It had been just after full dark when we’d been attacked, and I’d been grabbed from my overwatch position. My team wouldn’t think I’d deserted, but I didn’t know how they’d come through the firefight. We’d definitely been outnumbered. At least my sniper spot had been, but I didn’t think there were enough people left after I’d been tossed into the vehicle that I had to be overly worried about them being overrun.
Let him be okay. Please let them all be okay.
They’d taken my dive watch, so I wasn’t sure exactly what time it was, but I knew it couldn’t be daybreak yet. I usually had a great sense of time; if I wasn’t mistaken, it was after 0300. Since it was still most likely dark outside, I’d have to wait until the sun came up to see if there were any weaknesses I couldn’t feel.
As much as I didn’t want to remain in this damn box for another few hours, I knew the alternative was worse. And by worse, I meant it was going to fucking suck.
They were going to do one of two things. They were going to hold me hostage, torture me, and then kill me, or they were going to hold me hostage, torture me, and use me as leverage to get something they wanted in return.
Sometimes that resulted in death as well. Only time would tell. I just needed to work the problem, and that was gather as much fucking intel as possible and find a way out.
Oh, and stay alive because dying would fucking suck, and I wasn’t ready to fucking die. I had shit left to do in this life.
Voices sounded outside, coming closer and closer, pulling me from my thoughts. I stayed quiet, reminding myself of SERE training. I’d always heard that was the training you prayed you never used. I thought that about a lot of the shit we did, but SERE definitely headed up my list.
The voices were so fucking close now. I could hear footsteps approaching as well. It was going to be bad. The exercises we’dbeen put through had taught me that. It had also taught me that my job now was to resist and escape. I just had to find the right opening.
I scooched myself back as far into the cage as possible, making myself as small as possible without looking like I was cowering. Let them crawl their asses in here to get me. I would fuck up their world.
Metal raked across metal. The scraping and clanging unnerved me. I was set on edge, waiting for the box to be flooded with light as I was yanked out of this tiny-ass prison.
Screams filled the air. Then metal slammed against metal.
I sighed, relieved sobs wracking my body silently. More screaming and shouting in Arabic filled the air, blended into one jumbled mess until I couldn’t make it out. The sounds, too, melded together to discern, especially as they moved away from my location.
Listening to those screams, their agony and terror, turned my stomach. I started praying—something I’d not done in years. I’d stopped believing in God a long time ago, but I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head, guiding me through the prayers she said daily. Prayers to keep those she loved safe and free from harm.
I didn’t know if anyone was listening, and at this point, I wasn’t sure if I was praying for myself or for the person dragged away screaming their head off.
I sat there for who knew how long, my knees pulled up to my chest, elbows resting on them with my head in my hands. I was relieved that I’d not been pulled out of the box, but now I wished I had been. There was no hope locked inside here.
All that resided in this box was despair, and I needed to be as far away from that as fucking possible. Despair meant I was out of the fight, and that shit didn’t compute. A SEAL never gave up. He never quit. He was never out of the fucking fight.
As hopelessness and the warrior inside me fought one another, tossing like a zodiac in rough seas, I weighed every one of my options. The only plan I could come up with was shock and awe. The problem with that plan was Iwasthe shock and awe. The overwhelming might. Just me. I didn’t have anything at all to use as a weapon.
My best option was to bide my time and gather some intel on the location to devise a better plan. I just wasn’t sure I could risk that. I’d never been one to wait around for things to happen. If I wanted something or felt it needed to be changed, I did what I needed to do to obtain my goal or change things. Of course, the most significant changes in my life were the ones Brock had brought about.
MAY 2001
I was on my way to Basic when I first met Brock Jones. That was the first time he changed my life. I’d enlisted in the Navy several months prior, and much to the recruiter’s frustration, I refused to sign the paperwork until I’d gotten what I wanted. A contract that guaranteed me a shot at BUD/S. I knew I probably only had one shot at making the teams, but I wouldn’t let anything get in my way.
I worked my ass off for a solid year. I read everything I could get my hands on. I changed the way I slept, ate, and worked out. I watched every documentary, movie, and TV show. I sought out every vet I could find in my little-ass town. I soaked up every bit of knowledge I could.
When the time came to ship out, I was eighteen years old, still wet behind the ears, but I was determined to be a Navy SEAL and make my mark on the world. On my way to Illinois, I first met Brock “Rocket” Jones. I didn’t know how he knew I was heading to Great Lakes, too, but he’d struck up a conversation anyway.
By conversation, I meant he didn’t fucking shut up the entire flight. He’d talked and talked and talked to everyone around us. I’d faked sleep on the plane. I had no desire to make nice. I didn’t need or want to make friends with the other recruits. I didn’t want anything to distract me from my goal, but when we’d been transferred to the buses, Brock had followed me into a seat, and then it was my turn to listen to him yammer on.
The guy didn’t fucking shut up the entire damn trip. I wanted to ask what his malfunction was, but I figured even though I didn’t want to make friends, getting off to a bad start with someone who would be tortured alongside me was probably a bad idea.
God, I fucking hope he’s not in my group.
Maybe, he was just one of those nervous fuckers whose head rattled like the thing on my granny’s pressure cooker when she was canning. I hated the sound of that damn thing. It set my teeth on edge. Kind of like the guy next to me.
“Where did you say you’re from?” the rattletrap asked.
Yep. Just like Granny’s canner.
I sighed, trying to keep my cool. I didn’t know why I was worried about this guy or even why he was annoying the shit out of me. Usually, guys like him didn’t get to me. It was rare anything got my feathers ruffled, but something about him set me on fucking edge.
