What happens after the action packed start - Part 31
Our hero knows he's in serious trouble.
The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy.
Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.
© Charles Heath 2019
The
folder had half a dozen single-page sheets with a photo attached to each with a
standard issue army paper clip. There
was no top secret in pale red ink diagonally scribed across any of the pages
which somehow diminished the exercise.
I
guessed this was the hand-picked team selected for me to take on our suicide
mission. It didn’t have the officer overseeing
the mission, or the go-between Jacobi.
Not exactly a useful man to have along in a firefight, because he would
be too busy working out who would pay the most if or when he survived.
It
still astonished me that we hired people like Jacobi, fully knowing that they
would sell out their own mother if the price was right. I was going to reserve one bullet in my gun
to execute him the moment he even looked the wrong way.
Trust
him, I did not.
Nor
any 0f the six members of that hand-picked team.
Sergeant
Barnes. Tall, wide, deadly, that last
attribute courtesy of a line in his resume that said he killed three soldiers
of the army we were supposed to be training and supporting. No meaningful reason was given as to why he
did, only that he’d just finished serving a five-year sentence, cut short by a
month so he could join this force. Hand
to hand combat, and a handy man to have if you’ve got a handheld rocket
launcher handy.
Private
Williamson. Had been a Corporal, but
considered that too much of a burden, having men look up to him, and having to
give orders. He decided to go AWOL
instead. Used to be a butcher before
signing on to see the world, and as described very handy with a knife. Refused to use a gun, and refused orders too,
which was the reason why he was in the stockade, with his friend.
Private
Shurl. If we needed a man who excelled
at sword fighting, he was our man. A
very accomplished swordsman, but I doubt we were going to need a man of his
talents because enemy swordsmen seemed only to exist in the old movies. I guess Lallo was expecting the three
musketeers or something. Other than
that, he was a useful radioman and would be handling the communications once
we were on the ground in enemy territory.
Corporal
Stark. His claim to fame was reading
maps. He was also an expert on the
ground in the country whose borders we were about to violate. He lived in the country for several years
with his wife, who came from there, and who’d been killed by the dictator in a
case of mistaken identity. Stark would
have to be carefully managed.
Staff
Sergeant Mobley. Not in the same army as
or other sergeants, in that he was regular army, and not a conscript, though he,
too, was fresh from a stint in the stockade.
He had no valid reason to be in on this disaster and yet had
volunteered. That took courage, to apply
for a suicide mission with little hope of return. I
suspect he had an agenda that no one else knew about.
And,
lastly
Lieutenant
Lesley Davies. A woman marine, no longer
a lieutenant but just another soldier who obviously didn’t understand the
concept of taking one step back when everyone else steps in another direction. It
didn’t say what it was she did wrong, but my guess there were a few men out
there frightened of meeting her on a dark night. Some women are dainty, some women are large,
and then there’s Davies, a powerhouse that could be dangerous if out of
control.
Out
of all of that team, she was the one who interested me the most.
There
was a knock on the door, interrupting my thoughts. I called out, “Enter”, surprised the person
outside hadn’t just shoved their way into the room.
The
door opened, Monroe walked in and closed the door behind her.
“Let
me guess,” I said. “You're running
point.”
“And
save your sorry ass from those recruits.
Not a brain between the lot of them, and we need people who can think,
given the nature of the forthcoming exercise.
The brains trust has decided the rescue team reports to us. I didn’t ask for it by the way. This is one of Lallo’s sick jokes.”
Maybe
he had a problem with her too and was hoping she wasn’t coming back.
“You
and me both,” I said.
She
threw another folder on the table.
“Operational orders, wheels up at 0600 tomorrow. Make sure you get a hearty meal before we
leave, it might be your last for a while.”
I
shrugged.
“Suit
yourself.” She went back to the door,
gave me a curious look, and left.
I
opened the file and looked at the one piece of paper in it. It was marked Top Secret in red diagonally
across the page, probably specially done by Lallo to make me feel
important. It had departure time, the
weather, the flight time, how long the stopover would be before going on to
the target.
Tightly
planned, no room for missing connections, though this was the army, not an
airline taking us, no room for errors.
New intel said that we had five days before the prisoners were to be
executed.
No
pressure then.
© Charles Heath 2019
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