Mark Birch groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. "And you thought Rene was the troublemaker?"
"Hey, I never said I was wrong about that one. And Takeshi's not a troublemaker, he's an idiot." Bob glanced down briefly. "Anyway, he's out for a while. We're stuck here. He may be an idiot, but I'm not firing him. He's been a good, loyal crewman for years now."
The hand slid down Birch's face and off the bottom of the screen. "You should have no problem finishing your current mission without him, but damn, Bob. You have to be on Hainan ASAP. Hainan is not a fun place to be understaffed. The Chinese Navy is all over that part of the sea."
"So what, you want me to find a bounty hunter or something to help? There are probably enough lone mercs around here. This is a huge city." Bob scratched his chin. "And anyway, the Chinese Navy? We can't even understand them. Sato's the only one who speaks Chinese, and his is rusty as hell."
Birch pressed his fingertips to his temples. "I swear to god, Bob, why do you have to lose the guy you actually need right before the mission? You're worse than Zeke. Anyway, I'm going to see about finding you someone for the job. If you lose anyone else and can't deal with it yourself you're coming home, and there will be no discussion."
Bob knew what that meant. Fresh jobs, and therefore the source of money, had been tight for quite some time, despite the fairly lavish lifestyle the mercenaries enjoyed when in port. A crew of too few men would be unable to operate effectively and would be forced to disband or merge into the other crew. "All right, I'll look too."
"Finish your mission, Bob." Birch ended the call.
The call had replayed itself in Bob's mind several times. This latest time, he was sitting in Chariya's van, heading out of Bangkok through a fairly light early-morning traffic jam. Chariya seemed to have recovered substantially since the previous day. Her eyes were still somewhat reddened, but the color had returned to her face. The boisterous attitude had been replaced with one of focus. Zachary Taylor, in the front seat once again, had not needed to tell her to keep her eyes on the road. Bob suspected the mercenary wouldn't in any event- Taylor seemed to be dozing off. He had misunderstood orders and stayed out too late.
One of Chariya's fellow agents, one accustomed to working with lone mercenaries and bounty hunters, had offered to locate a Chinese-speaking replacement for the Hainan mission. English was not an issue; despite the rarity of English speakers outside of Bangkok, the capital had become inundated with English speakers as it grew economically. Combined with a high incidence of mercenaries, bounty hunters, and other soldiers of fortune, Bangkok was possibly one of the best places in the world to find a replacement for Takeshi.
The traffic jam had ended. For the third time, the edge of the Bangkok suburbs was in sight. The highway stretched out ahead to the horizon, meeting wispy clouds at the edge of the sky. Rice paddies surrounded the road, only broken by rivers and palm trees. All the world seemed to be the same lush, tropical green and blue. The road was the lone exception- a worn, gray asphalt with painted lines denoting the four lanes. Bob watched the lines pass- at least they moved. The landscape was too much. Bob had begun to feel at peace with the terrain- a reasonable sensation given the idyllic simplicity of the area, but not one he trusted. Peace was a lie- that was what a career of war had taught Sadeski.
"What are you watching?" Leah Silverstone leaned forward to rest her head on Bob's shoulder.
"Just the lines." Bob murmured. "The rice farms all look the same."
"The lines are the same too. They just move at a different speed." She draped her bare arms across Bob's chest, clasping them in front of him. "It's not the road that matters, it's the company you travel with." She slowly drew backwards, pulling her arms up Sadeski's shirt and eventually reaching his neck. Bob willingly turned his shoulders in her hands until he was facing the back row of seats. Leah sat in a blue bathing suit in a patch of tinted morning sunlight streaming in through the window.
"For me, this is a rest stop." He lazily brought one arm to rest on hers.
Silverstone began pulling the arm back toward herself, keeping it in contact with Bob's as he slowly mirrored her with his own arm. "It's my road." Her voice was soft and low- Bob would have expected some regret, but heard none this time. Their hands came together in the middle and clasped.
"You can see some amazing things on the highway if you move at the right speed." Bob felt as though his whole being had focused into his eyes and was now perceiving Silverstone in front of him.
"Well, I'll just have to keep up with you, and you can show me what I'm missing." She smiled at him, a genuine, if slightly mischievous, smile, and pulled Bob slightly toward her.
"Bob?"
The mercenary captain suddenly became aware of an ammo crate jutting against his forehead. He was bent forward in his seat at an almost flat angle, his seat belt long since overstretched. Rene Levancon was watching him from the right with a worried expression. The Frenchman had not been allowed to ride the motorcycle. On the other side, Gordon was faintly snoring.
Sadeski sat up slowly. "What is it, Rene?" The older man's voice was absolutely acidic.
Rene sensed the danger. "Nothing, nothing! I just wanted to make sure you were all right! You fell asleep strangely."
Bob looked out the windshield. It looked much the same as it had before, except the ocean was visible far to the southeast. A small hamlet was visible an indeterminate distance ahead. "I'm fine, Rene, just fine." he growled.
Chariya's eyes darted to the mirror and back. "About two more hours. Sleep now, you'll need it later."
The Thai agent was right. It was mid-afternoon when the van pulled over the hill blocking Trat town from view. Several hours of lackluster time-wasting ensued. Bob and Rene immediately pulled out their phones and walked off in opposite directions. Gordon slept through most of the day, leaving Zachary and Chariya to entertain themselves. The group reconvened, as planned, just after nine o'clock.
Night had fallen on Trat. It was under the view of one of the few working streetlights near the road to the rubber plantation that Chariya opened a laminated map of the province. The mercenaries gathered around her. All had changed into their black night mission clothes.
"All right." Her tone was all business. "The main road is probably not safe. They have that lookout even during the day and when the men are away. We must circle west of the village and strike from the jungle."
"We kill the boss and any obvious Khmer Rouge who get in the way. No civilians." Sadeski sounded strong as ever, but his voice seemed to lack its usual bite. "Rene, you can shoot the damn dog."
The Frenchman gave what he thought was an evil grin. "Thank you, Bob. With pleasure."
Weston stroked his rapidly thickening beard. "We're leaving right away. I'm driving. I don't think they know the van yet."
"Why would they?" Taylor hefted his machine gun. He had been designated crowd control if needed.
"Always be safe," Gordon proclaimed. "You never know." He gave a broad smile.
"Right. Follow me." Chariya led the mercenaries to the northwest, skirting the plantation.
It was nearly impossible to see in the rubber plantation, despite the neat rows of trees. The jungle, once they had entered at the far northwest of the plantation, was so thick that the mercenaries were force to each hold the shoulder of the man in front. The party slowly progressed northward, Chariya leading the way.
Rene Levancon, third in the line, stepped in something that squished under his combat boot's toe. "I hate this place," he muttered under his breath, "and everything in it."
"Can it." Sadeski hissed. At the front of the line, Taylor's strides were carrying him too close to Chariya. He had already walked into her once, not noticing she had stopped to avoid a tree, and his hand had now slipped forward down her shoulder.
"Zach, two inches down and I'm going to shoot you." Chariya growled. Sadeski was coming to realize that the agent's misfortune with lechery was comparable to Sato's notorious luck with women in general.
After nearly twenty minutes, a glow became visible through the trees. Approaching the village, it became obvious that this glow was coming from the central fire. The mercenaries spread themselves along the edge of the jungle just north of the chief's house, watching Mao Munney performing a ritual. The common folk of the village had formed a square to the south and watched with expressions ranging from fear to sadness to amazement. At the chief's back stood approximately thirty Khmer Rouge in their black uniforms and red bandannas. One stood forward from the group.
The mercenaries readied their weapons. Rene raised an assault rifle, sighting the chief. Less than ten feet away, Bob held his guns at the ready but kept his eyes on Levancon. The Frenchman would be doing the sharpshooting tonight.
From near the fire, the chief picked up a bone mask nearly identical to the one worn by the fallen "Kting Voar." A gasp went up from the villagers at the sight of the skull. Mao Munney held it close to the fire, and the nearest villagers shrank away, whimpering in Khmer. The Khmer Rouge man who had stood alone now walked forward to the fire. Munney raised the skull mask over his head, slowly bringing it down above the terrorist.
A bullet struck the skull, shattering the fragile bone. The chief stopped mid-chant, his eyes now fixed on the space between the two horns he was now holding. His chosen warrior glanced about, brushing shards of bone from his long hair. The assembled commoners began murmuring in what sounded like angry tones.
"God dammit, Rene." Bob realized he'd spoken aloud just after the words escaped his mouth. The chief and several warriors turned to the source of the noise, spotted Bob, and began shouting in Khmer. The assembled Khmer Rouge began fumbling for their weapons.
"I didn't shoot!" Levancon's voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of five automatic weapons opening fire on the terrorists. Most of the men went down without returning a shot. A few squeezed off two or three bullets into the jungle before succumbing. Three fled eastward, toward the Cambodian border. Mao Munney himself was thrown sideways by a large-caliber bullet to the torso. Looking to the south, Bob spotted the woman who had been guarding the entrance on their last visit. She was now rapidly advancing on the wounded Munney with her rifle. Not waiting for the chief to stop writhing in pain long enough to speak to her, she fired a second bullet at point-blank range into the man's head.
The mercenaries stopped firing as the last terrorists fell. A stunned silence hung over the villagers, and then joyous cries began to rise from the crowd. The old man Rene had spoken with, after a brief word with the guard, called out in French. Levancon turned to his companions. "It's safe. They want to thank us." He stepped forward from the trees, and the Khmer villagers surged forward, surrounding him and the guard. The other mercenaries cautiously followed suit and were in turn greeted in the same manner.
In a few short minutes, the celebrations died down. Rene was speaking to several village elders in his native French. He broke off the meeting after several minutes and turned to Sadeski. "They'll be appointing this old man the new chief. With the Khmer Rouge gone, many of them plan to move to Trat and join 'modern society,' as they call it." Levancon rolled his eyes.
"It is modern society for them. They were just being led around by a guy with a cow skull. Play nice." Bob was impressed by Rene, despite his outward attitude. The Frenchman was showing remarkable improvement. Perhaps he finally had grown up.
Chariya was talking with the guard. <You shot the skull, didn't you?> Chariya asked.
The woman grinned. <I did! Long shot.>
<Why did you do that? You would have been in trouble if we hadn't arrived at such a lucky time.> Chariya hefted her Uzi.
<I saw you coming.> The grin became even wider. <I see everything. You too obvious. Take the road next time!>
Chariya laughed in embarrassment. <Thank you very much.>
The mercenaries were not keen on overstaying their welcome. They were followed to the south by a cacophony of goodbyes in Thai, Khmer, and broken English or French. The guard's advice was certainly useful- it was a mere fifteen minutes later that the van pulled onto the main road, headed back to Bangkok.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
