by Tom Anthony
“Hum. Well, I understand why Thornton asked you and me to work the Schloss Code with all this secretiveness.”
“OK, educate me.”
The German had a realistic perspective: “If any politicians got to the money, they could go to jail. Or get bumped off.”
“Bureaucrats here do lots of things they could go to jail for. Why would they get politically correct and cautious all of a sudden?” Hayes knew the informal ways to get things done, involving pesos and personal connections.
“Because they want to win this war themselves; but your countrymen don’t think they can. America is busy ‘building democracy’ in other countries. American politicians think the Philippines is in their back pocket, but they assume too much.” The German continued, “Some of their military leaders, like Thornton’s connection, General Hargens, know better, but nobody listens to them. So the top guys have to act, as they say, clandestinely.”
The major was reassured to hear that Moser was so well informed. It put him at ease knowing that he could talk more openly. Hayes stood, propped against a high case of old VHS tapes that Moser used in his program and listened to the music.
“Want a beer?” Moser asked him. He wanted to help the lanky American relax while they waited. “Help yourself to one out of the cooler.” The record he was playing was almost over, and he would soon have to cut back to live commentary.
“Sure.” He got a San Miguel for himself while Moser switched to his on-air voice, using more of a foreign accent than normally, what he called his sweet voice, to introduce Vivaldi. Soon the sounds of the “Four Seasons” were on their way to all of Mindanao, where there were only two seasons, summer and monsoon, and he had time to talk with Hayes again.
“Major Hayes, OK, I understand why both the Filipinos and the Americans needed Thornton and his team, but why would he want to get involved?”
“There’s a sizable cash reward, as you know.” Hayes again tested Moser’s knowledge of the operation. Thornton had revealed that Moser had his confidence, but Hayes wanted to be sure he was not telling the German something new. The look in Moser’s eyes gave no indication of surprise.
“I have that impression. But I know both of you guys; I’ve seen you together and apart. You’re not poor, but you will never be wealthy; that’s not what drives you army guys. This is not a money thing for you. It’s about that Eastern Europe deal, isn’t it?” Moser let Hayes think while the music played, then turned to his microphone and spoke to his public, reading some text messages. When he had the chance, he continued, “It’s about what happened to that woman too, isn’t it?”
Hayes became more at ease; he had guessed correctly that Thornton had few secrets from Moser. When the D.J. pulled his headphones off for a few minutes, he continued. He wanted Moser to know. “Although Thornton was in Vietnam, he was not involved in close combat. But many of his West Point classmates did the real fighting, and some of them were killed.
He had some kind of staff job, and he certainly did not volunteer for combat. His Purple Heart was incidental; he just was in the wrong place at the right time.”
“Well, good for him. During those years I was having a ball at the ‘Uni’ in Vienna. I wouldn’t have liked to have been in his combat boots.” That war had little relevance for Moser or for most Europeans.
“Some of his classmates went on to become generals. He became a businessman.” Hayes continued.
“Everybody must follow his own path, Major Hayes. Generals fight wars so businessmen can build nations.”
“Idealist. I still think it bothers him, but he keeps it to himself. Except for this Hargens guy, and Charlie Downs. He can talk to them.”
“Maybe he hasn’t figured it all out yet for himself. Let the clock tick a while longer. He’ll get it right.” Moser put his headphones back on just as the music ended and he had to ad lib for a while until he found his notes and the next record to play.
When the music started again Moser continued. “I’ve lived here a long time; my wife is a native. Mindanao would be a much better place to live in if everybody would leave it alone.”
Then it came. Hayes’s cell phone vibrated, and he read the text message from the embassy, a series of key phrases to be forwarded in code to Thornton. Hayes worked out a script in English for Moser to incorporate in an innocuous way into his reading of the requests and song dedications. He handed the text to Moser, who translated the key words into German. After the music now being transmitted was over, Moser would send the message over the air using the Schloss Code.
Trailing the Abu Sayaf, Thornton and Elaiza heard unusual rustlings ahead of them, but the patrol no longer seemed to be moving forward. The rebels were making an opening with their bolos chopping a semicircle of open space, a cul de sac at the end of a tube they had pushed through the jungle, where they would put up nets and string hammocks. When the noises ceased, Thornton correctly took the silence to mean that the patrol had halted, and so he did as well, a scant hundred yards to the immediate rear of the insurgents.
“Elaiza, let’s sit down here, it’s waiting time again. We need to rest when we can.”
They settled down on the ground facing opposite directions, their backs propped against each other as before, and made themselves as comfortable as they could.
“Hook up the iPod,” Thornton whispered. Elaiza plugged in the earpiece, tuning it to Moser’s regular program on 90.3 FM, Radio Mindanao. They dozed, reclining close together as sleep came, intermittently. Then finally, about midnight, the coded message came, and for the second time the Schloss Code worked. The D.J.’s night program was nearing the end when the message for Thornton came through.
“And for my loyal listener Herr Handkuss in Isulan” … A pause … Thornton knew that the improbable name Handkuss, Austrian dialect for greeting a noble lady by kissing her hand, was tonight’s signal. It told him the embassy knew Elaiza was with him in the jungle and confirmed with those few words that STAGCOM was ready to hit the Abu Sayaf whenever he gave the word. From his map reconnaissance and only one key word from Moser, Thornton deduced that the Abu Sayaf patrol was headed toward Isulan. Lateef was leading his team as straight as he could through the brush in that direction. The message also confirmed that the spy satellite had picked up Elaiza’s slight back and forth movement and that the embassy had correctly understood her transmission.
Moser continued his program, and between the next two requests mumbled in German, “Silvaner Silvaner Riesling,” the cardinal directions for south by southwest and later, after another dedication, the single word, “Hauptstrasse.”
Using his flashlight under his tarp, Thornton studied the map. The coded message he had received was clear: the STAGCOM team had moved to a new location on the main highway, south by southwest of his position, and that they knew where he was. Starke had relocated STAGCOM into an attack position near the spot where the Abu Sayaf had set down for the night. Thornton would observe the enemy patrol to be sure they stayed in place, then hike over to STAGCOM and lead them in a surprise attack just before dawn. The Abu Sayaf outnumbered STAGCOM, but they would be asleep and it would be easy to take out the Turk, and get the big bags he had with him.
Thornton dozed off, but a few hours later woke up quickly as was his old army habit, wide-awake moments after being sound asleep. It was well after midnight and above the trees floated a skinny silver sliver, the concave semicircle of a very new moon, unexplainably bright. How could it be so bright with the sun rising soon behind it? Could it be the reflection of the South Pacific upon it, or was it a phenomenon caused by the relative positions of the sun and moon? It just did not make sense, he thought, but it was unique and beautiful. Elaiza stirred beside him, pushing against him in her sleep.
Thornton awakened her. “I have an idea. This might be easier than we thought.”
Elaiza was groggy only for a moment.
“Elaiza, send a signal. Confirm our receipt and understanding of Moser’s previous transmission.”<
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Elaiza twice moved back and forth five steps directly along her previous path. The tracking device was calibrated to her person, to her dimensions and footstep characteristics. The TIAM component traced her every footstep with or without a continuous GPS connection, then the module sent its stored data in batches whenever it could connect to the spy satellite. The intelligence team back in the lab at the U.S. Embassy in Manila would get the data, and know how old each bit of information was. From the raw data, the computer would show Elaiza’s exact location and her precise movements as well as the time each footstep was taken, and then chart her trail on a large-scale map the techies could see on their computer screen. By her movements on the ground, Elaiza was confirming back to them that she knew the location of Starke and STAGCOM.
“Should I draw the circle?” Elaiza asked.
“No.” Thornton told her, “I want to take them out with a surprise attack by STAGCOM.” He did not want Elaiza to send the signal for a fire mission from the air force. “We don’t need additional help; Mahir and his Abu Sayaf buddies are settled in for a while, probably planning to spend the entire day tomorrow hiding; it’s almost morning already.
“We’ll get to Starke and the men, and attack; we’re close enough to get STAGCOM and lead them back before the Abus move out again. We can at least kill enough of them to take over the camp, get to the money, and get out of here. Leave the rest of that Muslim hit squad for Colonel Lui and the Philippine Army to mop up. The good guys would win again.”
“When do we go?” Elaiza was standing up and tucking herself together.
“Wait for the beginning of early morning light so that we can find our way to Starke and your uncles on the highway.”
“I can’t sleep. My mind is racing, and it’s uncomfortable.”
“Try counting sheep.”
“Is that what you did on your farm in Pennsylvania, growing up?”
“No, it’s just a saying in English, something to do to make yourself get tired and help you go to sleep. We had cows. It was boring enough though, that’s why I left.”
“I see. Let me guess. You left home when you were a young farm boy, and over and over again you left women behind, greener fields and younger crops to mow, whether you loved them or not, even whether you had kids or not with them.”
“You left your home too, for greener pastures.”
“It’s very different. My mother died, and my father had to work on that damn dam to support eight kids, but you, you are an orphan by choice.”
“An orphan of choice? I never disavowed my parents.”
“You left your own family. How can anyone trust you?”
“What was the name of that Philippine Eagle?”
“You mean Kabayan?”
“Yeah. Kabayan. They want to release young eagles to fly free. Birds fly. Try counting sheep, you need some sleep before dawn.”
Elaiza relaxed. Later, comforted by his presence, she slid her hand under Thornton’s shirt, resting it on his chest until first light finally came. He noticed.
After the long and uncomfortable night, they left their position and moved as quietly as they could the five hundred yards to where they expected to find Starke, Pedro, and the rest of STAGCOM on the main road.
Thornton was sure Lateef and Mahir’s patrol was asleep, or too far away to detect their presence.
All were except one. He had awakened with a mild stomachache and walked away from the camp to dig a hole and deposit the results of his indigestion. As he was returning, he noticed Thornton, an obvious white guy in the dark jungle, and his smaller companion. The accidental sentry followed the suspicious characters and saw them reach the main road at a culvert bridge four kilometers south of Koronadal City.
The Muslim returned to the Abu Sayaf camp and woke Lateef to report the sighting of a white soldier just outside their camp, moving toward a group of vehicles, maybe a contingent of the Philippine Army. Lateef immediately guessed the entire situation and was sure the news was a gift from the prophet. By early morning he and Mahir had planned their ambush.
Thomas Thornton and Hank Starke shook hands silently, directly meeting the other’s gaze, not exactly smiling but each relieved to find the other in good shape. Elaiza smiled at Starke and punched him in the belly; he gave her a bear hug. STAGCOM was complete again.
They were only seven men and Elaiza Otakan, but well armed and dedicated, a potentially lethal team, unquestionably highly motivated.
Thornton and Elaiza had located the Abu Sayaf patrol. Killing the Turk Hakki would derail the insurrection and earn them the money, an ideal situation for Thornton. But then what? If Thornton was ever going to regain Hargens’ trust, let alone Charlie Downs,’ he needed to do it right.
If STAGCOM could catch Kumander Ali with the money before he had a chance to distribute it, the Philippine government would gain a major victory against the revolution. It sounded simple, but it wasn’t.
Colonel Liu had to be on the scene and in charge when it happened, but not come away with the cash either. That was what complicated Thornton’s job.
Thornton asked Starke to get their men organized and ready to move out. The old top sergeant left Thornton in the command post and checked out the Otazas on the M-16s he had issued them. He had taken the five brothers into the brush just off the road to try out their new rifles by shooting birds for target practice. Pedro, and especially Reymundo, were great shots, well practiced with the .22 rifles they owned back in their villages in Agusan, and they also applied the expertise learned from their practice with hand-made slingshots, which seemed to sharpen their eyesight. The Otaza brothers quickly picked up on the M16 in single shot mode, not yet rapid fire, and the birds made a savory addition to the food for the dogs that seemed to appear out of the nearby village and preferred to hang around the command post rather than raiding the local garbage dump.
Thornton erected two hammocks within a small grove of hardwood trees for himself and Elaiza. He knew she was dead tired. In the meantime, the rest of the men studied Thornton’s crumpled map and field notes and deliberated—had Mahir hooked up with Ali? Was this an ideal time to attack?
22
LZ Koronadal
Sixty miles to the north, a washed-out Vietnam-era Huey helicopter gifted to the Philippine Army by the Americans years ago and in its last years of operational capability, penetrated the air space of South Cotobato province and headed inland over the coast toward the landing zone designated LZ Koronadal. When he got a message about the approaching helicopter, Sergeant Starke and the Otaza brothers got busy clearing an open area to make a landing zone near where their Pajero was parked.
John Robert Mundy was on board the Huey and was not happy that his flight had been ordered to go by way of Davao City to pick up Major Hayes. Hayes, in turn, was not happy to have a civilian along for the ride in a possible combat situation. They engaged in unfriendly discussion on the flight.
“Mundy, I’ve asked the pilot to go into Koronadal from the south so the Abus won’t get a shot at us, they may have a ground-to-air missile.”
“Major, please refer to me as John Robert Mundy, or Mr. Mundy. That’s what I’m called in the embassy,” the D.C. official huffed back.
“Right, Mundy,” Hayes responded, insolently ignoring the name preference, “Welcome to the field.”
Mundy scowled. “Where was that trooper killed?” was all he asked, changing the subject.
“In Zambo, but we’re not going there,” Hayes told him, referring to the recent death of a U.S. Special Forces lieutenant farther south. “We have a handle on that situation. We can avenge his death right here.”
Mundy represented the official U.S. position as the Department of State saw it. He had Charlie Downs’ reluctant approval and gloated that he spoke for the Department of State in the field, obliging Hayes to hear his insider’s opinion. “The Philippine government has taken the position that they won’t tolerate terrorists in Mindanao, but it’s just talk. The nationa
l police and the army together have no real power in the villages or in the jungles, no ability to control events on the ground. They just kind of drive around on the main roads and worry about traffic control. We have to change their attitude.”
“We can’t win the war for them, a few dozen of us in a nation of seventy-five million,” Hayes said. “I know that.”
Hayes had to tolerate Mundy. They were on the same side after all, and both knew their mentors, Hargens in Manila and Downs back in D.C., had their hands full deflecting the slap-happy military types whose only solution was “Send in the B-52s and bomb them back to the Stone Age.”
“The civilian government has to formulate a winning strategy. Without a real plan, the Philippine military can never gain the approval and support of their nation,” Mundy continued with his personal insights into geopolitical rationale. “Who knows what bunch of old retired soldiers will get together over a few beers in the officers’ club at Fort Bonifacio, baptize themselves a junta, and form a new government.” He paused. “DOS wants to know what’s going on, and that’s why I’m here.”
“I wondered why,” Hayes mumbled mostly to himself, and said, “You guys at State got the Philippines to wave their flag in Iraq some years ago, only to pull out their troop commitment of fifty-one men because one truck driver got captured. It would have been better for everyone if they had never sent any troops to that war in the first place. When the MNLF sees how the Philippine leaders buckle, they’ll use the terror tool.” Hayes was not forgiving; he had lost good men in combat.
“We know about the tools of terror.” John Robert Mundy was calmer now; after all, Hayes was a fellow countryman. “If Al Qaeda gets away with terrorizing Mindanao sufficiently to cause regime change with a few bombings, you can expect to see them using bio weapons and dirty bombs back home, or in Indonesia, Japan, Europe, you name the place, the next target.”
“The politicians in Manila are getting desperate.” Hayes had heard some loose talk around the embassy. “I hear we’re ready to sign an agreement to cooperate with the Indonesian military; that would sure help us seal off access into southern Mindanao.”