The Last Phoenix

by Richard Herman

  Maddy walked into her private study next to the Oval Office and nodded at her assistant, Nancy Bender, to close the door. She motioned Serick to a comfortable seat. “Well, Stephan, what’s your take on all this?”

  All the posturing, the grumpiness, the irritability that made him a legend, was gone. No longer was he the devil’s advocate keeping everyone honest. Now he was a trusted adviser giving his president the best advice he could. “There still exists a deep hatred of our country in the Arab world, and Butler certainly understands the Middle Eastern mind-set. We may have convinced them to forgo terrorism as a national policy, but if they sense a weakness they may well be striking out in a new direction. Timely action now might convince them otherwise.”

  “We’re going to need allies.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but France is going to be a major problem.”

  “Why am I not surprised. Talk to them. The Russians?”

  “I can neutralize them.”

  “And the Chinese?”

  Serick shook his head. “Still to be heard from.”

  Taman Negara

  Sunday, August 1

  The soldiers trudging down the path in a line were nervous as they looked right and left, afraid of what might be lurking in the jungle around them. Less than five meters away, Kamigami and Tel lay under a low bush counting them as they filed past. But there was more. Kamigami was taking their measure as soldiers, judging the way they moved and carried their weapons after being in hot pursuit for three days. He was not impressed. The signs of exhaustion were evident, the result of poor conditioning. But even more telling was the way they bunched in a tight group and clung to one another like ducks in a row. It had been easy leading them in a series of circles, always coming back to the path that led to the east. He seriously doubted they even knew where they were. It would be simple to render them. When the last man had passed, Tel started to speak. Kamigami waved him to silence. On cue, four stragglers stumbled past. Kamigami held up his hand and waited. A lone man came into view, driven by the fear of being left behind. He struggled to keep from collapsing as he disappeared down the path.

  “I count twenty-seven,” Kamigami said.

  “My feet hurt,” Tel said in a low voice.

  “It’s only pain,” Kamigami told him.

  Tel pulled off his boots and rubbed his aching feet. In all his nineteen years he had never been so bruised and abused. Yet for some strange reason he felt good. “Will they come back this way?” he asked.

  “Eventually,” Kamigami replied. “When they realize they’re out of the park, they won’t go much farther. Might run into civilization. They’ll rest, maybe ten, twelve, hours before returning to base.” He pulled out his chart and GPS. “Go back to where I left the bicycle.” He pointed to the spot on the chart where he had dumped the bicycle laden with supplies. “There’s claymores in one of the bags. Bring back as many as you can carry. Meet me here.” Again he pointed to the chart. “Memorize the coordinates and never mark them on a map.”

  “What’s a claymore?” Tel asked.

  Kamigami stifled a sigh. Don’t kids know anything these days? he lamented to himself. He described what the olive drab, three-and-a-half-pound antipersonnel mine looked like and how it was carried in a canvas bandolier. Tel listened attentively as he pulled on his boots. “Off you go,” Kamigami said. “Heads up. Hurry.” He watched approvingly as Tel moved out, staying low and in the shadows. “The boy is a quick learner,” Kamigami mumbled to himself. He leaned against a tree to rest. He calculated he could make the journey in three hours, so Tel should do it in four or five—if he didn’t get lost. Then he fell asleep.

  The inner alarm was there, cutting through the fog of sleep. Kamigami came alert, pleased that the sixth sense that had saved him so many times in combat was still there, undiminished by time. There was movement in the brush off to his right. He cracked an eyelid as he freed the Beretta in his holster. It was Tel. He faked sleep to see what the boy would do. Tel emerged from the brush weighed down with bandoliers, paused, and gazed at Kamigami. Certain that the big man was asleep, Tel retreated back into the bush and made a loud noise.

  “Bull elephants in mating season make less racket,” Kamigami said half aloud.

  “I didn’t want you to shoot me by mistake,” Tel replied.

  Kamigami knew that Tel was only being polite and didn’t want to embarrass him by catching him asleep. “I saw you the first time.”

  Tel grinned, not believing him. “Yes, sir.”

  “Cheeky bugger,” Kamigami grumbled as Tel shed his cargo. “How many did you bring?”

  “All of them. Twelve.”

  “Six is the normal load,” Kamigami explained. He checked his watch. Tel had made it back in less than three hours. “Well done,” he conceded.

  “What now,” Tel asked, eager to get on with it.

  “Impatient bugger,” Kamigami groused. He set to work and showed Tel how to rig one of the small mines. He unfolded the short scissor legs and sat the mine on the ground. He read the words on the face of the claymore: “‘Front Toward Enemy.’ Pretty simple.” He attached the firing wire and rigged the firing device.

  “Why are the words printed in English?” Tel asked.

  “Because these particular puppies were made in the good old US of A and probably sold to some government in the name of military aid.”

  “Then they were resold into the black market.”

  “Something like that,” Kamigami allowed. “Okay, ambush time.” Tel watched as Kamigami found a relatively open area and set three mines twenty-five meters apart. Then he strung the firing wires to a concealed position fifteen meters back from the trail and connected the claymores to a common firing device. “Normally this is all I would set along a trail like this. But since you were such an industrious little pack mule, we’re going for overkill.” He moved up the trail and planted another set of three. After rigging and camouflaging the mines, he moved farther along the trail and set up another three. Kamigami showed Tel how to activate the firing device and gave him his orders.

  “Your job is to fire this last set of claymores when the Gomers are in range.”

  “Gomers?” Tel asked. “My uncle said that was a bad name Anglos used for us.” Kamigami stared at him, not understanding. “I mean…ah…Gomers are Asian. Aren’t we Gomers, too?”

  Kamigami laughed. “Naw. Gomers are the bad guys. Never identify with the enemy you’re about to render. Give ’em all a name, something derogatory.” He turned very serious. “Never forget what those bastards did to your family.” He studied Tel for a moment, wishing he could read the look on his face. “Here’s the drill: I detonate the middle set of claymores when the main body of Gomers is in range. It won’t get ’em all, and I expect a few to head your way. Your part of the contract is to nail them. But only detonate your claymores if you’ve heard mine go off first. Otherwise you’ll be taking them all on. After firing your claymores, fall back into the jungle and rendezvous at the bicycle. If I let the Gomers go past, wait for me here. If something goes wrong and you don’t know what to do, hide for twelve hours, then rendezvous at the bicycle.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Good question,” Kamigami said. “If the conditions are right, I’ll initiate the ambush. Then I’ll fall back on the first set of mines and render any Gomers coming my way. I’ll clean up and meet you at the rendezvous.”

  “Why can’t I clean up?”

  “No weapon,” Kamigami replied. “Just do what I tell you this time. You’ll have plenty of chances later. Let’s do it.” Tel followed him as they walked the trail, checking the camouflaged mines.

  “Why did you pick such an open area for the ambush?”

  “They won’t suspect it here. I’m betting the survivors will be afraid to run into the bush and will stay on the trail.”

  “And right into a second ambush.”

  “That’s the idea,” Kamigami replied. He walked Tel through the initial part o
f his escape route three times. Satisfied that it was burned into Tel’s memory and he could do it in the dark, he then helped Tel camouflage his observation post. “Whatever you do,” Kamigami cautioned, “keep your head and butt down when the claymores go off.” He returned to the middle set of claymores and scooped out a depression in the soft earth before covering it with foliage. He crawled inside, rigged the firing device, and made himself comfortable.

  Once more he fell asleep.

  It was almost dark when it all went wrong. The man serving as point for the main column of soldiers was not concentrating as he came down the path. Instead he was daydreaming about his girlfriend and the reception he knew was waiting for him at the base camp. That, plus the fact that they were no longer chasing a shadow and hadn’t heard the so-called vampire’s whistle once, made him indifferent to the task at hand. As a result he trudged past the first string of claymores without seeing a thing. That’s when luck took over. He was lost in an erotic vision when he stumbled off the path—right into the first claymore of Kamigami’s string. For once his training held, and he simply cut the firing wire with his knife. But a little success went to his head, and he then forgot his training.

  Rather than warn his comrades coming up behind him, the man bent over and pulled at the wire as he followed it to a thick clump of foliage twenty-five meters from the trail. He got down on all fours and pushed a leafy branch aside to look directly into Kamigami’s big brown eyes. Before the man could shout a warning, Kamigami’s left hand flashed out as he jammed the point of his knife into the man’s Adam’s apple. He thrust hard, twisting at the same time, and cut the man’s vocal cords. The man instinctively jerked backward as Kamigami reached for his shirt to drag him under the bush. He missed. “Damn,” Kamigami mumbled. He scrambled backward out of his hiding place while the wounded soldier crawled toward the path, all the time making a gurgling sound like a perking coffeepot.

  The man had almost reached the trail when Kamigami got to him. Kamigami bent over, placed one hand on the back of the man’s head, grabbed his chin with the other, and made a hard pull-push jerking motion. The soldier heard the sharp crack of his own neck snapping. The gurgling sound stopped.

  Kamigami grabbed the man’s shirt and pulled him away from the trail, reaching the low foliage just as the main column came into view. The first two men missed it, but the third man in line saw a pair of feet disappearing under a bush and shouted a warning. Two things happened; most of the column retreated back down the trail, while the first five men took cover and unleashed a hail of fire. The distinctive chattering bark of their Type 56 submachine guns echoed over the clearing. The Type 56 was a knockoff of the Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle and put out the same heavy rate of fire. The soldiers, all believers in the tactical principle of concentration of fire, sprayed the vegetation above Kamigami, burying him in debris.

  That’s when he detonated the two remaining claymores in his string.

  Officially the claymore is described as an antipersonnel mine with 700 steel spheres embedded in a plastic matrix. That’s the part of the mine that says “Front Toward Enemy.” Behind that is a layer of C-4 explosive that sends the steel balls and fragments into a killing zone that is 2 meters high and spread over a 60-degree arc out to 50 meters. Beyond that is a danger area that spreads over a 180-degree fan and out to 250 meters. Even the area directly behind the claymore is highly dangerous, and a secondary missile area extends to 100 meters behind the mine.

  The five men hosing down the area with their Type 56 submachine guns were simply outvoted by the claymores and shredded. Kamigami was well inside the secondary missile area behind the mine and pressed his body into the shallow depression he had scooped out underneath the foliage. He felt a hot, searing pain across his left buttock as a ricocheting steel fragment cut into his flesh. A cloud of debris and dust rained down on him. The silence was deafening. “I’m getting too old for this,” Kamigami groused aloud as he dug himself out. He came to his feet and quickly donned the web harness with his fighting load, shouldered two bandoliers with extra magazines and grenades, and checked his MP5. In less than twenty seconds he was moving through the jungle and headed for the first string of mines a kilometer down the trail.

  Although Kamigami knew the numbers, he never hesitated. For him it was a matter of tradecraft and experience against twenty-two half-trained and poorly led young men. He blew a long blast on his whistle to give them a motivational boost. Then he really put on some speed, figuring that at least two or three of the men would react correctly and home in on the sound. Six minutes later he found the location he was looking for.

  He paused at the edge of the small jungle clearing. The grass was thick and even, almost chest high. Perfect, he thought. He listened. Nothing. He sensed a gentle breeze blowing in his face and sniffed the area. Still nothing. Then he heard movement deep in the jungle behind him. Do I have enough time? He didn’t know, but it was worth a chance. He ran across the clearing in a zigzag pattern, getting to the far side in seconds. He quickly cut a long, thin tree branch and sectioned it into fourths, each two feet long. He retraced his steps across the clearing. He planted two sticks in the grass as far back as he could reach without leaving the trail he had made. The sticks were about eight feet apart and parallel to the path. Then he stretched a trip wire between them and tied a grenade to the base of one of the sticks. He carefully extracted the safety pin and used one end of the trip wire to hold the safety lever in place. It was a delicate operation, and even a strong gust of wind could move the grass enough to set off the grenade. He moved another ten meters and rigged a similar trap on the other side of the trail. Now he could hear definite movement in the jungle. He quickly moved to the near side of the clearing where the sound was coming from, and took cover.

  He didn’t have to wait long before a shadow in the trees materialized into a single soldier. The soldier glanced directly at the spot where Kamigami was hiding, but didn’t see him. Take the bait, Kamigami mentally urged. The man moved cautiously onto the path Kamigami had cut through the grass. The soldier paused, surveyed the clearing, and motioned his comrades to follow. Two men followed him into the clearing. Kamigami’s eyes drew into narrow slits as he watched their backs. When they reached the booby traps, he raised his MP5 and squeezed off a short burst. The bullets struck the last soldier in the back and blew out large chunks of his chest. The two men in front of him dove off the trail. A few seconds later Kamigami was rewarded with the sound of two grenades going off. A high-pitched scream cut the air.

  Kamigami worked his way around the clearing as the screams tapered off to a loud moan. He heard the man pleading for help. You got to be smart in this business, and you weren’t smart, Kamigami rationalized. Then he relented and walked back into the clearing. He found the man still alive, curled up on the ground and holding his intestines in. The wounded man looked up, pleading for help.

  Kamigami’s face softened. He hesitated, drew his Beretta, and shot him in the head. It was the best he could do for him. Eight down, nineteen to go, he thought.

  The sharp echo of three claymores washed over him. Tel! Nothing made sense. He had driven the men back down the trail, away from Tel’s ambush. Now Tel’s claymores had detonated. Had the soldiers reversed course and stumbled into Tel’s killing zone? Or had they captured Tel and set off the claymores? A vision of Tel staked out in front of his own claymores as they exploded flashed in Kamigami’s mind. He headed for the sound of the explosion. But this time he moved slowly and with caution.

  He heard it first—the sound of swarming insects. Then he caught the faint scent of blood that cut through the smell of decay and rotting vegetation that marked the Malay jungle. As quickly as it came, the scent was gone. But Kamigami knew he was in the presence of death. He moved through the underbrush without a sound until he could see the area where he had left Tel. The vegetation was chopped and torn, spattered with human remains—the work of claymores properly sited and detonated. He moved through t
he death and destruction, getting a body count and looking for Tel. Eighteen.

  “Here, sir,” Tel said. Kamigami whirled around to see Tel emerging from behind a tree. His lips were trembling and his body shaking as he stood there, unable to go on. Kamigami recognized the symptoms—he had seen them many times before. Tel was lost in an emotional wasteland, trying to reconcile his basic humanity with the carnage he had caused.

  Kamigami knew what to do. “Report.” No answer from Tel. “I need to know exactly what happened,” Kamigami explained.

  Tel hesitated, his lips working. Then, slowly and with increasing confidence, “I’m not sure. I heard your ambush go off, but then nothing happened. Then I heard your whistle and waited. Then they came running toward me. I got all but one. He got away.” Tel motioned in the direction of the base camp. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Kamigami told him. “I wanted one to escape.”

  Tel’s voice was stronger. “Why?”

  “To get their attention,” Kamigami replied. “Come on. We need to identify the bastards. Look for ID tags, papers, personal effects.” Again Tel hesitated, still shaking. “Look, kiddo, do you have any idea what they’d have done if they’d caught you?” A slow shake of Tel’s head. “They’d have tied you to a tree and peeled away strips of skin until you told them everything you knew. After cutting off your balls and stuffing them in your mouth, they’d have used a claymore to make whatever was left of you insect-friendly.” He paused for effect. “Got the picture?” Tel nodded, his shaking gone. “Okay, get to work.”

  They worked through the bodies until Kamigami was satisfied they had found all that was useful. Tel was fascinated by the amount of photos, letters, and pornography they found stuffed into the soldiers’ pockets and packs. “What are you going to do with this, sir?”

  “Take it to Kuala Lumpur.”

  “Why?”

  “To get their attention,” Kamigami answered.