by Jim Roberts
Joe's success was short lived. A massive figure entered the room and jabbed a device into Joe's chest. Fifty-thousand volts of electricity arched through his body as the taser jolted his muscles into an uncontrollable spasm. The world around Joe seized up and his mind ceased to function for the duration of the stun. He doubled over to the floor amidst the other downed troopers.
The figure spoke, his voice calm with menace, "Outstanding work you fools. You let a wounded soldier KO not one, but both of you at the same time."
The soldiers let out collective groans and pulled themselves to their feet. The one Joe had kicked, gingerly held his groin. The other trooper gave Joe a sharp kick to the gut, causing the stunned Centurion to gasp in pain.
The figure barked at the trooper, "Belay that Centurion! We need this man in one piece. Stand him up. I wish to look at him."
The groin-smacked Centurion protested, "Please Commander Dante, he hit me in the ba..."
"I don't like giving orders more than once Centurion."
"Y...Yessir!" said the trooper, still prodding his nethers in pain.
The voice repeated, "Now pick him up!"
The so-called Centurions pulled Joe to his shaky feet. His head bobbed to one side, his muscles scarcely able to hold it in place. His whole world was spinning; the pain had tripled throughout his body.
"Focus Sergeant. Look at me!"
Joe could hardly see the man known as Dante; his body just registering as a large, black mass to Joe's blurred eyesight. To enforce his words, the figure smashed a gloved backhand across Joe's face. His bloodied nose burst open again and he felt a tooth cut his lip. His head leaned forward and a torrent of blood poured from his mouth. The two Centurions' held him up, making him pliant to their master's assault.
Why can't I just pass out?
Dante clasped a hand around Joe's neck. His grip was iron-strong, his fingers like muscled sausages. His hand constricted like a vice, choking the remaining life out of the barely conscious Ranger.
"No no, my friend, don't pass out yet!" Dante grabbed Joe by the hair and shook his head violently. Joe coughed out more blood. His vision slowly began to clear and he finally saw the leader of this troop of mercenary asshats.
The man who was called Dante was huge, so huge he hardly fit through the cell doorframe. He must be nearly seven feet, thought Joe as he looked the giant over. His beady eyes burned with a cruel, merciless intelligence. He wore jet black body armor that seemed to cover most of his body, as well as a tan overcoat. The goon looked tough enough to uproot an oak tree with his bare hands. His head was equally huge, with a bald palate that accentuated his innate scare factor. This guy was a monster.
"Who the hell are you people?" Joe managed to blurt out between bloodied teeth.
A slight smile curled Dante's bloodless lips, "We are Olympus, Mr. Braddock. That is all you need to know for the time being," He motioned to the two guards, "Tie him up and bring him to room twenty-one. The president wishes to see him!"
The soldiers pushed Joe roughly to his knees, thrust his arms behind his back and tied them tight with a strong piece of zip cord. Joe was about to resist when he thought better of it. Get some intel, learn your surroundings, find out if your men are still alive. He let himself be pulled to his feet and dragged from the room.
The hall was narrow, with a high roof and several newly installed fluorescent lights hanging low providing much-needed illumination. Wisps of dust fell from the ceiling as movement from vehicles out in the yard shook the foundations of the aged fortress.
A voice Joe did not recognize called out to the Centurions as they left Joe's cell, "Hey Tovarishch? Who is the new meat?"
The voice had a distinct Russian accent but spoke perfectly clear English. Joe managed to hold his head up to look at where the voice had come from - the cell directly opposite of his own. Looking through a slot in his cell door was the mug of a dark-skinned man, a wry grin on his face as he pestered Dante and his crew.
"None of your concern, fool," barked Dante, angrily.
"Everything in here is my concern, mudak!"
Joe's Russian was pretty rusty, but swear words, he remembered. He was pretty sure the man had called Dante an asshole.
Dante found that quite humorous, "My friend, you matter nothing in what is to come. Count your days. Your life is in the President's hands." Dante turned away, signaling his men to follow.
The man in the cell could only yell back, a vicious rage shaking his voice, "Do not count me out yet, mudak, soon I will be free of this hell!"
As Joe was hauled off by the troopers, he made a mental note to try and contact the Russian again, somehow, when he got back to his cell.
If he got back to his cell.
AS THEY left behind the Russian prisoner, Joe opened his eyes to take in the sights of this unusual fortress. It had definitely been built in World War II, probably by the Russians as either a defense post or more likely, a prison. As Joe passed more and more cells on his way to 'Room 21', he decided it was the latter.
As Joe and his entourage passed by a large set of metal bars, he heard a voice call his name.
"Sarge! Hey, it's Joe!"
Joe's name had never sounded so good to his own ears. He looked and saw five of his men, crowded together in an open air prisoner cell, surrounded by steel bars. The five Rangers clambered to their feet and ran towards their Sergeant, pushing their faces against the bars. Privates Johanson, Sakorsky, Peterson, Paulson and Corporal Tennyson. They looked beaten and hungry, but they were alive.
Thank God!
Johanson, the youngest of the five, an FNG that Joe hadn't had much time to get to know, pushed his arm out trying to get Joe's attention.
"We're with you, Sarge! Don't tell em shit!"
An Olympus Centurion standing guard off to the side moved forward and kicked the soldier in the arm. A rough "snap" sounded that a bone had broken. The young Private cried out in pain. He withdrew back into the cell, caught by the arms of his friends.
"Shut up! No talking!" yelled the Centurion.
Joe winced at seeing his men mistreated. He had to give them hope.
"Don't worry boys; I've got these assholes right where I want them!" A rough slap to the face from Dante almost knocked Joe out. A smile crept across Joe's face.
Oh no. My men are alive. I'm alive. And I won't quit until they're free.
As the Rangers watched their Sergeant be pulled down the hall to God knows where, the large, acerbic Texan, Private Petterson, yelled after Joe, "Give em hell boss!"
Joe's smile only grew wider
Chapter 4
The Hard Way
AS JOE and his captors marched through the fort, he continued to gather as much information as he could. After they had cleared the cell block the fortress opened significantly and Joe saw a mazelike circuit of doors and passageways leading this way and that. This place must be the size of a football field, thought Joe as his handlers pulled him along. They reached a dusty staircase leading up to the upper reaches of the fortress. As they hauled Joe up none-too-gently, Dante seemed to grow more aggravated the longer the walk took, "Come on, get him moving, I don't want this to take all day!"
The Centurions hastened at their commander's remark. These guys were afraid of the brute; not that Joe blamed them or anything. Although he was planning to feed Dante his own tongue soon enough, he knew he would have to level the playing field to stand half a chance against the bruiser.
The happy thoughts of vengeance were pushed out of his head as they finally reached the mysterious Room twenty-one; basically an iron door at the end of the staircase. Standing to attention at either side of the door were two Centurions, clad in the typical red-black armor these guys favored.
"End of the line," said Dante, moving to open the rusty door. The giant had to stoop due to the lower clearance; his gigantic frame was barely able to squeeze through the door.
As Joe was pulled into the room, his mind began to race
. He tried to remember any of the rules of conduct when one was to be interrogated. Only give them your name, rank, outfit and serial number. Shouldn't be too hard.
He was led into a very different room than any he had seen on his way through the fort. It was cleaner and lightly furnished with several desks, chairs, and lamps. Two large windows gave an expansive view of the mountainous countryside. On the wall directly facing Joe was a large Kazinistani flag, pinned to the wall.
Subtle, he thought.
However, it wasn't all nice and cozy.
Joe saw what looked like a block and tackle strung through the rafters of the room and on the end of the rope was a large hook. Joe's severely addled brain was still capable of putting together what the hook was for.
Now might be a good time to resist.
He exploded out from his pretend state of obliviousness and brought the hard tip of his elbow into the groin of the Centurion on the right; the same poor shcmuck he had kicked a few minutes ago. The man doubled over, groaning in pain. It was a brief moment of triumph, but not enough to sustain the crushing blow the left Centurion dealt him on the back of the head. The world went upside down as he crashed to the floor, half-unconscious.
Dante's voice sounded amused when he remarked, "Joe, don't you think that poor man has suffered enough?"
Joe coughed, clinging desperately to reality. The Centurion to his right was curled in a ball on the floor, hands firmly placed over his wounded crotch. Dante shook his head, and spoke to someone Joe could not see, "Take him to the infirmary." The Centurion to the left of Dante helped his fallen comrade up and exited the room. Joe would have laughed if his brain was working properly. But it wasn't. He could only lie there, useless and infirm. A massive hand gripped his shirt collar and hoisted him up. Dante pulled Joe to his feet and cut the bonds behind his back, freeing his hands for a moment.
"Get over here and secure this man. Do I need to do everything?"
A new voice Joe didn't recognize chimed up from across the other side of the room, "How much more of this foolishness must I witness Commander Dante?"
"My apologies, Mr. President. This one is a...bit of a handful."
Two men not dressed in Olympus armor appeared from the back of the room and ran to restrain Joe. They looked vaguely Turkic to Joe, dressed in high-quality suits. Kazinistani bodyguards probably. Joe decided to name them both Mutt and Jeff to tell the two assholes apart. Mutt went over to where the rope connecting to the block and tackle lay and began lowering the hook. Jeff forced Joe's hands in front of him and rebound them with tight nylon cord. He then fit the cord over the hook, securing it firmly. Mutt then started hoisting the rope and Joe was lifted off his feet. An immense strain rippled through the muscles of his arms and Braddock had to grit his teeth in order to keep from crying out.
Dante stepped in from of Joe, looking the Ranger eye to eye, "Sorry for the uncomfortable stay, Sergeant. We'll be as quick as possible. Someone very important wants to meet you."
Joe could only hang there like a limp dick. His white T-shirt was soaked through with his sweat and covered in blood. The Nylon cords bit ruthlessly into his wrists, cutting off the circulation and slicing his skin.
Out of the corner of the room materialized the man Dante was speaking of. He was clad in a well-tailored business suit and wore an Islamic keffiyeh wrapped around his head. He had the dark skin of most of the indigenous people Joe had met since being in Afghanistan, but this guy had the look of money to him, something no one Joe had met in the Middle East had. His beard was well groomed, long and flecked with gray. With the tempered skill of a politician, his eyes seemed to size Joe up in an instant.
"So this is the leader of the Army Rangers who entered my country without permission?"
Dante stood back out of Joe's present eye line.
So this was the asshole calling the shots.
Joe spoke through bloody lips, "Who the hell are you?"
Mutt had fallen in beside Joe and gave the Army Ranger a good, hard slap across the face, yelling loudly in his ear, "Infidel! This is President Asamat Karimov, leader of the Kazinistani people!"
Joe shook his head, trying to focus his blurred vision, "Oh right, now I recognize him!"
The President walked to within a few feet from Joe, "Save your American sarcasm Sergeant. It is beneath you." He spoke very good English, with only a slight accent. Joe understood him all-too-perfectly.
"As my eager bodyguard beside you said, I am the President of Kazinistan, a sovereign nation you made the bold move to invade with your...what were they...Rangers?"
"I don't kn..." Joe began to speak but was cut off.
"If it were not for my foresight in purchasing the unique services of Commander Dante's extraordinary army, there is no telling what atrocities you and your men would have committed upon entering. Thirty-five men devastated by a small unit of Olympus commandos. Astonishing."
Joe was more confused than ever, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I only have a few moments to spare Sergeant; your presence here will soon be dealt with and I can return to much more important matters. So I shall make this as easy as possible: what were you and your 'Ranger Platoon' planning to do in my country?" The President practically shouted the last question.
Joe's headache was getting progressively worse, made even more unbearable by the man's yelling. Joe tried to remember anything he could about the Kazinistan government and current state of operations. He knew they were completely neutral in the Afghan conflict; had never intervened in any border conflicts in the past, as far as Joe could remember. Most of the population was the indigenous people, the Kazinistani, who were an ethnic offshoot of the Kazak people of neighboring Kazakhstan. During briefings, the higher ups only ever mentioned the country in passing; as if it wasn't important enough to mention. Joe had gone along with that line of thinking; after all, the country was very small.
Joe shook his head and answered simply, "As far as I know, the United States has no interest in this country. We crossed into it by accident." It was a half-truth, but Joe wasn't about to tell them anything more.
The President shook his head, "Please do not lie Sergeant. I respect your devotion to your country, believe me, I do. But do not think that devotion will save you if you continue to mislead us."
Joe responded in true Army fashion, "Sergeant Joseph Braddock, 76th Army Ranger Regiment, serial number seven-nine-zero-one dash six."
President Karamov sighed, "Please understand me, Sergeant, I did not wish it to come to this. I love my country too and I know why you do not help me. Still, you must be made to talk." The President looked over to where Dante stood; patiently witnessing the discussion, "Commander, you know what I require. Please do not take too long extracting it."
"Of course Mr. President."
The President brushed some dust off his suit, "I take my leave. Is my helicopter prepared?"
"Of course, my men will escort you down to the helipad."
"Excellent," the President nodded, happy to be leaving, "Please extend my thanks to the Lord Imperator."
The comment seemed to rub Dante the wrong way, "Of course sir."
The President gave Joe a last cursory glance before making his exit, followed by Mutt and Jeff. Dante motioned for the last Centurion to leave the room as well. The trooper closed the door behind him, leaving Joe alone with the monster.
"I know you're confused Joe. Don't worry about that fool – he matters nothing in what is to come."
Joe eyed the giant disdainfully, "And what is to come, Commander?"
Dante smiled, his lips folding back from his perfect white teeth.
"You will find out soon if you survive. Now I know you don't know anything. You and your men are merely victims of circumstance. However, the President certainly doesn't need to know that." Dante tightened his gloved fists, shaking his massive arms as if prepping for a boxing match.
Joe's heart began to jackhammer. Torture. Terri
fic. He decided to stall for time, "What...what's going to happen to my men?"
Dante began pacing around Joe, continuing to snap his knuckles, "Well that depends, Sergeant. You see, like President Karamov and yourself, they are simply a means to an end and that end is rapidly drawing nearer. Once Agrippina arrives...well, I'd like to say it's been fun."
As Joe mulled over what that name could possibly mean, Dante gave Joe a hard push and let him swing on the hook like a boxing bag.
The guy was going to beat him to death.
"May I tell you something about myself Joe?" Dante asked without caring for a response, "When I served in Africa, I fought alongside child soldiers. Strange isn't it? To think that something so horrible could exist in this world. Children forced to wage war in order to further the profit and gains of warlords - men completely out for their own greed."
Joe held his teeth firmly together, not dignifying the bastard with a response.
Dante continued his story, "It occurred to me as I watched young kids fall around me like candles snuffed out on a birthday cake...how truly simple it is to use others to further yourself. But do you know what was really amazing about those children?"
Joe couldn't imagine.
"...They were effectively serving an American diamond conglomerate. The children were fighting for someone they didn't know and a cause they didn't understand. It was the threat, the control that kept them in line."
Joe opened his mouth, about to ask a question. Dante cut him off.
"Why bring this up, you're probably going to ask? No reason at all. It's just a scary as shit story I like to tell a poor fool before I snap them in half." Dante put his hands together, prepping his knuckles. "I know you may not believe it Joe, but I like Americans."
Joe didn't believe it.
Dante continued pacing, talking as he went, "You see, your people have the act of business down to a fine art. We in Olympus have simply gone one further..."
In a lightning fast move, Dante smashed a ham-heavy fist into Joe's solar plexus. The Ranger winced as pain tore through his torso.
