FICTION: «Dino’s Hills» Ch.3

Chapter 3
(Extra-curricular training)

“You will look without looking, listen without letting anyone know you are listening, and you have to, in a matter of brief seconds, absorb the environment you are in. Any and every detail can count and they’re all important. Don’t take anyone or anything for granted. The job you are doing, they are doing too, don’t lose sight of that and don’t forget you are being looked at, judged, sized up. You are suspicious to them…”

“I would say we are suspicious to a lot of people, including the university’s administration…”

“And don’t interrupt me, goddamit!”

Silence. The Colonel looked at me with a silent, but extremely powerful stare. He looked like a Greek statue of one of those generals about to go and defend Sparta from the Persians or the Medes.

“Look here,” he guided me to a different room, windows were closed, it was dark. He walked towards a table and switched on an overhead lamp that cast a circular glow upon the items on the table.

“Take a look at your new best friend. This your assigned weapon, it ain’t just a Smith & Wesson M39. It’s the ‘hush puppy’, the modified one called Mk 22 Mod 0, 9mm, with a fourteen round magazine. Here”, handing it to me, “get the feel of it, the other’s for Sandra, go fetch her sergeant, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes sir.” The pistol safely in my pocked I walked out wondering when I’d get the fourteen rounds and a couple of extra magazines…

Leaving the room and out the door I turned right and walked down the wooden stairwell to the basement where Sandra had been reading one of my rock and roll magazine, one that was quite popular and that I always read called CREEM.

“You into rock Sandra?”

“Yeah, more or less, Doobie Brothers, the best!”

“They’ll never surpass the lads from Liverpool.”

“The Stones have, remember the Beatles broke up a few years ago.”

“Get up there corporal, the man’s waiting, he’s got a little something for you.” I said as I pulled out the Mk 22.

“Cool serge, that’s special forces, Navy Seals kinda hardware they’ve given you.” She smiled and made a pistol gesture with her left hand, pointing it towards the ceiling.

“Go get yours, we’ve more classes to attend to today.”

“On the double sir!” and she climbed the stairs two by two, or three by four…

“The day here starts at 0600 hours, that’s when the sun rises over this forsaken jungle, swamp, forest, whatever you wanna call it, so be alert and greet that yellow ball in the sky with dignity and respect,” said the Top. He was twice our age and twice stronger, meaner and disciplined. I guess three solid tours in Vietnam will change your personality forever. He was our new contact and instructor.

“Twenty metres metres from your eyes you’ll spot the first one. No matter what he says or does, he is the enemy. The one you see. Thirty metres behind him, or her, is his back-up and the one that’s gonna send you to your maker and ten steps to the back-up’s right, or left, is his. Be aware, be fast, don’t hesitate, he ain’t no innocent civilian. Fire continuously, empty out that clip cause you’ll have to neutralise the backups or it’s all over for you, you’ll be dead in thirty seconds. This is how these bastards operate. They’re trained by the fucking Cubans and the Soviets. They’ll challenge you, they’ll risk their fucking life just to get you. They know you’re here”

We practised until 0830 hours that morning. We killed imaginary bad guys in the forest, behind every tree, under bushes, up in the branches, anywhere and everywhere they could possibly hide. We were sharp, not a branch or leaf had a chance to fire back.

The Top, First Sergeant that is, top dude in our chain of command…the Colonel didn’t count, we really didn’t know where he came from…picked up an attaché and marched away towards civilisation. He looked funny carrying something an accountant would be hauling off to the office. Then we sat against a tall pine, I took out a cigarette, a Lark, the brand I smoked at the time because I think I read that those were the ones John Lennon smoked, and passed one over to Sandra.

“We’ve class at 0930 hours, Philosophy of Law I think.”

“No, it’s social psychology…”

“Sociology,” I interrupted.

Then I heard the machine gun and felt the bullets ripping through the tree-trunk right above my head…

“Sandy, take cover!”

We slid quickly behind the tree, hugging the ground, thanking Mother Earth for her generosity in giving us a place to shelter, at least momentarily until we could assess the situation.

I counted thirty seconds and no more bullets coming in our direction. Silence…

“They fired from…”

“They’ll hear you serge.”

“They’ve eyes on us Sandy, it doesn’t matter.”

(C.2021, Chapter 3, Fiction by Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 21 NOV 2021, Valencia, Spain)