Chapter 32
Libyan Desert
Step by step they had plodded through the rest of the night and well into the
morning. Each hour they stopped to rest for ten minutes. Johnny couldn't help but
wonder why they were doing this, but it wasn't in his nature to quit... just as it wasn't
in Derek's.
Finally, as the midmorning heat intensified, the younger man stumbled and went
down. Johnny forced him to take a deep drink, then saw the utter exhaustion in
Derek's eyes as he pulled his precept to his feet. Derek fought his way through the
heat induced vertigo. The soldier feared the he had reached the limit of his endurance.
Major Boyle had been here before... to this abyss of exhaustion and despair...
in the snake ridden hell of the Mekong Delta... in the jungles of Laos. He had led men
here... men he had trained for the descent... and the return.
He watched as Derek wavered unsteadily for a moment then, with eyes shut, he
seemed to pump strength from the depths of some unknown well. Johnny marveled,
and not for the first time, at the inner stamina his friend possessed. Here and now, he
would pit this man, born with a silver spoon, untrained in the mental and physical
disciplines of survival, against the best recruit he had ever trained for Vietnam. Derek
would probably lose points in combat skills, but in mental toughness he could teach
them all how a mind could demand more of a body than the body had to give.
< < + > >
The "Huey"
"Sir... one more search grid and we'll have to go back to refuel," said Captain
Hamdi's accented voice into Sloan's ears.
The precept stepped back from the helicopter's open door and pushed his
microphone into place. "Very well," he said loudly. "Ask Mr. Ebuka to try the next
quadrant south." He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his watering eyes.
He had been staring through the binoculars too long at the sand sea's unending torrent
of white waves. Hope was beginning to die... in truth, in his heart, it had died before
it had even been born. Sloan's mind wandered for a second... hadn't Derek once said
that... that he was dying before he was born?
Señor San Perdamo had kept his word about the arrival of the new helicopter,
a "Huey," and the seven a.m. data transmission obtained from a flyover by an
American U2 spy plane. So far neither had proven to be of much use. Because of
Libyan radar, the helicopter search was limited to a low altitude skimming of the
dunes. Derek and Johnny could easily be a couple of hillocks over, down in the gap
between the windblown crescents, and never be seen. As for the U2 data... the flyover,
done around nine the night before, had actually been far to the west, placing this area
on the outer edge of the plane's heat seeking capabilities.
"Please, God," he heard Kym murmur into her mic. He started to cram his
handkerchief into his shirt pocket, but suddenly felt Derek's ring. He glanced across
at Kym, who, placing far too much trust in her safety harness, was leaning far out the
"Huey's" opposite door. An inspiration hit him... perhaps her psi-talents, untrained
though they were, could, with help, extend to more than over-wrought dreams and
panics.
"Kym...," he said and saw her look around. "It's no good. I'd hoped with the
U2 data, but...."
"But, what?" she said, dreading the answer, yet needing to know.
He gave his own harness a tug, then waved her in. "The odds were astronomical
to begin with... it's just too big. They could be two dunes over and we'd miss them.
It's been over twenty-four hours... we're out of time."
"We can't quit.... We can't just give up!" Derek's wife shouted, but her mind
screamed, No! I won't let this puny, little man let Derek die out there... I'll jump out
of this copter myself... and either find him or die trying.
"We're not," Sloan replied. "Will you try something for me?"
Kym nodded her red head.
William pulled the blue and gold precept's signet from his pocket. "Will you
take this and see if you can give us something... a direction... a distance... anything.
I'm afraid it's the only hope we have of finding them in time...." ... of finding them at
all, his mind added.
Kym knew that Sloan didn't trust her "Sight" the way he trusted Derek's, and
for him to suggest this was a major concession to his own despair, but she couldn't
bring herself to touch that ring. She wouldn't put that ring back into her hand. She
hated it and all it represented. Touching it could only bring pain. She couldn't bear it
if the visions... of Derek, destroyed and alone in a black hole... of the ring, bloodied
and shattered... came again.
"No," she cried. She saw shock and bewilderment pass across the precept's
usually controlled features. "I'll try, but not with that," she added quickly.
"Why?" he asked, perplexed. "This is the best thing you could ever use. Take
it... it is Derek."
"No," she insisted. "It's the Derek you want... not the real Derek."
"Do you have something you could use, then? Something from 'your Derek'?
Or can you do it without an object? I still have his knife, if you want to try with that,"
he suggested.
"I don't know," Kym answered, filled with uncertainty. "I've never really tried
remote sensing.... Let me try with the knife."
William dug into his hip pocket for the red Swiss Army knife, then placed it in
Kym's hand and curled her trembling fingers around it.
"I can't believe you were petty enough to keep this," she snapped. "Oh, God,"
she whispered, "what if I fail? Please, Holy Mother, help me." Quickly she said a
prayer to Saint Anthony. If he could find lost objects, then he could find Derek, too."
William shrugged. "I forgot about it, thank God," he explained. "Kym...
concentrate... don't let the emotions take over," he instructed, repeating things he had
learned from Derek. "Focus... reach for Derek... feel for him."
Kym leaned against the bulkhead and closed her eyes. Desperately, she tried to
shut out the vibrations and beating roar of the chopper.
"Can you feel him at all?" Sloan asked.
"Yes." Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.
The precept moved closer, but didn't touch her. He kept his voice low and
smooth. "What do you feel? Which way is stronger?"
"I don't know," Kym whimpered. "I feel sick.... Derek's sick."
Somehow, he had to push her... to make her "gift" click on in just the right way.
How to do it over headsets and microphones in a Mixmaster of a helicopter was the
question. "Kym... focus," he said as softly as he could and still be heard. "Try to do
what we've both seen Derek do." Then another inspiration struck. "Kym... listen
carefully to my voice," he said evenly. "The knife is your divining rod.... Let it steer
you... it's drawn to the strongest point... Derek. Talk to me," he ordered.
The red knife appeared to take on a will of it's own as it seemed to pull Kym's
hand to her right. "That way," she said as she pointed in the same direction.
"Good girl," said the precept. "Keep at it... keep talking to me." He checked the
small compass embedded in his wristwatch. "Mr. Ebuka," he called to the "Huey's"
Nigerian pilot. "Head due west."
< < + > >
The Great Sand Sea
Derek Rayne's world was becoming smaller and smaller... decreasing in size so
that it was no more than the square foot of blinding sand that lay twelve inches ahead.
His eyes saw only that patch of sand... his mind's only thought was to move his foot
onto that spot. For hours, with each step, he had repeated to himself over and over and
over... "And this too shall pass... and this too shall pass... and this too shall pass." With
each movement of his aching knees, each step of his blistered feet, he repeated, "And
this too shall pass." Now even that part of his mind was gone. He no longer
remembered where he was or why he was or why each step mattered... only that his
foot, which he no longer felt, had to go on that spot twelve inches ahead. There was
no world, no sun, no heat, no sound, no breath... nothing.
Suddenly, on the ground before him, he saw his father's bloodied body. He
dropped to his knees. "Father!" he cried. "Don't go!"
Johnny turned back to see his friend grasping handfuls of sand. "Derek? Derek!"
he shouted. He gave the precept's shoulders a firm shake. "It's Johnny."
Derek seemed to tear his eyes away from the sight before him. Confused, he
looked up at Boyle with a dazed expression. "Johnny... I don't feel so good," he
gasped. "So hot." His attention was drawn back to the sand. "Father... please... don't
die. I don't want the ring... please," he wept as he pulled off the diamond ring he wore
and tried to press it into the apparition's hand.
"Derek," said Johnny, turning the younger man away from his vision, "Derek...
listen to me... it's Robert Boyle... Major Robert J. Boyle...."
"Johnny?" panted Derek. Lost in his mirage, he tried to pull away, to turn back
to the phantom in the sand. His friend held him firmly until his mind forgot his father's
image. "Johnny... I'm so hot." He started to peel away his clothes, as though he could
no longer stand the touch of the fabric.
"No... Derek... don't do that." Johnny fought to control his friend's hands.
"Here... drink," he said as he opened his canteen and poured what little water remained
into the precept's mouth. Then the world shifted again.
"Kym... honey... what are you doing." Derek struggled to his feet to reach for
another specter. "Kym... don't!"
"What? What are you talking about?" It took Johnny a moment to catch the
shift. Grasping Derek's shirt, he again tried to turn the young precept away from his
vision. "Derek... Kym's not here," he said calmly. He knew it was the heat and
dehydration, but if he could refocus his friend's mind, he might pull him out of the
hallucinatory revolving door.
"Kym... what do you think you're doing?" He strained to turn away from the
major, to reach out for his wife. "Don't do that," he ordered. "It's stupid."
"What's Kym doing?" asked Boyle, trying another tack... perhaps if he played
along... besides his curiosity was piqued. "Whisper, so she can't hear you."
"She doesn't understand what it will do," Derek whispered, still watching his
wife's specter. "She doesn't know... can't tell her." He slumped down into the super-heated sand. For an instant, his mind flicked back to the moment. "Johnny," he said,
looking up at his friend. "I can't go any further... too tired... muscles cramping... too
hot." Then reality vanished again. "Kym... honey... promise not to do anything stupid."
"Derek... what was Kym doing? I won't tell," whispered the major as he knelt
beside the precept.
"She... she's put a chain in the tail rotor... the hub... thought it would keep the
chopper on the ground... promise you won't tell her what it really could have done?"
he pleaded.
"No... no, I won't," Johnny promised, but if he'd had the woman in front of him
at that moment he'd have killed her. God! He detested that bitch! How could Derek
have possibly consented to marry such a feeble-minded adolescent? Surely a man of
Derek Rayne's wisdom and rank didn't truly believe that love could conquer all?
Abruptly, the precept's universe spun again. "Johnny! Do you hear them?" he
whispered. "Shhhhh... I see them too... so beautiful... so golden."
"What... Derek? What do you see?" The major was beginning to feel a rising
panic. Derek's mind... his hallucinations... were shifting so rapidly... like a television
being flicked through its channels.
Derek let out a deep sigh. "The angels," he whispered as his eyes shifted left
then right. "They're singing... never heard anything so perfect."
"Don't say that!" said Johnny, giving the younger man a firm shake. "It's the
heat. Don't quit on me now, boy!" he ordered.
"Johnny...," Derek murmured, "they're so... so... there's no words."
The major turned Derek's face away from whatever it was that he was watching.
"Derek... look at me," he demanded. He could see the disorientation... the distracted
tangle... behind the hazel eyes. "Don't look at them.... They're evil."
"No," Derek swore, "they're not evil... they're God's choirs. I hear Him, but I
can't tell what He's saying.... Shhhhh, Johnny... they're all around us. I smell roses."
"Derek, no!" Boyle shouted, again giving his friend a hard jolt. "You look at
me!" he ordered harshly. "They're dangerous... it's a trick... don't even think about
them." Still, he couldn't divert the precept's eyes from whatever it was he was seeing.
"No... Johnny... please... they're calling me.... They want me to come.... They
say they have something to show me." Derek struggled against the former officer's
grip.
"No! You have to stay here!" The soldier could feel Derek's strength waning,
and his own. Was this how it was going to end? Here? In this sandy inferno fighting
over imaginary angels? What if he just let go? He had one last, feeble shot. "Derek...
Kym'll be here soon. Don't you want to see Kym?" Feeling a strong thump on his
chest... almost in his chest... he lost his balance and fell backward... just like last night.
Now he was certain it wasn't his imagination... but what was it? Derek twisted free.
The major scrambled up the slope after him and tackled the younger man as he
stumbled and fell.
"I have to go with them.... I have to see," he insisted.
"No," he said. "You have to stay here." Boyle heard a faint sound... a wop-wop-wop... like the sound of a distant "Huey" riding low over the jungle. Was he beginning
to lose it too?
Derek's voice slipped into an almost childlike plaint. "Why? They want me to
come. God says so."
"Shit!" said Johnny. "God says so?" A gust of wind caught him from behind.
Sand stung his back. He couldn't look round to see the chopper. "No... God wants you
to stay with me." Hell, if that's not ours, he thought, we'll both see Saint Peter soon
enough.
"No! He doesn't!" Derek began to struggle again, more violently than before.
He was using up whatever strength they both had left.
Johnny slapped his friend across the face. "Yes... he does!" As Derek fought his
way to his feet, the major managed to swing around to catch a glimpse of the old war-bird setting down. Before she touched the ground, he saw Sloan and Kym vault from
the door. At that instant, Derek sagged and became dead weight. "Derek?" Johnny
caught him and lowered him to the sand. "Sloan!" he yelled.
* * *
Kym had seen the major strike her husband. She beat William up the sandy
slope and launched herself at the soldier. "You bastard! What did you do to him!"
With all the strength he still possessed, Johnny shoved her away. She tumbled
backward, down the hill. "You stay away from me... and you stay away from him... if
you want to keep breathing."
The major turned to Derek to feel for his pulse. Derek's skin was dry. He felt
his cheeks, the back of his neck, inside his shirt... all hot and dry. "Oh, Jesus!" he said.
"He's not sweating... it's heat stroke. Help me! If his temperature goes over a hundred
seven he'll have brain damage... higher and he'll die.
"William... let's get him to the chopper... now! I'm not doing so good myself,"
Boyle admitted. "We've got to get his temperature down," he added as Sloan pulled
him to his feet. God! He couldn't give out now... couldn't let Derek down at the very
moment of their rescue.
* * *
Kym practically had to scramble back into the helicopter on her own. She still
had one foot on the ground when the chopper began to lift off and might not have
made it if William hadn't finally extended his hand. Johnny never even bothered to
look.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" she screamed at Boyle, who ignored her. Kym felt
something explode inside of her... in one fleeting instant she knew true hatred. She
honestly could have killed Major R.J. Boyle, and could have thrown William Sloan
after the corpse.
"William," said Johnny, "he heard the angels... and saw them.... Kym hold him
up... we need to get water in him and on him." As he started to pull Derek's jacket off,
the major looked around the chopper's cabin. "We need a blanket. Is there one here?"
He steadied himself as a wave of dizziness swept through him, then covered his ears with his hands.
After more than twenty-four hours in the absolute silence of the desert, the soldier found the roar
of the aircraft excruciating.
Sloan grabbed the water jug, a five gallon plastic container, and reached up into
the overhead cargo netting for the blanket. Quickly he poured the water into a cup.
"Here... drink this," he ordered, handing the cup to Boyle. "Sit back and tell me what
to do... we can't afford to have you out too. What about your arm?"
Johnny gulped the water and gasped, "No time... help me get his clothes off. His
body's thermostat isn't working. Soak the blanket... help me wrap him in it." By now,
Johnny was ripping Derek's shirt away. Then, with his knife, he sliced off the gauze
puttees, along with the pants. Kym watched as he checked the burn mark along her
husband's thigh. "It's nothing," he shouted as he and Sloan tucked the sopping blanket
around the young precept's body.
"Kym!" the major shouted as he sagged against the bulkhead. "You've got to
wake him up enough to make him drink. William... keep the blanket wet."
"Derek?" said Kym, wiping her husband's face with the wet remains of his shirt.
"Derek... baby.... It's Kym... sweetie. Can you hear me?"
Derek moaned, "Kym?... So hot... on fire."
"Shit! What was that?" said Johnny as the helicopter jerked abruptly and seemed
to stagger. They heard the pinging sound of bullets tearing through metal. The major
reached up for one of the headsets. "What was that?" he shouted before he even had
the earphones on.
Oblivious to anything else, Kym clutched her husband. "Derek... honey... I need
you to drink some water for me... please... for me."
Johnny yelled at Sloan, "Omar says we're being fired on my a Libyan jet... hold
on... rough ride. The other pilot's dead, but he thinks he can make it... says electrical's
in bad shape... losing oil, too... can't mayday.... Egyptians are warning the bastards out
of their airspace."
Suddenly, despite the horrendous vibrations of the limping aircraft, their
attention was drawn back to the young precept.
"I'm sorry, Liefje," he whispered hoarsely. He took a swallow of water, but
choked on it. His gaze wandered around the cabin. "Vader?" he said as his eyes
focused on Sloan.
Johnny splashed more water on the blanket, which in the desert heat was already
beginning to dry. "When we get there," he yelled at William, "we've got to wrap him
in wet sheets... and keep them wet. Christ! I wish we had ice." He felt Derek's flushed,
dry skin. "We've got to get his temperature down. He's frying himself."
Kym fought to control her own trembling. "No, baby... that's William. It's OK,"
she whispered. "It'll be OK, but you've got to take some more water."
Derek took another sip, but choked again. With glazed eyes, he looked at the
elder precept. "Father... please take the ring back. Why did you leave us? Why?" he
gasped. "Why was the hunt more important than we were? Why was the sepulcher
more important than I was?"
William crawled to his friend's side. "I'm sorry, son," he said. He couldn't
answer for Winston Rayne, but he could try to give Derek what he needed at that
moment. "I'm sorry... I love you... and I couldn't ask for a better son."
"Father... please, take the ring back... please," Derek murmured faintly. "So
hot... can't breathe... on fire," he gasped, then cried out as he was seized by a heat
cramp.
Johnny reached over to feel the pulse in his neck, then his chest. "Shit!" he
exclaimed. "His heart's racing."
"Derek!" Kym wept as she frantically stroked his hair. "Please, God!... Derek!"
| CHAPTER 33 |
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