Silent Vengeance

Chapter 10

Shrill sounds from masses of insects, rustling branches, birds and monkeys, all sounds of the rainforest, continually filled the night. The humidity was nearly 90 percent, making pungent smells more intense.

The men moved stealthily, even as they crossed small bubbling creeks. Slade and James were in the lead with machetes in hand, ready to slice through dense underbrush that might block their path.

Sweat poured from their bodies, making replenishment critical. One full canteen wouldn't be enough. Iodine water purification tablets were secured inside chest vests.

Grant pressed the PTT, whispering, "Water break." He took a reading on the compass, then looked ahead into the dark, calculating time and distance. Team A.T. was ready to move again.

A quarter mile from their target, they heard Slade in their earpieces, "River ahead."

They cautiously advanced through the brush, until they reached the clearing. Kneeling together, they drank from their canteens, trying to replenish their bodies.

Grant checked the map, then pointed south. "Target should be 200 yards, west side." He folded the plastic-coated map, and stashed it in his vest. "We'll take another look at the halfway point. Let's go."

Conversation between the men was non-existent, as they followed the waterway south. Even with noises from the jungle so familiar to each of them, they remained on high alert. Their eyes stayed focused on the surroundings, their minds and bodies prepared for the slightest, unusual sound or movement.

Finally, Grant pressed the PTT. "Hold it." Everyone gathered around him. "There's the hill," he whispered, as he pointed across the water, moving his hand in an arc toward the south. "Height's about 100 feet behind the target." He raised his NVGs and took a Starlighter scope from the rucksack. "Joe, get another scope."

He and Adler knelt just inside the tree line. Adler started moving the scope, beginning at the southern most point, while Grant started along the ridge, directly across the waterway.

"Anything?" Grant whispered.

"Negative."

"Still can't see target."

Adler motioned with his hand, "There's a bend in the waterway, curves right; must be on other side."

Grant tapped Adler's shoulder. They backed up, joining the Team.

"Anything?" Diaz whispered.

Grant shook his head. "We've gotta get on the other side of that curve up ahead, then take another look."

Ten minutes later, they stopped, finally able to see the pole houses. A rope bridge crossed the waterway.

"Everybody," Grant said, "start lookin'."

"Smoke, but can't see where it's coming from," Diaz whispered. "Possibly from inside number four."

"Lights in three, four," Slade confirmed.

Adler whispered, "Guard on roof, shack two, smoking."

"Got him," Grant confirmed, before redirecting his scope along the hillside. "There's gotta be somebody on that hill."

"Eyes on one," Stalley reported. "Coming down dirt path toward shacks."

Grant looked overhead. Stars were beginning to break through passing clouds. If it cleared, moonlight could be a problem. They had to hustle. "Everybody back," he whispered. They moved farther back into the forest, then he diverted his eyes to Novak. "Mike, find a spot to set up." Novak gave a quick nod, then started looking for a place that'd give him clear views with the scope — and a clear field of fire.

Grant continued, "Doc, DJ, take care of the guard on the hill, then recon the area. Will wait for your all clear."

James and Stalley positioned the MP5s behind their back. K-bars were secured in their leg straps. Stalley had his medical bag. They made haste toward the curve in the waterway, adjusted earpieces, then silently waded into the slow-moving, murky water.

Grant turned toward Adler. "Joe, once we're across, we'll take the first three shacks, Frank and Ken the left three. In the meantime, Frank, Ken, do a recon that way," he motioned with a hand, indicating south." The two men took off, quickly disappearing within thick growths of trees and brush.

Fifteen long minutes later, they heard Stalley in their earpieces, "Five-Two and Six-Eight proceeding south. Copy?"

"Copy that," Grant replied. He and Adler stretched out on their bellies, then continued scanning the area north and south of the pole houses. Grant whispered, "Shack two is main target. Antenna." Adler moved his scope briefly, then returned to scanning his area.

Stalley called in again. "Zero-Niner. Five-Two. UF permanently disabled."

"Any UFs near targets?" Grant whispered.

"Wait one." Stalley and James scanned behind the shacks, then roofs. "On roof. Rope bridge connects shacks to lower hill."

"Roger that." Grant moved the scope, trying to find Stalley and James on the hill.

Novak pressed the PTT. "Eyes on UF, walking on deck." The man's sheathed machete swung forward between the posts, as he leaned, then spit into the water. Wiping his mouth, he turned slightly and pounded a fist against the flimsy bamboo siding.

"Oh, Christ!" Grant mumbled, immediately notifying everyone. "Kids on deck!"

Stalley shot a look at James, then responded softly, "Say again!"

"Boys! Eyes on deuce!" Grant took a breath. "Five-Two, Six-Eight. Hold positions." He tapped Adler's shoulder. They crabbed their way backwards. Grant called Slade and Diaz. "Four-One, Three-Six. Return to base."

"Roger," Slade responded, as he and Diaz started hustling.

The five men knelt close together. Adler whispered, "Jesus Christ! What the hell are we gonna do now?"

Grant didn't respond, and turned his back to Adler, as he silently considered the two options: continue the mission as planned, or find a way to prevent collateral damage.

Adler tugged on Grant's arm, questioning in a gruff whisper, "Your not seriously thinking about doin' nothing for those kids?!"

Grant jerked his arm away. "Any suggestions? Anybody?" he asked, with his eyes going from man to man.

Slade looked at the shacks then at Diaz, who gave a quick nod. "Frank and I'll go first; see if we can get them outta there."

Grant shook his head. "And what about more guards, possibly in those shacks? We don't know what the fuck's going on inside. How do you know there aren't more kids?" Silence. He walked away, but he knew Adler was right. He couldn't live with himself if his decision cost the lives of little kids when he could've at least tried something.

"Okay," he said as he turned. "We regroup." He looked through the scope. "Still only see those two." He called Stalley. "Five-Two, can you see inside?"

"Negative."

"Stand by." Rubbing the back of his neck, Grant reviewed the situation. They still didn't know if there were more kids, or more men inside, possibly operating the machines. Was the supplier on site? Nothing was a given. "Listen up. We'll swim across. Once we're under the shacks, Mike, I'll signal you, then you notify Doc and DJ. It'll be up to them to distract those two men." Novak nodded. Grant continued, "Once clear, we'll climb on deck." He looked at Diaz and Slade. "Joe and I'll be on deck the same time as you, but it'll be up to you to get those kids outta there. Drop them over the side if you have to."

He immediately called Stalley and James. "Five-Two, Six-Eight. A.T. crossing in five. Stand by for order to distract UFs. Copy?"

"Copy that. Standing by."

Giving their 'boonie' hats one last tug, the four men crouched low, and waded into the water. Swimming across the waterway using the powerful, and nearly silent breaststroke, with their eyes barely breaking the surface, they focused on the shoreline ahead.

They swam into the slow moving current, then floated close to the bank, finally seeing the curving shoreline. Stroking out of the current, they reached for overhanging vines. Grabbing hold, they drew themselves nearer to shore.

They continued along the shoreline, brushing aside weeds and overhanging vines. The only sounds came from the rainforest and wooden boats, straining against coarse ropes holding them taut. The men drifted closer to the support poles.

Novak reported, "UF still on front deck, near rail." He moved the scope, zeroing in on Grant.

Slade and Diaz floated under the decks, grabbing onto the first ladder, then slowly, silently went from ladder to ladder, taking quick glances overhead. They held onto ladders under shacks five and four, while Grant and Adler were at one and three. They all waited.

The UF standing on the deck leaned slightly over the rail, spitting out another stream of betel quid. The red goo slowly spread across the surface, then drifted away on the current.

Grant looked toward Novak's position and gave him a thumb's up. Novak immediately pressed the PTT. "Five-Two, Six-Eight. Go."

"Roger," Stalley whispered.

He and James had only one way to distract both UFs, while remaining in stealth mode. James was ready to remove his penlight from his chest vest, when he and Stalley heard a shuffling noise at their five o'clock. Slowly getting down on a knee, they turned their heads, focusing the NVGs in the general area.

James tapped Stalley's shoulder. Stalley gave a thumb's up, spotting a UF coming over the top of the hill, about twenty yards away.

James pressed the PTT, barely whispering, "A.T. Stand by."

The men under the shacks looked at one another, shaking their heads. Whatever the delay was, they had to wait.

James held his position. Stalley crouched low and cautiously headed at an angle toward the man, intending to strike from behind. The man kept walking slowly downhill, brushing aside drooping palms leaves. Two short whistles. A signal. A response came from the man on the roof.

With his K-bar in his right hand, Stalley was within striking distance, when the target lost his balance and started sliding. Stalley lunged, landing directly behind the UF. With his left hand clamped over the man's mouth, his right thrust the razor-sharp knife into the side of the neck, into the carotid, then sliced across the jugular. Blood gushed. Stalley applied constant pressure against the mouth, forcing the head back. Within seconds, all movement stopped. It was over.

Stalley looked around, confirming no other UF was in sight, then he cautiously made his way back to James. He quickly wiped his knife on leaves, as James pressed the PTT. "UF down. One on roof."

Below in the water, A.T. waited. One man on the roof and one on the front deck had to be dealt with, and damn quick.

James removed a penlight from his chest vest, and aimed it toward the rear of the shacks, flashing it on and off, without any set pattern.

Novak focused his scope on the roof, reporting, "Roof man on the move." James continued flashing the light, moving the beam in a haphazard motion.

The man jumped, landing on the rear wooden deck with a loud thump. He dashed across the rear bridge, shouting in Burmese. The man on the front deck rushed through the shack, heading for the rear, pulling his machete from its sheath. He stopped just short of the rope bridge, letting his eyes dart from place to place, trying to see beyond the darkness. Standing with his legs apart, he swung his machete in quick, small movements. He waited and listened.

Below in the water, Grant looked overhead. He grew more anxious with each passing minute. With all the noise, why the hell hadn't anyone come out to investigate? His thoughts were distracted, as James quietly reported, "Six-Eight and Five-Two have eyes on UFs, hill and bridge." He shut off the penlight, then he and Stalley separated and hustled farther up the hill, distancing themselves from the curious guard.

Leaves and vegetation rustled as the guard searched for the source of the light, continuing to climb farther up the hill.

James was down on a knee with his NVGs in place, taking cover behind a group of low-hanging palm fronds. The man came closer, then turned away, swiveling his head, unable to find the light. As he crept past James, James sprang out. He was behind the man in the blink of an eye, plunging the knife in and down below the brain stem, giving the K-bar a quick twist. Done.

James pressed the PTT. "One down. UF still on bridge."

They couldn't fuck around any longer. The longer they waited, the more could go wrong. Grant took a chance and barely whispered, "Five-Two. Take shot."

Stalley drew his pistol, retightened the silencer, then cautiously crept farther down the hill, until he had an unobstructed view. Getting on one knee, he braced himself against a palm tree, took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger.

Myint's body went rigid. He looked down at his bare chest. Dark red was spreading rapidly, pulsing out. With his hand clamped around his machete, he tumbled over the rope bridge rail. The Team cringed with the sound of his body slamming into the water.

Stalley whispered, "Clear!"

Novak gave the order, "Go! Go!"

The four men hustled up the ladders without hesitating. As they neared the deck, they heard Novak, "Four boys! Eyes on four boys!"

It was too late to stop. The men scrambled over the rail, nearly knocking down the panicked youngsters. Grant and Adler burst through the doors of shacks two and three. Slade and Diaz scooped up the screaming, terrified boys, dropped them into the water, then they busted through the doors of four and five.

Grant and Adler backed out, then immediately checked the first shack. Not a damn soul in sight.

Slade and Diaz came out shaking their heads, but Slade held up a hand and shook a small tin. Pills rattled inside. He stashed it inside his chest vest.

What they heard next made their blood run cold. They immediately focused down river. The sound couldn't have been more distinct — the thump-thump-thump of rotors — a Huey. The mission went to critical stage.