ANOTHER TIME – ANOTHER BAD MEMORY
A STEPHANIE PLUM/RANGER FANTACY
Scene 1
Columbia, State of Caquita –
He was so tired. Close your eyes for a minute, just to rest them. He gave in to the thought. The pain came immediately. It coursed through his entire body and it seemed to last forever.
"No, no Effe'. No sleeping here. You know the rules. You brought the pain on yourself. It would be so much easier for you to simply cooperate. You could sleep. You could eat. Maybe we would even let you sit down. Would you like to sit down? Your legs must be painful by now. Your friends are all dead. You are alone here in this God-forsaken jungle. We are your only means to survive. We can help you."
His tormentor was standing inches from his face; his putrid breath causing waves of nausea in Ranger's stomach. Or maybe it was the beatings, the electric shocks or lack of water. They gave him just enough to survive. He can't be allowed to die too quickly. The information locked in his head was important. They needed to know how many soldiers to expect. If the camp location was compromised, it needed to be moved but not before the arms shipment arrived. How much time did they have? He knew that he would answer none of them.
Holding on to all of his training had kept him from answering anything. What had his instructor said? Oh, yeah…"You will not survive torture. Going in with that knowledge will give you the strength to get through it. Don't be macho. Scream when it hurts. It encourages them and the adrenaline rush will numb you. Death will come, and with it peace and lack of any more pain. Embrace it. Encourage it. It will be your only friend."
So, with what little saliva was left in his mouth, Ranger spit squarely in the rebel's face. Retaliation was swift and severe. His captor ground his hand into Ranger's scrotum and pulled furiously. Ranger screamed.
"Gringo, Asshole! Now I have your balls. Before we are through, perhaps I will relieve you of them altogether." The rebel hissed.
Damn! Not enough. He's got to make one of them loose their cool and kill him. Ranger knew he had to change the status quo. They could keep him alive as long as they had to. And he had to find a way to make them kill him soon. He hadn't talked yet, and he wanted to die before he was forced to.
Left alone in his pain and thoughts, Ranger replayed in his mind the events of the last three days. One careless move was all it took. One stupid rookie mistake. He would not let his stupidity blow the mission. But was it a mistake? Or was it betrayal?
SCENE 2
The team had flown into Florencia over a four day period. Too many strangers arriving together would have red flags flying everywhere. Ranger and a new guy to the unit…Pierre … had flown in on the second day. Ranger could blend in with the locals. His Cuban linage a help, but he had to watch not to be too chatty. English isn't the only language with regional accents. But Pierre was another story. There was no way a 6'6" black man was going to blend. Hell, he was built like a tank! He must have some special skill for this op or CQ would never have sent him.
None of the six men in the insertion team had contact with each other, staying in separate hotels and eating at different times and places. By day four they were to have slowly gravitated to their designated meet point twenty miles east of Florencia at an abandoned mine site. Weapons and equipment would be stashed at a drop box there. Usually the unit was flown in by black-ops chopper, but air space around this section of Columbia was too well monitored by both the Columbian government and the rebels. And no one wanted Americans in the mix. The men weren't used to delays deploying a mission and they were beyond antsy.
First Sgt. Bernardo "Torch" Vargas was platoon leader. Sgt. Andy Levine was communications. Sgt. Randall "Dolly" Khunes was team medic. Sgt. Mitchell Oliver had ordinance. Sgt. Pierre Delbert was mission specialist…what ever that entailed was need to know. And evidently the rest of the unit didn't nee to know. And Sgt. Ricardo "Carlos" Menoso…sniper. SF/R team Omega had been on other Insertion and Extraction missions before. Some were bloodier than others; but they knew how each other worked and watched each other's sixes. Every one always came home, and every mission had been a success. No one had worked with the "Tank" before and every man had his doubts. Each kept his opinion to himself. Team first…the Ranger way.
The mission was pretty straight forward. There was to be a large munitions drop taking place in the jungle somewhere south of SanVicente del Caguan. The unit was to destroy the weapons and bring the weapons dealer to GitMo for 'information extraction'. Simple in and out through snake infested, bug infested rebel infested jungle. Piece of cake!
They had traveled the 75 miles in good time and were only now starting to see small groups of rebels scattered about. Close recon had given info on a larger camp 15 miles farther in. The satellite camps seemed to be waiting for orders or supplies or both. The men in Omega knew they were close.
The camp was located the following evening. They fanned out by two's to cover all four points. Clicks on their radios were the only communications used. Every 15 min…2 even clicks…everything OK.
Two bursts followed by two more meant movement in that area. A handful of rapid bursts meant 'Oh Shit!' The 'Oh Shit' one is where Ranger's troubles started.
There had been movement from the north of camp, coming from what would kindly be called a road. It resembled two parallel ruts running through the jungle. Both the road and camp had been well chosen with the canopy of vegetation giving good concealment from the air. They started to deploy to their mission locations. Vargas and Delbert were on point, followed by Oliver and Khunes. Andy with his communication gear was behind them. Ranger as always in the rear was covering the team ahead and their tracks behind. They were the color of the jungle. They moved with the jungle. They were shadows. So they thought.
The two vehicles were US WWII jeeps. Amazing they were still running. More amazing that they could still find parts for them. These weren't supply vehicles. More than likely the rebel commanders were getting the final delivery details down pat. Then for no apparent reason every one of the unit's radios started clicking, and clicking. Individually the sound would have been buried in the background noises of the jungle. Together, and repeatedly some one might have just as well stood up and whistled. The soldiers in the vehicles turned to the sound and their men on the ground fanned out.
When a mission is blown; there is a set location to meet and reorganize. Each man splits off and heads for that location. If slitting an occasional throat is required to make you escape…so be it. Just make sure the body won't be found, or you soon will be.
Ranger turned and headed into thick foliage careful to not make a sound. Twenty yards in he saw the body. It was a rebel soldier, his throat cleanly opened with what was probably a garrote. Damn! Not something you want to be found near. He went to back out the area and all the lights went out.
Scene 3
Waking up with your arms tied to a cross pole and a man's boot on your neck is never a good thing.
"Ola, Gringo. Welcome to my humble home away from home. My name is Ortiz but you can call me Sir. I will be you host. And you will tell me why you abused my hospitality by killing my man. No?"
First rule of capture: shut up and don't play innocent victim. Take the time to read and study you captor and evaluate your condition. Sounds pretty forthright. Hard to accomplish when you are lifted to your feet by said cross pole and hit with a rifle butt in your solar plexus simultaneously. Ranger was thankful he had gone before because he would have pissed himself with the blow. Dignity is a strange thing. The longer you hold on to it, even in absolutely dire situations, the longer you feel in control of yourself.
Before he could get his footing he was hit again and then again. When the haze in his head cleared, he was standing slightly on his toes with his arms tied to the cross pole which was tied to two obliging trees. His ribs were on fire, his stomach wanted to cramp and he could feel vomit slowly creeping up his throat. He swallowed it back down. Vomit in the jungle draws nasty flying things and he was going to have enough problems without being driven crazy by flies he couldn't shoo away.
First there were beatings but they became useless, as the realization that as a result he might die came into play. Then some psychopathic genius decided a truck battery and jumper cables might be more persuasive. When they would throw water on him he would try to catch some in his mouth to quench is thirst. He usually missed. Then when he was good and wet they would do high school science experiments on the good conductivity water has with electrical current.
By the third day, Ranger knew there would be no rescue. The mission took priority over everything. The unit would first capture their primary target then destroy the ammunitions. Only when the primary was safely on his way would they chance a rescue. And the weapons had not yet been delivered. He knew he couldn't last another day. The lack of sleep was starting to give him hallucinations. Sleep deprivation works as well as drugs in interrogations. The captive has a hard time separating reality from fantasy an eventually starts babbling; usually the very facts the interrogators are looking for.
He made his plan. The little weasel looking rebel had the shortest temper, probably because he was the shortest man there and was as ugly as the back end of an ox. Weasel man was in charge of making sure Ranger hadn't died yet and was still secured. One of his jobs was shoving bread or some awful tasting mush down Ranger's throat followed by what ever liquid was handy. His loving caretaker…that's who Ranger chose to kill him. He laughed out loud at the absurd realization: He finely found some hope in that: he finely found someone to kill him. The hallucinations were getting worse. This had to happen soon.
Scene 4
The buzz of organized activity pulled Ranger out of his stupor. The delivery was probably taking place. The camouflaged truck that had been parked on the outside of camp was moving out along with one of those antique jeeps. Most of the camp cleared out, heading for the rendezvous with the supplies. He would listen for the explosion. His team was good. They would get in and get out with the prisoner, silently then set the charges to blow when they were far enough away. By the time he would hear the explosion the team would be at least a mile away. After the prisoner was handed off, they would come back for Ranger's body. In SF you never leave a man behind, but too often it's only their bloody corpse you return.
There was a serene calmness overtaking him. It will soon be over. He won't be needed once the arms changed hands. So they will kill him. Or, they will be so mad that the mission was a success and they didn't get their weapons they will kill him. Rambo only exists in the movies. There will be no last minute cavalry to the rescue. That knowledge gave him peace. God, he was so tired. His body was numb from the waist down from standing on his toes so long.
His host Ortiz stopped by. Grabbing Ranger's face in his hand he shook it as he laughed. "So, Gringo, all this for nada." Well maybe Ranger won't need Weasel-face after all. With all the strength he could muster, he answered. "Fuck you, you stinking excuse for Che Revera. Pitiful little general in a shit hole of a country." Bingo! Ortiz flipped out. He let out a guttural scream and reached for his pistol. He pointed directly at the center of Ranger's face. And then there was the shot.
Huh, death didn't hurt. That's odd. Ortiz fell down and Ranger was still standing. He was covered in blood and bits and pieces of other body matter. If he was dead why did he still hurt? What do you know…death is an LSD trip…go figure?
Then silently, from seemingly out of nowhere. Ranger was face to face with the "Tank." He was aware of other action in the camp but his focus was on Pierre. "Are you God?" he asked in all sincerity. Pierre chuckled as he cut Ranger down. "Not hardly. Can you walk?"
"Sure." Ranger replied, as he fell to his knees.
"Well, I can walk better." With that Pierre threw Ranger over his shoulder and headed into the jungle.
Ranger's LSD trip continued. (He wasn't aware of it at the time but later during de-brief sessions, his team members joked that he acted like he had smoked half the jungle. Ranger vowed never to loose control again.) Being carried over another man's shoulder gives you a weird perspective of the world. The jungle up side down looks no different the jungle right side up. Other voices started filtering into his new up side down world. And then presto, nothing was up side down anymore but he was flat on his back. Still convinced that he was dead, Ranger found this entire carnival ride experience exhilaratingly funny. There were no angels just more soldiers like him. There were no Pearly Gates just giant trees. All those years listening to priests and they got it all wrong! His poor grandmothers will be so disappointed. They always wanted wings.
"Dolly" Khunes was kneeling next to him. Jeeze, I hope "Dolly" didn't buy it too he thought. There was a slight prick and then sleep. Blissful wonderful sleep. No dreams. No pain. Just sleep. This was heaven.
Scene 5
The team was crouched down in brush on the edge of a clearing. Ranger woke with one hell of a headache. "Dolly" was at his side wearing a big stupid grin. "Are you back with us, Menoso?" His thoughts were coming together now. He was pretty sure he wasn't dead. But the mission? He didn't remember hearing an explosion. How did they rescue him and still complete the mission. He sat up with a million questions.
First Sgt. Vargas, the team's leader walked up to him also smiling. "Mission accomplished. Both the under-cover CIA man and the arms dealer are out of country. There was an explosion when Ortiz's men were off loading their shipment. Terrible loss of useless lives there. And in about 5 minutes our ride home will be here courtesy of that same CIA."
CIA man? There was nothing in the mission about a CIA man. What CIA man? Thing were just starting to make sense to Ranger and this CIA thing was giving him cause to panic. Hard as he tried he couldn't remember a damn thing about a CIA man. He did remember his ride on the big man's shoulder. He looked around for Pierre; and found him sitting off to the side by himself. It took some effort but Ranger forced himself to walk the short distance to the man who rescued him and offered him his hand. "Thanks, Pierre"
"Just call me Tank. I like the nickname and I've always hated Pierre. Look at me. Do I look like a Pierre to you?"
"If a man your size and strength wants to be called Tank. Then Tank is shall be forevermore." Ranger laughed.
"Hell, back in the camp you thought I was God."
"Back in the camp I also thought I was dead. A big, black God made as much sense as anything else."
They both laughed and Tank helped Ranger sit back on the ground. "You didn't have to get up walk over here to me" said Tank
"Yes, yes I did." Ranger replied. They both sat in silence until the copter arrived to take them home.
All the missing pieces came together during de-briefing sessions. Tank was the only available SF who had had eyes-on experience with the undercover. His job was to find him and pull him out alive. The uncontrolled clicks that had given away their positions that night were caused by a rebel soldier sneaking into the forest cover to make an un-authorized radio call. His radio was close to the unit's frequency and click, click click. He had been killed by the undercover, who, when he heard Ranger approach, hid. He apologized for not being able to prevent Ranger's capture. Mitchell Oliver was a genius with anything that goes boom. The team had been able to stop the delivery truck a mile before the presumed meet point. The arms dealer was captured. The rest of the personnel had been quietly dispatched. And the truck was set with a remote demo device. The team had positioned themselves around the camp while Oliver stayed hidden ready to blow shit up.
Ranger's ability to withstand the torture he did, bought the team the time it needed to complete the mission. He was asked two questions by every member of the team. "What did you say to that rebel general to get him so friggin mad?" And Tank…God…really?"
END