by E. R. Torre
Becky rubbed her hands and blew into them to warm up. She said:
“When I was a little girl, one of my best friends was deaf. She tried hard to teach me to read lips. I never fully got the hang of it, not like her, but I’m not too bad at it, either. For most of the trip, General Spradlin and his men kept their mouths shut. But they talked a few minutes before the chopper was…was struck down. They were saying strange things, things that didn’t make sense.”
“Like?”
“Alan Robinson asked if everything would work out, that he was afraid there would be injuries. General Spradlin told him not to worry, that he had faith the plan, whatever it was, was sound.”
“That’s all?”
“No,” Becky replied. “He said another two words, not even a minute before the chopper was hit.”
Becky stared deep into Samantha’s eyes.
“He told Captain America to, and I quote ‘hang on’.”
The rustling of leaves in the wind died down until almost all was silent. Samantha felt the chill in the air and couldn’t help but shudder.
“Fuck.”
Some twenty feet away from them were General Spradlin and Alan Robinson. They were talking in hushed tones, just like Samantha and Becky. Their backs were to the group.
“What the hell are they up to?”
“General Spradlin said the safest place in the world we could be in is a military base,” Becky said. “But if you’re right, and he and his men orchestrated the downing of our chopper, then maybe they didn’t want us to get there. At least not by conventional means.”
“What do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Becky said. “Breaking away from this group is useless on an island this size. There aren’t a whole lot of places we could hide for any extended period of time. Besides, we’d eventually have to go somewhere, and the only place we could go…”
“…is back to the base,” Samantha said. “Maybe…maybe he doesn’t want us to get there at all. Maybe he wants to get rid of us.”
“Why? What could we have done that requires that type of drastic action? Other than you and Frank, we’re a bunch of low level privates. None of us is worth all this.”
Becky pulled out her .45 and released the ammo clip. She removed a bullet from the clip and showed it to Samantha.
“And then there’s this. If they wanted to get rid of us, why give us weapons? I know we don’t have the big guns, but we can defend ourselves. If General Spradlin meant to do us harm, he could have come up with any excuse to keep all the weapons for himself and his boys.”
“You’re right,” Samantha said. “And there’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“Captain America could have also told me back there, when we were looking at the chopper, that we were hit by lightning,” Samantha said. “It was what we all thought happened in the first place. By saying we were attacked, he puts us on alert. General Spradlin and his boys want us to think we’re in danger. He wants us to be ready. I think they want us to be able to defend ourselves.”
“So the General and his boys sabotage the chopper and bring us down,” Becky said. “Logic suggests he’s up to no good and means us harm. But the fact that he’s armed us and warned us of danger argues against this. None of it makes any sense.”
“We make terrible Nancy Drews,” Samantha said and, despite the tension, laughed.
Becky joined in and shook her head. The laughter died.
“Whatever is going on, it has to be about Bad Penny,” she finally said.
“Maybe someone’s taken over the base?” Samantha said.
“Who would do that? The Bahamians?”
“Maybe the Cubans.”
“Come on. There isn’t a nation within hundreds of miles with either the reason, the skills, the manpower or, most importantly, the balls to do something like that. And even if there was and even if they did, you think the U.S. fuckin’ A. can only muster ten soldiers to deal with their invasion force?”
Samantha and Becky thought some more. They drew blanks.
“Damned if I know what’s going on,” Becky said. “I’ll tell you this much: We’ll find out soon enough. I’ll keep an eye on General Spradlin. See if I can read any more whispers to his men. Until then, or until he decides to tell us what this is about, the best we can do is keep our eyes open.”
“Agreed,” Samantha said.
“Good. Let’s get back to the group. If we hang together too long, the others might start talking.”
“You’re not my type,” Samantha said.
Becky’s right eyebrow arched up.
“You learn something every day,” she said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alan Robinson fiddled with his rifle, checking and rechecking her individual components with robotic precision. His movements were quick and, at times, almost frantic. General Spradlin laid his hand on Robinson’s shoulder.
“Easy, soldier,” he said. “You’re making the others nervous.”
“They should be,” Robinson replied. His voice was very low.
“True,” General Spradlin said.
“We're behind schedule.”
“Behind?” Spradlin replied. “By now you should know how these games are played. Any schedule we had was, at best, nothing more than an optimistic guess.”
“But if we take much more time…”
“More time? We could have ended this before it began.”
“The final option?” Robinson said and shook his head. “Brass disagreed.”
“They almost always do.”
Alan Robinson eyed his commanding officer.
“And you’re making the best of a bad situation?”
“I always do.”
Robinson chuckled.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re one cold blooded bastard, sir. Just how much humanity is left inside there?”
“Enough to know when it’s time to cut your losses,” Spradlin said.
“We need to find out what happened,” Robinson continued. “It’s the only way we’ll improve.”
“You saw the satellite images that came in after Bad Penny went dark,” Spradlin said. “It's not too hard to figure out what happened.”
“We need details.”
“All right, Lieutenant, I’m all ears. What do you recommend we do?”
Robinson pointed to Frank Masters.
“We should leave the injured pilot behind. It’s too dangerous—”
“I won't leave anyone behind,” Spradlin said. “Especially Captain Masters.”
Robinson gazed in the direction of Frank Masters, lying on the stretcher. The pilot was sleeping.
“You’re keeping an eye on him?” Robinson asked.
“I’m keeping an eye on everyone,” Spradlin said. He was silent for a few seconds before a smile appeared on his lips. “They’ve given you a nickname, you know.”
“Nickname?”
“Captain America.”
“Captain America?” Robinson said. “Could be worse. Did I ever tell you what they called you back at Vostok?”
“Do I want to know?”
“No. Not really.”
“Those Russians were never ones to hold back. On anything. I miss a couple of them. Fucking bloodbath.”
Robinson wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Let me scout ahead and see what, if anything, is coming our way.”
“I don’t like the idea of breaking the group up.”
“Beats the hell out of walking straight into Bad Penny. Unless, of course, you want a repeat of Vostok.”
Spradlin thought about that.
“How long have we worked together?”
“Too fucking long.”
“These missions require great care. The first mistake…”
“I know,” Robinson said.
General Spradlin leaned in closer to Robinson.
“Perhaps we can make use of our time for effectively,” Spradlin said. “You're
taking along some company.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Robinson said.
A small smile appeared on Spradlin’s face. It disappeared the moment he faced the rest of the helicopter survivors.
“Private Waters and Thompson, could you please come here?”
Becky Waters half turned. Samantha walked behind her.
“Good luck,” Samantha whispered.
Becky offered the co-pilot a slight nod. She and Dan Thompson approached Robinson and General Spradlin.
“Yes sir?” they said in unison.
“Colonel Robinson, allow me to formally introduce you to Private Waters. Her record is exemplary.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Becky said. Though her voice was calm, the inference in General Spradlin’s words was clear: If he knows my record, he knows everyone else’s. Just how much did you prepare for this sudden trip?
Robinson nodded but did not respond to Becky’s greeting.
“Private Waters is considered something of an expert in survival skills,” Spradlin continued. “She has an affinity for tracking and camouflage. Private Thompson has also passed the tracking courses with a rating of ‘superior’.”
“Terrific,” Robinson said.
“While the others are resting, you will join my first officer on a recon mission,” Spradlin said. “I want you three to check out the next mile of terrain. Keep your eyes open but do not, I repeat, do not engage with any individual or individuals out there, be they hostile or friendlies. At this point in time, and until we reach Bad Penny, we have to assume anyone and everyone in this forest outside our group is a hostile and therefore responsible for bringing us down. If you see anyone, you high tail it back here, understood?”
“Yes sir,” Becky and Thompson said.
“You understand what we are doing is not a training exercise, right?” Robinson said. “Are we clear?”
“Yes sir,” Becky and Thompson said.
“And you?” General Spradlin asked Robinson.
“Couldn’t be clearer, sir.”
“Then get going.”
“Follow me,” Robinson said.
With that, the trio wandered off into the forest. Once gone, Spradlin returned to the group. He stopped next to Frank Masters and Doctor Evans. The pilot’s wound was freshly bandaged but a faint ring of blood seeped through, staining the otherwise immaculate white surface. Spradlin again stared into the forest, where Robinson and the two passengers disappeared. If he was thinking anything at all about the departed trio, he didn’t say.
Howard Bartlett ignored General Spradlin movements and, for what felt like the millionth time, stared at Jennie Light. He’d already stuck out with Becky Waters (stuck up bitch) and Alicia Cunningham (too damn green…it’s like trying to date a pre-schooler) and knew the chopper’s pilot had an MP boyfriend (that’s all I need when I get back to Bad Penny, have an MP breathing down my ass), which left him with Jennie.
He shook his head. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline, the fact that they survived what seemed like certain death, that he now felt so damn…horny. That and the fact that Jennie Light was an absolute knockout, easily one of the prettiest women he had ever seen.
You say that about all of them, don’t you?
Bartlett stifled a laugh. And why the hell not? This is life. There is no dress rehearsal. You go through this ride once, so why not make the best of it and have all the fun you can?
Bartlett smiled. The direct approach was always the best. It might not always work, but it worked often enough. He slowly approached Jennie Light’s side.
Keep it subtle, don’t look too damn desperate.
It took a few minutes, but between the time General Spradlin ordered the group to rest and shortly after he sent out his scouts, Howard Bartlett found himself standing beside Jennie Light. Like him, she too was soaked. Her short blonde hair hung limp just above her shoulders in stark contrast to the well groomed strands she had on board the helicopter. He didn’t see her shake, but he could tell she was miserable. A pretty girl like her wasn’t used to these conditions.
I’ll warm you right up if you give me a chance.
“Some shit we're stuck in,” Bartlett said. “Can't wait to get back to the barracks and take a warm shower.”
“What’s the matter? You got something against freezing cold rain?”
Bartlett managed a relieved grin. Anything short of her telling him to fuck off was progress.
“About as much as I like gum,” he said.
“That makes two of us,” Jennie offered. She smiled.
Bartlett let out a laugh. More progress. He motioned to the forest.
“You know,” he said. “The more I think about this, the more I think it’s all bullshit. They say we were shot down and the General’s forcing us to slink around the forest like Hansel and fucking Gretel. What if he's wrong? What if it was lightning that brought us down? No one showed me any piece of solid evidence to suggest otherwise.”
“What type of evidence do you need?”
“I don’t know. Shrapnel. Hell, a bullet fragment. Anything.”
“You got a point,” Jennie said. She leaned against a palm and ran her hands through her soggy hair.
“They’re wasting our time,” Bartlett continued. “I’m sure of it.”
“The military wasting our time,” Jenny replied. Her voice was cool yet playful. “What’s the world coming to?”
The grin on Bartlett’s face broadened.
“All this sitting around is getting on my nerves, you know? We could be doing other things, moving along.”
“Yeah.”
Bartlett looked from side to side. The conversation was going fine. Better than fine. It was time to play his hand.
“What say we head out, do a little reconnaissance of our own?”
“Why would I want to head out into the forest? Especially with you?”
Bartlett’s smile remained on his face. It was time to bring out the big guns. While making sure no one saw him, he reached into his jacket pocket. He produced a bottle of vodka and gave Jennie a peek.
“It’s a pint,” Bartlett said. “I’m willing to share.”
The sight of the vodka produced a slight but noticeable change in Jennie Light’s face.
“At the very least, we warm ourselves up,” Bartlett continued. “It's better than sitting around doing nothing.”
“And much better than chewing gum,” Jennie said and giggled. “How the hell did you smuggle that into Bad Penny?”
“Professional secret,” Bartlett said. “You coming or what?”
“Sure,” Jennie said. “But we can’t just walk away.”
Bartlett offered Jennie a wink.
“Leave that to me.”
Bartlett left Jennie and approached General Spradlin. He offered the General a salute.
“Yes, Private?” Spradlin said.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Bartlett responded. “You sent your man ahead for the purpose of reconnaissance.”
“Yes I did,” Spradlin said.
“Sir, perhaps we should also worry about what lies behind us,” Bartlett said. “If a hostile force brought us down, they may be tracking us as we speak. It would be wise to check. To make sure.”
Spradlin thought about this for a few seconds, a pause much longer than Bartlett was comfortable with.
“I could go out and get back in no more than fifteen minutes, sir.”
“I won’t let you go alone.”
Bartlett fought hard to suppress a smile. That’s exactly what he was hoping the General would say.
“Agreed,” Bartlett continued. He made a show of looking around at the other soldiers in the camp. “Private Alicia Cunningham is a nice officer in training. However, at this point she lacks the experience for recon.”
“Yes,” General Spradlin said. “And Doctor Evans should stay with the injured pilot.”
“I would take Captain Aron,” Bartlett continued. “However, while I have
no doubt she’s an excellent pilot, I’m not so sure she’ll be an asset in the forest.”
“Which leaves Private Light and me,” Spradlin said.
Bartlett held his breath. This was it. Make or break time.
“You should stay here, sir,” Bartlett said. “You’re our senior officer. You need to coordinate our actions, not risk yourself on recon.”
Spradlin thought some more. He nodded.
“Private Light it is,” Spradlin said. He removed his M-16 from his shoulder and handed it to Bartlett. “I’m not sure what might be out there, Private, but if we are in danger, you’ll need maximum protection. Give this to Private Light. Tell her to give Private Cunningham her .45.”
Bartlett took the rifle. He once again suppressed a smile.
You did it. You got exactly what you wanted. Some alone time with Jennie Light.
“I’ll get going, sir,” Bartlett said. He offered a sharp salute. General Spradlin didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he leaned in close to the soldier and said:
“She’s an attractive girl.”
“…sir…?”
Spradlin’s face drew to within inches of Bartlett’s.
“This isn’t a high school field trip,” Spradlin said.
Bartlett mustered as much indignity as he could and said:
“Sir, I’m a married man. I have a pregnant wife.”
“Who no doubt misses you a little more than you miss her,” Spradlin fired back. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Bartlett managed another salute. It was far less crisp. He returned to Jennie Light’s side and handed her the M-16. He told her to give Alicia her .45. When Jennie was done with the exchange, Bartlett muttered:
“Let’s go.”
General Spradlin watched Privates Bartlett and Light walk away from the clearing. He said nothing as they disappeared into the bushes. He eyed the portable communication device lying on the floor in front of him and considered his next action. After several long seconds he grabbed it and stepped into the middle of the makeshift camp.
Alicia Cunningham sat to the side, her arms wrapped around her, trying to keep warm. Even from a few feet away, he could tell her teeth were chattering. Doctor Evans remained crouched over the injured Frank Masters, and Samantha Aron watched the two while sitting on a fallen palm that lay a few feet away. Everything seemed tranquil.
