THERE BE DRAGONS (20 page)

“Help from whom?”

“Could I be seeking some kind of reconciliation with the Great I Am, since the probabilities of my death are great? Isn’t that an easy out, to wait until your deathbed to start believing? Faith built on fear. Would God accept someone who found him that way? Someone who was desperate, maybe covering his bases just in case he had been wrong all his life?”

“God will accept you anytime … I know.”

Jacobs didn’t even acknowledge the statement. “Not so long ago I was wishing death upon myself … now I’m afraid of it? That’s a dramatic shift. How have I come to this? It must be the war. Not the dragons. Not Diaz or Stephens … but the war. Seeing men die … and killing men, really makes you consider mortality, to look at it in more detail.” Jacobs’s brow furrowed. “I need to stop wasting energy thinking about all of this. My energy would be better spent fighting. If I’m afraid to die … then I will fight to make sure I don’t.”

“I have done what you wonder.” His voice was very weak now.

“What have you done, Grandfather?” asked Jacobs as he moved closer.

“I have … on my death bed … given my life to God.” He smiled and then he died.

Jacobs looked to the doorway. He saw himself standing with his mom. He was only ten years old.

• • • • •

The sampan came to a stop and Cowboy ducked into the covered section. He spoke to Moore, who then turned to the rest of the team and said, “This is where we get off, gentlemen.”

The men disembarked. They jumped upwards onto the bank. The orange soil that formed the edge of the land broke free as their boots touched down. It fell into the water and clouded.

Cowboy was still on the boat when Moore handed him the rest of his pay.

The Vietnamese man counted all his new transcontinental cash. Once he’d finished the math, he pulled the revolver from his waist pointed it at the agent and started to shout.

All the men readied their weapons, looked down their sights and kept aim on the hostile.

Moore shouted back at Cowboy. His CAR-15 hanging from his shoulder, untouched. He gestured with a open palm for Cowboy to lower the pistol.

Stephens started to walk forward. He cross-stepped slowly towards them. His rifle was held tight and the safety was off. “What is he shouting, Moore?” he asked.

“He wants more money, to cover the loss of his friend. If we don’t pay, he won’t wait here for us. He says he’ll leave us stranded.”

Stephens shot Cowboy through his tattered hat. Blood dyed it and his body fell into the river with a splash.

Moore turned to face Stephens.

The rest of the team lowered their weapons.

Diaz shook his head.

“What are you doing, Sergeant?” shouted Moore.

“Securing our ride home. Now we’ll have the boat waiting here for us.”

Moore went to speak but stumbled over his words. He made a noise but it wasn’t language.

“Agent Moore, which way?” asked Stephens.

Moore removed his map, consulted it, and pointed through the trees, due north.

“Okay, Diaz, get on point. Listen to Moore. Let’s find this place,” said Stephens.

They started to walk.

Diaz cut a path with his machete.

Moore was ten yards behind him, reviewing the map again.

Stephens was ten behind him; ten yards separated all the men. Jackson was at the rear, same routine as ever.

“Agent Moore?” said Stephens as he continued to walk.

“Yes.” Moore didn’t look back. He placed his map back into his chest pocket.

“Do we need to call our position in?”

“No. Radio silence, unless I order it. Okay?”

“Sure, this is your party.”

“You did the right thing with that Cowboy. It just shocked me,” admitted Moore.

“I know I did. Why did it shock you, though?”

“Are you used to killing?” asked Moore.

“Yeah, nothing to it.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Kinda.”

Moore swallowed. “I can’t seem to …”

“You have killed, and killed well. I saw you kill those NVA soldiers, the ones on the boat.”

“Yes, but did you see my reaction to the incident in our sampan?”

“You mean the throat cutting?” asked Stephens.

“Yes.”

“First of all, you’re right, it’s an incident. It ain’t an event. Killing at distance is easier. Killing up close is difficult for most … at first. But like everything, it becomes easier. Like the way my practice with the bow made shooting an arrow as simple as breathing.”

“Killing can be as simple as breathing?” asked Moore.

“Yeah. When you shot those guys on the boat, was it not simple? It wasn’t emotionally or psychologically complicated. You didn’t have to justify it to yourself, to someone else, like a superior, or to a god, you just did it. You can try and justify it if you like, but that has to be done carefully, and in the right way.”

“What is the right way?” asked Moore.

“If you tell yourself, it’s him or me. I guess that is justification. I believe that’s what most people use at first,” said Stephens.

“But it evolves?”

“Yes, just like everything does. I have no doubt that when a serial killer kills for the first time it ain’t easy, or efficient. But I can assure you, the next time will be easier.”

“Why do I still feel repulsion up close?”

“The same reason,” said Stephens. “You just haven’t slaughtered enough people at that range. The distance kill is the eating of the burger, the close kill is the butchery of the cow.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” admitted Moore.

“You expect to be killing many men in close on this mission?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“You leave that to me, remember? You just enjoy the burger for now. I’ll teach you how to create it another time.”

Diaz came to a stop and signaled. They all knelt. He turned back to Moore. “I’m guessing this is the right place, but I don’t like it,” he said.

“Don’t like what?” Teacher called forward.

“Keep your mouth shut, Private,” ordered Stephens.

“Sergeant, come with me,” said Moore.

The agent stood and walked forward. Stephens did the same.

• • • • •

Stephens and Moore exited the jungle. Before them was a drop from a cliff they now stood on. At the bottom of what looked like a hundred-foot fall was a river and over the river joining their cliff to another one, was a rope bridge.

It sagged in the middle and was ready to collapse. The main cable was about a foot around with two thin guide ropes at shoulder height securing it with strands of line, like cables on a suspension bridge. Some of the guides had parted, some had rot and hung from the hawser.

“Lemme guess, this is what Diaz doesn’t like the look of?” asked Stephens.

“We need to cross this bridge,” said Moore.

“It ain’t gonna to be easy, what with the gear we’re carrying,” said Stephens.

“We will drop all non-essentials. Leave them at this side of the bridge and collect them on our way back.”

“Okay, let’s break the news to the men.”

• • • • •

They were back into the jungle, down low and had called the team around.

“What we have here, men,” started Stephens, “is a rope bridge. It links this side to the other. We need to cross this bridge, but it doesn’t look in the best of shape. So we’re gonna leave all non-essential equipment here. We cross with the lightest possible weight on us.”

“What if you’re a heavyweight yourself?” asked Cage.

“It will hold,” said Stephens.

“Okay, Sarge.” Cage didn’t look convinced.

“Nothing can hold the weight of Cage. The Earth has enough trouble with carrying his bulk.” Teacher laughed.

“Shut up, Private,” snapped Stephens.

“Yes, Sarge.” Teacher stopped his laughter.

“Let’s get dropping the shopping, and crossing the dropping,” ordered Stephens.

• • • • •

Jacobs opened his eyes to find he was stood upright, his wrists tied to metal bedsprings. His back resting on the rusty bed, which stood tilted against a wall in the hut. He was dripping wet. The liquid ran down his face. His shirt was gone.

He looked to his left and saw NVA Torturer stood by a generator. The wires of which led to a black metal plate that was fixed to Jacobs’s chest.

He looked to the front and saw Dragon Master standing with a smile on his face. He was next to one of the jugs of water that had been used yesterday.

Then Jacobs began to spasm.

NVA Torturer had turned the dial that sent the current racing down the wires, into the metal of the bed and of the plate.

Jacobs’s body jerked uncontrollably. His jaw clamped shut. His teeth just barely missed his tongue. As he convulsed, the bed cut into his back and his vision started to … clear.

The clarity spread from the center of his eyes until only a blur remained around the edge of the scene, around the edge of Dragon Master.

Jacobs’s body went limp and he felt a pull at his wrists from the binding.

The current had stopped. He slowly raised his head to Dragon Master.

“I asked for a wake-up call at 0600,” began Jacobs, his words sputtering through exhaustion, “you are half an hour late. I’d like to speak to your manager.”

Dragon Master removed a knife from his belt and stepped closer to Jacobs. He held the blade in front of Jacobs’s eyes.

Jacobs could see his reflection in the blade. The state of his appearance shocked him.

“You think you’re funny?” asked Dragon Master.

“I don’t think, I know. Ask Lynch,” said Jacobs.

“Do you know your name?”

“Yes, of course I know my name. I’d be an idiot if I didn’t.”

“Tell me your name, funny man.”

“How did you guess?”

“Guess what?”

“My name.”

“I don’t understand,” said Dragon Master.

“My name … it is … Funny Man. You are very good at name guessing.” Jacobs smiled.

Dragon Master screamed with frustration and drew the knife’s blade over Jacobs’s chest.

Blood ran. Jacobs held back a scream. He held it back for the entire run of the line of red.

He let out a breath when Dragon Master stepped away from him, the knife dripping blood onto the floor of the hut.

NVA Torturer turned the dial, this time farther.

Jacobs’s body arched, twisted and bent into uncontrollable shapes. It bounced from the bed, each time stabbing his back. His eyes began to roll. He shut them. But he couldn’t hold them there. The movement of his bulk as it scrapped over the rust forced them open.

Again his body fell. He hung with his face pointed low, but not for long. Dragon Master lifted it, by a pull on an ear.

The knife was alive again and it worked on Jacobs’s body, this time it cut over his bicep. He could taste the metallic tinge of blood in his mouth, even though none was within. He could feel the run of a red globule as it rushed over the skin of his limb and found rest in his armpit.

Blade left flesh and electricity surged into him.

He foamed at the corners of his mouth. It simmered and effervesced there before it started to fling from him. Some landed by his eye. He could see it roll out of view and through the blur, as his body vehemently kangarooed in another direction.

They let this shocking experience last longer than the others. He could smell and feel the burn from his back. He was being slowly cooked alive. His body distorted and deformed any which way it wanted to strain.

The shocking stopped, and his body hung flaccid. He felt the knife part the skin on his left cheek.

“Moses is a Russian, Diaz, and he has the edge of steel to create a miracle, the parting of a blood red sea.” He looked at the thatched ceiling. “Please Jesus, help me!” Jacobs cried out.

The knife left his face. He could feel the breath of Dragon Master on him as he spoke. “Your Messiah will not help you. You may call him the Savior, but he can’t save you now. I am the only one who can stop your suffering. But I don’t choose to do that. I wish for it to continue. Let us carry on with a torture that will be familiar to your God … Funny Man.”

• • • • •

The platoon had removed what little gear they could. They were in the clearing near the cliff’s edge.

“Wow. Cage, you’re a dead man.” Teacher spat over the edge.

Cage grabbed ahold of him and pushed him towards the fall somewhat.

“Are you crazy?” shouted Teacher.

“You need to gimme space, Private. Stop all this teasing,” threatened Cage.

“I’m just being realistic. Have you seen this?” asked Teacher. He walked to one of the two pillars that anchored the bridge.