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 14 ~ Staring Into Shallow Eyes

"You'd better not be thinking of taking me on a wild goose chase! With the Company about to move out, he can't be that

hard to find!" Rick's voice snarled over Neil Waters' shoulder. The pair had been walking too long for Rick's liking without

checking in a single rum hall. It seemed that Waters had embarked on a random stroll around Cairo, foolishly showing no

sign that he was looking for anyone in particular, let alone Haris Furborough! The heat and the hard streets were taking

their toll on his injury and Rick wanted to spare his leg as much as possible. It was hurting more than he would admit. A

consistent dull ache that only added to his already enraged mood.

Waters' eyes never met O'Connell's as he spoke in case they gave him away. "I can't just conjure him up out of thin air, you

know! He could be anywhere!" The Legionnaire was reluctant to lead O'Connell to Furborough, but not for the sake of his

Corporal. He was more afraid for his own safety should Furborough reveal his presence at this morning's attack on Mrs.

O'Connell! There would be no time to run, nor to explain, but he couldn't see a way out of it. O'Connell wasn't going to let

him procrastinate any longer and he knew for sure that Furborough wouldn't keep his mouth shut once confronted. Just

seeing him as O'Connell's guide would probably earn him a bullet! Waters was sweating and agitated. The best he could

hope for was a swift recovery!

"How about you head to his favourite watering hole." That low, incensed voice in his ear made Waters' gut churn.

O'Connell seemed to engulf him even though he wasn't that much taller and the grip he placed on his shoulder pinched a

nerve that made his whole arm ache. Still avoiding eye contact, Waters nodded nervously and began backtracking towards

a windowless shopfront some forty yards back. In his mind he tried to play out any and all possible routes of escape and

he could have groaned aloud when O'Connell perked sarcastically, "See how it all comes back to you with a little

encouragement."

~~~

Jonathan struggled urgently from his chair and hobbled towards Evelyn's door the instant he heard her scream. With Ross

hot on his heels, he thrust open the door to find his sister furiously kicking at the covers trying to scramble off the bed.

Alex had been woken by the commotion and he too was beginning to squeal in fright.

Lifting the boy away from his mother's panic, Jonathan did his best to calm the child while Ross rounded the bed and

grabbed hold of Evelyn by the shoulders. "It's a nightmare, Lass! Nowt more!"

With Alex on his hip, still shrieking, Jonathan moved into her view and echoed Ross' persuasion. "It's alright Evie!" He

placed a soft hand to her chin and smiled encouragingly, "You're in your own room. I'm here, Alex is here. Everything's fine."

Sitting with her back pressed hard against the bedhead, Evelyn's eyes slowly lost that terrified stare and she raised one

timid, shaking hand to her face to awkwardly swipe at her wet cheeks. Taking short, frightened breaths, she purposely looked

about the room before lowering her shoulders and slowly allowing herself to sink into an uncertain lull.

The terror of her dream had afforded her swift and painless mobility, but now that she was properly awake it was really quite

difficult to slide herself beneath the covers without a sharp pain clouding each movement. She groaned awfully from the effort,

yet instantly pulled away from Ross when he leaned over her to lend a hand. "There's no need for panic." The Doctor

soothed, once again offering to gently steer her movements. This time she allowed it, even though she trembled as soon as he

cautiously placed a hand to her back. "Just helpin' ya get comfortable. We can't have ya getting all out of sorts over a bad

dream now, can we?" Ross placed a pillow under her head and pulled up the blankets, nodding satisfactorily as she

sank into the comfort. As he moved away from the bed, Evelyn reached her arms towards her brother beckoning for her child.

She pulled him in close, burying his head beneath her chin and the boy immediately began to settle.

"Where's Rick?" she whispered.

Jonathan looked to Ross for advice only to be met by a dubious shrug from the doctor. Fumbling for an answer, Jonathan's

words literally fell from his lips unsure of where they were going to lead. "Well, seeing as you were'nt ready to see him just yet,

he thought it best if he stayed outside until you called for him." It was lie offered with the best of intentions and Evelyn

seemed to accept it silently. Then for reasons unknown to himself, Jonathan added, "Of course if you like, I could call him in

for you?" Ross grunted his disapproval at Jonathan's impulsive offer but the Englishman simply waved him off. "Evie?"

Without opening her eyes, Evelyn pressed herself closer to Alex and whispered so quietly Jonathan had to strain his head to

hear, "No. Soon, but not now."

"Alright. That's fine. He's out there whenever you want him. All you have to do is call." Jonathan screwed his face at Ross'

amazed, silent protest and motioned with his arm for him to stop. The good doctor shook his head disapprovingly,

thoroughly relieved that Evelyn declined rather than call her idiot brother's bluff!

Minutes passed as both brother and doctor watch Evelyn settle and drift back to sleep. As soon as he thought it safe to do

so, Ross chided Jonathan in a coarse whisper, "An' just what exactly, were ya plannin' on doin' if she'd asked for him?!"

"You know Ross." Jonathan stood straight, shaking his finger

assuredly, "For a man as worldly as yourself, you're very easily thrown askew by women and small children!"

Ross scowled and marched around the bed to face Jonathan, "Look 'ere ya annoyin' little prat! T'was a thin line t'be walkin' back

there. T'was damn lucky for all of us that she decided against bringin' him in!"

"Yes well, it paid off. It's all water under the bridge now." Looking quite pleased with himself, Jonathan added, "Besides

which, I know my own sister."

Ross glared silently for a moment and decided to continue his scolding outside the room. He directed Jonathan out with a

firm hand to his back and pulled the door behind him. As the pair quietly stepped from the room, Evelyn opened her eyes and

stared at the closed door. She could hear them bickering in low voices and gently kissed her son's forehead. There was no need

to wonder where her husband had gone. As she squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear escaped over the bridge of her nose and

trickled onto the pillow. If Rick succeeded this day, then she had turned her husband into a murderer!

~~~

As Neil Waters approached the battered, faceless door, he caught sight of his Corporal not ten yards ahead and walking

directly towards them. This was not going to be good! Not good at all! So far O'Connell and Furborough had not seen each

other, but it was only a matter of seconds before their paths crossed in what would most likely be for the final time.

Unwittingly, Waters' step faltered bringing him to an abrupt halt. He closed his eyes, murmuring an impassioned plea for

help, but it was hopeless. O'Connell pulled up short behind him, barely missing walking into his back and stared at his now

pale, sweating features. Slowly shifting his eyes forward, Rick at last saw the man Neil Waters had been praying they would be

able to avoid. Waters turned to the ex-Legionnaire and began backing away as he spoke in a low, cracked voice, "This is as far

as I go! You're on your own from here."

Waters' anxiety conveyed an undertone which aroused suspicion in O'Connell, who in turn eyed his reluctant companion curiously. "Something bothering you?"

Try as he might, Waters couldn't fine a voice that didn't choke him, "You mean apart from your bullying tactics and the sheer

madness in your eyes?"

"Do you even know why I want him?"

"No! And I don't care either!" Waters coughed nervously through his lie, "I can tell he's been drinking and I just don't wanna

be around when you two go head to head, that's all! Just let me go, it's nothing to do with me!"

Rick silently studied the Private's face attempting to see beyond the facade. It was only a matter of seconds before he spoke,

but for Neil it was seconds too long. O'Connell's eyes darkened and one corner of his mouth twitched upward in a surly grimace.

He slapped a firm and steady hand onto Waters' shoulder that insisted he move forward, then snarled "Not yet."

Both men watched as Furborough stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind him. By this stage, Waters was in a

panic and demanded his freedom. "You can keep your money, just leave me out of this!"

"Money?" Refusing to release him, Rick steered him forward with deliberate force, "You nervous, Neil? Anything you might

have forgotten to tell me?"

Before he could offer any sort of answer, Waters found himself inside the smoke filled room and shuddered at the sound of

O'Connell calmly clicking the door shut. Then two sounds less than a second apart signalled his fate and caused his heart to

pound through his chest. It was impossible to determine which was more chilling! O'Connell's gun being drawn and primed

just above his shoulder, or Furborough's blistering accusation of betrayal when he saw them.

"You slimy little berk! Just what are you playing at?!" Furborough rose so violently to accuse Waters, that his chair clattered to

the floor. Rick stood motionless with his gun aimed directly between the rapist's eyes, leaving him with only growling words to

deal with the corner he had suddenly found himself in. His eyes burned furiously at Waters making the young Private drop his own

gaze to the floor. A myriad of punishments for the boy flashed through the Corporal's mind, some more appealing than others,

but that business would wait; protecting his own hide was his main priority!

Furborough's eyes left the sweating Waters and fixed firmly on the face of the American. "Took ya bloody long enough to find

me. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

O'Connell remained quiet, rigidly maintaining a steady aim, however this restrained silence didn't sit well with Furborough. He

was a man who enjoyed a contest when it was loud and decisive. This peculiar non-action from O'Connell was agitating and

forced him to contemplate things other than the fight. As O'Connell continued taking stock of his quarry, Furborough began

searching for an easy passage outside. The only visible door was blocked by the American; and if he turned and ran in search of

a surreptitious way out, he knew he would most certainly be shot in the back. His foe's silent stare burned through him and

Furborough began to wonder if O'Connell was waiting for an accomplice to creep up from the rear to block any possible esacape.

Cautiously moving a hand across his chin, the Corporal at last decided on a measure to force O'Connell's hand, smirking as he

spoke, "So, tell me Captain? Are you here to fight for her reputation, or collect your fee?"

Rick drew a sharp, deep breath. His lip curled in response to Furborough's insult of his wife, yet still he remained silent,

purposely taking in every word the Legionnaire said...each nervous tic and worried expression. Then to the astonishment of

the Corporal, he released the hammer on his gun without breaking his stare and pointed the barrel to the floor. Finally, his voice

came in slow and gravelled, "A bullet's too good for you. And it's too quick for me." Rick cocked his head towards Waters

indicating for him to leave before focussing back on the unscrupulous excuse for a soldier who desecrated his wife.

Furborough watched as Waters began to slink away and spoke up sarcastically, "So he's had his share then, has he? Or does

the watchman get away with turnin' Judas?"

Neil Waters cringed.

Rick wrenched the young Private back by his arm, setting him directly between himself and Furborough, "Watchman?"

"Aaw, now don't say you forgot to tell the man, Neil?" Waters stumbled for words as Furborough's acerbity continued to

implicate him. It was no use though; and he found himself wishing that if he was going to be thrashed by one or the other, that

it would just be done with. But still Furborough chattered behind him while he was left to stare helplessly at O'Connell. "So! You

just decided to throw me to the wolves without mentioning how ya stood and watched making sure nobody stuck their face in

where it wasn't wanted? You limey little bastard!"

He knew no matter what he said it would make no difference, but he had to try, "I had no choice!" It was a true plea from Waters

but it fell on deaf ears.

Untouched by pity, Rick growled steadily, "Oh yeah. You had a choice."

Those were the last words Waters heard before he felt his jaw crack under the pressure of speeding backhand from O'Connell

which knocked him unconscious, scattering tables in every direction as he crashed to the floor. Rick was still holding the gun

when he'd struck and it was sent spinning from his hand under the pressure of the blow. With O'Connell off balance and

momentarily unarmed, Furborough siezed his opportunity and pounced! He threw his whole weight at the American with such

a force it brought both of them to the floor. Clambering through the mess of tables and broken chairs, the two kept a grip on

one another as they rolled through the mess, dispersing a scurry of customers trying to avoid any entanglement. Rick's gun was

lost amid the clutter and he had no opportunity to reach for his second. With a grunt that accurately relayed the effort, he managed

to shove the Corporal away long enough to pull himself to his feet and gain his bearings. Some of the patrons were fleeing through

the single door, while others had remained to watch the fight. Money was being placed heavily on the only remaining upright

table and Rick scowled at the sight before spitting a trickle of blood from his mouth.

Furborough was rising to his feet with his back to him and Rick reached down, grabbing him by the collar and pulled him off

balance as he was hauled up the rest of the way. However, Furborough found his feet surprisingly well and sent a sharp elbow

into O'Connell's ribs, instantly breaking his grip.

This man was strong!

An image flashed through Rick's mind of Evelyn being cornered and completely overpowered by this archfiend and a hatred

stronger than his own reckoning burst forward from his chest. He straightened with his jaw and fist clenched, connecting a blind

furious blow into her assailant's jaw so severe it sent Furborough spinning! He smiled as the Corporal fell away, but the force of

his action was stronger than his injury could tolerate and his leg buckled beneath him. Rick staggered backwards, violently

resisting the impluse to grab at his old, persistant wound when it refused to carry him. Furborough swayed before him, clumsily

swiping at the blood on his lip and smiled viciously as O'Connell's weakness loomed apparent.

"I see you've still got that little souvenir from our last meeting, Captain. Givin' ya some gip, is it?"

Rick had no intention of responding, but neither did he have a chance, before Furborough lurched forward and grabbed him by

the shoulder. Lifting an arm too late to block the attack, Haris landed a heavy fist that Rick felt reverberate through his jaw!

Stepping forward, he reclaimed O'Connell's shoulder preparing for another strike, but this time Rick stopped the blow by

grabbing hold of his fist, twisting and wrenching it behind the Englishman's back winning a cheer of approval from one group

of onlookers.

His face and leg still aching, Rick shoved the soldier to the floor, picked him up and threw him down again. As he lay sprawled on

the floor, O'Connell grunted and hauled him up again, this time to push his face into a wall using his entire weight to restrain him.

Grabbing a fistfull of hair, he yanked Furborough's head to the side, forcing eye contact and snarling, "I'm here to collect my

payment, as you so cruedly put it! Straight out of your worthless hide!"

"Only if you can stand!" Barked Furborough immediately before kicking back against O'Connell's wounded leg and

successfully gaining his release from the wall. Rick fell away slightly before another blow sent him to the floor beside Waters.

Rick groaned as he rolled onto his side to stand, but his pain was inaudible beneath the noise of the room. The gullible Private

was still out cold but nobody seemed to care. The room resounded with a mixture of jeers and plaudits and the owner could be

heard repeatedly swapping his furious shouts over the state of his business and for someone to fetch the local guard!

Rising to his feet amid the confusion, Rick felt an odd numbness in his leg. It was a strange sensation, but at least the throbbing

had stopped! He didn't care one way or the other whether it was adrenaline induced or divine intervention, he was simply

grateful not to have to think about it any longer. Furborough's vile laughter filtered through the noise and he swaggered into

Rick's view. "Hehe, you look as though you've had enough." He mocked. "Why don't ya just slink off home and tell the little

slut you slugged me?"

A smile beamed across Rick's face and he nodded with concession, approaching with an exaggerated limp, "Yeah, you're right.

It hurts. But not as much as this!" and his fist cracked against the Englishman's jaw. Another roar rose from within the room as

Rick lined up another! But this time when Furborough retaliated, a spray of red fanned out across the room and Rick felt a sticky

wetness drench his upper arm and flow down it's length to his fingers! A flash of metal in Furborough's hand signalled another

strike but Rick intercepted the blade keeping it above their heads. He smashed the Legionnaire's hand into the wall again and

again until the knife fell to the floor, then laid three swift blows into the side of his head before Furborough kicked out at

O'Connell's injured leg. Free of the American once more, he immediately retrieved the knife and lunged! The Corporal

tripped past as Rick dodged the attack swiftly and grabbed him from behind, one arm reaching roughly across his chest, the other

clutching at the wrist which held the knife. Rick forced it down, the blade cutting Furborough's waist and drawing blood. The

soldier retaliated and pulled free, laughing when realizing the wound was only superficial. His merriement was short lived,

however, and the leg of a broken chair cracked against his cheek and he fell hard onto the floorboards, spitting blood and teeth

into his hands. Then a sudden blackness shrouded him as O'Connell's boot connected heavily against his chin!

The betting patronage that had stood watching fell suddenly silent, all eyes on the motionless Legionnaire looking for any sign of life.

O'Connell stood over him, puffing as he swiped his arm across his bloodied mouth. Satisfied that Furborough was comatose, he

staggered back several paces and examined the wound to his arm. A two inch gash just below his shoulder that would no doubt

require stitching with a side prescription of morality from Ross.

Glancing over his shoulder to once more examine his fallen foe, Rick was satisfied he'd won. Now all he needed to do was

somehow get this perverse profligate back to Trigg and let the Legion deal with him. Looking down at him, Rick scowled and

spat the remaining blood from his mouth. Killing the bastard would have made him feel better, but in the long run just

knowing what the French had in store for him was just as good; and he had managed to avoid a trip to the gallows for himself.

Looking around at the gamblers, he was amused to see that most of them appeared disappointed by the outcome and his wry

smile drew a low, grumbling acquiesce from the losers which only made him laugh. But that, in turn, irritated his dry throat and

coughed harshly, struggling to catch his breath.

Turning his back on the whole shattered scene, O'Connell approached the bar and a red-faced proprietor. Still unable to speak

clearly through the coughing, he pointed at a rum bottle on the shelf behind. The owner flatly refused. Instead, he waved his

hands angrily about the room pointing out it's total state of wreckage. He insisted on compensation or justice, or both, for his

never tidy but always lucrative business! Rick leaned heavily against the bar and produced a roll of notes from his shirt pocket.

The owner stared at the money and then at O'Connell who pushed the roll towards him. "Take it. Fix your place. Just hand me

the bottle." Slowly sliding the cash across the counter and dipping it into his pocket, the now appeased barman nodded then

gladly reached behind for the bottle and placed it down gently before the afternoon's winner.

Removing the cork from the bottle with his teeth then spitting it to the side, Rick swigged deep, relieved at the soothing effect

the alcohol had on his throat and exhaled through a grimace. His arm stung like hell and his leg and jaw ached, but he was

satisfied with his victory and grateful for the fact that it wasn't him lying spread-eagle on the floor. He allowed himself a moment

to close his eyes and set his mind on going home and seeing to Evelyn.

But his thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present by an excited cheer from the revellers as the now very wakeful Haris

Furborough rose from the dirty floor and lunged at O'Connell with his knife aimed squarely between his shoulders. The kick

had only dazed him and his renewed attack was a raging one! Rick twisted around, just narrowly avoiding the blade and

Furborough crashed into the bar unable to stop in his stride. The bottle smashed to the floor and Rick towed him up by the

shirt collar only to be greeted by Furborough delivering a decisive backwards fist over his shoulder so intense it forced his

O'Connell's head backwards!

The erroneous Corporal spun about, wildly brandishing his blade high above him determined to bring it down swiftly and

accurately, totally unconcerned with a roomful of now eerily silent wittnesses. Opening his eyes in time to see a glint of

cold metal above him, Rick raised his hand grabbing it overtop of Furborough's and temporarily hampering the weapon's path. A

strained contest of strength held the knife between them at head height, each man returning the force of the other as the blade

jerked it's way, creeping higher then lower. Still the onlookers held their silence.

Furborough watched the blade as it continued on it's uncertain route, whereas Rick looked directly into the shallow eyes before

him . Both clenched their jaws and summoned every ounce of strength in determination of a common goal, but were fuelled by

different fires. Furborough fought for his life, plain and simple, but Rick was intent on vengeance! Keeping his glare locked on

the cruel eyes before him, Rick imagined Evelyn trying to avoid the very same. He saw her terrified as she backed away from this man,

frantically darting her own eyes left and right in the hope that the man she married had swallowed his pride and followed her

and Alex.

Rick gained a small advantage over Furborough's force and the knife began to edge away from him.

His vision of Evelyn continued as he imagined her hiding Alex behind her, desperately hoping for his father to arrive from

nowhere and save her from what she must have known well was about to happen, only to find herself utterly alone and trapped.

The knife continued to inch towards Furborough whose eyes now appeared very anxious. Rick stared into what were now dark,

frightened pools and growled through clenched teeth, "You should've stayed on the floor."

Even in such a desperate situation, Furborough could only call upon vile insolence for his defence, "Exactly the place I left her?

No, I don't think so." The look he saw on O'Connell's face signalled Furborough's final defeat and he couldn't help but laugh at the

irony. The strength in his arm was weakening and the blade between them began to shake furiously on it's decent. O'Connell's force

continued to smother his own until abruptly his arm gave way entirely and his vision went black!

What was left of the clientele flinched as the force against O'Connell's strike fell away and the knife sank deep into the side of

Furborough's throat! The Legionnaire choked on his own blood, his hands flailing between his neck and the American as he slid

to the floor, still alive, but dying.

Rick stepped back, transfixed by this man crouched on the floor gasping for breath. No pity washed over him, nor satisfaction.

His total lack of emotion felt odd as he watched Furborough vainly snatch at his last threads of life. It wasn't the victory he had

imagined...there was no relief. He was still carrying the guilt and blame over Evelyn's attack and he still had to look into her face

and try to make ammends over everything from Ethan to his uncompromising pride.

Haris Furborough spluttered and wheezed. His own bloodied hand fumbled erratically about this throat then his head thumped

back against the floor and he was still. Completely still.

Rick watched, his brow furrowed. Perhaps this was Evelyn's victory.

Looking down at his shirt he saw the splats of blood covering the front. He touched his hand to them then ignored them. There

was nothing to be done for that right now. His cast his eyes over the onlookers who seemed neither shocked or disappointed, then

his spied the still unconscious Neil Waters. No matter what he thought of that weak minded little cohort, he wasn't about

to kill a man who was lying completely senseless on the floor. The owner had walked around to inspect the body laying in a

bloody heap and Rick tapped him on the shoulder, pointing towards Waters. "Get someone to drop him in the street. Someone from

the Legion will find him and drag his sorry ass back to the camp." Rick was offered no response other than a stern glare from the man

who seemed to be taking in every detail of his face, no doubt imagining a hefty reward to match the already large cash roll he'd

slipped into his pocket earlier. "If you don't want anyone coming in here asking questions, I suggest you just dump him outside."

Rick stood for a moment longer then accepted the fact that he was now a marked man. Without another word he turned and left.

The sun was setting, offering him the cover of night to get himself unconspicously back to the Fort...to treatment for his arm

from Ross, which he prayed would be of the silent variety...and back to Evelyn.

end chapter