by Ashton, Josh
The EMPs that had blasted most forms of electronics into nothing had eliminated most types of hi-tech surveillance the Americans had been using before the war. The General quickly realized the value of his new paranormal assets, and most the most of the insane situation. From the thousands of U. S. dead so far during the war, forty had not passed on to wherever. Forty had remained. No one knew why it wasn't more or less than that, but forty was the number for now.
Jonesy had been one of the first ghosts found. The General had reminded him that in life or death he was a soldier. Not that he had needed a reminder; Jonesy was loyal and would have never abandoned his fellow soldiers. Napier however was one of the newest ghosts. The poor kid had only been dead for a few days, and was still a little bit shaken by the turn of events.
There was supposed be a concentration of North Korean soldiers somewhere in these woods, but so far they had seen nothing. By feel he had been keeping a steady tab on Napier's movements. Suddenly he felt Napier stop. It was at that same moment he realized Napier had put some distance between them. He was now about three hundred yards farther west and north of Jonesy. Floating, Jonesy picked up his speed and headed to where Napier was stopped.
As he moved, Jonesy was a little bit upset. It seemed the paranormal laws that governed his ghostly corpse were a little bit random and fickle. No matter how hard he tried, Jonesy couldn't travel any faster than a running man. If you're going to be a ghost, what the hell good is it if you can't be a fast ghost? Sure Jonesy and Napier could float through shit and stuff like that, but damn it. Couldn't they move faster? It was just stupid.
It took him a few minutes to find Napier. Though Napier was completely invisible to the human eye, he was still hiding behind a tree staring at something. Jonesy didn't blame him. Old human habits didn't disappear with your death. Given how he felt tonight Jones wanted to hide behind something too.
Jones pushed his paranoia away and focused on what Napier had found. Napier had discovered a small hollow tucked neatly on the back side of a hill. It was a perfect spot to hide something. It was just right for an enemy camp.
Whistling softly, Jonesy had to give it to the newb. He had done a good job.
"Nice, man, how did you find it?" he asked.
"I dunno. It just seemed right to drift over this way and to take a look," Napier answered.
So much of this ghost stuff was unknown. He knew how the kid felt; each day was a new learning experience for the ghosts. It was as if they were babies figuring out what their new bodies could do.
The enemy camp was relatively quiet and dark. After all, it was well into the evening. And with the cold weather everyone bedded down early on both sides of this war.
"What do you want to do now?" queried Napier.
"Hmm, well, I better go take a look."
"What do you mean, I? Don't you mean us?"
"Nah, this is your first time out. You just stand pat? I'll just go see if I can learn something more. "
"OK. But it's not like we have to be scared of anything. "
Jonesy laughed quietly. He again pushed the strange feeling of unease away. Instead he joked back at Napier.
"Right, they already killed us once."
"Yeah, but that whole death thing really sucked," sighed Napier.
"No shit," he answered. "Just give me a minute and I'll be right back. You circle around and try and get a count of how many there are. Meet me right back here say in twenty minutes. "
"OK. Easy, I’ll be back here in twenty. "
Napier drifted further around toward the east side of the camp. Jonesy made sure that he was invisible and drifted down into the camp. Jonesy knew what he was looking for; he wanted a command post. All military camps are the same. Whether it was in the middle or separated to one side of the camp, there would be a set of tents that would house a command post of some kind. And in it there would be maps and plans. Then maybe, just maybe, Jonesy could find out what this particular group of bad guys was up to.
Jones went down one row of tents. He had just started down another when. Then started on another when thought he found what he was looking for. Outside of tent set off the side of the row was a group was a group of four soldiers standing guard outside in the freezing cold. The only reason a soldier stands outside in crappy weather is because an officer ordered him to do it. Four soldiers standing guard outside a tent told him something important was inside the tent.
Jonesy mumbled to himself, "We'll just have to have a looksy."
He didn't bother with the entrance to the tent. Jonesy just pushed his ethereal form through the canvas side of the tent. Not unusual when passing through a wall blindly, Jonesy found himself midway through a table. And two men were sitting at the table eating some kind of Korean dish. Jonesy had never acquired a taste for Korean food. He was more of a meat and potatoes type of guy, not a rice and fish guy.
Without the men even realizing his presence, Jonesy kept sliding through the table and passed right between the two eating men. Ghosts could pass through live people, but it was trippy for the ghost. You felt all weird and tingly after for a few minutes. He had tried a few times one night with a fellow soldier. It had given the soldier the chills, or, in his words, was as if someone had walked on his grave.
To be on the safe side Jonesy had avoided the two North Korean officers eating their late night meal. The tent was exactly what Jones had been hoping for. There were maps tacked up all over the walls of the tent. Papers left lying all over another table in the tent. Not wanting to be there too long, he took in as much as he could. If Jonesy read the symbols on the map correctly, tomorrow night there would be a pretty big attack hitting a section of the lines.
This is what he had come for. He again took a few minutes and stared hard at the map and took it all in. It wasn't as if he could steal the papers. So far as anyone knew, the ghosts couldn't interact with the physical world. He had to commit everything to memory. He knew he would get grilled later, and the General would want to know every exact detail. The General was a patient guy, but he did expect you to do your job.
Studying the papers on the table Jones lost track of the time. A wave of unease brought him back to reality. It was that feeling you get when you're being stared at from afar, that paranoid itch that tickles your subconscious. The feeling was so strong that Jones looked over at the two Korean officers. Their meal was done. They were just chatting idly. No, that was not it. It was something else.
He knew Napier would be getting nervous. He needed to get back to the kid. As he moved he told himself there wasn't anything to be really afraid of, they were dead after all. You can only kill a man once, right? He took a few steps and pushed through the closest wall of the tent. Back out in the open he was trying to orient himself when the feeling of unease washed over him. It wasn't unease. It was pure fear. He started to turn when someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.
Old physical instincts kicked in. He threw an elbow and spun wilding shaking off whoever grabbed him. Spinning about he turned to see who had grabbed him. Three North Korean soldiers stood there staring at him. But they weren't really Koreans. Their hazy blue images stood out starkly in the night.
Holy shit! They're ghosts, he thought.
He didn't know what to do, but the other ghosts made up his mind for him. As if by some unspoken command, the three ghosts leaped at him, dragging him to the ground.
This shouldn't be happening. I'm already dead. Nothing can touch me. I can't die, can I?
He felt the grip of hands go around his neck. In the oddest sense, he realized he was being choked to death by another ghost. Jones was filled anger and rage at the freak injustice of what was happening. He lashed out, kicking and punching. Just as surprising as the feeling of being assaulted was… was the sensation of feeling his punches and kicks land and have an impact.
Jonsey may have been a lot of unsavory things in the previous life. But where he was from in the backwoods of Mississippi, you were raised knowing ho
w to do only two thing; that was drinking and fighting. Jonsey had been good at both.
He head butted the man closest to him. Getting an arm free, he launched an open-handed blow to a throat. He surged upright, throwing off the last Korean. The entire fight had taken place in a deep silence. But on his feet, he gave into an old lust for violence screaming at his attackers.
"Come on, bitches! Is that all you got?"
That was a mistake. The struggle up until then had been completely silent. But the living could hear ghosts as well as the dead. The enemy camp came alive with shouts, yells and screams. The four guards came around the tent running alarmed by the shouting.
Oh shit.
He bolted in a panic. He needed to distance himself from the camp. He had been fled for a hundred meters before he got back in control of fear.
Napier, I forgot about Napier.
Turning abruptly he rushed back to where he thought he Napier should be. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw three ghostly figures floating after him. This was serious. He threw away all caution. He needed to warn the kid.
"Napier, run! Run!" he screamed.
Jones did not bother moving around trees and bushes. He pushed his form through everything to get back to Napier. Conscious that he was still being chased, he whirled in a circle looking for the kid.
Damn it, where is he?
There was nothing there except a silent forest greeting him. Then a shout and scream; Napier's voice calling the same thing over and over again.
"Help! Help! Help!"
Jones rushed towards the sound of Napier's screams. Just a few yards away, he found Napier; along with a half dozen North Korean ghost soldiers.
He arrived in time to see the awful end. Napier's form was already pinned by the enemy ghosts. Ghostly limps flayed, some punched, others kicked twisted and pulled under it all Napier struggled. Before Jones could move Napier's form went limp, twitched and twitched again. Then Napier's ethereal body was still. It wasn't still for long, because Napier's blue haze just faded into nothing.
"No!"
Jones rushed at the six ghosts. Hearing his shout, they turned to meet him. His emotions out of control, Jones forgot that he was heavily outnumbered. One North Korean ghost flowed at him faster than the rest, and Jones was happy to meet him. He didn't waste any time. Jones and the Korean met each other, arms outstretched. Shifting inside the enemy's grasp, Jones launched a vicious blow to the enemy's groin. Jones couldn't help but smile.
Guess, what boys. Welcome to my world.
The man was now bent over, gasping as would any man alive or dead. Jones got an arm around the ghost's neck, and with a sharp awkward twist he drove the man's form downward while trapping the his head at a wrong angle. The move would have broken a live person's neck. The ghost just went limp. And then, while still there in his arms, the Korean ghost disappeared just like Napier.
The whole action had taken just a few seconds, but that had been enough to distract him. Jones lifting his gaze saw that his chasers had now arrived. The three ghosts plus the remaining five now formed a circle around him.
Time to leave.
Jones picked a spot between two ghosts. First rule of any ambush is break the box. Jones didn't even try to attack the two ghosts. He just imitated his old high-school-running-back days. He picked a spot in between a pair of ghosts and with head down burst through them. His momentum carried him past the group, and again Jonesy was fleeing as fast as his phantasmal body could carry him. Eight ghosts were now in pursuit.
Great. Just great.
Whether it was luck or some type of ghostly physics, Jonesy was faster than his pursuers. They only chased Jones for a few minutes. To Jones, the chase seemed much longer. As he neared his own lines, the North Korean ghosts gave up their pursuit. Less than an hour later and mentally exhausted, Jones returned to his own lines. Everything had changed. The Ghost platoon was not alone, and they had taken their first casualty.
Eerily the line from a movie a hundred years gone by came again unbidden to his mind.
I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks.
Every Last Drop
Section I
Waste Not, Want Not
It started with the snapping of a branch somewhere in the darkness. The three North Korean soldiers stopped in their tracks. There had been no sounds up until now, just the steady sound of their feet crunching in the frozen snow. The soldiers were lost. The dark forest surrounded them, stealing all sense of time and direction. Somehow they had become separated from their unit during the day and now night had closed in sealing their fate. The temperature was plummeting with every step. At this point, they did not care about the war, all they wanted was warmth. However, on this night, survival would not be an option.
A single snap of branch brought the men to a halt. Wide eyes peered out into the abyss of darkness, then at each other. They waited for a moment with ears straining, waiting to hear more, but there was nothing. The cold drove them past caution and they resumed their trek. The path they were following was more a trampled path in the snow made by a large group of men. The three Koreans were desperate for any kind of shelter, be it friendly or enemy. They were so desperate to get free of the cold that they had turned on their flashlight, praying that the trail was made by their own men.
There was another crack of a branch and the sound of cloth brushing against a tree or bush. The first soldier turned and whispered something in Korean to the other two. Someone or something was out in the woods with them. The three men turned and pointed the streaming light of their flashlights into the darkness but there was nothing. Panicking, one of the Koreans nervously called out into the darkness. But silence was the only answer.
The silence finally unnerved them. The last man of the three sprinted past the other two and stumbled forward down the path. The other two, not to be left behind, scrambled after him. All three men ran in a blind panic, but it would do them no good.
The last man of the trio was beginning to be lag behind when a figure darted out with amazing agility from behind a tree and slid up next to him. With sickening efficiency, the figure slammed a short punch into his throat. The Korean stumbled back, gargling and gasping from breath that could not escape from his crushed larynx. The second soldier must have heard something. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his companion on the ground.
The shadowy figure had really never stopped moving, and with speed that seemed impossible, the figure was suddenly right in front of the second Korean. A perfect kick to the groin bent the second man over in agony. The soldier stumbled forward, head down and lungs gasping as he tried to overcome the pain. Dancing, the attacker slid close, caught the bent man's head and wrapped an arm around it. Pirouetting, the attacker spun the hapless soldier, using the poor soldiers own weight against him, wrenching the Korean's head at an impossible angle. There was a tell-tale pop and the man went limp, slumping to the forest floor. He was not dead yet, a broken neck doesn't always kill right away. But his bodily functions would be shutting down one by one.
The third soldier had more time. He had un-slung his weapon and was trying to bring it to bear on the attacker. Again, the attacker was too fast. It grabbed the barrel of the rifle and twisted it slightly. Using his own weapon against him the figure slammed the butt of the rifle repeated into the soldier’s stomach and chest. The man's grip loosened, unable to withstand the multiple blows. Now in complete control of the weapon, the attacker took careful aim and launched a crushing blow into where the abdomen meets the sternum. The strike did its job. The man's chest cavity collapsed perfectly and his heart ruptured.
The forest was again silent. The figure stood surveying it's handy work. Three men killed with bare hands. But the figure did not care about that accomplishment.
It had only one thought; Good. Not one drop.
Chapter II
Drained
Sergeant First Class Bencher was not a happy man. It was late, it was cold, and he was stil
l in Korea. The wind was picking up and to insure that the situation was even more fun, snow was now intermixed with the wind. Bencher's squad was taking a break in a small clearing of trees before continuing with their patrol, just a few quick seconds to get a compass bearing and to make sure everyone was accounted for.
Bencher's point man, Ramirez, was waiting for him to give the word, but there was no word. Not here, not late at night, and sure as hell not this close to enemy lines. Bencher raised his left hand and used it to silently signal to get everyone back on their feet and ready to move out again.
Ramirez didn't waste any more time and gently melded with the trees. Bencher and the rest of the patrol would follow his path. Ramirez was his best guy for this kind of stuff as he preferred to be out front always scanning always studying. He had not been caught unaware yet.
The weather was getting worse, and right now the snow was not that deep. If it kept up it would be a lot deeper soon. The humidity of the Peninsula made it real easy for snow to pile up quick. Bencher wanted to finish this stuff up and get back to his semi-warm bunker. The patrol just took them out a few kilometers, scouting through an area of the forest that was fairly well known. Both sides patrolled this part of the forest trying to keep each other at bay.
Not for the hundredth time this night, Bencher wished one of the Ghost Platoon was out here with them. They could have done this gig in half time with half the stress and worry, but the General saved them for them for more important missions, not just your typical patrol.
It was in the middle of that train of thought when suddenly the patrol stopped. As was common everyone took a knee and pointed their weapons outwards, waiting. Bencher initially had taken a knee out of habit. He scanned the woods trying to sense some danger. If Ramirez had stopped the patrol there would be a good reason. A slow minute ticked away nothing but the cold and the forest. Hand signals came down the line requesting the squad leader up front. On a night patrol close to enemy lines words were kept to a minimum. Crouched low Bencher moved up towards the Ramirez who was on point. Then at low crouch he slid past his guys and followed the foot prints in the snow. Ramirez had only been a few yards ahead of the rest of the group. He was kneeling along side of the trail with a kid named Dice. Both of them with red lensed flashlights were staring at something in the snow.
