Rogue Element

‘Two sets,’ said Coombs, digging around in the other duffel bag and coming up with the trophies. ‘Plus TACBEs,’ he added holding up three smaller tactical beacons, radios that sent out a constant radio signal that could be picked up by satellites and aircraft monitoring the distress frequency. The TACBEs could also be modified to broadcast low-power radio messages to aircraft circling overhead — good for keeping your whereabouts discreet. Not all of the gear had been pilfered. Most of it had come from Supply.

‘And look at all this sexy shit,’ exclaimed Coombs, pulling assorted Cordura magazine holders and chest webbing for 40 mm grenades from the duffel bags. ‘What all the best SpecWarries are wearing this autumn.’ He threw them to PTEs Chris Ferris, Smell Morgan and James Littlemore to sort and hand around. PTEs Greg Curry, Stu Beck, Kevin ‘Gibbo’ Gibson and Mac Robson mooched around the table to see what treasures they could claim.

‘I bet none of you losers have seen one of these babies before.’ Coombs pulled a small, unusual-looking machine pistol out of a thigh pocket. The weapon had a carbon fibre handle and a ceramic barrel. He removed the magazine. Polymer-cased ceramic projectiles. Real black stuff. The pistol was extremely light and appeared to contain no metal parts. A nasty little toy designed to foil X-ray machines at places like airports and embassies.

‘South African?’ enquired Curry.

Coombs nodded. ‘Where else? God knows what something like this is intended for here. Probably just some wanker’s toy.’

‘Any hairdryers?’ asked Gibson playfully. He’d recently shaved his head to get rid of a bad case of lice.

At that moment an Australian major walked into the demountable with a couple of men in nondescript uniforms — the spooks. The informal atmosphere within the room instantly dissolved, not because there was an officer present or because he had company but because the men could tell from their guests’ body language that there was news. ‘You’re going in,’ the major said as he loaded a disk into the laptop attached to a projector on the table, and turned it on. The computer booted up and the overhead light went off.

The now familiar overhead view of the remains of the 747 appeared on the wall. It was replaced quickly by a view from a similar angle of the logging camp. Both shots were slightly different to the ones Wilkes and his men had seen earlier, because they were more recent and taken at a different hour of the day. The camp had obviously been destroyed with the tents and other structures all burned.

‘We’ve just got word from Canberra. There are Indonesian troops — we think it’s our Kopassus friends — in the jungle. And they’re hunting for crash survivors,’ said one of the spooks. An electricity filled the room. Wilkes’s Warriors exchanged glances. Not much shocked them any more, but this news was beyond even their experience.

A new satellite image flashed up on the wall. A number of bright green dots floated on the darker green chaos of the vegetation. ‘Precisely which of these dots are Kopassus and which are our survivors is uncertain, although we do have a point of view. Initial reports suggested around twenty unfriendlies, plus two survivors. Unfortunately, we can only locate twenty contacts in total, rather than twenty-two. That could mean any number of things, including the worst — that our survivors have already been eliminated. However, the deployment of these forces would suggest something different.’

Another image was projected on top of the previous slide. ‘Now, if we superimpose a topographical map over the satellite view, the picture gets clearer.’

‘An ambush,’ said Wilkes.

‘Classic,’ nodded the spook. ‘The way the Indon soldiers are deployed makes their intentions obvious. That leaves two separate pairs of contacts away from the main group.’ He circled them with a laser pencil. ‘One of those sets is our pair of survivors. Obviously we can’t be sure which is which but this pair here appears to be static,’ he said pointing to the contacts at the base of the image. ‘They could well be in hiding, which could explain their lack of movement. This couple up here appears to be on the move. One interpretation is that they could be forward scouts.’

The major stepped in. ‘As has been said, we can’t be sure which set of contacts are the survivors. These photos are less than half an hour old. The satellite we have on this is taking shots of the area at every pass, so we’ll hopefully be able to freshen the intel at least once before you go in.

‘These two people have lived through a plane crash and survived three days in the jungle. You’re tasked to get to them before the Indons do, and bring them out.’

‘Just two questions, Major,’ Wilkes said after considering the presentation. ‘Dili’s a good 500 nautical miles from there. If we load now, and I assume we’ll be in Black Hawks flying nap of the earth for most of it, we’ll be pushing shit uphill to get there within four, but more likely six, hours from now.