Tasmanian SFG, Book II: Devils to Me (Tasmanian series 2)

by C. R. Daems

  "What are you planning, Fox?" Flintstone asked with a predatory flash of his teeth.

  "Since I won't pass for a Moech general, I can't requisition it. It's too heavy to carry, so I can't steal it. Therefore, the only alternative is to have a Tasmanian end-of-hostilities celebration with it." That got blank stares that slowly turned to ground-slapping approval. "Eight of us will create a diversion somewhere not too far from where the ammo is stored while two men will infiltrate the area where the ammo is stored and set explosive charges."

  An hour later, I received two clicks from Firebird, and an hour after that, the three men had returned.

  "The ammo and supplies are loaded in trucks located only fifty meters off the road that extends from Mortone to Moech Alley. They are well hidden from aircraft by trees. But unless they have other trucks somewhere, they are getting low on everything, including food and ammo," Firebird said, excitedly. "Judging by the fresh tire tracks, I wouldn't be surprised if they had sent their empty trucks back to their main base."

  "That's unfortunate for them, as the road to Moech Alley is blocked with fallen trees." I smiled at the image. "Burned out vehicles, too; plus, the area is being terrorized by two nasty snipers."

  "I think you're right, Pete. I didn't see any stashes of supplies on the south side of their encampment,"

  "Me neither," Spiderman said, then laughed. "Without bullets, the Tasmanians could overrun the entire Moech army."

  "Alright, Firebird, since you know the area where the trucks are, take Smitty. Send three clicks when you are in the area and prepared to place the explosives. When I get your three clicks, we will start a distraction. That should pull everyone in the area toward us and give you an opportunity to attach your explosives. You're free to set them off whenever you're ready. The sooner the better, as that should ease their pursuit of us. Any questions?" I asked.

  It was a silly question since I hadn't provided any details. The situation would be fluid for both groups, and we would have to adjust to the circumstances. Although I knew this was the right move, I dreaded it. Both teams were going to be exposed to overwhelming odds, meaning the space gods would determine the outcome. If an off-duty Moech guard were to take a piss, we could be discovered before we were ready. A couple of squads returning from a sortie could block our retreat. We could pick a spot where hundreds of Moech where camped and ordered to chase us. I stood paralyzed with fear. I could lose the entire squad.

  "Wait!" I said resisting the over whelming urge to shout. "Tonight, you must first be the talented scouts you are and Tasmanians second. We are playing catch-me-if-you-can with a thousand Moech. We won't succeed if you aren't ready, and that could have consequences for our brothers as well as us." I locked eyes with each individual and felt their silent consent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Planet Lochpin: Firebird and Bulldog

  "I wouldn't trade places with Jolie for an additional ten years' time-in-grade," Smitty said as they jogged well wide of the Moech encampment. "This is the right gambit, but it has a hundred things that could go wrong."

  "She was right to remind us of that…and foxy to point out our brothers' lives would be impacted–for better or worse–by our actions," Firebird said, shaking his head at the thought.

  "I don't know about right; sneaky is more like it. She just made us responsible for our brothers' lives. Like putting us in charge of a company!" Smitty gave a small chuckle. "Of course, the damn woman is right. We tend to charge into danger without concern for our own lives thinking we are the best of the best, exceptionally well trained, and therefore invincible. If we get wounded, one of our brothers will take up the slack. But here, if we get shot or captured, the whole plan goes to shit."

  "I don't know about you, Smitty. I'd rather get killed or captured than report back to Jolie that I fucked up." Freddie said while shaking his head. Smitty nodded as they trotted in silence.

  Sometime later, Firebird stopped, indicating stealth, and they both lay flat. Freddie used hand signals to indicate the truck with the ammo and the two with food supplies, then indicated they should retreat west toward the main USP line. Smitty shook his head and indicated west then to circle east. Back to the USP lines would be the direction the Moech would expect them to head, not back to where the Moech reserves were camped. They both crawled along their planned escape route west. Smitty stopped twice to string several grenades and trip wires. That was to give them a few minutes to get out of sight so they could begin to loop north and eventually east. And hour later, they returned to their original lookout location where they stayed for almost an hour, noting the comings and goings of the troops in the area.

  There looked to be several squads assigned to guard the trucks within a twenty-five-meter area: one squad on duty and two for backup and relief. He wondered what they would do when Jolie's team began the diversion. He doubted the diversion would pull them out of the area, since the fighting would be on the other side of the camp, which was at least three-quarters of a klick away. Too much would depend upon the Moech troops' reaction to Jolie's distraction. In the end, they separated roughly twenty meters, and each slowly made his way as close as possible without being noticed. It wasn't too hard as the guards were apparently bored and more interested in talking than scanning for trouble. When he stopped, he thought he might be able to throw his package close enough to the ammo truck to cause it to explode the ammo in the truck. He could certainly throw his grenades to the truck, and that might be enough. Resigned to the situation, he clicked his TCom three times.

  Smitty was surprised at how fast the respond happened. The Tasmanians had obviously removed their suppressors, and the gunfire was loud in the quiet of the night. During the first minute, the vast number of weapons firing were from Tasmanians' Tavors with only random shots from Moech assault rifles.

  Poorly trained troops, Smitty mused as he watched them collect in small groups, pointing and looking to the west where the sounds were emanating. Noting their reaction, Freddie began crawling in the direction of the truck, using bushes and ground cover to shield him in his hurriedly made ghillie suit. Smitty’s responsibility was to cover Freddie in case he was discovered. He wanted to scream at Firebird to hurry, as no one was looking in his direction, but Freddie didn't seem to know or care. That's why he's a sniper and a talented scout, and I'm neither, Smitty chided himself. Just as Freddie reached the truck and slid the package halfway under the truck, a guard appeared at the front of the vehicle. His gaze swept the landscape toward the road but never looked down to where Freddie lay not three meters away. Eventually, he shouted something to someone and turned around and disappeared.

  A moment later, a sergeant appeared near the two relief squads and began shouting orders. From the men's responses, they were being ordered to join the fighting to the west.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Planet Lochpin: The Diversion Team

  We stopped an hour later, when Taipan estimated we would be roughly a klick or less west of the area where Firebird had said he had found the ammo and food trucks. I immediately sent everyone out to scout the area while we awaited the signal from Firebird and Flintstone that they were in place. The signal had taken over two hours, indicating they had taken me seriously, had an escape planned and had thoroughly scouted the area before sending their ready.

  "What does our area look like?" I asked when everyone had returned.

  "It looks like a rest and rehabilitation area along with several platoons of reserve troops to repel any attack to their flank. It's weak but probably sufficient to hold until support can arrive. They probably weakened this area to strengthen the front, thinking we didn't have enough troops to mount a significant attack against their flanks," Mamba said, appearing to speak for the group, judging by the nodding heads.

  "What's our exit strategy?" I asked.

  "Disperse individually," Taipan said, reluctantly. "That will keep the Moech from focusing their forces, giving each individual a better chance of losing t
he pursuit or killing it. But with Smitty gone…" He hesitated saying who is going to look after you, and instead finished with, "We're all sneaky scouts with long legs."

  "Alright, lets form a line with a fifteen-meter separation. That way we will look less like a coordinated attack force and may elicit a smaller response. We will meet at our roadblock twenty-four hours from now," I said, not liking the risk, but the possible reward made it the right tactic. "The signal to begin the diversion will be my Go signal. No unnecessary risks. Remember, the goal is not to kill Moech but to provide Smitty and Firebird a distraction to blow up the Moech ammo supply." That greeted me with nods and grins. Immediately, using me as the center, the men began separating and moving away from me. Resigned, I began moving closer to the camp.

  When I could see a group of Moech troops some forty meters in front of me, I stopped and settled down, waiting for the signal to start the distraction. It came over an hour later: three clicks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Planet Lochpin: An Unexpected Fuckup

  Peppermint began crawling backward after the Moech began firing since that was what they needed to cause a major distraction. As Jolie had stressed, their goal wasn't to kill Moechs. It was to cause a distraction. So, he fired an occasional kill shot as he retreated, but he suddenly realized Fox wasn't retreating–she continued killing Moechs. Odd, Jolie was the coolest head in the platoon. Yet, she had made a newbie's mistake, one that might cost her life. He was tempted to go back for her, but it was too late. The Moech troops were already getting organized and would be on her before he could reach her. He decided to stay put and help if he could.

  He screwed back on his suppressor, wishing his second specialty had been sniper and he had a CheyTac rather than a Tavor in his possession. As four men approached her position, she shot two and was up and running. She got a few precious seconds’ grace as the other two men dove for the ground, but by now, there were Moech everywhere, and everyone in the area had her as a target. He saw her stumble and knew she had taken a hit. Not fatal but she couldn't afford the blood loss. She was fighting for her life and needed her full strength if she were going to survive. The Fox had finally encountered a situation where all her craftiness wouldn't save her. She would need the space gods' help and a huge dose of luck to survive.

  Jolie took another hit or two, spun, and hit the ground. Afterward, he thought he heard the sound of a Jericho fire and wondered if Jolie, realizing she was going to be captured decided to end her life to avoid giving away any information about her team. A tear crept down his cheek. She had been one fantastic squad leader, and he would miss her.

  Rage surged through him as he saw the Moech dragging her back to their camp and wondered if she were still alive. No, he decided. She was a Tasmanian and a trophy. More rage surged through him when they strung her up by her feet and began tearing her uniform to leave the front of her exposed. He could barely restrain himself from running into the camp and killing them all. He was glad he was the only Tasmanian present because the sight was like a siren calling Devils to me. He sat and began Luan's Vanquishing Fear exercise, which quieted the raging beast within him. Sometime later, he opened his eyes to see Jolie curl up, slide her two combat knives from her boot, which no one had removed, cut the ropes tied to her ankles, and drop to the ground.

  He abandoned all reason and began his approach toward the Moech camp. He knew with her wounds and hanging upside down for so long, she would never make it out by herself. He didn't know if he would be able to save her, but one thing was for certain: the Fox was not going to die alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Planet Lochpin: A Really Bad Day

  I unscrewed the suppressor from my CheyTac, as that would make the most noise, and sighted in on a Moech with stripes on his sleeve who was talking to a group of men, which looked to be a squad. I pressed the Go icon to begin the distraction and fired. The man's head exploded. Since the men were in small clusters, the first three targets were simple as I only had to move the rifle millimeters to acquire the next target. It also helped that most were frozen for the first two to three seconds as their minds tried to come to grips with what was happening.

  I suddenly realized there were too many in this group for me to handle, so I lay still to see what they would do now that Tavor weapon fire seemed to be coming from everywhere. The Moech's responded by taking cover and firing blindly into the night. I screwed the suppressor back on and looked for targets. I found an officer who was shouting orders and pointing toward the dense shrubbery where we lay. The bullet hit him in the chest and lifted him up and back a meter or two. I located another man with stripes and hit him in the back as he turned to wave at someone.

  I lay quiet again observing the chaos. Troops were mostly hunkered behind some object or another while a few attempted to change locations for better protection or to retreat. As the Tavor shots were decreasing, I realized I hadn't taken my own advice and had been killing Moechs when I should have been slowly retreating. Taipan had a right to worry about me on my own. Oh well, I knew there would be casualties, I mused, while preparing to go down fighting.

  Men were coming from everywhere, racing in groups of five to eight toward the area where we had been firing. Officers and sergeants were shouting directions in an attempt to get them organized into a logical search pattern. The four remaining men in the squad I had targeted were heading in my direction. I lay quiet hoping they would pass me unnoticed, but one man was going to step on me if he didn't see me first. So, I shot him and the one running close to him, jumped to my feet, and sprinted in a crouch. Seconds later, his two comrades had recovered and were shooting at me, along with others who had been twenty to thirty meters behind them. I stumbled as a bullet tore through my side. I went down on one knee, spun around and sprayed the two groups who then dove for cover. I ejected the spent clip, slapped in a new one, shot two short bursts in their direction, and began another crouching run almost into another group.

  Bushes, trees, and shrubbery exploded around me as they turned their attention on me. I fired off another burst but doubted I hit anything. I had hoped to encourage them to take cover and stop trying to kill me as I searched for an exit. I felt like the only target at an active firing range. Pain shot through my upper arm as another bullet scored a hit and spun me around. I fell. Removing my Jericho, I carefully pointed the weapon at my chest just above my heart, angled it so that the bullet would exit my side–I hoped–and fired. I lay back and sought a deep meditative state, hoping they would think the last round had killed me with a shot to my heart. I lay with my eyes and mouth open. My heart and breathing were slowing and would soon be noticeable only with a stethoscope. Far off I heard laughing and felt several kicks to my legs and ribs, which is what I had hoped for rather than a few bullets to the head. Someone stomped on my stomach and the contents of my stomach came shooting out of my mouth, my body bent inward, and a spasm of pain hit me like an exploding bomb. Except for a brief few seconds, too short for my attacker to notice, my meditation held. The laughter and excitement would have masked any sound that might have escaped. Now if the bastards would just leave, my fogged mind mused. But no, they tied something to my boots and were dragging me–none to gently–over rocks and through small bushes, while shouting a mangled sound, sort of like Asmaanan. Before long, I was hoisted into the air feet-first with my head dangling less than ten centimeters off ground. I felt cool air and realized they were cutting away the front of my uniform while laughing, shouting, and one or more padding and stroking my crotch based on the pressure I felt. Fortunately, they were too excited to see I was still bleeding, which meant my heart was working if ever so slowly. Over time, things appeared to return to normal as quiet descended on the area. Then I felt pressure on my crotch again and some sick bastard's finger slipped inside me. Fortunately, I had nothing left in my stomach as revulsion washed over me–I endured with fantasies of disemboweling him with each of my two combat knives, which were still in my boo
ts.

  I slowly returned to full consciousness and regretted it immediately. I smiled at the thought of returning two clicks if I had been queried about my current status. I guess it proved I was as certifiably crazy as any Tasmanian. I opened my eyes and could see no one in the immediate area. Stealing myself for the pain, I curled up enough to reach my boot-knives, pulled them out and cut the ropes that held me. I crashed to the ground, knocking the wind out of me and overloading my brain with pain signals. Of course, the sick bastard picked that time to come around the vehicle I had been tied to. He saw me and his eyes lit up like flashbangs, and his smile exposed all ten of his remaining nicotine-stained teeth as he knelt to grab my breasts. One of my knives went into his intestines while the other entered his throat. With a surge of adrenaline, I ripped them both sideways.

  The smell of waste, blood, and shit hit me like a double dose of ammonia, and I rolled over and managed to get to one knee. But I was too weak to push myself upright. Unable to stand, tears streaked down my face. I was free and could fade into the landscape, but I didn't have the strength. Then, I had a beautiful illusion. Isaac, call sign Peppermint, appeared out of nowhere. He gently lifted me to a standing position, kissed me on the forehead, and draped me over his shoulder. I think I passed out, overwhelmed with equal parts of pain and euphoria.

  * * *

  "Welcome back, Fox," Isaac said when he saw me open my eyes. "I didn't think foxes had nine lives, but however many you have, you just used up another one."