Tasmanian SFG: Book III, Of One Mind, page 3
"I thought we would start at the base of the mountain, about two kilometers from our present location," Wallace said as we sat eating a hot meal in the army's newly erected mess tent. "Not much sense searching the foothills for mountain men. Roaming the mountain range should incite them to come to us. The question is whether we should split up by platoon or stay close together." He looked around the table at each person, inviting comments.
"I would think we should split up by platoons," Peters said, lips pursed in thought. He looked in his mid-thirties, stocky but in good physical condition. "The reports indicated they had attacked in small groups. We should stay close enough to support each other just in case they are organized and come at us in large numbers."
"We may want to also separate our squads to cover more ground in case they choose to avoid a confrontation and try to lead us around the mountains, hoping to exhaust us, force us to run out of supplies, or to separate us into smaller groups," Tang said. "Even if they don't know we are Tasmanians, they know the terrain, and we don't. It's the strategy I would use: try to tire, weaken, and disorganize."
"Luan, what do you plan to do?" Wallace asked, leaning forward as everyone's head turned in my direction. I was tempted to assume a meditation posture and shut my eyes, but it was obvious I didn't have enough information to form a course of action. Tang had a small smile on his lips as if he were reading my mind.
"I plan to interview the survivors," I said to mixed emotions. Tang nodded as if he expected me to say just that. Peters's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Sills shook his head in disgust, and Wallace continued to stare as if that would help him decide on a reaction.
"That's our sister, the Fox," Tang said. "While we want to run around looking for the chickens, she wants to see if there is a chicken coup."
Wallace smiled. "This should be an interesting assignment. Usually, everyone is trying to be the first to engage the opposition. Your team seems to be reluctant to leave the starting gate."
"Oh, my platoon is going to bitch incessantly, but no one will argue," I said.
"Why is that?" Wallace asked, looking puzzled.
"We have an agreement. If someone has a better idea, I will step down as platoon leader, and they can have the position."
Wallace choked on what he was chewing. "I think you are safe, Luan, and understand why your call sign is Fox. Those men have too much experience to want to lead a platoon." He laughed and was joined with nods and comments agreeing. "Keep me informed, Luan."
I left as the platoon leaders rose to get ready. I smiled as I saw my team sitting several tables away.
"Well, did you hear what I planned to do?" I asked, scanning the ten men.
"Yes, and we have been sitting here whining and bitching," Smitty said. "But couldn't find anyone willing to take your place as platoon leader."
They tried to look serious, but most couldn't stop a twitch of their lip.
"Why?" Josh asked, looking around the table.
"Because she doesn't agree with Colonel Narciz's assessment," Isaac said, looking at me through narrowed eyes.
"Why not, Fox?" Pete asked. Now everyone was looking at me.
"His assessment doesn't make sense. I'm hoping that talking with the survivors will help clarify my confusion," I said. "The killing of hunters in the foothills doesn't seem consistent with keeping people out of the wilderness. I hope talking with the survivors will help resolve my confusion."
CHAPTER FOUR
Planet: Greenlan, The Survivors
I left with my team to find Colonel Narciz and found him in the Oakridge liaison tent.
"Colonel, I'm Platoon Leader Luan," I said as I approached him. He had been observing me ever since I entered the tent. "I wonder if you could arrange for me to interview the survivors?"
"Why?" He asked, staring down at me. His square face frozen in an intimidating glare. "Don't trust us?"
"I have never been to Greenlan and was hoping to get more details about the terrain they were in and other details you would take for granted." I gave him an I'm just a helpless girl look while hoping he wasn't going to beat on his chest.
"Aren't going with your fellow Tasmanians?" He sneered with an I thought so look of satisfaction. The silence dragged on as I didn't reply since it was obvious I wasn't going with them. Eventually, his sneer broke into resignation, and he turned to a sergeant sitting at a make-shift desk with a large board with a map of the wilderness behind him. I thought it would be used to monitor the Tasmanians' location and give directions or send help. "Sergeant Arnold, find transportation for these Tasmanians to visit the survivors of the mountain men's attacks and bring them back here when they have finished their inquiries."
After some negotiating, Arnold commandeered a troop carrier and a limo and insisted I ride with him, although I would have preferred to ride in the truck. I'm not at my best with small talk.
"I didn't think the Tasmanians had women members," he began as the limo negotiated onto a paved road. I guess that was the price for getting to ride in an air-conditioned limo.
"Just me," I said, trying to be sociable, hoping to get more information about Oakridge Province, Governor Hainrich, and Colonel Narciz.
"The only one, and you are a platoon leader!" he said, wanting to hear of my rise to fame. I wanted to say, "Bad luck," but that would lead to my life's story. He continued before I could decide how to divert the discussion away from me. "How is it that you have no rank?" he asked. Another loaded question that would lead to many more.
"Tasmanians don't have rank," I said and held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. "We are selected for a given position, depending on the specific assignment. This time, I was selected to lead this group, and like soldiers everywhere, ours is not to reason why, just to do or die." I thought that should limit the questions, but in case it wasn't, I decided to ask a few of my own. "Based on the information we were given, the trouble with the mountain men appears new."
"There have always been missing hunters and accidents over the years, but that seldom involved more than two or three in a given year. Over the last eighteen months, we have had twenty-two killings. That's a war, not a few accidents." His voice rose, and his face turned angry. "We should send in the army to clean those madmen out. They are squatting on public land and denying it to the general public. The army would make short work of those cowards, shooting unsuspecting civilians." He smacked the seat next to his leg in a fit of rage. "I hear they have families up there." His chin rose toward the window facing the mountains. "They think that land belongs to them."
"Why didn't the government send in troops?" I asked to keep him talking.
"In a sense, it's public land, and, therefore, it's not officially in any province. Consequently, the government doesn't want to use their troops, and the provinces don't want to use theirs." He laughed. "That's why you're here. I don't envy you the task. Those mountain men are hunters and dangerous. They know every trail and probably have traps on each one. You are smart to stay here…collecting information." He suddenly stopped the car. "Oh, we're here at the home of the father and son who went missing twenty-one months ago."
Mrs. Tumbal had two small boys. She indicated that her husband took their older son hunting for small game, edible rodents and birds, and occasionally a small herd animal. They hunted exclusively with shotguns, not rifles, and always in the same fifty-acre area, which was over five kilometers from the base of the mountain range.
At the next stop, Arnold managed to gather the eight parents of the four teenagers, two boys and two girls, who went missing thirteen months ago. After the incriminations and demands to kill the mountain men and their kin, they knew very little. Apparently, the forest area, which was less than a kilometer from where the father and son had gone missing, had for time immemorial been a place for teenagers to camp and make out. Both couples were apparently going steady and in a serious relationship.
At the third stop, I managed to get to talk to three men who had survived the encounter. The men were in their early twenties.
"We were hunting for goats and markhors when we were attacked," the oldest of the boys said, looking at the other two. "The way they were dressed, they were impossible to see, and they had rifles, so they were a good distance away. They caught us by surprise. Hank, Lenard, and I barely managed to escape."
I watched the other two boys as the older boy spoke. The youngest, Lenard, looked nervous.
I took out the map Narciz had given me and laid it on the ground. "Where were you hunting?" I asked. The older boy studied the map, then circled a large area that included the area where the father and son and teenage couples were attacked. "Where were you attacked?"
He pointed to an area further into the wilderness than the other two groups were supposed to have gone missing.
"I thought the goats and markhors were only found in the higher elevations. Why did you expect to find them in the foothills?" I asked and continued when no one answered. "Looks to me like you decided to track down the men that attacked the previous two groups that went missing—"
"Damn straight!" Hank shouted. "No one was doing anything." His voice trailed off as the older boy turned on him before shouting.
"We had a right. They murdered friends and innocent civilians," he shouted as spittle shot from his mouth and his face turned red. "We didn't break any laws."
"Did you find any of the bodies from the two missing groups?" I asked. All three shook their heads. "Then you don't know they were murdered," I held up a hand. "Even if you did, how would you know who murdered them? Were you just going to kill anyone you found in the wilderness? I'll wager you started the war with whomever you encountered and are directly responsible for your friends' deaths." I shook my head in disgust.
"You bitch," the older boy lunged at me, a right fist aimed for my face. I stepped back with my right leg as my right arm rotated up, blocking his punch. Stepping back changed my profile, and I was no longer facing him. His momentum propelled him past me as my left hand pushed into his back. He took two large-lunging steps trying to maintain his balance, crashed through a chair and into the wall headfirst. He crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll. "Arnold, I don't care what you tell Colonel Narciz. Their actions are not my concern. My only interest is getting an accurate picture of the situation."
Arnold was quiet for the ride to the next group, sneaking looks at me every couple of minutes. The next group consisted of older men, who looked to have had some experience hunting based on what the family and friends of the men reported. They had gone explicitly to search for the missing. Unlike the youths, no one returned.
The final group consisted of men in their thirties and early forties who were experienced in the wilderness and frequently part of any search party. Four had survived their encounter with the mountain men.
"The area you pointed to appears to be well up the first mountain, yet none of the four groups went anywhere near the mountain. If mountain men killed them, they wouldn't drag dead bodies up the mountain," I said and received a thunderous bellow.
"Coward! If you had any guts, you would be with the other troops tracking those murderous mountain men and exterminating them for the rodents they are," the largest of the four screamed, smashing his fist into the table where we sat so hard I thought it would crack. He stood, glaring at me. "God damn woman. You probably want to rehabilitate the murdering bastards." Simultaneously, he reached to grab me but ran his hand into my combat knife. Blood spurted as he drew his hand back and the knife slid free. "You butch bitch, I'm going to teach you how pathetic you are, playing at being macho," he hissed as he drew his hunting knife and one-handed sent the table crashing some five meters away into a wall. Men scattered to get out of the way. He smiled, and excitement lit his eyes when none of my team looked to be ready to interfere. His smile faded a bit when several jabs at my stomach and face failed to get a reaction. I knew he wanted me afraid, pleading for mercy, but I was out of his reach. I didn't want to say anything as it would push him into action. He was a jerk, but I didn't want to kill him.
"Sir, you should calm down," Jafar said into the silence. "You aren't going to scare her, and insulting her won't work. She can't hear you. She's in battle mode, so she's not concerned about living or dying or being injured. She's evaluating your weaknesses: your deteriorating energy due to that bleeding hand, your poor balance, the awkward way you wield your knife, your excitement and lack of focus…not good signs," Jafar's voice held a note of sorrow.
I barely heard Jafar in my current state. It would be a foolish mistake to underestimate any opponent no matter how many weaknesses I thought he had. Always best to assume he's as good as me and act accordingly. Suddenly, he took a step backward, returned the knife to the sheath on his belt, and found a chair to sit on. Instantly, a woman was at his side, examining the wound.
I relaxed and returned my knife to my boot. "Well, I think it's time we go see if we can find some action," I said to smiling faces. "Thanks, Jafar, the guy was a macho idiot but didn't deserve to die. Hell, if we killed all the idiots we ran across, the Tasmanians would be the only men left," I said when we were outside and was rewarded with good-natured chuckles and grins.
"Are we going to join Wallace?" Josh asked. He was the last addition to the Ghost Platoon.
"The Fox never joins the other units. She's a free spirit, wandering seemingly at random, and we happily follow knowing she will find something exciting to do," Pete said to nodding heads.
"I know. You want to climb in the mountains and get all dirty and sweaty and smelly," I said, closing one eye and frowning. "I would prefer to stay in the lower foothills and stay clean and fresh." I gave an emphatic nod. I took out my map and laid it on the limo's hood. "Arnold, can you drop us…here?" I jabbed my finger where the father and son had gone missing.
"That's a long way from the mountain," Josh gasped.
"Told you, Josh," Pete said. "The last direction any of us would pick."
"And none of us will complain," Smitty said.
"Because none of you want to be platoon leader," I said with a snort.
"Right," everyone responded in unison.
"That area has already been searched," Arnold said while shaking his head in bewilderment.
I nodded and headed for the limo. The area I wanted was a twenty-minute drive away from the base of the mountain.
CHAPTER FIVE
Planet: Greenlan, Not a Mountain Man in Sight
"Sergeant, you can leave us," I said as the Tasmanians collected their equipment and strapped on their packs, containing everything they would need for a week. As the truck and the limo left, everyone gathered around me, waiting for orders and a possible explanation—why here?
"I suspect we have a group of men somewhere deep in this area discouraging people from entering and blaming the mountain men," I began as I sat, waiting for everyone to sit. "I have no idea how many or why. That is what I want to find out—" My TCom buzzed with a message from Wallace. "The Boss misses us," I quipped to whispered comments.
"His lost platoon," Isaac said with a smile.
"Wait until he finds out where she is," Van snorted.
"Probably expects her to be leading the platoon up the mountain," Cedric nodded in the direction of the mountain.
"Jolie will be a real test of his call sign: Sage," Smitty laughed.
Luan, where are you? We are two hundred meters up the mountain. Haven't encountered any resistance. Wallace.
Wallace, finished interviewing the survivors and ready to begin our search at position J8 on our local map. Luan.
Luan, why? That's the lower foothills. Wallace.
Wallace, they apparently killed several people in this area. Luan.
Luan, they are mountain men and live high in the mountains. Wallace.
Wallace, so why are they killing people in the lower foothills? Luan.
Luan, good point. I now understand what Howard and others say about you and why some called you the Lost platoon. Keep me up to date. Wallace.
Wallace, will do. Luan.
"The man really is a sage," I said as I closed my TCom. "I would be court-martialed in the army or the Rangers."
"Shot, more likely," Carl said.
"And quartered," Isaac said to nodding heads.
"Good thing no one gives you orders," Cedric said. "You can't even follow your own."
"Remember that the next time I give an order. The qualification for Ghost Platoon leader is an inability to follow orders," I said to nodding heads. "The plan is to spread out and find the people doing the killings."
"Isn't that what the other Tasmanians are doing?" Carl said, frowning.
"Yes, but they are looking in the wrong place." I arched my eyebrows and shrugged.
"That's because everyone knows it's the mountain men, and they live high in the mountains," Cedric said. "Except you."
"If they live high in the mountains, why are they killing people in the lower foothills?" I pursed my lips in thought. "The obvious conclusion is that one of those two assumptions is wrong. Either it's not the mountain men, or they don't live high in the mountains, or else why kill people nowhere near their homes?"
"Give up, guys," Van said. "If the Fox says the killers are out there," he waved toward the north, "it's our job to follow orders and find them." He smiled.
"Now that's settled," I said. "In the lead, a five-man line covering two hundred meters. The objective is to find them without being identified. A second five-man line also spread out two hundred meters and staying fifty meters to the rear. They also need to remain unseen. Their assignment is to support in case the killers refuse to cooperate with my plan."
I hadn't finished talking when Pete, Jafar, Isaac, Art, and Josh began moving north while slowly widening the gap between them. Fifteen minutes later, Smitty, Carl, Van, Cedric, and Todd began moving. I stayed in the center as the group began increasing their separation. As I expected, the pace was very slow as each member had to maintain reasonable cover while constantly scanning ahead before advancing. I was trying not to stumble on the killers by accident. That would result in a firefight as well as alerting everyone in the area of our presence. I had no doubt they would know the government had called in help from Delphi. The real question was the size of the killer's group, their purpose, and their experience.
