Сюзанна Бэк - Desert Storm

“I wish I could have met him,” the unseen figure at her side said, her voice full of warm compassion. “I’m sorry.”

“He was my friend,” she replied in the same unknown language, but speaking it like a native born.

“To be remembered like that is a good thing.”

She wanted to turn her head; to look at the person who thought to offer her comfort through this un-understood grief, but her feet carried her closer to the fire before she could force her head around. “My friend,” she found herself saying, stopping a short distance away from what she now realized to be a funeral pyre. “My friend.”

The sharp sound of a door slamming off concrete walls as well as the sudden convulsive stiffening of an arm around her shoulders woke Kael from her dream. Still half unaware, she jumped into a fighting crouch, flinging off the arm pinning her against the wall and clenching her fists.

Two guards burst into the cell, both eyeing her closely, their hands tightening on their weapons. Kael stared back, then relaxed against the wall, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. The dream, which seconds ago had seemed so real, scattered and dissipated like fog in the morning sun.

Fully entering the dank cell, the guards grunted as they bent down to grab Andrews by the arms. The Marine’s head, unsupported by his broken neck, lolled backwards, the close cropped hair fuzzing the back of his skull pressing close against his shoulder blades. One of the guards eyes’ widened and he dropped the arm he was holding as if the chilled skin had burnt the tender flesh of his palms. His companion, taken by surprise by the action, dropped the other arm, allowing Andrews’ body to fall back to the water-pooled floor, his neck cocked at an unlikely, grotesque angle.

The first guard grunted and squatted, reaching out a hand to rest on the captive’s marble-like neck. Cocking his head, he felt around some more, before raising his gaze, his eyes taking in first his companion, then the two prisoners who sat against the wall opposite him. “This man is dead.”

Kael allowed a smirk to form on her lips. “What tipped ya off, Einstein?” she replied in flawless Arabic.

The second guard snarled, lifting his weapon and stepping toward the seated captive before he was stopped by his comrade who stood and dusted his hands off on his immaculately pressed trousers. “We don’t have the time,” he informed his companion, releasing the guard’s arm to force him to the cell door. “The Commander needs to know of this.”

Grunting, the second guard allowed himself to be guided out of the cell, turning back only once to imprint the face of the woman into his memory.

Al-Hassein turned his head to look at the clock for the third time in as many minutes. Time, once a cherished friend, had turned into a deadly enemy over the course of one day. His evening prayers, once a bastion of peace in his otherwise chaotic world, had seemed to drag interminably. For the first time in his life, he found himself rushing through the rituals, needing to get them over with so he could attend to his duties.

He looked at the clock again, growling under his breath and slamming his clenched fist down on his desk, causing the myriad of scattered papers to shuffle in protest. He had an hour at the most before his superiors would call demanding answers.

Closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples, the commander forced himself to relax, contenting himself with the vision of the battered soldier when he had last seen him. The man would break quickly now, he knew. He had been a hairsbreadth from cracking during the last session before his pain carried him away, and with his consciousness, his secrets also retreated.

‘Not this time, my American friend,’ Al-Hassein promised himself. ‘This time I’ll have you begging me to reveal all your dirty little secrets.’ A malicious smile bloomed on his face as he pictured his new, opulent office in the Presidential palace and the “Friend of Saddam” ribbon that was sure to adorn his chest. His name would be spoken of in reverent whispers as the man who single-handedly prevented the loathsome United States from entering a war that was sure to begin just as soon as the first Iraqi tank entered the boarder into Kuwait.

His blissful reverie was interrupted when the empty-handed guards stepped diffidently into the room. “Where’s the prisoner?” he barked, his vision shattered in pieces and laying on the ground at his feet. Time suddenly sped up again and a nervousness totally foreign to him planted its seeds into his gut.

“He’s dead, my Commander,” one of the guards replied.

“Wha-at?” Al-Hassein demanded, rising slowly from behind his desk. “What do you mean ‘dead’?”

“He lives no more, Commander. His neck was broken.”

Al-Hassein flew around the desk, his teeth bared in rage. Stalking up to one of the guards, he planted a knee squarely between the man’s legs, causing the guard to gasp, hunch over, and loose his weapon. “You ignorant pig!” he screamed, spittle flying from dry lips. “I told you to take care with him!”

“It …it wasn’t us, Commander,” the other guard stated strongly. “The woman caught him when he was placed into the cell. He was alive when we left. I swear it!”

The Commander turned to the second guard, his eyes glittering with feral intensity. The guard’s eyes were round and wide but the truth of his words came through clearly. Al-Hassein felt the anger at his own men leave him with the words. His mind spun. The circumstances of the man’s death became clear to him and he felt a hint of pride at the unsuspected bravery of the American prisoners. He never expected them to choose death over dishonor. Further never expected a comrade to end the existence of another. Life was just too precious to them. His mind’s eye pictured the skinny blonde man snapping his companion’s neck. The picture seemed wrong somehow, but he suspected that perhaps the Americans had some hidden strengths after all. “Go back into that cell and bring me the skinny one.”

The guards nodded and were just about at the door when their commander’s voice pulled them up short. “No, wait.” He looked at the clock again, thoughts running rapidly through his head. Surely the woman would be easier to break. She might not know all the answers, but even a woman would know her own name and the name of the military branch to which she was attached. This information was sure to be enough to appease his superiors for the time being. After he broke the woman, he could work on the remaining men at his leisure.

Time again became his ally as Al-Hassein smiled, stroking the corners of his luxuriant moustache. “Bring me the woman instead.”

“Yes, Commander,” one of the guards replied as both stepped out of the office, closing the door softly behind them.

Al-Hassein smiled and rocked back on his heels. Life was suddenly quite good again.

The Commander smiled to himself as he heard his office door open once again, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork as the guards stepped into the room. His good mood had grown in the few minutes he was forced to wait; grown as he realized that he wouldn’t even have to get his hands dirty during this particular session. Al-Hassein could be a very charming man when he had to be. He knew American woman liked that; their own men being too boorish to master the fine art of civility. He would just walk over to the woman, turn on the charm, let her know that her information would keep the others in her group from getting hurt, and in ten minutes, be on the phone to his superiors, basking in their accolades.

It was only when he heard the small group cross over to the chair sitting before his desk did the officer deign to look up from his work. His smile froze on his face as he took in the form of the figure being held between his two guards. Whatever he might have expected, it was surely not this. The top of her lush raven head came equal to the taller of the two guards. Her strange, pale, utterly fearless eyes lanced into his own, causing his heartbeat pause as the seeds of nervousness previously planted began to grow roots in his belly. The woman exuded strength, focus, and an utter darkness the likes of which the commander, who was well used to strong, dangerous, dark men, had never seen.