Ch 39
V 1.5
A/N 1: There is no real excuse for my having delayed updating this story, just three weak ones, which I will talk about at the end of the chapter. However, I've been getting antsy to write again, and since I've gotten encouragement in an unexpected form, I was able to finish up this chapter in about a week and a half. As a form of making up for this unwarrantable delay, I have some humorous omakes at the end of this chapter.
Five nautical miles off Koh Tao Island,
Surat Thani Province,
Gulf of Thailand
Early July
mid afternoon
(two months before story start)
There was an old sailor's saying to the effect that 'Red in the morning, sailors take warning; red at night, sailors' delight'. It had to do so with the color of the sky when the sun rose and set. Sky colors were affected by the amount of atmospheric moisture and debris in the air, and the premise was that while having a colorful sunset was a good thing, watching the morning sky turn red due to an oncoming storm was never was. This morning had been beautiful, the sight of the crimson sun reflecting off the clouds in the darkened sky known as akatsuki in Japanese. However, the aching feeling that had begun at the start of the day in the ronin's gut just would not go away.
Keitaro Urashima was pushing the Higgins boat as hard as he dared. There was a medium breeze blowing over the choppy sea, but thankfully the wind was blowing at an angle and toward their destination. Gaz Shaw sat in one of the old machine gun tubs set in the side of the boat, his eyes focused forward and far ahead, the butt of his Colt Commando carbine resting against his thigh, while Ketaro's M4A1 was slung across his back, both weapons fully loaded. There was nothing to look at; they were at least a half hour away from their island, but that same feeling had been picked up by the British merc, and the war-weary vet knew better than to dismiss such instincts out of hand.
The day had started much like others before; Keitaro came down from the sniper nest to scrounge up his breakfast of porridge, fresh fruit, and strong black tea before meeting Gaz at the Higgins boat. The Brit had already run the necessary engine and hull checks, and was therefore at the helm and iding the engine when Keitaro finished eating. The ronin waded through the knee-deep water and tossed his pack into the boat before pulling himself into the vessel. Turning around, Keitaro waved toward the shore as the Higgins boat was backed off the sand by Gaz. The people on shore waved back, save Yuri who had already disappeared into the jungle. But somehow the sight of Seta-sensei, Sarah, and Nyamo waving good bye caused something thing to clench in his gut. Keitaro told himself that the remaining party was, if not perfectly safe, at least adequately armed with pistols and assault rifles, which was enough to deal with most situations. Even the girls had been familiarized with a couple of Markarov pistols and fired a couple dozen rounds through them. Seta had put his foot down and insisted when Nyamo had initially refused, the island girl having shown a scary level of skill with her fixed blade fishing knife when demonstrating against an at first amused then rapidly dodging Gaz. Nyamo still only carried her knife, and left her pistol in her bedroll, while Sarah carried hers stuffed in the side pocket of her cargo shorts along with a folding Buck knife. Some nights after dinner Nyamo taught Sarah how to fight with a knife, having learned from her grandfather, who in turn had learned during his youth in the Philippines from some of the deadliest knife fighters in the world.
That feeling had only gotten worse as the day had gone by. The expedition's weekly resupply trips to Koh Samui was something that the locals had gotten used to, but the men took precautions anyway. They chained the boat to the dock and disabled the engine before slipping half of a U.S. fifty dollar bill to the dockmaster to make sure they still had a boat to come back to. They would walk around town fully armed, even if they were discreet about it. Pistols were holstered under untucked shirts and their rifles were carried collapsed and inside gym bags slung across their backs. Sure, they had national government permits to carry firearms, but it got expensive to pay off every uniformed nitwit who was trying to scrape together that day's lunch money.
The thing that was different that day was that looks they were getting. They were used to the angry and greedy looks from street criminals that most westerners were the recipients of (after one broken wrist suffered by a pickpocket, a kick to the groin received by an armed robber that learned the hard way that a person with only a knife should not attempt to hold up a man with a gun, and Sarah's former little friend) most criminals stayed the hell away from them, but today there were thin smiles, and even some chuckles directed at them, something that was putting the hair on the back of Keitaro's neck on end, a feeling his older compatriot was sharing. And after the third time Keitaro and Gaz saw those looks aimed at them, they made an unspoken decision to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible. They worked as fast as they could, but they were only able to trim an hour or so off their normal time before heading for home.
Studying the instruments, Keitaro could see that they had a three-quarters full tank of gas, the engine temp was running at about half-way to the red zone, and that the speed was at about as fast as they could go without the turbos kicking in and massively increasing their fuel consumption. They had topped off the fuel tank when they had first arrived, and while a tank of gas would cover three trips between the islands, they really could not afford to push it.
"Keitaro, heads up! I think I see something ahead, eleven o'clock!" Gaz's call snapped his head up to see the Brit let his weapon fall onto its sling and grab a pair of binoculars. Focusing ahead, the older man was silent for a long moment before suddenly swearing. "It looks like a smoke column, check our course and location!"
Looking down at the GPS Keitaro could see that they had been blown slightly off course by the wind and the waves. Nudging the steering wheel over so they were on course again, his heart sank upon seeing that they were heading right for the faint smoke trail he could now see. "Gaz, smoke is right on our course, dead ahead!"
Gaz cursed again before suddenly quieting and focusing on something with the binoculars, something off to the side of the smoke ahead of them. "We have a second contact, speed boat, it's moving away from the smoke, it looks like it's going to pass to our port side, range 200 meters." Focusing even more intently, Gaz was quiet for thirty seconds, Keitaro slowly nudging the throttle forward before the Brit burst out in a stream of vulgarities that made his prior curses sound like a Sunday school lecture. "Go-fast boat, only two people I can see aboard, they're pirates! They're moving like a bat out of hell, these fuckers don't work alone. They probably just left the island, punch it, all ahead flank!"
Keitaro's heart-rate felt like it had doubled as he jammed the throttle to the stops. Looking at the gauges, he backed it up a bit to keep the engine from burning out. But the speed indicator was still in the red zone, even if it wasn't against the far side peg. Punching the GPS recycle location button, he waited until the new location, course and speed was calculated relative to their destination. Seeing the numbers finally come up, Keitaro called out, "Gaz, ETA 9 minutes!"
"Copy that!" Gaz was digging through one of the duffle bags they had stored in the boat lockers. "Get on the horn, try to contact Seta or Yuri, we should be in range!"
"Copy!" Keitaro echoed as he flicked the frequency channels on the marine radio. Given they only had one hardwired radio in the boat, they usually left it tuned to the international emergency channel, VHF 16, since the radios they had at the camp had a range of only five miles over open water, a range that the Higgins boat had just passed. Grabbing the handheld mike and clicking the transmit button, Keitaro began the standard radio cant. "Ronin to base, Ronin to base, do you copy? Respond ASAP, sighted possible pirates near base, give status!" After repeating himself two more times, Keitaro shouted toward the Brit, "Gaz, no response!"
"Bugger!" Gaz was finished strapping the armor plate carrier on his torso, pulling the Velcro tight. Slinging his Commando onto his back, he moved over and took the wheel from Keitaro. "I've got the helm, go and armor up! Weapons check too!"
Keitaro moved forward, kneeling down and pulling his armor vest from the bag. While not military grade body armor, the specially hardened steel armor plate inserts would stop multiple hits with 7.62mm NATO armor piercing rounds. The carrier could be concealed under a loose shirt, but the main problem with the vest was their weight; with both front and back plates inserted, plus rifle mag pouches across the front, the damned thing weighed almost 20 kilos (44 pounds). Therefore, the contractors and Keitaro would only put them on when they were expecting trouble.
Slapping the last Velcro strap in place, Keitaro checked the ammo pouches across his stomach, making sure the mags were in place, before pulling his Glock pistol out from under the side band of the vest, checking the chamber before securing the pistol in the holster attached to the vest over his belt holster, then doing the same with the pistol mags on the opposite side. Pulling his M4 toward him, he cracked the chamber and verified there was a round chambered before tapping the forward assist to make sure the bolt was fully closed and slinging the carbine over his chest.
"Keitaro, catch!" Turning around, the ronin caught the mini walkie-talkie Gaz tossed him, along with the single wire earpiece/mike attached to it. Securing the radio in a pouch high up on his shoulder, Keitaro inserted the earpiece and turned the unit on after verifying the correct channel was set. "No word from the island, Gaz?" he asked into the radio, both checking it to make sure it was working and asking for info.
"Nothing! I even put out a call for any police or military near-by, and of course the bastards aren't answering." While the Royal Thai Navy was fairly honest, they tended to be overworked, and the less said about the local constabulary, the better especially since most of the local authorities were either moonlighting as pirates or taking cuts to not interfere or were related to the pirates. "Look, I'm going to beach the boat off to the side of the bay but still in sight of the camp, if there's any tangos I'm going to draw their fire. Just before I hit the edge of the water you bail out and get your arse in the jungle, move through the bush and flank the camp. If you see anyone you think you can take, do so, otherwise try to go around or fall back and try to reengage with me. Make sure that radio pouch of yours is fully closed, the radio is supposed to be water proof, but..." Here Gaz stopped speaking as Keitaro pulled his wallet from his hip pocket, opened it and studied a picture inside for a long moment, then opened the radio pouch and jammed it inside before resealing the pouch. Taking off his eyeglasses, the young man placed them in an identical pouch on the opposing side of his carrier and secured it as well. Looking back up to the older man, Keitaro's expression was decidedly impassive. "Any questions, mate?"
"Rules of engagement?" Under the rules they normally operated under, the mercs and Keitaro would not fire directly on someone without being fired upon first, Yuri's warning shots not withstanding. This was a completely different situation, however.
Gaz hesitated for a moment. "Red." That meant anyone holding a weapon and not one of them would be considered an enemy combatant, even if they were not firing at anyone. Anyone assisting an enemy combatant in illegal acts, even if unarmed themselves, would be considered a combatant as well. They would probably be outnumbered and away from help, so even if they dropped their weapons, the bad guys would be fired upon as soon as necessary. "This is now a black flag op."
"No prisoners?" Keitaro asked softly and Gaz shook his head. They had no way or time to secure prisoners, not when they had people they were trying to save. "OK," the ronin simply said. Turning his head, he could see they were fairly close to the narrow entrance to the bay. The smoke column was now clearly visible, and the source of it was the camp, which looked to be completely in flames. Above the roar of the engine the two men could now hear the crackle of rifle fire, some of it undisciplined auto weapons fire, the rest of it single shots. Two beat up speed boats were beached to the left of the camp and one to the right, with drag marks on the sand indicating that the earlier fleeing boat had been there as well. The pirates had apparently done a simultaneous flanking attack on the camp, splitting the defenders fire into two directions while concentrating their own. With anywhere from two to four pirates per boats, it was actually a surprise that the defenders where still in action.
"Say when you want me to bail." About to move toward the bow, Keitaro halted when he felt the other man's hand on his shoulder. "Godspeed, mate."
Glancing back at the Brit, Keitaro replied "This life or the next." We'll meet again, he left unsaid. Once Gaz let him go, the ronin moved forward and crouched down, only his eyes and the top of his head above the steel edge of the bow.
"You're going to be going over the port side, get ready Keitaro," Gaz called out. For a moment the Brit had an odd thought - his grandfather had been with the British Pacific Fleet during the Second World War, and while he never did talk much about his service, Gaz had happened upon a scrap book filled with pictures from the war. From the notation below one of the photos, it was a landing craft filled with American soldiers approaching a beach during the invasion of Okinawa. All the soldiers were facing away from the camera, all of them were wearing helmets and field packs, weapons in hands, but they all had the same tense, stiff posture that Keitaro was now showing as he peered at the onrushing shore. It was ironic because the young man was Japanese and his relatives probably fought on the other side during the war, but it only went to show how some things were always the same, no matter the race or nationality. But right now Keitaro yanked his weapon sling so his carbine was tight against his chest and then gripped the side of the boat with both hands.
"Ten seconds, lad." The boat was rushing across the bay at its full speed of nearly 35 knots, the hull lifting up out of the shallow water to make sure it would clear the sandy bottom, especially since Gaz was not approaching by the deeper center channel. The Brit also wanted to make sure the water was as shallow as possible when Keitaro left the boat; the last thing they needed was for him to be pulled down by his armor and gear into water over his head and drown.
"Five seconds…" The shore was fifty yards away and closing. Forty… thirty… twenty… ten… "NOW!" Rolling over the rail, Keitaro pulled himself over the side and disappeared into the foaming white water, any sound produced covered by the roar of the engine.
Less than five seconds later the Higgins boat loudly scrapped onto the sand and was almost immediately greeted by a hail of gunfire. Gaz cut the engines and dove down to the deck of the boat, hearing bullets pinging off the sides and bow. As the boat was at a slight angle to the beach, the British merc went over to the side of the craft so he was protected.
Peering through a ropeline opening in the hull, Gaz could see at least two shooters firing on him with what looked to be AK type rifles, the rounds spanging and whining off the hull of the boat. Drawing his Browning Hi-Power from his belt holster (the opening was too small to accurately fire through with his rifle) the merc began to fire back, his rounds missing their intended targets, but driving the shooters behind cover.
Seeing a narrow window of opportunity, Gaz rolled over the top of the far side of the hull, out of the line of fire of the shooters. Landing on his butt in ankle deep water, the Brit scrambled up and toward the bow of the boat. Holstering his pistol, Gaz loosened the sling of his carbine and brought it up to the ready before warily looking around the edge of the bow. Seeing a shooter not fully behind cover, he took careful aim with the Chinese knockoff ACOG sight mounted on top of the carbine and fired a short burst of rounds. He was rewarded by a startled and pained yelp as the shooter fell to the ground, at the very least wounded by 5.56mm hollow points.
Hearing what sounded like two different people chattering in Thai, Gaz figured that one of the shooters was trying to help his wounded compatriot. Seeing his chance, he sprinted from behind the boat toward the tree line a few meters away (or trying to sprint, relearning something every marine and special ops trooper knew from bitter experience – running through sand sucked). The older man managed to get behind some tree trunks before he was seen and the bad guys started firing on him again.
Kneeling behind a thick palm tree, Gaz flipped the selector switch on his carbine to single shot and began to return fire, aiming at what little he was able to see of his opponents. After firing three or four rounds, Gaz would move to another tree, gradually working his way toward the shooters flank. The bad guys, not being complete idiots, tried to match his movements, but considering that the cover they had was only a few boulders on the beach, while Gaz had an entire grove of trees to pick from, it was only a matter of time before the former trooper had a clear shot and took it, resulting in a pink mist exploding from a shooter's head before his body collapsed. Seeing his buddy now dead, the other shooter shrieked in Thai again before taking off running to rejoin his other partners in crime.
Replacing the almost empty magazine in his carbine with a full one, and then doing the same with his pistol, Gaz began to move through the grove carefully, his carbine at the ready, heading toward the sound of rifle fire. Sounds that had actually reduced in the last few minutes. Even with the two shooters that he had engaged with, it sounded like there were fewer people firing now. Gaz wondered how much of it was the bad guys running low on ammo –not an uncommon thing for untrained gunmen – and how much of it was due to his younger companion. Only one way to find out.
Keitaro hit the water and immediately sank to the sandy bottom of the lagoon. Luckily the water was only three feet deep, so it was not a problem to flop around so he was on his hands and knees and slowly push himself up so his head broke through the surface, stopping when he was at chin level. Quickly looking around, Keitaro could see that the coast near him was relatively (and ironically almost literally) clear. Fifty meters to his side he could see the Higgins boats beached on the sand, Gaz awkwardly running across the sand toward the tree line, making it to cover before the bad guys started shooting at him.
Moving toward the beach, Keitaro loosened the sling on his carbine before grasping the pistol grip. His head swiveling from side to side, he brought the butt of the carbine to his shoulder but kept the muzzle low as he moved from one hand and two knees to one knee, then onto his feet while still in a low crouch, the waves still lapping around him. Remembering what Gaz had told him about combat swimmer operations, Keitaro reached to the charging handle and pulled it back slightly, cracking the chamber open so that any water in the barrel could more easily run out. Shooting a firearm with water trapped in the barrel could be a bad thing – the increase in pressure as the round tried to force itself through non-compressible water instead of compressible air could cause the gun to at the very least jam to the worst case of having either the receiver or the barrel blow up. He also checked the muzzle to make sure he had not jammed it into the sand and plugged the barrel that way.
Bring the rifle to low ready, Keitaro scanned the beach again before moving clumsily through the sand toward the tree line. Ducking behind a thick tree trunk, the young ronin listened to the continuing rifle fire as he quickly managed to get his breathing under control. It appeared as though the gun fight Gaz had gotten involved in nearby had finished, while the rifle fire further up the beach was still continuing.
Still keeping his head moving, Keitaro pulled his glasses out of the water-proof pouch and put them on after pushing his wet hair up and back. Taking out a valved ear plug he put it in his unprotected ear, the radio earpiece serving the same purpose in the opposing ear (gun fire with no hearing protection in place was at the least very painful and at most permanently deafening). Finally he reached up to the push-to-talk button on his mike and double tapped it three times in a row, sending a series of clicks to the other radios on the frequency without the risk of giving away the listener's location. After a few moments that seemed to last a lot longer, he got a response, Gaz's terse voice coming through his earpiece. "This is Sword, go ahead."
"Ronin here, I'm on the beach and behind cover. No contact, what about you?" Keitaro kept his voice low, the induction mike in his earpiece capable of picking up even sub-vocal vibrations from his throat
"Engaged two tangos, one confirmed down, one possible wounded. The bugger ran back to his mates, they probably know we're here now." Gaz paused for a few moments before speaking in Japanese. "Don't use specifics, but remember the way from the nest? You may want to take a look-see."
Keitaro understood what the older merc was doing. There was a chance the pirates may have captured one of their radios and therefore listening to their current conversation. Gaz could speak and understand at least basic level Japanese, and the chances of any hostile eavesdroppers understanding the language was less than likely.
"Copy that." Taking a deep breath, Keitaro brought his carbine up to high ready and started moving from tree to tree, pausing and looking around after arriving behind each tree he was using his cover. While carefully looking around, it only took the young ronin a few minutes to come up to the footpath the members of the expedition had worn into ground between the sniper's nest and the camp. Even so, Keitaro knew better than to walk on the path; instead he replicated what he had done when sneaking up to Sarah the other day, walking a few feet away yet parallel to the path. He managed to find the path where it transitioned from the hillside to level ground, and cautiously moved through the undergrowth, his eyes and the muzzle of his carbine constantly sweeping around him, the sounds of gunfire getting louder with each step.
It was not until he had gotten within 25 meters of the camp perimeter that Keitaro was able to find the first hostile. A man wearing a ragged t-shirt and shorts was standing behind a thick tree trunk and taking shots at the camp with what looked to be an AK-47. Every few shots he would take a quick look behind himself before returning his attention to the camp and firing again, but after a half a minute of watching, Keitaro could see that the pirate was not moving from his position behind the tree. Further beyond the shooter was a second pirate, kneeling behind another tree and firing as well. This second shooter was at the edge of the tree line next to the camp; it was only ten meters of open ground to where the tents were set up, but in that clear area were two crumpled bodies dressed the same as the pirates, presumably gunned down when they rushed the camp. On the other side of the tents, which were either shot up, collapsed, on fire, or all three, was the opening to the excavation cave, where Keitaro could see was where the pirates were directing their fire. More gunfire could be heard further along the perimeter of the camp, although no other shooters could be seen, and weapons fire was coming out from the cave toward the pirates. Presumably that was where the defenders were bunkered down. Just as Keitaro reached up and tapped his comm button, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
"This is Sword, go ahead," the British merc replied a moment later.
"This is Ronin, I'm in position," Keitaro murmured in a low voice. "I have line of sight on two hostiles, one ten meters away, the other twenty meters, both of them firing on the cave. I can hear gunfire from at least two other weapons out of sight but closer to you, and return fire coming from the cave. There are two dead bad guys on the ground in the camp." Here Keitaro paused for a moment before continuing in a flat tone. "I can also see a blood trail and drag marks at the mouth of the cave."
Gaz responded after a few moments. "Copy that. I have the other two shooters in my view. I don't see any more bad guys. Do you have clean shots on your targets?"
"The one closest to me, yes. The second one is a fair distance farther and has partial cover. If I take out one, the other one is going to hear and move behind solid cover and start firing on me and we will wind up in an impasse," Keitaro replied.
Moments later came Gaz's response. "Do you think you can get close enough to take out the first shooter quietly?"
Keitaro paused. Since the contractors did not have suppressors on their weapons, Gaz meant taking out taking out the pirate hand-to-hand. "Yes, I can do that. Give me about ten minutes to get close."
"Ok then. Take out the first pirate quietly, and then let me knew before you go loud on the second. If I don't hear from you in fifteen minutes…" Gaz paused and then spoke again in English. "Godspeed, mate."
"Domo." Letting go of the comm button, Keitaro carefully moved his carbine on its sling so it was hanging against his back and out of his way. Drawing his Glock pistol, he cracked the slide to make sure the barrel was clear of water before letting it go back into battery. Leaving the pistol in his right hand, he then drew his field knife from his vest sheath with his left hand. Ironically made by Glock as well (it had been one of its first military products before they went into the firearms business), the blackened carbon steel blade was almost 170mm long and frightfully sharp; after going over the knife with a carbide steel sharpener, Keitaro had almost given himself a not-so-minor nick checking the edge.
Moving as stealthily as he could, Keitaro moved from tree to tree, slowly getting closer to the oblivious pirate, the pistol pointed at the bad guy with one hand in case he turned unexpectedly, the knife held in a reverse grip against his forearm in the other with the shooting hand braced on top of the opposite wrist. The pirate would look behind himself every twenty seconds or so, which Keitaro used by moving right after the pirate would look forward again and start firing.
Finally Keitaro was two long steps behind and to the side of the shooter. Moving as slowly as practical, the young ronin holstered his pistol but left the strap unsnapped before transferring the knife to his right hand. Holding the knife in a saber grip with the blade pointed forward and the edge down, Keitaro whispered something soundlessly before taking a deep breath and surging forward.
Grabbing the man's head across his eyes with his left hand and simultaneously yanking back and down, Keitaro pulled the bad guy back against him with his neck fully exposed. A split second later, the blade was plunged into the side of the neck and savagely ripped forward, severing the right side carotid artery, jugular vein, and the trachea; the only sounds produced being the soft whistling of air escaping the windpipe and the gurgling of blood spraying from the torn high pressure blood vessels. The blood splattered over the tree bark and plant leaves before the pressure dropped to where it merely spilled over his rifle and clothes. After jerking about for a few moments, the pirate slowly relaxed and finally went limp.
Taking a couple of quick swipes across the dead man's shirt to get the blood off the blade, Keitaro sheathed the knife and slowly lay the body down on the ground. Giving the pirate a quick once over, he could see that he had no other weapons besides what looked to be a crude short bladed machete in his belt. Deliberately not looking at the dead man's face, Keitaro took the blade and threw it into the jungle. The AK had it's mag pulled and chamber cleared, and he threw those in opposite directions as well.
Looking at his hands, Keitaro was not surprised to see them trembling visibly. Taking a deep breath he concentrated, and a few moments later his hands were steady again. Thankfully, there was no blood on his hands, at least physically. The young ronin had no desire to reenact that Lady MacBeth scene.
Snapping his pistol holster shut now that he knew he would not be need to use it right now, Keitaro brought his carbine around from his back and set the butt against his shoulder. Peering around the tree and through the iron sights, he could see that the second pirate was still firing at the cave. Reaching up and clicking his comm mike to voice activation, Keitaro settled his sights on the middle of the pirate's back and spoke softly again. "Sword, Ronin. Hostile One is down, have Hostile Two in my sights. Say when ready."
Gaz replied a few seconds later. "Sword ready, be ready in case one of my hostiles does a runner toward you. Count to three. Ready?" Keitaro murmured an affirmative and snugged his carbine tighter against his shoulder, the front sight centered between the pirate's shoulder blades, fire selector on full auto, finger lightly on the trigger. "One… two…" Slight trigger press. "Three." The carbine kicked slightly as four 5.56mm rounds discharged, the bullets speeding at 940 meters per second before slowly dramatically as they punched through the pirate's torso. The man wavered and stopped firing, but stayed upright. Three more rounds were rapidly fired at the man's head before the pirate fell face first against the tree he had been taking cover behind.
Keitaro waited for a long moment before he spoke into his radio, his eyes constantly moving, searching for new targets. "Sword, Ronin. Hostile Two down. No other hostiles visible. What's your status?"The sudden silence after all that gunfire was more than a little disconcerting. Which was why the young man was glad to hear the response shortly thereafter.
"Ronin, Sword. My two hostiles are down, one of them tried to run but didn't get far. I don't see or hear any other hostiles, I think that's all of them." Gaz switched toward English as he continued to speak. "Advance into the camp, search for survivors from either side. Keep your head on a swivel, and for god's sake stay out of the line of fire of the cave until we confirm our identity to them, the last thing I want is a blue-on-blue." He meant a friendly fire incident, where someone accidentally shot someone on their side.
"Ronin copy." Moving carefully from around the tree he was behind, Keitaro slowly walked into the now smoldering camp, his eyes and his carbine muzzle tracking together. Approaching the two dead pirates on the open ground near the camp, the young contractor could see they were definitely dead, laying in sizable blood puddles with eyes fixed open and bloody through-and-through wounds on their backs.
Walking cautiously toward the cave, Keitaro saw the British merc emerge from the tree line, his carbine sweeping back and forth as he advanced toward the cave as well. Coming to a halt a few feet from the edge of the cave opening, he saw his fellow contractor do the same on the opposite side.
Turning to face the cave entrance, Gaz called into the cave even while holding his Commando at low ready. "Drago, Sensei, it's Ronin and Sword, confirm status!"
One long moment dragged out before a weak and ragged voice replied. "Drago, Star." The word was an identity challenge, with each member of the expedition having a unique response.
Gaz immediately called back, "Sword, Dog!" He gestured towards Keitaro, who quickly gave his response.
"Ronin, Dragon!" He did not move, as Gaz had a hand up.
"Drago, reconfirm status!" It was now Yuri's turn to confirm his own identity.
A chuckle and what sounded like a wet cough came before the reply. "Drago, White Sky." The second phrase was a duress code, to warn his compatriots if he was a prisoner or being forced to cooperate with a hostile. "Now get your asses in here, Seta's hurt."
His heart suddenly leaping into his throat, Keitaro rushed into the cave, although he still had the presence of mind to keep his carbine at low ready. Gaz followed a moment later, keeping an eye open behind him regardless.
The excavation cave was normally fairly dark, with light entering only through the entrance and a small opening on the roof of the cave. Battery powered work lights would be used to illuminate the area, but there was none of those on at the moment. Keitaro reached into one of the pouches of his vest and pulled out a tactical light. Flicking it on, the young man sucked in a breath at what he saw.
The turtle altar was in the middle of the cave, set slightly offside to the entrance. Leaning against the back wall and seated on the ground with a line of sight to the entrance was Yuri Orlov. The Russian merc had one hand up to shield his eyes from the flashlight and the other holding his AK-74, the muzzle moving away from the cave opening. Sweeping the light around, Keitaro almost missed seeing the crumpled figure on the far side of the turtle altar, a slight figure crouched next to it.
Moving quickly, Keitaro dropped down to his knees next to Noriyasu Seta. The older man looked like hell; his khaki shirt was stained with blood, and torn open, with thick soaked bandages applied to his chest. There were more bandages wrapped around his lower right leg, with a tourniquet applied just below the knee. Seta's face was pale and sweating, pain apparent even though he was unconscious. Bent over Seta was Nyamo, who's hands and clothes were covered with blood as she maintained pressure on Seta's chest.
Placing the tac light on the altar, Keitaro began inspecting Seta's wounds as Gaz entered the cave. Moving over to his fellow contractor, the Brit pulled out a light of his own and started looking the other man over, asking "What the hell happened, Yuri?"
The Russian merc coughed, a nasty wet sound apparent. "Speak up man, I'm damn near deaf here." The sounds of gunfire in a confined cave would deafen anyone without hearing protection. As Gaz repeated himself, Keitaro could see that Nyamo had jammed what looked like chewed up paper into her ears to protect her hearing. "We got jumped. The mudaks must have been dropped off further up the beach and humped it across the jungle, we didn't hear anything until they opened fire. Seta was in the cave and didn't have his rifle, I was in the jungle looking for pig, and the girls were alone in the camp. As soon as the girls saw the khui Sarah started screaming and firing her pistol, Seta and I ran to the camp and the mudaks lit us up. Seta was hit in the chest and the crazy durak kept charging, then they hit him in the leg and he went down. I had to pull him back to the cave under fire, I caught a couple rounds myself. Finally we got to the cave, and Nyamo had to help me haul Seta inside. I had to tell her how to bandage Seta, I was too busy keeping the mudaks out of the cave. Good thing you get here when you did, I was down to two mags," Yuri finished up.
"Where were you hit, Yuri?" Gaz played his light over his compatriot, and even though there was blood all over the red and white striped telnyashka, there was no wound apparent.
"Here." Unbuckling the magazine carrier harness he was wearing, Yuri pulled it open to show packed bandages that had been held in place behind it. Moving the bloody fabric aside, he ripped the shirt open using the now visible bullet holes to show slowly oozing wounds in his abdomen and his lower left chest.
"Yob tvoyu mat." This time it was Gaz that cussed in Russian.
Yuri laughed and coughed again, blood visible at his lips now. "One of those yeblans must have nicked my spine, my legs don't work right. That's why I'm sitting here and Nyamo was treating Seta, I can't move around much anymore. I think that yeblan nicked my lung as well. I'm fucked, Gaz, one way or the other."
"We can get you to medical care, Yuri, just hang on for a while longer." Gaz reached for his med kit but the other man reached out and stopped him.
"Gaz, I'm done. Get Seta to a hospital, I think that chest wound pierced his lung. I had Nyamo slap plastic over the wound after cutting open a Quik-Clot and pouring it into the wounds but he can't last for too long. You might have to give him a field transfusion, he's probably a liter low now." The expedition members all knew their blood types; Keitaro and Seta had compatible types, so Gaz, who had paramedic level medical training from his time in the SAS, would be able to transfuse the wounded man.
The next words that Yuri spoke made everyone in the cave freeze. "Is Sarah with you?" Slowly turning toward the Russian, everyone stared at Yuri as he continued talking. "We got split up in camp, last I saw she was running into the jungle, you found her?"
"No, we thought she was with you!" exclaimed Keitaro, straightening up from working on Seta. "We didn't see any sign of her!"
"Last I saw, she was running in the direction of the sniper nest, both me and Seta where already hit by that point, she would have had to run through the main group of mudaks to relink with us." Yuri coughed again, with more blood spraying from his mouth. "Now that the gads are dead and the shootings over, she'll come back to the camp. You might have to go look for her though."
"Gaz, I've done as much as I can for Seta-sensei, I'm going to look for Sarah-chan. You need me for anything more?" Gaz shook his head, but just as Keitaro got to his feet, everyone noticed something that they had never heard before; a strange sound getting louder, something that was a cross between an animal call and… crying?
Turning toward the cave entrance, everyone could see the outline of a giant turtle, the sound coming from it. Moving slowly into the illumination of the contractors' flashlights, it became clear it was Gidget. The turtle was moving slowly with its head down, and it was instantly obvious that the turtle was crying.
"Gidget, what's wrong?!" Keitaro had a terrible feeling begin to grow in his chest.
The giant turtle began to chirp and whistle, the normally cheerful sounds now drawn out and mournful. Seconds later, Nyamo dropped to her knees next to the turtle's head, frantically whistling and chirping in response. After about thirty seconds of back and forth, the young girl turned to the others, horror written across her face.
"Gidget on beach when men with guns arrive, could not do anything, could not warn, so she hid. Little while latter, two men come back to beach, young man and old man, get in boat and leave fast." Nyamo paused for a second before continuing. "Men carrying Sarah, she not moving, they put her in boat and take with them." Here Nyamo burst into tears. "Bad men steal Sarah."
A/N 2 – What can be said? This is one of my longer chapters, and I had to cut it off somewhere. It is not just me being evil and leaving you with a cliffhanger; well, maybe being a little bit evil. It's not like you guys didn't know this was coming up, though. *grin*
I said earlier that I have three weak reasons for not having updated. Firstly, I'm getting older, and my day job involves physical labor. That means I can't write at home – my recliner is apparently *too* comfortable (the second reason), and if I try to write on my laptop while sitting there and while tired I *will* fall asleep. I wreaked a laptop screen that way. So from now on I'm going to have to write at restaurants and bars if I want to get work done (sounds strange, no?).
Thirdly, I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes (the non-insulin dependent kind). It actually explains a lot, as there have been times over the years I have gotten way too tired for what seemed to be no good reason. It can be controlled by meds and diet, but I still get tired way faster than I did in the past. Lack of energy and an obscenely high caffeine tolerance means I wasn't writing like I used to.
However, two things brought me back to the keyboard. First, I've always had the desire to continue with this story, even when I lacked the energy to do so. Watching my diet and knowing I can't write at home means I now know what I have to do to write again, since I don't want to let down the fans and followers of this story - I still find it kind of strange that people from all over the world are enjoying this story. Thirty nine chapters down, god knows how many left. Nothing to do but go forward.
Second thing – there is now a TV Tropes page for Contract Labor. It was put together by a fine young person named Nintendoman01, and is fairly complete and accurate. I plan to help him update the page as needed, but if anyone else wants to jump in on it, have at it. I was happy to see that he had picked up on some of the hidden gems in the story, like who the sailor was that Gidget saved during the Pacific War. The page can be found by googling 'TV Tropes' and 'Contract Labor', and I may put a link on my author page if I can make it stick.
As part of my itch to write, I am considering doing an AU spin off of Contract Labor – more along the lines of omakes branching off from a critical point. It would be updated even less than Contract Labor, but it might be interesting regardless. The idea is based on something inspired by TV Tropes, and a tendency of Keitaro's – even when attacked, Keitaro does not immediately respond with overwhelming force, not unless someone's (and not him!) are under deadly threat. He gradually ramps up the use of force until he can stop the attack. However, what if during his honor duel Keitaro does what warned Tsuruko about? What if Keitaro fights Motoko with immediate and overwhelming force? If I do this story, it may be a Christmas present, so keep an eye on the FFN Love Hina page or set me on Author Alert. *grin*
As of 0030PST 15Dec2014 this story has 196k words, 602 Reviews, 490,234 Views, 57 C2s, 978 Favs and 871 Alerts. Thanks again to all my readers, and to AZ Mark II and PCH for their beta skills and time.
And now the following is the infamous omakes. Be warned, these are NOT canon to the story, and are mostly based on inappropriate humor. You Have Been Warned. *smile*
My pal and beta AZ made a snarky remark about how to keep sand and water out of rifle barrels when he read this chapter. So blame him for these omakes.
And if some of the characters (one, really) sound OC, well they are the product of the American educational system. So everything alluded to here in the omake is true, except for the things that aren't. *grin*
"Hey Ronin, heads up."
Keitaro raised his gaze from the bowl of boiled rice and roast pork he was eating. While it was common for the expedition group to talk at dinner, there was not much actual speaking that took place while they were eating. There was enough for everyone during their meals, but after a long day of working and/or patrolling, no one wanted to distract themselves from what was in their plates.
The young ronin was sitting cross-legged in front of the bonfire in the middle of their camp. Seta was sitting on top of a log to Keitaro's right, while Yuri was sitting on another log on his left. Nyamo had just finished serving the last of the food and moving to sit across from him next to a dozing Gidget while Gaz was coming up to sit next to the Russian merc.
Seeing the British contractor flick a small packet toward him, Keitaro raised his hand to catch it, only for another hand to snatch it out of the air in front of him. Turning his head to the side, the young Japanese saw that Sarah had been standing beside him, Seta's adoptive daughter presumably having just come out of her tent.
"Uh, Sarah, that's for Keitaro…" For once, the older Brit looked unsure as the American girl examined the packet in the firelight.
"Really?" drawled Sarah. "And why would the dork need rubbers?" Undoing the rubber band holding the packet together, the girl let the strip of condoms unfold accordion-style, extending to about half a meter as the blonde looked at the strip critically while holding it at arm's length.
"For protection." "For water bottle." "For fuckee fuckee." Three answers came simultaneously, but everyone turned to look at the speaker of the last answer, who continued to calmly chew her food.
"I think we know what Nyamo meant by her answer." Seta tried to look composed as he spoke but he still looked both amused and mortified, "but what do you mean by protection, Gaz? I take you don't mean 'protection' the way most people do?"
"Uh, no Seta." Gaz was starting to look embarrassed as well. "I was talking to Keitaro about combat swimmer ops, and told him that in my unit we tied condoms over the muzzles of our long arms to keep sand and water out, to prevent malfunctions."
"Long arms, Gaz?" Sarah was now smirking at the Brit, who was starting to flush.
"I mean our shoulder weapons, like our rifles and machine guns. If something gets in the barrel, it could cause it to explode when we fire."
"Explode? Fire?" Sarah's smirk was now reaching Cheshire proportions.
"Ah, Yuri, what do you mean by water bottle?" It was obvious that Gaz was now trying to redirect attention to his colleague, given how red his face was.
"In Russian military, taught in survival training that condom can be used to carry water when don't have canteen. Can hold up to one liter of water." Yuri shook a Marlboro cigarette out of a pack before lighting it with an old Zippo lighter. "Can also use to wrap and carry detonators, or when setting explosives underwater."
By this point, Sarah had ripped open one of the wax paper wrappers and taken the round rubber circle out. Fumbling slightly, she managed to unroll it before holding the limp cylinder between two fingers and squinting at it for a long moment. "I don't see it," she finally announced. "You want to give a demonstration, Yuri?"
"NO!" This time all the adults answered in perfect unison. Sarah pouted as a result before perking up again.
"Hey Nyamo, how come you know about 'fuckee-fuckee'?" The young American was relentless in her questions, much to her father's chagrin.
"Bad sickness in Thailand, passed through fuckee-fuckee. Government always say to use condoms, have posters all over show how to use, even have ads on radio every 15 minutes, telling people to use condoms. Clinics give away for free, no question, man, woman, boy, girl." Nyamo was scraping up the last of her food from her bowl by this point, her expression calm as always.
"Nyamo, why do you call it 'fuckee-fuckee', it's 'fucking', you know that." The adults nearly choked at Sarah's statement, but they still weren't prepared for the island girl's response.
"Fuckee-fuckee is what tourist men call it, mama-sans and papa-sans too." The adults knew immediately what Nyamo was talking about – she was referring to the sex tourists who came to South East Asia looking and paying for services and partners that back home were much more expensive or just flat out illegal. The mama-sans and papa-sans she mentioned was a much more innocuous version of the word 'pimp'.
"Eh. Here." Sarah tossed the remaining strip of condoms toward Keitaro, who barely managed to catch it. "I bet you don't even know how to use them, dork."
"Sarah… you don't really know what the word 'dork' means, do you?" Gaz asked, his lips twitching.
"Sure I do. It means geek, nerd, weenie." Sarah was now stretching the unrolled condom between her hands. Keitaro slumped slightly at hearing that Sarah thought of him that way.
"Nowadays, it might mean that. But actually, it's an old English whaling term. What it actually refers to is a whale's penis." Gaz managed to keep a straight face while saying this.
Sarah let one of the ends of the condom slip, and it smacked against her opposing hand. Wincing for a moment, the American girl looked at the Brit. "Seriously?"
"Yes. All two meters length of it." Gaz's lips were twitching again.
"Hmm. That's six feet American, right?" Sarah asked. Gaz nodded. "Looks like I have to find a new name for you, since you ain't six feet of that." Sarah drawled toward Keitaro before tossing the condom in the rubbish box. Plunking herself down next to her nonplussed father she dug into her dinner bowl, leaving everyone else to drink their tea.
Mini-omake #1 – American Education Tax Dollars At Work. Yes, I'm Serious
"I bet you don't even know how to use these things, dork. They taught us how to use them in fourth grade back in the US, used to give them out like candy too. God help you if you brought baby aspirin to school, they'd expel you for that, but we got all the rubbers we wanted."
Mini-omake #2 – Animal Parade
"The best laugh we had in middle school was when Suzie Dawson had to do a show-and-tell during the talent show on Parent Night and she picked how to do balloon animals. Of course, she forgot the balloons at home the day of the show, but a quick trip to the nurse's office and she was all set. Didn't know that many different animals can be made with rubbers, but she earned that first prize."
Mini-omake #3 – Boys Will Be Boys
"Of course the boys didn't get into this until someone figured out how to make balloon swords out of the rubbers. The administration didn't know whether to shit or go blind, since we were a zero-tolerance school for drugs and weapons, but there they were fighting with rubbers, for crying out loud. The PTA and the press would have gone nuts."
Mini-omake #4 – Non-sticking and Sugar-free!
"What really caused Mrs. Roberts to blow her top was when some Einstein in class started chewing the flavored rubbers like they were gum. You should have seen the look on her face when they started blowing bubbles…"
Mini-omake #5 – The Practical
"That is how you put one of those suckers on! And you only squished three bananas doing it!"
Mini-omake #6 – Yes, We Are Going To Hell For Laughing At This
"And this is how you put it on with no hands!" *murgh*
Mini-omake #7 – If I'm Going To Hell, I'm Going To Hell Playing The Piano
"And for my next trick, I'm going to need an assistant. Nyamo, come on down!"