CHAPTER 16
Faisal made the call as requested. Kyle got the number from Gilpin, after a brief debate. Wiesinger probably could have had more authority if he’d just demanded it as necessary, rather than being a toady. Kyle called directly to the local military district this time—though “directly” was subjective. He had it patched through the military to a civilian line and back to Indonesia through some other cutout so it couldn’t be traced.
After two rings, a male answered, “Malam.” Good evening. Kyle handed the phone over to Faisal as soon as he confirmed contact.
“My name is Faisal Rachmat. I am reporting the location of the Chinese hostages, and an additional hostage who works for the oil company,” he said. They’d decided not to admit to American military presence just yet. Stephens and Akbar were listening to his prepared speech, ensuring he followed the plan. So far, Akbar was nervous but agreeable. Like Bakri, he hated the government, but knew there wasn’t much choice in this case.
“Yes, a woman named Lei Ling Park, now Madden, and her daughter Suzanne Kii Madden. The American I don’t know the name of. The head of the camp is Agung, and Imam Ayi is advising them. The explosives for the oil terminal are to go off at noon. They left here aboard a lorry, gray, thirty-five-hundred-kilogram capacity, Mercedes . . .” He rattled off all he knew. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes for a military operator to realize this was real intel, not a hoax. It might be a setup, but it wasn’t a fraud.
“I am doing it because I know it is wrong to kill women and children. The Achinese do not need this kind of reputation. Please stop the terrorists, they are enemies of us both.” A moment later he handed the phone over to Stephens.
Stephens spoke briefly. “That’s what we have. Hope the information is useful, mate. We’re departing now. Goodbye.” He handed the phone over to Kyle. The Aussie’s voice would confuse the government further as to who and what was involved.
Kyle stared at the phone as he clicked it off. “Well, that’s that. Well done, son. You’ve just become a good guy.”
“What must I do now?” He looked nervous, excited, and a bit bothered.
“You stay with us,” Kyle said. “We may need more information.” He also wanted the kid where he could watch him, and might need to shoot him. It was a cold thought. Meantime, he’d have to deal with fighting with one foot in a bucket.
The platoon split for the last time.
“Don’t forget to call,” Stephens said, grinning and batting his eyelashes. Kyle snickered. With that, the locals and the Aussies disappeared like ghosts. The local contingent was already on its way to the staging area. The Americans’ gear was with Bakri, who had detoured away to provide vehicles for exfiltration.
Kyle felt very alone then. It was hard to find a more hostile area. At this point, anyone they met was an enemy. And some were putatively on the same side, which meant shooting at them was undesirable.
Kyle sucked down water. He was going to be expending a lot of energy shortly. It was hot already. He’d be soaked in sweat and wanted extra liquid on hand. Other than that, he had weapons, ammo, body armor, and technical gear totaling fifty pounds or so. There was nothing light about infantry work. He would feel much more secure in the armor and helmet. It was familiar, so it was psychologically protective, too. But he couldn’t wear the helmet and reach the scope properly. Given a choice between better defense and better offense, he chose offense. It was what he did, after all. But there was no point in lugging the helmet for later, So Bakri had it. Kyle would just have to be exposed for the duration.
“Okay,” he said, and pointed. Wade slipped forward as point man. He walked carefully, lest his ghillie tangle in the brush.
They slipped into a position from which they could cover the building where the hostages were supposed to be. The “supposed” was key. They might have been moved, if anyone noticed Faisal gone. They might have been killed. Or they might be there with a battalion around them. But doing nothing definitely meant they’d die.
At a nod, Faisal moved out between them. He was painted with camo and covered in burlap rags that hung loosely. It wasn’t as good as a ghillie, but it was easier to move in, had been fabricated in a few minutes and still broke up his silhouette. Kyle had the suppressor on the SR-25 and was prepared to dump a match round through his brain if there was any sign of dissemblance. The kid might be remorseful, but he’d also sawed somebody’s fucking head off. That wasn’t easy to forgive.
Kyle followed along. He took tall steps to avoid kicking low growth, watching and feeling for his foot placement. He used no night vision equipment at present, relying on his natural sight. Once close enough to shoot, he had the night capabilities of the AN/PVS-10 scope. Ahead, Wade sunk back down into the growth. Faisal moved in behind and to his left. Kyle liked that position, and sat back a couple of meters, where he had a clear right-handed shot at the boy without risking Wade.
“Lie down flat,” he told Faisal. That would put him in a position where a few seconds reaction time would be available, and he couldn’t reach both soldiers in that time, though he might reach one.
“How’s the view?”
“I’ve got a window, and an armed man,” Wade said. “Nothing else yet. Let me relocate a few meters.” He squirmed across the ground like a sidewinder, disturbing very little foliage.
Once settled in, he took another look. Through the phone he said, “Chair, legs. Hold on.” One more move and he said, “Mel. Got him.”
Faisal said, “The woman is to left, and the girl left of her.”
“He’s right so far,” Wade said when Kyle relayed that.
Kyle said nothing. It was reassuring, though. The boy had ratted out the scumbags, had given correct data and was doing as he was told. It seemed he was what he said.
Kyle appreciated that. Given the choice between an unrepentant coward he’d have to kill and a kid who had a conscience and the guts to stand up when he knew things were wrong, the latter was a much better companion. No one said doing the right thing was easy. But it was often the judge of character.
“We need to get closer,” Kyle said.
“We’ve got about ten hours,” Wade said. “How close do you want to cut it?”
“I want at least two hours leeway, in case they get eager or spooked. Sooner is better. Exfiltrating in daylight would suck rocks. Then there’s the government, who may just get out of bed and show up.”
“I think I can get within one hundred meters in this growth. The problem is finding a good, clear field of fire I can move from in a hurry. Trees are handy, but these monsters are hard to climb, and I’d be limited on field of view.”
“Right. Any high ground? How much elevation do you need?”
“Three meters would do it. I see a rise over to our right. Might work. There’s a downed tree with a root ball, too. If the angle is good . . .”
“Right, do it.”
It took an hour of maneuvering to get good positions. Wade was standing, leaning through a root bulb and prepared to do so for hours if need be. He was effectively invisible from any direction, from more than a few meters away. Faisal was lying down where he wasn’t visible and couldn’t move fast. That was the lot of turncoats—no one ever trusted them completely. He seemed mature enough to know this and didn’t complain. Kyle was on the rise, in a bush, carefully picking leaves off to clear his field of view slightly without letting the bare patch show.
Kyle phoned Stephens and gave him an update. “We’re in position, we’re checking objectives. Information is correct so far, say again, correct. We have visual contact.”
“Roger. Say when. We’re standing by, close and ready.”
“Roger, out.” He clicked back on to Wade, ten meters away on land and 48,000 miles away by phone, to avoid talking above a whisper. “Any time we decide, we’re on.”
“Roger. What are we looking for?”
“Fewest threats in the building. You have the door?”
“I can see the door. Anything coming through dies.”
“Roger. I can cover right front approach. That leaves a blind left.”
“So we’ve got at least a fifty-percent reduction in threat.”
“Yeah, but we need one hundred.”
“I know.”
They really needed an entry team as well. They also needed satellite TV, couches, and hot dogs. They weren’t getting those, either. The rule was to use the resources at hand.
“I don’t think the conditions are going to get better,” he said. “So let’s wait and see if the traffic level drops.”
“Roger. Right now there’s six people in there. They’re setting up the video and making sure the victims know.”
“Cocksuckers. Just fucking cocksuckers.” Kyle trembled with rage. He wasn’t sure words existed for his state of mind.
Faisal started crawling. Kyle waved him over.
“Yes?” he asked.
“They will set up camera and lights, then count down the time, praying for Allah’s help. They will shoot through the heart and then dress in clean clothes to hide blood. Then they cut heads with large knife.”
“Understood. Tell Wade,” he said. He handed over the headset. He was nauseous. This was worse than the corpses under Castle Bran, almost as bad as watching Nasima get shot in Pakistan.
Faisal spoke through the phone to Wade, then nodded. “He knows.”
“Good. Wait some more. We do a lot of waiting in this business.”
“I understand. I hope you can save them.”
“We’ll do everything we can.” Though he wasn’t sure what that could be.
“It’s not going to get better that I can see,” Wade said. “They come and go. Averaging six assholes in the latrine.”
“Another distraction would be nice. A quiet one. Sports? A bar fight?”
“I can distract them,” Faisal said.
“What?”
“I can distract them? Draw attention?”
“Oh, I heard you,” Kyle said. “Are you sure?” He realized he’d let the boy get right up behind him. Then he realized he wasn’t concerned.
“I can walk down and distract them. They know me.”
“They’re going to be very suspicious about you leaving and showing up.”
“If I can get any outside, you have less inside. If I’m in the way . . . just shoot me, too. Save the girl.” The boy trembled, took a breath, and nodded confirmation.
“Son,” Kyle said, “I can pick a fly off a cup. You’ll be fine. You get them out, I’ll nail them. Do it.”
“Then I go now.”
“Clean up first.” Kyle soaked a bandage in water and handed it over. Faisal scrubbed his face and dumped the ersatz ghillie. He was still dirty and grubby, but might pass.
“Clean enough?”
“Your face is, yes.”
Faisal nodded faintly and stepped forward, an aura of calm around him.
“Allah be with you, son,” Kyle said to his back.
“Thank you.” He nodded again and slipped away.
“Brave kid,” Kyle said into his phone.
“Yeah, I heard your side of it. I hope he can do it. A few seconds will make the difference.”
“Yup.”
Kyle watched as the boy picked his way through the growth. Kyle mostly trusted him. At the same time, the kid might, just might turn his coat again, now that everyone was brought in. It wouldn’t make sense to blow cover like this . . . but at the same time, these weren’t sensible people. And if they knew they were going to get nailed, they might decide to hold ready on the hostages and invite a firefight. If they could kill a bunch of troops and the hostages and pin the blame on “overeager soldiers” they just might. It was the kind of complex plan that appealed to amateurs and did sometimes work.
But Kyle didn’t believe it. The boyð—man—seemed honest and had given far too much intel for something like that.
But there was still a chance of fear taking him, once he was face to face again. Impressionable age.
Kyle was willing to take the risk. Even if the kid did waffle back like a second-rate politician, he’d still be a momentary distraction, and Kyle had trained for years to exploit those. That would be all the time he needed to start blowing away any threats inside.
Faisal reached the edge of the clearing, far back from the road, and stepped onto the ground. He wasn’t seen at once.
“He’s down,” Kyle reported to Wade. Then he called Stephens.
There was a tension in the air. It was eagerness, fear and alertness, seasoned with a little bit of hate and cynicism. No matter what happens, you gutless fucks aren’t getting out alive, Kyle thought.
“So let’s do it. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Ready,” Kyle lied, and called Stephens. “Commence in exactly three minutes. One eight zero seconds from . . . mark!”
“Three minutes, one eight zero seconds, understood. Six, seven, eight . . .”
“Confirmed. Out.” He redialed. “Wade, in one six five seconds, one six four, one six three . . .
“Roger. I will commence fire two seconds prior. Two seconds.”
“Two seconds roger. Rangers’ Bullets Lead The Way.”
“Amen to that.”
They stopped talking and got ready to shoot. Kyle wanted to peer inside, but Wade had that. He’d chosen to cover any approaching targets from outside. That meant faster but less-precise shots, so Wade would have fewer incoming threats. They had to hope for some slight confusion inside to keep the hostages alive for a few seconds. Once threats were minimized, they were storming the building and shooting everything except the hostages, with the explosives as distraction to give the impression of overwhelming force.
Wade’s first shot was a muffled bang from back where Kyle had paused earlier. Kyle thought he heard a second one, but it was lost in a cacophonous roar from the front of the compound, diagonally from both sides of the road. It was nicely done, and four figures dropped.
“Three down,” Wade reported. “Two more not in range.”
“Damn. Get them.” Kyle rose and moved. Wade was hidden and wouldn’t be traced. So Kyle was now acting as a decoy for him, should anyone follow the shots back. He was also getting closer so he could pour out some fire.
“I think they’re ready to do it,” Wade said. “Oh, sonofabitch. We’ve got a roomful of scum and three hostages. That frontal assault has convinced them to do it now as a fuck-you gesture.”
“Plan fast,” Kyle said. “Save the girl first, mother second, Wiesinger third. I wish I could say it was personal, but he is a soldier on a mission. He’s last.” Dammit, they’d come from off to the left. He’d had no shots.
“Roger,” Wade said from behind his scope. “I count eight targets. Cameraman should be last. The new knifeman is wearing khakis and a ball cap.”
“Yeah, got it. Can we get closer?” He took a careful look through his own scope as he snuggled up to a tree for cover and support.
“I don’t think so. Better angle here, unless we get right up close or inside. If you shift a few meters left, I think we can create a fire zone around the hostages and just shoot anything that steps into view.”
“Roger that. Anyone with a firearm has to be first. Once we have them down, we need to leapfrog in.” He started moving in a crouch, quickly but stealthily.
“Yeah. Going to be rough.”
“Faisal is out front,” Wade added a few moments later. “I damned near bagged him by accident. He was talking to one of them.”
“Dammit, why did he have to wait until now to choose the right side?” Kyle asked softly while he waited. He didn’t realize it was aloud until Wade answered.
“Young, idealistic. The problem is there’s no challenge and no army for kids like that. They imprint on the first powerful figure they meet, and in much of the world, it’s a self-serving asshole. Get them to a recruiter and they turn into something else.”
“Me,” Kyle said. He recalled having the exact same thought a few days before.
“And me.”
“Roger,” Kyle said. “Get forward.” Wade was a few meters closer. But Kyle couldn’t move from his position until he knew there were no threats to his charges, or until Wade had a good, clear field of fire from a different angle. The lights went out in the building, which was a good sign. He clicked the scope to night vision and let his eye adapt to the monochrome.
Once they’d killed the lights, it took a few seconds to get reoriented. People were scrabbling about on hands and knees, slowly rising. Kyle chose one and put a bullet straight through the top of his head.
I know what the last thing to enter your mind was, asshole, he thought with a grin. He scanned for another and settled on an exposed hand that was just visible at the edge of the window. His shot shattered metacarpals and blew through the wrist. Now if he could find another wrist and the ankles, he’d crucify this motherfucker twenty-first century style.
I’ve got to calm down, he realized. He was taking too much pleasure. One should enjoy one’s work, but not to this level under these conditions.
Maybe some of it was just relief over being able to shoot at last. He hoped so.
“I’m good,” Wade said. “Move.”
“Roger.” He came off the scope and slipped forward again. He couldn’t see Wade, which was good.
The noise up front continued. Rifle fire in two calibers was joined by machine-gun bursts and the occasional slam of explosives. He picked out an RPG burst and what was probably an Australian grenade. Then there was the sound of blasting gelatin in small charges. Good. They should think the entire Indonesian Army was down on them.
“If you see a threat on the hostages, shoot ASAP,” Kyle said. “And if I think you can get one of them through Faisal, I’ll do it. I hate like hell to say it.”
“He knows the risk.”
“Yeah. So did Nasima. Doesn’t mean I like it.” Though Faisal had his own crimes that Nasima hadn’t. Still, he was taking a big risk to do the right thing, and it always sucked to watch good people die.
“I know.”
“We’ve got to advance. Cover them. I’m moving twenty meters. You follow.”
“Roger.”
Kyle stood and rushed.
It was a very unsniperlike tactic, but it was an infantry tactic. He took distance off with meter-long strides and slipped up behind a tree, leaning as high and far forward as he could to get some kind of field of view.
He really should ask about police work, executive protection, or Secret Service when he retired, he decided. This was exactly the type of work they did. The muzzle of his rifle was describing little circles. But the little circles here equaled large circles at one hundred meters, circles that encompassed the hostages. A figure stepped into the path of the circle, and Kyle didn’t jerk or twitch. He simply let the muzzle drift around on its orbit, not forcing it, and snapped the trigger as it passed the appropriate part of the arc. He’d led just enough, and the bullet smashed through the back and shoulder blade of the threat.
There, movement, and it wasn’t female or Caucasian. He snapped off a shot and watched to make sure he’d hit. “Go, Wade!” he said.
Moments later, a bush with a rifle sprinted past. Wade took up position lower and closer. But they were losing angle while they gained proximity. A mucky depression behind the buildings was for runoff or sewage and would make advance and shooting awkward.
Kyle started his next run and caught a glimpse of movement just as he lowered the weapon and began to sprint.
There was no time to try to recover. He had the headset on and said, “Shoot now!” in a whisper.
Wade took the shot. Kyle didn’t know how it worked, but he was momentarily in his next position, barely forty meters away. Wade would take another twenty on his next advance, probably to that corner there. Then they’d go around.
And he could just see a man with a raised pistol, chambering a round. His intent was obvious.
He shifted imperceptibly, bringing the reticle over the man’s head. A squeeze of the finger and the window imploded in an instant before the man’s brains blew out, scrambled by a 180-grain boattail match .308 bullet. Even suppressed, the report clapped Kyle’s ears, followed at once by another report from Wade’s weapon as he came past at a run. The muzzle blast was contained, but these were still supersonic bullets with a healthy crack. It wasn’t deafening, but there was enough noise to be obvious.
Kyle sought another target, saw only a shadow against the wall thrown by stray illumination. There was no time for a good shot—the man was moving fast—but he put a bullet into the wall hopefully only a few inches away. If he could get someone to flinch, that gained seconds. Wade fired again. Kyle sprinted past and came right up to the tree line.
No one else had rushed the hostages as he lost sight of them. Wiesinger should have tried to throw himself on the civilians to give them cover with his ample bulk. He hadn’t, that Kyle had seen. Kyle would give him the benefit of the doubt that he was either surprised or holding still to avoid spoiling a shot, rather than being paralyzed with fear. He was blindfolded, too. And holding still did make targeting easier. Wade should be in a much better position now.
In front and to the sides, he’d seen a huge mob forming. Everyone was bent on killing those hostages. Brave men. Big, strong, powerful men. There were three Aussies and a dozen Indonesians out front for them to fight, and instead they’d show the world their manhood by killing a little girl, a woman, and a man tied to a chair.
Kyle wanted to puke.
Still, a mob of cowards might be easier to handle when he went charging in among them. He’d drop the SR-25 and unsling the M4 banging against his ass. That would give him thirty rounds and a 40mm canister, which in his line of work they jokingly called a nice helping of Have a Shitty Day. He was two buildings away and on flat ground. One hundred meters and a bit. Easy range for him.
Faisal slipped back into camp. He’d been gone eight hours, which wasn’t too suspicious, unless someone had gone looking for him. In that case, he was about to die. Allah be praised. He’d trust Allah to show him where he must go.
“Faisal! There you are!” Wismo called. “Where have you been? You’re a mess!”
“Sleeping. And toilet. Then I took a walk and I fell.” He showed a muddy streak on his trousers. “I had to wash and, and then it was time to pray. Breakfast. It’s been a really busy night. Are we ready?”
“Ready, yes. You’re late! Ayi is looking for you. They’re going to start the killing soon, and film before dawn.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll hurry right over. They didn’t agree to our terms, then.”
“No,” Wismo sounded disappointed. “But you wait! The Chinese are sending warships, and the Americans, and the bloody Hindu Indians. It’s a sea full of impotent infidels, trembling at our word!”
“Very nice.” He didn’t think so anymore. Would the Chinese use nuclear weapons? American cruise missiles? The Army send a million troops to burn the jungle clean? Would the entire Asian sphere invade? This wasn’t a game to be played at this level. “Have you a few moments? We can talk.”
“I suppose. You didn’t get the news when you woke up?”
“No, I was praying on what I am to do. Allah is favoring us. That many nations and ships brings hope for a war of scriptural size. Isn’t it grand?”
“Indeed.”
It was reasonable that he head toward the hostages. He just couldn’t appear too eager or too reluctant. That, of course, put him closer to the fight. He realized now he wasn’t in a hurry to die. If need be, yes, but not as an assumed course.
It was troubling, all the changes he was feeling. He’d been secure in his place. Now he wasn’t.
The trick now was to get close to the building, but not yet inside. He was needed out here, to distract people. To kill them. He’d killed before, or helped, and it had been heady and exciting. This was harder.
Harder . . . because they’d fight back. But he couldn’t admit that. That was a sign of cowardice. Allah had given him this test. Could he kill when there was threat to his own life? That is what he had to face. He was loitering in front, speaking softly so Ayi didn’t look for him at once. There was a rack right outside with rifles. He couldn’t pick one up yet, because there was no reason to.
“Hey, Faisal, where’s your golok?” Wismo asked. He’d noticed at last. The knife had been taken when he surrendered.
“Oh, I’ll have to get it. Thanks for reminding me.” Where were those shots? It had to be time.
He was saved from further stalling by the bullets he was hoping for and dreading. As the shooting commenced, with two simultaneous bangs, Faisal said, “It’s an attack! Give me a weapon!” Wismo had been frozen. He nodded stupidly and grabbed an AK from the rack.
“Come! Let’s get them!” Faisal shouted, waving his arm and running for the door and the rack. He paused and turned, making sure Wismo followed him. “God is great! We fight!”
With that he jogged a few yards back from the door.
“Kyle, Faisal has an AK. I’m still worried about trusting him.”
“Kill him if you have to. I hate to say it, but we can’t risk it.”
“Yeah. He’s not an immediate threat yet.”
“Roger,” Kyle said. The man could be trying to play the act, or provide cover, or just defend himself. He could also be a threat. It was hard to know where his loyalty lay at this juncture. Dammit, he’d been an enemy, a turncoat, an ally and now was a threat again.
Kyle sprinted up the side of the adjoining building in a sideways crab that kept his back to the wall. A few more seconds . . .
All Faisal could do now was what he felt to be right. Allah would guide his hand. If he was to live or die, he would know soon enough. He’d been prepared to give his life to kill others. He felt a sudden thrill that his life might save others. He didn’t know the American soldier’s musings on the subject, but at that moment he understood the principle exactly. This was what a man died for.
No. This was what a man lived for.
Yet the irony was that he would have to kill so others might live. There was so much in this world to consider, so many things he’d never had time for. His emotions were cascading through him, thoughts flashing. He realized his devotion had been to blindness. The leaders didn’t want him to see the world outside of a narrow scope. There were so many ways to look at events, depending on viewpoint, so many things that one could never hope to learn them all. That was the greatness of Allah—that he could create a universe so grand it was beyond comprehension.
That, too, was worth living for.
In a euphoric haze of revelation, adrenaline, and fear, he spun. Bambang was out the door, the others bunched up just inside. He waited as they staggered and shoved, firing one shot high into the jungle to make it look as if he was doing something. A deceit, yet for right. He’d decided that wasn’t possible. Now he was doing it again. So gray, this world. How to decide right and wrong?
The AK kicked into his shoulder as he fired. Half the magazine, about a second and a half burst, went into the group coming out of the doorway. He was amazed at his own accuracy. He’d started low on purpose, knowing it would kick high and right. But it was the best burst he’d ever fired.
A crowd was gathering, some coming out, some in, some rushing in to see what the problem was. Releasing the trigger, he swung toward Wismo. Wismo had already deduced what was happening and had his own weapon raised, a murderous, hateful glare on his face. He fired first.
Faisal felt the freezing burn of bullets entering his body and tried to gasp. Then he felt a horrific pain in his face.