They were both shot. One in the leg and the other in the stomach. All I had were field dressings and some antibiotics. After wrapping the wounds and administrating meds to treat infection, some of the workers from a nearby hamlet helped me load them into the copter. After securing them to the cargo bed, I lifted off.
Both men were rugged looking. Their clothes were camouflage and they carried long rifles and side arms. The weapons were gas operated with metal tipped bullets. One lay silent while the other moaned softly. There was nothing else I could do for them except fly. Two hours later, we were back at the vegetable LZ. A team rushed up, loaded them on stretchers and carried them to the medical facility.
“J-Pop to base,” I radioed, “Two injured Park Rangers transported to the LZ.”
“J-Pop, there is a reaction force at the fishery,” Dunya directed, “Pick them up and take them to the hamlet. Take a break there for a couple of hours.”
“Rodger that,” I responded, “I’ll take a break at the fruit LZ and top off there.”
“Your call J-Pop, base out.”
I lifted off and two hours later set down at the fruit LZ. It wasn’t hard to locate the NRA Lieutenant.
“Ferre, I just happened to be going to the fishery,” I explained to Lieutenant Anika, “If you still want that ride?”
He laughed and walked over to a pickup truck. From the back, he pulled his travel bag.
“When do we leave?” he asked.
“I need a break so in about an hour,” I said, “Know anywhere where I can grab a bite to eat.”
“My friend, at fruit LZ there are many restaurants, but the best is owned by my sister,” he said leading me around his truck, “It’s only three blocks. Would you prefer to ride?”
“No Anika, I need to stretch my legs,” I replied. We began walking down the bamboo lined street.
His sister’s name was Margritha Anika and I don’t know if it was the best restaurant at fruit LZ but, the food was delicious. It didn’t hurt that Ferre’s sister was lovely and very nice to me. I would have asked her out but her three toddlers and one large husband precluded that idea.
Rain settled in and the two-hour flight to fishery LZ was a rough ride. But Anika didn’t complain, because as he said, the truck was worse and took a lot longer. We landed around 1700 hours in a downpour.
Chapter 48
The Park Ranger office looked like an armory at a Marine Recon facility. Gear was spread out and four troopers were sorting the equipment. Their weapons were not on the floor, just like Recon. The weapons were carefully leaning against the walls.
“I’m J-Pop” I said, “Anyone need a ride?”
I was met with cold stares and ignored. Finally, one of them separated and walked over to me.
“Sergeant Celso, you the helicopter pilot?” he asked.
“Yes Sergeant, that’s my mission,” I replied, “What’s the plan?”
“I thought you’d want to spend the night here?” He said with a sour tone.
“Not if you’ve got some place along the way to put down,” I replied, “I’ve been in the air since 0500 and I’m good for any couple more hours or so.”
Now the other three people looked at me. Celso glanced around and nodded to them.
“Like I said, I’m Celso,” the Sergeant said with more energy, “That’s Unai my pointman. The mean lady there is Nala, my scout, and the big bastard in the corner is Fabrizio.”
“Lieutenant Phelan Piran,” I said to the group, “Do you have a landing spot for us?”
We reviewed the map until I was confident we could set down in a clearing about two hours from the fishery LZ. It would still leave us a three-hour flight to the hamlet but it would allow us to get there at first light. Although it was a long flight on top of today’s flying with the rest break, I could make it.
The Park Ranger quick reaction force came fully loaded. Their backpacks were bulging as were their web belts. Each carried a different weapon. Celso totted a short machine gun, Unai an assault rifle with a hand grip, Nala, a long sniper gun, and Fabrizio had a light machine gun slung over his shoulder.
Whoever had attacked the two rangers was about to be hunted. I had no doubt the result would be violence once Celso and his team caught up with the bad guys. Now, all I had to do was get us safely to the first landing point. And, not fall asleep at the controls on the way.
It was 2000 hours when we located the open area in a mango swamp. The high ground was just a little above the dark water but Sergeant Celso assured me it was solid. I ever so gently touched the dirt with the skids. As I let the bird settle, I waited for it to lean. If it had, I’d be ready. It didn’t and we set down.
Crickets, frogs and night birds lulled me to sleep. It felt as if I’d just closed my eyes, when Sergeant Celso nudged my shoulder.
“What I,” and his hand clamped over my mouth.
“We’ve got movement,” he whispered and I shook my head to let him know I understood.
The big man, Fabrizio, was out of the helicopter and set up behind his machine gun. On the damp earth on other side of the bird, Unai was squatting and facing in that direction. Nala was nowhere to be found. I reached out slowly for my pilot’s emergency weapon. It was in a pouch behind my seat. I only knew about the pistol because of the briefing by Senior Chief Dunya.
The pistol was a small caliber, personal weapon. Fine for defense against a midsize predator, but absolutely no good in a fire fight. I promised myself when I got back to base, I would get a couple of military weapons to carry in the helicopter.
Celso reached out and felt the pistol. His hand returned and he replaced my tiny gun with a big brute of a pistol. I felt around until I located the safety catch. The catch made a soft click as I unlocked the pistol and another when I reset it. The Sergeant gave me a pat on the back and slid out to join Fabrizio.
We sat in silence for over half an hour. The dark was inky and the night creatures had stopped. I was sweating, tired and my legs were cramping. Just when I was about to go question Celso, Nala faded into view.
The three Rangers huddled together for a few minutes. Then Celso crawled into the copter.
“We have three heavily armed bandits,” he whispered, “They’re camped a short way from here. We can’t fly out until they’re neutralized. Are you alright on your own?”
“I was a Marine before I was Navy,” I assured him, “I’m good.”
Celso made a clicking sound and Unai left his post and moved from the port side. I watched as the four lined up and disappeared into the night. I didn’t like being in the bird so I slipped out and squatted in the dirt. From piloting a giant Clipper ship to huddling in mud beside an old helicopter, my career in the Navy, so far, wasn’t boring.
The quiet of the night was shattered as, across the water, gun fire erupted. I could make out trees in the flashes and I tried to pick out the Ranger’s weapons. The machine gun and the assault rifle were identifiable. Other than those, I didn’t know if my side was winning or losing. I tightened my grip on the pistol.
Suddenly the night went silent and my waiting became more than holding a place. It became a question. Who would emerge from the black night? I waited.
It was almost dawn when Unai called from out of the dark, “Friendly J-Pop, don’t shoot.”
“Come on in,” I said and was happy until I saw the load the other three were carrying.
They dumped the bodies onto the floor of my helicopter. After a quick consultation, Celso sent the others back for the bandit’s equipment.
“We should get some good intelligence for their gear,” he said.
“Are bandits a problem?” I asked looking at the three dead men stacked in the rear of my bird.
“Not at first,” the Sergeant explained, “We’ve always had a few people go native. They claim to be living off the land but when they get desperate, they steal, rob and sometimes kill for food. Lately they’ve reached new lows. The two Rangers you took to the doc, we believe, were ambu
shed by a group. It’s gone from bandits living off the land to Rebels who say they want to homestead on Nafaka. The Galactic Council will never go for that.”
I eyed the weapons used by the bandits. There were three assault rifles and they looked to be in good condition.
“Those rifles aren’t castaways from a used arms dealer,” I observed pointing to the bodies, “Those are new and well cared for weapons.”
“Kind of speaks of supply and training,” Celso said, “Like there’s some organization behind them.”
I thought for a few minutes then told Celso about the increase in Pirate attacks. As he pondered the ramifications, his team returned with the bandit’s gear. New backpacks, stuffed with food and personal supplies plus additional ammunition. These were not Rebels from a local uprising; they were well equipped troops.
“Do we abort and take the bodies and equipment back to your base?” I asked.
“No Sir. You drop us near the hamlet and we go from there,” he answered, “You get to deliver the bodies afterwards.”
Chapter 49
The rain came along with a weak sun. We lifted off and I called base to report our location. A few hours later, I located the hamlet and reported it to Celso on the intercom.
“We need to leave a false trail,” he said, “Touch down in four places. We’ll drop off at the second one.”
The bird just cleared the tight space in between the trees on the first touchdown. For the second touch, I located an open area with tall grass and dropped into the foliage. I felt a slight sway as the Rangers departed. I lifted off but couldn’t see the well camouflaged Rangers. After two more touches, I swung around and pointed the nose of the copter in a southwest heading.
My destination was fruit LZ as it was the nearest LZ with a substantial refrigeration unit. The facility could easily store the bandit’s bodies without interfering with production.
My approach to the fruit Landing Zone was smooth and the sun was shining. The humidity hadn’t burned off, in fact, it had increased as the temperature rose. I was already sweating through the fabric of my flight suit as I powered down the engine.
“J-Pop to base,” I called, “as ordered, I am at the fruit LZ.”
“Acknowledged J-Pop,” Senior Chief Dunya replied, “Be advised. We are going dark in an hour.”
“Rodger that, I’m taking a break at fruit LZ,” I reported, “I still have the three bodies on board, any orders?”
“You have Pancake in route with Park Rangers to take possession of your cargo,” she replied. Another helicopter was inbound with Lieutenant Piero Ubaldo at the controls. “Remain on station in case the quick reaction force requires assistance,” she stated.
I confirmed the orders and turned sideways in the cockpit. With my feet on the left windshield and my head resting on the other, I realized why Javelin always had a soft cover with him. The helmet came off, I found a ball cap in the emergency bag and pulled the bill down over my eyes. Sleep crept over me.
“Phelan, Phelan are you in there?” a woman’s voice drifted through the heat of the day and into the cockpit.
It pulled me from a dream about a steam bath and a blond and dropped me into the hot interior of my copter.
“Phelan?” Margritha Anika called out again.
I saw her walking out of the shade of the bamboo and crossing the dusty part of the LZ where I had parked. My stiff legs and a knot in my back held me up for a few seconds. Eventfully, I scrambled out of the pilot’s seat and climbed into the cargo area of the bird.
“Oh my god,” she said in horror while quickly stepping back from the helicopter, “what is that smell?”
I had become desensitized to the aroma of my cargo. The heat and the humidity were rushing the decomposition of the bodies. Margritha had entered a cloud of reeking, rotting flesh. My grisly cargo stunk and, while I was immune to the smell, she wasn’t.
“Sorry, I have some bodies,” I stammered pointing to the interior of the helicopter, “in the, ah, I’m waiting for a pickup.”
Not quite coherent, but she nodded as if I’d explained enough. After setting a basket down at her feet, she backed off some more.
“I heard you were here and thought you’d be hungry,” she stated while still backing up, “but I can’t see how you could eat with that stink.”
“I’m a pilot in the Galactic Council Navy,” I responded trying to lighten the mood, “we are trained to ignore discomfort.”
“If you can ignore that smell,” she said while holding her nose, “you must be a very good pilot. I’ll send back some rum. You’ll have to eat alone.”
“Rum sounds nice, but I’m on duty,” I told her.
“The rum is for cleaning your helicopter,” she scolded, “not for drinking.”
With that she scampered away and I retrieved the basket of food. Once away from the bodies, my nose cleared. Unfortunately, now I could smell the rotting corpses. A spot under the bamboo was more pleasant than my copter and it smelled a whole lot better.
I heard Pancake before I spotted his copter. It came in from the South so he must have picked up Rangers at the fishery. Other than Captain Gesina, I hadn’t met the other two pilots from the 49th Air Wing.
He hovered close to my bird and settled gently into the dust. Lieutenant Piero Ubaldo wasn’t what I’d expected. With a call sign like Pancake, I thought he’d be fat or at least plump. He was lean with a thick head of hair, that was longer then regulation. Pancake jumped out of his bird and as his feet landed in the dirt, he palmed a comb out of a pocket on his chest. The comb worked through his thick black hair the entire time it took reach me.
“J-Pop, nice to meet you,” he said while putting the comb back into the breast pocket and extending his hand, “heard you have some cargo for me.”
We were standing away from my ride will out of reek range. I wanted to warn him about the aroma but something about the way he stood, as if he was surveying his kingdom, made me pause. He stood a little shorter than me, lean build, but his shoulders were muscular enough to stretch the fabric of his flight suit.
“Right over there,” I reported pointing at my bird, “I hope your Rangers are prepared?”
He took five quick strides towards my helicopter and froze.
“Body bags, the thick ones,” he yelled to the Rangers who were emerging from his bird.
The builds of the Rangers resembled the two wounded men I’d first picked up at the hamlet. Unlike the thick bulk of Sergeant Celso and his team, these Rangers were all lean muscle. They could easily be mistaken for hikers, climbers and survivalists. Behind them, they dragged black body bags out of Pancakes helicopter. The Rangers glanced at Lieutenant Ubaldo but didn’t reply to his shout verbally. Their message was in the set of their shoulders, and the darts that could have shot from their eyes.
“The bags are air tight,” Pancake instructed, “you might want to get a few when you get to base.”
“Good idea,” I responded as I looked down at the bottle of white rum and the buckets of water that were sent over by Margritha, “I’ll do that.”
I’ll admit to taking a few medicinal swallows of rum. But most of it went to clearing the cargo deck of bodily fluids and the stench that cling to it. Pancake had left with the bodies and the Rangers about an hour ago. After a few minutes to work up my courage, I took the chance of losing my lunch and began to scrub out my helicopter. The last of the water rinsed out the final film of gore and I was satisfied the stink was gone. I jumped out of the copter onto the dust and into a quandary.
Margritha was approaching with a middle aged man in tow. They were taking rapid strides. Their pace ate up the ground from the bamboo lined streets of the fruit LZ town to me. They arrived at the helicopter as I finished stacking the empty buckets.
“It’s safe to approach, the smell’s gone,” I announced with a smile while holding up the buckets and the empty rum bottle.
“Phelan, this is Doctor Kenzo Nobu,” stated the restaurant owner while in
dicating her companion.
“Sorry Doctor Nobu,” I said still smiling, “but the Nafaka Regional Authority decided they wanted the rebel bodies. No need for your services as a Coroner today.”
“Lieutenant Piran, I have not come for the bodies,” the Doctor said stepping close and locking eyes with me, “We have a medical emergency at the East fruit Farm. I’m needed there immediately.”
“Hold on Doc,” I said dropping the buckets and setting down the glass bottle, “I’m on stand by for a quick reaction force of Rangers. If I fly you west, I’ll be a long way from the Ranger team.”
Margritha eased around the doctor and stopped when our chests almost touched. She did have great breasts and if she wasn’t…bad thinking. I’ve got to stop that, or so I’ve been told by my Druid teachers and the Navy instructors.
“Ms. Anika,” I said, hoping the formal address would cover my too long ogling of her leading assets, “I’m under orders to wait here. You understand don’t you?”
“Lieutenant Piran, just hear the Doctor out,” she urged while reversing the formal address ploy, “If you can’t do anything after hearing about the emergency, well.”
That ‘well’ hung in the hot still air of the afternoon and like the clouds that were moving in from the horizon to darken the skies, I felt the impending weight of the ‘well’.
“Two children are injured at East fruit Farm,” Doctor Nobu explained, “7-year-old Pirjo Corentin and his sister Winnie who is only 4.”
Those were Clan names. I didn’t know them personally but it didn’t matter. Beyond supplying Druids for the Realm, my Clan had deep roots in agriculture, pun intended. Both of these were well publicized by the Clan as being good for public relations. The other talent from my Clan, and the one not so public, was the warrior class. While there were no official rules or codes about helping a Clan family in distress, there was an affection born from the shared experience of the Ritual. The Clan homeland left all of us with a sense of shared history and Clan loyalty.
“From what I could tell from my radio conversation,” the Doctor continued, “Winnie was attached by a pack of animals. Pirjo, hearing her screams, rushed in and they were both terribly mauled. They survived because the boy managed to pull his sister into the hollow of an old tree. He fought off the pack with a pocket knife and a stick until some adults arrived. So you see Lieutenant Piran, they must have medical attention.”
Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station Page 26
