Operation

by Tony Ruggiero

  “I don’t know,” Brosnev answered. “But something will be done. We have confirmed your story. I have seen them with my own eyes.”

  “These creatures are very old,” Laupki said. “They are very wise to the habits of mankind and they are not easy to kill. It will take...much. We have tormented each other through the generations. Even I have sought out revenge...and thought I had achieved it. But look where that has gotten me. My poor girls are dead. First their mother to the Serbs and now my babies to these creatures. But I will—”

  Colonel Antol’s jeep pulled up to the medical tent, interrupting the words of Laupki. The base commander jumped out. “Inside, now!” he ordered.

  A moment later a truckload of MPs arrived and encircled the area.

  “Get those two bodies inside immediately,” he barked to the medical personnel. “I want them autopsied at once. All personnel here are not to leave this area unless I personally approve it.” The medical personnel stared at the base commander for a few seconds in disbelief, wondering what had happened to warrant such protocol.

  “I said now, damn it!”

  The personnel lost their immobility immediately and did as they were ordered.

  “Who is the duty medical officer?”

  “I am, sir.” A young man stepped forward. “Major Barkley.”

  “What is the Sergeant’s condition?”

  “He’s stable, but appears to be in shock. He’s unresponsive now, but he might come around with time. We have him under sedation for the moment.”

  “No one talks to him unless I say so.” Then, as if remembering something he had forgotten, Antol added, “The autopsies—make them non-invasive until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand? For now I need to know what killed the girls.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll get started right away,” Barkley said and left.

  Antol turned toward Brosnev and Laupki.

  “Corporal, I want you to find a quiet room and write down everything that happened since you left here, and finish with the moment you called me,” he said. “This is an incredible story. You’re sure you are not stretching it somewhat?”

  “No, sir. What I explained to you was exactly what happened.”

  “We have a senior sergeant that is in shock, you say Captain Block was murdered, and you bring two dead bodies back with you. I’d say that gives some credibility to your story. In fact, there is significant interest from stateside in this matter, and when they hear about this development, God only knows what will happen next.”

  “Sir, what about the civilian?” Brosnev asked.

  “He has to stay here,” Antol said. “He’ll need to answer a lot of questions as the investigation intensifies. Take him with you and have him write down his version. We’ll have someone else translate it later.”

  Brosnev spoke to Laupki, telling him what they were going to do. Laupki nodded his head, said something in his native language and then gave a half-hearted laugh.

  “What did he say?” Antol asked.

  “He says he has no where else to go. The creatures want him dead.”

  Brosnev and Laupki started walking away to find a place to write their statements.

  “Corporal,” Antol called.

  Brosnev stopped and looked back at the base commander.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Captain Block...did he suffer?”

  “Horribly, sir,” Brosnev said, as he turned away and tried not to remember the scene of the captain’s death.

  Chapter Five

  MacDill Air Force Base-Florida

  “Did you read this?” General Stone asked Commander Scott as he showed him a folder labeled “Camp Bondsteel Situation Report.”

  Scott saw the folder’s title and felt his stomach sink, while his body temperature rose by about ten degrees. He’d been afraid of this. He knew the general would react strongly to it.

  The file contained a report from the base commander of Camp Bondsteel, part of the multinational peace effort in Kosovo. Scott had removed it from the general’s reading pile because he knew if he read it, all hell would probably break loose. Seeing the report in Stone’s hand, he found himself wishing he’d never seen the damned thing and that he didn’t work for this madman.

  General Stone, the Commander of U.S. Special Operations Command (SOCOM) at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida, looked like someone who had found the cure for cancer. He was a large man, in excellent shape for a man of fifty-plus years. His close- cropped gray hair was characteristic of a career soldier, the high and tight. He was always immaculate in uniform; it gave him an air of arrogance. His face: brown eyes, high cheekbones and square jaw, never gave away information about his position on issues. He controlled all the Special Forces of the military services, and certain projects kept at the highest secrecy levels. He was a man of great power and influence.

  His aspirations were high and remained that way; he used his prowess for solving impossible problems as his stepladder to those aspirations. He had been accused on occasion for being too General Patton-like in his actions; at times exceeding his authority by committing acts not sanctioned by higher-ups. Yet his record of successes in these actions were too numerous to discount; thereby his removal was considered a far greater loss and a certain level of tolerance had been applied, staving off his retirement for sometime in the distant future. His outlook was that there was a need for a man of his forward thinking in an age of softies: that politicians who had never served in the military had taken over too many of the roles that controlled the military forces.

  One of his biggest complaints was the lack of commitment of military assets to the drug war. Although illegal drugs were a world problem, this particular area hit closest to him; he’d lost his sixteen-year-old daughter, his only child, to an overdose of cocaine. His wife blamed him and his career that kept him away from home for long periods of time, but he saw the greater problem: businessmen with political connections who controlled large portions of the illicit drug trade and reaped its blood-money profits.

  Scott distinctly remembered the dissertation the general had given him on the subject. One thing about the general: when he went off on one of these little talks, you best give him your fullest attention.

  “The administration only throws token money and effort against the drug problem,” Stone had said disdainfully. He had a folder in his hand and Scott remembered the way in which his hand tightened around it as he spoke.

  “Nobody wants to step too hard on the toes of our precious South American neighbors. The assholes!”

  Stone had twisted the folder into a rolled-up stick which he now rapped against an open palm. Whap. Whap.

  “Everyone knows the only way to succeed on the war on drugs is to pull the plug on the Colombian cartels, take them out, take them all out by any means possible. Kill the bastards…every last one of them.”

  Scott remembered how he had looked away momentarily when the general used the words…to kill. He was quickly awarded with a smack from the rolled-up folder and an iron stare from the general.

  “You have issues with that, Commander?” the general had asked. “If you do, I need to know about that right now.”

  Scott had looked at the general and saw a stare that he would never forget. His eyes were like hard steel and intently focused on him. The folder remained in his hand but Scott surmised that it wouldn’t be there for long if he answered incorrectly.

  “No, sir, I do not have a problem with that.”

  “Good,” the general had answered. “I want to make sure that all my people are team players. You are a team player, Commander, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The general had looked at the rolled-up folder in his hands. His face had taken on a disgusted look and then he tossed the folder onto Scott’s desk.

  “Get rid of this trash,” he had said and walked away.

  Scott’s thoughts returned to the present. Although the general had many subordinates who looked through the mult
itude of media that flowed through the information center on a daily basis, he still made it a point to scan through some of it himself. Most of the reports were for information purposes only, such as this report. But Stone had made it known that he wanted to see anything that sounded the least bit strange; the more bizarre the information or story—the better. Nothing was dismissed, no matter how weird. To not adhere to this order would invoke the general’s wrath, which had been known to end many a career.

  Lately though, with all that was going on in the Balkan region, his thoughts remained focused on these areas. He found the history of the region fascinating because of the campaigns that changed the political and military landscape of this region over the past several hundred years, along with the interesting topics about the myths and legends of the Balkans. He was a pragmatic man and gave little thought to unsubstantiated rumors or myths that held no credence. However, he knew that solving problems which were extremely difficult required a unique approach. So he kept everything inside his head in the event that it became useful at some point. The Balkans were full of ancient ideas: from legends to battles fought across the land for centuries. He knew that there was something to be learned from all of this which could possibly be helpful in his other endeavors as well.

  Commander Scott stared at the report General Stone had in his upraised hand. The report concluded that the deaths of the girls and Captain Block were possibly the result of Serbians, but Scott knew the unusual comments from the civilian who had reported the incident had kindled the general’s interest. The words “vampires” and “creatures” keyed his attention, although the base commander had dismissed the use of the terms to translation problems and possible hysteria brought on by war fatigue.

  “Yes, sir, I have seen it,” Scott replied, trying to keep his voice even. His heart beat rapidly as the general’s gaze bore through him. Sweat began to ooze from his pores.

  “And?” the general said, throwing the word out like a grenade that Scott thought he might as well fall on now and get it over with.

  “Hysteria and war fatigue,” Scott responded.

  “So you think someone is fabricating all of this?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered. “Those people have been through a lot. Hysteria from deaths of loved ones can lead to fabrication of stories as a kind of repression of guilt. We’ve seen this before in Bosnia.”

  “Very rational thinking, Commander,” Stone said, closing the folder.

  Scott breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the storm had passed. He returned to the work on his desk.

  “But I disagree,” Stone’s voice boomed back, causing him to jump in his seat. “I think there are some interesting facts here that need to be looked at.”

  “But sir...” Scott began. “There can’t possible be any truth—”

  “Listen to me.” Stone cut him off. “I want you to do the following.”

  Scott scrambled to get a pen and paper.

  “One, send a communication to the base commander telling him to check out the story. Two, put the Special Forces unit in the area on alert and three, get me someone with a background in historical aspects, specifically in myths and legends of this area.”

  “Does that include vampires, sir?” Scott asked without thinking and immediately wished he could retract the question. A bead of sweat scurried down his back.

  “It does,” Stone said and smiled as he stepped up to within a few inches of his face. “And if you keep something like this from me again, I’ll put you in the biggest shit-hole I can find, do you understand?”

  “Yes...yes, sir, I understand.”

  Stone stared at him for what was only seconds, but to Scott, it felt like a much longer time. Finally, the general left his office. He exhaled strongly and wished he’d never taken this assignment. He pitied whomever he would find for the job.

  Chapter Six

  Norfolk, Virginia

  Navy Commander John Reese was right at an intriguing point in the book he was reading when the telephone rang. He thought about ignoring it, but the interruption had already destroyed his concentration. He tried to consolidate the mass of paper that surrounded him so it wouldn’t get it mixed up when he got up. The papers were his notes that would comprise his book he’d been working on for a few years. Tentatively titled Myths and Legends, he hoped it would become a textbook for classes of the same subject.

  Many of the classes he’d taken while earning his Masters Degree in Ancient Civilizations and Mythology did not have good textbooks; reliable information was scarce. His textbook would go further than any book currently published by basing the entire premise on the effect of legends and myths in the current day environment. As soon as he could afford the time and the cost, he planned a research trip to Europe to gather hard data. His deepest hope and desire was to prove just one of his theories correct.

  He finally reached the ringing phone. “Hello,” he said, unable to keep the aggravation out of his voice.

  “Commander Reese?”

  “Yes.” The use of his military rank indicated this was a formal call.

  “This is Captain Bleth. I’m the duty officer for Commander Mid-Atlantic Region in Norfolk.”

  “Yes, sir, how can I help you?” Reese asked, civilizing his tone as he was speaking with a senior officer.

  “We’ve received immediate orders for you from Washington. You are to proceed immediately to U.S. Special Operations Command at MacDill Air Force Base in Florida.”

  “What?” Reese knew they must have the wrong guy. “There must be some mistake. I’m the logistics officer for Naval Special Warfare Group Two at Little Creek. Sir, are you sure you’re not looking for another Commander Reese?”

  “Is your social security number 198-65-8465?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There is no mistake,” Captain Bleth said.

  “I’ll have to notify my chain of command,” Reese said, for lack of anything else to say. He was completely baffled about what was happening.

  “Your chain of command has been notified about your departure. The orders are not a permanent change of station, just temporary assignment for an undetermined time.”

  After twenty years of service, he thought there would be no more shock when unexpected notification came, but there always was, as was the quick acceptance that followed. “When do I depart?”

  “There is a flight out of Norfolk Air Station in three hours. You are to be on that plane.”

  “Is there any explanation of the assignment?” He looked at his watch. It would only take him thirty minutes to be on the Naval Air Station from his home in Ocean View.

  “All it says is temporary assignment to an advisory position of some type. I’ll have a duty driver meet you at the air terminal with copies of your orders.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Reese said, as his mind raced with the possibilities.

  “Have a good time,” the captain said, and then hung up.

  Reese was slow in returning the phone to the cradle. He sat in his chair and organized his thoughts. It was quite strange that there had been no prior warning new orders were coming. Not even a call from his immediate superior in his change of command, Captain Clark.

  “John,” a female voice called from the bedroom. “I thought I heard the phone ringing?”

  “Work,” Reese said, almost forgetting that Lisa had been in the bedroom from the night before. He had woken early as was his custom, consumed copious amounts of coffee and had gotten absorbed in his work—as usual. He was a creature of habit and there could be no denying that.

  Lisa had come over with a bottle of wine to celebrate something, but he couldn’t remember what it was at the moment. One thing led to another and they ended up in bed together. Their relationship had been one of what he would describe as on-again, off-again. With his schedule at work and his diehard attention to his book, he would go for weeks without calling or even thinking about her. She would get angry and eventually show up at his doorstep. They w
ould make up; Reese was not sure half of the time what it was he was apologizing for, and then they would go on.

  A few seconds later, a tall blonde, well-tanned and wearing a long T-shirt, emerged from the bedroom.

  “Who was it?” she asked.

  “Apparently my services are requested elsewhere, and in a hurry. I have to get ready to go,” he said. “Duty calls.”

  She came and tried to sit alongside of him, but his mountain of books and notes covered the entire area. She began to move things to make a spot to sit.

  “No, don’t move anything,” he said, probably a little more forcefully then he had intended. “I have everything exactly where I know it is. If you move it, I’ll have to start all over.”

  “You and your work,” she said. The tone of her voice was a good indication of the storm on the way. “If it isn’t the Navy calling, you’re wrapped up with these old musty books.”

  “It’s what I do,” he said simply.

  “No, John, it’s not just what you do. It’s an obsession. The only way I can get your attention is to get you tipsy so you forget about all this stuff for a while,” she said, waving her arms around the room. “I have to force you to notice me, for God’s sake.”

  “Come on, Lisa,” he said. “Stop exaggerating.”

  “Okay, John, here is a little test for you. What were we celebrating last night?”

  Reese winced. His expression gave his answer away without him even have to say a word.

  “I thought so,” she said. “You can’t remember last night with me, but you can remember what happened centuries ago in some little backwater country in Europe.”

  “Lisa, that’s not fair—”

  “Fair? You know what a fair is, John? It’s a place for cotton candy and rides. Speaking of which, I feel like I’ve been on a merry-go-round with you—going in circles. I’ve been with you for six months now, hoping you’d notice me and what do you do? You treat me like that chair,” she said, pointing to the corner. “It’s there when you need it, but the rest of the time, it just occupies space. I can’t be a chair any longer, John.”