Helius Legacy

by S Alexander O'keefe

  “We need to go. Stay right behind me.”

  Caine tapped the PTT and spoke into his throat mic.

  “This is Delta. I’m coming out of the south side of the building with the package.”

  Vlasky responded.

  “This is Zulu. I have your position. The area to the north that I can see is clear. When you move behind the buildings, you’re outside my cover.”

  “Roger that, Zulu.”

  Caine tried Pietro.

  “Tango, do you have a visual on the evac route?”

  “Tango here. My line of sight is clear.”

  “Roger that, Tango. Coming out now.”

  Caine turned to Andrea.

  “Let’s go.” Andrea just nodded.

  Caine moved forward at a crouch toward the rear of the building. He could hear Andrea behind him. Caine stopped at the corner of the small house and glanced at the area behind the building. There was no sign of any hostiles. He moved forward, heading toward the north wall. Caine covered the black interior of the small barn to the left of their evacuation route with his MP-5, as they approached it on the right. He couldn’t see anything in the interior. He slowed for a minute, debating whether to investigate the barn before moving past it, but decided to keep going. As he turned around to wave Andrea forward, Caine heard an explosion to his left, and a hammer smashed into his chest. As the darkness closed in, he heard Andrea’s scream behind him.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-NINE

  Travis County, Texas

  December 8, 1999 / Wednesday / 4:30 a.m.

  Anders jabbed the barrel of the shotgun into Andrea’s stomach, doubling her over with pain.

  “Move it, bitch. Get that piece of shit in there, or I’ll kill him right here.”

  Andrea gasped in pain, but continued to drag Caine’s unconscious body into the barn. She stopped when she backed into one of the wooden supports and looked over at Anders. His long unwashed hair was tied back in a ponytail. Dirt and sweat covered his face, and a streak of dried blood traced a line from his temple to his unshaven jaw.

  Anders noticed her look, and his left hand whipped out, his face a mask of rage. Andrea tried to dodge his backhand, but it ripped across her ear and her chin, knocking her to the ground. She crabbed backward to the rear wall of the barn, looking past Anders, at John Caine’s unmoving body.

  Anders walked after her, unrushed. The rage and anticipation on his face was terrifying. He threw the shotgun that he was holding on top of a bale of hay and it dropped to the far side. He stopped about four feet away from her and reached behind him, drawing a knife from a sheath attached to his belt. The blade was a foot long and at least three inches wide at the base. It curved upward to a wicked point.

  Anders admired the blade for a moment and then drew his thumb down the edge, drawing blood. He wiped the blood slowly on both sides of the blade, watching her as he performed the sadistic ritual. Then, with one stride, he closed the distance between them. She tried to stand and run to the right, but he grabbed her hair and yanked her backward, wrapping one giant arm across her throat and pressing her back against him. She could feel the leer on his face as he pushed his cheek against hers, holding the knife in front of her face with his other hand.

  “Now, bitch,” Anders said, “we’re gonna play my game, my way. And you’re gonna learn the rules real well.”

  A shadow stepped through the front door of the barn and eased to the left, out of the incoming gray light. Anders saw the movement and whirled around. The voice that spoke from the shadow seemed impossibly out of place. It was part upper-crust British, part Caribbean, and completely at ease.

  “So what do we have here? A corn-fed country boy, who doesn’t know how to mind his manners. Shameful, just plain shameful.”

  The figure strolled forward as he spoke, ignoring the deadly knife Anders was holding in front of him.

  “Didn’t your mama teach you any manners, man? Now, please take your ugly face away from that lady and let a gentleman escort her home.”

  The tall, lithe black man who stepped out of the shadows was dressed in the same desert fatigues that Caine was wearing. He ignored Anders and looked over at Andrea. A mischievous grin played across his handsome face, as he bent slightly at the waist and tipped his dark brown beret in her direction.

  “Good morning, Ms. Andrea. Jacques Bertrand Maltier, at your service.”

  Anders was momentarily transfixed by the incongruous scene, but it only lasted a second. Rage flared in his eyes and he pressed his knife against Andrea’s throat.

  “Drop your gun, soldier boy, or I’ll cut her head clean off before you can do jack shit,” Anders growled.

  The soldier moved forward slowly and turned slowly around, his hands extended. “Can’t help you there. I left it outside. I didn’t think I’d need much to take care of a piece of trash like you, except maybe an old broom. You wouldn’t happen to have one of those handy, would you?”

  Andrea felt Anders’s jaw tighten against her cheek, just before he shoved her to the ground and walked forward in a crouch.

  “Then you made a big mistake, shit head, ’cause I’m gonna carve up your black ass like a rotten goddamn pumpkin!”

  Anders deepened his crouch as he moved forward. The black soldier responded by shifting into a side stance in a single fluid movement. The move placed his body perpendicular to Anders, and it moved him two feet closer to Andrea’s position. Anders continued to move forward, circling to the other man’s right. The black man reacted by gliding to the left into another side stance that eased him closer still to Andrea. A knife appeared in his hand, when he completed the transition. The knife was dull black from tip to haft, and unlike Anders’s weapon, it had been made for only one purpose.

  The grin on the soldier’s face disappeared, as he settled deeper into his stance and began to work his way around Anders’s right. The eyes that stared across the two yards that now separated the men were a study in deadly intensity. Anders slowed his approach as he began to realize the danger he was facing. He also realized, belatedly, that the other man had achieved a blocking position between him and Andrea. Anders reacted to this displacement by starting back to the right, but the black man anticipated the move. He slid into a new stance, cutting off Anders’s effort and bringing the two men closer still.

  Anders responded by slashing viciously at the black man’s torso with the giant knife. The soldier stepped back and to the right, dodging the blow. Then he feinted toward Anders with blinding speed. The feint was followed by a blinding snap-kick that connected with the outside of Anders’s knee. The blow shocked and enraged Anders. He responded by moving forward, with a series of vicious slashes that pressed the other man back toward the rear wall. Anders’s last slashing blow connected with the black man’s chest, bringing a gasp from Andrea.

  The soldier allowed the blade to score the front of the vest covering his chest. Then he stepped inward, bringing him within striking range of Anders’s body. His knife whipped upward in a slashing movement, cutting the back of Anders’s striking arm. The wound drew a growl of rage from Anders and another flurry of attacks that drove the soldier back toward Andrea.

  As Andrea watched the terrible battle, it seemed only a matter of time before the smaller man was gutted by one of Anders’s savage strokes. Then he struck. The move was so quick that Andrea only remembered it after the fact, as she replayed the scene in her mind. The soldier twisted past Anders’s incoming lunge, placing his body beside and perpendicular to Anders’s body. His left hand guided Anders’s blow past his head, and his right arm drove his own weapon into Anders’s upper stomach.

  As Anders’s forward rush turned into a stumble, the black man did a 180-degree spin, placing him in the rear of the lunging giant. The soldier lifted his leg in an up-and-down piston-like movement, driving his heel into the rear of Anders’s knee. The blow drove Anders to the ground. Anders tried to avoid landing on the knife embedded in his stomach as he fell, but only parti
ally succeeded. When he rolled over onto his back, he was less than three feet from Andrea. An expanding black stain was covering his midsection and his eyes were already beginning to glaze over. The soldier walked over to Anders’s body, kicked away Anders’s knife, and then kicked him twice in the ribs. When there was no reaction, the soldier pulled his knife from the body, wiped it quickly on Anders’s coat, and returned it to a sheath on his calf.

  When he finished, the black soldier looked over at Andrea and saw her staring at the body. He quickly stepped into her line of sight, held out his hand, and said, “Come away, Ms. Andrea. This unpleasantness is over now.”

  Andrea took his hand and followed him, in a daze, to the barn door. She dropped beside Caine’s body and started to reach for his face with her hands, but the soldier interrupted her.

  “Wait just a moment,” he said as he put two fingers against Caine’s neck and looked at his chest. A slow smile came to his face. “Relax, Ms. Andrea. Johnny Boy will be okay. The slug hit the vest square. He may have a bruised rib or two, but he’ll live.”

  Andrea looked at where the man was pointing and saw the ruined Kevlar plate through the torn vest. When she looked back at Caine’s face, he was staring back at her.

  “John, oh God, you’re alive,” Andrea said, holding his face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. Caine stared at her, still in shock.

  Caine gasped. “I’m … okay, Andrea … Vest stopped the slug, but … damn, it hurts.”

  The black soldier smiled and stood up.

  “Nonsense, man, you’re just out of shape. All that California sun, wine, and women, why, it’s a wonder you can get out of bed in the morning.”

  As Andrea helped Caine to a sitting position, Anders’s image sprang into his mind and he tried to stand up in a rush. A wave of pain lanced through his chest and it was all he could do not to scream.

  “Jaq, there’s a hostile,” Caine gasped as he looked around frantically for his MP-5.

  Andrea restrained him. “John, he’s gone, he’s … ”

  She looked back into the barn when she spoke, and Caine followed her glance. He saw Anders’s body lying in the rear of the barn.

  Jaq walked over with Caine’s MP-5 and noticed Caine staring at the body.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Jaq said. “He’s just working on his manners.”

  “Jaq—”

  Jaq waved him off and handed him the MP-5.

  “Stop your lollygagging, soldier, and get to the extraction point. The colonel and I will meet you there in five.”

  Then he waved and jogged back toward the main house.

  Caine and Andrea moved along the outside wall of the compound, staying clear of the main house, until they reached the gap in the north wall. Caine slowed and waved Andrea behind him when they closed to within twenty yards of the opening. Pietro’s voice came over the radio, allaying his concern about a possible ambush.

  “Delta, this is Tango. I’m right behind the wall you’re approaching. You’re clear all the way in.”

  Caine tapped the PTT. “Thanks, Tango. We’re coming in.”

  Pietro was positioned behind one edge of the ten-foot hole blasted in the wall. He’d replaced the Barrett with an MP-5. The Suburban was about thirty yards beyond the opening. Caine turned to Andrea.

  “Andrea, get in the truck. We may have to move out quickly.”

  “What about you? You can hardly move.”

  “I’m okay,” Caine said.

  He walked over and kissed her softly on the forehead, ignoring the pain in his chest. Andrea reluctantly turned and walked to the Suburban. Caine moved to the wall, to provide cover for Jaq and Ricard’s retreat.

  Ricard’s voice came over the mic.

  “This is Alpha. We’re coming your way.”

  Pietro responded, “Roger that. We’ll provide cover.”

  Caine watched Jaq’s retreat. He fired a burst at the second floor of the house when Jaq moved from behind a well in the yard and started his withdrawal. Ricard was engaged in a parallel movement to the right, but something was wrong. He was moving too slowly and he was bent over at the waist. As Caine watched with growing trepidation, Ricard’s pace slowed to an awkward shuffle.

  Caine signaled to Pietro that he was moving out of his position and jogged over to Ricard, ignoring the pains lancing through his chest as each boot pounded into the hard dirt.

  “Colonel, are you hit?”

  “It’s … nothing … Corporal. It’s time … to leave this place.”

  Ricard’s voice came out in short, painful gasps. Caine knew that Ricard was hit somewhere, but he knew that they couldn’t stop. He started to reach for Ricard’s arm, but restrained himself. He could tell from the look on Ricard’s face that he was determined to leave under his own power.

  Jaq ran through the hole in the wall and glanced back into the compound. Satisfied that there was no sign of any pursuit, he jogged over to where Caine was following Ricard to the rear of the Suburban. Caine made a gesture with his hand out of Ricard’s sight, and Jaq nodded and moved ahead of him.

  “Sir, you’ve been hit. We need to check the wound.”

  “When we’re clear of the area, not now,” Ricard said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jaq answered.

  Caine helped Ricard into the rear of the Suburban and climbed in beside him. He glanced out the rear window of the Suburban at the receding compound, as they drove down the dirt road toward the interstate. There was no pursuit. Caine suspected that getting back into the fight was the last thing the men in that compound wanted.

  Caine turned his attention to Ricard. He opened his Kevlar vest. There were no wounds in the chest area, but blood was visible just above his belt. The bullet had passed under the bottom of the vest. From the color of the blood, Caine suspected a major organ had been hit, possibly the liver or the pancreas.

  Jaq was leaning over the rear seat looking at the wound. Their eyes met for a moment and Caine knew that Jaq had reached the same conclusion about the severity of the hit. Tears of frustration came to Caine’s eyes. Ricard’s hand grabbed his arm.

  “Is there any pursuit?” Ricard said.

  “No, sir,” Caine said.

  Ricard nodded.

  “Vlasky?”

  Jaq answered the question. “We’ll pick him up in about a quarter of a mile and then get you to a hospital.”

  Ricard didn’t say anything. Pietro pulled over a moment later, and Vlasky leaned the broken-down C9 against the seat and climbed in beside it. Jaq leaned over the seat and spoke to him in a quiet whisper. Vlasky’s face tightened and he glanced back at Ricard and Caine.

  Caine knew that the plan was to work their way back to Austin, using a series of secondary roads. The circuitous route was designed to make any pursuit more difficult, but he knew they had to change that plan. They had to get to a medical facility as fast as possible for Ricard to have a chance of survival.

  Caine turned to Jaq as he applied a dressing to the wound from the first-aid kit.

  “Jaq, tell Pietro to the take the interstate all the way in.”

  “No,” Ricard said, slowly shaking his head.

  “Sir, we can get to a hospital within an hour. There’s a good chance—”

  “It’s too late. It’s been too late for some time now,” Ricard said in a quiet, but implacable voice. “Tell Pietro to pull over a mile off the main road. We need to talk.”

  Caine started to protest.

  “Sir—”

  Jaq’s restraining hand cut him off.

  “Let it alone,” Jaq said. His voice was quiet, but the look on this face, like Ricard’s, was resolute.

  Caine looked over at Vlasky for support, but the Pole just nodded his head in solemn agreement. Caine was suddenly physically and mentally exhausted. He leaned back against the window and closed his eyes. The last thing he saw were the tears running silently down Andrea’s face. He reached for her hand and found it.

  CHAPTER

 
SIXTY

  Travis County, Texas

  December 8, 1999 / Wednesday / 5:30 a.m.

  They parked the Suburban about a half mile off a secondary road in a vale surrounded by cottonwoods. The car was hidden from the road by a large rock formation. Caine and Jaq helped Ricard to a grassy spot facing east, where he sat down and leaned against a large boulder. The silent grimace on his gaunt face eased as he rested against the rock.

  Caine glanced at his watch. The sun wouldn’t come over the horizon for another hour, but the sky was beginning to lighten. Andrea knelt and handed Ricard a bottle of water. He took a small drink and squeezed her hand in thanks. Andrea began to cry quietly. Ricard touched her cheek lightly.

  “Don’t cry. This is a happy day. Gentlemen, sit and listen to an old soldier for a minute.”

  Ricard gathered himself and told them what Jaq and Vlasky already knew. He was dying from incurable stomach cancer. During the last six months, the pain had been increasing and his strength had begun to wane. When Jaq had told him about the threat facing John Caine, he’d considered the opportunity a godsend: it was a chance to die in the field for a worthy cause, rather than in a hospice, inch by inch. For Ricard, the mission had been a success.

  As he visibly faded, Ricard thanked each man for being his comrade in arms and friend. When Caine’s turn came, Ricard looked at him for a moment. Then he stared at the distant horizon, where the rising sun was just beginning to illuminate the winter landscape, and began to speak quietly.

  “In 1969, I was a newly minted first lieutenant in the Legion. My third mission was in Southern Guyana. A local warlord was threatening to attack a French mining facility unless he was paid a substantial bribe. My unit was ordered to defend the facility and the nearby village that provided the labor. Sergeant Daniel MacBain was a corporal in my squad. I was ordered to take two squads to the village and to establish a defensive perimeter. The rest of the company was ordered to defend the mining facility, which was about a mile away.”