Sneak Peek - Chapter One

Brian

Undisclosed Location, POW camp

Screams carried through the dark halls of the murky dungeon, the dripping of water from the ceiling accompanying their echoes. They were the screams of men and women trained to withstand the torture dealt to them, but even the most trained soldier couldn't hold back their own screams. All that mattered was they didn't spill the secrets of their missions, although if they did, I wouldn't find it in me to blame them. I've nearly buckled under their interrogations and the tortures they put me through for days, weeks, months? I wasn't even certain of the time anymore. They came at such wild hours, with no pattern to help me know if it was day or night. Even my sleep and eating were randomized. It was just another form of torture to make me break.

Now, they didn't come at all, but my mind warned me that I wasn't out of the woods. I wouldn't be - not until I was out of there, be it by extraction or death, and the chances of extraction were slim. Not many even knew we were here. Our mission had been on a strict need-to-know basis. As far as the civilian world knew, we had no business here.

There would be no rise of protests to the elected officials to rescue us. There would be no truth behind any tale given to explain our disappearance to our families. We all knew it. It was part of the job, yet the reality of it still didn't settle well. It was one thing to agree to these terms. The clichéd voice in our heads were telling us, "it could never be me" so when it was us, we would fall prey to our emotions and desires to live and see our families again.

I winced at the sound of the young soldier's screams, and the sound of the enemy yelling incoherently at the boy. He was a probie, this being his first and likely last mission. What a way to start and end a career.

We had chatted before coming. He had raved about his family line of marines, telling us how his father was so proud that he had joined our ranks. I guess out of all of us, his father would at least understand that whatever they told him had happened would be bullshit. He may even have enough clearance or friends to know the truth himself. I wondered if he would still be proud of his boy's chosen path.

Was anyone proud of their child's death?

My mind wandered to my own family. They hadn't wanted me to join the military. My father wanted me to go to school and take over his company. He certainly wouldn't be proud of my untimely demise. My father would see this as a waste of my life and everything I could have received from being his son.

"What are you thinking about, Marine?" A cruel voice asked, my eyes moving to the man as he stepped from the shadows. My lip curled back in a sneer, my gums sticking to my lips from dehydration. The enemy soldier chuckled, kicking a cracked bowl of mucky water in my direction.

"I'm happy to see you still have some fight in you. You are a big man. We want to see what all that special training your military gives you looks like. I'm putting a lot of money on you to win. So, you better put on a good show for me and my men."

I didn't move, narrowing my eyes at the man as he walked away, whistling a show tune to himself as if the sound of torture was just another Sunday afternoon for him. It wasn't till he turned the corner that I reached for the disgusting water and drank as much as I could, ignoring the swampy taste and the dribbles down my chin. I felt like an animal - caged and drinking from a bowl like a damn dog. We all were. A kicked dog could turn one of two ways, either rolling on their belly and taking the abuse, or biting back. I would bite back the minute they gave me the opportunity.

I leaned back against the cold, stone wall, allowing my eyes to drift closed as I did my best to drown out the screams still echoing through the halls. I would need my rest if I was going to survive, or at very least take a handful of these assholes with me.

The sound of my cell lock clicking woke me from my rest, my eyes flying open in confusion. I couldn't tell how long I had been asleep, or if I had even slept at all. While I felt that I had, I couldn't shake that constant feeling of exhaustion weakening my senses. I had been trained for this, even if my body protested the harsh treatment.

Before I could make out the faces of the men entering my cage, they threw a hood over my head, undoing my shackles and forcing me to my feet with my wrists still bound together. I threw my elbow up at the man to my right, my elbow connecting with satisfying snap of his nose, followed by a howl of anger. The other man quickly shoved me back to the ground, proceeding to kick me in the gut as my wrists remained secured.

Angry Spanish rose over the sounds of my beating, the voice belonging to my tormentor from earlier. He was berating my assailants, criticizing the man who undoubtedly had a broken nose. I moved my head, barely making out the shadows of those around me through the hood they placed over my head. I could see the shadowy figure walking toward me, squatting beside me with a click of his tongue.

"Marine," he mocked, "this is not the show I wanted to see. Save all that fight for the cage. You are going to need it more there than against these pendejos." I heard his cold chuckle as he rose back to his full height. The other two grabbed me once more, yanking me back to my feet and forcing me forward.

They led me up the inclined slope to the surface as the dank, dark dungeon changed to the humid jungle above. Mosquitos buzzed around my ears, attempting to reach me through the burlap over my head. Cheers rang out ahead of us to the sound of fists pounding against flesh, a sound that I heard often in the dungeons as they tortured my men. But something felt different about this sound. Something wasn't right.

The closer we came to the sounds, the more I could make out what the voices were yelling. Someone was taking bets. Another was calling out names. Names that I recognized. They were the names of my men. Names of the winners and losers. There were groans at lost bets and cheers over new winnings. My heart dropped into my stomach as the realization came over me.

They wanted a show. They wanted a show from me. The bag was ripped from my head, my eyes squinting against the dim torch light; it was still far brighter than the lighting of my prison below.

"Here we are, Marine," my tormentor sang, his smile glowing in the light of the fires. "Now, you be a good Marine and show us all just what the US Military taught to make you the best of the best."

They pushed me into a pit, blood soaking into the ground. I looked around the makeshift ring, finding two men dragging a dead man from the ring and another man still standing, his eyes wild. He didn't look like the man that I knew. He was feral, growling and pacing along the edge of the ring like a lion ready to pounce on a gazelle. It was as though he didn't even know who I was.

"Corporal," I called out with authority, trying to find some form of recognition in my man's eyes. "This is Gunnery Sgt. Humphries. Stand down."

Laughter chimed from those surrounding us, my tormentor's voice rising above the noise.

"Don't bother, Marine. He is more beast than man now. Welcome to the jungle."

With his last line, the corporal charged at me with a snarl, his fist swinging into my cheek with a sickening crack that ricocheted through my body. I managed to catch his next swing, twisting his arm behind his back as I again attempted to reach the man who had to still live inside. I couldn't believe that their torture could break one of us so much. Giving up the little information they may know? Sure, I couldn't fault them for that, but turning into a rabid beast?

No, we were marines, the best of the best. Special forces. If boot camp couldn't break our humanity, nothing could. Yet, the corporal lacked any sense of a man. His head flying, connecting with my nose, forcing me to release him as I felt the cartilage break.

He was on me in a matter of seconds, his hands crushing my windpipe with a crazed look in his eyes. My hands grasped out, searching for something I could use. If I didn't act, I would be as good as dead. I could see that in his eyes. He was living for these kills. When he looked at me, there was no sign of recognition. No understanding of who I was to him. Of our times together.

I thought about the time he had joined the team. How excited he had been to make special forces. He had bragged about his skills that had earned him a place among us. I remembered his daughter's birth; how proud he had been to announce he was a father. Showing off her pictures to everyone who would look. There was no sign of that man in his eyes now. Not as far as I could see.

My hand touched something hard, my fists closing around it before I even recognized what it was. Lifting it over the corporal's back and shoving the knife into the back of his neck, the point pierced through the other side. I stared into his shocked eyes, his grip around my neck lessening as blood pools around his lips, dripping onto my face.

I shoved him off me, looking back at him with horror at what I had done.

It was one thing to kill the enemy: I was trained to do that. Defend my country, fight for their rights and freedoms. But that wasn't what I had done here. This wasn't an enemy I had been dispatched to kill. This was my friend. My fellow soldier. I was meant to protect him, not kill him.

I watched the blood drain from him, the life bleeding from his eyes. My body began to burn with rage as cheers lit up the stands, while my tormentor was cheering for "his" Marine. Claiming me like I was his dog. Still my eyes remained glued on my man, my body growing hotter until a loud crack came from my back.

I howled at the accompanying pain that came, followed quickly by another crack. The cheers turned to laughter and mockery. Some were calling for me to man up and get over the death, seemingly unaware of my body's attack against itself. It wasn't till my neck and shoulder joined my back, cracking the loudest, that the crowd quieted to a whisper.

"Ay, Marine!" my tormentor called out. "What's wrong with you! Get up!"

I let out another howl, my face burning and stretching, loose teeth pouring from my opened mouth. A feeling of razor blades breaking through my gums was in their place.

The crowd began to scream. Gunfire lighting up the night around me. I could feel the bullets hitting me, the pain little more than pebbles against my already aching skin. My vision began to tunnel, darkness coming over me as the pain worsened. The sounds of yelling and gunfire faded with the encroaching darkness. Then nothing.

I woke to the sounds of birds squawking above me in the trees. I was naked and alone, covered in more blood than I remembered. I searched my body for signs of the pain, checking my teeth to find them in place, as though it had all been a dream that they had fallen. However, as I looked around the empty camp, I knew that it wasn't just a nightmare.

Bodies lay strewn across the camp, ripped apart as though an animal had attacked. Everywhere I turned I saw nothing but blood and body parts. I pushed myself to my feet, wobbling toward the dungeons in search of other prisoners, watching for any of our captors who may have survived whatever happened after I had passed out.

The deeper into the dungeons I marched the more death I found. Cells were torn open, the prisoners within meeting the same fate as our captors. Still, I moved, searching for any sign of other survivors. I couldn't believe for a moment that I was the only one - that I had remained untouched.

Again, my fingers touched at my teeth, remembering the feel of razor blades replacing them as they piled below me on the ground. A fogged memory of my hands crossed my mind, my nails growing out, and hair covering my arms. I found a control room, discovering a radio with the frequency I needed to reach my command.

My head throbbed as I tried to push through the fog of the few memories I retained, bringing the radio to my lips and calling out the codes for help. I gave up on trying to remember as a response came through the radio, orders to return to the surface for extraction being given. I needed to keep my wits about me. I needed to continue to survive. I needed to get home.