THERE BE DRAGONS

by Peter Hallett

  “Killing can be as simple as breathing?” asked Moore.

  “Yeah. When you shot those guys on the boat, was it not simple? It wasn’t emotionally or psychologically complicated. You didn’t have to justify it to yourself, to someone else, like a superior, or to a god, you just did it. You can try and justify it if you like, but that has to be done carefully, and in the right way.”

  “What is the right way?” asked Moore.

  “If you tell yourself, it’s him or me. I guess that is justification. I believe that’s what most people use at first,” said Stephens.

  “But it evolves?”

  “Yes, just like everything does. I have no doubt that when a serial killer kills for the first time it ain’t easy, or efficient. But I can assure you, the next time will be easier.”

  “Why do I still feel repulsion up close?”

  “The same reason,” said Stephens. “You just haven’t slaughtered enough people at that range. The distance kill is the eating of the burger, the close kill is the butchery of the cow.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” admitted Moore.

  “You expect to be killing many men in close on this mission?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “You leave that to me, remember? You just enjoy the burger for now. I’ll teach you how to create it another time.”

  Diaz came to a stop and signaled. They all knelt. He turned back to Moore. “I’m guessing this is the right place, but I don’t like it,” he said.

  “Don’t like what?” Teacher called forward.

  “Keep your mouth shut, Private,” ordered Stephens.

  “Sergeant, come with me,” said Moore.

  The agent stood and walked forward. Stephens did the same.

  • • • • •

  Stephens and Moore exited the jungle. Before them was a drop from a cliff they now stood on. At the bottom of what looked like a hundred-foot fall was a river and over the river joining their cliff to another one, was a rope bridge.

  It sagged in the middle and was ready to collapse. The main cable was about a foot around with two thin guide ropes at shoulder height securing it with strands of line, like cables on a suspension bridge. Some of the guides had parted, some had rot and hung from the hawser.

  “Lemme guess, this is what Diaz doesn’t like the look of?” asked Stephens.

  “We need to cross this bridge,” said Moore.

  “It ain’t gonna to be easy, what with the gear we’re carrying,” said Stephens.

  “We will drop all non-essentials. Leave them at this side of the bridge and collect them on our way back.”

  “Okay, let’s break the news to the men.”

  • • • • •

  They were back into the jungle, down low and had called the team around.

  “What we have here, men,” started Stephens, “is a rope bridge. It links this side to the other. We need to cross this bridge, but it doesn’t look in the best of shape. So we’re gonna leave all non-essential equipment here. We cross with the lightest possible weight on us.”

  “What if you’re a heavyweight yourself?” asked Cage.

  “It will hold,” said Stephens.

  “Okay, Sarge.” Cage didn’t look convinced.

  “Nothing can hold the weight of Cage. The Earth has enough trouble with carrying his bulk.” Teacher laughed.

  “Shut up, Private,” snapped Stephens.

  “Yes, Sarge.” Teacher stopped his laughter.

  “Let’s get dropping the shopping, and crossing the dropping,” ordered Stephens.

  • • • • •

  Jacobs opened his eyes to find he was stood upright, his wrists tied to metal bedsprings. His back resting on the rusty bed, which stood tilted against a wall in the hut. He was dripping wet. The liquid ran down his face. His shirt was gone.

  He looked to his left and saw NVA Torturer stood by a generator. The wires of which led to a black metal plate that was fixed to Jacobs’s chest.

  He looked to the front and saw Dragon Master standing with a smile on his face. He was next to one of the jugs of water that had been used yesterday.

  Then Jacobs began to spasm.

  NVA Torturer had turned the dial that sent the current racing down the wires, into the metal of the bed and of the plate.

  Jacobs’s body jerked uncontrollably. His jaw clamped shut. His teeth just barely missed his tongue. As he convulsed, the bed cut into his back and his vision started to … clear.

  The clarity spread from the center of his eyes until only a blur remained around the edge of the scene, around the edge of Dragon Master.

  Jacobs’s body went limp and he felt a pull at his wrists from the binding.

  The current had stopped. He slowly raised his head to Dragon Master.

  “I asked for a wake-up call at 0600,” began Jacobs, his words sputtering through exhaustion, “you are half an hour late. I’d like to speak to your manager.”

  Dragon Master removed a knife from his belt and stepped closer to Jacobs. He held the blade in front of Jacobs’s eyes.

  Jacobs could see his reflection in the blade. The state of his appearance shocked him.

  “You think you’re funny?” asked Dragon Master.

  “I don’t think, I know. Ask Lynch,” said Jacobs.

  “Do you know your name?”

  “Yes, of course I know my name. I’d be an idiot if I didn’t.”

  “Tell me your name, funny man.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Guess what?”

  “My name.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Dragon Master.

  “My name … it is … Funny Man. You are very good at name guessing.” Jacobs smiled.

  Dragon Master screamed with frustration and drew the knife’s blade over Jacobs’s chest.

  Blood ran. Jacobs held back a scream. He held it back for the entire run of the line of red.

  He let out a breath when Dragon Master stepped away from him, the knife dripping blood onto the floor of the hut.

  NVA Torturer turned the dial, this time farther.

  Jacobs’s body arched, twisted and bent into uncontrollable shapes. It bounced from the bed, each time stabbing his back. His eyes began to roll. He shut them. But he couldn’t hold them there. The movement of his bulk as it scrapped over the rust forced them open.

  Again his body fell. He hung with his face pointed low, but not for long. Dragon Master lifted it, by a pull on an ear.

  The knife was alive again and it worked on Jacobs’s body, this time it cut over his bicep. He could taste the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth, even though none was within. He could feel the run of a red globule as it rushed over the skin of his limb and found rest in his armpit.

  Blade left flesh and electricity surged into him.

  He foamed at the corners of his mouth. It simmered and effervesced there before it started to fling from him. Some landed by his eye. He could see it roll out of view and through the blur, as his body vehemently kangarooed in another direction.

  They let this shocking experience last longer than the others. He could smell and feel the burn from his back. He was being slowly cooked alive. His body distorted and deformed any which way it wanted to strain.

  The shocking stopped, and his body hung flaccid. He felt the knife part the skin on his left cheek.

  “Moses is a Russian, Diaz, and he has the edge of steel to create a miracle, the parting of a blood red sea.” He looked at the thatched ceiling. “Please Jesus, help me!” Jacobs cried out.

  The knife left his face. He could feel the breath of Dragon Master on him as he spoke. “Your Messiah will not help you. You may call him the Savior, but he can’t save you now. I am the only one who can stop your suffering. But I don’t choose to do that. I wish for it to continue. Let us carry on with a torture that will be familiar to your God … Funny Man.”

  • • • • •

  The platoon had removed what little gear they could. T
hey were in the clearing near the cliff’s edge.

  “Wow. Cage, you’re a dead man.” Teacher spat over the edge.

  Cage grabbed ahold of him and pushed him towards the fall somewhat.

  “Are you crazy?” shouted Teacher.

  “You need to gimme space, Private. Stop all this teasing,” threatened Cage.

  “I’m just being realistic. Have you seen this?” asked Teacher. He walked to one of the two pillars that anchored the bridge.

  “They look strong. They’ve been set into holes carved in rock and then rebuilt.” Cage patted the four feet of stone that rose from the ground.

  Teacher took ahold of one of the bronze caps that held the rope in. He wiggled it. There was an unnerving amount of movement. “This doesn’t worry you?” he asked Cage.

  “Leave that alone, Teacher,” said Cage.

  “I think you should go last. I ain’t getting stranded over on this side,” said Teacher.

  Smith stepped forward between Cage and Teacher, just as Cage moved into punching range. “I’ll

  go last, Cage. Don’t sweat it. And Teacher, stop touching that,” he said.

  “Thanks, Smith,” said Cage.

  “You’re welcome, Corporal.”

  “Teacher, get over here!” shouted Stephens.

  Teacher walked away from the pillar. He gave it a kick as he did.

  Cage went to go after him but Smith placed a hand on his chest. Cage sighed and let Teacher follow his order.

  “Yeah, Sarge?” asked Teacher.

  “We can’t have Jackson trying to carry that M-60 over. We all need both our hands. Strap it to his back,” ordered Stephens.

  “How?”

  “Use some initiative.”

  “Huh?”

  “Improvise, dumb ass.”

  “Oh … okay.”

  Teacher went to Jackson, but Buttons was already fixing the weapon to the black man’s back.

  “Don’t worry, Teacher. Relax. You don’t have the pressure of having to think. I got this,” said Buttons.

  “You trying to say I ain’t too smart?” asked Teacher.

  “You’re the one saying that with every idiotic string of words you form,” said Buttons.

  “You son of a …” Teacher lunged at Buttons.

  Jackson grabbed Teacher’s neck. He squeezed.

  Teacher was able to sputter out, “Okay ... y-y-you … win. I’ll … leave him alone.”

  Jackson let go.

  Teacher walked away and rubbed at the redness on his neck.

  “Thanks, Jackson.”

  “Don’t mention it. If he ever bothers you, just lemme know.”

  “Will do,” said Buttons.

  “I can put up with the guy, but he’s a loose cannon,” said Jackson.

  “Right, the M-60 is as fixed as it can be,” said Buttons.

  “Thanks.” Jackson jumped a few times to test it. “Oh boy, it somehow feels heavier being on my back.”

  “Welcome to my world,” said Buttons as he pointed to his radio.

  “Ah, yes, the trials and tribulations of being an RTO,” said Jackson.

  “Some use the radio is doing, Moore hasn’t called anything in yet,” said the RTO.

  “I’m guessing this mission ain’t within the bounds of normal military operation. Considering the dinosaurs and all.”

  “You’re right.” Buttons smiled. “No matter how many times you say it, or anyone says it, it seems crazy to be throwing that word around.”

  “That word threw you around, remember?” said Jackson.

  “Don’t …”

  “Okay, Jackson,” started Stephens.

  “Yeah?” Jackson replied.

  “Stop the mothers meeting,” said Stephens. “You’re up after me. Once I make it to the other side, you follow on, then set up the M-60 to cover the rest of the guys as they cross.”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  Stephens slung his rifle over his shoulder and took ahold of the guidelines, one in each hand. They were slimy from rotting vegetation and his palms slid around too easily on them. He gripped as hard as he felt would be safe for the supporting wires of the rickety bridge. He stepped out onto the main cable, made of woven fiber. It felt like iron.

  He looked at his feet as he walked. He was careful to not misplace a step. “I know the saying, no one should ever look down from a height, but finding footing and not falling from the height seems more important than childhood advice.”

  He tested each spot, with the tips of his toes, before he put his full weight on it. He carefully pressed on, one boot after the other.

  Below himself he saw the river. It had stones as sharp as knives, jagged and deadly. They littered the roaring waterway. “Shit, that river would drown any fallen man with its current and rapids and the rocks would pop one like a watermelon.”

  He reached the halfway point, the sag. He looked over his shoulder. Jackson waited for his turn to cross. Stephens could see the rope that rose upwards to the cliff and the wobbly stone pillar.

  He focused back on his path.

  The climb up the catenary-arched rope was trickier than it had been going down. So much so, a foot slipped. It slipped right off the rope. He took a tighter hold on the guidelines.

  One hand slipped, his butt touched the rope he had walked on, and the leg that had fallen hung in the air.

  He managed to grab the guideline again, with the hand that had skidded. He tensed his upper body. He rose slowly, placed both feet back firm and started to walk.

  Stephens made it to the other side of the cliff and unslung his rifle. He placed it to his shoulder and waved Jackson forward. He kept watch of the sky and the jungle that loomed behind the awaiting team.

  • • • • •

  Jacobs was bound to a bamboo crucifix by ropes. They held tight at his wrists and cut into the flesh. His legs dangled below him.

  NVA Torturer and Cage Guard lifted the crucifix. They both shoved on a pole attached to it across a fulcrum.

  The ground drew farther away. Jacobs caught a quick glimpse of Dragon Master before he was swung to his right. His arms strained and pulled as the bamboo cross came to a stop. Jacobs couldn’t lift his head anymore. “I’m drained, Lynch. Almost dead.”

  “Crucified, just like your Jesus!” shouted Dragon Master. “With a few small differences, leniencies, if you will, yes? I have not pierced your wrists, merely bound them, nor have I driven a nail through your feet. I also assure you I will not crown you with thorns, nor stab your side with a spear. You see, I am less barbaric than the Romans. Don’t get me wrong, I admire their work, but I am a more compassionate host. ”

  Below Jacobs was a pit that had been dug into the orange dirt, deep and wide. Around its sides was a bamboo fence. The sun was over Jacobs’s back. It made it possible for him to see to the bottom of the threatening hole.

  The ground in the pit seemed to move like snakes piled atop of each other. The earth looked as if breathed. It bubbled. It was a thick liquid, with a texture of quicksand. Slimy, muddy, a cesspool of rot.

  “Is it bubbling from heat or from the breath of a grotesque being living below it? I don’t really know if I can trust my eyes enough to make a decision. My creaking fingernails that are holding on to reality are being pulled from my flesh, like a trapdoor being lifted in a dank cellar. I’ve fallen into a whirlpool of insanity, Lynch. I mean, I’m talking to you, and you’re not even here. My brain is scrambled.”

  The liquid in the pit below him smelt of excrement, rotten food, and of decomposed meat. It was all decayed, and merged into the compost, with ripples and bubbles of awful foul breath.

  The bamboo and Jacobs started to descend into the pit, lowered by NVA Torturer and Cage Guard.

  “Make a joke about this … Funny Man!” shouted Dragon Master.

  The heaving slime grew nearer. Jacobs’s whole body was now in the shaft of the pit.

  The goop touched his boots. He retched at the smell but no vomit came. “I’ve n
either food nor liquid left in me. Only an insignificant amount of life is about me, furnishing my spirit. Maxwell was right. It’s never too late. I should write.”

  The pudding of filth covered his feet.

  Then with a sudden drop he was lower and up to his knees. There was a warm greasy squish. He gagged again. He felt as though he choked on the thickness of the air.

  The slosh moved up him and covered his groin.

  It moved up over his bare stomach.

  He felt something small and squirmy move by him, brush over him. Chills ran through his body. “I shudder at the thought of what that might be, but I don’t want to know what it is. Is that good prose, Maxwell?”

  He felt more creatures, this time they stuck to the skin of his chest and on his back. He felt them suck, bite, and sting him.

  In a quick jolt, he dropped deeper into the yuck.

  He had been plunged in up to his neck. The smell that rose up his nostrils was strong enough for him to taste it in his throat. It created an itch, but he didn’t cough.

  He fought against his lack of strength and managed to hold his chin upwards from the slime. “I’m going to take as much air in as possible, even if the air is thick full of awful stench, is that good copy, Maxwell?”

  His eyes strained at the blinding light above.“Please … help … me.” The words were labored and only just audible. “Please tell Him I need help, Diaz.”

  He was lowered more and his head went under the protruded quicksand of vomit.

  Jacobs held his breath and clamped his eyes shut.

  The goo rushed into his ear holes and slime shot up his nostrils.

  He couldn’t hold the air in any longer. He felt something lick at his face.

  He passed into nothingness.

  • • • • •

  Jackson made it to the other side of the bridge and sergeant Stephens undid the M-60 from the private’s back. Jackson fixed the weapon into a position that overlooked the fall, towards the other cliff. He had leant it on a rock and he knelt in the cover for it.

  Stephens looked down the sight of his CAR-15 so he could cover the bridge again. He waved the next man forward.