Rogue Element

‘And with an educated guess about the kind of terrain they’re in, I’d say these contacts here, the ones on the move, are only a few hours walk away from strolling into the known Kopassus placements indicated here.’ Wilkes stuck his finger into the projected light, turning it into a pointer. ‘You suspect these moving dots are also Kopassus troops. What if you’re wrong? What if they’re our survivors? Unless we’re certain, we might get put down in completely the wrong place to do any good. So, question one — how do we get there before it’s too late? And second question, sir, what are the ROEs here?’

‘The rules of engagement are straightforward, Sarge. Go in, get our people out and don’t take no for an answer.’

Wilkes nodded. This could be a tough one to pull off and he didn’t want his hands tied with any niceties. ‘Okay, so we’re not sure which of these other contacts are our survivors, but we do know what this large group is and what they’re up to.’ He indicated the ambush placements. ‘My suggestion is we take them out first — the large group — and then sort through who’s friend or foe amongst the rest.’

‘Fair enough,’ agreed the major. ‘The mission details are your call, Sarge.’ The men in the SAS, even the lowest private, were selected on a number of criteria, not the least being resourcefulness and intelligence. They were all bloody tough bastards too. They knew what they were doing and they now knew what had to be done. It was not the major’s job to tell them how to do theirs.

‘Your assessment of the time constraints is spot-on. Fast transport is the primary issue. We’re working on it with some help from the Americans. RV at Dili heliport within the next twenty minutes.

‘What medical expertise you got here, Wilkes?’

‘Trooper Beck has done all the battlefield courses and knows a thing or two about tropical diseases,’ said Wilkes, tipping his head in Stu Beck’s direction. Beck raised his finger in acknowledgement.

‘Well then, I suggest you go over to the hospital, Beck. I know you don’t have nearly enough time but talk with the doctors about the kind of condition you’re likely to find these survivors in. They’ve been through hell and they’re not going to be in a good way.’ The major’s eyes flicked around the room and found it question-free. ‘Okay then, if we’re all done, good luck. This is an important one, you blokes.’

‘We’ll need a passenger manifest of QF-1 so that we can identify the survivors,’ said Wilkes.

‘Of course,’ said the major.

‘Also, we don’t have any native speakers amongst us.’

‘Yeah, not ideal, but then if our intelligence is accurate, I don’t suppose you’ll be doing too much negotiating, Sarge.’

Wilkes frowned. The major’s comment was ill informed. When going into a foreign, and most likely hostile, land it made good practical sense to be able to speak the language, in this instance, Bahasa — Indonesian.

The major sensed Wilkes’s disquiet. ‘You’ve gotten by okay here on East Timor, haven’t you?’

The more Wilkes listened to this major, the less he was impressed with him. Language hadn’t been a big issue on East Timor because multilingual forces surrounded them. In the middle of Sulawesi, they’d be well and truly on their own. But there was nothing Wilkes could do about it, and obviously nothing the major could help with either. Wilkes let it go.

There was something else far darker niggling at the sergeant. ‘Major, do we know why the Indons shot the aircraft down?’

‘We’re kind of hoping you’ll be able to answer that one for us once you’ve been out there. Have you got everything you need?’

‘Pretty much, sir.’

‘So I see,’ said the major with a hint of a smile, surveying the collection of goods on the table in the centre of the room before stepping out into another stinking hot day in East Timor.

Parliament House, Canberra, 0515 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

Griffin burst into Niven’s office, obviously excited.

‘What?’ asked Niven.

‘We have another useful asset besides the one in Maros, Sulawesi. We have someone in Jakarta. I just found out. Real deep cover. A woman — Mata Hari type.’

Niven raised his eyebrows.

‘You’re not gonna believe whose bed she’s been lying in. Bloody Suluang’s!’

Dili, East Timor, 0530 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

The Mobile Assault Group, hauling heavy packs on bent backs, made its way across the Dili heliport apron towards the Black Hawk. There was a deceptively large space inside the chopper, but there wasn’t much of it left once the ten men and their gear were stowed and secured.

SGT Wilkes found a position of relative comfort against the forward bulkhead, pack at his feet. The floor of the Black Hawk was bare alloy, and no matter how comfortable he was now, Wilkes knew the bones in his butt would soon ache against the unforgiving surface. But it was a minor discomfort. He was far more concerned about the job at hand.