No infrigement is intended on the characters belonging to Stephen Summers & Universal. R.Campbell, E.Hammond,

H.Furborough and N.Waters are entities born of my own imagination. No money is being made from this story, it's

for enjoyment purposes only.

CAPTAIN OF HIS SOUL by Marcher

gama39@austarmetro.com.au

PG 13

CHAPTER 13 ~ Murder On His Mind

Inside the confined safety of Fort Brydon, Ross Campbell continued to wait. All was silent bar the steady ticking of the

clock on the mantle. It had been just over an hour since Rick went to deliver his own brand of justice for the profane

attack on his young wife which, for Ross, was too much time to be left pondering on the outcome of what he believed to

be a one-sided confrontation. He shuffled anxiously in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position given the state of

mind he was in. This was worrying business indeed! Ross was never a man of superstition, he believed in facts and plain

opinion. And today, he believed the odds stood heavily against the ex-Captain O'Connell.

He had seen and treated both men concerned in this duel and he couldn't help but believe that O'Connell's injury left him

decidedly disadvantaged. If it happened that Rick was unable to find him alone, it didn't bear thinking about the state in

which he would return, if at all! No matter how he turned it over, Ross just couldn't see an easy victory for his friend.

Jonathan crept into the room, carefully pulling his sister's door shut. Catching Ross' eye, he stretched and pressed his

hands into his lower back. "She's sleeping soundly now. I know I should probably stay until she wakes up but I just

needed to stretch my legs."

Ross brightened somewhat, grateful for any company. Even Jonathan's! "While she sleeps, she won't dwell on other

matters."

"No sign of Rick yet I take it."

"Not a word. I'm not so sure if that's a good sign or not." The doctor motioned towards the whisky but Jonathan declined

the offer. Ross grunted mildly, "Aye, perhaps ya right. Seems time for nowt but waitin'."

~~~

Furborough was in a black mood! It was an affront being thrown to the ground by those heathens and the insult stung

his narcissistic pride. His mind fumed with rage as wandered the streets with no clear destination, 'What, in the name of

Hell, gives them the right to think they can manhandle one of the King's subjects in that manner?' He considered the brothel

girl worthless; she certainly didn't merit the indignant price he'd paid, 'Would serve 'em right if I burned the place to the

ground on my way out of the city gates!'

He found himself approaching the Fort walls and stopped to consider the guards patroling the grounds. He grunted, turning

his head to spit. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he could march straight in and challenge O'Connell face to face amid

such security. There seemed nothing for it. O'Connell either didn't know, or didn't care! Furborough turned sharply on his

heel and made his way back to the Legion's camp.

~~~

With no real idea of where to begin looking, Rick made his way to the most obvious starting point ... the Legion Camp. He

looked into the face of every Westerner as he walked, practically daring Furbrough to present himself. Then without warning,

he was grabbed by the shoulder and spun about! Instantly he drew a pistol and aimed it at the head of his hindrance!

"DON'T SHOOT! DON'T SHOOT!"

It only took a second to recognize Emir and release the hammer of the gun, but even after O'Connell had lowered the weapon

the odd, lanky Egyptian still stood surprised with his hands in the air while his heart thumped through his chest!

"Nerves are not a recommeded quality in our line of business, O'Connell." Emir stepped away cautiously and caught his

breath, "It's a clear sign that you have something to hide!"

"I thought you were somebody else." That was all the apology Rick offered before holstering the gun and continuing on his way.

However, Emir was less than satisfied and grabbed his shoulder, hampering his leave and swining him back to face him.

"Well now you see that it's me, O'Connell. And I have a message for you."

Rick didn't even bother to hide his annoyance, "A message from who?"

"Nasser will wait for you no longer than tonight. He says any later and the deal's off."

"Well then I guess it's off. Tell him sorry, but I've got more pressing matters. Maybe next time."

Emir cried with frustration, "Noooo! Noooo! You are the one with the contact! I need to be paid! I must!"

Rick groaned and lowered his head in thought. If what Ross had said about the camp pulling up was true, then it shouldn't

take too long to hunt down Furborough, even if he stood and waited to knock him off his horse. Looking again at his clearly

desperate companion, Rick relented somewhat reluctantly, "Sure. Tell him sometime tonight."

"You will promise this!?"

"Yeah. But it'll be late. Around midnight."

Emir wanted to feel relieved but he couldn't shake the doubt he felt in O'Connell's pledge. His release of O'Connel's arm was

a loathsome one and he repeated flatly, "Midnight then."

As Emir stepped away he cast one final glance at the weapons his friend carried then met his eyes with an uneasy, suspicious

flicker. O'Connell noticed, and as Emir merged into the crowd he caught himself slipping into uncertainty about his thirst for

blood. He still hadn't had the opportunity to speak with Evelyn apart from a few whispered words of reassurance as he held

onto her in the back seat of the car as Jonathan drove them from the ally to the Fort. She was so shaken and barely conscious

that she probably wouldn't remember any of what he said. He knew for certain that if he was caught today he would end up in

an eight foot cell waiting to hang. Any stupid move now would leave his wife a widow and his son fatherless, but at least it

sent Furborough six feet under. The toe of his boot connected heavily with the dirt and he swore at the pain of his impulsive

act and the frustation of his situation. He wasn't any good to them dead but he couldn't let that bastard walk away either.

There had to be another way!

The flash of a white uniform in the corner of his eye alerted his attention. He turned sharply, ready to jump the soldier before

realizing it wasn't the man he was looking for, merely a young unfamiliar Private making his way back to the camp with his arms

full of blankets. O'Connell smiled at the memory of himself stocking up on such essentials to combat the severe cold of a desert

night. Suddenly the answer presented itself! Quick stepping to catch up, O'Connell introduced himself and accompanied the

Private on his walk back to camp.

~~~

The bottle of rum was the only compensation Furborough had managed to grab out of that debacle at the brothel. A small victory

...and a short-lived one. He tipped the bottle to his mouth receiving only a trickle of the brew and hurled it against a wall watching

it shatter. "Even the bloody grog's run out!" his anger slurred only slightly from his lips and he was fed-up with walking. He settled

himself on returning to the camp and sleeping until called upon to move. He thought once more on O'Connell and laughed. Rest was

looking good.

~~~

Once at the camp, Rick was a little disappointed to part company with the young soldier. He saw a lot of himself in the boy and

wished him well. He laid a friendly hand to his shoulder and asked, "Who's your Commander?"

"That would be Trigg, sir. The General de Brigade." The young Legionnaire laughed at his poor pronounciation of the French

ranking.

"Trigg?" Now there's a name that brought back memories. "He's a General now?"

"Yes sir. Do you know him?"

"Better than what's probably good for both of us. Where can I find him?"

"It's the big tent." The Private pointed beyond Rick, "Down there."

Taking his leave, Rick waved the boy off, "Thanks. And good luck!"

"And to you, sir."

Making his way through the organized mess of disassembled tents and animals, Rick wondered just how long it had been since he

had been a part of all this. Four years? Perhaps five? Either one, it didn't really matter. It all seemed like another lifetime.

He found the Trigg's tent and grinned with a mixture of satisfaction and reminiscence. Without introduction, he threw back the flap,

ducked his head and entered.

Andrew Trigg sat with his head down scribbling a note of some sort, not bothering to look up. Obviously assuming his intruder was

someone else, he made mundane enquiries about the Regiment's progress with the disassembly of the camp.

The jumble of belongings inside the tent betrayed everything Rick remembered of his Legionnaire friend, "You'd think now that

they've made you a General you'd have someone to clear up this mess for you?"

Instantly recognizing the voice, Trigg turned to welcome his one-time comrade with open arms. Stepping up to him, he pulled Rick

into a firm embrace, laughing with the surprise of seeing him. The ex-Legionnaire returned the gesture, truly happy to see him once

more.

"Pity you've arrived so late. As you can see, we're on the move again."

"If I had have known it was you leading this band of misfits I would have darkened your doorstep weeks ago."

"Ah, I see." Trigg motioned Rick to chair before perching himself on the edge of his battered desk, "So there's a reason for your

visit."

Refusing the offer to sit, Rick took a leap of faith on his friendship with Trigg and got straight to the point. "I wish it could be a

helluva better reason to meet up with you again, but it's not. I'm here for one of your men!"

"I see. Mind telling me what for?"

Without so much as a sigh, Rick looked Trigg in the eye and began speaking, "Two years ago I ran into Verdi. Remember him?"

Trigg nodded with a distasteful groan,

"Yeah? He held me accountable for desertion! But instead of turning me in, he struck a bargain with me." Trigg was listening

intently as O'Connell continued with a hint of shame tinging his words, "I agreed to lead him and his Regiment safely through the

mountains to Damascus."

Listening with his arms folded across his chest, Trigg enquired seriously, "And what was the price if you refused?"

"My wife's safety."

The General leaned back, shaking his head, "If this has to do with Verdi you're out of luck. He died ten months ago. That's why

I've got command now."

"Well I can't say I'm sorry to hear that, but it's not Verdi that I want. It's Furborough."

'Furborough!" Trigg almost sounded pleased, but considering the loyalty he owed to his men he couldn't just hand the man over

to O'Connell without knowing why. "No doubt he deserves it, but you'll have to tell me what he's done before I let you go ten rounds

with him."

"I don't want to fight him, Trigg. I want him dead!"

The Officer balked at O'Connell's demand. He lifted himself from the desk and raised his hands to ward his fellow American off.

"Now you're outta line, O'Connell!"

"He raped my wife! He left her beaten up and bleeding in some rat infested ally and I want him dead!"

A serious look descended over Trigg's face and his eyes dropped to the floor. He stepped slowly back to his desk before asking,

"When did this happen?"

"Today."

Thinking carefully before speaking, Trigg again shook his head and offered his words with empathy, "I know how you're feeling,

Rick, trust me. But I can't just hand him over to you. It's impossible."

"Dammit Trigg! You owe me!" Rick moved in close, furiously refreshing his friend's memory, "It wasn't that long ago we bent the

rules in Lybia that night in order for you to figure out if you loved her or just got a better deal than the rest of us! Trigg turned his

face away only to be forced to face O'Connell again when he was grabbed by the shoulder. "What was her name? Annie, Abby,

Amy .... four Legionnaires against twelve harem thugs? And we won, didn't we?"

"Come on, O'Connell!" Trigg broke himself free of Rick's grip by shoving his arm away. "This is different and you know it! We were

young and foolish! You're standing here now asking me to give you leave to kill a man!"

"She's my WIFE!" The rage in O'Connell was at it's height, "He took her, now he pays MY price!" Trigg stood staring...silent and

knowing, "You owe me this, Andrew. You can allow another Officer to do swift justice when an atrocity has been committed. We

both know what the rules are!"

Screwing his face in reluctance, Trigg sadly spoke the obvious, "You're not an Officer anymore."

"The hell I'm not!" Rick snatched the paper Trigg had been writing on and held it roughly, crumpling the page between his fingers,

"Who are you writing to, Andrew? Do I know her?"

Trigg set his mind back seven years to that brawl in Lybia. He was stupid enough to do anything to free her back then and he knew

the same would hold true today. Looking at O'Connell he saw the very same determination and rage that once drove him. His mind

conceded. Reaching over, he calmly removed the paper from his friends grasp and set it back down on the desk, "We've come a long

way you and me." Holding a silent, thoughtful pause, Trigg slowly raised his eyes and sighed, "If you can find him you can have

him." Sharply pointing a finger at O'Connell he warned, "And this makes us even, got it?!"

'Thank you' didn't seem like the appropriate response but Rick felt the sentiment none-the-less. He nodded, slapping Trigg on the

shoulder, "Maybe under better circumstances next time, hey."

"Yes...next time." Trigg shook O'Connell's hand then noticed his leg. "Is that wound going to hold you back?"

Moving to the tent's flap, Rick rubbed a hand over his injured thigh as he ducked down to leave, "No. This is what's gonna drive me

on!" He cast a stoic look over his shoulder, ducked his head and disappeared through the opening.

Trigg looked at the crumpled paper in his hand then shouted for his Corporal. Within moments, Trigg's second in command was

standing at attention before him. "Don't be surprised if there's one less man on your head count when leave Cairo."

"Sir?"

Holding his hands behind his back, Trigg moved around the desk then faced his Corporal with the ease of a Commanding Officer,

"This Regiment may well depart with one less soldier, Corporal. No questions, no answers. Just do the head count and give me the

numbers."

"Yes sir."

With his subordinate dismissed, Trigg sat down at his desk and took up his pen. Pressing his hand across the page to straighten

out the creases he resumed his letter home, ...you are my dearest, Amy. I miss you more and more. It's longer than I care to admit

since I've been home....

~~~

As he walked away from Trigg's tent, Rick stopped to look around. He wondered how he and Trigg had ended up travelling such

different paths only to reach the same destination. And he was a General, no less! Rick deeply inhaled the Cairo air and offered up a

single humourless laugh. Their journeys may have been worlds apart but deep down he knew he could rely on Trigg not to go back

on his word. Officers aside, they were both cut from the same cloth.

He wished he had more time. The last thing he wanted was to have to shanghai Furborough from his Company and seek his justice

before one of the largest Regiments in the Legion. As well, his leg was bothersome. Ross had mended it as well as he had allowed

and although the bleeding had stopped, the ache was a constant reminder that he was going into this fight less fit than Furborough.

He remembered the fleeting glimpse he saw of Evelyn before Jonathan closed the door. Even though her back was turned he could

tell she had her face buried in the pillow, too ashamed to open her eyes. He touched a hand to his thigh then stood to his full height.

His lips thin and determined, he resumed walking.

From his left he was bumped by a hasty soldier not looking where he was going. Rick kept his balance...just, but the Legionnaire

lost his footing and hit the ground hard. Rick pulled him up by the arm and the boy dusted down his coat before raising his eyes to

his assistant. The shock of seeing O'Connell's face sent the boy into a nervous stutter and he tried to pull away uselessly. A satisfied

glint settled in Rick's eyes, one corner of his mouth ever so slightly curving upward, "Waters. Neil, isn't it?" There was no response

as Waters swallowed loudly, still trapped in his ex-Commanding Officer's grip. "You seem to scurry about everywhere,don't ya?"

"I...I...don't know wh...what you mean?"

"No? Well let me explain." Still with an iron grip about Waters' arm, O'Connell lifted him just high enough for him to keep one foot

on the ground and spoke so close to his face that Waters' could feel his breath. "You and I have a common friend, Neil. And you're

gonna tell me where I can find him."

"Who?" Waters had hardly uttered the word before he yelped in pain at the tightening pressure on his arm. Struggling was

proving pointless, it only made O'Connell squeeze tighter. The Private looked painfully at O'Connell and decided to end his

predicament, "Alright." Alas, the American only clamped his fingers harder and this time Waters released a squeal loud enough to

catch the attention of those nearby, "I said alright!!"

Rick allowed him to stand on both feet again, but maintained his grip. "So where is he?"

Glancing between O'Connell's face and the hand clenched about his arm, Waters gulped before speaking, "If you mean Corporal

Furborough, then I haven't seen him since last night!" Waters was not without guile and if Furborough was about to take a fall,

he was doing it alone. "Don't know where his is now."

"You lie really badly. Did anyone ever tell you that?" Waters was back on one foot and much too close to O'Connell's face, "Try

again!"

"N..no..I mean it. I..I..haven't seen him."

Still forcibly staring into O'Connell's eyes, the nervous Waters sensed his captor reaching for something from his belt. Beads

of sweat were forming on his brow as he felt O'Connell raise his free hand and Waters closed his eyes. "Maybe this will help?"

Neil Waters slit his eyes open and saw two high currency notes. He laughed with a nervous relief. It wasn't a gun after all, it

was money! O'Connell was bribing him! He reached for the cash but it was pulled quickly out of reach.

"Tell me where he is?"

"Don't know for sure." Ridiculously, the gullable boy was still trying to rest both feet on the ground without losing site of

the money O'Connell flashed before him, "But I know the places he likes. You'd have to follow me."

"Suits me." Rick instantly screwed the money into his fist and replaced it in his pocket and grinned wickedly at his pidgeon,

"I don't pay for anything until I get the goods." With that, he released Waters with a shove, sending him stumbling in the

direction of the Camp's exit. As the boy found his feet, O'Connell slapped him sharply on the shoulder in a mock gesture of

friendship and quipped, "You and me are gonna get along just fine!"

end chapter