Harlan, Iowa
Earlier...
The unmarked, modified Blackhawk slowed, nearing the drop off
point. There was nothing but dazzling blue sky above in every
direction, and the patchwork of fields below in multi-colored
rectangles of brown, green and burnt yellow stretching towards the far
horizons broken only by the criss-crossing straight roads of gravel,
dirt and worn asphalt. The sun shown brightly, wispy and
bloated, just starting its downward arch. A flock of crows
scattered at the plane’s passing as the muted roar of jet
engines caught up to the slowing fighter.
{Thirty seconds to VTOL.}
Lieutenant Colonel (Reserve) Valentina Vostok turned her face from the
cool window at the staticky announcement that played over the
plane’s intercom. She shivered, feeling a chill in
the stripped down storage area behind the pilot’s station and
cockpit. She adjusted the helmet that she had been told to
wear, checking the oxygen feed before tapping at the radio.
There was barely room to move her arms in the small storage space that
had been provided for her swift transport from Minsk, and even less to
do during the six hour flight in the modified jet fighter.
She was cold and tired and almost ready to scream as sleep turned to
miles of gray ocean into a rolling tapestry of dull earth.
“What?” she asked, adjusting the gain, tapping the
side of her over-sized helmet.
{Initiating VTOL,} the garbled
voice said, piercing through her brain
with a squeal of reverberation. {Contact
sighted.
Beacon terminated: 10:42 GMT.}
Vostok ignored the voice that would not respond anyway. In
the short, fast flight from Minsk, the Blackhawk had said nothing
beyond what he needed to say to fulfill his task. Which was
just as well she had decided as she had drifted off to sleep.
She was so tired and wasted from the stress. She had welcomed
the short nap, and would have simply been annoyed if the old warrior
had been talkative.
She glanced out of the thin slatted window and smiled to see the
bronzed and dented form of the man that she had come so far to
find. Cliff Steele stood some ten yards beyond the landing
zone, his long coat blowing in the back draft as the plane landed, the
force of the VTOL technology blowing down the endless rows of corn for
yards in circumference. He looked up to see her, his metallic
face unchanging as he nodded silent greeting. She waved in
return.
{Systems powering down. Hold on
Colonel, and I’ll
open your compartment.}
It seemed to take forever, and Valentina Vostok was ready to burst when
she finally heard the outer studs being removed, a second after the
last the panel pulled away to reveal the Robot Man and the Blackhawk
standing in the glare of sunlight. She blinked, her eyed
watering as she fumbled with the safety harness that held her securely
in place.
“Sorry for the tight fit,” Janos Prohaska said as
he leaned in to help undo the straps that Vostok could not get
to. “I was against this, but when the Wall calls,
even I jump. I just hope we’re in time.
That it was worth it.”
“I also, General,” Vostok said as he helped her
from the rear compartment. She staggered a bit, wincing as
her leg had fallen asleep during the flight, and she shuffled about,
waiting for feeling to return as Cliff Steel approached.
“Janos,” Steele said, extending his metal hand,
which the Blackhawk took without hesitation and shook.
“It’s been awhile.”
“Indeed my old friend. It’s good to see
you again.”
“Likewise. I hope we can get t’gether
after all this, maybe throw back a few; forty weight an’
one-fifty one.”
Vostok saw the old man smile, shaking his head.
“Alas, no. Dear Amanda has another mission for me,
and all too soon. Seems old soldiers never die, but they
become errand boys and chauffeurs.”
“Don’t sweat it, pal,” Steele said,
watching Vostok as she stretched and twirled her foot.
“Good t’ see you too, Val.”
“And you Cliff.” Vostok stood, testing
her footing. The numbness had fallen away to a dull
tingle. “Is he near?”
“He was.” Vostok heard the sounds of
gears and grinding metal as the Robot Man shrugged.
“At least when I left. About ten minutes by the
Hummer. If I knew you was comin’ in the
‘Hawk I’d a beaconed closer t’ the
scene.”
“Last minute decision,” Prohaska said as he ran
through the post/pre flight check. “They considered
the Blackbird, but figured this would be faster. Should I
ask…”
“Better ya don’t,” Steele said, shrugging
again. “Need ta know shit, an’ all
that.”
“Good enough.” The Blackhawk turned to
Vostok then, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight and just for a
moment Valentina Vostok saw the man that he had once been.
“You have your gear, Colonel?”
“Yes, General. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. Clifford, good to see you
again. Next time…”
“Definitely,” Steele said, shaking hands with the
old man again.
They watched silently as the Blackhawk finished final preps quickly and
reboarded the plane. Within seconds the pressers were blowing
and forcing the plane skyward again. Soon, the Blackhawk was
a dot that vanished over the horizon.
“Good man,” Steele said, half turning to Vostok.
“I agree,” Valentina said, scanning the surrounding
area. She saw the military transport about a dozen yards
away. “we should go.”
“Yeah.”
It was a short drive to the farm, less than the ten minutes that Cliff
Steele had quoted. The road – such as it was
– was unerringly straight and flat, the side road just a few
miles away and only slightly less kept, meaning bumpy and full of ruts
and potholes.
She saw the barns first; two of them, one far larger than the other and
both painted a pale, peeling gray unlike the red that the books always
noted. She saw farm equipment as well, and a silo in the
distance, a windmill that was missing blades. As they got
closer she saw the three-story house with a garage attached.
Huge trees were scattered in the yard about the house, a tire swing
dangling from the sturdy limbs of one. There was a small
shack even further in the background; a shed or outhouse she was not
certain. The entire scene would have been stereotypical and
idyllic but for the overwhelming military presence.
There was at least one full squad of Black Ops Marines scattered about
the farm’s property. All were dressed in field gear
of flak vest and concussion helmet. They carried various
weapons, though most had the standard M-16. There were three
stationed snipers that she spotted in the obvious places, which meant
that there were at least three more that she could not see
outright. Too, there was a Fire Troop by one of the
transports, speaking with the man commanding the operation.
As though any of that could hurt Rajas…
Steele drove his vehicle right up to the transport, and the commander
– a colonel by the looks of his epaulets – and spun
the Hummer to the side. Vostok saw the colonel pale, then
redden as he started forward, obviously annoyed.
“I don’t care who you are,” the colonel
started, angered and pointing his finger at the darkened windows,
“you do not – “
The colonel stopped in mid-sentence as Valentina Vostok stepped from
the cab of the Hummer. She had once been considered
beautiful, and she kept her body firm and taut, however the bandages
that covered her skin from head to toe distracted. To those
that had not seen her before, it was a shock. Vostok did not
care so much anymore.
“Colonel Martin, Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok
– Reserves of the Russian Federation,” Steele said,
getting out himself. It was hard to tell, but the Robot Man
almost sounded amused.
Colonel Martin stuttered a bit as Vostok stepped forward.
“Status, Colonel?” She ignored
protocol. There was no time really.
“He…” the colonel’s voice
cracked as he turned towards the larger of the two barns.
“He’s inside. Hasn’t moved
since we arrived. Hasn’t even blinked.
We’ve called the JSA. He used to be their
problem. We have spotters – “
“He’s mine now. Call your men back,
colonel. They will no longer be necessary. Thank
you.”
“Now hold on – “
Cliff Steele flashed his I.D. and the colonel went silent and pale
again, obviously fuming and angered. Vostok did not care as
she dropped her shoulder bag and started towards the barn.
“Val?”
“I’ll be fine, Cliff. He won’t
harm me.”
“I’ll be here.”
Vostok felt the lump in her throat as she glanced back. She
tried to say thank you.
The spotter ran out as she neared the barn. A woman dressed
in flak with an over-loaded belt of accouterments. The woman
hesitated to see Vostok, not knowing whether to salute or not, and
Valentina waved her away and stepped into the barn.
The stench hit her first; old and decayed, spoiled meat left too long
in the heat. It was horrible, and immediately her stomach
roiled as she stepped within the confines of the barn. With a
hand to her mouth, she gasped.
There were metal hooks dangling on rusting chain hanging from the high
rafters of the barn. On each was a piece of meat, browned and
green in some cases, yet each dripped blood as though freshly
cut. Maggots squirmed in each chunk, white and slick and
blind. Each piece pulsed in rhythm to a thumping
‘whump’. A heartbeat that seemed to echo
within the confines of the barn that was otherwise deathly still.
She saw Rajas there right away.
No, she thought, not Rajas.
It was the Spectre.
He stood in the center of the barn, blood dripping about him, the
pulsing meat seeming to writhe in his presence. He looked as
she had last seen him; pale skin of chalk draped in verdant
green. His back was too her, and he seemed to be sagging
almost, as though regretting what he had done.
“Thirty-two…”
Vostok licked her lips and stepped deeper into the darkness.
“What?” she asked. She saw an eye
hanging, balanced on the point of a hook, turning about and
aware. She felt her gorge rise.
“They killed thirty-two over four years before HE brought me
here. To exact HIS
vengeance. Why did so many have
to die? Why did HE wait
so long?”
“Rajas…” Vostok said, stepping
forward. She reached out, her hand hesitating just inches
from the Spectre’s shoulder.
“I do not understand,” he said, turning.
He was crying she saw.
“Rajas…”
“Where is the loving God that these Christians follow so
blindly? Who is this that guides me? There is
justice, but why do so many have to suffer first? It makes no
sense.”
She had nothing to say. Rajas was Agnostic she knew, a
defected Pakistani that had the ability to control computers and
mechanics at range, which was why the ‘KGB’ had
taken interest in his malformed and crippled body when he had come to
the old USSR. His mind was gold, though his body was for
shit; crippled and strapped to a wheel chair that tended his every
need. As to what he said, she agreed. It made no
sense.
“Come back to me, Rajas,” Vostok said, stepping
forward. It seemed the thing to say again, as it usually
worked. She had been following the Spectre over the face of
the Earth for months now. She was his anchor, apparently,
though she seemed more a distraction. She gasped as his
tear-filled eyes turned on her, dark and wet...
MERLYN…
His voice changed, cold and empty. Smoke roiled about his
feet as he drew his cloak about him.
He was gone…
“Dammit!”
Valentina Vostok stormed from the barn, her sickness forgotten as she
stomped across the yard, back towards Steele and the colonel.
“He’s left,” she said, agitated and
fuming. The two men looked at her, the soldiers shuffling,
bored in the background.
“Where?’ the colonel finally asked.
“I do not know,” Vostok said, concentrating,
feeling the old and familiar tingle as she called her Negative form
forth. “But I will…”
Cliff Steele watched as the woman’s body collapsed at his
feet. The dark and violet form rose up and shot away towards
the east. He watched until the violet glow faded, then
scooped to gather the bandaged, abandoned body.
“What was that?” Colonel Martin asked, the
slightest quiver in his high-pitched voice. He looked ready
to vomit.
Steele tried to smile. Force of habit.
“Need to know, Colonel,” he said, cradling the limp
form of his friend’s body in his strong arms.
“Need to know…”
Shaft
