Tasmanian SFG: Welcome to Hell Page 8

  When we looked to have all arrived, Simon spoke. “I’ve sent you each a message designating your squad number. I’m assuming our designation as Platoon One means we will be the leading platoon, so I divided the platoon into five squads; three are recon and two are snipers. Clifton is in charge of squad one, Finley two, Bowles three, Sadler four, and Lacy five.”

  “I’m Lacy and he’s Sadler,” said a tall man in his thirties with a rectangular face, long straight nose and narrow eyes that gave him a penetrating look, and short curly dark brown hair with a close-cut beard and mustache. He didn’t smile. Sadler on the other hand was a black man with an oval face and bright eyes and thick lips that looked to have a permanent smile. He also had a narrow beard and mustache but it was longer. His black hair was cut so short it looked like a cap. Both men were muscular and tall but Sadler was a good ten centimeters taller.

  “Our task is to find and quiet the Hihari snipers. According to the feedback we’ve received the Hihari are good shots and used the mountains to deny the army use of the passes. The army can’t charge them since the Hihari have the high ground and cover while the soldiers have no cover while climbing. Naylor and Luan are the shooters in squad five. Patten and Salmon the spotters and backups,” Lacy said, looking at me but without any obvious emotion. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in action, Jolie.”

  “Me, too… What do I call you when I want your attention?” I asked, not sure since no one wore rank.

  “Lacy, or you can use my Tasmanian handle. We all have one, mine is Hawk-eye. Eventually you’ll get one. You may or may not like it, but it will be with you for your entire career in the Tasmanians. Either will do on this assignment but when we are not on assignment you can use my first name.” He paused for a minute looking at the others. “As you have been told, Tasmanians don’t have rank. You have a position. I understand your specialties are sniper, explosives, and medical. Very impressive. I want you at the shuttle landing pad at zero six hundred hours tomorrow, packed and ready to go.” He then turned and walked over to Sadler, who stood waiting.

  “Nervous, Jolie?” Patten, my spotter, asked. He was only slightly taller than me but twice as wide and close to double my weight—all solid muscle. He looked to be in his middle twenties and had a round face which looked friendly.

  “Yes. I have a lot to learn about being a Tasmanian,” I said, being honest. Simple things like what to call your squad leader and a hundred things I wasn’t smart enough to ask the question about.

  “You’re already a Tasmanian, Jolie,” Naylor, the other sniper, said. He was at least ten centimeters taller than me, with a narrow face with a hawk-like nose and penetrating eyes.

  “I have a lot to learn, but I do know I won’t be a Tasmanian until I prove myself. So I’d appreciate anything you can do to help.”

  Back at the barracks I reviewed the list of items we were and were not to pack for this assignment. Then after packing I retired, suspecting tomorrow would be a long and tiring experience.

  * * *

  I woke at five the next morning and found everyone up and either packing or in the showers. They were used to me now and paid little attention to me showering with them. In the Tasmanian school I had some problems, mostly lurid or snide remarks, but with the Tasmanians I was truly treated as family.

  “Jolie, when I heard a woman had qualified for the Tasmanians I thought you would be one hundred sixty-three centimeters tall, mass at least eighty kilo, and be rippling with muscles. And look at you. We will have to hold you if we encounter a strong wind,” said one of the men, called Garry, as I soaped myself and received good-natured laughs. “And you beat out ninety-eight men.”

  “That’s the problem, Garry. You’re strong and rippling with muscles so the solution to every problem is strength. I’m not strong so I look for an easier approach,” I quipped while shaking my head in resignation. “That’s why I’m a sniper. While you are climbing over rocks and up mountains, I’ll be relaxing someplace comfortable waiting for someone to shoot.” I left the shower feeling good and looking forward to the assignment. I didn’t have to worry about finding the shuttle pad as large groups of men were all headed in the same direction. About halfway, I saw Frank and Paul. They looked tired.

  “Hard night?” I asked when they caught up to where I stood waiting.

  “Couldn’t sleep so a few of us stayed up late talking,” Paul said. “You look rested.”

  “I think the Tasmanians need to sleep and eat when we can because you never know when you’ll get the next opportunity,” I said, having heard the same advice from my father.

  “How can you sleep? Aren’t you excited?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, very. But I am going to enjoy today because I’m not tired from staying up all night. Besides, you wouldn’t want me all blurry-eyed when I’m looking through my telescopic scope. I could mistake you for a tall Hihari,” I said with my eyes crossed.

  When we reached the shuttle pad we joined the line, which was about forty long. The landing pad could only accommodate two shuttles at a time and the combat shuttle only held twenty-five. I entered a shuttle ten minutes later, stored my duffel bag in the netting behind the bench where I stood, sat, and buckled the safety belt. The shuttle was open from the rear ramp to the pilot seats in the cockpit. There were two benches separated by a two-meter-wide aisle running from the ramp to two cage-like containers to hold equipment and ended at the pilots’ instrumentation. The shuttles were made strictly for picking up and dropping off troops.

  It took three hours to reach the space station, which looked like a small city floating in space. There were no windows on the shuttle so I didn’t get to see it on approach and our shuttles were pulled directly into the troop transport’s shuttle bays. The bay we exited into held four shuttles and looked large enough to be able to accommodate at least six shuttles. Two sailors stood waiting as we exited. One of them spoke.

  “This transport is carrying Battalion One, Companies One and Four. Those in Company One, please follow Petty Officer James.” He pointed to a short thin man with wavy red hair. “And those in Company Two follow Petty Officer Herbert.” He pointed to a tall elderly man. “The two groups are being housed in separate compartments,” he added as everyone started walking toward one or the other petty officers. I followed James as he led us down a long hallway into a large open bay filled with open steel boxes stacked one on top of the other. Each box was a self-contained unit with a mattress, blanket, and pillow and a space for a duffel bag. A ladder was positioned on one side to reach the second-, third-, and fourth-level boxes.

  “The transit time to Harari is three days. There is an open area at the far end of this bay where meals will be served twice a day. You are asked not to wander outside of this unit,” James shouted when we were all inside. He turned and exited without further comment.

  “I prefer fighting in the jungle to riding these cattle cars to and from assignments,” said one man, whom I didn’t recognize. He looked to be over thirty and a hardened veteran. “The food’s little better than heated up field rations and there is nothing to do but sleep. I wish they could just give me a shot to knock me out and one to wake me when we get there.”

  “If you don’t quit complaining, Louis, I’ll knock you out,” another man shouted.

  “No one wake Peters, He is having a wonderful dream. No wonder he likes these cattle cars, more time to sleep and fantasize.”

  “What do you think, Jolie?” a new voice asked, surprising me.

  “About Louis’s or Peters’s fantasies?” I replied, knowing the banter was to pass the time and a chance for everyone to get to know the new members. It elicited hoots and some shouted Louis and others Peters.

  “Well…” I paused for effect to wait for the bay to quiet. “I imagine after a few days with a hundred restless Tasmanians I’ll be begging someone to knock me out,” I said, and was greeted with a roar of laughter.

  “You’re all right, Jolie,” someone shouted. “Rumor
has it that your father was a self-defense master, and he taught you from a young age.”

  “Yes. Master Luan found me…” I spent several hours telling an abbreviated story of my life and discussing Gong Luan, which turned into a three-day demonstration of various aspects of the art including balance.

  Howard approached me as we were getting ready to depart. “Thank you for sharing your life story with us. You’re the first woman to become a Tasmanian, and we all wanted to get to know you as you are now our sister, and you managed to turn what should have been a boring trip into an entertaining three days. You might even find a lot of Tasmanians interested in exploring Gong Luan when we return. I also think your performance guarantees you will be every commander’s first choice for every assignment with more than a couple of days’ transit time.” He laughed as he turned to follow the petty officer out to the shuttle that would deliver us to Harari.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Planet: Harari: Snipers

  It was midday when I exited the shuttle and the temperature was pleasant. The day was sunny with only random clouds in the sky. It looked like we were in a valley with mountains all around us. According to the information we had received it was mid-summer in Harari but we should expect temperatures ten degrees colder in Hilan City than on Delphi as it was located in the foothills of the Kobby Mountains, and an additional twenty to thirty degrees colder in the mountains in daytime and an additional twenty degrees colder at night. Since I had grown up in mountainous country I knew what to expect and was somewhat acclimated to the thinner air and the colder temperatures.

  We were told to pitch tents as we would be spending several days here while our equipment was sorted out, loaded onto trucks, and our order of battle planned. I was in a five-man tent with Lacy and his squad.

  “We are going along with the first company of army as they anticipate Hihari snipers will be positioned in the hills to impede passage. Our job will be to neutralize them,” Lacy said as we sat eating a hot stew. “I warn you to stuff yourself as we will be living on field rations for the foreseeable future.”

  I nodded, knowing that remark was mostly for my benefit since the others had been on previous assignments and knew from firsthand experience. Army dogma—eat and sleep whenever you can as you never know when you’ll get another chance. It applied to me more than most as I had little fat reserve.

  On the third night, Simon gathered his platoon together.

  “We have our order of battle prepared,” he began when we were sitting. “Platoon One squads one, four, and five will accompany the army’s Company One into the Kobby Pass, which is the only road into the Kobby Mountains, and to Hilan City, where the miners live. The Harari government believe outsiders from one or more countries have sent troops in to support the miners’ revolt. Of course, these countries claim the outside troops are mercenaries hired by the miners or raiders who have taken control of the mines. Regardless, they believe there could be as many as five hundred to a thousand supporting the miners.” He paused to check his notes. “The army is sending in Company One as a probe to test our opponents and determine their tactics. The Tasmanian squads are along to evaluate how we can be of help as the army moves into the mountains.” He smiled. “The convoy is scheduled to leave at sunrise, which will be at seven ten hours. I want the platoon to leave at five ten and to meet the truck carrying the Tasmanian gear one kilometer short of the pass.”

  “Why?” I asked Patten when Simon had dismissed the platoon.

  Patten laughed. “He expects us to run to the pass and since it is about ten kilometers he’s giving us two hours, just under five kilometers per hour. Why? Because it’s the Tasmanian way—a statement or an image, more to us than others, like the fact our uniforms have no rank or medals. We’re Tasmanians, unique and without equals.” Patten smiled. “And each one of us believes he’s a Tasmanian Devil and happy to prove it.”

  “In other words, we’re all crazy,” I said, beginning to have similar feelings.

  “That about sums it up.” He laughed.

  * * *

  I woke to the sounds of movements and everyone was in the process of getting dressed and collecting their gear–that which we would carry and that which would be transported with the caravan—like extra clothing, ammo, the sniper rifles, and such. I stepped out of the tent into the chilly morning darkness. A pale light from a half moon cast eerie shadows from the spare trees and shrubs scattered around our bivouac area. The mountains looked like a giant forbidding wall rising into the night sky. As I stood there the men began to collect around me.

  “Form up in twos by squad,” Simon said, and a minute later, “Double time, forward march.”

  Immediately, squad one began to move in squad order, one, four, and five. We ran at a ground-eating pace, one that Tasmanians could maintain for hours. They ran every day whether on assignment or not and twenty kilometers was usually a minimum. Our training was geared for endurance rather than strength; good thing as I could never match most men in a strength contest. After all, we weren’t planning to arm wrestle with the enemy—shoot, stab, and hit him in a crippling or killing spot. But being able to stay functional longer than our opponent could be crucial to winning, and Tasmanians were trained to remain functional for two days to a couple of weeks with only short naps.

  As we ran, the dawn light spread across the landscape and the temperature began to warm up. It was summer, the trees green and full, and many of the shrubs and ground cover were supporting yellow and purple flowers. Periodically I could see small waterfalls and streams which were caused from melting snow in the higher elevations and rain at the lower elevations. Soon we were running up and down rolling hills that contained more rocks and small boulders and occasionally a small hut off in the distance where goats grazed on the sides of the small foothills we were approaching.

  I was enjoying the run and the scenery when Simon raised his fist and we all came to a stop. Squad one’s leader, Weiss, said something to his squad and two men raced off, one on either side of the paved road leading to the pass. They seemed almost drunk as they randomly jogged right and left, slowed, and speeded up. I realized that whatever their purpose they were taking evasive moves in case snipers were up ahead—no sense giving them an easy target. When they had covered a half kilometer, Weiss whistled, and each man crossed to the opposite side and began running back using the same evasive tactics. When they arrived back, Simon gestured for us to move closer together. We formed a semicircle in front of Simon and the three squad leaders. A minute later the two men joined the group.

  “The earth has definitely been disturbed in three or four places on the side of the road,” said the tall redhead with a pale youthful face, only slightly winded.

  “They did a good job of hiding the disturbed earth with bushes and rocks so there could be more,” the second man said. He was a bit shorter and wider and older. “The right distance for a sniper.”

  “That was apparently the strategy they used against the government troops. They mined the perimeter of the road so trucks and troops wouldn’t have easy access to the pass and used snipers to make it difficult to defuse.”

  “Radio-activated devices?” someone in squad one asked.

  “No. I’m told the bombs have sensors that can be set to various sensitivities so that a man or even two passing won’t detonate them but a truck or several men will,” Simon said. “Something like security sensors that can be adjusted so your pet won’t set it off but a human would. Oh, and the devices are booby trapped so they can’t be easily dug up and removed.”

  Just then we heard the rumble of trucks and a few minutes later saw the lead vehicle, an armored car with a Gatling machine gun mounted on a turret, followed by a line of trucks carrying troops. Colonel Humphrey exited the armored car and walked over to our group. We all stood as Simon stepped forward and nodded respectively.

  “Well, Simon, see anything?” Humphrey said as he scanned the group. His eyes settled on me for several second
s but showed no emotion before returning to Simon.

  “We found evidence that the ground has been disturbed in at least seven or eight places alongside the road, probably explosives with snipers in the mountains guarding Kobby Pass.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “I have two squads of snipers along to support you, sir,” Simon said.

  Humphrey gave a snort. “I hate snipers. They are going to target anyone trying to dismantle the bombs, and I can’t bring up a truck to protect them as the sensors will detect the vehicle and set off the explosives.”

  I raised a hand.

  “What is it, Luan?” Simon asked, with a twitch of his lip. I wondered what he thought funny.

  “We could have a contest,” I said and received a disapproving frown from Humphrey. “Two of the boys could take another jog down the road and spray a little paint or drop something next to where they think the prizes are located. Then Patten and I would determine the winner.”

  Before Humphrey could reply, Simon smiled. “I like it. Any suggestions?” He looked to Lacy and Sadler.

  “Something that wouldn’t draw the Hihari snipers concern,” Sadler said. “Preferably something they wouldn’t notice being dropped.”

  Sadler was right. If the Hihari snipers detected the men marking their bombs, they would likely decide to target them.

  “Maybe if the boys had a signaling device, they could gesture toward the spot and press a signal and one of us would take a photo of the spot,” I said, thinking that a better option. Less dangerous for the Tasmanians; worst case we’d waste a few rounds searching for the bomb.

  “Sniper?” Humphrey asked Simon and nodded toward me. Simon snorted.

  “Not as much muscle as the boys, but the girl’s a match for them. She’s earned her fur,” Simon said, referring to the Tasmanian’s unique fur flash.