Standing Tall
Whoa, sorry for the late updating. I’m not so good at this fan fiction stuff; I’ll try to do better next time. Anyway, this is the final chapter. Not as action packed as the last one, but this is more of a sad, conversation-like chapter. There’s also a lot of medical stuff, but I’m not a doctor nor am I as smart as Kowalski, so there might be some faulty information. Well, it’s probably more realistic than most of the stuff in the show! Enjoy, and thank you for reading There is a Reason. I had a lot of fun with it.
The next few minutes were a blur for Skipper. He remembered seeing Kowalski pressing on Private’s stomach until water gushed out of his mouth. Then, Kowalski moved toward Skipper and poured some clear liquid down his throat. A second later, he felt very drowsy, and then everything went dark.
When he woke, Skipper was very confused. He wasn’t on the cold, concrete floor of Dr. Blowhole’s lair anymore, but he could see that he was still in the same room. He was lying on what felt like a cot. Skipper never liked to sleep on a soft surface, but it was oddly comforting now. He could tell the filth from the Anacostia River had been carefully scrubbed off. Skipper was glad because the sewage was making his skin itch. Then he examined the rest of his body.
His left flipper felt strangely heavy, and when he pulled it up close to his eyes, Skipper saw that it was covered in a thick plaster cast. He couldn’t feel his right leg at all. Then he turned to his left.
Private was lying on an identical cot next to him. Skipper was glad to see that his chest was heaving in a steady rhythm, but his face! It looked so much like the last time he had seen Roberto. Paled face with his beak slightly open.
Skipper turned to his right and immediately wished he hadn’t. For on two large cots were Rico and Johnson. They were both hooked up to a number of machines; Skipper could only recognize them from some hospital TV shows. But from one look at his teammates, he could tell that they were all necessary.
Most of their feathers had been burnt away and revealed skin that was charcoal black. They were both covered with long, red gashes that had been hastily stitched up. Rico had the worst: A long cut that slashed through his beak and was deeper than any other wound Skipper had ever seen. He winced. That would definitely leave a scar. If it could heal. He also had a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, like a turban. But these injuries paled in comparison to Johnson’s.
A huge, white bandage was wrapped around his chest, and on his left side, blood had stained the cloth. Both of his flippers were coated with a foul smelling green ointment that was not opaque enough to conceal its purpose: third degree burns covered Johnson’s flippers, many of them yellow and oozing pus; but even more terrible were the burns that had sunk right through his skin and showed the bone!
“Horrifying, isn’t it?” The sudden voice made him jump. Skipper hadn’t seen Kowalski sit on the edge of his cot. He was glad to see that he was practically unharmed except for the lump on his head; and even that was shrinking. There were many questions that Skipper could have asked at that moment, but he the simplest one. “Where did you get all of that equipment?”
Kowalski chuckled and Skipper felt his heart ache: It was a grim, empty sound and he wondered if Kowalski would ever be the same after this mission. If anything would ever be the same.
“Well, I suppose we can thank Dr. Blowhole for those,” Kowalski said, “His lair was full of medical supplies. It would seem that he’s a little paranoid about getting hurt.”
“That would explain why he’s always running away,” Skipper responded. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but at that moment he would give anything for Kowalski just to smile again. But there were more serious topics that needed to be discussed.
“How are they?” Skipper didn’t know who he meant: Private, Rico, Johnson- or maybe even himself. His injuries were minor, he was certain. He’d had worse in his life. But he had already lost Manfridi. Could he stand it if he lost someone else?
“Well, Private is showing definite signs of improvement,” Kowalski answered, “He should regain consciousness in a few hours. He was just in a state of shock and swallowed a bit too much water. But the others-” Kowalski paused, “I-I just don’t know.”
‘There’s a first,’ Skipper thought. Out loud he said, “What REALLY happened to them?” The last moments of their mission were still a blur for him.
“Well, their plan would have been genius,” Kowalski sighed, “I just wished they could have jumped off before the robots hit the tank. The robots were very much like the power source: They would explode if they were hurt in any way,” Skipper nodded, remembering the miniature versions, “We couldn’t do anything,” Kowalski continued, “We weren’t strong enough. But the tank was.
No matter what I told Johnson, Manfridi probably didn’t survive the explosion itself. He was too close. Now, imagine that explosion on a much larger scale. If Rico and Johnson were as close to the robots as Manfridi was to the power source, they would have been killed instantly. They were lucky.” Again, Skipper nodded. But he wasn’t sure that was a blessing. Didn’t that mean that Rico and Johnson would just have to suffer more before they died? Skipper pushed that thought out of his mind. They WOULD live because they were HIS team. But something was still bothering him.
“Why is Johnson so much worse?” As soon as Skipper asked this question, he regretted it. The tallest penguin’s eyes filled with tears.
“Johnson probably could have gotten away,” Kowalski was half-whispering, “He’s faster than all of us. But Rico freezes up in the face of direct danger. You remember our Hawaiian vacation.” Skipper remembered how that shark would have swallowed Rico whole if Manfridi hadn’t pushed him away. He also remembered the look in Kowalski’s eyes when he swore to kill that shark sooner or later. It was similar to his expression now. “When Rico froze, Johnson didn’t run away. Instead, he covered up Rico with his body, taking a lot of the damage.”
Roberto’s words came back to him, “It was love, Skipper, a thing you’ll never understand.” He understood love now. He understood that love could make a penguin risk everything for his teammate. And now, he thought about his relationship with Private. How did he FEEL about him? And the answer came to him in an instant: He loved Private. Skipper loved him like a son. But would he risk everything for him?
‘Yes,’ Skipper thought firmly, ‘I would.’ He noticed Kowalski staring at him; he was still talking but had obviously realized that Skipper’s focus was elsewhere.
“So, how are they?” Skipper repeated, this time hoping for more specific information about Rico and Johnson.
“Not so good, I’m afraid,” Kowalski replied, “That scar on Rico’s beak is severe, I won’t lie to you. But as long as it does not become infected, it should not be fatal. But Rico does have a major concussion. Later today, I’ll start testing him for brain damage. I believe that, during the explosion, Rico and Johnson were separated. Rico must have smashed into the ceiling head-first,” Skipper winced just thinking about the pain his teammate must have been in. But Kowalski put his flipper on his shoulder, “If it is any consolation, Skipper, they were probably both unconscious at the time. That sulfuric smoke was enough to knock out a full-grown human. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass out.
And, like you said, Johnson is much worse. The pain from those burns will be intense, but he’s been injected with analgesic. Johnson also has three broken ribs, and a sharp piece of metal stabbed him in the stomach. I cleaned it out of course but-” he shook his head.
Skipper suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for Kowalski. He had kept Johnson alive when things must have seemed so bleak; he had fixed up Private and himself (Skipper). He was all that was holding the team from falling down into a deep abyss. Now, Skipper felt guilty about how he had been angry with Kowalski for memorizing those silly White House facts. Was that just a few hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.
“Top-notch, Kowalski,” Skipper managed. He could have said more, but he knew Kowalski would understand. Skipper suddenly felt uncomfortable with Kowalski’s grief stricken eyes staring at him, so he scanned the room. Rico and Johnson had tubes stuck under their skin that were pumping a light amber liquid into them. A small screen was obviously displaying their heart rates and, while Skipper was glad to see that neither of the two lines was flat, the bleeps were still too slow for his liking. He wrenched his head away and looked around the rest of the room. Kowalski had found a bucket of fish somewhere; it was sitting in the middle of the room. His stomach felt acidic, as if he had just vomited, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Was it yesterday? Or was today already tomorrow? He was having trouble keeping track of the time. But then he spotted something that made his eyes widen.
“BLOWHOLE!”
Skipper could actually FEEL his face pale, but he still tried getting out of bed to fight. Unfortunately, that movement sent a wave of nausea through him, and he fell to the ground.
“It’s all right, Skipper!” Kowalski assured him as he pulled his struggling leader back onto the bed.
But nothing could reassure Skipper. In one corner of the room, there was a large crate with a thin quilt draped over it. On the top of the makeshift bed was a grey dolphin. His paranoia was kicking in. Was Kowalski working for Dr. Blowhole? No, he couldn’t be, Skipper had been training with Kowalski for years! Then why was he helping Blowhole recover?
Then it struck him: Blowhole didn’t have any wounds when he escaped the lair. WAIT! He’d escaped the lair! Then who was on the crate?
“Doris,” Kowalski said, as if he were reading Skipper’s thoughts, “I rescued Doris, not Dr. Blowhole.” Was Kowalski blushing? Skipper smirked and Kowalski looked at his feet.
“That’s not much better, soldier!”
“Please, Skipper,” Kowalski pleaded, “She-she isn’t evil like Blowhole! She was tricked! Besides, it doesn’t matter now anyway!”
“Why not?”
“Because a large piece of robot hit her on the head and I believe she has complete amnesia!”
Skipper had never seen Kowalski so worked up. He relented, only because he didn’t want Kowalski to completely flip out. And Skipper was exhausted.
“You should get some rest,” Kowalski told him, much to his relief. Skipper settled back down on his pillow.
“Same with you, soldier. You look beat.” But Kowalski just turned toward him with a sad shake of his head.
“Not tonight, Skipper. Not tonight.”
Skipper didn’t remember how long he slept. All he remembered was the dream. Skipper was standing in complete blackness. Then, he heard the laughter. Deranged laughter that could only have on source: Dr. Blowhole.
“Paaaain-guuu-iiiin…” The word was no more than a whisper; and yet it sent a chill down Skipper’s spine, “He’s gone. You should have told him when you had the chance…”
“Joshua!” Skipper screamed. He realized that he never called Private anything but his rank. Not even in his own mind. Well, there was a first time for everything.
Again, that insane laughter echoed around him. Suddenly, he was back at the zoo. But he could tell from the smoking black puddle that this was that night. Roberto was lying on the ground, “Don’t let him be like me!” he rasped, “I thought…you could keep him safe.”
“I tried!” Skipper wailed, “Oh, Roberto, I tried.” But that figure on the ground wasn’t Roberto; it was Private!
“It’s all right, Skippa!” he groaned, “I’m not…afraid to die.”
Then he heard the crying. Deep sobs that were obviously wrenched from the very bottom of a soul. Skipper’s vision was blurring; he just lying in bed. He sat up.
‘Just a dream,’ he told himself. But then why could he still hear the crying? Skipper rubbed his eyes with his good flipper and looked around. Leaning against a wall with his head buried in his flippers was Kowalski. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed, making him look more helpless than Skipper had ever seen him.
He instinctively looked over at Rico and Johnson’s heart monitor, silently begging he wouldn’t see his worst fears confirmed. But neither line was flat, in fact, Rico’s heart rate was actually improving. Then why was Kowalski crying?
“Kowalski?” Skipper said. Kowalski immediately stood at attention, but that didn’t stop the tears from running down his cheeks. “At ease, soldier,” The tension went out of Kowalski’s shoulders, “Now what’s wrong?”
Kowalski took a deep breath, “It’s Rico,” he choked. A shard of ice pierced Skipper’s heart.
“How bad is it?” Skipper asked firmly.
“Bad,” Kowalski replied, “Very bad. He has severe brain damage. That blow to the head damaged many of his brain cells and some nerves.”
“Will he live?”
Kowalski’s face broke into a pitiful smile, “Yes, yes I believe so. Just- just don’t expect him to ever be normal again.”
Skipper furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t say for certain,” Kowalski said, “But I believe that he will never be able to speak a coherent sentence again.” Skipper thought that Kowalski was overreacting.
“So, he can learn sign language; like that monkey back at the zoo.” he said. But Kowalski’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
“It’s not that simple, Skipper,” he said, “Rico lost nearly 50% of his IQ points. I don’t think he’ll be learning anything in the near future. I also believe he might not be able to control his psychotic rage anymore.”
Skipper knew that, as an explosives expert, Rico had a natural love of destruction. However, he never hurt a fly unless it was completely necessary. And he wouldn’t ever revel in suffering. Obviously, that was about to change. Skipper’s throat went dry. It didn’t seem that Rico would be of any use to their team anymore. But at least he would live. That was a blessing in itself.
“I- I suppose I’ll have to grant him an honorable discharge,” he said hoarsely. Kowalski was silent. Skipper assumed he was still grieving, but it turned out he was thinking.
“You know, Skipper,” he said finally, “I think we might be able to keep him on. I suppose some good, firm discipline could keep his psychotic rage at optimal levels.” Skipper was starting to feel better about the situation. Kowalski’s scientific mumbo-jumbo made little sense to him; but discipline? That was a language he spoke. Suddenly, a faint smile played at the corners of Kowalski’s beak.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “Rico might have just gained a new skill.”
Now Skipper was really confused. He couldn’t imagine this mission having a positive impact on anyone.
“Well, out with it man!” he said.
“You see,” Kowalski began, “That smoke hardened the skin and tissue in Rico’s stomach and esophagus. I thought that only meant that the few words Rico could say would sound rough. But it also means that his stomach acid will be less powerful, giving his gut a unique ability to store objects in it for long periods of time. And the muscles in Rico’s throat should be stronger than ever.” Skipper sensed what Kowalski was getting at now.
“Regurgitation?” he asked. Kowalski nodded with a forced smile, “Is that…safe?” Safety was not something Skipper often thought about, as he and his team cheated Death to the extent of ludicrously. But of late, he had realized just how fragile life was.
“Now, normally I would say no,” Kowalski admitted, “But with Rico’s internal qualifications, he should be fine. Well, as fine as he’ll ever be.” The weight of the world seemed to be resting on Kowalski’s shoulders. Skipper was considering risking climbing out of bed to comfort him when Kowalski threw his head back in a heart-wrenching wail.
“Oh, Skipper, I don’t know how much more of this I can take! Everything’s changing! Manfridi’s gone! Rico is doomed to be a psychopath! I don’t even know how to work half of these machines! What if I read something wrong and Rico is actually dying? And Johnson? HA! His very life is hanging by a thread! I- I don’t know what to do! I couldn’t help them; I can’t help them! If they die…it’ll be all my fault.” His voice grew softer, and he sat back down. He was crying, but he had no tears left.
“Kowalski,” Skipper said firmly, “Take a deep breath. I know right now things seem hopeless, but they’re not.”
“But what if they-?”
“Die? Kowalski, if they’re going to die, there’s nothing you can do about it! Do you think that if you weren’t here, we’d all be alive? Wouldn’t Private have drowned? And Rico and Johnson definitely would be dead! You, Kowalski, are trying your best. I couldn’t ask for a better medic. In fact, I WOULDN’T ask for anyone else; and I’m sure Rico and Johnson wouldn’t trust anyone else either. Stop beating yourself up! If they die, it won’t be your fault!” Skipper took a deep breath, surprised at the forceful manner his little monologue had taken. Kowalski looked a little shocked, and when he spoke, his words were barely audible.
“Do you have a heart, Skipper?”
Skipper recoiled; the words felt like a slap in the face. No, worse than that. He could take a thousand slaps; but his teammate’s words stung. They reached right down to the bottom of his soul. How could he talk so easily of death? Had he no feelings? Skipper was doubting himself for the first time in years. But he had the answer deep down. Skipper knew the truth.
“I do, Kowalski. I know because right now, it’s aching. If I have no heart, why would I have taken in Roberto’s son? Knowing full well that he is probably my most vulnerable side?” Now it was Skipper’s turn to look shocked. Why had that come out? He had an unspoken agreement with his team: Never mention Roberto. Never mention Joshua. And why on earth would he tell ANYONE his greatest weakness. Maybe he was learning to trust more.
Kowalski’s expression softened, “You can’t put it off forever,” he rose to leave, “Think about that. I’m going to go check up on Doris.”
And Skipper did think about that. He thought for what seemed like hours. Roberto. Would he have wanted Skipper to try and forget him? But Private! Could he stand to learn that everything he knew was a lie?
A long electronic buzzing pulled Skipper out of his reverie. He turned toward his left. While Skipper was fighting his internal battle, Johnson was fighting his own one.
And he had lost.
They buried Johnson in a small garden near the White House. Skipper no longer cared if anyone found it. That was Bush’s problem. Skipper was hobbling on a makeshift crutch Kowalski had given him. They found an old box in Dr. Blowhole’s lair to put him in. Kowalski had suggested a bandanna to replicate a burial shroud. Skipper said no. He didn’t want anything to remind him of the night he lost Roberto. One loss at a time was more than enough. More than he could take, anyway.
They said a few words, just like they did over Manfridi. Then they had to rush back to the lair. Rico couldn’t be left alone for long periods of time and Kowalski insisted on checking up on Doris. But this time, they entered with a hole in their hearts. That hole was Johnson.
Johnson, the fighter. Johnson, with his cocky attitude. Johnson, who gave his life for a teammate. Manfridi and Johnson, the inseparable pair. Manfridi and Johnson. Skipper’s teammates.
They were greeted by soft groaning. Skipper inhaled sharply, fearful that Rico’s condition had gotten worse. But then he realized that being able to vocalize pain would be a large step toward improvement. Yet somehow, he didn’t think he’d have that kind of luck.
When Skipper and Kowalski reached the ‘hospital’ section, they could see that Private was sitting up in bed, clutching his forehead. His eyes were confused, taking in the obvious atmosphere of safety. After all, the last thing he remembered was probably the tank. But his expression brightened when he caught sight of Skipper and Kowalski.
“Skippa!” he cried hoarsely, “Kowalski!” His smile was contagious. Skipper felt the corners of his beak tilting upward despite the crippling sadness that was looming over him like a dark cloud. “I’m so glad you’re…okay.” There was obviously another word he was about to say. A word Skipper could no longer use to describe a third of his team.
Private’s eager eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly over Rico. Skipper saw him blanch, but he continued to look around. He did a slight double-take at Doris, but was not as paranoid as Skipper had been. ‘Paranoia comes later,’ Skipper reminded himself.
But as he searched the room for a second time, Private realized something was terribly wrong. He turned toward Skipper.
“Where’s Manfridi?” he asked, “Johnson?” His eyes were wide. Kowalski sat on the foot of his bed; just as he had done with Skipper.
“Private…” But to continue his sentence would be pointless. Private had already figured out the truth, and had fainted dead away. Kowalski seized his wrist and was still for a moment. Then he nodded at Skipper.
“Just shock,” he assured him. Skipper let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He had no intention of slapping Private silly to wake him up as he would normally do. Private’s heart was not his weakness; but his strength. And he would need plenty of it after this mission. They all would.
Nearly five weeks had passed since the team returned from Washington. They had used a White House computer to arrange for Doris to be shipped into the Central Park Zoo as a transfer from the National Zoo. Now, she was their neighbor, happily entertaining crowds of humans.
After Johnson died, Rico started to show major signs of improvement. Within two weeks, he was ready to get out of bed. But every word Kowalski had said about his life was true. Rico spoke only with grunts and a few words that sounded like a baby’s babbling. It took 6 whole days for Kowalski to teach him regurgitation, but eventually, he had it down pat. Rico needed to be watched at all time. He threw sticks of dynamite and hand grenades all over the HQ. Skipper repeatedly was dishing out his signature method of discipline: Slapping. Despite all of the difficulty Rico was causing, Skipper was confident he could eventually learn to respond to orders.
The leader had canceled all training until Rico was able to properly function as a soldier. Kowalski and Private spent their days sitting around the HQ, watching TV and playing checkers. Kowalski helped a lot with Rico, but Skipper couldn’t stand looking him in the eyes while he was doing so. Kowalski’s best friend was gone, for almost nothing was similar between the old and new Ricos. One night, Skipper caught Kowalski desperately trying to get Rico to help him with an invention. Unfortunately, Rico smashed some chemicals together (“Kaboom, Kaboom, KABOOOM!”), causing an explosion that nearly blew the HQ to China. Rico laughed like a psychopath the entire time. Once the fire was out, Kowalski ignored Private’s questions and went straight to bed, silently.
But Private! He was having the most difficult time of all. Manfridi and Johnson’s loss was obviously weighing the young penguin down with every step. He seldom spoke anymore, and obeyed all orders without even blinking an eyelash. Kowalski said it was just shock; but still it hurt Skipper to watch the hollow shell that was once Private. Private’s smile seemed to be the sun, his laughter all that was good in the world. And although he didn’t realize it, without his infectious happiness, Skipper’s world was slowly becoming a living Hell.
Now five weeks and thirty-five sleepless nights had passed. It was early June, and the weather was warm. It didn’t seem right for the world to look so beautiful; not after all that had happened. Skipper and Kowalski were on ‘cute and cuddly’ duty that day. Normally, they would all go out, but they had all agreed that Rico should not be seen by the humans. His wounds were healing, but he still needed to wear bandages and casts. And they couldn’t have him spontaneously deciding to regurgitate a time bomb. Rico was getting better at following orders, but he still needed to be guarded. Private volunteered for watch duty (or, more accurately, he had been recommended for the job and had nodded), giving Skipper and Kowalski some much needed time alone to discuss some things.
“Nothing seems right,” Kowalski noted as they waved to the crowd.
“You’ve just realized this?” Skipper responded without taking his eyes off the people.
“I- I’m just getting a little worried,” Kowalski said, ignoring Skipper’s last comment.
“About whom? Rico? Private?”
“Well, yes. Yes, that’s obvious. But I’m more worried about Manfridi and Johnson.” Skipper froze, “Kowalski, wherever they are, I’m sure they’re fine. It’s the living we should be more worried about.”
“But that’s just it. I’m afraid we’ll lose them, Skipper! They were both fantastic, just fantastic, but when Private gets older, he might not even remember them!” Skipper knew this was false, especially since, as of the week before, Private was officially full grown. He had shed his down feathers so quickly, Skipper had actually instructed Kowalski to do a full medical analysis on him. Apparently, the stress of the mission had actually caused Private to mature more rapidly. Skipper had thought this was only possible for humans. Still, Kowalski’s question was completely valid. It was a thought he’d had himself.
“How do you think we can remember them?” Skipper asked.
“We need to find a way that we can mention them often, but without bringing up any sensitive subjects. I mean, right NOW everything involving them is sensitive, but eventually we should be able to talk about them freely.”
Skipper could actually feel little wheels turning in his brain. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he spoke.
“What if we make up ridiculous tall-tales about their deaths? That way, we can mourn them while lightening the mood at the same time.”
Kowalski stared at Skipper, and for a minute, Skipper was sure he had said the wrong thing. Then, Kowalski’s face broke out into the first real grin he had seen since Washington.
“Skipper, that’s genius! Absolute genius!” Kowalski cried.
“That’s what Manfridi and Johnson said about those free sky-diving lessons in Switzerland,” Skipper said with a smile.
“If only the teacher wasn’t too cheap to buy a parachute,” Kowalski finished. The two of them started to chuckle, and soon, they became boisterous laughs. And for a second, the nightmare became closer to a dream.
The dream quickly faded though. The next day was cold and wet. It seemed like the world was crying. Kowalski had told Private about the plan, and he acknowledged his approval with a slight nod. Kowalski went off to visit with Doris (he did so every day, despite the weather). Rico was trying to figure out what was the largest thing he could regurgitate while Private sat in the corner and was trying his best not to cry. Skipper was still worried sick about him, just as a father would be. And he WAS a father.
Skipper heard voices in his ears.
“My future belongs to young Joshua.” Was it Roberto’s future that needed to be given?
“You should have told him when you had the chance,” Blowhole’s taunting nightmare voice said.
“You can’t put it off forever,” Kowalski was wrong. He could; he could put it off. Skipper hadn’t said a word yet, and ignorance is bliss after all. He didn’t need to say anything, nothing was forcing him to, and he’d suffered enough, seen enough, known enough. And so had Private. Skipper could keep the secret longer, he could keep it forever. He wouldn’t say, he wouldn’t say.
“Private,” Skipper called suddenly, “Come here. I need to tell you something.”
THE END.
Whoa, sorry for the late updating. I’m not so good at this fan fiction stuff; I’ll try to do better next time. Anyway, this is the final chapter. Not as action packed as the last one, but this is more of a sad, conversation-like chapter. There’s also a lot of medical stuff, but I’m not a doctor nor am I as smart as Kowalski, so there might be some faulty information. Well, it’s probably more realistic than most of the stuff in the show! Enjoy, and thank you for reading There is a Reason. I had a lot of fun with it.
The next few minutes were a blur for Skipper. He remembered seeing Kowalski pressing on Private’s stomach until water gushed out of his mouth. Then, Kowalski moved toward Skipper and poured some clear liquid down his throat. A second later, he felt very drowsy, and then everything went dark.
When he woke, Skipper was very confused. He wasn’t on the cold, concrete floor of Dr. Blowhole’s lair anymore, but he could see that he was still in the same room. He was lying on what felt like a cot. Skipper never liked to sleep on a soft surface, but it was oddly comforting now. He could tell the filth from the Anacostia River had been carefully scrubbed off. Skipper was glad because the sewage was making his skin itch. Then he examined the rest of his body.
His left flipper felt strangely heavy, and when he pulled it up close to his eyes, Skipper saw that it was covered in a thick plaster cast. He couldn’t feel his right leg at all. Then he turned to his left.
Private was lying on an identical cot next to him. Skipper was glad to see that his chest was heaving in a steady rhythm, but his face! It looked so much like the last time he had seen Roberto. Paled face with his beak slightly open.
Skipper turned to his right and immediately wished he hadn’t. For on two large cots were Rico and Johnson. They were both hooked up to a number of machines; Skipper could only recognize them from some hospital TV shows. But from one look at his teammates, he could tell that they were all necessary.
Most of their feathers had been burnt away and revealed skin that was charcoal black. They were both covered with long, red gashes that had been hastily stitched up. Rico had the worst: A long cut that slashed through his beak and was deeper than any other wound Skipper had ever seen. He winced. That would definitely leave a scar. If it could heal. He also had a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, like a turban. But these injuries paled in comparison to Johnson’s.
A huge, white bandage was wrapped around his chest, and on his left side, blood had stained the cloth. Both of his flippers were coated with a foul smelling green ointment that was not opaque enough to conceal its purpose: third degree burns covered Johnson’s flippers, many of them yellow and oozing pus; but even more terrible were the burns that had sunk right through his skin and showed the bone!
“Horrifying, isn’t it?” The sudden voice made him jump. Skipper hadn’t seen Kowalski sit on the edge of his cot. He was glad to see that he was practically unharmed except for the lump on his head; and even that was shrinking. There were many questions that Skipper could have asked at that moment, but he the simplest one. “Where did you get all of that equipment?”
Kowalski chuckled and Skipper felt his heart ache: It was a grim, empty sound and he wondered if Kowalski would ever be the same after this mission. If anything would ever be the same.
“Well, I suppose we can thank Dr. Blowhole for those,” Kowalski said, “His lair was full of medical supplies. It would seem that he’s a little paranoid about getting hurt.”
“That would explain why he’s always running away,” Skipper responded. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but at that moment he would give anything for Kowalski just to smile again. But there were more serious topics that needed to be discussed.
“How are they?” Skipper didn’t know who he meant: Private, Rico, Johnson- or maybe even himself. His injuries were minor, he was certain. He’d had worse in his life. But he had already lost Manfridi. Could he stand it if he lost someone else?
“Well, Private is showing definite signs of improvement,” Kowalski answered, “He should regain consciousness in a few hours. He was just in a state of shock and swallowed a bit too much water. But the others-” Kowalski paused, “I-I just don’t know.”
‘There’s a first,’ Skipper thought. Out loud he said, “What REALLY happened to them?” The last moments of their mission were still a blur for him.
“Well, their plan would have been genius,” Kowalski sighed, “I just wished they could have jumped off before the robots hit the tank. The robots were very much like the power source: They would explode if they were hurt in any way,” Skipper nodded, remembering the miniature versions, “We couldn’t do anything,” Kowalski continued, “We weren’t strong enough. But the tank was.
No matter what I told Johnson, Manfridi probably didn’t survive the explosion itself. He was too close. Now, imagine that explosion on a much larger scale. If Rico and Johnson were as close to the robots as Manfridi was to the power source, they would have been killed instantly. They were lucky.” Again, Skipper nodded. But he wasn’t sure that was a blessing. Didn’t that mean that Rico and Johnson would just have to suffer more before they died? Skipper pushed that thought out of his mind. They WOULD live because they were HIS team. But something was still bothering him.
“Why is Johnson so much worse?” As soon as Skipper asked this question, he regretted it. The tallest penguin’s eyes filled with tears.
“Johnson probably could have gotten away,” Kowalski was half-whispering, “He’s faster than all of us. But Rico freezes up in the face of direct danger. You remember our Hawaiian vacation.” Skipper remembered how that shark would have swallowed Rico whole if Manfridi hadn’t pushed him away. He also remembered the look in Kowalski’s eyes when he swore to kill that shark sooner or later. It was similar to his expression now. “When Rico froze, Johnson didn’t run away. Instead, he covered up Rico with his body, taking a lot of the damage.”
Roberto’s words came back to him, “It was love, Skipper, a thing you’ll never understand.” He understood love now. He understood that love could make a penguin risk everything for his teammate. And now, he thought about his relationship with Private. How did he FEEL about him? And the answer came to him in an instant: He loved Private. Skipper loved him like a son. But would he risk everything for him?
‘Yes,’ Skipper thought firmly, ‘I would.’ He noticed Kowalski staring at him; he was still talking but had obviously realized that Skipper’s focus was elsewhere.
“So, how are they?” Skipper repeated, this time hoping for more specific information about Rico and Johnson.
“Not so good, I’m afraid,” Kowalski replied, “That scar on Rico’s beak is severe, I won’t lie to you. But as long as it does not become infected, it should not be fatal. But Rico does have a major concussion. Later today, I’ll start testing him for brain damage. I believe that, during the explosion, Rico and Johnson were separated. Rico must have smashed into the ceiling head-first,” Skipper winced just thinking about the pain his teammate must have been in. But Kowalski put his flipper on his shoulder, “If it is any consolation, Skipper, they were probably both unconscious at the time. That sulfuric smoke was enough to knock out a full-grown human. It’s a wonder we didn’t pass out.
And, like you said, Johnson is much worse. The pain from those burns will be intense, but he’s been injected with analgesic. Johnson also has three broken ribs, and a sharp piece of metal stabbed him in the stomach. I cleaned it out of course but-” he shook his head.
Skipper suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for Kowalski. He had kept Johnson alive when things must have seemed so bleak; he had fixed up Private and himself (Skipper). He was all that was holding the team from falling down into a deep abyss. Now, Skipper felt guilty about how he had been angry with Kowalski for memorizing those silly White House facts. Was that just a few hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.
“Top-notch, Kowalski,” Skipper managed. He could have said more, but he knew Kowalski would understand. Skipper suddenly felt uncomfortable with Kowalski’s grief stricken eyes staring at him, so he scanned the room. Rico and Johnson had tubes stuck under their skin that were pumping a light amber liquid into them. A small screen was obviously displaying their heart rates and, while Skipper was glad to see that neither of the two lines was flat, the bleeps were still too slow for his liking. He wrenched his head away and looked around the rest of the room. Kowalski had found a bucket of fish somewhere; it was sitting in the middle of the room. His stomach felt acidic, as if he had just vomited, but he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. Was it yesterday? Or was today already tomorrow? He was having trouble keeping track of the time. But then he spotted something that made his eyes widen.
“BLOWHOLE!”
Skipper could actually FEEL his face pale, but he still tried getting out of bed to fight. Unfortunately, that movement sent a wave of nausea through him, and he fell to the ground.
“It’s all right, Skipper!” Kowalski assured him as he pulled his struggling leader back onto the bed.
But nothing could reassure Skipper. In one corner of the room, there was a large crate with a thin quilt draped over it. On the top of the makeshift bed was a grey dolphin. His paranoia was kicking in. Was Kowalski working for Dr. Blowhole? No, he couldn’t be, Skipper had been training with Kowalski for years! Then why was he helping Blowhole recover?
Then it struck him: Blowhole didn’t have any wounds when he escaped the lair. WAIT! He’d escaped the lair! Then who was on the crate?
“Doris,” Kowalski said, as if he were reading Skipper’s thoughts, “I rescued Doris, not Dr. Blowhole.” Was Kowalski blushing? Skipper smirked and Kowalski looked at his feet.
“That’s not much better, soldier!”
“Please, Skipper,” Kowalski pleaded, “She-she isn’t evil like Blowhole! She was tricked! Besides, it doesn’t matter now anyway!”
“Why not?”
“Because a large piece of robot hit her on the head and I believe she has complete amnesia!”
Skipper had never seen Kowalski so worked up. He relented, only because he didn’t want Kowalski to completely flip out. And Skipper was exhausted.
“You should get some rest,” Kowalski told him, much to his relief. Skipper settled back down on his pillow.
“Same with you, soldier. You look beat.” But Kowalski just turned toward him with a sad shake of his head.
“Not tonight, Skipper. Not tonight.”
Skipper didn’t remember how long he slept. All he remembered was the dream. Skipper was standing in complete blackness. Then, he heard the laughter. Deranged laughter that could only have on source: Dr. Blowhole.
“Paaaain-guuu-iiiin…” The word was no more than a whisper; and yet it sent a chill down Skipper’s spine, “He’s gone. You should have told him when you had the chance…”
“Joshua!” Skipper screamed. He realized that he never called Private anything but his rank. Not even in his own mind. Well, there was a first time for everything.
Again, that insane laughter echoed around him. Suddenly, he was back at the zoo. But he could tell from the smoking black puddle that this was that night. Roberto was lying on the ground, “Don’t let him be like me!” he rasped, “I thought…you could keep him safe.”
“I tried!” Skipper wailed, “Oh, Roberto, I tried.” But that figure on the ground wasn’t Roberto; it was Private!
“It’s all right, Skippa!” he groaned, “I’m not…afraid to die.”
Then he heard the crying. Deep sobs that were obviously wrenched from the very bottom of a soul. Skipper’s vision was blurring; he just lying in bed. He sat up.
‘Just a dream,’ he told himself. But then why could he still hear the crying? Skipper rubbed his eyes with his good flipper and looked around. Leaning against a wall with his head buried in his flippers was Kowalski. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed, making him look more helpless than Skipper had ever seen him.
He instinctively looked over at Rico and Johnson’s heart monitor, silently begging he wouldn’t see his worst fears confirmed. But neither line was flat, in fact, Rico’s heart rate was actually improving. Then why was Kowalski crying?
“Kowalski?” Skipper said. Kowalski immediately stood at attention, but that didn’t stop the tears from running down his cheeks. “At ease, soldier,” The tension went out of Kowalski’s shoulders, “Now what’s wrong?”
Kowalski took a deep breath, “It’s Rico,” he choked. A shard of ice pierced Skipper’s heart.
“How bad is it?” Skipper asked firmly.
“Bad,” Kowalski replied, “Very bad. He has severe brain damage. That blow to the head damaged many of his brain cells and some nerves.”
“Will he live?”
Kowalski’s face broke into a pitiful smile, “Yes, yes I believe so. Just- just don’t expect him to ever be normal again.”
Skipper furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t say for certain,” Kowalski said, “But I believe that he will never be able to speak a coherent sentence again.” Skipper thought that Kowalski was overreacting.
“So, he can learn sign language; like that monkey back at the zoo.” he said. But Kowalski’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
“It’s not that simple, Skipper,” he said, “Rico lost nearly 50% of his IQ points. I don’t think he’ll be learning anything in the near future. I also believe he might not be able to control his psychotic rage anymore.”
Skipper knew that, as an explosives expert, Rico had a natural love of destruction. However, he never hurt a fly unless it was completely necessary. And he wouldn’t ever revel in suffering. Obviously, that was about to change. Skipper’s throat went dry. It didn’t seem that Rico would be of any use to their team anymore. But at least he would live. That was a blessing in itself.
“I- I suppose I’ll have to grant him an honorable discharge,” he said hoarsely. Kowalski was silent. Skipper assumed he was still grieving, but it turned out he was thinking.
“You know, Skipper,” he said finally, “I think we might be able to keep him on. I suppose some good, firm discipline could keep his psychotic rage at optimal levels.” Skipper was starting to feel better about the situation. Kowalski’s scientific mumbo-jumbo made little sense to him; but discipline? That was a language he spoke. Suddenly, a faint smile played at the corners of Kowalski’s beak.
“In fact,” he said thoughtfully, “Rico might have just gained a new skill.”
Now Skipper was really confused. He couldn’t imagine this mission having a positive impact on anyone.
“Well, out with it man!” he said.
“You see,” Kowalski began, “That smoke hardened the skin and tissue in Rico’s stomach and esophagus. I thought that only meant that the few words Rico could say would sound rough. But it also means that his stomach acid will be less powerful, giving his gut a unique ability to store objects in it for long periods of time. And the muscles in Rico’s throat should be stronger than ever.” Skipper sensed what Kowalski was getting at now.
“Regurgitation?” he asked. Kowalski nodded with a forced smile, “Is that…safe?” Safety was not something Skipper often thought about, as he and his team cheated Death to the extent of ludicrously. But of late, he had realized just how fragile life was.
“Now, normally I would say no,” Kowalski admitted, “But with Rico’s internal qualifications, he should be fine. Well, as fine as he’ll ever be.” The weight of the world seemed to be resting on Kowalski’s shoulders. Skipper was considering risking climbing out of bed to comfort him when Kowalski threw his head back in a heart-wrenching wail.
“Oh, Skipper, I don’t know how much more of this I can take! Everything’s changing! Manfridi’s gone! Rico is doomed to be a psychopath! I don’t even know how to work half of these machines! What if I read something wrong and Rico is actually dying? And Johnson? HA! His very life is hanging by a thread! I- I don’t know what to do! I couldn’t help them; I can’t help them! If they die…it’ll be all my fault.” His voice grew softer, and he sat back down. He was crying, but he had no tears left.
“Kowalski,” Skipper said firmly, “Take a deep breath. I know right now things seem hopeless, but they’re not.”
“But what if they-?”
“Die? Kowalski, if they’re going to die, there’s nothing you can do about it! Do you think that if you weren’t here, we’d all be alive? Wouldn’t Private have drowned? And Rico and Johnson definitely would be dead! You, Kowalski, are trying your best. I couldn’t ask for a better medic. In fact, I WOULDN’T ask for anyone else; and I’m sure Rico and Johnson wouldn’t trust anyone else either. Stop beating yourself up! If they die, it won’t be your fault!” Skipper took a deep breath, surprised at the forceful manner his little monologue had taken. Kowalski looked a little shocked, and when he spoke, his words were barely audible.
“Do you have a heart, Skipper?”
Skipper recoiled; the words felt like a slap in the face. No, worse than that. He could take a thousand slaps; but his teammate’s words stung. They reached right down to the bottom of his soul. How could he talk so easily of death? Had he no feelings? Skipper was doubting himself for the first time in years. But he had the answer deep down. Skipper knew the truth.
“I do, Kowalski. I know because right now, it’s aching. If I have no heart, why would I have taken in Roberto’s son? Knowing full well that he is probably my most vulnerable side?” Now it was Skipper’s turn to look shocked. Why had that come out? He had an unspoken agreement with his team: Never mention Roberto. Never mention Joshua. And why on earth would he tell ANYONE his greatest weakness. Maybe he was learning to trust more.
Kowalski’s expression softened, “You can’t put it off forever,” he rose to leave, “Think about that. I’m going to go check up on Doris.”
And Skipper did think about that. He thought for what seemed like hours. Roberto. Would he have wanted Skipper to try and forget him? But Private! Could he stand to learn that everything he knew was a lie?
A long electronic buzzing pulled Skipper out of his reverie. He turned toward his left. While Skipper was fighting his internal battle, Johnson was fighting his own one.
And he had lost.
They buried Johnson in a small garden near the White House. Skipper no longer cared if anyone found it. That was Bush’s problem. Skipper was hobbling on a makeshift crutch Kowalski had given him. They found an old box in Dr. Blowhole’s lair to put him in. Kowalski had suggested a bandanna to replicate a burial shroud. Skipper said no. He didn’t want anything to remind him of the night he lost Roberto. One loss at a time was more than enough. More than he could take, anyway.
They said a few words, just like they did over Manfridi. Then they had to rush back to the lair. Rico couldn’t be left alone for long periods of time and Kowalski insisted on checking up on Doris. But this time, they entered with a hole in their hearts. That hole was Johnson.
Johnson, the fighter. Johnson, with his cocky attitude. Johnson, who gave his life for a teammate. Manfridi and Johnson, the inseparable pair. Manfridi and Johnson. Skipper’s teammates.
They were greeted by soft groaning. Skipper inhaled sharply, fearful that Rico’s condition had gotten worse. But then he realized that being able to vocalize pain would be a large step toward improvement. Yet somehow, he didn’t think he’d have that kind of luck.
When Skipper and Kowalski reached the ‘hospital’ section, they could see that Private was sitting up in bed, clutching his forehead. His eyes were confused, taking in the obvious atmosphere of safety. After all, the last thing he remembered was probably the tank. But his expression brightened when he caught sight of Skipper and Kowalski.
“Skippa!” he cried hoarsely, “Kowalski!” His smile was contagious. Skipper felt the corners of his beak tilting upward despite the crippling sadness that was looming over him like a dark cloud. “I’m so glad you’re…okay.” There was obviously another word he was about to say. A word Skipper could no longer use to describe a third of his team.
Private’s eager eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly over Rico. Skipper saw him blanch, but he continued to look around. He did a slight double-take at Doris, but was not as paranoid as Skipper had been. ‘Paranoia comes later,’ Skipper reminded himself.
But as he searched the room for a second time, Private realized something was terribly wrong. He turned toward Skipper.
“Where’s Manfridi?” he asked, “Johnson?” His eyes were wide. Kowalski sat on the foot of his bed; just as he had done with Skipper.
“Private…” But to continue his sentence would be pointless. Private had already figured out the truth, and had fainted dead away. Kowalski seized his wrist and was still for a moment. Then he nodded at Skipper.
“Just shock,” he assured him. Skipper let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He had no intention of slapping Private silly to wake him up as he would normally do. Private’s heart was not his weakness; but his strength. And he would need plenty of it after this mission. They all would.
Nearly five weeks had passed since the team returned from Washington. They had used a White House computer to arrange for Doris to be shipped into the Central Park Zoo as a transfer from the National Zoo. Now, she was their neighbor, happily entertaining crowds of humans.
After Johnson died, Rico started to show major signs of improvement. Within two weeks, he was ready to get out of bed. But every word Kowalski had said about his life was true. Rico spoke only with grunts and a few words that sounded like a baby’s babbling. It took 6 whole days for Kowalski to teach him regurgitation, but eventually, he had it down pat. Rico needed to be watched at all time. He threw sticks of dynamite and hand grenades all over the HQ. Skipper repeatedly was dishing out his signature method of discipline: Slapping. Despite all of the difficulty Rico was causing, Skipper was confident he could eventually learn to respond to orders.
The leader had canceled all training until Rico was able to properly function as a soldier. Kowalski and Private spent their days sitting around the HQ, watching TV and playing checkers. Kowalski helped a lot with Rico, but Skipper couldn’t stand looking him in the eyes while he was doing so. Kowalski’s best friend was gone, for almost nothing was similar between the old and new Ricos. One night, Skipper caught Kowalski desperately trying to get Rico to help him with an invention. Unfortunately, Rico smashed some chemicals together (“Kaboom, Kaboom, KABOOOM!”), causing an explosion that nearly blew the HQ to China. Rico laughed like a psychopath the entire time. Once the fire was out, Kowalski ignored Private’s questions and went straight to bed, silently.
But Private! He was having the most difficult time of all. Manfridi and Johnson’s loss was obviously weighing the young penguin down with every step. He seldom spoke anymore, and obeyed all orders without even blinking an eyelash. Kowalski said it was just shock; but still it hurt Skipper to watch the hollow shell that was once Private. Private’s smile seemed to be the sun, his laughter all that was good in the world. And although he didn’t realize it, without his infectious happiness, Skipper’s world was slowly becoming a living Hell.
Now five weeks and thirty-five sleepless nights had passed. It was early June, and the weather was warm. It didn’t seem right for the world to look so beautiful; not after all that had happened. Skipper and Kowalski were on ‘cute and cuddly’ duty that day. Normally, they would all go out, but they had all agreed that Rico should not be seen by the humans. His wounds were healing, but he still needed to wear bandages and casts. And they couldn’t have him spontaneously deciding to regurgitate a time bomb. Rico was getting better at following orders, but he still needed to be guarded. Private volunteered for watch duty (or, more accurately, he had been recommended for the job and had nodded), giving Skipper and Kowalski some much needed time alone to discuss some things.
“Nothing seems right,” Kowalski noted as they waved to the crowd.
“You’ve just realized this?” Skipper responded without taking his eyes off the people.
“I- I’m just getting a little worried,” Kowalski said, ignoring Skipper’s last comment.
“About whom? Rico? Private?”
“Well, yes. Yes, that’s obvious. But I’m more worried about Manfridi and Johnson.” Skipper froze, “Kowalski, wherever they are, I’m sure they’re fine. It’s the living we should be more worried about.”
“But that’s just it. I’m afraid we’ll lose them, Skipper! They were both fantastic, just fantastic, but when Private gets older, he might not even remember them!” Skipper knew this was false, especially since, as of the week before, Private was officially full grown. He had shed his down feathers so quickly, Skipper had actually instructed Kowalski to do a full medical analysis on him. Apparently, the stress of the mission had actually caused Private to mature more rapidly. Skipper had thought this was only possible for humans. Still, Kowalski’s question was completely valid. It was a thought he’d had himself.
“How do you think we can remember them?” Skipper asked.
“We need to find a way that we can mention them often, but without bringing up any sensitive subjects. I mean, right NOW everything involving them is sensitive, but eventually we should be able to talk about them freely.”
Skipper could actually feel little wheels turning in his brain. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he spoke.
“What if we make up ridiculous tall-tales about their deaths? That way, we can mourn them while lightening the mood at the same time.”
Kowalski stared at Skipper, and for a minute, Skipper was sure he had said the wrong thing. Then, Kowalski’s face broke out into the first real grin he had seen since Washington.
“Skipper, that’s genius! Absolute genius!” Kowalski cried.
“That’s what Manfridi and Johnson said about those free sky-diving lessons in Switzerland,” Skipper said with a smile.
“If only the teacher wasn’t too cheap to buy a parachute,” Kowalski finished. The two of them started to chuckle, and soon, they became boisterous laughs. And for a second, the nightmare became closer to a dream.
The dream quickly faded though. The next day was cold and wet. It seemed like the world was crying. Kowalski had told Private about the plan, and he acknowledged his approval with a slight nod. Kowalski went off to visit with Doris (he did so every day, despite the weather). Rico was trying to figure out what was the largest thing he could regurgitate while Private sat in the corner and was trying his best not to cry. Skipper was still worried sick about him, just as a father would be. And he WAS a father.
Skipper heard voices in his ears.
“My future belongs to young Joshua.” Was it Roberto’s future that needed to be given?
“You should have told him when you had the chance,” Blowhole’s taunting nightmare voice said.
“You can’t put it off forever,” Kowalski was wrong. He could; he could put it off. Skipper hadn’t said a word yet, and ignorance is bliss after all. He didn’t need to say anything, nothing was forcing him to, and he’d suffered enough, seen enough, known enough. And so had Private. Skipper could keep the secret longer, he could keep it forever. He wouldn’t say, he wouldn’t say.
“Private,” Skipper called suddenly, “Come here. I need to tell you something.”
THE END.
