When I announced my retirement from writing TG Fiction just over a year ago I said that I was leaving to write more mainstream material. This story is the 'bridge' between TG and the mainstream stuff I have planned. It contains a tiny iota of TG(just enough for me to post it on here) but not enough to call an out and out TG story. What it does contain is strong language, graphic violence and adult themes.
This Story follows almost directly on from 'The Fury Directive'. It does stand alone, but I must confess a lot of the impact of this will be lost if you haven't read that first (preferably books 1-4 of the Fury saga too). If you are part way thru the fury saga, wait till the end of the Fury Directive and then read this.
I know it's an imposition on you, the readers
time. But everyone who has proofed and test read this for me informs me that
it's worth the effort.
A Big thanks to Vickie Tern who wrote two scenes for me and refused to be
credited for doing so. Oops!
This story is in three parts. The estimated
release date for each part is.
* Part 1 01/12/04
* Part 2 Week Commencing 01/26/04
* Part 3 Week Commencing 02/16/04
Thanks for reading. I do this for free and for
fun. The fun part is hearing what you think, so don't be afraid to add a
review or mail me.
Darkside_nym@hotmail.com 2004
And All My Dreams, Torn Asunder
by Darkside
2004
Courage is fear holding on a minute longer.
General George Patton Jr
"If you're going through hell, keep going."
Winston Churchill
"Battles are won by slaughter and maneuver. The greater the general, the more he contributes in maneuver, the less he demands in slaughter."
Sun Tzu
Prologue - A Good End For The Beginning
The showers that had been threatening that morning had now developed into a full scale thunderstorm, a fact that did not deter a man in a battered brown raincoat as held the miniature binoculars up to his brown eyes and looked longingly at the funeral cortege now lowering a deep brown mahogany casket into the open grave.
He would have given anything to be alongside the two women and a man, to comfort them in their grief, to reform the bonds of friendship that had just begun to heal after so many years of pain, so much pain. Yet this was the course of action he had chosen, he could have run away, to become anonymous in the sea of humanity. But, to him anonymity was not the same as vindication and running not the same as justice. So here he was, watching his best, no only friends in the world bury his past life in the ground and unconsciously commit his future to the only path now open to him.
He tried in vain to stifle back a tear, but the sight of the man gently and lovingly placing a red rose into the open grave was too much to bear. So much history, so much heart rendering pain had been wiped clean by that one final gesture. More than ever he wanted to run to the cortege and pick up where they had left off. To hear the tall blonde woman's laugh again, to listen to the man's stories of growing up in Iowa; to be part of their lives again...
A cell phone inside the man's coat pocket interrupted his thoughts and he quickly reached inside to answer it, "Hello?"
"Friday, this is Heinlein are you ready to proceed?"
"Can I just have a few more minutes?" the man asked. He desperately needed to see this thru to the end. It was as if he'd piled up all his belongings and this funeral was the sacrificial pyre of the past. It was a cathartic moment that he needed to have, an end to the past; true closure.
"You're needed to pick up the merchandise now."
"Ok will do, Heinlein?" the man asked. Why now, didn't they know this was important!
"Yes Friday?"
"You're a bastard!" the man said bitterly and disconnected the call.
Placing the cell phone back in his pocket the man gave another sigh. 'Only fifteen more years to go', he thought. But then, what's fifteen years when you have at least another century.
He walked back to the car he'd parked on a side street, blipped the remote to unlock the car. Shifted a small sports bag off of the driver's seat and got in. The engine started first time and putting the car into drive he drove off towards his destination across town.
Not wanting to let the scenes he'd just seen go, he selected a CD from the multi changer in the car and let the music play. It helped him commit things to memory. So much death, so much pain. Too much!
"I still remember the world
From the eyes of a child
Slowly those feelings
Were clouded by what I know now
Where has my heart gone
An uneven trade for the real world
I want to go back to
Believing in everything and knowing nothing at all
I still remember the sun
Always warm on my back
Somehow it seems colder now
Where has my heart gone
Trapped in the eyes of a stranger
I want to go back to
Believing in everything
Where has my heart gone
an uneven trade for the real world
I want to go back to
believing in everything
Where had my heart gone
trapped in the eyes of a stranger
I want to go back to
believing in everything"
1. Debrief
It took over an hour to get back to the typical blue glass fronted office building he'd come from that morning. After collecting the bag from the car, he gave the receptionist a smile and walked to the metal detector gateway and a pair of armed guards demanded his ID and patted him down. He couldn't help but smile at the irony, they were trying to find any weapons he might be carrying, when the reality was he was a weapon.
They waved him thru and he proceeded to take the elevator to the 10th floor. He walked past several smaller offices until he came to a set of double doors with a keycard lock. He took a card from his shirt pocket and swiped the lock. A green LED lit and after a small 'click' the door opened into a large conference room. The windows were blacked out, leaving only artificial light reflecting off of a deep mahogany table. A gray haired man dressed in a shirt and tie sat at the other end. He took a sip of water, took out a pen from his shirt pocket and opened a manila folder ready. "Friday, come in take a seat," the man's voice showed a slight hint of irritation.
"Mind if I change first?" the man said glancing down at the sports bag.
"Not at all. Use the office next door. It's suitably private."
Friday walked out of the room and into a small office next door. He placed the bag on the table and took out a pair of black shoes with a small heel, a shortish blue skirt, black panty hose, matching white lace bra and panties, white blouse, and finally a dark blue jacket.
Stripping off his clothes he stuffed them into the sports bag and did up the zip. Concentrating the man closed his eyes and felt the flesh on his body change and reform, hips and breasts grew, skin flowed and muscle changed.
A few seconds later 'Friday' reached over and put on the clothes she'd just got out. She rummaged around in the side of the sports bag and pulled out a small mirror.
A set of blue eyes, peered back at her surrounded by an elfin face with high cheekbones and delicate nose. Tumbling around the face was a mass of copper red hair. Friday searched in the bag again and pulled out a hair band and tied her new hair back into its usual pony tail. A cursory glance in at her reflection in one of the blacked off windows showed a slim athletic woman, about 5'8 dressed in a smart business suit. Friday nodded her head, "Better," she said out loud.
After making sure everything was packed away Friday swiped her card in the lock and walked inside the conference room.
The man at the other side of the table didn't bat an eyelid at Friday's new appearance. "Friday, I take it you're feeling more at home now. Please sit down."
"Call me Elizabeth, please." Friday stated.
"Take a seat," the man said avoiding the request.
Friday walked over to the seat next to the man and sat down," So how'd I do?" she queried.
"You fucked up!" the man said in a matter of fact way and noticed the annoyance flicker across Friday's face. "I'll expect you want to know why?"
"It would be nice," Friday stated softly. The man's words had stung!
"You were asked to deliver a package, namely you and that bag to this place. Instead you took a little detour to watch your own funeral! We need you to obey the instructions we give you! Not go and do your own thing when you feel like it," there was no anger in the man's voice. It was purely business.
"I told you I had personal business to attend to. It's not as though it was life and death was it? I needed to go there, to watch and say goodbye. I needed to go there so I could be and stay focused for the real jobs, and not some relay race that doesn't mean a damn."
"It's not down to you what does and does not matter. I do as I'm told and so will you!" The businesslike tone had changed to that of irritation.
"That sounds like a threat?"
"It is. Your arrangement with us is purely because of your unique abilities and because the President said we needed you. If you were anyone else you'd be heading for the chair or at least a lifetime behind bars. Look," the man paused for a second. "You and I will never be given the full picture, but let's give an example." The man's tone was more conciliatory. "The man's whose form you took. What if we wanted him to appear to be somewhere else, while the real man was say taken to a safe house. What if you were needed to be at a certain place at a certain time and by your little detour you put the real man's life in danger?"
"But," Friday started to say. He had a point, but she had known it was a drill. She'd been dragged away from a key moment in her life for the sake of a practice run!
"What I'm trying to say is, do what I say and you'll be fine. The positive side of it is that your disguise is impenetrable, and from the footage I've seen your changeling abilities give us a real edge. All you need now is training and experience," the man reached inside the manila folder and tossed a large letter sized envelope on the desk.
"What's this?" Friday asked.
"Instructions."
"For what?"
"You'll know when you open them," the man smiled.
"So when do I go away to 'spy school'?" Friday asked, with a wry smile. She already knew the answer.
"You don't. We need deniability in every operation you do. Anything we ask you to do will be denied at the highest level. You will be trained for each operation you need to do, and as you well know other than your new identity, and the salary we pay you, you're on your own. According to us, you've never been on our payroll! Dr Elizabeth Bexley, or shall I say Miss Friday Carrell, we own you for the next fifteen years. You don't go anywhere, do anything until we tell you to."
"I know all that!" Friday said. Feelings of being a prisoner welled up inside her once again.
"I'm glad to hear you say that. Now how's everything else going?"
"If you call working as a waitress in a diner, a job it's going fine. My apartment's a dive, I've no money and no career except for an organization that tolerates me at best and at worst wishes that had really been me they buried today," Friday understood the need to remain anonymous and to lay low but sometimes the sheer monotony got to her.
"I always say a little humility does wonders. We'll be in touch, and think about what I said about following orders. Believe it or not I'm on your side. You have the potential to be a vital asset to us and the country; but don't fuck with me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Friday said sarcastically.
Ignoring the jibe the man closed the folder, "Friday, dismissed. Oh and close the door behind you."
"Sir," Friday said and gave a single fingered salute, turned and walked out, deliberately leaving the door slightly ajar.
2. Home
Still fuming from her debrief Friday calmly walked out of the offices, bag slung over her shoulder and walked to the nearest bus stop. It was on days like this she wished she'd never cut the deal she had. The temptation to run and slip away was strong, but to her at least she had to somehow atone for her past. Too many lives lost, so, so many.
No doubt her funeral would make the evening news and some news reader or commentator would do yet another obituary piece on her. It never ceased to amaze her that some people saw her as a heroine, the savoir of millions and the person responsible for stopping a war. Everyone else either didn't care or was glad that the world was rid of the evil Dr Bexley. Still, what the world thought didn't matter that much, it was what those who regarded her as a friend did, and those people now thought she was dead, a simple suicide by someone who couldn't face up to what she had done.
The stark reality staring her in the face was that she was confronting the past head on in the only way she could, on her own. She thought back to her debrief, it was clear that the agency was shit scared of her, Heinlein most of all. She was still thinking on this when the bus drew up and she got on board.
As she looked out of the window at the world amusing itself she found herself thinking about the sealed instructions. Were they her first mission? Or just another training run? She glanced out of the window and recognized a Coffee house which was a few blocks away from where she lived, not far to go.
She was the only person to get off of at her stop, which suited her fine. She just wanted to be alone. Five minutes later she walked into her apartment block and discovered that once again the elevators had broken. The walk up the stairs didn't bother her, it was the depressing and grimy state of the apartments that did. Cheap low wattage bulbs, graffiti on the walls and threadbare carpet added to the thump, thump bass of overloud music hammering from some distant apartment did nothing to make her feel 'home'. Yet at least for now this was as close to home as she had.
Thankfully her neighbors were out so at least she'd have some peace and quiet for a few hours, she threw the bag on the threadbare sofa and sat down next to it. She glanced sideways at the bag, wondering if she should open the envelope now or later. The frustrations of the day came back to her; she needed to let off steam and then have a shower before she started anything new. It was she thought like drawing a line under the day.
She got up and walked to her bedroom and stripped off the business suit, and hung it up next to her red and white striped waitress's uniform, after collecting a black silk scarf from a drawer, she walked out and closed the door. She walked into her living room just in her lingerie, and ensured that the curtains were closed. She moved all the furniture out of the way leaving an open space for her workout. Back when she had money, she'd had her own gym, complete with pool now all she had was a small space in a rented apartment. Now all she needed was the workout gear from the cupboard at the back.
From the diner she's managed to acquire some large sacks, with which she'd filled with fine sand and mounted on man, sized wooden poles. There was only enough room for six sacks but that would be enough. She checked the clock on the wall. 17:19:21.
She erected four in a tight V formation, as if they were about to attack her and the final two she'd put behind her. Now for one last thing, a small complication to make it more interesting. She took the silk scarf and bound it tightly round her eyes. Now all she could make out was a red hazy darkness.
"Playtime," she whispered and she concentrated on her arms. The fingers on her hands fused together and grew into solid white bone, with serrated edges. From out of each wrist grew a small solid tube about four inches long. The final enhancement she made was to adjust her vision to operate on another part of the spectrum and to grow small pits underneath her eyes to use sonar to locate objects. The room took on a purple hue'd black and white, but the layout and position of the sacks could clearly be seen.
She thrust out each bladed arm and felt the poison dart shoot from her wrists and punch a hole in the far left and right sack, simultaneously she had jumped into the air and back flipped so that she was coming down on the two sacks behind her, she'd managed six slashes with her blade hands before she landed and was immediately on her feet as she launched a drop kick at one of the front sacks. Moments before it struck, her foot reshaped into another cutting blade that scythed thru the sack, spilling sand everywhere. A quick recovery roll saw her behind the four sacks and she again shot two poison darts into the one unmarked sack. Slashing out with both arms she scythed the tops off the sacks in front of her. Job done!
Concentrating once more she felt her blade hands reform into fingers, tubes grow back into her wrists and her foot once more becoming toes instead of cutting bone. She removed the blindfold from her eyes and surveyed the room.
The two sacks that had been behind her had three vertical slashes each about 8 inches long and they were spewing sand all over the floor. A certain fatal wound. Of the four sacks in front of her three had two poison darts in each, and all four had been 'decapitated' and had lost a third of the sand. Again four fatalities. She glanced up at the clock again, 17:20:10. The whole thing had taken 49 seconds , subtract 40 seconds for various messing around and the take down of six 'bad guys' had taken less than 10 seconds. Not bad given the circumstances and she'd not even broken sweat. It was just a shame she wasn't allowed to use the agencies training rooms!
Her thoughts turned to the letter and the shower she'd promised herself. She walked to the bathroom, the clearing up and the letter would wait. Hot water beckoned.
3. Mission
It took nearly an hour to sweep up and bag the sand that had been scattered all over the floor, an hours work for 10 seconds play didn't seem that bad when one considered the release it gave. Wrapping the towel around her red hair, Friday moved the furniture back to its usual position, opened the bag and sat down. Picking up the envelope she tore at the seams and opened it. Inside was another envelope containing a locker key stamped 2678, small Kodak memory card, a passport and an airline ticket. Picking up the memory card she walked over to a drawer and fished out a small digital camera. She inserted the card into the camera and switched it on. Text appeared in the small LCD screen.
"Friday.
You wanted a mission and more training. This is your opportunity for both, "Friday clicked the next button on the camera and a new screen of text appeared.
"You are to fly to Seoul and after collecting your kit from an airport locker (key enclosed) drive to the Osan US airbase. After presenting your credentials you will be flown to a secret location in North Korean territory," she clicked next.
"There you will pick up one of our employees, who has been spending some time with the North Koreans and wishes to go home," Fuck! So much for a milk run! She clicked next.
"Once you have collected our employee, then he will become your trainer for future missions. He is the only person other than myself who you are permitted to demonstrate your abilities, or to reveal your real identity to," next!
A photo appeared of a man in his mid thirties, with short cropped blonde hair and a distinctly unshaven look. His brown eyes had a look of intelligence and humor. She committed the face to memory and clicked next.
"This is Steven Grayson. Height 6'2, weight 240lb's. He disappeared while on a mission two years ago to investigate the threat posed by genetic weapons(yours!)." So that was the connection! Was this Steve Grayson supposed to keep an eye on her? She pressed the next button.
"We have arranged an exchange with the North Korean government, and do not anticipate any problems. Everything has been pre arranged and cleared."
Friday didn't believe that for a moment. Sure everything had been pre-arranged, but things change. She clicked next, "Once you have collected him then a lift has been arranged from Osan back to the US.
After clicking next a message appeared reminding her to format and dispose of the memory card. After quickly formatting the card, she turned the camera off and ejected it. She walked over to the stove and switched it on to 400F, and got out some tinfoil and placed it on baking tray. She then put the memory card on the foil in tray and placed it inside the oven. Thinking back to her upcoming helicopter ride over the jungle, she smiled and said "I love the smell of plastic in the morning!"
Walking back over to the sofa she picked up the ticket and saw the date. She flew out 6am tomorrow. She then checked her passport, who was she supposed to be?
Since it always took a while to get used to face or body and make it appear fully natural she decided to change now so that when she woke she'd feel right at home. The details on the passport indicated that only a facial change was required, which was useful because she had no clothes here to suit anything more radical. Taking a last look at the photo she concentrated and felt her skin and flesh reshape. A few moments later she surveyed her new appearance in a mirror.
She had similar facial features, but with brown eyes and a slightly larger nose. Maybe her cheeks were a little fuller, but not that unattractive. Her hair still retained a copperish tint but it was more brown than red. It was she decided, a good traveling face. Of course she'd need to change back to Friday before she got to the airbase as her ID had Friday's face on it, but that didn't matter! At last she felt as though she was getting somewhere!
She quickly packed what things she had, and decided to wear the business suit outfit again for the trip to the airport. With luck she'd get bumped up to first class.
Deciding to have an early night she got into her nightshirt, set the alarm for 3am and within moments was fast asleep.
The taxi ride to JFK airport was uneventful, except for a taxi driver who just wouldn't shut up. No matter who she was, or where she was going why did she always get the annoying drivers. Matthew never did, Kat didn't either and Cathline just took a limo. It was she decided God's way of punishing her.
She checked in just before the desk closed and sat down at the departure lounge. Her thoughts drifted back to her friends, Matthew, Kat and Cathline and she wondered how they were doing. She thought about Kat, who must now be getting morning sickness and otherwise enjoying pregnancy. She wondered if Kat had sussed out that the baby she carried wasn't that of her husband's but a clone of her. One that'd she implanted during an operation to save Kat's life. Probably not, that revelation would come much later on, by then it would be too late. Her daughter would be their daughter and as loved as if she were biologically theirs.
The reality of her situation caused waves of sorrow and loss to sweep over her. She had a daughter who she would never see grow up, never be able to hold or even tell how much she loved her. Still, she thought at least her daughter would be brought up by two of the most loving and caring people she knew. Which was better in the long term, to know your parents as two loving people of integrity and compassion or that your mother was responsible for the deaths of millions? Somehow part of her didn't think the trade was a good one, and yet like everything in her life right now it was another part of the price she had to pay. Part of the judgment she had imposed on herself as penance for her crimes.
When her fifteen years were up she'd go somewhere else, be someone else neither Friday, nor Dr Elizabeth Bexley but someone she could start afresh with. She'd tried it once before until fate had intervened and forced her to resume her path of hatred and vengeance. Deciding that wallowing in things she couldn't change was counterproductive her thoughts turned to the task in hand.
Clearly Heinlein had decided that she was better paired off with someone who at least could keep an eye on her, rather than leaving her as a loose cannon or freelancer. Quite what this Steven's role would be or even what hers would be going forward she wasn't sure. She was originally told that she'd be a courier, taking and collecting things from 'A to B' where her changeling abilities were required to infiltrate into 'A' and get out again. Sure, she could understand the need for collecting and dropping stuff off too sensitive to trust anyone or anything else to do; but her first mission to 'rescue' this guy indicated they had something else in mind for her also. Admittedly, in this case she was effectively collecting and dropping off but she'd expected her parcels to be of the paper type. Another more worrying thought struck her, was she losing her edge?
A few weeks ago she'd masterminded a plan to stop a war between Israel and the entire Arab world, that plan also included her avoidance of the death penalty, the continuance of her DNA in the form of the baby Kat now carried and lastly ensuring that the world wouldn't pay her any more attention. Now although her path was clear, she was no longer in full control of her destiny. Losing the initiative felt strange and alien. It was, she decided, something she'd need to work on to get back again. Again it was nothing she could fix right now, so she put it to one side and waited for her call.
By carefully altering her body chemistry Friday was able to sleep the entire 14 hours of the flight, even though she hadn't managed to get bumped up to first class. The first thing that struck her as she walked down the ramps of the plane was the heat, and the second was the humidity. Already the fat guy's shirt in front of her was stained with sweat, and even for her the heat was uncomfortable. Hopefully she wouldn't have to spend too long here, or at least it wouldn't take hours to get through customs.
She flashed her passport at the waiting customs officials and passed through without a second glance. The ease in which she could flit between borders, never ceased to amaze her. But as far as everyone in the world knew every changeling was dead and buried, so there was no need for stricter controls. Even then the controls they could impose would be of limited use, so for now at least she was safe.
It took her half an hour to find the correct locker, and inserting the key she opened the door. Inside was a green khaki US Air Force issue hold all. She casually pulled it out of the locker, slung it over her shoulder and headed for the nearest ladies washroom.
Once inside the cubicle she opened the hold all and pulled out a US Air Force uniform, an ID and some dog tags. Glancing down at the ID it showed her normal Friday body with the name of 'Lt Friday Carrell'. She gave a smile, commissioned already. Further investigation of the hold all showed temporary transfer orders from Ramstien airbase in Germany to Osan, South Korea, signed by Major General Jack Clarke. She stripped off, put the dog tags over her neck, slipped into the uniform and concentrated. Seconds later, now back in her Friday body, she adjusted her cap, put her civilian clothes into the hold all and walked out.
Even as an Air Force Lieutenant she didn't raise an eyebrow. It wasn't that uncommon to see US military, although she did get a few admiring glances from men as she walked passed. There must be, she decided something very attractive about a woman in uniform, even if the uniform felt a little itchy against her skin. She hailed a cab, slung her back next to her and told the cab driver her destination, after sitting back in the cool air conditioned rear she waited for the inevitable torrent of questions and inane small talk.
She was not disappointed.
Much to her relief the cab drew up outside the entrance to the airbase. After paying the fare she picked up her hold all she walked to the gate.
She gave the MP at the gate a salute, "Lt Friday Carrell reporting," she handed the MP the letter which he then inspected and handed back.
"Hold on," he commented and placed a call via his walkie talkie. A few seconds later he clipped it back on his belt and said, "You're all clear Ma'am, you're to report to Colonel Decker, building 32, second the right. Need a lift?"
"The walk will do me good," Friday commented. She needed time to gather her thoughts and it would help her adjust to the heat and humidity.
After a 20 minute walk, interspersed with the deafening noise of F16's and especially F15's taking off and landing she knocked on the door of Colonel Decker. "Come in," a thick Texan drawl called out from the room.
Friday walked in the room, saluted a thick set, balding man sitting behind the desk and stood to attention and saluted, "Lt Friday Carrell reporting as ordered sir," she handed her papers to the colonel who took them and gave them a quick glance.
The colonel returned the salute, "Very good Lieutenant, at ease."
"Thank you sir!" Friday stood at ease, and nearly smiled it felt so odd pretending to be in the military.
"Take a seat Lieutenant."
"Thank you sir," and Friday sat down, by now her uniform felt very warm and uncomfortable.
"So you're who the spooks sent to go on this little trip?"
"Yes sir," She noted the look of derision on the colonel's face and lack of eye contact.
"Get yourself freshened up, and meet your pilot in 90 minutes. We've got a Blackhawk getting prepped on pad 11. In the meantime feel free to use the showers in the women's quarters," again the colonel didn't make eye contact he obviously disliked these kind of 'JFDI' missions.
"Sir, yes sir!"
Without looking up the Colonel barked, "Dismissed Lieutenant."
Friday stood up, gave the Colonel another salute and walked out into the sunshine. She followed the signs to the female quarters, and she had to admit it was kind of gratifying to be saluted as she walked along. A few minutes later she was enjoying a warm refreshing shower.
An hour later and feeling thoroughly refreshed Friday walked outside and made her way to the helicopter. The green painted Blackhawk sat on the pad, looking like some green insect waiting to take to the air.
"You been in one before Lieutenant?" A voice said from behind her.
Friday turned around to face the pilot, who then gave her a salute, She returned it and said, "Not a Blackhawk sir, no."
"I used to fly AH64's. But I got tired of being shot at. Captain Richard Murdock," the man held his hand out, which Friday then shook.
Friday introduced herself, "Lieutenant Friday Carrell sir."
"We should be ready to go in about 15 mins. I've been given our destination but not the mission. It's not everyday we get a trip across the border."
"I would think not," That was just typical Heinlein! He tells the pilot where to fly to but not what he's doing there, and tells her what they're doing there but not where to go.
"Anyway, wanna help me with the checks?" Richard asked.
"I'm not rated on these," Friday said neatly avoiding her lack of knowledge.
"That's ok all you need to do is read this," Richard said reaching into the cockpit and pulling out a clipboard, "All the big stuff has been done. The flight crew see to that. But, as you well know something's are down to the pilot."
Friday nodded, "Yeah. Where are we up to?"
"Instrument double check," Richard replied.
Fifteen minutes later Friday at put on her flight helmet, performed a radio check and strapped herself in next to Richard. There was a whine as the rotors started and seconds later they were in the air.
"We'll be over the border in 5 minutes," Richard said, "I've just radioed our flight path and ID to the North Korean Air Force. A couple of MiL24's will meet us at the border and escort us to the LZ."
Friday nodded, and tried to ignore the nerves she was feeling. Why was she nervous? She looked out at the ground below, she must be over the DMZ by now as a huge swath of jungle had been cleared and she could just make out the guard towers, gun emplacements and razor wire that stretched as far as she could see.
Minutes later she heard the distinctive sound of another helicopter drawing closer.
"HIND D's" She heard Richard state.
The helicopters he was referring to Friday's untrained eye looked as vicious as hell. Slung underneath each winglet were two missiles, and what looked to be unguided rocket pods. Jutting out of the nose was an evil looking chaingun.
"Don't worry, it's all been cleared," Richard said, and Friday admired the calm in his voice. They flew on and didn't deviate from the 22 degree heading they had been on since they'd taken off.
Twenty minutes later Richard bought the Blackhawk to a hover and Friday glanced down at a small jungle clearing seemingly no bigger than the helicopter itself. Her sharp eyes picked out 2 APC's and a tank hiding in the jungle below. Their escorts climbed and started to circle, "Down there," Richard gestured.
Expertly and without incident Richard touched down, "Ok Lieutenant over to you. I'll keep the engines running."
Friday took a deep breath, took off her flight helmet and jumped out of the Blackhawk. She saw that the clearing was larger than she thought, and that there were in fact two tanks not the one. A figure climbed out of the tank on the right and beckoned her to walk towards him. Friday did so, and gave the North Korean officer a salute, which was then returned.
The officer shouted something out, and a figure was bundled out of one of the APC's. The face was a little thinner than the photo but it seemed to be the guy she was supposed to meet. Interesting, Friday thought he looked taller in real life.
"Man are you a sight for sore eyes," she heard Steve call out.
Friday turned to the officer and asked, "Can I take him now?"
The officer gave a nod and retreated back to the tank, leaving Friday and an exhausted looking Steve in the middle of the clearing. "Time to go," she stated and walked over to Steve.
Steve walked the remaining 10 feet or so to her and Friday turned back to the chopper.
Then it went straight to hell.
Friday felt a burning stabbing pain in her shoulder before she heard the machine gun rounds. The impact threw her to the floor and her instinctive reaction was to fight back. She felt Steve grab her hand, and drag her upright as heavy caliber bullets flew around them. She was about to allow her body to heal the wound, before she remembered that there were several enemy soldiers who she in no way could take down, and that her very existence was a state secret. Therefore healing the wound had to wait. She instinctively ducked as a bullet whistled passed her head. Only a few more feet to go. She saw flashes of sparks as bullets raked the Blackhawk. Fuck!
She saw Steve dive into the rear of the Blackhawk, and fractions of second she followed him and the Blackhawk took off.
Friday could feel the wetness of blood on her uniform, and now she was clear of the soldiers she could at least stop the blood, "Let me have a look at that?" Steve asked.
"It'll be fine. It's stopped bleeding" Friday said.
"Is she ok?" Richard's voiced called out from the intercom.
"She says so," Steve replied went to strap Friday in.
"I'm FINE!" Friday snapped and strapped herself in.
"Woah, only trying to help," Steve said defensively, and did his seatbelt up.
"Guys, we have another problem!" Richard exclaimed.
"The enemy helicopters?" Friday asked.
"Yeah, hold on, They're not closing so we should be able to lose them. Strange..."
Friday felt the Blackhawk dive until she could almost reach out and pull the leaves from the treetops. The Blackhawk lurched and dived for what seemed an eternity, Richard's pleased sounding voice came over the speakers, "Lost em! We're clear!"
"Thank God for that," Friday muttered.
"We haven't been introduced, Steven Grayson," Steve said with a nod.
Friday decided to hold fire on the real intro until later, and besides Richard could be listening in "Lieutenant Friday Carrell."
"Man, am I Pleased to meet you Lieutenant. I thought we'd had it back there!"
Friday thought back to the firefight, in spite of the hail of heavy caliber weapons they had been remarkably inaccurate, "I think they let us escape. They had tanks so why not fire a shell into the chopper. In addition they had at least 3 heavy caliber machine guns, let alone assault rifles. At that distance we should have been cut down! Let alone those Gunship's not following us after we'd taken off."
Steve thought for a moment, he studied the red headed Lieutenant. In spite of her looks there was more to her than at first glance. She was spot on in her analysis though, "But why let us go, and why shoot at us if you are trying to miss?"
Friday glanced at her wounded shoulder, and hoped that they could get back soon so she could fix it "That's question of the day. Maybe it was just to make a political point?"
Steve shrugged, "Dunno."
Matthew's voice came over the speakers, "We're just over the DMZ now, 20 more seconds and we're back over our side of the line."
Friday breathed a sigh of relief, so much for an easy first mission. But at least she'd made it intact, well pending an easily fixable bullet wound to her shoulder.
"That's it guys, Welcome to sunny South Korea!" Richard called happily.
Friday glanced out of the window, acres of thick, dense, rolling jungle was as far as the eye could see, good job they had GPS; everything looked the same. From the corner of her eye she saw a smoke trail flying up towards them and suddenly a huge bang shook whole chopper and it lunched, as if in slow motion it plunged into the trees and it all went black.
A stabbing pain awoke Friday an indeterminate time later. It was coming from the region of her chest, blurry eyed she looked down and saw that a large section of fuselage about five inches wide and two feet long had pierced her chest cavity, gobs of blood were trickling down the fuselage and were dripping onto the floor. "Fuck!" She breathed. She glanced over at Steve, apart from a gash on the forehead he was unconscious but otherwise ok.
Gathering all her remaining strength, she concentrated on her arms. Her muscle tone changed as her arms reformed to give the strength she needed to extricate herself. Grasping the fuselage in both hands she gently pulled it away from her, making sure that her body repaired any internal damage as she extricated herself. Repairing her primary set of heart, lungs and other organs would come later. The important thing was to stop the internal bleeding and hemorrhaging. Her body had automatically slowed the blood loss, but it needed to be stopped altogether and the only way to do that was get free. She pulled the fuselage 'spear' inch by inch out of her chest, crying out in pain after each pull. Blood covered her hands, and some of her flesh was torn out she carefully manipulated the jagged section out of her chest. Five minutes later she was free and the internal bleeding had been stopped.
She managed to stagger 50 yards before exhausted, covered in her own blood she lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.
The next thing she felt was water running over her face, "You ok Lieutenant?"
Friday managed to open her eyes to see Steve kneeling over her with a canteen of water. "Steve," she managed to say.
"Just lay still, I've no idea how you survived the crash, but we need to get you to a hospital. I still can't work our where all that blood came from though as you're not showing signs of any new injuries and I checked for internal bleeding. The good news is, is that you're ok, well at least as far as I can tell. That bullet wound will need fixing though. I disinfected it while you were out."
What else had Steven seen? Maybe she should have left at least some outward sign of the crash. Too late now though! Richard, where was Richard? "Richard, the pilot?" Friday asked.
"Dead, we hit the trees head on. At least it was quick," Steve replied sadly.
"Fuck!" Friday could feel her strength slowly start to come back, enough to stand up if not to use on fully repairing her internal injuries. At least that was the plan. She tried to stand and yet found herself stumbling only to be caught by Steve, "Hey slow it down Lieutenant, nothing to prove to me!" Steve commented softly as he gently lowered her to the ground.
She must have lost more blood than she thought. She looked around at the jungle that seemed to enclose around them. The chopper had crashed almost directly downwards into the base of some large trees, meaning the wreck wouldn't be spotted easily from the air. The spinning rotor blades had cut deep swathes into the ground, and had then promptly bent and contorted into twisted metal. The rear rotor and tail section had gone, and showed signs of an explosion. The front cabin had been almost squashed flat and much of the nose had buried itself in the ground, Richard the pilot had had no chance. The rest of the fuselage had concertinaed up but had survived remarkably well considering. She could just make out a set of bloody footprints leading from the wreckage to where she had collapsed, hers.
"How we doing?"
"I had a check. The bad news is that the radio's screwed and the emergency beacon is shot to hell, the good news is that we've maps, food and water and working GPS handhelds."
That at least was something, "Aren't we supposed to blow up the chopper?" Friday asked. Maybe the smoke would draw attention from any rescue party.
"We're on our side of the lines, no need to blow it up. Besides do you really want to start a forest fire? We can either stay here or try and walk to the nearest village."
"And how far is that?" Friday wasn't sure how far she could walk at the moment, give it overnight and some food and drink and she'd be fine.
"About 25 miles. You look in no state to travel. We'll wait here until dawn. I suspect they'll be out looking for us come the morning and we've a few flares left, so I'll fire a few of those up when I hear the rescue helicopter."
"I could do with a drink," Friday said. She was famished.
"Sure," Steve said and passed her a canteen.
Friday drank it dry and immediately felt better, "Thanks."
"By the looks of the damage to the tail I'd say we were hit by some kind of missile," Steve suggested, gesturing towards the twisted wreck.
"I saw a smoke trail moments before we were struck. Thing is, it was fired from our side of the border?" Friday commented.
Steve pointed at the blackened and twisted tail assembly "Probably a shoulder launched missile, Stinger or SA-14. Like you said, why fire at us from our side of the lines? Maybe someone got a little trigger happy, only the enquiry will tell for sure. Yet another mystery."
Steve found the remains of a tree, pulled it over to where Friday was sitting and sat down, "I've another mystery for you!" Steve said glancing at Friday's shredded and blood soaked uniform.
Here it comes thought Friday. There hadn't been enough time to clear things up.
"How in hell did you survive the crash? I went over the wreck and saw flesh hanging from a bent and twisted section of fuselage right where you would have been sitting. There's also at least three pints of blood all over the floor and judging by the state of your uniform the fuselage must have gone right thru you. So taking all this into account why aren't you dead?"
Friday took a deep sigh. She wasn't ready for this and she felt so tired, "Can we talk about it another time? I'm really tired."
"Ok, I guess you'll tell me when you're ready. I'll take first watch," Steve said in a disappointed tone. Friday smiled inwardly, no doubt the mystery would help keep him awake.
Within moments Friday was asleep, by morning most of her internal primary organs would have repaired themselves. She could have done it faster, but the last thing she needed was to use so much energy so that she would need hospital treatment. Better do things slower and raise fewer questions.
When Friday woke up dawn was just breaking and Steve was still sitting on the log, but this time he had lit a fire and was boiling some water. "Morning sleepyhead," he said with a smile.
"How come we're still here?" Friday asked.
"I've not seen a chopper all night, they won't start looking for real until day anyway and they'd leave it 12 hours before calling a search, so it looks like it's just us for a few more hours. Anyway, how are you feeling?"
"Starving," Friday was famished. The rest had done her good. The injury caused by the fuselage had all but been repaired, only the bullet wound remained and that could be fixed in seconds when she was sure security wouldn't be breached.
"Starving is good for a dead woman," Steve said with a curious grin.
"I could say it's on a need to know basis," Friday replied.
"And I don't need to know." Steve said in a resigned tone. Typical!
"Actually you do," Friday said. If Steve was to be her trainer and he was supposed to know then it had to come sooner or later.
Steve looked up, "Tell on."
"What do you know about genetic weapons?" Friday asked.
"A little, the mission I was on before I was captured was to discover who was developing them. You've heard of Dr Elizabeth Bexley?"
Friday did her best poker face, "Vaguely." She said dispassionately,
"Well as you may know Dr Bexley with the assistance of TGEN Labs developed a drug that would alter the genetic structure of whoever or whatever it was exposed to. Now instead of using it to cure cancer, save millions of lives etc she used it to take revenge on the man who'd jilted her at the altar."
"Yeah I remembered that bit. Fucked him up big time," It was getting hard for Friday to stay focused. So much hurt and pain were wrapped up in that one sentence.
Steven nodded, "Literally! She turned him into a copy of her and sold his then wife into slavery. Perverted if you ask me, but she was completely insane, brilliant but insane nonetheless."
"Then what happened?" Nothing Steve had just said she could deny or disagree with.
"She hired a terrorist organization called the Guild to be her hired guns, to be the agents of her bitter and twisted revenge. Last I knew she'd killed around 18 people directly and fuck knows how many she got the Guild to kill off. She even set it up so that the guy she transformed got the rap for murder. As I said, a real bitch."
"I think it was more people than that!" Friday said sadly. Shit! it was all flooding back now, the madness, the death, the terror and the loss. All of it!
"Anyway last I knew, the guy she'd transformed and a few of the survivors managed to track her down and kill her. They handed over the plans for the genetic manipulation systems to us before destroying them. My mission was to find out who, if any had managed to get the plans before they destroyed them. The fact that you asked me about genetic weapons means someone did get hold of them."
Friday nodded and had to flick back a tear, "Yes they did and it's all my fault!"
Steve stared at the tears forming on Friday's face, "How so?"
Friday wiped the tears from her face. This was harder than she ever expected "You see Dr Elizabeth Bexley wasn't killed with the fight with the survivors. She escaped."
"Ah and you let her escape?" Steve Interrupted.
"In a sense yes," Friday swallowed back more tears, "You see the reason why I blame myself for her escape is that I am her!"
"WHAT!" Steve exclaimed.
"Yeah meet, Ms Friday Carrell, of the CIA, codename Friday, AKA Lieutenant Friday Carrell, alias Dr Elizabeth Anne Bexley, at your service," Friday gave a half hearted salute.
"HOLY SHIT! How in the FUCK?" Steve stood up and backed away.
"Let me fill you in on what's been going on these past two years. Yes someone did copy the designs of my machines. Those people were the Guild you talked about earlier. They used those machines to manufacture genetic warheads that would destroy any human life it came into contact with."
"And you helped them!" Steve stared at Friday. How could his savoir be a mass murderer!
Friday swallowed "Only under extreme duress. In the materials you were given, did it include details on an organ capable of manufacturing the genetic alteration drug, based on the thought patterns of the person it was installed in?"
"Yes, that was the thing that was the most worrying. I think it was called a changeling organ," Steve was starting to put the pieces together.
"The Guild forced me to develop this changeling organ. I did so, but installed a superior version in myself first. The ones I gave the Guild were less capable, but alas very effective."
"Alas?"
Friday nodded, "You see the Guild used the changeling organs I created to replace several world leaders and other dignitaries. They then launched the genetic warheads they made against Tel-Aviv. The attack was devastating; the entire city was wiped out. Half million men, women and children dead because of my failure to stop the Guild."
"Stop them?" Steve asked. Half a million dead!
"I was trying to stop the Guild launching the attack, with help from inside I'd recruited several Guild members who tried to stop it. But we were too late. I made a huge miscalculation and as a result the 500,000 people are dead," Friday sniffed away new tears.
"What did Israel do?"
"Do you remember the Fury Directive?" Friday asked.
"Yeah, what an over reactive hair brained thing that is! I think when what you'd developed got out, the entire world panicked. If I remember rightly, at the time it was compared to the development of atomic weapons."
"That's an understatement. As you know the Fury directive calls for a like for like retaliation against any nation who uses genetic weapons. The Guild framed Egypt for the attack on Tel-Aviv, and the world leaders they replaced ensured that Israel would launch a nuclear strike against Cairo."
"Holy mother of God!" Steve breathed.
"The attack went ahead and thirteen and a half million people were killed. Look, can we stop now. This is getting too painful,"
"We could or you could tell me the rest and maybe help you in the process," Steve looked at Friday's tear stained face. It had suddenly seemed to age 20 years, the weight of guilt and all those lives had clearly taken their toll. Rightly so.
"And then there was a war?" Steve asked.
Friday decided she'd got this far so she may as well finish it off, "No. My plans to stop the Guild finally came to fruition. Not in time to save Cairo or Tel-Aviv, but to avert a new holocaust in the Middle East. I exposed the whole Guild operations across the globe, and they ended up reporting to the UN to act as peacekeepers for the treaty I drafted. I used the plans for my DNA system to recreate the system so that I could turn back everyone I could, and then it and all the related material was destroyed as well."
"So why did the Guild do all this, the attack etc?" Steve asked.
"Power. They wanted to pull the strings in the Middle East from behind the scenes by wiping out Israel they'd gain a lot of kudos from the Arab Nations, as well as being in prime place to pick the pieces up left by the war; that and settling old scores with Egypt for nearly wiping the Guild out hundreds of years ago."
"So what happened to the changelings?" Steve asked.
"Killed! We exposed the whole thing and the respective governments had them assassinated. Two per government, 10 in total."
"That many! So I guess everyone's got changelings now, well the organs anyway."
"No I'm the only one left. The Guild changelings had a failsafe built in. On the death of the host the organs created a chemical which would break down the genetic structure of the host, leaving only a protein soup. It was pure fluke we managed to get one out before the failsafe triggered. We then sent pieces of it to the security services worldwide as evidence." Memories of that titanic struggle with the changelings in the US came flooding back to her. It was not an experience she wanted to repeat, or even one she expected to survive.
"Fuck that's bad! Ok I can understand how a changeling can change shape, but not how you managed to survive the crash"
"As I said, my changeling organ is an advanced design. If it exists in nature I can replicate it, bullet proof organic armor, razor sharp bone, poison darts, eyes that operate in ultra violet, increased sensory perception, superior speed, strength and reaction times. By sampling someone's DNA I can become an exact copy of them, by looking at a photo I can become a very, very close facsimile. All this takes a matter of seconds.
I can heal, well regrow really pretty any part of my body at will which means I can repair bullet and pretty much every other type of wound. In order to ensure my survival I've grown a smaller secondary set of lungs, heart, kidney and other vital organs. If my main ones are damaged these kick in until they can be regrown. You were correct, the piece of fuselage went right thru my chest cavity, destroying my main set of lungs and heart. The spares kicked straight in, albeit limiting me to not doing much until I could regrow the originals."
"Holy fuck! Then you can't be killed!" Steve was gob smacked.
"Yes I can, but not easily. Each change burns a hell of a lot of calories. This was the most I've ever been injured," Friday studied Steven's face. It was a mixture of curiosity and horror. She wasn't sure if helped her or not.
"So what can kill you?" Steve asked.
Friday smiled, "Not on a first date," something told her that something's were best left for Steve to find out. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, she didn't trust anyone.
"So basically your backup systems kicked in until you could fix the proper ones. Very impressive! You said that the Guild had less advanced versions," Steve asked.
"That's what I thought, their changeling organs could manage on 4 or 5 changes and had limited repair abilities. With each use the drug would cause mental degradation or instability, so basically the changelings that replaced the world leaders were a one shot deal. However one changeling had one that was pretty much the same as mine. I hope to God I never have to fight another one like it, because although I'm intelligent and resourceful I'm no trained assassin. It was pure fluke I managed to kill him before he killed me."
"So how'd you kill him, it?" Steve asked.
The use of the word it stung! Did Steve think of her as an it now? Why did she even care what he thought? Putting that to one side she answered, "I injected him with a poison, that as he produced the changeling drug, it also increased the poison. Eventually it triggered off the failsafe that the Guild had built in and that killed him. As I said, a fluke."
"Interesting, So, how come you're working for the CIA now?" Steve mulled, "Breakfast!" he said passing Friday one of the survival ration packs that had been in the boiling water.
"Call it the requirements of justice. As a reward for stopping the war the President gave me a conditional pardon. The condition being that I work for the CIA for 15 years. They faked my suicide and here I am! If you want to know more, a lady called Cathline Richards has written it all down in a book. Anyway; we've heard my story what about you?"
Steve shrugged, "Not much to tell. As I said I was sent on a mission to discover who if anyone had stolen the, sorry, your genetic tech. The number one candidates were the Guild, so I went to Libya to try and find out more. That was two years ago. The Guild captured me and slung me in some hole in the ground hoping to use me as a double agent. When that didn't work they shipped me off to one of their bases in North Korea."
Friday noted the understatement in Steven's story. Knowing what Cathline had gone thru at the hands of the Guild It must have been hell for him, "How come they didn't kill you?
"Much too useful as leverage I guess. Some days I wish they had! Anyway it was about two months ago I was told I could go free and they cut me loose. I was picked up by the North Korean military and after a lot of debate they decided as a good will gesture to hand me back, and that's me."
Friday picked up the now cooling survival ration and ate it ravenously. Her body cried for calories, and this was only enough to drive the craving temporarily away. She had burned up almost her entire reserves just ensuring that the crash hadn't killed her and in repairing her wounds. She needed to replenish them as soon as she could.
Steve picked poked the fire some more with a stick. So the woman that had rescued him was none other than Dr Elizabeth Bexley, complete with a built in lethal weapon. He wasn't sure how it made him feel, whatever it was, safe was not the word he would have used. He had to know her full capabilities, "So you won't tell me what will kill you. What are your limitations?"
Friday looked up, "Not still on that are we? The short answer is I don't know. When I was fighting the Guild I took on about 30 of the Guild Leaders personal death commando's or Fedayeen at once. The effort of all the changes I made to my body and repairs nearly killed me. I was in a coma for several hours and probably would have died if it weren't for the love of a friend."
Steve raised an eyebrow, "So basically you can take on a platoon sized contingent of Special Forces. Impressive!"
"Why all the interest in what I can and can't do?" Friday asked. Man was Steve nosey.
"They could have sent anyone to pick me up, but they chose you, their unique ace in the hole, why?" Steve asked.
Figuring he'd be briefed anyway Friday replied, "To train me."
Steve nodded, "That's what I thought, although how in hell I can train a walking biological weapon I've no idea. I guess it'll be part of the debrief when I get back,"
"Is there a stream nearby? I must look a state?" Friday asked. The blood was beginning to dry on her tattered uniform, and it was starting to smell and attract flies.
"Dunno. I didn't go too far, it's much too easy to get lost in here to go wandering off. You could always take it off?" Steve said with a wink.
"I don't know which would be worse, the stink or you leering at me. I guess I don't need to worry about my secret being compromised anymore," Friday replied and momentarily closed her eyes, "Done!"
"What is?" Steve asked.
Friday gestured to her shoulder "The bullet wound in my shoulder. I was keeping it open to preserve my secret. Bullet wounds from heavy caliber weapons don't heal in a matter of hours. So in any medical exam it would be treated as very suspicious. As you now know all there is to tell, there's no point in not healing it. The done was to say I've healed the wound."
"That quick!" The healing had taken fractions of a second.
"As I said I've had lots of practice," Friday wanted to change the subject, it was getting too personal again, "So what's the first thing you're going to do when we get out of here?"
"Pay a hooker and get laid, then go and get drunk in some bar," Steve stated dryly.
Friday wasn't sure if he was joking, "If you like."
"Or I could take you out to dinner?" Steve said with a smile.
"We'll see." Friday stated, "Look I really need to get cleaned up, I'll take the GPS so I won't get lost. I'll be ok."
That you will, Steve thought. "Ok if you see any fish I'd love some.
The GPS is in the survival kit."
Friday smiled, "Done," She stood up and brushed herself down and walked to the plastic sealed survival kit. After checking the GPS and noting the coordinates she walked off to find a stream. Within a matter of feet the jungle became impenetrable. She'd forgotten to take a machete with her. Oh well nothing else for it, within a matter of moments her left arm up to her elbow had turned into a long scythe shaped bony blade. Better!
Carefully adjusting the sensitivity of her nose and hearing she picked up the sound of a stream just to her north. After taking a bearing she headed off towards the sound and after a quarter of an hour of hacking thru the thick green foliage she came upon a small stream it was not more than a couple of feet across, but it would do.
She stripped off her wrecked jacket and shirt and plunged them into the stream. The cool water ran red as the blood washed out. She glanced down at her chest, not a scratch. The only sign she'd been mortally wounded was her tattered uniform.
She tried scrubbing it against a nearby rock and that seemed to work better, but by no means was it getting all of it out. She gave up trying to clean it after 10 minutes and wrung it as dry as she could.
However, no matter how she tried to tie the uniform nothing could disguise very well the fact she'd had a large piece of Black Hawk fuselage rammed into her chest. After creating a whole raft of endorphins and pain killers she formed another scalpel sharp blade from her index finger and slashed repeatedly at her chest and stomach. Blood welled up from several cuts and she waited for it to run and cover part of the uniform once more. A few seconds later she stopped the blood flow but left the cuts, with any luck the medic would think the blood on her uniform and its tears were down to the cuts from the crash and not look into it any further.
Was that a helicopter she heard? It sure sounded like it! Picking up the GPS she ran back to the clearing, slashing with her blade arm as quick as she could. When she returned Steve was busy firing flares into the sky, "They've seen us!" he called out to her.
Relief flooded over Friday, Soon this damned mission would be over and she could relax in a pool and recuperate, "Nice work!" she exclaimed.
"You ok?" Steve asked has he noticed a fresh set of blood on Friday's uniform.
"I'm fine. Just a diversion," she replied.
Within 10 minutes they were being medevac'd out. Although neither of them would need serious medical attention the medic insisted that Friday's cuts were stitched and bandaged and she had a blood transfusion, Friday of course protested none of this, as making a fuss cause them to look some more. It was she decided, more trouble to pretend to be injured than getting injured in the first place. She was in the hospital wing, just about to doze off when Steve walked in "Hi Lieutenant. They tell me you'll be ready to leave in a day or so."
Friday nodded, "So they say."
"I've been ordered to leave within the hour, I guess they want to debrief me ASAP. Since you'll be here for a while I guess its plan B, hookers and booze," Steve said with a smile.
"If you like," Friday smiled back.
"I'll catch up with you later Lieutenant," Steve saluted.
"Safe trip," Friday said and lay back down on the bed once more. To be honest the day or two's rest is what her body needed.
Steve didn't say anything but gave a cheeky wink and left the ward.
Friday breathed a sigh of relief. The helicopter crash had been a close run thing, but it did highlight one key area. What were her limitations? Just how much injury could she take before being killed. Sure she knew about a headshot being an instant kill, the brain was far too complex to be grown back quickly, and besides, how was the changeling organ to know what to do if the brain wasn't around to tell it? Maybe that had been part of the 'test' she was sure this mission was. For them to see just how she reacted in an extreme situation.
Several unknown's remained. Why did the North Koreans open fire but chose not to kill or capture them, and who fired a missile from within friendly territory that shot them down. Sure Steve was charming in a boyish kind of way, but dinner was out of the question. She hadn't bought the subject up, but he'd shown no embarrassment in the way he'd spoken about her before he'd known who she really was. Was that just being polite or was there something more to it? Was Steve scared of her too? The final mystery was did Heinlein know the mission would go to hell or would he be surprised by the whole thing?
All very valid questions, but there were no answers forthcoming, but something told her they were all related somehow. She would need more information to decide one way or another. In the short term she needed to recover her strength and continue to work out how to regain the initiative from Heinlein..
(continued)
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