Unsung Warrior Box Set, page 23
part #1 of Unsung Warrior Series
He typed in the last few words of the message he intended to send to Cal, then picked up the folding satellite dish. He nodded to Mosha, which told him it was time to send the team’s final situation report. While he was gone, Mosha would be responsible for Hendrik, Anderson and Pejuang and the observation points.
The satellite he wanted was currently north of their position. That meant getting down into a valley behind the circle of hills containing Russo and her squad. He needed somewhere out of line-of-sight of the dome. Just in case the Russian Spetsnaz had enough electronic clout to pick up his transmission.
Half an hour later he was on the outskirts of Russo’s base camp. Bert stepped out of a concealing thicket and waved him through. He smiled. How had they known he was there? Then he caught sight of Menan sitting next to Russo, his alert gaze focused in Maric’s direction. It was hard to get anything past the Kayan hunters.
The news from the second squad was good. Menan and Hoist had got a bit close to one of the patrols while watching the track to the airfield, generating some anxious minutes until the patrol moved on. But otherwise the day had gone well. Maric read Russo’s electronic log. It fitted perfectly with what he already knew.
He dropped most of his gear and his PR7 in camp, but took the folding satellite dish and his pistol with him.
The undergrowth got thicker as he made his way off the hills and down into the valleys. Eventually he found the spot he was looking for, and set up the satellite dish. Once it was aligned correctly, he connected his satphone and triggered the message in its memory banks. It went as a millisecond-long compressed squawk.
“Airfield layout and GPS position as expected,” it read, once encryption and identification routines had been run. “All living and working quarters contained within the dome. Also tailings. Track to airfield as expected, plus short extension around base of dome. Patrols irregular, night and morning.
“Personnel approx 24 mercenaries with 8 Spetsnaz commanding. Guessing 6-10 Iban hunters, appear to provide game only. Carry poisoned darts and bayonet style attachments on blowpipes. Workforce hard to tell but presumed to be up to 50 Iban villagers and a few engineers.
“Small Cessna lands 1615 hours each day with pilot and two bodyguards. Departure varies but around1700 hours.
“Recon assessment: operation within capability of grays. Moon phase and weather suggests 0500 hours on the ground within next two days. Front moving in.”
Then he’d signed off.
This was one of the few situations where he would wait for a reply, and it wasn’t long in coming.
“Agreed. 0500 hours 27th. HA/LO deployment. Light up airfield 0450. Davies leading. Cal.”
Tomorrow morning. The main part of the SAS force must already be at one of the New Zealand air bases. Good. Maric was pleased the attack would be soon.
He pitied the main force as they tumbled out of a transport at high altitude. They’d face freezing cold and turbulence in nothing but glider suits, paired with a 50kg drogue that contained their gear. Then they’d have to open their para gliders just above the ground.
The method of deployment made sense though. There was more opposition at the dome than originally expected. The main force would need to land all together. Helicopters weren’t an option. The Count’s security forces would hear them coming from miles away.
He was glad it was Davies leading the attack. He remembered the way the major had led from the front when he took his team out bush bashing. Cal had commented on the man’s mental and physical toughness too. Davies would have been made a Colonel for this op.
He made his way back to Russo’s base camp. He told the squad what Cal had decided. They nodded slowly. The recon team were familiar with the possible options.
Maric would use the satellite dish about midnight to check for last minute messages from Cal. After a moment’s thought, he left the cumbersome dish at Russo’s camp. Giving the thumbs up sign, he moved quietly into the forest. He retraced his steps to the long ridge camp.
Mosha was waiting for him when he arrived, and they went over tactics for the morning deployment. Darkness fell swiftly, and Hendrik and Anderson appeared out of the gloom as the two men were finishing up. The moon was almost full, and already above the horizon. The camp was, for the moment, in the moon shadow cast by the dome.
Pejuang reported in, but signed he would sleep at his obs post. There were still some comings and goings at the mine entrance.
The rest of the squad settled down for an uneasy night. They were trying to think of anything but next morning, and the battle it would bring. Spirits rose as the moon cleared the dome. Everything was bathed in a soft, pale light.
Maric was tidying up notes on his electronic log when Mosha nudged him. He switched the log off and pulled the wet weather hood away from his head. Then he heard it too.
Someone was traveling fast below them, but trying to be quiet about it. At first it seemed whoever it was would bypass the camp. Then the tiny sounds of movement changed course and headed straight for them.
Hendrik and Anderson stepped into the forest, out of sight. Mosha unholstered his pistol and slid it under the sleeping bag in his lap. Maric loosened the throwing knife Bert had made for him.
He would always remember the image seared into his brain as Russo stepped out of the trees. The left shoulder of her camouflage outfit hung in tatters, and her whole side seemed bathed in blood. Her right hand held a foot-long stiletto, and her arm was covered in sprays of red from the shoulder down.
She made one imperious signal – that the operation had been compromised – and sank weakly to her knees. Like a puppet folding up to go back in its box.
CHAPTER 21
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Mosha was the first to galvanize himself into action. He was the team’s number two paramedic. He had Russo laid out on the floor of the camp moments later. He began checking for torn arteries and fractured bones. He raised one hand to ask for his medical supplies. Maric was already at his side, setting them out.
When he had a moment, Maric sent Hendrik and Anderson back along the route Russo had taken. They settled themselves at covering positions along the flanks of the ridge. They were watching for any sign of movement that might indicate people heading toward the long ridge camp.
Maric wanted to know what had happened to Russo’s squad so bad his gut gnawed at him like it was a living thing. But he had to wait. Mosha needed to do his work first. It was sickening to see Russo’s collarbone showing white where a sharp blade had slid along it.
The night was clear, and the bright moonlight helped Mosha in his work. He augmented it with the soft LED glow of his medpac, as he worked on deep gashes in her shoulder. Maric didn’t like the use of the light, but the shallow basin of their camp protected them from being seen. And they were back from the top of the ridge.
Mosha found a small, severed artery that ran down into the muscles of her back. Thankfully the main artery on that side of her body had been missed. He held Russo’s arm behind her back to open up the wound while he cut around the artery. Then he clamped it off.
The local he’d put in hadn’t numbed the pain completely, but this wasn’t a city hospital. He didn’t apologize and Russo didn’t complain. They both knew Mosha’s actions were necessary.
He sprayed the area to stop infection. Then covered it, for the moment, with a pressure bandage. He thought she was capable of making up the blood she’d lost herself, and dug out some electrolyte solution for her to drink. The alternative was a transfusion from one of the team, and that could get complicated in the field.
When Maric pointed to the blood sprayed down her other arm he shook his head. That was someone else’s. Several someone else’s by the look of it.
So, thought Maric, she’d given a good account of herself. She might have got away unharmed if she’d been wearing her kevlar vest. But most of the recon team took them off in camp. The days were too hot. The vests chaffed from the sweat and heat if worn continuously.
When he’d finished his preliminaries, Mosha handed Russo back to Maric.
Taking the electronic log from his kit, Maric placed it under the fingers of her left hand He lifted her to a more upright position.
“Six Iban, four Spetsnaz,” she typed slowly, her left hand unused to the activity. “Iban among us before we knew. They had spears, but little combat experience.”
Maric figured she was referring to the knives lashed to the end of the main blowpipe shaft that the Dayaks carried.
“We dropped down quickly, but Spetsnaz came in after. I think Iban a distraction. Then too many.
“Menan at obs post by airfield. Came back to help. Not enough. We saw couldn’t win, tried to scatter.”
She lay back, exhausted. Maric saw blood already seeping through the pressure bandage on her shoulder.
“The sat dish?” he typed in.
She shrugged, then grimaced as her shoulder grabbed with pain.
Gone, thought Maric, along with all her team’s gear and PR7s. At least his team on the long ridge still had theirs.
The sat dish was an irreplaceable loss. This was looking worse all the time.
Mosha looked up at him, and Maric made a quick motion as if tying something off tightly. Mosha nodded. He was to get Russo back on her feet, so she could fight.
There were ways of doing that, but they were only good for 24 hours at most. If she didn’t get to a hospital within 48 hours, she’d be in trouble. Without further work the artery he was about to sew off, and the muscle tissue he’d pin together, would ruin her shoulder for life. Mosha went to work, hating the primitive conditions.
Maric was mentally cataloging what assets the recon team had left. Something told him Pejuang had arrived. Looking up, he saw nothing of the Kayan hunter. He fixed his gaze to the right, where the sensation was strongest. Pejuang stepped out of the trees and nodded to him.
Maric found there was little he needed to explain to the Kayan. Pejuang’s obs post had been directly across the central basin from Russo’s squad. Though shots hadn’t been fired, Pejuang had caught enough of the commotion to know what was happening. Seeing Russo in the long ridge camp – in a wounded state – had confirmed it.
He cupped his hands around Maric’s ear, and whispered, “Aku akan kembali dengan tanggung jawab dari kepala.”
Maric didn’t really understand what he meant. Pejuang seemed to be telling him about a duty the Kayan was obliged to carry out. Since Menan was a chief’s son, Pejuang had to inform the tribe of his capture. He ‘would return’ he said, but when was that?
Maric made the sign for the time of a next meeting, and Pejuang shrugged. The major wondered how far Pejuang would have to go. Menan’s people must be several day’s journey away, and that was only if the Kayan traveled fast.
The major nodded his agreement. The time for manning the obs post was over. Pejuang hadn’t been trained for what the recon team were facing now. It would be one less responsibility Maric had to worry about.
As always, the hunter was carrying everything he needed for survival in the forest. Turning away, he was gone as soundlessly as he had arrived.
Picking up the electronic log, Maric asked Russo a question about the raid on her camp. It seemed to him the Spetsnaz had meant to take the squad alive.
“Perhaps,” typed Russo. He’d got her thinking. “No gunshots during the attack.”
“They had time to plan this,” he typed in. “The Iban let them know you were there.”
“They want information,” she rejoined quickly. “How many, what are objectives.”
Maric nodded. It made sense.
Russo grimaced as Mosha sewed her shoulder back together.
Maric pondered the situation. The Spetsnaz would look around Russo’s camp site and see what was obviously a recon team. And it would look like there was just the one squad.
He’d only intended to have five on the team in the first place, and then the liaison group had been foisted on him. A force of eight, with himself, would normally be considered unwieldy for the job.
Maybe he could turn the Spetsnaz misconception to his advantage. The captured members of Russo’s squad would know to give the impression there was only one squad.
That meant the Spetsnaz might not be looking for anyone else. That bought Maric time, and the element of surprise. One problem though remained. The main force would come barreling out of the darkness just before 0500 hours and into the Count’s security forces on high alert. It would be a massacre.
Maric forced himself to accept that the main force would still be coming. Without the satellite dish he had no way of stopping them. If he did manage to set lights on the landing field at 0450, they’d be discovered by the security forces in minutes. And he simply didn’t have the fire-power now to maintain a perimeter round the airfield until reinforcements landed.
What if the Spetsnaz had their hands full elsewhere? That might buy the main SAS force enough time. If the security forces were tied up in a major skirmish somewhere well away from the landing strip, the recon team might be able to set the landing lights like they’d intended.
There had to be a way to do that. Maric was not about to give up.
Forces like theirs strove to keep peace in the civilized world. The Count had to be stopped. More than that, the Count had ordered the deaths of ex-SAS members to try and scare the SAS off. The idea he would target people who had served in the forces – and were now trying to live a normal life – Incensed Maric. These were soldiers that had done their time and left all that behind. They weren’t a threat to anyone.
He took a deep breath. Trying to understand madness just wound you up. Better he did something about it. And maybe there was a way.
Maric thought the idea through. If he was going to create enough mayhem to tie up the Count’s security forces, he would need his captured squad members back. He smiled grimly. That fitted nicely with his own determination to see his people freed.
Every member of the recon team gets to go home, dead or alive, he promised himself. And by all he held dear, and his own, hard-won understanding of justice, that was exactly what was going to happen.
Something rustled momentarily down the slope. Maric figured there were two people, maybe a third. It had better be Hendrik and Anderson returning. The two men appeared at the edge of the camp moments later, supporting Hoist. The big man swayed from side to side as he hung between them.
They lowered him into one of the home-made seats at the back of the camp. He slumped backward, and closed his eyes in pain. Mosha nodded to Hendrik to triage the newcomer. For the moment he had enough to do with Russo.
Maric motioned for Anderson to return to his covering position along the ridge.
Hoist was wearing his kevlar vest. Maric figured it was this that had determined his somewhat better condition than Russo. All the same, there was no denying he was badly hurt. Hendrik established that Hoist had a concussion, several cracked ribs, and a fair amount of bruising. There were no apparent cuts or broken bones.
The concussion worried Mosha, so soon after the knock on the big man’s head at the wharves. The big man wasn’t going to be fit for a full-scale op any time soon. Certainly not by tomorrow morning.
He signaled his concerns to Maric. That, thought the major, left him with five of the recon team, including himself. Call that four if he let Anderson loose with his sniper rifle as a diversion. Maybe Hoist could watch Anderson’s back. If Hoist improved enough by morning.
The four of them in the rescue team would be looking for Jinks, Bert and Menan. The captured team members were somewhere in the maze of mine workings and living quarters inside the dome. How in God’s name was he going to plan for that?
The problem eventually sorted itself out. The strengths of his remaining team members suited them to a particular function in the rescue party. And the only place they were going to hold off a much larger force was at a choke point, like a tunnel inside the mine.
Maric decided Russo would be backup, carrying the grenade launcher and Hendrik’s pistol. While she would be operational, she wouldn’t be able to take the kick of the PR7s. Hendrik would be next to her, carrying his PR7 and his explosives stores. Maric and Mosha would be taking point, with PR7s and USP pistols. Maric would be carrying two throwing knives.
There was only one place the prisoners were likely to be. That was the storage areas inside the dome. The problem was how to get in there. And then, how to get out with the prisoners.
Maric was working on it. There had to be an opening in the other side of the dome to provide air movement for so many people. The recon team had noted the track circled halfway round the dome. It was a side shoot that turned off after completing the trip from the airfield to the mine entrance. It had to lead to a ventilation system, and that was how they’d get in.
He would position Anderson on the low hill in front of the mine entrance. From there Anderson would be able to create havoc with his sniper rifle. If Hoist was well enough he would be able to carry Anderson’s pistol, and watch his back. The Iban scouts would be the main problem for the sniper party.
The two men could fall back to the ridge when the situation near the dome got too hot. A position on the ridge would also allow them to help in the defense of the landing strip – once the signal lights came on at 0450 hours. That left the problem of who Maric had left to slip out and place the lights.
He realized his rescue team was going to be spread too thinly to do everything. But they didn’t have a choice. They just had to make the plan work.
Mosha was finishing with Russo when Anderson returned. A quick flickering of hand signs told Maric that Anderson could hear something moving along the base of the ridge. It didn’t sound like one of their own.
Maric snorted softly. Getting another of the recon team back would have been too much like good luck. He signaled to Hendrik to join Anderson, and sent the two of them off to set up a two-man trap, one drawing the target’s attention while the other closed in from behind. He wasn’t prepared to take the chance whoever it was would just ‘go away’.
