Сюзанна Бэк: Desert Storm

At the expression on Reingold’s face, the commander’s bushy eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “I’m hurt that you don’t believe me. Deeply wounded. You are my guest here. Why would I lie to you?”

Reingold smiled slightly and shook his head. “If my ‘friend’ had told you everything, sir, you wouldn’t have thrown him back in the cell still alive. He would have served his purpose and damn sure wouldn’t look good as an example of a misguided young man shown the error of his heathen ways by a benevolent mentor, now would he. I don’t think even your own people would believe he had made some trumped up confession of his own free will.”

Al-Hassein’s brows contracted. Out-maneuvered. By an American, no less. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He willed his face to remain relaxed as his mind sorted through various plans in an attempt to save face. He smiled broadly, falsely. “You watch too much television, American. Your friend is alive simply because I have no need to see him otherwise. He put up a brave fight, but in the end, he was persuaded to tell the truth.” He took a step closer to the bound captive. “You seem a bit too intelligent to have need of the same persuasive tactics, am I right?”

Reingold pretended to give the question serious thought. “If you mean that I’m too smart to need you to beat your version of the truth out of me, then you’re right,” he agreed. The sneer which bloomed looked very much out of place on his open, friendly face. “I wouldn’t tell you the time if I were standing in front of Big Ben with a gun to my head.”

His chair tilted crazily back on two legs as the blow to his face thundered into his head, shattering his nose and several front teeth. Coughing harshly on inhaled blood, the young man jerked forward, righting the chair as he spat blood and teeth shards from his furrowed lips. “There goes another candidate for TV Confessions with Saddam,” he rasped. The second blow ended his torment and Reingold sagged against his bonds, his breathing shallow and rapid.

Al-Hassein stepped back, snarling as he viewed the blood dotting his immaculate uniform. “Get him out of my sight. Bring the other one back here, conscious or not. I want answers and I want them now!” With a disgusted sigh, the commander looked at the clock. He had promised his superiors answers by the end of the day. Time was rapidly slipping away from him and that put him in the foulest of moods. If Hussein got wind of these failures, the captives would look like poster children for the Good Health Society compared to how he was sure to look after a session with his leader’s master interrogators.

Reingold was holding a compress tight to his nose as Kael tended to what was left of his mouth. The cell door opened and Andrews was thrown in. Dropping her rags, Kael caught the Marine’s slumping body before it hit the ground, staring up at the guards as they sneered at the captives. After a long moment, they turned and left.

Kael gathered Andrews close to her, examining what was left of his face. His eyes were horribly swollen and blackened, his nose crushed, his mouth a bloody hole. “They didn’t break me, Gunny,” Andrews slurred through a mouthful of broken teeth. “The bastards tried, but I didn’t tell ‘em anything.”

“Ya did great, Andrews,” Kael said gruffly, ripping another swatch from her robe and tending to his heavily bleeding facial wounds. “Rest now and let me take care of your face, alright?”

Andrews struggled against her, straining to open his swollen eyes. “No, Gunny. Don’t waste your time. Please. I …I did it this time …but not next time. Next time, I’m gonna crack, Gunny. I can’t hold out anymore. You don’t know what it’s like in there. You don’t … .” The young soldier began to choke on his own blood.

“Shhhh, Paul. Shhh. Relax now. I won’t let them hurt you anymore. I promise.”

“No! It’s too late. Too late …for me, Gunny. Please …please fix it so I’m still a hero, ok?”

Kael’s blue eyes widened. “What are you saying, Paul?”

Andrews’ tortured eyes met her own. “Please, Gunny. End it. Here and now. Please. Don’t make me sell out.” He struggled weakly again. “Please, Gunny. I’m beggin’ ya. Don’t let me die a traitor.”

Kael tore her gaze away from the pleading, anguished soldier, looking over at Reingold who was staring at the scene with wide, frightened eyes. She looked back down at Andrews who met her gaze unflinchingly. “Are you sure you want this, Paul?” She tenderly stroked his swollen face, needing desperately to know the answer. “Absolutely sure?”

“I’m positive,” he gasped. “Help me. Please.” The last word came out in a tortured whisper.

Taking in a deep breath of stale air, Kael nodded, reaching over with her free hand and gently cupping his face on either side. “Anything you …want to tell your family?” she asked uncomfortably, her throat suddenly dry at the duty she had been given.

Andrews closed his swollen eyes for a long moment. “Tell them …tell them I died well, Gunny,” he whispered. A small smile crossed over his face. “Good luck,” he added softly.

Kael’s eyes, pale orbs which could freeze the heart of any mortal, warmed with compassion, pride, and the quiet strength which always characterized her. “Good rest, my friend.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

A quick twist and it was over.

Releasing her hold on his face, Kael gathered the body up to her chest, supporting the lolling head with one hand as she supported the limp form with the other. A sad, haunting melody sprung forth from her lips of its own accord, filling the chamber with its somber beauty as she rocked the unfeeling body of her comrade in her strong arms.

The last note hung in the air for a long moment before it faded out and Kael lowered her head to rest her brow atop the dark hair of Andrews. “Goodbye, my friend,” she whispered.

Reingold cleared his throat to break the silence. “That was beautiful,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’ve never heard you sing it before.”

Kael lifted her head away from Andrews, her brow furrowing. “I don’t know where it came from,” she said, puzzled. “I’ve never heard that song before in my life. It was just …there.” Shaking her head to clear her confusion, the C.O. gently laid Andrews’ body on the cold damp floor of the cell, crossing his arms over his chest and brushing an errant lock of hair from his face. Shifting her position slightly, she moved to sit next to Reingold, who slipped an arm around her shoulders in an awkward hug. Kael sighed. “Let’s try and get some sleep before the hoses come again.”

Within moments, all was quiet save for the steady dripping of water into the cell.

It was nighttime. And warm, at least when compared to the damp chill of her prison cell. The freshening breeze caressed her clammy skin delicately. The air smelled clean, with just a hint of woodsmoke which came up from the bonfire in front of her, being born off by the wind in the other direction before it could sting at her eyes. She noticed trees in the periphery of her vision and wanted to look around, take them in, but her eyes were focussed squarely on the bright burning pyre that grew as she walked closer to it. The haunting melody continued to spring forth from her soul, borne, like the smoke from the pyre, up in the wind’s gentle embrace.

Her heart was heavy and sad as she stared into the fire, the last note of her tribute fading in the night breeze. Off to her left, very nearby, came a voice which touched deep chords in her soul, though she had never before heard it. The words were foreign, but she understood them, as she suddenly understood the words to the song which had borne Andrews to his death, the song she had just now sung again, though to whom, she wasn’t sure.