Unsung Warrior Box Set, page 31
part #1 of Unsung Warrior Series
“Because I’m New Zealand SAS,” he said. “Because I did two tours of duty in Afghanistan.”
He looked at the Spetsnaz as if he doubted the man’s sanity.
“Some of you must have heard about us,” he added. “Hell, even the Taliban admit we can be trusted.”
The Spetsnaz next to the questioner nodded.
“What do they say?” said Maric, pushing the soldier to say something.
“New Zealand SAS keep their word,” admitted the man, grudgingly.
Jukka sagged, then struggled to stand upright. He muttered something unintelligible, slurring his words. Maric tightened his grip. The Finn had taken a bad knock to the head.
One of the senior Spetsnaz looked at another older man for confirmation. Maric figured they were both captains. When the second one nodded, the first looked around the rest of the Spetsnaz for dissent. There was none.
“You’ve got a deal,” he grunted. He was making no secret of the fact he didn’t like it.
“Take their weapons,” said Maric.
Bert and Mosha started to make a pile in the middle of the floor. Most of the security force dumped their weapons on the pile of their own accord. It was less humiliating than having their weapons taken from them.
“Everything,” said Maric. “Knives, the lot. You can have the knives back when you head into the jungle. You’re going to be patted down when I call the SAS soldiers through from the main entrance. Don’t let yourselves be embarrassed when they get here.”
More metal rained down on the growing pile.
“What are you going to do with Jukka?” said one of the two captains.
Maric had been thinking about that too. It had taken him all of a split second to reach a decision.
Let more terrorists spring Jukka from a high security compound so he could kill again? Let him be freed in a political deal? Let him kill and maim dozens packed into a tourist spot in Paris, as he’d already done?
And worst of all, let him spawn followers. In the same way Jukka modeled himself on Carlos the Jackal?
Not if Maric had to make the choice.
It was also important to have witnesses. The Spetsnaz and mercs would spread the truth far and wide. No cover story by the Count would be able to keep the threat of Jukka Salo alive.
In the end it was an easy decision to make.
Jukka was unconscious, which saved Maric the bother of putting the terrorist leader out of it. He folded his arms about Jukka’s neck in a choke hold, his right arm behind the terrorist’s head, and moved to one side. Then he exerted a sudden pressure.
The sound of Jukka’s neck snapping carried clearly through the cave. Maric let the body fall to the floor.
Everything went deathly quiet. Maric could see his own people hadn’t expected him to do that. It was equally clear the Spetsnaz had suspected he might. It was a decision he was going to have to live with, but in his heart he was already felt it was the right one.
“Mosha, you want to start triaging the wounded?” he said, turning toward the paramedic. Then he saw Mosha’s leg covered in blood.
“Okay, you’d better start on yourself, then.
“Bert, tell Davies we need paramedics, and we need them now. Tell him we have prisoners and a deal has been struck. He’ll need to see me before he makes any decisions about the prisoners.”
He waved her through.
“Follow the lights down the left corridor at the junction,” he said, pointing to the far end of the cave. Then he turned to the senior captain among the Spetsnaz.
“You have defensive positions around the main entrance,” he said. “Better send someone to tell them there’s been a change of plans.”
The captain nodded, and indicated with a tilt of his head that the other Spetsnaz officer should go with Bert.
“Take a weapon,” said Maric, addressing Bert.
Russo offered the pistol in her hand, and Bert took it. She kept one of her knives in the other hand. Maric figured she’d rather use the knife than the pistol. She acknowledged his orders with a salute, and headed down the cave with the Spetsnaz in tow.
Maric noticed how pale Russo was. He started to worry when she gingerly let herself down onto the floor. When he got to her he noticed how shallow her breathing was. She was going into shock.
“Bastards shot me,” she mumbled.
Maric was about to ask her where she was shot when her head slumped forward. Then she toppled onto her side. Now he could see that the back of her camouflage pants was covered in blood.
He ripped off his camouflage top and cut it into long strips with his knife. He tied them into one very long bandage, working as quickly as he could.
He bound her from the waist to the top of her legs. The bandage was as tight as he could make it. He was hoping it would completely shut off the blood supply to her buttocks. By the time he’d finished, the compression of the bandage seemed to be doing its job.
He wanted a damn good army surgeon present when the bandage was removed. And all the equipment on hand to find the severed arteries and repair them. Plus as many liters of blood for a transfusion as she might need.
The paramedics arrived, and Maric turned his attention to Menan. The courageous Kayan was at least breathing regularly. Maric explored the ugly bruising on the side of his head. He was going to have one hell of a headache. A quick check showed him free of any other new injuries.
Maric breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like the chief’s son was going to be okay.
It didn’t look so good for Jinks. The paramedic working on him shook his head. He flicked his hands down, to make a valley between them. Maric nodded. Part of the skull had been pushed inward.
That was always dangerous. Even moving Jinks was going to be risky. When evac arrived they’d probably put him in a coma, and encase him in ice for the ride home.
Maric figured the evac vehicles would be choppers. The dome was within reach of warships in the straits of Malacca, or maybe the Java Sea. The Indonesian government would raise a stink about it, but Cal and his backers would make it right.
The government would roll over, as long as they looked good in front of their voters. Cal would make certain they kept the SAS out of it.
That left Maric with a letter to write. One for Hendrik’s next of kin. The thought of it hit him hard. It was every senior officer’s most difficult task. His hands started to shake, and he figured the drugs Davies’ paramedic had given him were starting to wear off.
Hendrik wasn’t married. But there were family and friends who deserved to know how he died. Maric’s ‘official’ letter wouldn’t go into the details, but he’d visit the family in person. And answer every question as best he could.
Maric was looking for a place to sit when Davies arrived.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you talked your way out of this one,” said Davies. A mixture of admiration and bewilderment showed on his face. He looked at Jukka lying on the floor, and turned back to Maric.
“Stray bullet,” said Maric, poker-faced.
“That’s odd,” said Davies. “Not a mark on him, and it looks like his neck’s been broken.”
“Yep, those stray bullets can be weird sometimes,” said Maric.
Davies eyebrows went slowly up.
Maric’s eyebrows matched his.
Davies grinned. “That look of innocence doesn’t work very well on you, major,” he said. “Not to anyone who knows you.”
Maric kept his mouth shut.
As Davies moved away, he dragged his aching body over to where Russo was being loaded on a stretcher.
“Will she be all right?” he asked the paramedic.
“Lost a lot of blood,” said the para. “Doesn’t appear to be any bone damage, but too early to tell for sure. She’s strong. There shouldn’t be any problems.”
The medics carried Russo away, and Maric sank onto a rocky outcrop. Mosha hobbled over to join him, leaning on a Russian Izhmash he’d commandeered as a crutch.
“I think we can call this one a whole tour of duty in itself,” he said, gritting his teeth as he sank down beside him.
Maric smiled. Mosha was one of the best. Nothing fazed him.
CHAPTER 28
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Maric managed to be there when Russo came out of surgery. The surgeon’s painstaking work had taken a long time. Not only had the torn muscle in her buttocks been knitted together, but she’d been through a complete shoulder reconstruction.
The liaison team leader had been given a liter and a half of plasma on the ground at the dome, plus painkillers and antibiotics. The paras had been pleased to see the bleeding had stopped. Maric’s bandaging had been judged good enough for the ride home. With a few improvements.
Now though, she seemed more like the victim of a building collapse than a seasoned special ops fighter. He was pleased to see she had a hospital room to herself. Her left shoulder was heavily bandaged.
“Shouldn’t you be at a de-briefing?” she said drowsily.
“Probably,” he said. Cal had okayed a temporary leave of absence. “Had more important things to do.”
“Like what?” she said. Then, “oh,” as she figured out he’d rather be with her.
“You’ve already been through your de-briefing,” said Maric, putting on a poker face. Russo looked puzzled.
“You had everything removed for your surgery,” he quipped.
“So what,” she snapped back. “You’ve seen it all before.”
He smiled.
“Pity about your backside,” he said. “It was your best bit. Everything else is just, well, average.”
She swatted at him weakly with her good arm. Kiwi men were not European men, that was for sure. But there were compensations.
“Any word from the Indonesian authorities?” she said, changing the subject.
“Nothing in the media,” said Maric. “And Cal’s backers might be able to keep it that way. The Indonesians should be grateful. Their government’s going to inherit a very lucrative diamond mine.”
She nodded.
He thought for a moment about the Aikido master in Pontianak. If there was nothing in the papers, maybe he owed him some idea of what had happened. It was a professional courtesy. His mind turned back to Russo. He didn’t like seeing her so damaged from her work.
“What’s left of the Count’s security forces is on its way down the Kahayan River,” he said abruptly. “Once they make it to the sea there’s a short hop along the coast to Banjarmasin. They can make arrangements to get back to Europe from there.
“Pity we didn’t get the Count, though,” he added.
“You didn’t expect to,” she said, not wanting him to detract from a very successful operation.
“NATO covert ops will have to take it from here,” agreed Maric.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said, taking her hand. “To make up for everything. Having to put up with me. Getting shot in the butt.”
“I don’t think you were responsible for me getting a bullet in my backside,” she said, smiling. Maric put a finger to his lips, and she shushed.
“I’ve got a friend in Sri Lanka who owns a tea plantation,” he said. “He’d be delighted to have us both as guests for a couple of weeks.
“Think about it. Servants. Best tea in the world. Four species of long-tailed parakeet that come and sit on the railing during afternoon tea. A pet bird that sits on your shoulder and talks to you.”
Russo didn’t say anything.
“At the top of the plantation there’s a natural seepage that has medicinal properties. The women go up there to put mudpacks on themselves, make themselves beautiful.
“Not that you need to be more beautiful,” he added quickly. He wasn’t sure what he thought about her looks. He guessed she was beautiful in a dark-haired, Italian sort of way. He just knew she’d had the courage to tell him things he needed to hear.
She smiled. It was nice to know she meant something to him.
“You sure you want this?” she queried. “You said couples don’t last in this business. What good is a long-distance relationship?”
“It’s better than what I’ve got,” said Maric decisively. She laughed. He was honest, and she liked that. She would think about it.
“How come you know someone in Sri Lanka?”
“Military. He fought the Tamil Tigers until they were defeated in 2009.”
There was a pause.
“He’s one of us.”
There was always a lot of cleaning up after military ops, noted Maric, as he entered the hospital with Russo.
The report for Heckler and Koch on the PR7s had taken him a week to write. Cal had rejected his first draft, and insisted on more detail. Maric had ended up making a number of suggestions on how they could be improved, citing practical examples in the field. It was hard work for a man not used to a desk job. Cal had beamed at him after he’d read it.
“They’ll be offering you a permanent job testing their weapons!” he said with a laugh.
Maric squirmed a bit but accepted the compliment. Things were so much different now. He was back using his skills. He was the man he’d always thought he could be. It felt good.
Hendrik’s send off had really been something. He had liked the man. There was his generous, supportive nature, and his ever-present reliability. When he’d met Hendrik’s friends, parents, and two brothers, he could see the background that made him that way.
In the end they had made him feel better about the loss of one of his men. He hoped his speech at the funeral had done something similar for them.
The hospital reception directed them down a side corridor. The specialist in charge of the ward wanted to see Maric before he went into Jink’s room. That didn’t sound good.
It took a while to find the poky little room.
“The effects of brain damage are hard to predict,” began the dark-skinned Hamana, once Maric and Russo were seated. “You might not be able to count on a full recovery for your man.
“Outwardly the signs seem reasonable. Graham’s misplacing the occasional word – very common in these situations – but that’s about all. Unfortunately that’s no indication of what’s happening on the inside.”
It was sobering stuff.
Russo was surprised to hear the quirky Jinks referred to by the more mundane ‘Graham’, but pushed on to ask a question.
“How long before you know something definite?”
“Head injuries proceed at their own pace,” said the specialist, with a shrug. “That’s a major part of the problem. Things could improve unexpectedly, or take a turn for the worse. And we never know when either one will happen.”
He seemed a bit unnerved that the course of Jink’s recovery was out of his control. Then he stood.
“I think you should see Graham now. That might answer a lot of your questions.
“And it’s okay to correct him when he uses the wrong word. All part of the re-learning process.”
Maric realized they were being kicked out. That suited him. He’d seen soldiers heal before. The most important part of that healing was the determination of the individual soldier.
“How did Jinks get his name?” said Russo, as they walked down the corridor.
“Short for ‘high jinks’,” said Maric.
Jinks was typical of a certain type of soldier, useful for their problem-solving capabilities but otherwise a misfit within a military organization. At least Jinks had committed his worst escapades out of uniform, and well away from base. It had saved him being thrown out of special ops on more than one occasion.
“I could tell you stories that would curl your hair,” said Maric with a smile.
“Why, because I’m a woman?” said Russo belligerently. “I could tell you stories about Bert to straighten out yours. Except I think you will be embarrassed.”
She’d been like this since they got back from Sri Lanka. The time at the tea plantation had been glorious, and he couldn’t figure out what was bugging her. It seemed the closer they got, the more she wanted to move away. Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was upset because it was happening with someone from ‘work’. He didn’t know.
He took her hand. After wriggling her fingers around for several steps, she finally left it in his grasp.
Her other arm was in a sling. The surgeon didn’t want her to over-use her shoulder for a few more days yet. Otherwise, Russo seemed to have recovered fully. It had been a number of days since she last sat gingerly and complained about pains in her backside.
“So the stories about you two are true,” said Jinks, as they entered his private room. There was a slight stutter on the ‘stories’.
He was connected to more machines than Maric had ever seen in a hospital room. His head was bandaged on one side, with a kind of cap over it to stop any pressure.
Cal’s backers could afford the very best for the wounded.
“Thought you’d have more sense than take up with this plum ol’ hayseed,” he said, once they’d taken stock of his room.
“Dumb,” said Maric. “I’m a dumb ol’ hayseed.”
“I didn’t take up with him,” said Russo, pulling her fingers out of Maric’s grasp. “He was just so . . . so . . . nice to me,” she said in frustration. “It was a sneaky trick.”
“Bit of a secret weapon you’ve got there, major,” said Jinks. “Bet no one else ever thought of that!”
The two men laughed.
“Anyway,” interrupted Russo, “he’s not dumb. That’s just another of his little games.”
Maric’s mind went back to the first day in her office, in the safe house off Auckland Domain. What had he said? “I’m just a dumb country boy.”
She hadn’t bought it then, and she wasn’t buying it now.
It had made her smile back then. She’d said: “We both know that isn’t true, Captain Maric.” And she’d been pulling him up on any deviation from the truth ever since. He realized she was like an external version of his conscience. Which should have driven him nuts. But it didn’t.
“How’s progress?” said Maric.
