The following is entirely fictional. I have no claim to The X-Files or its characters.
It was a long, quiet ride to the place that Mulder was referring to. These guys that he sought were experts, men that worked in the shadows, or so they like to think. They were a trio calling themselves the Lone Gunmen.
Parking their vehicle in front of the property and walking up the narrow path to the front door. When one thinks of paranoid people they think tin hat wearing psychos spouting government conspiracies around every facet of living including the girls running the lemonade stand across the street being CIA agents. Not so here. On the outside the house was unremarkable compared to its neighbors. The grass was lush green and well groomed. Curtains were drawn and the exterior was a light gray paint with shale roofing. At their feet was a doormat with large black letters stenciled, "GO AWAY". Scully felt a cold chill crawl up her spine, "This is worse than the county fair haunted houses I went to as a kid" saying to Mulder.
"Keep your hands inside the car at all times, Scully" Mulder smirked as he knocked on the door, "These ghosts bite."
"Who approaches?" a garbled voice asked from an overhead PA system.
"It's Mulder" he replied towards the door.
After a pause, the voice comes back, "Sorry, Mulder. We're a bit busy right now. Can you come back later?"
Without missing a beat, Mulder says, "I brought Scully with me."
Almost instantly the door swung open to reveal an older, stocky gentleman wearing a black leather jacket, balding with glasses. "Agent Scully!" he mused. "Welcome to our humble abode" stepping aside to allow both in. Scully scowled at Mulder for that trick. Inside it was a myriad of computers, stacks of papers, boxes, and files. A feverish tapping is heard in the dark background. That was the worker, Richard, tapping away on a page of the CIA's website. He found a loophole in the programming and was trying to exploit it thinking he could get a peek at the uncensored files of the Kennedy Assassination before they went public.
On the subject of President Kennedy, the more formal of the trio was standing beside a stack of unmarked white boxes. He's wearing a formal gray business suit, brown hair and neatly groomed beard. This was John, or rather John Fitzgerald Byers, named for the fallen President because he was born the day Kennedy was killed. As a late birthday present, Richard was trying to get those uncensored files for him. John shook the agent's hands and offered them a seat on a worn leather couch. "What brings you by?"
Unbuttoning his coat to sit down, Mulder said to John, "Yesterday General Howell was attacked in his limo. Howell suffered a heart-attack and he's in the hospital, but it looks like he's going to recover." John and Meyer looked at one another, silently asking, 'Okay? What's that got to do with us?'
Scully pursed her lips. She was reluctant to speak because the scenario sounded farfetched, "The assailant escaped from the limo without ever being seen. Either he's a ninja, or a ghost."
"Interesting" Melvin smirked. John scratched his beard, provocative. "What information CAN you give us?"
"We have to keep a tight lid on things," confessed Mulder. "What I think-what WE think-is what happened has to deal with the General's service overseas. You see, the assailant was wearing military fatigues used in Vietnam, according to the General."
"A veteran looking for revenge?" Melvin asked.
"Possibly" Scully replied. "What's strange is, the assailant had the chance to kill the General and didn't. He may be trying to get a point across."
"What point?" John asked.
"That's what we're trying to figure out" Mulder said. "I got a feeling the Army is going to stonewall us if we ask any questions on the General's background. Do you know General Howell?" The Gunmen shook their heads silently.
"Mulder here is his biggest fan" Scully inserted. "He was fangirling him in the hospital." A bit of revenge on him for putting her through this. "I'm surprised you didn't ask for his autograph." This elicited a chuckle from the Gunmen and a flick of the head towards her from Mulder.
"We can do the digging for you" Melvin nodded. "A couple of hours is all we ask."
"Thank you" Mulder said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mulder. I was talking to Scully." Melvin added.
It was the longest two hours the agents were forced to linger around the area. Fast food lunch made Scully ponder even more, "You know, Mulder, I've been thinking..."
"I warned you about that" Mulder replied with a deadpan tone.
"One of us has to," Scully ran a hand through her red hair, "the more I think about this, the more I think that it's strange. I think you're right, though, that what happened if related to Vietnam, what I can't get is, if it's a veteran looking for revenge, who can it be? Weren't all the members on his team killed or reported missing?"
Taking a bite out of his chow mien Mulder nodded, "That's right," remembering their names from hearing the story many times. He wiped his lips with a paper napkin, "Sergeant Hans Werner was killed. His body was found at the site with the eight Yards. Sgt. Francis P. McGregor and Specialist 4 Benjamin Taggart were reported missing and never seen again."
"That rules out, Werner" Scully softly replied. "Then there's McGregor and Taggart. What if they survived, either as prisoners or, somehow escaped like the General, and made it back to the US?"
"Without anyone knowing?" Mulder countered. "First thing I would do getting back to the States would be to contact my family and get a decent burger."
"If not them then maybe a family member of the missing, seeking revenge on the loss of their loved ones. It's happened before, Mulder, murderers became overwhelmed with emotion that they start to think they are their missing loved ones. Look at Dominic Montgomery in 1967. His father was killed in West Berlin by Communist guards. Montgomery suffered a mental break and began to act and dress like his father before going to West Berlin and attempted to confront his father's murderers."
"Again, if that's true, then why didn't they kill Howell when they had a chance?" Mulder asked. "An M-16 on his lap, remember?"
"Last moment cold feet" Scully replied putting her food into a plastic bag. "I know what you're trying to get at, Mulder, and I don't agree."
"That the spirits of the dead have come back for revenge? C'mon, Scully. How long have you been doing this with me? All these years and you're still a skeptic?" Mulder put his food away as well. "I'm not saying it's a ghost. I AM saying is to keep an open mind. Not everything can be solved with science, not right away."
Returning to the Long Gunmen's dwelling, there was a large gift waiting for them, "General Howell has done a lot of business overseas, namely Vietnam" Richard began by sitting beside the stack and clapping a hand on top of it, "A lot of military contracts seeking to turn Vietnam into an ally against the People's Republic of China."
"Right. When the Paris Peace Accords were signed," Melvin spat, "...we were leaving Vietnam. One of the conditions of the treaty meant all of our boys taken prisoner would also be released." He then held up a single finger, "BUT! There was a big problem; our government said that over 3,000 of our guys were either missing-in-action or captured by 1973. The North Vietnamese and the Viet Cong released only 591 prisoners by that year. That leaves around 2,400 either missing or declared dead by the Government." His voice was somewhat soured knowing what that meant, the Government, he felt, had no heart. To them, the fallen were just numbers, no faces, no families that mourn.
"What about the others?" asked Dana standing a short distance away and eyeing the stack.
"That's where the bad part comes in!" Richard pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A large ledger was in his hands when he came from the back, placed it on the table, and opened it. "After 1973 there were reports of living Americans still in Vietnam, China, and even the Soviet Union!" Going down the neat, handwritten, rows the ledger had, ranks, full names, service number, branch of service, the date and location of loss, when the military declared them dead, and a list of abbreviated information that included 'last seen'. The latter part opened up a can of worms that were confusing and often contradictory.
"Look at this one here, "Lt. Peter Hays O'Brien, United States Air Force. Reported missing on April 5th 1970 during a bombing mission near Hanoi. There was no enemy fire. His wingman saw him do his run and disappeared into the clouds. No distress call. Zip! A few days later the wreckage of his plane were found including his ejection seat that was nearby."
"So he bailed out" Dana nodded. She felt her heart lift a bit knowing there was a chance of survival.
"Right!" Richard smiled. "But if you look here, the government declared him dead a week later" the tip of his finger moving along his dedicated line in the ledger towards the far right of the page where 'Notes' were listed. "Then, in 1973, as the Accords were being worked on, one prisoner being held in Hanoi says that he saw O'Brien being guarded and loaded on board a truck. He swears that he knew it was him because they had flown together in pilot training. The prisoner called out to him and O'Brien turned around to the voice. O'Brien was loaded on board the truck and taken away. Then, two years later, an American student named Jaye Abernathy was arrested in East Germany on the charge spying. During his confinement in a gulag, he met an American also being held named O'Brien, and that he was a pilot. When Abernathy was exchanged a few months later, he was debriefed by the CIA who picked O'Brien out of a lineup of missing Americans."
"Until this day, the government says that Lt. O'Brien was killed-in-action, body-not-recovered" Melvin grumbled standing behind the stack of boxes. "His family thinks he died in Vietnam..."
"Why would the Soviets want O'Brien?" asked Mulder.
"His flight experience," Dana slid the ledger towards herself to continue reading. Most of those listed as missing were pilots or Special Forces, lost in operations in North Vietnam, Laos, or Cambodia, "The Chinese and the Russians were trying to get all of his expertise on the aircraft's avionics, sensors, radio communication, how to exploit his aircraft's weaknesses." In the back, Melvin was feeling turned on her intellect. So many names, Pvt Charles Gutierrez, reported missing 15 June 1969, Cambodia when his UH-1 Huey was shot down. Last seen alive running from the wreckage of his helicopter with several North Vietnamese Regulars giving chase. Lt. (jg) Ulysses Y. Toombs, reported loss 7 January 1971 when his A-4 Skyhawk was shot down near Hanoi. He ejected and was seen landing and running on the ground by his wingman. No further communication.
"A little bit on Howell," Melvin continued, "When the Soviet Union collapsed and Vietnam opened up to us, Colonel Jason Bell was given access to their archives and drafted a large, and detailed report, and it alleges there was solid proof that Americans had been held in China and the Soviet Union well after the war."
"Allegedly?" Mulder asked.
"Right. The report was made, but guess who classified the report before it was released in 1995!" Richard leaned away from the monitor. Stooping a bit, Mulder looked at the glowing screen. Stamped and signed 'Top Secret' was 'Brig. General Jeffrey C. Howell.' Strange. Why would a former prisoner-of-war want to censor information on fellow prisoners and those missing?
"Has no one seen the report?" asked Mulder.
"While you all were talking, I managed to get some of it," Richard continued with eagerness. "This is the best part. Agent Mulder, how familiar are you with Chopsticks?"
"I know that I can't use them" the agent replied dryly.
"Not those chopsticks, I mean Operation Chopsticks!" Richard smirked, "It was a POW rescue. During the war, Communist China was supplying the North Vietnamese with weapons, supplies, and advisors. In trade the Vietnamese gave them special prisoners, to be interrogated and exploited as Agent Scully said earlier. The Vietnamese told us they either did not have these prisoners or they died in captivity. Through our spy network we pinpointed where they were being held, a small island in the Beibu Gulf that was run by the Chinese. Heavily guarded. No one other than select high ranking officers and government people were allowed access. Word was there were at least a dozen Americans being held there, mostly pilots, but also intelligence people captured during the Tet Offensive of '68. Spies gave a detailed layout of the camp, the location of guard barracks, positions, prisoner cells, the works. So a plan was concocted by Colonel William Tiffany to use a Trojan Horse tactic..."
Travel back in time to the dark interior of a Russian-made Mi-8 Hip helicopter. Men were sitting on benches lining the hull. Lt. Charles Chen knew everyone on board. This mission was something they had been training for months. Mockups of the prison were constructed in Taiwan that they drilled relentlessly, even doing live-fire runs with living people as prisoners. Chen was chosen for this mission partly for his experience but also simply due to his heritage. His parents were from mainland China, who escaped from the Communist Revolution, first to Taiwan and then to the States. Charles was born in the States, he grew up speaking and reading Mandarin that he was fluent in it. All the better. Every member of his team were Chinese, half were Nationalist Taiwanese and the other half were Americans with Chinese heritage. It was crucial for this for every man in the helicopter was not only Chinese by blood, they were wearing Communist uniforms, with Communist-made weapons. Even the pilots were dressed accordingly. All communication from takeoff till now was done in Mandarin. Chen knew a second Hip was to their left with another load of 'Chinese soldiers'. Both helicopters had been captured by the Israelis in their clashes against their Arab neighbors, and were given as part of a mutual military exchange.
The helicopters would touch down on the island's landing pad. The designated officers would disembark and bluff their way past the initial guards and gain access to the prison. Inside they would overpower the guards, prevent a distress call from getting out, and open the cells. They knew this cover wouldn't last long. Any sudden arrivals would warrant an immediate inspection. If that were to happen, the cloaked commandos would jump out and storm the prison by force. All orders would be given in Mandarin unless they find the prisoners, then authentication would be done in English. Sure the prisoners would be confused, perhaps think it's an elaborate trick, but if they can prove their identity then they would be whisked away to freedom.
Chen glanced at his watch, the time was 2200 hours. Running in the dark the helicopters' rotors were the only sound heard. In front of them the island loomed into view. For an secluded island it was brightly lit. Perhaps to deter an escape. Over the radios the Hips were challenged by an operator demanding authentication. It was given in perfect Mandarin and to their relief they were given permission to land.
Setting down on the pad the rear ramps and side doors opened and out popped two Communist officers and their aide in immaculate uniforms, their chest adorned with medals. No caps as the prop wash would knock them away. A pair of guards approached demanding further identification. Giving his ID and stating their business as picking up a prisoner to be taking to Nanjing, the officers demanded to see the American. The bluff worked, the guards allowed them in. One looked inside one of the helicopters and asked why so many men, "Americans are very dangerous animals" Chen replied.
Allowed off the pad and towards the prison proper, Chen and his two comrades tried to not look like tourists by looking at everything around them. Eyes straight ahead. Act like you've been here many times and were bored by it. The guards took them into the prison where, again, they were made to present their IDs and give authentication. Again they were accepted and led towards the line of cells where the prisoners were being held. The cell doors were solid steel with a narrow slit at eye level to peer inside. It was quiet in the block other than faint music echoing from the barracks adjacent to the cells.
"Here is your prisoner" said a guard opening the cell. A tiny room with a fettle positioned American wearing blue and white stripped pajamas with an emaciated figure, haggard with bags under his gaunt eyes. A pitiful sight.
Satisfied this was their man, Chen turned to the guard with a wide smile, and in perfect English, said, "Thank you." flabbergasted the guard froze. It was his undoing for Chen's partner snatched the guard from behind and snapped his neck. His body landed at the feet of the bewildered American who crawled into a corner. "My name is Charles Chen. You're going home."
"H-home?" the prisoner whispered.
"Yes Home" Chen held out his hand to him. At that moment the other commandos stormed the place. It was a confusing firefight as the commandos shouted in Mandarin and wore Communist uniforms and fired Communist weapons that the authentic guards thought their comrades on the island were mutinying. The radio connection was severed before a distress call could be made. Like a well-made watch the gears of the operation performed perfectly. Without the loss of a single commando they took over the prison, killing all of the guards without the mainland noticing.
In their cells a total of eighteen Americans, three Taiwanese, two Thai, and one West German were found, confused and frightened that this was an elaborate trick, that the guards would kill them saying they were trying to escape. At the same time, another team of commandos was searching through the base archives, grabbing all the papers they could find and stuffing them into canvas bags. A third team was scouring the grounds for signs of any other prisoners. On a small dirt plot, behind the prison, they found a shallow grave. In it were eight recently deceased bodies. Their bodies were too decomposed to positively identify. They were put into body bags and wisked to the helicopters.
Satisfied they have everything and everyone, the teams rallied and embarked on the helicopters. Last one to board was Chen who went building by building, room by room to ensure no one was left behind. No hidden cells. No hiding guards. As a parting gift, the buildings were rigged with satchel charges and thermite grenades set to blow in fifteen minutes. The Hips lifted off and departed south into the Gulf of Tonkin and disappeared into the darkness. Being miles away, when the charges did go off, the explosions and flames were visible from the helicopter. The prisoners were first in shock, not making heads or tails of what just happened. They were surrounded by Asian men in a Chinese marked-Russian helicopters. Wrapped up in ponchos they were given jars of baby food. Their long captivity made eating solid food painful and wearing night slippers for their damaged feet. Then to add to their delight, one of the commandos gave a prisoner a bottle of Coca Cola. The prisoner's face beamed as the bottle was opened and he sipped it before he smiled, "I'M GOING HOME!" he screamed so loudly that it could be heard in the other helicopter.
It sounded like a Hollywood movie. A successful POW mission that brought back living Americans!
"Here's where it gets interesting" Richard said, as if this wasn't interesting enough, "Here are the names of the rescued prisoners, I highlighted one in particular." Hunched over the ledger the agent's eyes looked down the list of twenty-four men, towards the very bottom-Sergeant Francis Perry McGregor? As in one of Howell's missing comrades! "Here's the best-or worst-part" Richard flipped to the front of the ledger. There, highlighted in blue, was the answer,
"Operation Chopsticks happened in 1977."