Unsung Warrior Box Set, page 19
part #1 of Unsung Warrior Series
The main room of the house was crowded. Maric could hear talking in one of the back rooms as well. Despite the apparent chaos, they’d all eaten, and the tables had been cleared, in less than an hour.
Dick had probably pushed things along. To Maric it seemed an unnaturally fast meal for a Dayak household. The recon team assembled on the veranda. It was already dark, but they had to press on.
Their hosts vanished into the house, taking the replacement workers with them. Maric noticed two newcomers helping Dick load the land rover in the half-shadows from the outside light. Sanggau had intermittent electricity, provided by a generator.
The newcomers seemed a tougher breed of Dayak. More self-possessed. Muscle rippled under heavily suntanned skin. They looked up as he approached, and sized him up the same way he would size up a threat. They returned to work with a grunt.
Two chainsaws went into the back of the land rover, then a canvas bag of what had to be parang blades. Maric could see the hand-pieces of the Dayak swords tied into the mouth of the bag. Then two lean bundles, like disassembled fishing rods, slid in alongside the seats.
Maric suddenly realized what they were. The legendary Dayak blowpipes, broken down into sections. With the introduction of small-caliber rifles for game, it was rare to see them these days.
“You expecting trouble?’ he said to Dick.
“Sometimes,” said Dick. “Mostly not. Better to be prepared for it.”
“Like an SAS recon team can’t handle it?” said Maric, prompted more by wounded professional pride than he realized.
“And have everybody talking on both sides of the Schwaner range?” said Dick. “No one notices a bit of native argy-bargy. Let us handle it.”
Maric felt small. Dick was right. He’d let his role as team leader get in the way of a friendship. He’d also broken a cardinal rule of reconnaissance – there’s nothing better than local knowledge.
“Hey,” he said, taking Dick’s arm with a smile. “You’re right. You’ve been a great asset to us in everything, and we’ll need you more than ever in the interior.”
Dick turned, and gripped Maric’s forearm in turn. The two men locked arms in a display of solidarity as old as time. It was something they both felt better for. They returned to their duties with a lighter heart.
Bert took up the last seat in the van. The two Dayaks joined Dick, Maric and Russo in the land rover. The land rover had better lights, and it led the way. The van’s headlights had difficulty picking out the land rover if it got too far ahead. It followed right behind them, operating on faith in their driving ability.
Sanggau retreated into the distance. The two vehicles followed the Kapuas upstream, heading deeper into the interior. The road got worse, but at least the long sections of bog holes had been fixed recently. Dick used both sides of the road to avoid the potholes and keep the vehicle’s speed up.
The two Dayak men were hunters. Menanggung, mostly called Menan, and Pejuang.
“These guys are from one of the semi-nomadic tribes,” said Dick.
“They work their way north in the dry season, into the last stretches of untouched forest. Then migrate south to more open country for the Wet. They make huts for the wet season, nothing like the longhouses you see elsewhere.”
Maric nodded. He’d read about the longhouses when he was doing his own research for the trip.
“We were north of here, on the border with Sarawak,” said Dick, referring to one branch of his extended family. “We were clearing tribal land for crops when some of the nomads turned up. Menan paid a bride price for one of Maria’s cousins. He worked off part of it wielding a chainsaw. Never seen anyone work so hard, for so long.
“These guys are supremely fit,” he finished.
Maric was familiar with the bride price custom. Someone of consequence may need to stay in a particular region for up to a year. While there they would apply to the headman of the village for a combined housekeeper and wife for that time. The headman was paid a sum of money that covered the use of a house and the raising of any children that might be born. The latter was unlikely. The Dayaks knew enough about the properties of plants to limit pregnancies.
Dick assured him the woman made the choice willingly. The money was basically hers, less a few expenses. For many of them it was a step up in status. One of very few options if traditional marriage didn’t work out. And that was often due to the death of a husband. The environment was not always a friendly place in Kalimantan.
“How’s the couple doing?” asked Maric.
“Been nearly ten years now,” said Dick. “She refuses to take up the nomadic life, but she won’t have anyone else.
“She waits for him to come back. He turns up as often as he can. Still no children, but we think that’s an infertility thing. Maria’s agitating for her to go to the hospital in Pontianak, but neither of them will come to populated areas.
“Fortunately he was back in Lanjack when I sent for him,” said Dick, changing the subject. “Pejuang’s his brother, and came along as well. Took them three days to get to Sanggau on the little goods buses. It was quite an ask. Neither of them like vehicles much. But they’re family now, and meeting the needs of family is their greatest obligation.”
“Tell them I appreciate it,” said Maric.
Dick rattled off something to Menan, who was sitting behind him in the land rover. Maric couldn’t catch enough to make sense of it.
Menan made a dismissive shrug.
Dick rattled off something else.
“They already know they’re to be your guides. I’m telling Menan you’re here for a ‘lookum no seeum’,” said Dick, “which is as close to the idea of reconnaissance as I can get.
Next to him, Pejuang snorted, and muttered something.
Dick laughed.
“He says you’re too big to go quietly through the jungle, and you’re too fat. Menan’s father is the headman of his people, and Pejuang is their best hunter. They’ll think nothing of giving you their opinion. Whether you ask for it or not.”
Compared to the whipcord-muscled and nomadic Dayaks the recon team probably did look a bit podgy. Still, Maric needed to get the Dayaks on side, and ready to follow orders. It was essential they were part of the team.
“Tell him I fought mountain tribesmen in Afghanistan,” he said.
Menan didn’t look impressed. He snapped a few syllables.
“How many heads did you take?” Dick translated.
Maric turned in his seat and looked Menan straight in the eyes. He shrugged.
“Tell him I lost count,” said Maric.
Menan looked unsure. Dick barked a few words, and he turned his eyes away, looking out the window.
“I told him you don’t lie,” said Dick.
“You two gorillas finished with the thumping of chests?” said Russo sweetly, and Maric smiled.
“Hey, it gets the job done,” he said.
There was little traffic, and they made Sintang just after midnight.
The vehicles turned off the main road and crossed the Kapuas on the first bridge they’d seen since Pontianak. The dark shape of Lion Rock rose eerily above them, obscuring the eastern stars. The volcanic outcrop was a reminder they were still on the ‘ring of fire’ that brought volcanoes and earthquakes to this part of the world. Despite the endless lowlands and tropical rain forest. The ‘ring of fire’ was also responsible for the diamonds the Count was using to fund mischief around the world.
The side road followed a major tributary of the Kapuas. It wasn’t sealed, but at least some attempt had been made to put gravel on it. Dick slowed the land rover. He’d had a pair of searchlights mounted on the roof for times he needed to work at night. These now lit up the road a hundred meters ahead, and the trees on either side.
“It’s only this good because of tourist dollars from the park,” said Dick. “There must be a dozen or so wisatawan staying at the Nangahpinoh base most days. There’s a levy on what they pay that goes into local infrastructure. Enough to see a bit of gravel laid down on the road, and a grading after the wet season. Most of the levy money goes into survival of endangered species at Bukit Baka Bukit Raya.”
The van behind them tooted, and pulled over. Dick followed. A face appeared at Maric’s window.
“I think those guavas you gave us are starting to work,” said Anderson.
“Yeah, and, ah, same here,” said Bert, shifting uncomfortably beside him.
Maric waved them off into the undergrowth.
“Bit of pyrotechnics when the log jam goes,” confided Dick as the team scattered in different directions.
“I remember,” said Maric, recalling his own experience of Dick’s innocent looking little fruits. He figured it was best to get the team’s digestive systems functioning properly before they got to the diamond mine. Even if the remedy could be a bit drastic. Then he felt something twist in his bowels.
“Oh, crap,” he said resignedly, as he whipped the door open and headed for the trees. He could hear Dick laughing behind him.
CHAPTER 18
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Dick gave them a few minutes before he reached in and scooped a couple of toilet rolls from a constricted mass of paper in the glove compartment. He climbed stiffly out of the land rover and stretched. It wasn’t the best vehicle to drive for long distances. When he’d finished stretching, he moved to one side of the road.
“Hands up when it’s time for the paperwork,” he called into the trees.
Two hands appeared in the dark recesses of the forest, and he lobbed a compact missile toward the nearest. He heard the sounds of someone scrabbling for it on the forest floor, and then silence. Dick figured they’d pass the scrunched up roll to the next person as needed.
He repeated the performance on the other side of the road. Without the lights of the vehicles they’d have been blind among the trees. Dick scanned the sky overhead. No sign of the moon yet.
When he arrived back at the land rover Menan and Pejuang were giggling helplessly. They thought it a great hoot to see the recon team rush off behind the trees.
“Partai perang mengalahkan pria kulit putih sekarang!” said Menan. Yes, thought Dick. A war party would beat the crap out of the white people at the moment. At least Menan had used the polite term for whites.
“Soon,” he told them in Dayak. “You’ll see what these people can do.”
Dick’s quiet confidence sobered the two hunters up.
When the recon team were back in the vehicles, Maric stopped by the driver’s door of the van. Mosha was taking a second shift at the wheel.
“Dick says we turn off in about 10k. That’s the point where we stop being tourists on our way to Nangahpinoh, and start attracting attention to ourselves.
“You know the plan. We travel as silently as we can after the turn-off. Moderate sounds are hard to track in the forest, but a loud noise gives the listener direction.
“Once we’ve crossed the tops and dropped into the next valley it won’t matter.
“Are we clear?”
A chorus of ‘yessirs’ snapped back. They’d been without sleep for close on twenty hours now, but the point of insertion into hostile territory was always the most dangerous. Maric knew they’d be running on nerves and adrenaline until the trip was over. Until the vehicles made it to Dick’s abandoned logging camp and the team had secured a perimeter.
The turn-off point, when it came, was well concealed. At the top of a long rise the two Dayaks slid out of the rear windows and settled themselves on the old-fashioned luggage rack atop the land rover. They carried knives and native swords with them.
“Turn-off coming up,” said Dick. “The Kayans remember. They carry a map in their heads of every place they’ve ever been. Part of their nomadic way of life.
“Doesn’t matter how much the area’s regrown.”
“Kayans?” said Russo.
“Our guides belong to the Kayan tribe,” said Dick. “The Kayan and Penan are the two main nomadic tribes. The ones that have stayed closest to their original ways of life.”
Russo nodded.
The road crested the rise and entered a flat valley. It curved left, heading away from the tributary they’d been following since the Kapuas. They could see the valley had once been a convenient depot for logs.
The water table on the left side of the road disappeared into culverts, and the graveled surface of the road joined a holding area the size of a small playing field. The ground was hard, compacted by many vehicles over time. And covered in drifts of sawdust. Despite this, stunted trees and small shrubs had begun to establish footholds.
On the other side of the road a number of rough logging tracks ran through an area where the water tables had been widened, and on into the forest. To Maric’s surprise Dick headed away from the tracks, and into the holding area. The van bumped along behind him.
Dick snapped something briskly in Dayak, and the two hunters dropped off the top of the land rover and jogged back down the road.
“There’ll be nothing coming from Nangahpinoh this early in the morning,” he said. “But a minibus taking supplies out to Nangahpinoh is possible. The boys will stall them while we get off the road.”
He headed for a gap between two piles of raggedy logs that had been left behind. The land rover slowed, and edged up to the end of one of the piles.
When he had the land rover jammed against the logs, he began to unroll its winch toward a log that lay between the two piles. Connecting the hook to a strop that had been left fastened around the far end of the log, he winched it toward the land rover, opening a gap.
The two vehicles bumped through the gap. Once they were on the other side of the log, he whistled twice to bring in the Dayak sentries. The recon team rolled the log back into place. Easier downhill on the return journey. Then the hunters emerged silently from the darkness.
“I got tired of interference,” said Dick, when Maric quizzed him on the elaborate set-up. “If it wasn’t the local police it was someone from the ‘Ministry of the Interior’ or any name they could make up. There was always ‘a small problem’ with the paperwork, and they could make it go away for cash.”
Maric smiled. That would irritate the hell out of him as well. It was a different culture here, but corruption didn’t sit well with a strong New Zealand sense of fair play.
“Let’s hope there’s nothing across the old logging track,” said Dick.
The land rover eased onto a flat shelf of rock that looked like it got swept clean every time it rained. “We’ve got chainsaws, but the noise won’t help us keep a low profile.”
Maric nodded. Once they were over in the next valley, noise wouldn’t matter.
The land rover bumped along the bottom of the rocky gut, and he wondered how the van was handling the off-road conditions. After fifty meters they came to a ford that crossed the rock shelf. Dick turned the land rover right and climbed up out of the gully onto an old graveled road. The logging track was in remarkably good condition.
“We had our own quarry in this area,” said Dick. “When I was working for Ponteeth International. We put down a really good foundation for the roads. Took a lot of start-up time, but allowed us to work right through the rainy season.”
Menan tapped on the roof, and Dick stopped the land rover. Revving and slithering noises from the gully told them the van wasn’t going up the bank under its own power.
Dick used the winch again, and combined it with the muscle power of the recon team. The van eased up onto the logging road, idling while it did so. It made a high-pitched scream when it was under load, the sort of noise that carried.
Then they were under way again. The vehicles stopped for a branch that had fallen off an overhanging tree somewhere in the plateau. And a minor rockfall on the way into the next valley. Then they were through.
“Should be plain sailing now,” said Dick. “The track follows the stream up the valley, and from here on I doubt we can be heard. We’ll reach a flat area at the top of the Schwaner range in a couple of hours. That’s where the old logging camp is.”
He smiled mischievously.
“Technically, we’ll be inside the national park, but you won’t see any difference between the forest here and the forest there. Ponteeth agreed to leave the camp as it was when the Park was formed.”
He looked up at Maric and smiled. “No need to worry. That part of the park’s not policed by rangers.”
Maric nodded. The location Dick had pointed to on the map was less than twenty kilometers from the airfield the satellite had discovered. It would make an ideal forward base.
The land rover lurched over another pothole, and then built up speed on a better section. The recon team, used to sleeping in any conditions, began to nod off now the tricky part was over. Maric stayed awake to keep Dick alert.
They made good time. There were fewer obstructions on the logging track as the vehicles lifted further out of the lowlands. The forest grew lower and thicker with the changing altitude.
It wasn’t yet light when Dick drove into a clearing ringed with pre-fabricated huts. A rusty bulldozer, an ancient truck, and several logging trailers sat deteriorating in the middle of the compound.
Maric dismounted stiffly and stretched, stamping his feet on the ground. Even on the equator there could be a nip in the air just before dawn. They’d left the moderating influence of the sea behind, and of course they’d climbed.
What height were they now, seven hundred meters? Maric figured the logging camp must be exposed to continental extremes some of the time. Borneo was the third largest of the world’s islands, after Greenland and just behind New Guinea.
He looked round at the dilapidated site. Most of the huts had been broken into, doors pinned back or completely removed. That meant they’d be a complete mess inside, and the bedding would be useless. He didn’t like to think what forest wildlife might still be in there.
“Refugees from the government resettlement schemes. People on the run from the justice system,” said Dick, after conferring with Menan. “Indonesian jails are the pits, and a legal case can take more than a year. A lot of people prefer to take their chances in the interior. Maybe come out on the other side of the island. Start a new life.”
