I glanced first to the right. The guy to that side was still out of my sight line. I chanced a look to the left, and a figure on the edge of my field of vision moved there, sneaking up on me. I keyed my mic again, rolled, and fired.
My side caught fire, just under my vest, as I watched my double tap to drop the guy at five o’clock to the ground. Ignoring the pain, I rolled and fired again. Nine o’clock dropped too. I reached for my M4.
Pain detonated throughout my chest, robbing me of my breath. A round struck my vest center mass. It didn’t penetrate, though. I would’ve been dead if it had.
I staggered to my feet, but another shot burned through my outer thigh. I fired in the direction that round came from, advancing with each shot. They might take me—and I knew that was the plan, because otherwise they would’ve and could’ve dropped me without giving away their position. So, yeah, they might capture my ass, but I would take a few of the fuckers out before they got their hands on me.
I advanced on two more of my would-be captors, taking one out just as my knees were cut out from under me. I pulled my K-bar, sinking it deep into the thigh of the guy behind me. I twisted it as I pulled it free, slicing it across his throat as he fell forward.
I attempted to get to my feet again, but the muzzle of an AK was thrust into my face, stopping me in my tracks.
The suck exploded. That’s for damn sure.
Then everything went dark.
I came back to myself, if you could call it that. I hadn’t been knocked out, at least not completely, but my vision had gone dark, and my awareness had diminished a bit, but I’d still been able to hear what was happening around me.
My awareness spiked as my head bounced off whatever I was lying on. I tried to sit up, and this time, I bounced my head off whatever was above me. Feeling around me, I came to the sudden and scary realization that I was in a box. A motherfucking box.
I’m a man in a box.
I laughed ruefully. If that didn’t fucking take the cake. It’s one of my favorite songs, thanks to Rocket, who played the damned thing incessantly. Now, I was the epitome of the man in the box, and they were blaring that fucking song at me.
Irony fucking sucks. I’m just saying.
Mixed with the music was a cacophony of ear-piercing sounds—a woman screaming, a baby crying, and Muslim prayers. The combination was enough to make your teeth rattle and your bones ache. They’d learned this from the shit televised about what the U.S. had done to Noriega all those years ago. We used it because it was fucking effective. The same reason they stole it.
It drove you crazy, being unable to escape the constant blaring sounds. I was slowly losing my goddamn mind.
I closed my eyes, allowing calm to wash over me like standing in the rain during a summer shower on the farm back in Tennessee. The water was warm, soft, gentle, and refreshing, cooling you off as you lifted your face to the sun. The heat and light lifted you like nothing else ever could.
A deep breath in and out. Then I did it again. I opened my eyes back up to my current personal hell.
I looked around the space they’d stowed me in, and for one of the few times in my life, I was happy I wasn’t a behemoth like Brock and some others in the teams. Yes, I was built like a brick outhouse, but I barely brushed six feet, whereas Rocket was nearly half a foot taller.
Thank God Rocket wasn’t the one taken.
Brock had been my best friend since we met on the way to Basic. He’d annoyed the shit out of me, but after a few days—yes, they’d even bunked us together—I’d realized his constant rattling was due to him having ADHD.
Realized. He told me. Same difference.
That didn’t mean it was any easier to deal with on some days—and in some cases, some hours because, fuck, Rocket could be a lot to deal with. Most of the time, he had the attention span of a two-year-old on an Easter Basket with a massive chocolate bunny high, but he had slowly become my right hand. We’d even somehow managed to make it into BUD/S together.
I took a few deep breaths and let my thoughts of my swim buddy fall away. I needed to get my shit together and figure out how to get myself out of this damn mess.
The box was made entirely of corrugated metal like a shipping container, but it was a miniature version. I could sit straight, with my back to the short side, and stretch my legs out in front of me. I could even lie down on my side with my legs drawn up toward my chest, but that was about it. There wasn’t much wiggle room.
I lay down and rolled onto my belly, then finagled my way toward the end they’d shoved me into. The fuckers had thrown me in head first, and my head hit something. Hard. Luckily, I’d not been knocked out. It had been close, though. My vision had gone wonky for a bit.
When I finally reached where the door to the box was, I felt all around, slowly cataloging every groove.
Nothing!
“Fuck,” I growled under my breath.
There was absolutely nothing that distinguished itself as a latch or hinges. I turned myself back around the way they’d put me in. Along the way, I did the same thing with the side wall. Still nothing.
I continued along the entire box, looking for any weak points or deviations that could be helpful. I found some things I would’ve liked to investigate further, but I’d have to wait until I had more light. I was sure one was a camera and a couple of things that could be speakers or metal mesh portholes.
