Tasmanian SFG: Welcome to Hell Page 21
“What’s the objective?” I asked.
“To get us off this ridge and to safety,” Sadler said as if it were obvious, which to me it wasn’t.
“What do you mean, Luan?” Finley asked, frowning, and his eyes locked on me.
“Is the objective merely to get back at any cost, or is it to get back with the least amount of injuries, or is it to get back with the mission in mind and inflicting the maximum amount of damage on the Zinwe?’ I asked, since each would require a different approach.
Clifton snorted. “We Tasmanians want to take Aim and Fire, but our Tasmanian sister is insisting on getting Ready first.”
“Yep, she’s like that and it’s damn annoying,” Smitty quipped, to snorts, nodding heads, and laughs.
“The priority is to get back to the supply depot with the minimal number of casualties so that we have sufficient forces to carry out our assignment. It would be nice if we could inflict heavy damages on the Zinwe during our retreat.”
“Luan, you’re thinking about those villages we saw on the other side of the river, aren’t you?” Todd said, his lips pursed in thought and frowning so hard his eyes almost disappeared. I nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “The river provides only a few places where a person can cross safely, therefore it would be easy for Tasmanians to inflict heavy casualties on any group trying to reach those two villages. In addition, it could weaken the Zinwe’s defenses on the other side of the river and allow the army safer passage. But the effectiveness of any strategy based on that will depend on factors such as whether they are just two isolated villages, how many Zinwe came from those villages, whether there are more villages further back we didn’t see, where their other villages are located, and the Zinwe’s reaction to an attack on those villages.”
“So, what you’re suggesting, Luan,” Howard said, “is that we send Tasmanians to the village to create chaos—make lots of noise and burn the huts so that the Zinwe know we’re attacking their villages. Meanwhile, the army and the Rangers make a dash through the weakened defenses while the Tasmanians do as much damage as they can.”
“Or, send the army to create the chaos and have the Tasmanians destroy the Zinwe attempting to cross the river. Or…”
Discussions lasted for several hours as different scenarios were examined. In the end, Howard chose to take a risky alternative in the hopes that we could accomplish our mission while retreating. Fifty army and Rangers would cross over the gorge, establish positions at the logical places to cross the river, and then create chaos within the two villages. One squad of Tasmanians would leave about the same time hugging the river to try to determine the Zinwe’s response. Based on the Zinwe’s response, the Tasmanians plus the remaining army troops would either attack the Zinwe waiting to cross over to the villages or drive through the Zinwe’s defensive lines to the supply base. My unit was unassigned, meaning I could accompany any of the three groups.
* * *
“Here are the two safest places for the Zinwe to cross the river. It’s possible to cross the river at other points but extremely difficult and dangerous due to the rapids and strong currents caused by runoff from the mountains,” I said, pointing to the two locations on the map. “The villages are located approximately here and here.”
“The Rangers will leave first,” Lieutenant Manning said, staring at the map. “To establish defensive positions at those two locations.” He looked to Captain Peters.
“The army will leave after the Rangers have secured those two locations and work their way down to the two villages. Given we see only women and children, we will split into two groups. The idea is to be very noisy, shooting off guns and setting fire to anything that will burn so that the Zinwe will be aware we are attacking their villages. Afterward we will join the Rangers to help hold the Zinwe from crossing the river,” Peters said.
“At some point you can expect the Tasmanians to attack the Zinwe on the west side waiting their turn to cross the river to stop the assault on their villages,” I said. “If it appears we are going to be overwhelmed, we will retreat downriver.”
“How are they going to overwhelm us?” Captain Peters asked, looking at me with a frown.
“The Zinwe are not cowards,” I said. “As soon as they see you have blocked their logical crossing point, they will try crossing the river further upstream. Some will succeed so you will have them harassing your flanks and at some point, the numbers will be overwhelming.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Planet Libian: A Fatal Mistake
“Well, Fox, which group are we going to accompany?” Smitty asked as we sat eating and discussing the upcoming engagement. We would have to leave everything that inhibited our mobility—equipment, food, and supplies. This would be an all or nothing confrontation. We either survived to reach the main camp outside of the jungle or we didn’t. We couldn’t stay on the ridge anyway because we were just about out of everything, including food. In a way, the Zinwe had achieved their goal by cutting us off from our supply line. We couldn’t go forward because we didn’t have enough supplies to support us, and we couldn’t go backward because the Zinwe waiting outnumbered us.
“Do any of you have a preference?” I asked. “Our choices all seem like so much fun I can’t make up my mind.”
“Yes,” Pete said, and an amused grin lit his face. “Wherever that devious mind of yours is considering.” Everyone slapped the ground in approval.
“That may prove boring and I know how you boys like excitement,” I said, trying to look sorry. After a minute of silence, I sighed. “All right, let’s join the Rangers. I think everyone is underestimating the Zinwe. The minute they see we have them blocked from crossing over, they are going to use the river. I think the majority will survive. If that happens, the Rangers and the army are going to be trapped.”
“Smitty, we owe you,” Cedric said, waving his arm to include everyone. “I wasn’t sure what to think with a new Tasmanian and a woman in charge of the unit. But we’ve had more action then any of the other groups. Whoever gave Luan her handle got it right.” That got more ground-slapping approval.
I shook my head. “Since I’m leading this group and you’re not, I suspect you are a lot smarter than I am.”
“You are off to a rather poor start, sister. But hopefully you’ll get smarter as you get more experience,” Smitty said to nodding heads and good-natured grins. “I’m off to get some sack time. I suspect it’s going to be a very long day or two.”
* * *
“Jolie, I’m surprised to see you joining this group. I would have thought you’d be with the Tasmanians on this side of the river,” Shirley said as I approached her, Clare, and Peters, who were standing in a group talking.
“I suspect there will be plenty of action to go around on both sides of the river,” I said. Not only do plans tend to fall apart when the enemy doesn’t cooperate, but everyone appears to be underestimating the Zinwe.”
“Major Lloyd thinks you and the Tasmanians are cowards. We should just go down and wipe them out, since they’re all congregated in one place and waiting for us,” Manning said, watching me closely as were Shirley and Clare.
I shrugged, not caring what Lloyd thought. “I am sure there are a lot of officers who would agree with Major Lloyd and think we should take the Rangers, army, and Tasmanians down there and kill off those pesky natives,” I said.
“You don’t?” Manning asked, probing for something.
“General Wentworth apparently doesn’t, and his is the only opinion that matters. Unlike us, the general will be held responsible for the actions he takes based on his opinions.” I returned Manning’s gaze.
“What is your unit going to be doing there?” Manning asked.
“Looking around.”
“You aren’t joining us?”
“No,” I said, enjoying the banter but not sure what the lieutenant was trying to determine. Whatever it was, it was interrupted as Shirley and her unit were next to cross the
gorge. Soon afterward, Clare and her unit went, and Manning followed. My unit was next and then the army would follow.
On the other side, my unit took the lead, maintaining a slow but steady pace. Four hours later, we reached the place where the Zinwe crossed the river.
‘This looks more dangerous to cross then some of the areas we just passed,” Manning said, looking wide-eyed at the whitewater rapids swirling around the large boulders.
“True,” I said. “They jump from boulder to boulder and make it look easy.”
“Sergeant Knight, your unit will cover this area,” Manning said, then turned to Clare. “Sergeant Beal, you will go with the Tasmanians and be responsible for the next area,”
To my surprise, Manning accompanied Beal and her unit as we continued down the river. An hour later I stopped.” Van, Art, take Sergeant Beal’s unit down to the next safe crossing, then return here.”
“Your unit isn’t going to support one of the Ranger units?” Manning asked indignantly.
“You were at the briefing given by General Wentworth. The Rangers supported by the army would prohibit the Zinwe from crossing at the safe areas,” I said.
“And what are you and your unit doing?” Manning asked, with a hint of anger in his voice. You been hanging around the major far too long, Lieutenant, I mused.
“Enjoying the day, content being with my brothers, and looking forward to an exciting day,” I said but was interrupted before I could say more.
“Come, Lieutenant, let’s get to our assigned position. They are all crazy but I feel a lot safer knowing Luan and her unit are on our side of the river,” Claire said and signaled for her unit to begin moving. Manning followed reluctantly.
“You have the lieutenant’s mind spinning trying to figure you out,” Isaac said, smiling as he watched the Rangers’ backs.
Hell, Isaac, she has our minds spinning half the time. The difference is that we know she’s crazy like a fox,” Smitty said. “What now, Fox?”
“I thought we would fade back into the jungle and wait for something to come along we can play with,” I said, and the group melted into the vegetation, moving several meters apart. An hour later, I heard shooting and yelling and a short time later smoke blossomed up through the trees, indicating the army had attacked the villages. The sound of automatic weapons, women screaming, and tentacles of smoke rising above the trees went on for quite a while followed eventually by silence. The eerie silence was broken by a splattering of gunfire from Rangers and army machine guns, which increased in intensity as the minutes went by.
Shortly afterward, I saw my first Zinwe struggling against the current. Then the distinctive tat, tat, tat of a Tavor and the number of natives in the water increased. Ironically, the increasing number of natives was making it harder to reach the opposite riverbank. A half hour later, a large group of Zinwe could be heard coming toward us. They were making no effort to be quiet, abandoning stealth for speed. I didn’t blame them. Their families were in danger and their only thoughts were to get back to save them. I felt sorry for them. When they drew even with our position, we simultaneously opened fire. It wasn’t pretty. It was slaughter. It was war. Over half died instantly. The other half charged us in a kamikaze-like frenzy that proved very effective. I had three charging my position knowing it would be impossible to shoot all three in time, so choices had to be made—choices that would determine whether I lived or died. Choosing to use my Tavor would take a few seconds to change direction, aim, and fire. And if I were lucky, I could drop two of the three before the third one got to me. The good news was they must have lost their rifles fighting the current and were armed only with knives, machetes, and long baton-like sticks.
Instead, I took two quick steps to my right which caused the three men to be facing me in a line, meaning the first man was partially shielding me from the other two. Thinking I was attempting to run, he lunged at me with his machete arching toward my head. I folded my knife along my forearm as I blocked his arm with the machete at the same time my lowered shoulder drove into his chest. My knife cut through to the bone and the machete spun off behind me. His forward momentum and mine canceled like we had each run into a brick wall.
The abrupt stop caused the second and third man to collide into us, pushing me stumbling backward. Rather than fighting for balance, I let myself fall backward, rolled, and came up into a standing position. The second man had gotten tangled in the dead man’s feet and fell while the third man jumped him and came charging at me, his dagger pointing at my chest. He was coming too fast to change direction. At the last second, I pivoted left while using my left hand to guide his right knife hand past my stomach. At the same time, my right hand with my knife swept across his throat. His momentum drove the knife to his vertebrae and blood sprayed everywhere, including into my eyes, temporarily blurring my vision. Only my father’s training saved me from panicking.
My mind clear, I made no attempt to rub my eyes or jump away. I sought to remember the last time I had seen the third man. He had been getting up with a machete in hand. Seeing me standing there with blood splattered across my face, he would lunge at me with his machete aimed at my neck. Hoping I was right, I lowered my head and dove forward and made satisfying contact, my shoulder lifting him off the ground. We fell with me on top. Not sure if he had lost his machete in the contact, I rolled left, pinning his extended right arm as I plunged my dagger into his back and ripped toward his spine. He screamed in pain and anger as the blade ripped through muscle and organs.
When he stopped moving, I pushed him off me, got up on one knee, and blinked my eyes. Everything was a blur. I could hear fighting all around me: the sound of gunfire, the clash of knives, and the grunts of men struggling, intent on killing each other. I splashed water from my canteen over my face and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Luckily, just in time to see two more Zinwe heading in my direction grinning, one with a rifle and the other a long knife. I couldn’t blame them. I must have looked like easy prey. The man with the gun was firing as he ran without bothering to stop to aim, maybe just trying to keep me frozen in place as they charged me. The ground erupted all around me and vegetation shredded as they ran toward me. I pulled a throwing knife out of my boot and flung it at that man with the rifle. He was going too fast to change direction and the knife sunk into his left eye. He stumbled and fell as another bullet tore the ground to my left.
The other man leapt toward me dagger raised for a downward strike. I fell backward, extending one leg upward, and caught him in the chest as I rolled back and flipped him up and over me. He rolled and came up laughing and headed back toward me, but I was now also up with my knife. He wasn’t making any fancy moves, just steadily advancing toward me, watching for an opening. I spun my head around as he bent onto one knee, and a second later felt a splash of mud against the back of my head. I knew he’d be lunging toward my back, so I spun back to my left, leaving my left arm hanging down in the hope of catching his lunging knife arm. It did but a second too late and the knife sliced into my right side as my right arm with my knife buried deep into his throat. I thought I heard gunfire in the distance but the immediate area was quiet.
“Status check,” I whispered into my TCom, wondering how the unit had fared as the vegetation was too dense to see any of them. I clicked once and heard two clicks, meaning Smitty was wounded but functional. One would have meant no wounds that mattered, three wounded and not functional, and no clicks, dead or incapacitated. I clicked twice and received two clicks; Pete was wounded and functional. In the end everyone except Art answered they were wounded but functional.
“Van, check on Art but be careful. He didn’t respond.”
Wounded but functional sounded good except from a Tasmanian. They would consider themselves functional if they could return the two clicks. Only zero clicks told you something. I was a good example. I would have returned two clicks—wounded but functional—but I was bone tired and probably less than fifty percent functional.
Van
still hadn’t reported back on Art’s condition when I heard another group of men approaching. Like the last group these men were traveling fast. It validated the Tasmanian qualification school’s obsession with driving the candidates past the point of exhaustion, searching for those who could continue when everyone else had no more to give. As now, my unit was not in condition to fight off another twenty or thirty Zinwe. If I did nothing, in all likelihood the Zinwe would pass by without noticing us. But we were Tasmanians, too crazy to admit it was possible for us to be nonfunctional.
I swung my Tavor around in front of me and checked the number of mags in my pockets while waiting—four empty, three filled, and one in the Tavor. I couldn’t help a smile remembering Chief Simon’s rant: “You carry a lot of ammo so you can kill a lot of opponents, not to waste on one or two.” Sage advice but difficult to follow in a jungle.
I depressed the Fire icon on my TCom and began killing the Zinwe I could see trotting less than four meters in front of me. I was careful, shooting in one and two bursts to conserve ammo, tat, tat… tat, tat, tat. The others were doing the same, which indicated we were all low on ammo and it was soon going to get very messy.
As I ejected another mag and was in the process of slamming another home, I detected noise behind me. I stepped immediately to one side and spun, avoiding a deathblow to my neck but received a deep cut to my upper shoulder. Tat tat, tat tat, and the two went down. Somehow the Zinwe had managed to get behind us. Throwing caution to the wind, I thrashed through the undergrowth to my right looking for Smitty. He was surrounded by three natives and two were advancing from behind.
“I’ve got your back, Smitty,” I said as I slipped behind him and took out one about to deliver a death blow and the two that were rushing him. We stood back to back shooting at the seemingly unending numbers of Zinwe. I dropped my Tavor when it clicked on an empty chamber, knowing that had been my last full mag. I drew my Jericho and continued shooting, careful to aim for killing shots since it appeared the Zinwe outnumbered my ammo.