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Thursday, June 12, 2025

The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 11 (Updated June 13, 2025 1:00 AM EST)



Wanna live your own We Who Stand On Guard aerial warfare with nukes in massive battles, including carrier groups?

Play Nuclear Option [On Steam]


Chapters

  1. Four To Jordan Without A Road
  2. Keeping The Team Safe (May 27, 2025 1:00 PM)
  3. The Beleaguered, The Bold And The Bountiful (Finished June 12, 2025)
  4. The Country Of The Blind (Finished June 12, 2025)
  5. Safe And Sound (Coming Soon)
  6. Epilogue (Coming Soon)


Please be patient with this story as a lot of research is required and is an on going effort as I write this.


This content is produced by the artists indicated on the site, including myself, Brian Joseph Johns.

I, under no circumstance will trade, barter or otherwise swap my own identity for that of another person and I protect the same right for those who've contributed their artwork to the various projects under my management at Shhhh! Digital Media, my own company, no matter the colour symbolism involved. These rights are protected by law under the Charter Of Rights And Freedoms under section 7.

Also, FYI, I don't reverse or alter the polarity or context of my expression (sometimes referred to as "blove" by some people). I say what I mean and mean what I say, and generally only joke or am sarcastic with people I really know very well.

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I'd like to point out that it was the incredible Gary Sinese Foundation that brought the issue of Veteran's rights to my attention. I've always had little respect for those who'd forget the great contribution made by those who've risked life and limb to defend those values that so many of us espouse. Perhaps the true measure of one's principles are by that for which they'd risk their life.

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In all truth, there's a good chance that thanks to the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), William Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Jonathan Swift, Mary Shelley, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herbert George Wells, Jules Verne, Dr. Seuss, Stephen King, Clive Barker and Pierre Burton (for The Secret World Of Og and his ground breaking interview of Bruce Lee) that all of us are literate. Actually that goes back much farther to the Phoenecians and their first 22 character system of symbols. Literacy is important. Really it is. Literally. It allows us to approach our employer at the end of the week (with a big club) and ask: where my money?! Math important too. It help us count our thirteen fingers and toes.


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Shhhh! Digital Media
Brian Joseph Johns



Opening Notes:

According to my research of how most special operations unfold, when it comes to chatter between team members (or squads), there is no character building banter between them and the reason for this is because the comms are specifically for relaying timing and mission critical data between squad members. So you'll never hear lines during an active mission by members of such teams like:

"Remember that time we were in that bar in Tangiers, and old Roger stood up and threw his beret at the bartender?"

When you see that kind of activity in the movies or read it in the pages of a book, most often this is because the writers need to use every opportunity they can to acquaint you with the operators taking part in such a mission. That's a necessary part of the story telling, because they're people, and if you don't understand that and that they have their hopes and dreams too, then why would you even care, other than the natural propensity of most people to have some degree of compassion towards their fellow humankind.

Soldiers do joke and quite often, but rarely if ever in the midst of an operation. Focus, not levity is most often key to their success, and we're talking about professionals.

Perhaps that speech before their last stand might have such elements of levity, and call upon their love of whatever it is they're protecting, but while they're doing they're thing, there's no small talk, unless they did so in an instance to declare their independence from me and what I'm saying here. When they speak to each other, they own their communications. All of them.

So in a story like this, my use of banter between operators is a means by which I'm letting you know that these people doing these difficult tasks that often happen unbeknownst to us in order to protect and preserve the peace, the world over, have hopes and dreams as much so as any one of us. The difference is, that they often put their lives on the line to ensure that we have ours. 

Hence, we owe it to them to remind the world that there's people inside of They Who Stand On Guard.

Please be aware that many complex topics related to history and religion will be touched upon througout the course of the story, and in doing so I hope to retain a high degree of objectivity and fairness when dealing with these topics. Everyone will get their fair say and representation.

Brian Joseph Johns



Shhhh! Digital Media Presents:

The Butterfly Dragon: We Who Stand On Guard - Episode 11


Four To Jordan With No Road


The helicopter wreckage lay smouldering, but not burning or smoking for the man who'd planted the Semtech detonation pack had made sure that no such thing would happen. Fire, especially that fueled by the military class fuel upon which the UH-60 relied, burned heavily and with lots of smoke, producing black pyres high into the sky for all to see. Easily seen for tens of clicks by any nearby OPFOR detachments.


The nearby mobile SAM site that had intercepted their chopper had no doubt radioed in the fact that they'd downed a bird, and men had certainly been dispatched to search the area for survivors and to salvage anything they could from the wreckage.


All of these facts weighed heavily on the minds of the two men leading their prisoners to the border between Jordan and Syria, the latter of which whose soil they tread upon, and as quickly as they could. The first prisoner, Tech Head, had often slowed down, purposely so for he wanted them to be captured and executed right before him. He wanted to experience the glory that was his due and with his people, whom the second prisoner had betrayed.


The second prisoner, Phone Man, was technically not a prisoner, and the fact that he was bound was only for his protection. If their captors were captured by the forces undoubtedly pursuing them, he'd still stand a chance assuming that he overcame the treachery of the first prisoner. If he did, then he might have a chance to help liberate them. Allegiances are like gold, but quickly tarnish to the alchemy of betrayal, turning gold to lead. Lead that most often flew from the business end of a firearm in their business.


The two men walking behind them were their captors. Hardened by life, and the realities of an ever evolving battlefield. Both had endured brutal training from early in their lives, advancing to ever more specialized skills as their careers progressed, in both the military and their civilian lives. Every experience they'd had lead to this very moment that found them coaxing two prisoners forth in the rural farming terrain of southern Syria.


Tech Head suddenly tripped, rolling around on the dirt and holding his ankle.


"I think its broken..." he screamed.


Donahue walked over to him as he flailed on the ground, still hanging onto his ankle.


"Get up," Donahue spoke very clearly indicating that he meant it.


"I can't... I can barely move... the pain is sooo terrible..." Tech Head rolled around some more.


"I didn't ask. Get up!" Donahue repeated himself, this time mustering even more authority than he'd previously expressed.


"Please... You would make an injured man walk on their injury...? You are filthy beasts... Oh how I will feast after I see your heads removed from your bodies!" Tech Head responded, still hanging onto his ankle.


"Come on. We need to move. Now!" Stanton urged them both.


Donahue looked to Stanton, and then back to Tech Head, pulling his P226 from its holster and a subsonic silencer from his webbing, which he affixed to the barrel of the gun, quickly screwing it on. He then held it, aiming at the head of the man on the ground.


"Get up!" Donahue said firmly, looking the man right in the eyes.


"No!" he literally spat at Donahue's boots.


Donahue fired a round three inches from the man's head.


"Get up!" Donahue repeated himself.


"I will be praised in paradise, as much so as I will be praised by my people when they catch you. Do as you will," Tech Head responded, keeping his eyes on Donahue's.


Stanton by this point had lost his patience and walked over to the man on the ground, hoisting him into the air with two hands and then planting him firmly on his feet.


Tech Head stood for a moment in shock, not believing what had just happened.


"Now walk!" Stanton said to him furiously.


Tech Head remained there, his hands still bound in front.


Stanton then pushed him full force, causing the man to stumble backwards, using both feet effectively to keep his balance and avoid falling to the ground.


"Put a leash on his neck. You take point and the leash, I'll take up the rear. If he won't go to Jordan like a man, then he'll go like a dog," Stanton told Donahue, both of them clearly having had enough.


"Good idea," Donahue holstered his weapon, removing the silencer before doing so.


He then retrieved the steel twine from his pack and tied it around Tech Head's neck, carefully padding it with utility tape so as to avoid cutting the man.


"Here boy!" Donhahue said, pulling at the leash with force.


He followed without resistance this time and their four man wagon train resumed its treacherous journey to the Jordanese border.


"If anything happens, don't grab our weapons and try to fight your way out. You have a better chance if you play along and tell them you were captured. Kick us. Spit at us. Whatever it takes to convince them. This wretch of a man doesn't have anything that represents the fruits of his labour, while you have a family, and a career behind you. That will likely protect you enough to make it out alive. If they find us, they'll try to take my friend and I alive. We're more valuable to them that way. A diplomatic bargaining chip. This place will be crawling with NATO troops in three days unless we get to the Jordanese border," Stanton told Phone Man.


"I'm Sabir. Sounds a bit like Saber, but far less deadly. It means patient, tolerant, persevering," Phone Man revealed his name to Stanton.


"Its accurate too. I'd tell you mine, if not for the extenuating circumstances. I appreciate your gesture," Stanton responded, and there was a few minutes of silence as the four men walked.


"Your kids, they have future plans?" asked Stanton, trying to keep Sabir's mind on something hopeful.


"My family is away at another residence. I wanted to keep them away while this trouble with the launcher assembly was underway. My kids have many plans, so yes, most certainly. The youngest one wants to be an Astronomer. He really likes looking at the sky at night. Where we lived there, the stars at night were magnificent," Sabir explained to Stanton.


"I know. I got a quick glimpse of them. Reminded me of my cottage back home," Stanton replied, recalling the starry nights up in his cottage on the Lake of Bays.


"May I ask you something?" asked Sabir.


"You may. I can't guarantee that I can answer you. Go ahead," Stanton responded.


"Why can't you just use your radio to call in another helicopter?" asked Sabir.


"When we detonated the launch platform on your property and when they brought our chopper down, they likely started watching the area carefully. Our radios are encrypted, but the signal is detectable by radio direction finders aka RDFs. Some of the more sophisticated RDFs can determine the country of origin, ie whose army the device is in possession of by analyzing the patterns in frequency of the signal. If we used our radios now, they'd lock into our exact location in a short matter of time. It only takes three RDFs at different locations to determine that exactly, or the more advanced models can by themselves determine the exact direction and distance. Bottom line is, we can't," Stanton explained.


The distant sound of a loud motor pierced the silence, spurring both Stanton and Donahue into action.


Stanton hit the dirt, along side Sabir, while Donahue tackled and held Tech Head firmly in his grip, covering his mouth and keeping his neck in an arm lock.


Stanton had pulled his binoculars and was now searching in the direction of the grinding engine.


"Its an old farming tractor. About three hundred meters. Looks to be from the nineteen seventies. Diesel for sure judging by the sound of the motor. One guy, in his forties I'd bet. A civilian for sure. Thankfully, he's not heading this way. He'll cross the path ahead in about two minutes," Stanton told Donahue.


"They must have a bounty for us. Let's just lay low until he passes, and then check our options from there," Donahue responded as he spotted the tractor in the distance.


They lay in the dirt as they watched the tractor pass a hundred meters south of them, it continued on, the driver looking around as he continued on towards another farm in the distance.

Keeping The Team Safe


Halmand sat at a desk, taking further notes in short hand while Tricia continued examining the extent of the offices of Vector Engine Dynamics with a team of forensic investigators.


Tricia was going through the contents of the reception desk when she found a small locked chest in one of the drawers.


"A hope chest. How quaint. Now, if I were a flirtatious and charming receptionist in my mid twenties, where would I put the key?" Tricia asked herself aloud.


"Did you say something?" asked one of the forensic specialists as he passed through reception.


"Just speaking out loud. Going over case details," Tricia smiled to the specialist.


"Better be careful. Something like that can be contagious you know," he winked at her and left to continue his examination of the facility.


"Stuck to the top of a drawer?" Tricia asked herself aloud, feeling around the top of all six of the drawers of the reception desk.


She smirked upon not having found anything.


"Inside of the desk behind the drawers?" Tricia asked herself aloud again, immediately starting by removing the drawers one by one.


When she got to the center drawer beneath the computer keyboard, something metal fell from the drawer when she removed it. She searched the polished granite floor and found a small intricate skeleton key.


"Clever girl. She kept it in the rails on the drawer in the gap between the rollers and the front of the drawer," Tricia remarked aloud.


Tricia picked up the key and used it to open the chest, finding a stack of sticky notes and other paper scraps, each with a note of some value (to the receptionist) written on it. Tricia began reading them one by one, and a story of inter-office politics and romance began unfolding in great detail the more that she read.


Tricia paused upon realizing the inherent danger in what she'd discovered. She quickly made her way back into the office area and to where Halmand was seated, pulling her phone and ready to dial.


"What's up partner?" Halmand stopped writing in his note book and looked to Tricia.


"Do you still have Gracie's number?" asked Tricia.


"That's a bit personal don't you think?" responded Halmand, a little caught off guard.


"She's a material witness in a case involving materials unaccounted for, and now the detonation of a potentially non-conventional weapon over the Red Sea. I'd say that its not personal. Did you ever call her?" asked Tricia firmly of Halmand.


"I considered it a few times, after a few glasses at home, but no, I didn't. What makes her a material witness?" asked Halmand, suddenly feeling very much like he was being interrogated.


"Call her right now. Tell her to lock all of her doors and turn the lights out and play like there's nobody home. Tell her that we'll detach a team to pick her up immediately and to be ready in ten minutes. Now send me her number in our shared contacts list on CPIC. Got it?" Tricia didn't ask him, she ordered him as she put the chest of notes down on the desk in front of him.


He didn't waste any time, first uploading Gracie's contact information to CPIC and then immediately calling her afterwards. There was no answer, instead Halmand was greeted with an answering service.


"Hi. Its Gracie with an 'ie', which rhymes with smiley. Hope you're smiling too. Either way, leave a message and I'll put some cheer into your life as soon as I can. Bye!" Gracie's voice emerged from the phone, almost as bright as the sunshine that day.


"Hi Gracie? Its William. That kind of nerdy lanky guy in a suit that came to your office with a tyrannical red head the other day? Um, look, its kind of an emergency and I need you to be ready in ten minutes. Get yourself ready and we'll go out for a day on the town. Oh, and lock all of the doors and try to stay away from the windows. I wouldn't want anyone to get a glimpse of you before I do. See you soon," Halmand left a message, throwing on his best charm without giving anything away to admins that could potentially listen in on or eavesdrop her message service.


Tricia in the meantime had dispatched an armed team to pickup Gracie at her home address, using her phone number to find it. She then hung up and found Halmand going through her notes, one by one. Halmand quickly realized the risk when he too had put the pieces together.


"Pillow talk?" Halmand asked Tricia.


"She's young. A little bit naive, though certainly experienced when it comes to social acumen of an adult nature. They might have divulged something to her that poses an extreme danger to her given the circumstances. They won't want us to find out, and we very much want to know," Tricia explained to Halmand.


"I got that much, but we aren't punishing her for living her life to its fullest, are we?" asked Halmand with a serious concern.


"No. We're protecting her. Its not her fault that one of those two men might have divulged something to her... Not to mention that the perps connected to this arms network most definitely would want to bury any loose ends," Tricia underlined the situation for Halmand as a pair of men in designer business suits and brief cases entered through the front door of the building, quickly making their way to the back office door.


"Here's the lawyers..." Halmand interrupted Tricia as she turned to see the two men walking with determination to the back office.


"Excuse me? This is a crime scene! You don't have authorization to be here!" Tricia said firmly as she caught up with them, Halmand quickly getting up from his seat and following her, closing and grabbing Gracie's hope chest before doing so.


"And you are?" one of the two men asked.


"The senior officer on the scene. Now its your turn. Your names?" Tricia firmly faced the two men.


"We represent our clients, Vector Engine Dynamics in the interest of protecting their business and employees from wrongful arrest, not to mention the damage to their business. We need access to the corner office to collect our client's files. Now if you open the door for us, we'll collect them and there will be no further action taken against you... Inspector...?" the man faced Tricia, unintimidated by the woman.


"I'm Inspector Gadget. She's Inspector Miss Marple, at least until you tell us your names," Halmand stepped in.


The men ignored them both and continued to the front door of the office they intended to get into,  which was covered in Police tape, not to mention a number of symbols marking the room as containing hazardous materials. They ignored the markings on the door and turned the knob only to find that the door was locked.


"Unlock this door immediately," the first man demanded.


"We can't," Halmand said to them blandly.


"Why not? We're on legally sound ground. You could lose your jobs over this," the second man added.


"If we did, we'd be contaminating the entire office, not to mention much of the surrounding area. It seems that your client was keeping more than just lunch in his bar fridge," Halmand said to them.


"What's that supposed to mean?" the first man responded.


"Nobody's getting in there until its been scoured by a class A hazmat team. If you go in, about three days from now your skin will start getting itchy, and you'll start developing sores across your entire body. By day six, your organs will start failing, one by one, starting with your liver. By day nine, you'll be on the coroner's table for an autopsy. However, if you insist, I'll let you in, but its entirely your responsibility," Halmand explained to them, folding his arms across his chest, knowing fully well that these men knew about the connection between their clients and what happened over the Red Sea.


"You'll be hearing from us... and soon. Better start saving your money, because when our firm is done with you, you'll be sleeping on the streets and dumpster diving for food," the man said, turning and making his way back to the front door, where they exited, making their way through the officers who'd failed to stop them.


Tricia tapped on the door of the office in code.


A corresponding knock emerged from the other side of the door.


Tricia used the code words she'd given to Andrej, and he unlocked the door and opened it, letting Tricia and Halmand in.


"How's your progress?" asked Tricia of Andrej.


"Good. I'd give it about another ten minutes. I'm at the last position in the wheel-pack, and its looking good so far. Might even beat the time limit," Andrej explained to Tricia.


"We just chased off the lawyers, so you're probably good for time. It'll take them at least another day to get a court injunction allowing them legal access, assuming they do. We've got to make a run elsewhere, but we'll be back soon. Do you need a refill on coffee? Any food? I'll have one of the Constables outside make a run for you if you'd like?" asked Tricia.


"I'm fine. There's still some food in the fridge, but I certainly could use a trip to the bathroom and a glass of water," Andrej replied.


"You get this done, and I'll get you a bottle personally. The good stuff," Halmand responded.


"A twelve pack would suffice. Malt beer, like they have overseas where I'm from. If you can't find that, then a twelve of Molson Canadian, though its a bit early for hockey season," Andrej smiled at them as he skirted around them and made his way to the bathroom.


"Make it quick!" Tricia yelled after him.


Tricia and Halmand waited until Andrej returned a short time later and left him to open the safe, locking the door behind them and heading to their car to make their way to Gracie's place.


...


They pulled up in front of Gracie's quaint bungalow in north Mississauga, near the south border of Brampton and stopped the car behind the utility vehicle of the Emergency Response Team. The front door was already open as Tricia and Halmand could clearly see as they emerged from their unmarked cruiser and ran towards the house. They drew their badges from the inside of their jackets and unclipped their holsters as they arrived at the front door, bracketing each side of it for cover.


"RCMP! Two at the front door!" Tricia yelled into the house in order to make the ERT aware of their presence.


"ERT present! You're reckognized! The site is secure, but there's nobody home!" a muscular man wearing black gloves and ballistic armour stepped out of the dining area to meet with Tricia and Halmand.


"Got a SITREP?" Tricia asked him.


"I'm Sergeant McGrath. This is First-Class-Constable Deans. We arrived about four minutes before you did. Spent thirty seconds at the door with no response, so we opted for entry. We cleared the site, room by room, but didn't find the material witness. There's no signs of struggle anywhere, nor are there signs of the material witness having packed and left. I'd say she's out shopping," Sergeant McGrath reported to Tricia.


"Good job Sergeant. Constable. We'll need you to keep the home secure and extract her if she returns. We're going to check some material evidence we have in our car that might give us a hint of where else to look for her. I'll keep you updated," Tricia said to them as she stepped out front and across the lawn towards the car.


"Pretty slick. Nice gloves. Bet that helps with powder burn..." Halmand said to the Sergeant.


"Sometimes, but I'm looking forward to the days I have a cushy job like yours, and can look like a million bucks wearing thousand dollar suits," the Sergeant replied sarcastically.


"Try three hundred. Full price. I got mine for one-twenty on sale..." Halmand said as he walked away, drawing a laugh from both the men.


As Halmand arrived at the curb, a car passed between him and their cruiser. It stopped momentarily in front of the house. As it did, Halmand caught sight of the driver. It was Gracie.


She immediately sped off down the street and around the corner as Halmand vaulted the hood of the cruiser and got in the passenger side door.


"It's her!" Halmand said frantically, pointing in the direction Grace had just fled.


Tricia and Halmand quickly buckled up and sped off down the road in pursuit of Gracie.


"Get the strobe up there..." Tricia yelled at Halmand.


"Already on it..." Halmand retrieved the flashing lights and affixed them to the roof from the passenger window.


By the time they'd arrived at Mavis Road, they spotted Gracie's car as it sped north into Brampton. Tricia pulled out into traffic, as it pulled aside for their speed run down the center of the road, quickly catching up with Gracie's car.


The light turned green at the intersection Gracie was stopped and she sped into the intersection in order to avoid her pursuers as another car turned from the adjacent road to join the chase.


"Who's that?" Tricia asked, checking her mirror.


"He's not one of ours. He's got a visor and tinted front windows. Can't really see him..." Halmand told her as he checked over his shoulder.


"Keep six for us. I'll stay with Gracie. Remember, these are big players. Selling non-conventional munitions to clandestine organizations. Return fire only," Tricia reminded Halmand of what was at stake.


Halmand pulled his service pistol from its holster in his jacket and readied himself in the event they were fired upon.


"She's a good driver. I'll give her that, though she's putting everyone around her at risk," Tricia said to Halmand.


"Let's hope she comes to her senses. Our tail is changing lanes into our blind spot. He's tricky. Very tricky," Halmand told Tricia, as he tried to find an angle from which to return fire in the event the need arose.


On the road ahead, Gracie sped up as she tried to get through the next intersection, Steeles Avenue, ignoring the red light. She maneuvered her car back to the left lane and tried to push through the intersection between cars when the rear of her's was blindsided by a sedan, sending her car spinning several times until it collided with a utility pole and stopped.


"Keep an eye on our tail. I'm going to pull up along side of her car and block the intersection!" Tricia exclaimed as they pulled up beside the wrecked vehicle and came to a stop.


She was out of the cruiser with Halmand as the car tailing them passed, continuing through the intersection, the driver peering at them from behind sunglasses.


As the car sped off into the distance, Halmand wrenched the front door of Gracie's car open and checked her for injuries, while Tricia called for an emergency crew, checking on the other vehicle.


"Are you in pain anywhere? Sharp pains in any of your limbs or ribs?" asked Halmand as he examined her for signs of concussion or shock.


"Dizzy... ill..." she said to him in a daze.


"Can you move? I'll help you..." Halmand asked her.


"Need air... so cramped in here..." she said, looking to the other side of her car which was now crumpled and twisted, the passenger seat nearly pressed against her.


Halmand guided her out of the driver's seat and walked her over to the cruiser. She leaned on the hood, and then fell forward to the ground, heaving heavily as her stomach evacuated her lunch onto the asphalt.


She sat on the pavement, catching her breath as Halmand squatted beside her.


"I bet you've never had a first date like that?" Halmand said to her, causing her to smile and then laugh.


"I always seem to find the wrong ones... The ones just looking for a good time... short time... The married ones... The ones who think I'm an easy lay..." she said to Halmand, gagging slightly between sentences.


"That's not your fault. I'd say its a good thing to keep some hope. You just have to be more discerning. Respect yourself. You have something to offer. So protect it. Make them earn it. However, there is the matter at hand, and I'm not a counselor. We're here to make sure that you're safe and that we can find out what you know," Halmand told her honestly.


"Snuggle talk can have a high price, can't it?" Gracie asked Halmand.


"You have no idea. You've got a rough road ahead of you. Lets get you into the cruiser. Its got bullet proof tempered glass, so you should be safe in there from most threats, but I think that you should lie down but don't fall asleep until we get you to the hospital. We're going to stay until the local police arrive and then we'll take you somewhere safe," Halmand promised her.


"Alright Romeo. Gracie. You'll both be happy to know that the other driver is alright. Minor abrasions and contusions, but nothing serious," Tricia told them.


"Its all in the hands of the almighty insurance companies then," Halmand responded as the sound of sirens reached their ears.


...


Much further down the road from the intersection where Tricia and Halmand tended to Gracie, the car that had been pursuing them stopped, pulling off to the side of the road as the dash phone rang.


The driver, a man in his mid to late thirties answered the call.


"Did you cancel the package?" a deep male voice immediately addressed the driver.


"The client wasn't home, and the gardeners were there, trimming the roses," Foller replied.


"You can't let that package get away from us. The client hasn't paid us yet, and you either need to collect on it, or cancel it," the voice on the other end insisted.


"The gardeners took the package and fled with it. They got blind sided by a car going through an intersection. I tried to get the package number and cancel it, but the gardeners got in the way," Foller spoke firmly.


"Get the job done and then seal up the rest of the loose ends and we'll take it from there," the voice asserted firmly, but before he'd finished his sentence, Foller had already hung up.


The Beleaguered, The Bold And The Bountiful


The tractor that had passed their path was now far to the west of them as they continued their trek across the bumpy terrain of southern Syria. As they neared Tisiyah, a small town of Haurani Christian Arabs and Orthodox Greek Antiochs that lay to the east of their location, the traffic of tractors and other off road vehicles increased slightly, forcing them to lay low and to stop often to ensure that their location had not been compromised.


At one such point, while Donahue kept a watchful eye over Tech Head, Stanton adjusted his AN/PRC 152 for passive mode shortwave and AM band reception.


"Talk to me Stanton. What's our situation?" asked Donahue as the unnerving droning sound of the tractor's motor got louder with each passing moment.


"You just keep an eye on Tech Head. I'll watch that tractor. Give me second. I'm going to check the local shortwave for any Government activity..." Stanton said as he rolled over and switched his radio over.


[Citizens of the region of Hauran in Southern Syria. We have dissidents in our midst who seek to destabilize the peace and sovereignty of our fine nation. 

Given recent events over the Red Sea, with the detonation of a non-conventional munition said to have originated from Syria, we are offering a reward of one million United States dollars for information leading to the capture of said dissidents.

We suspect that there are between six and eight such dissidents, who are currently fleeing the region in a southerly direction for Jordan. Information you provide will be kept confidential, and compensation will be awarded according to the value of said intelligence.

The information that you provide might prevent incursion into our country by other national forces seeking to use this situation as an excuse to gain foothold on our land. Please do not attempt to apprehend these dissidents as they are armed and extremely dangerous.]
"يا مواطني منطقة حوران في جنوب سوريا، يوجد بيننا معارضون يسعون إلى زعزعة استقرار وسيادة أمتنا الحبيبة.

في ضوء الأحداث الأخيرة فوق البحر الأحمر، وانفجار ذخيرة غير تقليدية يُقال إنها سورية، نعرض مكافأة قدرها مليون دولار أمريكي لمن يدلي بمعلومات تؤدي إلى القبض على هؤلاء المعارضين.

نشتبه بوجود ما بين ستة وثمانية معارضين، يفرون حاليًا من المنطقة باتجاه الجنوب إلى الأردن. ستُحفظ المعلومات التي تُقدمونها بسرية تامة، وسيتم منح تعويضات تتناسب مع قيمة هذه المعلومات.

قد تمنع هذه المعلومات تسلل قوى وطنية أخرى إلى بلدنا، سعيًا منها لاستغلال هذا الوضع كذريعة لفرض سيطرتها على أراضينا. يُرجى عدم محاولة القبض على هؤلاء المعارضين، فهم مسلحون وخطيرون للغاية." a Government representative's recorded voice looped as the shortwave broadcast was relayed and repeated by local towers.


As Stanton listened to the report, which was given in Arabic, he spied another two tractors driving in a southern direction to the east of them, appearing to have departed from Tisiyah, which was by that point slightly north east of them.


"We're marked," Stanton told Donahue, not giving him a specific dollar value in order not to encourage Tech Head.


"The Syrian Government is at peace with the west, is it not?" Sabir spoke optimistically in the hopes of lightening their growing tension.


"Yes, but they've got a gun to their head. In three days, this area's going to be crawling with NATO troops in order to prevent another international crisis that could trigger an all out war..." Stanton explained to Sabir.


"Who would NATO be stopping by such action?" Sabir asked Stanton as he eyed the most recently arrived tractors, driven by farmers hoping to strike it rich by turning them in for a reward.


"The IDF. If NATO doesn't move on this, the IDF will, by latest day four. They'll occupy while they investigate for any signs of the launch site and those who built it. The rising tension of neighbouring Muslim states will reach a critical point, and the people who sold Sabir's associates the materials unaccounted for based munitions, will be flooded with potential buyers, each of them looking to get in on the nuclear arms race against the IDF. That's the first time that a non-conventional munition, let alone a conventional munition, made it through the Iron Dome defense, and that attack was sourced from one site. Imagine attacks coming in from multiple sites that could be assembled in a matter of weeks from now? Each with tactical nuclear warheads?" Stanton explained the full danger that this situation posed.


"What he's saying is that if we don't get this intel across the border, we're looking at World War Three," Donahue explained to Sabir.


"But if NATO gains control of Syria, won't that help stop the situation?" Sabir asked.


"No. The IDF incursion scenario is what we call the right handed doctrine, in one of several scenarios leading to World War Three. A NATO incursion and occupation of a Muslim nation is the left handed doctrine. It triggers a series of events that begin diplomatically, as Russia, China and their allies see the sudden shift in the global geo-political sphere as an indicator of NATO's growing threat, along side the expansionist interests of Zionist Israel," Donahue began.


"The Muslim world is split down the middle, with the UAE and Saudi Arabia, and perhaps one or two other Muslim nations such as Jordan and Kuwait, siding with NATO, while the others unanimously side with their Russian and Chinese allegiance. In Muslim countries that stick with NATO, there will be a tremendous social upheaval that will put the leadership of those countries at risk, with the likelihood of their leadship being toppled, while the United Nations stands the risk of losing both the power of its global trust, and its effectiveness if it gets involved and shows favour to either side," Stanton continued.


"South America will be split as well on this issue and the most recent generation will see a modern version of the Cuban Missile Crisis scenario play out again. This time, one that doesn't have a happy ending and will lead to several countries on North America's doorstep having first strike strategic nuclear capability and possibly set the stages of a naval conflict in Latin American waters. This will once again create a situation where a growing market for the rapid deployment of tactical nuclear arms will be the only means to stop the threat imposed by an IDF/NATO allegiance and these tensions will inevitably lead to a scenario where one side fires the first shot. This is the war that has been brewing for almost six thousand years," Donahue explained to Sabir.


"Syria in this situation has a gun to their head. The first to arrive will be NATO, because if they don't, then Israel will. If, and I say if in the sense that something unspeakable happens that sees neither of them act on this situation, then Russia or China certainly will. Syria is looking down the gun barrels of both sides at this moment. Considering that it was recently liberated from the Assad dynasty, and that the United States backed the other side, we're not going to be too popular amongst the people if and when they catch us..." Donahue finished.


"This isn't a case of one side being the good guys and the other being the bad guys. There's three sides. Two sides that have a history of opposition to one another, and a third side that is essentially chaos, trying to get the other two sides to fight. Russia and China aren't the bad guys, and if you see it that way, then remember that from their perspective, NATO are the bad guys and they're the good guys. All of this is a matter of perspective. Without the information we're carrying, the two sides will be divided. With it, there's a really good chance they'll be united. NATO. IDF. RDF. PLA. Muslim nations. All operating under the assumption that something is trying to get them to start the major fight that will end this world. That has the power to unite us," Stanton summed up what this was all about.


"We've got about seven clicks to go to the Jordanese border. Its going to be crawling with Syrian nationals if we don't pick our pace..." Stanton rolled over from his back, watching as a pair of old UAZ pickup trucks with rear mounted RP-45 squad support weapons joined the trail ran by several of the tractors.


As Stanton paid close attention to the situation, Sabir ever so carefully and quietly snuck one of Stanton's holdout weapons, a GSh-18 from the lower back of his webbing without Stanton noticing. He then pocketed the weapon and continued by taking one of its magazines neighbouring the holster on his webbing. Meanwhile, Stanton continued keeping a close eye on the vehicles that had joined the growing caravan of death.


"Two UAZ just joined the fray. SNA for sure. They've got a mobile platoon after us. They must have found the helicopter wreckage," Stanton informed Donahue, who cursed under his breath.


Donahue rolled over onto his back and pulled his side arm from its holster, affixing the silencer to it.


"What the hell are you doing?" asked Stanton of Donahue.


"Just an insurance policy. The first sign of trouble from your Tech Head friend here, and he's gone. That way, Sabir will have a chance even if we don't," Donahue explained to Stanton.


"Copy that. I didn't want it to come down to that, but it makes the most sense," Stanton nodded affirmatively.


"Any ideas about how we can get out of here in broad daylight?" asked Donahue.


"I was just thinking of something that might help. It would cost us one of our green smoke signal flares..." Stanton explained.


"Go on..." Donahue urged him as he kept a close eye on Tech Head.


"I have another timer and detonator left. I could use it to set off one of the smoke grenades, without compromising our position. Maybe set it up to sound like an arty-sim, with the remainder of our Semtech," Stanton suggested.


Donahue peered over to see the dust being kicked up in the distance by the two UAZ trucks that had joined the search, along with a column of armed men in military fatiques.


"It shouldn't hurt anyone, but it will certainly get their attention and draw them away from us. We'll set it off when we're two clicks out from here. Assuming we haven't been made by that point," Stanton began wiring the explosive kit together that had moments earlier been a thought in his mind, which then became a plan in his words, and were now becoming reality by his hands.


"We depart in two minutes, keeping ourselves half prone as we move. We'll steer this way, following this tiny ravine, which might give us an extra foot of cover, which in this case might save us," Stanton told them as he hid the device he'd constructed inside of a tiny bush.


"Won't the remote give our position away? You said they could detect radio signals?" Sabir asked Stanton.


"No. Not from this. It would appear like a short pulsed blip. Far to short for them to get a fix on our position," Stanton assured Sabir as they prepared to resume their journey.


"Before we leave, check the tape on Tech Head's mouth," Stanton told Donahue.


"I already did. He's just fine. Quiet as a mouse in cat convention..." Donahue joked.


"I'm getting to know the feeling," Stanton replied, reminding Donahue that they too were in much the same predicament.


"If you walk upright for more than three seconds, its game over for you. No second chances. Walk like you're the big man in a really small house," Donahue coaxed Tech Head forward as Sabir, and then Stanton followed carefully behind.


The going was very slow for the first half hour, but then picked up pace as the caravan of death shifted its search further east of them, giving them a little breathing space. Before the hour was done, they'd made it nearly a click and a half from Stanton's ad-hoc device.


"Tell me, how is the information you have going to stop NATO's presence in the area?" asked Sabir.


"We've got serial numbers for several of the parts on the device before we demolished it..." Stanton explained to Sabir.


"But weren't those serial numbers made by the automated line that produced them? Wouldn't they be irrelevant? I mean if anyone can simply throw together a factory printing nuclear weapons, what good are serial numbers?" asked Sabir what amounted to being a very good question.


"Those aren't just serial numbers. They have encoded information embedded within them and they're universally unique. That is, the chances of any two of those numbers being the exact same is very close to one in ten to the power of a hundred. It would take the lifespan of several billion universes for that to occur even just once if you spit out a hundred serial numbers a day. So when you combine those two factors, we know with one hundred percent certainty that the numbers came from a specific algorithm, and encodes a specific set of values. Since there's only one class of designs for this type of manufacturing that employs these means of generating serial numbers, we can link it legally to devices designed by a specific group of people, and trace it through everyone in their supply chain, right to their customer endpoint. That doesn't even include how we know where they got the materials for the nuclear warhead," Stanton explained to Sabir.


"Do you feel that the situation is right? The one involving Israel?" asked Sabir very diplomatically.


"In what way?" asked Stanton.


"I mean, do you feel that its alright that they expand their territory on the grounds of their justifications outlined in their Zionist policies?" asked Sabir the million dollar question.


"If I have neighbours beside me, on either side of my house, and I know both of them are armed, and don't like my family or me for that matter. Now out of concern for what I'm protecting, I decide that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on my neighbours, because they might hurt my family. One day I come home from work, and I find out that both my neighbours, who previously bought pistols, recently bought shotguns, escalating the situation enormously. So I go out and buy my own shotgun..." Stanton began his metaphor.


"The next day, I find out that my neighbour threatened my children, from their side of the property line, but nonetheless, they pose a significant threat to my family, and they've now expressed this. I have proof of it, as my security cameras recorded the whole incident. I go to a community tribunal and present my evidence. They kick me out, claiming that my evidence isn't sufficient for them to act upon it in any meaningful manner. So the next day, I storm my neighbours house, disarm them, take their weapons, and leave. My neighbours go to the tribunal, who level accusations against me but much like they did in protection of my family, they do nothing. I was in my right to protect my family by going into their home and disarming my neighbours who'd threatened my children. Keeping their home, would be an entirely different matter, because that would turn all of the other neighbours against my family, and put my family in even more danger than they were in the first place," Stanton explained to Sabir.


"So you're saying that you support preemptive disarmament in situations where one sovereign nation is under the threat of another, correct?" asked Sabir.


"Correct. But not permanent occupation," Stanton clarified to Sabir.


"Then what is your stance on Zionism?" asked Sabir.


"That's a very complicated question, seeing as there are several different kinds, held by several different nations, each very different from that of their neighbours. If you're talking about Zionism that implicates one group of people as being superior to another on the grounds of race or blood, and therefore having the right of rule over others of lesser stock, I'm against it, and there are ideologies that follow and enforce such ideas, and the world needs to stand strong againt them," Stanton indicated to Sabir.


"So what is your stance then on royalty? Are they not of superior stock and rule over those of lesser stock?" asked Sabir a very rhetorical and divisive question.


"No. Though that would be the understanding of most people who haven't really given the idea much thought. I think of that as another form of rule by representation, albeit one whose means and purpose are often at the risk of many threats that stand to betray the people. Any that do betray the people usually end up excised from their throne, and expelled or in the worst of cases, hanged or beheaded on account of such a fall from the grace of responsibility. Look at the French Revolution and the guillotine. Most people see it as a matter of privilege versus poverty, but in fact, no matter the sytem, it has been proven that there will always be either. The reason for that goes way beyond a central authority figure who represents the leadership of a nation or empire. Society has layers, and within each, there are circles within which people find protection in numbers, usually surrounded by people of like ways and values. Some of us are free to find our way to the circle of our choosing, while others are forced in a direction not of their choosing and these circles can encompass both. Either privilege, poverty, and sometimes something in between," Stanton explained what he'd observed about society and its functioning thus far.


"And where does royalty fit into all of this?" asked Sabir.


"Royalty is a symbol of having the power to license others with that same power, in order to endorse the idea of a public trust to allow such a person entrusted with it to adapt society quickly, through demonstrated ability. Its also giving one the power to decide who, when, where and sometimes how, without the complications of a bureaucracy to interfere in that process or corrupt it," Stanton paused as Donahue spoke.


"Some would call a bureaucracy a means to shield the public from corruption..." Donahue added his perspective.


"Yes, with oversight, that's certainly a prospect," Stanton responded.


"If you're opposed to this perspective of superior blood, then where does your country's ideas on the term blood paid come into meaning?" asked Sabir of Stanton.


"Blood paid in such matters isn't a reference to the superiority of lineage at all. Its a reference to the fact that one has represented the same values that merit some form of honour, or dedication to one's own country and people, or to the people of the world. Where I'm from, we have a bit of both. A system of representation by way of election, and accountability to our Crown and Commonwealth. Like having to answer to an investor," Stanton expressed his views on the matter as Donahue quickly and sarcastically interjected.


"You got that right. Your senate reports to a crowned tyrant, you red coat sympathizers..." Donahue smirked back at Stanton with a hint of a smile.


"Yeah, well you can thank us for your current White House, because we burned the previous one down the last time we got into a serious spat over this topic...ahem..." Stanton smirked back to Donahue, his own smile present, though both men were certainly grateful that it was a matter over which they could now laugh some two hundred years on.


"And what of other forms of Zionism?" Sabir asked Stanton.


"If on the other hand, you're referring to the justification of nation A to take the land of nation B on the grounds that nation B isn't using their land or resources to their fullest advantage, I'm against it," Stanton outlined once again.


"There are many people who'd likely disagree with you on these issues..." Sabir said to Stanton thoughtfully.


"They'd have that right to their own opinion on the matter, as long as they didn't enforce it on others as if it were law, because its not. Imagine if every country in the world practiced the ideas you just asked me about. Zionism where a group of people are a superior race, or Zionism where nation A has the justification to take land and resources from nation B if they're not using them to their fullest. If every nation in the world were like that, we'd all still be living in the dark ages, and in a constant state of war," Stanton expressed how and why he felt that way.


"But yet, you somehow still stand with Israel?" Sabir asked Stanton.


"As much so as I stood with the rest of the Middle East during the Oslo accords. Yes. I believe that was one of the greatest achievements of my generation, and it took people from all sides of that fence to make that possible," Donahue held his fist up, gesturing for them to stop as Stanton finished his sentence.


They all fell to ground as they spied a group of twenty men in military fatigues south east of their position.


The Country Of The Blind


Donahue lay flat, his right hand keeping Tech Head's face to the dirt as he spied trouble ahead.


"Looks like they were patrolling along the Jordanese border. They're headed north. Seem to be sticking to the same trail as the ones in the RP-45 mounted pickup trucks we saw earlier," Donahue reported to Stanton.


"I directed the blast when we demoed the helicopter towards the east. Might have sent debris a fair distance in that direction. We should take advantage of that and get further west and then continue south. I'll set off the smoke flare explosive I rigged earlier," Stanton advised.


"Sounds good. At least the sun being high above us it will help to keep our shadows hidden. Nothing worse than to be spotted as the result of a rising or setting sun," Donahue responded.


"I hear you there. Alright. Fire in the hole..." Stanton twisted the plunger on the detonator, and their ears were met with the same silence of moments earlier.


"Wait for it..." Stanton advised them.


There was a sudden drop in pressure, which caused their ears to become muffled, and then a sudden pressure increase, which was accompanied by the sound of a very loud explosion as the shockwave hit them.


"That's more like it..." Stanton responded. 


"Whoa. That got their attention. Look at 'em go!" Donahue watched as the column of men began charging north in the direction of their smoke screen.


When it appeared that all eyes were on their decoy, the got up from the ground, remaining half prone, and ran as fast as they could south westward.


"Keep going if you want to keep your head!" Donahue urged the Tech Head.


"I think we're in the clear...!" Sabir said, running in the direction of the Jordanese border which was less than nine hundred meters away.


"Careful! We're still in the hot zone..." Stanton no sooner had the words out, when the air around them was shredded by heavy machine gun fire.


Donahue was hit in the upper right of his chest, spinning him clean around and onto his back, gasping for air as Stanton and Sabir hit the dirt.


"Oh! That hurts like a..." Donahue quickly inhaled, feeling a seering pain in his chest as air escaped through the large hole opened between his front and back.


Tech Head continued running, now standing fully erect as he sprinted not in the direction of the Jordanese border, but directly at the the pickup truck whose mounted RP-45 had just opened fire on them from two hundred meters away.


Stanton was upon Donahue, applying pressure on his chest in an attempt to stop the bleeding.


"Damn!... this is... tell Linda... George...make sure that Stead... get to George... oh... let them... oh ffff... damn!" and then with one final extruciating inhalation, Donahue's eyes became lifeless as the last of his air escaped through blood flowing from his nostrils, mouth and chest.


"Damn you! Don't you f#cking die on me soldier!" Stanton cursed at the older man, but only his lifeless eyes looked back at him. Through him.


They peered to some unknown point in the sky behind Stanton. Somewhere into eternity.20


Sabir lay on the ground, his head buried in the dirt as he dared not get up lest he draw the same fire that had taken Donahue.


By that point, Stanton had grabbed Donahue's Barrett, and dove to the ground, aiming in the direction of of the pickup truck, Tech Head's back plainly visible as he ran for the vehicle.


[Stop firing! Stop firing! The reward! Remember?!!!]
"توقف عن إطلاق النار! توقف عن إطلاق النار! المكافأة! أتذكر؟!!!" the driver yelled from the cab of the truck at the gunner, who'd just finished unloading his clip.


[Get us closer! They're running!]
"اقتربوا منا! إنهم يركضون!" the gunner responded, quickly pulling a fresh clip from the ammo store in the back of the truck.


[Don't fire! Don't fire! They won't pay us if they're dead!]
"لا تطلقوا النار! لا تطلقوا النار! لن يدفعوا لنا إذا ماتوا!" the driver screamed back at the gunner, putting the truck in gear just as the gunner got the RP-45 reloaded.


Sweat poured from Tech Head's forehead, and the tape that bound his mouth began to slip, giving him room without the breath to yell.


[They're traitors! I captured them but they're traitors!]
"إنهم خونة! لقد أسرتهم لكنهم خونة!" Tech Head yelled, barely getting enough breath behind his voice to be heard.


Stanton aimed the Barrett, finding his first target. He picked the gunner for he was the biggest threat to them all. Stanton let out an even gasp of air as he pulled the trigger, seeing the firey muzzle flash of the RP-45.


The rounds flew faster than the speed of sound, impacted a group of rocks nearby, sending schrapnel flying at Stanton's eyes. One of the pieces broke was stopped by his Oakley ballistic lenses, impacting his eye socket much like a punch, before he'd managed to pull the trigger.


He let go of the Barrett and quickly rolled right, laying flat on his side as he checked his eye with his hand.


He felt only dust and a large fragment of chipped rock caught just beneath his eye lid. He grasped at it carefully with his fingers and pulled it free, his vision in that eye now totally shot. That's when he felt the gun against his head and then heard the familiar voice which accompanied it.


"I'm sorry my friend that it had to work out this way..." Sabir said to Stanton.


"Not nearly as sorry as I am..." Stanton replied, knowing fully well what had happened.


...


The truck bounced as it drove off road, Sabir in the back with Stanton, whose hands were now bound much like Sabir's had been only minutes earlier.


Tech Head was in the passenger seat of the truck, still bound as he had been earlier, a fresh layer of utility tape across his mouth, as tears streamed down his face.



[If you weren't worth such a bounty for me? I'd have shot you myself...]
"لو ما كنتَ تستحقّ هذه المكافأة مني؟ كنتُ سأقتلك بنفسي..." the driver of the truck said to Tech Head, who could do nothing except listen.


Sabir bounced as the truck navigated the rough terrain on its way back to one of the main roads.


[He looked like a top level one. A special forces guy or something? He'll be worth a lot to us!]
"بدا كرجلٍ من الطراز الرفيع. جنديٌّ من القوات الخاصة أم ماذا؟ سيكون ذا قيمةٍ كبيرةٍ لنا!" the gunner kicked Stanton, who grunted back at him, still unable to see.


[We'll have a nice big feast at my place after the holiday!]
"سوف نستمتع بإقامة وليمة كبيرة في منزلي بعد العطلة!" Sabir said to the gunner.


[And you. I'll never forget what you said to me this morning...]
"وأنت. لن أنسى أبدًا ما قلته لي هذا الصباح..." Sabir said to Stanton as he stood up from the back of the truck, bracing himself against the gun mount.


Sabir put the pistol he'd stolen from Stanton against the head of the gunner.


[Don't move! Step out of the gun mount. Take off your shoes, and jump off the back of the truck. Do it, or you'll meet with the business end of my friend here...]
"لا تتحرك! اخرج من حامل البندقية. اخلع حذاءك، واقفز من مؤخرة الشاحنة. افعلها، وإلا ستواجه مصير صديقي هنا..." Sabir ordered the gunner.


The gunner immediately complied, sliding out of the mount on the back of the truck and then slipping his shoes off one by one. When he'd finished, he stood at the back of the truck by the tailgate, and then leapt off onto the hard dry soil of the afternoon sun.


Sabir waited a few minutes for the truck to put some distance between the gunner and the truck, before he tapped on the window of the cab, flagging the driver.


[There's been an accident! We lost the gunner off the back of the truck!]
"لقد وقع حادث! فقدنا المدفعي من مؤخرة الشاحنة!" Sabir yelled to the driver, waving frantically at him through the back window.


The driver slowed the truck until it was safe enough to do so, and finally stopped and got out. He walked around the back of the truck to the tail gate.


[Where did he get to?]
"إلى أين وصل؟!!! asked the driver, at which point he felt a gun against his head.


...


A few moments later and he stood beside Tech Head, who was still bound and gagged with the utility tape as the gunner without his shoes caught up to them. All three of them watched as the truck drove off down the road in the direction of the Jordanese border.


"Here my friend. I had to borrow this. You weren't using it at the time, so I felt justified to take it from you, but seeing as you explained to me how you really feel about such matters, I think I should return it to you. It served its purpose. It saved us both. Now we've got to go and get your friend," Sabir assured Stanton, whose one eye had finally cleared up enough so that he could see, while his injured eye swelled to the size of a baseball, though his ballistic lenses had saved his eye from a potentially far worse injury.


"You had me convinced there for a moment that you'd teetered over to the other side..." Stanton said to him blandly, and then somehow found the room to smile a bit.


"I guess I saw a way to do this while averting more loss of life," Sabir admitted to Stanton.


"I was terrified, and then it occurred to me that your friend had just died trying to save me. And so I owed him the same in attempting to protect you. When I realized that it could all be over at any moment and that it was out of my control, the fear subsided and I acted on the choice. Just like this morning. I could have pulled the trigger, and never have been able to live with myself again, or..." Sabir told Stanton.


"You did the right thing... in both cases. Not to mention, you got us this decent UAZ truck. Kind of feels a little bit more like home," Stanton smiled, thinking of his F-150 back home.


After a five minute drive, they arrived at the spot where Donahue had fallen in battle, his body stiffening as rigor mortis set in.


"It was an honour old friend. They don't make soldiers like you anymore. Rest easy," Stanton had a quiet moment before he got to the matter at hand.


Stanton gently lifted his body onto the flatbed of the truck, tying it in place to ensure that it was not disfigured or further harmed by sliding around in the back of the truck.


"We've got to get you home old friend," Stanton closed the tailgate and quickly made his way around to the passenger side of the truck and got in as Sabir finished his phone call.


"...They're safe in Luxembourg then?" asked Sabir into his phone.


"Yes. They applied for a visa at the embassy earlier. They're being held and debriefed. Get yourself safely back. We'll let them know that you're on your way," the Registrar General of the Embassy in Luxembourg assured Sabir.


"Tell them I'll be there soon. And thank you ever so much," Sabir said, hanging up the phone and pocketing it as they drove back to the road and towards the nearest Jordanese checkpoint.


"Your family? They're safe?" asked Stanton.


"They were just cleared at the embassy. They'll be put in a hotel there and have access to my savings. They said they'll be keeping a plate of warm food for me when I get there," Sabir told Stanton.


"Well then lets not keep them waiting..." Stanton nodded.


"Why didn't you kill him? Tech Head I mean? He heard everything about you and Donahue you know. He'll definitely share that information during his interrogation," Sabir reminded Stanton.


"Most of that information will remain in the hands of professionals and it won't circulate. He'll be put on trial, first by the courts and then by the public. He'll be found guilty, seeing as the launch platform is covered in his DNA. Remember, we're talking about an international team of experts going over that crime scene with a fine tooth comb, in order for Syria to avert occupation. That will go before the United Nations and the world court, and likely be approved by both, given the threat to regional stability this case caused..."  Stanton asserted his assessment upon Sabir.


"...if they have the intelligence you collected of the site, correct?" confirmed Sabir.


"If they have that intelligence, then the world will be united. Without it, the diplomacy involved will lean in the direction of one geo-political sphere or the other, meaning that it will be divisive. Tech Head, even if he shares that information about me in prison, won't be taken very seriously. He'll be kept isolated for his own protection, not to mention there are others in my line of work in the prison he'll be going to. We're a tight nit community. We watch each other's backs. He'd be playing with his own safety if he spoke about anything he'd heard," Stanton assured Sabir.


"Then we are truly safe my friend," Sabir said happily.


"Not yet. We still have to get through a Jordanese interrogation, and given the diplomatic value of this information, they'll be very insistent until our representative arrives," Stanton was already preparing himself both physically and mentally.


Do you read my friend?" asked Sabir, of Stanton.


"I have. A fair bit in my life. Why? Do you have something to suggest?" asked Stanton as they drove along the highway, Stanton keeping his eyes on the mirrors for any sign of trouble as he field stripped his returned GSh-18 and reassembled it.


"Have you ever read any H.G. Wells? A remarkable writer of intense vision and timeless expression," asked Sabir of Stanton, who smiled and nodded.


"I've read some of his. Not really a big fan of science fiction, but The Shape Of Things To Come was certainly an insightful read, if not a bit prophetic," Stanton admitted that he'd not read much of the author.


"Well then, may I suggest that you read one of his best tales. A short story..." Sabir asked him.


"Sure. What's it called?" asked Stanton.


"Its called: The Country Of The Blind, and if I may quote one of its truly remarkable characters, Nunez: In the country of the blind, the one eyed man is king..." Sabir said to Stanton as they pulled up to the border and were immediately surrounded by an army of armed Jordanese men in military fatigues.


"All hail the king who just lost his other half..." Stanton said as he raised his hands from inside of the cab of the pickup truck.

Safe And Sound




Epilogue



To be continued...

Credits and attribution:

Artwork: Amy Wong, Wendy Pusey, Ghastly, Birdman, Brian Joseph Johns, Daz3D, Unreal Engine...

Tools: Daz3D, Corel Painter, Adobe Photoshop, Lightwave 3D, Blender, Stable Diffusion (Easy Diffusion distribution), InstantID, Sadtalker, Google Colaboratory, Microsoft Copilot (Windows 11), Hitfilm, Borderline Obsession...

Invideo.IO which was used to produce the ENERTRINSIC INTERNATIONAL INVESTOR PRESENTATION.

Rutherford model representation of Deuterium and Tritium: By Dirk Hünniger; Derivative work in english - Balajijagadesh.

InstantID by: Wang, Qixun and Bai, Xu and Wang, Haofan and Qin, Zekui and Chen, Anthony. Research Paper Title: InstantID - Zero-shot Identity-Preserving Generation in Seconds.

Sadtalker by: Zhang, Wenxuan and Cun, Xiaodong and Wang, Xuan and Zhang, Yong and Shen, Xi and Guo, Yu and Shan, Ying and Wang, Fei.

Research Paper Title: SadTalker: Learning Realistic 3D Motion Coefficients for Stylized Audio-Driven Single Image Talking Face Animation.

Gratitude: Our Mentors, Senseis, Sifus, Sebomnims, lifetime inspirations, family, friends, the Nomads (ask Stanton about that one), the Music, the Movies, the Theatre, the Arts, ASMR, (both YouTube and Bilibili and the many other creators on those platforms), the Gaming and Developer communities and of course, the audience.

Martial Arts (in the words of real experts and at least one comedian): https://brucelee.com (home of the real Dragon and an entire family of inspirations), http://iwco.online International Wing Chun Organization (International presence of a very scalable intensity martial art, protected and developed by Shaolin Nun Ng Mui) and the alma mater of Jinn Hua's own specialized variation thereof, https://iogkf.com International Okinawan Goju-Ryu Karatedo Federation (even Hanshi had his teachers), https://itftkd.sport International Taekwondo Federation (Here there be Taegers), https://tangsoodoworld.com Tang Soo Do World (the path of Grandmaster Chuck Norris), https://www.aikido-international.org International Aikido Federation (how else would Navy Chef Steven Seagal liberate a Nimitz Class Aircraft Carrier from a team of hijackers?), https://www.stqitoronto.com Shaolin Temple Quanfa Institute (The City Of Toronto's own Shaolin Temple), https://www.enterthedojoshow.com Master Ken's Ameri-Te-Do presence (If we can't laugh at ourselves, then we can at least laugh the loudest at others, and other Zen)

Jesse Enkamp: Karate Nerd

Sensei Rokas: Martial Arts Journey

Iaido: Train For Katana Mastery Like Samurai

Special thanks to Aitrepreneur, Mickmumpitz, Hugging Face and the YouTube educational content producers, including those catering to the AI content production pipeline and of course AlphaSignal.

Something to give you perspective: The very first teacher had no formal education, didn't graduate and was self taught, but only because they had no other choice. We do.

Very Special Thanks to our Armed Forces and Federal and Provincial Police Services, who really do Stand On Guard, especially when it comes to the Charter of Rights And Freedoms and the Human Rights Act, and often without being self righteous zealots secretly protecting religious law. True keepers of the peace.

This content is entirely produced in Toronto, Ontario, Canada at 200 Sherbourne Street Suite 701 under the Shhhh! Digital Media banner.

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