natives were going to double-cross them somehow grew sharper.
While they were inside Burmese territory, control of this section of the
country was still an open question. The Golden Triangle was the private
preserve of various warlords. If the Karens somehow suspected that he
and Malibu had come to this remote corner of the globe as part of the
ongoing war against the drug producers, they might reason that those
warlords would pay handsomely for their capture.
The thought made Batman shiver. If Malibu had been able to travel
freely on foot, Batman would have urged an immediate escape. But he
couldn’t abandon his RIO, and it seemed certain that the Karens would
run them down in minutes if they tried to E&E together.
No, they would just have to wait and see what happened.
In mid-afternoon, the group stopped for a twenty-minute rest. When they
set out again, it was toward the east. By the time the sun was setting
that evening and the group stopped again, Batman was certain that they
were now heading in a generally southeasterly direction.
Toward U Feng.
His second night in the jungle was more comfortable than the first. The
Karens built small, closely guarded fires, and Batman gratefully
accepted a bowl of hot rice mixed with chunks of some unidentifiable
meat, the origins of which he refused to question. He ate the meal with
his fingers, sitting by the fire between Malibu and Phya. The night
sounds of the jungle surrounded them, a cacophonous symphony of shrieks,
chirps, and insect twitterings. The air smelled of wet earth and rain.
Mosquitoes swarmed from the darkness, and the shadows of huge bats
darted and swooped beyond the circle of the fire’s light.
As Batman ate, he watched the girl. He wanted to talk, to make
conversation … but he was at a loss as to how to begin with this young
woman, barely out of her teens but wearing fatigues and carrying an
assault rifle. Her conversation during the long day had been limited to
phrases like “Hurry up,” and “More quiet! Don’t thrash in leaves so
much!”
“I understand your people have been fighting for a long time, Phya,” he
said at last. He slapped at the mosquitoes gathering on the backs of
his hands despite the repellent coating them. “Why do you do it?”
“For Katoolie,” she said, echoing what Colonel Htai had said that
morning. Somewhere in the darkness, near another fire, a child laughed.
The ghost of a smile played at Phya’s lips. “Children see country
perhaps.
Someday.”
“No, I mean you. Why are you a soldier, Phya?”
“I kill Burmese.” Her eyes glittered. “Kill Burmese forever.”
He heard the ice in her voice. “Why do you hate them so much? I mean,
you’ve been fighting them for forty years! You can’t hope to win!”
“We win. Someday. Or we die. Mostly we win.”
“Against the Burmese Army?”
She bristled. “You no believe?” She paused. “When I bring you to camp
today, leave you by tree. You remember tree?”
The tree with the letters made of empty brass cartridges hammered into
the bark. Batman felt cold. “CJ,” he said. “Initials?”
“Not letters. Numbers,” she said. “Burmese way write number twelve.”
“Twelve?”
“For the 12th KNLA Brigade. Is way we mark victories. We take place
from Burmese, we mark. That camp, we take from Burmese two months ago.
Kill one hundred fifty enemy.” She fingered the red triangular patch on
her hat.
“Take this from Burmese soldier.”
The matter-of-fact way she said it sent a shiver down Batman’s spine.
She might have just admitted stepping on a spider. He swallowed. “You
sound like you enjoy killing them.”
“Not enjoy, no.” Her dark eyes watched him from beneath the brim of her
boonie hat. “Is not much choice. Either fight … or die. Burmese
want kill all Karen. Wipe out forever.”
Her words had a cold finality about them. Mass genocide? Surely
Rangoon wasn’t bent on exterminating these people. “You not believe?”
she said.
“It’s a little hard to accept,” Batman admitted.
“Americans help Burmese … not know they want kill Karen?”
Batman didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Did she blame