| Subject: Requiescant In Pace 4 |
Author:
Rox
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Date Posted: 22:30:48 01/19/02 Sat
In reply to:
Rox
's message, "Requiescant In Pace (Sequel to Anguish of Angels)" on 20:35:55 01/15/02 Tue
* * *
“What do we do?” Nikita whispered back.
“We get to the rendezvous point.” Michael answered as softly.
"But if it’s a trap. . . “
”We don’t know that for a fact. I’ll advise Operations--it will be his call to abort.” Michael got to his feet and pulled Nikita to hers. “Come--this way.”
* * *
They arrived at the rendezvous point within seconds of the other team led by Operations.
“Michael!” Operations jogged over leading his men. “So far, everything’s right on schedule.”
Nikita peered around Michael’s shoulder and was surprised to see how pleased Operations looked. He was enjoying this!
‘He would!’ She thought miserably, scratching bug bites through her soggy uniform. It was December, and jungle or no jungle, she was freezing!
“There may be a anomaly.” Michael said softly. Nikita noted his stance. Michael was not looking forward to Operations reaction to the news.
“What do you mean, an anomaly?” Operations snapped.
Nikita shook her head and stepped back. ‘Nope, Operations wasn’t in the mood to hear bad news!’
“I think we’ve been set up. They know we’re coming.” Michael answered.
“What makes you think that?” Operations growled.
“They’ve set out a perimeter guard around the compound.”
“How many?”
“We saw one. . .”
“One? One man? One man isn’t a perimeter, Michael. He could have been taking a piss for all you know!”
“He was armed and in uniform.” Michael replied, standing his ground.
Operations paused a moment then continued, “All right. Forewarned is forearmed. Pass it down the line. Watch for trip wires and sentries.”
“But if they know we’re coming--” Nikita started to speak, but Michael turned suddenly and covered her mouth with his gloved hand briefly to quiet her.
“Let it go, Kita. Just keep your eyes open.”
In the darkness no one saw Michael’s thumb as it caressed her lips. Nikita nodded and obediently fell silent. Operations had charged off towards the camp anyway. She realized, as Michael did, no matter what, it was far too late to turn back now.
The prison compound sat dark and silent in front of them. Despite Michael’s assertion that there had been a perimeter guard, none were found. Instead of being pleased, Operations was suddenly more cautious.
“Michael--Nikita” Operations called them quietly to his side.
“Yes?” Michael asked.
“I want you two to recon the area. The rest of the team will await your findings from here.”
“There’s no need to risk both of us on recon. Nikita should stay here. If there is trouble, she will be of more use to you here than inside.” Michael countered.
“No time for arguments, Michael. Take Nikita for backup!”
Nikita ended the debate by drawing her weapon and starting out in the direction of the compound. Having no choice, Michael grimly followed.
“Stay behind me. If we meet resistance, get back to the others and warn them.” Michael ordered as he pushed past her.
The prison was a walled compound, made cheaply of gray, concrete blocks, and roofed in corrugated steel that was rusty brown from age and wear. There was an opening in the wall wide enough to allow traffic in and out, but the gate was open and unguarded.
Nikita thought it looked deserted as she followed Michael inside the gate. Both were wearing night-vision goggles that painted everything an eerie, neon green. Michael used a infrared sensor to scan inside the inner courtyard of the prison. Nothing having body heat was detectable.
“Anything?” Came Operations voice in Nikita’s ear. She pressed against her right ear, sending a pulse through her ear mike to signal “no”.
With hand signals Michael indicated he was going inside the nearest building. Nikita nodded and followed him inside. They took turns taking point while the other covered. The interior of the building seemed to indicate it had been an administrative area. There were desks, chairs, and assorted 1950's vintage office furniture--but no personnel. Michael pulled off one glove and ran his hand across a desktop. He found very little dust, indicating the building hadn’t been abandoned long--if at all. He pulled his glove back on and waved Nikita back the way they had come.
The second building they searched looked as if it had been an infirmary and a kitchen. It was as empty as the first building, but left Michael with the feeling that it had been in use as recently as that day.
At the entrance of the third building, Nikita leaned over and whispered in Michael's ear. "I think we're too late. Everyone's gone. Would it be faster if I search the last building while you finish up with this one?"
"No. We stay together. Let's go." Michael pushed the outer door of the third building. It opened at a touch. Nikita felt a shiver go up her spine as they entered. It was as cold and dark as a tomb.
There was a center hallway, with doors at regular intervals on both sides of the hallway. Michael turned on an infrared flashlight that illuminated the area without giving off any visible light to give away their positions. He indicated he would take the first door on the left, and for Nikita to take the first door to their right.
Michael's door opened easily, although it looked to be a cell door, with a small observation hole cut at eye level. He cautiously stepped inside.
Nikita pushed against the door to her right. Like Michael's, it was unlocked. She used her infrared flashlight to illuminate the room. She saw a small metal table, and a closed and boarded window on the far wall. Then she saw a bed.
Michael made the same discoveries in the room he was searching and heard Nikita cry out a millisecond before he could give her warning. He ran to her assistance.
"Oh Michael!"
He caught her in his arms and held her for a moment.
Operations voice broke the silence in both their ears, "What's going on? What did you find?"
Michael took the precaution of closing the cell door before speaking. "Two dead." He said simply.
"We're coming in!" Operations returned.
"No. We haven't finished recon. Give us ten more minutes. This still might be a trap." Michael replied urgently.
"You have five!" Operations growled back.
"Come." Michael said, drawing Nikita out of the room. They quickly finished the room by room search of the third building finding the same results in each room‑‑men, lying on their beds, dead, their throats all cut.
They left the building in time to see Operations and two other team members, Winters and Owens, enter the main gate. Michael and Nikita ran over to report their findings, while Winters and Owens fanned out to provide cover.
"We found twelve dead in that building. The other two buildings were deserted."
"And that one?" Operations pointed to the fourth.
"We haven't had a chance to search it yet," Nikita said softly.
Operations took off at a run towards the fourth building. Even with night‑vision goggles, Nikita saw Ops was distressed. She started to follow, but Michael grabbed her left sleeve and stopped her.
"No. Get back out to the perimeter and wait." Michael said firmly.
"But. . ." She started to argue.
"Please. . . do it."
Nikita was startled at his words as well as his tone. Michael rarely said ‘please'. There was urgently in his voice, so she nodded and trotted off to the main gate.
Operations went grimly from room to room, with Michael silently following. Every man in every room had been systematically murdered in their beds.
From across the hallway, Winters swore and called out, "They haven't been dead long‑‑ rigor hasn't set in yet." His words were punctuated by an explosion.
Michael picked himself off the floor a moment later and called out a warning. "Don't touch the bodies, they're booby‑trapped!"
Operations grabbed Michael's arm and saw him wince. "You hurt?"
"Flesh wound. Winters is dead."
"This is all my fault," Operations said softly. "All my fault."
Owens suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Michael! I've found someone‑alive!"
"Where?" Operations asked on the run. Owens didn't bother to answer, instead he led the other two men into the latrine at the end of the hallway.
They found a man weeping in the dark. He was a triple amputee, missing both legs below the knee, and one arm below the elbow. They looked to be old injuries.
Operations knelt down beside the man on the cold cement flooring of the malodorous latrine.
"What's your name?" He asked gently.
"You're American?" The man asked instead.
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Lieutenant John Grant, United States Air Force," he chanted, as if he'd said it a million times before.
"What happened here?"
"Standing Orders," the man began to weep harder.
"Michael!" Nikita's voice broke over the comm net. "Get out! We've spotted movement on the perimeter!"
Operations swore, handed his weapon to Owens and picked up Lt. Grant in his arms. "Abort! Everyone get back to the landing zone!”
While Nikita and the remaining team members covered them, Operations, carrying Lt. Grant, Michael and Owens ran through the main gate of the prison and into the surrounding tree line.
“Nikita! Owens! Mandel! Hold this position for five!” Operations barked the order loudly. “Michael--you and the others come with me.”
For the briefest of moments Nikita saw Michael hesitate and knew it was because of her. “I’ll be fine.” She said for his ears only. “Go!”
Reluctantly, Michael turned and sprinted after Operations into the jungle. Nikita understood that if any of them were going to survive, they would all have to do what their training dictated. The mission came first--always. She was beginning to comprehend why.
Gunfire continued for several minutes before Owens commented, “I think they’re trying to flank us. Start falling back--cover formation--go!”
One by one, they fought their way back to the LZ. Nikita realized, after a while, that their successful return had depended mainly on Walter’s technology. Without their night-vision goggles, escape would have been hopeless. Fortunately, their pursuers were not as well equipped.
“Walter--I owe you a big, wet kiss!” Nikita said beneath her breath as the jungle opened into the LZ.
“And I’m holding you to it, sugar!” Came his sassy response in her ear.
She smiled, at his words and at the sight of their evac helicopter as it cleared the trees and headed into the LZ.
“You all right?” Michael was suddenly at her side.
“I’m fine. How are we doing?” She panted, looking around and trying to catch her breath.
“One dead, one missing.” He replied mechanically.
Nikita shook her head sadly. “More than one dead, Michael. All those men! We were too late!”
“Go! Go help Walter with Lt. Grant,” Michael ordered, not looking at her. His attention was on the nearest avenue of approach to their position. Nikita nodded, envying how Michael could completely shut down his emotions, when all she wanted to do was have a good cry.
Nikita found Walter gently attending to the former POW lying on a stretcher, while Operations communicated with the incoming helicopter.
Just as the helicopter landed, three green flares lit up the night sky. Nikita heard Operations swear, as a wire-guided missile, fired from the tree line, impacted the copter and blew it to bits.
“Walter!” Operations shouted.
Walter suddenly shoved the IV bag he had just hooked to his patient into Nikita's hands and ran.
“Wait--what. . .?” Nikita started to ask, but Walter was gone faster than a man twenty years his junior. She knelt over the man on the stretcher and tried to shield him as best she could from the firefight that had suddenly erupted all around them.
Grant looked up at her with a face that was almost serene. “I knew it.” He said softly.
Nikita frowned, barely able to make out his words. “What?”
“I’m dead.”
“No, you’re not!” She said emphatically, bending lower.
The man touched her face with his one remaining hand. “Aren’t you an angel?”
She cringed at a number of nearby explosions, “Ask me in a few minutes--I might say yes!”
It had been Walter’s claymores going off. For a moment, the small arms fire ceased, but it proved to be a short lull; three Huey helicopters suddenly appeared overhead and began to strafe the field. The Vietnamese had made the most of American abandoned equipment.
“Okay! Damn it! Enough!” Operations growled. “Geronimo--Fox on Lima Zulu!”
Immediately, two Apache attack helicopters came out of hiding behind a treed ridgeline. In a matter of seconds, the three Huey’s were shredded by their mini-cannons and blown to bits by their Hellfire missiles.
As suddenly as it had started, the battle was over. Nikita watched as the two Apache’s hovered protectively over them, as a second evac helicopter touched down. Relieved, she stood, her knees shaking, and looked around for Michael.
Nikita heard the danger before she saw it--a screaming growl. A tiger! Injured, and enraged, it charged Michael from behind. “Michael!” She cried out in warning.
Michael turned, calmly raised his .9mm and fired, as Nikita had seen him do a hundred times before--only this time his gun clicked on an empty chamber.
Nikita screamed, “Run!” but Michael stood his ground, knowing there was nowhere to go. Then suddenly the big cat seemed to hit an invisible wall, and fell dead at Michael’s feet.
Nikita turned to see Operations standing behind her, with a raised and smoking AK-47.
“Let’s go home.” He said, grimly. “We’re done here.”
The evac helicopter flew across the Cambodian border and landed in a sheltered, secret airfield run by the CIA. Everyone from the Section transferred from the copters to awaiting transport plane, along with their freed captive.
Nikita helped Walter secure their weapons and equipment in the cargo area of the transport plane. One by one, the remaining team members dropped off their gear. Amazingly, only Winters and Morrison had been lost, and Michael had been slightly injured. Technically, the mission was a success. The mood aboard the plane was anything but jubilant, however.
“I’m so sorry, Walter.” Nikita said gently, as she handed him the last weapon.
“About what?” He asked, as he shoved the last rifle into the gun rack and secured it.
“The men. We failed. We were too late to save them.”
He sighed wearily, “I’m sorry too, Sugar. But we didn’t fail completely. We saved one.”
“But the others. . .”
“Sugar, I learned a long time ago, to take what I could get. I survived the war--I’ll never know why, but I did. While I was in prison the one thing that kept me going was the hope that I wouldn’t be forgotten. That someday, somehow, I would finally be free. I’m hoping that before they died, they were told we were coming.”
“Why, Walter? Why would that matter?”
“It matters. It means they died knowing we never gave up trying to free them--even after thirty years. It means they weren’t forgotten.”
* * *
“Michael? We’re not going back under our cover identities as journalists?”
Michael eased into the empty window seat next to her and shook his head. “No need to bother now. Our mission would have been to help the Montagnards smuggle the men out of the country, if our other plan failed.”
“It didn’t fail?” She added sarcastically. Despite what Walter had said, she felt the mission had been a total disaster. She saw Michael look over her shoulder, then back at her, with a message written there, a warning. She turned to see Operations as he passed down the center isle, his face grim. There was something else there too, she realized. A terrible sadness. For once, she felt sympathy for Operations, and regret for her words.
After Operations was out of earshot, Nikita turned to Michael. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. He did try, so hard. This must be so awful for him.” She looked away just as her eyes filled with sudden tears. He had, after all, saved Michael’s life.
“Kita.”
Nikita felt Michael’s fingers lightly stroke her cheek and turned towards him.
“Get some rest.” He said, his eyes gentle and understanding. “It’s a long flight back.”
She smiled briefly, “I don’t suppose we get to stop over in Peking?” It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.
“Sleep,” Michael said softly. His fingers left her cheek as he closed his eyes.
After a while, Nikita finally closed her eyes as well.
EPILOGUE:
Lt. Grant opened his eyes on his homeland two days later. It wasn’t as happy an ending as he had hoped for, but he took the news that his wife had remarried, with resignation. They would be complete strangers now, anyway. At least they had had no children together. He could start fresh without any encumberments or explanations.
He gave the man who had rescued him both the names of the men they had left behind in Nam, and his word that he would never divulge how he was freed. What was one more lie, in a war full of them?
It was a brave new world. He smiled to know an American had landed on the moon and was embarrassed at the scandals in the government. He was awed by the progress and the technology, and saddened that little else had changed. Every day a new war was reflected in a headline—in Bosnia, Afghanistan, Iraq—the lessons had not been learned.
But like Walter, he decided he would take what he could get. Thank God—to be free!
* * *
Operations sat at his desk. It was 3 a.m. He stared at the picture of himself that Simone had shown him years before and wondered what had happened to the man in the photograph and the promises he had made. Folding his arms on his desk he buried his head and wept.
* * *
“Help me! Somebody! Please!” Morrison begged at the door of his cell. But no one came.
The End
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