Operation: Immortal Servitude From Declassified Files of Team of Darkness

by Tony Ruggiero

"With all the happenings in Kosovo,” Scott said, “there have been some unusual developments. The general felt that someone with your background might be useful on his staff."

  "That's it?” Reese asked, amazed at the simplicity of it. “You flew me out here on a private jet—with a few hours notice—to be an advisor on what I do for a hobby?"

  "That's it,” Scott agreed.

  This is bullshit, Reese thought. This guy is trying to blow smoke up my ass. He's nervous about something. Something he doesn't want me to know.

  "Then why all the mystery, the cloak-and-dagger orders and stuff?” he asked.

  "Politics. The general doesn't like others to know that he is looking into any of these ... different areas. Rumors can ruin a career faster than anything else in the military."

  "True,” Reese said. “A good many personnel have been forced—"

  The door opened and General Stone entered like a thoroughbred racehorse that had just shot through the opening gate in a race. Reese almost knocked over his cup of coffee as he stood to greet the general.

  "As you were,” Stone said, not even the least bit winded from his entry. “You must be Commander Reese.” Reese took the extended hand and shook it, noticing in the general's other hand he had a folder marked TOP SECRET.

  "Yes, sir, pleased to meet you,” Reese said, feeling a little apprehensive about what he was stepping into.

  "Thought you might find this interesting reading on the flight,” the general said, as he handed the folder to Reese.

  "Flight ... sir?” Reese asked. “What flight?"

  "Your flight to Kosovo leaves within the hour. There is something there that I want you to check out for me."

  Confused, Reese turned to Scott, but Scott had looked away from him and busied himself by getting something from his desk. Reese thought he saw a look of relief on Scott's face, as if the general springing the bad news had got him out of having to do it. Reese knew then he wasn't going to get along with Scott.

  Reese turned his attention back to the general. The man glowered over him, his eyes so large and intense that Reese thought they might explode at any minute. The uncomfortable silence was intolerable, and Reese felt they were waiting for him to say something. He said the most logical thing he could think of.

  "Yes, sir."

  Chapter Eight

  As the plane departed MacDill AFB, Reese sat in awe at the way he was being shuffled around the globe. Seven hours ago, he had been comfortably at home reading a book. A mere hour ago, he had been in a conference room with Commander Scott and General Stone. Now he was on another plane heading to Kosovo, which was in the midst of civil unrest being controlled by NATO peacekeepers. Scott had briefed him that the plane was bound for Skopie, Macedonia via Rota, Spain. From Skopie, he would be driven to Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo. Specific information about his assignment was in the folder that the general had given him, and everything else would become clear upon his arrival at the base camp. Or so he had been told.

  The only difference from his earlier flight was he was not alone on this plane; he had lots of company. This flight was what they called in the military a regular run. Personnel from all branches of the services filled most seats. Their conversations were excited and busied as new acquaintances were made and stories exchanged. Reese had been assigned a seat by himself; the flight captain told him he would understand why when he read the information he had been given.

  At this point, nothing had been explained to him yet and Reese still had a hard time wondering why his knowledge of ancient history and folklore would be of use to the Navy. What would warrant this? It puzzled him. Puzzlement in this case was outweighed by the fact that the more he thought about it, the better this trip was looking. After all, he had always wanted to go to this particular region to study and to look for information for his own work. And now here it was, handed to him; a free trip to his own Disneyworld.

  As the plane bounced through a small air pocket, Reese felt the hardness of the sealed envelope that Stone had given him. It was still unopened due to the haste required to board the plane prior to departure. As the plane settled into a cruising altitude, he unsealed the envelope and removed a folder. As he opened it, he saw immediately on top of the contents page a warning that the information was classified and by the flight's conclusion, the plane commander had orders to destroy the folder and contents before touching down on foreign soil. Reese felt his earlier euphoria about his trip quickly evaporate as his stomach took a sudden lurch. What the hell did this file contain?

  He began reading. First there were situational reports from the Camp Bondsteel Base Commander about an incident with an encounter with a civilian named Idriz Laupki and his story about his daughters’ deaths by some form of creature. This was not surprising to Reese; histories from that part of ancient Europe were filled with similar claims about deaths caused by creatures. The majority of these stories had been attributed to imagination and exceptional tale-wielding by local inhabitants, but a few defied logic and reasoning and left room for speculation.

  Next was an order issued to the Base Commander, Colonel Antol, by General Stone, its verbiage couched as another possible ethnic cleansing incident that required immediate follow-up. Another report followed, filed twenty-four hours ago from the Base Commander, claiming that a Captain Block sent to investigate the incident was now missing and possibly murdered by party or parties unknown at the site of the previous murders. The murders of two girls were confirmed by the retrieval of two bodies from the site.

  The captain failed to return from the site, and another member of the investigating team, a Sergeant Estefan, was under medical custody and appeared to be in shock from what he had witnessed. Another soldier, a Corporal Brosnev, and the civilian, Idriz Laupki, submitted statements as to what had occurred, but their comments had not been verified with another on-site visit pending the request from SOCOM to not take action until their specialist arrived. Specialist? Reese assumed that was him.

  He flipped to the reports of Brosnev and Laupki and read what sounded like something directly out of a horror movie. But they were also like many accounts he had read before. But unlike those studies, this time there seemed to be an additional point of credibility by the military being involved. There would be no point for military personnel to lie about such events.

  Still, it could be just a cover-up to confuse the ethnic cleansing issue. If another party could be blamed in having taken part in the killing, it could benefit the Serbians.

  He turned over a few more pages to the medical reports on the noninvasive autopsy of the two civilian casualties. Reese didn't understand most of the annotations on the standard Department of Defense form. He turned it over and his eyes focused on a general comment block at the bottom. He read the comments once, twice, then put down the report and stared out the window.

  "Canine teeth or fang punctures at the throat,” and under the cause of death, the words “loss of all blood” were underlined followed by, “no blood or traces of blood left in body, as if drained."

  Reese tasted bile from his soured stomach and tried to bring it back under his control. Here was exactly what he hoped to find, verified on paper: the classic signs of a vampire attack. He had never in his wildest dreams imagined that he would ever encounter a creature from the myths and legends he had studied over the years. And now it was staring him right his face.

  He calmed himself. The odds were against the story being true, a perpetrated hoax by the locals to scare people from the region. But there was a chance.

  "But why the interest from General Stone?” he muttered.

  One page remained in the folder. The last page was a personal note from General Stone.

  Commander Reese, you know what these mysterious factors may indicate. I want you to find out if there is any truth to what's been reported. All of SOCOM assets in the theater of operations are available at your disposal. Do not to talk to anyone about this except those that are cleared by Commander Scott
or myself. Report only to me or to Commander Scott.

  Reese's gaze settled on the last paragraph.

  Although the probability of this report being true is small, for a moment consider the possibility that it is a fact. Your personal interests lie in this area, as do mine. We can satisfy both our needs if we proceed carefully but quickly—if these claims turn out to be real.

  Reese closed the folder and looked out of the window. He couldn't decide if he should feel excited about such a prospect, or if he should be scared.

  He chose scared.

  Chapter Nine

  MacDill AFB

  "I don't know why he wants it,” Scott said into the telephone. “Just get me the damn information so he gets off my back!” He slammed the receiver back into the base on his desk and rested his head on the palms of his hands. The migraine headache throbbed unmercifully, even though he thought it should be getting better after he had so adeptly gotten rid of Reese. With Reese heading to Kosovo, the general would focus on his actions there rather than on what he was doing here. It would be a slight reprieve but a reprieve nonetheless.

  "Problem?” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  Scott slowly raised his head, hoping that Stone had not been standing there for very long.

  "I asked if there was a problem?” the general said.

  "No, sir. I'm just trying to get hold of the information you wanted. I have someone running over to the University Library to get—"

  "That's the problem today,” Stone said calmly. “Nobody understands the importance of information."

  He moved up to Scott's desk and sat on the corner. In his hands he had a stack of papers which he rolled into a tube. Scott felt himself move further back into his chair as if trying to increase the distance between them.

  "Let me give you an example,” Stone began. “This whole operation going on in Kosovo. You know why it has failed so miserably?"

  "No, sir."

  "History."

  "Sir?"

  "Nobody understands the history of the area, so they don't understand the problem. If you don't understand the problem, how the hell can you expect to fix it?"

  "Yes, sir,” Scott agreed, even though he didn't have a clue what the general was talking about.

  "This area has been in constant turmoil from way back. The first hunters arrived in the area starting back in 7000BC. Did you know that?"

  "No, sir,” Scott answered. Great. A fucking history lesson now. I don't have time for his babbling; I have so much shit to do.

  Stone continued, “Then in 1200BC, the Illyrian..."

  Scott tried to organize his thoughts on how he was going to get the information, arrange the military assets to be at Reese's disposal, get clearances for shipments of equipment and God knew what else.

  Stone continued, “...with migrations of Southern Slavs, Slovenes, Croatians, Serbians and Bulgarians entering the Balkans from the North."

  Stone paused as if waiting for something to continue. He began to twist the rolled-up paper in his hands.

  After a few seconds, Scott realized he had paused and said, “That's interesting."

  "That's only the beginning,” Stone said and continued on. “In the 800's, the Croatians fell under the control of..."

  Scott returned to his thoughts. He needed to develop a reason to maneuver the SEAL team from their previous assignment without raising any questions.

  "...religion is one of the most powerful tools ... next to a loaded nine millimeter Glock pistol that's resting up to the side of your forehead. You get my drift?"

  "Yes, sir,” Scott answered automatically. He didn't have a clue what the hell a pistol had to do with religion.

  Stone went on, “In 1345, the Turks entered the Balkans as mercenaries for the Byzantine Empire's..."

  Scott knew that if he moved the team, it would have to go into the situational report at some point. The reports went through the chain of command and questions might be raised as to the reason why.

  "Hallowed ground is another important factor to remember,” Stone emphasized. “You want to keep that in mind."

  "Ah ... yes, sir,” Scott answered, but he had lost track on what the hell the general was saying. Trivial shit that didn't matter to him right now anyway.

  "By 1453, the Turks capture Constantinople, and the Byzantine Empire fell to Ottoman rule...

  Scott thought if he could manufacture some form of crisis worthy of the SEAL team to follow up on, that would probably be enough and not cause undue attention by anyone.

  "You must understand that in order to understand your enemy."

  "Understand the enemy, yes, sir.” Scott said as he saw that as Stone continued, the paper in his hands was collapsing and tightening in an almost rhythmical manner. Even with all of the man's brilliance in tactics, he still possessed his quirks. I wish he would just get out of here so I can do my work.

  "In 1690, a failed Serbian revolt..."

  Won't he just give up already—I don't care about the history! I hate when he does this shit and then gives me hell when shit doesn't get done. He knows that what I have to do is important and if I screw it up, the damn CIA or other spooks will question what is happening.

  "...hence a large part of our problem with the peacekeeping operations."

  "Yes, sir."

  "The Serbian population..."

  Scott knew that whatever story he fabricated to justify the additional use of assets would have to be supported by reports from the field. He would have to review past reports to select something. The death of the civilians was a good start but not strong enough by itself to justify the use of the SEAL team rather than just a regular reconnaissance mission.

  "...and hold onto it until 1918. Are you following this?” Stone asked.

  "Yes, sir, it's ... very enlightening and fascinating.” Bullshit!

  Stone continued twisting the paper in his hand as he went on.

  "Then there was the Pig War of 1906 and then World War I...

  Scott decided he was going to have to pull some strings based on the authority that his position carried—or in other words, he was going to have to bully others into doing what he needed to have done. He would use the usual promise that the general would very much appreciate it and undoubtedly put in a good word on their next promotion.

  "...many people forget that economics can sometimes be as good as a reason as any to start a war. And why not? Things get so bad that you can't feed your family or yourself—you have nothing to lose."

  Stone again fell silent and drew Scott's attention. Stone continued his motion of twisting and untwisting the paper in his hands. The paper appeared to be getting discolored from the sweat that was exuding from the general's passionate rendition. For the umpteenth time, Scott wished he would just finish and leave him alone.

  "Thank you, sir, for—"

  "However, in 1921,” Stone continued.

  Yes, Scott thought, he would have to grease many wheels to make this all work. It would be difficult but not impossible. And he could always manipulate Reese in theater to request the assets and modify the existing role of the units being used.

  "...very important during any occupation this factor of resentment. It festers inside people until it spouts its slimy puss on everyone. And it does in this area; Nazi Germany invades Yugoslavia in 1941."

  "World War II,” Scott said, picking up on a buzz word to make it look like he was following the conversation.

  "Don't rush the damn story,” Stone said fiercely. “If you skip stuff, you won't understand."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, the Nazis were welcomed by the Croatians..."

  Scott hoped that the information from the library section would get here. The general would lock himself away with it as if it were a gorgeous woman.

  "...leaving the Communist party in charge but without backing from Russia and managed to survive for more then 40 years."

  The phone on Scott's desk beeped with the sound of an inco
ming call. Scott instinctively reached for it.

  SMACK!

  Scott winced as he was struck on the head by the rolled-up paper that Stone had in his hands.

  "I'm not done yet,” the general said. His eyes were wide and livid with energy.

  Scott was dazed; between being surprised and shocked at the blow, he wondered if the man was on something, maybe drugs. But remembering the history of Stone's family, he quickly eliminated drugs. The man is insane.

  "Where was I?” Stone asked, as if nothing had happened.

  "The Communist party and forty years,” Scott offered.

  "Oh yes—thank you,” Stone said. “Forty years of Communism and Serbian domination..."

  Scott tried to regain his previous line of thinking about his tasking for the mission, but the throbbing of his head and the audacity of the attack only made him angry. He regretted the day he took this damn job. He tried to focus on what Stone was saying so that maybe he would just get it over with.

  "...the same thing that began in this country hundreds of years ago—eliminate the troublemakers, the undesirables."

  "Ethnic cleansing,” Scott said.

  "Very good,” Stone said as he smiled. “Now as the Communist regimes crumble in 1989, Milosevic turns the Communist party into the Nationalist party...

  Scott thought that the smile that Stone gave him was one of contempt and loathing, as if he was not capable of understanding the point that he was trying to make. Yet the foolishness that ALL of this was important to the current situation was a crock of shit.

  "Why? Because as I have explained all along, these people only understand war and fighting as a way to achieve their mutual ends."

  "What would you have suggested?” Scott asked. His head throbbed from the migraine which had been aggravated by the blow to his head. His stomach was actually becoming nauseous from the acid that was churning with violence. He wanted to grab the pills but they were in his desk drawer and he dare not move. He didn't want another strike from the rolled-up paper.

  "Let them finally fight it out,” Stone said adamantly, “winner take all and be done with it. But the diplomats couldn't let that happen. So in March 1992...