Tasmanian SFG: Welcome to Hell

by C. R. Daems

  “Actually, I think he did,” Cédric said while trying to look serious. “Rumor has it that he bribed one of us to get rid of you.”

  “Me,” Van said, holding up his hand. “But before I decide whether to take him up on the offer, I need to know what’s our mission tonight.”

  “Mission?” I asked while trying to look surprised. “You’re supposed to come up with the mission, make the unit look brilliant, and I’m supposed to take all the credit.”

  That elicited smiles and snorts from everyone.

  “The mission,” I said and paused for effect. “Drumroll please…is to explore this side of the river to see if there are any parties going on that we can join, cross over and verify the major is a genius and that there are no natives waiting, and return to base without anybody getting injured.” When everyone nodded, I continued. “Smitty, I’d like you and one of the scouts to follow the river to let me know when you think we can safely cross to the other side. I’d like the rest of us to stay about a klick from the river until such time as it’s safe to cross over.”

  The scouts huddled for a minute establishing the order of the march and the time between change overs. When they broke up, Pete was in the lead, then Todd, Isaac, Art, and Van. Cedric stayed with Smitty. We had been out only a few hours when Art held up a hand for us to stop. When I worked my way to Art he pointed to the east. There sat a small village which appeared to have only women, children, and elderly men present. On first glance, the huts looked permanent but on closer examination I thought they could be dismantled and the entire village moved within a day or two. After taking a few pictures and noting the location, we moved on. Less than two hours later, we ran into another moderately large village. Again, there appeared to be no young men in the village. It was only an hour before dawn when my TCom buzzed and a message from Smitty appeared.

  Smitty: Last chance to cross, daylight soon, need decision.

  I agreed and passed the word to the lead scout to turn toward the river. An hour later we found Smitty and Cedric. After assuring me that the area was free of natives, we huddled in a circle.

  “The natives are crossing back-and-forth about an hour upstream,” Smitty said. “There’s a bunch of boulders in the stream. The natives use the boulders as steppingstones, jumping from one to the other to get across. Consequently, the area is twice unsafe. First because of the native traffic and second because the rapids look like a class five rapid, so if you missed a jump you would likely be killed. Just ahead, the river turns east away from our objective. The river is deep and the current strong, but I think we could manage to cross.”

  “Suggestions?” I asked, looking around the group. “We could cross now and explore the area in daylight. The Zinwe should be looking north toward the army. Or we can wait until night to cross and explore.”

  “Night,” several people said simultaneously. I agreed based on our last nightly sojourn into their territory. They had collected into groups and were less vigilant. We spent the day nibbling on our rations, resting, and debating the best way to cross the river.

  In the end, Pete crossed the river with one end of our rope. He then anchored one end of the rope to a tree, and each person used the rope to cross over to the other side. I then sent Howard an update:

  Luan: Zinwe has semi-permanent camp on the east side of the river. men absent. Will cross over tonight and explore west side. Fox

  Several minutes later I received a message from Howard:

  Howard: Major Lloyd sent twenty rangers back to base camp. They left six hours ago.

  I wanted to scream but of course I couldn’t since the jungle was overflowing with Zinwe. I put my head my hands and rubbed my face in utter frustration while I tried to think how we could stop them from getting killed.

  “What’s wrong, Luan?” Smitty asked, frowning down at me.

  “Lloyd sent twenty Rangers back to the base camp. They left six hours ago.”

  “If you are right, and it looks like you are, those Rangers don’t stand a chance,” Smitty said to nodding heads. Everyone turned to look at me like I had the answer. I almost laughed. To a man their facial expressions were attentive, relieved, and all but shouted that’s why nobody wants to be a leader. One thing was for sure, I didn’t have enough information to decide.

  “We,” I said, stressing the word we, “don’t have enough information to make a decision. Let’s split into two groups. One group will work its way north until they encounter the natives, then they will proceed west. The second group will leave the jungle, race two klicks west, reenter the jungle, and proceed north until they encounter the natives, then work their way east until they meet the first group. Hopefully, that will provide us a rough indication of the natives’ distribution and numbers for us to make a decision.” I looked at their faces and laughed. “For me to make a decision.” That invoked smiles and nods. They huddled for a minute, then Smitty, Art, Van, and Cedric peeled off and began a moderate jog south, which would take them out of the jungle. Pete took the lead position and began walking west, followed by Isaac, then Todd and me.

  We encountered the first natives about an hour later. A group of five located twenty meters from river, eight hours north of the base camp, and fifteen hours south of the ridge where the army was bivouacked. They were configured in a five-by-five square, each man separated only a few meters apart and several were quietly talking. They look relaxed like they knew there was nothing near, indicating there was probably another line of natives in front of them. Todd was in the lead at the time. He looked back toward me and pointed toward the west. When I nodded, he proceeded in that direction. Moving slowly and carefully, we encountered three more groups over the next hour separated by twenty meters and in that same five-by-five configuration. Although their line was somewhat staggered by as much as twenty meters, we managed to stay on the outside of the skirmish line and encountered another four groups before we met up with Smitty’s group.

  “How many, Smitty?” I asked, as we moved a bit south and huddled.

  “They are clustered in groups of twenty-five, the groups are spaced about twenty to twenty-five meters apart, and we saw six groups—one hundred fifty Zinwe.”

  “We saw eight groups for a total of two hundred natives. That’s three hundred fifty in this line alone, and I doubt this is the only line,” I said, hating what I had to do next. “I need two volunteers. One to enter fifty meters to the east and one fifty meters to the west and to work their way north far enough to determine how many lines the natives have waiting.”

  Naturally, six hands raised, which caused everyone to grin. I just shook my head, realizing this was the exact type of situation why nobody wanted to be the leader. Who wanted to send people to their death? I sank into a sitting position and closed my eyes. Sometime later, I opened my eyes, having resigned myself to the situation.

  “Pete, you take the east side and Todd, you take the west,” I said, hoping I had selected the two best scouts, and therefore the least likely to get discovered. Each man smiled and gave me a thumbs-up as they headed for their starting position. Tasmanians! I stood, shaking my head. Happy puppies willing to chase the ball no matter where it bounces, I mused and smiled.

  “Jolie, you’re going to have to teach me that trick. Usually when we’re faced with a decision like that, we resort to some random method of selecting who’s going—like pick a number between one and ten.” Smitty gave me a crooked smile.

  “I think that would make me feel worse if the person was subsequently injured or killed. I’ll feel rotten if something happens, but I’ll know it was the best decision I was capable of making.” I couldn’t do anything now but wait and worry. My thoughts turned to the Rangers, another worry. Major Lloyd had sent them to certain death all because he couldn’t qualify for the Tasmanians and a woman did.

  Just then my TCom vibrated and when I looked down Pete had sent two clicks, meaning he had hit the second line of the Zinwe, followed a minute later by Todd. My TCom vibrated
again and when I looked Pete had sent four clicks followed three seconds later by Todd. I took that to mean that both scouts had encountered a second line of natives and they were positioned in a 4x4 configuration. Then a message from Todd.

  Todd: Rangers entering second line.

  Unless I had the Zinwe figured all wrong, they would let the Rangers penetrate well into the second line and then begin harassing them on both sides as line three closed behind them to make sure they couldn’t retreat.

  Then, two hours later I received three clicks followed by three clicks from both Pete and Todd, meaning 3x3 groups. I immediately sent a text to them.

  Luan: If there are no more natives in front of you, go east and return south along the river. We will meet you there.

  Then I typed a message to Howard.

  Luan: Commander, the Zinwe have three lines facing you. The first line has fourteen groups of nine spaced twenty-five meters apart. The second line has fourteen groups of sixteen. And the third line fourteen groups of twenty-five. Unless I am mistaken, I believe the first line will open and let any group pass and close behind them. The second group will also open and allow the invading group to enter well inside before beginning to harass them on their exposed flanks. the Third group is there to ensure the invading group cannot break through. if you can spare some Tasmanians I’d like to try and rescue the Rangers. If so, send them south along the river. I’ll meet them there. I will need the lead Ranger’s name and his RCom number. Fox.

  By my count, the Zinwe had at least seven hundred fighters in the field so we weren’t going to save the Rangers by plunging into the middle of that. If, on the other hand, we could help the Rangers get to the river, we would have one flank covered and might force them to attack, which would improve our odds. A minute later I got text from Howard.

  Howard: Fox, Devils coming. Williams twenty-eight.

  Now that I had the lead Ranger’s RCom identification and had Tasmanian support coming, I contacted Williams.

  Luan: you are in the middle of seven hundred Zinwe. We will try to help. Move fast east towards the river when I signal GO. Tasmanian Luan.

  “We are going to move quickly towards the river where we are going to meet up with Pete and Todd and a group of Tasmanians that Howard is sending,” I said, looking around the unit. “When we’re all assembled, I’m going to send the Rangers a signal to move towards the river. At the same time, we are going to move towards the west to clear a path to the river for the Rangers. At the river we will have one of our flanks covered, forcing the Zinwe to attack, which should improve our odds over letting them snip at our flank. Then to move back toward the ridge, since they will need all the available Tasmanians to support whatever Howard decides to do.”

  “Sounds like something crazy Tasmanians do,” Isaac said, grinning. Everyone gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Luan,” Smitty said, shaking his head, “I hope you like leading groups because this assignment is going to guarantee that you’re always selected to lead a unit. The good news is that every Tasmanian is going to want to be in your unit.”

  I shook my head. Smitty was twice right. My unit had done well, therefore I would be considered a good leader, and therefore logically I should be in charge of a unit on my next assignment. Crazy as it was, the Tasmanians were addicted to action like a drug addict to narcotics—it was their drug of choice—consequently, my unit would be the unit of choice.

  The sound of the river jarred me out of my musing. Art, who was in the lead, turned north. Three hours later, we met Todd and twenty minutes later, Pete.

  Every minute felt like an hour while we waited for the Tasmanians that Howard was sending. I and the others wanted to rush to help the Rangers, which would get us all killed. There were at least ninety-six to one hundred twenty-eight Zinwe between us and the Rangers and potentially up to two hundred on our flanks. To be successful, our action would have to be a surprise and create enough confusion to freeze or at least slow their reaction. While I sat contemplating our attack, Finley and his four units arrived with twenty-five Tasmanians.

  “Good evening, Fox,” Finley said as he walked over to me and sat. “Since this is your operation, what would you like me and my units to do?” He smiled, and I felt a chill run down my back. I had thought whoever showed up would be in charge. Chain of command was so much easier, I lamented.

  “The Zinwe are positioned in three lines,” I said. “The first line is comprised of fourteen groups of nine natives each separated by twenty-five meters. They will allow any invader group to pass and are only there to ensure the group can’t leave. The second line is comprised of fourteen groups of sixteen each and their function is to weaken the invading group by sniping at its flanks. The last fourteen groups are comprised of twenty-five natives each and there to ensure the group can’t escape and to kill what remains of the depleted group. The Rangers are now immersed in the second line and being attacked on all four flanks. I estimate there are at least one hundred natives in the second line between us and the Rangers. I propose a mad dash through those hundred natives, join up with the Rangers, and punch through the first line, which is the weakest, and return to the ridge.” I realized it would be faster and easiest to break through the Zinwe’s first line than returning to the river and giving them an opportunity to regroup.

  “Sounds exciting,” Finley said. “Let me inform General Wentworth what we’re planning. Hopefully he can position a hundred or so army troops to take care of whoever is chasing us.” He typed quickly on his TCom and then looked up. “All set. How do you want to proceed?”

  “I had originally planned to use the river to cover one of our flanks, but that may give the Zinwe time to reorganize and we could wind up facing overwhelming odds,” I said and paused for comments. Finley and his three squad leaders sat quietly for a minute, then they each slowly nodded agreement. “We may be better off doing what the Tasmanians are good at, rolling over the enemy like a tsunami.”

  “I agree,” Finley said. “If there are seven hundred Zinwe out there, I would hate to give them the opportunity to get organized.”

  “When I give Sergeant Williams the Go signal, he is going to have the Rangers push east toward the river. If we simultaneously push west towards him, it should create a hole in the Zinwe’s second line. Once we meet, we immediately turn north and break through the Zinwe’s weak first line. After that, we know there’s no more Zinwe, and we can make an all-out dash to the ridge.”

  “Where do you want my units?” Finley asked.

  “What if my unit leads, two of your units follow ten meters behind, and the third ten meters behind them—like a diamond formation,” I said and paused for comments. Hearing none, I continued. “When we reach the Rangers, I’ll position my unit on their west flank, your trailing unit can act as a rear guard, while your other two units immediately punch north through the Zinwe’s first line.”

  When we had our units lined up in their order of battle, I typed Go on my TCom, looked to Finley and Smitty who each nodded, and pressed send. I wasn’t sure where the leader of a squad was supposed to be in an attack—at the front or at the back or in the middle—and didn’t care. I joined Smitty at the apex of the triangle my unit formed, and we entered the thick underbrush. We made no attempt at stealth, relying on surprise and hoping the enemy was focused on the Rangers. Ironically, it didn’t matter; thirty-three soldiers moving through the jungle quietly would have disturbed enough of the jungle’s creatures to let everyone know something was amiss. Thirty-three Tasmanians moving at a fast pace created chaos. Hundreds of birds exploded into the air, monkeys and other tree animals scrambled from limb to limb and jumped from tree to tree, and cats, boars, lizards, and ground creatures thrashed through the undergrowth to safety. Every Zinwe in the jungle would know something was coming. A smile came to my lips when I thought about Colonel Zimmerman’s remark the first day at the Tasmanian school.

  “Tasmanians aren’t strong and tough berserkers who charge the enemy in a do
-or-die engagement. In reality, they are ghosts who sweep through the enemy bringing a tsunami of death.”

  Well, Zimmerman, you should see us now, and your nightmare scenario, led by a woman, I thought as I pushed aside large-leafed plants, dodged around trees, jumped over roots, and splashed through swampy ground. Twenty meters later we encountered our first natives, a group of sixteen. They had obviously heard us coming but didn’t appear to be expecting soldiers and stood wide-eyed and staring as we burst through the thick foliage. But to their credit they recovered quickly, some drawing long machete-like knives and others bringing their guns to a ready position.

  I ran straight into a group of five. They must have been talking because they stood in a small circular cluster. I glimpsed heads, torsos, and legs of natives in the foliage to my right, left, and behind the cluster. I squeezed off a three-shot burst into the native directly in front of me as he began to raise his rifle toward me. He was propelled backward into the man just behind and to his left. Two steps later I reached a man on his left who was in the process of drawing a machete from his belt. I cut his throat as I raced past him. The native behind him was scrambling to raise his rifle to a shoulder as I squeezed off a short burst of nine-millimeter bullets from my Tavor into his chest. He lifted into the air as if an invisible string had pulled him up and backward. My peripheral vision detected a man to my left, and as I turned, his machete was arching toward my neck. Too late to avoid or to aim my Tavor since I had it pointing to the right, I lunged into him with my shoulder. Earthy rancid air exploded from his lungs. The impact threw him backward and jarred his machete from his hand, sending it flying harmlessly behind me. I didn’t bother to take the time to kill him as Tasmanians were coming behind me. Instead I continued, looking left and right as I plunged through the dense undergrowth. I caught sight of two more natives barely visible to my left, but before I could bring my Tavor to bear on them a burst of gunfire shredded the foliage and both men were thrown backward. I glanced to my left to see Todd smiling.