Читать книгу Whisper Quiet - Tim Longmire - Страница 3

The first of September 1978, it’s 01:00 exactly where we are I have no idea. I know it’s somewhere south of Panama and Fort Sherman. Other than that I am clueless as to our exact location. In the last eight hours we were loaded in this Huey, and about halfway to this location landed on some tiny airfield in the middle of nowhere, on top of a small mountain to refuel.

I look out of the window of the Huey and all I see is a moonlit landscape covered by jungle, huge trees in all directions, as far as I can see, broken from time to time by creeks and rivers. It’s a thick jungle, a green deep abysmal ocean of plants and trees, it’s alive, alive with millions of residents, from tiny ants to black panthers and cheetahs and lots of things that can kill you. We are about to increase the number of killers in it by six. I may not know where I am at, or where I am going, I do know what I am supposed to do when I get there.

Myself and five others on this chopper are being sent to kill a man. A man we have never seen and as far as I know a man who has never done anything wrong to any of us, or any of our families. But he must have pissed in someones “Wheaties”, because our government is sending in our team, some of the best snipers the military has to offer, to kill him. Yea, he pissed someone off alright, and in less than seventy two hours he will eat a bullet for it.

Two hours till my insertion, time to try and get some shut eye, I want to be able to hit the jungle floor running, alertness is the key to survival, and I know I would sure like to get back out of this place when it’s all said and done. I’ve come to realize a few things about my youth over the last few months and would like to get home and hash them out with my family. For some reason this mission is creating an even stronger urge to do go home and try and reconcile things with my family.

I look around inside the Huey, even with the doors closed the rotor noise makes it hard to speak unless you shout at each other. In the chopper with me are three other members of our Ranger team, and the two guys that are somehow in charge of this mission, Briggs and Jones. Across from me sleeping heavily is a guy named Hernandez, drool running down his mouth and dripping on the floor of the chopper. He is a joker by nature, more than a few times when we needed to be serious he would clown up, that kind of shit down here will get him or someone else killed, he was making light of the mission as we did our mission prep briefing, not paying attention and running his lips to the guy next to him in the chopper, who ignored him never making a comment.

Jennings, he has been staring out the window since we took off, I bet he hasn’t said a word to any of us for the last week, somethings up. It’s real obvious his head is not in this mission, I think he should have been scrubbed, it’s something personal. Somethings wrong someplace in his life, something bad wrong. I don’t know much about him, none of us do, he is pretty withdrawn and hasn’t opened up yet, besides he hauls ass off post all the time. He’s been in the unit for about two months, came from the first of the seventy fifth out of Georgia. His old unit has good history, almost as good as ours, after this mission, maybe I can get to know him better.

Then we have the third guy in the chopper next to me, Zach. He has got to be the craziest SOB I have ever met and is probably the closest friend I have in this world. He is like a big brother to me. He’s a sergeant, has been in the Rangers for over six years, would probably be a Staff Sergeant if it wasn’t for his temper. He’s damn good at what he does, in fact so good he kicked a full bird, leg colonel in the face one time at Benning and got away with just one stripe being pulled, any one else would have gone to Leavenworth prison and gotten a chance to make little rocks out of big rocks all day long, then spend his nights in a six by ten cell. For some reason when I showed up at the unit Zach took me under his wing, damn I’ve learned a lot from this guy. He can fight like no one I’ve ever seen before, carries a third degree black belt in both Judo and Kenpo Karate. He is an ex street kid out of Chicago’s bad side, raised rough and hard. One of his mission’s in the Rangers was to clean up the reverend Jim Jones massacre, he still has nightmares from it I can tell. When he has one he instantly has to take a shower or bath and scrubs on his skin till it turns red and he’s a black guy. Tough as nails most times. What he saw I hope I never have to experience, he is like a bowl of jello when it hits him.

My Dad was the same way after coming back from Vietnam, I don’t know what happened to him over there but my Mom said a totally different man came back. He was a veteran of World War two and the Korea conflict, hell he was a POW in Korea and it didn’t change him. But something in Vietnam turned him into a man full of anger and a mean streak as wide as any Texas highway. Turned him to drinking and fits of uncontrollable violent rage. Hell I would go to school with both eyes black and a broke nose but nothing would be done about it by any of my teachers, they were afraid of my Dad killing them and their whole genetic line. His reputation led to me being isolated and forced into becoming a loner in school, never getting asked to my anybody’s birthday parties or sleep overs.

Zach has taught me a lot about self defense and using your body to kill people, and in return I have taught his city bred and raised ass the skills I learned from being a lonely country boy. About tracking and how to survive in the woods. During the weekends and sometimes weeks in the summer I would disappear into the woods that surrounded my house as a kid. These woods were a way to escape my home life. My Mom knew I was good at it and would be OK, but she always begged me to be careful. She also knew why I lusted for this escape.

It was my Dad who first introduced me to the pure joy of being alone in the woods. In the fourth grade the scouts came to my school on a recruiting drive, it was the first Friday after school started. When I got home and had confirmed my Father was in a semi sober mood I excitedly laid out the program for him. I explained how I would pick up aluminum cans to pay for it and it would only be about sixty dollars for me to join. Of how it would allow me to become a better person, I so wanted to belong to something, to be somebody. My heart soared when he nodded his head and looked at me and said what I hoped he would,

”I think a boy needs to know how to survive in the wild, it’s a good idea you got there kid.”

I was so amazed when he got up and went into the kitchen where my Mom was, I was excited at the anticipation of him asking my Mom to make out a check for the sixty dollars, I was going to be a boy scout and finally be a part of something. My heart turned to ice when he came back into the living room a few minutes later not carrying a check, but a brown grocery sack. He set it down on the coffee table and proceeded to show me the contents of the sack, an evil grin on his face. Inside it was a P38 military can opener used for C rations, a can of pork and beans, about twenty feet of fishing line, a small knife, a few hooks and a box of matches, that was the total contents of the bag.

“Go get in the car, you want to learn how to survive in the wild, I know just the place for you to figure it out.” Twenty minutes later he stopped just before a set of railroad tracks running next to a creek.

“There are fish and frogs in this creek, they will feed you.” He pointed up the creek. “Keep your matches dry, if you survive I will pick you up Sunday night right here.”

Terror flooded over me, “I’m scared Daddy, I don’t want to do it anymore, please take me back home, there are things out there that can hurt me Daddy, please don’t make me do this.” I pleaded with my father to change his mind.

“If you think things out there can hurt you stay your ass in this car and see what the hell I will do to you, get out now!”

I scramble out of the old sixty two Plymouth we had as fast as I could. My Father pelted me with gravel as he spun off in the car. I sat down and waited for him to come back, preparing myself for another beating. After about an hour I gave up and figured it was time to start taking care of myself. I was scared and hungry the first night. I huddled under the bridge forcing my then tiny body, I was a small child, as deep under the piers of the bridge as I could. Feeling sorry for myself. But the second night I had a fire and wasn’t eating fish but was cooking a small stupid rabbit I had caught, over the fire.

That weekend I fell in love with the woods, I had found a place of escape, a place of solace, a place where I was accepted without question and without ridicule. A place I could firmly feel, grasp and relate to. I was waiting for my Dad beside the road on Sunday night, my Mom came with him, she had a black eye, no doubt because of me, I always felt so guilty. My Mom looked at me and just smiled I had a re-birth that weekend, and I skipped a few of my future birthdays, you know the ones between eight years old and thirty years old, I had grown up fast, a self sufficient young man, Daniel Boone didn’t have shit on me.

I am shaken from a lite slumber by Zach, it’s time for my insertion, Zach is next followed by, Hernandez, Jennings, Briggs and finally Jones. I will have Zach on my left and Jones to my right. Jones and Briggs make me nervous, there is something out of place with them. Briggs seems like he has some experience. But Jones, he seems like the kind of guy who needs to be a “Chair-borne Ranger”.

Zach points at the fast line hanging by the Huey door, “See you in a few days little brother, watch your damn ass.” He smiles as I step out on the chopper’s skid, ruck on my back, my rifle slung over my right shoulder.

I flip him the bird as I slide down the fast rope into the mouth of the dark jungle below me, a sense of dread over runs me for a second, I look down to make sure it’s clear below, looks OK, I must just have the jitters, after all it’s my first mission.

Once on the ground I look up to see Zach’s head peering down at me, a grin from ear to ear as he flips me the bird in response to my salute to him. As the chopper begins ascending into the air, I see Zach’s grin evaporate, my fear tells me it is the last time I will see him or any of my Ranger buddies alive, I think he feels it also.

The jungle noises quieted by the choppers presence begin returning slowly to a loud crescendo after its departure. Its 03:00 and the hunt begins, I hate this place already. I instinctively lift my rifle to my left shoulder and look down the barrel doing a perimeter sweep of the clearing I’m in. First right then back left. I can’t see through the scope the treeline is too damn dark. Hell I can barely make out the trees other than they create a point where the stars end and the darkness begins. I have to wait here until just before sunrise.

Briggs told us the new piece of equipment, the Global Positioning Device, or GPS as him and Jones call it. It won’t be able to link up and give us our plotting course to the villa until it can acquire three satellites to triangulate from. This piece of shit ain’t never gonna catch on, reading a map is just too damn easy. All I know is I would rather of had a map and a lensatic compass, they don’t need any damn thing to “Link up too”, other than each other, your hand, eye and brain. That reminds me I need to get too some better cover so I can get properly dressed with the shit I wasn’t supposed to bring. I chuckle a bit as I head towards the treeline reaching back and patting my butt pack suspended underneath my ruck.