(Author's Note: The Captain was written by me some time in 2010/11 for a short story fan-fiction collaboration project on a Primeval fan forum. This is my first solo project (though still tied to the crossover: Life Finds a Way) aided by my very good friend, Totemaster.

Primeval
The Captain

By
Sierra1138

Beta'd by Totemaster

Isla del Libre
March 10th, 2007

Captain Hemple was surrounded by the towering tropical trees. It was dark and raining in the jungle.

The events flashed through his mind. They were driving along a dirt path when their vehicle was toppled over. Whatever it was, it was fast and had enough force to overturn their car.

His team barely managed to make it out of the jeep.

He heard the roar again. It was loud and frightening enough to make any untrained person relieve themselves. It was like an elephant roar ran through a synthesizer.

He came to a dead end. His four team members stopped dead in their tracks as they joined him. They had come to a vertical cliff face.

The roaring came at them simultaneously from all sides. They're surrounded.

In a split second a light shone behind them. The soldiers turned around. Shards of glass floated around a ball of shimmering light which cast shadows across the dark forest and lighting some parts up.

Hemple looked at the light. He moved close to it, as if to see if it was tangible he felt wind that carried the smell of fresh air through the light. Something was on the other side: Their possible salvation.

There was another roar. Hemple saw a glimpse of chalk white beast that quickly disappeared back in to the foliage.

"Oh what the hell!" He said, "Let's go!" He shouted as he charged in to the light. The four other soldiers followed him through.

The squad re-emerged onto a flat desert plain. It was patched with shrubs and a few small trees. Not too far from them was a deciduous forest.

"Halt!" the Captain shouted as he turned to face the shimmering light.

He drew his M4 carbine at the light, waiting for his pursuers to burst through.

The other four squad-mates drew their assault weapons at the portal.

The roar of the predators echoed through the light, but nothing came through.

The light started to expand.

"What the hell is happening?" one soldier asked.

Then it imploded, with a crack of thunder following it.

"No!" Hemple shouted in dread.

They were trapped.

XXXX

Isla del Libre
Green Zone, Santa Maria
March 10th, 2007

Fifty-five years of age. I should be with my grandkids. Not in some war zone. But hell, I love my job too much. I'll just finish this last shot of whiskey and then I'll get back to my hotel room.

Hopper sat at a dreary, dark bar. The only company that was there was the barman, who couldn't speak a word of English, apart from understanding 'money' and 'dollars'. Hopper sat on the stool at the counter.

A TV was fixed on to the wall, just right of Hopper. The barman had it switched to the local Spanish-language news channel, which was currently reporting on a Harrier fast-jet attack on the IdL military's artillery positions in a nature reserve.

Hopper sighed and took a swig of his drink, if it wasn't for the SAS soldiers going missing the whole thing could have been kept quiet. He also wouldn't have gotten a dressing down from the Commandant of the Marine Corps, who was in charge of all allied military operations on the island.

Hopper had worked with the British Army Captain in charge of the SAS Alpha team. Hemple was his name, a very tall man, spoke the Queen's English and was usually dressed in civvies. Both were situated in an outpost two miles from the nature reserve.

The dilemma forced him to remind himself what NATO was doing here: a US government funded private military company had screwed up an authorised assassination attempt to aid a pro-democracy coup. The operators were captured, interrogated and then executed, and the dictator was going to reveal that private military operators wee ordered by the US government to overthrow him.

It was almost parallel to the Bay of Pigs invasion of 1961. Only the Cold War isn't getting in the way to prevent an allied invasion and this time it wasn't the CIA that screwed up.

He brushed his hand over his bald head and sighed as he hung his head in fatigue.

"You alright there pal?" the voice of an Irishman forced him to bring his head back up.

Hopper looked up to see a Royal Marines officer, a Captain (according to the stitched in emblems on his jacket's rank slide).

"Who the hell are you?" Hopper slurred.

"I'm Captain Anderson of 3 Commando Brigade." Anderson removed his beret and sat down on the stool to Hopper's right side.

"Good for you."

"What's the matter, mate?"

"That Commandant pinned it all on me." Hopper said, pointing to himself.

Anderson leaned over and noticed the Delta Force beret tucked in to Hopper's epaulette.

"Ah… Delta. I don't think you should start talking about your work problems here." Anderson looked around the dimly lit bar, "Even if there isn't much activity here."

Hopper groaned.

"So… How long have you been in the forces?" Hopper rubbed his forehead.

"About eight years. This is my last tour."

"Here's to whatever you do next in the future." Hopper raised his empty shot glass at Anderson.

"Yeah…" Anderson nodded slowly.

"Well, Anderson." Hopper stood up from his stool and removed his beret from his epaulette and fixed it on to his head, "I'll be off now. I'm quite tired and I've got a busy schedule ahead of me tomorrow. I'll see you around." Hopper patted Anderson on his shoulder and walked out of the bar.

XXXX

Green Zone, San Pablo Airport
March 11th, 2007

Not much was left of the terminal at San Pablo airport. On the first day of declaring the Green Zone one-hundred percent safe, the original Commandant and a NATO backed IdL politician were killed along with thirty plus reporters and at least twenty bystanders when an artillery bombardment struck the city from the highest mountain in the centre of the island.

After that the airport was shut down and used as a landing zone for quick deployment of troops.

Today was greatly different. The Royal Marines and US Marines were no longer issued any safety drills in case of artillery bombardment. Thanks to the joint US Marine Air Corps and Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm effort in the eradication of the artillery menace was a success, but it was not without its controversies.

It was his fault for suggesting the mission to be more cloak and dagger. He had recommended the best team within the SAS, the only SAS team on the island and he had sent them in to an ambush. But Hopper wanted that behind him.

The remnants of the ground floor departure lounge quickly became the unofficial smoking area for any of the soldiers around the airport. It also served as a good shelter against the rain for anybody waiting for someone departing an airplane.

A thunderstorm had hit the island, again, and Hopper used this shelter to his advantage.

He stood underneath the shelter with his arms crossed as he observed the Lockheed TriStar jet stationary on the runway.

Five people were escorted by a Royal Marine and briefed by Captain Anderson.

After the briefing Captain Anderson had taken a shabby looking man aside and pointed him toward Hopper.

So this was Professor Cutter; messy blonde hair and five o'clock shadow. He matched the description in the e-mail from Sir James Lester.

The shabby looking Professor came up to the Colonel.

"Mister Cutter?" Hopper held out his right arm.

"And you are?" his Scottish accent came through.

"I'm the commander of a Special Forces detachment. I'm your escort to Outpost Thirty-One."

"Oh, okay. Where to, boss?" Cutter sounded nonchalant.

"Just follow me this way," Hopper pointed to a beaten up, white Toyota pickup truck. A plain clothed soldier sat in the back, armed with an M16 rifle.

The Toyota's seats were slightly torn and hard from its constant use. Hopper noticed this when Cutter tried adjusting himself to the right-hand passenger seat.

"You get used to it." Hopper smiled.

"It's definitely not like my Hilux." Cutter said.

Hopper placed the key into the jeep's ignition and twisted it. The engine kicked with a loud "vroom".

As he was driven through Santa Maria, the capital city of Isla del Libre, Cutter noticed the bombed out homes and places of business. This was his first time in a war zone.

Cutter wound his window down. He was desperate for the fresh storm air. He inhaled and exhaled the tropical air. It made a big difference from the recycled air in the 747 jet.

They left the boundaries of the city and arrived at an avenue of large military tents.

"Who are these tents for?" Cutter looked at the soldier.

"They were for the refugees. When the bulk of the IdL forces retreated to the East they made the locals evacuate the towns."

"Where are the refugees now?"

"We're spreading them out to the port cities on the East coast of the island."

The soldier stopped the Toyota at a checkpoint. The checkpoint was just a three meter wide space obstructed by a spike strip, between six meter high concrete boundaries.

Within the three meter wide space was a small machine gun nest. Surrounded by sandbags and protected with a tin shelter.

A US marine jogged out of the shelter and kept his head down from the rain. He picked up the front end of the spike strip and pulled it aside to allow the Toyota to pass. The soldier raised his hand at the marine in recognition as they started moving again.

The storm refused to let up and seemed to have intensified as they left the Green Zone.

The soldier turned the vehicle off the tarmac road and on to a muddy path which cut through a corn field.

The Toyota bounced up and down along the muddy path. Until the soldier put his foot down on the brake and slowed the vehicle down.

"Why did we stop?" Cutter asked.

"Hold on." The driver rapped his fist on the roof.

The other soldier responded in the same fashion.

"Tango Echo Xray!" the other soldier shouted out. His voice echoed through the small field.

Then two soldiers in gillie suits came out from the corn field. Their weapons were slung behind their backs.

The Toyota continued on down the cornfield until it came up to a barn and stopped

"So… Outpost Thirty One is a farm?" Cutter looked at the soldier.

"Yeah," The soldier chuckled, "I'm Colonel Hopper by the way." He held out his right hand.

"It's nice to meet you Colonel." Cutter smiled.