ShadowShot : L'enfant Guerrier Page 3

  For me it just sounded like an adventure that would pay really well. I had always taken to hunting and weapons. Working in that environment seemed to be natural for me. Of course my dad Frank was a great teacher. Somehow there was more to it than that. I just didn’t know what it was. The photo slides were troubling I must admit, but at my age I was young and dumb. I rationalized that kind of thing would not happen to me. There was no question in my mind I was going back in for the job. The next thing I knew I was training to be a mercenary, in Africa.

  When I was growing up other kids my age were mostly reading comic books, while I was fascinated by reading the atlas. Places with names like the Congo were magical to me. So it was not surprising to me as a young man I would disregard the discomforts and extreme danger that were part of this job.

  When our plane landed, I had the first taste of what real heat felt like. I say taste because it felt like I could actually taste and smell the heat. At night I became a smorgasbord for insects that I never knew even existed. So-called boot camp was easier than I thought it would be, because either they did not expect us to be around for long, or they were just in a hurry to get us where they needed us to be. At any rate, after I fell into the routine of surviving with the heat, humidity, flying crawling- creatures, constantly being told what to do, and worst of all being told to get up early, not everything was that bad.

  After boot camp I was mostly driving a truck. Occasionally I was assigned a boat. Frank had taught me about boats on the lake at home. Another useful present my father gave me. Once on a delivery run, I was in one small firefight where I snapped off a few shots. I don’t believe I hit anything. Some of the other men talked about their first kill. They bragged about what it was like. It hadn’t happened for me yet. I didn’t really have any feelings about it one-way or the other.

  I had managed to procure as my weapons of choice none other than the 303 British jungle carbine and the famous Winchester trench gun, the Winchester 97-12gauge 16-inch barrel with a bayonet. Turned out the guns from my childhood were readily available. I marveled at the wisdom of my father Frank. I also carried a Smith & Wesson six shot revolver with six-inch barrel. Of course I acquired a nice hunting knife, and in my boot I kept a heavy throwing knife. My skill with a throwing knife was actually quite good. I didn’t let on about it. I guess I felt that was somehow my own private little backup

  6

  THE AMBUSH

  There were always spies on both sides. This particular time the rebels must have found out ahead of time that we were taking a lorry with ammunition and medical supplies to an outpost. I was driving the big lorry. There was a Jeep in front of me with four guys and a 30-caliber machine gun. Behind me was an open truck with another machine gun and six other guys. My Sergeant was in my passenger seat. There were two guys in the back. One of the guys was a friend called Oscar. He was the kind of guy that if there were a way to get out of doing something he would find it. If there were a way to be comfortable and relax on duty, he would find that also. Nevertheless, everybody liked him. He was easy-going and had a good sense of humor. Oscar’s real strong suit was his expertise with his B.A.R. (Browning Automatic Rifle).

  Oscar wanted to ride in the back, no doubt so he could stretch out on some cases of ammunition. We were supposed to be heading to a reasonably secured area. About 50 miles out we were passing through a cut in the rocks. On the driver side was a steep sheer cliff. The other side was much more gradual. It had rained the day before and the sides of the road were slippery. When the lead Jeep got a hundred yards from the cut, they were hit with an old bazooka. The explosion flipped them over and it looked like it killed all of the men. The Jeep was on fire and blocking the road.

  I slammed on the brakes. At the same moment, the rebels opened up on us with everything they had. My sergeant took a bullet in the chest right away. I grabbed the 97, slid out the driver’s door and got behind a wheel. All of the enemy fire was directed at the truck behind me. Our machine gunner managed to get off some rounds before he was taken out along with another guy. The four other men made it to cover behind some rocks and returned fire as best they could.

  With the bullets whizzing all over the place I didn’t hear anything from Oscar or the other guy in the back. I yelled out to him when there was a break in the gunfire. I believe the rebels probably wanted the cargo and wanted the lorry drivable. I yelled to Oscar again. I heard him groan. “Are you okay?” I called.

  Oscar grunted back, “Yeah, I cracked my head when you slammed on the brakes. This other guy is dead. A couple of strays must have hit through the side of the canvas.”

  We had to get out of there. It would only be a matter of time before they picked us all off.

  I yelled back to the guys behind the rocks, “When Oscar puts down cover fire, break for it. Don’t try to climb into the back. Cut your way into the canvas on the side. They won’t take a chance on blowing the ammo up. When you’re in, I will drive us out of here.”

  I yelled to Oscar to cut a gun hole and give them everything he had. The men behind the rocks made a break for it. I jumped in. When the last man made it in the side, I slammed it into gear and floored it.

  The Jeep was burning and there were dead guys all around it. I had to run over a couple of them before I knocked the Jeep out of the way. We were taking fire now. The guys in back were returning good fire, but the ambushers still wanted the truck. Now they were shooting at the tires and the engine. Another couple of seconds and we would be through the cut and out of their line of fire.

  We made it! I guess they hadn’t planned the ambush as well as they could have. I felt that we had a couple of tires shot. The lorry was a six wheeler and we had plenty of rubber to go on. Suddenly two rebels jumped into the road ahead of us 300 yards up. I yelled to Oscar. The partition behind my seat was open. The Sergeant had been shot through a side window.

  Oscar yelled, “Cover your face!” He let loose with the B.A.R. The windshield disintegrated into thousands of pieces. The glass was hammering me. The worst thing was the muzzle blast from the 30.06 B.A.R. so close to my ear. Fortunately Oscar got them. There was nothing else that he could have done.

  In life I have learned many lessons. I was roaring down the road as fast as I could. Oscar’s victims were lying dead in the narrow road. I should have run them over. Seconds before I had driven over my own guys to escape. For a reason I can’t explain, I swerved almost to the point of catching a wheel in the ditch to avoid them. As I passed the bodies, a grenade detonated. One of them must’ve pulled a pin. If I had run over them the grenade would’ve gone off right under us. Skill is important, but sometimes so is luck.

  We lost a lot of men but we made it back. I received a well done and was promoted to Corporal. Sometimes a private would be called on to do latrine duty if there were no locals to do it. Most often the private would get KP duty, as the locals weren’t always trusted in the kitchen. The promotion got me out of both jobs. A big improvement for sure. I don’t believe I had shot anyone yet. Even with all of that action the 97 didn’t have the range, and I never even thought about pulling my pistol.

  7

  THE NIGHT RAID

  Things were pretty quiet for me for about a month. One day I was chosen to go on a mission probably because I was good with boats. I wasn’t told where we were going or what we were doing until we were underway. Information had come to us that a very important rebel leader was staying in a village. We were being sent to eliminate him.

  Myself included we were a five-man team. Our team leader was called the Belgium. Whether he was really a Belgian or not, I could not say. He was as mean a mother fucker as you would never want to come across. He would just as soon knock your teeth out as smile at you. Everyone stayed clear of him as much as possible. It could not be denied he was very good at killing, and he was an ultimate warrior.

  He only seemed to be content when he was inflicting pain on someone. Our Commanding Officer seemed intimidated by him. I was not pleased
about going on a mission with him. Being a small team going right in to an enemy village, we had to get in and get out fast. The Belgium had a reputation for pushing it too far and sometimes some guys that went out with him didn’t come back. Going into a standup fight was one thing. This was the first time that I felt apprehensive. I didn’t have any choice in the matter but to follow orders and go.

  We traveled first by truck. We arrived where a rubber raft with an outboard motor was waiting. We continued the next day by boat. When we were near we took cover until dark. I decided I might be more comfortable about the operation if I knew more about it, making the mistake of asking the Belgium what the plan would be. He jabbed his finger into my chest and said, “Just shut the fuck up and do as you are told!” We continued by night until we got to our destination. The motor had been fitted with a silenced muffler so it was very quiet. We traveled slow and quiet, crawling on the river for the last two or three miles. The Belgium told me to pull it in and he pointed to a spot. I wondered how he knew where we were. There was barely just enough nightlight to see.

  We pulled up onto the shoreline a little ways. The raft was rubber so it wasn’t that heavy. I couldn’t help but thinking if our craft took even a few bullets… no more raft. It was about a quarter of a mile to get to the camp. We had to be very quiet. The Belgium and another man put some booby-traps down. I asked one of the men how to be sure we didn’t set them off ourselves.

  He said, “Just follow the man in front of you”.

  Not very reassuring. I would’ve been more than happy to stay and guard the raft.

  One young man wouldn’t have done that much good anyway. If the raft had been discovered it would have been too late. We would have to make it through the jungle the best we could. We got to the perimeter. I was told to stay put and be quiet. I was instructed to hold the perimeter if we had to run for it.

  Beside my 97, I had an M1 30 caliber carbine with some over-sized clips. I was told this would serve me better. It didn’t have the range or the knock down of my 303 Enfield, but it was fast and accurate with a lot of firepower. So my job was to hold the perimeter and cover their retreat if need be. For the moment I stopped worrying about the booby-traps. I was mostly worried about doing things right and not letting my team down. There was no room for mistakes. I needed to be 100% on top of this.

  All four of them carried silenced pistols as well as their usual weapons. I hadn’t been given many details other than the mission was to take out this one rebel leader and then get out of there.

  The team took out two guards who seemed to be all who were posted. They moved on to their objective. It seemed like hours, but only 30 minutes had passed. I could see the four of them moving out of the camp and circling back to the tree line. I was relieved because it was starting to get close to dawn. As I was starting to feel better shots rang out. The team had been discovered. The shots came from the tree line, forcing them to make a break through the clearing.

  The four of them ran with everything they had. I didn’t have a target yet, but I put some burst cover fire into the tree line. Halfway across the clearing one of the men was hit. Everyone was returning fire as they ran. The Belgium turned around and took a quick look. He put two slugs in our downed soldier. This was an acceptable standard. No one wanted to be taken alive. Later I couldn’t help wondering just how bad the wounded man was. Maybe the Belgium just didn’t want to have to carry him, which would have been consistent with his reputation.

  Then I spotted targets. I took aim and was reminded of deer hunting with my dad. I made sure to pick out each target and I dropped three rebels. My first Kill! The team reached my location and kept running. I was not sure how long I was to hold this position, but I fell in behind. I started to worry about where I stepped. The camp was up and starting to pursue us. I heard the last booby-trap do its job. It would slow them down a little.

  We were getting close to the raft. The Belgium was leading us into a small clearing. At that moment we ran into a rebel patrol. There was about seven of them. There was also a woman with two small children. Suddenly we were all facing each other. All hell broke loose. One of the guards pushed the woman down. She tried to cover her children with her body as best she could. There were bullets flying everywhere. I emptied a fresh clip with the 30-caliber, although with hindsight the 97 would’ve been better. It didn’t matter. When the smoke cleared all the rebels were down. We had lost one man, which left three of us.

  I was standing close to the Belgium. He calmly walked over and looked at the woman protecting her children. He scoffed at them, and raised his weapon to kill them. I had an uncontrollable emotional gut reaction!

  I yelled, “No!” then I pushed him hard.

  He lost his balance as he fired his weapon. Regaining his balance, he shoved me back. It was too late. He had already killed them.

  He put a new clip in his weapon turned around and looked me in the eye. He leveled his weapon at my chest and said, “You shouldn’t have done that! Fuck you!”

  He pulled the trigger on his weapon. It went click, a miss fire.

  My 30-caliber was empty. It was slung over my shoulder. I had already switched to my 12-gauge when the shooting stopped.

  I raised my weapon and thumbed the hammer back. I pulled the trigger. It blew him 5 feet back off his feet with a full load of double 00 buck. I couldn’t believe it. This was completely senseless. Never would I forget that helpless woman trying to cover her children while he was spraying bullets into them.

  The last man from our team was known as the Frenchman. He yelled, “Move!” We started running for the raft. I followed right behind him. There was nothing else for me to do. I took one last look over my shoulder as I was running, thinking about that woman and her children lying there. When we got to the raft, I looked at the only other person left. I wasn’t really sure what his reaction to all this was going to be. He said, “Get in drive us out of here!”

  We shoved off. By now it was getting light. I gave the motor full throttle. It was all about getting away fast. Now stealth didn’t matter. I started heading for the far side of the river, thinking the further away the better.

  The Frenchman yelled, “Stay close to the bank. It reduces their field of vision.” Our pursuers probably came up on the slaughter in the clearing and it slowed them down. We heard a couple of shots break over our heads. The Frenchman put some burst fire into the shore even though he didn’t have a target. Then we were around the bend and out of harm’s way. At least the immediate danger was behind us but we were still in enemy territory. There was no certainty we would not run into other patrols.

  Neither of us spoke for quite awhile. I suppose we were both thinking about how we wanted to handle what had happened. I didn’t really know the Frenchman very well. I had seen him around camp, but this was the first time that we had worked together.

  Besides getting back in one piece, I had created a big problem. I had just killed our team leader. It was in self-defense. Even if it was warranted, it was still an up against the wall offence. No two ways about it.

  I pondered an additional problem. The Belgium didn’t have any friends who would revenge him, but he did have an older brother. Although he too was a Merck, I had never met him because he wasn’t with us. He was supposed to be somewhere in North Africa. Incredibly he was rumored to be even meaner than his kid brother, if that was possible. He would not take kindly to what just happened. It was easy to imagine that at the very least he would want to have a very detailed description of how his brother died.

  I didn’t know how the Frenchman wanted to go with this, but I had to find out. We needed to talk before for whatever reason we didn’t have a chance. I had reloaded the 30 caliber and laid it across my knees. If there was going to be a problem with the Frenchman, I didn’t want to sink the raft as well with the 12-gauge. I hoped it would not come to that.

  “Well what about it? What are we going to say?” I broke the ice.

  The Frenchman hesitat
ed for a moment then he said, “What are we going to say? Well, I know what you’re thinking. You can put your fears aside. Whatever we do, we do together. The objectives of this mission were achieved. Unfortunately, it cost too many men. If you tell it exactly like it happened, you will go to the wall. You know that they will not care about the woman and the children. They will believe that the Belgium tried to kill you because that’s how he was. They still will have to make an example of you. If nothing else, I will still have to face his brother and you’ve heard about him. No, we stick together. Retell it exactly like this. He shot the woman and two children and that is when he got hit.”

  The Frenchman thought more about their situation, and added, “The only problem could be that there’s always someone trying to sell information. The fact that he was shot with buckshot at close range, could point suspicion at you. If that should happen, which I seriously doubt, then you say he was dead and you were following protocols. You shot him once with the 12-gauge to prevent capture. I’ll say I checked him first and he was dead. We had to leave him. Okay do you have it?”

  I replied, “Got it!” I was relieved I didn’t have to kill the Frenchman. I hoped I could trust him. I was taking a risk.

  We got back and had our debriefing with the commanding officer who was a smart guy. It went pretty well. When we got to the part where the Belgium killed the woman and two children, he didn’t exactly look pleased but he didn’t say much. As for the Belgium being shot and killed, he just nodded. There was something in his eyes, maybe he just thought that the Belgium was bulletproof and was surprised that he could be killed. At any rate, he accepted our story. Then of course we had to tell it to everyone else. After a couple days, no one talked about it again. I imagine word was sent to his only relative, his older brother.

  About two weeks later trouble came from another direction. We found out that the rebels had put out a high dollar lifetime contract on anyone who was in the raid. It was paid for by the rebel target’s brother. Probably because of the woman and her children.