*****
“I tell you, Sir, it don’t make much sense. Why would they pull us out of Timor? Ain’t like there’s not enough Japanese to go around. If they could just get us more ammo, we’d give them a thumpin’ they’d never forget.”
Brock winced as the truck bounced over something hard and threw the men around in the back of the bed before answering Lance Corporal Lyons. “It’s very simple. They said ‘jump’ and we’re supposed to say ‘how high?’ while we’re pedaling in mid-air.”
He realized how flippant his answer sounded, so he continued but with a more conversational tone. “Look, Lyons, I don’t know any more than you do. The colonel couldn’t or wouldn’t say what this was all about. We can guess until we’re blue in the face, but until we touch down in Darwin, we’re just not going to know.”
“All right, Sir, but it feels awfully strange. Especially since it ain’t like we all come from the same units. Before I started fighting with you here on Timor, I never expected to be workin’ alongside an American officer, much less takin’ orders from one. Just not a natural state of affairs.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to unconventional ways of fighting, Lance Corporal,” Terry broke in before Brock could answer. “We’ve tried fighting the Japanese in a straight up, toe-to-toe battle and we’ve been getting outmaneuvered and outfought the whole way back to where we are now. Maybe conventional tactics aren’t the way to go? I suspect there’s going to be a lot of unusual things tried before this war is over.”
“Using the assets you have instead of things you wish you had is practical,” van Straten said, pushing his bush hat back on his head. “I’m certain we’ll see more Japanese than we ever wanted before long.”
“Coo, the sphinx speaks. Is there anything else you’d like to say, van Straten?”
The big Dutchman simply pulled his hat down over his eyes and resumed his silence. Lyons looked around the truck but no one else seemed to be interested in joining him in conversation, so he finally ground down to a halt with the last words muttered almost to himself. “Well, I find it a bit odd, even if you all don’t.”
To everyone’s relief, the truck soon pulled into the makeshift airstrip. The truck rumbled to a halt underneath a small camouflage net and the team quickly piled out of the truck, grabbing their gear and massaging all the places they’d hit against the hard bottom and sides of the truck. A waiting airman came over and directed the team to another small clearing next to the strip and motioned for them to spread out and relax.
“You made good time. We weren’t expecting you for another hour,” he said, as Captain Delaney passed him.
“We only had to stop once for a flat tire and twice for Zeroes flying overhead. Piece of cake, really.”
“That’s good to hear, Sir. Now, you’re not required to stay here the whole time you’re waiting, but don’t wander off too far. When the transport lands, you’ll have twenty minutes to board while it’s taking on fuel and dropping its cargo. It will leave on time with or without you. Any longer than that and the sky will be filled with Japanese planes. Considering your plane is unarmed, I wouldn’t want to push it.”
“Thank you very much, Private. We’ll keep that in mind.”
“Very good, Sir. Well, here’s hoping for a nice quiet flight.”
The young private left, but he needn’t have worried about the team wandering off. Four of them were asleep underneath the thick bushes that lined the small clearing by the time Delaney joined them. Brock smiled to himself, knowing some of them had been running on nothing more than nervous energy after their long hike the day before. He glanced around one more time, made sure he was visible should the private need to speak to him again, and then he soon joined them in the arms of Morpheus.
He was just explaining to a young lady over a tall glass of beer what he did in the Army when he felt a shove on his shoulder. He forced himself back to consciousness and glanced up. The twilight had begun, and from where he was sitting he could see a small bustling of activity in another nearby clearing.
“Captain? Captain, sir? Begging the captain’s pardon, the wireless operator just heard from the transport. They’ll be here in about ten minutes. Might want to get your people ready.”
Brock rolled over and shoved himself to his feet. All around him, he saw the rest of his team grabbing their weapons and ruck sacks. None of the rucks looked heavy, but then again none of them had much beyond a change of uniform and some personal hygiene gear. Anything that wasn’t immediately useful for safety or survival got dumped early in this war. By the time he had the team lined up, the native Timorese were starting to light torches to line the airstrip.
Off in the distance he heard the approaching airplane, but everyone there was holding their breath listening for the sound of any other planes coming from the north or west. The transport plane made one pass and then came in low and slow over the jungle, putting its wheels down almost as soon as it cleared the edge of the tree line.
It taxied to the end of the strip and the Timorese quickly doused the torches and ran to help turn the plane around. An old 1920s Ford truck lumbered down toward the transport and waited for the pilot to kill his engines before they could start refueling. By the time Brock and his men reached the other end of the strip, the cargo handlers had already dumped out the supplies they’d brought in with them and were re-rigging the interior of the plane to handle passengers. The team passed the Timorese carrying cargo toward a supply dump Brock knew was a few kilometers away. They had to move all these supplies before daylight because the Japanese planes would be hunting for any signs of movement in the jungle as soon as it was light enough to see.
“Captain Broderick Delaney, U. S. Army,” came a call from a man standing next to the cargo bay on the transport.
“Here!”
“Well, don’t just stand there. Get on the plane,” the man said, before calling out, “Lieutenant Terrance Howard, Royal British Army.”
One by one, the names of his team were called and they took their place on the plane. They secured their weapons and gear and then waited as three other groups of men climbed aboard. Before the door closed, a young Australian private walked down the line to verify every weapon was unloaded and on safe. Once he was satisfied, he gave the man at the door a signal and the cargo doors were closed.
A few seconds later, the sound of two powerful engines could be heard and the craft began vibrating a bit. The private came by again. “It’s likely to get a touch noisy back here. We don’t usually handle passengers.”
“That’s all right. I’d rather hear the engines than not hear them.”
“Righto, Sir. Anyway, we’ll be moving in a moment. Please hang on. We’re going to have to climb fast to clear those trees, so we’ll be running up the motors about as high as they can go before takeoff.”
The private walked down the aisle once more before climbing into the small cabin up front. Outside the noise rose like a banshee’s wail and more than one person clasped their hands to their ears as the engines strained against the brakes. When Brock wasn’t sure he could take the noise any more, the plane suddenly shot forward, like it had been kicked by the world’s largest mule. A few seconds later, he was wondering where his stomach had gone as the plane’s nose jerked upward and he swore he heard the whole plane scream with agony as the pilots tried to will the plane over the wall of trees ahead.
Then, with no warning, the plane leveled off. The engines were still loud as the pilot poured on as much speed as he could get out of the old crate. A few minutes later, the private came out of the cabin to check and see if anyone had upchucked all over the plane. Luckily for the human cargo, no one had.
The private stopped by Brock again. “Best take off yet out of there. We should be in Darwin in two hours. We’re going to stay low for a while and then we’ll climb to a more reasonable flying altitude once we’re sure no one’s following us. We’ll meet our escort about sixty miles off shore. Y
ou’re welcome to look out the window, but there’s not much but a lot of black and stars out tonight.”
“Thanks again.”
The time passed slowly and Brock knew he wasn’t the only one who felt a bit claustrophobic on the transport. It wasn’t so much that there wasn’t room. They were nowhere near capacity as far as putting bodies on the plane, but it was the fact if something happened, there was nothing they could do about it. Until their escort showed up, they were just a big fat target for any Japanese planes.
About thirty minutes into their flight, the plane waggled its wings and Brock knew they were signaling someone. He glanced out the window and in the warm light of the moon, he saw a P-40 Warhawk settle into position off the starboard wing. From the reactions of the guys on the other side, there must have been a mate over there. He felt himself relax for the first time since he’d climbed aboard the plane and leaned back against the vibrating metal behind him and drifted off to sleep.
The sudden commotion of the plane beginning its descent woke him and he saw the faint lights of the Darwin airfield ahead. Much quicker than he anticipated, they were touching down and jeeps were appearing. The cargo master made his way back to the door and made sure everyone had all the gear they’d brought aboard before letting the first one off. Brock and his men climbed out and Brock formed them up, waiting for someone to meet them.
An Australian corporal soon corralled them and they piled into two jeeps. The team was taken to a set of barracks. The corporal showed them where the chow hall was, where they were to sleep, where they could draw new uniforms, and informed them someone would meet them in the morning.
No, he didn’t have any more information for them and no, they couldn’t leave post.
Only van Straten’s deep baritone spoke the words that were on everyone else’s mind. “Very strange.”
Tales of Strikeforce Falcon, Book 1: Flashpoint Page 4
