Predator's Picnic: Mercenary's feeding frenzy

1988.

CHAPTER 1

My name is Marc Clint Gregor. I was born in Texas in 1980. My mother was a Canadian of pure French blood and my father was an American who farmed tobacco until his death.

Tobacco farmers being better off than most in those early days before Surgeon-General’s reports began to be taken seriously, I had a very comfortable early life and an excellent education which left me a certified public accountant.

I had learnt French on my mother’s knee and I learnt English in Cambridge in England and I picked up a fair amount of Arabic from my studies. These are my accomplishments.

After my father’s death, my mother had passed away several years earlier; I sold the farm, since I had no interest or ability in farming and invested everything I had in a Management Consultancy company and the Stock Exchange. Those are my failings.

It was not as if my company had no potential but for the last ten years of my life I had spent the greatest part of my time serving as a reserve officer in the army in the Middle East and Afghanistan. The army was there to protect the country from the terrorists but no-one was there to protect my business from falling apart. A service oriented business needs personnel to keep supplying the services it offers. It became clear to me that I was earning a meager living on a reserve Captain’s pay and that my stock exchange investments had long since been consumed by political uncertainty and personal necessity. If you have ever tried to live on a soldier’s pay you will understand that I was almost flat broke after I had bought my air-ticket.

As a qualified accountant, I should have been earning a very satisfactory salary indeed. I am sure that I could have gone west and found employment in California but I was over-weary of the American political situation and longed to find a nice steady position in a stable country where I could recover my fortune or as much of it as the local cost-of¬-living would allow.

By studying the European situation, I discovered that stable countries were not all that easy to find and so I satisfied myself by writing to a Swiss Bank and asking for an interview. I did not receive a reply to my letter but I had taken a positive line and had informed them that I would be arriving in Zurich on the fifteenth of March from New York and would they be kind enough to see me on that day.

I hitch-hiked up to New York, gratefully accepting the hospitality of the kind people who offered me lifts and meals, thereby conserving my scant supply of money.

The flight to Zurich was comfortable enough particularly because a pert little stewardess seemed to believe that I needed extra help and attention and I was the last person to deny this. She even supplied me with double rations, which, being a canny sort of fellow, I consumed or stored against future contingencies.

I slept well on the flight, notwithstanding the narrowness of the seats, for I found the engine noise a lot more soothing than the grind of an army truck engine and I had slept often enough to that grating lullaby.

The Zurich day was cold and grey. My wardrobe was not equal to it so I hunched up my shoulders and strode off the aircraft carrying my one piece of luggage as a shield against the wind.

I had hardly cleared the perfunctory customs inspection when my eye was caught by a paging board that bore the letters MC GREGOR. This was a double surprise to me. Firstly, I was surprised to see my name flashed about a foreign airport and secondly I was surprised that the Zurich bank had thought so much of my application that they had sent someone to pick me up. I came to the conclusion that the Swiss were an extremely hospitable people and I congratulated myself on my insight in choosing such a congenial nation in which to reside.

I strode over to the man holding up the board and told him admiringly, I’m Marc Gregor.

Pardon? he replied with the French intonation. So I repeated myself in that language.

Good. Follow me. You are two days late. he told me in French.

I knew I wasn’t two days late but then what would a mere messenger know about it. He had probably misunderstood the instructions of his bosses.

He led me to a panel van in the parking lot and I was a little put out at his lack of interest in my luggage. He could not have known that I was carrying all I owned and he did not even volunteer to help me with that.

Get in. he told me shortly, gesturing to the rear of the vehicle.

I could see that I had no choice in the matter because the single seat up front was already packed with parcels so I clambered in revising my estimates of Swiss hospitality. Well, maybe they were short of vehicles, I was still grateful that they had taken the trouble to fetch me.

My ‘pageboy’ climbed in beside me and closed the doors and then I realized that there were four other men in the van with us.

"Here is the money promised to you. ’Page-boy’ said to all assembled and he doled out a packet to each of us.

I knew now that I was not being picked up by the bank and I was still holding my packet wondering what to do about it when one of my neighbors grunted.

This money is in Swiss francs. We were promised a thousand dollars.

It is a thousand dollars in francs. Page-boy returned.

When I am told dollars, I expect my money in United States dollars. the first one snapped back truculently.

Page-boy shrugged indifferently, I am sure that Command will change it for you if you want. Me, I would be happy to take francs. You can’t spend dollars where we’re going."

I decided to hold my peace. I could always use a thousand dollars in francs. Once I knew what I had to do for it, I could decide whether I ought to go back to the Zurich bank and demand that they return my rightful job to me.

Everyone settled down as comfortably as the interior of the van would allow and I gathered it would be a long journey. I fished out a few rolls and some cheese from the store which my air-borne ‘mother’ had given me and I offered them around. "I’m Marc Gregor I told them as I handed out the food.

I learnt that I was accompanied by Dubois (alias ‘page-boy’), Maneiro, Shorsky, Braun and Koch. You are one of the Legion eh Koch? Dubois suggested after the first few bites.

What is it to you? Koch demanded, not aggressively, just closing the subject.

I studied my companions in the dim light and came to the conclusion that they were a tough bunch of characters. I knew that I was letting myself in for something dangerous and that meant, almost inevitably, illegal. People don’t hand out thousand dollar welcome-to-the-club cards in normal business transactions.

I gave the matter quite a lot of thought on that trip and I decided that I stood to gain a lot more by playing the matter along than by telling my newfound friends that I was not the man they thought I was. It was always possible that I had already exceeded the bounds of toleration as far as poking my nose into their business went. I had been bouncing along in that van for two hours before it finally dawned on me that the paging sign that Dubois had held up was meant to read McGregor. I had taken the M and C in front of the Gregor to be my initials. Even then, the mistake would have been more quickly corrected if my first name had not been Marc. Marc Gregor must sound close enough to McGregor to a Frenchman.

I pondered the matter a little longer and hoped that the fact that the unknown McGregor was two days late meant that he would not be coming at all. At least not until I had made my escape with as much illegal pay as I could get my hands on without having to do anything really obnoxious.

My mind was almost instantly put at rest by Dubois, who having polished off the bread and cheese snack, resumed his rough attempts at conversation. You are lucky, McGregor. This was the last time we were going to the airport. If you had not arrived on today’s flight you would have missed out on this job. We would not have returned and you would have lost your fifty thousand dollars.

I had an enormous struggle to prevent the amazement showing on my face and I suppose the dim interior of the van helped to hide my consternation. I was clearly heading for a highly dangerous time. Presuming that Dubois was also participating in the payout and that as we were being driven by another, who was either senior to or at least equal in status to Dubois, the pay check was going to exceed a quarter of a million dollars. I wondered how much the turnover would be.

The first thought that came into my mind after that, was that I was probably being drafted into the ranks of the ‘Sewer Rats’, those legendary thieves who had burrowed into bank¬ vaults through the sewers and made off with millions. I knew I would never be able to sustain my masquerade if that was so. They would hardly be prepared to take on unskilled labor and I would soon show up as that among a group of highly skilled professional crooks.

I began to give my situation another careful look. I had no qualms about staying in to extract as much of their ill-gotten gains as possible but I did not want to do anything that would lead to a prison sentence for myself. I will concede that my morality on the subject was not of the highest buot I salved my conscience by telling myself that I could aid society and myself by tagging along until I knew enough to take vital information to the police. I suppose that my absorption in thought must have given the impression that I was not the light-conversational type because Dubois abandoned his attempts to pass the time by talking and settled himself down to take a nap.

I took the hint from the others and did likewise. I have very little idea of how long we were in that van because when we were finally roused out I was too fuddled to think of looking at my watch and then it was too late.

The first impression I got on stepping out of the van and onto the ground was that I had found myself back at barracks. The only thing which destroyed the complete sense of recognition was that the orders which were being screamed at me were in French.

Fall in there you bunch of motherless cretins! shouted the giant desperado who could not have been mistaken for anything else but a sergeant-major. Right. Strip down and pack all your clothing into your bags immediately. Everything: watches, rings and any other personal items. Retain nothing personal, is that clear?

Er, what about our money? demanded one of my companions cautiously. Everything; and you address me as ‘Sergeant’ or I’ll make you wish your mother had never brought such a horrible little scab into existence.

But sergeant.... The mercenary one said.

Jump to it! You scrap of shit! Your money will be safe. It is your scrofulous skin you should worry over.

The rest of us responded with the prompt discipline of all soldiers.

We were harried into the building which turned out to be an ablution block and were ordered to shower. Towels were waiting for us as soon as we emerged from the stalls and we were then sprinted over to the next building where we were subjected to a perfunctory medical examination by an ancient doctor who looked as if he preserved himself in surgical spirits; at least his breath appeared to be one hundred and eighty proof.

One of our number, the man named Maneiro, was retained by this scion of Hippocrates and the rest of us were then sprinted over to another building where the Sergeant-Major-type personally distributed to us a full kit of army issue, and a kit bag in which to pack it.

Get dressed in the overalls. Came the order and then we were spirited back to the first building where we were allowed to recover our money but nothing else.

Your personal clothing and effects will be restored to you at the end of the operation. We were told in that stentorian bellow which sergeant-majors regard as mandatory when communicating with the men under their charge.

Now sit down on your kitbags and face this way. You are about to be addressed by the operation commander.

There were five of us at that point and the whole process seemed to be rather overdone but military training is hard to ignore so we obeyed our instructions implicitly.

A short wait ensued and then the door of the room opened and a tall elegant-looking man, dressed in civilian clothing, walked in.

Good day, men. He said in impeccable French, I am the operation commander. You will address me at all times as ‘Colonel’. I remind you that each of you has contracted to place yourself under strict military discipline for the duration of this operation. It has been pointed out to you during your recruitment that you must submit to full and rigorous retraining. All of you have accepted these conditions and no second thoughts on this matter will be tolerated. You are now under the control of the Sergeant who has absolute rights of discipline application. As we are not playing for peanuts in this exercise, anyone who shows himself to be unsuitable to our needs in any way will be eliminated, by this I mean eliminated from existence. Do I make myself clear?

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

You have a question? he enquired of my neighbor, who had raised his hand respectfully.

These conditions were not told to me in this way Colonel. Is withdrawal still possible? the man stumbled through the question, speaking in terrible French.

Withdrawal is no longer acceptable. Do you believe you can earn fifty thousand dollars more easily than by following your customary trade? snapped the Colonel.

Colonel, I am a sharpshooter and a sniper. I understood I was being employed for these skills and not because I can put up with basic training bullshit. I am not used to operating in a squad. I act alone.

Sergeant, fall that man out. I will talk to him later. The Colonel said crisply.

We watched the sniper slouch out of the room with his kitbag slung over his shoulder then the Colonel resumed speaking.

Absolute security is to be maintained at all times. Each of you will be given code names and you are to use nothing else in dealing with one another. Any man disclosing personal details to or requiring personal details from a comrade will be required to answer to me for it.

He paused and looked down at the four of us, Answering to me has a tendency to cause permanent disability. You understand?

He stared down at us with self-satisfaction before pulling a notebook from his breast pocket and referring to it.

You will be fully briefed as to the timetable of your training schedule by the Sergeant. In due course I will hold private discussions with each of you but for now I will allocate your code names and then I will leave you to the tender mercies of your instructor.

He looked hard at me and then pointed his finger so that it came close to jabbing me in the eye, You! My fine handsome fellow; you will be called ‘Tiger’ I daresay that is what most of the girls call you anyway.

We laughed dutifully at his basic humor.

You! he told the man I knew as Braun, You will be Crocodile!, You are Hyena: he told the man, whose name was Shorsky. "Your name is ‘Wolf’ he informed Koch.

Koch laughed up at him and said cheerfully, Well chosen, Colonel. It is my own nickname.

The Colonel’s face darkened immediately and he bellowed down at Koch.

Shut up! I have already told you that you are to disclose no personal details to one another you fool. If I find you being so careless again I shall have to reach the conclusion that you are unsuitable for this exercise.

We shrank beneath his gaze because we knew the implied threat behind his words. He said nothing more but turned on heel and strode out of the room.

We sat for several minutes in unhappy contemplation before we were rejoined by the Sergeant.

Right! On your feet! Single column. Forward march.

He rushed us across the compound and marched us into a barrack room which adjoined a large aircraft hangar.

From what I had seen of the premises we appeared to be stationed on a deserted airfield. I wondered why we had not been flown into the base but soon lost the thought as the Sergeant rushed us to our beds and bellowed at us, Your beds are over on that side. Choose whichever you prefer. The ones on this side are already occupied. You will meet the others shortly when they return from their afternoon stroll.

He said this last with the usual army sarcasm which indicated that they were occupied in anything but idle strolling, When you meet them remember to introduce yourselves to them by your code names. I will not warn you about this again. We have already had some nasty casualties on this score.

We were given five minutes to unpack our kit into the bedside lockers and then were harried into the aircraft hangar, where we were told to do ten laps around the inside perimeter while the Sergeant watched our performance closely.

You! he demanded of me when we were all gathered together after our run, "What is your name?

Tiger, Sergeant. I said promptly. I had been expecting something of this sort.

You are in good condition, Tiger. I wish the other turds had kept themselves half as well. I can see that I will have my hands full with this bunch.

The others shifted sheepishly but they were all too short of wind to attempt a rejoinder, presuming that any of them had the temerity.

You! the Sergeant barked, pointing at Braun, What is your name?

Br... er, Crocodile, Sergeant. he responded hesitantly, still heaving although he was less distressed from his run than the other two.

You do that again and I’ll have you doing twenty laps in full kit, you crappy camel. Camel is what your code name should have been. You, what is your name?

Wolf, Sergeant. he said through his heavy gasps.

You pant just like one. said the Sergeant waiting for the customary titters at his heavy humor. I was the only one with the breath or the wit to supply his expectation.

You’re a sharp lad, Tiger. We ought to get on, you and me. Right. You’ve all had enough rest for an old ladies knitting circle to recover from a little jaunt like that. Form a straight line and follow me over to the mats.

The Sergeant led the Crocodile, Hyena, Wolf and me over to the mats in one corner of the hangar.

Right. All of you have done unarmed combat at same stage of your careers. Some of you are reputed to be very dangerous men. Unfortunately, due to our conditions of secrecy not even I am allowed to know anything about you except what I learn in retraining you. It is a pity that in gaining your personal reputations and vast experience in our field some of you have reached the stage of getting slower as old age creeps on. The fact that you have reached some maturity while fighting killing wars, speaks well for your skills but I am afraid that I cannot take this into account. This operation cannot afford lack of discipline or speed. Vou must each apply yourself to regaining the highest proficiency in both. You, Crocodile, take that rifle over there, fix the bayonet and attack me with it.

Yes, Sergeant. Crocodile responded and hurriedly and efficiently attached the bayonet to the old-fashioned rifle.

The Sergeant began the slow sidestepping shuffle which indicated that he was readying himself for the conventional unarmed combat counter to the bayonet thrust.

Crocodile advanced with the bayonet held low. His feet moving cautiously, one constantly ahead of the other to avoid the imbalance which crossing the legs would have caused. He reached a point approximately a yard away from the crouching Sergeant and we could see him bracing his body to make the lunge. We all knew that the Sergeant was not going to take the attack passively and Crocodile was more aware of this than any of us. He therefore concentrated more on anticipating the Sergeant’s counter-attack than on putting in the steel. His hesitation was his undoing, for the Sergeant did not wait for him to strike but took one light stride towards his assailant and then stamped quickly and hard down on the low-held blade at the end of the rifle. The rifle, pulled downwards against unresisting fingers which were not prepared for such pressure, fell to the floor. Crocodile looked down at his fallen weapon and received the Sergeant’s knee in his stomach.

The Sergeant turned back to us ignoring the fallen man.

Right. Tiger, let us see if you can think as well as you can run. Pick up the rifle. Ves Sergeant. I told him and deliberately turned my back on him as I stooped to recover the weapon. The blade of the bayonet was furthest from me and as the Sergeant was behind me, it was also furthest from him. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was studiously ignoring me, knowing that it would take a wide sweep of the weapon to bring the blade to bear, he was confident that he could react to any attack from me in plenty of time to cope with it. I reached down slowly, not bothering to face him as I knew such body movement would attract his notice, I heaved the rifle up and in a single twist of my shoulders, delivered the butt of the rifle into his midriff. This was not as easy as it sounds. For one thing he was not standing all that close to me so that I had to virtually throw the rifle at him and I ended up holding it near the bayonet. But it did have the desired effect of catching him off guard and I was able to follow through by taking a firmer grip on the rifle, stepping behind his legs and tumbling him onto the mat by slamming the butt into his chest.

Before his body had even touched the mat, I whipped the weapon around and had the bayonet point at his throat.

Touché! He cried and then jumped back onto his feet. He was smiling broadly even though I knew the two blows I had delivered must have been jarring.

Beautiful! You are only the third man to have done that to me in my career. It looks like there is hope for this younger generation after all. Right. You, Wolf, you pick up the rifle and Tiger here can deal with you.

He walked over to the end of the mat and stood back as if to watch the proceedings critically but I knew that I had hurt him and that he was using the opportunity to recover. Wolf was burly blond and Germanic. He did not have much imagination but he made up for it in strength and drive. He snatched up the rifle and uttered a piercing scream as he lunged the bayonet straight for my face. It is a classic lunge. The expected reaction is to shy away from the danger to the eyes and therefore allow the bayoneteer to follow-through by dropping the blade to a level where real weight can be placed behind the lunge and the blade can be driven through the opponent’s trunk. However, the lunge is so classic that the counter is almost routine and I had him flat on his back and covered with his own weapon in a trice.

The Sergeant’s eyes were non-committal.

Next, Hyena, try to learn from the mistakes of the others. He gave a short chuckle, Even mine; this Tiger of ours is good.

Hyena showed little skill and no ability to learn from the mistakes of the others and by way of restoring the Sergeant’s self-esteem I employed the exact counter which he had used against Crocodile.

Bravo! said the Sergeant and removed the weapon from the mat. Wolf, you pair off with Tiger; Crocodile with Hyena.

He rummaged around in a box and brought out a pair of wooden knives.

Here. He threw the knives to Crocodile and me. You attack your partners. I will judge the action.

Wolf dived straight at my legs as soon as he understood what we were to do. I am not sure what he had in mind but I gather that he liked his knife-men on the floor where they are less mobile. His legs snaked out and encircled mine as he dived and we both hit the canvas mat, one after the other. He scrabbled across the mat to get at me since he had been down first and was a second or so ahead of me. I let him come up my body, then using my own legs I wrapped about his and flipped over, bringing the knife up and intending to place it under his chin where the decision as to who had gained the upper hand could not be disputed. His left hand moved with an incredible speed and grasped my right wrist which held the knife. If I had been in his position I would have used that speed and strength to strike at the wrist with the edge of my hand. Wolf did not believe in that type of fighting. He relied entirely on his strength and there he was superior to me. I strove to free my wrist from the grip of his left hand but he forced my hand inwards and tried to turn the blade in against me. I could feel the resistance in my arm ebbing away. The knife began its inevitable turn and I knew that I would have to do something quickly to avoid defeat. But not with all my weight bearing down on my right arm, was I able to counter the strength that Wolf applied from the prone position working upwards.

The blade was now turned and working upwards. The Sergeant had ceased watching the other pair and was avidly watching our contest.

There were only two things I could have done in the circumstances, and I knew that Wolf was expecting me to do one of them. The most obvious was to drop the knife. Instead I allowed him to think that I was going to renew my resistance in the battle of muscle and he accordingly increased his own force. I then spun over, using the direction of his force to turn his body. His consternation caused him to forget to retain his iron-hard control of his left arm for a moment and I turned back the wooden knife in time to receive the weight of his body as he rolled over onto me.

You are too clever for me, Tiger. He responded in his heavy Legionnaire French.

You are too strong for me, Wolf. I complimented him in return.

The Sergeant said nothing to us but displayed complete absorption in the upright fight which was still proceeding between Crocodile and Hyena.

Wolf and I settled ourselves down on the edge of the mat to rest after our exertions and watch the other contest.

The outcome was a little disappointing because Crocodile and Hyena kept circling about one another lunging and dodging and neither seemed prepared to go in and finish the other off. They were still engaged in this fruitless pursuit, egged on by typical non-commissioned¬ officer remarks from the Sergeant, when our unknown comrades returned from their afternoon stroll.

I first became aware of them when the rhythmic stamp of their boots reached my ears and I turned to find a group of men dressed in full combat fatigues doubling into the hangar with F.N. rifles held at the high port. They moved purposefully towards us and came to a halt at the command of the man who brought up the rear of the squad.

You had a pleasant outing, Lion? the Sergeant suggested to the squad commander. Lion walked from behind the men who remained in ranks at attention.

Very pleasant, Sergeant; but they still are not fit enough for me. Are these the rest? I thought that there were supposed to be six?

Doc squashed one and the other didn’t like the conditions of service. the Sergeant said laconically.

Pity him. said Lion casually. Are these fit?

He looked us over as if we were slaves in an auction block.

Him. said the Sergeant hooking an over-the-shoulder thumb in my direction. He’s the best we have had. Wolf over there is in pretty good shape. The others we will have to work a little.

Lion walked over to me and looked me up and down.

What is your name soldier? he asked in a sharp voice, which carried, to my mind, an American intonation, even though I am not expert at identifying accents in French.

Tiger. I said bluntly and without deference. And yours?

Listen little man. You stand to attention when I talk to you and you address me as ‘Sir’. I am the squad leader and I am known as Lion.

I rose to my feet and measured myself against him. He had, perhaps an inch over my six foot one but he had a lot more beef and his hands looked like small shovels. I apologize, sir. No-one filled me in that there was another officer besides the Colonel. I told him politely. I did not want to make enemies unnecessarily.

Well now you know, boy. And don’t you forget it or I’ll be the one to fill you in. He turned to the Sergeant.

Can you take over now, Sergeant? I’d like to have a word with the Colonel.

I don’t think the Colonel is in at the moment, Lion. He went off with Dubois and the one who didn’t like the conditions of service. In any event, it is stand-down and the men go in for a shower now.

Lion glared at his wristwatch and faced the squad. Squad dismiss! He called out.

They went through an unfamiliar formal dismissal drill and then broke up and wandered over to join us.

I noticed Crocodile walk straight over to one of the men in the squad and stuck out his hand. "How goes it? I’m Crocodile. How are you called?

Puma. The other said easily, When did you arrive?

I lost track of the conversation because a Middle Eastern man walked up to me and said,

Hello Tiger. I’m Cheetah. You better watch out for that Lion. Nothing he likes better than to slap a man down. I’ve already seen him shoot one guy for stepping out of line. Luckily for the rest of us the Colonel was a bit upset about it and read the riot act to him. If it wasn’t for that I think that we’d be a lot smaller team than we are. He was swarthy and looked like an Arab.

How many are we, Cheetah? I asked, wondering about this one. He did not have that American intonation but then his French was too stiff to be comfortable.

It sort of varies. Mostly around about twenty, I’d say.

Phew! I gasped as we walked across the hangar to the barrack-room. That’s a hell of a lot of fifty thousand dollars.

Look, you just got here, Tiger. You keep your mind off that money and concentrate on training. You’ll live a lot longer that way. You may even live to collect your share. I suppose they gave you your thousand dollars worth of francs, eh? Well, I’ve been here almost a week and there is nothing you can do with that money except buy a beer from the mess hall; which means that they are getting it all back.

I gave him a quick sideways glance. He seemed to be a nice enough fellow but I knew that it would not pay to talk too freely and easily. For all I knew he could be set up to trap me into one of the establishment’s cardinal sins and I was getting the impression that any sins could be a little bit fatal in this outfit.

CHAPTER 2

I stripped down at my bed and draped a towel around my waist, aping the actions of Cheetah and the other ‘old soldiers’.

Everyone trooped into the shower stalls in the ablution block and soon the place was wreathed in steam. The block was built for a lot more than twenty men so we each had a cubicle to ourselves: no waiting; all mod.cons.

I thought about