Fallen

by Ann Simko

Dakota indicated his bandaged and splinted arm. "Bubba, you do love me."

  "You have no idea, Doc." Bubba headed for the door. "Lie still and I'll bring you some water. You're a little dehydrated."

  As Dakota listened to Bubba's footsteps echo down the hall, the fragmented memories of his close encounter with death began to come together. At first, he thought it was all some sort of weird dream, but from the numbers on the monitor, he knew without a doubt it was real. He took inventory, and realized for the first time that, despite the weakness, he felt better. With the cotton no longer filling his head, he could think again. More than that, he could breathe again.

  Bubba returned with a bottle of water and a smile.

  "What happened to me, Bubba?"

  "I'll tell you what happened, Doc. You're a freaking miracle, that's what." He laughed and slapped Dakota's leg.

  Dakota winced and groaned as he clutched his aching arm. The biohazard infection might have been eliminated, but his arm was far from being better. He said, through gritted teeth, "The serum worked?"

  "Hell yes, it worked. Never saw anything like it before. I mean, you were as good as gone and still breathing, you know? But it brought you back, right back from the brink. God damn! You're a freaking miracle." Bubba laughed again.

  Dakota smiled and tried to ease the pain in his arm. "Happy to oblige." He didn't feel like a miracle. He figured a six-year-old girl could take him down. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and was happy to have the opportunity to do so.

  The lights flickered. Both Dakota and Bubba looked at the fluorescents. They flickered again, brightened for a second, and then went completely dark.

  "What's going on?"

  "Nothing to worry about, Doc. This place hasn't been used in years and the wiring's shot to hell. Lights should be back on in a minute."

  The unmistakable roar of gunfire echoed in the hall, loud in the complete darkness. "Hope that wasn't your maintenance crew."

  "Shut up, Doc." Dakota heard Bubba fumbling for something in the dark. "This ain't right. Something's wrong."

  "Gee, you think?" Emergency lights flared to life and the sudden red glare made Dakota squint. He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the light.

  Bubba was at the door, just opening it. "Stay put. I'll check it out."

  "Yeah, well, I was going to order some take out Chinese, but okay, I'll stay here." Before Bubba made it through the door, an explosion battered his ears.

  Bubba dove to cover Dakota as pieces of concrete rained down on them from the ceiling.

  Dakota ducked and covered his head with his good arm beneath Bubba's bulk. "Jesus!"

  "What the hell?" Bubba brushed the debris off them both. He looked up at the ceiling, his face distorted with fear and apprehension.

  It was Dakota's turn to smile.

  Bubba saw the smile. "What's so funny?" He sounded...scared.

  Relief flooded through Dakota as another shock wave shook the cell. "Bubba, if I were you, I would start looking for a safe place to hide."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Doc?"

  "Trust me on this, Bubba. That's the sound of my brother knocking on the General's door, and you don't want to be anywhere near here, when Montana comes for me."

  * * * *

  Bubba ran out of the cell. In seconds he returned with a sidearm in his hand.

  "What are you doing?" Dakota shook his head as Bubba locked the cell door and flicked the safety off on the gun. "Don't do it. He'll kill you."

  "Shut up, Doc." Bubba began unhooking the monitor probes on Dakota's arm and chest.

  Dakota could smell the fear, the uncertainty coming from the man. "He won't hurt you if he doesn't have to. Don't give him a reason."

  Bubba's answer was to slide a round into the chamber and place the muzzle of the gun against Dakota's temple.

  "Hell, Bubba." Dakota winced as Bubba pulled him into a seated position and situated himself behind him. Not for one minute did he think Bubba would pull the trigger, but Montana wouldn't know that.

  * * * *

  Rapid gunfire erupted from the main hallway. Montana knew that Bobby and Ray were engaged in a serious firefight, but they were doing their job. No one followed when he, Ito and Ricco turned down the left corridor.

  At the first of a long line of cells he held up his hand, halting the two behind him. Ito motioned for Ricco to stay put, and cautiously moved to the far side of the hallway, holding his weapon tight to his shoulder and never taking his eyes off the cell door.

  Montana hugged the wall, waiting for Ito's signal.

  When Ito nodded, Montana snuck a quick peek into the cell. It appeared empty, but he took no chances. With his weapon at the ready, he nodded to Ito, then spun around and swept the cell with the gun. "Clear."

  They moved to the next cell, where they repeated the procedure with a quick, cautious efficiency. Ricco followed, his gun shaking visibly in his hands as he covered the hallway behind them.

  When Montana came to the tenth and final cell without any sign of Dakota, he realized that either they had Dakota in the medical facility or he was in that last cell. He glanced across the hall at Ito, who gave him a grim nod, took a deep breath and stole a quick look. What he saw brought both relief and physical pain.

  Dakota sat slumped on a cot in the middle of the room, dressed in hospital scrubs. His left arm was wrapped and bloody. An Army sergeant was behind him, holding him upright, pressing a gun to his temple.

  Montana fought back rage and struggled for control as he motioned for Ito to hold his position. With his back to the wall, he called, "Dakota?"

  "Montana. What the hell took you so long, man?"

  "Couldn't find the address. You okay?"

  "Been better. My arm's shattered, and there's a big guy holding a gun to my head. Care to rephrase the question?"

  Montana sighed. Dakota's voice sounded weak and shaky, but at least his sense of humor was intact. "Can you walk?"

  "Doubtful."

  "Not a problem. How about it, Sergeant? Drop your weapon now, and let my brother go, and we'll forget this ever happened."

  "Can't do that, sir. Dr. Thomas is not going to leave this facility."

  That was the wrong answer. Montana stepped into the doorway, caught the Sergeant in his sights, and laid his finger on the trigger. "Oh, he's leaving here, all right. The question is...are you?"

  He spared a brief glance at Dakota, trying to determine his condition. "Drop the gun or I will shoot you."

  "No, sir! The General gave me strict—"

  "The General's not worth dying for, Sergeant! Drop the goddamn gun!"

  Ito joined Montana at the door, his weapon trained on the sergeant. Dakota, who was looking down the barrels of both guns, blinked. "Wait, Montana. He saved my—"

  "Shut up, Doc!"

  Montana assessed the possibility of hitting the sergeant without him shooting Dakota. Even if he killed him, the sergeant could still pull the trigger in his dying spasm.

  He needed a distraction. And suddenly he was rewarded with one.

  Ricco yelled, "Ito!" and began firing down the hallway.

  Ito pivoted and opened up with his machine gun. As the spent casings bounced off Montana's back, he saw the sergeant's attention shift slightly and the gun waver in his hand.

  Negotiations were over. He took the shot.

  The bullet hit the Sergeant in the chest, just right of dead center. His eyes widened with the realization that he was shot. In that split second, he fired his own weapon, and then went down fast, dragging Dakota beneath his bulk.

  "Major, it's getting hot in here!" Bullets were kicking off the walls all around them as Ito ejected an empty clip and fed another into his weapon. Ricco was on his knees, screaming at the top of his lungs, and blindly pulling the trigger as fast as he could.

  "Cover me!" Montana shot the lock on the cell door and kicked it open. He dropped his weapon and ran inside. After pushing the sergeant's body aside, he scooped Dakota up and
over his shoulders. He knew Dakota was still alive when he groaned, but the blood running down Montana's arms didn't bring him any comfort. It wasn't his.

  Ito ran into the cell. "I think we stopped them, but we need to get the hell out of here, now!" He picked up Montana's discarded weapon, slung it over his shoulder, and followed Montana out the door. Once in the hall, he grabbed Ricco by the collar, hauling him to his feet, and led the way back up the long, dark, hallway.

  They didn't get far.

  Two soldiers came running down the hallway. They opened fire, but Ito was quicker. The first one went down with two shots to the head. The second one hesitated just a moment before pulling the trigger. The shot grazed Ricco, enough to make him drop his weapon and fall to one knee.

  "Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons!" The soldier was sweating and nervous, but his weapon was aimed directly at Ricco's head.

  Ito looked to Montana.

  "Don't do it." Ricco held his side and grimaced in pain. "Kill him."

  "Doesn't work that way, boy." Ito slowly lowered his weapon.

  The soldier swung his weapon to Ito. "Drop it! Fucking drop it, now!"

  Before Ito could comply, a single shot exploded. The guard's head snapped back and he fell. A puddle of blood spread around his head.

  Montana turned to look back at Dakota's cell. The sergeant lay on his belly in the doorway, his smoking weapon in front of him. Blood trickled from his mouth as he looked up and struggled to speak.

  "Get...the Doc out...before...the Gen..." The gun fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. The sergeant collapsed in a pool of blood, his eyes already glazing over in death.

  Montana thought he heard Dakota whisper something. It sounded a lot like Bubba.

  Ito took hold of Ricco's arm and helped him to his feet. "You okay, little brother?"

  Ricco clutched his side, still grimacing in pain, "I'll live." He bent down and reclaimed his Glock, but seeing the dead guard's weapon on the floor, he stuffed the Glock into the back of his pants and picked up the mini-14.

  "Let's go. The sergeant gave us a chance. Let's not blow it." Montana repositioned Dakota on his shoulder and heard a low moan of pain. "Hang in there, man." He wasn't sure if Dakota heard him or not.

  They skirted the dead bodies and started down the hall. The weapons fire had stopped, and the eerie silence made the ringing in Montana's ears sound like a tornado. Most of the lights had either been shot out or had failed with the explosions. They carefully picked their way down a dark hall filled with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, their feet crunching on broken glass and chunks of concrete.

  They'd nearly made it back to the first cell, when three armed guards stepped out of a side door. Their weapons were trained on Montana and Dakota.

  They faced each other like statues frozen in time, neither side moving, and nobody saying a word. Then a voice came from the shadows. "It seems we are at a bit of an impasse."

  Montana recognized the voice from their short phone conversation. He didn't need to look at Ricco's face to know he was right.

  The General stepped out of the darkness and into the small puddle of light behind his men. He wore an arrogant smile, sure of himself and his victory. He wasn't even armed. He approached with a slow, casual air, eying each man as though judging his worth. His gaze settled first on Montana. "You must be the Ranger, Montana Thomas."

  Montana had never felt intimidated by any man alive, and this one was no exception. He knew a pompous puppet when he saw one. "That's Major Thomas to you...General."

  The General's haughty laugh reverberated off the walls as he turned his back. "Of course...Major Thomas." He clasped his hands behind his back and spoke in a condescending tone as he stepped behind his men once again. "My apologies. You have done well to get this far, Major." He turned around and smiled. "But now your little show is over. Put down the good Doctor, if you please, and have your men stand down."

  He held Montana's stare for a moment, daring him to respond, and then looked past Ito. "Private Ricco. So nice of you to save me the trouble of looking for you. Welcome home, my boy."

  "No!" Tears brimmed in Ricco's eyes. With shaking hands, he swung the mini-14 up and thrust the muzzle under his chin. "You will never touch me again."

  "Ricco, stand down!" Montana reached for the gun, just as a metallic click sounded. Ricco had pulled the trigger on an empty chamber.

  The General let loose a raucous laugh and clapped his hands, demonstrating his perverse amusement at the tragedy playing out before him. "You see, Private? Fate stands with me this morning. There is nothing you can possibly do to change that fact. What did you think you were accomplishing by running? All you have done is to cost these people their freedom and quite possibly their lives."

  Ricco was shivering uncontrollably when Montana grabbed the barrel of the gun and pulled it away from his chin. The weapon clattered to the floor, and Montana squeezed Ricco's shoulder. "My promise stands, Michael. This isn't over yet."

  "Oh, but it is, Major. I have been more than patient, but even I have my limits. Now, put your brother down and step aside or I will order my men to kill your African friend." He eyed Ito with admiration. "Which would truly be a shame, for he is a fine specimen of his race."

  Ito held his ground and narrowed his eyes.

  Montana carefully placed Dakota on the floor next to the wall. He tried to determine how badly his brother was hurt, but all he could see in the short time he was allowed was a bloody furrow in his hairline—the sergeant's parting shot.

  Dakota's eyelids fluttered open, revealing glassy and unfocused eyes. Montana placed a hand on his cheek. "Take it easy, man."

  "Turn around, Major."

  Montana complied. As he turned, he saw the gun in Ricco's pants—still cocked. He faced the General. "It's your lucky day. I've decided to make you a deal."

  The General raised his eyebrows, showing surprise. "A deal?"

  Montana shrugged.

  "Excuse me, but what part of being surrounded by my armed men, makes you think you are in any position to offer me a deal?"

  "The part where you have your men stand down, and I have my man, standing behind you, not blow your brains out."

  The three guards surrounding the General adjusted their grips on their weapons and cast furtive glances at one another. The one on the right lifted a hand to wipe sweat from his upper lip.

  It was then Montana knew he could bluff. He had been trained better, trained to ignore things like dripping sweat, discomfort, hunger, pain. He had trained his team better. These men had no discipline. They were weak.

  The General ordered, in an irritated tone. "Hold your ground. The Major is a desperate man." He spread his hands and smirked. "And I am not nearly as gullible as he would hope. Surely you know that, Major. This game of yours is over."

  Montana returned the smirk. "I was counting on it." He focused just behind the nervous man. "Take their asses down!"

  The guard swiveled and opened fire into an empty wall. The gunfire drew the others' attention towards the imagined threat.

  Montana pulled the gun from Ricco's pants. The guard on the left was dead before he could empty his load. The nervous one was swinging his weapon back when a bullet cut through his temple. He dropped in a puddle of his own blood.

  The General ducked and huddled next to the bodies as the third guard held his weapon by the muzzle, his hand off the trigger. Montana brought his sights up and found the center of the shaking soldier's head. His finger caressed the trigger. He wanted to squeeze it.

  He couldn't bring himself to kill an unarmed man. He lowered the muzzle and took a quick step forward. Flipping the pistol around, he hit the guard on the side of his head with the stock.

  The soldier went down fast.

  The General uncovered his eyes and stared at the blood splattered across his previously pristine uniform. He shook his head while gaping at dead and unconscious men. "No." He said to Montana. "No, you can't do this."


  "Guess you should have taken my deal." Montana used his foot to force the General to lie prone on the blood-covered floor.

  "Now you see," Ito turned his semi-automatic rifle on the General. "That is what you call an end game."

  Montana handed Ricco back his gun and clapped him on the shoulder. "Always secure your weapon, Private, before stowing it." Ricco took the Glock and just stared at him in a daze. Montana bent down and picked Dakota back up.

  Ricco seemed to realize he was armed again—and the General wasn't. It was almost as if he didn't know what to do with the advantage. He brought the gun level with the man's face and took a step forward.

  "There's no time for this private." Montana sent a questioning look to Ito.

  "I'll take care of it."

  Montana lifted Dakota to his shoulder again, gave Ito a quick nod and headed slowly up the tunnel, fully aware he was unarmed and headed into the unknown. He kept his pace slow, waiting for Ito to "take care of it."

  The General sat up, opened his arms, and gave Ricco a fatherly smile. "Really, Private Ricco, just what do you think you're going to do with that?"

  Ricco's thoughts jumbled in confusion at the question. Even now with a loaded weapon pointed at the man who had taken everything away from him, he could feel the amount of control the General still had over him.

  Working up his courage through anger, he took another step forward and pulled the slide back. His hand shook. "I was thinking about killing you."

  The General laughed. "You don't have it in you, son."

  "I'm not your son, you bastard."

  The General got to his feet, his confidence returning. "I've know you as long as your father. In a way, I know you far better than he ever did. You don't have murder in you Private. We both raised you better than that."

  Ito stepped between them. "Maybe he doesn't, but I do. By the way, I've never been to Africa."

  Before the smile had faded from the General's face, Ito squeezed off two quick rounds. The General stumbled back, face ashen his hands clutching his chest. He tripped over the body of one of his men and fell.

  "No!" Ricco took a step toward the General. He brought the Glock up and pointed it at Ito. "He was mine! You had no right!"