Killing Dreams: The Bunian Conspiracy, #2

By Aammton Alias

Originally inspired by the mysterious events in the jungles of Borneo island, Killing Dreams, a supernatural fantasy thriller uncovers the events in the aftermath of the horrific 3rd December Ingei jungle 'incident' . Captain Sarin and his elite recon unit, the Prowling Tigers, are deep in Borneo's Ingei jungle tasked to investigate the gruesome massacre of the expedition team and more importantly, to find the unaccounted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M Content Creations
• Release date: Jul 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393325390

Aammton Alias

Dr. Aammton Alias has been a family physician for almost two decades. He is currently practising in a private community clinic. He is the Vice-President of RELA (REading and Literacy Association). One of the many goals of this organisation is to strive for every child to own and cherish at least one book. He is a keen conservationist and environmentalist who is deeply concerned with the state of the world the next generation will inherit. You can reach him via: Twitter: @Aammton Telegram: @ElTonyX Facebook Page: www.fb.me/aammtonalias

Book preview

Sarin: Gemat

5th December

Location: Air Force Base Bravo One

Boots. Five pairs. We sit tightly in the metal black bird as it hovers above the ground, loud vibrations shaking the cage, but not our cores. It is a routine now for the 5th Recon Unit - ‘The Prowling Tigers’. An air crewman in the cabin with his over-sized green helmet nods and thumbs up the pilot and then starts to close the doors of this Sikorsky S-70A ‘Black Hawk’ helicopter. I look at the different faces of the team, snort and spit out the most vile and viscous of phlegm through the helicopter door, watching it land on to the landing pad below. The air crewman looks at me, but my cold stare stops him from making comments.

He wouldn’t understand. The unspoken rituals that us warrior men must make to ensure the safety of the troops we lead. Every man here has his own ritual: things that need to be done to dispel bad luck and ensure safe passage. 

Sergeant Menawan; a smooth-faced tracker, sits in front of me. He is grinning with no apparent purpose whilst fiddling with a black string tied around his left wrist, a talisman to ward away evil spirits. I do my best not to look at it. He is from the ‘Dusun’ indigenous tribe, a pagan whose family still practises the dark arts of shamanism. I press my hand onto my own chest, feeling the outline of my own silver talisman. Protect me from the unseen evil.

The Black Hawk helicopter soars into the air, and we fly over patches of sporadic and unchecked urban development, orange and white houses below like mosaic pieces, crisscrossed by never-ending black asphalt roads. A battle to claim as much of the green and turn them into illusions of the dream called progress.

Lance Corporal Azim is sound asleep whilst another, Corporal Jagau - our heavy weapons specialist, seems at ease reading a book.

What’s the dumb book you’re reading? I shout out to Jagau, the helicopter blades chopping and thundering through the air, making me barely audible. If only they gave us onboard radio sets. I hate budget cuts.

Jagau shows me the cover Be the One Percent: Unlock Secrets to True Success, Real Wealth & Ultimate Happiness and gets back to reading. I smile away, hiding my concerns for this soldier. Pep talk perhaps later or a career counsellor. Private Kilau, on the other hand, is happily listening to his music via his earphones. He smiles at me. Kilau is always smiling and cheerful, no matter what his situation. I reminisce the time I heard about his women troubles, especially when his wife rammed her car to his car when she saw him with his secret girlfriend. I often wondered how he got his wife to accept him back. Perhaps the secret is to smile away our troubles. 

15 minutes later, I can see through the helicopter window the houses are no more, it’s all green and trees all around. Another 30 minutes before we land. I close my eyes and recollect the conversation earlier with the commander of the base.

SARIN, THIS IS DATO Kassim. I shake hands with the elder but confident man, lowering my shoulders slightly to show my respect for this man of great stature. His title Dato is like being knighted by the Queen, except it is not the Queen of England that ‘knights’ him.

I could not help from noticing his sparkling diamond encrusted platinum ring, square with a dozen smaller twinkling diamonds in formation. He must be a businessman too.

I have been informed that my daughter Dr. Nurul Kassim has disappeared in the Ingei jungle. Something terrible has happened to the expedition team, Dato Kassim pushes the rims of his designer sunshades. Real men take off their sunshades when they talk to other people. It is disrespectful not to do so, no matter his stature.

There are already soldiers from the Third Battalion encamped there, Dato Kassim’s index finger is in mid-air and half-pointing towards me, But I need the best. Please, Captain Sarin. Lead your team and find her. She means the world to me.  I turn to the Commander, who nods in acknowledgment.

Prepare your team and meet at Hangar J in 30 minutes. You will be briefed there.

Yes, Tuan Sir. I salute the Commander, and then he dismisses me.

Captain Sarin, bring her home safely and I will make sure that you and your men will be taken care of as a sign of my gratitude.

Don’t forget me too, I hear the Commander laugh as I close the door behind me.

Ingei. Why? Is this the same thing that happened with my old Unit?

THE SUDDEN JERKING of the helicopter interrupts my thoughts as we are thrown by unforgiving wind. I look out and see dark overcast clouds.

I tap the on-board communication system, Pilot, how soon are we landing?

We can’t land at the LZ. The winds came up out of nowhere and its pushing us against the landing zone.

Land us safely, pilot. It was more of a prayer than an order.

That’s always the plan, Captain Sarin.

The helicopter tilts 45 degrees on its side, as it goes around its original landing approach. Through the window, I see the tall rainforest trees almost touching the helicopter. Of course, this is a mere illusion, the helicopter is not that near. I wonder why the pilot can’t just land vertically, since this is a helicopter and then remember the landscape and the tall leaning trees, which can sway uncontrollably in strong winds. There’s only one way to land this helicopter. I grip the side of the hard ABS seat as I realise another more dramatic way for this helicopter to land: a crash. No, we won’t crash.  The pilot is very experienced.

The Black Hawk helicopter completes the circular approach and levels out. I look ahead and through the windshield in front. I see the clearing, the landing site. Let’s land safe.

A white shadow of a giant hand of rain water and wind pushes the helicopter back and the helicopter loses altitude, drops down as I feel my stomach content float half way up my throat.

Did I see a large hand push the helicopter? Can’t be.

The helicopter rocks backwards unsteadily, and before we fall further with this metal black bird, the pilot surges power into the helicopter blades. The Black Hawk responds, and we soar up and backwards to safety.

Sergeant Menawan curses, Looks like the Bunian spirits don’t want us to be here. He leans forward and to our shock, he pulls the helicopter door open and shouts into the wind a familiar Dusun spell to ward away evil spirits. Water splatters into the helicopter as the air crewman closes the door, avoiding eye contact with Menawan. Too scared to look for confrontation with a mad Ranger.

The helicopter tilts 45 degrees on its side, trying the same approach again. Third time lucky, I pray. As we level out again to the same landing zone, Menawan pulls the helicopter door again, and shouts out unimaginable expletives into the wind. Wet thick leaves blow into the helicopter cabin, swirling inside covering our eyes and slapping our faces.

OOI BUNIANS, I WILL SLAP YOUR FACES WITH MY BLOODY UNDERWEAR IF YOU DON’T LET US LAND! Menawan screams maniacally. Everyone stares at Menawan in disbelief. What the hell is he on?

As though in response, the wind and the rain abruptly stops, allowing the helicopter to land onto the grassy clearing more forcefully than expected. I grab my gear and jump out of the Black Hawk helicopter as my men follow suit. In the corner of my eye, I see the pilot giving the eye at Menawan, as the air crewman sweeps the leaves from the cabin with his feet, his own expletives inaudible with the thunderous sound of the helicopter blades.

Hunching down, my men and I run across the moving sea of tall grass to safety along the tree line ahead. The helicopter soars back into the air. We are now on our own.

Welcome back to Ingei, Captain. Sergeant Menawan taps me on the shoulder. What does he know about my past? Does he know about what happened to the First Recon Unit? I grit my teeth to stop myself from asking that same question that has been bothering me for the past year: why was I the only survivor? I fight the thoughts silently with all my might. I am now a leader. Everything else must be set aside.

With our full gear, we march to our rendezvous point nearby. I can sense we are being intently watched. On one occasion, I could see tall shadows lurking in between the gargantuan jungle trees. I assure myself that the shadows of the jungle are mere observers, or at least that is what I hope for. I focus on the task at hand, which is to reach the forward base camp. We are to meet up with the army regulars, a platoon from the Third Battalion army. I am expecting to see my former Captain. He wasn’t just a former captain. He was my former mentor, my former saviour, which is no other than the former Captain Roslan. The Cursed Captain.

I have a feeling he will tell us a different story about the killings of the Ingei expedition team.

CHAPTER 66

Sarin: Reunion

5TH DECEMBER

Location: Kilo Zero Nine Base Camp,

Ingei Jungle, Bumi

The forward base camp, designated Kilo Zero Nine is essentially a large clearing in the jungle surrounded by rather wide-trunk giant trees. I had only expected one platoon encamped there but it is more than just an encampment. There are a number of platoons present now, all from the Third Battalion Army. Someone has surely pulling strings to create a good presence here.  A soldier salutes and provides me updates as my men and I are led towards his commanding officer, Colonel Falkon.

Captain sir, have you ever met Colonel Falkon? the private asks me.

No. I’ve never had the pleasure but, I have heard stories about him.

We enter a make-shift digital-camo green army tent, where wallboards have been set up inside along with a high-tech military encryption radio communication equipment. Several soldiers are setting up photos and maps, whilst others are writing on white boards. There is a portable table with several sealed brown envelopes on it. 

Captain Sarin and the Prowling Tigers. Welcome to my domain! Colonel Falkon gestures with his arms out. He is a tall man with a very fair complexion and rigid cheekbones, his moustache groomed well and thick in spite of the hostile conditions of the Ingei jungle.

We salute him immediately as we address him by his rank.

At ease. There’s no need for that. I consider the 5th Recon Unit - the Prowling Tigers - as family. We are kin. After all, I did create the 5th Recon Unit some time ago.

It is an extreme honour to finally meet you, Colonel Falkon!

I count five of you – where is the missing sixth, Captain?

Sergeant Luas Pikir is on compulsory medical leave, Colonel Sir!

Of course, I did not want to elaborate any further. I would have loved to tell him that the sixth man, Sergeant Luas Pikir – our so-called psychic warrior – has gone nuts, going hysterically about seeing the so-called bleak future. Sargeant Luas had to be warded in the Mental Health Unit for mandatory psychiatric treatment. I have an ache in my chest as I wonder if he would ever make it back to my unit. He was a fool with a loose screw in his head but he was one damn good jungle-tracker. The talented always have a flaw. I bite my upper lip before I could stop myself from doing so.

Then we shall do without him. Colonel Falkon slaps his thigh, as though giving everyone permission to change topic Good, let’s get you up-to-date with our SITREP.

One of his soldiers approaches and starts reading from his clipboard as we move and stand around the portable table. I wonder what is inside those sealed envelopes.

Situational Report: 40 hours ago, an Ingei Research Expedition team was attacked at their research base camp three kilometers from here, by unidentified forces using bladed weapons and incendiary projectile gunfire, the soldier stops as Colonel Falkon interrupts him.

Jonny, that’s an assumption, but never mind. Please continue with the SITREP, Colonel Falkon waves his hand in gesture.

The expedition had 30 personnel in its register. We have identified body parts accounting for 19 fatalities. Five members have been found alive, of which three were not at the Ingei camp site during the attack. There are six persons missing including Dato Kassim’s daughter: Dr. Nurul Kassim. The identity and the number of attackers are unknown, and we are unable to make out their tracks. We are expanding our search site but will need to coordinate our logistics first. SITREP complete.

Thank you, Jonny. You can leave us now. Everyone leave the tent and let me talk to these good men of my Prowling Tigers. Once his soldiers leave, Colonel Falkon unseals a few of the brown large envelopes and yet keeps the contents away from our prying eyes.

You have been brought here because I believe you have a more open mind with dealing with our situation. Open your eyes and your minds to all kinds of possibilities. Colonel Falkon with all drama pours out the contents of the envelopes as one by one colour photographs rapidly fall hard on to the table: victims of a gory attack feasted in blood.

I grab one particular photo that catches my eyes, a half burnt headless corpse lying next to her assumed decapitated head, a scream frozen and eyes turned white knowing the end has arrived. A chill goes down my spine. This looks all too familiar.

Poachers? A tiger? A pack of wolves? Corporal Jagau murmurs unsurely.

If only, Sergeant Menawan replies, as beads of