“It is a prize,” Gus replied. Even over the noise of the helicopter, Kamigami heard the worry in his voice. The scene rapidly changed as they crossed the main channel and headed for an island. “Palau Tenang,” Gus said.
Kamigami had the pilot circle the island. It was big for a Malay Archipelago island — five miles long and over two miles wide. A low hill, almost two hundred feet high and covered with dense foliage, dominated the center. Deep ravines radiated out from the dome and ran down to the shore. A dirt road ran along the shore, and Kamigami estimated he could jog around the island in full battle gear in under three hours. Not enough, he thought. “Fly over the center of the island and hover,” he told the pilot. The pilot did as ordered to give Kamigami a bird’s-eye view of his new domain. Because of the hill and thick jungle scrub, most of the island was uninhabitable. The ridges were very steep and reminded him of the spokes of a wheel. From his vantage point he could see the main camp on the south side of the island on a small alluvial plain. With his binoculars he picked out a route that led directly from the camp, along a ridge, over the island’s center, and then down to the road on the north shore. He estimated the direct-line distance at under two miles. A distinctive pair of boulders dangled over the north road, and the name “Devil’s Gonads” flashed in his mind.
“Take it down. I want to see the camp,” he told the pilot.
“The First Special Operations Service,” Gus explained, “takes the best from the British and the United States. Our staff structure parallels your army, but much of our equipment is British. All of our officers and senior NCOs train in England or the United States at one point in their career. Colonel Sun Dan, the commander of the First, was an honor graduate at Sandhurst.”
“Did he train with the SAS?” Kamigami asked. The SAS was Great Britain’s Special Air Service regiment, arguably the best special operations unit in the world.
“No. I believe he trained with the British Parachute Regiment and your Rangers.”
“I never met him when I was with the Rangers,” Kamigami said as the helicopter descended. He grimaced when he saw a hardened command bunker flying the flag of the First SOS. He had his work cut out for him.
As Kamigami had requested, only Tel was waiting for them at the helipad. He had changed in the month since Kamigami had last seen him. He had put on weight and was standing tall in freshly washed jungle fatigues. His hair was cut short, his boots were polished, and a big smile was spread across his face. He snapped a sharp salute when Kamigami emerged from the helicopter. “Good morning, sir,” he said.
“I’m not a ‘sir,’” Kamigami grumbled, “and you don’t salute retired sergeants.”
Tel refused to drop his salute. “They teach about you here,” he replied.
Kamigami gave in and returned the salute. “I was hoping you’d learn something useful.”
“I guess not,” Tel said. “I washed out.”
Gus came up behind them. “Actually, I recommended he be removed from training.” From the look on Kamigami’s face, an explanation was in order. “It’s a language problem,” Gus said. “His Chinese isn’t good enough to understand the instruction.”
“It’s good enough,” Tel said, a newfound confidence in his voice. “But I got into some arguments with my instructors. They didn’t like the way I set up an ambush. I did it just like we did on the trail.”
Kamigami instinctively understood what had happened. It was the ethnic problem that cursed Tel’s life. The First SOS was made up of Singapore Chinese, and while they may have been Singaporean, they were still Chinese. And Tel was anything but. “Every ambush is different,” Kamigami said. “You got to learn the basics.”
“He can fly back with me,” Gus said.
“I want him as my butt man,” Kamigami said.
Gus looked amused. “Butt man?”
“A gofer and bodyguard,” Kamigami explained.
“You won’t need a bodyguard here,” Gus said.
Kamigami changed the subject. “Time to meet the troops.”
“Your staff is waiting in the command post,” Gus said. He led the way into the nearby bunker. It was an impressive structure with blast doors, an air lock, a decontamination chamber, and highly polished floors. It was a perfect setup for a regular-army unit and the last thing Kamigami needed. Colonel Sun Dan was waiting for him with five lieutenant colonels and seven majors. To the man, they were a perfect match for the building: neat, trim, and wearing highly polished boots. For Kamigami the next two hours were an exercise in frustration, as he went through the motions of assuming command and meeting his staff. But he endured, taking the measure of each man. Colonel Sun impressed him, but he made a mental note to transfer out four of the lieutenant colonels and three of the majors at the first opportunity. Finally it was time to meet the men of the First Special Operations Service.
“We’re organized in four squadrons of eighty men each,” Colonel Sun explained as they approached the parade ground.
“They look very…ah, military,” Kamigami wryly observed.
“As you can see,” Sun replied, missing the cynicism in Kamigami’s voice, “we select only the elite.”
We’ll see how elite, Kamigami thought. He had learned the hard way that the truly elite special operations units had little time, or respect, for the conventions of the normal military. They had to be totally committed to battle discipline, and everything else was garbage. He stepped up onto the low platform as every face turned toward him. “My name is Victor Kamigami,” he began. “I’m your new commander, and while I hold the rank of brigadier, you will not salute me, or any other officer, at any time. To help you remember, remove your berets.” As one, they snatched off the black berets they were wearing, and shoved them under an epaulet. “Very good,” Kamigami said. “Now fall out and return here with full battle gear in thirty minutes.” He stepped off the podium and turned to Colonel Sun. “I’ll need to borrow a rucksack,” he said.
“We use bergens here,” Tel said.
“Ah, the English influence,” Kamigami said. He preferred the British backpack, as it could carry more.
“You can use mine,” Tel offered.
“You’ll be needing it,” Kamigami replied.
Exactly thirty minutes later Kamigami stepped back onto the platform. Only this time he was shouldering a sixty-five-pound bergen, wearing a belt kit, and carrying his personal MP5. For a moment he stared at the men. “Follow me,” he commanded. He stepped off the podium and set a quick pace to the road that led around the island.
Two hours later he reached the two boulders he called the Devil’s Gonads, and called a halt. “How are the men doing?” he asked Colonel Sun.
“Four men have dropped out, and Three Squadron is falling behind,” came the answer.
“Four in only two hours?” Kamigami replied. Both he and the colonel knew that it was an unacceptable number. “Tell Three Squadron to keep up,” he ordered. He drank from his first canteen, emptied it, and set off again. But this time he increased the pace, and they made it back to camp in ninety minutes. He let the men rest for fifteen minutes, refill their canteens, and then he headed out again, this time running the road counterclockwise. He maintained a killing pace but stopped every fifty minutes. This time they made the circuit in three hours, and again Three Squadron tailed in, strung out over a quarter of a mile. Kamigami shook his head. “How many men have dropped out?” he asked Sun.