Rogue Element

Central Sulawesi, 0705 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

That uneasy feeling was again building within Sergeant Marturak. He had deployed his men and the waiting game had begun. At the core of his concern was a complete lack of intelligence. He had absolutely no idea what the two survivors were up to. For all he knew, they were indeed trying to scale the impossible heights of the almost vertical escarpment rising like a painted blue wall from the jungle beyond. He knew he was up against just two people — a man and a woman — but who were they? He doubted that two ordinary civilians would have been capable of enduring three days in the jungle, let alone be able to outmanoeuvre and escape him and his men, and on more than just one occasion.

He dredged those moments of contact up from his memory and replayed them. He would have liked to believe that surviving the encounters with his men was pure chance, and if that’s all it was then the survivors were extraordinarily lucky indeed. It was not reasonable to assume that people with no training could keep themselves alive for three days and two nights in an environment that was as dangerous and inhospitable as Sulawesi. Especially when one or both were wounded, had no food, no shelter, and were probably in shock.

Perhaps they weren’t alive. Perhaps they were already dead, or dying somewhere of exposure, a fall, dehydration or poisoning, or any one of countless ways the jungle could take a human life. If they hadn’t walked into his ambush by the appointed time at around four hours from now, he would assume them dead and notify Jakarta of the fact, then sweep the jungle for their bodies.

The unexpected boom of an explosion interrupted this thought, followed by another thunderous blow. His men were up and racing towards the area mined by the claymores. The jungle filled with automatic fire. Marturak began constructing the radio message in his head, one that would please the general, as he ran towards the source of the noise, all self-doubt erased by the deafening thunder of the exploding PE.

The staccato automatic fire petered out just as the sergeant converged on the narrow passage formed by the trunks of two massive hardwoods. On the floor of the jungle between the two giants, carpeted by leaves and mosses and spongy fungi, was a large four-legged black body with a thick crimson pool where the head should have been. One of Marturak’s men walked into the clearing with the missing part of the animal — its head — one side of it a stew of red flesh, white bone and congealing blood. The soldier smiled as he held the head high. His expression of delight changed when Marturak caught his eye. The soldier dropped the trophy on top of the carcass and melted back amongst his comrades.

Marturak spat an order and three men went off to check the remaining claymores. Marturak felt like screaming. This was without doubt the most frustrating op he’d ever undertaken. The animal, some sort of wild cow or deer the size of a large dog, had obviously been running down the trail and tripped the first and second wires, discharging the mines. The first claymore had probably been set too high for the ball bearings to do their job. The second mine had effectively decapitated the animal as it ran in terror from the first explosion and the thrash of ball bearings that flailed the surrounding vegetation.

Marturak wondered how far the noise of the explosions and the ensuing automatic fire had carried. He hoped like hell that he hadn’t given their position away but, as with every other aspect of this absurd chase that had them stumbling about virtually blind, he couldn’t be sure. ‘Allah!’ he cried in desperation at the top of his voice. A flock of birds which had only just resettled in the treetops overhead were again frightened into the sky.

The sergeant knew he was going to have to replan, but what in God’s name to do next? He paced around the small clearing considering the limited options, his men stepping out of his way. Perhaps the ploy of passively setting an ambush was flawed from the beginning. One thing he was reasonably sure of was that he had the two passengers bottled up. He had the noose in his hand; he just had to tighten it.

Marturak had sixteen men left from the original deployment, including the soldier who had lost three fingers from his left hand to the weapon wielded by one of the survivors. The man was in a lot of pain but a low dose of morphine helped, and he could still hold and discharge his weapon. Marturak decided to divide his force into pairs, providing eight separate opportunities to make contact with, and kill, the objectives. If his men struck serious opposition — which he doubted, but then nothing would surprise him on this job — the two-man team was a reasonably effective weapon — one man could advance under the covering fire laid down by the other. He would have preferred three-man teams but concern about spreading his force too thinly across the jungle swung his mind against it. Marturak gave each pair a compass heading to follow and established an RV, the place where his two men had been left behind after the cobra strike.

Silently, Marturak cursed their lack of equipment, in particular the lack of inter-section comms. He’d been told that this op had to be strictly emissions free, except for the scheduled broadcasts. Marturak completely understood the need for security. The Qantas plane, the elimination of civilians — it was the kind of mission that would either set him up for life if he succeeded, or get him killed if he failed. A sudden pang of objectivity made him realise that having him killed would be the safe option for his superiors, no matter what the outcome of this mission. The op was black and would have to remain so forever. It would be prudent to consider some kind of insurance policy, he decided. Marturak was vicious, but he was no fool. The disk. He tapped it in his webbing once to make sure it was still there, and found himself reassured by its presence. It was something only he knew the existence of and it might prove to have considerable value.

Suryei and Joe were again searching for a tree they could climb so that they could get another fix on their bearings. The hunt proved fruitless. Trees that were big enough to get them above the canopy had no branches low down, just broad, smooth trunks, gigantic living columns that appeared to support the green roof overhead, and they provided no purchase whatsoever.

They had just decided to keep moving in the direction they thought was the correct one when the distant pulse of the twin explosions, followed by a large number of popping noises, bounced off the canopy overhead. Both Joe and Suryei guessed correctly what those sounds were. They glanced at each other anxiously, and for a number of reasons. The blasts confirmed that people with guns and other explosive devices were still in the jungle and obviously still searching for them. Of more concern was that neither Joe nor Suryei had the slightest idea from which direction the sounds originated. The jungle fractured and splintered sound so that it appeared omni-directional, virtually surrounding them. For all they knew, they could be walking straight towards the source, and certain death.

‘Shit,’ said Suryei, looking left and right and then turning slowly in a complete circle attempting to pinpoint the direction of the explosions.

‘I reckon it came from down there,’ said Joe, indicating off to their right.

‘Are you sure? Sounded to me like it came from just up ahead. Or maybe from over there.’ Suryei gestured up the ridge to their left. ‘How far away?’

Joe shrugged, spinning around, unsure, rattled. It had been more than twelve hours since their last contact with the soldiers and the rubbery dimension time had taken on added to his disorientation. It felt like they had been wandering around in the jungle forever, certainly more than three days, perhaps because surviving the jungle was a moment-by-moment proposition that took every ounce of concentration, obliterating any other reality. The crash of exploding ordnance was a blunt reminder that their pursuers were determined. And close.

To make matters worse, if that were possible, Joe and Suryei were running on empty. They had slept very little and eaten next to nothing, which had brought them to the brink of physical and mental exhaustion. If giving up had been an option, they would gladly have taken it. But it wasn’t.

‘Come on, this… way,’ said Suryei, panting, sucking in the hot, wet air.

Whether or not he agreed with the direction, Suryei wasn’t sure. Joe was also too tired to argue. Any decision could be wrong. Any decision could be right. Frowning, Suryei picked her way soundlessly past Joe towards a dense thicket of matted tree ferns. She ducked low with a grunt and disappeared inside.