by Jim Roberts
"For Chrissakes! Lock that bastard up right now! Get him out of my sight!" the General roared.
Joe's head cleared long enough for him to yell back at the General, "You sonovabitch! What about my men? Let me go! God damn you!" The MPs hauled Joe out of the office, and onto the floor of the JOC, holding his hands behind his back and slapping a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. The MPs led the struggling Army Ranger through the JOC, with several intrigued onlookers following him with wide eyes. Joe knew his next stop was the brig. His chances of seeing his men alive again had fallen from slim to completely impossible.
"Quite a way to end adventure, huh my friend?" Krieger said to Joe from his prison bunk, "I would have thought you would want to stay out of prisons from now on, not be in hurry to get back in!"
Due to the lack of space in the Detention cells of the Military Police compound, Joe found himself sharing a twelve-by-twelve feet barred cell with Krieger. The General would certainly be leveling assault charges on him as he sat there. No matter what happened, here or back in the States, Joe's career in the military was over.
All of his struggles in the past few weeks had brought him to this. His own hotheadedness had cost him the lives of his men. His platoon's destruction, his torture at Dante's hands, their amazing escape; all of it now just added up to a big fat zero.
Krieger leaned against the bars of the cell, chewing on his check, "It is hard seeing you sad my friend. You always seem to know what to do."
Joe didn't have the energy to answer him. What was the point? Here he was six-hundred miles from his friends with only a six-and-a-half foot tall slightly mad Russian to keep him company. It honestly couldn't get worse.
"You're probably thinking it couldn't get worse my friend but think about it..." he smiled a crooked grin, "at least you have me to keep you company, huh?"
Joe's soul groaned.
He leaned back against the wall of the cell. The detention building wasn't even air-conditioned; the whole place stunk with a heavy air of BO and dried urine. Joe slid down to sit on the floor, miserable. He had removed his Army Combat Uniform shirt and now sat in naught but his fatigues and a white t-shirt.
Krieger tried to break Joe out of his funk, "Any plan on how to get out of this?"
Joe sighed, "None at all. I'd say I've pretty much screwed myself from now until forever."
"Mmm. Not good I suppose," Krieger suddenly remembered something, "How are Danny and Doctor Yume?"
"Yune. They're OK. Danny's legally blind. He's resigned from CANSOFCOM."
Krieger pursed his lips, saddened at the news, "Hmm. I am sorry to hear. Good soldier him. Wish I had many like him when..." He stopped abruptly. He hadn't meant to let that slip. Joe picked up on it.
"When what?"
"Ahh...long story, boring. You ask some other time! Need to sleep now."
The idea of getting a bit of truth out of the mysterious Russian was suddenly appealing to Joe. He needed something to take his mind off his current circumstance, "Come on, we broke you out, I think you owe us some sort of explanation of who the hell you are!"
Krieger's usually sarcastic face darkened significantly. There was no trace of his flippant attitude now. "Large can of worms can't be closed. But...I can talk for a minute."
Joe sat up straighter, his full attention given to his fellow prisoner.
"I am career soldier. No surprise there I think."
Joe shrugged. That was true enough. The man was a hell of a shot and could certainly handle himself in a fight.
Krieger continued, "I've not always been...good soldier though...fought with many bad people."
"Who?"
Krieger was angered at the interruption, "Who? Who? Are you owl? Let me tell the story."
Joe sighed and paid attention.
"I have fought many wars...many battles. Decided to fight for money instead."
Joe could see it was not easy for Krieger to talk about himself. The man definitely had his demons
"I was member of Blackwater back in 2007. You know, Private Contractor much like Olympus?"
"I know Blackwater," answered Joe, memories of the cold-blooded PMC rising in his mind, "I served with some when I first deployed to Iraq back in 2006. How did you work for them? I thought they only hired Americans?"
The Russian took a deep breath, "I was living in Lebanon as mercenary for a time. Needed work fast after being fired one day and Iraq was heating up. I had a set of American documents made and faked my way into the PMC."
The story sounded fishy to Joe, "How'd you manage with your accent?"
Krieger shrugged, "Just told them I was born in US and raised in Ukraine. They didn't care. I was big and bad: just the type they were looking for."
Joe had to concede that point.
Krieger continued his tale, "You remember famous massacre in Baghdad, 2007? Many people killed in streets by men of Blackwater."
Joe nodded wordlessly.
"I was there with them: guarding a convoy of...I don't even remember what for. I remember the shots ringing out...people running everywhere. So hot that day...could barely see straight. Gunshots rang out...my comrades...they opened fire, reckless and foolishly."
Krieger bit his lip, trying to continue, "So many people died that day. Innocent people killed by a company of men who did not care who they harmed, who they killed. It was all in pursuit of money."
The Russian took a faltering breath before concluding his story, "I tried to stop it...even hitting one of my comrades, but they...forced me onto sidewalk. I could hear the sounds of screaming as I tried to get up. It was..." He stopped. A smile widened across his dark face, his frivolous attitude returning, "So you see I got out of there...served other armies, fought other wars until Olympus crossed me. Not much else to say."
Joe raised an eyebrow. There was certainly plenty more to say, but it appeared that was all the giant Russian was going to share for the time being. Joe regarded Krieger for a moment. A newfound respect for the mercenary came over him. He knew the man was hiding his demons deep and his recent admission must have been hard. Joe felt a kinship with the man, knowing they had both lost much in their respective wars.
Before Joe could ask Krieger for further details, the door to the cell opened and two bulky looking MPs marched into the room. Without a word, they walked over to the cell door and unlocked it.
Joe got up from the floor as the door swung wide open. The MPs gestured for Joe and Krieger to exit. Joe was confused, "What's going on?"
The lead MP was a stocky southern grump with a bulldog face and a name tag that read ANDERSON. He gestured to the door and said, "Outside. You're being released."
"What? How the..."
Krieger knocked Joe on the back, "Shut up fool, don't look gift horse in mouth!"
The MP's followed the two men out of the Detention center. As they entered the late afternoon sunlight, the MPs stopped them with a gesture from their batons. MP Anderson motioned for Joe to look to his right, at the western perimeter of the Detention building. Joe had to squint against the blaring red sunset, but he managed to see a man standing at the perimeter fence, looking out at the desolate mountain range beyond.
"He asked to see you," said Anderson, gesturing them to move forward.
"Who is 'He'?" asked Joe.
Anderson didn't answer; merely stared at Joe unblinkingly.
Creep, thought Joe. He shook his head and motioned Krieger to follow him. As they approached the solitary figure, the sunlight waned on his form and they finally got a good look at the man.
He was dressed in a long trench coat, completely out of place given the heat. His hair was stark gray, with flecks of black throughout. Joe couldn't see his face, but guessed the man was in his late-sixties, mid-seventies. Despite his age, the man stood tall and strong. He smoked a thin white cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the Afghan evening with aplomb.
Joe and Krieger looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Joe spoke up first, "Ahh...
hello?"
"Sergeant Joseph Braddock?" the man spoke, his voice spry and full of vibrant strength.
"Yes, and who are you sir?" asked Joe cautiously.
The man turned around. Joe recognized him immediately. Every soldier in the army would know this man. His face was weathered and pockmarked; a face that had seen more than its share of conflict. A large bushy mustache covered his upper lip like a war medal. Spreading down across the left side of his face was a mean scar that started from the top of his forehead and moved through a marled, bleary, sightless eye. The scar seemed to disappear into the man's neck. His experience and intensity exuded from every pore of his being. Joe was in the presence of a true warrior.
The Colonel began to introduce himself, "My name is..."
But Joe cut him off, star struck, "Colonel Jackson Walsh; Iraq, NATO Strategic Command!"
Krieger looked at Joe, an inquisitive look on his face.
Walsh flicked the cigarette away as he answered Joe, "You've heard of me, huh?"
Joe almost sputtered as he talked, "Begging your pardon sir, but no one in my regiment hasn't heard of you."
Krieger crossed his arms, "Well I don't know him!"
"This man is the closest thing to a living Audie Murphy you will ever find. He's a legend to every soldier who ever picked up a carbine to fight for his country."
The Colonel waved the comment away like he was dismissing a new recruit, "Stop, you’re making me blush. I just arrived here from Washington. Will you boys do me the honor of taking a walk?"
Neither Joe nor Krieger had anything else better to do, and Joe was still spellbound that he was in the presence of one of the army's living legends. Colonel Jackson Walsh was the highest decorated soldier in the history of the Green Berets; the elite special forces of the United States Army. Tet '68, Granada, Iraq, Afghanistan - if there was a war in the past fifty years, Colonel Walsh had fought it. Joe's mind raced, wondering what in the world a man like this was doing out here meeting them alone. He had last heard the Colonel retired some years back. What was he doing in active uniform at his age?
Walsh gestured for the two men to follow him. They fell in step with mysterious Colonel; walking along the perimeter fence as the sun slowly sunk down the brown-red hills in the west.
"You boys had quite the go around out in that little country. Your escape from Olympus definitely ruffled some feathers at the Pentagon."
"Wait...Olympus? So you believe us?" said Joe, eager to know what the Colonel knew about the Private Military Company.
Walsh nodded sternly, preparing a fresh cigarette. He had pulled the smoke from a gunmetal gray cigarette case that he folded back into one of the pockets in his coat. He lit the smoke with a Ronson lighter. The man had the smell of a chain smoker, avidly proven so far.
"Your little sortie into the country sparked a powder keg, Mr. Braddock," Walsh set the cigarette to the side of his mouth while he talked, "incidentally, that little stunt you pulled with our friend General Howard is going to get you court-martialed, Sergeant. I wouldn't be surprised if this time next week you were cleaning latrines in Leavenworth with your tongue."
Joe was unfazed by the remark, "My actions are my own to explain Colonel and I'll live with whatever the consequences are."
The grizzled veteran stopped, looking at the young man, "...Even if those consequences mean you never see your men again?"
Joe looked away, towards the hills in the far distance. Krieger stood back, arms folded, listening with great interest to what the American Colonel had to say.
Walsh pressed his point, "You know as well as I that whatever use Olympus may have for those surviving boys is going to come to an end if it hasn't already."
"What would you have me do Colonel? I'm a civilian now. Like you said...time is running out for them and for me."
"Sergeant, I hope you're not as dumb as you're coming across." The Colonel glared at Joe with his good eye. The man had such power - the young Ranger felt a wave of intimidation wash over him: as if Patton himself had told him he didn't measure up.
Joe had finally had enough of the Colonel's intimidation; hero worship only went so far, "What is it you want Colonel? I'm sure the Pentagon didn't send you here to spank my ass."
A faint curl of a smile pulled at the Colonel's lip. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small PC tablet. He keyed a quick command in and showed it to Joe. A large aerial view of Afghanistan and its surrounding regions flashed onto the screen. Joe watched as a pre-programmed set of commands zoomed the map into the country of Kazinistan. An animated green square blinked on an indeterminate point in the geography. Joe looked up at the Colonel, puzzled.
"That is the location of Olympus Base Liberatio. Your men are being held there."
Joe's heart skipped a beat. They're alive! If this man was telling the truth, his men were alive. "How do you know? I mean how do you know for sure?"
The Colonel shook his head, "A secret for later Mr. Braddock. For now, suffice to say satellite imaging has shown significant Olympus operations centering on a base in the lower mountains, about two-hundred miles north of fortress Bellum; the place you boys just broke out of." Walsh pushed the tablet back into his coat pocket, "Your men, however, are not the reason I'm here..." Walsh reached into the same pocket and pulled out a smaller object, the size of a credit card, "...This is."
It was the disc Joe had given to Dr. Yune.
"Do you recognize this mister Braddock?"
"Whis...Corporal Callbeck gave it to me in the fortress. He said he found it in a secret computer lab hidden in the basement."
"You're wrong, Sergeant," said Walsh,
Joe frowned, "What do you mean?"
"This little device I'm holding is one-half of perhaps the single most destructive weapon in the history of mankind."
Joe raised his eyebrows. Krieger snickered. The Colonel looked deadly serious. Joe gestured from the Russian to hush up, "Sorry, Colonel...but you have to be joking."
The Colonel stared Joe dead in the eye, "Sergeant, if you get to know me any better, you will quickly discover that I never joke. For the time being, I have...requisitioned this disc from the good Doctor Yune." The Colonel pocketed the disc back into his jacket, "Olympus has been around longer than you think. They didn't just pop out of the woodwork to make your life hell." He paused to take a quick drag on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out his nose, "For the time being I'll sate you with the simple knowledge that these guys are no ordinary Private Military. What they are planning is big; far bigger than that postage stamp sized shithole of Kazinistan, that's for sure."
Joe was confused and tired of being made a fool of, "Sorry sir, I really don't understand."
"Of course, you don't Sergeant. That's why I'm the Colonel."
Krieger leaned to whisper in Joe's ear, "He is very intense, no?"
The Colonel moved to stand in front of the two men. He exhaled a mouthful of smoke and removed the cigarette so every word he spoke would be enunciated perfectly, "Now I'm going to level with you boys right now and make you this offer one time only. And trust me; there won't be a next time."
Neither man moved. The Colonel had their full and undivided attention.
"Now you can both choose to return to your cells where you will each be dealt with in turn; you Mr...Krieger is it? You'll be returned to the Russian authorities, where you will most likely end up in some hellhole in Siberia and..." The Colonel looked at the massive Russian's bulk before continuing, "...probably end up owning the place fairly quick."
Krieger shrugged, "I adapt. It's in blood."
The Colonel's eyes turned back to Joe, "You, Mister Braddock will have to live with the knowledge that you gave your men up without a fight; disgraced your unit and your uniform for the sake of punching a fool General. Or..."
The Colonel let the last word hang for a moment.
"...Or you can both help me take these bastards down. The Pentagon brass, along with the CIA has pulled me
out of a peaceful retirement for one reason only−put together a team of Army and Navy multi-national soldiers to act as a covert retaliatory response to Olympus. It won't be easy, and it will probably get you killed. I need to know yes or no right now before I tell you anything else."
Krieger pushed his hands into the pockets of his fatigues, averting the General's gaze. He was not happy about the arrangement, Joe could tell. The large Russian was used to having things his way. Joe decided to let him speak for himself. As for his own choice...
"I have two questions before I answer Colonel."
"You can ask Mr. Braddock. Whether I answer is up to me."
Joe nodded and asked, "What about my men? If I join your unit, will you help me get my men out of Kazinistan?"
"In this case, you're in luck Sergeant, because our purposes are entwined. What I want is in that same fortress. If you agree to join my unit and help me to get what I want, I will help you get your men out."
"And after that?" asked Joe, fearing the answer.
"That's more complicated. After that...well, things only really begin. If you join my unit, I will make sure assault charge and impending court-martial disappear. And you..." he gestured to Krieger, "I will grant you asylum within the United States as a paid mercenary under my strict command."
Krieger scoffed.
Walsh took a beat before speaking further, as if slightly apprehensive about what he had to say next, "The bad news for the both of you is that your identities and pasts will be effectively erased. Your family, your friends, your comrades; everything is left behind until the mission is accomplished. Understand?"
Krieger sighed and then shrugged, "I have no family...no friends. Olympus has made me a very unhappy man. I would like to return favor."
Walsh nodded, and then turned to Joe, "What about you?"
"What qualifies as mission accomplished?" asked Joe, his mouth going dry at the prospects the Colonel was giving him.
"That will be up to me, as your commander, to say when you've had enough."
Joe scowled. It wasn't an easy decision for Joe. This is crazy...drop everything...my whole life, just to help stomp out a private military. He walked over to stand at the fence, gripping the chain links tightly with his hands. What about my parents? His guardians, Liza and Thomas Braddock, enjoying their retirement in Kansas. He'd never see them or talk to them again. Forget your family. It was an impossible request.
