Disclaimer – Anything you see and recognise does not belong to me. The Phantom belongs to Lee Falk; Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. and other related characters belong to Marvel. I'm simply playing in their sandboxes.
ooo00ooo
"Wakanda? Really?" Coulson said sounding interested. "Never been. Always wanted to go, though. Closest I ever managed was Bengalla. Maybe I'll even tell you that story one day." Heroes Assemble!, chapter 104.
ooo00ooo
The Ghost of Bengalla
Agent Phil Coulson draped his jacket over the back of his chair before taking his seat behind his desk. He'd barely been back in the U.S. for an hour and in the Triskelion, the headquarters of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division itself for the length of an elevator ride, but it was enough to have him wanting to get back out into the field once again.
That feeling, of course, most likely sprang from what he was about to do: sit at his desk for the next x number of hours, writing a report on his last mission. This one had been to Russia, searching out any connections that Ivan Vanko may have left behind. And while there'd been a few pieces and a couple of spot fires to put out, overall the mission had finished satisfactorily. Even better was that S.H.I.E.L.D. could now rest east in the knowledge that Vanko's Whiplash technology had died with him.
Two hours later, just when he was getting close to being able to wrap up the paperwork, Coulson was interrupted by an incessant buzzing.
"Coulson," he stated, having hit the switch on his phone to answer the call.
"Report to my office immediately."
"Yes, Sir," Coulson replied.
Even as he saved his work and stood, Coulson wondered why the Director wanted him. With luck, it'd be with another mission. Although one that wasn't time sensitive would be nice; the dark purple sky out his window reminded him that night was closing in and that he hadn't slept much on the plane ride home.
After putting his jacket on and buttoning it, Coulson strode from his office and into the nearest elevator.
ooo00ooo
"Director Fury? You wished to see me?" Coulson asked, poking his head inside the Director's office.
"I did," Fury replied.
The office was luxuriously spacious with windows along one entire wall that gave a magnificent view of the Potomac River and the countryside beyond. But for all the space in the room, it was obvious that this was an ex-soldier's office, not a politician's. There was Fury's large desk, of course, a couple of chairs for guests and a massive monitor that dwarfed any other in the building, excluding Operations Control. But otherwise, the office was rather bare.
"Do you have a mission for me?" Coulson asked.
"I do," Fury replied. "Have you finished writing up your report from Russia?"
"Almost," Coulson replied.
"Finish it on the plane and send it back," Fury ordered.
Coulson simply nodded, keeping his face impassive. Wherever this mission was, he just hoped that the plane ride would be long enough and comfortable enough for him to get a few hours' sleep.
"Twenty minutes ago, we received this," Fury told him before tapping a button on his desk.
The monitor lit up with a map of Africa before zooming in on a spot on the west coast where a blinking light began pulsing. At the same time, an audio file sounded.
"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is the Jade Princess. We are under attack! I repeat. We are under attack by pirates. Their flag indicates that they belong to the Singh Brotherhood. We require immediate assistance. Our coordinates are …"
Unfortunately, the transmission cut out at that very moment.
"I'm assuming that S.H.I.E.L.D. was able to pinpoint their location anyway?" Coulson asked.
"We were," Fury confirmed. "Their current location is off the coast of Bengalla."
"What's so special about the Jade Princess?" Coulson asked, knowing that there had to be something unusual for S.H.I.E.L.D. to get involved, after all, ships being attacked by pirates wasn't as uncommon as people might think.
"She's Pakistani and filled to the brim with weapons that they don't want the world to know that they've got," Fury stated disgust clear in his voice. "Rocket launchers; short range ballistic missiles; assault rifles; grenade launchers; flame throwers; hell, my sources tell me there's even three amphibious assault vehicles aboard as well."
"Pirates could do a lot of damage with that sort of arsenal," Coulson remarked.
"You don't say?" Fury replied sarcastically. "And that's why I've got a quinjet ready to take you to Bengalla waiting on the tarmac. Get in there, assess the situation, deal with these piratesand get those weapons secured!"
"Yes, Sir," Coulson said.
"I'm having a tac team put together as we speak," Fury continued. "They'll follow in a couple of hours. Until then, make contact with the government and smooth the wheels for the operation. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s never had an op there before and our intelligence on the entire country is limited, so be careful."
"Understood," Coulson nodded.
"Well, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?" Fury asked sarcastically.
With a final nod, Coulson quick-stepped from the Director's office.
ooo00ooo
The fifteen hour flight from Washington to Mawitaan, the capital city of Bengalla afforded Coulson more than enough time to finish his report and to read the limited information that S.H.I.E.L.D. had on the country. He even managed to get some sleep in, even if it did leave him with a crick in his neck.
Bengalla, it seemed, was once a part of the British Commonwealth before gaining its independence back in the sixties. Since then, it'd gone through the same sort of upheavals that most African nations experienced, even if it was in a much smaller way. The current President, Walker Luaga, the grandson of Bengalla's first president, Lamanda Luaga, had been in office for nearly a decade and had proved to be an innovator, even if the country seemed to prefer keeping largely to itself.
"Agent Coulson, we have permission to land."
Coulson looked up from the report that he had spread out on the small fold-away table."
"Thank you. How long until we land?"
"Ten minutes, Sir."
"Acknowledged," he replied.
By the time that the quinjet had set down at the main airport, Coulson was standing at the back of the craft, his hands folded in front of him, one of them holding the handle of the briefcase with the info on the country and the mission inside it. A blast of humid heat hit him as the rear ramp cracked open. His attention from the weather was diverted even before the ramp had fully lowered, for there were three men in khaki uniforms awaiting him.
"Welcome to Bengalla. I am Lieutenant Garman Dangan of the Jungle Patrol," the lead man stated as Coulson walked down the ramp.
"Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he replied, shaking the man's hand. "Thank you for allowing us to land."
The Bengalla Jungle Patrol was a name that Coulson recognised from his briefing. The best that he could work out was that they were somewhere between the nation's police force and military.
"May I ask the purpose of your visit?" Lieutenant Dangan asked.
"There is a Pakistani ship that was attacked by pirates just off the coast," Coulson replied. "I'm here in response to the situation."
Lieutenant Dangan nodded. "Of course. Pirates are notorious in this part of the world. I will escort you to the Colonel."
"Thank you," Coulson replied.
Together, he and the Lieutenant walked towards the jeep parked off to the side of the tarmac, the other two men taking up positions behind them.
ooo00ooo
"Tell me, Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D., what exactly is your organisation?" Colonel Jonathan Worubu asked.
Coulson paused, considering the best way of answering. Most governments and high-ranking military, law-enforcement and intelligence agencies knew of S.H.I.E.L.D. and what they did and what they stood for. Bengalla, though, was obviously one of the few exceptions.
"The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We protect the people of the world from threats that are often too big for countries and militaries to handle," Coulson replied smoothly. "Simply, we are the shield between order and chaos."
Colonel Worubu nodded. "I understand. It is like the motto of the Jungle Patrol: 'We stand against evil'."
"Exactly," Coulson replied with the tiniest of smiles.
"What then brings you to Bengalla?" the Colonel asked. "Lieutenant Dangan mentioned something about pirates?"
"Yes," Coulson replied. "Eighteen hours ago, a Pakistani vessel, the Jade Princess, was attacked by pirates off of the coast of Bengalla. Her cargo is high-grade, powerful weapons and a lot of them. Obviously, these weapons need to be kept out of the hands of pirates. I am here to ensure that that happens."
"Do you know who these pirates are?" Colonel Worobu asked.
"The captain of the Princess identified them as belonging to the Singh Brotherhood."
The way that the Colonel stiffened at the mention of the name told Coulson that this Brotherhood was a known element."
"You have encountered them before," he stated.
"We have. I'd thought that they were gone for good after their last encounter with …," the Colonel said, shaking his head. "Obviously, I was wrong."
"Any intelligence that you can give me would be greatly appreciated," Coulson asked.
"Certainly," the Colonel agreed. "I will also make a call to our Commander; I am certain that he will want to be involved in combatting the Brotherhood."
"That's okay," Coulson replied easily. "I have a tactical team inbound. They will be more than capable of re-taking the ship and arresting these pirates."
"As you say," Colonel Worobu replied with a smile. "Even still, I expect that our Commander will insist."
Coulson had never been fond of allowing unknowns to participate in missions; inevitably, they often caused more problems than they helped solve.
"This Commander? What's his name? Perhaps I can speak to him? Assure him that we have the mission well in hand?" he suggested.
"That will not be possible," the Colonel replied. "The Commander will only speak to me by telephone. If or when he needs to speak to you, he will find you. He has his ways."
While Coulson's face remained impassive, inside he was trying very hard not to scream in frustration. This mission was too important to have an unknown person from a backwards country running around trying to 'help'.
ooo00ooo
Even with utilizing the high-powered binoculars and standing on the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean, the Jade Princess was still too far away for him to see anything more than its basic outline. And there was absolutely no chance of seeing or counting the number of men aboard her. Thankfully, Coulson – or more specifically, S.H.I.E.L.D. – had other assets that they could utilize.
"The satellite will be in position in ninety seconds, Agent Coulson."
"Acknowledged," Coulson replied, touching a finger to his earpiece.
Letting the binoculars drop to hang from his neck, Coulson pulled out his pad and opened it ready to receive the satellite images.
The snap of a twig caused Coulson to look around and it was only his experience dealing with people like Stark and Thor that stopped him from shying away or even from giving any sort of outside reaction.
Standing there, just outside the edge of the trees, was a man clad in purple from head to toe. His costume gave the appearance of being skin tight but it was obvious to Coulson's trained eyes that his suit was actually made of light body armour. It probably wouldn't stop anything big, but knives or small calibre bullets would be neutralised. He wore a black mask across his eyes in addition to his purple cowl, black boots and a black belt with a skull motive buckle with a holster hanging from each side.
Over the costumed man's left shoulder, Coulson could see the a pure-white horse and by his right side sat what at first glance was a large dog. A second look told Coulson that the dog was actually some kind of wolf, who he desperately hoped was well-trained.
"And who might you be?" Coulson asked.
"I'm called: the Phantom, or else, the Ghost Who Walks," the purple man replied. "You don't seem surprised by my appearance."
"Not my first rodeo," Coulson shrugged. "What's your deal?"
"I protect Bengalla from evil and right at this moment, that means the Singh Brotherhood," the Phantom replied.
"So, you know these guys?"
"You could say that. They've been a thorn in my side for nearly five hundred years."
"You don't say?" Coulson replied before a beep distracted him and had him looking down at the pad in his hands.
The image on his pad lit up with the Jade Princess as seen from above. As Coulson adjusted the feed, the image zoomed in and dots of red appeared. A quick count told him how many they were facing.
"Forty-seven," a voice right next to his ear stated. "The Brotherhood's been busy with their recruiting."
"I'd say that you move quietly, but you did just call yourself a ghost," Coulson said.
"'The Phantom moves as silently as the jungle cat'," the Phantom grinned in reply. "It's an old jungle saying."
"I'm betting that there's a whole swag of those, aren't there?" Coulson asked rhetorically.
"Actually, yes," the Phantom replied anyway, a smile on his face.
Tapping the pad, he saved and then closed down the feed.
"I'm about to go meet my tactical team," Coulson stated. "Within a few hours, we should have the ship back under friendly hands and the pirates rounded up. You're not planning on getting in the way, are you?"
"'The Phantom is rough with roughnecks'," the costumed man replied.
"Let me guess, another 'old jungle saying'?" Coulson asked. "And I'm assuming that that means that you do intend on getting involved somehow."
"You will need my help, Agent Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D.," the Phantom stated before pursing his lips and whistling.
Instantly, the white stallion trotted up and the Phantom swiftly mounted before he rode into the jungle, disappearing within moments, the wolf running at the horses' heels.
"I don't remember telling him my name," Coulson remarked to himself.
ooo00ooo
The longer his search remained fruitless, the more Coulson's frown deepened. He'd started his search within S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files and servers and when that came up empty, he'd moved to the internet in general. Even then, after hours of staring at a screen and dozens upon dozens of queries, the best that he could come up with were a few myths and a single image of the lower half of a man's face with what looked like a tattoo of a skull on his jaw.
This purple-clad man, this Phantom or Ghost Who Walks as he called himself, was just that, a ghost. And if he was actually telling the truth about being around for half a millennium, one would think that there'd be something on the guy. Iron Man, Hulk, Thor, even crazies like the Abomination, Red Skull and Whiplash were easy to find information on and they had only been around the last few years – or decades in the case of the Red Skull. Or a thousand plus years for Thor, Phil added to himself.
But this guy … It was almost as though there was a blanket thrown over anything about him, as though the entire country wanted to keep him (his?) secret.
As far as Coulson was concerned, that simply wasn't good enough. Opening a new file, he sat back for a second in thought. The Phantom. That was the guy's 'name', so that was good enough for a file name. And then he began to type. It wasn't much, after all, a five minute meeting didn't allow for much information gathering, but what little he knew, Coulson detailed.
ooo00ooo
The image on the monitor was mostly green, thanks to the infrared cameras that were being used. Phil Coulson stood amongst the half dozen tactical team members aboard the quinjet with him as he studied the image. Currently, he was dressed in dark fatigues, rather than his traditional suit.
"Heat signatures?" he asked.
The technician at the controls hit a series of buttons and the on-screen image of the Jade Princess changed as numerous red blobs appeared aboard her.
"That's more than satellite feed showed this afternoon," Coulson frowned.
"Fifty-eight, Sir," the technician confirmed.
Leaning forward, Coulson tapped open the communication lines to the four small craft that the rest of the tac team was using to gain access to the Princess.
"This is Coulson. Target has fifty-eight hostiles aboard. I repeat, fifty-eight hostiles."
"Aqua One, confirmed."
"Aqua Two, confirmed."
"Aqua Three, confirmed."
"Aqua Four, confirmed."
Having heard from the rest of the team, Coulson nodded and turned to the pilot.
"Take us into position," he commanded.
At once, the quinjet banked slightly, not that it caused any of the tac team inside her to do anything more than slightly adjusting the way they were balanced on their feet as they continued preparing for their mission.
"Lower the ramp," Coulson ordered.
The whine of servos working was almost silenced by the rush of the wind whipping inside. All eyes were fixed on the lights set to either side of the door. As expected, they turned from red to green.
"Go! Go! Go!" Coulson yelled.
One by one, the six members of Aero One raced forward before leaping from the craft. The last to leave was Coulson himself.
As he was falling, he kept his eyes on the dark shape in the water far below, one hand on his ripcord, the other positioned so that he could keep an eye on his altitude. The quinjet, he knew, would be headed away so as not to alert the pirates that they were about to be boarded.
ooo00ooo
The four high speed boats were visible only as flashes of white on the dark water – a case of the moonlight reflecting off of the water foaming in their wake. Inside each one were six members of the tac team that Phil had been assigned for the mission. Still, thirty S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, regardless of how well trained they were, going up against a force much greater than them in terms of numbers was going to be tricky. Especially with the arsenal the enemy had at their fingertips. The only real advantage that the S.H.I.E.L.D. team had was the element of surprise.
Phil waited as long as he could before pulling the ripcord. Finally, the time came and he yanked hard on the cord. The wind that had been buffeting him was lost as he was jerked to a near stop, at least in comparison to the free fall that he had been in just moments before.
His eyes, though, never left his team. All six of Aero One also had their chutes deployed and were fast approaching their target: the elevated section of the rear of the Jade Princess.
As the first one touched down, Phil saw him release the cords, letting the parachute fly away with the wind. As the second landed, the four speed boats docked with the Princess, at the port and starboard of both the bow and stern.
By the time that Phil had joined the rest of his team, they were deployed in a circle, all on one knee, their rifles up against their shoulders, tracking their particular arc, ensuring that they hadn't been noticed.
Pulling his side arm, Phil stepped forward and tapped his earpiece.
"All units, confirm status," he murmured.
Instead of verbal responses, all that could be heard were a series of four clicks in his ear.
Phil nodded. "Engage."
Instantly, his team were on their feet and moving towards the nearest staircase towards the lower deck where the schematics of the ship indicated the doors to the lower decks were located.
Snick snick
A soft thud preceded a splash as two of the pirates were taken out, with one falling overboard. Strangely, though, those two were the only guards on the deck.
Phil narrowed his eyes. Something didn't feel right. Why would a pirate crew of over fifty who had taken over a ship loaded to the gills with weapons not have more guards? Wouldn't they expect some sort of retaliation from the good guys?
Leaving that question aside for something to ponder later, Phil motioned to his team and the door set just under the stairs from the upper level. Two took up positions to either side of it; another allowed his rifle to drop to his side, swinging on its strap; while the other three fanned out, their weapons pointing at the door, ready. Phil, himself, was slightly back and to the side, keeping watch at their backs for any unexpected enemy.
"The enemy has engaged! I repeat, the enemy is engaging!"
The staccato of gunfire that accompanied that report echoing from the bow spun Phil's head, only for him to be nearly blinded with the flash of red-orange flames from an explosion in that direction. Screams of pain emphasised that men had been caught in it. As much as he hoped that his own men weren't among the wounded or dead, he wasn't naïve enough to expect otherwise; after all, none of the tac team had anything that could create that type of explosion.
His men needed backup, that much was obvious. And a flanking manoeuvre would be perfect.
"Go! Go! Go!" he ordered his own team.
Glancing over his shoulder, Phil saw the agent with his hand on the wheel that would open the door.
And then his world exploded.
The door that they were about to enter blew out towards them. Pieces of red-hot, jagged metal flew in every direction. Flames and hot air impacted him, lifted him off his feet and threw him across the deck. Phil was barely conscious as he rolled over and over, his arms and legs flailing about every which way.
Finally, he stopped, his head facing back towards where the door used to be.
Now there was no door. There was also no tac team. At least alive. All six of his men were obviously dead – pieces of metal piercing various parts of their body, pools of blood spreading out under them. Or else they were seriously burnt, nearly beyond recognition. A dark shape appearing in the hole caught his attention and he squinted, doing his best to focus on it.
With a groan, Phil tried to push himself upwards in an attempt to meet the threat. Unfortunately, he failed, slumping back down before he'd even managed to lift his chest from the deck. As his eyes fluttered, he saw the figure ghost from man to man, checking each one briefly before moving on. Finally, the man arrived at Phil and a flash of purple met his eyes before the world around him went dark.
ooo00ooo
The pounding in his head woke Phil and he was unable to supress a groan even as he reached a hand up to press against the spot that was hurting the most. Not that that was easy to identify. Most of his body, now that he was aware of it, hurt like he'd gone a couple rounds with Romanoff with both of his own hands tied behind his back. It was his head, though, that hurt the most.
What caused his eyes to snap open – which itself resulted in a wince due to the bright light – was the fact that his head was bandaged in a coarse material unlike any bandage that he'd ever felt before.
"You're awake. Good. Drink this."
Inwardly, Phil cursed. Here he was, waking up in an unfamiliar environment and he hadn't even had the presence of mind to check his surroundings. Romanoff or Fury would kick his ass for failing to take note that he wasn't alone. And rightfully so, he decided.
Twisting his head towards the sound of the voice, Phil could only blink.
The man standing there was short, remarkedly so. He was also ancient, at least if the lines that cratered the man's face was anything to go by. The man was shirtless, showing off a body that, judging by the way the skin hung off of him, was once quite round but was now stick thin. He was also stooped, allowing the very top of his straw hat to be seen despite the fact that Phil was laying on a bed.
Gathering what strength he had, Phil pushed himself upright, rolling sidewards at the same time so that he could swing his legs over the side of the bed. Instantly, the pounding in his head increased from mallet strokes to full-on sledgehammer bashings and he groaned again.
"Sitting not a good idea. Here. Drink. Will take pain away," the little ancient man stated in a thin, wheezing voice.
Deciding that even a wooden cup full of poison was better than the jackhammer drilling into his head, Phil reached out a hand and took the cup. Then, in one swallow, he downed the lot. It certainly wasn't like any medicine that he'd ever had before. For one thing, it tasted ghastly. For another, it did its job almost instantly.
Within a few seconds, the pounding in his head had lessened back to what it was when he was lying down. After thirty seconds, he felt the pain in the rest of his body easing. And by the time a minute had passed, he was feeling back to his old self again. At least for the most part.
"Pain gone," the man nodded, his dark brown eyes watching him closely. "That doesn't mean that you are fully healed. Another day, maybe two, for that to happen."
"Thanks," Phil replied. "That's some impressive stuff. What was it?"
"Secret jungle medicine. Made from the berry of a particular tree that the Bandar know of," the man smiled.
"Bandar?" Phil copied, his head cocked. "Is that your people?"
"Yes. I am Guran. Once chief of the Bandar; now simply an Honoured Elder while my son rules in my place," Guran replied.
"Nice to meet you, Guran. My name's Phil. Phil Coulson. Where exactly am I?"
The answer that he received didn't come from Guran but instead from a figure that had just appeared in the doorway across the room.
"The Skull Cave."
Phil cocked an eyebrow at the Phantom, still in the same purple costume and black mask from the first time that Phil'd met him the day before standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. At least, he assumed that it was the day before. And now that he took a closer look at the room that he was in, he did note that it was decidedly rocky – the walls, ceiling and floor definitely gave a very 'cave-like' feel.
"The Skull Cave?" Phil questioned. "I'm guessing that this is your place?"
"It is," the Phantom replied as he moved across the room before looking down at Guran. "Thank you, old friend, you've done a marvellous job as always."
"Practice from all the times that I've patched you back together," Guran stated before turning and hobbling from the room using a wooden staff that Phil hadn't noticed before.
Seeing Guran pass the Phantom vividly showed exactly how short the former was. If Phil had to guess, he'd say that Guran – and by extension the Bandar, if Guran was a typical representative of them, which was distinctly possible if the man had once been the tribal chief – were a pygmy people of Africa. Perhaps even one that wasn't well known. As soon as he had access to a computer again, he'd check the S.H.I.E.L.D. records to see what, if anything, was known of them.
"I'm guessing that I have you to thank for bringing me here?" Phil asked, focussing back on his host.
"Yes. You were badly injured and if I'd left you there, it was doubtful that you would have survived," the Phantom replied.
"That bad, huh? So, what happened? The last I remember was the door to the lower decks exploding in our faces," Phil said before full remembrance returned. "My team! What happened to my team? Are they here somewhere?"
The Phantom sighed. "No. There was a … miscommunication. I didn't believe that you would be ready to move on the Singh Brotherhood so quickly, nor did I expect you to bring so many men. You must understand. I've been fighting the Singh Brotherhood in one form or another for close to five hundred years. There have been countless times that I've thought that they had finally been defeated only for them to reappear again, often after an interval of many years. This just happens to be one of those times.
"My intention was to simply do some reconnaissance, to find out what the Brotherhood looks like now so I could formulate the best plan of attack against them. So, I snuck on board the Jade Princess about a half hour before you arrived. I was still in the process of gathering the intel that I needed. In fact, I believe that I had just located their leader when they detected your presence."
"Got a name?" Phil asked.
"Dogai Singh," the Phantom replied. "The last time the Singh Brotherhood were operational, they were being led by Sandal Singh. This man is possibly her grandson; at least, he seemed too young to be her son."
"So, a family business?" Phil guessed.
"Indeed," the Phantom grinned. "Dogai Singh was also the name of Sandal's grandfather. I fought – and defeated – both of them. As I said, the Brotherhood and I go way back."
"I'm guessing that these pirates didn't know that you were aboard? What happened?"
"You did," the Phantom stated bluntly. "Or, at least, your men. The Brotherhood wasn't asleep as both of us would have expected for that time of night, which is another reason why I hadn't engaged them. The leadership were having a meeting. Unfortunately, a group of them headed up to the top deck the same time that your men breached the door heading down. There was a firefight. I did what I could for them, engaged them myself, thought that, at the very least, I could be a distraction, let your men gain the upper hand and work their way through the ship."
"Obviously that didn't happen," Phil guessed.
"No. The Brotherhood hadn't been idle with learning how to use the weapons that they had gained. One of them decided that small arms wasn't doing enough to stop me, so he decided to use a mini rocket launcher."
"And promptly blew up the door that my team was standing on the other side of," Phil finished grimly.
"Exactly," the Phantom confirmed. "There was nothing that I could do. The Brotherhood was alerted to our presence on the ship. Your men had been either captured or killed. I did the only thing that I could. I grabbed you and escaped."
"Great. If this mission wasn't important enough before, it's just become doubly so," Phil said grimly. "Those men need rescuing. Not to mention the fact that we need to get those weapons out of the hands of those pirates."
Phil pushed himself to his feet and took a moment to test himself. No headache. No aches or pains. With a nod, he took in the man standing in front of him. He may not know anything about him, but there was one certainty – the Phantom was one of the good guys. And a good guy with a supposed history of dealing with these pirates at that. Perhaps it was time to utilise the asset that he was being presented with. Especially considering that S.H.I.E.L.D. back up was far to far away.
"Don't suppose you'd be up for a temporary alliance against this Singh Brotherhood?" Phil asked.
"Thought you'd never ask," the Phantom grinned, holding out his hand.
Phil took it and gave it a firm shake.
"I think it's time for us to do some planning," he stated.
ooo00ooo
The Skull Cave, Phil quickly came to realise, was much larger than he'd originally thought. Not only were there numerous doors leading from the various caverns slash rooms that he was allowed to in, there were also additional stairwells indicating that there were multiple levels as well.
The Cave was obviously ancient. Whether it was completely a man-made structure or a natural one that had been modified and improved over the centuries was impossible to guess, although, he suspected the latter.
The Throne Room, complete with a great chair carved out of stone with skulls attached – which Phil hoped weren't as real as they looked – was one room that he only managed a quick peek into. Most of his time in the Skull Cave was spent in the room that the two of them used for planning their attack. This was actually partly a meeting room as shown by the large circular stone table – a recurring theme – and partly a library. The tomes on the bookshelves that lined the walls looked ancient. Mostly they were large, thick books bound in leather, however there was the occasional scroll thrown in for good measure.
A number of the Bandar trooped in and out of the room during the hours that they planned, some providing food and drink, others answers to questions that the Phantom had for them. One thing that greatly surprised Phil was the fact that the Phantom, despite the fact that he lived and operated in a primitive jungle in the middle of a small, backwards nation, was extremely well educated and up to date with the latest technology and jargon.
Finally, they had their plan. It was unorthodox and not one that Phil himself would have ever considered utilizing, but regardless, it stood a very high chance of success.
ooo00ooo
As the Phantom had ordered, a pair of horses, one the white stallion that Phil had seen the first time that he'd met the Phantom, the other a jet-black mare, were waiting for them as they exited the Cave.
Taking the reins with a thanks from the Bandar that held it out to him, Phil looked back at the Cave that they'd come from. And then up.
"Right. Skull Cave," he said.
And it was. The entire side of the mountain had a very 'skull-like' appearance. The face of the mountain itself was even slightly rounded, much like a man's face. The main entrance formed the mouth while two smaller caves at the precise spot needed, completed the skull look.
"Did you carve this yourself?" Phil asked.
The Phantom looked over at him and then at the Skull Cave that Phil indicated.
"No," the man laughed. "Nature itself did all the work there. The Bandar knew about the Cave long before I appeared in their midst. Mount up; it's time to go."
With a nod, Phil focussed on his horse. It'd been a long time since he'd last ridden. Still, he remembered the basics. After fitting his toes into the stirrup, he grabbed hold of the saddle horn, bounced a couple of times and jumped, managing to swing his leg over the horse's back in the process on the first try.
"Most who visit the Skull Cave have their eyes blindfolded when they come and go," the Phantom stated. "But I will trust you, Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. Do not make me regret it."
"The Phantom has a thousand eyes and a thousand ears," the Bandar that had been looking after Phil's horse stated with a grin, looking up at him.
"Another Old Jungle Saying?" Phil guessed.
The Phantom merely grinned before clicking his tongue. Instantly, his horse, Hero, Phil'd learnt earlier, leapt forward in a gallop.
It was all that Phil could do to get his horse's head pointed in the right direction before it, too, took off in a gallop.
"This isn't going to be fun," Phil muttered, already feeling his whole body starting to arche with the unfamiliar sensations assaulting him.
ooo00ooo
Forty-five minutes after he and his partner had left the mouth of the small river that had brought them from the deep jungle and another of the Phantom's lairs, Phil saw the Phantom throttle back on his sea scooter. Instantly, Phil did the same, twisting the handle to reduce his speed and bring him to a gentle bob in the depths of the ocean.
Everything around the two of them was pitch black bar the single headlights on their respective scooters, as one would expect at a depth of twenty metres below the ocean's surface in the middle of the night. The silence, too, was almost overbearing, especially with the engines now stopped.
Glancing down at the illuminated GPS strapped to his wrist over his wetsuit, he nodded. They were directly under the Jade Princess, assuming that the ship hadn't moved since they'd last been aboard her. Noting the Phantom's exaggerated hand movements in his direction, Phil let go of one handle of the scooter and pressed the button that he'd been shown before they'd left. A dull red light began blinking and he knew that the scooter's locator was now active so that they could find it again later.
Then, together, the two ascended.
It was only when they were within a metre or so of the ocean's surface that the water lightened, however slightly. Carefully, Phil let his head break the surface and he looked about, sighing as he saw the Princess less than a hundred metres to their right. And even better was the fact that the chain that held the ship's anchor was also on the side of the ship that they were facing.
Copying the Phantom's movements, Phil allowed himself to slip back underwater before they swam for their target.
Climbing the heavy chain while still wearing his diving gear wasn't exactly easy and it took far longer than it should but Phil was determined to not let his partner down or leave him exposed on the deck without backup longer than necessary.
By the time that he'd slipped over the side onto the deck and scurried into the nearest shadow against one of the cargo containers, the Phantom had already divested himself of his diving gear and had retrieved his guns from the waterproof pouch that had been clipped onto his diving belt.
The smallest of clinks as Phil placed his air tank on the deck was the only sound that could be heard as he, too, prepared for the hard part of the mission. Finally, his gun was in his hand, and he nodded his readiness.
Following the plan, Phil and the Phantom separated to either side of the container, keeping to the shadows and slowly working their way towards the door to the lower deck on the opposite side of the ship.
Halfway there, a figure strolled out from between a pair of containers and Phil was forced to freeze in place. The guard appeared fairly relaxed; his rifle was even being carried rather loosely in his hand. The instant that the man turned away, Phil moved, ghosting forward before lunging, grabbing the guard from behind with one arm around his neck the other covering his mouth. The struggle was brief but without the ability to breath, the guard quickly sunk into unconsciousness.
Slowly, Phil eased the man to the deck before rolling him into the shadows. The rifle he took with him, slinging the strap over his head and one shoulder, letting it rest against his back.
When he rendezvoused with the Phantom, it was to see that his partner had also been busy. Two guards lay sprawled on the deck, clearly unconscious. The soft light above the door illuminated one of the men's jaw, highlighting the skull mark that now adorned him.
After nodding to acknowledge Phil's presence, the Phantom twisted the wheel that locked the door, cracked it open just enough and slipped inside.
At the bottom of the spiral staircase, they once again split apart. Phil's destination was the room at the end of the corridor to the right; the Phantom's was to find the captive tac team and secure their release.
As he passed each door, Phil paused, listened and, when no sound was heard, checked that it was firmly closed and locked. Finally, he reached the end door. Not hearing any sound coming from inside, he opened it and slipped inside, quietly closing it behind himself when he saw that he was still alone.
"Jackpot," Phil murmured to himself.
The room was just as the Phantom had described to him – longer than it was wide with stacks of crates lining the walls and also making small corridors within the room itself. Even better was the fact that every crate was labelled in not only Urdu, Pakistan's official language, but also in English. Unfortunately, it took Phil longer than planned to find the right crates and then to find a way to open them and to fill a bag with the needed weapons of choice.
Finally, he was done and quickly retreated.
Once he was back out in the main corridor, Phil retraced his steps before moving into the left corridor to find his partner. It was surprisingly easy to see where to go – the trail of unconscious pirates was a dead giveaway.
It was the sound of grunts and thuds that alerted Phil to the fact that he was close to his target. Knowing that the Phantom was most likely still alone against potentially dozens of pirates of the Singh Brotherhood, Phil took off in a jog.
The scene that he saw as he rounded the last corner, he took in in a millisecond. There were already half a dozen downed men sprawled about the room, most in rather undignified positions. The Phantom himself was engaged in a fist fight with another three, although Phil categorised his style as more of a 'mixed martial arts' – something that Natasha had once told him about. While fists were being thrown, so were knees, elbows and even a headbutt. The Phantom was ducking and dodging, weaving in and out as he continuously attacked and evaded counter-attacks.
And then Phil noticed that one of the downed men wasn't as unconscious as he'd first appeared. The pirate was slowly getting to his feet, pulling a long dagger from his boot at the same time. The man's intent was obvious: to stab the Phantom in the back while his compatriots had the costumed hero distracted.
Without even pausing to think about it, Phil's gun came up and spat a pair of bullets, hitting the pirate in the chest and jerking him backwards and down, finally out of the fight.
The unexpectedness of the sound of the shots distracted the pirates, but not the Phantom. Two of them paused momentarily, looking over towards Phil and that was enough to allow the Phantom to strike out, hitting one across the jaw before lashing out with his foot and kicking the second across the room into the wall where he slowly slid down it.
The last man, seeing all of his companions down and out of the fight, abandoned the room through a door directly behind him.
"The Phantom is here! The Ghost Who Walks is aboard ship!" the Singh pirate shouted, his voice echoing around the corridor before it slowly began to fade as he moved further away.
"Thanks, I didn't see that one," the Phantom nodded.
"That's what partners are for," Phil replied, closing and locking the door that he'd come through to ensure that there was one less entrance to guard against. "I don't suppose that you've found my team at all?"
"Actually, I have," the Phantom replied as he crossed the room towards a third door set into the far wall.
This one didn't just have the typical wheel lock that was on all of the doors on the ship, it also had a locked bar through the wheel to keep it in place. As Phil looked on, the Phantom rolled one of the unconscious guards over, patted down his pockets before finding what he was looking for and turned to the door. It was then simply a case of finding the right key on the ring, undoing the locked bar, throwing it off and spinning the wheel.
The sound of thudding boots running down the corridor towards them caught Phil's ear and he frowned slightly.
"I've got this," he stated, jerking a thumb towards the door where the pirates were obviously gathering ready to assault them. "You get my team out of there."
As he slipped over to the side of the doorway that led to the corridor, Phil knelt down, reached into his bag and pulled out a number of items, placing them on the deck in front of him. When he was finally content with his choices, he waited, his head cocked as he listened intently to what was happening in the corridor.
Finally, the pounding footsteps changed into small, careful steps – the sound of men in boots attempting to stealthily tiptoe up a metal corridor and failing. Exactly how many there were was impossible to say. At the very least, Phil guessed a dozen.
A single tap of the button on the end of the smoke grenades that he was holding in each hand was enough to activate them. It was then a simple case of sticking his hand out of the door and tossing them down the corridor one after the other. A stun grenade quickly followed, clattering and bouncing against the deck before there was a terrific bang and a glaring flash of light. The sound of bodies dropping to the deck was as music to Phil's ears.
Grabbing up the tranquilizer dart gun from the deck, Phil stood and pivoted out of the door into the corridor. Thirteen shots later and that particular threat had been neutralised.
"Good work."
Phil spun at the unexpected sound, only just managing to refrain from shooting his partner.
"Don't do that," he admonished. "I didn't hear you and could have shot you."
"Unlikely," the Phantom replied as what remained of the S.H.I.E.L.D. tac team emerged into the corridor from behind him.
Those men that hadn't already procured weapons from the downed pirates in the guard room quickly fanned out, picking rifles, guns and even knives from the men strewn about the corridor. As they did so, Phil ran his eyes over them. Most appeared uninjured, although three were holding their arms or ribs in a way that told Phil that they needed medical attention. What was most disconcerting was the fact that there were only nineteen men out of the thirty member team that had begun the mission.
It was then a simple case of dividing up the men into teams and beginning the arduous task of going from deck to deck and from room to room throughout the Jade Princess to find and incapacitate the pirates.
Finally, after nearly an hour of fighting their way through the ship, they reached the one room that Phil knew that the Phantom had been eager to get to: the ship's boardroom.
The Phantom burst into the room a bare second in front of Phil, just in time for him to see some precision shooting as the Phantom's gun spat a single bullet, shooting the gun out of the hand of the only man that had been waiting for them there. Phil was certain that even Barton would be impressed with that particular shot.
"Phantom," the pirate said in a heavily accented voice. "Can you truly not die? We thought that, after all this time, you would have finally expired."
"Why, Dogai Singh," the Phantom replied, "haven't you heard? I'm the Ghost Who Walks, The Man Who Cannot Die. I fought your grandmother and your great-grandfather and a whole host of ancestors before them. And every single one of them have fallen to my justice. Surely your family has learnt by now that I will always be there to oppose you and to stop you."
"Bah!" Dogai Singh spat. "You talk too much!"
One of the pirate's hands which had been raised at his head height quickly disappeared behind the man's shoulder, reappeared with a knife before he threw it, directly at the Phantom's head. Before Phil could react, the Phantom had raised his arm, slapping the knife away with his forearm and confirming to Phil that he'd been right in that the Phantom's suit was made of light body armour.
And then the Phantom moved.
One second, he was standing beside Phil, the next he was across the room, his fist lashing out and striking Dogai Singh's jaw with enough force to snap the man's head backwards. Phil saw the man's eyes roll up into his head before he simply dropped bonelessly to the ground, his head lolling to the side to show off his brand-new skull mark tattoo.
"Impressive," Phil remarked.
"'When the Phantom moves, lightning stands still'," the Phantom grinned and it was all that Phil could do not to roll his eyes at another Old Jungle Saying.
ooo00ooo
The snap of a stick alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. Just like last time.
Not an accident then, Phil decided.
"I thought that I might find you if I waited here," Phil stated, not bothering to turn from the view of the ocean afforded to him from this cliff-top vantage point until he was certain that his companion had moved out of the cover of the trees.
"'You never find the Phantom, he finds you'," the man in question stated.
"Is that so?" Phil asked, deciding to ignore the fact that he'd just been given another of those Old Jungle Sayings.
Idly, he wondered just how many of them there actually were and whether they'd all be written down somewhere.
"I understand that you decided to turn the pirates of the Singh Brotherhood over to the Jungle Patrol?" the Phantom half asked, half stated.
"Seemed the right thing to do and I can swing it with my boss," Phil shrugged. "President Luaga seems a good man; I think that I can trust his government's judicial system to do the right thing."
"Walker is an old friend. You can trust him," the Phantom replied.
"You know, for all this talk of yours about you being around for centuries, I haven't been able to find anything more than a single image of a criminal sporting your skull mark on his face anywhere. I would have expected more," Phil stated.
"Do you really think that The Ghost Who Walks can be found if he doesn't want to be?"
"You're not a ghost," Phil retorted, "they don't exist."
The Phantom simply shrugged.
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Nevertheless, you saw how the Singh Brotherhood reacted to my mere presence."
"I don't suppose that you ever get bored out here in this jungle of yours? There's a lot of crime and criminals out in the rest of the world; you could do a lot of good," Phil said.
"No doubt. However, I'm needed here," the Phantom replied. "Besides, there are others who can do the job in my stead."
"Oh?" Phil asked, interestedly.
"You, for example," the Phantom said. "You and your S.H.I.E.L.D. are working to make the world a better place, to stand against evil."
It was then that the Phantom lifted his left hand and a medallion on a leather cord dropped from his fist to dangle between them. As the round metal object slowly spun, Phil could see what he first thought was a stylised cross on it. On a closer look, he realised that the cross was actually made up of four 'P's'. An identical symbol to the one on the Phantom's ring on the hand that was holding the medallion.
"This is known as the Good Mark," the Phantom explained. "The opposite of the skull mark. It tells all who see it and who know what it is that you are a friend and under my protection. If you ever need me and you can't come yourself, send this and I'll come."
Phil didn't know what to say so settled for a simple nod and a quiet 'thank you' as he reached out and accepted the medallion. After a brief inspection of it, he lifted the leather thong and dropped it over his head, letting the medallion fall into place on his chest.
"I expect that you'll be leaving soon," the Phantom stated.
"As soon as I return to the quinjet," Phil confirmed. "The Jade Princess has a combined S.H.I.E.L.D. and Jungle Patrol force aboard her; she'll be fine until the Pakistani's arrive to claim her and take her home."
"In that case, farewell, Phil Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. Until we meet again," the Phantom said.
"Until then, Phantom," Phil replied.
And then, almost faster than lightning, the Phantom had disappeared back into the jungle.
ooo00ooo
It was already nearing midnight when the quinjet landed on Theodore Roosevelt Island. Exiting the craft, Coulson looked up at the Triskelion. For the most part, it was dark with few lights on. That didn't mean that there wouldn't be people – Agents – about, either burning the midnight oil or monitoring situations. After all, it was only night in this part of the world; on the opposite side of the planet, it was day. Not the bad guys worked a strict nine to five job either.
Craning his head back, Coulson peered at one particular patch of the building. From here, it was near impossible to tell if the particular office that he was looking at was one of those that was lit. Not that it mattered anyway. The Director knew what time he was due to land; he'd be there, waiting.
Hitching the strap of his duffle higher on his shoulder, Coulson strode across the tarmac and towards the nearest entrance to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. His Level Seven Clearance got him past the guards without being stopped or questioned. And the fact that there was an elevator already stationed at ground level also aided his progress.
Minutes later, after a quick stop off at his office to deposit his duffle, Coulson stood outside the Director's office, knocking.
"Come," Fury acknowledged.
"Director," Coulson greeted him, closing the door behind him.
"I expected you two hours ago," Fury groused.
"Sorry, Sir, I needed to tie up a few loose ends before I could leave Bengalla," Coulson explained.
"Those 'loose ends' have anything to do with this 'Phantom' that you filed a report on?"
"Yes, Sir," Coulson replied. "He was instrumental in the mission's success and I wanted to express our thanks."
"Your report on him made for some interesting reading. Not that there was much to it," Fury stated disapprovingly.
"Not my fault," Coulson replied. "The Phantom is … enigmatic at best."
"So, not another Tony Stark. Good. One of them in my life is one too many as it is," Fury stated. "What's your take on this statement that he's been around for half a millennium? A fantastic tale or true immortality?"
Coulson paused at the question. He'd been pondering it himself ever since he'd heard the Phantom say it.
"From my talks with the Jungle Patrol and the locals, there's no doubt in my mind that the Phantom has been protecting Bengalla for that long," Coulson replied slowly. "Whether or not it's the same man or … or a title that's been passed along is hard to tell."
"Your gut feeling," Fury insisted.
"A title," Coulson replied with the first thing that popped into his head. "But I have no evidence for that."
"I didn't ask for evidence," Fury countered. "But he's definitely on the side of the angels?"
"Yes, Sir," Coulson replied certain of this answer at least. "And I believe that we can count him an ally."
"Hmm," Fury said, leaning back in his chair, his single eye staring at Coulson. "What's your take, Coulson? Is this 'Phantom' a potential recruit for the Avengers Initiative?"
"Eventually, maybe," Coulson sighed before continuing, knowing that Fury wouldn't simply accept that answer. "We still know too little about him. And while that's not necessarily a bad thing, one of the things that we do know is that he operates from a country within Africa that's hard to get to. And I have neither seen, heard nor found any evidence to say that he's ever left the borders of Bengalla."
"Agreed," Fury nodded, leaning forward once again. "We'll put him on the secondary list, just in case the team that we end up putting together ever needs back up."
Fury tapped a button on his pad and the big screen at the back of the room lit up with the Phantom file that they'd just been discussing, including both a head shot and a full body image.
"It's a start," Fury allowed, "but we need more intel. I'll give it a couple of months and send in an operative, see what they can dig up."
"The locals are fairly guarded when it comes to the Phantom," Coulson warned. "It might need to be a long-term assignment."
"I have no problem with that if this guy is the asset that he appears to be," Fury said. "Now, the tac team that we sent in, your report wasn't exactly glowing."
"There were a few teething problems," Coulson replied. "They got there in the end."
"In your opinion, what went wrong the first time?"
Coulson gave the question some thought. It wasn't as though the team didn't have the skills to get the job done. Individually, at least.
"Cohesion," he finally said. "They hadn't worked together as a team before this mission."
"You're saying that we need a dedicated tactical response team?" Fury asked.
"That would be my recommendation," Coulson nodded.
"Hmm. A Special Tactical Reserve for International Key Emergencies," Fury mused, his head tilted back as he appeared to be getting his inspiration from the ceiling. "The idea has merit. I'll put Sitwell on it; he's had some experience with the tac teams."
The buzz of Fury's phone interrupted them and Coulson saw Fury frown down at it.
"What?" Fury barked at it, having stabbed the button to answer it. "This better be damn important at this time of night!"
"I'm sorry, Sir," the voice on the other end replied. "But it is."
"Well? What is it?"
"Sir, we just received word from a research team in the Artic. They've found him, Sir!"
"Who'd they find?"
"Captain America! They've just found the plane that Captain America went down in buried under the ice and he's there, too. Sir. There's even a report saying that Captain Rogers may still be alive!"
Coulson's eyes met Fury's and he suspected that his own were as wide as Fury's single one. Coulson opened his mouth to say something – what, he had no idea. Fury, though, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.
"Go!" the Director ordered.
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Coulson replied even as he was already up out of his chair and moving at speed towards the door.
End Mission Report.