Area Denial (Maelstrom Rising Book 7)

by Peter Nealen

  Benavidez laughed quietly. “Yeah, that got blown way out of proportion.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Some Vietnamese People’s Army observers were here, right at the time that the NPA decided to take a stab at seizing Puerto Princesa. They didn’t stay long, and there was no way in hell Manila was going to sign off on letting them assist in retaking the city. From what I’ve heard, they were actually invited to head out early, before the AFP even finished retaking Puerto Princesa.”

  “Why?” Chan asked.

  “Because they’re still Communists, and therefore they’re assholes.” Benavides might have been an SF dude, trained to win hearts and minds, but he apparently didn’t feel the need to be diplomatic in this case. “I heard from some friends that they tried to throw their weight around, but the real straw that broke the camel’s back was when one of them wanted to meet with the NPA prisoners and bring them around to the Vietnamese model of revolution, instead of the Chinese.” He snorted. “Fat chance of that happening in the first place, since the NPA’s been Maoist from the get-go.” He sipped his RC Cola. “It actually helped that the PLAN started pushing Sin Cowe Island again right about then. It let the Vietnamese save face when they got kicked off the island.”

  “So, if the NPA got curb-stomped…” Chan trailed off as Doug Vetter joined them. While he was over fifty, the operational commander looked like he was still in his early forties. Fit and lean, his biceps strained the sleeves of his dark blue polo shirt.

  “They recovered quick.” Benavidez nodded to Vetter as the retired Delta Force Sergeant Major shook hands with Chan and Hank. “A little too quick. They’ve always been a pain in the ass, but their numbers aren’t that extensive, so the losses they took in Puerto Princesa should have put them down for a couple of years. Instead, they’ve launched a dozen attacks on police stations, government buildings, and high-profile public places in the last six months. And each time, there’s been a hell of a cyber attack going down at the same time, not to mention a lot of inexplicable communications SNAFUs that could only be explained by jamming.”

  “So, they’ve got numbers, they’ve got equipment, and judging by the kidnapping last month, they’ve got damned spot-on intel.” Vetter leaned on the table, his hands clasped around his own soft drink. Lantern-jawed and broad shouldered, Doug Vetter would never pass for a mere tourist. The man exuded “meat eater” from every pore. “Which tells me that they’re getting external support. The Chinese are pushing the Philippines, just like they’re pushing everywhere else.”

  “So, we’re proceeding as we planned back in the States?” Hank asked.

  Vetter nodded. “We might have some decent logistics afloat at the moment, but having some friendly terra firma to get back to and base out of wouldn’t go amiss. And the best way to ensure that is to work with the Filipinos, forge that relationship. We’ll have to keep it on the downlow, of course. 1st Group still has people on Mindanao, and last report is that the Feds still haven’t changed their tune on Chinese actions against the US. So, we’re on our own. Any relationship we build with the Filipino security forces will be disavowed if we attract American attention.” He took a sip of his drink, some kind of orange soda, and abruptly changed the subject. “How was the voyage in?”

  “Ran into some pirate trouble south of Indonesia.” The way Hank said it clearly communicated to Vetter that they’d taken care of it, and the former special mission unit operator nodded appreciatively. “Seems like the Chinese are happily helping out the pirates down there to push Australia.”

  “They’re pushing everywhere. With the US on the back foot and tearing itself inside out, Europe in flames, and even the Russians concentrating on Poland and the rest of Eastern Europe, they seem to think that it’s their time. They’re not content with regional and economic hegemony anymore.” He got thoughtful. “Though the economic side’s been slipping for a while. Wonder if that’s why they’ve turned things up to eleven lately.”

  “Signs point to Chinese support for the pirates in the Sulu Sea, too.” Benavides glanced between Hank and Chan. “You see any action there?”

  Chan shrugged. “Ran into a little passing by Jolo Island, but they were a bit more old-fashioned. Just had to see weapons and they turned and ran. It was quick enough that we didn’t feel the need to hunt them down. It could easily be explained as private security, unlike the fight we had with the Indonesians.”

  “Sounds about right for there. Seems most of the more dangerous bands are somehow allied with ASG or the Moro Ikhwan. You’d have to be closer to Mindanao to run into them.”

  Hank looked over at Vetter again. “So, what’s the plan? Are we going to try to make liaison with the locals, or are we going to just go hunting for NPA and their Chinese backers?”

  Vetter laughed. “’Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission,’ huh? It occurred to me, but the Filipinos are a little keyed up right now, so I don’t think it’d be a great idea.” He shook his head, still grinning. “No, Miguel here has a contact.”

  Benavidez leaned back in his chair as the waiter approached. “We’ll meet with him tonight.” He grinned. “I think you’ll like him.”

  Chapter 5

  Hank had been expecting another restaurant meet, but this time Benavidez had instructed them to come to a residential house out in the country to the northeast of Narra. The Triarii had rented motorcyles rather than walk this time; the house was a good distance out, and they wanted to be able to make a quick getaway if need be. The short period of relaxation, where they had been little more than tourists, was over. It was time to get down to business.

  After some deliberation—and nearly incessant bitching from Lovell, among others—Hank and Chan had agreed that the Triarii could have some limited liberty ashore. The condition being that only four at a time, in shifts, and they never went anywhere alone. There had been more bitching about that, especially since none of the Triarii—at least, none of those in either Six Four or Seven Two—were exactly kids anymore. But Spencer had stepped in before Hank had needed to.

  “I’m not so much worried about the rest of them as I am about you, Amos.” He’d glared at Lovell with his arms crossed over his chest. “And if I’ve got to throttle you back, then I’ve got to throttle all the rest back. Besides, we ain’t here on vacation.”

  The grumbling had continued, but even Lovell didn’t want to cross Spencer. In fact, when Faris had started to bitch even more bitterly, it had been Lovell who’d shut him down even before LaForce could get to it.

  Hank would have to keep an eye on Faris. The man had been his problem child squad leader, and while he hadn’t openly said anything to indicate that he resented getting passed over for leadership of the new Third Squad in favor of Navarro, Hank had seen enough warning signs that some of his old bad habits were starting to reassert themselves that he might have to have a word with LaForce.

  He shook the thought off as he followed Benavidez as the older man turned into a dirt driveway leading toward a whitewashed house with a red roof, surrounded by towering acacia trees. Two more motorcycles were already parked out front, along with a white Toyota Hilux.

  Benavidez glided to a stop, flipped the kickstand out, and shut his motorcycle off. Hank wobbled in to park next to him, and the old SF hand glanced over at him with a grin. “Been a while?”

  “You could say that.” Hank was glad to shut the bike off and swing his leg over. “Never was much of a rider. Had a team leader go down on his bike just after my first deployment. Didn’t really take to the things after that.”

  Benavidez winced. “Ouch. I guess I can understand that. Sorry, brother.”

  Hank shrugged as Chan came up, killed his engine, and smoothly parked his bike on its kickstand. “It was a long time ago.” Still miss that guy sometimes, though. Sometimes the dead never seem to go away, no matter how many new ghosts join them.

  Benavidez tilted his head toward the front door, where a young man in jeans, sandals, and a yellow t-shirt waited. Hank g
ave the man a careful second glance. Short and skinny as he appeared, there was something about this guy. He was watching them intently, but he wasn’t staring at them. His eyes were moving past them. He was scanning the road and the trees and fields around the house, his gaze never settling anywhere for long. This guy was trained, and as they got closer, Hank could see that coiled spring alertness that suggested a professional soldier. Not only that, but Hank suspected he was a special operator, possibly one of the AFP’s Scout Rangers.

  Surprisingly, the young man waved them inside, exchanging a grin and what sounded like a joking comment in Tagalog with Benavides. He stayed at the door, though, still watching the outside.

  As the Triarii section leaders filed into the dimness of the interior, Hank noticed the pistol just barely printing through the t-shirt at the young man’s hip. Not only that, but he was pretty sure he was wearing low-profile body armor and at least a few spare mags on his belt. Yeah, this guy was a pro.

  Benavidez led the way into the living room, where Vetter had just stood up across the coffee table from another man, about the same size and build as the man holding security at the door. Dressed in baggy khakis and a loose, white, collared shirt, the man was older than the guy at the door, but clearly in every bit as good condition. And the bag at his feet probably contained a submachinegun, if Hank was reading it right.

  “Welcome, gentlemen. You can call me Habu.” The man’s accent was minimal, his English excellent, and he smiled faintly as he shook hands all around. “Forgive me for not giving my true name, but we rarely associate our true names with our work. Security, you understand.”

  Called it. This guy’s probably either SF, or Light Reaction Regiment. Helps deniability if we don’t know for sure who he is, either. Manila can deny any such person as Habu exists.

  “Habu and I go way back.” Benavidez grinned as he sat down and leaned back on the couch next to the smaller man. “I might have had something to do with his training, back in the day. Now he’s the CO for 5LRC.”

  Yep. Definitely called it.

  The little man called Habu sat down and leaned back, relaxed despite the flicker of annoyance in his eyes as Benavidez outed him. “I know I don’t have to say that that information does not leave this room.”

  Hank smiled faintly. “Habu, if you knew half the stuff that we’ve been involved in that never happened, that we never saw, never heard, and were never around for, you wouldn’t have to even think it.”

  That elicited a grin. “I knew that if Miguel was with you, I didn’t need to worry. He is a good man.”

  “So’s Habu,” Benavidez told Hank, Chan, and Vetter. “I mean it. I’d trust him with my life. In fact, I already have. Several times.”

  “More than one of our field exercises went hot partway through,” Habu said easily. “It is the way things are here. The guerrillas just seem to keep proliferating. Stamp one group out and another takes their place. Add in some of the internal politics, and it gets very difficult.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Chan leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees. “So, what has Miguel told you?”

  Habu sobered, looking around at the four of them. There were at least a couple dozen Triarii infantry sections on ships and trawlers converging on the Philippines and the South China Sea—and Hank was pretty sure there was at least one Grex Luporum Team somewhere out there doing dark and dirty things—but it had been decided that the man who had spearheaded much of the damage to Soldados de Aztlan in northern Mexico, their prime Chinese expert, and the operational commander would be the face of the Triarii effort on Palawan, at least for now.

  “Only the high points. I know that your presence here is a closely kept secret, and that your interest lies with the NPA. Other than that, I am waiting for answers.”

  Hank glanced at Vetter, who returned the look with a faint expression that said Here we go. The next few minutes could be crucial to the overall mission. And they could still go very, very badly.

  Chan also glanced at Vetter, and got a nod. “We are concerned with the NPA. More specifically, we’re concerned with the support they’re getting from the Communist Chinese. I don’t know how much news from the US you’ve been getting out here?”

  “I know it’s pretty bad.” Habu must have been a formidable poker player. “Power grids going down, terrorist attacks, that sort of thing.”

  “All true,” Chan said. “And the Chinese have been having a field day with it. They’ve slipped PLA soldiers onto American soil under the guise of PMCs and humanitarian aid organizations, and they’ve been adding to the havoc. We can’t prove they had anything to do with the first round of cyber attacks, but they moved awfully fast to take advantage of the situation. By any sane measure, what they’ve done since the attacks alone qualifies as an act of war.”

  He was still leaning forward, unconsciously tapping his fingertips together. “Here’s the trouble, though. A lot of people in our government and industry owe Beijing a lot. And we were already pretty divided. That division means that our government has refused to recognize either the nature of the Chinese’ actions, or their implications.”

  Habu still didn’t react, just sitting perfectly still except for his eyes, which moved from man to man, studying and evaluating.

  Chan forged on ahead. “That’s why our presence here is a secret. Formally, our government would not react well to our activities, and furthermore, word would get to the Chinese in short order.”

  Habu nodded slowly. “So, you are here on a private vendetta, in other words.”

  “Not sure I’d use the word ‘vendetta’ if we were in more diplomatic company, but I suppose that’s accurate enough.” Chan hadn’t even blinked at Habu’s choice of words. Habu, for his part, smiled slightly at the use of the word “diplomatic.” “I guess the question comes down to whether you can use about three companies of highly trained scouts and infantrymen. Under the table, of course.” There were more Triarii out there, but many of them were effectively naval personnel, not trigger pullers. And Habu didn’t need to know all the numbers, anyway. They were recruiting an ally, not a bosom friend.

  Habu steepled his fingers in front of him, tapping his index fingers together thoughtfully. “This puts me in a very delicate situation. I hadn’t heard about everything that has happened in the United States. Certainly not about the Chinese involvement. It seems that our Special Forces brethren on Sulu and Mindanao haven’t either. I know at least a couple of them would have said something to me by now if they had.

  “I do not have the authority to make any sort of formal arrangement. Unfortunately, anyone who does is not on Palawan right now. In fact, we are somewhat shorthanded here, given events elsewhere on the Islands. And if word does get to our American allies on the major islands…” He trailed off with a frown, turning to Benavidez. “I wish you had told me more of what you had in mind earlier.”

  Benavidez spread his hands. “Sorry, brother. I had my own orders.”

  Habu thought in tense silence for a few moments. Finally, he leaned forward. “I think I might have an idea.

  “I understand your desire to fight back against the Communist Chinese. I have spent almost as much time killing Communists as jihadis over the last ten years. And the Chinese have been doing much the same thing with the NPA in my country as you say they have done with gangs and cartels in yours. The way that the NPA has rebounded from the fighting in Puerto Princesa last year, and the incessant attacks since, suggests that the Chinese have stepped up their support for them.

  “But my government is every bit as wary about engaging them directly as yours, and in no small part because Manila no longer believes that they can rely on Washington to defend us should the Chinese press even harder.

  “Furthermore, in my position, I cannot risk my unit by making an extra-legal agreement like this. We already had one such incident that nearly destroyed the Tiradores in our infancy, when the Magdalo group infiltrated Class Two, suborned one of our company comma
nders, and recruited a significant portion of the unit to overthrow President Arroyo. I will not be a part of something like that, and if I make a deal with a foreign fighting force that I do not have the authority to make, it might be perceived as a power play, and from the Tiradores, at that. That history will only make the situation worse.

  “However.” He lifted a finger at the hardening expressions of the Americans in the room, even as the young operator in the yellow shirt turned to where he could watch the room as well as the door. “That does not mean that I’m turning you down.

  “I have contacts, contacts that I can reach out to tonight. I agree that this situation cannot be let be, and that we can use the help. Violence with the Moro Ikhwan has gotten almost as bad as with the Islamic State during the Marawi siege. We are tasked out and spread thin. I can reach those who can, quietly, approve some quiet cooperation. Especially since the PLAN destroyed the Sierra Madre on Second Thomas Shoal last week.”

  Hank felt his eyebrows climb and saw similar looks of surprise as he glanced at the other Triarii leaders. None of them had heard about that, either.

  That was a drawback to spending over two months at sea. News could get spotty.

  “In the meantime, however, while I never had this conversation, never saw any of you, and certainly never said anything like this, international waters do start twelve nautical miles off Palawan. And tourists are certainly welcome to sail all along the coast, as close as they wish, so long as they mind their manners. If some Americans on a fishing boat or yacht happened to spot Chinese ships or other craft carrying support to the NPA somewhere along the Palawan coast, and happened to contact me through an old friend—since they certainly wouldn’t have any direct contact information for local security forces, or any way of intervening on their own—then I don’t see what anyone could possibly object to.”