The Descent

'Are you injured?'

He looked down at his limbs. Strange darts  of  electric  color  were  scribbling  along  his thighs, and he realized that the beams of light were  lasers.  His  gunships  were  painting the region, defining targets  for their weapons systems.

'Must find Ramada,' he said. 'Can't you see him on your  scan?' Mac was fixed on him. 'Are you mobile, sir?'

What were  they  saying? Branch leaned against the ship, exhausted.

'Are you able to walk, Major? Can you evacuate  yourself from the region?' Branch judged himself. He judged the night. 'Negative.'

'Rest,  Major.  Stay  put.  A  bio-chem  team  is  on  its  way  from  Molly.  We  will  insert them by  cable. Help is on the way,  sir.'

'But Ramada...'

'Not your  concern, Major. We'll find him. Maybe  you should just sit down.'

How  could  a  man  just  disappear?  Even  dead,  his  body  would  go  on  emitting  a  heat signature for hours more.  Branch  raised  his  eyes  and  tried  to  find  Ramada  wedged  in the trees.  Maybe  he'd been thrown into the funeral waters.

Now  another  voice  entered.  'Echo  Tango  One,  this  is  Base.'  It  was  Master  Sergeant

Jefferson; Branch wanted to lay his head against that resonant bosom.

'You are not alone,'  Jefferson  said.  'Please  be  advised,  Major.  The  KH-12  is  showing unidentified movement  to your  north-northwest.'

North-northwest?   His  instruments   were   dead.  He  had  no  compass,  even.   But

Branch did not  complain.  'It's  Ramada,'  he  predicted  confidently.  Who  else  could  it  be out there?  His navigator was alive after  all.

'Major,' cautioned Jefferson, 'the image  carries  no  combat  tag.  This  is  not  confirmed friendly. Repeat, we have  no idea who is approaching you.'

'It's  Ramada,'  Branch  insisted.  The  navigator  must  have  climbed  from  the  broken craft to do what navigators do: orient.

'Major.'  Jefferson's  tone  had  changed.  With  all  the  world  listening,  this  was  just  for him. 'Get  out of there.'

Branch hung to the side of the wreckage.  Get  out of here?  He could barely  stand. Mac came on. 'I'm picking it up now, too. Fifteen yards  out.  Coming  straight  for  you. But where  the fuck did he come from?'

Branch looked over  his shoulder.

The  dense atmosphere opened like a  mirage.  The  interloper  staggered  out  from  the brush and trees.

Lasers  twitched   frenetically   across   the   figure's   chest,   shoulders,   and  legs.  The intruder looked netted  with modern art.

'I've  got a lock,' Mac clipped.

'Me too.' Teague's  monotone.

'Roger that,' Schulbe said. It  was like listening to sharks  speak.

'Say go, Major, he's smoke.'

'Disengage,' Branch radioed urgently,  aghast at their lights. So  this  is  how  it  is  to  be my enemy. 'It's Ramada. Don't shoot.'

'I'm  vectoring  more  presence,'  Master  Sergeant  Jefferson  reported.  'Two,  four,  five more  heat  images,  two  hundred  meters  southeast,  coordinates  Charlie  Mike  eight three...'

Mac cut through. 'You sure, Major? Be sure.'

The  lasers did not desist. They  went on scrawling twitchy  designs on the lost  soldier. Even  with  the  help  of  their  neurotic   doodles,  even   with  the   stark   clarity   of  his nearness, Branch was not sure he wanted to be sure this was his navigator.

He ascertained the man by  what was left of him. His rejoicing died.

'It's him,' Branch said mournfully. 'It  is.'

Except  for  his  boots,  Ramada  was  naked  and  bleeding  from  head  to  foot.  He  looked like  a  runaway  slave,  freshly  flayed.  Flesh  trailed  in  rags  from  his  ankles.  Serbs? Branch wondered in awe.

He   remembered   the   mob   in   Mogadishu,   the   dead   Rangers   dragged   behind Technicals. But that kind of savagery  took  time,  and  they  couldn't  have  crashed  more than ten or fifteen minutes ago. The  crash, he considered, perhaps the  Plexiglas.  What else could have  shredded him like this?

'Bobby,' he called softly.

Roberto Ramada lifted his head.

'No,' whispered Branch.

'What's going on down there,  Major? Over.'

'His eyes,'  said Branch. They  had taken  his eyes.

'You're breaking up... Tango...'

'Say again, say  again...'

'His eyes  are gone.'

'Say again, eyes  are...'

'The bastards  took his eyes.' Schulbe: 'His eyes?'

Teague:  'But why?'

There  was a moment's pause.

Then Base registered.  '...new sighting, Echo Tango One. Do you copy...'

Mac  came  on  with  his  cyber-voice.  'We're  picking  up  a  new  set  of  bogeys,  Major. Five  thermal shapes. On foot. They  are closing on your  position.'

Branch barely  heard him.

Ramada stumbled as if burdened by  their laser beams. Branch realized the truth. Ramada  had  tried  to  flee  through  the  forest.  But  it  was  not  Serbs  who  had  turned him back. The  forest itself had refused to let him pass.

'Animals,' Branch murmured.

'Say again, Major.'

Wild  animals.  On  the  edge  of  the  twenty-first  century,  Branch's  navigator  had  just been eaten by  wild animals.

The  war  had  created  wild  animals  out  of  domestic  pets.  It  had  freed  beasts  from zoos  and  circuses  and  sent  them  into  the  wilderness.  Branch  was  not  shocked  by  the presence  of  animals.  The  abandoned  coal  tunnels  would  have  made  an  ideal  niche  for them.  But  what  kind  of  animal  took  your  eyes?  Crows,  perhaps,  though  not  at  night, not  that  Branch  had  ever  heard  of.  Owls,  maybe?  But  surely  not  while  the  prey  was still alive?

'Echo Tango One...'

'Bobby,' Branch said again.

Ramada turned toward his name and opened his mouth in reply.  What emerged  was more blood than vowel. His tongue, too, was gone.

And  now  Branch  saw  the  arm.  Ramada's  left  arm  had  been  stripped  of  all  flesh below the elbow. The  forearm was fresh bone.

The  blinded navigator beseeched his savior. All that emerged  was a mewl.

'Echo Tango One, please be apprised...'

Branch shucked the helmet and let it hang  by  the  cord  outside  the  cockpit.  Mac  and Master  Sergeant  Jefferson  and  Christie  Chambers  would  have  to  wait.  He  had  mercy to  perform.  If  he  did  not  bring  Ramada  in,  the  man  would  blunder   on  into  the wilderness.  He  would  drown  in  the  mass  grave,  or  the  carnivores  would  take  him down for good.

Summoning all his Appalachian strength,  Branch forced  himself  upright  and  pressed away  from the ship. He stepped  toward his poor navigator.

'Everything  will be okay,' he spoke to his friend. 'Can you come closer to me?' Ramada  was  at  the  far  edge  of  his  sanity.  But  he  responded.  He  turned  in  Branch's direction.  Forgetful,  the  hideous  bone  lifted  to  take  Branch's  hand,  even  though  it lacked a hand itself.

Branch avoided the amputation and got one arm around Ramada's waist and  hoisted him closer. They  both collapsed against the ruins of their helicopter.