by C. R. Daems
It took two days to dig the trenches and holes and another to lay the wires to each semtex cake. Since timing was essential to the plan, Smitty and I would have to set the charges off manually. We not only wanted them herded into the camp, but we wanted to kill as many as possible in the process. We were just finishing when I received a message from Howard.
Fox, Nuranjo is heading to camp #1 with all his troops from camp #2. Could be one hundred plus. We estimate he will arrive in as early as twenty hours from now. We will try to arrive within minutes of his arrival Professor.
"Remind me to thank Nuranjo for his excellent timing. Wouldn't want to greet him when we were tired and the place a mess," I said. "Let's do a check of the area to make sure there is nothing to give away our surprise party, get a hot meal and a good night's rest, and be at our assigned positions in fifteen hours."
* * *
I sat going over our preparations, trying to convince myself I hadn't missed anything and then trying to anticipate what could go wrong with the plan. At least a dozen things I could think of and probably a dozen more I haven’t thought of, I mused. Nuranjo's weakness was all the things he didn't know, like camp #1 being under Tasmanian control. My weakness was all the things I didn't know he knew, any one of which could help him anticipate my surprise. And even if everything went well, Tasmanians were likely to die. I felt a drop of sweat roll off my forehead, down the side of my nose, over my lips, and onto my chin. I was about to wipe it away when I heard or rather felt the approaching troops through the ground. Then I saw the first troops looking exhausted and tired as they came into sight. Slight smiles appeared on some of their faces, seeing the camp. The line seemed to go on forever as they staggered by. I thought I saw Nuranjo and for a brief second, I was tempted to shoot him. I waited for what seemed like hours but was probably less than ten minutes. As I saw what looked like the last troops, a group of three pass where I knew the bomb was buried; I touched the switch. The three were thrown helter-skelter as the sound of the explosion filled the air. The effect was not exactly what I expected. Most either froze in place or dove for cover. Smitty wisely waited until they began getting back onto their feet before setting off the second bomb, which was several meters closer. More troops were torn apart and killed. This time, many of the troops headed for the jungle to escape the path, which obviously wasn't safe. I waited as they approached my line of explosives, then began setting off one after another like a marching line of death. Those not killed turned back, not sure there were more bombs further on.
Now everyone was running back towards the path and Smitty and I began setting off the bombs on the path. It resembled a cloud of death moving closer to the camp with each exploding pair. Before they could run out the other end of the clearing, I set off the explosives in the camp. It was like a surreal image of hell, as bodies were flung into the air in every direction. Before the dust had settled, Howard's Tasmanians came running into view. I put my head in my arms and fought to get the image out of my mind. Although we had no choice, and it saved Tasmanian lives, it didn't feel like a taarah moment. Soon, the noise of Tavors firing faded, and my mind quieted.
"Are you alright, Jolie?"
When I opened my eyes, Howard and Smitty stood looking down at me. I nodded.
"What's our status?" I asked, hoping for some good news.
"One dead, five wounded," Howard said. "The explosions left most of the twenty or so survivors stunned and confused."
"Jolie was pissed that Firebird got killed in our jungle encounter with the troops from camp #1, so she designed a series of explosions that would drive Nuranjo's group into the camp where we had enough explosives to kill anything in the area."
"It was very effective, and you might well have survived those few who lived; actually, the trenches would have reduced the casualties if we hadn't arrived in time," Howard said. "On an expedition like this one, two deaths are close to a miracle–" Howard began but I couldn't contain my rage.
"It's closer to a fucking, flaming disaster. Damn terrified youths spraying the air with bullets not knowing what the hell they were shooting at," I shouted.
"She's still pissed," Smitty said with a chuckle. Howard tried not to smile.
"Sorry. I don't feel sorry for the evil little monsters, but if they hadn't decided to go to Bapoto to kill us, we wouldn't have met them on the trail, and I doubt anyone in my platoon would have been killed. We would have caught them in their camp…" I let Howard finish the thought.
* * *
"Jolie, we hear the Ghost platoon killed all the rebels while the other platoons were chasing ghosts," someone shouted after we had settled down in our assigned bay for our return trip to Delphi. The bay was looking for my usual after-action performance. I wasn't in the mood, but these were my family and they wanted entertainment, so I'd try. I began my normal investigation of the bay to make sure no one was listening to what I was going to say. Of course, everyone was in the bay including Howard, his platoon leaders, and all the Tasmanians.
"I'll be in a lot of trouble if this gets out," I began, still nervously looking around. "I took our guide aside and gave him one of the two cell phones I purchased and bribed him to play along with me. You can't believe how much the native wanted to cooperate. I had to have everyone in the platoon chip in. Don't give me that look," I said looking daggers at one section of the room. "I was only looking after their interest. So, when our commander left with the guide, I left for a village the guide told me had a spy. When we arrived, I used a little persuasion to convince him to do me a little favor."
"Persuasion?" someone asked.
"I tied him to a tree with a large wasp nest."
"If he didn't move, the wasps wouldn't bother him," the same person said.
"That's what I told him. While he considered whether to give me Nuranjo's number, and while the boys and I waited for him to decide, we had a contest to pass the time–who could knock down the wasp's nest with a rock from twenty meters. But before we could get started, he interrupted the game. Two practice rocks and he was screaming the number. So, I had him check with Nuranjo and update his gang's activities. Then I called the guide and told him the sites to visit–five villages with no troops. Meanwhile, my platoon went to the sites I had been told had troops. Afterward, I decided to throw our senior brother a bone and gave his guide the village where Nuranjo had his remaining troops. We killed all but twenty, whom we let go when our commander was close, so he would have something to take credit. The things I go through to make my platoon look good." I said and bowed when the clapping began.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Planet Delphi: Fort Endeavor, Back to School
"Your platoon has had three assignments in a row and is not in prime condition," Howard said when I sat. I was surprised to see Simons sitting off to the side. "Consequently, it wouldn't be fair to give them post-assignment leave until they’ve recovered, and we've agreed your platoon would take their post-assignment leave at the same time. Regardless, I don't like the idea of your platoon taking the next assignment even if they have recovered by then. And you aren't in prime condition either."
"That's not a nice thing to say to a girl," I said, giving a pouty look. We had been back for a week, and I had spent several days in the hospital being treated for my two bullet wounds. In truth, I was functional but not fit for another assignment, nor were most of my men.
"I'd like your platoon to manage the next Tasmanian Qualification class," Howard said and smiled. I sat frozen in shock.
"Me?" I squeaked out eventually.
"I will be there but only to answer questions and to observe. Colonel Medina will also be part of the team. She wants to be involved, hoping to be able to assess potential women for future classes," Simons said. "The senior Tasmanians have been impressed with you, Jolie, and are open to having more women Tasmanians."
"That will give the chief a rest, give you and your team a rest, and provide the chief with a backup in an emergency," Howard added.<
br />
Translation, Simons is tired of teaching the course, you and your team need something to occupy you while you recuperate, and if Simons is injured or killed on assignment, you will be available to replace him, I mused.
"The class starts in one week, so you will have time to get ready and acquaint yourself with the curriculum timing.
* * *
"Smitty, I assume you know what we're being assigned since you appear to have a high-level mole on the Tasmanian senior committee or whoever runs the place," I said after the meeting had ended and I found him at the Devils' Club. He had the nerve to grin.
"You're going to be the chief for the next Tasmanian Qualification course," he said. "Congratulations."
"I want you to find a replacement for Firebird," I said feeling moisture forming in my eyes. "A scout and sniper, I think." I was almost tempted to say medic, but that wouldn't have helped last time, and we effectively already had three medics. "I want him to feel part of the platoon when we eventually get another assignment."
"Let me think about it. Ironically, you could get any Tasmanian you wanted to volunteer. Based on our previous assignments, we're the most desirable unit on any assignment." He turned and wandered off. This had to be the only group of individuals where everyone wanted to be part of the unit closest to the action and therefore the most hazardous assignment. Ironic, since we were awarded neither medals nor promotions.
I met with the team the day before the class would start. It felt and looked strange to see Tasmanians dressed in army uniforms and Medina with sergeant rank. I had a master chief insignia, Smitty had master sergeant rank, Medina staff sergeant, and the others an assortment of lessor ranks.
"First, I'd like to welcome Jafar Noman, scout and sniper, call sign Panther, to the Ghost Platoon."
"Thank you, Jolie. I'm looking forward to being a member of the team," he said giving a small bow. He looked as dangerous as his call sign, with slightly curly back hair, a goatee, and a narrow face with a hawk-like nose. He was a tall, lean figure.
"I want you all to know that except for Staff Sergeant Medina, you are all being punished for outstanding performance on your last assignment. The good news is that none of you are being given a squad or platoon to lead. That's my punishment for appearing to lead you idiots to that success," I said to a round of clapping. Medina just shook her head. "Cathy, my understanding is that you want to get a feel for what it takes to qualify to be a Tasmanian by observing the day-to-day activities."
Medina nodded. "Correct. I want to see what it takes to succeed," she said, then snorted. "And to understand how crazy one has to be to meet your standards."
"Well then, you've come to the right place. These are the craziest Tasmanians you could find," I said feeling a warm sense of pride.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Planet Delphi: Fort Shiva, Welcome to Hell
It was still dark when the lights came on and a siren blasted loud enough to sober a passed-out drunk. The colonel, me with my chief master sergeant stripes, and Smitty with his master sergeant rank stood assessing the assembled men while Staff Sergeants Knight and Beal entered the room and began setting up several tables. The colonel smiled, probably thinking of the first time he met me here in this same building and thinking I'd wouldn't last more than a day or two. "Chief, it’s time."
"Candidates," I said, in a normal voice, "line up at one of those tables and collect your personal tracker, which you will wear at all times, including the showers. Grab the map you will need for this exercise, and a knapsack for you to take whatever food and water you want from the tables outside." I removed a small device from my belt and produced a hologram. "This is a replica of the map you will receive. The map is marked with your starting point; the trail marked in red is the shortest route to your destination, which is approximately two hundred kilometers from this building. You will have forty-eight hours to get there. One minute late and you will be disqualified." I tried not to smile at the jaw-dropping expressions. "Yes, I am the woman who will determine each day whether you are worth further evaluation. You want to be Devils? Well, welcome to hell. I am the Devil's handmaiden."
As the candidates were selecting water and food from the table, I whistled to get their attention. "Candidates, you're not allowed to discard your empty containers before the finish line. Before you begin the exercise, the contents of your knapsack will be inventoried and your time of departure noted. At the finish line, your knapsack will again be inventoried. To successfully complete this exercise, you must arrive in less than forty-eight hours and have all of your trash. Understood?"
"Yes, Chief Master Sergeant," the men shouted.
"Good. There are no second chances. You meet the requirements for each exercise, or you will be disqualified."
After all the candidates left, Shirley walked up to me.
"I see you finally got some rank," she quipped.
"Now I'm working on getting some colorful medals," I said, and she laughed.
"You must be off to a good start, as I saw Simons smiling. I heard a lot of comments while at the registration tables. The boys are trying to figure out why a woman is running the course and whether that will make it easier." As we talked, Medina came walking over.
"I heard this test eliminates seventy percent of the candidates," she said.
"True, and as I remember, this was the easiest part," I said to Medina's open-mouth expression. "And this is only half of the exercise, as they have only eight hours to rest before they have to return with the same restrictions.
* * *
"Cathy, would you like to go wake them up for exercises?" I said as we assembled just before dawn.
"I thought you said the next several days would be rest days," she said, giving me a hard look.
"I didn't say they could lay in bed all day." I grinned, and eventually Medina smiled. When they arrived outside, Wolf ran them through basic warm-up exercises, and then we went for our morning ten-kilometer run, fifteen-minute breakfast and latrine break, and to the area for knife training. At the end of the week, I took them to the knife-throwing range.
"I assume you all know how to throw a knife into a target," I said and waited for everyone to nod. "Good, then this is your opportunity to hone your skill. The targets are at fifteen meters for you to warm up. Any Tasmanian can put a knife in the kill zone at twenty-five meters. Sergeant Lowe is passing out knives for you to practice, but don't start until one of us has checked you out." I walked over to a stocky man who I knew was a Ranger. "Well, Peters, give it a try," I said nodding to the three knives on the stand in front of him. The targets were a half meter wide and two meters high with a smiley face with two eyes and a heart painted on the board. Peter sneered at me; he picked up one knife after another and threw.
"Well you only missed once, cut of an ear, and hit one in the leg. The kill zones are considered the eyes and the heart," I said, and waved Wolf over. "Sergeant Reid, would you show Peters the correct way of throwing?"
Reid spent a few minutes explaining the best way to hold the knife, the subtleties of throwing, and finally put one in the eye painted on the board. Peters threw three more with little improvement.
"Candidates," I shouted to get their attention, "to qualify, you must hit the kill zone with three out of three knives—oh, that's the twenty-five-meter target."
"Can you, Chief?" someone shouted, and I saw lots of snickering.
"Doesn't matter. I'm not trying to qualify. I would suggest your only concern be with what you can or cannot do if you want to pass. Whether you are better than me or the other candidates won't matter. All that matters is whether you can meet the qualification criteria," I said picking up one of the knives. "Doesn't look too hard," I said and threw the knife. They were smiling as it flew past the fifteen-meter post but then stuck in the right eye of the twenty-five-meter target.
"That got their attention," Medina said. "And mine." She gave a short laugh.
* * *
"This week is
about the standard Tasmanian weapons: the Tavor X95 and the Jericho T941. I assume you all know where to point the weapons and can hit the target given time," I said. "This week, you will learn how to dismantle these weapons, provide them tender loving care, and hit the target in the kill zone with each bullet. No spray-and-pray shooting."
"Why, Chief?" Carter asked.
"Because all the ammo you are likely to have is what you're carrying. If you waste a lot of ammo on a few individuals, you may find yourself fighting an assault weapon with your combat knife," I said, then pursed my lips. "Oh, and if you can't, you won't qualify."
* * *
"Today's task is to get from point A on your map to point B without being captured or killed," I said, and gave a shudder at the memory of the interrogation exercise, where Smitty had almost killed me.
"This obviously isn't as easy as it sounds," Medina said as the last of the candidates entered the rain-forest area.
"No one will make it to point B. Everyone will be captured and subjected to mental and physical stress."
"I hope you didn't design these tortures," Medina said, having endured my Vanquishing Fear exercise.
"No," Simons said. "If she did, we’d be lucky to get any candidates."
After eight hours, Medina, Simons, and I walked around each of the detention sites. At one site, three men were tied to trees. I stood looking at them, frowning hard in thought. Then I took a small jar of honey out of my jacket and a brush and proceeded to paint each man's exposed skin.
"Chief, that honey attracts those damn poisonous black spiders," Jafar said, with a look of horror on his face.