Temper came up to Firststrike, and pointedly looked at Winters as she spoke.
"You know, I don't care if she is CIA; I don't think she should be going with us."
Firststrike looked puzzled. “CIA? I thought she was NSA Black Ops."
Ursa Major walked up at that moment, but hadn't heard Firststrike's speech.
"Why do you have an FBI agent with you?” he said, indicating Winters. Temper and Firststrike looked at each other as Sunray approached.
"I don't care if she is from your DEA,” the Korean said. “I think she is out of her jurisdiction.” All of them just looked at each other, then turned to look at Winters who seemed oblivious to their scrutiny. She only had eyes for Lastshot, who left the room conferring with the base commander.
* * * *
The team spent two hours prepping the gear they had drawn and acquainting themselves with the topographical features of their target area. Then they got some food and went to the Officers’ Club to get some down time.
The team was scattered about the club. The Commanding Officer was sitting with Skorpion; both smoking Havana cigars. Ursa Major and Temper were near the jukebox where she was teaching him how to do the jitterbug. Firststrike and Sunray were engaged in animated conversation about ancient Korean Hwa Rang Do kill techniques, walking around the room with obvious energy that needed to be expended.
Lastshot and Susan Winters were at the bar, it was the first chance they had had to speak face-to-face and relatively privately, if not alone.
"So, care to explain yourself?” he asked her. “I know my whole team is asking the same question; why is this woman on this mission?” He looked at her pointedly and it was not the shock it could have been when she said:
"Major Edmund Winters was my father.” She stared up at him, as if daring him to say anything to dispute her claim. “I was the agency image analyst that found these images, because I was looking at everything that has come out of that area since I joined the agency. I've done a lot of things that are gonna get me in a lot of trouble to get me on this mission, but you're not going in there without me."
Lastshot was held by her eyes, like a mongoose held a snake; he knew why he wasn't taken aback by her pronouncement. She's got Eddie's eyes, he thought.
"Eddie was a great soldier and a good friend; I owe him my life a dozen times over.” He spoke quietly, but didn't hear the sound of his own voice; all he could hear was the mortar rounds slamming through the jungle so long ago that seemed like yesterday...
"You were with him that last time, weren't you?"
"I ... I can't talk about that.” He made himself look way from her eyes to stare beyond her. I can't even think about it without getting sick to my stomach.
"That's crap—I've seen the file.” The volume of her voice never rose—she had extraordinary control—but the words were venomed and spoke of a lifetime of anger. “Why do you think I got into all this? I grew up not really knowing if my father was alive, or just...” She searched for a word and gave up. “Every question my mother asked kept running into that solid wall ‘National Security.’ You and I both know he's in that picture."
"He can't be...” Lastshot said.
"If he can't be, why are you here?"
"It's my job.” He turned to his drink and took a shot of whiskey. “I do what I'm told."
"You're such a shoveler! Let me get some hip boots to wade through this!"
"What the hell do you want me to say?” Lastshot insisted. “I'm sorry he's there and I'm here?"
"That'd be nice!” she said in an angry whisper. She stared directly at him, not letting his size intimidate her or nudge her an inch physically or psychologically.
Lastshot stared back into her eyes, Eddie's eyes, and forced himself to cool down. “Eddie saved my life more than once that year. If I coulda changed places with him, I would've ... but, I saw him die."
"Then what is he doing in that picture?” Her voice suddenly took on a desperate tone and he realized she was as frightened as he was of what was out there in the jungle; what she might find—or not find. She was a little girl looking for her daddy.
"That's what we're going in to find out,” he said, doing what he could to take the fear out of his own voice.
Suddenly a loud crash silenced the whole room. Everyone turned to see Temper standing over a chair that had been reduced to splinters. Ursa Major smiled from his seat, then slowly stood up.
"That is no way to treat furniture, tovarish!"
He pulled a table over, tensed his body and threw a short microwave burst from his right hand that turned the wood to dust.
"No fair!” Temper pouted. “No using bio-enhancements!"
Ursa Major tapped the circuitry on his jaw. “Microwave! Is best for cooking, and can get all baseball games!” He grabbed a metal ashtray, and a tinny sounding announcer's voice came from it.
"—London Kings with the bases loaded, Moscow Czars behind—"
He dropped the ashtray as if it had suddenly gotten hot.
"Bozhe moj!” he exclaimed. “I have rubles on that game!"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 17
The joint team ‘mounted up’ and took off in an unmarked stealth jet just before midafternoon, timing their departure so they would be flying over the jungle as night fell.
The team sat in the cramped and noisy passenger area, wearing small chute packs, dressed in jumpsuits. Lastshot, Temper, Skorpion and Firststrike's jumpsuits had drab color inserts similar to their Exceptional costumes. Everyone had their minds on the mission and was running through last minute checks of gear.
Skorpion walked over and sat by Lastshot, who was going over a map.
"Conner, you've been really hinky about this whole thing. What's up?"
He put down the map and looked up at her. “Just do your job,” he snapped. “And let me do mine."
Skorpion looked at him curiously. Then she slowly nodded her head. “Look, leave that crap at home, Mr. Le'Schott. You know damn well I do my job. We've got a job to do together, and whatever's rolling around in that boxcar of a skull you've got, don't let it interfere ‘cause you know damn well that if you put my life in danger, ‘cause you can't pull it together, I'll shoot you before I go down."
She walked away, leaving her team leader to his thoughts. He looked after her, and then returned to his brooding. He pulled the letter from the parents of the little boy Billy from his pocket. He stared at it again, like he did so many times in a day and then crumpled it up, mumbling the word “hero” under his breath.
Skorpion saw her friend and team leader throw the crumpled paper to the floor of the plane. She was able to pick it up when he wasn't looking, read it and with a grim nod, tucked it into a pocket for later.
Across the plane, Temper was sitting with her head in her hands. Ursa Major came over and sat by her. The big Russian Exceptional put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"What is wrong, little one?” He purred at her and smiled. When he did, he looked like a recruitment poster for a people's collective, his blonde hair just waiting for a breeze to gently blow through it. Even his blue eyes seemed to twinkle.
"Why do we have to jump out of a perfectly good airplane?” If she noticed his poster smile, she gave no sign. “I mean, I could understand if it was on fire.” She pleaded like a little child being sent to her first day of school.
"Shall I carry you down?” he said, trying to joke with her. She gave him a grateful smile, but it was clear his attention really didn't help.
Firststrike, who was sitting very close to Sunray, looked over to Ursa Major. “She'll be fine—she doesn't like heights."
"Heights are fine; hitting the ground is what I don't like.” She sounded very reasonable. “Why couldn't they send Floater?"
"Why are you painted so?” Ursa said, pointing to the apparently random daubs of color around her right eye and left cheek. She looked at him oddly, suddenly pulled back from her own problem to focus on his
question.
"Just for optical distortion,” she said. “Even though the Regen makes taking a photo almost impossible, someone with a good memory might be able to draw me—like a court room sketch. This makes it difficult for most to recognize me with it off and my hair done differently. But—"
"But?"
"But, it of course does nothing against any imaging where it could easily be removed with a photo shop type program. Without the refractive properties in the Regen, it would be a pretty lame disguise. As it is, like everyone else, I always come out pixilated. I find ‘hiding in plain sight’ the best disguise."
"So you are always a ‘pixie’ on camera?"
"No Pixilat—” She stopped herself when she realized it was not a language barrier, but rather a noble gesture. She smiled.
"You really are a big bear."
"Da,” he smiled back. “And so cuddly."
At that moment, the pilot's voice came over the intercom. “One minute to drop zone."
Lastshot stood up. “Okay, tourists, on your feet."
The team stood up as one, even Temper, though she was a little shaky. Sunray deliberately stumbled and leaned against Firststrike for support. Skorpion caught the move, though Firststrike was oblivious to it. They all moved to the jump door as a countdown commenced. Then the words: “Go one!” were given and, one by one, on the mark, they ‘hit the silk.'
They jumped HALO—High Altitude, Low Opening. This meant they would fall for the first two thousand feet without opening their parachutes, guiding their bodies through the Stygian sky like living guided missiles. They opened their ‘chutes in a coordinated pattern based on altimeter instruments so that their fall space would be grouped together. It was the dark of the moon and they were tiny spots of black against an ink dark sky. Their parachutes were black and billowed out like midnight orchids in a tight bundle.
Despite her dislike of heights and jumping from them, Temper was as skilled in parachute insertions as the rest of the team. They landed without incident, within a quarter mile of each other thanks to their night vision goggles—except for Sunray and Lastshot who had their own ‘built in'—and quickly secured and buried their chutes.
They soon formed a circle around Lastshot.
"We should reach the plantation around dawn,” he said. “Let's move."
They all moved as one, quietly, into the jungle.
The team prowled through the jungle for some time, encountering and hiding from a number of patrols which increased in frequency as they moved closer to their target. Though each one of the group had jungle training at one point or another in their professional lives, there was no time on this mission to acclimatize, as there would be on a normal mission. None of them, save Lastshot, were quite able to cope with the thick humidity and fierce heat of the jungle. He had spent time all around the world and adjusted quickly without any need to employ any of his implants.
"I much prefer the dry heat of the Afghani desert or the Sahara,” Skorpion said, doing almost as well as her team leader.
"Please,” Ursa Major said with a smile on his handsome face. “Don't mention Afghanistan to a Russian, it gives us chill."
"I should think you could use a chill about now,” Temper said. She enjoyed the Russian Exceptional's wider smile at her comment.
"Da,” the big Russian said. “But then I would get, how you say—hot and bothered again when you talk."
She blushed a bit as Skorpion laughed.
"Okay, tourists,” Lastshot said. “Button it up; or get on a loud speaker and announce us—it'll be just as about effective."
They moved in silence after that, through foliage so thick that often they had to detour around clusters of bushes and vines too thick to hack through in any good time. The insects were as dense as fog in some places, though each had his own way to deal with them: The Russian became his own ‘bug zapper’ sending out short microwave pulses that kept the air around him fairly free of flying pests. Susan Winters, Skorpion and Temper used an experimental bug repellant cream. Lastshot seemed impervious to the insect bites and just shrugged when Temper asked how he did it.
"I must just taste bad,” he joked.
Sunray shared her own home remedy with Firststrike and noted, “Chew Kim Chee: kills all bugs."
Regardless of how they dealt with the insects, the presence of them, the leeches and the stifling heat made progress slower than Lastshot wanted. There was little he could do about it, however; as a military leader, he knew that if he pushed things too hard he would endanger them all needlessly. So he fought his own impatience and fear with a tight-lipped stoicism.
Even when they found an animal track, very possibly used by water buffalo on the way to or from some watering hole, it made moving faster. But because of the ease it also increased the danger of encountering a wild beast or something even more deadly.
Several hours later, Temper, on point, gave a hand signal to halt and they all melted into the trees in a group. Sunray stood in front of the team, and brought her hands together. A patch of darkness appeared in front of her, and spread outward, obscuring the group as if they were in a deep hollow.
After a few minutes, a band of Khmer Rouge guerrilla fighters wearing uniforms without insignia, moved down the trail and past the team. When they were gone a safe distance, the team continued back up the way the Khmer Rouge had come from.
"Nice trick,” Firststrike said to Sunray. “You did optically what Echo can do with sound."
"I know other tricks,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile. This time, the one-eyed Exceptional made a point of ‘not getting’ her reference.
Ursa Major moved closer to Lastshot and whispered, “That makes four patrols in the last hour. Eventually, we will have to confront them."
"That's not what we're here for; keep noise discipline,” Lastshot said while he scanned the trail to the left side with his thermal vision. “Keep moving."
Just as he said that, eight more Khmer Rouge came through the foliage from an intersecting trail to the right.
For a moment both groups stared at each other stunned, in one of those frozen timeless moments that seem to precede the explosive chaos of combat, then the Khmer Rouge raised their weapons to fire.
Temper and Firststrike launched several razor sharp throwing stars, taking down two of the soldiers, and knocking the weapons of two others to the ground.
Sunray blinded two more of the Khmer Rouge with a small patch of concentrated darkness. Ursa Major cast a narrow microwave beam that fried one soldier's weapon, causing him to drop it.
Lastshot dropped the nearest soldier with a right cross to the chin and a ridge hand to his throat when he hit the ground. Skorpion uncoiled her whip, wrapped it around the wrist of another soldier, and jerked him off his feet with a lethal charge of electricity.
"No sound!” Lastshot hissed.
Firststrike leapt forward, and flattened one of the remaining soldiers with an elbow to the chin that snapped his head around. Right beside him, Sunray moved in and slammed her extended fingers into the throat of another Khmer Rouge.
Ursa Major, Skorpion, and Lastshot engaged the remaining soldiers. The last man to drop fell to Lastshot's knife, his throat slit from ear to ear. Lastshot stood over the dead man and felt a momentary wave of nausea as, in his mind's eye, he saw a young Conner Le'Schott standing over the body of a Cambodian soldier whose throat he had just cut. Eddie Winters stepped up and put his hand on Le'Schott's shoulder and said “Good job; clean, quick and quiet."
He snapped back to reality when he heard Firststrike whisper, “...quick and quiet. Conner. Area secured—” Firststrike shook Lastshot's arm
"Wha—yeah, good...” Lastshot said. “Uh, hide the bodies."
Skorpion saw her teammate come back to reality from his momentary flashback; she was sure no one else noticed, but she made a mental note to talk to him about it later.
Susan Winters, who stood paralyzed to the side as the violence erupted all around her, looked o
n as the team dragged the bodies to a shallow depression off the trail. They covered the corpses with foliage and debris to conceal them. Susan was on the verge of being sick. Ursa Major came up to her, and put his arm around her.
"It will be all right, little one. Sometimes world is harsh."
"But, did they have to die?"
He shrugged his shoulders with Russian philosophical acceptance and shook his head. He spoke to her as to a child. “Today it is them, tomorrow ... who can say?"
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 18
The team came up to the top of a ridge that overlooked a deep valley. Below was the complex of buildings that formed the plantation. There was a large main house, three out buildings, several sheds and many ordered groves of rubber trees and poppy plants, covering many acres. A number of people moved slowly about the grounds. Lastshot turned to his team.
"We lay low until we get a read on their security, maybe get an idea of where Tamok is.” He looked at Susan, who still had not completely recovered from seeing the deaths in the attack. She saw him watching her and straightened up to stare back at him in challenge.
"Ursa,” he said.
"Da, tovarisch?"
"Send a burst transmission to Guam; give them our status."
Ursa Major took a metal mesh glove from his pack and put it on his left hand. Holding a compass in his right hand, he moved his arm to the correct angle, and then activated his microwave implants. There was a short low whine, and then he took off his glove and put away the compass.
"Done,” he said with a smile. Lastshot nodded his approval.
"Here's the agenda: Recon, go to ground out there somewhere; back here at dusk,” Lastshot said. “Ursa, you and Skorpion with me. Jason, take Temper and Sunray. Move out."
He turned to look directly at Susan. “Winters, you're under my wing."
The teams set out as quietly as they had come, moving to the cardinal points.
Temper, Firststrike, and Sunray moved through the jungle. Temper was at point, her senses tuned to the jungle around them. A sound brought them up short. Temper cast her sensor net through the foliage and located the source of the noise.
The Measure of a Man [The Exceptionals Book 1] Page 9
