right. Well, they want a million dollars into an account, they want Indonesia to release a number of prisoners, and they’re adding him to the bargaining over the ‘imperialistic venture between American corporate whores and the Javanese occupiers known as’Pertamina.’ ”

  “Sounds about right. What time frame?”

  “Twenty hours from now. Frankly, we won’t miss a colonel, or even you guys. No offense, it’s just the situation.”

  “I understand perfectly, sir. That’s why we’re here. But you need those civilians.”

  “At the very least. And any leads on the explosives for the oil terminal. We concur on that threat, and that’s now the priority.”

  “That one’s a bitch, sir. Could be a truck, a plane, lots of people with crates. Really nothing we can do about it. Which is why I concurred with the colonel’s decision to tell Jakarta.” He was sticking his neck out here.

  “Yes, so did I,” Gilpin said. “And State are a bunch of assholes who can’t make a decision without a formal meal and a five-star hotel. General Robash is trying to take over again, and I’m insisting he rest, so if you can offer any good news, it’ll help him, too.”

  “Best reason of all, sir. How is he?”

  “On his feet most of the time, sitting some, a bit short of breath, some pain, bitching about not being able to smoke cigars again, and threatening to kick someone’s ass if he’s not given a sitrep.”

  “Damn! That’s good news.” He smiled. “But we’ll do everything we can, especially if it’ll keep the general calm.”

  “Good man. I know you can’t give me nightly briefings to tuck me in the way Wiesinger does—” it was the first Kyle had heard of that, but hardly surprising—“but do keep me in the loop.”

  “Will do, sir. What do we do about exfiltration?”

  “From where you are, we’re going to get you to the north coast. Any advance notice appreciated. You’ll be met by mammals.”

  Mammals. SEALs. It wasn’t a code per se, it was just away to avoid using a word that would excite anyone overhearing it at either end. “Understood. Can you get a satellite map of this facility . . .” He grabbed a map and read off coordinates. “Those are as close as I can get,”

  “I downloaded those to Wiesinger’s laptop earlier.”

  “Dammit, he didn’t tell me or make a backup.”

  “I’ll send them again. Which account?”

  Kyle spelled out his address and said, “So let’s get it done.”

  “Good luck.”

  Kyle clicked off. “The general’s bitching up a storm about not being in charge, ” he said.

  “Hot damn, he’s going to make it,” Wade said with a grin.

  “Yeah. And we’re in danger of losing a colonel.”

  “Good news all around,” Stephens joked as he came up behind. Kyle and Wade might think that, but would never say so out loud except in very secure quarters between themselves.

  “But we’ve got twenty hours, and those two civilians are at stake, too. Suggestions?”

  “Only one,” Stephens said. “But I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  “What?”

  “You get into the building where they are, off any threats, and shoot anything that moves.”

  “If we can get in there, I’m all in favor,” Kyle said. “If the government shows up then, we’re in a much better bargaining position, even if we have to relay by phone. They don’t dare risk the hostages.” He got the laptop plugged into the phone and dialed the server. A large file was waiting for him.

  “I dunno,” Wade said. “Jakarta knows that. Does their local commander know that?”

  “Well, a frontal assault is out,” Kyle said. “I’d want ten times the force we have to consider it.”

  “How about a frontal diversion?” Stephens asked. “Make a lot of noise, draw them out, subject them to fire from as many directions as possible while another group goes in to get the hostages? We are trained for that.”

  “Good, but are the three of you enough?” Kyle asked.

  “Dunno. There aren’t really any good options here.”

  “Or else we try to nail them through windows. Then the distraction, then the assault.”

  “Problem is,” Kyle said, “we need more troops trained on sniping and hostages than we have, plus a good infantry commander as well. I hate to say it, but we could really use Mel here.”

  “That just tells me how much things suck,” Wade said.

  “Yeah, well, we knew that. Let’s talk to Anda.” The woman arrived at once.

  “Yes?” she asked as she slipped into their shelter.

  “Tell us everything you can.” Kyle laid out the map he’d sketched and the satellite map. The latter was more accurate, the former probably easier for an amateur to read.

  Nodding, she began. “We approach, low and slow. Then we crawl. We come in this way here,” she indicated on Kyle’s sketched map. “There is large tree with big roots. Good to hide, but causes trips. Then we move over here. We see backs of buildings like you did, but not more. We walk all the way south around to here, where I was earlier. Mel say he want to get closer. I tell him two hundred meter! Two hundred meter safe, closer are plants cut. He point to high area of ground, say he stay behind it and look. I move back by pipe, keep small. He crawl out, low. Did good, but patrol come between us. They see and move in. He try to shoot, get one, only wound. They circle him. He try to move back up but they move in closer. He did kill one, but rifle snatched and he beaten to ground I wanted to help, but would have meant catched.”

  “Yes it would. You did the right thing by coming back,” Kyle said. Son of a bitch. The asshole had been too eager on low ground, hadn’t waited to ascertain patrols, and probably wanted to show up the local girl, if not Wade, by moving closer to prove something. Moron.

  And they’d taken him without shooting him. So they might want intel, too. Would they kill him for publicity, or keep him and torture him? The deadline was much more important now.

  “Sorry. I want to help,” Anda said.

  “Anda, you did a good job, really. This isn’t your fault. Mel should know better. But you say he was alive?”

  “Yes, beaten down, dragged along, then marched on feet. They took his things.”

  “Well, boys and girls,” Ky
le said, “that gives us an additional complication, seeing as we’re bound to rescue Mel.”

  Jack gave a wry chuckle and said, “Better you than me, mate. Better you than me.”

  “And they know he’s American, since they called our contact. That makes him much more valuable to them as someone to threaten. At least as they see it.”

  “Well, we can’t leave him behind,” Wade said. He didn’t need to add much as I’d like to. “So we’ll take him into the calculations. And the gear he lost.”

  “Right. Which included some grenades. Wonderful.”

  *****

  Faisal stared at the American. The man was huge, bigger than Wismo, and most of it wasn’t fat. Certainly he was overweight a little, but he was not far from two meters tall, possibly a hundred and ninety centimeters. He had to break one hundred kilos. His shoulders were almost twice as broad as Faisal’s.

  And his gear was all military—rifle with grenade launcher, ammunition, knife, water bladder. It was nice gear, too. Faisal lusted after it, and they’d said he could have his choice of an item after they beheaded him or if he was ransomed. The men who’d caught him had already demanded the rifle and backpack. Faisal thought that back-mounted canteen a marvelous creation. Or the GPS unit.

  He tried not to be nervous as he eyed the new bargaining chip. The man was blindfolded and tied to a chair. He should look terrified, but didn’t. That was a disturbing sign.

  Or was that a tremor? Yes, it was. He was scared, and that was reassuring. Faisal caught his courage again. Yes, the man should be afraid. He was helpless.

  “Untie me and fight me like a man,” the American said. Faisal spoke English and understood him. The tone was arrogant and demanding. Even tied, there was no submission.

  “Guess you don’t speak English,” his soon-to-be victim said. “But if you’re expecting me to beg, fuck you.”

  Faisal didn’t catch the obscenity exactly. He’d heard it around the oil crews and knew it was rude. Still, this man was not acknowledging his position and didn’t seem remorseful over the political situation. He was conceited, smug. It made Faisal furious.