Author's Notes: This tale is set during Scarecrow's time in the old Oz network. While he features prominently, I wanted to develop Dorothy to understand why her death had such a profound impact on Scarecrow. I hope I've done her justice.
Fair warning for the hopeless romantics among us: this is not a love story. I maintain that neither of them would have been selected to the network if they were the type to form meaningful romantic relationships. That would have been an unacceptable liability. However, this little adventure may perhaps shed a little light on something Lee said during a beloved 3rd season tag. Intrigued?
Strap yourselves in; we're not in Kansas anymore.
PLEASE DO NOT SOLICIT FOR ARTWORK OR CARTOONS.
Somewhere in France, October 1973 ...
OZ UNDER FIRE
There's always that one night that defines your relationship with a guy Dorothy thought as she finally allowed herself to lay down on her cot and try to sleep. As exhausted as she was, she knew it wasn't going to be easy. She'd refused the sedative Auntie Em had offered, knowing she'd have to replay the events over in her head at least a few more times before they'd settle into place and leave her alone. No time like the present, right?
It had been one hell of a night.
Was it really just under 14 hours ago that she'd reached for Scarecrow's extended hand, allowing him to help her up off the ground?
"Nice feint. You're getting better."
"You let me win that one." He accused her half teasingly, his eyes twinkling a bit from the rare victory.
"Not a chance!" She'd been doing martial arts practically since she was old enough to walk without falling on her diapered bottom and held Black Belts in three disciplines, 3rd Degree in Tae Kwon Do. Like most of the guys in the network, Scarecrow also had a Black Belt, but ...just one.
"Best 2 out of 3? Something worth bragging about? Whaddaya say, Hotshot?"
"Or humiliation. Think I'll quit while I'm ahead."
"Smart man."
She noticed he was a little out of breath, but she could have easily gone a few more rounds. She liked working out with Scarecrow; he had her competitive nature and had never taken it easy on her because she was a girl. She hated when guys did that, although her teammates rarely made that mistake more than once or twice. It was, however, useful to be young, pretty, and underestimated where adversaries were concerned, and she could play it up with the best of them.
"Race you back to Kansas!" With his much longer legs, he was sure to win that one.
What the hell...let his ego have the little victories today. "You're on!" She gave him a playful shove then sprinted full speed back toward their unit's field base -and dinner- a kilometer or so upriver. But he's gonna have to work for it!
She ran for all she was worth for a good minute before realizing he hadn't raced past her yet. After another few seconds of listening for his footfalls behind her, she risked a glance back over her left shoulder.
He was nowhere to be found.
Playing games, are we? Okay, hide-and-seek it is! She turned sharply toward the treeline about five meters to her right, vigilant for any sign that he'd entered the woods and managed to get ahead of her. It didn't seem likely since longer legs or not, he'd move slower navigating the underbrush than she would sprinting in the open.
She'd almost reached cover when the bullets started tracing her path.
For a split second, surprise and adrenaline threatened to overwhelm years of training, but she recovered almost instantly and darted deeper into cover and quickly doubled back in the direction she'd come from before hitting the ground behind a small copse of birch trees. What the HELL, Scarecrow!
The thought had barely finished surfacing before she heard two quick pops of return fire.
She closed her eyes, held her breath, and counted to ten while listening for any movement or other situational clues. The silence after the unexpected gunfire was finally broken by the sound of wings flapping. As if the bird had given the All Clear, she heard a few other small creatures resuming their woodland business.
What she didn't hear was Scarecrow.
She stood and made her way cautiously back to the woodland edge. The small stream they'd walked along an hour ago looking for a flat, open space to spar meandered around slight bends maybe 50 meters in either direction from her current position, limiting her sight lines. Still no sign of Scarecrow.
Keeping prudently a couple meters inside the treeline, she began backtracking the way she'd come. She scanned as far into the woods across the stream as possible without binoculars, watching for tell-tale motion or odd reflections from the early evening sun. She stepped slowly and attentively to minimize any noises that might betray her position.
Scarecrow, where the hell ARE you?
She knew he couldn't be far since even at an all-out sprint, she couldn't have covered more than about 125 meters, probably less than 100 on the uneven terrain. Still, a hundred meters in nature felt like a good few kilometers.
Finally she spotted him about 10 meters away. He was at the edge of the woods just on the other side of the stream, squatting next to something. Or more likely someone. She gave a low Sarus crane call to catch his attention while hopefully not drawing any unwanted attention to herself.
The Wizard had the bright idea when he put the network together to communicate by using the calls of various birds used in the original Wizard of Oz film, but she was the only one on the team who'd managed to accurately mimic any of them. It had seemed fanciful and silly at the time, but she was relieved to see Scarecrow recognize it and signal that it was safe to approach.
Definitely a someone. Or what's left of one. Scratch that. What's left of two. Nice shooting, Scarecrow! Two for two! Attaboy! Civilian hiking clothes, but well-worn tell-tale polished calf-high boots, drab olive backpack, regulation haircuts beneath standard black knit caps, AK-74s."Soviet."
"Looks that way. If they brought friends, we're probably going to have company."
"Or walk into a trap back at base."
"Solid possibility. Looks like they're packed for a scout and snipe, not an autonomous operation." Their backpacks were sniper style ammo carriers rather than full kit rucksacks, and they weren't carrying canteens or any communications gear.
"Groovy." This afternoon sure went to hell , double time.
"Too bad we can't ask if they were the advance team or just sent to round us up."
She assessed the situation quickly. "Roundup. If they'd come from downstream, they would've taken us out in the clearing. We should assume they've taken Kansas: they weren't shy about firing."
She resisted the urge to say "looks like we're not in Kansas any more", although if the base had been taken, it would technically become Emerald City, or unsecured territory they'd have to infiltrate and retake. It's freaky deaky what seems important at times like this.
"You're probably right. No reason for stealth. Which means they'll be expected back."
"We also have to assume they heard you return fire. I owe you one for that, by the way." Dorothy laughed a little, but not the hysterical laughter that one might expect from a young woman in such circumstances.
"If there's something funny, let me in on it."
"You took me down in hand-to-hand and probably saved my life. If things work out, you've got a lot to brag about later."
"Let's not put the cart in front of the horse here."
"Hey man, where's Scarecrow and what have you done with him?"
Frequently putting the proverbial cart in front of the horse was Scarecrow's besetting operational sin, and how he'd ended up with that particular nickname when he'd been hoping for something more...something.
When he was recruited for the Oz network, she'd playfully suggested he be called Toto since he followed her around like a puppy at first. Plus, she sometimes felt like she had to carry him. Not physically, of course, but she was much stronger than she looked. He was getting better, though. His caution here was evidence of that.
Paul -mastermind and self-appointed Wizard so of course he gave himself the best name - will be proud ...provided Oz is intact by the time we get back.
SMK SMK SMK
She set the thought aside for the moment. The hadn't heard any shots, but that didn't mean all was well back at camp. After all, the search team Scarecrow had taken out wouldn't have been searching unless they knew there was someone to search for.
"Give me a hand with this one." She'd started pulling the boots off one of the bodies.
"What are you trying to do?"
"Scarecrow, you're much taller than either of them. Obviously they're expected to return, so one of us should probably be able to pass for a comrade at a distance in case we're spotted on the way back. We need to get close enough to assess the situation."
"I could probably fit into the other one's shirt at least." He headed toward the other body.
"No. They know who they sent out. They're about the same height; we're not. Plus if things are cool back at camp, our team will see you and not take us out on sight."
"Oh. Yeah. If I only had a brain, right?" At least he could keep his sense of humor in tight situations.
Once they had the smaller of the two men's clothing off, Dorothy quickly pulled it on over her own clothing. The boots were much too large, but stuffing the man's socks down into the toes helped. She shoved her sneakers into one of the backpacks. It might cost a minute or two to change back into them later, but it would be safer than trying to run in footwear that didn't fit. She twisted her long sun-streaked auburn ponytail into a bun before pulling on the second man's hat.
Scarecrow had taken the first one out with a head shot, which left his clothing relatively clean, but his hat...not so much. With a slightly sadistic grin, she tossed the soiled hat to her friend. He caught it reflexively before noticing the grim splotches.
"Here ya go, Scarecrow! Some brains for ya! You're welllllcome!"
He dropped it like a hot potato. She laughed. She just couldn't help herself; the setup was too copacetic to not take advantage of.
And his face! Priceless! We'll laugh about this for years! Or at least I will!
Sometimes she thought Paul had named her after the wrong character. At least he hadn't dubbed her Glinda, although the irony would have been far out.
She put the cap back on the man's head, a little disappointed that she couldn't squeeze more brains out by simply pressing on the sides. Had to try, though. Stupid cartoons make squishing skulls look easy. They dragged him a few meters into the woods, then came back for the second man. Scarecrow moved to lift his shoulders, but Dorothy quickly stopped him.
"Hold up; I have an idea."
"We need to get back to base. They could be in trouble!"
Scarecrow often had the charmingly heroic, if impractical urge to rush in and save the day. Dorothy liked that about him. It was sweet. It was a good balance to her colder, more calculated approach.
"Or they could be dead. Facts, Scarecrow. Gotta consider the possibility. These guys didn't track us down to chew the fat."
"One thing I love about you is your unfailing optimism."
At least he didn't disagree, or try to offset her pragmatism with false hope.
"This is no business for a pessimist; I'm just a realist. We can adjust the odds in our favor by letting one or two of them come to us first. They had to have heard the shots. When our friends here don't return, they'll send someone to find them. Maybe we can get some info out of them. Plus, any of them we can take out here is one less we have to worry about back at base. It'll make the team's odds better, too, if they have to split their manpower some more." Assuming they're still alive. We didn't hear any gunfire and these A-Ks aren't suppressed.
They had to wait about forty minutes for the search party. The way it was staged, they'd dragged the dead man to a more visible position closer to the stream, then Lee positioned himself in the woods about 10 meters upstream from the body. Dorothy took the first man's AK and headed across the stream and up a sturdy oak near the treeline directly across from the dead man. The too-large boots made the climb more challenging, but might buy her a few seconds if she was spotted. A few seconds could often make the difference between life and death.
Her vantage point offered a much wider field of vision than she would have had from the ground, although she still couldn't see beyond the bend in the stream. She also couldn't see Scarecrow but knew they wouldn't be in each other's line of fire unless he was spotted at exactly the wrong moment. Ideally, neither of them would be spotted at all.
The few blood splatters on her borrowed top began to attract flies. She forced herself to ignore the filthy, buzzing little pests, knowing they'd be less active soon since sunset was quickly approaching. If the expected search party didn't materialize soon, they'd have to change their plan. It was highly unlikely they'd come after nightfall, and certainly not with flashlights conveniently announcing their presence. And if they don't come by then, we should assume they've taken the base and can afford to wait for us to come to them.
Finally Dorothy spotted movement. At first she thought there was just one, but followed his glance to find his partner on her side of the stream. Solid precaution she thought approvingly. The first pair had made the mistake of moving together. She watched for another minute as they slowly moved into range, seeing if they'd give away a third scout. She scanned further upstream just to be sure. Binoculars would sure come in handy right about now. I can't see very- Oh! Good call! Inverted wedge formation? Odd choice.
She hoped the possibility would occur to Scarecrow because she had no way to communicate it. The third man was on his side of the stream so his sight lines would be obstructed by the trees. She'd have to take the rear one out first if Scarecrow acted before the man passed his position. Next target would be the one on the opposite side of the stream since firing would necessarily reveal her general location. She was counting on them not looking up, though, and mistaking her for their missing comrade if they did. The target on her side of the stream wouldn't have a clear shot at her in the tree canopy if he happened to figure out where the shots were coming from, but Scarecrow should have a clear shot at him. She might have to take the third one out as well depending on how Scarecrow allocated his ammo. He'd already expended 2 rounds, leaving only 5 if the magazine in his 1911 was full when they left base.
In addition to their inexplicable formation choice, it was very bad form that they were walking in the open with cover available on both sides. She figured these were not their best trackers. Combined with the operational errors of the first team, she began to hope that they weren't up against an elite unit. If Oz was on the Soviet radar -which was likely- it looked possible that they'd underestimated the network.
The Wizard had chosen younger agents for that specific purpose. None of the Munchkins were even 20 yet. At 25-passing-for-18, she was one of the oldest -and most experienced- members.
Bummer for them. It'll be groovy if Scarecrow's not impulsive just this once. They'd agreed to take them out once they reached their fallen comrade. A quick triangulation put the rear scout just behind Scarecrow's position when the forward pair reached the body, if they maintained distance. Fuck. She'd have to watch for him to move prematurely.
Which of course he did. Fortunately she'd anticipated it playing out that way. He didn't notice the third man until he almost walked into him.
Having to fire when the two men were so close wasn't ideal, -especially with a weapon she hadn't sighted for accuracy- but she figured center mass at short range wouldn't be too dependent on proper calibration, and other factors wouldn't need to be adjusted for given the current conditions. Easy shot. She knew he'd understand. She fired twice without hesitation, taking out both of her targets as Scarecrow took out his.
Sorry about the blood splatters, Scarecrow. At least I didn't hit ya. Looks like I did, though. Too bad I don't have a camera. Your face is a classic Polaroid moment! Even better than with the hat! Ha! Musta hit his aorta. Go me!
None of their hunters had fired a shot, although they'd all had their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning. More AK-74s. It was looking more likely that they were Soviet, or Soviet supplied. She held her position for a full five minutes after Scarecrow took out the guy on her side of the stream on the off chance they'd sent more than three. She was relieved that Scarecrow held his position until she whistled the All Clear signal. Just the regular whistle this time: it was a getting little late in the day for most birds to be active.
Good boy, Scarecrow. Okay, five down. Wonder how many that leaves? And I wonder what kind of goodies they've brought us. And why they're out here with A-Ks. Bad choice. It would do the job but there's nothing subtle about sniping at 600-plus rounds per minute. And they all have them. They coulda leveled the base in about 90 seconds, but there's no way we wouldn't have heard that. So...maybe that's not what they're doing here, but that's what they're equipped for. It's straight out of a bad novel. Too bad we're both good shots. We shoulda kept one for questioning. Too late now.
They hadn't taken much time earlier to see what the first pair of scouts were carrying in their backpacks. Only two of the second group carried a pack, but having taken out five of them, they had at least inherited a nice little arsenal.
"I know that look. Something isn't adding up." Unlike her, Scarecrow was skilled at reading people -more than situations- under stress. He was somehow actually better at it under stress than in casual situations. It was part of what made them a good team, and one of the attributes that contributed to his selection to the network.
Normally she'd enjoy talking through her thought process with him, but they didn't have much daylight left and they needed to use it wisely. Plus, with the impractical choice of weapons and glaring tactical errors from both teams sent after them, something about the whole situation felt increasingly
...off.
"These A-Ks are like bringing Everclear to a fraternity kegger, and these guys are like pledges with more liquid courage than common sense."
She knew he'd understand the reference. She and Glinda had stayed awake in their tent a few nights ago listening to the boys brag about their misadventures over a bottle of whiskey around the fire.
After that story, Glinda said she wasn't surprised he'd turned out to be a typical obnoxious frat jock. For the supposed "good witch", Glinda wasn't too benevolent about most of the guys.
Her own thought was that he'd just been trying a little too hard to do what he thought was expected of him in college.. Undercover as the one thing he never learned to be: a regular guy with ordinary friends. Sad. He has so much more to offer, and it would have gone to waste if he hadn't come to a recruiter's attention in his junior year.
"You heard that, did ya?"
"Poor OpSec once the whiskey hit. Not as bad as these guys, though. Over-armed and under-trained. I'm not sure what kind of team we're up against. Obvious appearance is Soviet, but ...they missed me at maybe 40 meters...in the open...under optimal shooting conditions...with an A-K!"
"You sound almost offended that they missed."
"Maybe I am! Not that I'd prefer otherwise of course, but an average Boy Scout coulda made that shot, easy!"
"I get it, but given the choice, I'll take unworthy opponents any day. Come on, let's see what we've got to work with."
Yeah, he can read people, even me. Good thing he's not as patient and empathetic as he is good looking or he'd be dangerous. I'd have to beat the girls off him with a stick when we had work to do. Like now. At least with a bunch of girls, I'd know what we were up against.
SMK SMK SMK