Date: Sun, 2 Nov 1997 00:38:08 -0800 (PST) From: Antony Ferrucci Subject: "A Talk at The Wall" -- 1/10 It took me longer to write this story than I had anticipated - in order for me to look at Walter S Skinner's inner demons, I had to look at mine. I don't know which was harder, writing this story or facing my demons. However, in a few days, it will be November 11th -- "Rememberance Day" in Canada, and "Veteran's Day" in the USA. Maybe this will be fortuitous timing after all. I won't hope that you, the reader, will "enjoy" this story, because it is =not= a "fun" story. But maybe you will be able to enjoy it to some extent, and have something to think about about those who serve in our armed forces, who try to keep us free or whatever. =+= =+= =+= =+= =+= =+= =+= TITLE - "Magic is Alive..." 3 - "A Talk at The Wall" Part 1/10 AUTHOR - Antony F Ferrucci < draggi@eskimo.com > RATING in general: PG for language and, in some spots, NC-17-XV for actions `in country' RATING for this part: G CLASSIFICATION - S, Skinner A KEYWORDS - Pre-XF (Viet Nam), Paranormal, Healing, Warning SUMMARY - Upon returning to Washington DC, M&S deliver a message to their boss, A.D. Walter S. Skinner, from someone they met at the Ren Faire. One thing leads to another and several people wind up at The Wall (Viet Nam War Memorial). Some memories are dredged up and talked about, a seed of healing is planted ... and a warning is delivered. AUTHOR'S NOTES -- While The Wall can be a place of great healing, it can also pull forth =very= powerful emotions. A.D. Walter S. Skinner does survive this story -- sort of -- and may begin to heal his `invisible wounds' as a result, but this will =not= be a "fun" story. By the end of this, the man once known as "Mr. Clean" will at least have a chance at healing something that -should- have been dealt with years ago. ((Now, if I could just heal myself.....)) =VERY= Special thanks go to my Beta readers: Rhiannon, Sheryl, Pythia, Hozra and RogueAngel. You helped make this story better ... and didn't think I was a `sick baby-killer' for writing it. You have no idea how much that means to me. See "Intro to Series" for disclaimers, etc. = = = = = = = = Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner of the FBI was late getting to work Monday morning. That in itself was highly unusual, but the reason was even more unusual. He'd had nightmares all night like he hadn't had in years, and -this- time they wouldn't let him wake up! He was a "cherry," again -- fresh out of Boot Camp and newly arrived `in country', in South Viet Nam. He knew just enough to know he didn't know anything, and that he should be afraid, very afraid. For the next thirteen months, an awful lot of people he'd never met before were going to try their best to kill him ... and, if he got the chance, he'd return the favor. `Nothing personal, you understand, just survival.' In his nightmares, he re-lived going on patrols, being in ambushes and fire-fights. He remembered having strange conversations with an old Vietnamese woman and even stranger dreams (at least he'd hoped they were only dreams...) about an old Irish woman who seemed to scream a lot. He had, again, a beer with the skinny little `Snake-Eater', the Special Forces sergeant who'd befriended him. And, lastly, he dreamed -- in terrifying Technicolor, with Surround-Sound and smells and mind-numbing clarity -- he dreamed and re-lived THE Ambush, the one that had wiped out his patrol and almost killed him. It should have, in fact. To this day he didn't know how he'd survived - - the records were rather confusing on that bit. And the record =certainly= didn't jibe with his memory of what happened. Well, his hallucinations, to put it more accurately. And, suddenly, he was awake. He glanced at the clock and saw he was late for work already. Somehow that didn't surprise him this morning. He ran through his morning routine on automatic pilot, since his mind was =very= definitely not "there." While he made a passable job of shaving (at least his face didn't look like a war-zone when he was finished), he was thinking about the `feeling' he'd started having late Saturday afternoon. It was a feeling of impending crisis or doom. Something was seriously changing that would threaten his life ... or ... or something. When he combined it with the nightmares he'd had last night - - well, he couldn't explain it, but he was more nervous and scared than he'd been since his first patrol. And that was =not= an auspicious way to begin a Monday morning. *.*.*.*.* He walked into his outer office and stopped dead in his tracks: MariEllen, his secretary, was looking at him with a slightly worried expression and - God help him, it was going to be one of =those= Mondays - his two :favorite: agents, Mulder and Scully, were waiting for him. He picked up his message slips and walked into his office, leaving the door open behind him. He hung up his jacket, turned around and asked, "So, what do you two want? Finish your reports and expense forms on time, for a change?" Then he noticed that both agents were still standing and looking a bit nervous about something. They exchanged a glance and Mulder motioned with his head ever so slightly for Scully to go on with something. She looked back at Skinner, took a deep breath and stepped forward to hand him an envelope. He just looked at it for a moment, then at Scully, with an obvious question mark in his eyes - - he had `A Very Bad Feeling' about the contents of the envelope. "We met someone who asked us to deliver this to you the first thing this morning, sir." With a small sigh, Skinner opened the envelope and took out the contents, a single sheet of paper. "Hey, Jar-Head!" "Imagine my surprise to find out you not only survived, but have gone on to prosper -- well, after a fashion. Who'd a thought tight-assed Mr. Clean would become a federal cop - especially since we =know= you inhaled, *lots* of times. I found it so funny I almost laughed myself right off my chair." "Your two agents, probably still standing in front of you, are a couple of real stand-up people, good kids, you know? I'll admit I'd like to take the tall one out behind the barracks for some "attitude adjustment," but he's still basically a good kid. Sort of reminds me of someone else I knew once upon a time....." "Well, I could chat for pages, but we have some business we need to attend to. Be at The Wall this afternoon at 5:30 - sharp! That should let you have a good, productive day and still have time to walk down to The Wall." (signed) "Skinny as a Two-Step, Twice as dangerous" When he got to the signature, Skinner blanched and sat down in a hurry. He spoke to himself, totally unaware it was out loud. "It can't be. He's dead. They're =all= dead. This can't be real." Scully glanced at an equally worried Mulder, turned back to Skinner and asked, "Sir? Sir?! Are you alright, sir?" Without seeming to pay attention to what he was saying, Skinner sat there with his elbows on his desk, face in his hands, and muttered, "No - yes - hell, I don't know!" Sitting up suddenly, as if he just realized where he was and who was with him, he glared at the two agents and barked, "Dismissed!" As Mulder reached for the doorknob, they heard behind them, "Have MariEllen hold =all= calls!" They carefuly closed the door behind them, stood for a moment looking at each other and then turned to notice MariEllen watching them, with a worried look on her face. "MariEllen, I don't know what was in the letter we just delivered, but it's upset him so much he wants you to hold all calls," Scully said. Then, betraying her intense worry, she said, "Uhm, if he just happens to go out for lunch and you just happen to see the letter lying on his desk.....?" "Believe me, Agent Scully, the second I find out what's in that letter, I'll let you know," MariEllen replied, with a worried smile. A couple hours later, Scully got a phone call from MariEllen. When they were finished, it was agreed that M-E would call Sharon, Skinner's estranged wife, to tell her the plan. They figured with all of them to watch over him, nothing was going to happen they couldn't handle. Then, like Skinner, it was only a matter of waiting, as the second hand started slowing down, dragging itself slower and slower around in circles. Finally, just as Scully was about to shoot Mulder again to calm him down (not that -she- was nervous, of course), her phone rang. "Scully." "He's just left the office and said he won't be back today. Why don't you and Agent Mulder follow him and I'll be there as soon as I can tactfully get out of here." "Sounds good, MariEllen. We'll see you in a few." Turning to Mulder, she said, "Show time! - - *Now* will you please calm down?!" Betraying how concerned he was, Mulder didn't make a smart-ass remark. He just put on his jacket, helped Scully into hers and they headed for the stairs. As they left the building, they saw Skinner crossing the street, not slowly, not quickly, not even looking around - just moving with solid, fatalistic determination. He was so caught up in his own thoughts, he never once looked behind at the two agents following him. In fact, he seemed only marginally aware there was anyone else on the street with him. A little while later, there it was. A gash in the ground faced with black granite, tombstone granite. Over fifty-seven thousand names -- names of men and women who died ... for what? Skinner slowed down as he approached the first section of granite ... and the first names. Dear God, the names! The tiny reminder of a life, a soul, a breathing, sweating package of hopes and fears and, ultimately, a death. Wasted? Senseless? Who knew..... Walter S. Skinner, ex-member of "Uncle Sam's Misguided Children" certainly didn't. Mulder and Scully also slowed, and started looking around, searching. They weren't really sure what they should be on the watch-out for, but still... Then Mulder noticed - it was only 4:35! It was going to be a long hour. At 4:45, Sharon joined them on their bench. A few minutes later, MariEllen came up. Everyone sat, watching the shiny bald head, not speaking, not moving, just waiting. At 5:25, Mulder started to get a bit nervous. Skinner had been sitting in front of a particular section of The Wall since he got there close to an hour ago. Just sitting. Sometimes looking at the granite, sometimes looking at the ground in front of him. Waiting. Finally, Mulder stood up and shook himself like a bear waking up. The Ladies looked at him as if to ask, `what is it now?!' He was about to say something, even though he had no idea what, when Scully stood up, grabbed his arm and nodded towards the street. They all stood, looking at a cab disembark a passenger. The passenger looked familiar to the two agents, even though he was dressed quite differently from when they saw him yesterday. Uncle Tony finished paying the cabbie, put on his beret, turned around and walked with a firm and steady pace toward The Wall. If he knew they were there, he gave no indication. Mulder said quietly, "We better get closer while we can. Sharon, why don't you and I come in from this side, while Scully and MariEllen come in from the other?" With that, the two agents and two ladies began moving in closer, all trying to look invisible, or at least nondescript. At exactly 5:30 PM local, Uncle Tony arrived in front of a seated Walter S. Skinner, who just looked at the feet suddenly in front of him. "=On= -Your- *Feet*!" The command cracked with the force of a cannon shot and several people besides Skinner found themselves shooting to their feet in a ramrod-straight position of Attention. There was a moment where the air fairly danced and crackled with energy, and then... "At Ease." Everyone within ear-shot visibly relaxed ... except Skinner. Dozens of eyes were on the tableau slowly unfolding. Skinner looked even larger than he already was because he was standing on the grass slightly uphill from Tony. He looked at the smaller man in the beret and suddenly found his voice. "I was told you were all dead, but... uhm, you look older," Skinner finished lamely. "Well, I'm =not= dead, yet ... but it has been a few years. And you should talk - you definitely look like Mr. Clean, now," said Tony with a slight smile, glancing at Skinner's balding head. Holding out his hand, he said, "So, how've you been, Walter?" Skinner shook the hand of his old comrade, raised an eyebrow and said, "So, it's `Walter', is it? Jesus, I must be in -really- deep trouble." The answering smile wasn't as deep as he would have liked. It was, in fact, tinged with a bit of sadness, and this worried Skinner more than he thought it would. It had been many long years since he last saw the little Special Forces trooper in front of him, and many things had passed under some -very- strange bridges in those years. He wondered so many things about this man, but most of all, Skinner wondered why he had come back to haunt him now, =now= of all times. Before he could ask anything further, though..... "Why don't you introduce me, first -- okay, Walter?" This caused Skinner to frown and look around. At first glance, he didn't see who Tony was talking about. Then he spotted Scully's distinctive red hair ... and it only took moments to spot the other three people watching him. The jig being up, the four watchers walked up to the two veterans. Mulder looked rather embarrassed at having been caught. Scully tried to look `the cool professional', but failed miserably -- she was obviously concerned. Sharon and MariEllen just looked Skinner straight in the eye and didn't bother trying to disguise their concern ... and curiosity. "Sharon, MariEllen, this is Anthony D'Antonio, a ghost from my past. Tony, this is Sharon, my ... ex-wife, and MariEllen Gutierrez, my secretary. I believe you already know these two people," Skinner said carefully, not looking anyone in the eyes. Tony was about to say something teasing, but cut it off when he noticed the way the big ex-Marine was looking - he seemed embarrassed or something. So, Tony shook Sharon's hand and said something socially polite. But when Tony's hand touched MariEllen's, he looked sharply into her eyes, searching. She seemed momentarily surprised - or something - but recovered quickly. Then he turned to the two agents and smiled. "Oh, yes," he said, "we've met. I'm glad to see you got home alright ... and didn't lose anything on the plane." Both agents blushed slightly, and Skinner wondered what it meant. Then he was distracted. "So," said Sharon, "did you and Walter serve together in Viet Nam? I didn't know the Marines and the Green Berets fought together over there." That got a hearty laugh from Tony and a blush from Skinner. Before Tony could answer, Skinner jumped in and said, "=I'll= tell the story, if you don't mind. That way she'll get the truth and not some wild-assed tall-tale." "Walter! How can you say that! After all we've been to each other," said Tony, trying very hard to sound hurt, but failing miserably. Skinner just clenched his jaw and didn't respond. Instead, he began the story of how they'd met... End of Part 1 ..... to be continued = = = = = = = = "Long, long ago and far, far away, in a place that might just as well have been another galaxy..." "The Rowdy Six-Pack" had been sitting in the Lone Star Bar sucking down "Thirty-Three"s and `ba si de' chasers for a couple hours. They were celebrating Cole's promotion to Corporal and Markley's promotion to Lance Corporal. The rest - Archie, Barrett, Reid and Skinner - were still Privates, which was just fine with them. Since it was only mid-afternoon, there really wasn't a `floor-show' to speak of and "The Six-Pack" was getting bored. It was definitely time to go find some action. Skinner and Markley got up to recycle some of the beer they'd been drinking, telling the others they would meet them out front. By the time they got there, a "situation" was already developing. Brand-new-Corporal Cole was baiting a skinny little guy while the others were loosely surrounding him, so he couldn't go anywhere. Skinner looked at the guy and saw someone in his mid-twenties or thereabouts, about 5'10" and weighing maybe 125 - if he was holding a bucket of sand in each hand. He looked like a four-eyed geek, in spite of the worn jungle fatigues and sun-lightened, funny little French hat he was wearing. (A part of his mind also noticed things the others were apparently ignoring. The black insignia of rank on his collar tabs seemed to have rockers under the chevrons, there was a unit patch on his right shoulder as well as his left (even though Skinner couldn't make out what it was), and there were a couple faded badges over the "U.S. Army" above his left breast pocket. It started shouting at the rest of Skinner's mind, but was being garbled because of all the alcohol fogging.) Markley wanted to join right in, but Skinner grabbed his arm and said, "Wait a second, Thumper. I got a =real= bad feeling about this." This caused "Thumper" Markley to pause, look back at Skinner, look again at the situation, and hold off for the moment. He didn't, of course, see whatever it was that had spooked "Mr. Clean," but he knew enough to pay attention to Skinner's `feelings'. What Skinner was `seeing' was that damned old Irish woman screaming and trying to wave him off from attacking the skinny guy in the green hat. He was wondering why just as the guy looked up at "King" Cole - - and Skinner almost pissed his pants, in spite of having just emptied his bladder. The skinny guy's eyes weren't human ... and there was Cold Death waiting in them! "Hey, King!" called Skinner, hoping to distract and defuse the imminent explosion. "I thought we were going to celebrate. What are we wasting time here for? Let's go find a torpedo maker and some snatch, man. Come on, why waste time hassling this little geek when we can get ripped and laid? Come on, let's go." It almost worked, too. "King" Cole looked at Skinner, smiled and said, "You're right, Mr. Clean, why bother with this little four-eyed pussy when we could be getting ripped and laid?" He started to turn away, then snapped his fingers. "Hey, I know why -- `cause I don't like his faggoty little hat, that's why!" With that bit of wit, he spun around, sending a haymaker right for where the little geek had been. Since there wasn't a body there to stop his fist, Cole continued moving and was quickly off-balance. Suddenly he found he had no balance, because he was flying through the air, landing on Barrett and collapsing in a heap of arms and legs. To give Archie and Reid credit, they didn't hesitate to jump on the little guy once the fight started. Unfortunately, it didn't do them any good. Reid suddenly found he couldn't breathe and collapsed on the ground, curled in a ball. When he started puking his guts out, it didn't have far to fall. Archie also couldn't stand, but it was because his left leg felt broken in at least a dozen places, all between his knee and his foot. It later turned out to have been the edge of the guy's boot scraping down his shin before slamming onto the top of his instep. If he had landed squarely, he probably would have crushed Archie's foot and put it in a cast for months. Luckily(?) he was slightly off balance and only scrunched Archie's foot enough to put him out of the fight. Cole came up off the ground like an enraged bull and charged. Again, at the last second the guy wasn't where he had been, but Cole just couldn't seem to stop his movement and crashed into the side of the Lone Star Bar. For a few moments he just lay there trying to put the stars and planets back in their proper orbits. He had almost succeeded, too, when there was a sudden weight on his back, his head was being pulled and twisted backwards at a =very= painful angle and it was getting *very* difficult to breathe! As darkness was quickly swallowing him up, he thought he heard someone familiar shouting, "No, sarge! Let him go! He's not worth it! Let him go!" The darkness stopped, then slowly faded away. In a little while, Cole painfully rolled over and sat with his back to the wall and looked around him. There seemed to be a bit of a crowd. Reid looked like he was going to drown in his own puke, and the blue he was turning just wasn't his color. Then one of the mama-sans from the bar threw a bucket of water on him and that seemed to help somehow. He flopped around like a landed fish for a moment, but he wasn't blue any more. There were a couple guys trying to deal with Archie's leg and a couple more trying to revive Barrett. He was just laying there completely out of it, his face bleeding like a stuck pig, his nose at a very unnatural angle with the rest of his face. Off to the side a bit, Markley and Skinner were trying to calm down the guy Cole had tried to jump. Cole just groaned and lay back down. It took a bit of doing to calm down the little `Snake-Eater', but eventually Skinner and Markley succeeded. To show there were no hard feeling toward them, he even offered to buy them a drink. They started to decline, saying they had to get the other guys back to their base, but Sergeant First Class D'Antonio just brushed it aside. A couple minutes later he was back with a jeep. A few minutes later, the three of them were headed for a part of town unfamiliar to the two Marines. The jeep was parked in an alley and they headed for what looked like a hole-in- the-wall. Instead of finding a dive, they found themselves in a rather nice cafe. The family running the place seemed to know the sergeant and led them to a table toward the back of the large room. A round of "Thirty-Three"s was brought to the table, the server talked to the sergeant for a bit in French, and left. As they were nearing the bottom of their beers, the young lady came back to the table bearing a large tray. Bowls of noodles were placed in front of each of them, along with what looked like fried meat of some sort, pickled vegetables, tea and `chop-sticks'. The sergeant dipped the meat in a sauce that stunk to high-heaven. He called it "nuoc mam" and seemed to enjoy it - they called it `Armpit Sauce' and tried to avoid it without giving insult. The sergeant just laughed at them. They had started by talking about safe topics - where they were from, what their folks did, what kind of sports they liked, and so on. By the time the meal was over, he knew more about them than they were aware they'd revealed. Then he did something rather unexpected -- he said something to the waitress, who up until this time had been friendly and polite, but now looked *very* serious and hurried away. She came back helping an old woman to the table. The old woman was as serious as could be, until she saw the sergeant. Then she broke into a huge, toothless smile and greeted him in broken French. As soon as he saw her, the sergeant was on his feet and holding her chair for her, being so politely deferential it -might- have seemed funny ... but it wasn't. They chatted for a bit, with the waitress standing by to help whenever necessary, and then he said something that made the old woman turn very serious again. Turning to Markley, he said, "Hold out both hands palms up for Madam Nihm to see. Be as polite as you can." She took his hands and started to look at the lines on the palms. Suddenly, she sat up, dropped his hands and turned to grab the waitress' hands. Then she started laughing and saying something as she pointed back and forth between her and Markley. This caused the young woman to blush furiously and dash for the kitchen, which made the old woman laugh all the harder. Having a small idea what the old woman had said, the tips of Markley's ears got bright red. He wasn't sure if he wanted to ask what it was all about or not, but the matter was settled for him. "Congratulations, Private! It seems you've just met your future wife and the mother of your - uhm, five children, I think she said." "Shit! I haven't even gotten back to The World or finished college or anything, and she's already got me married off and with a bunch of kids! Damn!" Markley tried to make it sound like he didn't believe any of it, but a slight smile could be seen playing at the corner of his mouth. * * * * * "So what happened, Walter?" asked Sharon. "-Did- they get married and... well, whatever?" "She runs a very successful Vietnamese restaurant and he owns a construction company specializing in restaurants and historical renovations. They live just outside Baltimore. And before you ask, their youngest - of five - graduates from high school this coming June." End of Part 2 ..... to be continued = = = = = = = = "Yeah, those were some fun times, weren't they, Walter?" said a smiling Uncle Tony. "Hey, I'll bet you folks didn't know this guy here is quite a repository for Vietnamese ghost stories, huh? Yep, Walter spent many hours talking to old Madam Nihm -- she'd taken a shine to him, which really had nothing to do with what she `Saw' in the lines of his palms." Four sets of eyes looked at Skinner with amazement, and he was looking anywhere but at any of them. He was also trying to do an imitation of a red lightbulb. With an `odd' twinkle in his eye, Uncle Tony told them more. "Madam Nihm wanted to talk to ol' Wally here bad enough that she found a young man who could speak excellent English and French to translate for her. As dumb luck or "Murphy" would have it, it was a guy in his own platoon. Guy by the name of Corporal Delgado, from east Texas somewhere. Spoke excellent English, French and Spanish -- his father was Mexican-American and his mother was French, real French, not Cajun-French." "Anyway, the three of them could be seen quite often just sitting around, talking -- well, Madam Nihm would be talking and the other two would be listening....." "Don't forget all the kids," reminded Skinner quietly. "Oh, yeah, and lots of kids, of course, along with whatever adults :just: :happened: to be passing by. She was sort of like one of the town elders - she told stories and *every*one listened, young and old alike. Some of the stories were funny, some were romantic, some were too strange for words... and some were so scary they almost made you wet your pants on more than one occasion, didn't they, Walter?" "You know, she was only trying to help you. She was trying to reach out and help you in a way she knew you needed, but you were just too damned macho to *really* listen." There was silence for a moment as Uncle Tony just looked at Skinner, who continued to look at the ground, clenching and unclenching his jaw muscles in silence. Uncle Tony turned and said, "I'll bet you have no idea how much some of the cases you two've been given scare the piss out of Mr. Bad-Ass, Tough- as-Nails, Strictly-by-the-Book, Assistant Director of the FBI Walter S Skinner, here. The Truth is -he's- more afraid of so-called `extreme possibilities' than you -ever- were, Dana. Why, you wonder? Maybe because if even so much as a tenth of any of it is true, it means there is a =very= real possibility some of the stories Madam Nihm told -were- =true=... and *that* scares the piss right out of ol' Wally, here." "It would also mean there -really- =is= an old Irish woman that comes to him every once in a while and tries to save his sorry ass ... or to save the life of someone he loves," Uncle Tony said looking directly at Sharon. "It would mean there is more `reality' to "Shadow Threads" than he wants to think about. After all, the first time he heard those talked about, was from a crazy little, four-eyed geek... and God forbid that -he- was right!" People noticed that Skinner was no longer blushing, but was now as pale as a ghost. There were beads of perspiration on his brow and upper lip, and he seemed as tense as an over-wound watch-spring. The two agents looked back at Uncle Tony and noticed the twinkle in his eyes had taken on a dangerous glint. His eyes looked again like they had seen a time or two over the course of the past weekend... and it made them *very* nervous, even though the focus was their boss and not themselves. "When I met him, Mr. Clean, here, was part of a bunch known as `The Rowdy Six-Pack', but before too long, it was down to a mere four-some. Thumper Markley took a couple rounds in a fire-fight that put him in the hospital and out of things. Bad-Boy Reid walked through a door, stepped on something he shouldn't have and they put what remains they could find in a body bag." "But then someone must have pissed off all the gods of battle, because you guys sure stuck your dicks in a light socket, didn't you? Your guardian `ban-sidhe' tried to warn you, too, but, nooooo, you couldn't -possibly- listen or pay attention to something like =her=, could you, *Walter*?" Uncle Tony said. Then, with hypnotic quietness, "Remember that day, Walter, remember the day of The Ambush, remember it ...~~now~~..." * * * * * Just another day like many others a long time ago -- "when we were young....." It started off like any other patrol-sweep: get your gear together, make sure your canteens were filled, make sure you had all the ammo and grenades you were supposed to (and a few extras, here and there...), and then fall out for inspeciton. The sergeant going over you with a fine- toothed comb, telling you to tape this or that so it would be silent or not shine, asking you if you had thus-n-such ... mostly talking to the new guys, since the guys that had been there a while knew all this almost by instinct. Then they were told to fall out, make any corrections and be ready to go in fifteen minutes. And then - - off into "Indian Country" and whatever Fate had in store. For several hours they walked through the jungle, rice paddies and villages. Finding nothing - of course - but silent villagers. For hours the feeling of having a bulls-eye painted on them got stronger and stronger. About the time they were to begin slowly working their way back towards their base, the tension was so strong you could reach out and touch it. Every single man in the patrol =knew= something was going to happen, =knew= today was going to get very ugly, =knew= ... today was the day ... the day many of them were going to die ... and they didn't need Mr. Clean to tell them, either. And Mr. Clean? Private Walter S. Skinner, USMC? He was always scared, of course - it was only natural. But =today= he couldn't make up his mind if he was bat-shit terrified, or so resigned to death that he just didn't care, just didn't give a rat's ass any more. As he had walked back after making corrections to his gear, he had suddenly heard that damned old Irish woman screaming. This caused him to look up and `see' that every member of the patrol had a transparent shroud over them ... and the old woman was holding her hands out, palms towards him, trying to stop him from going with the patrol. When he had stepped forward to take his place with the Doomed Patrol, she seemed to actually weep for just a moment. Then, she had suddenly gotten a *very* determined set to her jaw and fled, vanishing completely after a few meters. Had he been thinking, he might have realized in what direction she was going, but he was trying instead to keep a calm face, absolutely determined not to let his buddies down and to face his doom `like a man'. An odd phrase, that -- `like a man'. As if Death really gave a damn how he found you, how he took you with him, whether you were a man, woman or child, young, old or in the prime of your life, combatant or non- combatant, as innocent as a babe suckling at its mother's breast or as jaded and corrupt as a Saigon politician. It made no difference at all to Death how you behaved in your final moments of Life. But it made a difference to Skinner ... and to Brown, Eccles, Fisher, Pruitt, Majors, Washington, White, and all the thousands upon thousands of other young men and women in uniform, both before them and since. They didn't walk knowingly "into the jaws of Death, into the mouth of Hell" for Mom, Flag or Apple Pie. They didn't do it for love of Glory, or a sense of Duty to some abstract principles most of them couldn't even name, much less vote on. And they most =certainly= didn't do it for a government of old men who didn't give a =tinker's= =damn= about them or their lives, lives that were being thrown away with the careless abandon of a drunken Texan at a craps-table. They only had each other, even though, in a way, they didn't even have that. But, while each and every single swinging Richard of them was utterly and hopelessly alone with their inner terrors, there was still an indefinable "something" that made them want to be there for each other. And it was far more than a simple sense of survival, although that was there, of course. Although most of them had never read Shakespeare, they would have recognized these sentiments as their own: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother;" And, although you may fight and squabble amongst your brothers and sisters, they were =your= brothers and sisters, and God help the Fool that tried to mess with one of you. Thus it was that Private Walter S. Skinner, USMC, knowing full well that the entire patrol was going to die that day, still went and took his place amongst them, for, whether he consciously recognized it or not, they were *his* `brothers', and he would be faithful to them unto Death. Because if he didn't, he would be a faithless coward, unworthy of the blood of his `brothers', of no more worth than a long-haired civilian, one of those daily screaming obscenities and heaping scorn upon his `brothers' who had served their time in hell, who had seen and done things unspeakable, who had had -their- souls tortured and branded, so the self-righteous civilian could "bravely" exercise his Rights ..... safe at home, where he would never have to worry about hearing a shot fired in anger. Although he =knew= the entire patrol was going to die that day, Private Walter S. Skinner took his place amongst them, for he =would= *not* be a hypocrite -- he was a Marine, damn it, -not- some gutless civilian! And so, at 1649 hours Zulu (4:49 PM local) on a very fateful day in his rather short life, Private Walter S. Skinner was present when all hell broke loose, when Death came striding through his patrol shaking hands like a Chicago politician up for re-election. He stood there and watched as Death reached out his boney claw for him. End of Part 3 ... to be continued = = = = = = = = Private Walter S. Skinner stood there and watched as Death reached out his boney claw for him. And then he wasn't seeing him any more ... because some Missouri mule had just kicked the shit out of him, sending him flying through the air to slam up short against a tree a few feet behind him. He was enveloped in total darkness before he finished bouncing off the tree. This was a good thing, in a way, because it meant he wasn't aware of the bullets that tore into and through his body and, thus, did not feel them ... yet. He fell at the foot of the tree like a disjointed sack of beans. Although Skinner was unconscious for only a few seconds - 37 seconds, to be exact - it was long enough to miss the slaughter of his patrol mates. The point man had been shot from point-blank range, his body ripped apart by a full burst of automatic weapon fire. It hit him so hard, he was physically picked up and thrown backwards several feet. This signalled the left side of the patrol to erupted like a volcano! The fire was so furious and intense that many of the patrol were shredded and killed several times over before they were aware anything had happened, were dead several times over before their bodies could collapse. The remaining members immediately turned to the left and returned fire for all they were worth, but there were not enough of them to make a difference. Enemy bullets criss-crossed the areas that were still returning fire and the shear volume quickly silenced it. By the time Skinner was regaining consciousness, an eerie silence had settled on the bloody site. Slowly, quietly, there was movement in the underbrush, then an NVA soldier cautiously stepped out amongst the dead Marines. When no one moved, he said something quietly, and more began coming out. Very quickly, the atmosphere changed from caution to relief and then good humor. They had been victorious today over an entire patrol of big-nosed Americans. They began to search the bodies for useful items. During this search, they found a couple Marines that weren't -quite- dead yet. Bayonets eventually put an end to them, but their screams could be heard for a few moments after they were found. When the bodies were recovered later, it was obvious to even a casual observer that the bayonet wounds had been made to inflict and ensure pain, =not= a quick death. And then one of them found Skinner. Skinner looked back at him, wanting desperately to be able to move his arm, to reach for his rifle, so he could at least -try- to take one of them with him. But his arms were numb and wouldn't respond. He watched as the little man smiled, unfolded his bayonet and got ready to use Skinner for a practice dummy. The human mind is an amazing thing. Sometimes in moments of great stress, everything will happen so quickly that the mind is barely able to record, much less process the incoming data. In other circumstances, Time itself will suddenly seem to slow down so much that an explosion can be seen to unfold like an opening flower. Sometimes this is good, and sometimes not. Sometimes this will help you to see and understand what is happening ..... and sometimes it will allow you to see and record forever horrors that will haunt you for the rest of your life. In combat, it is the latter that happens far too often ... as it happened to Walter S. Skinner at this moment in his life. Skinner watched as the bayonet slowly, slowly unfolded, and then locked in place with a metallic `snick'. He watched as the little man - a boy, actually, about the same age as Skinner himself - slowly drew his weapon back, preparing for the lunge that would send it into Skinner's body, that would begin making Skinner scream like he thought he had heard his buddies scream, before they had finally been allowed the comforting blessing of Death. And then something odd happened. Skinner thought he saw insects flying towards the back of his enemy's head. Bare moments later, the boy's face scrunched up like he had suddenly tasted something incredibly sour, and his jaw began to move as if he wanted to spit whatever it was out. Then it must have gotten very sour because his eyes began to bulge out ... and moments later they burst from his head, along with a sizable portion of the front of his skull. Immediately after this, bits of brain matter, blood and fluid came bursting forth to shower all over Skinner, the tree behind him and the underbrush behind that. The jaw was shattered and torn off and scattered with the brain matter. Blood flew everywhere. And then the body was falling ... falling ... falling to crash against Skinner's own, to lie there pumping what little life it had left all over Skinner ... and he couldn't even turn his head away. He looked into the remains of the skull and thought he saw a smiling Death looking back out at him. Skinner managed to tear his eyes away and look up at the rest of the ambush site. What he saw would have been funny, in a macabre way, if he had been capable of humor. The NVA soldiers were performing some strange yet very familiar dance. And blood was flying everywhere, along with parts of bodies and skulls. Those that weren't killed immediately, tried to turn and run, but it did them no good. A few even tried to throw up their hands and surrender. At that point Skinner's mind thought it saw something so bizarre, so... so... so =impossible=, that it stopped thinking and just watched in disbelieving fascination. A creature came out of the underbrush and moved towards the NVA soldiers. It seemed to be wearing jungle fatigues and carrying a machete- like instrument in each hand. It seemed to vaguely resemble his friend, Sergeant D'Antonio, but only vaguely. There was a fog-like shimmering around his body and his face was so incredibly beautiful and calm - and =terrifying= - that Skinner desperately wanted to look at something, =any=thing else. He felt like he was looking full upon the Visage of Death in Human Form! Then the entity began =to= *DANCE*, for God's sake! As he lay there, surely hallucinating, Skinner could almost `hear' the music of the Dance of Death. He watched as the entity wove an intricate pattern of light with his weapons, moving through the remaining NVA soldiers like the wind moving through flowers and tall grasses. But the results were much different than the wind in flowers. Here a man disembowelled, there a head flying from the neck, blood bursting forth like a fountain, here the sickening crunch of metal through flesh and bones snapping like twigs, there a man staring dumbly at hands suddenly missing, his blood pumping from the stumps. And through it all, not one of them able to run away, all of them standing, waiting for Death to come to them. And then ..... it was over. The Dance was ended. There were no more NVA alive. The entity stood calmly, almost posed, for a moment longer. Then it was gone, and only his friend was standing there looking at him, a bloody weapon in each hand. Sergeant D'Antonio turned back the way he had come and barked something in a language Skinner had never heard before. The underbrush came alive with little `Men of the Mountains'. They began rushing about checking the Marines, but found they were all dead. The radio hadn't been damaged, though, so it was brought to the Sergeant at once. A couple of the little men tried to make Skinner as comfortable as they could, tried to attend to his wounds. They looked rather upset as they turned to the Sergeant and said something that sounded urgent, in a tone indicating they were =not= happy to be saying it. Skinner saw Sgt. Tony look at him with an odd expression, then snap something to the men and jerk his head away. They scampered away to join their comrades. Sgt. Tony picked up the handset of the radio, looked at Skinner, then looked next to him. Skinner's eyes almost bugged out of his head when he looked over and saw the old Irish woman kneeling next to him. She looked back at him with what looked like genuine concern and sorrow in her eyes. Then she reached for him, and Skinner felt like someone was pouring brandy in his wounds. It took his breath away, but left his heart beating a bit stronger, his eyes a bit clearer. "Marine Base, this is Friendly Two-Step, over." "Uh, Friendly Two-Step, this is Marine Base, who is this?" "I =told= you, Junior!! Now listen up! I have 12 dead Marines and one that's just barely alive. If you hurry, you -might- be able to save him, got it?! Oh, yeah, and there's also 23 dead Zips ... I'll leave their heads, this time." At the other end of the radio signal, several people broke out in a cold sweat! What the fuck was *HE* doing in -their- backyard?!! One of the Marines listening tore out of the room and headed for the CO's office. "Okay, at grid 328253, there is a fork in a stream -- can you find that, Junior?" "Yeah, Smart-Ass, I can read a map. They teach us knuckle-draggers things like that, you know." Laughter boiled out of the speakers, but it only sent chills down the spines of those listening. "Okay, Junior. Bearing from there is 042, distance is about 120 meters. There's now a bit of a clearing here, so you can't miss it. At the stream fork, there is just enough room to put down a medevac bird. This is an emergency - got that, Junior? - a fucking, Grade-A emergency! Stroke your dick more than three times and this guy is gone, got it? Oh, yeah, his name is Skinner, Private Walter S. Skinner. Now, can you chogie your little ass up here, or should I just put him out of his misery?" "*NO*!! No, we're getting a party in the air right now. We'll be there almost before you hang up. Do you need cover or anything?" "Thanks anyhow, Junior, but all I need is someone to get here in a hurry, or this is going to've been a wasted effort. Well, been nice talking to you. Take care, Junior. Out." End of Part 4 ... to be continued = = = = = = = = At the other end of the radio signal, pandemonium broke out, except for the radioman sitting there looking back at the hissing speakers. It was the strangest call he had handled yet while in country. He prayed he'd never get another one like it. (His prayers would be answered.) The other Marines were scrambling to get birds in the air and troops in the area. The hospital was notified, as was the morgue. In a situation where every second counted, the few minutes it took to get to the scene of so much carnage seemed to be an eternity. But eventually there were troops on the ground and, then, stunned silence as they saw what was left. Skinner was laying on an improvised stretcher, ready to go. His wounds had been tended as best as could be done in the field - under the circumstances - and he had an improvised wound-tag tied to one wrist. The corpsman [Navy-speak for "medic"] saw that Skinner was taken care of as well as he could have done, so he and three Marines grabbed the stretcher and ran for the helicopter. The rest of the Marines were still standing there in shocked silence as the stretcher team left the ambush site. Along one side of the clearing were twelve bodies wrapped in ponchos, their weapons next to them, their helmets on top of their bodies. On the other side of the clearing were 23 bodies laid out for inspection. At their feet were their weapons, gear and any papers. Near their shoulders, a four foot pole had been driven into the ground and spiked on top of that, their heads, either whole or the biggest piece that could be found. The ones with bloody bayonets had their pants down around their knees and their gentials were missing. All of the NVA bodies were already crawling with insects. Finally a Gunny Sergeant on his third tour in Viet Nam snapped out of it and began barking orders. He tried hard to make it look like it was no big thing to him, that he'd seen this sort of thing before. Only another Sergeant on his second tour knew the Gunny was faking it, to keep the troops moving and to hide his own horror and nausea. The dead Marines were taken out with some care, even though they were dead. The dead NVA soldiers that were `intact' were put in a common grave, with a small amount of respect ... -and- their heads. A small marker was placed on the grave. The ones that had bayoneted the wounded Marines, though, were left lying on the ground, for the insects and animals. Their heads were left on the stakes. In the mean time, the angel bird landed fast and hard. Before it had even finished settling, the stretcher bearers were out and running with their load for the hospital doors. They were met by a compliment of medical types - nurses, doctors, technicians - and Skinner was rushed off to surgery almost without anyone missing a step. The corpsman and the stretcher bearers dropped off at the door and sat with the weariness of those who had run a race with Death Himself. None of them said anything, but they did hug each other when first one, then all of them began to cry. None of them had ever seen a body that bloody and chopped to stew-meat ... and still alive. Hell, none of them even knew Skinner, except by sight, but there was something about what they had just done to try to help him live that touched all of them, touched them in a place they no longer knew existed, in a place they were certain had died somewhere in the jungle and rice-paddies, had died and robbed them of their youth, their innocence, their heart, their compassion ... their very soul. And the old Irish woman held them and shed a tear or two herself. As they cried, =some=how they were healed, healed of wounds they never knew they had ... and the old woman was glad for them and didn't begrudge them the energy it cost her. The cost was little enough to pay for saving her charge, her young man, the young man with a destiny he =refused= to acknowledge. Speaking of which, she had to find him right away, so she caressingly stroked each man-child's head and left to find Skinnner. She found him quickly enough -- she just followed the trail of frantic energy. Good thing she did, too, as he was about to crash flat-line. She put an end to =that= nonsense right away ... and did so twice more before the doctors were done with him. When one of the nurses muttered something about this one having an especially attentive guardian angel, she just smiled and thought that the young woman was ... how did they put it? Ah, yes, "close enough for horseshoes and grenades." Three days later, when she was certain Skinner was out of immediate danger, she left to attend to other tasks she had put off while attending her vigil. A week or so later, she was present when some officers came to talk to Skinner, to try to find out what had happened in the ambush ... and afterwards. The more she listened to the tale, the angrier she got. When he mentioned hearing his buddies being bayoneted, the air around her was fairly crackling with fury as she thought back to other wars, other battles, ... other atrocities ... and she *knew* the effects of =this= bitter war was going to last a very long, long time, indeed. But when Skinner was asked about the mutilated bodies and the heads on poles, she smiled a cold and terrible smile, one that would have made the grown men wet themselves had they been able to see it. =She= knew what had happened, and who, or more accurately, =what= had done it, but she also knew that all but one of these -men- would *never* believe it, even if they could hear her words. What blind, unbelieving fools! The officer whose ancestors had come from the Blessed Isle, however, -he- showed promise. Then she got a momentary `flash' of this officer with a young, red-haired daughter, one whom the `wee-folk' loved as their own, and Ailleagnai felt her old heart swell with joy. Some day, she thought, some day we'll meet, dear blessed child. Skinner couldn't answer their questions, he said, because he had passed out and didn't see anything. That wasn't exactly true, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell them about his hallucinations!! They'd put him in a padded room and throw away the key! Skinner wasn't about to let that happen. He'd had enough of this happy-horseshit and just wanted to go back to The World. So he kept quiet about his hallucinations - he flat =refused= to believe they were anything else - and hoped they would let it drop. As luck(?) would have it, they did and he was soon on a Freedom Bird heading for the Land of the Round Doorknob and The Big PX. * * * * * Skinner sat on the ground with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Sharon was holding him from one side and MariEllen was holding him from the other. He had almost completely stopped shaking, although the tears still flowed. Scully and Mulder stood there and let their tears slowly subside by themselves. They both looked like they were in a mild state of shock. Then they looked from their boss to Uncle Tony, and noticed a strange expression. He looked very sad, but determined to finish something, something that gave him no pleasure in the doing. "You tried to check out several times that day, Walter, but the old woman kept bringing you back. Has it *never* occurred to you to wonder =why= she was expending that much energy on you? Or have you remained too bull-headed, too afraid to think about it? Seeing you now, I do believe it's a matter of being too afraid to look in the mirror. I never would have believed you to be a -coward-, Walter, *never*!" This statement started to get a strong reaction from everyone ... except Skinner. Uncle Tony brusquely waved everyone to silence. Reluctantly, they were quiet. "Tell me, Walter, do you think she saved your miserable ass so you could become just another uptight bureaucrat? So you could become more interested in dotting the "i"s and crossing the "t"s than in *DOING* something, than in actually accomplishing something worthwhile, like finding evil and bringing it to justice? So you could sink into such a state of depressed uselessness that... I don't know, Walter ... so you could become just another gutless, `I-don't-give-a-damn' civilian?" Silence reigned for some time. Most of the other visitors to The Wall had wandered off ... and still the odd little group was quiet, thinking. "Walter," Uncle Tony finally said, "just what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" The answer was continued silence. Uncle Tony looked around at the others, but no one wanted to say anything. Some looked to be in as much of a quandry as Skinner did himself. "Alright, then, if -you- won't say anything, we'll ask someone who might have a ... `fresh perspective' on the matter. I presume you're aware there are times during the year and places on earth where the so-called `veil between the worlds' is thinner than usual. Well, that right over there, that long wall of black, tombstone granite, is one of the newer, but no less powerful, `veils'. On this side of its surface is the so-called Land of the Living. But on the other side of its surface is a land specifically for these honored dead, for them to rest, relax, remember and heal ..... before they move on." Uncle Tony would have said more, but at just that moment, a distraught and disheveled man came running up. End of Part 5 ... to be continued = = = = = = = = "Sharon, darling, are you alright? He hasn't done anything to harm you, has he?" Sharon looked surprised to see her new boyfriend and, frankly, rather annoyed, too. The man's presence and nannering seemed to get through to Skinner and started to snap him out of his tearful silence. His face began to flush and his temper rose, but before he could say anything, Uncle Tony was at the intruder's side. Tony grabbed Sharon's boyfriend by the elbow and brusquely led him away from the little group. He appeared to be in such pain he couldn't even squeak in protest. With the barest communicative look at each other, Mulder quickly went to help keep his boss calm - or as calm as could be under the circumstances - and Scully went to see that Uncle Tony didn't do anything to the intruder that would be ... "unfortunate." What she saw and heard unsettled her, even though she couldn't say why ... exactly ... "Shut up, Fool!! Just shut the fuck up!" It was rather obvious that Uncle Tony was furious. Scully worried that he would do something more than hold the intruder by the elbow. "You... you're hurting me," the boyfriend gasped. "Shut up!! Your stupidity damn near got you sent to the hospital, you fool! What the -fuck- were you thinking to run in here and start saying that crap in front of Walter?! Were you -trying- ... to ..." Uncle Tony's words faded away as he got a good, long look into the man's eyes. What he saw there was fear, guilt and angry resentment ... covering something startling. "You miserable bastard," said Uncle Tony quietly. "You're another god-damned `Fonda'!" The look on the boyfriend's face turned from pained, angry resentment, to wide-eyed fear. "You haven't told anyone, have you? You haven't told anyone at work, you haven't told your daughter ... and you -certainly- haven't told Sharon, have you?" "Haven't told me what?" asked Sharon, suddenly right next to Scully. "You gave up Walter for =this= disgusting piece of shit?" asked Tony, with genuine surprise in his voice. Sharon flushed angrily and replied, "What?! How -dare- you?! I didn't `give up' Walter - he abandoned me! For =years= I lived with him, slept next to him, waiting for him to let me in, waiting for him to just -talk- to me, waiting for him to stop being The Great Stone Face! But, ooh, nooooo, he just had to keep it all inside, to fester and rot his soul, to slowly tick away like an unpredictable time-bomb. For =years= he pushed me away, and I got tired of it! So when he said he wanted a divorce, what the hell was I suppose to do?! =I= didn't `give up' on him -- =he= *abandoned* *ME*!!$ Tears were freely flowing down her face, but if they were tears of anger or sadness not even she could tell. They were undoubtedly both. Turning back to Sharon's boyfriend, Tony brought his face very close and hissed at him, "Walter thinks you're going to make Sharon happy. He also thinks that if you hurt her, he's going to make you pay dearly. Well, you better think even harder about -this-, *Douglas*! If you continue being dishonest with Sharon -and- it hurts her, you'd better hope to Christ that Walter gets to you first, because if =I= find you first, there won't be enough of your disgusting self to made a bottom-feeder sick! You got that, *Dougie* *Sunshine-Man*?!!" Hearing his long forgotten nickname, "Dennis Adams," once known as Douglas Andrews, felt all the blood drain from his face. He felt faint and more than a little afraid. Glancing around him, he saw people watching him, saw Sharon looking at him questioningly. Without knowing how he did it, he suddenly broke free of Tony's grasp and, having no thought but to get far away from the scary little man with the penetrating eyes, fled as fast as he could. Sharon wasn't sure if she should go after him and find out what was the matter, or stay with Walter and help him through the revelations coming out about Viet Nam. Before she could make up her mind, though, her new boyfriend was out of sight and the decision had effectively been made for her. Uncle Tony looked at Sharon, then at Scully, and, -very- carefully =not= saying anything, walked back over to Skinner. "Which panel is it, Walter?" Knowing exactly what was being asked, Skinner turned around and walked over to the panel he had originally been sitting in front of when Tony found him. Silently he stood looking at it, then, slowly, his arm rose and pointed to a group of names. "Sit down, Walter. Yes, right there will be fine." Turning to the others, with deceptive gentleness (that didn't fool Mulder or Scully one little bit - they'd seen it before!) Tony said, "I don't care if you sit down and watch or walk away or what, but I don't want another interruption, understood?" Sharon and MariEllen sat down on the grass near Walter and each other, as if recognizing the need to be close. The two agents stood slightly off to one side. They were afraid for their boss, but at the same time hopeful. They hadn't finished adjusting to what had happened to themselves, yet - - they weren't sure what to think or feel for their boss. "Look at The Wall, Walter. Look at The Wall... and remember. Remember them as they were, in the good times, remember them ... before ..." The voice droned on, soothing yet compelling. Walter S. Skinner looked at The Wall and saw his reflection. The voice droned on ... and his reflection began to waver like hot oil in a pan. The voice droned on ... and he began to see glimpses of `other-where' in the hot oil surface. The voice droned on ... and suddenly, he was seeing a very, very different `other-where', like it was a large screen TV showing him scenes from `long ago and far away'. He could see the area just outside a hooch, where a bunch of young men were lounging around in the shade, swapping lies, most likely. With a sob, he recognized most of the guys who were with him on the last patrol, the one ending in The Ambush. Before he could stop himself, Skinner was up and running to the panel. With a heart-breaking sob, he slammed into it, stopped by the barrier of the stone's surface. He stood there with his hands flat against the stone, head down, tears streaming down his face, sobs wrenching at his guts. The others watched everything with open-mouthed awe. They watched as the young men looked up at Walter, saw Tony standing next to him, got up and began moving towards the surface. They saw the young men look questioningly at Tony, saw him nod towards Skinner and do something `odd' with his fingers. The young men got a look of recognition, nodded understandingly and went to stand just in front of Skinner. A couple put a hand up flat against Skinner's ... and it took the strength out of his legs. Still sobbing, he slid to his knees ... but his buddies wouldn't let go of his hands. Those that were still left, gathered around him - as much as they could with a barrier between them and Skinner. The others watched as Tony seemed to speak to the young men or Walter, but it was too soft to make out what was being said. They listened as the young men spoke back, and it sounded like the whisper of dry leaves down a long tunnel. The conversation seemed to go on forever, but was actually only a few moments. Then one of the guys snapped his fingers, said something to his buddies and pointed directly at Sharon and MariEllen. They all seemed to notice the two women for the first time, broke into smiles and had a few quick words with each other. They seemed to get a bit excited, happily so, and slapped Skinner's hands as if to snap him out of a daze. It actually worked, too. Walter's head came up, he looked around and saw the two ladies walking towards him. Looking back at the surface of The Wall, he noticed a couple of his buddies waving the ladies over. Since the women were old enough to be the mother's of these guys, his tears dried up and he wondered what in the hell the horny buggers had in mind. And then he found out. "Wow, man," came the youthful voice from a great distance away. "You've got a couple of beautiful ladies like -this- worried about your sorry ass and you're wasting time one =us=?! Shit, Wally, you need to get your priorities straight, man! Ma'm, you're old enough to be my mom, but I'll happily let you worry over me =any= day of the week!" This got a blush on one side of the surface and some rough-housing slaps and verbal reprimands on the other. When they finally settled down - and it was firmly understood that the compliment was, indeed, a well- intended compliment - they all seemed to get a bit serious and looked over at Tony for what to do now. "What do you think, guys? He needs his head examined?" asked Tony with a smirk. "Damn straight, Sergeant!" came the reply. "He's got two lovely ladies like this worried about him =and= the old lady and....." "What old lady?!" interrupted Walter. His eyes were wide and he looked almost afraid. "Shit, man! =You= know! The old Irish lady - Allie." "Hey, yeah! She's sooo cool, man! Tells the greatest stories - some make you laugh, some scare the piss right out of you - - ooops, sorry, ladies." "Yeah! - - Say, what's your problem, anyway, Mr. Clean? She's doing her best to help your sorry ass, and you keep treating her like she's got a dose of the Black Clap, or somethin'!" "What the hell's with you, man? She saved your lady's life, didn't she? The -least- you could do was say `thanks', you know!" "Geez, and you used to be such a `stand-up guy', too. What've you been doing, Wally? Becoming another fat-assed bureaucrat?" Walter Skinner was no longer looking tearful or afraid, but he -was- looking like he didn't know =what= to do or say. After all, he had just met his dead buddies again for the first time in many years - - and they were chewing him out because of the way he treated a spook, a =real= one! One could say with a bit of accuracy that he was in a mild state of apologetic confusion. Uncle Tony finally took pity on him and asked the guys, "Hey, guys, this is all fine and well and good, but what the hell do we do with Mr. Squeaky-Clean, =now=? Especially considering ... well, you know ..." This got a response of embarrassed shuffles and side-long glances, as everyone waited for the other guy to say something. Finally someone spoke up. "Well, he's got to do something about getting his head straight, while he still can." "Yeah, and he's got to start being polite to Allie." "Yeah, and don't forget to lighten up and have some fun, man!" This last was followed with a chorus of agreements, suggestions and encouragements. "After all," as one of them put it, "it's not like =we= can boogie with beautiful ladies like these two! You owe us, Wally!" This last was delivered with such an unabashed smile and good humor, both ladies smiled back. But Walter just stood there looking embarrassed. And with that last comment, the portal began to fade. The guys looked sad to be fading, but a bit happier for having actually talked with people in `The Real World', the world `on the Other Side of the Veil'. Just as the last ripple was fading, one of the guys shouted down through the long, long tunnel, "And leave the red-head alone, Wally! Remember Cole and Archie!" Echos of laughter followed this comment. End of Part 6 ... to be continued = = = = = = = = There was quiet for a few moments after the portal had faded. People just stood where they were thinking, thinking about what they had just seen, just experienced. A small part of Scully wanted to brush it all off as some form of mass hallucination, but the newly reawakened rest of her knew better. And somehow, in a way she couldn't quite articulate, it gave her a calmness, a hope she wouldn't have expected had someone told her this was going to happen. Then Scully turned to her boss and asked, "What did they mean by "leave the red-head alone" ..... sir?" "And who were Cole and Archie?" asked MariEllen. Whatever reaction they expected to their questions, what they got was =not= expected -- embarrassment, confusion ... and white-faced near-panic. "Uhm, maybe I should answer," said Uncle Tony. "You remember who Cole and Archie were, don't you? They were members of `The Rowdy Six-Pack', part of Walter's platoon, and the reason he should remember them is because of what happened to them." "You see, there was this young lady that was about - - oh, I don't know, older than sixteen, less than twenty, I'd guess. And she was *beautiful* - both inside and out - yet totally unimpressed by it. I forget what her name was, but everyone called her `The Little Princess'. She was smaller than you are, Dana, had shiny raven hair down below her butt, and a face fit to make an angel weep for envy. Yet you know what was the most remarkable thing of all? *Some*how, and no one could ever figure out how, she had met and fallen in Love with Corporal Delgado! You remember him - Madam Nihm's translator? Well, he fell for her, too, like someone had hit him up-side the head with a two-by-four! It wasn't your schoolgirl sort of puppy-love and it wasn't lust or loneliness disguised as love, either. It was a quiet, calm, deep and absolutely-no-doubt-in- the-universe sort of Love. Hell, it was impressive enough that the townsfolk themselves thought it was great, even if it -was- one of their beautiful young women and a big-nosed American! You remember -her-, don't you, Walter?" said Uncle Tony, his eyes narrowed to mere slits. Skinner refused to look up from the ground, but he was openly sweating and even shaking a tiny bit. "It seems ol' Wally-boy got tapped for an unexpected work detail one evening, along with Corporal Delgado. And while they were off doing something typically inane and useless, Cole, Archie and Barrett decided to have a little `party' ... with The Little Princess as the star, and only, attraction. To say it was a gang-rape would be making a World-Class understatement. They shoved more than just their dicks into every orifice she had - repeatedly - for well over two hours. When she objected, they slapped her around until she "agreed" to what they wanted. They even cut her up a bit. They'd have a go at her, smoke a torpedo, and do her some more. Eventually they lost interest and left. They didn't think anything about it, either. To them, it was just good, clean fun, just some red-hot erotic action, that's all. It didn't mean anything. And besides, she was just a gook, a dink, a slope, a zipperhead, an LBFM. Hell, she was just a little Vietnamese slut that enjoyed getting fucked by real men, instead of that stupid spic she hung around with." It was quite obvious that even the retelling of the story was making Uncle Tony furious all over again, but quietly, intensely, dangerously so. "It was damned lucky for them they left when they did, because Delgado had finally gotten off the work detail and had gone to see her. He got to her place just in time to see her commit suicide, dying in his arms. She didn't waste time telling him who had raped and tortured her, because she didn't know their names, just that they were Americans. She spent her last seconds of life apologizing for *:her:* =:shame:= and trying to tell him she Loved him, even though she was now unworthy of him!" Uncle Tony had to stop and take a few moments to calm himself down. No one said a word, made a sound, barely breathed. Even the tears running down cheeks did so as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. "Well, Delgado lost it big time. He was devastated, but he had no idea who had done that to her. His lieutenant tried to help him get over his grief by working him even harder. His intention was good, but he sure didn't know much about psychology." "Anyway, about two weeks later, the platoon was involved in a little action that went sour *very* fast. The platoon was pretty well pinned down and slowly but steadily taking casualties. Artillery wasn't available and it would take too long for the `snakes' to get there, so Delgado figured, `fuck it - he's got nothing left to live for' and tried to John Wayne it. He probably thought he would be killed in the first ten seconds, but it might give his buddies a moment to do something to save their asses. As usual when "Murphy" is messing with you, it didn't work. He actually survived long enough to take out two bunkers all by himself and was proceeding to kick ass some more by the time the rest of the platoon got its shit together enough to come to his aid." "Unfortunately, he turned towards the platoon for a second and caught a `stray' round - - only one and it was right through the heart. A round from an M-16! . . . . . Pure bad luck, wouldn't you agree, Walter?" The silence was deafening among those listening. "The lieutenant put Delgado in for the Medal of Honor, because he had saved the lives of everyone in the platoon by his actions. Charging a machine-gun bunker is crazy even for a Marine, but he charged -two- of them =and= took them out =and= was in the process of taking out a fighting trench full of NVA. Not bad for a kid from east Texas instead of the planet Krypton. But you know, something happened to the paperwork - it got lost or something - and Delgado's sacrifice went unmarked and unnoticed by The Powers That Be. . . . . . I've often wondered what happened, haven't you, Walter?' The air was fairly crackling with suppressed danger, explosive, life-taking danger. Skinner raised his head and looked Uncle Tony in the eyes. He licked his lips, and said so quietly that everyone almost didn't hear it, "Barrett was the one that shot him and Cole and Archie stole the paperwork and burned it." The shock amongst those listening was so thick it could be touched, and Uncle Tony quivered like he was just barely keeping himself from visiting severe physical damage upon the larger bald man in front of him. Finally, after making a visible effort to pull himself together, Uncle Tony continued. "About a week later, Barrett was found lying in a shallow ditch with his hands tied behind him. He was shot with a single round to the back of his head -- he had clearly been executed. Caused quite a stir for a bit ... until Cole and Archie went missing a couple days later. They were found the next morning. Remember what they found, Walter?" Skinner stood there shaking, sweating profusely and with white showing all around his pupils. Hell, yes!, he remembered what had happened to Cole and Archie -- he had been one of those who found them. It almost made him sick all over again just remembering it. In a voice without any life in it, Skinner began describing what had been found. "The two bodies had been made to sit with their backs to two small trees, their hands tied behind the trees. Their feet had been tied to pegs to form a wide `V'. Their own boot laces had been used to tie them to the pegs, their belt held their hands fast, their dirty socks had been stuffed in their mouths to gag them and a strip was cut from their shirts to hold the socks in place." "The crotch of their pants and drawers had been cut open and was crawling with ants. They ..... were very dead by the time they were found." Skinner's eyes were wide open, but unseeing. "Their killers were never found, although I don't think CID tried very hard once they found out what Cole and Archie had done to The Little Princess." There was absolute, stunned silence when Skinner finished speaking. Even the crickets and the wind were silent with shock. Eventually, though, Scully remembered something. "Uhm, Uncle Tony, that still doesn't explain what it has to do with me..." Tony looked at Scully for several moments, as if weighing what he was about to say. "From now on, as far as Wally is concerned, you're The Little Princess and tall, dark and moody, here, is Corporal Delgado." End of Part 7 ... to be continued = = = = = = = = Dana Scully, MD, Special Agent of the FBI, just stood there for a few moments as if pole-axed. Even Mulder's mind was numb for a few moments. Then, as she was beginning to turn an alarming shade of red and swelling up preparatory to exploding in righteous indignation, Uncle Tony cut her off with some rather disturbing words. "Put a sock in it, Dana, and =THINK= for a moment! This has relatively little to do with you, and a =lot= to do with Walter paying off an old debt. He *knew* what those bastards had done ... and still he kept silent! How does that line go? `For evil to prevail it is sufficient that good men do nothing' - or something like that - and Walter said nothing, did nothing!" "Well, it may be too damned late for him to do anything about the star- crossed lovers he knew in his youth, but he can try and repay the Universe by helping you two =not= become "star-crossed" or any -other- crossed! Or is that too difficult a concept for you to comprehend?" On the one hand, Scully was =very= angry that Uncle Tony would -dare- to presume she needed protection, that he would be so patronizing! On the other hand, she could really understand the need for her boss to -do- something to lay to rest his inner demons. She finally sighed, shook her head and decided to try and reason with Uncle Tony. After all, at -this- point, what could it hurt? "Uncle Tony, look, I'm very sorry about what happened to Corporal Delgado and his girlfriend, and I'm even sorry for Mr. Skinner's role in it, whatever it may or may not have been. But I am a grown woman, an adult, a well-trained FBI agent -- in short, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I don't need the protection of =any= man, however patronizingly or altruistically well intended!" In spite of intending to maintain her `cool', Scully found her temper and volume rising by the end. As Scully took a breath and thought of what to say next, she noticed Uncle Tony's face had the expression of an Elder becoming more and more annoyed with the inane prattlings of a child that has -no- idea what it's talking about. That =really= made her angry and she was about to demonstrate the (in)famous `Scully temper' when she was cut off. "Alright, :Special: :Agent: :Scully:, let's take a look at what you say you don't need. You've just recently discovered you're about to enter into an =extremely= dangerous and trying period in your life ... at the same time you've -finally- pulled your head out of your ass and admitted that you Love your partner more than life, okay?" Both Uncle Tony and Scully ignored the quiet gasps around them and the "Yessss!!" from MariEllen. Their eyes continued to bore into each other's. "Some time in the next couple of months, you two are probably going to move in together ... and we'll talk more about -that- later. But in the meantime and in the times after that, there are going to be any number of people who, -by- -your- =own= -admission-, would just =love= to use that information against you. Maybe they would just use the information to embarrass you, maybe they'd use it politically to shut you down, and maybe they'd use it to kill or seriously injure one or both of you. So, just for starters, you need help neutralizing these people, =okay=?!" Scully gritted her teeth and barely kept from saying anything. "You two are also going to be given assignments in the future that are going to be boobytrapped six ways from Sunday, okay? And even if you manage to complete the investigation, it won't be a simple matter of evidence disappearing afterwards! Oh, no! Nothing =that= simple! You'll be damned lucky if one of -you- doesn't disappear ... or worse! All your so-called strength won't do you a -bit- of good, got it?! You're going to need allies and reliable safety lines!" "And while we're on the subject, one of the things you're going to have to learn, :Agent: :Scully: - and =damned= =fast=, too - is the difference between true strength and brittleness! If most of the young women in this country want to wallow in thin-skinned brittleness and delude themselves into believing they're showing strength, that's too bad ... -but- =YOU= -can- -no- -longer- -afford- -that- =self-delusion=!! You *HAVE* to get your act together, =really= together, because too much is riding on you for you -not- to get it together!" "Yeah, yeah - it's tough being a Live One, but Life's a beach and sometimes you go surfing and sometimes you just get sand in your ... bikini." Before Uncle Tony could say anything more, he felt a hand on his arm. MariEllen was looking at him with a look that asked him to please just be quiet for a moment, then she turned to Scully and said, "Maybe this will help you understand and accept, Agent Scully. I shouldn't be telling you this, but I think you need to know why you're so important, and not just to investigations, either. You may not like what I'm about to tell you, but please hear me out. Please." "Every woman in the building has known about the Love between you and Agent Mulder since the first month you worked together. You didn't know it yourselves for the longest time and it sounds like you only -just- admitted it, but -we- knew it all along. And there's been a wedding present pool a large number of us have contributed to since then - fifty cents a payday." "Why have we done this?" Glancing at the men standing there, MariEllen continued. "I don't expect the men to understand this, but I'll tell you. Your Love is so beautiful that the rest of us can only imagine it in our most fantastic dreams. It makes the rest of us warm inside just thinking about you two." Then, looking at Uncle Tony, she said, "Oh, and when you finally marry them `for the record', sir, there had better be enough space for all of us to be there! No excuses!" Turning back to Scully, she continued. "Not only that, Dana, but you're an inspiration to the rest of us women, from file clerks to agents. We both know these guys have -no- =idea= what a sexist :rat:hole some sections are to work in, and the rest of the place isn't that much better. Yes, there are a -few- men that are nice to work with, but most of them are macho jerks!" Speaking just a bit more softly, she then said, "We respect and admire you as much as Princess Diana, and it has =nothing= to do with whether or not you're capable of taking care of yourself, okay? It has everything to do with how much you mean to us, how much we respect you." Then, turning to look directly at Skinner, MariEllen said, "Sure, we're just women. We're just the office help, the secretaries, the worker bees, the bouncy little office decorations to some of the male agents and management. But we're people and we have worth and value. Just because I'm a secretary doesn't mean I'm stupid or uneducated. Hell, I probably know more about -your- job than =you= do! I've also raised three kids and I'm putting them through college, and for most of that I didn't have any help. I loved Gene dearly and deeply, even after he was killed, but life goes on. And lots of the women have their own stories to tell, but you remember this, =Mister= Skinner, ::Sir::! The Love between Dana Scully and Fox Mulder is something the rest of us can only dream about, and those Dreams mean a lot to us. So if you or anyone else even =thinks= of messing with Dana Scully or that Love, you'd better think =very= carefully before you tread on our Dreams ... because we'll literally tear your balls off for doing -that-!" There was absolute silence and stillness for several moments after MariEllen finished speaking. Finally, Skinner slowly and carefully turned to Tony and asked quietly, "Do you think Cole and Archie got off easy?" End of Part 8 ... to be continued. = = = = = = = = Eventually people began to breathe again. Figuring that a change of subject certainly couldn't hurt at this point, Tony mentioned he was getting hungry =and= that he would stand the group to drinks and appetizers, if they would all do him the honor of joining him for dinner. The quickness with which everyone accepted was taken as an unspoken acknowledgement of how much -they- wanted to change the subject, also. Sharon almost begged off to go find her boyfriend, but something in the look Tony gave her when he asked made her change her mind. She had a feeling dinner was going to be more than just a meal. Tony borrowed a cell-phone, stepped off a little ways and made a couple of calls. Mulder and Scully both noticed that his body language was considerably different for the two calls, and something about the second one made them go They soon found themselves at what appeared from the outside to be a quiet and unpretentious Italian restaurant, "Un' Bacio di Napoli." Inside, however, they found an elegance that reminded them of another century ... or at least a movie set from a few decades ago. The moment the group entered the restaurant, you'd have thought they were visiting dignitaries or something. The waitress immediately led them to a private dining room, where they were the only guests, but the table was set for =eight= places. As they were seated, the waitress helped to get them settled, bringing them water, antipasti and bread & olive oil with herbs ... but no menus. Just as they were settled and beginning to wonder why the extra places and no menus, a couple entered that were obviously Italian, related and totally relaxed in the room. Tony rose and met the gentleman with a hug, like they were long lost brothers or something. His greeting of the lady was much more polite, but no less heartfelt. Turning to those seated, Tony said, "I'd like you all to meet Vince Malatesta, our host for the evening, and his sister, Gabriella. They run this modest establishment. And before you ask, yes, Vince knows a fair bit about the jungles of SE Asia. Actually, so does Gabriella, but not in the same way." After that cryptic introduction, nothing more was said about war or Viet Nam or The Wall. Dinner was ordered by Vince and was served family- style ... but when it began arriving, people wondered how they were supposed to eat it all -- there appeared to be enough for a couple of small armies!! They were told to take their time, that the proper enjoyment of a meal should not be rushed, and dessert would not be served for at least a couple hours. Conversation was about everything and nothing, and gradually people began to actually relax. The good food and warm atmosphere ... and bottles of excellent wine ... all contributed their part to the relaxing. Then, about two and a half hours after they'd started, dessert was brought to the table, but by an older woman, not a waitress. Tony, Vince and Gabriella all got to their feet in a hurry to try to help her - it was a =large= tray - but were shooed away like little children. Their protests were brushed aside with the ease of many years of familiarity and practice. When everything had been delivered to the table, she went over to Tony, hugged his head to her ample bosom, kissed him on the top of his head like he was a child, patted his cheek and left. Tony's ears were so hot, you could have lit candles by touching the wicks to the tips. Both he and Vince seemed a bit embarrassed and wouldn't look up from their dessert. "Oh, come on, you two," said a smiling Gabriella. "You know Mama's happy to see you, Tony, so lighten up." "**sigh** But, Gabi, why does..." started Tony. ":But:, nothing! You found Vince and brought him home, when he could've just as easily become more jungle topsoil. She's =never= going to stop hugging you because of it, so you might just as well accept it and `quit yer bitchin'!" Her fond smile took the sting out of her words. "And speaking of the jungle, am I correct in presuming Walter spent some time over there, too?" "Yep. You remember the story about the piece of Swiss steak held together by shear stubbornness? The one with the Irish `Fata Madrina'? This is him." Gabriella and Vince both looked at Skinner with sharper eyes; he looked down and blushed, even though he wasn't sure why. "I would like at this time, Dr. Malatesta, to formally request that you allow him into your special therapy group. Please. As a favor to me, if necessary. -This- one -really- needs your special group. I don't know if his `Fata Madrina" will talk to you or help you, but you've got a better chance of getting through to Her than anyone else I can think of. I would also like you to allow these two ladies to attend such sessions as they may, such as you feel allowable," Tony said, indicating Sharon and MariEllen. "Well, -this- one," Gabriella started, indicating MariEllen, "already knows much of what is going to happen - she's a Silver Buckle in her own right." This cryptic remark caused MariEllen's ears to turn red, but she didn't say anything. "Why do you want them there?" "I need Walter to get -all- of his act together. He has a debt to pay and a role to play that will be very important in the future." "What?" demanded Gabriella, with eyes as hard as a Capo di Famiglia, a Mafia `Don'. Pointing with a slight thrusting of his chin, Tony indicated Mulder and Scully. Then, with eyes just as hard as hers, he said, "I Bambini del Magia, la Volpe e la Rossina..... Per la Morte delle Ombre nero. {>The Children of Magic, the Fox and the Red-head..... For the death of the Black Shadows.<} This caused both Gabriella and Vince to blink in surprise a couple times, then take another look around the table at the group sitting with them. Then Gabriella asked, "Okay, but why this one? She's already taken her rings off. She has no ties to him." Sharon and Walter both blushed, but Tony just smiled. "Just trust me on this, okay? -She's- not as foolish as -he- looks." There was such a merry twinkle in his eyes, Gabriella softened up and smiled back. Turning to Skinner, Tony said, "Gabriella is also a psychiatrist of no small capability. She has a special group of veterans that she works with on PTSD and ... uhm, related matters. You've just become a part of that group. It meets every week and ... *NO*, not a =word= out of you! You're doing this and that's the end of it! You haven't got any more time left to run around with your head up your poor little martyr's ass! You owe us, Walter! You! Owe! Us! ..... well, and yourself. These two ladies are going to help you, and you're going to let them." "You're also going to help these two," jerking a thumb in the direction of the two agents, "when and as they need it. If he continues with his `headless chicken' habits, you have every permission in the world to kick his ass. If he wants to act like an irresponsible, clueless `Boot', treat him like one!" Getting a =very= wicked gleam in his eye, Tony smiled nastily and said, "Yes, =exactly= like a `Boot', until he stops acting like one." "As for the two of them being involved romantically, you will not split them up nor let anyone else split them up ... as long as they still do their jobs, got it? I don't give a damn how you do it or what sort of bureaucratic nonsense you have to use to justify it, but they stay together and no one, *NO* one messes with them. This is "The Princess and Delgado" all over again, understood? Anything happens to them and I'm going to be =very= unhappy ... which you =know= will not be pleasant! Like the bumper sticker says, "...you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup." Any questions?" The quote made a tiny, almost unknown fact suddenly fall into place for Skinner. His eyes got large and round and, for no reason he could think of, he laughed nervously. "*You*!! =You're= the one who did Cole and Archie, and probably Barrett, too!" The reptilian eyes looking back at him were as alien and as cold as deep space. "Be very careful, Walter, and remember that piece of advice from The Hobbit: `Do not laugh at live Dragons.' ..... Now, you want some coffee?" End of Part 9/10, end of Story 3 - "A Talk at The Wall" "Magic is Alive...", Story 3: "A Talk at The Wall" - Endnotes + + + + + + + + + + In case anyone is interested, the following are the commonly recognized symptoms of PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder). These are presented and written in terms of a Viet Nam veteran, but you should be able to recognize this mental/spiritual disorder, which can just as easily result from other traumas. (A certain tall, dark and moody Special Agent comes to mind... hmmm, so does a certain red-head, when you think about it...) DEPRESSION Sleep disturbance, psychomotor retardation, feelings of worthlessness and/or helplessness, difficulty in concentrating, often suicidal ISOLATION Has very few friends, feelings of rejection, lack of meaningful contact or a relationship with a member of the opposite sex RAGE Wild and violent impulses, possible sublimation of anger, rage and resentment especially against those in authority, fantasies of retaliation, generalized mistrust of authority and "the system" AVOIDANCE OF FEELINGS/ALIENATION Emotionally dead, psychic numbing, extreme discomfort feeling love or compassion, need to "maintain control" at all times SURVIVAL GUILT Very real guilt at having survived, self-destructive behaviour, set themselves up for hopeless fights against insurmountable odds ANXIETY REACTIONS Reacts to loud noises and sudden movements - especially at the edge of one/s vision, uncomfortable when too many people are too close, uneasy when others are behind them - prefers to sit with back to wall & etc, snaps awake in a dangerous manner if awoken "wrong," may sleep with a pistol under the pillow SLEEP DISTURBANCE AND NIGHTMARES Very uncomfortable about going to sleep (ie- tries to put it off as long as possible), sleep is very fitful When sleep does finally come, it is often full of nightmares of either being back in combat again, or -- generic being shot at and/or being chased/hunted *and* having an empty or dysfunctional weapon. May be unable to run anymore or escape pursuit - feelings of being trapped INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS & STIMULI ("FLASHBACKS") Helicopters flying overhead or the sounds of, the smell of urine, the smell of diesel fuel, green tree lines or the edges of, the sound of popcorn popping, any loud discharge, a rainy day (especially if =very= heavy), the sight of oriental people (especially Vietnamese) = = = = = = = = = = FURTHER THOUGHTS TO PONDER..... In the last years that the US was actively engaged in the fighting in Viet Nam, morale was not very good, to put it exceedingly mildly. In far too many places in Viet Nam, the long simmering ills of American society were boiling over in rather unpleasant ways. In far too many units, drug use was rampant, and there was a very active race and class war going on ... with very real dead bodies as a result, too. Some of you may understand the "race" part of that statement, especially considering the times, but "class"? Oh, yes! It was openly believed that if you were wealthy enough, your Daddy could buy you a place in the Reserves or National Guard, or in some other way get you out of having to serve on active duty, or at least keep you out of Viet Nam. And you didn't have to be in the service very many =hours= before you figured out that most of the people in the barracks were from poor or middle-class families ... but the wealthy were rather conspicuous -by- -their- =absence=! Unfortunately, many of the problems that came out into the open during those turbulent years have =NOT= been dealt with -- they've been whitewashed or swept under the rug ... yet again! To me, though, worst of all is the fact that "The Dream That Is America" to so many people, both here and around the world, the dream of a class=less= society, an egalitarian society, where =all= people are valued and respected, regardless of race, creed, sex, religion or anything else, this dream has quietly and steadily been betrayed and destroyed. Not by "The Government," as some rabid mouth-breathers would like to make-believe (at least, not directly), but by the wealthy themselves. More and more of the wealth, ownership and control of this country has been concentrated in the hands of the wealthy few. And these are not ultra-right ravings, either, but =facts= that can be checked out with a little time spent in any good public library. The men of "The Consortium" are caricatures made up for a television program, obviously. But they have a very real basis in reality {>where do you think CC got the idea, anyway?!<}, in very real people, people who don't give a tinker's damn about anyone or anything but themselves, their wealth, their (so-called) Power and in maintaining (and increasing, wherever possible) their wealth and power at =any= cost. The common person, their hopes and dreams, even their sense of common decency means =nothing= to these people. What does all this have to do with Walter S Skinner and Viet Nam? Skinner is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a stupid man, and, whether or not he wants to admit it, he's known about these problems for a long time. The argument can be made that he's done -his- best to fight the problem by "catching the bad guys." Unfortunately, the argument isn't very strong and really doesn't get him off the hook. Skinner has done nothing (or damned little, at best) about the many times Mulder and Scully have found evidence of this or that ... and had it "mysteriously" disappear. Yes, he's occassionally supported them, but more by default than design. Hell, he's even =sold= *himself* to Cancerman!! For the best of intensions, you say? What's the asphalt on the Road to Hell made of, say I in reply. The "real world" can jolly well do whatever it wishes to do with itself, and the people in it can let it go to hell - with or without a hand-basket - or they can do something to correct things, if there's time left. In the world of -this- series and the stories that come after it, "power & wealth" and "duty & responsibility" are two sides of the =same= coin, and one does =not= get one without the other. Many people, such as the men of The Consortium, =try= to take the "power & wealth" side of the coin and either ignore or pervert, abuse and misuse the other side of it ... but on that course lies folly and ruin, and not just for themselves, either. When it comes time to pay =this= Piper, the price is far higher than ever they thought ... and The Piper =will= have his coin! Walter S Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI, and many others, are about to begin learning (or, in some cases, remembering) just how high that price is and how unforgiving, how merciless The Piper, especially when you try to pervert the tune. Some of the people in these stories -may- come to learn just how beautiful `The Dance' can be when flowing in tune -with- The Piper, too. "For evil to prevail, it is sufficient that good men do nothing." The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, paraphrasing Edmund Burke (1729-97) "Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once." "Julius Caesar" act 3, scene 1, line 30 (Often paraphrased as "A coward dies a thousand times, a brave man only once.")