Soldier to Slave
140 miles north of Newton, NJ 0600 hours, 25th of June, 2008 The drizzle had long since faded from their consciousness as they continued to pick their way among the trees and undergrowth. It was a struggle to remain alert; following the ever so slight trail, watching out for trip wires, ambushes, or signs of possible sniper activity. It was all the more difficult for those who's attention was not focused entirely on finding the trail, i.e. Everyone except Carlos. The tendency was to fall into an easy rhythm, just hiking along staring at the feet of the man in front of you. That was a good way to get one's self killed, right after the man in front of you went down. The frequent stops to find a lost trail, followed by sprints after the dogs, which remained on leash, helped. Even so, combined with the body numbing chill, and the clothing penetrating moisture, the demand for mental alertness brought a fatigue far beyond that of the hike itself. Section had trained each of the team members well, however, hammered into them a kind of toughness that allowed them to push themselves, to endure, to keep on keeping on in the face of undesirable conditions. They'd learned Carlos' rhythm that was not a rhythm, which is to say they were learning Kihn's. He hadn't had to correct their movement so much in the last few hours. They would be all right, if anyone would be. He heard it coming a moment before it hit, and training kicked in. The others were only a little slow responding to his hand signal to halt, but they did so, crouching in the soft ground, now beginning to turn to mud, waiting for further orders. When he tore open his pack and yanked out his rain parka they gave him questioning looks, but did likewise anyway. He calculated he had his on two second before the downpour hit, zipped up just in time to keep from getting well and truly soaked. Yes, he was wet, but the extra layer would trap body heat and maintain his body core temperature, staving off hypothermia. The others would have to do likewise, or they'd have problems worse than their prey turning predator, to worry about. For the first time in three hours he spoke, barking the command to hurry. The others, startled into action by the unexpected noise, complied in record time. They moved on. The tracks would be washed away quickly in the rain, so to keep with it they had to hurry, as dangerous as that might be. All the while the rain continued to pelt them, soaking anything not enclosed in a waterproof barrier, and making the footing all the more hazardous. The men soldiered on without a word, not even a despondent look. They were beyond caring. If this continued as long as he expected it would, Carlos reflected, they'd move on to the next stage, beyond numbness to acceptance. They would become part of this land, this weather, and it a part of them, just as Kihn was. They would lose what remained of their “civilized” natures, becoming as the wild things, comfortable in the wild. Eventually they'd even regain a sense of humor regarding it all, but for now it was enough that they followed dutifully, remaining on guard. His thoughts were quickly interrupted as the dogs plunged over the edge of the embankment, sliding uncontrollably downward in the mud. There was nothing else for it, as they had to stay on the trail, and Carlos plunged after them, the others following. He quickly fell to his rear, choosing to slide, feet first, using his hands in the mud to steer. If he hit something, at least it would be with his feet, and not his head or other vital areas. Hopefully he could control his landing. Had Kihn taught him the technique? He couldn't quite recall for sure, as he barely avoided a sharp rock sticking up out of the chute down which he shot, but it seemed likely. As he found a good line and secured his mud covered projectile body in it, Carlos realized that the resentment of Kihn for training him so well had faded somewhat. True, the training had landed him in prison and then this slavery called Section 4. It had also kept him alive on many occasions, such as this one, and even gained him rank, privilege, and prestige. He found himself mentally thanking his target for a moment, before he banished the thoughts. Kihn Waiting Bear had turned rogue, might sell vital intelligence to the enemy. That intelligence could compromise himself and others of his colleagues. Carlos would either take Kihn in, or take him out, their prior relationship notwithstanding. Hopefully he would do so before Kihn managed to do too much damage to the western intelligence and special operations community. They landed in a heap at the bottom, all vestiges of control lost, and checked themselves over for serious wounds. In the action, the adrenalin of the moment, it would be easy to sustain a serious injury and not be aware of it. The rain complicated things, as you couldn't feel for wet spots indicative of blood, if the whole body was wet anyway. That meant they had to use flashlights, being under a canopy as they were, and early in the morning. This was, of course, a dangerous proposition with someone such as Kihn about. One of them maintained the presence of mind, and soundness of body to look outward for potential attack. All were well, and they continued, stepping out into the open before they realized the fall had nearly taken them out onto the interstate. The stop was abrupt as they all dove for cover in the ditch, knowing they'd be pinned down if Kihn were waiting in ambush. At least they might live long enough to call for re-enforcements, under the cover of the bank. Again, nothing happened. The possibility of a threat, where none ever seemed to present itself, was beginning to annoy. All of them would have preferred a shootout about now. In that they'd have a fair chance of success. But always waiting for the hammer to fall, without ever seeing it or being able to do anything to stop it; it could drive a person insane. After several moments of scanning the surrounding hills and mountain sides Carlos ventured, alone, out onto the highway. Traffic was sparse, and not a concern. He looked around, pointedly leaving his mind blank. A search for someone who wanted to be found could be systematic, but when it came to a quarry like Kihn, you had to remain open to options usually not considered. The dogs had led them here, Carlos verifying the Kihn sign along the scent trail he'd left. Now he'd brought them to the highway. Obviously it would be difficult to follow a trail here, but everything that moves leaves a trail. He just had to see it. It was all about seeing; seeing as a hunter, as a wild thing, whatever didn't belong in the environment. Wild things rarely focused, rarely formed expectations. So, instead, he just scanned up and down the road, in and out, near and far, as the dogs milled about, sniffing in frustration. Finally he saw it just to the left of the area on which the dogs seemed to be concentrating. A couple tire tracks, where a heavy vehicle had skidded a short distance before stopping in the road. He bent down, examining the tread marks and the area just around them. There, near the front of the track, nestled between muddy dog footprints, there remained the last vestige of a trace of a quarter of what could be a rubber soled moccasin track. It was enough. Carlos rose upright, signaling his people out of the ditch and up to a somewhat less wet hillock beside the road. They positioned themselves in a tight perimeter as he faced south where Kihn had gone, pulling out his cell phone. The hidden Section earpiece communicators were great for short range communications, as with one's own team mates, or a nearby mobile command post. A van would not have been suitable on this sort of mission, however, and with all its powers, Section still couldn't, or wouldn't commandeer an AWACS with fuel tankers for multiple days of searching. “Pizza Hut. May I take your order?” “This is David, Ziklag, insecure line. I want the manager.” “Uh, right. Hold on.” An interminable pause ensued, while Carlos reflected on the pattern of rain water flowing off the sleeve of his parka. Finally, the all too familiar voice came over the line. “What is it? You know the conditions.” “Yes sir. We're in the middle of no where with limited coms.” “And?” “Subject picked up a mid-sized transport, as used for moving furniture, between 2000 and 2300 hours last night. They headed south. I'm sure you've traced my signal, so you know where we are, and where he was. We need intell and transport to follow.” He couldn't be sure, the mouthpiece had been moved, covered, or both on the other end, but he thought he heard muttered curses. He waited silently. It wouldn't do to accidentally anger their commander when he was in one of these moods. “All right. Hang up and wait one. We'll put through a more secure connection when we have something for you.” Carlos flicked the phone shut and sloshed back to where his team waited. “All right people, here's the deal. Kihn's headed south in a vehicle. We can't track it from here, so we're waiting for Birky and Josh to do their thing. If they pick him up they'll probably send transport for us.” The others shifted uncomfortably, searching the hills with renewed concern, checking their ammo reserves, untouched to this point. He couldn't blame them. A couple hours was quite a while for them to last on the ammo they'd brought, should Kihn attack repeatedly. But Kihn would not attack now, Carlos knew. “Look, guys, relax. We aren't in any danger now.” Some of them turned to regard him doubtfully, others continuing to scan the hills. Unfortunately, it seemed, he'd have to explain to them. Otherwise, their moral would drop even more, something he couldn't afford. “We have at least an hour to wait. If Kihn wanted us dead, we'd know it by now. His primary concern is to avoid contact. Second, to lose us. Third, to put distance between us. Last night he boarded a motorized transport southward, and he'll keep going for a while. You have nothing to fear from him. I strongly recommend you eat and sleep while you can.” Another pointed examination of each face to determine how they would do showed him doubt turned to awe as they gained an appreciation for his tracking skills and knowledge of their target. He'd done what he could for them, now it was time for himself. He munched a cliff bar, made sure he'd dropped no crumbs, stuffed the wrapper in a pocket, and lay back against his pack. His cap pulled down over his face, in five minutes he was asleep, rain and all. -------------------------------- He was awakened ten minutes later by a vibration in one of his chest pockets, and after a moment to identify it, pulled out his cell. Only a couple people had the number. Only a couple needed it. The vibration was also set differently for the two numbers. “Yes sir?” “The line is secure. The truck slowed just north of a used car dealership, about 120 miles south of you, at 2100 hours last night. Someone fell out. We can't get a positive ID, but are assuming it was Kihn. The chopper will be on you in 30 minutes. They'll have additional supplies. At the dealership, you find him, and do what you have to from there, including securing your own transport. You're on assignment for the duration. Understood?” “Yes sir.” The line went dead, and Carlos shut the phone, looking around. He'd long since come to accept the lack of warmth in the commander's manner, and no longer thought or felt concerning it. The rain had lessoned. Several of the others were still asleep, but a couple watched him, awaiting news, orders, anything to break up the monotony. They would learn the rhythm of the place, how to wait on the weather, on the transport. It might take a couple of days, but they would learn, and then an hour spent staring into the rain would be as nothing to them. “Transport's on its way.” There really wasn't anything more they needed to know. The chopper's approach would awake him, and if not, one of the others, being awake, would do the job. Carlos lay back, pulled his hat back down, and went back to sleep. Return