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Since hostilities with Oran had begun, Przybysz hadn't received any requests from the president demanding victims with whom he could indulge his sick fantasies... something for which, Przybysz thanked his lucky stars. When his phone rang he looked at the caller ID and recoiled in disgust- it was Denning and Przybysz knew what he wanted before he even answered. He was a hard man and had been called on by his employers to do many things that would turn a lesser man's blood to ice... but this was far, far beyond the pale. After the incident with the little Ukrainian girl, Denning's tastes had changed and although Przybysz had hoped the girl's death would instill a little fear, tempering Denning's ardor, it seemed to have the opposite effect. His thirst for blood had only intensified... No longer satisfied with brutalizing willing, submissive adults, he now wanted children.
Przybysz contacted Lockhart begging for a different assignment, Denning sickened him and he wanted no part of the man. Lockhart had laughed and ordered him to continue, doing as he was ordered. He was no stranger to violence, nor was he a religious man, but there were lines that were not crossed and providing young women- children really- to a monster was one. he had hoped against hope that the military action would keep Denning occupied, but this night, the call had come.
"Przybysz old boy," Denning said. "I'll bet you can guess what I want."
"Yes Mr. President," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm not sure I can oblige on this short notice, Sir."
"Losing your nerve, Przybysz?" Denning asked sarcastically. "Didn't Lockhart make it clear that you're to do as you're told? I'm the fucking president and I'm telling you..."
"Alright, Goddam it," Przybysz spat into the phone. "I'll see what I can find."
The girl was young, barely 12- a Haitian refugee. Przybysz hoped that because she was black Denning might change his mind... but it didn't seem to matter. When he had finished he called Przybysz to come and clean up the remains of the evening's diversion.
The night was dark, there was no moon and the stars were obscured by clouds... but the night's darkness didn't come close to matching the darkness of Przybysz's mood. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to turn. He wanted to kill Denning with every fiber of his being- but he was the president. There was another option- turning him in, but he would be implicated himself. The tradeoff was almost worth it he thought. He would bide his time- at some point an opportunity would arise to avenge the deaths of those children.
Halfway around the world, President Hassan Imad was facing a crisis of his own. American troops were closing in on his hideout in a small city far from the capital. His only protection, a handful of loyal militia. Army infantry were going house to house searching for the Orani president. They had broken down into two man teams, larger units were unnecessary and they could cover more territory this way- resistance was light.
Private Scott Anderson and his closest friend, Corporal Jamal Williams had been serving together since boot camp and knew each other almost as well as they knew themselves. As they approached the end of the block they were working, a firefight broke out. There was another team across the street and Jamal signalled for them to return to the Humvee and standby in case he and Scott need backup. There were only two or three insurgents armed with inferior weapons. The street they were working dead-ended into a cross street and another block of buildings. The insurgents were behind some parked cars.
"I'll circle around to the right and flush them out," Jamal said. "You lay down cover fire and when I flank them, we'll take them out."
Scott began firing as Jamal worked his way behind the building to the right. It was difficult for him to see, he was looking directly into the sun. He got one of the insurgents and heard Jamal firing to his right. Scott managed to dodge fire and cross the street to get the sun out of his eyes. Jamal had stopped firing, as had the enemy. He saw movement across the intersection and fired. After waiting several minutes to make certain all firing had ceased, Scott worked his way around the way Jamal had gone previously. He keyed his comms, but there was no response from Jamal. When he got around the building, he could see both militiamen- dead. So was Jamal... Scott stood there numb.
He was a 19 year old kid from a farm in Nebraska. Jamal, a street-wise kid from the Bronx was the best friend he ever had- the first black guy Scott had ever met. They had become friends right away... Jamal used to tease him about his naivety. They had celebrated together when Jamal made corporal- now he was dead. Scott had to fight back tears. As he stood there looking down at his friend, he thought he heard something in the building behind him. He listened more intently... there it was again- movement.
Scott went into a crouch, clutching his weapon. He moved slowly, quietly to the building and flattened himself against the wall. Moving to the entrance, he could see the door to an apartment. He positioned himself in front of the door and taking a deep breath, he kicked it open. In the shadow of a corner he spotted the figure of a man seated on the floor- in his hand, a pistol...
"Drop it," he shouted.
The man did as he was told, throwing the pistol to the floor several feet away. Scott retrieved it- an old Tokarev. It was a miracle it hadn't discharged when the man dropped it. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the building, Scott could make out the man's identity... it was Imad. He pointed his weapon at the sitting man.
"Get up," he said loudly.
The man didn't move, he just shook his head no. Scott repeated himself: "Get on your feet."
Still no movement. Scott pulled his K-Bar from its sheath. He could feel the rage surging up inside... it almost had a life of its own. This bastard was going to pay for Jamal... for Jamal and every other American who had lost his life. It was his fault they were here in the first place.
Imad looked up and could see the hatred in the young man's blue eyes... it was the last thing he ever saw. Scott plunged the knife into Imad's throat. A spurt of blood burst forth and Imad's eyes opened wide and his mouth began to open and close comically like a fish gasping for air.
Back at base camp, Scott was a hero... but he didn't feel much like one- his best friend was dead. He sat on his cot in the barracks staring at the floor. he had been told he would get a Silver Star, maybe even a Distinguished Service Cross... but he didn't care. The sergeant came in: "The captain wants you for de-brief, Scott."
Scott got up numbly and went to the CO's office. After being ushered in by the adjutant, he stood at attention.
"At ease, son. Have a seat," the captain said.
Scott sat and looked around. The chief medical officer was there. He was puzzled, he had assumed this was to be a debriefing about his encounter with Imad. Why was the doc here?
"I asked Doc to sit in private Anderson. We need to go over the details of the firefight before you discovered President Imad," the captain said.
Scott recounted everything that happened as well as he could remember. "Can I ask what this is about, Sir?"
The chief medical officer spoke: "Private, the weapons the insurgents had were an old Mauser and an SKS- an 8mm and a 7.62... the slugs we took out of corporal Williams were from an M-4- a 5.56. Were there any other of our forces in the area?"
Scott was confused... then the horror of what he had done hit him. He slumped to the floor. When he came to he was in the base hospital, unable to speak. The enormity of what he had done was more than he could bear... His fragile mind snapped. Private Scott Anderson's body was discovered in a pool of blood on the floor of the hospital mens room. He had broken a tumbler and slashed both wrists. His Silver Star was awarded posthumously.
(For links to previous chapters- go to Chapter XV)
https://steemit.com/fiction/@richq11/the-night-gods-ii-chapter-xv-the-boogeyman
https://steemit.com/fiction/@richq11/the-night-gods-ii-chapter-xvi-wars-and-rumors-of-wars
