Shades of War: A Collection of Four Short Stories (3 page)

              Wilkes didn't like idea at all, “No way, there is no way you could make it.”

              The veteran nodded to Wilkes, “You’re right, but I’m going to have help.”

              “From who?” asked the ghost that didn’t know who he was.

              “What’s your name, troop?”

              “Vasquez, sir.”

              “OK, well I got news for you. You four are now my personal reconnaissance team. You are going to find me a nice, safe path through those lines when the fighting stops.”

              For just a moment the fades argued with him. All four of them expressed the same worry. Their arguments were at first comical, then sad.

              “Sir, we can’t.”

              “It’s too risky.”

              “We’ll all be killed…”

              The last statement brought the protests to a grim end. All the apparitions went silent.               The man broke their reverie.

              “I can’t change what happened. I can’t bring you back to life. You are all now something else. For lack of a better word, you are all ghosts. But I have a question for you, are you still soldiers? Are you still loyal to the oath you gave?”

              There was no hesitation. They all gave the same answer.

              “Yes, sir.”

              “Good, you all work directly for me. I promise I’ll take care of you.” And I always keep my promises. Besides, these soldiers deserve something to hope for out of all this mess.

AFTER THAT, THE rest was relatively easy. That night four shades guided a man to safety. They first helped him through enemy lines; they moved past semi-alert guards and huddled sleeping forms in the trenches. Then ever so slowly, they crossed no-man's land. It wasn't easy, it took three painful hours to move just one mile. But the four ghosts made it possible. Over and over again as he crawled past trip wires and sleeping sentries, he thought the same thing;
I owe these guys big time. I'd be dead without them.
Eventually he found himself on the proper side of the lines. His journey ever southward was finally over.

              The veteran hadn’t bothered reporting to U.S. soldiers manning weapons on the front line. He thought given their nervous state after all that day, he might be shot by his own side accidently.
After all this bullshit the last thing I need is to be shot by one of my own. I don't want to end up like Jackson.
Skipping past the front line fighting positions, the man started to look for a headquarters bunker. It was there in a predictable place. Military doctrine is military doctrine, and even if you try and hide things a little, there are only so many places you can place a headquarters for it to be effective on a battlefield.

              The man had one last job to do that night. He had to report in. The man stopped his group just outside the entrance to the bunker. Several weeks worth of dirt and grime coated his uniform. He tried to straighten it and make it look more presentable, but it was a lot cause. In the narrow light emitted by a crack in the bunker door, the veteran looked gratefully at the four ghosts that he had at first lead south and then in a reversal of roles who in the end had guided him to safety.

              “Thank you, gentleman, I couldn't have made it here without you. Wait here for me, I’ll come get you in a few minutes. As I said earlier, this is just the beginning for you four.”

              With that the Veteran strode into the bunker. There in pale lamp light were gathered his officers, pouring over maps and talking intently about what would probably be the next day’s fighting. Hearing someone enter the bunker, one of the staff officers turned and stared at the man, taking in his uniform.

              “Holy shit, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed the officer.

              The entire bunker turned and looked at the man. The man couldn’t help it, he did have a sense of humor after all.

              “What are you all staring at? You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

              The officer that had first recognized him walked up, then saluted and grinned.

              “You are a ghost. You’re supposed to be dead, General.”

              “Well, I’m not dead. And I’m definitely not a ghost. But I have some people outside that I want you to meet.”

              The General stepped back to the door and opened it.

              "Guys come on in."

              The four ghosts floated into the bunker. The room erupted into a frenzy of exclamations and disbelief but the General had only one thought.

              Good, I'm not insane.

SPOOKS

The ghost drifted silently through the night. He let his form glide from tree to tree. An observer seeing the hovering figure flicker through the eerily dark forest would get the chills. A frozen winter night that was filled with strange shapes moving at the fringes of vision. It was a scene that would have made Poe proud. Everyone fears that thing in the woods that is seen but unseen, except tonight things were just slightly different, tonight the ghost was the one that was scared, he just couldn't explain why.

              I do believe in spooks. I do believe in spooks. I do. I do. I do.

              The cowardly lion's mantra was repeating over and over in the ghost's mind. It wasn't a joking sarcastic mantra, tonight the ghost felt it. The forest that was normally his friend was crowding him. Every tree seemed to lean in towards him. Every bush and shrub seemed sinister. Given what he was and all of his training in his previous life, he was supposed to be at home here. Not tonight, though, tonight was different. Tonight he had the chills.

              He wasn't out there for fun. He was working. The General had sent him. He loved the General and would do anything for him. Though he was dead, his sense of duty and honor had not died with him. He was a soldier and he still followed orders.

              His senses had changed with death. But they were, for the most part, the same as when he had been alive. He could see, hear, taste and smell, but now there was something else. He could feel. For example, he knew for a fact that there was another ghost here in these same woods not thirty yards away from him.

              The other ghost wasn't the problem. That ghost was supposed to be there. It was just Napier. He and Napier had been tasked by the General to scout the enemy formations that were close to this part of the line. Together they had floated silently from the American side of the trenches through no man's land and into this forest.

              The ghost still thought of himself as a living person. He still felt alive. His name had been Philip R. Jones. In his mind he was still Philip R. Jones. No one in the Army ever called you by your first name and for damn sure this ghost would not go by Philip. When he had been upright and living he had been, Jonesy. Jonesy and Napier were now part of a proud group of forty ghosts that worked for the General. They were his personal ghost platoon. Over the last several weeks, Jonesy and the other shades had been part of the General's desperate plan to keep U. S. forces from being overwhelmed.

              The EMPs that had blasted most forms of electronics into nothing had eliminated most types of hi-tech surveillance the Americans had been using before the war. The General quickly realized the value of his new paranormal assets, and most the most of the insane situation. From the thousands of U. S. dead so far during the war, forty had not passed on to wherever. Forty had remained. No one knew why it wasn't more or less than that, but forty was the number for now.

              Jonesy had been one of the first ghosts found. The General had reminded him that in life or death he was a soldier. Not that he had needed a reminder; Jonesy was loyal and would have never abandoned his fellow soldiers. Napier however was one of the newest ghosts. The poor kid had only been dead for a few days, and was still a little bit shaken by the turn of events.

              There was supposed be a concentration of North Korean soldiers somewhere in these woods, but so far they had seen nothing. By feel he had been keeping a steady tab on Napier's movements. Suddenly he felt Napier stop. It was at that same moment he realized Napier had put some distance between them. He was now about three hundred yards farther west and north of Jonesy. Floating, Jonesy picked up his speed and headed to where Napier was stopped.

              As he moved, Jonesy was a little bit upset. It seemed the paranormal laws that governed his ghostly corpse were a little bit random and fickle. No matter how hard he tried, Jonesy couldn't travel any faster than a running man. If you're going to be a ghost, what the hell good is it if you can't be a fast ghost? Sure Jonesy and Napier could float through shit and stuff like that, but damn it. Couldn't they move faster? It was just stupid.

              It took him a few minutes to find Napier. Though Napier was completely invisible to the human eye, he was still hiding behind a tree staring at something. Jonesy didn't blame him. Old human habits didn't disappear with your death. Given how he felt tonight Jones wanted to hide behind something too.

              Jones pushed his paranoia away and focused on what Napier had found. Napier had discovered a small hollow tucked neatly on the back side of a hill. It was a perfect spot to hide something. It was just right for an enemy camp.

              Whistling softly, Jonesy had to give it to the newb. He had done a good job.

              "Nice, man, how did you find it?" he asked.

              "I dunno. It just seemed right to drift over this way and to take a look," Napier answered.

              So much of this ghost stuff was unknown. He knew how the kid felt; each day was a new learning experience for the ghosts. It was as if they were babies figuring out what their new bodies could do.

              The enemy camp was relatively quiet and dark. After all, it was well into the evening. And with the cold weather everyone bedded down early on both sides of this war.

              "What do you want to do now?" queried Napier.

              "Hmm, well, I better go take a look."

              "What do you mean, I? Don't you mean us?"

              "Nah, this is your first time out. You just stand pat? I'll just go see if I can learn something more. "

              "OK. But it's not like we have to be scared of anything. "

              Jonesy laughed quietly. He again pushed the strange feeling of unease away. Instead he joked back at Napier.

              "Right, they already killed us once."

              "Yeah, but that whole death thing really sucked," sighed Napier.

              "No shit," he answered. "Just give me a minute and I'll be right back. You circle around and try and get a count of how many there are. Meet me right back here say in twenty minutes. "

              "OK. Easy, I’ll be back here in twenty. "

              Napier drifted further around toward the east side of the camp. Jonesy made sure that he was invisible and drifted down into the camp. Jonesy knew what he was looking for; he wanted a command post. All military camps are the same. Whether it was in the middle or separated to one side of the camp, there would be a set of tents that would house a command post of some kind. And in it there would be maps and plans. Then maybe, just maybe, Jonesy could find out what this particular group of bad guys was up to.

              Jones went down one row of tents. He had just started down another when. Then started on another when thought he found what he was looking for. Outside of tent set off the side of the row was a group was a group of four soldiers standing guard outside in the freezing cold. The only reason a soldier stands outside in crappy weather is because an officer ordered him to do it. Four soldiers standing guard outside a tent told him something important was inside the tent.

              Jonesy mumbled to himself, "We'll just have to have a looksy."

              He didn't bother with the entrance to the tent. Jonesy just pushed his ethereal form through the canvas side of the tent. Not unusual when passing through a wall blindly, Jonesy found himself midway through a table. And two men were sitting at the table eating some kind of Korean dish. Jonesy had never acquired a taste for Korean food. He was more of a meat and potatoes type of guy, not a rice and fish guy.

              Without the men even realizing his presence, Jonesy kept sliding through the table and passed
right between the two eating men. Ghosts could pass through live people, but it was trippy for the ghost. You felt all weird and tingly after for a few minutes. He had tried a few times one night with a fellow soldier. It had given the soldier the chills, or, in his words, was as if someone had walked on his grave.

              To be on the safe side Jonesy had avoided the two North Korean officers eating their late night meal. The tent was exactly what Jones had been hoping for. There were maps tacked up all over the walls of the tent. Papers left lying all over another table in the tent. Not wanting to be there too long, he took in as much as he could. If Jonesy read the symbols on the map correctly, tomorrow night there would be a pretty big attack hitting a section of the lines.

              This is what he had come for. He again took a few minutes and stared hard at the map and took it all in. It wasn't as if he could steal the papers. So far as anyone knew, the ghosts couldn't interact with the physical world. He had to commit everything to memory. He knew he would get grilled later, and the General would want to know every exact detail. The General was a patient guy, but he did expect you to do your job.

              Studying the papers on the table Jones lost track of the time. A wave of unease brought him back to reality. It was that feeling you get when you're being stared at from afar, that paranoid itch that tickles your subconscious. The feeling was so strong that Jones looked over at the two Korean officers. Their meal was done. They were just chatting idly. No, that was not it. It was something else.

              He knew Napier would be getting nervous. He needed to get back to the kid. As he moved he told himself there wasn't anything to be really afraid of, they were dead after all. You can only kill a man once, right? He took a few steps and pushed through the closest wall of the tent. Back out in the open he was trying to orient himself when the feeling of unease washed over him. It wasn't unease. It was pure fear. He started to turn when someone grabbed his shoulder from behind.

              Old physical instincts kicked in. He threw an elbow and spun wilding shaking off whoever grabbed him. Spinning about he turned to see who had grabbed him. Three North Korean soldiers stood there staring at him. But they weren't really Koreans. Their hazy blue images stood out starkly in the night.

              Holy shit! They're ghosts, he thought.

              He didn't know what to do, but the other ghosts made up his mind for him. As if by some unspoken command, the three ghosts leaped at him, dragging him to the ground.

              This shouldn't be happening. I'm already dead. Nothing can touch me. I can't die, can I?

              He felt the grip of hands go around his neck. In the oddest sense, he realized he was being choked to death by another ghost. Jones was filled anger and rage at the freak injustice of what was happening. He lashed out, kicking and punching. Just as surprising as the feeling of being assaulted was… was the sensation of feeling his punches and kicks land and have an impact.

              Jonsey may have been a lot of unsavory things in the previous life. But where he was from in the backwoods of Mississippi, you were raised knowing how to do only two thing; that was drinking and fighting. Jonsey had been good at both.

              He head butted the man closest to him. Getting an arm free, he launched an open-handed blow to a throat. He surged upright, throwing off the last Korean. The entire fight had taken place in a deep silence. But on his feet, he gave into an old lust for violence screaming at his attackers.

              "Come on, bitches! Is that all you got?"

              That was a mistake. The struggle up until then had been completely silent. But the living could hear ghosts as well as the dead. The enemy camp came alive with shouts, yells and screams. The four guards came around the tent running alarmed by the shouting.

              Oh shit.

              He bolted in a panic. He needed to distance himself from the camp. He had been fled for a hundred meters before he got back in control of fear.

              Napier, I forgot about Napier.

             
Turning abruptly he rushed back to where he thought he Napier should be. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw three ghostly figures floating after him. This was serious. He threw away all caution. He needed to warn the kid.

              "Napier, run! Run!" he screamed.              

              Jones did not bother moving around trees and bushes. He pushed his form through everything to get back to Napier. Conscious that he was still being chased, he whirled in a circle looking for the kid.

              Damn it, where is he?

              There was nothing there except a silent forest greeting him. Then a shout and scream; Napier's voice calling the same thing over and over again.

              "Help! Help! Help!"

              Jones rushed towards the sound of Napier's screams. Just a few yards away, he found Napier; along with a half dozen North Korean ghost soldiers.

              He arrived in time to see the awful end. Napier's form was already pinned by the enemy ghosts. Ghostly limps flayed, some punched, others kicked twisted and pulled under it all Napier struggled. Before Jones could move Napier's form went limp, twitched and twitched again. Then Napier's ethereal body was still. It wasn't still for long, because Napier's blue haze just faded into nothing.