“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.

*******

Kael was the first to return to consciousness, pain pounding sickly in her temples. Her bound hands prevented her from rubbing the stinging knot on the back of her skull, and as she tried to sit up, a wave of dizziness convinced her that movement was not the best course of action at the present. Instead, she laid back down, her head pillowed on someone’s well muscled thigh. Staring up at a water-stained, crumbling ceiling, her eyes traced the path of several silken webs that ran from the corners of the small cell to the caged light which hung down from the ceiling on a rusty chain.

Movement from beneath her head caused her to sit up once again, rolling with the waves of dizziness as they washed over her. Blinking her eyes to clear her vision, she moved away from the figure beneath her, her back pressing against a chilled, damp wall. “Andrews, you ok?”

“Will be as soon as you give me the plate of the truck that mowed me down,” the young man mumbled, struggling to come to a seated position. Like Kael before him, he gave up the effort, crumpling back to the sodden ground and moaning. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

“Holding cell of some sort,” Kael replied, looking around for the first time. The cell was a rough square, approximately ten feet by ten feet, barely large enough for its three occupants to sit without becoming tangled up in one another. The walls were made of crumbling cement, liberally smattered with mostly illegible graffiti. Water ran in continuous streams down the walls, pooling on the cement floor and running down into a large drain in the center. There were no beds, chairs or toilet facilities. The place stank of excrement, death and despair.

Andrews finally made it up to a seated position, looking around as well. “Reminds me of P.S. 62 in the Bronx,” he sneered. “What about Sleeping Ugly over there?” He gestured with his head toward the still unconscious Reingold, then groaned and leaned his aching skull back against the damp wall. “Fuck.”

As if hearing his name mentioned, Reingold struggled into awareness, the stench of the fetid water flowing into the drain beneath his head causing him to screw up his face in disgust. As he lifted his head from the floor, the others noticed a green slime had liberally coated his close cropped reddish blonde hair.

“Nice look for ya, Goldy,” Andrews sneered. “Green is definitely your color.”

“What the hell are you talking about, asshole?” Reingold asked, propelling his body out of the pool of water and scrabbling up to lean against the wall, rubbing his head against the crumbling cement to rid himself of the slimy mass clinging to his skull.

“Shut up. Both of you.” Lifting her head, Kael looked around the cramped quarters again. “Reg, Kelly, you guys alright?”

Soft moans came from the west end of the tiny cell. “Yeah Gunny, we’re alright in here,” PFC Bryon Kelly answered, his voice muffled behind the feet of thick cement separating the two cells. “How about you?”

“We’re ok,” Kael answered. Her piercing eyes lanced into the men sharing the cell with her and when she next spoke, her voice was raised just enough to capture the attention of her other two men in the adjoining cell. “Alright, guys. This isn’t gonna be fun, but we’ve been trained for this eventuality. Just remember to keep your heads on straight, don’t give ‘em any information, and try your best to hold on till we figure a way out of this. Understood?”

All the men voiced their consent bravely, promising they wouldn’t break under whatever tortures were going to be inflicted on them. Kael fixed Reingold and Andrews with a significant look. “I’m proud of you guys. Just trust in yourselves and each other and we’ll get out of here.”

Reingold cracked a grin that lit up his whole face. “Don’t worry about us, Gunny. We’ll take whatever they can dish out and then some.”

“Good,” Kael grunted, trying to find a more comfortable position for her aching body. “Now let’s just stay calm and wait to see what they’ve got in store for us.”