Casca 12: The African Mercenary (4 page)

Beidemann
turned to Yousef. "Might as well get rid of this one too, yes? It is not wise to leave enemies behind when you can avoid it," he said, giving a nod to Yousef. The Moroccan slit the Korean's throat, then dragged the body back to the kitchen and tossed it out the rear door, where it sank into the filthy waters to join the two others already in residence.

Inside, Van and George were taking care of business with Ling
K'ai, who had just awakened from an opium induced sleep. That was why the shots outside had not disturbed his dreams. Neither had he been warned of the coming of Van and George. Kim had not wished to disturb him over something that could be dealt with so easily.

George grabbed the young Thai girl lying beside
K'ai and threw her out the door, then closed and locked it. There would be no further interruptions. Van stood over K'ai and smiled, his soft, almost girlish features looking entirely too gentle for what was about to take place. George pulled his knife from its sheath at the base of his spine and stepped forward, humming softly to himself.

Outside, the big German and Yousef heard a hideous scream begin and last for what seemed an impossible length of time. It repeated itself over and over, each time becoming a little shorter in duration as if beginning to run down like a broken toy.

The door finally opened, and George and Van came out. Beidemann got one quick look at what remained of Ling K'ai, his head pinned to his mahogany desk by some shining object. After Van and George had performed some minor and some not so minor surgery, George had found a rifle cleaning rod in K'ai's office, and in exchange for what K'ai had put into the ears of the Khmer Rouge, they had hammered the rod through his own ears and into his desk. The amount of time K'ai would continue to live was left entirely up to him. George had left his knife where K'ai could reach it. When the pain was too great, all the man had to do was cut his own throat with the one hand they had left him.

They had not yet reached the street outside the club when
K'ai screamed again, took the knife, and with a trembling hand forced the blade into his neck. Twisting and ripping in his pain, he botched the job and had to hack at his own throat clumsily until at last he reached the jugular vein and bled to death.

George went back for a look, then returned to his friends and said simply, "It is best that it is over for him. He would never have been much good for a woman again anyway."

The debt had been paid. Now they were free to concentrate on their new contract across the sea in Africa.

They
rejoined Casey, no one saying anything about the day's activities. Casey packed his belongings, and they all left together to find the Englishman. Before nightfall, they were in his plane and on their way to Malaya, where Harrison did a quick turn around after letting his strangely silent passengers off at the private hangars. They loaded the Land Rover for the ride from the hot, humid lands by the muddy river to the cooler heights of the mountains. Before dawn, they were on the red clay road leading up to Casey's plantation. The altitude was beginning to make itself known by the cooling of the morning air. They were almost home.

Yu Li was waiting for them when they drove into the circular driveway in front of the main house, a large, rambling, white structure that spoke of colonial times and a memory of things gone but not completely forgotten.

Beidemann was impressed by the subtle security that had manifested itself on their approach to the compound where Yu Li was waiting. His instincts told him that they were under observation from the moment they entered the boundaries of Casey's domain. Even in the half light of dawn he could make out the shapes of armed men set at ambush sites near the road. As they drove on, he noticed several claymore mines set along the sides of the road leading up the mountain. Where there were claymores, there had to be someone to activate them or else they would have gone off when the Land Rover passed them.

Yu Li was standing on the porch, wearing a turquoise cheongsam, her hair piled high on her head. She had breakfast waiting for them on the veranda, where they could eat in the cool morning air, surrounded by the bright reds and purples of bougainvillea and other tropical shrubs. After seeing to their needs and assigning rooms, she left with Casey to the comfort of their own rooms. She had some needs of her own to take care of.

It was nearly three in the afternoon before all the guests were awake and moving. Yu Li always made it a point to try and get to know those with whom her man was going to do business. His life, and in a way hers, depended on them.

She was friendly but slightly formal to the big German, as if unsure of him and somewhat intimidated by his size. She knew that he and her man went back a long way together. Just how far back, she wasn't sure.
Beidemann had to be pushing sixty, though he looked to be in his mid-forties and was as strong as a Celebes ox. Several times, when he and Casey were alone, they would speak German. When anyone came near, they would switch to English, and Yu Li guessed they were discussing something else. She had the feeling that there were some things concerning her man that Beidemann would never mention to her or to anyone else.

Casey wanted her to like his oldest surviving friend. He was the last of his kind. When the two men were alone he had asked
Beidemann not to mention his being in the German army. He gave no reason, but he knew it wasn't necessary. Beidemann would do as he was asked, even if he didn't understand the reasons. Casey had almost not called Beidemann in for this mission, but he'd had the feeling that if he didn't, he'd never see the monster alive again. He was nearly as fascinated by the big man as Beidemann was with him. The German had an almost timeless quality to him that was more of the spirit than of age. The only change that time had made in Beidemann, other than making him a bit grayer and adding a few more lines to his face, was that he'd become a bit more mellow and sometimes chose to play a more fatherly or sophisticated role. He had fine manners when he chose to use them, and his natural good spirits were infectious. It didn't take long before he had Yu Li sitting on his knee like a child. Uncle Gus told her stories she found impossible to believe, but they were related with just enough feeling for truth that she was never quite sure. Beidemann was like something out of a legend to her, and she never quite believed he was a real person.

Ali ben Yousef, on the other hand, was easier for her to understand; his attitudes were less Western. That, and his quiet manner, made him more like one of her own people than
Beidemann could ever be.

After a dinner of roast wild boar served on fine Austrian porcelain Yu Li had bought in Hong Kong, Casey escorted
Beidemann and Yousef around the house. Van had chosen to stay by himself for a time. As with many Asians, he often had a need for the company of his own soul more than that of men. He and George shared a bungalow where they had recreated a small corner of Vietnam for themselves to enjoy.

Later that afternoon,
Beidemann was startled when two small figures attacked Casey. Leaping out from a cluster of palmetto fronds, Casey's legs were quickly trapped in the arms of two children, a boy and girl. Picking them up, one under each arm, Casey held them where they could do the least damage. He gave each a shake and kissed them, then set them down and patted each one on the rump, sending them off to find Yu Li.

Noting
Beidemann's expression, Casey explained a bit self-consciously. "That's Nuyen and Quang, brother and sister. They were the only children on a boat overloaded with refugees from Vietnam. Their small wooden boat had been raked over by a Viet gunboat, killing the children's mother and father, who were friends of Van's family. In the parents' personal effects was a letter by, which Van was contacted when the survivors reached Malaya and were taken into custody. Between the three of us me, Yu Li, and Van we took care of the necessary paperwork, saw that squeeze was paid to the right people and that the kids were given to us. They were too young to know their birthdays, so we gave them the same one the day Yu Li brought them here to the mountain." Beidemann noticed something in Casey's eyes that he had never seen before, a strange look of... was it guilt? Sadness? He couldn't tell which.

Clearing his throat,
Beidemann changed the subject. "When do I meet the rest of your guests?"

Casey pointed to a trail leading off from the main compound, indicating that was the way
Beidemann was to go. "Right now. They're all waiting for you, and I think you're going to have to prove to them that you're all that I said you were. So, old friend, be prepared."

At the phrase
“old friend," Beidemann looked at his host and former tank commander. When Casey had gone by the name of Carl Langer from '43 to '45, he had looked to be the same age as Beidemann was then. The German would swear that he didn't look a year older now. Was it possible that he even looked a bit better? Maybe he'd had a face lift. They could do wonderful things with silicone these days.... One day he was going to sit down and have a straight talk with his old friend.

Beidemann
followed Casey down the trail between giant trees draped with flowering vines. The green of the Cameron Highlands was incredible. The sun reflected off the leaves and branches of a thousand species of plants, casting an emerald glow over everything that moved inside the forest. Set in a separate clearing with its own cook shack was what served as the barracks for Casey's other guests. A long, narrow structure made of native wood and raised several feet off the floor of the forest on thick piles, the barracks could house over fifty men. At the edge of the clearing they were greeted by two sentries in camouflage fatigues, each armed with Spanish made versions of the German G-3 rifle. Their salute to Casey was formal, if not rigid. They were not put on the job because they knew how to salute. They had been brought in because they knew how to fight and were dependable when it counted most.

Casey went up the steps to the barracks,
then opened the screen door. As he stepped inside, those waiting for him were called to attention by a former sergeant major in Her Majesty's South African Rifles.

Jeremy Fitzhugh had been an eighteen year old private in World War II and had served with distinction in North Africa, Sicily, and France. He'd retired from the regular army after twenty years and since then had sold his considerable talents to those whom he felt merited them the most. He was a professional mercenary, but he was a bit picky about whom he worked for.

"Ten hut!" Twenty men halted whatever they were doing and jumped to attention beside their bunks.

"At ease," Casey said, walking with
Beidemann between the rows of bunks, letting his friend get a good look at the men. The German knew several of them from other operations. Most were British, but there were a couple of Germans, South Africans, and Belgians tossed in for good measure. All had seen more than their share of action, and each had spent some time in Africa. Casey wanted men who knew the territory.

When they reached Fitzhugh they stopped and Casey made a formal introduction. "Sergeant Major Fitzhugh, may I present
Gustaf Beidemann. He will be my second in command."

Beidemann
stood nearly half a foot taller than Fitzhugh, but other than that, there was little difference in body design. Both were powerfully built men who knew their strength and would use it without reservation if called upon.

Beidemann
and Fitzhugh eyed one another, each sizing up the other. At one time they had been enemies. Each needed to see if they were still going to be that way. There was a moment of tension as their eyes locked. Then the spell was broken. Beidemann was accepted when Fitzhugh came to attention, stamping his right foot down in the British fashion and, as he did so, barking out, "Sir! Regimental Sergeant Major Fitzhugh at your service!" There would be no trouble from Fitzhugh now.

Once he'd recognized
Beidemann as being his superior officer, he would do his part in all that was required of him.

Beidemann
spoke to him easily. "I have heard of you, Sergeant. We have not always been on the same side, yet who can read the future? For now, let us keep the past where it belongs."

Casey picked up on that and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "That goes for everyone. We have a job to do, and I will not tolerate anything that could jeopardize our mission. If you have personal problems, leave them behind until you are finished with your contract. Understand this! Beginning at reveille tomorrow morning, anyone who does anything that threatens our security will be shot. There will be no other punishments, only death! There are too few of us to fight among ourselves, and in a very short time we will have all the trouble we need to keep ourselves entertained.

"Fitzhugh, you shall continue as senior non-com. From now on, please see that the men use the chain of command if they have any problems."

"Sir!"
came Fitzhugh's response. He liked Casey's attitude.

Turning to
Beidemann, Casey said, "They're all yours. Get them ready. We may have to leave sooner than planned. You and Fitzhugh work out who is going to be in each team, then bring me the list for final approval."

He left
Beidemann to establish his authority in his own way. He had given the men until morning to get the shit out of their systems. He knew that his old friend would have to prove himself to the rest of the mercenaries before he would be completely in command.

Before the day was out,
Beidemann had secured his leadership by putting two dissidents out of action for a couple of days. He was careful not to break anything, but he hurt them just enough to let them know who was boss. It would be the last time anyone referred to his age in anything but a respectful tone.

Casey invited those he considered his staff to dine at the big house. After an evening meal of roast young water buffalo, he, Van,
Beidemann, and Fitzhugh went into his study to discuss the mission. Neither Yousef nor George was of much use for any deep thinking, and they preferred to fix their own meals anyway.

The two of them had taken to each other, and Yousef had moved into the bungalow with George and Van.

The others spent several hours going over maps supplied by van Janich. Using a magnifying glass, they went over aerial shots of Dzhombe's palace and grounds. Casey told them to take their time before making any comments. He wanted each to get a feel of where they were going.

Beidemann
studied the photos of the palace again and again. At last, setting the glass down, he and Fitzhugh looked at each other. Both knew what the other was thinking. "I think we may have a problem," the German said, pointing to the photos. "The drop zone is very narrow, and many of our men have not had any recent parachuting experience. If there are any crosswinds at all, some of them are going to land outside the garden walls, and if that happens, we will probably get our asses blown away." Fitzhugh and Van nodded their agreement to Beidemann's assessment of the situation. This was another change that come over Biedemann in the last ten years. In the past he had always been a good soldier but had preferred to leave the thinking to others. Casey was glad to see his friend using his brain as well as his brawn for a change.

He looked at the photos again, nodding his own agreement. "You're right. If there's over a ten knot cross wind, we'll lose at least part of our men, and we don't have any to spare. Every man will be needed inside those walls if we're going to do the job. I don't know what the prevailing winds will be when we go in, but I'll find out. Let's plan for the worst; that way we won't be disappointed. How can we be certain of getting everyone in, especially the heavy weapons section? They're critical to the plan."

There was a long silence as each tried to come up with some kind of solution to the problem. Fitzhugh spoke first.

"Sir, I hate to give the bloody Huns any credit" he smiled at
Beidemann "but they did do one thing that we might be able to copy. I was in Sicily when this happened, but didn't Otto Skorzeny, the SS commando, use gliders when he rescued Mussolini off that bloody great mountain? I don't remember the name of the place, but he didn't have much room to set down in."

Beidemann
supplied the name. "It was the Gran Sasso d'Italia, and you're right. The winds were too bad to make a jump, and he used gliders to get his men in. Does anyone know how much ground a glider needs to set down in?"