An NVA came into his field of vision. The enemy pointed his rifle at Jacobs’s face and said something foreign.
“Why isn’t the dragon attacking you?” Jacobs croaked out.
He heard thunder and then saw another dragon land at the side of One Eye.
They shrieked at each another. One Eye snapped at the little one.
Little One moved his head away just in time.
The NVA called over his shoulder. Jacobs heard more footsteps.
Next he saw another figure over him. This one was different. He wore a black camo uniform.
Black Camo smiled down at Jacobs. Then he kicked him in the ribs.
The pain shot through Jacobs’s body and he coiled into the fetal position as the dragon removed its claw. Tears ran down Jacobs’s face. He coughed.
Another boot hit. This one struck the arms Jacobs used to hug into his stomach, but the kick still hurt. He breathed in air. He coughed up blood. He breathed in air. He coughed up blood.
A boot was placed on his shoulder and with a push he was rolled onto his back again.
Jacobs coughed.
Black Camo spat on him. A dragon hissed.
Jacobs took a breath.
Black Camo guy spoke to the dragons in a foreign tongue. Not Vietnamese, though … but Russian. One Eye appeared to listen and it tilted its head.
Jacobs coughed.
The Russian petted the dragon then pointed to somewhere beyond Jacobs’s vision. Then he shouted something in Russian.
Thunder snapped.
The dragons were gone.
Jacobs took a sharp breath.
The Russian looked to the NVA and he spoke this time in Vietnamese.
Jacobs coughed up more red.
The NVA nodded at Black Camo. He hit Jacobs in the face with the butt of his AK.
Blackness befell Jacobs once more.
• • • • •
Stephens entered the CP to see Moore standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing new green army fatigues; no insignia or division markings adorning them. He had a CAR-15 slung over his shoulder, the same snub-nosed rifle as the sergeant’s.
“Thanks for joining me, Stephens. Are the men assembled?”
“Yeah, did you manage to get me what I asked for?”
Moore walked to a table in the center of the CP; an olive sheet covering it. He pulled the cover away to reveal a black chrome bow and black chrome arrows.
“A compound bow,” started Moore, “it can be broken down into three pieces, a metal handle and two wood-fiberglass limbs. The end of each limb is slotted and curves towards the archer, instead of away. The slotted end of each limb is equipped with an eccentric cam wheel. The cable attached to the bowstring interconnects the wheels. The archer has three strings stretched taut before him. You use only one to draw the arrow. You don’t have to bend the bow to attach the string. The string and cable are already secured to the wheels.
“To assemble the bow to function, all you have to do is snap each limb into its handle slot, turn each limb bolt, being careful to balance the pressure, one turn at the top, one at the bottom, until stable. As the limbs become secure, the cable and string will automatically tighten around the eccentric wheels.
“The wheels are like a system of pulleys. They ease the archer’s effort. At a standard thirty-inch draw, the archer’s effort will remain the same until twenty-seven inches. The force exerted will be reduced dramatically, by 50 percent or so. At a full thirty-inch draw, sixty pounds of effort will dwindle to thirty.
“When the archer let’s go of the string, the bow will release its energy in a more controlled fashion than conventional wooden bows, adding thrust from thirty to sixty pounds, instead of applying the sixty pounds at once.
“This stops the fight of the arrow against the assault. It will stop it from staying in place, for that microsecond, stop it from buckling and stop wasted energy, making the exertion of pressure more efficient. The wheels on the compound bow compound the thrust, hence its name, as the arrow is propelled, hesitation and buckle gone. It shoots perfectly straight, as fast as possible. The arrow can streak at 250 feet per second.
“It’s electrostatically painted so the finish will not scrape; it will prevent any glint that might attract an enemy’s attention. Its handle is magnesium, that makes it as strong as aluminum alloy but with less weight, the limbs are carbonized fiberglass with maple sandwiched at the core.
“Because the handle is only twenty-one inches long and the limbs even shorter, eighteen inches, when the compound bow is disassembled it can fit into one of the twenty-two-inch quivers, which can be strapped to the archer’s leg.
“The arrows can be taken apart too, their thirty inches unscrewed in the middle and reduced by half, that allows them to be completely contained in the quiver. The arrows’ design is as sophisticated as the bow. The shaft ain’t wood but fiberglass. Also black, strong not heavy. Four-bladed, razor-sharp, saw-edged blades, one inch wide, two inches long, anodized black, the same as the bow and shafts. Serrations on the blades have been designed to stop the broad head from glancing off bone; it’s called a Copper Head Ripper and its head can imbed into almost anything. It has penetrating capabilities of a copper-jacketed bullet. Instead of feathers, black nylon fletches’ they won’t wilt or lose accuracy in this humidity.”
“Like I said, Moore, space-age stuff,” said Stephens.
“Will this do?”
“Yes, it’s just what we need for a silent approach into the base.” Stephens dismantled the bow and fixed the pieces in the quiver, along with the arrows. He tied it to his leg.
“Are you a good shot?” asked Moore.
“I have Navajo blood in me. I was a great shot even as a kid. The rifle might have been the main choice for hunting on our reservation, but many of the elders were still proficient with a bow. My grandfather was my instructor; he taught me strength was important, but skill and concentration more so.
“My grandfather walked with a cane. He seemed ancient to me as a young boy. But I saw him draw back the strings of bows that I couldn’t, even when I grew more muscular in my teenager years. My best efforts couldn’t match him. He could strike the bull’s-eye on a target more than thirty yards away. He said mind and spirit drew the bow. Not the body.
“I didn’t and still don’t believe his spirit was responsible for his ability, but years of practice. So I trained, I studied. Soon it became instinctive to me and I was able to hit the same target with the same ease he could. I studied the history of archery too. I became fascinated by it. It has existed over thousands of years, you know? It was the most feared weapon until gunpowder and bullets began to replace it.”
“You are very lucky to have this the compound bow,” said Moore. “Not many have it. It wasn’t easy for me to acquire.”
“It will not be wasted effort, Agent Moore. Trust me. You will find it invaluable. It will give us an advantage, aid with surprise.”
“We need to kill everyone at that base. Just blowing up the Russians’ secret compound is not enough. No enemy, no matter which type of commie, must survive,” said Moore.
“Like the bow, I am very experienced and gifted at killing. The mission will be a success. Leave the men to me and I’ll leave the compound to you. You can deal with the C-4 and its placement.”
“Even though we’ll be bringing C-4 with us, enough to blow the hidden compound and labs, we will most likely not need to use it.”
“And why is that?” asked Stephens.
“We have it, on good authority, that the base is wired to blow. A fail-safe mechanism the Russians have in place. In case their research falls into the wrong hands, I imagine.”
“Your hands?”
“We’re not going there to gather intel. It has been deemed top priority to destroy all the Russians’ research,” said Moore.
“That seems like an unusual approach for the CIA.”
“I have my orders and I’ll follow them,” said
Moore.
“But you wish you didn’t have to?”
“It seems a mistake to waste so much advancement in the study of these creatures. It would save our guys time and give them new ideas.”
“But the existence of the thunderbird and what it could signify, is bigger than them just being used as a weapon?” asked Stephens.
“It appears so.”
“So we kill all and any dragons at the base?”
“What do you mean by any?” Moore was confused.
“Any age?”
“Yes. Any age. Hatched or not.”
“How many of these things can we expect?” asked Stephens.
“I’m afraid I can’t confirm the number,” said Moore. “Our sources have had difficulty with the count. Plus, you need to be aware that our journey makes it a possibility we’ll run into wild dragons not yet captured by the Russians. It’s unlikely but possible, since we’ll be travelling through the section of jungle most of the Russian expeditions have taken place.”
“My men will stay alert. They will do you proud. I have chosen the best of the platoon,” said Stephens.
“Introduce me to the men and we’ll get underway.”
“What will happen to the remainder of the platoon?” Stephens asked.
“They will be taken care of.”
• • • • •
Jacobs felt an overpowering ache in his head and could still see only darkness.
The pain extended into a run that went down the back of his neck and joined onto the other wounds of his body. “I’ve become one mass of soreness and many forms of excruciating, Lynch.”
He opened his eyes slightly and looked through his eyelashes. They had become encrusted with sleep. “This sleep hasn’t formed after a restful night but from unconsciousness induced by the butt of an AK-47 rifle pounding my skull and making my brain swish around my head, causing it to hit off the hard bone of my cranium.”
He could see above him, the roof of a hut. “I’m still in the camp where the dragon brought me.” He could also make out a light. It flickered briefly. It came from an incandescent bulb.
Under his back he could feel something poke into his bruises. It felt like bamboo. He was on a table of sorts. “I’d find better cushion on the jungle floor.”
He strained his ears and let them search for sounds that could confirm his surroundings. “I’m afraid to look around in a more obvious way, Lynch. Like turning my head. I don’t want my awakening to bring another beating. I’m not sure if I could take another.”
He felt a fist smash into his face. It had cracked his cheekbone.
He opened his eyes fully, the light offended them for a second and he had to squint. He saw Black Camo guy, the Dragon Master, as he looked down at him.
Dragon Master smiled.
Jacobs’s head pounded in time with his beating heart. “My state is akin to the world’s worst hangover coupled with a car crash body. What should I do, Lynch?”
He heard Russian and then felt an ungodly pain smack his legs, right across the injuries on his shins.
The top half of his body jolted upright. He was not tied to the table. His arms had felt too heavy to move before. Too heavy for him to notice he wasn’t fastened to the structure. “It doesn’t matter about this late discovery. I wouldn’t have been able to run to freedom anyway, Lynch.”
“Who are you talking to?” said Dragon Master. “You are really drowsy. You are over the body’s limit for thrashings. You are intoxicated from boots to your liver and are rosy cheeked from fists to the face. Punch drunk, you could say. Ha. I made a funny, yes?” The Dragon Master smacked him in the chops. Two of his knuckles clipped off his jaw.
Jacobs fell back to the bamboo.
“Painful?” Dragon Master asked.
“He might be speaking English, Lynch. But his accent is thick full of commie Russian.” Jacobs looked to the Dragon Master who was rubbing at his knuckles with the palm of his other hand. His teeth gritted.
“I’ve got to admit I take some form of comfort from knowing my face is inflicting pain to the commie, Lynch,” started Jacobs. “It isn’t a style of fighting that will catch on; a self-defense move that involves the defender blocking an attack with their kisser isn’t very productive in the long-term.”
“You are a very odd man,” said Dragon Master.
Jacobs looked down the length of his body to see the NVA soldier who had hit him in the face with the butt of his rifle when he had been lay outside. The NVA Torturer held in his hand what looked like a section of rubber hose?
“That is a rubber hose full of sand. It hurts, yes?” Dragon Master asked.
NVA Torturer brought the hose above his head then whacked it down onto Jacobs once more, this time across his thighs.
As Jacobs’s face contorted from the pain, Dragon Master slapped him.
Jacobs’s head turned sideways to bounce off, then to lie on the table. He looked towards one of the hut’s walls and away from Dragon Master’s pleased expression.
“Name?”
“Is it the accent or the pain that makes it hard to understand the question, Lynch?” said Jacobs.
Whack.
Once more he was hit with the hose. This time back on his shins.
“Typical big mouthed yank bastard,” said Dragon Master.
Jacobs turned his head to look at Dragon Master. His jaw tightened and he clenched his teeth. “I’m not going to answer this mad man, Lynch. I’m not going to play his games of pain and information, giving and taking.”
“I do not know who you speak to, but it is foolish to not answer me. I can do this all night; I can do this all week. I think, however, you cannot?” Dragon Master didn’t wait for a reply. “You are a mess. You are in pain. You are weak. Your mind and body, both of them in competition as to which will give in first. You look pathetic.” Dragon Master looked to the NVA, who struck Jacobs again.
The hose whipped off. A cloud of blood puffed from his ripped fatigues.
Jacobs tried to not let his body and expression show the pain. He fought the urge to sit up again. He fought the want to grab at the throb. He spat in Dragon Master’s face. “You look pathetic.” Jacobs smiled. He could taste the blood that was on his teeth.
Dragon Master stood motionless for a second as the liquid rolled down his cheek. The spit was red and bubbled with blood. He slowly and methodically wiped it away with the sleeve of his uniform. He made sure he got every last drop.
Dragon Master growled. Rage burst forth. He took ahold of Jacobs by his hair. He almost scalped him with the power of the tug. Then with his free hand he started to hit Jacobs in the face.
Once, twice, how many more Jacobs couldn’t be sure, he lost count. His head was a-spin and his brain once again swished around his skull.
There came one last and mighty punch.
Jacobs heard his nose crack.
Dragon Master let go of Jacobs’s hair.
Jacobs’s head fell and hit the bamboo table once more. He tried to breathe. It was difficult. His mouth and nose felt full of gore.
He saw Dragon Master walk to NVA Torturer and take the hose from him. He went and stood back by the table where Jacobs’s head lay.
Jacobs saw the hose rise into the air. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact.
The sand-filled hose struck across his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth. He coughed and tried not to choke on the thick crimson.
Then … Jacobs laughed.
It was difficult to do so. But he did it. “Not that I find my present situation funny, Lynch, but I know it will anger my captor. And that is a small victory in my current position.”
“So, you think it funny to spit in my face?”’ asked Dragon Master as he hit Jacobs once again with the hose. This time across his broken nose.
Jacobs’s eyes watered. The tears ran into blood. The blood ran onto the table.
Dragon Master handed the hose back to NVA Torturer. He removed a packet of cigarettes
from his top pocket. He placed one in his mouth and removed a lighter from the same pocket. He lit the smoke and threw the packet and lighter out of Jacobs’s line of sight. Dragon Master looked down at the young LT. He examined the damage to Jacobs’s face. He appeared to be admiring his work.
Dragon Master took ahold of Jacobs’s hair again, but this time with less fury and with … almost tenderness. He raised Jacobs’s head so they could meet eyes. Dragon Master spoke, his voice calmer, more relaxed, the smoke seemed to have taken the edge off his anger. “Do you have a wife?”
The question took Jacobs off guard. His eyes narrowed and he held the stare of Dragon Master. “Lynch, I’m pondering what such a question really means in a venue of torment. It’s obviously not meant for pleasantries and will have a hidden meaning behind it, but what is that meaning? What does it matter if I have a wife, Lynch?”
“Do you have a wife?” Dragon Master asked again. He took another drag and inhaled some smoke. He exhaled the cancer into Jacobs’s face.
Jacobs didn’t allow the cloud to make his eyes close or his eyelids flicker. “I don’t want to look away, Lynch. I’m determined to make him do that first. I will play my own game. Not theirs. I will make it as difficult as possible for my captors to play the way they want, by their rules. I will push the Russian to the limits of his patience and beyond. I will drive the man to madness.”
“I will choose to ignore your monologue of lunacy. For the time being anyway,” said Dragon Master. “Now, do you have brothers? Sisters? Any family that care for you back home?” He once more inhaled.
The red glowing tip from the cigarette cast a flare on Jacobs’s sight, but still he did not look away.
A plume of smoke went into the air between the men. They watched each other through the grey.
“I see you do not wish to talk to me. Even though you seem keen to talk to someone who is not here. That is a shame. It is a shame for you, not for me. You see, the more you talk to me, the more we listen. The more we listen, the less time we have to beat you. But as things go, we have all the time in the world. I’m going to enjoy breaking you, GI. Truth be told, I enjoy breaking everyone … and anyone. It is something I am very good at. Very skilled at … somewhat an expert at.”
THERE BE DRAGONS Page 12