“The Panaitan Strait? So you were making for the Semenandjung Djungkulon headland?”
“No. That was a tempting option, but approaching it would have put us in the shallows longer. And we wanted to come ashore in a spot where the invaders wouldn’t have anyone on the ground, including human collaborators. We angled north toward Pulau Panaitan, stayed at one hundred fathoms and came up toward the westward strand that shelters Kesauris Bay. It was the only safe approach. The coastal shelf is steep at that point, so we were able to rise from one hundred to five fathoms over the course of a three-kilometer run and slip straight into the bay, hugging the western shore.”
“A crushing hug, at the very end.”
The lieutenant stared at Witkowski’s jocular addition. “You sank her?”
“On purpose,” Trevor clarified. “We flooded the tanks and let her settle and wedge between a pair of rocks, near a small wreck we found on close inspection of the last satellite photo survey.”
“So she’ll just look like part of the garbage, if they scan the site.”
“If they’re being sloppy, yeah. And maybe they are a bit sloppy over in that area. It took almost five minutes for recon drones to show up, and it was half an hour before some live units showed up to nose around. We were already out of the sub and hunkered in the bush by that time.”
The smaller Aussie, the first one who had emerged from the undergrowth, nodded. “Yeh, the closest base they have is in Serang.”
The lieutenant looked at him. “These aren’t our mates, Gavin—yet.” He turned back to Trevor. “And then?”
Stosh jumped in before Trevor even had his mouth open. “Ask about the swimming.”
“The swimming?”
“Yes. Our lovely midnight dip across the Panaitan Strait.”
“You can’t swim the Strait. The current—”
“My chief is exaggerating a bit.” Trevor turned and smiled a smile that made Stosh bring his lips together tightly. Trevor turned back to Tygg. “We brought high-strength nonmetallic cable, which we moored and concealed under the marshlands on the eastern side of Panaitan Island. Then we worked in shifts over three days to put a towline halfway across the strait. We ran out and anchored an additional one-hundred-meter length of line, one at a time. We just kept adding to the end of the already laid cable—although we did have a few interesting moments with broken or jammed lanyards.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
“When we had laid four kilometers, we towed ourselves to the end of the line, and cleared the rest of the distance on a dive.”
“And the current?”
“It carried us, but we counted on that when we laid the line. We didn’t try a direct traverse. We cleared the remaining distance by using handheld dive jets to control the current-drift, and came ashore near Pulau Karangtikukur.”
Stosh nodded, mumbled. “Nice reefs, there. Nice and sharp.”
“Yeh, and that headland is bloody rugged.”
“That’s why we coast-followed,” finished Trevor. “When the going got too difficult on foot, we got back into the water and went around. No patrols. Pretty much deserted, until we reached Tjikawung. After that, we just kept our heads down—until you saw them.”
He looked at Trevor. “And what’s your infiltration code?”
“I’m not part of any infiltration force, although I’m not surprised that one is gathering. And I’m glad it is. But I’m bound for Jakarta, on a very different mission.”
“Which is?”
“Which is authorized at this level of classification.” Trevor produced the magic card Downing had given him, hated deflecting a probable ally with a lie. But the only place Trevor was authorized to go now was the brig.
Lieutenant Tygg looked at the card, looked at Trevor quickly, back at the card. “I’ve seen one of these. One. Glad I didn’t have to run that op myself. I heard it got a bit wooly.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Once we get to Jakarta, I’ll brief you on he particulars and native contacts we’ve got waiting there. Now, what’s your story?”
The lieutenant finally put out his hand. They shook. “Lieutenant C. Robin, SAAS.”
Trevor blinked in surprise. “Lieutenant ‘Robin?’ But I thought your name was Tygg?”
The lieutenant may have flushed before shooting a dirty look at Gavin… who suddenly showed keen interest in the jungle canopy overhead. Trevor had a feeling vaguely akin to witnessing an embarrassing familial moment at a neighbor’s house—before Stosh asked, “Er… you said C. Robin, sir?”
“I did.”
“Your first name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Christopher,’ would it?”
The lieutenant clearly reddened this time. He seemed to speak through clenched teeth. “What’s it to you, Chief?”
“Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.”
Trevor was terrified that he might grin before he could clamp down on the surge of surreal hilarity brought on by finding a Lieutenant Christopher Robin here in the Million Acre Wood that was the Javanese jungle. Furnished with the nom de guerre of “Tygger,” no less. He preempted a chortle by hastily sticking out his hand. “I’m Trevor. Now, what’s the situation around here?”
Tygg shrugged. “We arrived in-country three days after the bastards landed, gathering tactical intel, organizing resistance. Some of your lot was here as well. Marine Force Recon, I think. We kept separate. You know the drilclass="underline" stay small, hard to catch, harder to see, and if they got one unit, then the other could still carry on.”
“How’d that go?”
“Fine, for a while. Then the exos started coming out into the bush. It was like bloody fox and hound, after that. We’d organize a hit, and out they’d come after us, the Arat Kur pushing their Hkh’Rkh hounds to the hunt. They got your lot—Force Recon—first. Killed them all, unless our intel was wrong. Got a big bloody nose doing so, I hear. Got us next, about two weeks later, and I think they had help.”
“What kind of ‘help’?”
“Human help. We were operating over near the mass-driver, gathering intel on the rate of continuing construction. We had some unexpected visitors. I suspect we tripped some of CoDevCo’s ground sensors in the area, and they sent word to their new landlords. Lost the captain, all of first squad. Ripped up half of the other before we could break contact and get into the deep bush.”
“And since then?”
“Educating the locals. Real talent here for jungle insurgency, but we already knew that. On the side, we’ve been compiling tactical intel for the infiltration units we might eventually have contact with.”
“What kind of intel?”
“You name it. Everything from a list of known exo bases to the technical specs on their equipment. For instance, there’s a weapon the Arat Kur break out for special occasions: their little coil gun.”
Stosh cleared his throat. “You mean, like the rail guns used on warships?”
Lieutenant Robin nodded. “Same principle, yeh—but portable. We call it a needler. It’s a support weapon that the Arat Kur sometimes mount in a separate housing on the back of their armored exoskeletons, and sometimes issue to the Hkh’Rkh ground troops as a vehicle or crew-served heavy weapon. Slows the wearer down, but it’s absolutely lethal out to three kilometers. Only four-millimeter projectiles—like overgrown needles—but they’re traveling four or five times the speed of sound. Ruler-straight trajectory, and they must have one hell of a scope slaved to the weapon; we took our last two casualties after I thought we’d given them the slip by putting four klicks between us.”