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

by C. R. Daems

  * * *

  "I've asked you here today to set some rules for this new platoon," Howard said, after we had been allowed to get something to eat and drink from a sideboard loaded with snacks. I noticed that Mueller and the chief were also present. This was the first time I had been in one of the headquarters’ conference rooms. This one was named the Big Horn, which I thought was intended to remind the participants of the consequences for underestimating the enemy, for thinking numbers didn't count, and for being overconfident in yourself and in your equipment. The room had a seven-meter ebony conference table, black leather executive chairs, several monitors, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto Fort Endeavor.

  "Although we all agree it's a good idea, it will create problems. First and foremost, you will be picked for every assignment. That runs contrary to our current policy of rotating Tasmanians on assignments. I know some of you are picked more often than others but seldom if ever on three consecutive engagements." He paused for a sip of his coffee and scanned the room looking for comments. "So, do you have the right of refusal or must there be a limit on the number of consecutive assignments?"

  "Why not leave it to the assigned commander and the platoon leader to decide on the importance of the engagement and the fitness of the team?" Smitty interjected to nodding heads from the team.

  "Who decides if they disagree?" Mueller asked.

  "Since we are talking specifically about the Ghost Platoon, I'd say Luan, since she'd be in the best position to determine the capabilities of her team," the chief said. "That also fits with our tradition of letting an individual refuse an assignment."

  When no one appeared to object, I spoke. "Since my platoon and I will have to take vacations at the same time, I like the option of designating the length of our post-assignment leave."

  "Why, Jolie?" Howard asked, lips pursed in thought.

  "That way, everyone will know one or more members won't be available, so we can't be picked for assignment. I may designate a week after assignment where no one was seriously injured, several when a couple were and needed time to heal, or ten weeks when several want to take a long overdue break to visit friends or relatives on other planets."

  When no one objected, Howard wrapped up the meeting. "For now, those are the rules. Fox will stipulate the post-assignment vacations for the platoon during which time they can't be picked for assignment, and the commander and Luan will decide whether the Ghost Platoon is fit for an assignment, with the platoon leader having the final say." He held up a hand when several people looked ready to leave. "Although this is currently a permanently configured platoon, each of you has the right to resign from the platoon. In that case, Luan can find a replacement or disband the platoon."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Planet Delphi: Adventures in Dating

  "That was…words fail me," Medina said after being released from her eight-hour Vanquishing Fear session. Her clothes were soaked with sweat and she was several shades paler. "How many more sessions?"

  "It's up to you, but I'd recommend a total of eight. Although the exercise is called Vanquishing Fear, the real intent is not to eliminate your fear; it's to get control of it so you have a clear mind to act."

  "That's how you managed to survive your encounter with the Moech?" she asked, leaning forward and sipping her coffee.

  "Yes, without my training, there was no way I could have considered my very limited options with the few seconds available to me. I probably would have just chosen to go down fighting. But I was wounded enough that faking death was a reasonable choice." I laughed. "I hadn't considered they would drag me back to camp as a trophy."

  "This training enabled you to slow your heart and breathing enough to fake death?"

  "Meditation along with this training. I will give you exercises you can practice that will help you in your everyday life."

  "Like your encounter with Sergeant Duggin? But why didn't it work with Major Lloyd?" she asked, eyes wide with interest.

  "Duggin was insulting me personally. Since I didn't care what he thought of me, there was no reason to fight him. The same was true for Lloyd while he was insulting me; however, when he began insulting my brother Tasmanians, I couldn't let that go unanswered without bringing shame on them."

  Medina nodded, understanding. "Alright, I know I won't like it, but after hearing how and what you survived, I think it will be worth the emotional trauma." She gave a choked laugh.

  * * *

  Over the next couple of months, I managed to go out with Medina, Shirley, and Clare several times to an assortment of nightclubs. It felt like sticking my toe in the water to test the temperature before jumping in. Each time, we were joined by men who never served in the military. I think their choice of clubs was intentional and for my benefit, as the men's occupations varied from construction to engineering to office executives. That in itself was an education.

  This evening, we were at a rowdy club with men who were predominately hard-working laborers. The music was lively, and I had been dancing with a muscular man at least twelve centimeters taller than me. We had just returned to our table when my emergency call unit buzzed.

  "Sorry," I said looking at the message.

  Meeting in one hour outside the headquarter building.

  "Duty calls." Looking around the table, no one else had a message, not even Colonel Medina. She shrugged, acknowledging she too thought that strange. "I guess they don't need the sane component of the military," I quipped, wondering what that meant.

  "Try following your orders this time," Shirley said as I rose to go.

  "Easier said than done. I appear to have trouble with following orders. It's boring." I waved goodbye.

  "What does she do for a living?" I heard my dance partner ask.

  "You've been dancing with one of the military's elite killers."

  * * *

  When I arrived, Howard stood with three other men. I recognized Tang but not the other two. "Jolie, you know Lu Tang; the other two men are Jose Gonzales and Jack Harmon. They will each be commanding four eight-man squads. Gentlemen, this is our sister, Jolie Luan, who commands a ten-man group of scouts, designated a platoon as she reports directly to me," Howard said and grinned. "Although, she doesn't follow orders well. Jolie, is your platoon functional for an assignment?"

  "Yes, Howard."

  "We're going to the planet of Dodoma, again." He sighed in resignation. "Another semi-military group has materialized and is creating havoc. It's commanded by a man named Nuranjo who claims to be the rightful monarch of the Arudi Polity. They've been raiding the poor villages in the area, killing, raping, kidnapping young recruits, and stealing the villages' food and salable products. His army has grown over the past year from fifty to as many as two to four hundred, depending on who you talk to. They consist mostly of young men armed with a variety of revolvers, rifles, and automatic assault weapons. He has fewer than thirty men with actual military experience. They act like psychopaths judging by the atrocities they are credited with having committed. Don't get me wrong, they are well led, unpredictable, vicious, and disappear into the jungle like ghosts."

  "Should be interesting as we have our own Ghost Platoon. One that always seems to know where the action is happening," Tang said and nodded to me.

  "The military has decided to send only Tasmanians, so you should consider carefully the types of specialties that make up your squads," Howard said.

  "Jolie, what is the Ghost Platoon mix?" Tang asked, looking genuinely interested.

  "Eight scouts, four snipers, three medical, three explosives, and two communications," I said, feeling good about my team's specialties.

  "Eight scouts. No wonder your unit is a ghost. Should be interesting, two ghosts chasing each other," Tang said.

  "We leave for Dodoma two days from now at zero five hundred hours," Howard said, ending the meeting.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Planet Dodoma: Marauders

  "Jolie, I hear you got c
aptured on your last assignment," a Tasmanian I didn't recognize shouted from one of the upper boxes that constituted our bunks on the military transport taking us to Dodoma.

  "That's a malicious rumor," I shouted as I jumped out of my floor-level box and placed my fists on my hips. "Probably being spread by that army major who was stalking me. In truth, I infiltrated the enemy camp in order to gain vital information for my brothers," I said as I marched around the bay glaring at everyone.

  "I heard they dragged you into their camp and hung you upside down," the same man shouted. I stomped over to his column of boxes, put my fists on my hips, and gave him an angry snarl.

  "My disguise was perfect. They thought they had found a beautiful dead fox. And I chose to be hung upside down so I could see what was happening. What kind of a spy would I be right-side up? I wouldn't have been able to see them. They were short, little people, so upside down I could keep an eye on them."

  "We heard they stripped you," another man shouted.

  "That did piss me off. The night air was freezing cold. I had goose pimples on my finger nails and my teeth were chattering so hard I lost the enamel. Look!" I said exposing my teeth, which I had blackened in anticipation of this skit I knew would happen. By now, everyone expected a story out of me. And in truth, I enjoyed it. I heard gasps as I spun around to show everyone. "And what thanks do I get? None! Had to give myself a medal since no one else would." I produced a satisfying smirk as I lifted my chin.

  "What medal?" several men shouted.

  "Since I can't wear medals, although I deserve them," I twirled then bowed, "the ears of the man who stripped me."

  That earned me hoots, clapping, stomping, and lots of grins and laughs. When the room quieted, someone shouted.

  "Jolie, I'd love the hear the story of your first date." That elicited a lot of hoots and words of agreement.

  "I haven't had a date yet, but I did go dancing. And I hope the rules for dating aren't as confusing as the rules for dancing," I said frowning and shaking my head.

  "What rules?" several shouted.

  "I was informed by the female Rangers I was with that when the man's hand drops from my lower back to my ass, I can’t cut off his ears–not even one." I gave my best pouty face. "Men must have made up that silly rule."

  * * *

  I exited the transport early the next morning with Howard, Tang, Gonzales, and Harmon. The air was warm and muggy. The city of Thabo looked to be about three kilometers to the south in a warehousing area with hangars and two- and three-story metal buildings. As we stood waiting, a tall, thin, brown-skinned man approached.

  "Good morning, Tas men and woman," he said and produced a face-splitting grin. "I am Owiti, your guide. I know many of the local tribes' languages and history. Very smart, very good guide," he said tapping his chest with his finger.

  "Do you know the last village the warlord, Nuranjo, attacked?" Howard asked.

  Owiti nodded. "Kwasi. Seven-hour drive, and sixteen-hour walk from there. " He pointed north. "Nuranjo long gone."

  "I know, but that is where I want to start," Howard said. "We will need trucks to carry one hundred men and their equipment."

  Having been on Dodoma many years ago, Howard had warned us we would have to carry everything we would need for a month. Our transports would have replacements and equipment we couldn't carry, like medical units, but we couldn't count on its availability. That meant we were each carrying thirty to forty kilo each. My thirty kilo was almost sixty percent of my current weight. Fortunately, the team had agreed to carry several kilo of my reserve ammo. As it was, I felt like a beached walrus.

  "Owiti have trucks ready, boss man," our guide said, supporting an ear-to-ear smile and pointing toward two old trucks that I hoped we wouldn't have to push to our designation. "Owiti very smart, very good guide."

  The trucks to carry us to the drop-off point had poor shock absorbers, belched a black soot, had a canvas roof with open sides, and had wooden benches that would have been uncomfortable on a smooth road, which was about ten minutes of the seven-hour ride. Everyone was relieved when we stopped and looked forward to our walk in the jungle even with its undergrowth, swamps, bugs, and creepy-crawly poisonous things. I laughed at the thought.

  "What's so funny, Fox?" Smitty asked as my platoon began to form around me.

  "My father told me I should find fun and enjoyment in everything I do. I'm trying to get in the right mood for all the creepy-crawly poisonous things I'm going to find in that muddy, muggy swamp." I pointed at the edge of the jungle we were facing.

  * * *

  To the amazement of our local guide, Howard had us moving at close to double-time, and we reached the village in under eight hours. The village consisted of thirty semi-permanent huts that sat in a cleared area of twenty acres. When we entered, the natives backed away and huddled in groups, clearly petrified. It took Owiti a half hour to convince them we were not a threat and were hunting their attackers. Just looking around, it was obvious there were few young men, women, or youths and that most of the villagers had major injuries, such as missing hands, arms, feet, or legs.

  "What happened?" Howard demanded after surveying the village.

  Owiti shrugged. "Nuranjo very bad juju. Quick to punish if not cooperate. Take young boys for army, kill young men, kidnap and rape women, steal food and take anything he wants."

  "Doesn't seem like they have much to take," Howard said, shaking his head.

  "Building an army to challenge Monarch Bahati of Thabo. This training and keeps troops happy," Owiti said like it was normal.

  "Why isn't Monarch Bahati hunting Nuranjo?" Howard asked.

  Owiti smiled. "Get you to hunt. Keep his army safe," he said obviously thinking it a stupid question.

  Howard took out a map and laid it on the ground. "Can you mark the villages on this map? Both the ones attacked and the ones that haven't been attacked?"

  "No, boss man. Too many and they move from time to time due to weather, game, water, and local wars."

  "We can't just wander the jungle hoping to find Nuranjo," Howard said, glaring at Owiti. The man just shrugged. "I can take you to where they were last time I visited."

  "When was that?"

  "Some years, some months, and some never," Owiti said, ignoring Howard's icy glare. "Big area. Only visit when they ask; otherwise, no reason."

  "Well, platoon leaders, suggestions?" Howard asked.

  "We could split up by platoon and cover a much larger area," Gonzales said, looking at the map.

  "How big is Nuranjo's army?" Harmon asked, looking at Owiti who shrugged.

  "No one knows. The last couple of villages raided claimed there were twenty to thirty. But people think he has a base camp somewhere and many such groups, based on the location of the villages raided and the number of years he has been operating."

  "Which means a platoon could get overwhelmed if Nuranjo has a communications network," Tang said. "What kind of weapons, Owiti?"

  "Like yours, according to the villagers," Owiti said after looking around the group.

  "Fox, what do you plan to do?" Howard asked, and all eyes turned toward me.

  "I thought the boys and I would wander around. Maybe we can find a trail to follow. Twenty-five young men must leave a trail a blind man could follow," I said being intentionally vague. I had this feeling I shouldn't trust anyone except my brothers. I somehow doubted Nuranjo was choosing random villages or just attacking ones he stumbled across. If Owiti was right, no one had an up-to-date map of the current villages. The fact that Nuranjo was a sick bastard by all accounts didn't mean he was stupid or that he didn't have a strategic plan he was following.

  "That would be very dangerous. I go along, help. Find other guide for boss man," Owiti said, sounding full of concern.

  "No, you stay with the boss man," I said, not sure why but knowing I didn't want a guide with us. "You will just slow us down and in a fight, get in the way."

  Howard gave me a funny look befor
e speaking. "I guess that means you aren't tagging along with us. Any ideas where you intend to go?"

  "You know me, boss man," I quipped. "Thought I'd just wander around with the boys, hoping the big, bad Nuranjo will ambush us. Then the boys will kill him, I'll call you, and we can all go home."

  "Sounds like your team's normal strategy," Howard said and shook his head. "Don't forget to check in now and then. We may need help." He laughed and walked off in the direction of his platoon leaders. I liked Howard and wondered how he came to get Professor as his call sign. I understood from previous talks with my fellow Tasmanians that call signs were generally acquired on engagements and more frequently during ongoing action. On the other hand, he did seem very analytical in his approach to managing his command–except me. Letting me roam without orders or a specific mission appeared in conflict with being analytical. Or maybe it was more a matter of understanding the strengths and weaknesses of people and encouraging their strengths and supporting their weaknesses.

  "Fox?" Smitty said breaking into my thoughts.

  "Van, Isaac, why don't you see if anyone needs help and at the same time hear the local gossip. You know how us women love gossip," I said, thinking their medical specialties would make them easier to talk to and confide in. "I'd also like to know the location of the previous village Nuranjo terrorized." I sat as the two wandered off in the direction of the huts. Soon, the rest of the team was sitting. "Any ideas on how we can coax the local psychopath into attacking us?" I asked, hoping for a few clever suggestions.

  "Insult his manhood," Spiderman said with a grin.

  "But how do we get him the word?" Firebird asked.

  "He has some kind of network, whether electronic or drums or messengers," Spiderman said. "Can't run a successful war without communications of some kind."

  "Spiderman is right. He has to have some communications with the outside world. Either sympathizers, or bribed informants, or family," I said liking the idea in theory. It would certainly be easier to find him if he were looking for us. In practice, it might not be such a good idea if he surprised us or showed up with overwhelming numbers.