The Milieu Principle

by Malcolm Franks

Henry cautiously made his way down the dirt track. Dawn had already broken and the sounds of nature arising were starting to fill the air. He strolled through the gently meandering track, first curving left then right, the trail bending like a lethargic river taking its own time to steadily make its way downstream to the sea.

  The fresh scratch marks on the trees told him bears were close by. He knew he had to be watchful. The only predictable quality he had come to learn about the resident bears was their unpredictability.

  After five minutes he neared the clearing at the lakeside. A dark shape moved in the undergrowth to his right, causing the tall grass to shiver in the sunlight. He recognised Clarence once the beast had raised its head to inspect the sound of Henry’s footsteps. Of all the giants he had encountered at Neets Bay, Clarence was probably the most aggressive. Another rustling sound came from behind and he turned sharply to catch sight of yet another dark mass lifting itself from the waterside. Vigorously, it shook its huge frame to scatter the unwanted water from its thick coat.

  Quickening his pace, to put as much distance between them as possible, he covered the remaining hundred yards or so to the clearing. He stopped and looked around to make sure there were no other beastly surprises lurking in the vicinity. Bears could be damned quiet when it suited them.

  The two portable latrines opposite were set on a wooden platform at the edge of the area. A large tree with huge overhanging branches stood tall and upright next to the toilets. The wooden jetty spread out into the water to the left. At the entrance of the walkway to the moored flying machines sat a small storage unit, padlocked at the front.

  The full stretch of the long jetty came into view as he stepped forward, and it was then he noticed the third plane. The green coloured machine belonged to the Neets Bay employees, the yellow one was Jack’s. He didn’t recognise the white unmarked plane moored alongside.

  Suddenly a black clad figure leapt out at him from behind the tree, brandishing a large serrated knife. Recalling his army training Henry managed to elude the man’s initial lunge. The figure regrouped and returned, swinging his arm in a wide arc towards the big man’s chest trying to rip through his light clothing.

  He swayed back to avoid the sharp blade.

  Another lunge, only this time the big man managed to fold his right arm around his assailant’s neck. One sharp twisting movement and the crack of a neck bone shattered the silence.

  The black clad assassin collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Henry rolled the body over with his foot and leant down to unpeel the balaclava from the man’s head, revealing an oriental face.

  Henry wondered if this be the very same Jie Hsun who Rosa had mentioned. He had no further time to find out. A burst of gunfire erupted from behind the latrines, peppering his broad back with metal missiles of destruction. It was too late for Henry to react and he slumped forward, over the body of the man he had killed.

  Six more black clad figures slowly approached Henry’s limp frame. They nudged his body with their feet until satisfied he posed no further threat to their progress. The smallest man made gestures with his hand to the others, and they began to run up the trail towards the salmon farm.

  “What was that?” asked Matt, reacting to the sound of rapid cracking in the distance.

  “Gunfire,” Jack yelled, leaping from his stool to reach for the shotgun propped up against the door. Rosa checked the handgun was full and handed it to Matt.

  “Release the safety catch and …” she said.

  “I know about guns,” he said to cut her short. “I spent a couple of years in the Territorial Army.”

  The hand held radio on the table crackled into life. Jack pressed the receive button to take the message.

  “Six, there’s … six ... on their way,” came Henry’s weak voice, and then it stopped abruptly.

  Rosa checked her semi-automatic and nodded towards Jack. Together they turned the table on its side and pushed it up against the door.

  “It’s the only way out,” he said.

  Both scoured the small interior. Rosa pointed to the ground. He nodded and they kneeled down to hammer furiously at the wooden floor. No sooner had they crouched then the first bullets whistled through the wooden walls of the cabin.

  “Matt, down!” shouted Rosa and he fell to the floor, the wounded shoulder hitting the surface hard.

  His two companions stopped hammering at the floorboard to listen for movement. Matt spotted a crowbar in the corner of the confined room. Reaching for the tool he forced the pointed edge in between two of the wooden planks as Jack made to help him.

  “No,” said Matt, “you keep watch.”

  Using all the strength from his one good arm he loosened a plank from the floor and began to lift it away. Another burst of gunfire followed, zipping into the room and shattering the coffee mugs perched on the shelf above them. More gunfire, this time cutting into the table pushed up at the door.

  Then, an eerie lull followed.

  Rosa knew their attackers were preparing to move in. She motioned to Jack to watch the door as the wooden balcony outside creaked with footsteps. The intruder had reached the side of the doorway when Jack pulled at the triggers of his weapon, releasing the flames of death from both barrels to break through the light wooden frame out into the waiting sunshine. They heard the sound of a body slumping to the ground.

  Jack re-loaded as Rosa raised five fingers to indicate the number of remaining assassins.

  Next, a shadow darkened the window frame and was met with rapid fire from her semi-automatic. This time a man screamed before collapsing against the cabin wall.

  Four, she mouthed.

  Matt had managed to prise two of the floorboards away from their fittings, enough for them to squeeze through. He tapped each of his friends on the shoulder. Rosa indicated she would go first, followed by Matt with Jack bringing up the rear, and they nodded in agreement.

  Rosa slipped her slender frame through the opening and slid her body quietly along the ground. She could see a pair of black clad feet ahead, circling behind the cabin. Two well placed shots to the ankles brought the man crashing to the ground and she finished him with a bullet to the brain.

  Three

  Matt painfully lowered his torso onto the ground, blood starting to ooze from the re-opened wound. Rosa’s eyes widened at the sight of the red liquid seeping through his shirt. He blinked to indicate he was okay. Jack tugged at another plank to separate it from the floor, enabling him to join his comrades.

  With half their force destroyed in the first assault, Rosa knew instinctively their attackers would regroup before making their next move. She watched for signs of movement amongst the foliage. Everything was still and quiet, deathly. Convinced they had retreated to the far side, she motioned to her companions to head into the undergrowth, using the same order as before.

  The journey through the forest was painstaking. At first they crawled deep into the forest, sliding along their stomachs over the ground inch by inch. Once hidden by the gloom of the woods they crawled on all fours. With each rustle of the undergrowth ahead Rosa would signal them to stop and be silent. She would listen and watch intently for movement until satisfied they could progress. Bursts of gunfire could be heard behind as they edged towards their destination, becoming more infrequent and distant with each foot of their slow and steady progress. It took over half an hour to make the short journey to the clearing.

  Crouching at the edge of the trees they looked around for signs of life. Henry’s massive frame was slumped over the lifeless form of an assassin near the jetty.

  Jack noticed the increased flow of blood from Matt’s shoulder and whispered ahead to Rosa, pointing to the semi-automatic. She handed it over with the two remaining clips of ammunition and took the handgun from Matt. The older man nodded them towards the jetty. Rosa used her body to help Matt to his feet behind a tree.

  “Go,” whispered Jack.

  The pair stepped out into the clearing and stumbled forward to the
jetty. Jack followed, back pedalling as he covered his two comrades with the shotgun, the semi tucked into the belt around his waist. It felt as though they were moving in slow motion towards the moored floatplanes. They had reached the first wooden plank of the jetty when, suddenly, a shot reverberated around the clearing. A cry of pain followed and Jack fell backwards onto the ground.

  “Jack!” shouted Matt.

  The Canadian, holed in the chest was bleeding profusely.

  On the far side of the clearing the assassin carefully fixed his sights on Matt. He checked for distance and wind speed, determined to down the target with a single strike.

  His eye focused through the lens to bring the weapon into line with the side of Matt‘s head. Once sure he had a clean shot, his finger moved down to the trigger and he began to apply gentle pressure.

  There was no warning or sense of danger, and total surprise. The massive paw crashed against the back of the assassin’s skull and tore the flesh from the back of his head. The sheer force of the blow catapulted him out from his hideaway and onto the dirt track. His brain, reeling from the sudden impact, was still trying to assess the damage when Willow fell upon him from her standing position and ripped at his throat with her powerful jaws. He had no time to scream.

  The three fugitives could hear Willow’s frantic assault. Rosa raised her hand.

  Two

  They dragged Jack’s injured body to cover, behind the two lifeless frames lying atop each other, and propped him up against them. Matt looked to Rosa to tend to his friend’s injuries. She made a cursory inspection and glanced at the Canadian.

  “I’ll cover yur,” Jack gasped, blood seeping from his mouth. “Get the hell out of here.”

  She tugged at Matt’s arm, gently at first, then with greater force at his refusal to leave his fallen friend.

  “Matt,” she hissed, “move your arse!”

  “No, I’m not leaving him.”

  “Go lad,” said Jack urgently. “I’ll hold them.”

  His grey eyes pleaded, practically begged, his young friend to do the sensible thing. They scuttled towards the plane. Matt looked over his shoulder. The Canadian’s breathing grew heavier, more laboured. A weak smile crossed the injured man’s face.

  Rosa set the other two machines aflame by firing into the petrol tanks with the semi automatic she’d dug out of one of the holdalls. Matt taxied the yellow plane away from the shore. Devastated about leaving the Canadian, he jerked back on the controls to take the plane up into the sky.

  Jack checked the last clip of ammunition in the semi and waited. Two assassins remained and he was all too aware they were closing in for the kill. Seeing the yellow machine rise from the surface of the water he knew, however, his job was done. They’d got away.

  That’s when he saw the shadow of a figure, thrown by the ever strengthening sun, over his shoulder. He raised the semi and pointed it upwards as the figure came into view. The last three shots of the semi escaped out of the barrel, followed by a high pitch scream and a heavy thud to the ground. Jack realised the fifth assassin to be culled was female.

  One intruder remained. He decided to try and find better cover. Painfully, he began to drag his weakening body and the shotgun over the ground to the storage unit, leaving a bloody trail in his path.

  The sound of light footsteps approaching told him it could only be the final assassin. He eased the shotgun, with its two remaining cartridges, close to his body and waited. Judging the enemy to be upon him he rolled his body over to lift the weapon. A dark coloured boot kicked it from his grasp, throwing it out of reach.

  “Mr Carter,” the slightly high pitched voice said, “I am Jie Hsun. It is such a pleasure to meet you at last.”

  A gloved hand pulled away the black balaclava from his head, revealing a small face with short cropped hair. The dark, almost black, eyes were narrow and boldly cast. They bore the hallmarks of the inner strength and ferociousness of a man trained to kill. The small figure exuded a lithe agility evident in the manner he reached behind his back to unsheathe the samurai sword. The long sharp blade pointed towards Jack, clasped within both the assassin’s hands. Gently he rested the blade upon the open wound in Jack’s chest.

  “That is a nasty looking wound, Mr Carter,” he said. “Do you know I am expert in First Aid, as well as in torture?”

  Jack’s eyes never wavered, despite the pain.

  “If you tell me where your friend is going, I may well be able to help repair you and keep you alive.”

  The assassin’s cold and icy stare fixed itself upon the Canadian. He meant none of it. Jack’s continued silence prompted Hsun to dig the point of his sword into the open wound, making Jack groan.

  “Well, Mr Carter?”

  “Look ... up,” gasped Jack in between deep breaths. “He’s ... in … that… plane, go and get him.”

  The assassin dug his sword a little deeper into the wound forcing Jack to cry out in pain.

  “Well, old man?” said Hsun, “I am losing my patience.”

  Life ebbed a little quicker from the Canadian’s body. Jack knew time was short.

  “I’d… rather… eat ... Chow Mein,” he groaned at the Chinaman.

  Recognising the insult Hsun’s expression altered from mockery to one of blind, savage rage. Furiously, he lifted the sword above his head and sneered at the injured man’s terrified face beneath him.

  “Matt, what the hell are you doing?” shouted Rosa.

  The plane arched round in a tight circle and headed back to the jetty. He switched the engine off as they approached the narrow channel leading to the bay, so they could run silent. Rosa gripped her seat in apprehension.

  An undercurrent of warm air lifted the wings of the plane, allowing it to skim the tops of the trees with its floats before dropping down on the other side. Matt looked ahead for his friend and saw the black clad assassin raise his arms above his head.

  “Jack,” he yelled.

  He turned his attention to the assassin and spotted the sword gleaming in the sunlight.

  “Get away from him, leave him alone,” he shouted. “No, no,” he screamed.

  Jack felt rather than saw the weapon disappear inside his body and cried out in agony at the fierce intrusion. He could not see the smile on Hsun’s small, round face but heard the Chinaman ask his question again. He refused to answer.

  Hsun tweaked the blade gently to the side with one deft movement of his index finger, and Jack cried out once more as the searing pain shot through his nerve endings. Again the question came and, again, it was answered with silence. The fingers of Hsun’s hands tweaked the blade sharply to the right and Jack squealed again with the pain inflicted by the black clad, grinning torturer.

  “Mr Carter, I can prolong this agony for some considerable time to come. Surely this is not what you want. Give me the location and I will end your unfortunate suffering. You will then be at peace with your lover.”

  “Give me the gun!” yelled Matt.

  “I thought you refused to kill anyone.”

  “When did you hear me say that?”

  “It was the last thing I heard you say before I passed out, after the bitch hit me with the chair.”

  She meant Grace.

  “I lied,” he shouted. “Now give me the fucking gun,” and she passed it to him.

  Hsun neither heard nor saw the metal bird swiftly and silently glide towards him, until a huge shadow appeared. He felt the solid surface of the float crash into his head, shattering his jaw and lifting him into the air before throwing him back onto the ground.

  Matt restarted the engine and raised the plane above the tree line at the edge of the clearing. The yellow machine flew high and circled to return to the scene. Matt dipped the wing as they approached the writhing figure of the assassin and pointed the gun out of the open window. Bullets spat out of the weapon in rapid order to the surface below, entering Hsun’s stunned body and making it jump from the ground with each impact.

  Jac
k heard the gunshots and managed to force one last tired smile from his lips.

  “Hold on Holly. I’m coming,” he whispered, and his weary grey eyes closed for the last time.

  “I have to bury him,” insisted Matt.

  “There’s no time, another team will be here soon,” replied Rosa. “We have to go.”

  “Rosa, I’m not going to leave him like that,” said his voice, choking with emotion.

  “Matt, there isn’t time. We have to leave!”

  “He was my friend,” he whimpered.

  “I know,” she said gently touching his arm. “Jack knew it too. That’s why he was prepared to sacrifice himself, to buy you some time. Don’t waste his precious gift on sentimental procedure and learn from his courage.”

  “Learn? Learn what for Christ’s sake!”

  “To choose your field of battle and that sometimes it’s necessary to leave the dead behind, exactly as they lie,” she counselled.

  He chose not to respond.

  “Jack,” he croaked.

  Matt could see the blade protruding from the Canadian’s broken body, glint and shimmer in the summer rays. Raising his head to the sky he roared at the sun with the rage of a wounded lion, so the world might hear his pain.

  To an observer it would appear an act of insanity. Rosa understood. They had wanted to grind this small unimportant little man into the dust, swat him into oblivion. Now, instead, they had created a demon. They had unleashed a monster of their own making, in their own image.

  Matt paused to consider Rosa’s advice and knew she was right.

  “Which fucking way?” he spat.

  “North,” said Rosa pointing ahead.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The Voyage