Golden Chance with a Silver Bullet

Somewhere in 1979...

'Is this your first trip to our country?'

Phil Danté smiled at the girl who spoke. She was sitting across from him on the train going from the Capital City to the remote jungle city famous for its historic temples from an ancient civilisation. She was beautiful and looked about 12 years old. She was accompanied by what he correctly presumed was her brother.

'You have a very beautiful country. It is my first trip here, but I hope it will not be my last.'

Phil returned her smile with what he and his comrades-in-arms called a 'shit-eating grin'. It was one of the first things he learned to do in his work as an international soldier of fortune. The silly smile that would be regarded as a sign of mental illness in the Western World was de rigueur no matter where he plied his trade training and leading native troops. Whether it was in Asia, the Orient, South and Central America or Africa where he had recently come from, the smile was necessary to not give offence and please the locals. He reflected that in his first army, the one of his country of birth, one of the first things they established in his basic training besides blind obedience and fear of physical punishment, was that a smile was regarded as an overture to a homosexual dalliance. Ergo, he had never smiled until he survived an ambush, a mortar attack, a booby trap or conversely, had obtained a confirmed kill; or he had completed his overseas tour. Now he often felt sore from forcing a smile the entire day.

Unlike the young people who sought to practice their English with visitors and had difficulties beyond the usual phrases, her English was grammatically perfect. She didn't have the usual shyness or quasi-embarrassment of a young girl speaking to a foreign male. Her smiling brother said nothing at all, in contrast to the many cultures where that situation was reversed where only a male could speak. Phil loved the almost musical sound of her very light accent.

Phil introduced himself, but the girl's name she provided in response was so long that he whistled.

'Something with an "A"? May I call you "Ann"?

'Please.'

They passed the time on the journey through the green hilly jungle broken up with small hamlets with a highly intelligent conversation on a variety of topics. Polite, erudite and witty, Ann puzzled him when she remarked that she was 22 years old, as to Phil she looked like a child. She made him laugh by calling him 'Ulysses', as he was taking a very long time to return to his home...

As she had correctly pointed out, Phil was in no great hurry to return to his home, though due to the economic sanctions against the nation who last employed him, he had only a limited amount of foreign exchange with him. He had access to an international bank account that was more possible in capital cities then small villages. He enjoyed travelling to and exploring as many nations as he could between the nations he worked in.

Ann said she was now a schoolteacher in the outlying regions inhabited by the aboriginal occupants of the land. Ann had once attended university in the Soviet Union. She despised the USSR as had everyone else she knew who studied there and had returned home as a strong anti-communist. However, she told him that those who had studied in Great Britain had come home as dedicated socialists, whilst the ones who had studied in France came back as fanatical Khmer Rouge types. Go figure.

Phil sanitised his own background emphasising the police and private investigation work over his military experiences and the variety of mundane temporary jobs he had when he couldn't find any vacancies in his chosen occupations. Her English was too good for him to get away with using the phrase 'retroactive family planning specialist'.

They travelled in a very old-fashioned wooden railway carriage. Ann and her brother produced a bottle of water from a wicker bag and offered Phil a drink. He smiled and refused, saying he would not dream of depriving them of their own water on a long travel on a hot afternoon, instead he had his own water.

He rose to the luggage rack over his seat where he kept his backpack and his green military web belt with its green plastic water bottle. He used the empty magazine pouches on the belt to keep his small camera and spare film. As he replaced his water bottle, a 7.62mm round that he didn't know that he still had fell to the floor of the train carriage.

He felt rather than noticed the sudden silence in the railway carriage.

The pair continued their enchanting conversation until the trio disembarked at the small railway station that was their destination.

The brother and sister accompanied him to his very economical wooden hotel where he checked in and left his kit in his room. The pair had never been inside the upper floor of the hotel before and were fascinated by the adequately furnished room of the ubiquitous ceiling fan, a bed with mosquito net, table and chair with reading lamp and combination wardrobe and chest of drawers. Though everything was old, the room was clean enough to pass any military inspection. He shared bathroom facilities.

The pair invited Phil later that evening to their home for smoke flavoured tea and continued conversation as well as to meet her family. He finally admitted to himself that she was 22 when he noticed that her smiling but non-English speaking mother also had the same figure of a 12-year-old, but she had the face of an old woman.

Following a light but pleasing breakfast of tea, bread and fruit the next morning, he rented a bicycle from his hotel to ride up a road through the jungle that would lead him to some of the ancient temples.

The weather was glorious, and he was having a marvellous time.

He heard a vehicle behind him. Phil steered his bicycle towards the edge of the road to allow it to pass but the vehicle was a Police Land Rover that stopped in front of him. He was reminded of the clown car in a circus his parents had once brought him to when out of the Land Rover came a uniformed Inspector, a Sergeant, two constables and two plainclothesmen. Phil dismounted his bicycle and switched on his shit-eating grin.

'Good morning, sir. It's a beautiful day.'

'Good morning, Mr. Danté. It is a beautiful day. Are you pleased with your hotel?'

'Yes sir, it is a wonderful hotel nicely run by a pleasant family who rented me this bicycle to allow me to see your beautiful temples. May I help you, sir?'

'Were you on the train from the Capital City yesterday afternoon?'

'Yes I was, sir. I was in the pleasant company of one of your schoolteachers and her brother.'

'Did you have a round of ammunition with you?'

'Yes, I did not know I had it, sir. It fell out of my camera pouch.'

'In our country it is illegal to have any ammunition or any firearm. Do you have any firearms and any more ammunition?'

'I have a pistol that is being held by your Customs police at the airport. I will be happy to show you my receipt along with my passport. I had a hunting rifle in the last nation I lived in that I left behind, but I did not know I had a round of ammunition with me.'

In the meantime, Phil pointed at his chest and slowly pulled out a plastic pouch containing the Customs paperwork, his passport and some currency and Traveller's Cheques that he did not show the Inspector. The Inspector seemed pleased with the passport and documents but did not return them to Phil.

'Please come with us, we shall take you to your hotel room to see whether you have forgotten any more ammunition.'

Phil found himself wedged between the plainclothesmen. The Inspector sat in the front passenger seat, his Sergeant drove, the Constables were bundled in the back.

'And why do you have ammunition and a firearm in our Customs?'

'I'm a police officer.'

'Can you prove that?'

Phil pointed at himself, slowly rose and produced his wallet.

Phil had last worked as an Irregular with a police counterterrorist field force. In his work training and leading African troops in counterterrorist operations he had been given an identification card that he kept, as it reminded him of a 1965 Mad Magazine article based on James Bond's 'Licence to Kill' card that looked like a driver's licence. Of course, Phil was not a mercenary, he was a policeman. He had also done a considerable amount of 'big game hunting' around the world, but his targets and trophies had two legs instead of four...

The Inspector seemed impressed with Phil's identification card. He apologised profusely and ordered the vehicle to stop. He barked orders at one of the Constables who scurried up a palm tree and came down with a coconut that he expertly opened and presented to Phil.

'Please, have a drink. Again, I apologise, but I have to investigate the matter that was brought to my attention.'

'No apologies necessary, sir. It demonstrates that you are a diligent policeman.'

The pair of them spoke 'cop' to each other talking of police work and comparing notes on insurgencies. Upon arrival at the hotel the Inspector politely paid the owner to give Phil a bottle of soft drink as they went up to his room. Phil explained his camouflage uniform and military web gear as a police uniform. All of the police reflected their Inspector's happiness at inspecting a fellow policeman's equipment. The Inspector returned Phil's passport and Customs papers.

'Mr. Danté, would you please accept an invitation to my home for lunch?'

'I would be extremely honoured, sir.'

III

Phil was able to have the wife of the hotel owner provide him with a lovely bouquet to bring to the Inspector's home. Believing that his travelling suit would be overdressing, he borrowed an iron for his dress shirt and slacks. The Inspector's wife had a limited knowledge of English but by keeping the conversation to pleasantries and basics all had a wonderful time. The food was excellent.

Afterwards the Inspector guided him to his study adorned with various group photographs of policemen, police wall plaques and photos of the family's children.

Phil politely refused a cigar but accepted a glass of the local Arrack whisky. He was prepared to talk 'cop' all afternoon, but the Inspector dropped his smile and put on an intense look.

'Your presence here is a fortuitous one. We need a man of your experience to perform a job for us.'

'I would be honoured to do something to repay you for the wonderful time I have had dining with your splendid family and make amends for my inexcusable ignorance of having a round of ammunition from a rifle I no longer possess.'

'Though you are new to our country we are in need of an expert who can perform an assassination of a criminal insurgent.'

Phil kept up his shit-eating grin and wondered if the Inspector was trying to set him up for a murder charge. The Inspector remained silent.

'I am honoured, but as you say, I do not know your country and think every one of your Constables would have more local knowledge and experience than I would. Is this criminal insurgent in the city or the bush?'

The Inspector smiled, 'The bush, as you say. I can provide you with an expert guide.'

'I am puzzled that you do not wish to arrest this man, who with the proper encouragement would be pleased to assist you with your enquiries and introduce you to his co-workers and methods.'

'I have the feeling that you have worked in several different nations that have traditions that would be alien to your own or another nation.'

'That sir, is true. I regard my work as the opportunity to learn about the world.'

'We do not wish the insurgent who looks like a man, to be arrested. He must be killed, and he can only be killed with a silver bullet.'

Phil had long learned to hold his tongue, otherwise he thought of a television show of his childhood where he imagined himself smiling and asking, 'Am I on Candid Camera?'

'I had no idea you had a werewolf insurgency problem. It's been successfully kept out of the media.'

'Your target is not what movies call a werewolf, a wolf man or a vampire. Let us just say that some influential people believe that he has a supernatural power. Your assignment would be to fire a single silver bullet into him and exfiltrate as you say in the military. His followers are like children who would be no problem once he has been executed, so it would be the best outcome if none of them were hurt.'

'It would have to be a single bullet, sir. A silver bullet would destroy a weapon's rifling and make it incapable of accurate fire after a silver bullet had been fired through its barrel.'

'You are exceptionally knowledgeable, Mr. Danté.'

Phil had a wide variety of useless information and trivia cluttering his mind that he had remembered when he had forgotten much more important things. He had once read a humorous article in an American firearms magazine where a group of firearms enthusiasts had attempted to emulate The Lone Ranger by having a friend with the proper equipment melt down and mould silver bullets for a cap and ball black powder revolver. They discovered that it destroyed their weapon. All thought it hilarious except for the man who owned the antique revolver.

'Another whisky?'

'Have you any black coffee?'

As they waited for their coffee the Inspector spoke as what sounded like a rational devil's advocate explaining some of their nation's superstitions and beliefs. An individual charismatic insurgent was stirring up discontent. He had supposedly survived being shot by counterinsurgency police that had increased interest in him. He was gaining a following through the constant retelling and no doubt exaggeration of the affair with the insurgent claiming to be a traditional supernatural being of the nation. Phil refrained from telling the Inspector that the only thing he believed in was Nihilism, but he also played devil's advocate.

The bottom lines were that as of this time, the insurgent's activity was only known locally, the Inspector did not wish it to be known at a higher level. None of the Inspector's local police would dare to attempt to assassinate a supernatural being. If the insurgent's following grew any bigger the Inspector would lose his position, and what the Inspector regarded as trigger happy Special Forces from the large cities would come into his area and kill what the Inspector regarded as ordinary people who were temporarily deluded. Cut off the head and the snake will die. Phil's admiration of the Inspector was growing.

There was reliable information where the target would be, the Inspector could provide an expert guide and the proper equipment, but there was a time limit. What would Phil require for his services?

Phil asked for an immediate position in the nation's police. The Inspector replied that he would be provided with a local appointment that would be the equivalent of a Special Constable. Phil then asked for an accurate disposable rifle with a silver bullet as a primary weapon, a small sawn off shotgun the size of a large pistol containing silver pellets as a close-range backup weapon, and a semi-automatic service rifle in case he had the undesired situation where he would have to shoot his way out of a mob. He also wished a jungle uniform of the nation's military or police.

The Inspector replied that everything would be ready the next morning and there would be an unmentioned bonus for his efforts.

* * *

The Inspector had provided Phil his credentials, uniform, equipment and introduced him to his guide who had limited English.

His guide was small and wiry, and older than Phil. His English was halting, but Phil liked him and they shook hands. Like Ann, his name was a long one starting with an 'S'; with his permission, Phil called him 'Slim'.

Slim looked at Phil's leather band that covered his wristwatch. Phil snapped off the cover to show Slim the time. Slim made a face as if he had sucked a lemon then proudly showed his own wristwatch.

'Rolex!'

Everyone laughed. The Inspector said Slim was one of the aboriginal people of the nation but had served in the army in a regiment that Phil recognised as one of the best of the region. Slim also assisted the police as a tracker. Phil had a feeling that Slim may have been coerced over a matter that he would not be prosecuted for, as Phil had the feeling that the round of ammunition on the train had not been forgotten.

'You've given me the finest equipment and the finest man for the job, sir.'

Though Phil liked and respected Slim and the Inspector, his paranoia still gave him the feeling that he could end up as the Lee Harvey Oswald of 1979. Perhaps his guide would be his own J.D. Tippit who would either try and kill him after he did the deed or would be Phil's second target in self-defence.

Phil requested and was provided a map of the area and a military lensatic compass so he could navigate his own way back in case something happened to Slim. He continued to wonder whether if he refused the mission the Inspector would bring up the matter of his bringing military ammunition into the nation. Over their luncheon the Inspector had said the penalties for bringing any ammunition were draconian due to the civil wars and insurgencies that didn't make the international press.

'When you return and make your report, this will be yours.'

The Inspector displayed a roll of American currency. Phil examined the currency looking for the fibres in it that looked satisfactory. He asked if there was any ultraviolet light device in the station. There was and the paper of the currency didn't glow indicating that it was genuine. Phil thought this was his golden chance to continue his travels and come out ahead. The Inspector said the currency had been confiscated from a wrongdoer and kept by the police for special purposes...

Phil was issued an old but serviceable Fabrique Nationale Self Loading Rifle that he was intensely familiar with, a World War II Japanese Arisaka rifle with a scope and a sawn-off single barrel shotgun with the silver pellets round. He was able to zero in both rifles on a small range suitable for the purpose. He was taken outside the village for more longer-range shooting later. Recalling his experiences in previous nations, he planned to remove the flash hider of the SLR to light up the night and make a thunderous noise that did marvels to the imaginations of those unused to firearms.

'Is there any place on the target I have to put the silver bullet into, sir? Head or centre mass?'

'Centre mass would be fine, Mr. Danté.'

Phil wondered what the significance of the silver bullet really was. Any well-placed bullet would kill or seriously incapacitate a man. He recalled an idle conversation after a viewing a horror movie with his schoolmates that the reason vampires could not see their own reflection in a mirror was due to the mirror being coated with silver that repelled evil. He admitted that as he knew very little of the counterinsurgencies and civil war in the nation, he would know less about their local superstitions and folklore. 'Give the people want they want', seemed to be a truism in the East as well as the West...

If he was being set up to be a bunny or a fall guy he definitely wanted to be dressed in an official police or military uniform of the nation.

Slim and Phil entered the back of a Police Land Rover. Slim was dressed as a local, Phil was in a jungle green uniform and webbing from the nation. He wore his own boots, face veil that he wore as an ascot and his lucky slouch hat. He had successfully requested a local police hat badge to replace his African lion holding an elephant tusk badge that had replaced Phil's original Rising Sun badge on the brim that was pinned up its side. Phil had insisted that if the natives had an actual respect for the law, they would respect a government army uniform and rifle.

The Inspector bade farewell.

'Our information says there is going to be a ceremony tonight where you will accomplish your mission.'

Inside the Land Rover there was no way Phil could see where they were going. He asked Slim,

'How will I be able to recognise the person I'm going to contact?'

'He will be the only white man there.'

So, Phil thought, it takes one to kill one...the police no doubt wanted a foreigner to kill a foreigner.

* * *

The vehicle stopped and the back door was opened.

Phil and Slim found themselves by the bank of a jungle river with a locally made canoe. The taller Phil sat in the rear and paddled according to Slim's directions. He deadened his mind by endlessly mentally singing 'We're Here Because We're Here' to the tune of 'Auld Lang Syne'.

His mind then took him to the effectiveness of the untried silver bullet. Would there be enough powder to propel it accurately to its destination? He hoped to get as close as possible, but not close enough for a hand-to-hand melee. His mind drifted back to when he worked with some Selous Scouts, a unit who performed counterinsurgency by dressing and making themselves up to look like the insurgents they hunted. One of their party tricks was planting what they called 'dynamite rounds' in terrorist ammunition dumps where the AK round would be filled with explosive that would blow up the user's rifle in their face. He imagined himself as a highly embarrassed black faced Elmer Fudd with a surprise crowd laughing and shouting,

'SILVER BULLET???? How can ANYONE be so gullible and stupid? Oh, it's...Silly Philly...'

The tropical sun was setting as Slim indicated that they go ashore. Phil found himself stiff and was helped out of the canoe by a smiling Slim. They camouflaged their craft with Phil attempting to memorise its location in case he had to come back alone.

Slim led him through the twilight with the assassination weapon slung on his shoulder as Phil covered them with his SLR. He hadn't camouflaged his face with paint as he had worn his net type face veil.

They heard the sound of drums, similar to Africa. The same memory always popped into Phil's childish mind when he heard jungle drums, Mantan Moreland's remark in King of the Zombies,

'Drums! Uh oh! That's my cue for me to start parading outta here!'

They slowed their walk to be as quiet as possible until they came upon the source of the drums and singing in a clearing lit by flames.

There appeared to be no perimeter security, Phil and Slim found themselves a position and Phil sighted his rifle with the magic silver bullet. His SLR and the shotgun was near him. Slim only had a machete, he was far enough away from Phil to use it, but Phil would have another worry as he aimed his rifle.

There was a gathering of about 20 males with one obvious speaker in the middle of what looked like the remains of an ancient temple foundation.

As Slim said, the jungle messiah was white. Literally so, as he was an albino. He could hear him shouting in what Slim said was the language of the indigenous, however Slim noticed that though he was adept in the traditional aboriginal language, he had a foreign accent.

He wondered why the screaming albino in the middle of nowhere was deemed a threat. Obviously, the local police weren't bush wallahs as Slim certainly was, so that explained why the Inspector's police hadn't come, but why use a silver bullet on what in the Western World would be deemed a raving homeless alkie baying at the full moon?

Phil learned the answer to his question when he heard the screams of a girl being dragged to the albino and the albino producing the local machete called a Piha kaetta.

It's showtime...

'Centre mass' was deemed suitable, centre mass it was. Phil sighted, released half his breath and squeezed the trigger...the weapon was effective.

The albino staggered and fell.

Everyone became as still and silent as a graveyard full of statues.

Phil rose with his SLR and fired several shots over the heads of the stunned natives that lit up the jungle and sounded like cannon. He accompanied his gunfire with one of his jungle shrieks he used around the world on night raids. As the cowboy movie fans described it, the locals thought it best to 'get the hell out of Dodge' and ran away into the bush.

Slim called the girl and she came running to them.

As she came closer Phil took off his face veil.

'Ann!'

'Ulysses!'

She ran into his arms and they embraced.

'Let's go Homer!'

'Please.'

Back at the Police Station the Inspector and his Sergeant warmly thanked Phil. He produced the large roll of genuine American currency and peeled off one one-hundred-dollar bill, gave it to him and shook Phil's hand.

Phil hoped his eyes hadn't given him away; he had imagined the entire roll would be his. He sheepishly admitted to himself that in the country they were in then and there, one hundred US dollars was a fortune.

Phil thanked the Inspector and embraced him.

They talked of many things, but the final words of the Inspector said that though he would miss him and he would like him as one of his officers, it would be best for everyone if he left the village the next morning.

* * *

The eternally smiling Ann and her brother had their final tea with Phil as they awaited the arrival of his train to the Capital City.

'Do you have a Penelope waiting for you, Ulysses?'

'Other than my mother and my maiden aunt, no. Oh, you two would love each other. She was a Ulysses herself when she was young, then she became a schoolteacher like you.'

Ann radiantly smiled.

Phil continued,

'Having a Penelope to dream of makes life worthwhile. Will you please be my Penelope?'

'Maybe that it best. In our country our families are very strict, so if you remained here there would be difficulties for the both of us. Maybe if we write to each other across the lands and the seas we will satisfy our dreams of Penelope and Ulysses...and my brother will love to collect the stamps! Phil, I would never have imagined that you loved Homer so well.'

'To me, it's not The Odyssey, Ann. It's my favourite poem, Out There Somewhere by Henry Herbert Knibbs, "Somewhere in the South, down where the clouds lie on the sea,...he found his sweet Penelope'''.

'I will find that poem and keep it as my treasure to remember you.'

The crowd rose as the train made its way to the station, Phil placed his pack on his back, his slouch hat on his head with the three of them going to the station platform.

'When I was a little boy, I always embarrassed my schoolteachers. I don't mean to embarrass you, but...'

They warmly embraced each other.

'The world is a strange and beautiful place, but it is very large.'

Phil responded, 'But it's round, and someday I may end up back here where I started from...'

EPILOGUE

In the Capital City Phil was engaged in his usual nightly visit to the foyer of a swish international hotel. Prior to socialising with the guests, he read the English language newspaper of the nation in a comfy chair with a cool local lager.

He was attracted to the now familiar to him photo accompanying the story of a discovery of the body of an American anthropologist and university professor whose cause of death was listed as a heart attack. The article said that the deceased first came to the nation as a member of the Peace Corps until that organisation permanently departed the nation during a period of 'political transition'. The deceased was recorded as being a frequent visitor to the original inhabitants of the nation and gathered accounts of their folklore. He had vanished in the interior of the nation some time ago, in violation of his visa conditions. He had attracted controversy by reviving unwelcome primitive superstitions in the aboriginal people of the nation and embarrassed the local government.

Phil reflected that his opinions of teachers had remained unchanged since he was a schoolboy. He muttered to himself,

'Scratch an academic, and you find a psychopath.'

FIN

Author Notes: I am the author of three Extra Dimensional/Ultraterrestial military science fiction novels MERCENARY EXOTIQUE, OPERATION CHUPACABRA and WORK IN OTHER WORLDS FROM YOUR OWN HOME! as well as two travel books THE MAN FROM WAUKEGAN and TWO AUSTRALIANS IN SCOTLAND (all from Lulu.com). I live happily ever after with my wife in paradise (coastal Kiama, NSW Australia).

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