Desert Storm

DESERT STORM

by: SwordnQuill

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Part 1

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Lao Ma, Alti, Borias, and everyone else who sounds familiar belong to Pac Ren and Universal Studios. I am not making money off of this story.

Genre Disclaimer: Ok. Bear with me, please, because this is kinda tough to explain. Sometime last year, I read a story on the internet that moved me so much, I was inspired to write a sort of companion piece to it. That story was “Lost Soul Walking” by DJWP. In her words, “This is NOT UberXena fiction. It just starts out like it is.” The same can be said for this piece. While not directly related to “Lost Soul Walking”, “Desert Storm” can be considered a sort of prequel to it. It is a story, if you will, about the lifetime before the one depicted in that fabulous, outstanding story. (Can you tell I loved it?) In addition, this is somewhat of an ambitious piece of fiction, in that I am attempting (don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I’ve attempted) to take the entire X:WP universe and modernize it. We start, in updated terms, with my version of Xena’s betrayal by Caesar (seen in “Destiny”), and continue up through the X:WP episode known as “Remember Nothing”. The plot will be very recognizable to you. It’s meant to be that way.

Special note: Because of this, Gabrielle does not appear, except in offhand mention, in a great deal of the first half of this story. Do not look for her, because you won’t find her. After all, she was not a part of ‘evil Xena’s’ life. If she were, things might have turned out differently, but because this is based on the premise of “Lost Soul Walking” it cannot happen differently. Gabrielle will, however, make her presence known, and that quite strongly, in the second half of the story. If you can hang on till then, I believe that you will not be disappointed.

Sexuality and Violence Disclaimers: We’re dealing with an updated dark Xena through much of the first half, and an updated redeemed Xena through the second. There’s gonna be violence. There are gonna be naughty words. There are also descriptions of sexual activity in this work. There are allusions to heterosexual sex, but nothing graphic. There are some graphic (though I hope tasteful) scenes of sexual expression between women as well. That is how I see the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, and that is how I will continue to write it.

And, finally, thanks: To, as always, the incomparable Mike. A better beta and a better friend one could never hope for. Thank you also, as always, to Mary D, who rescued this story from the refuse heap and begged me to keep going on it. If you hate it, blame her. Grateful and heartfelt appreciation goes out to DJWP, for continuing to write stories that grab me somewhere above the liver and giving her kind permission to mention her story in these disclaimers. If you haven’t read her stories, please, do yourself a favor and do so. Finally, this story is dedicated to a group of people without whom I would most probably be living on the streets. Elizabeth, Rachel, Sulli, and the rest of the “Get Sue to Atlanta” crew, this one’s for you!

Feedback: As always is gratefully appreciated. If you wrote to me regarding “Redemption” during the month of September to early October and I haven’t responded, please allow me the honor of apologizing in public. It was then that I was at my lowest point and making ready to move to my new home. Your words of praise and encouragement for my writing kept me firmly out of the pit of depression I was falling into and I shall be forever grateful to each and every one of you who took the time out to feed this bard. And for those of you patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for Redemption’s sequel, fear not, for with the conclusion of this piece, that piece will be started. Any and all who wish to may write me at SwordnQuil@aol.com . I’ll continue to do my best to answer each and every email. An exploding mailbox is a good thing to have. Thanks again!

DESERT STORM

by: Sword’n’Quill (Susanne Beck)

PART ONE: In The Beginning

“A new Xena is born tonight. With a new purpose in life. Death.” Xena: Destiny

22 July 1990: Al Kut, Iraq

It was hot. And dry. And bright. Very bright. The sun’s rays shimmered in a maddening dance, reflecting off of the heavily tinted windows of the tall building, deflecting back to joyfully lance into squinting blue eyes. A long fingered hand rose once again to shield sensitive eyes inadequately shielded behind a turban and protective face veil. “Are you sure this is the right address?”

“Positive, Gunny. I’ve got the orders right here.”

“Looks like an apartment building to me,” a third figure observed, squinting at the figures of heavily robed and veiled women as they led young children into and out of the massive structure.

“Check the address on the building one more time,” the first figure ordered.

“Aw, Gunny. C’mon. We’ve done this three times already. This is the place!”

Piercing pale eyes narrowed. “Do it.”

With a sigh, one figure detached itself from the group of six, striding across the wide, poorly maintained street.

“We’re wasting time here, Gunny,” came the voice of a fourth man, First Sergeant Timothy Epps. “This is the place. We all know it. Checking the address a dozen more times ain’t gonna change that fact. Let’s just do the deed and get the hell outta here. This heat is driving me bugshit.”

The blue eyed figure’s retort was cut off as the sixth member of the group returned, shrugging. “It checks out. The address is the same one as what we’ve got on the orders. Can we just do it already?”

“The only thing we’re doing is leaving here.”

“But Gunny! Our orders?”

“I don’t care if Bush himself sent those orders on a gem encrusted platter. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna blow up a building filled with women and children. Now let’s just get the hell outta here.” The figure stooped to retrieve some of the gear strewn on the sand swept sidewalk and was stopped by the distinctive sound of an MEU(SOC) pistol cocked and ready.

“Drop that gear, Gunny. We’ve got our orders and we’re gonna follow through on ‘em.”

“You’re forgetting your place, Epps.”

“No I’m not. You’re the one who’s choosing to disobey orders. I’m relieving you of duty, Gunny. Now drop that gear and back away slowly. I don’t wanna hurt you, but I swear to God I will if you don’t do what I say.”

“What the hell are you doing, Epps?” the sixth man interjected, stepping up to the pair. “Christ! Let’s just get outta here, huh? We can come back and try again tomorrow if we have to.”

“Come on, Epps,” another pleaded. “Put the gun away, ok?”

“Fuck you, Reingold,” came the sneering retort. “You always were Gunny’s little pet, weren’t ya.”

Reingold stepped closer to Epps, providing the needed distraction. The squatting figure stood quickly, gripping the wrist which held the lethal pistol and pushing upwards harshly. Breaking bones sounded like a rifle shot through the still air. The sound was compounded by a balled fist which shattered the man’s nose, crumpling his knees and dumping him, unconscious, onto the heat blasted ground.

Reingold completed his stride toward the pair, squatting down, his eyes wide. “Holy shit, Gunny. You killed him!”

“I didn’t kill him, Shooter. He’ll just wish I did when he wakes up. You and Reg gather up this horse’s ass and let’s bug out.” A loud sigh gusted out from the face veil. “What a balls up this turned out to be.”

“Uh, Gunny?” came the slightly tremoring voice of Reg.

“What now.”

“Uh, I don’t think we’re goin’ anywhere in a hurry. Except, maybe, with them.”

Turning, the group’s leader spied a squad of Republican Guards, resplendent in their scarlet uniforms, looking interestedly at the small party, their weapons held at the ready. “Aww, shit.”

One of the Iraqis stepped forward, speaking in rapid Arabic and gesturing with his weapon.

“What’s he saying, Gunny?”

“Nothing I’d care to repeat in polite company, Reg.”

“Fuckin’ A, man. We’re royally screwed here.”

“Looks that way. Just take it easy, ok?” Taking a deep breath, the leader stepped up to the guards, giving them an unseen smile. “Hello, boys. Something we can help you with today?” More rapid-fire Arabic and menacing weapons gesturing answered that statement. Gunny sighed. “Take off the hats, boys. Time to pay the fiddler.”

So saying, the squad’s leader reached up to remove the tightly wound turban, revealing a head of long raven hair and the beautiful face of one Master Gunnery Sergeant Kael Evan Androstos, leader of the USMC counter terrorism squad.

Following their leader’s command, the rest of the men removed their turbans, revealing close cropped heads of brown and blonde hair. Americans to a man.

The sound of Iraqi submachine guns being readied and drawn to high port filled the square as the squad’s identity was revealed.

“Aww shit,” Reingold swore softly. “I think I just pissed myself.”

“Be glad for the moisture and keep your mouth shut,” Kael replied, following the rapid Arabic speech with ease. “I think we’re goin’ on a little trip.”

“Ya sure know how to make a guy feel comfortable, Gunny,” Reingold muttered under his breath as he was herded with the others into a tight group surrounded by Republican Guardsmen.

The leader of the Guard walked over to the still unconscious form of Epps, prodding the body with his toe. He turned to Kael, his eyes questioning.

“Had a little accident,” she replied in Arabic.

The leader sneered and raised his weapon. A rapid fire of ammunition and Master Sergeant Epps was no more.

“Holy Christ!” Reg shouted, struggling with his captors. “What did ya have to go and kill him for!” He was answered by the stock of a gun to his jaw and he went down in a heap.

“Reg!” Kael shouted, easily shrugging free of the guard’s grip but remaining where she was. “You alright?”

Reg slowly came back to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. I’m ok. Fucking bastards.” He spat blood and a tooth onto the ground.

“We gotta do something, Gunny,” Reingold said. “We can’t let em take us.”

“We don’t have a choice right now.” She looked around at the crowd which was attracted by the sound of gunfire. “We try escaping and a bunch of civilians are going to get killed. We need to just take it easy and see what they’ve got planned for us, alright?”

Reingold scowled. “I’m not too sure I like that idea, Gunny. You can bet that whatever they’ve got planned for us, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Kael favored him with a small half smile. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks, Shooter.”

That broke the mood and the four men chuckled, bucking up and preparing to face whatever would come their way. Kael’s heart swelled with pride for her men and noted that this was quite probably the last taste of freedom they’d ever have. Pushing those dangerous thoughts down deep, she nodded to her crew. “Let’s go.”

*******

The group was ushered to a large, canvas covered truck bearing the bright golden eagle symbol of the Republican Guards on its door panels. One by one they were bound with their hands behind their backs and shoved up into the large truck after hoods were jerked down over their heads. When the last Marine was aboard, the canvas flap was closed, leaving the group in total darkness.

“Get your hand off my ass, Reingold,” Lance Corporal Paul Andrews muttered.

“Take this hood off and I’ll find your dick, Andrews,” Reingold retorted, shifting about in the tightly packed truck.

“Shut up, both of you,” Kael replied, working at the bindings at her wrists. “Let’s just all calm down and enjoy the ride, shall we?”

“Easy for you to say, Gunny,” Andrews retorted. “You don’t have a hairy behemoth sweating all over you.”

“Sure I do. I’m sitting next to you, aren’t I?”

“Oh. Well then, if those are your hands, Gunny, feel free to keep copping a feel.”

“Bite me, Corporal.”

The squad’s laughter was cut short as the truck started up, shooting off a loud backfire as plumes of oily diesel smoke filled the cramped compartment. The soldiers groaned as a group.

“Well, look at it this way,” Reg, always the optimist, commented. “At least there’ll be a breeze.”

The men groaned again as the truck started off along the bumpy, poorly maintained streets of the Iraqi city, wincing as the hard edges of the interior cut into tender body parts with each foot the vehicle traveled.

Same Day. Underground Bunker of the Republican Guard. Ar Rutbah, Iraq

The military truck finally came to a rattling stop after several hours of driving, giving off one more loud blast as the engine settled. The flap was opened almost immediately, to the immense relief of the group of sweating, air-starved soldiers trapped within it’s stifling confines. Rough hands hauled the human cargo from the back of the truck, forcing each member of the group face down into the scorching, sandy ground, hoods and bindings still securely in place.

Iraqi soldiers argued among themselves as Kael tried to follow the rapid conversation. Her body ached from the enforced confinement. Years of Marine training urged her to get up and crack some heads, if only to get the circulation going again. She resisted the temptation mightily, aware that her men were probably going through the same things. Being captured without a fight was not in the Marine Code. However, they had stopped being Marines as soon as they were captured. Had, in fact, stopped even being U.S. citizens. They were officially persona non grata to the U.S. government. Her orders were clear. “You get captured, we don’t know you.” Easy enough to remember, she supposed. After all, it wouldn’t do for it to come out that the United States of America sent in armed squads to blow up buildings of third world countries at taxpayer’s expense.

Kael smirked under her hood. They were officially on their own now. No black suited U.S. Embassy official would come knocking on the door of wherever they were, demanding their immediate release. ‘Well, Gunny. You got em into this mess. It’s up to you to get em out. Right?’ Right. Turning her stiff neck so she faced the rest of her group, Kael cleared her throat, speaking softly in a voice that did not carry up from ground level. “Ok, guys, you know the drill. We’re not at war, so the Geneva Convention’s out the window. Name, rank and serial number is just movie stuff. As far as these goons are concerned, we’re just a bunch of mercenaries from Outer Nonamia out blowing up buildings for kicks. Got me?”

Grunts of assent came from the rest of the group as they resisted their training and awaited their fate.

The rough hands came again, hauling the soldiers up from the ground and dragging them into some type of building. Kael concentrated on counting the steps from the entrance to wherever they were going to be held, noting that the floor curved steadily downward and the air became noticeably cooler and more humid with each step.

Their hoods were removed one by one and each soldier received only a glimpse of their surroundings before a rifle butt to the back of the skull sent each into darkness. Their unconscious bodies were dragged, still bound at the wrists, and dumped into two tiny, dank cells. Steel doors clanged shut with finality and retreating bootsteps went unheard by the group.

*******

Kael was the first to return to consciousness, pain pounding sickly in her temples. Her bound hands prevented her from rubbing the stinging knot on the back of her skull, and as she tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness convinced her that movement was not the best course of action at the present. Instead, she laid back down, her head pillowed on someone’s well muscled thigh. Staring up at a water-stained, crumbling ceiling, her eyes traced the path of several silken webs that ran from the corners of the small cell to the caged light which hung down from the ceiling on a rusty chain.

Movement from beneath her head caused her to sit up once again, rolling with the waves of dizziness as they washed over her. Blinking her eyes to clear her vision, she moved away from the figure beneath her, her back pressing against a chilled, damp wall. “Andrews, you ok?”

“Will be as soon as you give me the plate of the truck that mowed me down,” the young man mumbled, struggling to come to a seated position. Like Kael before him, he gave up the effort, crumpling back to the sodden ground and moaning. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

“Holding cell of some sort,” Kael replied, looking around for the first time. The cell was a rough square, approximately ten feet by ten feet, barely large enough for its three occupants to sit without becoming tangled up in one another. The walls were made of crumbling cement, liberally smattered with mostly illegible graffiti. Water ran in continuous streams down the walls, pooling on the cement floor and running down into a large drain in the center. There were no beds, chairs or toilet facilities. The place stank of excrement, death and despair.

Andrews finally made it up to a seated position, looking around as well. “Reminds me of P.S. 62 in the Bronx,” he sneered. “What about Sleeping Ugly over there?” He gestured with his head toward the still unconscious Reingold, then groaned and leaned his aching skull back against the damp wall. “Fuck.”

As if hearing his name mentioned, Reingold struggled into awareness, the stench of the fetid water flowing into the drain beneath his head causing him to screw up his face in disgust. As he lifted his head from the floor, the others noticed a green slime had liberally coated his close cropped reddish blonde hair.

“Nice look for ya, Goldy,” Andrews sneered. “Green is definitely your color.”

“What the hell are you talking about, asshole?” Reingold asked, propelling his body out of the pool of water and scrabbling up to lean against the wall, rubbing his head against the crumbling cement to rid himself of the slimy mass clinging to his skull.

“Shut up. Both of you.” Lifting her head, Kael looked around the cramped quarters again. “Reg, Kelly, you guys alright?”

Soft moans came from the west end of the tiny cell. “Yeah Gunny, we’re alright in here,” PFC Bryon Kelly answered, his voice muffled behind the feet of thick cement separating the two cells. “How about you?”

“We’re ok,” Kael answered. Her piercing eyes lanced into the men sharing the cell with her and when she next spoke, her voice was raised just enough to capture the attention of her other two men in the adjoining cell. “Alright, guys. This isn’t gonna be fun, but we’ve been trained for this eventuality. Just remember to keep your heads on straight, don’t give ‘em any information, and try your best to hold on till we figure a way out of this. Understood?”

All the men voiced their consent bravely, promising they wouldn’t break under whatever tortures were going to be inflicted on them. Kael fixed Reingold and Andrews with a significant look. “I’m proud of you guys. Just trust in yourselves and each other and we’ll get out of here.”

Reingold cracked a grin that lit up his whole face. “Don’t worry about us, Gunny. We’ll take whatever they can dish out and then some.”

“Good,” Kael grunted, trying to find a more comfortable position for her aching body. “Now let’s just stay calm and wait to see what they’ve got in store for us.”

Several hours later, the steel door to Kael’s cell blew open and two heavily armed guards stepped partially inside, looking menacingly around for a moment before reaching down and pulling Andrews up from the floor.

The brash young soldier’s eyes widened in fear and his dark skin paled for a moment before the customary smirk reappeared over his broad features. “Give it your best shot, coppers,” he said in his best James Cagney accent. “You’ll never get me to rat.”

The smart remark earned him a hard shot across the jaw, but Andrews refused to let his knees buckle. Turning his head toward his companions, he flashed them a brief, confident smile before he was dragged from the cell, leaving his two squad mates to stare at one another in silence.

The poke to the jaw did nothing to ease the pounding in his head, Andrews observed as he was dragged along through the twisting corridors of the underground structure. Adapt and overcome was one of the mottoes of the Corps and he tried to do both. He really did. It was, however, a bit difficult trying to adapt when one saw everything in quintuplicate. Overcoming was damn near impossible.

Instead, he just went along for the ride, spying everything through a fog of pain and nausea which clenched sickly at his belly as if it had grown roots and planned staying on awhile. He was thankful to whichever gods might have had pity on poor Marines when he was finally dragged through one last doorway and thrown into a hard, high-backed wooden chair. His cuffs were released, then his arms were bound in back of the chair, stretching the muscles in his shoulders to the point of protestation.

His pain calmed some as his vision eased back into sharp focus. Taking advantage of what was sure to be an all too brief respite, the soldier looked around at his new accommodations. It appeared he was in an office of some sort, quite Spartanly decorated. A desk filled much of the space and a large picture of Saddam Hussein hung behind it, bordered by the Iraqi flag on one side and the banner of the Republican Guard on the other. The floor was cheaply tiled and barren of any coverings. Andrews smirked internally. ‘It’s gotta be a bitch to get the blood out of Berber.’

Seated behind the desk, resplendent in his Guard uniform, was obviously the Commandant of this little pleasure camp, his black, close cropped hair gleaming in the mellow light. A luxuriant mustache sprouted beneath his nose and the man stroked it reflexively as he attended his paperwork, giving off the calculated air of a man much too busy to have time to deal with ruffians such as the one now seated before him.

After a long moment of silence, the man’s dark, cunning eyes lifted from the desktop, scanning the seated form of Andrews with as much fascination as one would spy a particularly interesting insect on the sidewalk. He looked at the guards bracketing Andrews like bookends, speaking rapidly to them. Both men nodded and grabbed their weapons to their chests, standing like statues.

Finally, the man looked back at Andrews, smiling slightly and stroking his moustache again. He fired off another rapid sentence, then sat back in the chair awaiting a response.

Unfortunately for the Marine, Andrews was a last minute addition to the squad, having been called up from a cushy job stateside when the original explosives expert came down with the flu. As such, his training in the local flora and fauna of Iraq left much to be desired. He neither spoke nor understood a word of Arabic.

Never one to allow such a minute detail disrupt his work, Andrews met the patiently waiting look from the Commandant with a challenging stare of his own. His effort was rewarded by a rifle butt to the stomach and he hunched over, gasping for air, suddenly thankful that he’d skipped breakfast that morning. Looking back up, Andrews shot another challenging glare toward his tormenter and was again rewarded with a blow to the stomach, leaving him breathless and coughing.

Getting his breathing back under control, the Marine gathered his wits and straightened slowly, trying to adopt a casual posture against the snakes of pain in his guts. “Listen, Colonel Klink,” he said in the strongest voice he could muster, “it should be obvious to you by now that I don’t understand a word you’re saying. You could jabber at me like a monkey on the rag till the next millennium and I still wouldn’t understand ya. So why don’t you just cut to the chase, beat the crap outta me like a good little thug and take me back to my buddies, huh?”

His breath came out in a gush and he swore he could feel the weapon’s stock against his spine as the next blow to his stomach came full force. The world around him greyed out for a moment, and when he came to, the Commandant was slowly getting up from behind his desk, meticulously straightening the creases in his uniform. He favored Andrews with a toothy smile. “You Americans are so predictable,” the man said in English so lightly accented that Andrews knew he had spent quite some time in the States. “All bluster and bravado, yet when it comes right down to it, softer than the belly of a pig.”

“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, m’man,” Andrews retorted. “I’m about as American as Mao T’se Tung.” Two rifle stocks jammed into the nerves of his shoulders, slamming the Marine back against the hard wood of the chair, a hiss of pain escaping through tightly pursed lips.

“You take me for a fool,” the man observed, coming around to the front of the desk and perching against it with one hip, casually studying his fingernails. “No matter. What you lack in bravery, you in no way make up for in civility. I, however, am a man of good breeding. I can be polite, even if my guests don’t understand the meaning of the word.” He pressed down the fabric of his uniform jacket, then braced his palms against the desk, leaning forward slightly. “My name is Kamran Al-Hassein and I am the commander of this Unit. And you, my American friend, were caught trespassing on my land. I would like to talk with you about this. Civilly. Why don’t we start with your name?” Al-Hassein smiled again, spreading his hands. “After all, you know mine.”

Andrews smirked. “John Fuckin’ Doe. Next question?”

At the Commander’s nod, two rifle stocks came down on the long muscles of the soldier’s thigh. Andrews cried out in pain, slumping in the chair once again, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead and under his nose. “Your name, American.”

“Benito Mussolini from Bum Fuck, Egypt,” Andrews gasped out. A thundering blow to his jaw snapped the Marine’s head back against the chair and the world spun crazily on its axis for long seconds.

“Your name.”

“Dom Perignone, 1936,” the soldier moaned. A blow to his right collarbone, the bone snapping like a rifle shot, the sound echoing throughout the sterile room.

Al-Hassein walked over to the semi-conscious man, lifting the sopping hair and peering into the soldier’s pain glazed eyes. “Why do you have to make things so hard on yourself, my friend?” False compassion rang through his voice. “The pain will end if you just tell me your name.”

Andrews gathered what little bilious spit was left in his mouth and shot it at the Commander’s face, hitting him directly between bushy black eyebrows.

Al-Hassein stepped back, wiping the spittle from his brow and nodding to one of the guards. Andrews screamed as the butt of the man’s rifle came directly down between his spread thighs, squashing his genitals like a ripe melon. The Marine’s arms and legs drew inward as he hunched over, vomiting squarely into his abused lap. Then he passed out cold.

Sighing and shaking his head, Al-Hassein cleaned his wet fingers on an immaculate white handkerchief. “Take him down to his friends,” he ordered the guards in Arabic. “Unbind the others and let them live with his pain tonight. We’ll start up again tomorrow.”

“Yes, my Commander,” one of the guards intoned. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No food or water for any of them. Oh, and make sure none of them gets a wink of sleep tonight. That will be all.”

“Yes, Commander.” Unbinding the unconscious soldier from the chair, the guards removed him from the room.

Pressing his handkerchief back into his pocket, Al-Hassein returned to his seat behind his desk, sighing again. “Americans,” he mused sadly as he picked up his pen. “Such pitiful representatives of humanity. The world will be much better off without them.”

Only the walls of the office heard his thoughts as the Commander returned to work.

The slamming open of the steel door scared Reingold out of a year’s worth of growth and he jumped up from his place by the drain, barely avoiding the body of Andrews as it was thrown into the cell. The guards laughed and retreated from the cell, slamming the door tightly shut behind them.

Kael gathered the young man up in her arms and gently turned him over so his face could be seen. Dried blood crusted around his nostrils and mouth. One side of his jaw sported massive swelling and the first hints of horrid bruising that seemed to take shape before their eyes, competing with a day’s growth of beard for space on his face.

“Aww shit, Gunny,” Reingold whispered, taking stock of his companion. “What did they do to him?”

“A little manual persuasion,” Kael replied shortly, noting the fractured collarbone by the odd angle of the Marine’s right arm. Laying the unconscious body gently down on the wet ground, she lifted the front of his thin robes, baring Andrews’ swollen abdomen.

“Aww bloody fuck,” Reingold whispered again, taking in the injuries. “Think he’s got something busted inside?”

Kael gently probed the muscled abdomen, feeling for warmth or involuntary guarding. “No. These guys know what they’re doing. They want us around for awhile yet.” Her eyes tracking down to the massively swollen bulge hidden beneath Andrews’ Marine issue Jockeys, Kael took a deep breath and gently tugged them down by the waistband.

Reingold’s gasp echoed through the tiny chamber, his eyes wide, his face pale, his hands involuntarily cupping his own groin in sympathy for the sight that greeted his eyes.

“Don’t go passing out on me now, Shooter,” Kael warned, gathering up her own robes and ripping off a large swath of cloth from the hem. “I’m gonna need your help here, so buck the hell up.”

“I …I don’t think I can take this, Gunny,” he replied in a tremulous voice.

“Step to, Marine!” Kael’s low voice rang out. A sharp sound followed as her callused palm connected with the panicked man’s cheek.

As if in a trance, Reingold reached a hand up to caress his cheek, looking at his commanding officer with wide eyes. “Why’d ya hit me, Gunny?”

“Because you were acting like a horse’s ass, Shooter,” Kael commented, tearing the cloth in two and dipping both parts into the chilled fetid water that pooled on the floor of their cell. Folding both cloths into neat squares, she pressed one over Andrews’ groin and the other over his abdomen. “Not worthy of Johns Hopkins, but it’ll do for now.” Her eyes lanced up at Reingold who seemed to have regained some of his coloring. “I’ll need your help for this next part,” she said softly, pulling up the Marine’s undershorts and pulling down his gown.

“W-what do you want me to do?”

“Rip off a piece of your robe about this big,” she said, indicating the length by the spread of her hands.

Doing as he was ordered, Reingold handed the cloth to Kael. “What do you need it for?”

“His collarbone’s fractured and mis-aligned. I’m gonna need your help to set it properly, then we’re gonna bind his arm to his chest. We’ll have to take it off before the guards come back, but it’ll lessen his pain for now. You ready?”

“I …I think so.”

Kael looked at him, her eyes warming. “You’re a good man, Shooter. C’mon. Help me lift him up.” When the soldier was leaning against her chest, Kael gestured to her companion. “Ok, hold his arm straight out. Yeah, just like that. Now keep holding and don’t let go, alright?” At the Marine’s nod, Gunny took a deep breath, clenching and releasing the fingers of her numbed right hand. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch. Thank the gods he’s unconscious. Ready? One. Two. Three. Now.” With a sharp jab, Kael drove the heel of her hand into Andrews’ collar bone. The two ends of the bone aligned with a sharp snap.

Reingold gulped convulsively. “I think I’m gonna puke,” he groaned, his face pale once again.

“Steady, Shooter. Almost done. Now bring his arm across his body gently so his hand’s against his other shoulder. Perfect. Now hold his arm there nice and tight while I push him up so I can bind it to his chest.”

Within moments, the job was done and the still unconscious Andrews rested more comfortably, his head and shoulders pillowed in Kael’s lap. She looked up at the still pale Reingold and smiled slightly. “Good job, Shooter,” she commented warmly. “Ya might never make it as a Medic, but I think I’ll keep ya around anyway.”

Reingold smiled sickly at her in response.

Making herself more comfortable against the crumbling wall, Kael reached down and gently stroked Andrews’ sweat soaked hair. She raised her voice slightly. “Reg and Kelly. You guys still with us over there?”

“Yeah, we’re here, Gunny. We heard what you were doin’ in there. Andrews’ alright now?”

“He’ll live. Now listen up. I’ve been through this drill before. It’s a sure bet that sleep’s the last thing we’re gonna get tonight, but that’s ok because we’re Marines, right?”

“Right!” came the shouted, proud response.

“Good. I want us all working every minute of the night. Study your cells. Look for any weaknesses. Study the guards’ patterns very carefully. Watch the way they open the doors. Watch the way they close ‘em. Look ‘em in the eye and let ‘em know you’re not afraid. If we work together, we can find a way out of this, alright?”

Yells of assent echoed through the cells.

Reingold sat with his back hunched up against the cell wall, dripping wet from the impromptu shower the group had received to make sure no one was sleeping. The fat nozzles of high pressure hoses had protruded through the small slit in the steel door, water blasting from their mouths with dangerous force. Andrews had screamed shrilly at the blast, then slipped into merciful unconsciousness yet again, Kael’s body wrapped protectively around the wounded soldier.

Running a dripping hand through his hair, the young Marine studied Kael’s huddled form, watching as the glittering blue eyes darted around the room, resting on nothing for more than a second before moving on. ‘What’s going through that mind of yours, Gunny?’ he thought. In his own way, Reingold loved Kael. She was almost like that tired cliché of the sister he never had. They’d met in basic and had pretty much been together ever since, their interests and talents meshing well; their goals meshing equally well. He felt no sense of jealousy when the woman quickly surpassed him in rank. Chose to follow her willingly into hell and back, seeing the excellent leadership abilities even back when they were young and green as spring branches. His nickname came from the fact that he was an expert marksman, but she was his better in even that. In fact, in his considered opinion, and one which he never minded sharing loudly and often, especially while on a bender, he couldn’t think of a single Marine who was her better at anything. ‘What went wrong this time, Kael? We were supposed to just go in, do the deed and get out. It’s not like we’ve never done this sort of thing before. When did you finally find your conscience?’

He opened his mouth to ask the questions his mind was speaking, then shut it quickly, catching Kael’s eye as she perused the room yet again. The gaze that dropped back down to the injury riddled form in her lap was filled with guilt and self-loathing. He remembered that look well. It always came over her face when she talked about the death of her beloved brother Kevin.

Reingold slumped back against the wall as he remembered the story of Kevin’s death in a hazing mishap at VMI. Kael and her brother had been as close as two peas in a pod; sharing everything. Their mutual goal was to follow their much honored father into the prestigious halls of the Academy, to honor the memory of the man whom each worshipped.

Unfortunately, at that time, the gender rules were strictly enforced and though she could have passed every entrance exam easily, Kael was denied admission. She fought hard for the right to enter the school, but to no avail. Loathe to talk her brother out of his dream of attending, Kael said goodbye to Kevin one late summer morning and never saw him again. She blamed herself for his death, rationalizing that if she had only fought harder to change the archaic rules, her brother would never have died. No one could talk her out of the feeling; she carried it with her still. She vowed on his grave to spend her life proving to the powers that be that a woman had as much right in the military as a man. ‘And damn if you didn’t do it, Kael. I know that somewhere, Kevin’s looking down at his big sister, proud as hell. I only wish you believed it.’

He sighed and turned his gaze away from the two figures, not really surprised when the nozzles entered again, blasting them all with their icy jets. Mercifully, Andrews remained deeply asleep, the brunt of the blast borne by the brave woman protecting his battered body with her own.

The night passed slowly and quickly at the same time. At regular intervals, icy water drenched the group, preventing sleep, preventing thought as their bodies shivered and trembled in the cold, still air of the cells.

After several tense hours, Andrews finally came fully awake to find himself propped in Kael’s lap, a pair of concerned blue eyes looking down at him. “How are you feeling?” Kael asked, continuing to stroke the wet hair from his forehead.

He tried to crack a smile, though his face felt like he was holding a pool ball in his cheek. “Alright,” he rasped, then looked around as if only now fully aware of his position. A leer curved the undamaged side of his face. “Hot damn, Gunny. If I’d have known that the way to get between your legs was to get the shit beaten outta me, I’d ‘a had Goldielocks over there rough me up a long time ago.”

At her arched eyebrow, Andrews laughed, coughing and gasping as pain tore through his abused gut. “Aww shit,” he groaned after getting his breath back. “This just hasn’t been my day.”

“You’ve had a time of it,” Kael agreed, shifting slightly beneath his head. “C’mon. We need to get you sitting up. The guards should be back soon.”

Andrews cried out as Kael shifted his position, grabbing her arm with feeble strength. “Can’t sit, Gunny. Gotta lie down. Lying down is good. Real good.” His breath came out in whistling gasps as sweat came again to bathe his temples.

Kael held out determinedly against the weak thrashing of the Marine. “Sorry, my friend. Up is where you need to be right now. Can’t have those guards coming in and thinking we’re giving you special treatment, can we?”

“Sure we can!” Andrews grasped, still struggling as the torn muscles in his abdomen screamed in time with his suddenly racing heart. The pain between his legs throbbed more sickly than a rotted tooth. “Gunny! Gunny, c’mon. Please. Oh fuck.” Now seated, he collapsed back against Kael’s chest, wheezing loudly as the room spun around him. He felt chilled hands at the back of his neck and stiffened.

“Hold your arm tight against your chest. I need to take the bindings off.”

“You …ya don’t have to do that, Gunny. They’re not very observant guys. Maybe they won’t even notice, huh?” He gasped again as his C.O. ignored his protestations, gently removing the bindings holding his collarbone together. He roared in pain, struggling to move up and away from the body trapping his own in a strong embrace of agony. “Damnit, Gunny! Do you have to be such a fuckin’ Sadist? First you get us thrown in jail and then ya about kill me! What next??”

The body behind him stiffened. Her hands dropped away as if his skin were suddenly made of molten steel. “You’re right,” the strangled voice sounded in his ear.

“Aww, Christ,” Andrews muttered, struggling to turn his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Gunny. I got a big mouth, ya know. Sometimes I just don’t know when ta close it. Don’t take nothin’ I said personal, Gunny, ok?”

“No. You’re right. It’s my fault that we’re in here.”

Struggling against his body’s betrayal, Andrews managed to wrench himself around, reaching out a hand and laying it on the muscled forearm of his commander. “This isn’t how any of us pictured it turning out, Gunny,” he said. “But them’s the breaks, right? To tell ya the truth, I wasn’t too fond of seeing those little tykes in pieces either.” Taking a chance, he removed his hand and gently grasped Kael’s chin, forcing her dull blue eyes to fix on his. “We’re not all like Epps, Gunny,” he said softly, willing her to believe. “I haven’t known you all that long, that’s true. But I can see you’re a good leader and a damn fine Marine. When we get outta this, I’ll be happy to cover your ass anytime alright?”

Forcing out a small smile, Kael nodded her dark head, reaching up and gently clasping his uninjured hand with her own.

The doors blew back open and two guards stepped in, eyeing the three drenched captives, sneering, before they reached down as a unit and grabbed Andrews away from Kael. The Marine’s scream was high and breathless as his arms were wrenched behind his back, the previously set bone bulging, straining against his skin like a malignant growth. Marshalling his strength against the blackness encroaching on his vision, Andrews struggled to get his legs beneath his spasming body, determined to walk out of the cell like a man.

After he was thrown into the chair, trying with all his might not to black out as his hands were again forced behind his back, Andrews’ eyes widened with shock as, with a nod, Al-Hassein dismissed the guards from the room.

Taking in Andrews’ look of mild surprise, the commander smiled, displaying a row of brilliant white teeth. “I thought that today, our meeting might be better served by just having us chat, man to man as it were,” the Iraqi explained, standing in front of the bound captive, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. “My guards sometimes get a little too …shall we say …possessive of my rank in our society. They don’t like to see me slandered.” He shrugged. “I am sure you know how it is.” Reaching out, he ran a fingertip along the Marine’s swollen jawline, smirking as the man pulled his head defiantly away from the gentle touch.

Wiping the sweat from his hand off on Andrews’ tattered robe, Al-Hassein straightened and stepped back slightly, his eyes sparkling with false compassion. “Where’s your sharp tongue, my American friend?”

Andrews’, acknowledging that discretion was the better part of valor, decided against telling the Iraqi interrogator exactly where he could shove his compassion and remained silent.

Al-Hassein smiled and nodded as if Andrews had spoken aloud. “It’s good to see that you Americans have some manners after all.” Shifting his weight, the commander casually crossed his arms over his broad chest, looking down at his captive with interest. “Perhaps that civility can continue into today’s discussion, no?” He smiled again. “Perhaps your telling your name was just too hard a task for you yesterday. I’ve decided to start with something a bit more simple. Which branch of the American military are you assigned to, my friend?”

When his captive failed to answer, the commander reached out his arm again, grasping the man’s jaw in one hand and squeezing slightly, warning. Andrews winced and bit back a moan. “Please talk to me. You needn’t feel any more pain, you know.”

Andrews remained silent, and the hand became like a vice. He hissed out a pained breath.

Al-Hassein sighed and released his grip. “I really would rather not hurt you anymore, my friend. It pains me to see you like this. It pains me deeply. Just tell me which branch you’re from and I’ll send you back to your friends. I’ll even arrange to have some food and water sent in. Maybe let you get some sleep tonight? Hmmm?”

“Go to hell, you Iraqi pig.”

Shaking his head, the commander thrust out an arm, the heel of his hand striking the broken collarbone dead on. Andrews’ scream was breathless as he slumped in his chair, unconscious.

The commander stepped back, blowing out a breath of disgust. “Allah be my strength,” he whispered to the walls in his own language before turning and summoning his guards back into the room.

“Get him out of here and bring me another,” Al-Hassein ordered when the guards arrived.

Nodding, the two guards released Andrews’ wrists and dragged his limp body up from the chair, holding him suspended between them. “There’s a man and a woman in the cell with him, my Commander,” one of the guards said, “and two other men in the adjoining cell.”

The commander’s eyes widened. “A woman?!”

“Yes, Commander. Should we bring her in to you?”

Al-Hassein cupped his chin in thought. Perhaps he was mistaken? He fancied himself quite a scholar of the U.S. military, and knew of no women who were trusted enough to belong to an elite terrorist squad. Perhaps these weren’t Americans after all?

He sighed, the beginnings of a headache pounding at his temples. Orders had come from on high this morning to break these American bastards. His leader was gearing up to cross into Kuwait and the Americans were rattling their sabers, warning against such action. If Al-Hassein could prove that these people were really American terrorists, sent into the country to kill innocent civilians, the United States could well be forced to stay out of Arabian affairs. He smiled inwardly. The glory of Allah would be his.

So, the question remained. Were these truly American soldiers? His instincts told him yes, even if the presence of a woman among them stirred the pot a little. Would he be able to get anything important from her? That was doubtful. If she were here with the rest, it must be in some minor support role. Her mind wouldn’t contain anything of importance to his mission. Women’s minds rarely did. “Bring the other man from the cell. We’ll try him first.”

“As you wish, my Commander.”

Al-Hassein took time to study the new prisoner as he was strapped to his chair. This new man was almost a total opposite from his previous captive, with his light colored hair and pale skin. Where the previous man was stocky, this prisoner was long and lanky, thin almost to the point of emaciation. The commander clucked his tongue softly, mildly disgusted. Summoning up his rapidly depleting reserves of polite civility, Al-Hassein smiled and stepped around his desk to face his prey. “My name is Kamran Al-Hassein. Welcome to my home.” He spread his arms wide in a friendly welcoming gesture. “I realize you are probably thinking that you’re about to receive the same treatment as your friend. Let me put your fears to rest, my friend. He talked. Told me everything I needed to know. All I need from you is a few loose ends tied up and you’re free to go.”

At the expression on Reingold’s face, the commander’s bushy eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “I’m hurt that you don’t believe me. Deeply wounded. You are my guest here. Why would I lie to you?”

Reingold smiled slightly and shook his head. “If my ‘friend’ had told you everything, sir, you wouldn’t have thrown him back in the cell still alive. He would have served his purpose and damn sure wouldn’t look good as an example of a misguided young man shown the error of his heathen ways by a benevolent mentor, now would he. I don’t think even your own people would believe he had made some trumped up confession of his own free will.”

Al-Hassein’s brows contracted. Out-maneuvered. By an American, no less. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He willed his face to remain relaxed as his mind sorted through various plans in an attempt to save face. He smiled broadly, falsely. “You watch too much television, American. Your friend is alive simply because I have no need to see him otherwise. He put up a brave fight, but in the end, he was persuaded to tell the truth.” He took a step closer to the bound captive. “You seem a bit too intelligent to have need of the same persuasive tactics, am I right?”

Reingold pretended to give the question serious thought. “If you mean that I’m too smart to need you to beat your version of the truth out of me, then you’re right,” he agreed. The sneer which bloomed looked very much out of place on his open, friendly face. “I wouldn’t tell you the time if I were standing in front of Big Ben with a gun to my head.”

His chair tilted crazily back on two legs as the blow to his face thundered into his head, shattering his nose and several front teeth. Coughing harshly on inhaled blood, the young man jerked forward, righting the chair as he spat blood and teeth shards from his furrowed lips. “There goes another candidate for TV Confessions with Saddam,” he rasped. The second blow ended his torment and Reingold sagged against his bonds, his breathing shallow and rapid.

Al-Hassein stepped back, snarling as he viewed the blood dotting his immaculate uniform. “Get him out of my sight. Bring the other one back here, conscious or not. I want answers and I want them now!” With a disgusted sigh, the commander looked at the clock. He had promised his superiors answers by the end of the day. Time was rapidly slipping away from him and that put him in the foulest of moods. If Hussein got wind of these failures, the captives would look like poster children for the Good Health Society compared to how he was sure to look after a session with his leader’s master interrogators.

Reingold was holding a compress tight to his nose as Kael tended to what was left of his mouth. The cell door opened and Andrews was thrown in. Dropping her rags, Kael caught the Marine’s slumping body before it hit the ground, staring up at the guards as they sneered at the captives. After a long moment, they turned and left.

Kael gathered Andrews close to her, examining what was left of his face. His eyes were horribly swollen and blackened, his nose crushed, his mouth a bloody hole. “They didn’t break me, Gunny,” Andrews slurred through a mouthful of broken teeth. “The bastards tried, but I didn’t tell ‘em anything.”

“Ya did great, Andrews,” Kael said gruffly, ripping another swatch from her robe and tending to his heavily bleeding facial wounds. “Rest now and let me take care of your face, alright?”

Andrews struggled against her, straining to open his swollen eyes. “No, Gunny. Don’t waste your time. Please. I …I did it this time …but not next time. Next time, I’m gonna crack, Gunny. I can’t hold out anymore. You don’t know what it’s like in there. You don’t … .” The young soldier began to choke on his own blood.

“Shhhh, Paul. Shhh. Relax now. I won’t let them hurt you anymore. I promise.”

“No! It’s too late. Too late …for me, Gunny. Please …please fix it so I’m still a hero, ok?”

Kael’s blue eyes widened. “What are you saying, Paul?”

Andrews’ tortured eyes met her own. “Please, Gunny. End it. Here and now. Please. Don’t make me sell out.” He struggled weakly again. “Please, Gunny. I’m beggin’ ya. Don’t let me die a traitor.”

Kael tore her gaze away from the pleading, anguished soldier, looking over at Reingold who was staring at the scene with wide, frightened eyes. She looked back down at Andrews who met her gaze unflinchingly. “Are you sure you want this, Paul?” She tenderly stroked his swollen face, needing desperately to know the answer. “Absolutely sure?”

“I’m positive,” he gasped. “Help me. Please.” The last word came out in a tortured whisper.

Taking in a deep breath of stale air, Kael nodded, reaching over with her free hand and gently cupping his face on either side. “Anything you …want to tell your family?” she asked uncomfortably, her throat suddenly dry at the duty she had been given.

Andrews closed his swollen eyes for a long moment. “Tell them …tell them I died well, Gunny,” he whispered. A small smile crossed over his face. “Good luck,” he added softly.

Kael’s eyes, pale orbs which could freeze the heart of any mortal, warmed with compassion, pride, and the quiet strength which always characterized her. “Good rest, my friend.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

A quick twist and it was over.

Releasing her hold on his face, Kael gathered the body up to her chest, supporting the lolling head with one hand as she supported the limp form with the other. A sad, haunting melody sprung forth from her lips of its own accord, filling the chamber with its somber beauty as she rocked the unfeeling body of her comrade in her strong arms.

The last note hung in the air for a long moment before it faded out and Kael lowered her head to rest her brow atop the dark hair of Andrews. “Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered.

Reingold cleared his throat to break the silence. “That was beautiful,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ve never heard you sing it before.”

Kael lifted her head away from Andrews, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know where it came from,” she said, puzzled. “I’ve never heard that song before in my life. It was just …there.” Shaking her head to clear her confusion, the C.O. gently laid Andrews’ body on the cold damp floor of the cell, crossing his arms over his chest and brushing an errant lock of hair from his face. Shifting her position slightly, she moved to sit next to Reingold, who slipped an arm around her shoulders in an awkward hug. Kael sighed. “Let’s try and get some sleep before the hoses come again.”

Within moments, all was quiet save for the steady dripping of water into the cell.

It was nighttime. And warm, at least when compared to the damp chill of her prison cell. The freshening breeze caressed her clammy skin delicately. The air smelled clean, with just a hint of woodsmoke which came up from the bonfire in front of her, being born off by the wind in the other direction before it could sting at her eyes. She noticed trees in the periphery of her vision and wanted to look around, take them in, but her eyes were focussed squarely on the bright burning pyre that grew as she walked closer to it. The haunting melody continued to spring forth from her soul, borne, like the smoke from the pyre, up in the wind’s gentle embrace.

Her heart was heavy and sad as she stared into the fire, the last note of her tribute fading in the night breeze. Off to her left, very nearby, came a voice which touched deep chords in her soul, though she had never before heard it. The words were foreign, but she understood them, as she suddenly understood the words to the song which had borne Andrews to his death, the song she had just now sung again, though to whom, she wasn’t sure.

“I wish I could have met him,” the unseen figure at her side said, her voice full of warm compassion. “I’m sorry.”

“He was my friend,” she replied in the same unknown language, but speaking it like a native born.

“To be remembered like that is a good thing.”

She wanted to turn her head; to look at the person who thought to offer her comfort through this un-understood grief, but her feet carried her closer to the fire before she could force her head around. “My friend,” she found herself saying, stopping a short distance away from what she now realized to be a funeral pyre. “My friend.”

The sharp sound of a door slamming off concrete walls as well as the sudden convulsive stiffening of an arm around her shoulders woke Kael from her dream. Still half unaware, she jumped into a fighting crouch, flinging off the arm pinning her against the wall and clenching her fists.

Two guards burst into the cell, both eyeing her closely, their hands tightening on their weapons. Kael stared back, then relaxed against the wall, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. The dream, which seconds ago had seemed so real, scattered and dissipated like fog in the morning sun.

Fully entering the dank cell, the guards grunted as they bent down to grab Andrews by the arms. The Marine’s head, unsupported by his broken neck, lolled backwards, the close cropped hair fuzzing the back of his skull pressing close against his shoulder blades. One of the guards eyes’ widened and he dropped the arm he was holding as if the chilled skin had burnt the tender flesh of his palms. His companion, taken by surprise by the action, dropped the other arm, allowing Andrews’ body to fall back to the water-pooled floor, his neck cocked at an unlikely, grotesque angle.

The first guard grunted and squatted, reaching out a hand to rest on the captive’s marble-like neck. Cocking his head, he felt around some more, before raising his gaze, his eyes taking in first his companion, then the two prisoners who sat against the wall opposite him. “This man is dead.”

Kael allowed a smirk to form on her lips. “What tipped ya off, Einstein?” she replied in flawless Arabic.

The second guard snarled, lifting his weapon and stepping toward the seated captive before he was stopped by his comrade who stood and dusted his hands off on his immaculately pressed trousers. “We don’t have the time,” he informed his companion, releasing the guard’s arm to force him to the cell door. “The Commander needs to know of this.”

Grunting, the second guard allowed himself to be guided out of the cell, turning back only once to imprint the face of the woman into his memory.

Al-Hassein turned his head to look at the clock for the third time in as many minutes. Time, once a cherished friend, had turned into a deadly enemy over the course of one day. His evening prayers, once a bastion of peace in his otherwise chaotic world, had seemed to drag interminably. For the first time in his life, he found himself rushing through the rituals, needing to get them over with so he could attend to his duties.

He looked at the clock again, growling under his breath and slamming his clenched fist down on his desk, causing the myriad of scattered papers to shuffle in protest. He had an hour at the most before his superiors would call demanding answers.

Closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, the commander forced himself to relax, contenting himself with the vision of the battered soldier when he had last seen him. The man would break quickly now, he knew. He had been a hairsbreadth from cracking during the last session before his pain carried him away, and with his consciousness, his secrets also retreated.

‘Not this time, my American friend,’ Al-Hassein promised himself. ‘This time I’ll have you begging me to reveal all your dirty little secrets.’ A malicious smile bloomed on his face as he pictured his new, opulent office in the Presidential palace and the “Friend of Saddam” ribbon that was sure to adorn his chest. His name would be spoken of in reverent whispers as the man who single-handedly prevented the loathsome United States from entering a war that was sure to begin just as soon as the first Iraqi tank entered the boarder into Kuwait.

His blissful reverie was interrupted when the empty-handed guards stepped diffidently into the room. “Where’s the prisoner?” he barked, his vision shattered in pieces and laying on the ground at his feet. Time suddenly sped up again and a nervousness totally foreign to him planted its seeds into his gut.

“He’s dead, my Commander,” one of the guards replied.

“Wha-at?” Al-Hassein demanded, rising slowly from behind his desk. “What do you mean ‘dead’?”

“He lives no more, Commander. His neck was broken.”

Al-Hassein flew around the desk, his teeth bared in rage. Stalking up to one of the guards, he planted a knee squarely between the man’s legs, causing the guard to gasp, hunch over, and loose his weapon. “You ignorant pig!” he screamed, spittle flying from dry lips. “I told you to take care with him!”

“It …it wasn’t us, Commander,” the other guard stated strongly. “The woman caught him when he was placed into the cell. He was alive when we left. I swear it!”

The Commander turned to the second guard, his eyes glittering with feral intensity. The guard’s eyes were round and wide but the truth of his words came through clearly. Al-Hassein felt the anger at his own men leave him with the words. His mind spun. The circumstances of the man’s death became clear to him and he felt a hint of pride at the unsuspected bravery of the American prisoners. He never expected them to choose death over dishonor. Further never expected a comrade to end the existence of another. Life was just too precious to them. His mind’s eye pictured the skinny blonde man snapping his companion’s neck. The picture seemed wrong somehow, but he suspected that perhaps the Americans had some hidden strengths after all. “Go back into that cell and bring me the skinny one.”

The guards nodded and were just about at the door when their commander’s voice pulled them up short. “No, wait.” He looked at the clock again, thoughts running rapidly through his head. Surely the woman would be easier to break. She might not know all the answers, but even a woman would know her own name and the name of the military branch to which she was attached. This information was sure to be enough to appease his superiors for the time being. After he broke the woman, he could work on the remaining men at his leisure.

Time again became his ally as Al-Hassein smiled, stroking the corners of his luxuriant moustache. “Bring me the woman instead.”

“Yes, Commander,” one of the guards replied as both stepped out of the office, closing the door softly behind them.

Al-Hassein smiled and rocked back on his heels. Life was suddenly quite good again.

The Commander smiled to himself as he heard his office door open once again, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork as the guards stepped into the room. His good mood had grown in the few minutes he was forced to wait; grown as he realized that he wouldn’t even have to get his hands dirty during this particular session. Al-Hassein could be a very charming man when he had to be. He knew American woman liked that; their own men being too boorish to master the fine art of civility. He would just walk over to the woman, turn on the charm, let her know that her information would keep the others in her group from getting hurt, and in ten minutes, be on the phone to his superiors, basking in their accolades.

It was only when he heard the small group cross over to the chair sitting before his desk did the officer deign to look up from his work. His smile froze on his face as he took in the form of the figure being held between his two guards. Whatever he might have expected, it was surely not this. The top of her lush raven head came equal to the taller of the two guards. Her strange, pale, utterly fearless eyes lanced into his own, causing his heartbeat pause as the seeds of nervousness previously planted began to grow roots in his belly. The woman exuded strength, focus, and an utter darkness the likes of which the commander, who was well used to strong, dangerous, dark men, had never seen.

After a long moment, his own darkness rose to the fore again, dismissing the look he had been given from those strange eyes as a mere trick of the light. With a nod of his dark head, the guards forced the woman down into the chair. He stopped them from binding her arms behind her back however, as he chanced a look at her hands. Suddenly, he knew without a doubt who had ended the soldier’s life in the cell. Those hands were large and strong and Al-Hassein thought that if he just looked at them for long enough, he would see inches of dried blood coating them. A tendril of fear snaked through his body as his gaze trailed up the lean, yet voluptuous, form of the now seated prisoner, stopping to take in the proud jaw and high arched cheekbones of what even he would admit was a beautiful American woman.

Pushing the senseless fear down yet again, the commander affixed a welcoming smile to his face as he rose from behind the desk and crossed to stand before this new prisoner. “Welcome, young woman,” he said in his most charming voice. “A pity that my friends didn’t remark on your ravishing beauty. I would have offered you only the finest hospitality had I known.”

“Then I’m glad they didn’t,” Kael responded in Al-Hassein’s own tongue, spoken without a trace of an accent. Again, the commander was left wondering, uncertain. Could these truly be Americans? Nodding again to his guards, Al-Hassein watched as they laid the woman’s arms on the arms of the chair, reaching down to secure her to the seat with thick leather straps. Her lean, tapered fingers curled around the edge of the chair arms, relaxed.

The commander allowed his countenance to darken as he looked up from his study of the woman’s hands to again peer into her glittering eyes. “Your friend was just about to bare his soul to me,” he said, finding comfort in the speaking of his own tongue. “You prevented that from happening. Why?”

Kael’s lips curved into a sneer as she refused to look away from his direct gaze.

The two engaged in a silent battle of wills for long moments before Al-Hassein found himself unbelievably having to look away from the deadly glare of his prisoner. Clearing his throat against his discomfort, the commander gestured to his men, who raised their weapons. “Unfortunately, you did a very bad thing and must receive the proper punishment. It’s not something I want to do, believe me. But even I have my orders.” He tried to make his voice sound sad, but failed miserably, so off balance was he by this strange woman sitting in his office as if she, not he, were the interrogator. He nodded again, a savage shake of his head, and watched interestedly as the rifle butts came down upon her unprotected hands, crushing the bones beneath the smooth, silken flesh, his ears awaiting the wonderful sounds of her screams of agony.

There was only silence. He forced himself to look up, knowing the woman had passed out just as her compatriots had before her, and irrationally disappointed because of it. Looked up to find those eyes still staring at him, the sneer still curled about the full lips of his captive.

“Is that the best you can do?” the low, melodious voice asked without a hint of the agony she must surely be feeling.

Al-Hassein forced himself not to gasp. Surely this woman was not human. “Who are you?” he breathed, barely aware that he was speaking aloud.

Kael chose not to answer him Instead, she leaned back against the chair, actually crossing her legs as the smirk on her face became a half smile of amusement. She was holding all the cards and she knew it. Worse, she knew he knew it as well. Her deceptively casual posture was deliberately designed to prod him into making a mistake.

Closing the distance between them, Al-Hassein’s wonder was evident on his face as he pushed a large thumb down onto the warm flesh of her crushed left hand. He stared at her face, determined to see some sort of reaction to this. There was none. Not even the involuntary tensing of her jaw muscles or the contraction of her pupils betrayed her pain. The amused smile remained. Her eyes seemed to laugh at his discomfort.

The commander removed his thumb and moved slightly away, trying to regroup. He was totally non-plused and reeling off balance. Al-Hassein was a competent military commander with many skirmish victories under his belt. None of his experience, however, had prepared him for this. His mind whirled. His broad shoulders raised, then settled as he wiped his hands down his uniform, huffing out a soft sigh of air.

The look of false compassion returned again to his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know,” he said finally, gesturing to her hands. “You understand my position. It was only business. You took something of mine so I had to take something of yours. Now that we are again on an even field, as it were, we can begin anew.” Reaching outward, he used a fingertip to gently caress Kael’s square jaw. “All you need do is answer my simple questions and I can promise you that this interview can proceed most …pleasantly.”

Kael’s smile of amusement turned to one of outright seduction. Her glittering silver-blue eyes darkened and narrowed wantonly, causing the Iraqi’s entire body to respond quite against his conscious will. “Perhaps,” she replied softly, her own eyes blazing a path down Al-Hassein’s uniformed body, coming to rest on the area between his legs. An ebony eyebrow curved. “If you’re sure you have the stamina for it, that is.”

His jaw opening in shock, Al-Hassein stepped back again. Reaching into the breast pocket of his uniform, he pulled out his ever-present handkerchief, wiping his fingers furiously as he stared at the prisoner still wantonly eyeing him. “You Americans are amazing,” he choked out, stuffing the rumpled, damp cloth back into his pristine uniform coat. Used to the covered deference of Muslim women, the commander was out of his element and he knew it. The line of seduction he had just laid on the American would have been an affront of the most horrid to one of his own, yet she accepted it as if it were her due and even had the utter gall to chastise his manhood.

Black blooms of rage flared up behind his eyes as he stared at his prisoner, grinding his perfect teeth in rhythm to the clenching of his fists. Well groomed nails dug divots into the warm flesh of his palms causing dots of blood to well up and surface.

Keal kept up the act, knowing she had the Iraqi on the ropes. One more blow and he’d go down in a heap. In a deep, throaty voice, she purred, “Are you sure you’re man enough to take me on?”

Bellowing in rage, Al-Hassein threw up his right arm, intending to strike the impudent woman’s face with all his strength, determined to mar the beauty she was so effortlessly using against him. The blow never landed. Instead, it was easily deflected off a rock hard forearm as Kael ripped from her bindings with ease, blocking the thundering blow and the one that followed it. Standing, she drew back her head and butted the frozen commander while at the same time urgine a sharp knee into the manhood she had just mocked. Al-Hassein went to his knees, wheezing and retching as his stunned guards looked on with wide eyes.

“Guess not,” she sneered, landing an elbow to the muscled mid-section of the guard to her left, causing the weapon to fly from his tight grip. In her zeal, Kael had forgotten about her injured hands and the weapon fell from her grasp to clatter onto the tiled floor of the office. Turning quickly, she threw a sweeping round kick at the second guard, connecting with his upper chest and sending him to the ground beside his commander.

The first guard regained his footing, clamping a huge hand on one broad shoulder, intending to spin the prisoner around to face a right cross he was readying. Instead, his nose met with a backfist and he released the woman, howling and clutching at his face as streams of blood sprayed through his clenched fingers.

Tears of pain stung at Kael’s eyes as her crushed hand made forceful contact with the guard’s face. She blinked them back savagely, a feral grin blooming on her face. The second guard scrabbled for his gun, only to be stopped as the heel of Kael’s combat boot crushed his hand. “Paybacks are a bitch, boys,” she taunted, swinging around and leveling the still keening Al-Hassein with a front kick to his face.

The guard whose hand she crushed managed to grab for her long robes, pulling her off balance. As she struggled to right herself against the desk, her bracing hands screamed out their torment, refusing to bear her weight as she tried to kick her captor off. Snarling in rage, she gathered herself and kicked out and back, grinning wildly as she heard a howl and a satisfying thud. The guard flew halfway across the room, a large swatch of her tattered gown still fluttering in his uninjured hand.

Dodging to her left to avoid the screaming Al-Hassein, Kael gathered up the remnants of her robes, making for the door. The first guard managed to pick up his submachine gun, trying desperately to aim at the retreating figure through the haze of blood filling his eyes. His shots went low, splintering Kael’s shins. She went down, her weight landing on her injured hands and the world greyed out around her momentarily.

Seeing the demon woman go down, Al-Hassein struggled to his feet again, holding together his badly torn chin and gagging at the blood that pooled in his mouth. Stumbling over to the prisoner laying on her side, he watched as she continued to weakly struggle toward the door and freedom. A flush of rage suffused his features as he lashed a booted foot into her abdomen and chest again and again until she finally stop moving. With a final kick which felt as if it had ruptured something internally in the woman, the commander dropped to his knees, panting, his blood streaming from his face to land on the once white robe of his prisoner.

Five heavily armed soldiers burst into the office, their weapons held at the ready.

Saliva frothed from Al-Hassein’s mouth, so complete was his insane rage. A woman had nearly defeated him. A woman! A stupid, useless American woman. Rising, he took out his rage on the squad of guards who stood blinking stupidly at the bloody scene before them.

“What were you waiting for?!” he screamed, his eyes bulging from their sockets. “Allah?!?” Up and down the line he went, raining down blows on each of his men until he was too tired to lift his arms. He looked down at the huddled form of the prisoner at his feet, kicking the body again once more just for the sheer pleasure of it.

“Get this carcass down to the cells and bring me back the skinny pig. Five corpses will decorate my prison by the time this night is over. Do it! Now!!”

Two of the soldiers bent over and grabbed Kael under the arms, a third leading the way out of the office. Kael’s shattered legs trailed limply behind her, a trail of blood marking her passage through the bunker.

Reingold was ready for action as he heard the guards troop down the hallway. He had heard the sounds of gunfire above his head and knew something had gone horribly wrong. At first, he had entertained the notion that Kael had gotten free and taken care of business, but the sounds of many booted feet dashed that fantasy, leaving his muscles coiled and ready for anything.

The door pounded open and his commander was thrown in, the front of her robes painted red with blood. Black power burns told him who had borne the brunt of the weapons fire he had heart. His heart constricted sharply and his vision trebled as a snarl twisted his face.

“You fucking bastards!” he screamed as the first of the guards reached out to grab him. Carefully laying Kael’s body on the ground, he pistoned upward with his legs, giving his blow the strength it needed to release the gun from the guard’s suddenly nerveless fingers. “What the fuck did you do to her, huh?” Reversing his grip on the gun, he clouted the guard under the chin, flipping him into the man behind him. Flipping the gun in his hands once again, he raised it to high port, taking a split second to aim. Bullets sprayed out from the weapon’s muzzle, cutting into the two fallen men. He looked up into the barrel of a weapon pointed directly at his head.

Tongues of fire leapt from both weapons at once. American and Iraqi alike went down, dead before they hit the ground.

All was silent for a long moment until desperate knocking was heard from the adjoining cell. “Gunny? Shooter? What’s going on in there?”

Only a cold silence answered the two Marines.

Continued..Part 2

Return to The Desert Storm Main Page

DESERT STORM

Part 2

by: SwordnQuill

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Lao Ma, Alti, Borias, and everyone else who sounds familiar belong to Pac Ren and Universal Studios. I am not making money off of this story.

Genre Disclaimer: Ok. Bear with me, please, because this is kinda tough to explain. Sometime last year, I read a story on the internet that moved me so much, I was inspired to write a sort of companion piece to it. That story was “Lost Soul Walking” by DJWP. In her words, “This is NOT UberXena fiction. It just starts out like it is.” The same can be said for this piece. While not directly related to “Lost Soul Walking”, “Desert Storm” can be considered a sort of prequel to it. It is a story, if you will, about the lifetime before the one depicted in that fabulous, outstanding story. (Can you tell I loved it?) In addition, this is somewhat of an ambitious piece of fiction, in that I am attempting (don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I’ve attempted) to take the entire X:WP universe and modernize it. We start, in updated terms, with my version of Xena’s betrayal by Caesar (seen in “Destiny”), and continue up through the X:WP episode known as “Remember Nothing”. The plot will be very recognizable to you. It’s meant to be that way.

Special note: Because of this, Gabrielle does not appear, except in offhand mention, in a great deal of the first half of this story. Do not look for her, because you won’t find her. After all, she was not a part of ‘evil Xena’s’ life. If she were, things might have turned out differently, but because this is based on the premise of “Lost Soul Walking” it cannot happen differently. Gabrielle will, however, make her presence known, and that quite strongly, in the second half of the story. If you can hang on till then, I believe that you will not be disappointed.

Sexuality and Violence Disclaimers: We’re dealing with an updated dark Xena through much of the first half, and an updated redeemed Xena through the second. There’s gonna be violence. There are gonna be naughty words. There are also descriptions of sexual activity in this work. There are allusions to heterosexual sex, but nothing graphic. There are some graphic (though I hope tasteful) scenes of sexual expression between women as well. That is how I see the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, and that is how I will continue to write it.

And, finally, thanks: To, as always, the incomparable Mike. A better beta and a better friend one could never hope for. Thank you also, as always, to Mary D, who rescued this story from the refuse heap and begged me to keep going on it. If you hate it, blame her. Grateful and heartfelt appreciation goes out to DJWP, for continuing to write stories that grab me somewhere above the liver and giving her kind permission to mention her story in these disclaimers. If you haven’t read her stories, please, do yourself a favor and do so. Finally, this story is dedicated to a group of people without whom I would most probably be living on the streets. Elizabeth, Rachel, Sulli, and the rest of the “Get Sue to Atlanta” crew, this one’s for you!

Feedback: As always is gratefully appreciated. If you wrote to me regarding “Redemption” during the month of September to early October and I haven’t responded, please allow me the honor of apologizing in public. It was then that I was at my lowest point and making ready to move to my new home. Your words of praise and encouragement for my writing kept me firmly out of the pit of depression I was falling into and I shall be forever grateful to each and every one of you who took the time out to feed this bard. And for those of you patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for Redemption’s sequel, fear not, for with the conclusion of this piece, that piece will be started. Any and all who wish to may write me at SwordnQuil@aol.com . I’ll continue to do my best to answer each and every email. An exploding mailbox is a good thing to have. Thanks again!

DESERT STORM

by: Sword’n’Quill (Susanne Beck)

24 July, 1990. Very Early Morning. Temporary Israeli Military Camp. ~100 miles West of Tadmur, Syria.

A hot gusty wind blew through the open flap of the command tent, causing the papers on the large table set in the center to rustle, much to the consternation of the small figure who was trying to read a map in the near darkness of the enclosure. Commander Tovah Rybak raked a hand through the cinnamon curls on her head in frustration. “Damn it,” she hissed, trying futilely to prevent the map from rolling up once again.

Lt. Commander Benjamin Adellich, Tovah’s second in command and field medic, grinned at his friend, coming to her aid and flattening the paper down onto the table. “You’ll ruin your eyes if you keep trying to read in the dark,” he quipped.

Tovah rolled her eyes. “Thanks, dad.” Sighing, one small finger traced a route from where they were currently stationed into Iraq and the bunker hidden beneath the ever shifting sands.

“You’re sure they’re there.”

“At this point, Ben, I’m not sure of anything anymore. All I know is that we received a report of five captives being brought to that location two days ago. No one’s seen them since.”

“Any descriptions?”

Tovah shrugged, tracing the route again, calculating the dangers. “Only that they were dressed in robes and had hoods over their heads.”

“They could be ours then. Those are the clothes they were wearing when we lost track of ‘em. Minus the hoods, of course.” He gusted out a sigh, blowing black hair away from his forehead. “Of course, it’s just as likely not to be them. Things being the way they are, the Iraqis are seeing a spy in every pot these days.”

“Our people or not, Ben, they’re obviously enemies of Hussein. Which makes them friends of ours.”

“Friends perhaps,” Adellich countered, “but is friendship worth crossing hundreds of miles of open enemy desert? There’s a good chance we’ll go all that way just to rescue a bunch of corpses who don’t even belong to us.”

Tovah stepped away from the map, stalking to the other end of the tent, her tiny, compact body vibrating with tension. “I’m well aware of that, Ben,” she snapped. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t turn your back to someone who needs your help. And if there’s anyone still alive in that place, they’re going to need our help. Kin or not.”

Adellich smiled warmly at his friend. “That’s my Tovah,” he said, grinning. “All fire and no fear.”

Tovah returned the warm grin, returning to the table one last time. Memorizing the route, she rolled the recalcitrant map back up and placed it in the case with the others. “Everything ready?”

“We’ll leave the moment you give the word.”

“Let’s go then. I want to be back here by sundown tonight.”

24 July 1990. Early Morning. Just Outside the Underground Bunker of the Republican Guard. Ar Rutbah, Iraq.

Adjusting the dials on his binoculars, Adellich squinted into the bright sunlight. “Something’s going on in there,” he remarked to his silent commander. “They’re running around like birds without heads.”

“Let me see,” Tovah replied, grabbing the glasses away from her friend, adjusting them and peering into the heavily guarded compound. Scarlet clad Iraqi soldiers ran back in forth across the flat cleared space where the squat bunker and its outbuildings sat. None seemed to be moving with any purpose. “Alright then. Let’s add to their distraction. ‘A’ unit ready?”

“And waiting,” her second replied, holding a radio to his lips. “Is it a go?”

“Yeah. Everyone ready here?”

Adellich nodded, clicking a button on his communications device. “’A’ unit. Set up a distraction on my mark. Ready. Now.”

‘B’ unit waited as the first sounds of mortar fire were heard around the periphery of the compound. The shots were designed to draw the soldiers away from the main target and they were working to perfection, compounding the distraction of the Iraqis. Drawing up their weapons, the Republican Guardsmen returned fire on their unseen tormentors, their attentions drawn totally away from the bunker proper.

With a wave of her hand, Tovah beckoned her fifteen member squad to follow her on a zig zag path up to and behind the outbuildings. “Tell ‘A’ squad to put their fire down further to the west. We need more of a clear shot to the building.” They were moving in from the east and the blinding cover of the rising sun. The bunker’s door was to the north. A few guards hovered around the entrance, their weapons at the ready. The others were still close enough to be a danger if Tovah and her people were spotted before they had a chance to silence the guards.

As Adellich complied with her order, Tovah and her squad made it to another outbuilding, the last piece of cover before the bunker itself. “Ok, everyone. This is it.” She pointed out ten of her men. “You stay topside and take out the commander and his guards. The rest of you down into the cells with me. Shoot anything that moves and wears scarlet. We’re not out here to make friends, understand?”

The men and women of her squad nodded at her, adjusting their weaponry and clothing, brave beyond measure. Tovah’s heart filled with pride for her people and she let that pride show in her eyes. “For the glory of God and our homeland,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

The sixteen members of ‘B’ squad paired up and ducked from the cover of the last outbuilding. Their camouflage uniforms blended easily with the desert as they made their way to the front of the compound and the four guards who were standing uncertainly by the doors, their attentions off to the west. Tovah kept her weapon strapped to her back as, instead, she simply extended the first two fingers of both hands and drove them into the nerve centers of first one, then two guards, stepping past them as they slumped to their knees, paralyzed. Her partner took care of the other two with a knife across the throat and the pair stepped aside as two more Israeli soldiers stormed forth to blast open the door to the barracks.

Once inside, the group split up. Tovah’s smaller group made off to the left, down the slowly descending hallway that led to the cells. The rest of the squad moved off to the right and into the command center of the building. Weapons fire started up immediately.

The way to the cells was sparsely guarded, and the Commander found out why as she rounded the last curve and stepped through the door and into the prison proper. Throwing up a hand to cover her nose as the stench of death and decay hit her full force, Tovah led her group into the prison. Thick steel cell doors lined the long, dark corridor, ten to a side. Using hand gestures, the commander directed her men to begin searching the cells.

The sounds of steel hitting concrete soon filled the cramped corridor as Israeli soldiers searched the prison for any signs of life. Tovah raced down the narrow hallway, blowing into the last cell on the right. The stench inside made her step back outside for a second to clear her sinuses. With a deep breath of less fetid air, the commander ducked back into the cell. Two men lay curled in the cell, their bodies awash with dried blood. Sewer roaches crawled into and over open mouths and eyes as the two deceased Marines stared blankly into eternity.

Stepping further into the charnel house, Tovah got a good look at both men, matching up what she could see of their features with the memories of her own captured kinsmen. Neither was a match and her heart grew sad and hopeful at the same time. Maybe her cohorts were having better luck.

“Tovah, in here!” came the voice of Adellich from the adjoining cell. “We’ve got a live one!”

Finishing her quick prayer over the two dead men, Tovah quickly retreated from the cell, entering the next one down the line at a dead run. The stench in the new cell was worse and the commander could tell by the condition of one of the bodies that death had claimed one of the prisoners some time ago.

The second body was that of a young, thin man who had most of his face blown away. The back of his bloodied head was pillowed upon the chest of the third figure, next to whom Adellich was currently squatting.

Tovah edged further into the cell, intent on examining the third member of the cell. Her eyes widened as she took in the deathly pale face of the prisoner. “It’s a woman!”

“Yeah. And she’s nearly dead. With these wounds, it’s a miracle that she’s managed to stay alive this long.”

“Can she be moved?”

Shouts and screams sounded near to the entrance to the prison. The fighting was getting closer. “I don’t think we have much choice,” Adellich replied, gathering the long body of the woman and hefting her easily into his strong, stout arms. “Hang on for a little longer,” he whispered to the woman in his arms. “Just a little longer. We’ll get you out of here.”

Tovah squatted down, retrieving her friend’s weapon while looking closely at the other two. Like their compatriots in the other cell, their faces were almost unrecognizable, but they didn’t match with any of her missing kin. “These aren’t ours either.”

“No,” Adellich agreed. “At first I thought they were Americans, but when I saw her … .” The big man shrugged.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait till she wakes up.”

“If she lives that long.”

Tovah looked into the woman’s face once again, seeing the strength there even near death. “She will,” she said with confidence. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Stepping back into the hall, Tovah and Adellich met up with the rest of their small party. All the other members were empty handed. “No one in the other cells,” one young soldier remarked sadly. “I guess we’ll never find them now.”

Smiling sadly, Tovah walked over to the young man, putting a warm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give up hope, Itzak. They’re not here, so there’s always a chance, alright?”

Itzak returned his commander’s smile. “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied.

Giving the shoulder beneath her hand a fond squeeze, Tovah turned to the rest of her troops. “Even though we didn’t find our kin, our mission was a success. We’ve managed to save one soul from the arms of the Reaper. Now let’s get outta here and blow this place off the face of the earth.”

Raising their weapons, the squad let out a shout, turning to follow their brave leader back into the fighting.

The increased numbers evened the odds and the firefight quickly turned into a rout. Al-Hassein had been found much earlier in the battle, seated behind his desk, his life ended from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the right temple. He had died before the bunker was even stormed as in his killing rage he had managed to execute the last two people who could possibly tell him anything. Overcome with fear at the thought of what his superiors would do to him, the Iraqi Guard Commander ended his own life rather than face the tortures of the very regime he so gladly tortured others in the name of.

The Israelis fought with redoubled fury and soon not a Republican Guard within the bunker was left breathing. The commotion outside the barracks had prevented other soldiers from coming to the Iraqis’ aid, the sporadic gunfire inside the bunker seeming less important than the violent explosions outside.

Lifting the radio to her lips, Tovah pressed a button. “C’ team. All clear?”

“Ready and waiting, Commander,” came a static-filled voice.

“We’re ready in here.”

“Stand away from the walls then. We’ll have you out in a jiffy.”

The group stepped away from the south wall of the bunker, most milling around Adellich and the unconscious woman he still carried in his arms. “All clear,” Tovah announced.

Seconds later, a large area of the south wall disintegrated soundlessly. As soon as the dust settled, the group ran from the building, allowing the C team to enter and place explosive charges around the facility.

Five trucks, emblazoned with the Republican Guard symbol on their canvas flaps and door panels, stood ready for the group. Adellich and Tovah ran to the nearest one. Adellich laid Kael’s body on the floorboards in the back of the truck, then hauled his big body inside, lifting the soldier once again and gently placing her in a stretcher strapped to a long plank.

The driver of the truck, clothed in an appropriated Republican Guard uniform, stepped to the rear, striding over to his leader. “We’ve got problems, Commander.”

“What sort of problems,” Tovah asked, turning her attention from the silent figure being strapped to the gurney and searching the young man’s face with dark, almond eyes.

“The Iraqis are shoring up their boarders with Syria. Our escape route is pretty much cut off. The secondary route is still passable, but it’s at least a twelve hour trek through some pretty rough country.” He looked significantly into the back of the truck where Adellich was squatting next to the secured woman, checking her vitals.

“Shit.” Tovah looked inside the truck as well, waiting until her second had finished his work before clearing her throat. “You heard?”

“Yeah.”

“Think she’ll make it if we take the long way home?”

“I doubt it. I don’t know how she’s managing to hang on now. Any more jostling and we’ll probably lose her.”

Tovah crossed her arms and slapped one palm against her bicep as she searched her memory, working at her lower lip with sharp white teeth. “We’ve got a safe-house in Karbala. That’s closer to Baghdad than I want to be right now, but I don’t think we’ve got a choice.”

“I don’t think that’s such a wise idea, Commander,” the young soldier stated. “The roads between here and there are going to be crawling with the enemy with this massive troop buildup. And when the war starts, you can bet that Baghdad is gonna get bombed. You’ll be in a lot of danger.”

“I realize that, Martin. But this woman is going to die if we don’t get her some immediate aid. And I’m not willing to let that happen.”

The young man took a deep breath. “Commander, forgive me for speaking out of turn, Ma’am, but you’re taking a big risk. The chances are good that none of you will survive once the bombing starts. I know you want to save this woman, but what’s the point if she’s only going to die in Karbala along with the rest of you? I think it’s better to chance the longer route.”

Tovah looked back into the truck, meeting Adellich’s intent gaze. The older man shook his head slightly. The commander looked back at her young compatriot. “It’s a risk I’m going to have to take, my friend,” she said gently. “Only this truck will go to Karbala. The rest of the squad can take the route to the north and safety. If you want to go with the others, do so. I won’t fault you. Just leave your uniform so we can make use of it.”

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am. But if you’re going into danger, I’m going with you,” the young man responded, his chest stuck out with pride.

Tovah smiled and clapped the young man on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Martin.” She beckoned another soldier to approach. “Relay my orders to the others. B and C squads get in those trucks and head north to meet with A squad at the rendezvous point. Take the secondary route out of here. Benjamin, Martin and I will go to Karbala with our injured friend. Good luck and God’s blessings on all of you. You did a great job today. I’m proud of you.”

The young woman beamed, snapping off a stiff salute. “God grant you safety in your journey, Commander.” Turning, the officer gathered the rest of the soldiers and the group entered the remaining trucks, escaping the bunker under cover from their compatriots still pinning the Iraqi forces down.

Adellich reached down a hand and aided Tovah into the back of the truck. Once there, the commander found a cache of purloined uniforms and took one out for herself, groaning at the gigantic size compared to her tiny form. She also threw one to Adellich and the two began to hurriedly dress as the truck lurched away from the scene of slaughter.

Scant moments later, the small truck rocked on its springs as a titanic explosion sounded behind them. Tovah looked out the flap and saw the remains of the bunker litter the sky in a field of fire. “May God have mercy on your souls,” she whispered before turning and coming to sit beside her friend. “How’s she doing?”

“No change,” Adellich replied, dragging a hand through his sweaty hair. “She has an incredibly strong will to live. I just hope it’ll be enough. There’s nothing more I can do for her here.”

“The safe-house has a pretty good medical facility,” Tovah informed him, leaning over to brush a lock of dirty raven hair from the face of the injured woman and gently caressing her noble brow. She cocked her head to the side, studying the woman’s features intently. “Who are you, Jafit?” she whispered. “Where are you from? Do you have kin to mourn your fate or tell your stories?”

The silent battered woman gave no answer as the truck lurched along through the desert.

24 July 1990. Israeli Safe-House. Karbala, Iraq

The journey to the safe-house was easier than any of them expected. They arrived quickly and without incident, having only been stopped twice on the road. The scarlet of their uniforms and the expertly forged documents allowed the group through the established blockades with nary a passing glance from the quickly growing ranks of Iraqi soldiers filling the streets.

With a rattling cough, the truck stopped outside of a non-descript two story building that had seen better days. The whole neighborhood had, in fact, seen better times. With its close proximity to Baghdad and the continuous shelling that was doubtless going to start up soon, Karbala might just be gasping out its last breath of existence in these watchful weeks of summer.

The rear flaps blew back as Tovah jumped from the truck, followed quickly by Adellich who bore Kael’s heavy body easily in his arms. A knock to the door, an exchange of passwords, and the group was allowed entrance into the home.

With one look at the unconscious figure slumped in Adellich’s arms, the soldier guarding the door sent the group up the narrow stairs and onto the second floor of the house where the medical facilities were housed. The rooms were filled with young men and women industriously going about their assigned duties. Quick glances of curiosity were spared the newcomers before attentions were returned to the important work being done.

A door at the far end of one hallway opened and a tall, striking woman with cropped dark hair stepped out, taking in the sight of the three visitors and beckoning them closer to her. “Bring her in here,” the young woman said, stepping aside to allow Adellich and Tovah to enter a large, sterile room filled with medical instruments. “We’ve been ready since we received your call.”

Adellich strode to the single bed set in the center of the room and gently laid his charge out on the crisp white sheets. He turned to the woman, running a hand through his disordered hair. “Show me to your washing facilities. Then get her prepared for surgery.”

With a crisp nod, the woman did as ordered, leading the medic back to the bathroom and the stack of clean gowns laying on a rack just inside the small room. Conditions were hardly sterile, but Adellich was used to operating in the middle of battle and so would make due with what he had, filling the woman with potent antibiotics to stave off whatever infection the lack of sterility would cause. Of course, lying about in fetid, filth infested water for days with open wounds would pose far more of a danger to the woman’s fragile health.

Finished washing and gowning up, Adellich gently ushered Tovah from the room as the nurse finished preparing her unmoving patient for surgery. “It’ll be a few hours at the very least, so why don’t you get out of that uniform and take care of business. I’ll come down and let you know how things went once I’m through here, alright?”

With a last long look at the woman she’d helped rescue, Tovah nodded. “Good luck,” she said, squeezing his arm briefly before turning from the room and closing the door firmly behind her.

“I’ll need it,” Adellich remarked softly, walking over to his patient to begin the lengthy process of trying to save her life.

Tovah traversed the long hallway and entered the command center of the house. Her compatriots greeted the soldier warmly, ushering her into a shower and giving her clean clothing to replace the detested and blood spattered Iraqi uniform she had been forced to don.

Rolling up the sleeves and pant legs of the too-large garments, Tovah walked back into the large second floor room, coming to stand next to an earnest young man who was busily tapping codes into a massive computer terminal housed along the back side of the room. The young man looked up at her, smiling and removing his glasses, which he proceeded to clean on the tail of his shirt. “I’ve sent your information to Command, Ma’am. We’ve just been given orders to bug out in a week. Maybe less if the Iraqis cross into Kuwait sooner than expected.”

Rising, the young officer led his superior over to one of the large windows and pulled back the heavy curtain. Both looked down onto the bustling city streets. Off into the distance, Tovah could see Iraqi soldiers pulling heavy camouflage tarps over huge nests of armaments and military equipment. Tovah smirked as she noted that the soldiers weren’t half as interested in protecting the city and its attendant civilians from the threat of military reprisals. “I’ll bet you’re looking forward to getting out of here,” she remarked softly to the young man at her side.

“Home has never looked so good,” he agreed, closing the curtain and walking back to his post. “I haven’t seen my wife and daughter in almost a year.”

“You realize it’s likely to be just as dangerous there,” Tovah warned, looking over the man’s shoulder at the military strategy mapped out on the large computer monitor.

“Yes. Probably moreso. But I’d rather be with my family when war comes.” He blushed slightly. “There’s just something about looking into my daughter’s eyes that makes me want to fight harder for the freedom of our homeland.”

Tovah smiled warmly and clapped her compatriot on the shoulder. “I understand perfectly.”

Turning away from the young officer, Tovah found an unoccupied desk away from the middle of the action and sat gratefully down in the padded chair, staring into the blank computer monitor, lost in thought. She wondered if she’d ever see her homeland again. She was stuck about as far behind enemy lines as one could get, right on the brink of an all out war. Her thoughts traveled back to when she was a young girl, the only child of a marriage between an Israeli mother and an Egyptian father. Her father had been a soldier in the Egyptian army and his wife and daughter had been his biggest secrets. Growing up, the young girl had revered the impossibly tall man with the thick black hair and laughing brown eyes. She listened to his impressive tales of battles won, her young mind not even comprehending that the enemy her father spoke so proudly of defeating encompassed fully one half of her own heritage. Until she was much older, she never thought to question the fact that her mother seemed so impossibly sad during the telling of these particular tales of glory.

All the young Tovah knew was that she wanted to be a soldier like her father. It mattered not that women were not allowed in the Egyptian military. She’d change those rules when she was old enough. The day that the news came telling his family that her father died during a particularly bloody battle was the saddest of the young girl’s short life. She remembered being woken up in the middle of the night by her mother. She remembered being bundled into heavy clothing and taken down seemingly endless twisted alleyways that comprised the city where she had lived. She remembered her terror as large men with rough hands and rougher voices hurried her into the back of a hot, smelly truck without a word of kindness or explanation. But most of all, she remembered the totally empty look on her mother’s face and how her arms seemed stiff and cold as she wrapped her young, heartbroken daughter into a maternal embrace.

Mother and daughter had barely escaped with their lives to Israel. When her father had died, Egyptian officials had found on his person letters from his wife, a wife they now knew to be the enemy. The Egyptian army officer, hero of the battle, was given the burial of a traitor that day and his family was hunted down like dogs. Friends of the family had risked their own lives to ensure the safety of Tovah and her mother, sending them on a secret, desperate journey to Israel and freedom.

Tovah was jerked out of her reverie by a strong hand on her shoulder. She started slightly, swiveling her chair around to meet the warm eyes of her second. “How’d it go?” she asked softly.

“Better than it had any right to,” Adellich answered truthfully. “You want the rundown?”

“Yeah.”

The medic ticked off the injuries on his thick fingers. “Her hands were a mess. Totally crushed. Probably by rifle butts if I’m not mistaken. I was able to save ‘em both, though. She should regain full use of them, God willing. Her shin bones were pretty much shattered by the shots her legs took. It was the weirdest thing, though. When I got in there to clean them out, they had already started reknitting! I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He chuckled ruefully. “She’s an interesting case, alright. Anyway, I went into her belly to take a look around. Her gut was fine. Her spleen was pretty much ruined, so I took it out and took care of a laceration on her liver. She has few cracked ribs, but she must have been able to protect herself pretty well despite her injuries, cause none of them penetrated a lung. She was really lucky.” Adellich shook his dark head. “She lost a lot of blood, but we’re replacing that right now. Some of her wounds were pretty badly infected, so we’re pumping her system full of antibiotics to take care of that. She’s really dehydrated, so we’ve also got fluids running into her.”

“Will she live?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee anything, but given what I’ve seen so far, I think that’s a pretty safe bet.”

Tovah blew out a breath of relief. “Thank God for that.” She smiled at her friend. “At least something good came out of this mission, huh?”

The medic returned his friend’s smile. “Yeah.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’ll be out of it for awhile. She just came out of surgery and we’ve got her on some pretty intense pain killers.”

“That’s ok. I don’t need to talk to her. I just want to see her. To reassure myself that she’ll be alright.”

Adellich looked at his commander intently. After a moment, he shrugged. “Sure. I can’t see the harm in it.” Helping her up out of the chair, the medic steered his friend down the long hallway and into the bedroom they were using as a recovery room.

Their patient was laying comfortably in the large hospital bed, a faint bloom of color already returning to her cheeks, courtesy of the blood being infused into her system via a pump located next to the bed. A soft chime sounded from the cardiac monitor seated on a shelf over her dark head, keeping time with the slow beat of the woman’s powerful heart. IV poles and tubing competed for space in the cramped quarters.

Both of the woman’s long arms were laying stiffly on the bed, bound up in the thick plaster of casts which came up to her fingertips. Likewise, her legs were heavily casted from toes to mid thigh. The crisp white gown hid the bulky bandage covering the large wound on her abdomen. And with all that, Tovah was still enraptured with the sight of the woman whose newly cleaned raven hair shone almost blue in the stark lighting of the room.

“She’s a beauty alright,” Adellich teased gently, easily reading Tovah’s thoughts. “I’d give anything to know her story.”

“So would I,” Tovah responded, coming to stand beside the bed. She stared intently down at the motionless figure. “Who are you, Jafit?” she asked again, whispering. “Wake up soon, alright?”

Adellich cleared his throat from his position by the doorway. “It’ll be at least a couple more hours before she wakes up,” he said. “Since it’s getting late, why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll have the nurse get you when she wakes up.”

Not taking her eyes away from the study of the woman on the bed, Tovah answered. “No. I think I’ll stay here awhile. She’s doubtless going to be disoriented when she wakes up. I don’t want her reopening her wounds.”

“Suit yourself,” the medic said, grinning to himself. “I’m going down to get something to eat. I’ll be back up later to check on her, alright?”

Pulling up a small stool beside the bed, Tovah nodded absently.

Softly clucking his tongue, Adellich left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

With a start, Tovah raised her curly head from the bed, beyond chagrined that she just spent some unknown amount of time sleeping, her head on the bed of the very person she had promised to watch over. Yawning and wiping her chin, the commander sat up, putting her hands on her hips and stretching out cramped back muscles.

She paused in mid stretch as a strange tingle traveled up her spine. Opening her eyes slightly, she was shocked to meet a pair of intense pale blue irises looking back at her, very much aware and sparkling with faint amusement. Tovah’s dark skin colored in a furious blush and she cleared her throat against the sudden dryness in her mouth. “Um, good …morning, I think. It’s good to see you awake. You’ve had a very rough time of it.” The commander stopped her babbling when she realized that the stranger probably didn’t understand a word she was saying. Clearing her throat again, Tovah’s gaze traveled down the relaxed form and up to the steadily beating cardiac monitor before again meeting the mesmerizing blues of her patient. “I really don’t know if you can understand me … .” Her voice trailed off. The stranger’s intent expression didn’t change, nor did she speak. “Um, well, my name,” she said, pointing to her chest and feeling faintly foolish, “is Tovah. Tovah Rybak. And somehow I’ve got to make you understand that you’re safe.” She looked around the room, scratching her neck behind the fall of her thick cinnamon colored hair. “And I’m not really sure how I’m gonna do that,” she said in an undertone. “Hmm. Well, ok. Just in case you do understand what I’m saying, you’re not in the bunker anymore. My friends and I rescued you from the Iraqis and brought you here to Karbala. You’re in a safe-house. Obviously, we’ve treated your wounds and I’ve just been waiting for you to wake up so we could talk.” She laughed a little. “And so here we are. You’re awake and I’m the one doing all the talking.” She thought she saw the eyes of the woman twinkle a bit at that last statement, but when she blinked, the expression was gone, replaced by that mesmerizingly intense stare that made her uncomfortable and giddy at the same time.

The gaze left hers as the woman’s eyes traveled around the room, taking in everything, missing nothing. The woman projected the air of a professional assessing the situation for hidden dangers and potential escape opportunities. Her examination complete, the patient turned her head and her gaze back to Tovah.

The Israeli was determined to say something, anything, to spark some type of reaction in the woman. She had to know if she were being understood. “About the men in the cells with you,” she said finally. “They didn’t make it. I’m sorry. They were dead when we got there. I’m sorry,” she said again, softly. Then it happened again. The woman’s eyes changed, a look of profound sadness and guilt darkening the pristine blue before they were hidden behind lids bearing thick, dark lashes.

“Thank you for trying,” came a whisper in Tovah’s own language; a whisper so soft the commander wasn’t sure if she had heard or merely imagined it.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, but the woman was asleep and didn’t hear.

Continued..Part 3

DESERT STORM

Part 3

by: SwordnQuill

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Lao Ma, Alti, Borias, and everyone else who sounds familiar belong to Pac Ren and Universal Studios. I am not making money off of this story.

Genre Disclaimer: Ok. Bear with me, please, because this is kinda tough to explain. Sometime last year, I read a story on the internet that moved me so much, I was inspired to write a sort of companion piece to it. That story was “Lost Soul Walking” by DJWP. In her words, “This is NOT UberXena fiction. It just starts out like it is.” The same can be said for this piece. While not directly related to “Lost Soul Walking”, “Desert Storm” can be considered a sort of prequel to it. It is a story, if you will, about the lifetime before the one depicted in that fabulous, outstanding story. (Can you tell I loved it?) In addition, this is somewhat of an ambitious piece of fiction, in that I am attempting (don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I’ve attempted) to take the entire X:WP universe and modernize it. We start, in updated terms, with my version of Xena’s betrayal by Caesar (seen in “Destiny”), and continue up through the X:WP episode known as “Remember Nothing”. The plot will be very recognizable to you. It’s meant to be that way.

Special note: Because of this, Gabrielle does not appear, except in offhand mention, in a great deal of the first half of this story. Do not look for her, because you won’t find her. After all, she was not a part of ‘evil Xena’s’ life. If she were, things might have turned out differently, but because this is based on the premise of “Lost Soul Walking” it cannot happen differently. Gabrielle will, however, make her presence known, and that quite strongly, in the second half of the story. If you can hang on till then, I believe that you will not be disappointed.

Sexuality and Violence Disclaimers: We’re dealing with an updated dark Xena through much of the first half, and an updated redeemed Xena through the second. There’s gonna be violence. There are gonna be naughty words. There are also descriptions of sexual activity in this work. There are allusions to heterosexual sex, but nothing graphic. There are some graphic (though I hope tasteful) scenes of sexual expression between women as well. That is how I see the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, and that is how I will continue to write it.

And, finally, thanks: To, as always, the incomparable Mike. A better beta and a better friend one could never hope for. Thank you also, as always, to Mary D, who rescued this story from the refuse heap and begged me to keep going on it. If you hate it, blame her. Grateful and heartfelt appreciation goes out to DJWP, for continuing to write stories that grab me somewhere above the liver and giving her kind permission to mention her story in these disclaimers. If you haven’t read her stories, please, do yourself a favor and do so. Finally, this story is dedicated to a group of people without whom I would most probably be living on the streets. Elizabeth, Rachel, Sulli, and the rest of the “Get Sue to Atlanta” crew, this one’s for you!

Feedback: As always is gratefully appreciated. If you wrote to me regarding “Redemption” during the month of September to early October and I haven’t responded, please allow me the honor of apologizing in public. It was then that I was at my lowest point and making ready to move to my new home. Your words of praise and encouragement for my writing kept me firmly out of the pit of depression I was falling into and I shall be forever grateful to each and every one of you who took the time out to feed this bard. And for those of you patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for Redemption’s sequel, fear not, for with the conclusion of this piece, that piece will be started. Any and all who wish to may write me at SwordnQuil@aol.com . I’ll continue to do my best to answer each and every email. An exploding mailbox is a good thing to have. Thanks again!

DESERT STORM

by: Sword’n’Quill (Susanne Beck)

When Kael next awoke, it was to the vision of a nurse leaning over her adjusting her IV lines. The young woman broke into a smile when she saw her patient had awakened. “Welcome back to the land of the living. How do you feel?”

“I’ll live,” Kael rasped. “I think.”

The nurse’s grin widened as she chuckled and smoothed the last of the wrinkles from the bed linens. “Oh, you’re well on the road to recovery. Are you in pain?”

“Not much,” she lied. The pain was intense, but Kael, being Kael, was determined to show no weakness, even in front of a medical professional who certainly knew better.

The nurse narrowed her eyes, though her grin didn’t falter. “Nevertheless, I think I’ll give you a little Morphine bolus. Just in case you feel like being in pain later, ok?”

Kael mustered up a smile for the young woman.

“That’s better,” the nurse responded, patting Kael’s arm above her cast. After she injected the pain-killer into the IV tubing, she discarded the syringe and needle and turned back to her patient. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Despite the volumes of fluids being pumped into her, Kael’s mouth was dry as the desert. “Water?”

“Coming right up.”

Kael struggled to sit up when the nurse returned with a cup and was kept down by a strong hand to her shoulder. “Best keep still for now. You’ve got a nasty belly wound and it wouldn’t do to open up your stitches.” Kael relaxed against the restraining hand and allowed the nurse to help tilt her head up so she could reach the cup. The Marine drank greedily; her first water in days.

“More?” she asked plaintively.

Smiling, the nurse refilled the cup and gave it to her patient. Sated, Kael fell back into the pillows. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes again fluttering closed as the potent narcotic washed through her system, dulling the raging pain to a more manageable level.

Replacing the cup on the night stand, the nurse brushed an errant lock of hair from Kael’s forehead before quietly leaving the room to find Adellich and inform him that his patient was beginning to come around.

Kael opened her eyes to see the broad, stocky figure of Adellich hovering over her, his dark head close to her own as he listened intently to the sounds her heart and lungs were making through the bell and tubing of his stethoscope. After prodding around her chest for a few more seconds, he straightened, pulling the ‘scope out of his ears with a snap and looping it around his neck. His seamed face creased into a smile. “Good afternoon. I won’t bother asking how you feel, ‘cause I know it’s gotta be pretty crappy, right?”

“It’s not that bad,” Kael replied, shifting slightly on the bed to ease the numbness of her back and buttocks.

“Well, the good thing is that it only goes uphill from here.” Pulling back the light cover, the medic exposed Kael’s tanned legs and grasped at the bottom of her hospital gown. “I’m gonna have to pull this up to check on my handiwork, alright?” At the woman’s calm nod, he continued, lifting the gown and exposing the bulky bandage he’d placed over the row of sutures adorning her belly like a macabre tattoo. Pulling away the bandage, he examined the wound, eyes widening slightly at the level of healing already occurring the new incision. “Anyone ever tell you you have amazing recuperative powers, young lady?”

Kael smiled faintly and shrugged one shoulder as the medic continued his examination.

After carefully cleansing the area, Adellich placed a fresh dressing on the wound, then pulled down and straightened Kael’s gown, pulling up the coverlet to the tall woman’s mid chest. “You’re healing beautifully,” he said finally, writing some notes on a chart next to the bed. “Wanna hear the damage?”

“Please.”

“Ok. Obviously, we were able to save your hands and legs. The damage was pretty severe, but it doesn’t look like anything that’ll give you anything more than a pain in damp weather given proper time and exercise after the casts come off. I had to take your spleen and stitch up a cut in your liver, but you’re healing well from that. And I’m sure you can feel the broken ribs, but they’ll also heal in time. Our main worry right now is infection, but you seem to be handling that pretty well. We’ll get some more blood cultures and keep you on the antibiotics till we’re sure you’re out of the woods.”

“Thank you.”

Adellich grinned again. “No need for that. Just glad I could help. Anything else I can do for you?”

“I’d like to try to sit up, if that’s possible.”

The medic’s brow furrowed in thought. “Well, it’s bound to hurt like hell, but I don’t see the harm in it. Your belly wound’s healing well and sitting up would help you not to contract something nasty, like pneumonia.” He nodded, reaching a decision. “Alright, we’ll crank the bed up a little. But you be sure and tell me when enough’s enough, alright?” When Kael’s dark head nodded again, Adellich bent down and grasped the hand crank at the bottom of the bed. With slow movements, he steadily raised the head of the bed, keeping a steady eye on both his patient and the ever present cardiac monitor resting on a shelf above her head. When the heartrate jumped suddenly, he stopped cranking, straightening and coming once again to stand beside her. “You alright?”

After a moment of calm, steady breathing, Kael nodded again. “Yeah. Just trying to get used to a new perspective.”

Adellich laughed, squeezing her shoulder fondly. He checked the wall clock beside the bed, then the chart’s medication sheet. “You’ve got another hour before your next Morphine dose, but I can give you a little something to tide you over if you need it.”

“No. That’s alright. I’d like to stay awake for awhile.”

The medic checked his patient’s coloring and the cardiac monitor again, pleased that both were returning to normal quickly. “Alright then. Just don’t be afraid to ask for something if the pain gets too bad, alright?” He looked down at her and smiled again before releasing her warm shoulder from his grip. “If you’re in the mood for visitors, Tovah would like to talk with you some more.” His tone indicated that all she had to do was shake her head and she’d be left alone.

“I don’t mind,” Kael replied, reassuring him. “Send her in.”

With a final smile, accompanied by a friendly wink, Adellich turned and left the room.

The door reopened bare moments later to admit Tovah, who stepped gingerly into the room, her face lighting up into a smile when she saw the woman awake and sitting somewhat up in the bed. “Hello again,” she said, coming to stand beside the bed. “How’re you feeling?”

Sighing inwardly, Kael wondered if she should just write up a sign saying ‘I’m fine’ and tack it up on the headboard of her bed. Looking down at her casted hands, her smirk showed on her lips as she realized the absurdity of that thought. “I’m alright,” she said softly, her gaze meeting the warm brown eyes looking compassionately down at her. “The medic said you wanted to talk to me.”

Nodding, Tovah pulled up the rolling stool and sat down beside the woman, her hands clasped in her lap. “Well, I know that this is really none of my business, but I …we …were kinda wondering who you are and how you ended up in a Republican Guard prison bunker. You didn’t have any identification on you when we found you, and your description doesn’t match any of the MIA files we were able to locate. You speak my language like a native, but something tells me you’re not kin.”

Kael looked away from the open gaze of the woman seated beside her, scanning the room again. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable sharing that information with you,” she said softly, in a tone of regret.

“I understand, of course, given everything that you’ve been through already. You’re not required to tell us anything.” She shrugged slightly. “More just curiosity, I suppose.” Shifting slightly in the stool, she smiled. “How about if I tell you a little about us and how we came to get you out of that hell hole?” Sharing secret information may not have been the wisest course of action, but, for some reason, Tovah felt that she had nothing to fear from this quiet stranger she’d rescued. At the woman’s nod, Tovah began. “Well, you already know my name, Tovah Rybak. I’m a Commander in the Israeli army, stationed just inside Syria. A few days ago, we got word that one of our planes was shot down in Iraqi airspace. There were eight survivors, as far as we know. Our people have been keeping an eye out at all the potential holding areas, and when word came that five people were seen dragged from a truck at the bunker in Ar Rutbah, we thought that maybe we’d found our missing people.” She sighed sadly. “Obviously, we were wrong. But, of course, we didn’t know that then, so we stormed the bunker and found you and your friends. We got out and exploded the bunker, then found out that our primary escape route was blockaded. So I sent the others along the secondary route and took you here, to a safe house in Karbala. We patched you up and, well, here you are.”

Kael looked at Tovah intently. Then she sighed, turning her head away. “You should have left me to die with the others,” she said in a low voice.

Swallowing, Tovah stood and reached out a hand, cupping Kael’s jaw and gently bringing her face back around. “I couldn’t do that,” she said. “We found you, horribly injured, but with enough strength of will to cling to life amidst all that dirt and depravity. I couldn’t just leave you there to breathe your last in that den of hell.”

“It would have been better if you did,” Kael ground out, her voice filled with self-loathing.

Tovah felt a tendril of fear snake through her belly at the woman’s words, but reminded herself that this woman was not her enemy. “I couldn’t do that,” she repeated forcefully.

Kael closed her eyes for a long moment, before forcing herself out of the gutter of self-recrimination. No matter how much she wished it, the fact of the matter is that she was not dead. She was alive thanks to some very brave, very good souls and she’d better make the most of it. “Kael,” she rasped finally, before clearing her throat and trying again. “My name is Kael Evan Androstos.” Taking a deep breath, she gave a short mental shrug, giving in to the need to tell this stranger the information her men had died trying to preserve. “I’m a Master Gunnery Sergeant in the United States Marine Corps.” She laughed almost silently. “Or at least I was.”

Tovah’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re an American?”

“Born and bred,” Kael replied in English.

“I didn’t know the Americans let women go behind enemy lines,” Tovah remarked, also in English. Her accent was light, her words easily understood.

“They don’t. Normally. I’m one of the few exceptions.” An internal pain having nothing to do with her wounds shuttered Kael’s expressive eyes once again. “Apparently, they made a mistake with me.”

Looking up, Tovah could see the heart rate on the monitor increase dramatically. She looked back down at Kael. “Are you in pain?”

The blue eyes which met her own could have been those of a corpse, so empty were their depths. “No,” came the response before those eyes closed once again, signaling the end of the conversation.

Tovah rose from her place by the bedside, reaching out, intending to lay a comforting hand on the American’s broad shoulder. Her hand hovered for a moment, short of its goal as the Israeli took in the closed off expression on Kael’s beautiful face. After a moment that seemed to span eternity, Tovah dropped her hand back to her side and spun on her heel, leaving Kael alone with her thoughts once more.

25 July 1990 – 14 August 1990 Israeli Safe-House. Karbala, Iraq

The days passed quickly for the people inside the house now behind enemy lines in the biggest war in decades. Heads were clustered around monitors as Iraqi tanks crossed the boarder into Kuwait. Concerned Israelis watched as American President Bush declared war on Iraq. Via encrypted satellite feeds, the group was able to watch CNN as the first bombs landed on Baghdad.

Slowly, in pairs and small groups, the house was evacuated under cover of night. Others remained behind, supplying allied forces with accurate bombing targets, well aware of the fact that their lives were at risk by enemy and friendly forces alike.

On the second floor of the house, Kael continued her convalescence. Her mind and body raged against her immobilization; itching to be out among the combatants winning the war. She damned herself in a million different ways for failing her duty to herself, her squad and her country. Damned the injuries that kept her pinned down to a soft bed while her countrymen were dying for a cause she needed to be a part of.

The only thing which brightened her dark mood were the visits from Tovah. The two women developed a surprisingly deep bond in the space of a few short weeks. The two normally reticent women found many things to talk about during those first days of war as bombs shuddered the foundation of their safe house and lit the night sky ablaze.

One night, when suffering a painful hamstring cramp, Kael was surprised when her companion simply jabbed at the nerve center of her groin, deadening all feeling in her leg, as strong fingers worked out the cramp. Fascinated, Kael asked to learn more about the technique, and many hours were spent in the study of the ancient procedure. Though her hands were casted and she couldn’t practice the art, Kael was sure that, should the time ever come when she would need to use it, she would have no trouble imitating what she had learned from the tiny Israeli soldier.

At night, her dreams were filled with smoke and fire. With the screams of dying men and women. Aided by the concussions of bombs going off in the near distance. The shelling was getting dangerously close to the city proper. It would soon be time to abandon the safe house completely or risk being killed in the nightly air raids.

15 August 1990. Israeli Safe House. Karbala, Iraq.

She was propped up on her elbows on a hay filled cot in a room which smelled strongly of bitter herbs. Long needles sprung forth from her legs which were broken and twisted, aching and throbbing. A young woman sat next to her on the cot, speaking in a language she knew she should understand, but didn’t. Behind her, a tall man stood, translating the young woman’s words.

There was a loud crash, and the door blew open. Heavily armed men, dressed in the armor of Roman soldiers, burst into the room, shouting. Her companion sprung from the bed, fighting the soldiers in a fury as she looked on, helpless. A Roman raised a crossbow, it’s bolt aimed at her heart. She watched as his finger tightened on the trigger. She could hear the whistle as the bolt left its housing, speeding toward her. Her eyes widened, then narrowed as a brown shape flew in front of the bolt, preventing it from killing her. The figure landed her arms, a bolt through its back. She pulled away, pulling the figure with her, lifting the head, turning it to the light. It was the young woman. Her friend. ‘M’Lila’, her mind supplied. With kind, loving eyes M’Lila looked at her, trying to impart a final message in that final glance. Then they closed forever as the woman rolled from her grasp.

She looked up, a feral rage far beyond anything she had ever felt, filled her body until there was nothing but hatred. She could feel her mouth stretch and curl into the snarl of a wild beast as her broken body coiled. The soldiers came up from their places on the floor, running toward her, intent on the kill. Her nostrils flared. Blood scented the air. Her grin widened.

Flipping off the bed, she landed on her undamaged arms, using her shattered legs to level two of the soldiers with thundering kicks to the head. She sprawled back on the bed, her legs incapable of holding her upright. Another soldier came, and with a vicious side kick, she sent him across the room and into the blazing fireplace. The smell of charred flesh perfumed the room as his face burst into flames.

And still they came, yelling like savages. She grabbed one, broke his knee, and drew a sword across his neck, a feeling of almost sexual ecstasy coursing through her body. She threw back her head, reveling in it, letting it wash through her soul. She impaled another soldier through the guts with the same sword.

Still another came. She headbutted him, then grabbed his falling body, pulling it between her screaming legs. She felt herself using the technique Tovah …’M’Lila, her mind supplied again …had taught her. The soldier gurgled at her feet, paralyzed

“You’ll be dead in thirty seconds,” she found herself saying. “But know this. You won’t be the last. Tell Hades to prepare himself. A new Xena is born tonight. With a new purpose in life. Death.”

Her dream was fractured as Kael felt someone shaking her. Her eyes popped open. “M’Lila?” she whispered hoarsely to the woman standing above her.

Tovah cocked her head. “It’s Tovah,” she replied. “We need to go now. We just got word. The Americans are getting ready to bomb the military targets right outside of the city. We need to be out of the area before the bombs fall.”

The doors opened again, admitting Adellich who sported tousled hair and a three day growth of beard. He flashed a smile at Tovah and Kael. “Ah good. You’re up. I’ll have the men bring in the stretcher and we’ll stow you aboard the truck.”

“Wait,” Kael ordered as he turned back to the door.

“Yes?”

“Get these casts off me.”

Adellich turned completely around, his eyes wide with shock. He shot a glance to an equally alarmed Tovah before switching back to the reclining woman. “Say that again, please?”

“You heard me. Get these casts off me now.” Though she didn’t remember more than scattered threads of her dream, Kael was filled with a strong sense of foreboding.

“Are you crazy?” the medic asked, coming to stand beside the bed. “Your wounds are just starting to heal. You could cripple yourself permanently if I take these casts off now.”

“I realize that. I also realize that we’re about to go out into a war zone. There’s no way I’m going to ride in the back of a truck unable to defend myself and you. I’m a soldier. Now get these damn casts off of me or I swear by any god you name I’ll smash them apart.” The very air around her snapped with command.

Adellich looked at Tovah, who was looking intently at Kael. After a long moment, the commander nodded. “Do as she says.”

“Are you crazy too?”

“Do it. She knows what the dangers are.”

Throwing up his hands in disgust, the medic went into one of the back rooms, returning with several boxes of splints and the cast cutter. “I want to go down on record that I’m only doing this under the strongest protest.”

“So noted,” Tovah replied. “Now get to work. Please. We don’t have much time.”

Grumbling under his breath, Adellich set to work. Within a very few moments, all the casts had been removed. The medic noted with some shock that Kael’s wounds had healed abnormally fast. The swelling was gone completely and only residual bruising could be seen. An untrained eye would take her limbs for sound. He knew better.

Kael looked down at her freed hands, breathing deeply and straining to close them into fists. The pain was sharp but the gratification sharper. Grinning in triumph, she relaxed her tight muscles, allowing the medic to put both arms in molded plastic splints.

After Adellich had splinted her legs, Kael eagerly swung them off of the bed, only to be stopped by a strong hand to her shoulder. “Not so fast,” the medic said sharply. “Making a fist is one thing. Trying to stand on those shattered legs is quite another. Leave me some dignity as your physician and let the men carry you down to the truck, alright?”

After a moment, Kael relaxed against his grip and nodded. Grunting in satisfaction, Adellich ushered in the two litter-bearers, then helped Kael onto the stretcher. Retrieving a large pack filled with medical supplies, he nodded, encircling Tovah with one arm. “Alright then. Let’s get out of here.”

A short time later, Kael was stowed aboard the truck, her stretcher secured to one of the long benches by thick leather straps. Tovah and Adellich sat opposite the American on the other bench, clothed again in their accursed Republican Guard uniforms. Two submachine guns were stowed safely beneath the benches, out of direct sight but easily retrieved if needed. One of the litter bearers sat in the driver’s seat while the other went with his compatriots in a second purloined Iraqi truck.

The truck coughed loudly as it was started up, and with a rattle, the group made their way across the bomb blasted desert to a far off safe zone, each trapped within the dark well of their own thoughts.

16 August 1990. ~50 miles west of the boarder between Iraq and Saudi Arabia

The flight to freedom had been excruciating for the soldiers, especially those sitting in the back of the truck. Avoiding main thoroughfares and constantly streaming patrols of soldiers, Iraqi and allied alike, caused a merciless pounding on tender bodies.

Kael had finally fallen into a troubled, sweat-stained sleep about seven hours into the journey. Noting this, Adellich reached under the bench and removed his medical bag. Peering inside, he brought out a pre-filled syringe of Morphine.

“What are you doing?” Tovah asked.

“This has gotta be agony on her,” Adellich replied in a whisper. “She’d never ask for help while awake, so I figure I’ll give it to her when she’s asleep.”

Tovah snickered. “You always were known for your bravery, Ben.”

Pulling a face, the medic stood, supporting himself against the bench as the truck hit yet another deep rut in the desert. Straightening, he made his way across the truck bed, then lifted the light coverlet he’d placed over Kael’s reclining body. A quick swipe with an alcohol pad to her hip and the injection was administered.

Kael’s eyes shot open, her left hand moving in a blur and knocking the now empty syringe from the medic’s hand. “What are you doing?” she growled.

Adellich looked slightly sheepish as he rubbed his now bruised wrist. “Just giving you something for the pain.”

A sable eyebrow rose. “Did I say I was in pain?”

“You didn’t have to.”

Opening her mouth to say more, the American yawned instead. “You son of a bitch,” she mumbled as her eyelids betrayed her body’s signals to keep awake and aware.

“Relax,” the medic said, laying a gentle hand on Kael’s broad shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

” …kill you … .” was all Kael could say before her body gave in to the seductive call of the drug.

Tovah laughed as Adellich, still rubbing his wrist, rejoined her on the bench. “Can’t wait to see how you’re gonna get yourself out of this one,” she teased, patting the medic’s shoulder in mock sympathy.

“Don’t tease an injured man,” he grumbled, holding up his arm and asking for sympathy with his eyes.

“It was your own fault. You … .” Tovah cut off her words, stiffening her posture and cocking her head.

“What is it? Tovah?”

Tovah threw up a hand for silence, her hearing strained against the loud rumbling of the truck. The distinctive sound of semi-automatic weapons fire sounded uncomfortably close. Straining still further, she could pick up muffled shouts. More fire, and the truck came to a lurching halt.

“Shit,” Tovah whispered, reaching down for her concealed weapon.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?”

“I’m not sure. Either the Iraqis found us out, or the allies think we’re the enemy. Either way, we need to be ready.” She nodded to him, then cut her eyes to the floor beneath the bench.

Taking a deep breath, Adellich bent over and retrieved his weapon, checking all the clips to be sure it was loaded and in proper working condition. He returned her nod, hefting the weapon. “What now?”

“Stay quiet and let me do the talking. Just get ready to fight if we need to. Keep an eye on Kael.”

“I can do that.”

The back flap of the truck was lifted by the long nose of a weapon. A masked figure, dressed in desert camouflage ducked underneath the flap, pointing his weapon at the occupants. “Put down your weapons and raise your hands above your heads!” the figure commanded in Arabic, gesturing at them with his gun to make sure his statements were understood.

Laying her weapon on the floor, Tovah straightened and lifted her hands above her head. “We have an injured soldier,” she replied in Arabic.

“I can see that,” the soldier returned. “Now get up slowly and come towards me. No funny stuff or I’ll blow your head off. You understand me?”

Tovah did as she was commanded, rising slowly and peering closely at the man’s uniform. She took a chance. “We’re not Iraqi,” she said, slowly walking toward the heavily armed soldier. “We’re allies.”

A harsh chuckle sounded from behind the mask. “Yeah, and my mother’s dining with the Queen next Sunday. Now shut up and move!”

“I’m totally serious. It should be obvious to you that I’m a woman. How many women do you think the Iraqis let in their army?”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re a fucking gorilla. You’re wearing an Iraqi uniform. That makes you the enemy. Now get your ass outta the truck before I cut you in two!”

As Tovah ducked beneath the tent flap, the soldier noticed Adellich, and his gun, for the first time. There was a short, sharp report, and the medic flew against the truck’s bulkhead, his weapon flying from his grasp. Blood spurted from a hole in his throat.

“Ben!” Tovah shouted, whirling.

The soldier clouted her across the back with a blow from his weapon. The Israeli slumped to the ground, stunned.

Weapon fire cutting through the drug induced haze of her sleep, Kael struggled back into consciousness. She came awake quickly, bringing her body up, leaning on her elbows for support. With a sweep of her eyes, she noted the now dead Adellich, his weapon near her cot, the slumped form of Tovah, and the soldier gripping his weapon tightly.

Raising her right arm to her mouth, Kael ripped the velcro closure to the splint open with her teeth, then reached down to grab the medic’s weapon as the soldier busied himself with trying to remove a struggling Tovah from the truck. “You son of a bitch!” Kael screamed, bringing her weapon up.

The soldier dropped Tovah to bring his own weapon up. The Israeli grabbed the gun by the barrel and shoved, causing the wild shots to fly over her head, missing Kael completely. Adellich’s thick body danced as more ammunition entered it.

Pushing the soldier away, Tovah scrambled back to her feet, heading toward Kael and her weapon. “Don’t, Kael. Please. They’re allies.”

Kael shook her off, weapon raised again as the soldier’s head popped back up under the canvas flap, this time joined by two of his comrades. Kael squeezed the trigger, sending one of the men flying away from the truck. The second lifted his weapon and fired toward Kael.

As if seeing it in slow motion, Tovah felt her body spring over the short distance that separated herself from her American friend. With a yell, she covered Kael’s body with her own. Three bullets tore into her back. She felt the sudden urge to cough, spraying Kael’s white hospital gown with blood. She watched the patterns interestedly, wondering if this was how it felt to die.

Lifting a head which felt like it now weighed a ton, she looked into Kael’s ice blue eyes for a moment that seemed to span eternity. The look of cold death in those eyes was her companion in her journey to oblivion.

Kael broke the gaze and shifted her hips to buck Tovah’s dead body from her. The corners of her mouth turned up in a snarl of utter rage. “Pray to whatever gods you believe in, cause I’m sendin’ you to meet ‘em.” Depressing the trigger, Kael mowed down the two soldiers staring at her from the back of the truck. Lurching to her feet, biting back a shout of pain as her legs tried their best to bear her heavy weight, the American steadied herself against the bench, then turned. Shuffling steps, each a study in agony, brought her to the back of the truck. Without even looking outside to aim, she depressed the trigger of her weapon again, shredding the canvas flap and sending screaming missiles into the desert heat. Screams of the dying men played an orchestra in her ears.

Shooting until she ran out of ammunition, Kael picked up Tovah’s weapon. Standing behind one steel support strut, she eased the canvas flap away with the muzzle of the gun. The desert was littered with bodies. She counted ten in all from her vantage point. Freezing in place, she listened carefully. There was no sound but the howling of the desert wind.

Grunting in satisfaction, the soldier lowered herself to a sitting position in the bed of the truck, then gingerly slipped down to the ground. Her knees gave way immediately, dumping her to the desert sands. Raising up a bloody hand, she gripped the truck bed and pulled herself back onto her feet. The hard packed sand conspired against her, threatening to take her feet out from under her.

Gritting her teeth against the pain, she slowly made her way around the truck. There, hiding behind a wheel and looking in the opposite direction, was the last of the patrol. “Nighty night,” she whispered, pulling on the trigger and killing the hiding soldier.

Going to the front of the truck, she pulled the door open, not surprised when the dead body of the Israeli driver fell out into her arms. The weight of his body bore her to the ground again and this time she could not stop the scream of pain as it tore its way out of her throat.

Rolling the body off of her, Kael stood again, looking down at the soldier she had murdered. On his breast was a small emblem. The American flag.

Taking a quick look at the corpses littering the desert, Kael noted the similar flag on each. She tipped her head to the sky, a howl sounding from an opened mouth.

Grimacing, she pulled herself up into the now empty truck and started off, fleeing into an unknown future and escaping the torturous past.

To Be Continued…

DESERT STORM

Part 4

by: SwordnQuill

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Lao Ma, Alti, Borias, and everyone else who sounds familiar belong to Pac Ren and Universal Studios. I am not making money off of this story.

Genre Disclaimer: Ok. Bear with me, please, because this is kinda tough to explain. Sometime last year, I read a story on the internet that moved me so much, I was inspired to write a sort of companion piece to it. That story was “Lost Soul Walking” by DJWP. In her words, “This is NOT UberXena fiction. It just starts out like it is.” The same can be said for this piece. While not directly related to “Lost Soul Walking”, “Desert Storm” can be considered a sort of prequel to it. It is a story, if you will, about the lifetime before the one depicted in that fabulous, outstanding story. (Can you tell I loved it?) In addition, this is somewhat of an ambitious piece of fiction, in that I am attempting (don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I’ve attempted) to take the entire X:WP universe and modernize it. We start, in updated terms, with my version of Xena’s betrayal by Caesar (seen in “Destiny”), and continue up through the X:WP episode known as “Remember Nothing”. The plot will be very recognizable to you. It’s meant to be that way.

Special note: Because of this, Gabrielle does not appear, except in offhand mention, in a great deal of the first half of this story. Do not look for her, because you won’t find her. After all, she was not a part of ‘evil Xena’s’ life. If she were, things might have turned out differently, but because this is based on the premise of “Lost Soul Walking” it cannot happen differently. Gabrielle will, however, make her presence known, and that quite strongly, in the second half of the story. If you can hang on till then, I believe that you will not be disappointed.

Sexuality and Violence Disclaimers: We’re dealing with an updated dark Xena through much of the first half, and an updated redeemed Xena through the second. There’s gonna be violence. There are gonna be naughty words. There are also descriptions of sexual activity in this work. There are allusions to heterosexual sex, but nothing graphic. There are some graphic (though I hope tasteful) scenes of sexual expression between women as well. That is how I see the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, and that is how I will continue to write it.

And, finally, thanks: To, as always, the incomparable Mike. A better beta and a better friend one could never hope for. Thank you also, as always, to Mary D, who rescued this story from the refuse heap and begged me to keep going on it. If you hate it, blame her. Grateful and heartfelt appreciation goes out to DJWP, for continuing to write stories that grab me somewhere above the liver and giving her kind permission to mention her story in these disclaimers. If you haven’t read her stories, please, do yourself a favor and do so. Finally, this story is dedicated to a group of people without whom I would most probably be living on the streets. Elizabeth, Rachel, Sulli, and the rest of the “Get Sue to Atlanta” crew, this one’s for you!

Feedback: As always is gratefully appreciated. If you wrote to me regarding “Redemption” during the month of September to early October and I haven’t responded, please allow me the honor of apologizing in public. It was then that I was at my lowest point and making ready to move to my new home. Your words of praise and encouragement for my writing kept me firmly out of the pit of depression I was falling into and I shall be forever grateful to each and every one of you who took the time out to feed this bard. And for those of you patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for Redemption’s sequel, fear not, for with the conclusion of this piece, that piece will be started. Any and all who wish to may write me at SwordnQuil@aol.com . I’ll continue to do my best to answer each and every email. An exploding mailbox is a good thing to have. Thanks again!

DESERT STORM

by: Sword’n’Quill (Susanne Beck)

PART 4: Sins of the Present

“With shattered legs and crippled soul, I went east. To lose myself in vengeance. Not against Caesar. But the entire human race.” Xena. The Debt 1: Betrayal

24 April 1991. A Secluded Airstrip Outside Medellin, Colombia.

“Where are they?” Geraldo asked for perhaps the hundredth time, pacing along the front of a flattened area clear-cut from the surrounding jungles and running a hand through his thick black hair.

“They should be here shortly, sir,” Varguez, the chauffeur, replied from his place by the long black Lincoln. “The pilot did say they ran into trouble in customs, remember.”

“That was six hours ago!” Geraldo replied, coming to the end of the dirt strip and reversing to begin the track all over again. The grass was plastered flat under his boots. “They should be here by now.”

Geraldo Nunez Rodriguez, known as el Toro by his compatriots, was a man unused to waiting. As the eldest son and sole leader of one of Colombia’s largest drug cartels, he was used to being waited on hand and foot. When his mouth opened, people jumped. Or they died. His life was simple and cruel and he liked it that way.

Or at least it was simple until she came along. The plains of his handsome face creased into a smile as a picture came to his anxious mind unbidden. A picture of how she had looked when they first met, her face and form almost invisible under the crust of dirt she wore like a cloak, the pupils of her dazzling eyes pinpricks as his cocaine jolted through her system.

His self appointed job as public relations manager for his business kept Geraldo away from the streets of his home for long months. When one of the new pups had been inducted into his family had been given a task to complete, a simple money retrieval, Geraldo jumped at the chance to go back to the streets and alleys where his customers lived. He tagged along as the young man’s mentor and guide, content to simply sit back and watch as the cruelties he had ordered were carried out first hand.

Geraldo smirked as his compatriot pointed out the intended target. It was a woman with long, matted black hair. She sat in a tiny alley, her head propped back against a stucco building, her hands shaking as the drug worked its way through her system. Her long legs, visible beneath the tattered robe she wore, were bent, twisted and scabbed over. A gnarled stick which the drug lord supposed was a walking cane of some type, lay discarded next to her body.

Geraldo watched as his associate smiled arrogantly, thinking this job would be the easiest one he would ever have, and stalked over to where the young woman sat unaware. It would be the last mistake the young man ever made.

In a move almost too quick for the drug lord to see, his employee found himself sprawled between the woman’s twisted legs, a long dirty arm tight across his throat. His face slowly flushed to the color of old brick and his eyes bulged slightly in their sockets. His mouth opened wide in a rictus of pain from which only the slightest of wheezes emerged.

Another quick move, and the man’s gun was removed from its hiding place. The barrel was raised, not to point at the unfortunate man’s trapped head, but at Geraldo himself. The drug lord smiled at the temerity of the dirty woman. As she turned her gaze his way, Geraldo was struck dumb by the dazzling beauty of her sapphire eyes. “You had something you wanted to say to me?” she asked in clear, non-accented Spanish.

Locked in the mesmerizing gaze, Geraldo cleared his throat softly. “You have something that belongs to me,” he said finally.

The woman sneered and tightened her lock on the young thug’s throat. “Not for long,” she drawled.

“I was speaking of my money.”

The woman’s gaze narrowed. “Who are you?”

Geraldo smiled charmingly. “My name is Geraldo Nunez Rodriguez.”

“And I’m supposed to be impressed?”

The drug lord’s smile turned into a bark of laughter. In his life, no one had ever had the guts to speak to him this way. He found that he liked it. In small doses, of course. “Perhaps not,” he replied. “But you’ve been dealing with some of my associates for quite awhile now. And it appears that you haven’t been compensating them fairly for the services they’ve been providing for you.”

The corner of the woman’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “Perhaps if you hired better ‘associates’, fair compensation, or lack thereof, wouldn’t be a problem, now would it.”

Geraldo laughed again, surprised and charmed by the woman’s audacity. “You may have a point, Miss … .”

The woman didn’t rise to the bait. “I’ll make you a deal, Rodriguez. You and your cronies leave me alone and in return, I return your little puppy here back to you only slightly damaged and promise to find another place to procure my …services.”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Geraldo appeared to give the proposition serious thought. “I have a counter offer,” he said after a long moment.

“Which is … .”

“Join me.”

“I work for no one.”

Uncrossing his arms, Geraldo made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the dirty alley and the tattered denizens therein. “If you’ll pardon me for saying so, a person like you does not belong in a place like this. I can offer you so much more.”

The woman laughed dryly. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on your generous offer.”

“I do wish you’d reconsider, Senorita. You could have a place to live, new clothes, a chance to use your obvious talents on more than a group of untrained thugs whose only desire is to steal what is yours.” He took a step closer to the woman, pleased to note that the gun didn’t waver an inch. “I could give this to you, if you’d let me.”

“At the cost of my freedom,” the woman snarled at him.

The drug lord snorted. “Freedom? You call this being free? Forgive me for laughing, my dear, but my ‘product’ binds you closer to me than slavery ever could. Not an hour goes by when you don’t think of me and how to get what I offer. I’m allowing you a chance to break free from all of this.” He took another step closer, his hands empty and held out before his body. “Join me.”

After a long tense moment of silence between the two, the woman lowered the gun. “Fine. What do I have to do.”

The charming grin returned. “Kill him.”

The gun came back up. “What?”

Geraldo shrugged. “You were right, of course. This was his first test. He failed. Kill him.”

The woman narrowed her eyes again, searching deep into Geraldo’s own. Then, with a shrug of one broad shoulder, she drew her arm back, gripped the side of the young man’s jaw, and yanked hard. The sound of bones snapping filled the narrow alley. Gun still raised, the woman pushed the dead thug from her lap. “Now what.”

The drug lord closed the distance between the two, holding one hand out. The woman drew back the gun still pointed at his heart. He smiled. “You may keep that. It’s yours. I am only offering you a hand up.”

“I can take care of myself.” Shrugging off his aid, the woman struggled to her feet, grabbing the walking stick and planting it on the ground between her feet. She wobbled slightly as her ruined legs attempted to balance her weight. “Are you sure you want …this?” she asked, gesturing at her own crippled body.

“It’s your spirit I want, Senorita. Your legs can be fixed. Come. We have much to discuss.”

The droning of a nearby plane broke Geraldo from his musings and he looked up, a smile breaking across his face as he recognized the markings of the craft. “About time,” he muttered, walking to stand well away from the crude airstrip just in case the pilot had problems with the landing. Within a very few moments, the plane landed safely and taxied to the end of the runway. Shutting down the engines, the pilot opened the door and rushed to the side of the plane, opening that door and pulling down the steps nestled inside.

The first person out was one of his young associates, grim-faced and carrying a large briefcase. Geraldo’s grin widened as the man’s companion exited next, negotiating the steps with negligent grace despite the slight limp she still bore even after several rounds of surgeries. Rather than detracting from her charm, the drug lord felt the slight imperfection only added to it. “Kael!” he cried out, waving one hand as she exited.

The smile she gave him doubled the drug lord’s heart rate. He realized he was probably in love with his partner some time before this and his body’s response seemed to confirm this fact nicely. The contrast between the dirty woman sitting in an alley and this vision of female beauty stunned him as it always did.

Geraldo cut his gaze from the vision descending from the plane and brought it to the young man stepping diffidently toward him, briefcase in hand. The man’s hair was mussed and the corners of his long moustache drooped down, disconsolately. He had the air of a whipped puppy and the drug lord smirked openly, knowing exactly who had caused this normally brash man such distress. “Any trouble?”

The young man affixed a false smile on his face. “None, senor,” he said, thinking himself safe. A small pop was heard and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head. His hand reflexively opened and the briefcase flew into the surprised hands of Geraldo as the courier collapsed to the ground, dead, blood streaming out from the wound behind his ear.

“Liar,” Kael snapped, re-holstering her small gun at the small of her back.

Stunned, Geraldo looked from the briefcase in his hands, down to the dead man and back up to meet Kael’s disgusted gaze. “You can’t keep killing the help like that, my dear,” he said in a soft voice.

“That man was a liar and a fool, Geraldo,” Kael replied, crossing her arms. “Maybe when you learn to start hiring real men instead of the inbred bastards of your family members, this organization will have a chance to flourish.” An ebony brow raised over one sapphire eye. “Until then,” she snarled, toeing the dead man over onto his back, “you get what ya pay for.”

Geraldo looked down at his dead associate, sighing. With a simple hand gesture, the chauffeur was beckoned to take the body into the jungle where the animals would take care of its disposal. Soon, all that was left of the young man’s life and deeds was a blood stain on the runway and a case filled with millions of dollars in the hands of the drug lord. “What happened?” he asked finally, looking up at the woman who had captured his heart, even though it appeared she herself didn’t own one.

“He froze like a kid caught with his pants down. Right in front of customs, no less.” She sighed disgustedly. “I wound up having to convince the agent to give us a free pass.”

Varguez returned from his chore and escorted the two into the waiting limousine. As soon as the two were safely ensconced within, he got in the car and started the engine, pulling away from the airstrip and back to Medellin.

Laying the briefcase on the floor between his feet, Geraldo turned to his partner and lover. “So, how did you manage to ‘convince’ the customs agent to let you go?”

Kael smiled lasciviously, turning her body and straddling the drug lord’s hips. “Let me show you,” she said, giving the drug lord a kiss that set his hair on fire. Pressing her warmth against his now powerless body, he gave in to the wild, feral feelings only this frightening woman could bring out in him.

Same Day. Rodriguez Compound. Medellin, Colombia.

The massive room was shadow-cloaked, lit as it was by only the fire cheerily burning in the stone fireplace. The scent of wood smoke wafted gently through the room and Geraldo sniffed at it appreciatively as he gazed down at Kael lying naked on her side, dozing lightly. The light from the fire stroked the burnished skin of her body, highlighting the sweat sheen that coated her skin like another lover. He smiled tenderly as he ran blunt fingers gently through her tousled raven hair. He thanked God for sending her to him, his dark Angel. In the months they had been together, she’d proven her worth admirably. Her mind was as sharp as any he’d ever seen and her physical abilities, especially in areas of combat, were unparalleled. With her aid, he’d quickly moved up the ranks from just another middle-of-the-road cartel to one of the biggest in Medellin. If things continued on their present course, and he had no doubt but that they would, they would eventually control all of Colombia.

His gentle touch woke Kael and she opened her eyes, the firelight dancing in their depths creating a shimmering miasma that the drug lord couldn’t help but be drawn into. “What,” she stated, wiping a tendril of hair stuck to her lips and watching him watch her.

“Just glad to have you back,” he hedged. Her response to him the last time he tried to tell her how he felt shrank his male ego enough for him not to want to push the issue further. For now, it was enough that she shared his business and his bed. There would be time enough to convince her to share his heart in the future.

She didn’t answer. Instead, Kael pulled away from his gentle touches, running a long fingered hand through her hair to settle it somewhat. Then she pushed her long body upwards to settle her back against the ornate oaken headboard, turning her head to gaze into the blazing fire, her thoughts her own and far away.

Geraldo studied her strong profile for long moments before he reached over to the nightstand and pulled a long white envelope from it. “I have something for you,” he said softly, handing it to her.

Kael drew her gaze from the fire, staring down at the envelope in her hands. Her eyes narrowed, and when she looked over at Geraldo, her gaze was cold. “Tell me this is a joke,” she said, her voice low and ominous.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said truthfully, a tendril of fear snaking through his guts.

“This,” she said, gesturing at him with the envelope. “Payment for services rendered?” Her eyebrow arched to hide behind her bangs.

His eyes went wide as the implication struck him. “No!” he said, laying a hand on her arm, which she promptly shrugged off. “Nothing like that!” Shifting on the bed, Geraldo ran his hands through his own hair. “Kael, do you know how many men I’ve had killed for even thinking that about you?”

“Then what’s this?”

“A gift.” At her angry glare, he hastened to explain. “For both of us. Please. Open it and you’ll understand.”

Looking at him in warning for another long span of moments, Kael finally shifted her gaze downward to where the envelope was cradled in one large hand. After another moment, she gave an internal shrug and tore it open, shaking out the contents. “Plane tickets?” She brought the tickets up closer to her face so that the light from the fire could decipher the words. A malicious smile bared her perfect teeth when she read their destination. “You finally did it.”

“No, my dear. You did it. Apparently, Ming Dao was quite impressed with the way you decimated the members of Chao Lin’s tong who visited us last month.”

“That was fun,” Kael sneered, remembering the screams of the dying men.

“A little barbaric,” he said, grinning slightly. “But creative,” he hastened to reassure.

“Dead’s dead. I always did like a good kill.”

“Quite true. On both counts. While you were away, Ming Dao contacted me and offered us both a chance to sit with him and talk. The opportunity to bring heroin and opium into the business is one we’ve been waiting for for a long time,” he explained unnecessarily.

“So, it’s all set?”

“We leave in the morning.”

“Wonderful.” Her grin was that of a predatory cat on the trail of a particularly tempting morsel.

Geraldo smiled, moving close to her, happy when she let him. “Yes,” he murmured, covering her responsive mouth with his own, “it is, isn’t it.”

To Be Continued…

DESERT STORM

Part 5

by: SwordnQuill

SwordnQuil@aol.com

Disclaimers: The characters of Xena, Gabrielle, Lao Ma, Alti, Borias, and everyone else who sounds familiar belong to Pac Ren and Universal Studios. I am not making money off of this story.

Genre Disclaimer: Ok. Bear with me, please, because this is kinda tough to explain. Sometime last year, I read a story on the internet that moved me so much, I was inspired to write a sort of companion piece to it. That story was “Lost Soul Walking” by DJWP. In her words, “This is NOT UberXena fiction. It just starts out like it is.” The same can be said for this piece. While not directly related to “Lost Soul Walking”, “Desert Storm” can be considered a sort of prequel to it. It is a story, if you will, about the lifetime before the one depicted in that fabulous, outstanding story. (Can you tell I loved it?) In addition, this is somewhat of an ambitious piece of fiction, in that I am attempting (don’t know if I’ve succeeded, but I’ve attempted) to take the entire X:WP universe and modernize it. We start, in updated terms, with my version of Xena’s betrayal by Caesar (seen in “Destiny”), and continue up through the X:WP episode known as “Remember Nothing”. The plot will be very recognizable to you. It’s meant to be that way.

Special note: Because of this, Gabrielle does not appear, except in offhand mention, in a great deal of the first half of this story. Do not look for her, because you won’t find her. After all, she was not a part of ‘evil Xena’s’ life. If she were, things might have turned out differently, but because this is based on the premise of “Lost Soul Walking” it cannot happen differently. Gabrielle will, however, make her presence known, and that quite strongly, in the second half of the story. If you can hang on till then, I believe that you will not be disappointed.

Sexuality and Violence Disclaimers: We’re dealing with an updated dark Xena through much of the first half, and an updated redeemed Xena through the second. There’s gonna be violence. There are gonna be naughty words. There are also descriptions of sexual activity in this work. There are allusions to heterosexual sex, but nothing graphic. There are some graphic (though I hope tasteful) scenes of sexual expression between women as well. That is how I see the relationship between Xena and Gabrielle, and that is how I will continue to write it.

And, finally, thanks: To, as always, the incomparable Mike. A better beta and a better friend one could never hope for. Thank you also, as always, to Mary D, who rescued this story from the refuse heap and begged me to keep going on it. If you hate it, blame her. Grateful and heartfelt appreciation goes out to DJWP, for continuing to write stories that grab me somewhere above the liver and giving her kind permission to mention her story in these disclaimers. If you haven’t read her stories, please, do yourself a favor and do so. Finally, this story is dedicated to a group of people without whom I would most probably be living on the streets. Elizabeth, Rachel, Sulli, and the rest of the “Get Sue to Atlanta” crew, this one’s for you!

Feedback: As always is gratefully appreciated. If you wrote to me regarding “Redemption” during the month of September to early October and I haven’t responded, please allow me the honor of apologizing in public. It was then that I was at my lowest point and making ready to move to my new home. Your words of praise and encouragement for my writing kept me firmly out of the pit of depression I was falling into and I shall be forever grateful to each and every one of you who took the time out to feed this bard. And for those of you patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for Redemption’s sequel, fear not, for with the conclusion of this piece, that piece will be started. Any and all who wish to may write me at SwordnQuil@aol.com . I’ll continue to do my best to answer each and every email. An exploding mailbox is a good thing to have. Thanks again!

DESERT STORM

by: Sword’n’Quill (Susanne Beck)

25 April 1991. Ming Dao’s Estate. Chengdu, China.

After the bodyguards had finished giving them a thorough pat-down, managing to miss the three throwing knives concealed on Kael’s body, the men left them alone to wait. Kael took this as an opportunity for exploration and did so with abandon, her eyes raking over every square inch of the massive ante-room where they were temporarily housed.

Impossibly expensive antiques vied for space in every nook and cranny of the room. Priceless vases kept company with stunning statues of ivory and jade. Bejeweled weapons of all types hung on walls covered with skins of big cats. Massive windows gave view to the lush greenery of the estate’s acreage. “Nice setup,” Kael remarked, snickering.

“Behave,” Geraldo chided. “We don’t want to upset the man before we even get a chance to see him.”

The grin turned into a full sneer as Kael took her attention off her partner, turning to run light fingers over the weaponry. An ornately carved heavy wooden door opened soundlessly and a short, slight man wearing western clothing stepped out to greet them. “Ming Dao will see you now. Please, follow me.”

Tearing her gaze away from the weapons, Kael quickly fell into step beside Geraldo as they crossed the marble floor, their footsteps echoing mournfully in the cavernous room.

They were ushered into a large office modeled in the typical western style. A huge teak desk sat imposingly near one wall. A fireplace, its mantel holding more priceless pieces of antiquity, housed a cheerily blazing fire. Thick burgundy carpeting covered the floor.

The man sitting behind the desk was broad of face and form. Thick glasses magnified his almond eyes to the size of small eggs. His hair was short and slicked back with the first hints of silver slashing through. He kept his attention glued to the desk top until his two visitors were standing in front of two chairs positioned in front of the desk. Only then did he deign to look up, a falsely convivial smile on his thick, rubbery lips. “My name is Ming Dao. Welcome to my home.”

“We are honored by your welcome, Ming Dao,” Geraldo replied, bowing. Kael managed to keep the smirk off her face as she inclined her head slightly. “I am Geraldo Nunez Rodriguez and this is my partner, Kael Evan Antrostos.”

Ming Dao eyed them both, his gaze staying longer on the beautiful American. His smile turned into a leer. A coated tongue protruded from his mouth, licking his lips. “Please,” he said, gesturing. “Sit.” He gestured to a young boy of no more than five dressed in an absurd imitation of a British schoolboy, flannel Bermudas, beanie cap and all. “Allow me to introduce my son, Ming Lao. I hope you’ll excuse his presence at this meeting, but a boy needs to learn to deal with all sorts of people.”

“We are honored to be in his presence,” Geraldo replied, bowing his head to the boy whose expressionless eyes were set in the cold mask of his face.

Kael covered her sneer with one hand as she cut her eyes to the fireplace in an attempt not to laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing.

“Does something here amuse you, Ms. Androstos?” Ming Dao asked primly.

“No. Please. Continue,” she answered, ignoring Geraldo’s warning glance.

Ming Dao folded his hands on the desk top. “Very well. The reason I asked you to this meeting is that I had heard of the job you did on a competitor’s associates. I was most impressed with what I heard.”

“Every word of it is true,” Kael boasted, her eyes filled with pride.

The Chinese drug lord looked at the American, non-plused for a moment. “Ah. Yes. Based on that information, I decided that perhaps your company is in a position to aid mine in distributing our product beyond the boundaries of this country. I was given to understand that this is something you might wish as well?”

“A partnership is something we desire very much, Ming Dao,” Geraldo said humbly. “We are prepared to give you whatever assistance you may require to bring this to fruition.”

“My requests are simple ones. Your business associates come into this country, armed with proper documentation of course, retrieve my product and return it to your own country. From there, you distribute it as you wish. For this, you get thirty percent of the receipts, minus whatever shipping and labor charges you might accrue, of course.”

“Wha-at?” Kael asked, her head snapping up from her study of the carpeting.

“Is there something in my explanation you did not understand, Ms. Androstos?” Ming Dao asked, scowling.

“Oh no. I understood ya perfectly. It’s belief that I’m havin’ trouble with at the moment.”

“Kael,” Geraldo hissed half under his breath. “Behave!”

Kael shot a glare to her partner before returning her attention to Ming Dao. “Let me be sure I got this right. We send men in here, taking the risk of being stopped by governmental officials or blown to bits by your rivals, bring your shit home with us, distribute it, again running the risk of dealing with the government and rivals, and for that you offer us the magnanimous gesture of thirty percent?” She turned to her partner, a bold sneer splitting her full lips. “And you thought I was crazy.”

“Kael!” Geraldo repeated, shouting this time.

Again, Kael ignored him. “No dice, Ming. I’m not gonna risk my people just so your fat ass can sit in that chair getting fatter. No offense, little Ming,” she sneered at the silent, wide-eyed child.

Ming Dao pushed his chair away from the desk, rising to his diminutive height. “I believe this conversation is ended, Mr. Rodriguez. I had thought that you spoke for your people. Apparently I was mistaken.”

Geraldo shot up from his chair. “No! Wait! Please, Ming Dao. This is just a simple misunderstanding, I assure you.” He put on his most charming smile. “She tends to open her mouth without thinking sometimes. I can assure you that this will not happen again.” He shot another warning glare at his partner.

Kael took a deep breath, then let it out. “Fine,” she spat. “Your funeral.” Rising from the chair, she pinned a glare on Ming Dao. “Please, continue this conversation without my interference. I know my place now. If it pleases you,” she said, sarcasm dripping from every word, “I’d like to be taken back to my hotel room.”

Kael watched as Ming Dao stared up at her, disgust, lust and a small inkling of respect warring for space in his magnified eyes. “Very well,” he said, finally breaking eye contact and pressing a hidden button on his desk.

In response, the door swung open and two burly guards stepped through, bowing formally at the waist. “Please take Ms. Androstos back to her quarters,” the drug lord ordered imperiously.

Nodding and bowing again, the silent guards fell into step behind the tall American’s shoulders, escorting her from the estate.

Same evening. Hotel Room. Chengdu, China.

Geraldo was seeing red as he almost knocked the flimsy door off its squealing hinges. Stomping into the room and throwing his keys on the battle-scarred table, he strode to the bed where Kael was sitting. Swinging his hand up to his opposite shoulder, the Colombian lashed out at the seated woman, intending to make sharp contact with the high cheekbones of her face.

His blow never landed, caught as it was in a grip of solid steel. Eyes the color of that steel peered murderously into his own, a smile blooming on perfect features instead of the handprint he’d expected there.

“What the hell were you hoping to accomplish back there?” he demanded, jerking his arm free and pacing the length of the tiny room. “You made me look like a total idiot in front of that man!”

Kael laughed dryly. “Didn’t need my help for that,” she said, clapping her hands together in front of her face and sketching a mock bow in her irate lover’s direction.

Snarling in rage, Geraldo whirled, arm up once again. He quickly lost his legs from a sweeping kick and bounced onto and off of the bed, to land hard on the floor, the heel of Kael’s boot firm between his nipples. “You’re pathetic,” she snapped, pushing down on his sternum until he winced in pain.

Released from the grinding pressure of her boot, the drug lord scrambled back up to his feet, leaning against the wall and rubbing his chest. “You don’t understand anything.”

Kael raised one eyebrow. “Oh, I understand plenty alright. I understand that that bastard’s giving you a good screwing and you’re just grabbin’ your ankles and beggin’ for more.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Geraldo retorted. “I’ve got to earn that man’s respect so … .”

“Respect?!” Kael stated, whirling, her long hair fanning out from her shoulders. “Is that what you think you need? He’ll never respect you, Geraldo. To him, you’re nothing more than a common street thug. Look around you, Geraldo!” she shouted, flinging her arms wide to encompass the tiny room they were given. “Look at this place! I wouldn’t make my dog live here!” Dropping her arms, Kael cocked her head, affixing her partner with a genuine look of sympathy. “And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that tomorrow you’ll go back to that bastard and act like he put us up in the fucking Ritz Carlton!”

“Kael, this isn’t some street war, you know. It’s the fine art of negotiation… .” his words ended in a gasp as long fingers melded themselves to his throat.

“Don’t you presume to tell me anything about negotiations, you bastard,” Kael snarled in his face. Releasing the man, she pushed him hard back onto the bed. “You make me sick.” She stared down at his reclining figure for long moments before her face split into a feral grin. “However, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

Geraldo’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t do this, Kael. Don’t ruin our plans here.”

“Take your ‘plans’ and shove ‘em up your ass, Geraldo. Assuming they’ll fit with Ming’s dick up there already.” Whirling away from him, she picked up her leather jacket and thrust it on.

The drug lord struggled to sit up. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” she snarled. And did just that, the door slamming loudly behind her.

The bathroom mirror rattled, then fell from its brackets, shattering into the sink. “Dios mio,” Geraldo moaned, burying his head into his hands.

*******

Kael picked up a tail as soon as she left the seedy hotel. At first, she left the man alone, enjoying the simple feral pleasure the chase gave her. Leading the guard further and further down into the squalid areas of the city, she ducked in and out of dank alleyways, doubling back and covering her tracks. The man was very good and managed to keep up with her until Kael hid in a narrow alley, deep within the shadows of a towering building. As he took a step past her concealment, she rose an arm to grab him around the neck, changing in mid-stride to instead jab at his unprotected neck with the stiffened fingers of both hands.

Her eyes opened in shock as the man slumped to his knees, gasping. “Well, whadda ya know. It really works.” Squatting down on her haunches, a sneer curling her lips, Kael patted the hapless man’s cheek. “Well Chang, or whatever the fuck your name is, I’ve just cut off the flow of blood to your brain.” She cocked her head, her features assuming a mockingly sympathetic cast. “And to tell ya the truth, I’m not too sure I know how to undo it.” She grinned. “So how ‘bout if we do this. You take a message back to your master for me, and I use the remaining time trying to figure out how to undo this thing before you join your ancestors right here in this alley. Huh? Sound good to you?”

The man’s head bobbed and nodded as if it were on a spring. A thick line of blood flowed slowly from one nostril.

Kael put one finger up to the man’s nose, trailing through the blood and rubbing it between her fingers. Her sneer widened. “Now that’s a pretty sight.” She came in closer to the man, her lips almost touching his ear. “Now, here’s what I want you to do. You tell your master that I don’t need anyone following me around his city. Tell him the next idiot he sends won’t get off near as lucky as you. Got it?”

The man nodded again, gasping and moaning, his eyes pleading with her.

“Good.” Bringing both hands up to her face, Kael extended the first two fingers of each, stared at them, then shrugged. “Well, here goes nothin’.” In a lightning fast move, she jabbed at his pressure points. The hold broke and the man slumped to the concrete pavement, groaning aloud and panting for the breath he’d lost.

Rising to her feet, Kael smiled down at him. “Sleep tight,” she intoned as she delivered a sharp kick to his exposed head. The man’s body flew against the opposite wall and fell limp to the ground. Mouing her lips in mock sympathy, Kael blew on her still extended fingers, twirled them like she was twirling a gun and jammed them down by her sides. “Score one for the bad guys.”

Stepping out of the alley, Kael sauntered deeper into the bowels of the city, led on by the sweet scent of opium as it wafted gently into the still night air. The three months that she spent in horrid withdrawal from cocaine and other drugs she had started taking to distract her mind from the gnawing pain of her shattered legs were among the worst she’d ever known. Geraldo had stuck with her throughout, bathing her sweating body with cool, clean water, changing her fouled clothes, enduring her beatings and raving shouts as she demanded just one hit, just one line, anything to subdue the agony roaring through her body and mind.

If she hadn’t been so ill, the true irony of the situation would have amused Kael no end. That she would be lying on a bed brought with money from the very drugs she was unable now to consume. That she was being comforted by the very man who made his living pulling others into his net of fast highs and faster deaths. The irony escaped her at the time, however, so great was her need.

Now she was going back into that seductive trap with her eyes open, knowing full well what might lay in wait for her at the end of the line. This time it was her craving for power and not the overwhelming need to forget that led her here, to the deepest, darkest part of the city where her kindred spirits dwelled.

Passing several drug houses, she finally stopped at one that seemed to meet her needs for the evening. At first, her way was barred by two thick-set men who stared at her and her foreign features as if she had come from another solar system entirely. With a flash of her smile and a ruffling of cash, the way cleared before her as if she were Moses and her cash the staff which parted the sea of suspicion. She walked through the place as if she owned it, and if truth will out, she would one day, stalking up to the bar and laying a slim bundle of currency on the stained surface. “A clean pipe and an ounce of your best,” she ordered imperiously, smirking as the proprietor stared at the money with wide, almond eyes.

The requested items appeared magically before her and Kael grinned as she swept them into her hands, leaving a generous tip for the man before making her way to a relatively unoccupied corner of the dark room. It took mere minutes to set things up to her liking and soon the stem of the pipe was between her full lips and she was dragging the sweet, pungent taste of oblivion deep into her lungs.

The drugs hit her cleaned-out system powerfully, a muted buzz humming from her heart outward, tingling through her limbs and swaddling her in a cocoon of warmth and bliss. “Woah,” she said softly, blowing the smoke out into the room, “that’s more like it.”

A few more hits and she was ready to look around and so she did, taking in the looks of casual disinterest emitted from glazed eyes. She kept her own expression carefully non-committal, inviting no one, yet spurning none. Her cool façade seemed to calm them and the patrons went back to their own oblivions-in-the-making, none the worse for wear. Kael knew that there would soon come a time where she would use both her cash and the allure of her western body like a siren, drawing the men into her web and seducing information from their small minds. But for now, she was content to simply let both the drug and the muted conversation wash over her like a warm wave, picking up small bits of information and storing them in that part of her mind that remained very much awake and aware. Time enough to put plans in motion later. Now was for laying subtle groundwork and ingratiating herself, by her very aloofness, into a society she soon hoped to possess.

Thoroughly satisfied with her lot in life at the moment, Kael stood to her full height, stuffing the remainder of the drug into the front pocket of her jeans for later consumption. The world tilted oddly for a moment and she braced herself against the head-rush as casually as she was able. Once she was sure she could navigate without difficulty, the tall American walked through the small room, stopping only once to slip a generous tip into the hands of the surprised doormen. Then, with a spring in her step and a jaunty whistle on her lips, Kael made her way back through the city to where her tiny bed awaited.

*******

Sitting straddled in a high-backed, thoroughly uncomfortable, wooden chair, Geraldo checked the luminous numbers on the bedside clock yet again. His anger had long ago given way to fear, paranoia, and finally a sense of the inevitable. Kael was out there, somewhere, doing God knew what with God knew whom. In his younger days, he doubtless would have let his anger spur him into a building by building search of his wayward lover and, upon finding her, let his sharp tongue and sharper fists do his talking for him.

He sighed, putting his head in his hands. All those previously used tactics went nowhere with the thoroughly beautiful, thoroughly charming, thoroughly exasperating woman who captured and held his heart effortlessly. Trying to tame Kael was like trying to rope the wind: impossible. Just when you thought you had a handle on it, it would change direction and dance laughingly just out of your reach. He sighed once more, looking again at the clock which seemed to taut him from its place on the scarred nightstand. With an arching fist and a guttural yell, he smashed the timepiece into tiny bits of protesting plastic and circuitry, then batted it against the far wall with a sweep of his strong arm. “Damn it, Kael!” he shouted into the silent room. “Where are you?”

The door chose that moment to slam open and Kael sauntered in, a faintly amused grin on her full lips. “Why Geraldo,” she said, eyes wide in mocking sympathy, “I’m right here!” The smile bloomed fully on her face as she brushed past her dark-haired lover and dropped her rangy frame down onto the lumpy bed, bouncing a few times for effect.

Geraldo shot to his feet, his anger slamming down onto him like an iron bar dropped from on high. “Where the fuck have you been all this time!” he shouted. “I’ve been worried sick! You don’t just … .” His diatribe trailed off as he noticed the condition of his lover for the first time. The smile remained firmly in place on her face and her striking eyes were glazed over, slightly reddened. “You’re stoned!”

“Sure am,” Kael replied happily. “Right out of my fucking gourd. And ya know what, Geraldo? It feels goooood.” Leaning back on her elbows, she eyed him coquettishly from beneath half-lowered lids. Freeing one hand, she dug it into the pocket of her jeans, producing the baggie filled with opium and holding it up between her thumb and forefinger. “Want some?”

“Why you … .” One hand shot out to grab the stash while the other one attempted a blindside hit to Kael’s sneering face. Neither tactic was successful and the drug lord quickly found himself flat on his back, a widely grinning Kael straddling his waist, the drug still safely in her possession.

“I’m in a very good mood right now, Geraldo,” Kael explained to her pinned captive. “But that could change in an instant.” She looked down at him, one ebony eyebrow raised. “You wouldn’t want to make me angry now, would you?”

Repocketing her stash, Kael shifted her hips lower, leaning forward and grinding against him wantonly. She grinned ferally at the look of complete surrender on Geraldo’s face as she felt him harden beneath her. “I’m feelin’ really good at the moment,” she repeated, her voice a seductive purr, her eyes smoky in the dim lighting. “Let’s see if I can’t make us both feel that way, hmm?”