by Jim Roberts
"...we have made war our art...our business. Olympus is simply in the business of conflict and control. And soon enough, we will control all."
Another punch to the side of his chest. Joe heard a grisly snap and immediately knew one of his ribs had broken.
The guy hits like a tank. Can't take much more of this.
The giant continued with several more cruel punches, rocking them across Joe's body like a heavyweight prepping for the big match. The Ranger gagged, trying to speak amidst the assault.
Dante halted for a moment, "You have something to say?"
Joe gagged on a mouthful of blood, trying to catch his breath, "...let my...men go...take me...kill me...let them go..."
Dante sighed grandiosely, "Joe...Joe. This is not about you or them. This is only about one thing. And you cannot give it to us." He swung Joe away from him and used the momentum to deliver a smashing blow to Joe's head.
He lost consciousness.
Joe's mind soared away from the prison. Lost in his own subconscious, he swam into oblivion.
He awoke in his cell sometime later. A beam of moonlight illuminated the room. His first sensation was pain. The second was pain. So was the third and fourth; Joe had never been in such agony. He wondered quietly, splayed out in a heap on the floor:
What are they trying to do? They don't want anything from me, but they are keeping me alive. Nothing made sense.
He tried to move. He failed. Blood poured from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. His body felt absolutely broken.
You're gonna die here, Joe.
The realization crept over him. He wasn't scared, just angry. He had failed everyone and when he died, his men would die too.
No. You will not let them down.
And then a voice spoke to him in the darkness of the cell.
"Joe, are you awake?"
The voice was familiar but seemed from a lifetime ago. It was so soft...so quiet.
Danny. Danny Callbeck. Alive.
Joe's eyes popped open. Renewed strength poured into his weakened muscles. He looked around the room and saw his friend, the Inuit Special Forces soldier that had saved his life. Danny sat on the cot, his legs pulled underneath him, as if in a meditative pose.
"Danny! My God, you're...you're alive." Joe couldn't contain himself. He had never been so glad to see someone in his life. He pulled his body up to a sitting position to face his friend, his pain forgotten for the moment.
But Danny could not look back at Joe.
He was blind.
Joe's heart sank as he saw his friend. Danny's face was a mass of scarring; skin surrounding his eyes was scarred, burned harshly from the incendiary explosion that had been meant for Joe. The corneas of his eyes were bleary and gray; the whites were bloodshot. Several blood-soaked bandages were wrapped around Danny's neck.
The sight of his friend so torn and disfigured pierced Joe's soul.
"Danny, I...I am so...so..."
Danny Callbeck shook his head. He raised a hand out to his friend, feeling in the darkness to touch Joe's shoulder.
"Be quiet Joe," he said. His voice was nothing more than a ragged murmur, forever destroyed by the explosion that had robbed him of sight.
The emotion was too much for Joe Braddock. Tears welled in his eyes, "I did this...it was my fault...I am so sorry...I...if I hadn't..."
"Joe, we need you now. I know there are other survivors. You will get us out of here." Each word sounded like it was torment for Danny.
Joe looked at his friend, his eyes drying as rage filled his heart.
"I'll make them pay Danny. I'll make these bastards suffer. If it takes every last ounce I have...I'll make them pay..."
Chapter 5
Hatching a Plan
THE NIGHT passed dreamlessly for Joe. He slept curled on the floor, while Danny slept in the cot. When Joe awoke, he felt his stomach twist; reminding him that he hadn't eaten for God knows how long. His mouth was parched and his lips, still sticky from his blood, were cracked and broken.
The frigid cold of the Kazinistani night was quickly giving way to the smoldering heat of the morning. Joe guessed it was already thirty degrees give or take. He slowly pulled his battered body up, wincing at the sharp jolt of pain shooting through his torso. His right eye was badly swollen and one of his back teeth was loose. He stuck his fingers into his mouth and gave a tug; the tooth came loose with little effort. Joe looked at the little piece of enamel for a second before tossing it aside.
Joe spat a mouthful of blood off to the side then went to work stripping a small piece of fabric from his white T-shirt. He wadded it up and stuck it into his mouth over the empty hole. He knew he'd lost a lot of blood over the past few days and needed to keep his strength up. A lost tooth could bleed for hours if it wasn't properly staunched and if he swallowed too much blood it could make him sick. His makeshift idea didn't work too well. He spit the piece of cloth out and prepared another to try again.
He looked over at his friend. To his surprise, Danny was awake, his sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling as he lay on the cot.
"How you doin' bud?" said Joe, through clenched teeth.
Danny did not respond immediately. He held his hand up over his face, seemingly trying to make his eyes see his fingers once more, "I could be better."
"Are you in a lot of pain?"
"I can't feel anything."
That answer worried Joe more if Danny had said it was excruciating. Callbeck pulled himself up from the cot. Joe moved to restrain him, "Don't move Danny, you need to rest."
"I lost my charm."
Joe was confused, "What?"
"My charm...the necklace my father gave me."
"Oh...I'm sorry man."
Danny shook his head, "Don't be. It's just that...I've had it all my life. It's hard to let go of."
Joe opened his mouth as if to answer but abruptly closed it instead. What could he say to that?
Joe leaned back against the wall, musing over the possibilities. Before he had lost consciousness during the torture, he had heard Dante say something about 'his and his men's use coming to an end', whatever he meant by that. Joe knew time was not on their side.
"There is still a lot I don't know. What happened to you these last few days?"
Danny sat on the cot, staring ahead vacantly, "I'm not really sure. After the battle, I lost consciousness." Joe winced at hearing his friend's voice. It was so weak and quiet.
"I'm sorry Danny; if it hurts you don't have to..."
Danny cut him off, "I'm fine Joe, let me talk."
Joe shut up.
Danny continued, "When I came too, I was in an infirmary, somewhere in this fort. There were a few medics there that tried to patch my face up. I had a tracheotomy in my throat, helping me breathe," he absently rubbed the bandage around his neck, as if remembering the pain, "after that, I don't remember much. They must have dumped me in here while you were being beaten."
"You said you knew there were survivors; how'd you know?"
When I was being dragged here, I heard Private Sakorsky yell to me. I thought it was a dream but I'm certain I heard him." Danny winced at the pain he felt from speaking. He held a hand up gingerly to the wound on his throat.
"He's alive Danny," said Joe, "Five of my men are being held a few hundred feet down the hall in a barred cell. I think they're the only survivors"
"How can you be so sure?"
"The asshole President I met yesterday said as much. He could have been lying, but...something tells me..." Joe couldn't finish the thought. The fact that he had lost a platoon of thirty-five good men - his brothers in arms - was too much for him.
Danny's scared face grew solemn, "It's time we man up Joe. If we don't get out of here soon, we're all dead."
"I don't know how man; this cell is old but well built. Besides the front door and the tiny hole up above us, there's no other way out."
Danny sat silently for a moment. Then he raised his head
up and asked Joe succinctly, "You're sure there is no other way besides the window and the door?"
"Yeah, like I said."
Danny got up from the bed slowly, pressing his hands against the wall opposite the door for support. Danny continued to move his hands up and down the wall as if he was feeling the contours for something.
Joe was perplexed, "What are you doing?"
"I can feel a...draft coming from somewhere." Danny moved his hands along the wall towards the corner of the room. He was on top of the cot now, feeling the wall carefully, "Did you check under the cot?"
"Yeah...nothing."
"Let’s check one more time. Can you help me move the cot?"
Joe shrugged and moved to grasp the end of the cot. Danny gripped the other side and helped Joe pull the cot away from the wall. The Inuit soldier pressed his hand against the wall, moving down slowly, feeling the cement.
"Yes. I can feel it, Joe, there's a slight draft coming from the corner."
Joe moved to stand beside his friend, searching the corner for what it was Danny was feeling. To his eyes, there was nothing there. Danny moved out of the way to let Joe check the area.
Joe put his hands against the wall...and suddenly he too felt the ever-so-slight draft of air. Excitedly, he moved his hands down, following the wisp of air towards its source. He stopped when his hands felt something very strange.
"It feels like the wall here is...fake! Like it's not even really cement." Joe pressed his fingers into the wall, and the cement started to flake at his touch. It wasn't cemented at all, just some kind of plaster! Joe began to work in earnest, scratching away at the area−pulling bits of plaster away from the wall in a frenzy of excitement.
His enthusiasm died when he had cleared away all of the plaster to reveal what appeared to be an old air vent, covered by a steel grate. The grate was secured by eight firm screws and Joe had nothing to open it with.
Damn!
Joe sat back, looking at the grate. It was a foot and a half wide and about ten inches high. If he squeezed, he could have probably fit through it.
"What is it Joe?" asked Danny.
"It looks like an old air duct. It's secured with a steel grate. I'm thinking they decided to plaster over it to hide its existence; probably in a hurry."
"Can you open the grate?"
Joe shook his head, "Not without a tool."
"If a US Marine can learn to improvise and adapt Joe, so can we," Danny stood up shakily from the cot, "but first..."
Danny was interrupted by loud footsteps reverberating down the stone hallway outside the door. Joe dashed to his feet and pulled the cot back into place to cover the vent. With a second to spare, the window on the cell slid back. An Olympus Centurion peered at the two men, checking the room.
"Alright boys, I've got some breakfast for you. You..." he said to Joe, "turn around and face the wall."
Joe reluctantly did as he was told. The trooper unlocked the door and opened it wide. He dropped a tray on the floor quickly, closed the door and locked it, "Bon appetit!" The trooper chuckled as he left, clomping heavily down the corridor.
Joe turned and looked at their meal: a rather sad affair consisting of two wrapped Russian K-ration protein bars and two bottles of water. There were no utensils. Well, it was something. Joe picked up a bottle of water and placed it carefully in Danny's hand. The blind soldier drank thirstily, as did Joe. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to drink.
"I would drink sparingly comrades." The voice came from outside the hallway and had a strong Russian accent. Joe looked up at the cell door and saw something that made his heart jump.
"Danny, the trooper forgot to close the grate over the window!"
His meal forgotten for the moment, Joe set the tray to the side and leapt up to the door, peering outside into the hallway. The voice spoke again, coming from the opposite cell across the hall, "Men have been known to die of starvation in here, tovarisch."
Joe finally got a better look at the man he had barely glimpsed a day earlier; that odd Russian-Arab man that had angered Dante. Joe now saw him clearly - at least his face anyway. He was indeed dark skinned but looked decidedly mixed in his heritage. A scruffy black goatee covered his chin; unkempt and messy. His eyes danced with wanton mischief; his face seemed stretched in a perpetual sarcastic half-smile. The man seemed like the kind of fellow who found the world a highly ironic place to live.
Joe responded to the man, cautiously; speaking low as not to gain any unwanted attention from any troopers that may be around, "Who are you?"
"Who am I? No one. Just an unfortunate soul, like you." His voice was incredibly deep; sounding like gathering thunder, "As I said comrade, drink sparingly. These bastards enjoy starving their prisoners."
"Are you going to tell me your name or what?"
"My name is..." he was about to reply but changed his mind. He thought for a second before finally answering, "You may call me Krieger, my friend."
"Krieger? Are you German?"
"No, I am Russian."
"Then why Krieger? Isn't that German?"
The strange prisoner over mulled the question for a moment, "It sounds cool, no?"
"So you're a Russian with a German name and dark skin. Have you told the truth about anything yet?
Krieger mulled it over for a second, "Fine my friend, you've pulled the truth from me. I am really a New Yorker in disguise." He smiled at the lame joke.
Joe was beginning to get annoyed by the man's flippant attitude. He couldn't tell if this was how he always was or if it was just a reaction to being imprisoned. As he spoke with the Russian, Danny took a seat on the cot, listening to the exchange as he ate one of the protein bars.
"Are you able to talk straight?" Joe asked impatiently.
The Russian laughed, "Ha! Not really. My poor mother did not raise me to have manners like you good Americans."
"I thought you said you were a New Yorker?"
"You are putting words in mouth!"
"Whatever," said Joe in exasperation. He pushed on with his questions, "Do you know how we can get out of here?"
Krieger looked around the corridor before answering, making sure no Olympus troopers were near, "Yes I have plan. A good plan that will solve all problems."
Joe grew excited at the prospect, "Tell me. We can help each other."
Krieger put a finger to his mouth in a 'shh' manner, "It is very dangerous tovarisch. First you must kill every soldier in fortress, and then find way out of mountains without getting killed." He was obviously enjoying this. "Then, if you are still alive, try to not run into Taliban killers and make your way to friendly country. I think nearest one is Dubai."
Joe had had it listening to the man's constant jesting, "Christ, if you don't want to help just say so." He looked away from the door and back at Danny, who was busy chomping on the K-ration, "How is it?"
"Awful."
Joe unwrapped the other protein bar and took a large bite. It tasted like hammered shit. He swallowed it down, almost upchucking it back. He knew he needed to keep his strength up. Joe ate half the bar and then stopped, setting it aside. As Danny finished his ration, Joe placed the rest of his own ration in his blind friend's hands.
"You eat the rest of this, OK?"
"No Joe you need..."
"I'm fine. You need your strength."
Danny reluctantly agreed. He took the bar, but added, "Don't worry about me, Joe. I'll be ready when you need me to be."
While his friend ate, Joe looked out the window into the corridor again, "So how'd you get in here anyway? Maybe you can be straight about that at least."
Joe saw Krieger close his eyes as if thinking how best to tell a really odd story. Joe knew the man was slightly touched in some way. He gave Joe the impression of someone locked up and caged far too long.
"It has been long time I've been here," said Krieger, moving away from the window, "I was mercenary, like Olympus...but I work for others."
Krieger scoffed at the interruption, "Jesus no, you fool! I think I was caught in Uzbekistan, helping fight against Ultra-Nationalists."
Joe frowned, "You think you were caught?"
Krieger smirked, "Memory not great...sometimes forget things in past. Anyways, fighting did not go well. My group was killed by that rat bastard Dante and I was brought here."
"Are you Russian army?"
"No."
"Tajikistani?"
"Nyet."
"Pakistani? Come on."
Krieger smiled at Joe's insistent questioning, "Negative my friend. I am here, I am there, I am from everywhere."
"Fine, whatever." Joe was through playing with this man. He changed the subject, "What do you know of this Olympus army?"
Krieger's face darkened unexpectedly, "They are Private Military Company...very rich people."
"Where'd they come from?"
"Don't know. They have technology no one has seen. I think I hear one soldier say they were European or something."
"Who is this 'Dante'," asked Joe quizzically, "is he their leader?"
"Don't think so. He is more...soldat, more how you say, soldier."
"I don't understand."
Krieger's mood lightened, "Don't worry, you will my friend. Once she arrives, you will."
Joe raised an eyebrow, "She? Who's she?"
"Did not you hear them mention her name?"
Joe thought for a moment, "You mean that 'Agrippina' person? That's a woman?"
Krieger smirked, "Yes...and quite a woman. She has only visited this place once...and many prisoners died that time. Besides you and men down the hall, I am last prisoner."
"What, is she some sort of assassin?"
"No," said Krieger, "more like...executioner. She is very bad news. All I can tell you is if you wish to get out, you should go before she arrives, you know?"
"Perfect," said Joe, turning away from the window. Danny sat on the cot, leaning against the wall. He had finished eating and had been listening intently on Joe's conversation.
"What are you thinking?" Joe asked his friend.
"It's clear we need to leave before this woman arrives. I think I have an idea, but you will have to pull it off."
"What do you have in mind?"
Danny leaned forward, "First, ask our friend out there how often the guard passes the cells."
Joe asked Krieger the question. The Russian responded briskly, "Every twenty minutes, give or take. In fact, he is due any moment. There is no guard at night, as they use infrared cameras positioned in hallway. Doors are also mechanically alarmed."
