Operation: Immortal Servitude From Declassified Files of Team of Darkness

by Tony Ruggiero

  "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 would 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."

  She stormed back into the bedroom, but quickly reappeared in her jeans and tucking her t-shirt in her pants with one hand. In her other hand, she carried her sneakers.

  "Look, Lisa, I have to make a call and get ready to go. Can't we talk about this later?"

  "There won't be a later, John,” she said simply.

  "Lisa, wait..."

  The door made a resounding thud as it closed.

  "Off again,” he said, remembering how he had classified their relationship. This time, he didn't think it would ever get back to the on stage.

  He exhaled strongly and couldn't help looking at the chair that Lisa had mentioned earlier. She had been right. The only exception was she thought he didn't realize the way he was acting or treating her, but he did. He wasn't in love with her; she was a distraction that he used to unblock his own mind and that was all he wanted at this period in his life. At times they had a lot of fun together and the sex was good; however, he was not looking for anything beyond that at this point. Was he using her? He probably was. He had developed an analogy from his work in dealing with women and relationships: given enough time, the myth either becomes reality, or it fades away. Apparently this current affair had just faded away.

  Reese then remembered he was about to call Captain Clark. He opened his recall folder and looked for the telephone number. This assignment to the Special Warfare Group had introduced him to some new and interesting operations that were different than the regular Navy side of the house, but they did not compare to the strange orders he'd just received. He was in charge of the group logistics, purchasing supplies and services required for use by the Special Operation Units on the East Coast. His work dealt mainly with the SEAL units and similar forces. After a year, he had developed a unique respect for the elite of the Special Warfare Community.

  He found the number and dialed it.

  "Hello,” an alert voice answered.

  "Captain Clark?” Reese asked.

  "Reese?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm sorry to bother you at home but—"

  "The duty officer called you already?” he said, cutting Reese off mid-sentence.

  "Yes, sir. Did they explain to you what this is all about?"

  "Afraid not,” Clark said. “I tried to call you a few minutes ago to give you a heads up. Your line was busy. All I know is that I got a call from Captain Sorbert, Commander Naval Special Warfare Group Two, telling me not to look for you on Monday morning. When I asked him why, I was told to not worry about it; that you would be on special assignment to SOCOM for an undetermined period of time. I pressed him for more information but he was closed-mouth about it. Sorry, Reese."

  "Do you have any idea what this might mean?” Reese felt that there was some underlying current here and it bothered him. Clark was usually straightforward and upfront with him.

  "I hate to speculate,” Clark began, “but usually when orders are cut this fast, it's done high up in the chain of command. Whoever wants you there has to have a lot of pull to do this. Must be important."

  "But it doesn't make any sense, sir.” Reese's intuition was beginning to twitch. Was he being paranoid or did he hear the emphasis that Clark had placed on the word important?

  "Maybe not to you, but it obviously does to someone else. All you can do is go along for now and when you get there, you'll find out for sure."

  Reese was sure he had heard the tonal change in the words this time. He wondered if Clark was trying to hint at something that he couldn't say directly.

  "Yes, sir. Thanks for your time, Captain Clark."

  "Have a good trip. Give me a call if you can and be careful."

  "Thank you, sir.” Reese hung up the phone.

  What was this about? He had to admit that his interest was now piqued as to why he'd been chosen. He mentally ticked off his qualifications: degrees in economics for his business side and ancient history for his personal interest. He was a logistics officer with a diverse background but nothing spectacu
lar that would guarantee promotion, which was why he'd retire in another eighteen months. He possessed a top-secret clearance that was required for the current assignment and his current superior respected him. Logic dictated then that this had to be something to do with logistics in the Special Operations community. Maybe some research and development contractual issues or something had come up on some project and they were looking for some fresh thoughts.

  That's probably it, nothing too exciting, it was just the community way to issue orders and move personnel around unexpectedly, keeps us on our toes.

  He looked at the clock and decided he better get moving and pack some clothes, even though he was not even sure how long he would be staying in Florida.

  Chapter Seven

  Reese made it on time to the airport and was met by the duty driver. What surprised him—no—what shocked him was that the plane was for him, and only him: a small passenger plane normally reserved for VIPs. Extremely odd that a plane that cost serious bucks to operate would ferry him to Florida; normal procedure would have placed him on a contracted passenger plane. Whatever awaited him in Florida must be urgent enough to warrant the expenditure.

  Greeted by one of the pilots, a lieutenant, he was seated only seconds before the plane rolled down the runway. He took a book from his brief case titled Creatures in Our Lives, opened it to the page he had marked, and began reading.

  "Excuse me, sir, but a book with a title like that must be strange."

  Reese looked up and saw another lieutenant. By the insignia on his uniform, he was also a pilot.

  "Yeah, it is kind of strange.” He offered his hand. “Commander John Reese."

  "Lieutenant Sam Kramer. I'm the co-pilot."

  "You wouldn't have any idea why I'm being flown to MacDill, would you?"

  "No, sir. They just hand us the paper that says who and when."

  "I guess I'll have to wait until I get there then."

  "So what's the book about?"

  "A lot of different things concerning folklore and myth."

  "Really? I had this professor once ... I was taking a theology course in college. You know, one of those have-to-take courses. Anyway, he went off on some tangent about folklore and stuff like that,” Kramer said.

  "Well,” Reese began, “you would be surprised how closely theology and myths are related. Obviously the professor you had felt that way. You see, there is a school of thought that to study something based upon myth, legends or folklore, it was considered similar to the study of theology. There is no hardcore evidence that could either prove or disprove the stories in either case. Lacking hard proof, it becomes more of a study of philosophy, whereby one's faith or belief was the deciding factor. On a more personal level, if it was evident that the individual lacked the courage or determination to become involved in an area that could solidly be disproved such as hard science, it was likely to be determined that the person was a slacker one way or another."

  "Interesting comparison, it's a ... unique area to get into. How did you get interested in something like that?” Kramer asked.

  Reese slouched back in his seat and got comfortable. “I think I developed this passion for monsters at an early age after seeing the early Dracula and werewolf movies. I was astounded to learn that these creatures were based upon myths that had been documented in some form. My interest grew from there, although when I attended college, I studied in the business field out of practicality, leaving my passion for the unknown and unexplained as a hobby."

  "Yeah,” Kramer agreed. “It's a shame how we ignore our true passion while we do things just to earn a buck. The whole concept sounds fascinating. I bet you have wooed many a lady with your stories of these creatures."

  Reese grinned. “Most women who learned about my favorite pastime assumed I was an immature jerk. I have to admit I spend a lot of time consumed in research. Women tend to maintain their distance—guess that's why I'm still single."

  Kramer smiled and said, “Personally, Commander, I don't think there is a whole lot of difference between strange creatures and wives. Take it from someone with experience; I'm on number three."

  "Can I quote you on that?” Reese asked.

  "Hell no, sir. I can't afford another ex."

  Both men laughed.

  "Well, I better get back to the flight deck,” Kramer said. “Nice talking to you, Commander."

  "Same here. Hope I didn't ramble on too much."

  "No, sir. Sit back and enjoy the flight,” Kramer said as he left Reese to himself.

  Reese would have loved to do nothing more then sit back and relax. However, until he got to MacDill and found out what this was all about, he didn't think there would be much relaxing on his part.

  * * * *

  MacDill Air Force Base was located about eight miles south of Tampa, Florida, on the tip of the Interbay Peninsula in Hillsborough County. After landing, the plane taxied to the receiving end of the runway. Reese noticed a car waiting there. He figured that if someone sent a special plane to retrieve him, then the car was probably there to pick him up. More mystery to dwell on.

  "Commander Reese,” a Marine corporal said as he saluted.

  "I'm your man,” Reese said, trying to be humorous.

  "Yes, sir,” the Marine said in a monotone voice, obviously bypassing Reese's attempt at humor. “Please get into the vehicle and I will drive you to headquarters."

  "Let's go then,” Reese said and got in.

  In a matter of minutes, they arrived at a two-story building. The corporal indicated for Reese to enter the center doors. Reese thanked him and headed into the building.

  The reception area was plain and carried the usual adornments of most military installations. On the walls were the colorful depiction of the individual service logos that fell together under one umbrella of command. They consisted of the Navy SEALs, the Army Airborne and the Air Force Special Operations Forces, all circling a larger emblem of the Unites States Special Operation Command. The main centerpiece was the tip of a lance, sometimes referred to as the ace of spades.

  "Can I help you, sir?” asked the young soldier sitting at the reception desk.

  "Yes,” Reese said as he handed his orders to him. The soldier glanced at the orders and then immediately placed a call.

  "Someone will be right here to escort you."

  "Thanks."

  Reese occupied his time by looking at the standard chain of command picture board that resided on the wall of every military command. He didn't have long to wait. Within a few minutes, a Navy commander appeared.

  "John Reese,” he said as he extended his hand. “I'm Sam Scott."

  "Pleased to meet you.” Reese struggled with pleasantries while restraining himself from asking Scott what the hell was going on. However, given all they had gone through to get him here, he probably wouldn't discuss it on the quarterdeck.

  Scott was not a logistics officer; he was a line officer. Reese recognized the two rank insignia on the other's collars versus the one that he had. Staff corps officers only wore one rank while the other depicted specialty.

  Scott was tall and thin and looked like someone who had been run ragged most of his time in the service. Reese knew the signs of a person trying to achieve promotion and position at an accelerated pace, right down to the darkness under his eyes and a slight nervousness in his demeanor.

  "I know you have questions,” Scott said. “And I apologize for the short notice. If you follow me, we can go somewhere where we can talk."

  "Sounds good."

  Reese followed Scott through the first set of doors that took them off the quarterdeck. Reese noticed Scott used a magnetic card to access the doors they went through. He was also surprised at the maze orientation of the facility and imagined he'd get lost in here without someone escorting him.

  As they proceeded, Reese noticed the doors took on a new look; the verbiage on signs became more authoritative. He noticed not only was the card required, but there were Marine guards who
verified Scott and his credentials.

  After a few minutes, they entered a small windowless conference room that contained one large circular table with eight chairs around it. Scott gestured for him to have a seat.

  "Coffee?” Scott asked.

  "Sure,” Reese said, as he sat in a chair. He tried to control his anxiousness to hear about his new assignment.

  Scott placed a cup of coffee in front of him, then sat.

  "Why am I here?” Reese asked. “Why the rush?"

  Scott exhaled. “Your background may be of use to us."

  "My logistics. That's what I thought,” Reese said, feeling relieved. “You want me to work in the acquisition and logistics center?"

  "No, it's your other non-Navy interest—ancient histories and civilizations. Your interest in myths and legends."

  "What? You have to be kidding, right? I don't understand what that has to do with the Navy or the military for that matter. It's more like a hobby for me."

  "It does have relevance in this particular case, or at least we believe it does. We have come across some ... well ... before I explain any of that, you must understand about General Stone. He is an extraordinary leader and tactician. He is known for his unusual approaches in solving the unsolvable, he's almost a legend."

  Reese was surprised at Scott's tone. It was almost as if he was apologizing for the general. How odd, he thought.

  "I have heard of him and his accomplishments,” Reese said. “General Stone is well-known throughout the services."

  "Yes. Then you know that he likes to look into the unusual or bizarre events we sometimes come across. Most of them don't pan out and can be explained by rational means, but every once in a while something unexplainable is found."

  "Interesting approach, but I still don't see where I come in,” Reese said. He sipped his coffee.

  "Your background appears to be extensive in the European theater and especially the Balkans."

  "Yes,” Reese agreed. “Many scholars consider those areas the center of many myth creations, so my interests lie there as well."