Marine Mate

Silence

Four walls..

Four stone walls splattered in red, the original earthen structure almost completely hidden by blood. The earthen floor long since seen a good sweep and a changing of straw, but that could be because of the congealed blood acting as glue. Why change it just for comfort? There will be none here. The first piece of evidence would be that my arms are strung up and chained to a shop crane by my wrists. The second, that I am almost nude expect for my boxers and blood caked to my skin. And thirdly, the rest of my team swinging alone side me.

Aside from the occasional blood drop dripping into the puddles of blood beneath our feet, our prison is silent.

No screams.

No groans.

No moans.

You would think with the silence, I could somehow sleep in this wretched place, but the ghosts of those agonizing screams still ricochet in my ears driving me to the edge of insanity.

My head spins and nausea crawls up my throat. The burn of my wounds not for a second numbing. My wrists are steadying dripping the vital crimson fluid, and the others are itching something fierce. Hopefully the gun powder they burnt on my bullet holes and knife wounds have stopped the blood flow and infection.

Wouldn't want their prisoners to die so easily and too early. But not all my men are so lucky, if you would call anything in this situation lucky.

Michael...

The youngest of my men...

Only Twenty-one and the newest addition to my team. I've only known the kid for eight months. And in those eight months I've learned so much about him. I've learned that the kid is the biggest nerd there is, from comic books all the way to being a freaking math genius. And even though his mama wanted him to go to a university, he wanted to honor his father and join the marines. But most of all, he adorned his little brother Brandon.

Yet here we are. Strung up and bloodied like prey.

I know Michael won't last much longer. Out of all of us, he received the worse of the torture, but the kid is a fucking fighter. He won't go out on their terms.

I failed them. As their Lt, I've failed. I'm a failure to my team, but that won't stop me from keeping them alive as long as I can.

The only entrance in this twisted hell scape is a rusted metal door that squeaks like nails on a chalkboard, is thrust open by four men dressed in tan thawabs.

The leader, struts in with a smirk. He, alone with the others, have AK-47 in their hands. Two of the four men head straight toward Michael.

Michael doesn't even react to the fists smashing into his bruised and beaten body.

Screams and begs burst from my lungs, to stop! To beat me in his place! Instead my pleas fall on deaf ears!

My pleas ricochet on empty ears, my throat becomes raw and my voice becomes no more. My thrashing around, the chains digs into my skin even more causing volumes of blood pours down my arms , staining my skin even more maroon.

What feels like an eternity later, they finally yield. "Speak now?" The leader speaks in a thick accent.

"Never!" I manage to spat out.

"As you wish." With a simple hand gesture, the other men move towards me. With a crank of a lever, the chain loose some slack and my body slams into the mixture of blood, sand, and straw.

With no chance of fighting, the men grab me by my skinless wrists, then drag me towards the very center of the room, leaving a trail of sand and blood. On the ground are restraints for wrists and ankles. First my wrists are strapped down over my head, then each of my ankles spread and strapped too.

"You speak, you don't get hurt." The leader digs the butt of his gun into my chest, making it a little difficult to breathe.

He asks question after question, and each is met with silence on my end.

That's when the real pain becomes. Only dressed in my underwear, my torso is displayed like a buffet. A jagged blade is revealed along with a sinister grin. My waist is straddled, then the blade is lifted.

No amount of bracing myself for the pain, will ever prepare me. With a swish, the blade bites into my flesh to the hilt.

My breathe leaves me as the jagged blade is moved into a sawing motion into my side. Burning, excruciating agony inflicted upon me. It takes every thing in me not to scream. Black dots surrounds the edge of my vision, but I don't give in, that's what they want. I'm stronger than this. A little torturing isn't going to kill me.

The man jerks the knife from my side with pieces of my flesh on the spikes.

"You speak now?" The bastard fucking grins down at me, his nasty breath hitting my face.

Probably the stupidest thing I could do in a situation like this, I force a grin, lift my head, then spit in his face, wiping that fucking grin off his face

Beyond ballistic, with the same knife, he press it to the edge of my jaw in front of my right ear and drags the knife, lacerating down to the bone along my jaw line too my chin.

Warm blood pours down my neck. A few centimeters down then the soft tissue between my jawline and neck would be sliced.

Still being straddled by my torturer, whatever god out there must love me, for the door slams open, with a few bullets, blood splats on my face. The man's body falls on top of me, along with the others on the floor.

The dead body blocks my view of the commotion around me.

The body is flipped off of me. Standing above me is a shadowy figure. "You look like shite, Lt. Johnson."

I recognize the voice of Davidson. A fellow Marine on a different squad. He unchains me. Reaching his hand out, I grab it, thankful for the help up, knowing I need it.

I'm finally able to stand on two feet but not without help. Seeing Davidson's men help my beaten and bloodied men. The medic reaches Michael and does the best he can at patching him up, but I don't think he's going to make it. His wounds are far to severe.

When everyone's on their feet and guns in their hands, we make our way slowly down the twisted stone hallways with Davidson helping me the whole way. Explosions shake the unstable building. I smirk. Knowing these bastards are getting their asses handed to them.

Rounding a corner. I see a huge hole in the wall with heavenly sunlight pouring in!

God knows I haven't seen or felt it in weeks.

Absolute joy gives me more determination to move faster. Sunlight! I need it, I need to feel the warmth on my skin!

Finally, I make it through the hole, however I don't get to enjoy being free. Michael needs medical attention.

A helicopter is stationed a hundred meters away, Sprinting as fast as our beaten bodies could, we finally reach safety. Michael is put in first, the medics not missing a beat. My men and I climb in before Davison's men. With everyone in, the chopper lifts off into the air after being buckled in.

Leaning my head against the cool metal, I watch as the life leaves my young Marine's face.

"Lt." Michael rasps. I hurry on my knees beside his head.

"Make su..." His voice barely audible over the blades. "Make sure my family gets my letters. Please!"

Nodding my head, I grab hold of his hand. "I'll personally deliver them."

His hand loosen the grip on mine. His eyes remain open but lifeless, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips....

The glorious numbness I have been seeking finally buries itself into my body. Not a word was spoken over the roar of the propellers. No prayers, no sobs, no cursing the heavens, just silence.

Just silence for a life that was taken far too soon...