by James Samuel
James retreated further into the temple and ran at a crouch, altering his position so he was staring at the clearing from the distant right. He reset himself and pointed the carbine back at the clearing. Slowly, the soldiers who had survived the first volley emerged from the brush to join the reinforcements.
Once again, James fired at the massing soldiers. Two more dropped to the ground, dead. He raked the ground, the bullets catching a couple more in the legs. Realising their mistake, the soldiers poured into the temple complex without hesitation. Little squads of three or four split up and began to probe the grounds.
He gritted his teeth and retreated again. If they caught him in the open, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Getting pinned down would mean certain death. James kept moving. He ascended another set of steps to the topmost point of the temple. The Khmer continued to shout orders around him.
James crossed the top floor of the temple and descended via the other side. He noticed a three-man team moving around the outer edge of the temple, trying to flank him. The Khmer knew the heritage of Phnom Bakheng like the backs of their hands. He stood and fired down upon the unfortunate team from above. The well-aimed bullets obliterated the squad, tearing their bodies to pieces.
The soldiers in the grounds shouted out in anguish. James fled back up to the uppermost level again. He had to find a way off the temple. They were closing in fast. On the flat ground, with little cover, if they caught him here, he had no chance.
In their rage, the soldiers had given away their positions. He started in the direction where he’d heard the fewest voices. James jumped down the last couple of steps as a burst of gunfire followed him. He rounded a corner. General Narith’s forces were getting warmer.
“Fucking hell,” James cursed.
James made his way towards the exit. A group of four appeared. He let loose, forcing them to retreat. One soldier fell, the rest fled for their lives the way they came.
The path was clear. He moved down to the bottom level at the far end of Phnom Bakheng. There were just two routes around to the other side. Long, straight and without cover, two alleys of death to choose from.
James inched his way along to the corner of the temple. The retreating soldiers fired, peppering the ancient walls with their bullets. He fell to the ground, lying prone. All his training told him to stay down and invite them to come to him. Reality forced him to get up and fight back.
He pulled out one of his M9s and fired blindly around the corner. James squeezed the trigger until he emptied the cartridge. Equipping his M4A1 again, he darted out from the corner and sprayed the entire passage in front of him. The soldiers had gone. Another two were dead, their blood seeping into the morning dew clinging to each blade of grass.
The game of cat and mouse continued as James sprinted past these bodies. There was no doubt now. They knew where he was.
A few orange streaks blazed across the sky. It gave him a sense of urgency. He couldn’t allow this to carry on too long. He couldn’t have the public witness his actions.
James continued to battle his way around the perimeter of the temple. What soon became clear was the fear. The soldiers looked upon him with terror. The barang with heavy weapons charging them. It put them on the backfoot and allowed James to make it back to where he’d started.
With a trail of dead littering the temple grounds, the soldiers fell back to the clearing and the hill. James continued to chase them back. When he finished sweeping the temple grounds clean, he turned his attention to the way down. This is where the real battle would begin.
James replaced his spent cartridges and reset himself. As he made his way to the hidden cache of weapons in the greenery, his mouth opened. A cry but with nothing coming out. A burning spread through his shoulders and chest, like a raging hot metal had entered him. It had entered him. That familiar feeling. He’d been shot.
He whipped around, fighting off the pain. Raising his weapon, he fired at the lone, injured soldier who had fired from the ground. The bullets ripped the young man’s face apart, rendering him unrecognisable.
James took in deep gulps of air as he grasped at the searing pain. He ripped the top part of his shirt open and felt the Kevlar. The bullet had caught him on the corner of the vest. It had penetrated. Blood poured from the wound. He felt the bullet half sticking out of his flesh with the pad of his finger.
“Fuck it.” James rebuttoned his shirt.
He didn’t have the time for first aid. Certain that it hadn’t penetrated any vital organ, he picked out a couple of RGD offensive grenades and popped them into his pocket. He wouldn’t show weakness in the face of his enemies.
James pulled the pin out of a grenade and threw it down the hill. The characteristic panic of the Khmer soldiers blew open their plan. They wouldn’t catch him that easily. A couple more seconds passed, and the grenade exploded. He launched another one further and followed on behind it.
He appeared at the top of the hill just in time to watch the second grenade separate a soldier’s limbs from his body. James fired and forced the soldiers to fall back again. This time he inched down the hill. An ambush played on his mind.
Even in the heat of battle. James kept reaching back at the wound in the meaty part of his back. It continued to pulse waves of pain through his upper body.
James gave in and picked his phone out of his pocket. He had to call Sinclair. He needed intelligence.
Holding the phone to his ear with his pistol in front of him, he waited for it to ring. “Sinclair?”
“James, what’s going on?”
James fired his pistol as a soldier tried to peek around the curve of the hill. His head vanished again.
“James?”
“I’m hit. They got me in the back. I don’t know if it’s serious. Give me some intelligence. How many more? I’m about to make my way down the hill now.”
“I don’t have anything.”
“You’re supposed to be my fucking intelligence agent.”
“I’m back in Siem Reap. I gave you everything I had. Can you still move fine?”
“Fuck the bullet.”
“There’s nothing I can do. I’ve got nobody I can send to help you.”
James fired another warning shot at nothing in particular and dumped the phone in his pocket. He felt his temples pulsing, the vein pushing against the skin. Real panic had overtaken him now.
They were massing on the hill and he knew it. The viewpoint would form a place of strength for Narith’s forces, just like Sinclair had said. As he felt the pain from his wound, he questioned if he had what it took to breakthrough.
James took a step forwards only to be met by return fire. He threw himself to the ground as the soldiers strafed his position. The bullets slammed into the ground and struck the trees, splintering the ancient wood. He rolled off the path and into the ditch. James fired back into the air to make them think twice about rushing him.
The soldiers found their mark and fired intermittently in his direction. There was no going back, no moving forwards. James continued to retreat into the unknown ground of the jungle separating the trail from the temple itself. A steep hill filled with moist mulch and hanging vines blocked his path.
He hid behind the bushes and waited for the soldiers to stop firing. When he didn’t fire back, the soldiers repeated the process until the entire hill went silent. James used the foliage to conceal his position and moved towards where he knew the hill would drop off onto the path below.
A couple of soldiers moved by him, flashing into view for a brief moment. James held his breath and crept through the trees. Each rustle and each step his boots made forced him to stop and prick up his ears. He took a deep breath. Now he found himself overlooking where the soldiers had taken cover.
Placing the carbine onto the ground as soundlessly as possible, he took a grenade from his pocket. Pulling the pin on his final RGD offensive grenade, he rolled it down onto the path below. The grenade dropped. The soldiers cried out at the final se
cond. James covered his ears. A mass of humanity became nothing more than punctured meat bags, spilling their entrails into the earth.
James’ ears rang from the explosion. He clenched his teeth and shook his head against the noise in his head as he made his way back to the path. The voices of the living Khmer melded with the reinforcements coming behind them. Jumping back onto the path again, he saw the damage he’d caused.
The toasted meat and the ruined bodies of the soldiers made his stomach jump. He looked away from them and passed without even a sympathetic glance. They shouldn’t have come here. He would make them all regret fighting for a man like General Narith.
James ploughed on, not knowing what would face him around the corner.
Chapter Sixty-One
Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia
It was as if the murder had never happened. Song Wen’s body continued to lay in a pool of dried blood at the threshold to his bedroom. Nobody had raised the alarm. Nobody had heard the fatal shot. Dylan had left the scene in Nhek’s tuk-tuk without even a shout in their wake.
“Are we safe here?” asked Dylan as Nhek pulled to a stop in a quiet part of town. “Where are we?”
Nhek eased himself off the bike. They had stopped at nowhere in particular. A little eatery sat underneath a high bridge. It was serving breakfast to a local gaggle of Khmer. The immense concrete pillars formed a natural shelter from the rains.
“Just a little restaurant. We are safe here. I come here sometimes for breakfast.”
“Is this where you know someone who can read Chinese?”
“Of course, Mr. Dylan. I would not like you to be late for anything. I don’t know how much he charges you, but if you have money, he speak Chinese.”
Dylan nodded. “Is he Chinese?”
“No, he is tour guide.”
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. A tour guide who could rattle off a few greetings and fun facts didn’t qualify as a translator. Nevertheless, he had no other choice. Maybe he would get lucky?
Dylan followed Nhek into the crowded eatery. They jostled for space at one of the plastic tables. Khmer slurped at their breakfast soups protected their positions with sharp elbows. Yet despite the tense battle raging, nobody seemed to take any of it with bad humour.
Nhek greeted a man at the counter with warm smiles. They spoke to each other in Khmer.
At last, Nhek turned back to Dylan. “He is here. The tour guide is his brother. He takes barang all over Cambodia. You are a very lucky man, Mr. Dylan, he came back from a three-day tour last night. He is very tired, so please forgive him.”
Dylan grunted his assent.
The Khmer behind the counter wiped his hand on a soiled dishrag and gestured to them to follow along the yellowed tile floor. The Khmer sat them in a place of apparent honour at a private plastic table in the corner. Dylan felt the steam and smell of fresh food each time the kitchen door opened.
“This is a good place.” Nhek tapped his forefinger on the table as he sat. “Very good place. This is the table for the owner and his family. You are a lucky, lucky man.”
Dylan managed to raise a smile, but he didn’t feel lucky. His life had been clear only weeks ago. From the moment he landed in Cambodia that stability had been etched away and within hours he would have a price on his head from his former boss Sir Richard.
After a round of tea, a stocky, sleepy Khmer appeared from the kitchen. His bloodshot eyes contrasted with his navy-blue shirt. He appeared to be little more than thirty, but with Khmer it was near impossible to tell.
“Mr. Dylan, this my friend Sor. He will help you. He knows Chinese.”
Dylan stood to shake Sor’s hand. “Hello.”
“Mr. Dylan, a pleasure to meet you.” Sor clasped his hands together in Buddhist fashion. “I am very tired, but I can help you with your Chinese.”
“Just Dylan, please.”
Sor bowed his head again. “Yes, Mr. Dylan. Your name is very hard for us, but I have it.”
Dylan blinked and put their manner of addressing people down to a national trait. “Yes, yes, I don’t have much time, Sor, I’m sorry.” He showed Sor the sheaf of documents. “This is what I need you to read to me. I need to know what they say, and fast.”
Sor took the sheaf within his long fingers. “This will take a few hours for me to read it all. Is it all Chinese, Mr. Dylan?”
“Yes, all of it. I don’t need to know everything just the general message if you get what I mean?”
“Yes, I can do that. I have no tours today, so you are a lucky man. It should take me a few hours. I can’t go faster. There’s a lot of paper here.”
“Got it. How much do you want for it? Consider it a priority, and I’ll pay you well for it.”
Sor looked to Nhek and they conversed in Khmer again. Every so often they would look back at him and smile. Dylan already had a bad feeling about the price. He could afford it, but he knew he was spending his last paycheque.
“Five hundred dollar,” said Sor.
Dylan’s jaw almost hit the table. “Five hundred dollars?”
“Five hundred dollar,” Sor repeated. “And I read you now. I read Chinese good for you, Mr. Dylan.”
Dylan clamped his teeth on his tongue and dragged his wallet from his pocket. He counted out the money with much less grace than he had with Nhek only hours earlier. Let Sor take his pound of flesh, he didn’t have time to negotiate or go looking for someone else, and he was sure Nhek had told him that.
Sor pounced on the notes and stuffed them into his pocket. “Mr. Dylan, I start now, just for you.”
To Sor’s credit, he planted himself on one of the spare chairs and began to read the documents from cover to cover. Dylan still didn’t know how good Sor’s Chinese was, but as he watched the Khmer’s creased brow and the clear concentration on his face, he lightened a little.
He could only hope that it was five-hundred dollars well-spent.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Siem Reap, Siem Reap Province, Cambodia
The sky wrote a message in the clouds. A crimson morning signalled blood had fallen and more blood that would be shed by the time another perfect cloudless sky greeted Cambodia. James had fought his way to the hill and, finally, managed to claim some breathing space.
The soldiers moved into full retreat. James crawled along, swiftly, catlike, crouching low. Each time the soldiers sent a volley of bullets flying back at him, he dove to the ground and fired back. The bullet piercing his skin continued to send bolts of fire into his back. Each time he bent down or flexed, his wound reminded him of his limited movement.
He took in deep breaths. Exhaustion started to set in at the worst possible moment. He felt his mind tiring, his body growing weary with the fight to survive. And, now, he approached the true rallying point. The lookout point.
“I need to call Sinclair again,” James muttered.
At a lull in the fighting, he pulled out the phone and pressed down on speed dial. The phone rang and rang, but Sinclair didn’t pick it up. James let fly a loud curse as he lowered the phone from his ear.
He heard a battle cry, and a great weight clattered into his back. The M4A1 was strapped around his neck by a leash. He just managed to spin away before he fell on top of it. Turning over, he found a wounded soldier, the poor, foolish amateur who had tried to be a hero. Blood flowed from a wound near his collarbone, yet he managed to draw a knife from his belt.
James eyed the tactical knife and a sense of urgency washed over him. He had to get the man out of the way to give himself room to move. James took in a deep breath and braced himself as the soldier moved in for the kill. He lunged for James, but he grabbed the man’s wrist as he evaded his swinging blade.
The soldier lashed out with his other hand, clouting James on the top of the head. James struggled with his attacker for possession of the knife. No matter how much he fought, he couldn’t pry the weapon free from the soldier’s iron fingers.
James began push
ing the soldier away. The soldier roared in his face like a wild animal. James responded by loosing a globule of spit straight between his eyes. The Khmer’s momentary jerk allowed James to throw the soldier back. With only a few feet between them, he reached for his pistol and fired.
The Khmer dropped to the ground. The knife finally leaving his fingers.
In anger, James fired downhill to let the rest of his comrades know he was still there. These soldiers were little more than amateurs, but they were brave. Braveness bordering on stupidity.
James considered trying Sinclair again, but he ventured on. He wasn’t safe yet. As he approached the corner that would take him in direct conflict with the viewpoint he’d discussed with Sinclair, he slowed his pace. General Narith wasn’t stupid. He would have prepared something. He was sure of it.
He inched around the corner. A mounted machine gun of some kind greeted him. It rattled off enormous rounds straight at him. James threw himself back, feeling the power of the bullets woosh by him. Narith’s forces had dug themselves in, creating a strongpoint he would have no choice but to cross.
James fired a few errant shots, but he knew they wouldn’t do much. They had more ammunition than he did. He couldn’t afford to waste anything on ill-placed shots. He retreated back up the hill to the cache that might save his life. His only hope depended on Sinclair’s planning, his genius in choosing the spot in the underbrush they had found yesterday.
He scrambled up the path, ignoring the pain in his back. He blessed Sinclair’s organizational brilliance as opened up the chest and put his hands on the RPG-7V2. The grenade launcher felt big and bulky as he put it together and lifted it to his waist. As he feared, his wound screamed in protest when he positioned the launcher on his shoulder. He hadn’t fired one of these in a long time, and he steadied it in both hands as he moved back down the trail. As awkward as he felt with the bulky weapon, he didn’t know how he was going to get a lock on them.
