Good Men

"The good man is the man who, no matter how morally unworthy he has been, is moving to become better." John Dewey

Chapter 5: Cloud's Wish

They reached the river just before nightfall and made camp in the trees near its banks. Too cautious to build a fire, they shared a sparse, cheerless dinner, speaking in whispers as they ate. Although they were still many miles from their objective, both Hurricane and Crane were wary of Wilson's patrols. With only a dozen men in their party, they could hardly afford to alert the dictator to their presence. Crane knew their only chance of breaking into the heavily guarded facility—and getting out again— lay in stealth, not armed confrontation.

Slowly, silence descended over the camp as, one by one, the men bedded down for the night. Crane, struggling to find a position where no part of his body ached, rolled onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm. Beside him, the admiral was already asleep, completely insensible. Crane doubted he'd even finished eating, he'd been so exhausted. Ruefully, he had to agree with Cloud's tactless observation earlier that day: Nelson was too old for this nonsense. In fact, sometimes Crane felt he was, as well. Too many of his missions in the last few years had gone badly. Wrangel Island had been the worst. He still marveled that he and Ski had made it out alive. This mission was tricky and unpleasant, but it still hadn't descended to the level of the Wrangel debacle. If he could just keep Pat from getting an infection, Ski from blowing up at Hurricane, and the admiral from taking unnecessary risks, he figured they stood a reasonable chance of getting back to Seaview in one piece. Those were a lot of "if's," though. He sighed, rolling in the other direction with so much force he almost bumped Kowalski. The crewman slept quietly, his long body loose. Crane felt himself relax as he watched him. Despite his anxieties, his eyes slowly closed as he allowed himself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of Ski's regular breathing.

X X X

It was still dark when Nelson woke with a start. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, then he sat up stiffly, biting back soft curses as he rubbed his lower back. The moon was bright, its silver glow illuminating the quiet camp. Beside him Lee was sleeping deeply, dead to the world. Lines of worry etched the admiral's face as he watched him. Nelson knew Crane was more than able to handle their current mission, but his captain had only recently recovered from a horrific experience on the Titan. Although Lee was bearing up well, it pained the admiral to see him mistreated once again. He wished ONI had sent someone else—anyone else—with him, and that Lee was safe back on Seaview where he belonged.

Alert and restless, Nelson rose and paced around the sleeping bodies, breathing in the lush greenness of the damp, night air. For a moment he thought he was the only one awake, but then he saw Cloud silhouetted on the bank beside the river, his rifle propped against his shoulder. The boy was gazing at the water silently sliding by. He turned, gun in hand, as the admiral approached.

"Easy, child," Nelson said. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I'm on watch." The boy looked up sullenly as the admiral sat down beside him, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why do you keep insulting me?"

Nelson's eyebrow crept up. "Insulting you?"

"You called me 'child' earlier today, too."

"I call you that because it's what you are," Nelson said simply, "and it seems worthwhile to remind you of it. Not a soldier, not a doctor— a child. If the truth makes you angry, well, I can't help it."

"Truth," the boy said bitterly. "What do you know about that? All you do is lie. I don't think you're even a sailor— just Crane's paid thief."

"Is that how you speak to an adult?" Nelson looked at him appraisingly. "You're very clever, Cloud, but hopelessly ignorant and rude. If I were your father…"

"Oh, I know!" The child turned on him in sudden anger. "You'd beat me, wouldn't you? But you're not my father and even if you were, you're too old and slow…." He gasped as Nelson's hand shot out, closing on his wrist. The admiral's expression hadn't changed and he held the boy's arm no more tightly than necessary to keep him from pulling away.

"That's what I mean: it's rude to interrupt when someone else is speaking. It's also bad manners to assume you know another's thoughts when you don't." Nelson studied Cloud's furious face. "Go ahead, child," he said mildly. "All you have to do is call and Wind will take me apart limb from limb. You'd enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

The boy dropped his head, wincing at the unfamiliar pressure of the admiral's fingers on his skin. His breath came fast and he tried to pull his arm free, but it was impossible. Nelson let him stew for a few moments before releasing him. He expected Cloud to run away but the child just sat there, gripping his rifle tightly.

The admiral cleared his throat. "What I was going to say, if you'll be so good as to allow me to continue, is if I were your father, I'd see you out of this brutal business. I'd send you to live with a relative or friend in the city, the country—it wouldn't matter, as long as you were safe and could go to school. You deserve a chance to grow and learn. Here, you're surrounded by ugliness. Soon your mind won't have room for anything else." He shook his head. "It's all very well to oppose Wilson—Hurricane has my respect for that—but what he's doing to you is a human rights abuse by any civilized standard."

"Don't insult my father," Cloud said indignantly. Nelson could feel the boy trembling with rage. "He's a great man—a great leader! You don't even know what that means!"

"A great man?" Nelson knew he was entering dangerous waters, but he couldn't help himself. Indignation choked him. "Dragging you through miles of jungle to steal Wilson's gold? What great man values treasure more than his child's life?"

"If you knew how poor we are, how much that gold means to our cause, you wouldn't ask such a stupid question," Cloud hissed.

"I understand why Hurricane needs money," Nelson said patiently, "but I don't understand why he insisted on bringing you."

"I asked to come."

"Why? What is it you want? Adventure? Glory?" The admiral regarded him with gentle mockery.

"No." Cloud's eyes were once more cold and expressionless. "I want to die."

X X X

When he had time to reflect on it later, Crane realized there was no way the soft sound that woke him could have been an ocelot. At the time, half-asleep, he only heard rustling in the nearby jungle and imagined a wild cat was watching him with yellow, unblinking eyes. Then Nelson jostled him to full consciousness. The admiral knelt beside him scanning the darkness, his rifle in one hand and his pack in the other. Wordlessly, he jutted his chin in the direction of the sound. With sinking heart, Crane saw two specks of light moving towards them. He wished fervently—uselessly—for them to belong to an ocelot.

Nelson was off in an instant, rousing Kowalski and Pat. Lee rolled to a crouch, scooting silently to Hurricane's side, but Cloud was there already. Within a few moments the camp was disassembled as the men tried to gather their gear and withdraw stealthily into the underbrush before they were discovered.

They were good men, all of them, but some tasks are too great for even the best guerilla warriors. Crane knew they'd been spotted when a shot rang out. He dropped instantly, searching for its source. The shooter was answered by one of Hurricane's men, who fired back into the darkness. Instantly, the forest erupted with the sharp cracks of gunfire and the bright flare of muzzle flashes.

Kowalski raced up to Crane and threw himself down alongside the captain. "Hurricane's pinned down. He's trying to pull back, but Storm's been hit."

"Damn!" Crane shook his head. "Tell Pat and the admiral I've gone to help Hurricane. They need to stay quiet and try to disappear. If we're separated, tell them to meet us a mile downstream."

"Aye, sir." Kowalski waited for a lull in the fire, then leaped up and disappeared into the darkness. He didn't get far before he came upon Nelson and Cloud, holed up at the base of a tree. Both of them were firing in the direction of Wilson's men. Nelson acknowledged the crewman with a grunt as he appeared behind him. "Storm's been hit," Ski said grimly. "We don't know how many there are out there. Skipper says to pull back and regroup a mile further along, beside the river. I'm off to let Pat know."

Nelson nodded curtly. "We'll see you there." The admiral covered Ski as the crewman slunk forward, searching for Patterson. When Ski disappeared into the darkness and Nelson finally looked around, Cloud was gone. Muttering a low oath Nelson stretched his neck, trying to see where the boy had gone. With horror, he saw him making his way back toward the river. Cloud paused for a moment at the edge of the trees, as if he were gathering his courage, then dashed into the open. For a moment the admiral couldn't fathom his purpose, then he saw the boy grab his medical kit. He'd left it behind on the bank when he and Nelson had heard Wilson's patrol and hurried back to wake the others. Cloud must have realized he was missing his gear when he heard that Storm had been shot.

Nelson held his breath as the boy snatched the bag up and started back. Cloud had only taken a couple of steps when a bullet hit him, spinning him around with the force of its impact. Nelson heard his cry of pain and shock over the din of the firefight. The boy wavered for a moment, then slid down the bank into the water.

X X X

The light of dawn brought scant comfort to Crane. He, Ski, Hurricane, and Storm had arrived at the rendezvous point first, having finally lost Wilson's men. They hunkered down in the undergrowth, tired and dispirited, to await the arrival of the others. While Ski bound the shallow wound in Storm's side, Crane watched Hurricane. The rebel leader's face was closed, expressionless. Whatever he was feeling—anger, fear, concern— he kept closely guarded.

Crane wasn't burdened with the need to appear cool at all costs. He was worried—desperately worried— and he didn't care if it showed. When Pat and two of Hurricane's men stumbled out of the trees, he could have hugged the crewman. Pat fell down beside him, exhausted. "Skipper?" He focused with difficulty on Crane's face. "Thank God you're here. Did Ski make it?"

Crane grasped his arm. "Ski's OK. Where's Harry?"

"He hasn't shown up yet?"

Crane shook his head, feeling a pit open in his gut. "I'm going back to look for him." He reached for his gun but stopped as a rifle barrel fell across his arm, pinning him in place.

"You're not going anywhere," Hurricane said.

"Get out of my way," Crane snarled. "I've taken all I'm going to take. Move your gun or I'll blast it out of your hand."

One of Hurricane's men quickly brought his gun up to cover the captain, but Kowalski was just as fast. His rifle, raised like a bolt of lightening, pointed straight at Hurricane's heart.

"Someone's coming," Pat gasped, breaking the standoff as all guns swung to bear on the newcomers.

Wind and Hurricane's remaining men broke through the brush. The big man was panting with exertion. "Sorry, boss," he wheezed. "I thought we'd never lose them."

Hurricane's eyes narrowed. "Where's Cloud?"

Wind looked confused. "I thought he was with you."

"I'm going back," Crane said again, but Wind shook his head.

"Can't. We've got to move on. There's no way anyone could have been behind us and not be dead or captured." He rested his large hands on his thighs, breathing heavily.

They stood quietly for a moment as the implications sank in, then Hurricane made an abrupt gesture. "If they're dead we can't help them. If they're captured… Cloud won't talk. What about your man? He'll blab, won't he?"

Crane's eyes smoldered and he stood for a moment, uncertain what to do, poised on the edge of the chasm between his head and his heart. Then he pushed past Hurricane, almost knocking him down. Gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles showed white, he stalked forward through the trees, away from the pursuing patrol. They had waited as long as they could. Any further delay would lead to disaster.

Kowalski cast a last look over his shoulder as he followed, hoping to see Nelson and Cloud burst out of the undergrowth behind them, but the jungle was silent. Swallowing hard, he picked up his pace, falling in right behind the captain. He wanted to say something—anything—to him, but he knew it wasn't the time. Ski shook his head, blinking back tears. He'd been in some bad places with the Skipper, but this was turning into the granddaddy of them all.