Operation: Immortal Servitude From Declassified Files of Team of Darkness

by Tony Ruggiero

  He would wait to see if any more cattle disappeared from the village or the farmer's fields to determine if more creatures existed. Then he'd decide on another course of action; he was committed to kill them all and he would, he swore it on his father's grave.

  Idriz moved to retrieve the cow, but saw that either due to the shock, or from the amount of blood the creature drank from it, the cow now lay dead on the ground. He stroked the cow's neck, avoiding the area that had been torn open, and said a quick prayer for the creature that had helped him kill the evil being.

  "Go to heaven, my beast friend. Your life has been lost but we have rid the world of a creature this night, making it a better place for us all. God welcomes all good creatures, great and small and this day, you will surely be welcomed. The one that killed you will surely burn in hell."

  Idriz began his trek home; his steps much lighter as the burden of revenge had now been lifted from it.

  * * * *

  Idriz rose back to a level of semi-consciousness. His thoughts were a jumble of the past and present. The creatures—had there been more than one? He had been wrong when, as a young man of fifteen, he thought that he had removed the dark cloud that lingered over these mountains and killed the beast. Or had he? Perhaps these creatures were not the same? But why after all these years had his children been slain—if not for retribution for what he had done so long ago.

  He had assumed that the creature he had killed was the only one. After its death, there were no more mysterious deaths of people or of animals. But maybe more than one existed, and they had moved somewhere else for a while and finally returned. He rubbed his temples. Had he taken part in the deaths of his beloved children by exacting revenge for his parents?

  His daughters said that they wanted to go out and pick some berries before the first frost settled in. He had been busy tending the cattle and told them it was all right. He had not even thought to ask where they would pick berries. If he had known, he would have told them to not go near the old ruins. When they hadn't returned home at sunset, he went looking for them. He talked with other villagers and pieced together where Ishma and Crema had gone. The next day as the sun rose, death greeted him.

  Word had been brought that their bodies had been found at the ruins. He went to them and after seeing his daughters in death, knowing how they had been killed; he went crazy with grief, wandering for several hours in the countryside oblivious to everything.

  At first he had thought that going to the Americans for help was the right thing to do. He could not fight the creatures on his own. But now ... he wondered if he had made the right choice, because another man had died from his actions. He tried to warn the American captain, but the fool did not listen to him. The Westerners did not know the stories. They discounted them as myths from a backwards people. They would think differently now that one of their own had been killed.

  Now he found himself entombed inside the wooden structure they called the hospital. He called it a prison because he was unable to leave this place. They were going to conduct some kind of investigation into what happened and were waiting for another American to arrive. The interpreter assured him that they would go and kill the creatures soon. But Idriz did not care about the American that was coming or their promise to kill the creatures, for he was going to kill them no matter what happened, no matter what the cost he had to pay. It didn't matter what happened to him. He had no desire to live except to kill the creature that had killed his little girls. He would do whatever it took to see that done before he took his last breath. His last breath would be meaningful, he thought, as he started to drift back off.

  There was a knock on the door and then the door opened. Idriz quickly sat up on the edge of the cot.

  The young man he knew as Brosnev, the interpreter, entered. He spoke to Idriz in his native tongue.

  "You look unwell,” Brosnev said. “Do you need to see a doctor?"

  "No."

  "Then we must go,” Brosnev said.

  "Where now?” Idriz asked. “Is there more paper we must write on?"

  "No more writing for now,” Brosnev said. “The specialist, the American, has arrived and wishes to talk with you."

  "So many people wish to talk to me now,” Idriz muttered. “Before this, I was lucky to get the time of day from any Americans."

  "We shouldn't keep the commander waiting,” Brosnev said, ignoring the comment.

  "Well we should go then,” Idriz said as he rose. “We do not want to keep the commander waiting. It might—how do to you say—ruin his day."

  Brosnev said nothing as Idriz stood face to face with him.

  "Has anyone told him anything?” Idriz asked.

  "I don't know. I assume he has read the reports."

  "I just wonder if he knows what he is getting himself involved in. Is this really necessary?"

  "I only follow orders,” Brosnev said. “These decisions are made by the people in charge."

  "Yes, I know—you only follow orders. Let me talk to the man in charge. I don't need any outsiders’ help. I can do this myself. I can kill these creatures. All I need is some men to help me carry it out."

  "We've already been through this, Mr. Laupki,” Brosnev said. “Colonel Antol is in charge and will decide what we shall do."

  "You are all fools,” Idriz said and walked past Brosnev and out into the hall. He spoke again but this time softly, so he would not be overheard. “You know nothing about revenge."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reese stepped into the small conference room where Brosnev and Idriz waited for him. The corporal stood and greeted Reese.

  "Sir, Corporal Brosnev reporting as ordered."

  Reese noticed the gaze of Idriz followed the action of the young corporal. At first, Reese thought it was a look of disdain for the corporal. But the longer Reese studied the civilian, the more he saw what attracted his attention to Idriz. It was the look in Idriz's eyes: there seemed to be so much ... life in them. Or was it burning anger or hatred for the loss of his two children? Reese felt a sense of unease toward this man that he had not even met yet.

  "At ease, Corporal,” Reese said as he offered his hand. “It's nice to meet you. I understand you will be my interpreter?"

  "Yes, sir,” Brosnev said, as he shook Reese's hand.

  "And you have been involved in this ... situation since the beginning?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. Now please introduce me to our guest."

  Brosnev spoke a few words and Idriz rose and offered his hand to the commander. As they shook hands, Reese noticed the man's hands were like sandpaper, but his grip was strong.

  "Please offer my condolences for the loss of his daughters,” Reese said, before the handshake was finished. Brosnev spoke and Reese immediately felt a tightening of the handshake and an understanding in the man's face for just a second.

  "Thank ... you,” Idriz said in broken English, which surprised the interpreter and Reese.

  "You're welcome,” Reese said, acknowledging his thanks. He indicated for them to be seated. He took papers out of his case and some maps that had been folded and refolded a dozen times. Reese saw Idriz's gaze followed his movements closely, studying him with an intense curiosity. He could feel the man's gaze upon him as if he were reflecting his anger toward Reese.

  "Corporal, please explain to him that I know it will be painful to talk about some of the events, but it is necessary in order to clear up this matter as soon as we can."

  Brosnev quickly translated and Idriz nodded his understanding.

  "First, I want to know about the liquid that was thrown at these creatures. The liquid that he made."

  Brosnev was surprised at the question and hesitated.

  "Corporal, you must do it exactly as I say it and when I say it,” Reese said, firmly but in a calm tone. “It is important to get honest answers. Do you understand?"

  The corporal nodded as he translated the question. Idriz also appeared surprised at the question,
but responded to the corporal, while not taking his gaze from Reese.

  "He says it is something that has been passed down through his family from the ancient books. It is meant to ward off the creatures and even kill them if they consume it."

  "Does he have a name for the substance?” Reese asked.

  Brosnev asked the question.

  "He calls it—elixir."

  "What are these creatures?” Reese immediately asked. The interpreter asked the question. Idriz stared at Reese as he answered.

  "He says,” Brosnev paused, “he says ... you know what they are."

  "Tell him I want him to tell me what they are."

  The interpreter translated the question.

  "Vampyres,” Idriz said in his heavy Slavic accent. “Vampyres."

  Reese told Brosnev, “Tell him to start at the beginning, as far back as he can remember."

  The interpreter relayed the request and Idriz began the story. As Reese listened intently, he made notes on the paper in front of him. He'd written:

  The liquid—need more.

  Special equipment—get with Johnson.

  Delivery method—get with Barkley.

  Reese had read the history of this country and knew it was full of turmoil. He also knew it would be a perfect location for creatures to inhabit; with constant fighting within the country, death was nothing new. It was a way of life and some people wouldn't be missed. Many regions of the country were not inhabited by villagers and offered perfect places to hide for those who did not want to be found.

  When he finished talking, Idriz appeared drained from retelling the horrible events that had happened to him during his life.

  "Where did he get the elixir?” Reese asked as he scanned his notes.

  "He says he made it,” Brosnev responded.

  "Good. Please tell him I want him to make some more. And I want you to watch him and write down everything involved in the process."

  Brosnev relayed the request to Idriz, who nodded, then spoke rapidly to the interpreter.

  "Sir, he wants to know what you are going to do and if you believe what he has told you? Also ... if you are going to kill the creatures, he wants to help."

  "First, I'm going to arrange surveillance of the area to make sure they are still there before we ... before we do whatever it is we are going to do. As to his other question,” Reese carefully chose his words. “I believe the substantiated events that have happened up to this point. As to the story he has relayed, many aspects are corroborated with some of the information I have seen and read. As far as the creatures are concerned, we are going to find out."

  Reese ignored Idriz's comment about killing the creatures, as well as making eye contact with the man. He did so because he was worried that this man might see that Reese avoided answering his question for several reasons, but most especially that if these creatures actually did exist, killing them was the last thing Reese had in mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dimitri and the Vampires

  Deep underground beneath the ruins, Dimitri Bicannoff dreamt back to a time when he was a mortal human being, reliving the event as if it was occurring again...

  He was in the winter of 1915, sitting next to the fire and listening to the runner's story. Mikel had come from the main Serbian force at the border. He was relaying the account of the battles between the invading Germans and the Serbian army, in between taking bites of stale bread and washing it down with cold water flavored with whiskey.

  "They are advancing quickly across the border. We had achieved a stalemate between our army and Austria-Hungary's national forces. Things weren't going well but at least we were holding them. But now the German bastards!” He spat vehemently. “They bring their tanks and armored forces. We are no match for them on the open battleground."

  As the downfall of their country was foretold, Dimitri, Josip, Franjo, Andre and Iliga listened with interest in the cold frigid air. They were all in their mid-twenties and full of patriotic pride and spirit. All had lived in their village on the outskirts of Kacianik since they were born, farming the lands with their families, or what remained of them, both lands and families, after the constant wars. All but Josip had lost their fathers in the Balkan wars of 1912 and 1913, leaving them with a greater role in supporting their families, which also tied them to this little town.

  Most families had five to eight children who were destined to die either on the battlefield or from toiling in the fields from sunrise to sunset. The women, bound to the endless task of trying to keep their men alive as long as possible, were kept busy as well: trying to cook meals with not enough food, mend clothes that had been mended too many times already, while living in constant fear of losing their husbands to another war. The worsening economy, the harsh conditions of farming and the ceaseless battles for independence of the small but proud country stole their men with the vengeance of a desperate thief in an unlocked store.

  At twenty-three years of age, Dimitri looked like his father. Hawk-like features upon a face weathered with lines of hard work and too many hours in a field behind the plow. Shaped by a difficult life, he looked like a man ten years older. He was large, slightly more than six feet in height and broad at the shoulders. His hair was jet black, peppered with gray. His best characteristic was not his physical looks, but rather his demeanor, which was always outgoing and positive. He was a born leader and his friends sensed that and followed his lead in whatever he chose to do.

  The rest of his friends looked similar, with dark hair and brown eyes. They were all the same age, and possessed varying degrees of haggard appearances. They knew their way of living destined them for short lives. But now, they stood around the fire, their clothes stitched and mended to the point of non-recognition of what they must have looked like when they had been first made, listening to the story that Mikel told them about what was happening in their country. These events made them feel proud of the men that fought for their freedom. For a little while, they were no longer mere farmers as the story took them away from their toils in the field.

  The cold seemed to no longer affect the young men as they listened to Mikel speak of the battles and fighting. The five of them were enthralled by the stories of how the Serbs fought bravely against the tanks of the Germans, throwing themselves at the mountains of steel in attempts to slow them down or, if they were lucky enough, to destroy them.

  "But now,” Mikel continued, “our leaders think it wise to retreat and regroup at Corfu so that we can better organize for an offensive that would remove the German invaders from our homeland. Death to them all!” he said and spat again.

  Dimitri and the rest stared at each other, their chests swelling with anticipation and pride for their country's soldiers.

  "Death to them all!” Mikel repeated and again spat on the cold ground.

  "Death to them all!” Dimitri said and then spat.

  "Death to them all!” the rest said and spat as well.

  Dimitri stepped closer to the soldier, offering him more food and drink. The other four arranged the dwindling fire and fueled it with sparse sticks, their thoughts turning to the soldiers. Most of these soldiers had been farmers until they received the call to defend their homeland. Off the men had gone, many from this very village, while Dimitri and his friends had stayed and farmed the lands. The quota system of men to continue food production was treated as importantly as those that went off to fight. Large armies required large amounts of food and a starving army was worthless to any commander. In addition, the fathers of these young men were dutifully bound to go in place of their sons until they became too old. So the younger men and women stayed put, farmed the lands and waited to hear any news of what was happening.

  This lack of fathers caused the younger men to become independent at a very early age. That was one of the reasons that made Dimitri and his friends draw upon one another for support and guidance. Their small group was unique. Andre and Iliga were quiet men who needed someone to follow. Fra
njo was the reckless one of the bunch; always taking risks or dares. Josip was not as wild as Franjo, but Josip had his moments when his temper got the best of him. Still, he was strong in demeanor like Dimitri. Men would follow him, so he was second in command of their group.

  There was a special bond that Dimitri and Josip shared. They were closer with each other then the others. They had shared an incident as teenagers that had made them the best of friends.

  "Death to them all!” Franjo said as he sat next to Mikel. Andre, Illiga and Josip joined them. They sat around the fire speaking of death and killing the German invaders.

  Something struck Dimitri oddly about all this talk about death. Killing was not something they had done before, but death was something that he had faced. He and Josip had faced certain death once—and Dimitri remembered that day very well. He remembered the way he felt afterwards and the lesson it had taught him. He knew that he would do whatever he had to do to stay alive. He drifted into the ten-year-old memory which remained vivid in his thoughts...

  * * * *

  "The cow is dead,” the town elder said to the small crowd that had assembled at his home. “It was mauled by a bear."

  The crowd consisted of women, children and old men who murmured their fear and hatred of the beast and what the loss of food would mean this winter if more cattle were killed.

  "We will have to wait until some of the men return to kill it. In the meantime, keep all your livestock nearby."

  When the crowd left, thirteen-year-old Dimitri and Josip stood together.

  "We have to help the village,” Dimitri said.

  "This is a mean and vile creature,” Josip began. “You heard what the elder said. We should wait."

  "We don't know when our fathers will return from fighting. If we wait, more cattle may be killed."