Beckon, For Once/Shepherd to Soldier
1700 hours, 24 June 2008 Ranger Station 809 High Point, NJ Carlos hated these sorts of things. You just never knew how long they were going to last. He gestured for the woman to move inside, it was just too noisy outside with the chopper and he needed to question her. He had recognized that intense glare in her eyes as they settled over him. She didn’t even know him…and she hated him. That in itself was strange, but then everything about this particular mission was strange. He studied her eyes carefully seeing so many layers of emotion which she made no effort to hide. So unlike a Section operative, but then, she no longer held that status. She held some sort of status though, an important one, at least with Joshua, who had made it explicitly clear she was to be untouched at all costs. That request alone was enough to set the alarms off in his head. And then when Carlos found out who he was to bring in…he knew his mouth had dropped open the slightest bit. Luckily no one had been around to see that. It had been years since he’d heard the name. "We took the car already,” he said to her looking around the cabin, “they're flat bedding it to a location in...Swarren?" "Sewaren," she corrected him. "Yeah," he nodded his head. What was in Sewaren? He made a mental note to check into that some day. "We got intel he's in civvies, on foot, injuries?" Carlos knew all the details already, this was just a way to make conversation, to get her to talk so he might learn something about her. The woman nodded her head, "knee or foot, bruised ribs, head...he's still mobile though definitely not 100%." "Ok," he nodded towards the chair that was still tied down to the cabin and had shreds of tape on it. "That where he escaped from?" "No," she said flatly, "that's where I was." "Oh," he nodded. The tape was thick and the chair tied out to the main fixtures of the structure. The Waiting Bear had shown her a great deal of respect and this changed his opinion of her. “He really didn't want you go anywhere, did he?" He turned back to her. She ignored him, "he's got radio equipment and weapons. I don't know where, if anywhere, he's heading." As she spoke his mic came alive with reports from his team. The dogs had picked up a scent. Well, at least things were to get interesting. “Keep on it,” he replied to the request then turned to his partner, “the dogs picked up a scent.” His partner looked at him briefly knowing full well what was happening since he, too, had a mic, it was more for her benefit. He turned to her and was put a little on edge at how she now looked at him. Something had changed and instead of hatred in her glare she looked at him…as if she knew him…as if she knew who he was. But their paths had never crossed and he knew nothing about her. This mission was getting weirder by the second. “You gonna bring him in alive?” Why would she ask that? He crossed the room studying her. She was beautiful, but then few people in this line of work weren’t. And she was important…to both Joshua and the Waiting Bear. “We’re under orders to allow you to get on that chopper and head out. I suggest you not wait around because orders like that change pretty frequently.” She was amused with him. She did not consider him a threat knowing full well the extent of the safety net Joshua protected her with. He could see she wished to entertain herself more at the expense of himself, but she dismissed him. “Point taken,” she said evenly. “Ok, team two,” and he pretended to dismiss her. As soon as her back was turned to head to the chopper he studied her again. He would have to ask more about her. Certainly his level of access into Section’s databases would give him something to work with. Then again, he had a feeling he’d be seeing her again. Probably around the time Waiting Bear was captured. The level four Section op turned his attention to the matter at hand. He had a hunt, an elusive quarry, but an obtainable one. He, after all like so many hunters, had a distinct advantage… ----------------------------------------- Outside Newton, NJ 2300 hours, 24 June, 2008 He drempt. ----------------------------------------- A boy man, man boy, He couldn’t really be sure. This person looked like him, he thought, but different. Mediterranean, for sure, perhaps Palestinian. But that wasn’t right. He was supposed to be Mediterranean, but infused with Native American and Spanish blood as well. Nevertheless, this boy man, man boy, was most probably Palestinian. At least he was handsome, in a rugged, young man, poor man, kind of way. Which wasn’t very handsome, after all. But there was a beauty there, he was sure, trying to shine through. The boy man, man boy was dirty. Not like he’d just been playing in the dirt, so much, as that he’d been outside for weeks on end, and the grime had just accumulated. And no wonder. There were the sheep he was herding, living with, guarding with his life and his sling against the bears and lions. Indeed, there came one now, crouched low, slinking around the bend in the cliff. “WAKE UP!” He tried to scream, but no sound came forth. “The lion’s almost on you! He’ll kill you and the sheep.” The boy man, man boy, didn’t hear him, didn’t hear the lion. Suddenly, the ram bleated a warning, and the boy was on his feet, sling twirling, smooth rock lodged in the pouch. He ran as he twirled, charging straight at the monstrous beast with a blood curdling war cry. Well, it wasn’t that much, but he really wanted it to be, and his blood boiled, at any rate, at the thought that this beast threatened his charges. He was within range, the beast crouched, turned toward him, ready to spring. One, two, three spins, and release . . . The rock flew true, as though guided by an invisible hand, smashed into the lion’s snout, almost knocking it over. Stunned, surprised, and pained at the attack from the invisible striker, the lion turned with a yowl to run after easier prey. But then there was another sound behind him, the man, the king, who kept coming back with the spear, intent on killing him to keep him from what had been granted him by God. . . ------------------------------------------ A black clad figure lay in a restless, but none-the-less unconcious repose, the implements of destruction securely attached to his clothes belying the composure of his posture. He lay still, breathing evenly, deeply, as one truly asleep, for truly asleep he was, though dreaming. Had been that way for the past two hours. It was to be the deep slumber of the truly worn out, but of the one who’s body and mind knew it might be called upon to act at any moment. Yet it was disturbed. Usually was, the first night out. And the moment had come. A sound behind him, the movement of a human. In an instant the small, thin man snapped to full wakefulness and attention, turned over to his belly, his pistol drawn and aimed dead at the approaching operative, also dressed in black. “Carlos, it’s just me, William. My watch's up.” The man spoke in a strained and very quiet whisper, but Carlos Sanches, his sleep ended, heard the man well enough. The ear piece helped, of course. He eased his finger away from the trigger, made sure the safety was back on, and holstered the weapon. His only response to the other was a curt nod, and he crawled off to the OP. Two hours he would wait and watch, and then wake the next operative to take the watch. For all the good it would do. There wasn’t much you COULD do against this opponent, under these conditions. He was in his element, their quarry, and they hunted him on his own turf. For all the traps and noisemaking alarms they’d distributed around their camp, the target could simply spot them all in turn, disarm them, and move in for the kill. You almost might as well save him the trouble. But then, if you failed in your attempt on your own life your owners would make sure you didn’t get another chance until they’d inflicted great pain and suffering upon you for trying, and then the death they allowed would be far more ignominious than what the quarry might inflict, should he succeed. And he might not, after all. He was on the run, on the defensive, and his priority would be escape and evasion rather than hunting the hunters. And the hunters were the best, the most professional available. Particularly Carlos Sanches, who now assumed the watch, sitting in a cross legged sniper’s position, the colt commando resting loosely against his shoulder, his eyes darting about the darkness beyond the hidden and quickly improvised camp. Yes, he had become the best, some estimating him to be of the same caliber as the greats, Michael, Nikita, Jergen, Joshua. He didn’t much care, so long as he was alive and had options, few and undesirable as they might be. But he’d gotten good enough to be chosen for this mission, anyway, under training from the best, beginning with training from Kihn Waiting Bear, Captain, U.S. Army, 3rd Special Forces Group. The Native American scout/Green Beret came on a TDY, and not under the best of relations with SOCOM, it seemed, but he was there to train elements of the Police of Puerto Rico in their counter narcotics and counter terrorism operations. Carlos was one of his first, and best students, and he taught him all he could before being permanently removed from that station, and from Carlos’ life. By the time Kihn left, though, Carlos was judged to be proficient enough in clandestine and covert operations to penetrate a particularly impenetrable cell of Los Macheteros under deep cover. As in all things, he’d done so well pretending to be a terrorist that by the time the police finally took down the cell, primarily due to the quality intel he’d fed them, they were convinced he’d turned. His sentence was the same as that of the terrorists, death. It had been served, but not by the Puerto Rican government. Section 4 had reached him first, and baptized him, through a death of training, into a new life as their up and coming assasin and operative. Now the mission was simple, but extremely difficult. He was to retrieve or neutralize the man that had trained him too well, so well that he’d been snatched up by the wolves in dogs clothing, and turned into one of them, Carlos reflected with a mild resentment. Sure, they’d done a good job of the dog’s clothing part. Deception was their game, deceiving their operatives, their enemies, and even Oversight. But when you learned from experience to be deceptive in your appearance, you also learned to see through others’ deceptions. Carlos had seen through the dogs clothing soon after advancing to level 2. Sure, they’d given the nice places to live, progressively nicer as he’d advanced in rank. They’d even removed the surveillance when he’d prooven it futile, systematically disarming all their devices. Then there were the rides, the pay, reasonable hours given the job, and an unbeatable benefits package. He even got dental! But when all was said and done, Carlos knew he was nothing more than a well equipped slave. If his performance dropped by so many percentage points, he’d be canceled as quickly as a lame ox, and with about the same amount of regret from his owners. But this, it seemed, was his place in life. At least he could still prove his worth to his owners, and they might keep him alive, in good shape, and busy. It wasn’t a bad slavery, all things considered. The night wore on toward the end of his watch. There was nothing to do, and nothing to watch, but one had to remain alert. If Kihn DID decide to turn the tables and start hunting them, their only chance was that Carlos, or whomever was on watch, would spot him in time and get off a lucky shot. And so he watched. He watched the owl gliding among the trees, the squirrel up for a midnight snack, the few other animals, and even the ants. And he kept thinking. One did a lot of that when on watch. Ziklag. That was the name of the mission. It was drawn from the book of 2nd Samuel, the account of one of David’s exploits as commander of the rebel armies of Israel before he’d become King in reality. King Saul insisted, for the umpteenth time on trying to hunt down and kill his apprentice and successor, the former Shepherd boy turned army commander, David son of Jesse. David, in turn, fled to the hills of his childhood. There, an army of insurgents gathered to him, and they became a force to be reckoned with. Unwelcome in their native areas of Palestine, they moved in with a sympathetic Philistine king, setting up house in Ziklag. After being thwarted in an attempt to fight alongside their Philistine hosts, David and his men returned to Ziklag. After the three day march they found their city burnt to the ground, their wives, children, and possessions stolen. After a day of mourning, exhausting themselves, and an attempt on David's life for getting them into this, the rebel army took heart and pursued the kidnappers. Several more days, and half the original army overtook the perpetrators, took them out, and re-took possession of their wives other stolen goods. And so, as with the inhabitants of Ziklag, Carlos and his team were to pursue, overtake, and overcome Kihn Waiting Bear, the rogue operative and thief of a wealth of top secret and extremely dangerous intelligence on Section 1. He’d learned enough from Kihn, refined by Section 4, to catch the man, Carlos believed. Bringing him in might be another matter. They had not only to follow his trail, which Carlos had been able to do, barely, but also to catch up to their quarry, and have enough left to capture him at the end. Carlos shook his head almost imperceptibly. His team was tired. They were nothing to laugh at, not even approaching the abeyance list. They were all proficient level 2 or 3 ops in good standing, in fact. But they weren’t infantry soldiers, much less rangers. Nor was Carlos, come to think of it, but he'd picked up the ethos from Kihn. But the others were, first and foremost, counter terrorists. They were used to storming buildings, doing acts of sabotage, killing, and getting out within ten minutes. Some of them had been undercover for more lengthy periods, getting close to wealthy dealers in arms and terror and the like. But for the most part their areas of operation were urban to sub-urban, not rural. They were most certainly not used to humping up and down the New England country side, dodging shadow bullets from a ghost of an enemy, while trying their hardest to track the owl that didn’t seem to leave a trail. George was the one exception, having grown up in the smokies, walking everywhere and hunting with his pa. He could have been chosen for Carlos’ position, but didn’t have the natural leadership ability or the personal knowledge of their target. The team held on well and would continue, but he’d have to be careful not to burn them out before they caught up with Kihn. They would move on as soon as there was enough light to find the few tracks the target had left. Night vision equipment wasn’t all that suitable for such work. He had an idea where Kihn was going, at least in the immediate future. They'd run in something like a complete circle, and were now almost across from the Ranger Station where they’d begun. He would probably lead them off on a southward tangent to this loop, then backtrack and take off to the north or west. But there was no real way of knowing, and if they tried to cut him off and were wrong, it could be days before they’d pick up his trail again. Thus, laborious and futile as it seemed, they had to stay with him through thick and thin. At least they’d all learn something from the experience, if they lived through it. Such was the life of the shepherd, and of the soldier. Return