I turned to my scope again, and the decision was taken from me. About three klicks out, a truck was coming in hot. Its headlights bounced over the rough terrain.
FUCK!
I policed my area real quick. I pulled on my tactical pants, then the spare socks in my pack and my boots. I grabbed all my gear and took off. The painkiller had dulled the pain while I was lying low, but it ramped back up now that I was back on my feet again, double-timing it away from a truck full of tangos.
After hours of running, the sun popped above the horizon for the second time since I’d escaped. I searched for and found another sniper hide. I needed rest, and this time, the fight-or-flight war was out of my hands. I couldn’t go any further. I’d stumbled several times, but pulled myself back up and kept going. Now, I was stopping more than I was running. My left leg couldn’t keep up, and any time I put my weight on it, it collapsed under me.
This sniper hole was much better than the last. My back was protected, and I was shielded from the sun. Once I had everything settled in my spot, I crawled out and set a couple of rudimentary boobytraps with the claymores in my pack.
I crawled back to my sniper hole and redressed my wounds. The wounds on my side were bad—angry and inflamed, hot to the touch and oozing. It was the wounds on my thigh, though, that worried me. They too were infected, but streaks were starting to form. I popped some more antibiotics and pain meds and settled in.
Looking up at the sky, I pulled out my signal mirror. I’d done this a few times today. Every time I paused for a breath or a drink of water. I hoped the signals were getting seen. The problem was that I wasn’t sure. I had no clue if ISR was picking up the distress signals I sent out. All I could do was hope and keep moving.
I laid back, closing my eyes. I needed rest. I’d run throughout the day and all night. I’d not had sleep, food, or water regularly since I’d been captured. My body was tired. Mymind as well. If those pursuing came upon me, the mines I’d set would wake me.
I opened my eyes. The sun had just dipped below the horizon. I must have slept all day. The last thing I remembered was staring up at the sundrenched sky, hoping against hope that the ISR had been over me when I’d flashed my distress signals.
I knew it was an outside chance. Troops in contact always came first. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But I could hope the ISR gave me a little love.
I yawned, rolling to scan the area through my scope. Nothing. I rolled onto my back and signaled again. Considering how long I’d been asleep, if ISR had been picking up my signals, Alpha Team or a QRF would’ve gotten to me already.
I watched the sun sink in the sky. Everything stayed silent.
Until an explosion rocked the ground, causing rocks and loose soil to slide down the mountain I was hiding in. The recess in the rocky outcropping sheltered me from the falling debris.
“Time to embrace the suck,” I said as I looked through my scope.
Taliban were swarming the mountain.
The voice—the evil, sadistic son of a bitch’s voice—growled into my ear, “You will tell me what I want to know. I always get what I want.”
He stepped away from me and growled at the others in the room. He was definitely speaking Urdu.
He gave away a nugget of info. Urdu wasn’t commonly spoken in this region. I had either been transported to a new location, or they’d come here. Either way, this wasn’t the Taliban we were used to fighting.
I watched and listened to them carefully. If my meager understanding of the Urdu language hadn’t failed me, then the head honcho’s plan for me had escalated. Gone were the days of torturing me systematically. The situation had become much more dire. They weren’t going to stop, and after two escape attempts, they’d get their information or I’d die.
Time to embrace the suck.
CHAPTER 14
BROCK
SUMMER 2009
My eyelids popped open.I scrubbed the sleep from my face and eyes, running my hands through my hair.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
I stood and stretched as I waited for Foster to answer. When he didn’t say anything, I looked at him, silently demanding an answer.
Foster mimicked my face scrubbing, then crossed his arms over his chest.
His voice was rough when he spoke. “Adam was recaptured, and according to Charlie, he’s injured.”
I closed my eyes to keep Foster from seeing the agony that torched my soul. After gathering myself, I looked back at him. The other guys and the Holt people the admiral sent were acting like they weren’t paying us any attention.
“I’m waiting,” I said.
