by Jim Roberts
“That’s enough, Corporal! My decision is final. Get those two jokers in Turkey back here now, or kiss your future in this Unit goodbye.”
Without another word, Stanlin turned and stormed out of the MOC.
Jade was fuming. The knowledge that they were going to pull out and leave Joe, alive or dead, in the middle of that waste got the ex-rebel’s blood up to the boiling point.
“Joe’s a tough bugger,” said Brick, “If he’s alive, he’ll try to make it to Iraq – maybe sneak across the border.”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Jade asked the Brit, piecing together a narrative of the past several hours events in her head, “Joe lands in the valley, survives the bombing and he’s taken prisoner–”
“I’m not doubting the possibility…I am doubting our ability to do anything for the bloke. The only people that can help him are Packrat and…Krieger. And right now, you need to contact them.”
Jade’s face betrayed her emotions, “So you’re giving up too?”
“That ain’t what I said. I said contact those Spirit Walker crew. Barring some sort of…unforeseen circumstance, they need to get back here ASAP.”
Jade frowned at Brick’s odd annunciation of the word unforeseen. The Sergeant fixed her with a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, “We wouldn’t want an equipment malfunction to keep us from following the Major’s orders, would we?”
With that, Brick turned and walked towards the elevator. Jade’s mind went over his words. A plan began to form. A plan that just might bring Joe back. She tapped Headcase on the shoulder.
“Patch me through to the Spirit Walker, immediately.”
Incirlik Airbase, Turkey
July 17th, 2015
THE TURKISH airbase was in full operation, with a bustling of flights taking off and landing around the hectic tarmac. Krieger watched from the loading ramp of the Spirit Walker as an F-16C Fighting Falcon jet roared across the runway opposite him. The aircraft rocketed into the air, on its way to some unknown destination. Taking a sip of coffee from the paper cup he held, the Russian grimaced. He tossed the beverage onto the tarmac, crumpling the cup in his hand.
Turkish coffee tastes like rancid sewer water, he thought as he watched the afternoon airport chaos.
For the past ten hours, he and Packrat had forgone taking their leave from the Middle East, and stayed parked on the landing apron of the insanely busy Incirlik airbase. It had been easy to explain to HQ, as Packrat needed to rest before the flight to Washington. It had given them the excuse to delay leaving, but now it was nearing time to pack up. While the Turks had a temporary deal with America to allow drones to take off and land at the airbase, playing host to a CIA jet was not something they were prepared to tolerate for long.
It had been years since Krieger had been in this country. He’d had cause to work in Turkey over his past, something he hadn’t shared with his Peacemaker comrades.
They didn’t need to know.
To be honest, they didn’t need to know anything about his past. He provided a service to them in the form of relentless action, something the other witless fools in the Unit failed to grasp. Throughout much of his past, the Russian had always blown where the wind led him. For now, the Peacemakers and their war on Olympus were going his direction. It suited him to play the lapdog of men like Stanlin and Walsh, but only for so long as his desire to keep one step ahead of Olympus demanded it.
That didn’t mean he was unsympathetic to those he held as friends.
The Russian hated the idea of leaving Joe behind. If he wasn’t already dead, the ISIL scum that patrolled the desert would have him for breakfast before long. Braddock was resourceful, but Krieger doubted he would make it long on his own.
For a year now, Joe Braddock had been the closest thing the Russian-Arab had to a friend. He had watched him take the loss of his ‘brother’ Danny quite hard. Since Zimbala, Joe had seemed like a shadow of his former self; a crust of a man burning for vengeance against the military that took Danny from him. Krieger couldn’t relate, but he recognized the bond of fellowship created between men of war. He felt it too.
That was why he stayed with the Peacemakers.
“Krieger! I’ve got Masters on the comm.”
Packrat called to him from inside the VTOL. Krieger hurried up the ramp. Packrat was making adjustments in preparation for their return to the States when the call from the Cottage came through.
“Enjoy your beauty sleep, tovarishch?” Krieger couldn’t help but chide the pilot.
Packrat glowered as he passed the Russian a headset, “Seriously, man, do you have any friends at all?”
“Nope.” Krieger replied, connecting the headset, “This is Peacemaker One, go ahead.”
Jade Masters’ husky voice came through loud and clear, “Krieger, the Major has ordered you to return to the States. Packrat has the flight plan.”
The Russian was baffled by the order, “But…Joe is still out there! We have no evidence he’s dead yet–”
“Krieger, do you understand how to take orders? You are to follow what I say completely!”
Krieger was even more puzzled now. Jade continued relaying the Major’s instructions.
“Unless there is something wrong with the Spirit Walker, you are to takeoff as soon as possible, understood?”
There was something in her tone that sounded off to the Russian. “What do you mean ‘something wrong with the–”
“Correct. The aircraft is functioning properly, am I right in saying so? Nothing that wouldn’t take a day or so to fix?”
Packrat gave Krieger a quizzical glance. The Russian clicked the comm and said, “Ah, as far as I know, we are good to go…”
“Make sure you give the jet one final check, Krieger. It’s a long flight back, Masters out.”
The comm went dead. The two men looked at each other.
“What the hell was that about?” Packrat asked.
Krieger didn’t respond. He went over Jade’s words carefully, putting things together.
“Come with me.”
Packrat unstrapped himself from the pilot seat, “What? Where?”
“Just come on.”
The two men stepped off the aircraft and onto the tarmac. The Russian led the pilot around the Spirit Walker’s hull. Krieger stopped, bent over and pointed.
“Aft landing gear seems damaged.”
Packrat looked at the perfectly operational twin tires of the Spirit Walker’s aft landing gear. “What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong with it!”
“If one set of tires were damaged, how long would it take to fix?”
“What do you…?” Packrat started to clue in, “Uh…I don’t know. We’d need a hydraulic jack to lift it up–”
“Perfect.” Krieger interrupted. He looked around the tarmac. At the other end was a Hercules C-130 preparing to take off on the runway. Krieger unholstered his Beretta 9mm. Packrat’s eyes went wide.
“Wait, Krieger, what are–”
“Shush. Just wait.”
The Hercules began its takeoff, getting louder and louder. Soon the massive machine had drowned out all other sounds. As it barreled down the runway, the Russian leaned down and fired two bullets into the tires. Immediately, the Spirit Walker lurched to one side. The sound of the gunshots were muffled perfectly by the massive Hercules. The Russian holstered the weapon, looking around the tarmac for any observers.
Packrat was livid. “What the absolute hell was that?”
“We need to buy time. How long will this take to fix?”
“Christ, Krieger. I don’t know, depending if the Turks give us any help, maybe a few hours.”
“Hmm. Not good enough.” The Russian turned and headed toward the other side of the craft. Keeping his eyes out, he saw an F-16C prepping for takeoff.
Rinse. Repeat.
Packrat rushed up behind the Russian. “Wait, Krieger don’t you–”
As the aircraft zoomed by, Krieger put two mor
e bullets into the other set of tires.
Packrat slammed a hand into the side of the jet. “Christ almighty, I freakin’ quit!”
Holstering the gun, Krieger grabbed the pilot by the shoulder. The burly Russian stared the pilot straight in the eye, “Looks like we have technical troubles. Get on the comm with base and tell them we are delayed. Joe is still out there and Jade needs our help to get him. We are his only chance, eto panyatno?”
Packrat sighed, nodding in agreement. “Yeah…I understand.”
Krieger let the pilot go, “Come on, my friend. In this Unit, we don’t leave a man behind. Call Masters, and then we shall get this jack you talk of. Take your time, it looks like we have plenty to spare for now!”
Washington, D.C.
July 17th, 2015
The MedStar Washington Hospital Center looked more like a college campus than a traditional health care building. Spread out over 160,000 square feet, it housed Washington’s largest not-for-profit cancer treatment center, the Washington Cancer Institute. One of D.C.’s top caregivers for cancer patients, the Institute was by far the most well-known hospital in the district.
Jade Masters sat in a chair beside Colonel Jackson Walsh, CO and founder of the Peacemaker Unit. The Colonel was sitting in a treatment chair in the oncology wing of the hospital – an area specifically designed for patients to receive their infusions of chemo drugs. The room – which had chairs for at least eight other patients – had one other occupant: a ninety year old woman who hummed along with a pair of headphones as she received her intravenous treatment.
After her brisk communiqué with Krieger, Jade had left the MOC for some well-deserved sack time. But instead, she had taken the thirty minute drive into D.C. to see her Commanding Officer, knowing Walsh would have an answer for the conundrum she now faced.
Jade had only known the Colonel for eight months, ever since returning from Zimbala. She learned quickly why Joe and the other Peacemakers respected him so much – not just for the fact that he was a legendary war hero, but that Walsh had a strong, fatherly approach to command that Jade found inspiring. He was the kind of man a soldier would fight for and trust to bring you back home alive.
“Thought you’d forgot about me, Masters.” The Colonel said, his voice gently mocking.
Masters smiled. She had been tasked to act as the Colonel’s aide-de-camp, but in recent days, her primary job at the MOC had kept her too busy to keep the Colonel informed.
“Of course not, Colonel. Sorry I couldn’t make it here sooner.”
“Save it. The Unit needs you more than I do. Still…you look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” Jade said, letting out a tired sigh.
The Colonel said, “I’ve got some good news on my end. I’ve talked with Herb Lafayette, the Head of UN Peacekeeping Operations. He’s agreed to review your absentee status. He’s promised me you will receive an OTH discharge from the forces. With luck, I’ll have you on active field status within the month.”
The news would have overjoyed Jade if her mind hadn’t been elsewhere. “Thank you Colonel. I appreciate it.”
“I know it’s what you wanted. From your service as an analyst and your experience in the Zimbala civil war, you would be invaluable to the Peacemakers as a field operative.”
They continued to talk for several minutes. The Colonel told her the heavier treatments for his cancer were completed and that he was in partial remission. Walsh had been dividing his time between the hospital and his home in a small rented apartment on the north side of the city. He was dressed in civilian clothes, which looked quite unusual on the perpetual soldier. His bushy moustache had grown back after the initial chemotherapy had caused severe hair loss. The Colonel had chosen to keep his hair cut short and was wearing a Red Sox ball cap over his domed head.
“So tell me: what is my Unit up to?”
Jade quickly filled the Colonel in the last day and half’s events. Walsh’s eyes did not betray his thoughts as he digested every word.
“Goddamn. Leave it to NATO to fudge up a simple raid like that. And you’ve heard nothing since from Braddock?”
Jade shook her head.
“Hmm,” Walsh grumbled to himself, “I have to say I’m with Stanlin on this. If Joe was alive, we’d have heard from him by now. If he’s been captured, well...”
Jade’s heart thudded against her breast. She pushed her emotions down. “Joe should never have been sent on this mission,” Jade said, “I tried to stop him…tried to convince him to stay.”
“Why?”
“He’s…been acting strange. Over the past few months, he seems different than when I met him. He sometimes loses track of time; zoning out of the present. He can’t sleep and when he does, he has awful dreams…” Walsh raised an eyebrow. Jade suddenly felt self-conscious, as if she’d said too much. “He wakes up screaming. I don’t know, but I think he may have PTSD.”
Walsh was silent for a few moments before he answered her, “Joe is good at masking his true emotions from his friends.”
Jade swallowed, “What is he hiding? What is it that’s eating him up inside?”
Walsh took a breath, averting his eyes from Jade’s questioning gaze, “Braddock’s a special man. More special than I would ever admit to him. Did he tell you how he found his way into this Unit?”
“You mean his mission in Kazinistan a year ago? He’s mentioned it.”
The Colonel looked around the hospital room. Besides some orderlies outside the door and the old woman in the corner, they were alone, “A year ago, Joe was commanding a platoon of Army Rangers on a survey mission in the North of Afghanistan. He and Danny Callbeck were attacked by Olympus. Thirty-nine Rangers were massacred. Callbeck was blinded in the attack.”
This was all new to Jade. She had heard some rumors of the operation that led to the deaths of Joe’s men, but he rarely spoke about it. The memory must have been too difficult for him to discuss.
The Colonel continued, “They was sent to a prison in Kazinistan, a tiny country north of Afghanistan. He and Danny were tortured by the Olympus Commander. The two had only each other to lean on. Joe loved that man like a brother. Braddock’s a great soldier, but Danny was incredible; one of the best I’ve ever seen. The two shared a bond I can’t really explain. If you ask me, losing him has created a void inside Joe. It could be stress disorder, like you say, but I think it’s something more. Joe has to face a reality: that his friend is truly gone. Once he does, he can move forward and be free of Danny Callbeck.”
Jade wanted to answer, but found her voice stuck in her throat. She looked out the window at the gardens surrounding the hospital grounds. She felt the Colonel’s hand on her shoulder. Jade turned back, her heart in her eyes. The Colonel’s scarred face, with his unseeing marled eye, had a look of genuine concern on its weathered exterior.
“If he is alive, he’ll need your support. In many ways, you’re stronger than him.”
Jade smiled, choking back tears, “Stanlin wants to cut him loose. I’ve bought a day, maybe. After that…”
Walsh leaned back in the medical chair. “The Unit is Stanlin’s for now. The CIA trusts his bean counting over mine. There’s a good chance he’ll be promoted to permanent CO.” Seeing the emotion on Jade’s face, Walsh sighed, “Look, just keep doing what you’re doing. Hold out as long as you can. I’ll see what I can do.”
Jade thanked the Colonel and left. As she walked out of the hospital into the morning sun, she felt her knees weaken. She rushed over to a secluded part of the grounds before the tears exploded down her face. She hated losing control. She was a soldier, trained and true. She had fought African warlords and Olympus drones. Her emotions were always kept well in check.
I love the bastard. I just can’t explain it.
This was a conflict of interest. Mutual affection in a military unit clouded judgement. This was proof. Jade knew that when Joe Braddock did return, one of them would have to leave the Unit.
If he returned.
>
Taking several cleansing breaths, she wiped her eyes and headed to her car.
She needed a rest.
Chapter 13
Trekking
South Syrian Desert
July 17th, 2015
JOE WAS blind, his body strung up to cross, held in place with wire that sliced into his skin. Death would be a welcome release. Even without his eyes, he knew his brother and the man in shadow stood watching him amidst the crowd of corpses. Dyson and Jian Chou were there too, eyes gouged from their heads. Two more innocents he’d failed.
Joe’s final moments were filled not with pain, but a lingering hope that the end would come soon.
Danny’s voice spoke quietly to him, “Death comes to us all, my Brother.”
The visage of his brother vanished, leaving on the shadow man. As Joe felt is life fade, he watched the shadow man come out of the darkness.
Sandor Delacroix.
The shadowed Centurion raised a pistol towards Joe’s forehead.
“A mercy, Braddock. My gift to you.”
BANG!
The nightmare shattered around Joe as he burst back to consciousness, his fingers grasping at the M4A1. Ayishah was so startled by his sudden awakening, she let out a yelp.
Sandor turned his head from the desolate road ahead. “Christ, Braddock, what was that?”
Joe was drenched in sweat. He had only let his head droop for a moment, not meaning to fall asleep. But the monotony of the road had lulled him to sleep.
“Sorry, just a dream.”
Sandor raised an eyebrow, “A dream? Dreams have beautiful, naked women on beaches, Braddock.” Ayishah looked uncomfortable at hearing the bawdy talk. Sandor shrugged, “‘Scuse me, Ma’am.”
Joe looked out the window, not speaking. The afternoon sun was high in the sky, pelting down on the semi as it lumbered across the barely visible dirt road towards Dummaya. A trip that should have been no more than three hours on a normal highway had taken nearly five. They had risked a stop for a few minutes to allow the travellers in the back cargo area to stretch their legs and relieve themselves. So far, the desert road was quiet. Only twice had they come across any other travellers and they had turned out to be desert dwellers who went out of their way to avoid the ISIL-marked semi. The subterfuge was working. If it could hold out a little longer, they would be in Dummaya within the hour and Joe could radio his people.