Clear and Present Danger

'Why don't we let 'em keep this fucking place?' he muttered to Julio.

'Roger that, ' mano .' Vega chuckled in return.

Sergeant Chavez wrenched himself to a sitting position, shaking off the cobwebs as he did so. He rubbed a hand over his face. The heavy beard he'd had since puberty was growing with its accustomed rapidity, but he wouldn't shave today. That merited a grunt. Normal Army routine was heavy on personal hygiene, and light infantrymen, as elite soldiers, were supposed to be 'pretty' troops. Already he stank like a basketball team after double overtime, but he wouldn't wash, either. Nor would he don a clean uniform. But he would, of course, clean his weapon again. After making sure that Julio had already serviced his SAW, Chavez stripped his MP-5 down to six pieces and inspected them all visually. The matte-black finish resisted rust quite well. Regardless, he wiped everything down with oil, ran a toothbrush along all operation parts, checked to see that all springs were taut and magazines were not fouled with dirt or grit. Satisfied, he reassembled the weapon and worked the action quietly to make certain that it functioned smoothly. Finally, he inserted the magazine, chambered a round, and set the safety. Next he checked that his knives were clean and sharp. This included his throwing stars, of course.

'The captain's gonna be pissed if he sees them,' Vega observed quietly.

'They're good luck,' Chavez replied as he put them back in his pocket. ' 'Sides, you never know...' He checked the rest of his gear. Everything was as it should be. He was ready for the day's work. Next the maps came out.

'That where we're goin'?'

'RENO.' Chavez pointed to the spot on the tactical map. 'Just under five klicks.' He examined the map carefully, making several mental notes and again committing the details to memory. The map had no marks on it, of course. If lost or captured, such marks would tell the wrong people things that they ought not to know.

'Here.' Captain Ramirez joined the two, handing over a satellite photograph.

'These maps must be new, sir.'

'They are. DMA' - he referred to the Defense Mapping Agency - 'didn't have good maps of this area until recently. They were drawn up from the satellite photos. See any problems?'

'No, sir.' Chavez looked up with a smile. 'Nice and flat, lots of thinned-out trees-looks easier than last night, Cap'n.'

'When we get in close, I want you to approach from this angle here into the objective rally point.' Ramirez traced his hand across the photo. 'I'll make the final approach with you for the 'leader's recon.''

'You the boss, sir,' Ding agreed.

'Plan the first break point right here, Checkpoint SPIKE.'

'Right.'

Ramirez stuck his head up, surveying the area. 'Remember the briefing. These guys may have very good security, and be especially careful for booby traps. You see something, let me know immediately - as long as it's safe to do so. When in doubt, remember the mission is covert.'

'I'll get us there, sir.'

'Sorry, Ding,' Ramirez apologized. 'I must sound like a nervous woman.'

'You ain't got the legs for it, sir,' Chavez pointed out with a grin.

'You up to carrying that SAW another night, Oso ?' Ramirez asked Vega.

'I carried heavier toothpicks, jefe .'

Ramirez laughed and made off to check the next pair.

'I've known worse captains than that one,' Vega observed when he was gone.

'Hard worker,' Chavez allowed. Sergeant Olivero appeared next.

'How's your water?' the medic asked.

'Both a quart low,' Vega replied.

'Both of you, drink a quart down right now.'

'Come on, doc,' Chavez protested.

'No dickin' around, people. Somebody gets heatstroke and it's my ass. If you ain't gotta piss, you ain't been drinking enough. Pretend it's a Corona,' he suggested as both men took out their canteens. 'Remember that: if you don't have to piss, you need a drink. Damn it, Ding, you oughta know that, you spent time at Hunter-Liggett. This fucking climate'll dry your ass out in a heartbeat, and I ain't carrying your ass, dried-out or not.'

Olivero was right, of course. Chavez emptied a canteen in three long pulls. Vega followed the medic off to the nearby stream to replenish the empty containers. He reappeared several minutes later. Oso surprised his friend with a couple more envelopes of Gatorade concentrate. The medic, he explained, had his own supply. About the only bad news was that the waterpurification pills did not mix well with the Gatorade, but that was for electrolytes, not taste.

Ramirez assembled his men just at sundown, repeating the night's brief already delivered to the individual guard posts. Repetition was the foundation of clarity - some manual said that, Chavez knew. The squad members were all dirty. The generally heavy beards and scraggly hair would enhance their camouflage, almost obviating the need for paint. There were a few aches and pains, mainly from the rough sleeping conditions, but everyone was fit and rested. And eager. Garbage was assembled and buried. Olivero sprinkled CS tear-gas powder before the dirt was smoothed over the hole. That would keep animals from scratching it up for a few weeks. Captain Ramirez made a final check of the area while there was still light. By the time Chavez moved out at point, there was no evidence that they'd ever been here.

Ding crossed the clearing as quickly as safety allowed, scanning ahead with his low-light goggles. Again using compass and landmarks, he was able to travel rapidly, now that he had a feel for the country. As before, there was no sound other than what nature provided, and better still, the forest wasn't quite as dense. He made better than a kilometer per hour. Best of all, he had yet to spot a snake.

He made Checkpoint SPIKE in under two hours, feeling relaxed and confident. The walk through the jungle had merely served to loosen up his muscles. He stopped twice along the way for water breaks, more often to listen, and still heard nothing unexpected. Every thirty minutes he checked in by radio with Captain Ramirez.

After Chavez picked a place to belly-up, it took ten minutes for the rest of the squad to catch up. Ten more minutes and he was off again for the final checkpoint, MALLET. Chavez found himself hoping that they'd run out of tool names.

He was more careful now. He had the map committed to memory, and the closer he got to the objective, the more likely that he'd encounter somebody. He slowed down almost without thinking about it. Half a klick out of SPIKE he heard something moving off to his right. Something quiet, but a land creature. He waved the squad to halt while he checked it out - Vega did the same, aiming his SAW in that direction - but whatever it was, it moved off heading southwest. Some animal or other, he was sure, though Ding waited another few minutes before he felt totally safe moving off. He checked the wind, which was blowing from his left rear, and wondered if his pungent odor was detectable to men - probably not, he decided. The rank smells of the jungle were pretty overpowering. On the other hand, maybe washing once in a while was worth the effort...

He arrived at MALLET without further incident. He was now one kilometer off the objective. Again the squad assembled. There was a creek less than fifty meters from the checkpoint, and water was again replenished. The next stop was the objective rally point, picked for its easy identifiability. Ding got them there in just under an hour. The squad formed yet another defensive perimeter while the point man and commander got together.

Ramirez took out his map again. Chavez and his captain turned on the infrared lights that were part of the goggle-sets and traced ideas on the map and the accompanying photos. Also present was the operations sergeant, appropriately named Guerra. The road to the airfield came in from the opposite direction, looping around a stream that the squad had followed into the rally point. The only building visible on the photo was also on the far side of the objective.

'I like this way in, sir,' Chavez observed.

'I think you're right,' Ramirez replied. 'Sergeant Guerra?'

'Looks pretty good to me, sir.'

'Okay, people, if there's going to be contact, it'll be in this here neighborhood. It is now post time. Chavez, I'm going in with you. Guerra, you bring the rest of the squad in behind us if there's any trouble.'

'Yes, sir,' both sergeants replied.

Out of habit, Ding pulled out his camouflage stick and applied some green and black to his face. Next he put on his gloves. Though sweaty hands were a nuisance, the dark leather shells would darken his hands. He moved out,