Chp. 26: A Fugitive of the State

March 7, 2024

Unknown Location

She was the most beautiful girl Mark had ever laid his eyes on, and all he could do was watch, entranced by her every move. The way her feet moved with grace and speed, total control despite her wide, curvy figure. Her hair was practically gleaming in the lights beaming down onto the stage. She was less following the jaunty, string-heavy music and more shaping it to her liking. It would go slow when she did, and became faster when she did. His whole body went rigid as her eyes opened and looked over the crowd. She extended her arms and struck a pose of sorts. Mark looked back and held up his bottle over the cheering crowd, demanding more to drink. The hot, Persian sun wasn't all that was drying his throat. What little was left in his bottle wasn't going to be enough to cool him down.

His mind forced his eyes back towards the woman in the turquoise garb and he felt his face warming. Mark couldn't stop staring; he felt like he was realizing all over again that girls are pretty. She was more or less in a turquoise bikini with one of those transparent skirt things. And plenty of jewelry...His flight suit felt like a sauna and a prison, and all part of his mind could scream for was distraction. He looked for a path to help, some way of escaping from the overwhelming emotions and the desire for her. The crowd's cheering spiked for a second. Mark turned to see what was going on and found she was sliding off the stage, moving directly towards him. He froze and she easily closed the distance between them. The room felt much smaller and the space between others felt much farther as she approached.

"Going so soon?~" She asked in a soft, Yuktobanian-accented voice.

"Ah...Ah...beer..." Mark stammered out, jabbing a finger towards the bar.

She tugged him back to his seat with an enigmatic smile while Mark only stared down at her, blank-faced and wordless. Satisfied he was again seated, she gracefully stood on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss against his cheek.

"Stay." She ordered gently.

"O-okay." Mark nodded stupidly.

He did, and watched the rest of her performance with rapt attention. He half expected her to flirt with someone else, but she only gave him that treatment. In fact, she came back to him, blowing him a kiss this time. Mark watched her hand as it floated by and reached out for it. She arched her brows in amusement as he captured it and placed a kiss on its top. She eyed him a minute, then hurried off back towards the stage. Mark felt a tug to follow her but only leaned out of his seat when she put a finger on his lips and cooed "stay" again. He nodded, wide-eyed and shy, and sat back again while she finished her dance back on the runway. The room exploded in approval while she bowed. Mark didn't move after that; she had asked he stay, so he would stay. The crowd seemed to fade from existence, and soon it was just them. Mark blushed and stood up as she approached.

"H-hi…" He drawled cautiously.

"Hello. Did you enjoy the performance?" She asked. He bobbed his head up and down rapidly.

"My name's Mark!" He blurted out. She smiled and sat him back down.

"Ekaterina is my name...thank you for staying. Are you not feeling well? You look awfully warm." She said. Her voice was going to make him melt at her feet.

"Ah'm fine Ah'm fine yer dance just...had an effect on me." Mark insisted, mentally grasping for calm. He took in a deep breath and paused. She waited with a sweet smile, eager to hear him explain himself.

"Ah'm sorry Ah just...Ah've never felt the desire to know a woman so much." He explained carefully.

He seemed to have given the right answer, whatever that was. Nonetheless she rested the back of a hand against his forehead and nodded.

"I am still concerned that your body and mind may be a bit...overwhelmed. Please, allow me to offer my room as a place to rest. We can talk in there." Ekaterina commented. Mark's resistance to being in a room to rest with her came out in a very simple protest.

"Ah don't want to impose."

She shook her head and leaned towards him, to the point their lips were centimeters apart.

"Please, I insist...my warrior." She said in a low voice…

"Osean pilot, you have nowhere to run! In accordance with internationally-recognized law, you are now considered a fugitive of the Verusean state! Do the right thing, and turn yourself in so that you may answer for your crimes!"

The harsh tones, though distant, were still plenty to wake Mark from his dreams. He slowly raised his head and looked in all directions over the lip of the small ravine. The sound was far off, and he could make out the fading noise of helicopter rotors somewhere above the snowy canopy. He sat back down and stayed still for a second, listening for any footfalls that might be near. Slowly his hand went to his revolver and stayed there until he was certain he was still alone. He got to his feet, remaining crouched, and started off again. A few hours were long enough; He was as far from Ekaterina's warmth as he would be for now.

The pilot descended the rest of the slope until he came to a footpath. He stopped again and looked both ways before he dashed across the open space and settled behind several trees bunched together. Again he listened for signs of trouble. He'd been able to avoid the Veruseans for now. He'd only seen them off in the distance, heard them off in the distance. They'd brought dogs and horses and even a few helos, but he'd put his outdoorsmen skills to good use. Every POW the Veruseans caught, especially officers, were political goldmines. Mark wasn't keen on joining the club. However many men they had after him, he'd outwit them all. He stopped deeper in the next sea of foliage to check his position and direction. He was still heading northeast.

"Osean pilot! There is nowhere you can run! Do not resist arrest! Your further resistance only jeopardizes your own safety! We will find you!"

The helicopter seemed a little closer, so Mark hid and waited again. He listened to the propaganda-soaked broadcast and muttered "Fuck y'all, comrade" to the broadcast as it circled around him and then began to fade on its way back towards where he'd come from. He moved forward again and found the terrain was sloping back up. He picked his way through the dense growth, going still anytime he so much as caused a bird to scramble from one branch to another. At the other end of the trees, he found he'd come upon another road at the bottom of what seemed to be the remaining third of a hill. The sides beyond bushes hanging over the edge were cut too straight to have been by nature's hand. He went out as far as he dared and removed his glasses before he looked both ways. To his right, the height remained and bent up around a corner where he couldn't see, and to the left it sloped down. He crawled back from the edge and rummaged for the map he had in his survival kit. As he planned his movements, the sound of an approaching vehicle got his attention. Mark stored his items again and lifted his head between two of the bushes.

A canvas-top jeep hurried up the road to an intersection where a sign pointing out the two diverging roads and what they lead to. The vehicle came to a stop and four soldiers got out, one of them carrying a pair of flags. Mark, curious and unwilling to move until he knew what was going on, waited until he heard the familiar noise associated with diesel engines. He looked to the left and saw a pair of cargo trucks roll past, going down the left path under the direction of the man with the flags. Two more followed seconds later, these ones uncovered and carrying more troops. Mark wasn't able to get an idea of how many before they disappeared into the forest. They'd looked similar to the ones who'd been in the jeep. They were likely People's Militia troops given their older-looking equipment.

Two more cargo trucks lurched up the road until they reached the sign at the intersection. Soldiers in white snowsuits and ushanka-type hats disembarked from the back and gathered around one who'd been riding in the cab of the lead truck. The man, likely an officer, gesturing at each path, explaining something that Mark assumed had to do with finding him. He counted at least forty men down there and grimaced. He silently wished for a bomb or missile to strike down upon the gathered troops, but alas God didn't conjure up JAGMs like that. The men split into two groups and headed up the right road and back down the path from which they'd come, AK-pattern rifles at the ready. The thump of combat boots rumbled down the pavement while Mark watched the trucks, who started turning around slowly. As the trucks rolled away, the troops seemed to be looking for a route into the woods...the same route he would likely need to take to get across the road. He could wait, but it didn't feel like a good option. Gut instinct; distance was the key factor.

Mark waited only a minute, then moved towards the exposed roots of a tree and slowly made his way towards the downslope. He could hear the soldiers as they started into the woods, being loud enough that he questioned how well they'd been trained. They could be dangerous, trigger-happy even. He let them be loud, though; every benefit he could take. A shout erupted, then some loud orders. Mark stayed still, then began to tense as two voices split from the main body and headed towards him. They went at a slow pace, spreading apart as they drew closer. Mark maneuvered so he was between their anticipated path. He quietly drew his knife but made no moves. He didn't intend to kill either, but part of the hunt was patience and preparedness. The two militiamen came into view, one stopping while the other kept on. If y'all are gonna get em, Mark, yah gotta get both… He thought, toiling with the situation for what easily could've been the rest of the war. The two stopped, and one casually mentioned something before the other acknowledged and moved on. On second thought...

The one who stayed behind slung his rifle and shuffled to a bush, likely to relieve himself. Mark rose against the trunk of a tree a few feet behind him, deciding that he wanted the Verusean's weapon. It would be to his benefit to have a bigger arsenal, and something to hold the line when rescue's approach made obvious his general position. He stalked forward like the antagonist in a monster movie and carefully positioned his arms how he envisioned them going around the man. Left over mouth, right brings the knife into his neck. Hold him tight and lower him gently. Mark held his breath when he was close, then lunged forth when he felt the man was about to turn around. He clamped his hand down over the Verusean's mouth and jammed the knife into the flesh at the base of his neck. He kept the man's head tilted back until the man stopped moving. Mark didn't know if he was still alive, but he let him down and avoided the bulge-eyed gaze as he relieved the man of his weapon and the two magazines stuffed in his pouches. He wiped his knife off on the man's coat.

Almost immediately after he hurried a few feet away before he got to the ground again and made his way towards the bottom of the incline. He stopped and hit the dirt in a depression in the ground, waiting to see if he'd gotten away cleanly. He also took a second to stuff the spare magazines in his flight suit pockets. After a second, when it still seemed quiet, he got up and moved to the edge of the road. A look up to the right showed that the jeep was out of sight. A look to the left revealed nothing, though he heard what might be an engine approaching. Damning the proverbial torpedoes, he hustled across the road in a crouch and, only when he was on the other side and in the woods again did he stop. He chose to settle in behind a pair of fallen trees and considered waiting. That sequence had been more than he'd imagined, and the image and feel of a living person being killed by his bare hands had a profound, if not delayed, effect on him. Wanting more distance, he turned and began crawling on his stomach, weaving through the bushes and shrubbery that might make noise. When he was far enough to his liking, he stopped. Once again, he was far from the Veruseans, moving in the opposite direction they'd gone.

A new sound soon emerged: jet engines. Mark looked up but couldn't see beyond the trees. Still, they were definitely jets. Friendlies? Maybe, maybe even looking for him? Whatever the case, he pulled out his radio and turned it on. The device, a PRC-112, had a built-in GPS transmitter that could send encoded info. Mark wanted to know he'd been found by the right side, though.

"Any friendly aircraft, any friendly aircraft this is Shogun 205, this is Shogun 205...Shogun 205 to any friendly aircraft…" He whispered harshly. There was no reply at first.

"Shogun 205 to any friendly aircraft...come in." He insisted, feeling desperation setting in early. He lowered the radio, considering moving to a better spot like a clearing.

"Shogun 205, this is Coyote 1-1. Signal's weak, but we hear you. Coyote 1-1 hears you, Shogun 205...move to a better position and call back in an hour." A voice replied amidst a distinct layer of static. Mark Walker nearly jumped for joy at that…

The controller aboard the E-3 looked away from his screen at the Lieutenant Colonel next to his console and tapped the display.

"Bout where Coyote 1 was at the time, sir." He said into his boom mike. The Lieutenant Colonel looked at the digital map on the screen and where the controller was pointing.

"Any word from the Rivet Joint yet?" He asked impatiently into his boom mike.

"Yes sir, they just geolocated it so we have exact coordinates." One of the communications specialists replied.

"Alright, tell em I want them listening in this time and to pinpoint our guy's location immediately. I don't give a shit about their intel weenie excuses; I have control over em."

"Yes sir."

The E-3G Sentries that orbited west of Kotoko in shifts had the secondary mission of listening for distress calls from downed pilots. The area was too hot for HC-130 Combat Kings to hang around for long and the Rivet Joints could only locate signals. Plus they were deemed too valuable by the powers that be to be used for that kind of stuff. After a very blunt conversation with their parent recon wing, he'd persuaded them to be on standby to help pinpoint the next transmission from the downed pilot.

"Shogun 205, Shogun 205 this is Boxer, come in Shogun 205 on Guard...Calling Shogun 205 on Guard. This is Boxer." One of the controllers transmitted. There was a pause before he started making the call again. Halfway through a country drawl interrupted.

"Shogun 205 reading y'all loud n clear, Boxer." Mark whispered from his newest hiding place.

"Boxer's reading you loud n clear too, Shogun. Standby for authentication questions." The controller replied.

"Rog."

The accent was unmistakable, but there was a final check to go through. The Veruseans had introduced the idea back during the Songolian War, using POWs under duress or their own men speaking Lenish-Osean. Mark had written the questions and answers himself and had made sure to ask himself things only he would have a good chance of knowing. They were also updated every few years. For a second he had a wave of panic as he struggled to remember exactly what he'd asked and what the answers were. He almost asked for a second to get his mind where he needed it to be, but Boxer cut off his thoughts.

"Shogun 205, you still with us?" The voice asked.

"Yeah." Mark confirmed quietly.

"Alright, who was your team in college?"

"...Tigers, Tigers rah rah rah."

Not the smartest one he'd tried for. He could tell the guy on the other end was trying not to laugh.

"That's correct. Okay, what was your second jet's nickname?"

"MiG Stomper."

"...MiG Stomper and?"
"...Uhhh...wait wait wait "We Endanger Commies" was the second part."

"Correct, okay final question is...what did Firebird Lead wear during the Typhoon of 95?"

"Ranger Walker wore tiger stripe for that."

There was a pause before he was informed that he'd gotten all the answers correct. He quietly thanked his granddad Cody for helping in that regard and listened as Boxer came back on the radio to give him instructions.

"Okay Shogun 205, here's how this'll work. You will make radio contact every three hours unless an emergency occurs. If we have any changes on our end, we'll call you. First contact after this call will be to give you a general idea of the LZ and put you in contact with a Combat King...until then lay low and keep moving towards the coast. Good luck."

"Thanks Boxer."

After that the radio went silent, and Mark turned it off for now. The AWACS had his location thanks to the RC-135, too. Now, they could pluck him from the unfriendly lands that surrounded him, as long as he could stay a free man for the next day or so…

President Reyes let the two ambassadors read the reports given to them and have some of the coffee an assistant had brought. Beom Jae-seop of Songolia and Kotoe Tsumara of the Shimoji Islands both seemed to better understand the presidents grim, albeit clear-headed, demeanor.

"So no idea where it was going, then." Beom observed, setting down his mug.

"No, but we're doing what we can to see where else they might have stockpiles. We know where their main facilities are, but their dispersal sites are where we'll find most of the other stocks if they've deployed them." Reyes replied.

"Should we make this discovery public?"

"Not yet; President Wáng-Xú has shown he has little care for world opinion. If we make this public too soon, we may not be able to use it later if he really starts to feel the pressure." His Shimoji counterpart reasoned.

"And that assumes they were intending to transport those weapons to Songolia or the Shimoji Islands." Reyes added. Tsumara nodded.

"To do so would cause a major public outcry, We Shimos are only engaged in this war because it directly involves our homeland. Weapons of Mass Destruction could fan the flames of cultural stigma. I know it is hard to comprehend, but it may cause anti-war sentiment to rise so much we'd be forced to negotiate a peace under Verusa's terms." She added. Beom held his tongue while Reyes seemed genuinely surprised.

"It is in the modern Shimoji mind to reject war's most terrible forms." She added. Reyes cross one leg up and onto the knee of the other and sat back, trying to relax and speak with a warmer, more confident demeanor.

"Well that brings me to the crux of our meeting. In terms of short-term matters, Operation Tiger's Jaw could cause them to try and deploy more chemical weapons or something more potent. They may be more willing to use such munitions because it's not their homeland, or they may not for fear of retaliation. I can send orders down the pipeline to my commanders to seek out and destroy chemical weapons that appear to be enroute to either of your countries, but that would take away resources from other missions."

Operation Tiger Jaw was the second part of the overall stragety to knock back the Veruseans. An attack into the Verusean advance from west Songolia along with an advance across the southern Shimoji Islands made up the metaphorical jaws. From there, it was the aim to completely push the Veruseans out of the islands and surround the forces invading Songolia. With that, they could (hopefully) force Verusa to agree to a withdrawal and ceasefire. Beom's face contorted into something between a scowl and a warlike sneer.

"We shall eject those wretched communists from our home and we are prepared for whatever they may use. In fact if they wish to escalate, then they can expect us to be less sympathetic to them. Songolia will fully support going forward with this operation." He declared. Tsumara was less enthusiastic, but after a minute of deliberation she nodded her head.

"The Shimoji Republics must reiterate that its participation will be purely in the interest of reclaiming its own territories. We will not participate in any form of invasion of the Verusean nation. The Diet is still torn over allowing our aircraft to operate over foreign soil; to participate in a ground invasion is beyond both our military and political boundaries." She declared. The other two nodded.

"I would suggest that it be announced at the UN when we do decide to reveal this." Tusmara added. Beom nodded in agreement.

"I can also agree to keeping this revelation in reserve for a more advantageous time. For now, our efforts should remain centered on ejecting the Veruseans from Songolia and the Shimoji Republics." He said. Reyes, in turn, nodded in understanding.

"Very well...now, have your governments had any chances to finalize proposals for the ceasefire demands?" He asked. Beom nodded and pulled up his briefcase.

"Yes, and I believe they are more than reasonable given the situation." He added with a bit of eagerness. The ambassador was just as eager as his masters in Boseong to end the long-standing divisions between Songolia and its northern neighbor.