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The Bugismen

William McCaskey


June 210

Duterte City, Nusantara


“Can’t beat a posting like this,” a UNPF lieutenant crowed to his compatriots as he leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. The noise from the street below was muffled through the restaurant’s second floor windows, but the din from the kitchen would rise and fall with the swinging of the serving door carrying with it the spiced aroma of cooking belecan.

“It’s a wonder you can pass tape, James,” another retorted.

“James may be a fatass, Schriner, but he at least finds us good places to eat. You spend so many marks on cards and hookers it’s a wonder you aren’t on emergency funding,” a third said, laughing.

“Give him a break, Arturo. At least he paid us back on that last loan,” James cut in.

“About that,” Schriner began.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Arturo interrupted. He slammed a fist on the table causing the passing waitress to jump and eye the three warily. “You ask for another fucking loan and I’ll skull drag your ass back to the barracks and slam your dick in a door.”

“Why would you even lead with that? I was going to ask you to spot me for lunch, I need to make a draw from finance after I spent what I had on hand last night.” Schriner eyed Arturo. “You need to get laid.”

“Man’s got a point, you’re wound a little tight,” James agreed with Schriner.

“Luckily, we’re right next door to where the Grainne military trained their whores.” Schriner grinned as if he had solved all the world’s problems.

“Expensive and reserved for flag ranks and VIPs.” Arturo ticked off his fingers.

“All off the books and against policy. General Order One,” James interjected.

“Only the fully qualified ‘specialists’ are reserved,” Schriner explained. “The trainees are open for business; get it set with the right clerk and you can even have the fee autodrafted from your pay. Streamlines the entire process. Don’t let the MPs see you walk in or out and don’t bring them into the barracks.”

“Trainee whores doesn’t make much sense,” James snarked, reaching for another pineapple tart from the plate at the center of the table.

“They call ’em ‘Recreation Specialists’ but classify them under ‘Emotional Health.’ This girl from the mainland, or did you get a local?” Arturo added.

“Whore’s a whore regardless of what they call it,” Schriner scoffed. “Local, not a raghead though. It’s a wonder people can even stand living near those types. She had some interesting stories to tell, though. Threatened me with something, sounded like the bogeyman.”

“Did you get clarification?” James asked.

“Why? I wasn’t paying to hear her talk. Tell you what, you cover dinner and spot me a bit for the game tonight and I’ll make sure you both get your ashes hauled with some local strange.”

“Shut it, Arturo.” James cut the third lieutenant off before he could antagonize their compatriot any further. Looking at Schriner, he finally answered, “Deal.”


September 15, 210

Tjibeo Village


“What do they dance for?” the UN major asked the woman standing beside him, as his soldiers broke into teams of two and spread through the crowd.

The woman’s gaze never left the dancers, a young man and woman moving within the melody of the flute while the surrounding dancers’ bodies followed the quicker beat of the drums. Finally, she answered, “The dance is for their Mahaguru, a recognition of his life and the lessons he taught. They recognize his ties to the Islamic community while still honoring his faith as a Christian.”

“And why do you not dance for your father-in law?” the officer asked blandly, his eyes sweeping over the crowd. “Yes, I know who you are, Analyn Richards, and your relation to the deceased,” the officer continued without waiting for the woman to answer.

The woman ignored the obvious trap and simply nodded to the two central dancers, “They requested the placement. What business could the UN have at a memorial? You’ve caused enough damage already.”

“The only reason you and your children have not been arrested yet is because your father-in-law’s name still carries some weight amongst the upper ranks of the UNPF. However, that weight will quickly diminish once it is known he died causing the death of four Peacekeepers.”

“Peacekeepers who were raping a child. What would you arrest us for? You’ve burnt half my crops and seized production of the other half,” Analyn answered, coldly. The tempo of the music shifted and now the central dancers moved quicker while the outer ring slowed their movements to highlight the precision of the dance, the young man in the middle had drawn a still-sheathed sword from the sash around his waist.

The officer waved away the accusation, “Stones, Mrs. Richards. You are the ones that live in the shadow of a training school for whores. As for charges? Production and trafficking of an illegal substance, causing a degradation in UN food production, and incitement of a riot.”

“Sparkle is legal in the Freehold, Novaja Rossia, and Caledonia, to name a few of our markets. We don’t sell in Earth space. You illegally seize crops and land then offer a tenth of what they made before your arrival, for those who had stakes in the land, the land to work it. Your difficulty in finding farmhands is your issue, not mine. Perhaps you should return to your filthy cities on earth. You are delusional. Despite your provocations, there have been no riots”

The officer seized her arm and squeezed, “Grainne is UN space now, you mouthy cunt. Food production will be used for the supply of UN forces occupying this miserable mudball your father-in-law dragged you to. Food supplies your influence hampers, and this is a riot if I declare it as one. We have questions for you.”

The woman looked down at the officer’s hand as if an offending odor had assaulted her nose, “Remove your hand, Major. It is an insult to touch a woman not your wife or family here.”

The major spat, “I served on Mtali. You aren’t one of them and I don’t give a damn for raghead customs. Your farms will increase production.” He paused and then leered at Analyn, “And perhaps if you are a bit more respectful, your life will become easier under our occupation.”

The music shifted again, the tempo increasing for each of the dancers, firelight glinting off the now bared keris in the young man’s hand, and the eyes of Analyn.

“And that is why you will never conquer us.”

The major coughed, trying to catch his breath. Releasing Analyn’s arm, he raised his hands to his throat to test the wetness pooling there and his hands came away bloody. Stumbling back on legs that no longer wanted to support his weight, a strangled gurgle escaped his lips as he tried to call out. Analyn stepped forward and slid around to the major’s back, bracing him against her body and supporting him with a false tenderness.

The music stopped suddenly, and the keris-wielding young man stepped between the outer ring of the dancers and took the head from the nearest UN soldier with an easy swing of his blade. Daggers appeared in the hands of the dancers, within moments and a flurry of flashing steel every UN soldier that had accompanied the major was dead or dying.

The major could only stare on in horror, unable to move, as his men died before his eyes. Analyn leaned in to murmur in his ear, “The paralysis you are feeling is quick acting, and in most cases, brief. The handle of the kapak kecil is carved from a hardwood native to our islands and sharpened for precisely this.” She paused and pressed the sharpened point of the weapon’s haft into the opposite side of his neck, slowly piercing his skin again, leaving the handle of the small weapon within the major’s body. “The pain is excruciating, and overexposure can lead to cardiac arrest. You have time enough left for me to share a story.”

Analyn caressed his hair with a false tenderness. “Once upon a time, there was an empire that tried to eat the world. Vain enough to boast that the sun would never set upon their borders. They thought they knew how to inspire fear, to maintain control. They came to an island nation, a birthplace of kings and empires. They raped the women and pillaged the land. They stole great treasures and spat upon centuries old customs. But it was on this island that they learned what it was to be truly afraid. Pirates wielding black magic, the kind that could steal a man’s soul, called the island nation home. One by one, the empire’s soldiers were slain, with silent blades, or disappeared in the dark of the jungle, never seen again. Slowly, news of these horrors crept back to the seat of the empire’s power. Whispers, ‘Beware the Bugismen.’ The empire fell, only to be replaced by others. Time passed and the world grew smaller but the children of the Bugis never forgot their history, or their treatment at the hand of would-be conquerors. When the time came, they left their island and sailed a darker sea for a new home.” Reflecting light drew the major’s eyes to the blade of the small hand-axe in Analyn’s hand, the sharpened point of the wooden handle wet with his blood. “We remember, and we do not suffer threats from would-be conquerors.” She pressed the tip of the blade against the right side of the Major’s throat, “Beware the Bugismen.” Analyn drove the point of the blade under the skin and tore forward, slicing through the carotid artery before dropping the major to the ground, like so much trash.

Around her the crowd was bundling the bodies of the UN soldiers, uniforms and weapons were left with their former owners to be laid with them when they were left to be found. “They died without lifting a finger.” The young man’s voice drew her attention away from the dead, his keris sheathed and returned to his hip.

“They underestimated us. This was only going to work once; you and your sister played your parts perfectly. Well done.”

Jacob smiled at the praise from his mother, “We’ll need to disappear. The main plantation won’t be safe for us anymore.”

“Agreed, leaving the bodies near the city will draw some attention away from the village but not enough. Someone will need to get into Duterte to establish contact with the mainland. Let them know we’re still here,” the young woman who had danced opposite Jacob added as she joined them, cleaning blood from her kerambit with a scrap of cloth.

“I’ll go,” Jacob volunteered.

The woman shook her head in a manner that reminded Analyn of the twins’ father, “Makes more sense for me, I can blend in with the trainees at the Academy. Plus, you were the last to recon for our friends from the mainland. You know where the caches are stashed.”

“Tanya, I don’t like you going in Duterte alone, the city already took Lolo,” Jacob argued.

“Aww, you do care,” she teased her twin. “It took nine Aardvarks to kill grandfather, and he killed four of them. We don’t know how many he injured but I’m willing to bet none of them walked away unscathed. I’ll do what I can to find the video, someone has to have it.”

“Fine,” he agreed, reluctantly. “If you can, see if you can get your hands on his shillelagh. He didn’t come home with it.” Turning to their mother, “Will you come into the jungle?”

“I’ll go south to Kedah; they need to know the UN is getting bolder and intends on destroying all of Grainne’s cultures. On Mtali the Aardvarks tried to use the tribal rivalries to their advantage, worked in some cases. They won’t find the same situation here, but they are slow to learn new tricks, and this is a threat to all of us. If the Sultan is expecting them, then he’ll have a reception planned for them,” Analyn answered, before resting her hand on her son’s, stopping him from drawing the keris. “It is yours, Pendekar. Use it to take back our home.”

Jacob nodded before hugging his mother tightly. Turning to his twin sister he grinned, “Never unarmed, yes?”

Tanya deftly rolled her chocolate brown hair into a tight bun and fluffed it before slipping her now sheathed kerambit beneath the mass of curls, hiding it perfectly, “A lady never gives away her secrets.”

“No, but we know the truth of a Srikandi,” Jacob teased.

Analyn smiled at her children’s jibes, “With the reserve crops and the contacts in Duterte we can assist our former guests with funding. Perhaps they in turn can bring materials from the mainland for us.” The two children nodded as Analyn laid her hands on her children’s shoulders. “Come, we’ve much to do and not nearly enough time to do it in.” The three turned from the square, the memorial to their family member complete. The patrol would be found not stripped of weapons. It was a message of utter contempt.


I

October 3, 210


Jacob checked his timepiece as he set his pack against the base of a gum tree and turned to check the path behind them. Half a div till sunrise, they were right on time. Isko and Mamat had slipped away to their own hide while he waited for the call from their contact. Lowering himself down to a knee, the fingertips of his left hand traced across the cassette of his shotgun to reassure himself that he had a jungle load prepped as he let his gaze sweep the undergrowth, paying attention to his peripheral for movement. The air was rich with the taste of salt from the nearby cove, while the waves played a steady rhythm against the beach.

Just ahead of Jacob, Tuah had shed his pack and was performing his own scan. The dim light of dawn filtering through the thinning canopy highlighted the movement of his head as he looked up to search the branches above him. The earpiece of his radio coming to life pulled Jacob’s attention.

“Alamo. MacArthur,” a familiar voice sounded in Jacob’s ear.

“MacArthur. Alamo. Suwanda,” Jacob replied as he tapped Tuah’s shoulder before slipping past the other guerilla to watch the water. The rest of his team would know their contact was approaching from monitoring the radio, but this was a sight that never grew old for Jacob.

The only indication was the brief change in the rhythm of the waves before the vessel broke the surface and made its way towards the beach. Jacob smiled, as he always did when seeing the tiny sub. The UN deluded themselves into believing they controlled the skies and space but had forgotten the oceans.

In the three segs it took for the sub to beach itself and the four-man crew to disembark, Jacob and his three accomplices had reconvened and were waiting, the heavy packs stacked next to them in the soft sand. Mamat, Isko, and Tuah scanned the jungle and the beach as Jacob stepped forward to meet their contact, “Robbie, good to see you still mostly in one piece.”

Blazer Robert McCombs grinned and held out the prosthetic of his right hand, “I’m surprised a leopard hasn’t drug you up a tree, yet, kid.”

Jacob grinned and gripped the prosthetic lightly, not willing to risk damaging the Blazer’s replacement limb, “Shotgun is usually a good deterrent to that happening.”

“That it is, and you work that beast almost as fast as you do a knife,” McCombs commented.

“Mamat’s a better shot and Isko’s faster with the blade.” Jacob shrugged.

“And Tuah?” McCombs smiled, knowing what was coming.

“I’m the smart one,” Tuah deadpanned, cutting Jacob off before he could respond and turning to look at the blazer.

Robert laughed as he focused his attention on Tuah and offered his prosthetic again, “As-salaam aliakum, my friend.”

Tuah let his shotgun hang from its sling across his chest and took the offered prosthetic in his right hand, “Wa alaikum salaam, Robert.”

“Let’s get business handled and off this beach,” Robert declared turning back to Jacob. “How are the crops holding up?”

Jacob nudged the packs still sitting in the sand with his right foot. “Three hundred pounds of unrefined sparkle and a hundred pounds of coffee. First thing the Aardvarks did was torch the sparkle labs, but I figure you mainlanders can handle that piece.”

Robert nodded, “We’ll clean it up, and get it offworld.” Left unsaid was the understanding that the black-market sparkle trade would go a long way to funding the Freehold resistance, “They left the coffee alone?”

“Their preference for it will make it worthwhile on the mainland,” Jacob answered as the rest of Robert’s crew hefted the packs to their shoulders and carried them towards the sub. “Is this your final stop?”

The Blazer nodded, “This will top us up, smart move separating out the pickup points. No indications that the Aardvarks picked up on the movement; and we dropped a shipment of materials for delivery to JOMAS.”

“Much appreciated. From what my mother has passed on the next batch off the line will be going to Kedah for the tribes in that region. They want to be ready if the UN decides to island hop.”

“Sound plan, I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on one of those shotguns they put out. Figure fifteen millimeter will work just as well in tight quarters as it does punching through jungle growth,” McCombs commented.

Jacob chuckled, “You get your bosses to put in an order and I’ll hand you one, no charge.”

“Deal. Shouldn’t be that hard, considering the numbers your family has trained, don’t be surprised if it picks up after we kick the ’Varks off Grainne. Got anything else we need to know about?” the operative asked.

“All the primary fields for anything other than coffee, rice, and bananas have been torched to be converted over to ‘approved’ crops.” The distaste in the young man’s voice easily discerned. “Any families that refused to collaborate had their homes ransacked and destroyed. We didn’t lose much since we left after my grandfather was murdered, but there are more than most that have few options.”

“Your grandfather would be proud of you and your sister. Your dad would be too,” McCombs interrupted.

Jacob paused, his eyes tracking out towards the ocean before returning to the blazer, “Where?”

“Mtali. Couple of us recognized the style of blades they were carrying from your grandfather’s training course, that’s when we asked for your dad to consult. He’s the reason it was my hand and not my life, and how we were able to work so well with the natives.”

“No one has ever confirmed it, but my gut tells me he didn’t come home because of the UN. God knows where I’d be if Lolo hadn’t put his foot down to leave earth.”

“Your grandfather definitely made a statement. Four dead, nine critical just to kill one old man with a stick and knife. He definitely got the assholes’ attention. There’s been talk from higher of recognizing his and your dad’s contribution to SPECWAR; after the war most likely and long overdue.”

“Thank you, Robert. Once these assholes are gone, we’ll get the training program restarted.” Jacob caught the wave from Tuah and Mamat. “You’re loaded, ready to go, and about to start burning daylight.”

“True enough. Oh! This may interest you; intercept puts an ADVON party in this region. We think it’s to establish a FOB in the area to put down any potential insurgency that attempts to disappear into the jungles.”

“And since everything has been focused around Duterte and the surrounding villages, any push into the jungle may not be expecting trouble just yet,” Jacob finished.

“Got it in one,” the Blazer grinned.

“We’re going hunting,” Jacob stated as Mamat and Isko each nodded to McCombs and made their way off the beach.

“Godspeed,” Robert called over his shoulder as he climbed aboard the sub.

“Inshallah!” Tuah responded as the sub dragged itself from the beach and disappeared below the waves.

Jacob turned his back on the beach, Tuah mirroring his lead, and the two followed their companions inland.


II

October 6, 210


“You baliw, budak,” Tuah muttered, tapping the side of his head, as he squatted next to Jacob with Mamat and Isko huddled around the palm-sized speaker set between them.

“Baliw, like monyet. Kid was running so scared he never thought to check his gear for bugs,” Isko added as the four leant in to hear the conversation over the rain drumming on the shelter roof.

“Take a breath, Private. You’re safe now.” A man’s voice attempted a soothing tone, though a hint of insincerity could be heard.

A cough echoed from another, this voice trembling, “Safe, sir?”

The sound of liquid pouring into a cup was faint beneath the downpour outside, before a third man spoke, “Drink, it’ll calm your nerves.”

“Do as Sergeant Tulley says, kid. Then tell us what had you barreling into camp like the devil himself was on your heels,” the first voice instructed.

Moments pass before the once shaky voice speaks up, his nerves apparently settled by whatever had been in the offered cup, “Two days ago, Sergeant Mikaleson woke us up after he realized the watch was gone. Corporals Shannon and Briggs, no trace of them, like they vanished.” Another pause, and the sound of the cup refilling. “Sergeant says no one gets left behind, so we start searching for them, spent the entire day but there was no trace of them. Night falls so we bed down, watch is set, and then the sergeant goes down, this cat-looking thing on his back. It’s all teeth and claws tearing at him, disappears into the jungle before we can get a shot off and Sergeant Mikaleson is just laying there, torn to shreds. Between myself, Davies, and Sammy we were too scared to sleep. I think I dozed off cause at some point I woke up to Davies screaming as another cat was dragging him up a tree. Sammy managed to hit Davies and put him out of his misery.”

“You’re condoning the murder of a fellow soldier. Am I hearing you right, Private?” the first voice demanded, the disgust in his voice apparent.

“No, Sir! There was no way we could have gotten him, and Sammy may have been aiming at the cat. Sammy was the one pulled the trigger, not that it matters much now. Sammy died crossing the river to get back to camp, gator or some shit dragged him under.”

“The jaguar was lured in, but the caiman was coincidence. Wasn’t it?” Tuah interrupted looking from Mamat to Jacob. The Grainne crushjaw wasn’t exactly a caiman, but it was analogous though much faster.

Mamat, the oldest of the four, simply gave a yellow-toothed smile and pointed to Jacob’s wrist.

Jacob waved for silence and tapped the leather cuff holding the agimat against his left wrist. A small smile crossed his face as he acknowledged that he might be crazy, but he had help, before motioning back to the speaker.

“Three dead, two missing presumed dead,” Sergeant Tulley mused.

“Think it was the Boogeymen,” the private started before the rolling of thunder drowned out the radio.

“Those ghost stories that Lieutenant Schriner was telling in the barracks. The ones his girl tells him,” the private explained.

The lieutenant scoffs, “Ghost stories. Go get some rest, Holmes. You’ll feel better after some decent rack time.”

“Yes, sir,” Private Holmes acquiesced, silence falling between the lieutenant and platoon sergeant.

“Kid’s got a point, LT,” Tulley finally offered, breaking the silence.

“About Schriner’s stories? Agreed, they’re damaging to morale, but we’ve seen no signs of inhabitants in this sector. We’ll break camp tomorrow and RTB to Duterte. Some R and R will do the men good, get their minds off the last couple days.”

“Leaving the CHUs for the follow-on?”

“Sure as Hell not carting them out, ourselves. Leave ’em for whichever company gets stationed out here. It’ll save a few Guardian flights, at least until a path gets cut for the Eels.”

“Roger that, sir. Chow’s on you tonight, by the way,” Tulley needled his platoon leader.

“Thank God, ’cause you can’t cook,” the lieutenant responded goodnaturedly.

* * *

Jacob palmed the speaker and shut it down before slipping it into a pouch attached to the cross strap of his bandolier. “This camp disappears tonight.”

“Do we go to war?” Mamat interjected.

“Grainne is as much our home as it is the mainlanders. The UN has already shown they will ignore our way of life and see our families starve. We’re already at war, and if we get their attention then forces sent here won’t be able to harass the villages,” Jacob responded.

“Pendekar,” the title and the namaste salute, traditional between Silat warriors, was Mamat’s acknowledgement.

Jacob turned to the rest of his team, “We’re two divs out from their sentries. Twenty-five left in the camp, two rows of three CHUs. Only the back three should be full, and the front far right has their lieutenant and sergeant. Worst case they are all awake and alert, best case every one of the lazy bastards is asleep. We ghost the sentries and work into the middle. The sensor net’s about a meter off the ground, pretty sure they got tired of the alarms going off every time a screamer-monkey troop came through the trees; so we stay low we can work right under it. Blades and silent for as long as possible, make sure the cassettes are set for buckshot. Questions?”

“Prisoners?” Isko offered up.

“Not from here, Hakim gets that chore,” Jacob answered. With no more questions coming, Jacob looked each of the other three men in the eyes. “Sundown then.”

As Jacob shifted to his side of the hooch and dropped the partition to give the three men privacy, Mamat, Tuah, and Isko were unrolling and laying out their prayer mats on the unsteady surface of the shelter’s fiberglass floor. Suspending their tents high in the jungle canopy had started as a means of avoiding predators at ground level, but it was proving incredibly effective at avoiding UN patrols as well. Braving the downpour, Jacob monkey-crawled to each of the three corners of the established web to check the spinnerets. The young man still marveled at the devices—when partnered, the system would spin out high-tensile strands that connected and wove to form a web nearly twenty-eight square meters, strong enough to easily support his team. Each of them had carried in pieces of the flooring. The entire structure could be left and returned to months later with the same stability and strength as the day it was constructed.

Satisfied that their current home was stable, Jacob worked his way back to the communal tent. Stopping just inside, he could hear the prayers of his brothers. Peeling off and replacing his soaked cotton shirt and trousers with a dry set, the young man settled himself in the center of his space. Jacob pulled the thong necklace from under his shirt and traced his thumb over the silver coin and the raised engraving of St. Michael, murmuring his own prayer, “The Lord is my Rock. He trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. My stronghold, deliverer, and shield in whom I take refuge. Saint Michael the Archangel defend us in battle. Be our protection against the malice and snares of the Devil. Amen.”


III


Night had well and truly fallen before the four men descended from their elevated campsite carrying only their shotguns, pistols, and blades. Jacob dragged on the ropes, the attached pulleys assisting, to raise the ladders up into the canopy. They would be lowered in the same manner when the team returned, before securing and hiding the cables against the base of the nearest tree. Mamat and Tuah led the way, born and raised in this region, they knew the quietest route to the UN encampment. Isko brought up the rear while Jacob let his gaze sweep upwards using his peripheral vision to watch for movement with his shotgun slung across his body at the low ready; the Aardvarks were the least of their worries in the jungle, day or night. Harimau resembled earth’s tigers in general shape, but Jacob was pretty sure a harimau would drag a ripper and the ripper’s meal up a tree for his own enjoyment.

The fireteam’s travels were muffled by the continued deluge typical of the monsoon season, and the appearance of a dull white glow where there should only be pitch blackness gave away the location of the UN camp. All four guerillas had scouted the camp. The UN believed themselves alone in the region and acted it. The pirates of the southern atolls would have put up a stronger defense. Jacob let his shotgun hang from its two-point sling and tightened it against his chest so it wouldn’t shift. Tapping first Isko, then Mamat, and finally Tuah to get their attention, he unwound the running ends of his cord bracelet from around his right wrist. The other three men nodded their understanding and repeated his actions with their own bracelets. The sentries would be the first and quietest.

Jacob stretched out with his hearing as he belly-crawled at a snail’s pace towards the sentry he had designated as his target and thanked God for stupid enemies. They hadn’t cut back the grass of the clearing. Only where they had their camp had the grass been cut, giving Jacob and his brothers a method of approach familiar to all of them. The rain-soaked ground drenched the cotton of his shirt and trousers, causing a slight shiver through his body. Jacob tightened the bracelet before wrapping the cord around his hands to form a garrote. The design had been created by his father for combat use similar to a sarong when battlefield conditions made wearing one impractical. Using his elbows and bare toes to propel himself forward, Jacob finally heard the shuffling footsteps and grumbling complaints of his assigned target over the falling rain. Through the grass, Jacob could make out the figure of the UN soldier, his back toward him, and Jacob steadied his breathing. Quietly, he rose and looped the cord over the soldier’s head and around his neck, pulling back quickly as the loop crossed his enemy’s throat. A cross kick from Jacob drove the sentry to the ground. His right fist snapped back as his left punched down tightening the cord sharply and Jacob felt it when the man’s hyoid bone finally snapped.

Jacob maintained the tension on the makeshift garrote until the struggles ceased, satisfied only after he checked and found no pulse. Lowering the body the rest of the way to the dirt, Jacob unwound his weapon from the soldier’s neck and deftly rewrapped it on his wrist. Moving forward, he fought to steady his breathing and the rush of adrenaline that threatened to overwhelm him, loosening his shotgun’s sling helped as he neared the jungle side of the CHU shared by the lieutenant and platoon sergeant.

Drawing his belati from its thigh sheath while listening for any movement inside the structure, Jacob wondered how his brothers fared in their own initial hunts, knowing there was nothing he could do for them now. Peering around the corner of the row of pre-fabbed hooches, he caught sight of Isko. Jacob flashed his blade in the light and grinned when Isko returned the signal. Seeing no other signs of activity, and hearing no movement inside the CHU, Jacob slipped up to the door and tested the handle with his left hand. The door swung outward on silent hinges and he shook his head at the audacity of UNPF leadership. The space was designed to easily accommodate five soldiers, but it had been converted into a combination of barracks and office with the two men sleeping on either side of the entrance. The man on the left began to stir, and Jacob darted forward, his belati twisting in and out, punching into the hollow of the platoon sergeant’s throat and then repeating the strike again, slightly higher and this time leaving the blade buried deep. His forward momentum slammed his elbow into the platoon sergeant’s nose, knocking the man back onto his cot. Jacob tore his blade free, leaving the dying sergeant grasping for his throat in a futile attempt to stem the blood flow. The officer was still sleeping soundly when Jacob reached down and grabbed the lieutenant’s hair with his left hand, forcing the man’s body to roll towards the opposite wall. Startled awake, but too slow to react, the tip of Jacob’s belati slid smoothly behind the trachea; with a sharp twist and a forward punch, Jacob severed Lieutenant Arturo’s throat.

* * *

Jacob wiped his blade clean on the man’s bedsheets as panicked wheezes followed Jacob out the door. Isko was nearing the door to the middle CHU, when he caught sight of Jacob he pointed over his shoulder and held up two fingers. Jacob answered with two of his own then waved him towards the door as he turned to pass between the CHU he had just left and the one Isko was about to enter.

Gunshots ripped through the silence that had lain over the camp, and shouts of alarm echoed from the one of the rear CHUs. Tuah’s shout cut above the rising cacophony, “Allahu Akbar!”

“Shit,” Jacob swore as he resheathed his belati. Hands moving to his shotgun, a quick pull had the harness releasing its tension, allowing him to raise the weapon into his shoulder’s pocket, while pressing the selector slide from safe to fire. The door to the center CHU swung open and before the UN soldier had completely emerged Jacob lashed out with his foot aimed at the middle of the swinging hatch and kicked it shut, a thud and grunted curse telling him the object had made an impact. Jacob rounded the shuddering door, two shots shredding the chest of the lead Aardvark, sending him reeling back into the shocked arms of his comrades. Shoving his weapon around the dead man’s body Jacob fired three more shots into the tight quarters of the CHU’s interior. Rounds designed for use against jungle predators proved incredibly effective against unprotected flesh, if the rising screams told him anything. Stepping further into the room Jacob counted the bodies, some still, some moving. Five. The first lay in the doorway where his companions had dropped him and the other four were clustered nearby. One was struggling to extricate himself from the pile, his arm stretching as his fingers grasped for a nearby rifle. Jacob stepped on the hand, ignoring the pained scream ripped from the soldier’s throat as he let his shotgun hang from its sling and drew his Merrill. The pistol bucked twice in his hand and two rounds punched through the back of the Aardvark’s head.

The sounds of further combat from outside drew his attention, holstering his pistol and dropping the half-spent cassette from his shotgun Jacob slapped a full one into the port and stepped through the door. Mamat and Isko were finishing off two UN troopers, but a third was raising a rifle to shoulder while the Freeholders’ backs were turned.

Rushing forward, shotgun forgotten on its sling, Jacob led with a kick to the back of the soldier’s right knee, and she screamed. His left hand snapped over her head, fingers plunging into her eyes and peeled her head back, holding her in place. His right fist cracked her jaw while the following elbow dislocated it completely. Dropping his elbow back down to crush her nose, the following hammer fist demolished the cartilage, leaving the woman’s face a bloody mess as she whimpered from the brutal onslaught. Her rifle slipped from her fingers as they spasmed.

Jacob’s rage drove him further. Aardvarks had taken his grandfather and threatened his family. Lightning had no mercy when it struck, and neither would he. His right hand, wet with the soldier’s blood, chopped down on her throat, silencing her whimpers as the momentum carried his arm away from her body. Jacob released her head and eyes as his forearm reversed and swung back to clothesline the UN soldier across the throat, driving her roughly to the ground. Jacob pivoted on the ball of his left foot, his right rising, the drive of his arm turning his body, and as her head struck the ground his foot fell and crushed her throat. The entire attack had taken less than three seconds, and when it was over Jacob saw that the last of the UN forces had been dealt with.

“Where’s Tuah?” Jacob asked as he, Mamat and Isko approached, Mamat favoring his left leg.

“Meng amuk?” Isko offered, though the shrug in his shoulders showed his own questions.

“Last CHU then, that’s where I heard him shout from,” Jacob directed as he turned to stride towards the source of the initial gunshots.

Rounding the open door, Jacob stopped short marveling at the carnage his fellow guerrillas had wreaked.

Mamat slid past and stepped completely into the bloodbath. Pointing to the body of a decapitated UN soldier, a rifle still clutched in dead hands, “Appears one slept with his rifle nearby, he probably died first. Tuah went amuk. They tried to dogpile him, look at how the bodies fell and the cuts. Even dying, Tuah was a master with the keris.” Mamat stopped and knelt down next to Tuah’s body, wiping the blood from the younger man’s eyes and closing them. “Insha’Allah,” the older guerilla spoke softly.

“Insha’Allah,” Isko repeated.

“He comes home with us,” Jacob stated as he leaned down, picking up Tuah’s keris he slid the sword into his sheath and offered it to Mamat, who took it.

“The camp?” Isko asked.

“Let their dead lie where they fell. The UN will come investigate and find nothing to help them. Meanwhile, we’ll continue to strike and bleed them,” Jacob replied as he rolled Tuah’s body up onto his shoulders. They’d trade carrying him back to the campsite and call for a boat to meet them near the coast to transport them back to the Beo region.


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Framed