Chimera

by Ken Goddard

  A light flurry of snow was falling around the truck, forcing Bulatt to use the wipers every minute or so to keep the windshield clear.

  About ten minutes later, after the crew of the G-Five secured the cargo hatch, got back in the plane, and began taxiing out to the runway, Bulatt turned to Achara.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, and then realized she was staring at him with a bemused expression on her face. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” Achara shook her head. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve seen you without the beard and long hair, that’s all; it takes some getting used to.”

  “An improvement?” Bulatt grinned.

  “Definitely different,” Achara said noncommittally.

  “Right now, I’ll settle for different,” Bulatt said, turning his attention back to the six figures now gathered around the helicopter that — from his vague knowledge of military helicopters — looked like a Blackhawk transport aircraft modified for civilian use. “There’s a good chance that Emerson or one of his men saw me from a distance out at the electronics shop. I doubt that they got a close or clear look; but there’s no sense in making our lives difficult from the onset. And besides, I’m supposed to be a jarhead, remember?”

  “You definitely… look the part,” Achara said.

  He set the truck into gear and then reached down and released the emergency brake.

  “Okay,” he said with a smile of anticipatory satisfaction, “one last time: everything that happened from the moment we stepped off the U.S. Marshall’s transport G-Four yesterday is a relevant part of our cover. We flew into Yakima last night to pick up our field gear at the training center, stayed on base in separate NCO billets — because the U.S. Military’s got a thing about cohabitation — and had breakfast at the mess hall very early this morning, which gave me just enough time to get a ‘trim’ before driving out here. You’re Carolyn Fogarty, the ornery bow-hunting daughter of Sam Fogarty; and I’m Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant Gediminas Bulattus, your indifferent-to-hunting-critters fiance. We first met when you were bow-hunting in southwestern Idaho — where you always hunt, and I was out hiking — and you damn near put an arrow through my head, which made it love at first sight, as far as I was concerned. Anything that’s happened between then and now is none of their business. Got it?”

  “Apart from the fact that I don’t think I believe you about the cohabitation rules,” Achara said with a half-smile and a dangerous glint in her eyes, “yes, I’ve got it.”

  “And you are going to be able to maintain your character, and a reasonably calm demeanor, even when we meet Marcus Emerson and his men, correct? You do understand that we don’t have any direct evidence that puts any of them at the scenes with your brother or your father; and that we’re going to need Michael Hateley’s cooperation and testimony to take them down?”

  “Yes, I understand that we need Mr. Hateley, and that I have to stay in character with Emerson and his men no matter what they say or do,” Achara acknowledged. “But what if things get out of control, and they start shooting at us.”

  “If that happens,” Bulatt said, “you’ll have a simple choice: either duck and run, or join me in fighting back.”

  Achara smiled. “Excellent,” she said, the dangerous glint still visible in her eyes, “because fighting back that is exactly what I intend to do.”

  Bulatt drove the truck up to the chain-link fence separating a dirt parking lot from the make-shift helipad, and parked. Then he and Achara got out, and started taking their equipment bags, a military rifle case, the spears, the bow and quiver of arrows, and other camping gear out of the back of the pick-up’s bed.

  As they did so, four green-cammo-jacketed figures broke away from the group around the helicopter, walked thru the gate and came over to the truck. One of the figures — the largest and tallest by at least fifty pounds and a good twelve inches — was carrying a kit bag. The two figures wearing coveralls and down jackets with pilot insignias remained by the helicopter.

  “Mike Hateley,” one of the green-camouflage-dressed figures said as he stopped in front of Achara and extended his hand. “I assume you’re Carolyn, Sam’s daughter?”

  “That’s right,” Achara said with an amiable nod as she took Hateley’s hand. “Nice to meet you, finally, after all these years. And this is my fiance, Ged.”

  As Bulatt and Hateley shook hands, the other three figures moved in closer.

  “This fellow is Stuart Caldreaux, a name I’m sure you’ve also heard many times,” Hateley said, “although we all much prefer to be called by our first names.”

  “Stuart, nice to meet you also,” Achara said as she shook both of their hands.

  “And this is Quince,” Hateley went on, “the fellow who’s going to be leading us into the field today.”

  Lanyard took Achara’s hand, cocked his head slightly as he casually examined the features of her face. “Carolyn, I’m told you’re substituting for your father today.”

  “Yes, I am,” she said, meeting his gaze calmly. “It was my fault he was hurt; so, with all due respect to the other hunters here, I intend to bring him back the best mammoth of the lot as a fitting trophy for his wall.”

  “Gentlemen, I think we’ve just had the gauntlet laid down,” Caldreaux said with a grin.

  “I like your spirit, lass,” Lanyard said. “I’ll see to it you get a fair start against this scrummy lot.”

  Then he turned to Bulatt, giving him the same once-over with probing eyes as they shook hands. “Ged, it looks to me as if you and your lady-friend were planning on going out on maneuvers, instead of hunting,” he said, gesturing with his head at the white cammo tunics and pants, and the camping and survival gear with visible US ARMY markings.

  “The advantage of knowing an amiable supply sergeant with a taste for Black Jack,” Bulatt said. “I’m not familiar with the weather in this part of Washington, so I figured military cold weather gear would be a good choice. And I also assumed the whites would be helpful in tracking big game in a snow storm,” he added, looking around at the others who were dressed in green camouflage clothing, “although I might have misjudged that situation.”

  “Probably depends on who’s tracking what… or who,” Lanyard said with a grin, although his eyes remained wary and curious. “I expect our quarry will know we’re coming from quite some distance away, but it never hurts to blend in a bit. I gather you’ve got a military background?”

  “Still on active duty, E-eight, Master Gunny, working on my fourth tour,” Bulatt said with deliberate vagueness as he calmly met Lanyard’s gaze. “Haven’t found anything better to do with my life; although that may have changed recently,” he added with a nod toward Achara, who returned a dimpled grin as she took her home-made bow, quiver of arrows, and four spears out of the truck bed.

  “I can only assume your prior military experiences pale in comparison,” Lanyard said with a wink at Achara, who responded with a dimpled grin. “Did Mr. Fogarty fill you in on the rules of this hunt?”

  “My understanding is that the three hunters will make their kills with old-fashioned spears; and possibly with a couple of home-made arrows,” Bulatt said, gesturing with his head at Achara’s quiver. “The rest of us maintain camp, cook, wash the pots, cut wood, haul things from ‘A’ to ‘B’, and presumably stand by with the more-modern weapons to make sure no one gets hurt.”

  “You’re not joining in on the hunt?” Lanyard cocked his head, staring at Bulatt quizzically.

  “No.” Bulatt shook his head. “Carolyn’s the one who wants to take over her father’s hunt; I’m just along to haul the gear, and to make sure she stays safe. Game hunting’s not really my thing.”

  “What, you mean to say tracking down a wild creature in the woods with a spear — and in the middle of a raging snowstorm — doesn’t appeal to your sporting blood?” Lanyard was grinning widely now; but his dark eyes were still probing, making an assessment.

  “Actually, I do like th
e way you evened the odds a bit,” Bulatt said. “But I’ve spent the better part of my professional life hunting a species that shoots back, so that’s probably jaded my view of game-hunting. Not quite the same adrenaline rush; although I’ll concede that Carolyn and the rest of you may prove me wrong today.”

  “I believe your Mr. Hemingway felt the same way; a man after my own heart,” Lanyard said as he reached into his kit bag and brought out a hand-wand scanner. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, holding up the wand. “One of the agreed-upon rules is that nobody brings along any tracking devices, transmitters, GPS units or other modern gadgetry that might give one hunter an unfair advantage over the others; and I get paid to see to it that the rules are followed.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me, as long as we get to keep our compasses,” Bulatt said as he stuck out his arms, allowing Lanyard to scan first his entire body with the frequency-detection wand.

  Then, as Lanyard moved over and scanned Achara, Bulatt pulled a green military compass out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Lanyard. Moments later, Achara did the same.

  “Basic survival gear is definitely allowed. Personally, I wouldn’t walk outside the house without mine,” Lanyard said as he examined the small instruments briefly, handed them back, and then tapped the back of his hand against Bulatt’s upper left ribcage. “Mind if I take a look at that?”

  Bulatt unzipped his white cammo tunic, drew the four-inch stainless steel Smith amp; Wesson. 44-caliber Magnum revolver from his shoulder holster and handed it to Lanyard.

  “Mountain Gun model; nice weapon,” Lanyard said appraisingly as he opened the cylinder, checked the loads, and then handed it back to Bulatt. “Not exactly military issue, though.”

  “I didn’t think a nine-mil round was going to do much against whatever Carolyn manages to piss off with an arrow or spear; so I brought along an M14 and a couple hundred rounds of seven-six-two ball, with the forty-four as backup,” Bulatt said, gesturing with his head at the military issue rifle case. “If that doesn’t do the job, you’ll find us up the nearest tree, waiting for the cavalry to arrive.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Lanyard said agreeably as he bent down, opened the rifle case, briefly examined the lethal Vietnam War era rifle, and then looked back up at Bulatt. “No scope?”

  Bulatt shrugged. “Like I said, I’m planning on playing defense, not offense. And besides, if we’ve got something closing in on us fast, I’d much prefer open sights.”

  “Good on you, mate,” Lanyard said as he closed the case and stood up. “Okay, let’s all gather around for a moment.”

  As Hateley, Caldreaux, Bulatt and Achara all moved close, Lanyard reached into the kit bag again and brought out five plastic-sealed maps. He handed four of the maps to the designated hunters.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” he said, holding up the fifth map. “The hunt will take place in this six-hundred-acre canyon enclosure up in the Wenatchee National Forest area of the Cascades north of Mount Stuart; elevation about six thousand feet. I call it a canyon, but it’s more like a wide and shallow granite bowl filled with a lot of big boulders, fir and pine trees, and surrounded on all sides by rocky crags and cliffs. The locals call it “the Maze.” The only easy access route in winter is from the southwest. That’s where your four targets were released, a couple of days ago, along with a three-day supply of food.”

  Lanyard looked around to confirm that everyone was paying attention.

  “In the last forty-eight hours,” he went on, “we’ve used the chopper here to establish four large bait piles — mostly hay and fruit — at these four locations, each of which is at least five hundred yards from the entrance to the bowl.” Lanyard pointed at four bright green ‘X’s that formed a wide arc running from west to east across the canyon enclosure. “Also, we made sure that each of the bait piles is no more than a hundred yards from a small cave where we’ve stockpiled a two-week supply of food, water, fuel, and a miscellaneous stock of cooking and survival equipment. The caves are the blue ‘X’s.”

  “What’s this yellow ‘X’?” Kingman asked.

  “That’s a low area at the southwest corner of the bowl where we’ve established a base camp with additional supplies, a landing zone for the chopper, and a sniper post where we can keep a long-distance eye on all four caves and bait piles.” Lanyard said. “The entire Maze slopes uphill from that point. Posting ourselves there also allows us to monitor the entrance to the bowl, to make sure none of the target animals tries to escape.”

  “Do you think they will try?” Caldreaux asked.

  “I would think they’d want to remain by a known food source, especially during a storm,” Lanyard replied. “But, the truth is, we have no idea how these creatures will react once we begin the hunt; which is why we intend to be out in the field, as much as possible, where we can monitor the situation. The original plan was to have Marcus, Jack or I maintain a rotating watch at the sniper post, while the other two roamed the field. But with Gunny Sergeant Bulattus and his M14 now available for emergency situations in the hunt zone, I think Marcus will want to keep one of us back at base camp on stand-by with the chopper crew to respond by air if something does go wrong.”

  “So who gets which bait pile?” Hateley asked.

  “That’s up to you four,” Lanyard said. “Not sure that it matters much. All four piles are well separated and close to forested areas where we assume the targets are hiding. The furthest one out from our base camp — number two — might get a little more attention from the wary feeders; but there’s also the issue of dragging your kill further out to an open area where the chopper can make a pick-up. Getting to any of the sites won’t be a problem; we’ll be using the chopper to drop you and your equipment off as close to your selected caves as possible.”

  Achara looked at Bulatt who nodded agreeably.

  “If none of you gentlemen object, I’d like to take the number-two position,” Achara said. “I consider myself aerobically fit, so the extra distances won’t be a problem; I think the wariest animal is likely to be the greatest challenge, and perhaps the biggest trophy; and I also have someone to help with the dragging.”

  “Miss Fogarty, you do lay down a heavy gauntlet,” Caldreaux said with a smile. “Being somewhat less aerobically conditioned, I would like to opt for the number-three position. It looks much closer to the base camp than the others, and I believe I see an open area for the helicopter right next to the bait pile.”

  Hateley and Kingman shrugged agreeably, then looked at each other. “I don’t much care,” Kingman said with a shrug, “four’s fine with me.”

  “Thus leaving me with the number-one position, the sound of which I find very appealing,” Hateley said.

  “I don’t see a scale on this map,” Bulatt said. “What’s the distance from our bait pile to the sniper post?”

  “Approximately a thousand yards,” Lanyard replied.

  “And you’re planning on keeping a protective eye on us at that distance with a rifle, and in this weather?” Bulatt cocked his head skeptically.

  “As it happens, we’ve got two rather nice U.S. Marine Corps rifles positioned in the sniper post,” Lanyard replied. “A standard M40A1, and a M107 adapted to a computer-controlled platform mount; both equipped with state-of-the-art daylight and night-vision scopes. As you might imagine, on this particular hunt, distance won’t be so much a factor as visibility.”

  “What’s a M107?” Caldreaux asked Bulatt, looking puzzled.

  “A fifty-caliber military sniper rifle that’s accurate and lethal out to a couple thousand yards,” Bulatt answered, “but only if you can see your target in the scope.”

  “And with the snow falling as it is now, it’s doubtful that we’ll be able to see much beyond a hundred yards,” Lanyard said, “which may turn out to be a very relevant safety issue, indeed, because of the new problem we haven’t discussed yet.”

  “A new problem?” Hateley asked.

  “More of a complica
tion, I think, than an actual problem; but it may be a significant one. When the people in charge of the release baited the mammoths out to the Maze, they didn’t separate them from their mothers first.”

  “The host mothers are out there, with the young mammoths?” Achara blinked, looking shocked.

  “Yes.” Lanyard nodded. “We only learned about this situation yesterday. Had we know earlier, we would have certainly told you, and made alternate arrangements for the hunt.”

  “But how dangerous are the females likely to be?” Hateley asked. “I mean, we’re not talking about a bull elephant running amok in the hunting area. Aren’t the females considerably smaller than the males?”

  “Considerably smaller, and much less aggressive,” Lanyard said, nodding, “but they are protective of their young, none-the-less, and perfectly capable of stomping a human flat. As such, all of you are going to have to be a bit more cautious — and perhaps even a little inventive — in your approaches than we had originally planned. For this reason, we’re suggesting that you might give some consideration to hunting in pairs, or perhaps even as a foursome.”

  “I think that discussion will have to wait for day-two, or perhaps even day-three,” Hateley said. “I came here to put a mammoth head on my wall, and I really don’t want to end up arguing with my associates — or Carolyn — as to who merely wounded the biggest trophy animal, and who actually made the kill.”

  Caldreaux Kulawnit both nodded in agreement.

  “Marcus thought you would all feel that way,” Lanyard said, “so I’m to offer you a second option that may be a bit more to your liking: the prospect of conducting your hunts at night, when the animals are naturally more active.”

  “At night?! Are you insane?” Caldreaux demanded.

  “At night, using night vision goggles,” Lanyard corrected, “which should help you deal with the presence of the mother elephants. You’ll be able to hear and see and perhaps smell them, but they’ll only be able to hear and smell you. Not exactly the old-fashioned cave-man hunt we originally envisioned; but, perhaps, an appropriate balance of the old and the new. And, in any case, I think you’ll find the task of taking these creatures with spears — while watching out for the protective mothers — to be sufficiently challenging to justify mounting them on your walls.”