From: Russet McMillan Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative Subject: Operation Lazarus, Part 1/2 Date: 6 Jun 1996 21:53:17 GMT Organization: Penn State University, Center for Academic Computing Message-Id: <4p7k0d$14hd@hearst.cac.psu.edu> If at first you don't succeed . . . Leap again! Operation Lazarus by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu http://www.astro.psu.edu/users/mcmillan/stories.html Hot. Very hot, and damp, and sweaty. Like living in the mouth of a Saint Bernard. Grass and plants prickling my legs, my arms, my chest through a thin shirt. The smell of stagnant water and rotting vegetation. Running footsteps nearby, and heavy breathing. There was something pressed to my face, a surface of black metal. I couldn't see anything except a tiny window of light, framing a face staring back at me. I dropped the camera in time to see Al Calavicci stumble as the rope tied to his neck was jerked sharply. Then he was out of sight around a bend in the grassy path. "Oh, boy," I gasped. My muscles went into action before I really thought about it. The camera thumped on my breastbone, and a hat -- Maggie Dawson's Aussie hat with all its fishing flies -- flew from my head as I ran down the path. Only two guards, I remembered. One of them was at the back of the line of prisoners, and I thumped squarely into him when I rounded the bend, tackling him to the ground. He tried to bring up his machine gun, but I planted an elbow hard in his stomach and tore the weapon from his hands. "Look out!" yelled a familiar voice as I started to get to my feet. The other guard was turning, his gun at the ready -- the muzzle was pointed straight at me -- Al tumbled to the ground and rolled into the man's knees. A spray of bullets went over my head as the guard staggered, then my own return fire took him squarely in the chest. He fell to the ground in a bloody ruin. God, I had killed again. I hate killing. I hate war. I hate Vietnam. Two other prisoners stopped on the path, one collapsing to the ground and the other staring at me dazedly. Al, sprawled across the guard's legs, was choking and struggling to free himself. The rope around his neck had pulled tight as he dove to my rescue. I knelt at his side, patting myself quickly. Didn't Maggie carry any knives around with her? Finally I settled for prying at the rough rope with my fingers. At last it came free, and I went to work on the bindings around Al's wrists. "Are you okay?" I gasped at him. He was appallingly thin. And so young! He rolled his eyes back at me. "You're American? What are you doing here?" His voice was a raw croak, but unmistakably Al's. "I -- I came to free you," I stammered awkwardly. That _had_ to be why I had Leaped in here. As soon as his hands were loose Al climbed to his feet and grabbed up the gun I had dropped. He turned toward the first guard, who was just starting to breathe normally after the blow I had given his diaphragm. The guard looked up fearfully and tried to crawl away, holding up one hand as if to shield himself. Al shot him. Very thoroughly. I yelled something, but my feet seemed rooted to the ground. Al glanced at me, dropped the gun and turned to the other prisoners. "Billy," he called out to the man who had collapsed, "Billy! Snap out of it! We're rescued." He started untying their bonds. "Rescued?" said the man who was standing. He frowned at me in utter confusion. "This don't look like a rescue," he mumbled. "Al, it's just a dream." "It's not a dream, Mark." Al tugged the rope off the standing man's head. "I don't think. There sure is something weird about it, though." He stared at me. "Since when does the Army issue cameras instead of guns?" I blinked. "I -- I'm not a soldier. I'm a reporter." I still couldn't believe Al had shot that guard in cold blood. Then again, nothing was ever cold here. Nothing was black and white. And Al had been that man's prisoner for -- how long? My stomach clenched. "Best looking reporter I ever saw," Mark giggled with a touch of hysteria. Al glanced in puzzlement from his fellow prisoner to me. "You're crazy," he said to me. "You came running in here with nothing but a _camera?_" "I couldn't just let them drag you away," I mumbled. Then I jumped as the distant chatter of machine-guns became audible. A helicopter was thwapping closer. Tom! The ambush. I swallowed. "That's the squad I was with," I managed. "We got separated." Al squinted at me. "So they don't know you're here." "I -- guess not." I looked around distractedly. "We need to get back to the pickup point." But where was that? The river must be over where the chopper was flying, and the mortar fire was up ahead of us. "This way, I think." My memory was so foggy! I had been here before, but I couldn't remember exactly how everything happened. Was it going the same way as it had the last time, or was Tom dying in the ambush even now? "Billy, get up!" Al said to the fallen man. "We have to get out of here." "He can't run no more," Mark said wearily, not looking terribly energetic himself. "I'll carry him." I hauled Billy up over my shoulder. He was at least fifty pounds underweight; I could probably even jog with him on my back. Mark giggled again. "Whoa! Tough lady!" "You okay, Mark?" Al demanded, looking at his companion strangely. "Al, when I wake up, I'm gonna tell you about this dream, and you won't even believe me!" Mark chortled. "Let's go!" I urged them. "That way! And watch out for booby traps." Al took the lead, running cautiously along the path. His gait was stiff-jointed, and he flinched at every noise, but he never hesitated. We had passed two tripwires -- the only way of measuring distance that seemed to make any sense here -- when I realized we were in familiar territory. The gunfire had stopped; the chopper would be settling down to pick up the squad soon. We had to hurry. I headed off to the left. And there, at a joining of the paths, was Tom's squad. He was safe! I could see him in the lead. A black man at his elbow was gesturing broadly, and I realized I had seen that face in a mirror once. Magic Williams pointed out a boobytrap and waited until the last man of the squad had passed it safely. "Sam!" I yelled, lurching after him. "Wait up!" The black man froze and stared back at me, his jaw dropping open. Then a figure in pristine dress whites appeared next to him, and I felt my face stretch into a grin. "I found them, Sam!" I yelled. "I saved Al!" The hologram was staring at me in utter bafflement. Sam/Magic was waving his arms frantically. Almost too late, I remembered the boobytrap that had killed Maggie Dawson. I somersaulted over it, dumping poor Billy in the mud, and yelled a warning back to the prisoners behind me. Mark and Al needed no encouragement now. They stepped over the tripwire, hauled Billy to his feet, and started dragging him toward the chopper. Sam/Magic stumbled dazedly after them. "Sam," said the hologram to Sam/Magic. "Sam, that's --" I stopped next to the Observer and grinned at him hugely. "I did it, Al. I saved you." Now Sam/Magic was flabbergasted. "You can see him?" Just then I heard a familiar sound behind me, and I spun around to see the Imaging Chamber door open. A second hologram of Al appeared, this one wearing a black-and silver shirt with a narrow green tie over green pants. "Sam!" he bellowed at me, "you got a second chance! You're here to --" He faltered to a stop as he took in the tableau around him. "I know, Al! I did it! I fixed everything!" "Sam?" said the uniformed hologram tentatively to me. "Is that you? Who are you talking to?" "Al!" Sam/Magic said to the new hologram. "How can you be here twice?" "How can _I_ be here twice?" the second Al demanded. "You're the one who's here twice. Oh! You mean I'm here too?" His head swiveled. "Why can't I see me?" Sam/Magic turned to me. "I don't understand. How come you can see --" I grabbed his hand, and blue light rippled out from our forearms. The other Sam had never seen this effect before, and he yelped in surprise as our true appearances were revealed to each other. I hadn't seen that face -- my face -- for so long, I just wanted to stand there and drink it in. "What --?" Sam said weakly. "Sometimes it takes more than one try to get things right," I told him. "Magic!" Tom yelled from the chopper. "What are you doing? Get Maggie over here!" I took Sam's elbow and hauled him along with me.