Disclaimer: see chapter one

Chapter Three- Contact

Scott unwrapped a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. Chewing methodically, he exhaled in relief as he felt his ears pop, adjusting to the change in the air pressure.

"Ya know, Captain's not gonna like that."

Scott turned around to face the person he was sitting next to. "Yeah, well, Captain'll get over it."

"So, whaddya think we'll face out there?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Probably anything and everything. Including," Scott swallowed convulsively. "Snakes."

"Oh my God, you're scared of snakes." The red-head sitting next to Scott stared at him in wonderment. "Lieutenant Scott 'not-afraid-of-anything' Tracy is afraid of a slimy snake!"

"I'm not scared of snakes, Tom," Scott scoffed as manly pride kicked in to defend his image. "I just have a… aversion to them, that's all."

"If that keeps ya warm at night, you keep on tellin' yourself that," Tom joked, chuckling slightly. His laughter died down as he observed his friend's body language. Scott sat ramrod straight, eyes clouded over and thumbs twiddling constantly.

"You're worried, aren't you, Ace?"

"Look around," Scott gestured vaguely with his hand, ignoring the use of his nickname, "and name one person, apart from yourself, who isn't."


Jeff slammed the car door in annoyance and marched up the stairs leading to the front door. He wrenched it open and forcefully pulled the door shut behind him. The resounding bang heralded his arrival, and John scurried out to meet him.

"I came home and no one was here. Where were you, Dad?" John demanded through gritted teeth.

"Out," Jeff snarled tersely. "I had to clear my head."

"Where did you go?"

It was an innocent question from John, and Jeff didn't mean to yell at John, but all his emotions of annoyance, fear, worry and more than a touch of remorse, came tumbling out from his mouth like a verbal waterfall.

"I went out for a drive! What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?! Now, if you don't mind, I have to attend a video conference with Mr. Kyomoto." Without waiting for a reply, Jeff pushed his way past John and locked himself in his solitary office.

John blinked a few times as his brain tried to process what had happened. "OK," he said eventually with a layer of sarcasm, to no one in particular, "that went well."


Scott glanced down at his watch. 'We've been on this damn plane for six hours. Hope we get there soon,' he thought. 'Can't wait to stretch my legs.'

It was no joke; at just over six foot two, Scott was becoming incredibly uncomfortable at being crammed into the military's version of 'cattle class'. Levering himself out of the chair, Scott walked up and down the aisle, his muscles thanking his brain in relief.

As he walked, he wished there were windows he could look out of. As a kid travelling on family holidays, Scott had always bagged the window seat so he could stare constantly out of it as the plane moved. And, of course, the window had to be situated right behind the wing so Scott could marvel at the mechanics and engines the plane had on offer.

So, to him, the lack of windows was somewhat… disconcerting, to say the least.

Scott felt the floor of the plane vibrate slightly, and he registered a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach. The plane was descending. Scott didn't have to look out of a window to know that the plane's steep descent was due to a thick layer of cloud surrounding a mountain range.

Pulling out another stick of gum from his pocket, Scott shoved it in his mouth and hurried back to his seat, preparing himself for a less than smooth landing.


John lay, belly down, on the varnished and stained floor of the formal dining room. His most prized possession, apart from his family- not that John thought of his family as possessions. It was just the idea of belonging to something had an aroma of appeal to him.

With a slight shake of his head, John turned back to polishing his in-pieces telescope. 'Should be a good night for stargazing. The hole in the roof is fixed, and the weather forecast predicts a clear night.' His mood brightened as he thought about his favourite pastime.

A small vibration coming from his pocket caused John to drop his lens and scramble around for his phone. He glanced at the screen. The number was unidentified. With trepidation, John accepted the call and raised the phone to his ears. "John Tracy speaking."

"Hi, John, it's me."

Those four little words had John sitting up in a flash, his telescope forgotten.

"Scott! You called!"

"Course I did. Why do you sound so surprised?" Scott asked, brow furrowing suspiciously. "Actually, don't answer. I only have a minute of 'contact time' left. Just had to let you know that I'm there, and all in one piece."

"OK, OK, that's good," John said, suppressing a curse as he stumped his toe sprinting up the stairs to Jeff's office. "Just hang on; Dad'll want to have a word with you."

"No, John, there's no time. They're calling us away. I've gotta go now."

John didn't hear Scott's reply, as at that precise moment, he was barging his way into his father's office. "Dad, Scott's on the phone!"

Jeff promptly dropped the stack of papers in his hand, achieved a performance worthy of a gymnast as he vaulted himself over his desk and snatched the phone out of his second eldest's hand. He was that desperate to talk to his first born son.

"Son?"

The only response Jeff heard was the dialling tone.


"Welcome to hell."

The small group of four that Scott had been stationed with glanced around at that statement. A shadow played on the floor, letting all the spectators see that the speaker was less than whole.

"You have no idea on what they do to you here. I'll tell you what they do. They take your life away! Everything I lived for, they took it away from me." The voice oozed with seething anger. "But don't worry. You'll find out for yourself. They're always looking for fresh blood."

The shadow retreated back, skulking in the darkness, hidden out of sight.

"Who didja think it was talkin' about?" Tom asked. His voice exposed just how spooked he was from that.

"Hopefully, she was medicated, and it was the drugs talking," the group medical officer, Jessie, offered, trying to settle everyone's nerves.

Without realising it, Scott shot the young medical officer a sceptical look. "Let's just keep moving." Scott ushered the rest of the group down through the labyrinth of corridors that made up a central base. "It would not be wise to be late for Basic Resistance, Defence, Weaponry and survival skills."


"You are not here to hunt down rebel troops. You are not being trained for that, nor do you have the authority to do that. If you inadvertently capture a rebel group, show them mercy, even though you will be shown none at their hands," General Hansby instructed. It was his job to enforce how important that rule was. "You are here to help in this precariously volatile situation. You are not here to make things worse. Is that understood?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Is that understood?!" General Hansby roared.

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Now, moving onto other things. There may be a time when you are forced to eject from your plane. Depending on what kind of terrain you land on, your chances and strategies for survival will vary.

"For the purpose of your training, based on where you will be located, we will be informing you of survival tactics, strategies and other information tailored to suit you. Forget almost everything you learnt in your Basic Survival Camp you did before you came here. It's complete rubbish in this case.

"Based on where this group is stationed, the scenario you will most likely find yourself in is stranded in the jungle. Survival is at its toughest there. You cannot be picky or fussy. You have to make do with the best the jungle has to offer.

"The next lesson: cuisine." The General raised an eyebrow, daring them to comment before he continued. "The jungle will not be kind to you. Whatever food it does provide, you take it. You grab it with both hands and you eat it. If it doesn't provide food, tough luck. If it provides non-toxic wild flowers and mushrooms, you pick 'em up and eat it. If it provides you with meat, you eat it, regardless of the kind of meat. It is imperative that you keep your strength up to survive in the wilderness."

Hansby moved behind a table, where a sliver lid covered a plate. Lifting the lid up a bit, he peered inside, a hint of malice glinting through hardened, cold grey eyes. He knew everything about the group he was training, from their names and ranks right down to their likes and dislikes. In this particular group, only one person would have a problem with the meal on the plate. It was up to General Hansby to get that member to face his issues.

"Lieutenant Tracy, come up to the table, please."

With trepidation and an increasing sense of foreboding, Scott made his way over to the dreaded dinner plate on the table.

"Now, Lieutenant, it was a long flight over here. Six and a half hours, wasn't it? I imagine you're simply ravenous after that."

Scott wasn't ravenous. He wasn't even hungry, but it would not be prudent to mention that.

"Bon appetit." Hansby lifted the lid off the plate with a flourish, revealing the dish to the other occupants in the room.

After an eternity, or so it seemed, Scott stammered, "t-t-that's… that's a snake."

"Yes it is. Non poisonous, already dead, what more could you want? Now eat."

Scott's insides writhed and wriggled, squeezed and squirmed. It was a snake. A snake with beady little eyes and scaly skin and other horrors that made Scott shudder against his will. It was a small snake, a dead snake, but still a snake.

'Mind over matter,' Scott thought while taking a deep breath. He peeled off the skin and let it slide out of his fingers before hurriedly taking a sizable bite out of the tail end. Chewing robotically, Scott swallowed the snake bite, hoping, praying, it wouldn't come up again.

'Yeurgh. Snakes. I don't think my mind's gonna get over that matter any time soon.'

The room then burst into applause, and Scott was allowed to sit back down.

"Well done Lieutenant. The last lesson: caution.

"The jungle is a death trap. There are mines and bombs all over the place. We do know that the rebel troops favour mines over bombs, and these are the mines they use most often." General Hansby held a six inch cylinder with a flat disc attached to one end in his hand. "These mines are buried under a layer of topsoil. You won't be able to see them, but you will hear it when you step on one."

The General pressed down on the flat disc, allowing a detached click to resonate around the room. "When you hear this, you must yell 'contact!' to warn others not to approach you. Do NOT step off the mine! Stay on the mine. It may be a fake, like this one, but you don't know that. You cannot afford to take that chance!"

He released the disc and a small hiss of air slithered out of the cylinder. "Not activated mine."

There was a chilling click sound again. "Activated mine."

And a release. "Not activated."

And another click. "Activated."

Sobered silence lingered in the air. It was like a spell, a moment of clarity in a world of chaos and confusion.

"This concludes your briefing session," General Hansby interrupted. "Good luck out there and Godspeed. Dismissed."


The four newcomers to Bereznik trekked through the long, overgrown grass and weeds across a field, surrounded by rice fields.

They had travelled as far as they could by jeep, bouncing up and down on an unpaved, winding road, until the road ended. From there, they had to make their way to the village they were stationed at on foot.

"Refresh my memory; why didn't Base allow us to fly one plane over to the village? It would have been faster, not to mention, easier," Jessie grunted, lugging some of her medical equipment behind her.

"Coz any unauthorised air traffic that hasn't been screened by the government military is seen as a potential threat to Bereznik, and it will be shot outta the sky. And, our UN approved planes are only to be used in deliverin' food, shelter or medication or defending the community we'll be bunkin' with," Tom called to Jessie, who was about a metre behind him, as he fought his way through thick, vine like grass and weeds. "Plus, our planes are already at the village."

Scott stepped closer to Jessie, snatching a medical kit out of her hand. At her protests, Scott shrugged unapologetically, simply telling her that it would be easier on her if he carried the kit.

"You, Lieutenant Tracy, you are a lifesaver," she gushed, flexing the aching joint in her elbow as she continued to battle her way through the field. "No, you're more than that. You're an angel. Really, you are. If you keep this up, carrying my stuff, I mean, I think I might just fall in love with you."

She paused. Jessie knew Scott well enough to realise that something was wrong. Normally, Scott would have interrupted her ramblings with a small coughing fit or with, "please stop, Jess. You're starting to embarrass me."

This time, he didn't.

Jessie pivoted slowly, taking in her surroundings as she pushed strands of brown hair out of her eyes. "Scott? You OK?"

Scott was not OK. He was nowhere near OK. He could have sworn he heard something. Something that sounded like a distinct click.

"CONTACT!"