Сюзанна Бэк: Desert Storm

“Uh, I don’t think we’re goin’ anywhere in a hurry. Except, maybe, with them.”

Turning, the group’s leader spied a squad of Republican Guards, resplendent in their scarlet uniforms, looking interestedly at the small party, their weapons held at the ready. “Aww, shit.”

One of the Iraqis stepped forward, speaking in rapid Arabic and gesturing with his weapon.

“What’s he saying, Gunny?”

“Nothing I’d care to repeat in polite company, Reg.”

“Fuckin’ A, man. We’re royally screwed here.”

“Looks that way. Just take it easy, ok?” Taking a deep breath, the leader stepped up to the guards, giving them an unseen smile. “Hello, boys. Something we can help you with today?” More rapid-fire Arabic and menacing weapons gesturing answered that statement. Gunny sighed. “Take off the hats, boys. Time to pay the fiddler.”

So saying, the squad’s leader reached up to remove the tightly wound turban, revealing a head of long raven hair and the beautiful face of one Master Gunnery Sergeant Kael Evan Androstos, leader of the USMC counter terrorism squad.

Following their leader’s command, the rest of the men removed their turbans, revealing close cropped heads of brown and blonde hair. Americans to a man.

The sound of Iraqi submachine guns being readied and drawn to high port filled the square as the squad’s identity was revealed.

“Aww shit,” Reingold swore softly. “I think I just pissed myself.”

“Be glad for the moisture and keep your mouth shut,” Kael replied, following the rapid Arabic speech with ease. “I think we’re goin’ on a little trip.”

“Ya sure know how to make a guy feel comfortable, Gunny,” Reingold muttered under his breath as he was herded with the others into a tight group surrounded by Republican Guardsmen.

The leader of the Guard walked over to the still unconscious form of Epps, prodding the body with his toe. He turned to Kael, his eyes questioning.

“Had a little accident,” she replied in Arabic.

The leader sneered and raised his weapon. A rapid fire of ammunition and Master Sergeant Epps was no more.

“Holy Christ!” Reg shouted, struggling with his captors. “What did ya have to go and kill him for!” He was answered by the stock of a gun to his jaw and he went down in a heap.

“Reg!” Kael shouted, easily shrugging free of the guard’s grip but remaining where she was. “You alright?”

Reg slowly came back to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. I’m ok. Fucking bastards.” He spat blood and a tooth onto the ground.

“We gotta do something, Gunny,” Reingold said. “We can’t let em take us.”

“We don’t have a choice right now.” She looked around at the crowd which was attracted by the sound of gunfire. “We try escaping and a bunch of civilians are going to get killed. We need to just take it easy and see what they’ve got planned for us, alright?”

Reingold scowled. “I’m not too sure I like that idea, Gunny. You can bet that whatever they’ve got planned for us, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Kael favored him with a small half smile. “That’s why they pay us the big bucks, Shooter.”

That broke the mood and the four men chuckled, bucking up and preparing to face whatever would come their way. Kael’s heart swelled with pride for her men and noted that this was quite probably the last taste of freedom they’d ever have. Pushing those dangerous thoughts down deep, she nodded to her crew. “Let’s go.”

*******

The group was ushered to a large, canvas covered truck bearing the bright golden eagle symbol of the Republican Guards on its door panels. One by one they were bound with their hands behind their backs and shoved up into the large truck after hoods were jerked down over their heads. When the last Marine was aboard, the canvas flap was closed, leaving the group in total darkness.

“Get your hand off my ass, Reingold,” Lance Corporal Paul Andrews muttered.

“Take this hood off and I’ll find your dick, Andrews,” Reingold retorted, shifting about in the tightly packed truck.

“Shut up, both of you,” Kael replied, working at the bindings at her wrists. “Let’s just all calm down and enjoy the ride, shall we?”

“Easy for you to say, Gunny,” Andrews retorted. “You don’t have a hairy behemoth sweating all over you.”

“Sure I do. I’m sitting next to you, aren’t I?”

“Oh. Well then, if those are your hands, Gunny, feel free to keep copping a feel.”

“Bite me, Corporal.”

The squad’s laughter was cut short as the truck started up, shooting off a loud backfire as plumes of oily diesel smoke filled the cramped compartment. The soldiers groaned as a group.

“Well, look at it this way,” Reg, always the optimist, commented. “At least there’ll be a breeze.”

The men groaned again as the truck started off along the bumpy, poorly maintained streets of the Iraqi city, wincing as the hard edges of the interior cut into tender body parts with each foot the vehicle traveled.

Same Day. Underground Bunker of the Republican Guard. Ar Rutbah, Iraq

The military truck finally came to a rattling stop after several hours of driving, giving off one more loud blast as the engine settled. The flap was opened almost immediately, to the immense relief of the group of sweating, air-starved soldiers trapped within it’s stifling confines. Rough hands hauled the human cargo from the back of the truck, forcing each member of the group face down into the scorching, sandy ground, hoods and bindings still securely in place.

Iraqi soldiers argued among themselves as Kael tried to follow the rapid conversation. Her body ached from the enforced confinement. Years of Marine training urged her to get up and crack some heads, if only to get the circulation going again. She resisted the temptation mightily, aware that her men were probably going through the same things. Being captured without a fight was not in the Marine Code. However, they had stopped being Marines as soon as they were captured. Had, in fact, stopped even being U.S. citizens. They were officially persona non grata to the U.S. government. Her orders were clear. “You get captured, we don’t know you.” Easy enough to remember, she supposed. After all, it wouldn’t do for it to come out that the United States of America sent in armed squads to blow up buildings of third world countries at taxpayer’s expense.

Kael smirked under her hood. They were officially on their own now. No black suited U.S. Embassy official would come knocking on the door of wherever they were, demanding their immediate release. ‘Well, Gunny. You got em into this mess. It’s up to you to get em out. Right?’ Right. Turning her stiff neck so she faced the rest of her group, Kael cleared her throat, speaking softly in a voice that did not carry up from ground level. “Ok, guys, you know the drill. We’re not at war, so the Geneva Convention’s out the window. Name, rank and serial number is just movie stuff. As far as these goons are concerned, we’re just a bunch of mercenaries from Outer Nonamia out blowing up buildings for kicks. Got me?”

Grunts of assent came from the rest of the group as they resisted their training and awaited their fate.

The rough hands came again, hauling the soldiers up from the ground and dragging them into some type of building. Kael concentrated on counting the steps from the entrance to wherever they were going to be held, noting that the floor curved steadily downward and the air became noticeably cooler and more humid with each step.

Their hoods were removed one by one and each soldier received only a glimpse of their surroundings before a rifle butt to the back of the skull sent each into darkness. Their unconscious bodies were dragged, still bound at the wrists, and dumped into two tiny, dank cells. Steel doors clanged shut with finality and retreating bootsteps went unheard by the group.