Tasmanian SFG: Book III, Of One Mind, page 2
Howard nodded. "The Tasmanian Qualification School does produce purebred Tasmanians," he said, staring at me. "Those two would not have fit into our…family. We are individuals with unique personalities," he smiled, "and sex, but we think with one mind. Et anima una. That defines us as Tasmanians."
"Don't forget crazy," I said with an ear-to-ear smile.
"Yes, and crazy," Howard said, laughing as he began walking toward his table where a stunning woman with long flaming-red hair sat smiling at him. A devilish smile full of love. I returned to my table feeling better. I might still be bored, but I was among family.
CHAPTER TWO
Planet: Delphi: Fort Endeavor
, Mountain Men
I woke to a buzzing TCom, Tasmanian Communication device, and fighting to get loose of my blanket, which had me trussed up like a mummy. Eventually, I managed to get one arm free and grabbed for my TCom, missed, knocked it off my night table, lost my balance, fell off the side of the bed, and crashed onto the floor. Looking around, I realized it was early as the room was bathed in a predawn grey light. My TCom lay so close I could read the screen.
Luan, report to the headquarters building. Wallace.
My priority was getting untangled. "Ready," I said to myself and calmed my rising excitement to get to the headquarters building as it had to be an assignment. Seeing I looked like a rolled-up rug, I laughed. Two revolutions later, I was free and began dressing. Fortunately, our dress and work uniform were identical, enabling me to be out the door in minutes. As I approached the front of the headquarters building, I saw several men standing in a group talking. I recognized Tang but not the other three.
"Hi, Jolie," Tang said as I neared. "This gentleman is our assignment leader, Wallace, call sign, Sage. He normally commands larger units, but, like you, he was tired of sitting around doing nothing. Commander, this is the infamous Jolie Luan, the Fox."
"A pleasure to meet you, Commander Wallace," I said, unsure what else to say. Wallace was a very senior member of the Tasmanians and had been with them for over twenty years. I idly wondered why he was selected or whether he had enough seniority to select himself.
Wallace stood appraising me as Tang introduced me. "From everything I've heard, you are an interesting person. The question is whether we are evolving or you are an agent of change: the first female, the first to command a permanent squad, the first squad leader to report to the commander, and a relatively new member who leads a group of very senior Tasmanians and who is never given orders or assigned an objective." He paused, eyes gazing off into space. Since they were statements of fact, I chose to remain silent. "Is your platoon functional, Luan?"
"Yes, Commander," I replied with a smile. The Tasmanians were unique in that they could refuse an assignment. As the leader of the only permanent platoon, I had the right to refuse any assignment for the entire platoon. Wallace nodded and turned his attention to the other men. "Tang, you're my second in command. Tang, Sills, and Peters, you will each command three ten-man squads. I would like them configured to be able to function as six five-man squads if necessary." He glanced at me but said nothing. "We are going to Greenlan, a three-day trip, to hunt their mountain men, who believe they own Greenlan's wilderness area. We leave in two days, at zero-six-hundred hours.
As Wallace walked away, Smitty appeared. "I have the team assembled at the Devils Club," he said smiling. Smitty had to have an inside contact as he always knew when a mission was imminent, hours before it was announced. He was unofficially my squad's second in command, which was designated a platoon as I reported to a company commander. When I had been appointed as a squad leader, Smitty had been the one to mentor me on forming a squad. Unlike the army, the Tasmanians had no rank or formal units. A committee of retired Tasmanians selected the commander, who in turn selected the platoon leaders, who selected the squad leaders, who selected the individuals that made up the squad. Consequently, your position and responsibilities varied based on who was in command and the assignment. You could be a member of a squad on one assignment and a platoon leader on the next. As we entered the club, I found my team all smiling. Ironically, I was a relative newbie in the group. Each man had served with the Tasmanians for eight to ten years. Because the Tasmanians frequently operated independently of the army, each man was required to have at least one specialty: explosives, medic, sniper, or communications. Although scout wasn't a designated specialty, each man in my unit, except for Smitty, was recognized as an outstanding scout and frequently selected for that reason rather than his specific specialties. Because my team's responsibility was never specifically defined, I had, with Smitty's help, assembled a diverse group of individuals:
Carl Shoeman, call sign Bulldog, specialty sniper,
Josh Ramos, call sign Tarantula, specialty explosives,
Van Lowe, call sign Salamander, specialty medical,
Art Watson, call sign Spiderman, specialty communications,
Cedric Reid, call sign Wolf, specialty communications,
Pete Norman, call sign Taipan, specialty Sniper,
Todd Bradley, call sign Mamba, specialty Sniper,
Isaac park, call sign Peppermint, specialty medical,
Jafar Noman, call sign Panther, specialty sniper,
and Smitty, call sign Flintstone, specialty explosives.
That gave me nine scouts, four snipers, two medical, two explosives, and two communications specialties, not counting my three specialties: sniper, explosives, and medical.
"Well, Fox, where is the infamous Ghost Platoon going?" Cedric asked, referring to the platoon's unofficial call sign, as we frequently prowled behind enemy lines and no one knew where we were until we reported our position.
"Greenlan, to negotiate with the mountain men for ownership of the Greenlan wilderness," I said, looking at individuals I had come to admire and love and for whom I made life and death decisions. The precise reason no one wanted to be in charge and the reason these men were happy to have me as the platoon's leader. "They have challenged us to determine who is the King of the Mountain or maybe," I stroked my chin, "King Badass of the Wilderness."
"Sounds like something we would all enjoy," Todd said to nodding heads.
"What is the Ghost Platoon going to be doing?" Jafar asked with a small smile.
"What we usually do, get lost and annoy the local badasses."
CHAPTER THREE
Planet: Greenlan, The Problem
We boarded the transports and found our assigned bunks, metal boxes stacked two to four high depending on the number of Tasmanians on the assignment that provided us sleeping accommodations and room for our duffel bags. Since the current assignment was limited to a hundred Tasmanians, the boxes were only stacked two high. When everyone appeared settled, I climbed down and began walking around the mingling Tasmanians, with a cardboard tube hanging from a cord looped around my neck. Although the tube was small, forty-five centimeters long and nine centimeters in diameter, the camouflaged design on the outside made it conspicuous.
"What have you got there?" someone I didn't know by name asked, pointing at the tube.
"Nothing special," I said, turning it from his sight, and kept walking. Over the course of twenty minutes, I had gotten at least ten comments, and everyone was following my movements. I went to the latrine, where I stayed fifteen minutes and then returned to my bunk and pretended to read. At lunchtime, I made my way to the mess hall, clutching my cardboard tube as if I thought someone might steal it. Now, I had everyone's attention, and they watched me the whole time I ate.
"What is in your mysterious tube?" someone asked halfway through the shit-on-a-shingle, SOS, meal. I looked both ways and over my shoulder before grasping the tube with both hands and thrusting it quickly down onto my lap and out of sight. I returned to my bunk and read until just before dinner time. I put my Tasmanian jacket on and exited my sleeping box with the tube hidden under the left side and holding it tightly in place with my left arm. I ate in silence, with everyone watching, including Wallace. When I finished and left the room with all the Tasmanians following, I thought maybe I had carried my mystery tube a bit too far and would soon be jumped, so I held up my right hand and went through my routine of searching the bay for spies. By now, most had returned to their boxes, awaiting the secret of the tube.
"About two months ago, I noticed how jumpy my brothers were getting. All work and no play. The grunts had gotten two assignments, and the Devils none. So, night after night, I lay awake wondering what I could do. One night, I was hit with an idea straight from the space gods." I opened one end of my tube and pulled out a paper, kissed it, and held it to my chest. "I had a thousand of these posters made up and then contracted with someone on Greenlan to take these into the wilderness and nail them to the trees." I walked over to one bunk and handed him the sheet, then began walking around, passing out others from the tube.
The poster had a picture of a large face with a full beard and long shaggy hair sitting on a skinny child-like body in a diaper with even smaller, thinner than normal arms and legs. The caption read: The legendary Greenlan mountain men, with boys written over the crossed-out word men.
"As expected, the mountain men took exception to my poster and have been causing trouble ever since, and the reason my brothers have an assignment." I bowed to clapping and hoots.
"That was quite clever, Luan," Wallace said as we prepared for our departure onto Greenlan. "I had heard stories about you entertaining the troops. You have made a normally boring three-day trip seem like hours. Thank you."
"When someone is selected for an assignment, most want to know if Jolie is going," Smitty said, who was walking just behind us down the loading ramp. "She's the Devils' court jester."
"Are you calling me a fool?" I asked, turning to walk backward, facing him.
"In a way, Boss, you are like the old court fools. They said things that would have gotten anyone else beheaded. You get to wander around without an assigned objective when everyone else has one." He looked at Wallace, who had stopped. "Commander, when she says she is going to wander around, she means she is going to find where the action is and cause chaos." Smitty laughed. Wallace gave a wry smile.
"Yes, I'm glad I volunteered for this assignment. I've been away too long," he said as he waited for a Colonel to join him. "Colonel Tillman, these are my platoon commanders: Tang, Sills, Peters, and Luan," Wallace said, nodding toward each of us as he said our names. "Leaders, this is Colonel Tillman, who is in charge of the army squadron sent to support us."
Tillman stood appraising each of us, me a bit longer, before speaking. "I think we should go meet our reception committee." He nodded to Wallace before turning and wandering toward the military officer and civilian standing next to four black limos. Just behind the limos were a line of military trucks. Since the platoon commanders followed Wallace and Tillman, I reluctantly tagged along, idly wondering who was in charge of this operation. Since the Tasmanians had no rank, it was always a thorny question. Judging by Tillman's demeanor, I thought Wallace. As we neared, the military officer and the civilian stepped forward to meet us.
"Good day, gentlemen. I'm Governor Hainrich, in charge of the Oakridge Province, and this is Colonel Narciz, who is in charge of Oakridge security." Hainrich wore a dark grey suit with a blue shirt open at the neck. He looked middle-aged, but in good physical condition, yet every bit the statesman. He smiled and stuck out a hand which Tillman and Wallace shook. Narciz stood back a step, appraising everyone with hawk-like eyes, which lingered on me longer than the three platoon leaders. He too was clean-shaven and tall but wiry with black hair covering his ears. His uniform was a dark grey, with three stars on his collar. Stars seemed to be the universal symbol for senior military and security personnel. "Colonel Narciz doesn't have the manpower to maintain order in the province and to investigate and chase after incidents that occur in the wilderness. Besides, the wilderness is not officially part of Oakridge Province," Hainrich continued. "Unfortunately, the government of Greenlan doesn't want to send the army into the wilderness to chase a few troublemakers. I personally believe their numbers have grown over the past decade. They are no longer a few troublemakers but rather an organized paramilitary group that has laid claim to the wilderness. You are the compromise I reached with Prime Minister Franks."
"Governor, Colonel," Tillman gave a nod in their direction. "I am Colonel Tillman, and this gentleman is Commander Wallace, who is in charge of the Tasmanians. I'm here to provide him support," Tillman said, confirming my initial assessment.
"Gentlemen," Wallace said, taking control of the introductions. I have four platoons consisting of approximately one hundred Tasmanians led by my platoon leaders: Tang, Sills, Peters, and Luan.
"The terrain is very rough…" Narciz said while looking at me. The implication was clear—no place for a woman.
"That is why they sent a Special Forces Group and not standard army," Wallace said, ignoring the implication. "Tasmanians are the preferred unit when the terrain is hostile. Your mountain men are not going to like them. Everyone that is allowed to wear the fur," he pointed to the fur flash on our berets, "is as dangerous as the animal the unit is named after."
Hainrich nodded and grinned. "They do have a rather legendary reputation, but one assumes they are all males." He paused, looking at me, then shrugged. "If you will join me, we have ground vehicles to escort you to the area where Colonel Narciz has set up a command post and liaisons to provide you with any information or support you may require while you are in the wilderness."
"What do you think, Fox?" Smitty asked when we had boarded one of the trucks and loaded our gear.
"I'm finally going to get to meet some interesting men," I quipped.
"In a gunfight," Pete, one of my snipers, said.
"They will think me too sweet and cuddly to shoot. Like shooting a Koala bear. Now tell me, could you shoot a cute, furry, cuddly Koala bear?"
"They have a mouth full of sharp teeth," Todd, another of my snipers, chimed in, which elicited snorts and grins.
"Picky, picky," I said, shaking my head and looking pained.
"The mountain men have never seen a Grizzly in a woman's skin," Isaac, one of my medics, said. I loved these guys, which was a huge problem because, as a leader, they survived or died by my decisions. The thought sobered me into silence.
When we arrived, there was a large tent sitting in a clearing surrounded by shrubs and sporadic small trees and flanked by a three-meter stream of moving water, which looked to be runoff from the snow-peaked mountains. My name brought me out of my musing.
"Luan, over here," Wallace waved toward the tent. I hustled to catch up with the other platoon leaders. Inside was an elaborate room with computers, monitors, refrigerator, lights, whiteboards, chairs, and a large portable table in the center with a three-meter raised relief map. Hainrich and Narciz led us to the table.
"This is the wilderness area," Narciz began. "Approximately five hundred thousand hectares of land and several mountains ranging in height from four to ten thousand meters. Right now, it's summer, so there is little snow except at the peaks. The snow will normally begin around the middle of fall, which is about eighty-five to ninety days from now." He paused for questions and continued when no one said anything. "In the last three months, we have had five incidents we know about. In each case, innocent hunters were killed." He picked up a meter-long pointer. "Here, here, here, here, and there," he said, pointing to areas that looked to cover at least six to eight kilometers. "We are here." He jabbed the pointer to an area that looked to be four kilometers from the closest incident. "We have had other hunters and tourists reportedly go missing over the years, but they were never found and could have been caused by accidents or animal attacks or the elements. No way to know if the mountain men were involved directly or indirectly. I have the recent incident reports on that table over there for your review." He jerked his head in the direction of a two-meter table with several chairs. "There is coffee and drinks on the table to my right, along with food. I am afraid the food is not hot."
"That's not a problem, Colonel. The army will have a mess tent set up in time for dinner," Tillman said.
While the army set up the bivouac area, Wallace, the platoon leaders, and I spent the day reading about the animals who inhabited the wilderness, the terrain, and the five reported incidents. The winter animals were the usual: large cats, goats, markhors, and bears. Except for the Shaggy-white bears, which were larger than a Grizzly, the rest wouldn't be a problem under most circumstances. The Shaggy-white appeared to have the temperament of a Tasmanian Devil. In the summer, several poisonous snakes, spiders, and lizards could be lethal. We were lucky to have both to worry about as the season was late summer. Even snow was a potential problem as the higher mountains were snow-capped all year long.
The case files were interesting. They had included five that went back almost two years. The oldest was twenty-one months. A father and son went out for a week of camping and hunting, hoping to kill one of the many deer-like animals that roamed the foothills of the wilderness. They never returned and were listed as missing. The next oldest was thirteen months ago. Two late-teenaged couples left for a week of hiking and camping and never returned. Twelve months ago, eight men in their early twenties left on a hunting party. Only three returned. They reported being stalked by mountain men. Eight months ago, five men went out searching for the eight men who had gone missing. They never returned. The most recent group, ten men in their late twenties and early thirties, went searching for the missing men. Only four returned. According to the map in the tent, the groups entered the wilderness at distances up to six kilometers from the start of the mountains, an area considered the lower foothills.
