Return of the Phoenix - 01

by Heath Stallcup

  Draining his beer, he took one last look around the bar to see if any patrons were sober enough to offer a game at the pool table. Satisfied that there were none, he slid off his barstool to leave. Counting out his bar tab and allowing for a tip, he dropped a small wad of bills on the bar and was turning to leave when his pager went off. Glancing at the number, he knew he had to return to base as soon as possible.

  The drive to the base was shorter than he expected, and he arrived at the station chief’s watch post. TD checked in, signed the log and was headed to the locker room when he was intercepted by his commanding officer. “Tango, I got orders for you. My office, five minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” TD responded. He loaded his bug-out bag and was checking his gear when Dave Marshal came sliding through the door. TD and Dave had pretty much spent all of their time together. Having enlisted at the same time, gone through boot camp together, Security Forces school and Combat Controller school together.

  “You get paged, too?” Dave asked.

  “Yup. I figured it was a full deployment and that we’d all be paged, no?” TD answered, glancing around the locker room and noticing that nobody else was coming or going.

  “Nope. I called Marley and Pride to see if they might need a ride in and they said they weren’t paged.” Marshal had that look on his face that always made TD’s guts spin. Something wasn’t right.

  “Cap wants us in his office. Maybe we’ll get the low-down on what the fuck is going on.”

  Marshal poured a cup of coffee from the mixer stand. “All I know is, if we’re bugging out tonight, I’m gonna need some go-juice to keep my butt going. We were supposed to have a three day R&R and I haven’t slept since Cap cut us loose.”

  TD stood and headed towards the CO’s door. Marshal held his ‘cup-o-mud’ but followed. After knocking and Cap clearing them for entry, both men entered and waited for acknowledgement. Their CO was going through papers and told them without looking up, “Take a seat, boys. I’ve got new orders for you.”

  Both men sat simultaneously and waited for Cap to tell them what the hell was going on. Cap finally looked up at both of them and sighed. “Orders just came in. You’re both taking off first thing in the morning.”

  TD had to ask, “But, Cap, we just got here a couple of weeks ago. We were supposed to start training nubs in less than two weeks. Surely they can’t send us back to the sandbox already?”

  Cap cleared his throat and hiked his eyebrows at them. “Boys, I don’t have a friggin’ clue where you’re headed. All I got was this set of orders sent out from the Pentagon telling me to release the two of you for follow-up commands. It doesn’t say where you’re going, what you’ll be doing, or who you’ll be doing it with. It just says to have your butts on the tarmac at 0600 for sendoff.”

  Marshal looked up from his coffee. “The Pentagon, sir?”

  Cap gave him an exasperated look. “Yes, Dave. The friggin’ Pentagon. You know what that is? The big five-sided building in DC where all the higher ups sit around with their thumbs up their petunias and try to second guess the men in the field! That Pentagon!” Cap cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, studying the two men. “Either one of you put in a request for a change of scenery lately?”

  TD and Marshal exchanged glances, shaking their heads. “No, sir,” TD replied. “I’ve been looking forward to instructor duty for some time now. Actually thought of it as a bit of a break, to be honest.”

  Cap nodded his head. “You both have earned a little down time, that’s for sure. But orders is orders and mine are telling me to cargo you boys outta here. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” Cap reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out his ‘hidden’ bottle of cheap rotgut and three shot glasses. “But I figure if you boys are leaving, then we might as well have at least one drink together so I can wish you boys all the luck in the world...for whatever the hell it is they’re going to do with you.

  Cap poured the three shots and handed the men theirs. “Salud,” he offered.

  “Salud,” they responded and tossed back the hooch.

  Cap grimaced slightly. “Whew. That will put some starch in your shorts, I tell ya.”

  Marshal, gasping for air, stuttered out, “Real smooth, sir.”

  “Bullshit. I can’t afford the ‘smooth’ stuff. This is rotgut in a fancy whiskey bottle.” Cap sighed heavily. “I hate to get in new instructors and then have them pulled out from under me like this.”

  “So this has happened before, sir?” TD asked.

  “Nope. First time. Usually once the detailers send you boys to me, I have you for two years.” Setting the bottle back in the bottom of his drawer, Cap said, “This is honestly the first time I’ve had guys pulled out from under me after just six weeks.”

  Cap handed the men their orders and wished them well. Both men walked out of their CO’s office confused. Their orders had no destination on them. Just the flight and tail number of the plane they were supposed to board the next morning.

  “Something isn’t right here, Dave. I got this eerie feeling,” TD said as they headed to pack their gear.

  “Well, the Air Force hasn’t screwed us yet, have they, pal?” Marshal always had a way of at least trying to find a silver lining. “Whatever they have in store for us, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

  3

  Gus Tracy took one look at the orders he had been handed and stated simply, “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “Sorry, Tracy. These came in for you just an hour ago. Hot off the printer,” the young specialist said. “No idea what your final destination might be, but these are the weirdest orders I’ve ever seen issued.”

  Gus looked it over again. Surely there was a typo somewhere. In his ten years in the Army, he’d never received transfer orders that didn’t have a destination, a command name and at least an offer for using some annual leave in getting there. “Where’s Colonel Baird?” Gus asked.

  “He’s in the procurement office. He should be back shortly, though.”

  Gus looked at the departure time again. He had less than twelve hours to pack everything he could and be ready to leave. Sighing to himself, he turned to the specialist assigned to the Colonel’s office. “Is he aware of this?”

  “To my knowledge, yes. He was confused as hell when he left here. Told me to contact you and make you aware of it as soon as possible.” The specialist turned and retrieved Gus’ service record. “I went ahead and brought everything up to date for you. Your medical and dental records are on their way over here now. Should be here within the hour.”

  Gus took his service jacket and tucked it under his arm. “This sucks balls, ya know.”

  “I know, Tracy. I’m really sorry. I wish I had answers for you.”

  “Fuck. Less than twelve hours to pack up everything and make ready. That’s bullshit. It took me two months to unpack all my crap.” Gus looked at the orders one more time. Nothing had changed, but he hoped there was some small piece of information he had missed. “Fine. Tell the old man I’m getting my shit together. If he needs me, I’ll be in my barracks.”

  Gus Tracy, Army Airborne, Green Beret and all around nice guy, once the terror of Baghdad, now being treated like a mushroom; kept in the dark and fed bullshit when all he really wanted was a few fucking answers.

  Gus took no care while shoving things in his duffel bag. He paused only briefly to admire the SFG pin on his uniform. “Say goodbye to the Fifth, Gus. I guess they don’t need you anymore.” He muttered to himself. The Fifth being the Fifth Special Forces Group, the only real home Gus had known in his twelve year stint in the Army. A career military man, Gus Tracy had been under a lot of commands, been to many foreign places, met strange and exciting new people and killed them. Yet he never questioned the Army. He never questioned those in authority over him. To him, these men were like gods. They had gone through the ranks, earned the same rights and respect that he had, yet they had the ability to not only serve, but to lead as well. T
he Army had always taken care of Sergeant First Class Tracy and he wasn’t about to question them now.

  Although Tracy’s mind was turning about on where he might be headed, he diligently packed up all of his belongings. Much to his surprise, nearly all of it fit in the single duffel. What little that didn’t, he soon realized he could easily toss out and replace when he got to his new command. Coming from nothing, Gus never was one for acquiring personal things that didn’t pertain directly to his job. The closest thing to a personal belonging that he owned was his father’s straight razor. Gus never tried to actually shave with it, but the shiny metal folding blade brought him a small bit of comfort. He may be alone in the world, but at one time he had family who loved him.

  But that was a long, long time ago…during another life that he could never return to.

  Gus quietly shifted the duffel over his shoulder, scanned the area one last time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, then wordlessly left the building. He would just as soon wait at the airport than to sit here and argue over something he had no control over. Besides, most airports had bars in them and Gus really felt the need for a drink.

  *****

  Maria Consuela Rosalea Sanchez had just come on duty at LAPD. As she finished changing in the locker room and headed to the shift office to log in, her lieutenant approached her. “Sanchez. Captain Rodgers needs to see you ASAP.”

  Sanchez paused a moment. Who is Rodgers? “LT?” she asked. “Who is Rodgers again?”

  “Admin. She works in personnel.”

  Sanchez took the stairs instead of the elevators to help keep in shape. She was one of the first females to make it onto LAPD’s illustrious SWAT teams, and she prided herself on her fitness and shooting skills. Anything and everything she could do to help keep herself in shape, she would do, including taking the stairs to the top floors to the administration levels.

  Once reaching the upper levels, she scanned the names on the closed office doors. When she found Captain Rodgers office, she knocked and stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me, captain?”

  “Sgt. Sanchez, please have a seat.” Captain Rodgers was shuffling through a pile of records and pulled a thick one out as she sat down behind her desk. She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and began going through the record, nodding and smiling. When she was done, she closed the file and took off her glasses. She looked directly into Sanchez’s curious eyes.

  “Have I done something wrong, ma’am?”

  “What? No. Not at all, Sanchez,” Rodgers replied. She turned her chair to cross her legs. “But tell me, have you ever served in the military?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t think so. Your record states that, after high school, you attended UCLA where you obtained a degree in criminal justice, applied to LAPD, went through the academy where you scored in the upper ninety percent of your class.”

  “Upper ninety-five percent of my class, ma’am,” Sanchez corrected.

  Rodgers turned to her again and smiled. “Of course. Upper ninety-five percent of your class.” She opened the file again and using her finger as a marker, “You’ve always scored in the upper percentile on the range. You applied for SWAT…how many times, before being given a chance to try?”

  “Eleven, ma’am,” Sanchez stated.

  Rodgers stared at her. Her face was unreadable. “That is either stone-cold perseverance or stupidity, I’m not sure which,” she said.

  “I’m one of the first female SWAT members in the nation, ma’am.”

  “Yes, you are,” Rodgers stated. “Is this something you’re proud of?”

  “Very.” Sanchez replied. “Is this going somewhere, ma’am?”

  Rodgers inhaled deeply and closed the file again. “No. But you are. You are being transferred.”

  Sanchez was floored. She couldn’t possibly imagine what she could have done to deserve being transferred. Her record was perfect. “Ma’am?” she asked, “Is this a mistake?”

  “I’m afraid not, Sgt. Sanchez. Despite your exemplary record with our department, your presence is strongly requested elsewhere. And it’s signed by the governor on behalf of our military.”

  Sanchez was shaking her head, clearly not understanding what was going on. “Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sergeant, somebody, somewhere at some time has taken notice of you and now, for whatever reason, they want you to come and work for them. I tried to make a few calls to see what this is about, but I’ve been stonewalled. All I can tell you is that we have been strongly urged by the office of the governor to see to it that you accept this offer.” Rodgers was not smiling.

  “Wait a moment.” Sanchez was still trying to piece this together in her mind, “Someone, but we don’t know who, wants me, but we don’t know why, to come work for them, but we don’t know what it is.”

  “Correct.”

  “Well, doesn’t that make a fuck load of a lot of sense?” Sanchez exclaimed.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Rodgers stated. “However, let me say this...although you don’t have to accept this offer, when the governor’s office strongly suggests you take something…” Rodgers let that hang for a moment. Sanchez digested the ramifications of going against the governor’s office. “And who knows? Girl, this could be the job of a lifetime!” Rodgers said with a smile.

  “I suppose it could be,” Sanchez said, thinking to herself.

  Rodgers leaned forward on her desk, “You know, this all seems rather ‘cloak & dagger’ to me.” Sanchez raised her eyebrows on that one. “Either way, you are expected to catch this military flight tomorrow morning at LAX at 6AM.” Rodgers handed a sticky note to her with a flight number and gate on it.

  “Well,” Sanchez replied, “I guess I have some packing to do.”

  4

  Jack Thompson opened his eyes and looked around the darkened room. His wounds had been bandaged and he was covered in an ornate, silken throw. As his eyes slowly came into focus and adjusted to the low light, he began to notice very old looking tapestries on the walls, plush pillows and throws scattered across a divan and European style antique furniture. He felt like he had been transported back in time to 17th Century France or England.

  Jack tried to sit up, and pain shot through his lower back. He hadn’t realized he moaned until he heard it with his own ears. The sound had shattered the deafening quiet of the room. He lay there in the overstuffed bed almost panting from the pain, listening to his own heartbeat reverberate through his head. Opening his eyes again, he took stock of the room. One small candle flickering in the corner, a bedside table with a bowl of clear broth and a spoon, a side table covered in a lacey material. An upright chair sat at the far end of the room. He couldn’t find anything other than maybe the spoon to form into a makeshift weapon. Perhaps he could break a leg off the side table.

  The four-post bed had a heavy canopy over it made of dark red material. Perhaps velvet?

  Jack’s mind spun as pain shot through his body. He tried again to pull himself to a sitting position, but this time, he moved more slowly and deliberately. He felt the sweat pop out on his forehead from trying to overcome the pain and a sitting position in this overstuffed bed was more than uncomfortable. Taking a mental assessment of his injuries, Thompson figured his ribs were broken on both sides because each breath felt as if a crushing weight was sitting on his chest. His forearm may have been broken, but was now set with splints and wrapped in thick gauze. His legs felt heavy, and when he lifted the silken throw, he saw that they, too, were splinted.

  Damn. I’m messed up, he thought. No quick escape anytime soon.

  Jack heard footsteps approaching the door. Light in weight and echoing on a hard floor. They stopped outside his door, and he could hear the tinkling of flatware or glass as if a tray was set aside. The sound of a solid bolt being released and the heavy oak door opened slightly. More tinkling as the tray was picked up again and the door opened.

  In the
murk of the room, he couldn’t see who was approaching his bed, but he could tell the form was small and fragile in appearance. A woman, most likely. As the visitor approached the bed, the small candle brightened her features and Jack could just make out her face. Most striking, indeed. Large almond-shaped eyes wrapped around the deepest blue he had ever seen. Her pale features and blonde hair made him think of photos he had seen of Nordic women. Small in stature, with long, flowing blonde hair, she approached the bed and sat the tray on the side table near the bowl of broth.

  The visitor turned and gave him a quick assessment. “You look a lot better than when you were first brought in,” she stated as she turned and poured water into a large wash basin. She soaked a thick cotton towel and wrung out the water. Jack stiffened somewhat as she approached him and began wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You’re in pain, yes?” she asked. Her accent lilting slightly. He couldn’t quite make out her origins from her voice.

  “I’m a bit uncomfortable, yeah,” Jack replied, his breath coming in short pants.

  “Perhaps you should lie back down. It will help to relieve the pressure on your chest.” She reached to help him slide down the pillows, but Jack held her hands.

  “No thank you. I’d like to sit up for a while.” He couldn’t help but notice the depth of her eyes as he spoke to her. “Something tells me that I’ve been laying on my back for a bit too long.”

  His visitor simply nodded with a slight smile. “I brought you some sweet milk and toasted bread,” she stated simply, motioning towards the tray. “I was hoping you’d be awake enough to transition to solid foods.” She reached under the bed and brought up a tray table and positioned it across his lap. Setting the tray on the table, she then picked up the bowl of broth and turned to leave. “If you need anything else, simply call for me. I will do all that I can to aid in your recovery and to make you comfortable during your stay with us.”