Confirmed Kill Read online

  At another level, he wondered what killing this man would accomplish. He left, silently, as he’d been told. Silence was intimidating. Actions, not words. He glanced at the Chinese woman, stoic and silent in her terror, and the little girl, wrung of all emotion. She was too young to grasp what was actually going to happen. All she knew was, she was scared. Days of tears were gone. All she did now was sit.

  He really wasn’t sure where this was to go. Part of him wanted revenge for his brother, dead because of a fight at the oil refinery. But the actual killing had been by government troops. The Americans were mostly making a living, like the Indonesians they hired. A damned good living, especially the executives, but they weren’t hateful. This was a soldier sent to fight their war, so he was a fair target. But he was also a soldier like Faisal, and he could see himself in a similar position. The Quran spoke of mercy, but was that mercy misplaced on enemies who’d show none? And what of a man’s wife and daughter? Yes, it would pain that man, but was it really necessary for innocents to die?

  It was a quandary he’d needed to consider for some time. Except. . . he hadn’t discussed his quandary with Imam Ayi. He’d been afraid to mention the real issue. Why was that?

  It was because he knew what reaction that would get: He would be disgraced and driven away, mistrusted and sneered at. Just for questioning. Yet did not the Quran tell them to test their faith? It shouldn’t be a sin to ask for guidance.

  Unless the matter at hand was a sin, in which case none would speak of it.

  Faisal opened his eyes and sat back. A sudden surge flowed through him. Despite their differences, Ayi had been correct. He had spoken the truth. Through an object of sin, a message had come regarding rightness.

  It was time, and Allah had made his wishes known. God is great, all praise be to God.

  And now he knew what he had to do. It might mean death or disgrace, but it was Allah’s wish. I am but a slave of Allah, he thought as he stood. There was no fear within him, despite the dangers to his body and reputation. There was no fear, because his soul was ready to do Allah’s bidding and await His justice.

  *****

  The tiny platoon slipped closer. Kyle was quite impressed. This group knew the jungle, knew patience and stealth. They didn’t move without orders, and didn’t stop without them. A few weeks of professional polish and they’d be a first-class infantry unit. If there was any way to get the Indonesian government . . .

  No, politics wasn’t his venue. Stick to the military side. Though he didn’t crave to read about Bakri, Anda, and the others in some newspaper.

  They’d spent all day approaching from two different directions. It was afternoon again. Kyle was starting to hope for some kind of ending. He hadn’t dared take his boots off in the last three days, and his feet were itching, stinking, and hurting. He worried about athlete’s foot or other fungoids, rot or rash or infected blisters. People died from foot problems. While that wasn’t likely, he didn’t crave long hospitalization or surgery, either.

  With this many people, twenty-three without the colonel, they were creeping. They were paired or in threes, watching each other, watching behind, watching ahead, trying to close in on a facility that had to know of their presence. It was a wonder everything hadn’t been loaded into vehicles and taken away, but there were no vehicles onsite—probably due to the risk of discovery. The captors apparently didn’t crave to walk out on foot with two distinctive hostages who might be seen by aircraft. That actually was a slim risk. Visibility from altitude while moving wouldn’t be clear. But without troops experienced in aviation, they probably didn’t know that. Clearly, they were reluctant to enter the jungle where other forces might be.

  So the good news was that the bad guys were bottled up for now. The bad news was that they were cowardly, sociopathic little fucks to start with, and might panic. Kyle had heard this called “Murphy’s Law of Thermodynamics.” Things got worse under pressure.

  He ate scraps as they moved. Leftover apple jelly from the MREs, some hard candy, cracker sections. Likely they’d see no more food until this was over.

  It was near dark, and he was losing track of days and time. It was never really light down there. But in twelve hours at most, the hostages would be killed. It didn’t get much darker than that. The Straits of Malacca and the surrounding waters would be full of Chinese, Indian, Singaporean, American, and Indonesian vessels, and everyone would want a piece of GAM and any other rebels. The low-intensity civil war would turn into a slaughter. It could even become major.

  Kyle was still musing, awaiting a report from the advance scouts. They were within a few hundred meters of their target, just over a kilometer, choosing every meter before moving, relaying messages by crawling and delivering them in whispers, or by hand signs.

  A hiss ahead alerted him to an approach. He looked up to see Anda, Syarief, and someone who seemed to be their prisoner.

  “We bring him to you,” Anda said. “As my commander order. I would kill him.”

  “Well, let’s see what he says,” Kyle said, looking him over. Skinny, young, dressed in cheap clothes. Anda might really want him dead, or just be playing bad cop. He’d see where it went.

  “My name is Faisal and I know where the hostages are, and also an American soldier.”

  “Shit. This is either Lady Luck rolling a seven, or painting us with a huge target,” Wade said as he shimmied up.

  Kyle nodded. “Fairy Godmother or Practical Joke Department. Guess it’s my call.”

  “He says. I don’t trust him,” Anda said.

  “What can you tell us?” Kyle asked.

  “Will you give me your word you will not harm me? Or let the government?”

  “Son, I can’t speak for the Indonesian government. I won’t harm you. I can ask our State Department to help you if you help us. But I won’t promise something I can’t deliver.” He noticed the boy—man—didn’t ask for protection from the locals. Either he thought that fruitless, or he was willing to take his chances. That meant something. But what?

  “That is fair,” the boy agreed. He was in turmoil over something. “I must tell you something bad.”

  “I’m sure we’ve heard worse,” Wade said.

  “It is I who cut the head off Keller. I know now it was wrong and not Allah’s way.” The words were out in a rush.

  “Jeeeeezus,” Kyle burst out. Rage gripped him, and he gripped his rifle. But he didn’t raise it. Anda swore quietly but brightly in Achinese and reached for a knife. Wade waved her down.

  “I was to do it again tonight, to the woman and child. But I cannot. It cannot be right, it cannot be just. So I disobeyed and came here.” He seemed very small and helpless, terrified of dying on the spot. But he stood and waited, eyes wide.

  “Son, in this, your God and mine agree. You’ve done the right thing, and we’ll do anything we can to help you.” Kyle forced his hand to unclench. The kid had fucked up on a global scale, and in a way that Kyle was morally and legally bound to kill him for. But he’d admitted his mistake and wanted to make amends.

  If he could help them bring down this gang of scum, that just might do it. Especially since he was facing death from his own people at this point.

  “Can you draw a map and give us names and numbers?” he asked.

  “I can.”

  Kyle wasn’t inclined to trust the boy. He could still be a ruse. He wasn’t saying anything yet, but there was no way this boy was leaving before Kyle was sure of his loyalties. Otherwise.... well, he wasn’t going to say anything. But shooting a spy was legally and morally safe, and far less bothersome than things Kyle had witnessed on this and other missions. He clutched at his knife briefly, because he didn’t have a suppressor for the pistol, and would need a quiet kill.

  Once provided a pen and paper, the boy began to draw. The map fit what they had on download and from recon, and the layout described was reasonable. So far, so good. The kid almost certainly didn’t know there was a satellite providing data. Nor
was he likely to know the limits of its resolution, so he could be challenged with the magic power of the satellite if need be, “magic” defined as “technology the boy couldn’t explain and didn’t understand.” As to their own patrols, he could probably guess. He seemed to realize things were about to explode.

  “How many people?”

  “I’m not sure. It changes. More than one hundred today, I think. Many came in from an attack on the place where bombs are built. Kopassus, they said.”

  Kyle avoided grinning. That his group was being mistaken for the feared Indonesian elite was good for PR. Wait until the word got out that it was six Westerners and a handful of locals.

  “We heard about that attack,” he said. “You’re sure this is where the hostages are?”

  “Yes. A Chinese woman and her child and a large American man who speaks rudely.”

  “That would be him. Windows and doors on that building?”

  “Windows are glass, but usually raised. Doors are wood.”

  That was useful. “Okay, we’ll talk this over. Anda, don’t kill him. Just keep him here.”

  “I understand.” She switched to local dialect and said what had to be “Come here, boy.”

  Kyle liked her. She took no shit. She shot well. She was quiet and soldierly. There were some women like that in the U.S. military, but not nearly enough. Political Correctness had devalued soldiering in favor of a sensitive image. That called for cute uniforms, makeup, and press releases, and no harsh language. Anda probably didn’t own makeup or heels and swore like any other soldier, in a very crude, personal fashion. She was all business.

  As the locals left, he turned to Wade. “Right, so what do we do?” Kyle asked. He was running out of ideas.

  “First thing is to get around to where Mel is,” Wade said. “And then we need a large force to raid. In addition to a large diversion while we snatch him.”

  “Or,” Kyle said, “what they think is a large raiding force. How much ammo do we have?”

  “Close to a thousand rounds for the M4s and SS1s.”

  “That should be enough.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we have the locals go in the front, led by Stephens. They stop short of actually entering. They fire the place up loud. We’re in place to shoot through the windows at anyone we see. Requires us to be spread slightly, and we’ll need our phones open. Thank God Wiesinger let us all bring phones. One phone would be as useless as tits on a boar.”

  “Right,” Wade said. “Call the Aussies and Bakri? And we need to get a bit more on our informant. He showed up too soon.”

  “Have him call Jakarta and report it just before we attack?”

  “Good. Very good,” Wade agreed, grinning a yard of teeth.

  Kyle called Stephens in and explained the situation. Stephens agreed.

  “Sure, I can make noise. I also have no authority to throw my command away. Much as I want to help, noise is it, then we have to skedaddle. If I wind up dead, command will kill me. If I don’t wind up dead and create an incident, command will kill me. I was advised today in no uncertain terms that unless I have a reasonable prospect of acquiring more intel, I’m to sever ties and continue my mission, which is recon and intel for my government.”

  “Understood, and I’m sorry for taking you for granted,” Kyle said. He realized he had been. The Aussies were not part of his command.

  “Hey, glad to help. Wish I could stick around. Sounds like a bit of a bash.”

  “That’s the idea. Anyway, you lead the locals, get a good amount of attention and fire, and we’ll shoot from the back. If we can break loose or secure our objective early, count on us to drop quite a few.” Kyle figured they could each drop a man every five seconds if they weren’t seen. That was conservative. If no one tracked their fire, one minute would be twenty-four out of the hundred dead. But that assumed they secured their objective. Likely, they’d be extracting under fire. Which was going to suck.

  “Now, who’s carrying the hostages?”

  “I’ll carry the adult,” Wade said. “You lead. If Wiesinger’s healthy, he can carry her. That leaves you or I to take the child.”

  “And if Wiesinger’s injured, we toss him a weapon and bid him good day.”

  “Nice thought, isn’t it?” Stephens smiled under his moustache.

  “Oh, I’m serious,” Kyle said. “Our mission is the civilians first. Wiesinger’s expendable, and I was told so on the phone. If he can’t walk, I toss him a spare weapon”—other than his Ed Brown, which he wasn’t parting with—“and he can cover the rear until backup arrives, either Indonesian or American. But I can’t and won’t jeopardize the mission for a commander who got himself captured.”

  “You sound so upset by that,” Wade said.

  “Maybe. I do hope we all come out. It’s a pride and professionalism thing.” He’d lost two people on these ops. He didn’t want to lose a third. Disliking the man made it harder, if anything. Kyle didn’t like being a judge of worth. Too much like playing God.

  “Right. Let’s get the details down further. We know they’ll get fucked up anyway,” Stephens said.

  “Explosives,” Wade said. “Bakri has that gelatin.”

  “We use it?” Bakri asked.

  “Some of it,” Wade said.

  “Good. We need detonators,” Kyle said.

  "We have some," Wade reminded him.

  “I can spare some,” Stephens said. “Fuller has a few. I can get resupplied.”

  “Does it detonate when shot?” Kyle asked.

  “No,” Stephens replied. “A grenade will work. Use detonators. We should have some fuse you can light with a flame. We usually use a firing device, though.”

  “God, I’d hope so. Wish there was some way to put timers on them.”

  “I can do that,” Fuller said as he arrived to Stephens’s wave. “I have some. Usually they’re for minutes or hours, but they’ll dial down to seconds.”

  “How hard to activate?”

  “How much risk can you face? If they’re preset for time and mounted to the charge, press the button. But there’s no safety.”

  The skin on the back of Kyle’s neck crawled. A backpack full of HE and await a button to get pressed on something.

  “Okay, with an M4, an SR25 and a spare for use on arrival, plus grenades, extra explosives and shock factor, we should be able to make a good entrance. I want small charges I can toss outside to keep threats at bay once we’re in. I want something small enough to toss inside as a flashbang, even if it might cause minor injury. And I want a couple of large ones, a couple of pounds, that we can toss as ersatz artillery.”

  “Doable. Boss?” Fuller asked.

  “Go ahead. I’ll account for the fuses and detonators. Use theirs first.”

  “Understood. Give me a few minutes.” He nodded and slipped away.

  “So,” Stephens said, “we make a lot of noise, kill as many as we can?”

  “By all means,” Kyle said with a mock bow.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. Most appreciated.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Mine, actually. But lots of noise and body counts. You use the distraction to rescue the damsels and the ogre. Let me know as soon as you’ve done that, because I need to didi mao like no one has ever maoed before.”

  “Yeah, it would be embarrassing if you got caught.”

  “It would bugger all. You yanks have a huge government, a corporate interest here and a lot of firepower. No one will fuck with you much. We live in these parts and have to deal with Indonesian refugees and smugglers, pirates and politicians. We dare not get caught.”

  “I understand,” Kyle said. “I’ll see that it’s mentioned in the appropriate places that you not be thanked for the risks you aren’t about to take since you aren’t here.”

  Stephens nodded. “Good, as long as we all understand that. ”

  “Okay, that’s the rough plan. Now, for finer details. . .”

  CHAPTE
R 16

  Faisal made the call as requested. Kyle got the number from Gilpin, after a brief debate. Wiesinger probably could have had more authority if he’d just demanded it as necessary, rather than being a toady. Kyle called directly to the local military district this time—though “directly” was subjective. He had it patched through the military to a civilian line and back to Indonesia through some other cutout so it couldn’t be traced.

  After two rings, a male answered, “Malam.” Good evening. Kyle handed the phone over to Faisal as soon as he confirmed contact.

  “My name is Faisal Rachmat. I am reporting the location of the Chinese hostages, and an additional hostage who works for the oil company,” he said. They’d decided not to admit to American military presence just yet. Stephens and Akbar were listening to his prepared speech, ensuring he followed the plan. So far, Akbar was nervous but agreeable. Like Bakri, he hated the government, but knew there wasn’t much choice in this case.

  “Yes, a woman named Lei Ling Park, now Madden, and her daughter Suzanne Kii Madden. The American I don’t know the name of. The head of the camp is Agung, and Imam Ayi is advising them. The explosives for the oil terminal are to go off at noon. They left here aboard a lorry, gray, thirty-five-hundred-kilogram capacity, Mercedes . . .” He rattled off all he knew. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes for a military operator to realize this was real intel, not a hoax. It might be a setup, but it wasn’t a fraud.

  “I am doing it because I know it is wrong to kill women and children. The Achinese do not need this kind of reputation. Please stop the terrorists, they are enemies of us both.” A moment later he handed the phone over to Stephens.

  Stephens spoke briefly. “That’s what we have. Hope the information is useful, mate. We’re departing now. Goodbye.” He handed the phone over to Kyle. The Aussie’s voice would confuse the government further as to who and what was involved.

  Kyle stared at the phone as he clicked it off. “Well, that’s that. Well done, son. You’ve just become a good guy.”

  “What must I do now?” He looked nervous, excited, and a bit bothered.