The Last Bastion of Ingei
Day 1
by Aammton Alias
Copyright © 2016 Aammton Alias
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Aammton Alias
Please visit my website at https://www.b1percent.com
Permission to reproduce or transmit in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, must be obtained by writing to the author via email:
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Contents Page
Acknowledgements
Preface
Arowana
Arin: Prequel
Arin: Run
Adib: Rain
Selym: MATA
Adib: Deal
Selym: Vote
Azilah: Intruder
Nurul: Eagles
Selym: Shadow
Adib: Turtle
John: Watcher
Selym: Discretion
Adib: Visit
Karin: Love
About The Author
My Other Books
Dedicated to the fine few, the Brave; the Realised, bound to a Cause others have closed their eyes to, a Sacrifice that can never be measured.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to my good friends Dr Jawad K and Ms Adrina Agus Din who allowed me to relentlessly bounce ideas and forward my 'freshly baked' chapters direct to their mobile phones, with no regards to the unsocial hours in anticipation of their immediate and nurturing feedback.
Preface
This supernatural sci-fi thriller book is the first book in the series. As I could not wait to tell you the story as soon as possible. I have decided to release the book bit by bit, 'day by day.' as the events in the world of 'The Last Bastion of Ingei' reveals itself. I can send you updates and offers on the next book release if you register yourself with https://www.b1percent.com email list.
As you will find out, I have not mentioned which Southeast Asian country, this story is based on, so as to avoid sensitivities, but it should be easy to guess. In the past few years, I have discovered some truths and untruths about the Unseen who appear in shadows in the fleeting moments of our weakness, in times of their accumulated strength.
The Unseen work beyond the jungles and into our modern global world to sow fear and discord as they seek to regain what they believe to be rightfully theirs - our world. And yet we are all unaware, blinded by the dazzle of hustles, deaf to the beat of our own hearts trying to make sense of an existence that is spiralling out of control, as the corrupt offer themselves to lead us out of the chaos.
What if I told you that this story it is actually based on a number of real accounts, real legends and real tragedy, the characters based in this book and the book series is actually based on real people, some characters are mash of other characters so as to protect their real identity...
What if I told you one of the main stories involved is a quiet account of an actual soldier who went missing for 23 days in the jungles of Labi, and when he was found malnourished and in bad shape, he said he was in a 'village' not of this world...
What if I told you that the search party which included elite rangers had witnessed the most bizarre of horrific events in the jungles of Labi...
There is a local saying that we should leave things the way they are, and yet the injustice remains hidden right in front of us, in front of our very eyes.
30th November
Arowana
Location: Ingei River, Labi
Boi knows he should not be there.
The Ingei river is teeming with life, a wildlife sanctuary, protected by law but trespassed by many of the likes of Boi, poachers who will never understand the term ‘wildlife protection’ and will never understand the number of species that have yet to be discovered.
After a few days' journey upstream on his single-engine wooden boat or ‘perahu’, Boi reaches his secret fishing spot on the Ingei river. He is well-prepared, stocked up on cheap illegal Indonesian cigarettes, dry food rations, soft drinks and a GPS receiver.
He will be 40 next month, and wonders what he should buy for his birthday. Working as a security guard at the local hospital barely pays the household bills. He drops down a couple of underwater traps into the brownish yet clear river and then casts his lucky fishing line.
His usual fishing buddy, Johari, is not with him this time as he is unwell with the flu. So he says anyway.
I’m going to win big, Jo.
Boi smiles on the thought of not having to share his catch this time.
Usually, his partner and him would catch exotic fishes, especially the much desired Arowana fish (an Osteoglossidae) – a favourite amongst Asian aquariums - and store them in polystyrene boxes, equipped with battery powered aerators. Then they would sell the fishes to their agent, who is well connected to a network of local and international collectors, keen to part their money for rare and beautiful specimens. Boi has his own network of clients he found on Facebook. He neither comprehends nor does he care that the Arowana is on the International Union for the Conservation of Nature or IUCN Red List of Threatened Species.
Being a pathological day-dreamer, he dreams about driving a posh sports car and ‘picking up’ beautiful women. The kind of women who would not even notice him on a normal day.
His ambitious endeavour is pushed by recent Facebook posts of other poachers who had caught an unclassified ‘Super Golden Blue-Red Arowana’ fish. A Golden Arowana itself is a rare and much prized fish whilst a Super Golden Blue-Red Arowana is unheard of until now. The secret frenzied bidding that ensued, pushed prices spiralling to that of a luxury saloon car. Whilst casting his line, Boi daydreams driving a new ‘Godzilla’; the Nissan GT-R at breakneck speed on the highway – his feeble mind not understanding that he could never afford the maintenance costs of such a beastly supercar.
Today, the slow moving river is coloured like lightly brewed tea, almost clear, with most of the riverbed visible from the surface. Boi ponders upon his luck, perhaps the clear water must be a good sign of good fortune.
The Arowana loves its prey: small fishes, insects and even spiders. It is capable of jumping out of the water to gobble up insects in mid-air. Unfortunately, this is one of the reasons why it is sought after by aquarium owners. The Arowana brings good luck and prosperity. Just another excuse on useless ownership and the mark of a tragically good sales strategy.
Boi feels a very strong tug on his fishing rod. He holds on to the fishing rod with all his strength, and then unreels a bit of the fishing wire. Boi is a talented fisherman, he knows how to tire a fighter fish like the Arowana. Judging from the effort and strength he has to put up to hold the fish at bay, he can tell this is going to be the biggest Arowana he will ever catch. He pulls back the fishing rod, bent and yet unbroken, he winds and unwinds the fishing reel.
“My wildest dreams is coming true. Before I buy that car, I better get a new iPhone 6 Plus,” he says to himself. Not giving in easily, Boi continues to struggle against the fish.
“If only Johari was here, he would film me and I could post this footage on YouTube, setup my own fishing YouTube channel. I’ll be famous and teach people how to fish,” gasping to himself, whilst catching his breath.
“I better get a MacBook and an iPad, as well,” he can feel the giant fish tiring, but then so is he.
“When I am successful, I’ll get a beautiful watch… hmm maybe a Rolex.”
Boi is not aware of what is happening around him, how suddenly silent the jungle around the river had
become. All the jungle creatures and critters are spooked, knowing they will become witnesses to a tragedy.
And then it starts.
Small bubbles rapidly effervescence from beneath the small boat, becoming larger and bigger bubbles. A foam of bubbles furiously surrounds the boat, and spreads to the rest of the river. The boat sinks lower into the water. No, the water near the boat is actually disappearing and the river dries out mysteriously.
The whole turn of events shocks Boi.
“Where did the water go?”
A thousand questions flashes through his mind, trying to ascertain the logic of it all. His boat is now resting on the muddy river bed. The brackish smell of the river is strong, semi-pungent, he can see the fish traps he had just dropped in earlier.
“Is this for real? Please let it not be real,” he prayed.
Boi knows he should have stayed at home. He should have been grateful for what he already had. He cannot see the Presence heading towards him. All he can sense is a primordial, clear and present danger. There is nowhere to run. Tears run down his cheeks, jerked by tiny sobs as he desperately tries to figure out a prayer, a mantra, anything to stop the inevitable. Thoughts of regret and loved ones storm in his mind.
The Presence stands before him, huge and tall, whilst its underling watches it from nearby. Boi cannot see what is in front of him, but he feels his life force seeping away, his heart pounding fast and hard, then beating slowly and erratically. The Presence projects its hand into Boi’s chest, bypassing layers of fat, muscle and tissue, like it is not there in the first place. With a powerful squeeze, the heart ceases to beat.
Hopes and dreams are crushed into nothing.
The Presence is grateful that Boi is – was – a heavy smoker. His family will think he had a heart attack from all that heavy smoking. No human will ask questions. Even the wise elder ones in his village will understand and say nothing. There will be no retaliation on the Presence and its kind.
The Presence vanishes and the lifeless body slumps down, crashing into and breaking the polystyrene boxes. And as quickly as the water had disappeared, the river water replenishes from nowhere. The jungle becomes loud and noisy again. These witnesses will never tell.
The poacher’s body and boat begins to float downstream. Passing fishermen will find Boi in a few days’ time.
One Year Ago
Arin: Prequel
Location: Unknown Jungle
The noon sun occasionally penetrates through the foliage of the tall jungle trees, spotlights on patches of the wet, soggy jungle floor, we avoid like the stealthy creatures of harm-bringers. The humidity and ear-buzzing of the jungle, we are so accustomed to that we hardly mind it. We have no enemy to worry about, but our training has been so ingrained in us, that we do, before we think. Although, we are cautious, we know no one, nothing would dare us, not even the poachers who have with no shame or fear marked the occasional ‘Gaharu’ or sandalwood trees with their initials in ominous red paint. Like the jungle animals, these trespassing poachers love to mark their territory, crossing from the border into our forgiving and plentiful land, felling sandalwood trees as well as other hardwood trees. The trees have become sparser over the past few years. I wonder if anyone would weep for the missing.
“We should shoot them, Tuan.” Matt, the newest member of our team, who is fair and pretty-faced that he could be confused as a K-Pop star or Korean Pop star. How did he get himself into my unit?
I ignore Matt, whilst the other two members of this unit steal glances at each other.
Ismi whispers as we slowly walk through the semi-wet jungle floor, “Shoot who? Shoot you?”
“I meant shoot these illegal Gaharu tree poachers, stealing our wood from our country. There are worth tens of thousands of dollars each,” Matt replies.
The Captain, the leader of this squad, who is ahead of us, signals for us to rest, then quickly runs towards Mat, his steps ever light and soft - barely crunching the brown leaf littered jungle floor. The Captain huffs and angrily whispers to Matt - grimacing mountain ridges of expressions.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you ever close that mouth? This is a bloody recon unit. The First Recon Unit is known to be stealthy and quiet, talk when only absolutely necessary. How the hell did you get transferred to my unit?!”
I know a part of the Captain wanted to shoot his Colt Commando semi-automatic rifle at this loud-mouth, loud mouth Matt.
Matt whispers apologies and does not get shot.
Why would we ask for trouble unless trouble comes to us? Shooting them means reports to fill in, interrogation during debriefings. The army isn’t about Arnold Schwarzenegger types, shooting everyone down on his own. We have become meticulous and structured. And then what if they retaliate. What if by some dumb luck a stray bullet hits and kills one of us, the more elite of soldiers in our army. They would be hell to pay for, especially for our commanding officers.
I gaze upon our Captain and admire him, he is a fine soldier and a grounded leader whom I would follow to hell and back - and yet I know he would definitely be the first to be scapegoated.
That’s why Rules of Engagements are in place.
The Captain moves up front to stay in formation.
I admire him, he is the essence of a true leader, one who is first in a bad situation and always the last one out. We move with the day shadows of the jungle towards our target. The Captain signals with his fist for us to stop, and then does a upside down thumbs gestures and then points to a direction straight ahead.
Lance Corporal Ismi stretches his neck upwards, showing his bulging Adam’s throat, snorts and then sniffs the air, and signals with his right hand, flashes an open palm with five fingers and then closing his fist and displaying his thumb, nodding slowly - a mime rehearsed and understood so many times, it can be done with closed eyes.
“What does the nod mean?” Matt whispers to me.
I do my best not to show any emotion. “It means there is a presence ahead, maybe around five or six members.”
“How do you know this, Tuan Arin?”
I look at Matt, acknowledge my right to be addressed as a Tuan, a Sir, whilst with an expressionless face, I admire his fair complexion and almost perfect physique, and yet he has a mind of a 12-year-old child, which a part of me wants to bludgeon with the butt of my semi-automatic rifle.
“If you didn’t hear it before, then you can smell it. Can you smell it, Matt?”
“Smell what?” Matt, his child-like expression of puzzlement and yet ever so curious, does not suit someone of his physical shape.
“A campfire - large enough for more than three people, rice cooking, a pot of wrongly cooked wild chicken or maybe something partially cooked,” Ismi, a lance corporal with a chisel facial features, interrupts in angry whispers.
“Okay, I can’t smell anything but even if I could, how did you know it was five to six person?”
“Private Matt, it’s something you pick up with experience. The smell tells the number of people,” Ismi looks smug, as I acknowledge his experience.
“That’s just rubbish, you can't tell the persons there just by their smell.” Matt argues back.
“Wanna make a bet? Say a hundred dollars,” Ismi challenges Matt, who eagerly agrees.
Ray sternly looks at the both of them, and they both know it’s time to stop talking and focus on our patrol mission.
We surround the source of the obnoxious scent, with the slow trampling and crunching of brown large and green leaves on the jungle floor, and sure enough a small clearing in the middle of the jungle. A poachers’ makeshift camp with a smokeless fire burning strong and still cooking ‘lunch content’ of a medium sized aluminium pot. Lunch does not smell so good, perhaps it is a deer carcass, half rotting that the poachers could not resist. I am no longer surprised by the ‘resourcefulness’ of the poachers to eat anything they can find in our jungles.
“Stay alert, boys.”
The Captain motions to me, that h
e will check out the perimeter of the camp. He turns back, points two fingers at his eyes and then points at Matt. I nod. There are no words and yet I know what he means: Watch the loud-mouth idiot.
Matt looks excited, revealing his perfect set of white and unstained teeth in his smile, runs over to check the contents of a plastic tub, revealing the fragrance of white starchy rice. “Just perfect, freshly cooked rice and a pot of chicken cooking - I think,”
“It could be a monitor lizard or a snake they were cooking you know. You know you lost your bet loud-mouth-Mat.” Ismi points to five backpacks and five sets of white plastic plates and the matching spoons and forks.
“What bet?” Matt shrugs. Ismi tenses up, his neck angles to the side, he is clearly upset, and in the hot sweltering tropical jungle, when tempers flare, death can become the only reality.
I calm Ismi down. “Matt, you made a bet. Pay up now, otherwise give me something as escrow.”
“Escrow. Yes, it means I keep something of yours until you pay the hundred dollars to Ismi. You’re new in the unit and you have to earn our trust.”
I point at his military branded ‘Luminox’ watch. “No Tuan, this is a thousand-dollar watch.” Before I could argue, I catch a glimpse of sliver of silver around Mat’s neck.
“How about that necklace?”
“It’s a silver talisman, my grandfather gave this to me for protection. Of course, the only protection I need is here,” Mat grabs his crouch and then takes out his army issue knife, 12 inches of carbonized steel blade and clumsily wave-slices the air, “and this - the kind for one-on-one intimate penetration…er... protection.”
The Last Bastion of Ingei: Day 1 Page 1
