Redemption (15 page)

“I don’t want to fight with you, Twinkie, nor any of you. We were doing nothing but practicing,” Namara retorted.

Twinkie laughed loudly and arrogantly while flexing his muscles.

“You’re scared, girly? Come here, I’m going to send you back to where you belong, kick your arse right back to New York.”

“Ok, Twinkie. Be my guest,” said Namara.

He raised his guard again, waiting for Twinkie to approach. He had to be twice his size. Twinkie hollered and charged him at full speed. He threw a punch, which Namara dodged. He swung his leg, throwing him off balance. Twinkie leapt forward to avoid falling on his face. Namara took his momentum, making him turn completely on himself to send his fist on the chin at full speed. Twinkie’s two feet raised from the ground and a snap was heard on impact. Twinkie keeled over with all his weight in the ring, unconscious. The force of his fall broke the floorboards. The rest of the team as well as the other soldiers grimaced upon hearing the force of the hit. Twinkie was unconscious and he wasn’t more than a heap of inert muscle five seconds after challenging Namara. Danny saluted, indicating that the battle was quite done.

“I think that’s enough for today,” said Danny.

“Shit, what is this guy?” whispered Gonzo, who was incredulous to see Twinkie knocked out in a few seconds. Nobody had ever succeeded in beating him in the ring until now.

“Well, well… the Igor puzzle comes together… we’re beginning to get the why... ” said Mike, smiling.

Guerra began to laugh at the comment, all while holding his still-bleeding nose.

“Goddam, Twinkie doesn’t know when to stop,” said Taz, unhappy with the unprofessional spectacle. “Gonzo! Mike! Get him out of the ring right away!”

The two climbed into the ring and laughed.

“Sorry, Taz, I didn’t want it to happen like this,” said Namara, still standing in the arena.

“Don’t be. He asked for it. You beat him good… I might be wrong about you. But I don’t want that type of fighting in my camp. It’s bad for group solidarity. We aren’t street thugs, we’re professional soldiers that are here to do a very specific job! Understand?”

“Duly noted.”

Namara left the ring and Guerra glanced at him and gave him a pat on the back while Mike and Gonzo were struggling to move Twinkie, inert as a rock. The other members of the unit began to go about their business. One could hear laughter from some and animated discussions. Everyone, including Twinkie, began to get to know the new guy.

Namara was cleaning his gun when the other group members approached him. The first to break the silence was Twinkie.

“Danny… I… I came to apologize. I was out of line.” murmured Twinkie, visibly ill at making apologies.

“Don’t worry, Twinkie, I’m not mad. I won!” said Namara, shrugging at him.

The others guffawed.

“Yeah, yeah, ok! I get it, I deserved it,” said Twinkie with two hands in his pants pockets and head lowered like a boy who had been caught doing something wrong.

“You know… Twinkie’s a good lad,” said Mike, sniggering.

“Yes, but he has a little dick! ” retorted Guerra.

They all guffawed except Twinkie.

“Hey, fuck you Guerra! That's not what your sister told me when I dated her! ” spit back Twinkie.

“Well... maybe that's because she's a prostitute and wanted your money, that's why!” said Guerra with a smile.

“Alright! Alright! All of you, just shut the fuck up godammit!!! It's worst than a kindergarten here! ” shouted Taz with a slight air of contrariness.

“You’re now the hot topic of conversation for the camp. Everyone’s asking who you are. Honestly, you did good. To beat Twinkie like that, it was funny shit!” said Gonzo.

“Can you also dodge bullets?” asked Mike with a smile.

“Nothing is impossible... but you try first! ” said Namara.

“I’m counting on you to kick all those trafficking motherfuckers’ arses,” said Mike.

“On behalf of the group, I officially bid you welcome from all of us!” said Taz, extending his hand.

“Thank a lot,” said Namara, taking it.

“Good, back to business, let’s eat and move it before Twinkie eats everything!” said Taz.

“Real funny, Sarge,” said Twinkie.

All went together to eat when darkness was semi-total and when the nocturnal birdsongs began to drift through the heart of the jungle.

CHAPTER 17

“Kids, we have a mission,” said Taz.

All were seated in a room of the camp that served as a briefing room. Taz was currently standing beside a huge map of the region hung on the wall.

“An informer alerted us to the presence of a clandestine lab for cocaine production in the heart of the jungle. It would be about forty miles from here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the approximate location.

“Is it factory-scale or smaller?” asked Guerra.

“No idea. I don’t have that information, nor on how many wankers we’ll come across. We don’t have much intelligence or photos. All we have is the
approximate
place where it
might
be situated. Our mission is to find the place, if does it in fact exist. Secondly, we must determine if it is in fact a lab and finally, do the cleaning and return in fact alive. We’ll leave by helicopter and drop about nine miles from the given location. We’ll do the rest of the recon on foot. We leave in seventeen hours. For the rest of the details, it’s for us to determine how we proceed and that they are our tasks for each of us. Any questions?”

Everyone stayed silent. Namara was pensive.
This time, it’s not a scenario or an exercise. It’s real.

“Great, I suggest that we hammer out the remaining details now. Once that’s done, we can prepare our equipment and grab a bit of rest before leaving, ok?”

Everyone agreed. The whole team sat around the table and all assembled the equipment to carry, the tasks of each, the ideas and the opinions of each. Everyone had two cents to put in and everyone listened. They took time to work out every little detail and to agree on the best way to proceed. Their planning session lasted five hours. They left the room each on their way to prepare and test their equipment. After having prepared, Namara laid down to catch some rest before leaving. He slept a dreamless sleep.

*     *     *

They were clambered onto a helicopter. All were seated on the ledge with feet that hung in space. The helicopter rose over the green valley, criss-crossing several meters above the canopy, the tops of trees passing quickly under their feet. Namara, like all the others, was dressed in green khaki combat gear. They all wore military
funny hats
and their faces were painted black and green to melt into the jungle. The pilot shouted when they arrived at their drop zone. The helicopter hovered. They were all attached to harnesses and dropped their cords with which they let themselves slide to the ground.

“GO!” shouted Taz, who had trouble being heard over the noise of the rotor.

They jumped into the void at the same time to rappel down the lines. In the space of a few seconds, they’d dropped so many meters and touched down in a little river, which was free of the ubiquitous trees. That allowed the group to reach the ground with their equipment without getting tangled in the canopy. They detached their lines and dispatched into the jungle to disappear. They were vulnerable because nobody could know if the enemy was watching them or had heard them arrive. They had to descend and move as fast as possible from the touch-down point to avoid being spotted. After several meters in the hollow of the jungle, the group squatted to hear around them. They heard the noise of the helicopter moving away. All seemed normal. The group was equipped with a system of communication that worked with vocal cord vibration. They could communicate among themselves without raising their voice, which was necessary behind enemy lines.

“Ok, advance for recon. Mike, take care! Avoid useless communication,” said Taz.

Mike advanced quietly several meters, armed with his M16. He squatted for an instant to listen and observe. All seemed normal. He raised his arms to indicate to the group to rejoin him. The group advanced in silence toward him. He continued this tactic in the direction of their target, rotating at each turn in their task. After several hours of recon, the first to spot a human presence was Gonzo, who made a sign to the group by pointing to the tip of his nose. All paid attention and smelled something burning, indicating that they weren’t alone. Taz motioned with his head to indicate that he’d smelled it as well.

They moved slowly in silence. After a bit of time, they noticed tips of roofs that seemed built out of wood. Taz signed for the group to stop. He gave an order to withdraw, which they followed. The group picked up their pace for several kilometres to move away from the place and avoid being spotted. They had found the facility. Namara’s heart was beating at full speed when he saw the buildings. Never had he felt such a feeling. A mix of adrenaline and fear. He hadn’t realized how intense it could be. Now, he lived it and understood how soldiers did their work. He was hooked on the sensation.
It was a drug when experimented once.

“Perfect, we’ve found our target. Now, it’s to determine what the place is. We’ll make camp here. Everyone rotate on night guard waiting for our scouts with intel. Namara and Guerra, take the equipment you need and get back here with complete rundown of the area! Good luck, men,” said Taz. “As for the rest of you, complete silence and stay on guard!”

The rest of the group watched them leave in the dense vegetation hoping that all would go well, knowing that the task of collecting intel without being spotted was delicate work, extremely dangerous and a huge responsibility in particular for a newbie like Namara. Taz was testing him to put his trust and all respected their sergeant’s decision, everyone concentrating on what they must do.

*     *     *

Namara and Guerra approached the area where they had seen the tops of roofs. They agreed to separate, circle the site on each side and join at the other side. At that moment, their task became surgical. They lost sight of each other immediately. Namara continued to advance, moving ever closer. The structures began to take form and grow. He could even begin to hear human voices. At that moment, he wondered if he could be around five metres from the camp. He lay down on his stomach to camouflage in the high grasses.

He continued to advance crawling at a turtle’s speed. He advanced gently several meters and he stopped to listen if he wasn’t spotted. The ground was damp and muddy. It didn’t take long for him to become completely wet and soiled with sludge. There was a sweltering humidity and his equipment rendered his task even more painful. He felt like he was close. He could hear men’s voices talking in Spanish. He also felt the noise of steps, but his vision was interrupted by the long grasses. He continued to advance like a snail to finally realize that he was nearly at the boarder of the camp. Two men conversed together, smoking cigarettes. The two held AK-47’s. Namara’s heart beat at full speed. Maybe one of them could see him. He froze completely. He thought he could see one of the men looking in his direction, but finally the latter continued his discussion. He played dead for a moment to calm himself down. When he felt ready, he stayed in his position to observe the movements of the men present. Namara began to execute his task. He pulled out his digital camera and began to capture the men that patrolled, the buildings, the crates they pushed around. After a moment, he decided to scoot closer to see another side of the camp and see if he could get new info. He was exhausted. He was coated in much from his feet to his hair. He knew that he was there for several hours already and he hadn’t bypassed but a tiny part of the camp. He snapped a photo when a man armed with a machine gun walked directly in his direction. Danny’s heart was going crazy and he prayed to not be seen. He dropped his camera and pulled out his 9mm with the silencer and aimed it at the coming guard and at the pace with which he advanced. He knew that if he had to shoot, that it wouldn’t be long before the others were alerted to him and the operation was seriously compromised.

He laid his finger on the trigger and began to squeeze slowly when he saw the man unzip his fly to piss. The man had to be less than a metre from Namara. The man dropped his gun on the ground and began to whistle while he heard the sound of liquid splash on the grass. Namara aimed at his head with his gun, but he didn’t blink an eye. The man didn’t perceive anything of Namara’s presence buried in the long grass that surrounded the camp. The man zipped his pants, collected his weapon and disappeared behind a building as quickly as he’d come. Namara sighed with relief.

“Asshole,” muttered Namara, tucking away his gun.

He circled the camp in this way at a slow speed and with the furtiveness of a cat. He didn’t see Guerra, but he supposed that he was doing the same thing on the other side. Several hours later, on the other side, he saw a muddy mass with two eyes looking right at him. It was Guerra. The latter made a sign to withdraw back to their camp, which he returned. When they could no longer see the buildings on the horizon, they raised into a crouched position to rejoin the others with the intel.

*     *     *

“The informer was right. The location is indeed a cocaine plant. I counted about six buildings. There could be several million dollars of cocaine judging by the size of the crates they moved between the buildings and the quantity of refinement products they transported. It’s a medium-sized plant I would say,” said Guerra, showing the photos taken to the group members.

“About fifteen men, all armed with assault rifles. Impossible to say whether they’re trained or not, but I wouldn’t exclude the possibility that they have access to explosives,” said Namara.

“Good work,” said Taz. “Let’s diagram the camp with your photos.”

Taz made a simple sketch on the paper, focusing on accuracy of building placement. He separated the camp into divisions so each took charge of a part to control the space in a few minutes.