Forgotten

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Second and third floors are still clear. Go to your right, to the rear stairwell. You’ve got a clean shot to the main floor. Target room is second door on the right, over.”

  “Copy that.” Dawson took point, descending the stairs rapidly but deliberately, this no time to race into a sensor glitch carrying an AK-47. Shouts of panic grew louder as they neared the first floor. The lights were out, night vision goggles giving him and his team a distinct advantage over their enemy. They reached the stairwell door on the main floor, Dawson holding up a fist, bringing his team to a halt. He pointed at Jimmy and Mickey, indicating with hand signals that they should cover the rear exit to their left while the rest of them went through the door to their right.

  His comm activated. “Zero-One, Control. Two hostiles on the other side of the inside door at your current position, over.”

  He clicked his comm twice, acknowledging the report. He drew his knife, Atlas doing the same, then stepped back. Niner yanked the door open and Dawson stepped forward, plunging his knife into a kidney of the nearest hostile, hauling him into the stairwell with a hand clasped over the man’s mouth, silencing him. His partner spun in the darkness, Atlas pushing his blade into the man’s throat, twisting the life out of him as his jugular severed. Niner closed the door silently, the two dead hostiles tossed down the steps to the basement.

  “Zero-One, Control. Doorway is now clear. Looks like you’ve got eleven hostiles collected at the main entrance, over.”

  “Copy that, Control.” Dawson sheathed his knife, readying his MP5. “Let’s see if we can get her without them even knowing we were here.”

  Jimmy pulled open the door once more, Dawson and Atlas surging through, Niner and Spock on their six as they quickly advanced toward the door behind which may lay their target, Alia Monroe, or someone for whom their government had absolutely no interest.

  Dawson took a knee just past the door, his MP5 aimed down the hall, his night vision giving him a clear view of the panic collected at the far end. Atlas knelt beside him as Niner quietly slid aside the bar locking the door.

  It clanged, the sound echoing down the hall.

  Dawson cursed.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Alia Monroe flinched at the sound of the door unlocking, then downright jumped as gunfire erupted on the other side. This was her chance, her chance to escape the life now laid out before her. If she could startle the person coming through the door, she might get herself shot, and end this once and for all.

  The door swung open, strobe-like flashes from firing guns the only light, the thunderous noise from the hall overwhelming the pounding coming from outside. She dove toward the shadowy figure, but the chain on her wrist yanked her back as a flashlight shone in her face.

  “United States soldier! Are you Alia Monroe?”

  She froze, goosebumps rushing across her body as the tingling sensation of hope and relief washed over her. “Wh-what?”

  “I’m an American soldier. Are you Alia Monroe?”

  “Y-yes!” she cried, tears filling her eyes as she felt herself about to collapse.

  “Are you able to walk?”

  The question went unnoticed for a moment as the realization she had been rescued, that her future had been restored, that a life of constant sexual abuse and torture was over, consumed her.

  “Miss Monroe! Can you walk?”

  She nodded. “Y-yes, but—” She held up her chained hand. He grabbed something off his belt then grabbed the chain, her hand free a moment later.

  “Control, I have the target, repeat, I have the target.”

  He pulled something from a bag. “Hold your arms out to the side.” Her eyes narrowed but she complied, some type of heavy vest placed over her head then Velcroed together at her sides. “Okay, you stick with me. You do what I tell you when I tell you. Understood?”

  “Yes.”

  He took her by the arm. “Now, let’s go.”

  She didn’t move. “What about the others?”

  “What others?”

  “The other girls that are being held here.”

  “They’re not our mission. You are.”

  Her chest tightened. “We have to get Mary. It’s my fault she’s here.”

  He yanked her toward the door. By the time she realized what was happening, she was inches from the gunfight, a gunfight she noticed was dwindling.

  She yanked her arm free. “I’m not leaving without Mary!”

  Dawson dropped the last of the hostiles that remained inside the building, Control indicating four were still outside, so a counterattack could be imminent, though they’d probably wait for the hundreds of fighters apparently heading toward the compound to join them.

  He turned toward their target, a target that wasn’t cooperating. “What the hell is going on?”

  Niner reached out to grab the girl, but she jumped back. “She won’t go without some girl named Mary.”

  “Mary Todd?”

  Alia rushed toward Dawson. “Yes! That’s her! We have to get her!”

  Dawson cursed. He could have Niner throw her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, but the noise could give them away, and a cooperative target was always easier to work with. “Control, I need a twenty on Mary Todd, over.”

  “Zero-One, we believe she might be in a room two doors down from your current position, on your left. You have to hurry, overwhelming enemy forces are headed your way, over.”

  “Copy that.” Dawson strode rapidly down the hall. He paused before pushing open the slightly ajar door. “Is she alone?”

  “Affirmative, Zero-One.”

  He pushed the door open, his goggles revealing a terrified, barely conscious girl, sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, sobbing from fear and pain. “Are you Mary Todd?”

  She moaned out a yes. He motioned to Niner. “Check her, get her ready for transport.”

  Niner and Spock both began a quick assessment as Dawson stepped back into the hallway. An explosion outside shook the building, a fuel truck or something else combustible hit by the attacking aircraft. Screams of young girls erupted from down the hall.

  Dawson closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Control, Zero-One. Do we still have a room filled with hostages, over?”

  “Affirmative, zero one. End of the hall, on your right. But there’s no way to take them with you, Zero-One. Evac is for your team only. There’s not enough room, over.”

  Dawson jogged to the end of the hall, Atlas on his heels, coming to a halt at the door in question. Jimmy and Mickey, still holding position at the rear door, looked at him, Jimmy nodding.

  “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we left them here.”

  Mickey agreed. “They can have my seat.”

  Dawson stared at his brothers in arms, more proud of them at this very moment than he ever had been before.

  For they were right.

  None of them could live with the knowledge they had left behind these girls, these kids, to be raped day in and day out for the rest of their lives.

  But it also changed their exfiltration plan. Mossad had pre-positioned a vehicle less than a mile from here that they were to use to get to the evac point outside the city. Yet with a dozen more people, that vehicle would no longer cut it. “Control, Zero-One. Is that truck we saw outside the building still intact?”

  “Affirmative. It’s parked too close to the building so the A-10s left it alone, over.”

  “Copy that. That’s our new ride out of here. Are we still clear out back?”

  “Affirmative.”

  Dawson jabbed a finger at Niner as he and Spock arrived with Mary Todd. “Take Jimmy and hotwire that truck and bring it to the rear entrance. Atlas, Spock, strip two of the dead so they can make like locals.” He grabbed the metal bar locking the door holding the female prisoners. “Everyone goes home tonight.”

  Mary Todd clung to Alia as the two soldiers holding her disappeared into the dark, the only light from flashlights lying on
the floor from their dead captors, and dull green glows showing the eyes of their rescuers.

  Americans! Thank God!

  When she had first heard the attack, she hadn’t known what to think, but she had never dreamed it would be American soldiers, her soldiers. She clung to Alia, her body weak from the beating, though slowly regaining strength as adrenaline and hope surged through her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded in the dark, resting her head on Alia’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. He only hit me a few times.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he caught me in bed with Pete.”

  “Who’s Pete? You mean that reporter you were helping?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh my God, girl, did you sleep with him?”

  The excitement and respect in Alia’s voice made her want to lie, yet she had to be true to herself, and to the man who had been so kind to her. After all, he was married, and if the lie were to make it back to his wife, it could destroy his marriage. “No, it wasn’t like that. We just held each other, for strength, you know?”

  “That’s sweet.”

  One of the soldiers shone a flashlight on his face, a large black man, the other man who seemed in charge entering the room she had been originally held in. “Are you two ready to go?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Do you have everyone?”

  “More than everyone. We were just here for Miss Monroe, now we’re leaving with over a dozen of you. Come this way.” He urged them toward the door, Alia stepping forward when Mary stopped.

  “What about Pete?”

  “Who?”

  “Pete. He’s a reporter that’s being tortured by these…people.”

  The man turned away. “Control, do we have any other hostages here?”

  She couldn’t hear the reply, though could tell by his reaction it wasn’t good.

  He turned back to them. “I’m sorry, miss, but they were all executed when the attack began.”

  Mary’s shoulders slumped and her chest ached as she collapsed. “No, God, no!”

  June looked up at the sound of the door unlocking, everyone huddled as far from it and the gunshots outside. Something was happening, something bad, and whatever it was, couldn’t be good for her. Helan had said she heard someone yell to kill all the prisoners, though that was at least several minutes ago, and no one had come for them.

  Maybe we’re not prisoners.

  People were being tortured here, they had all heard the screams over the days they had been held. Their future was slavery, sex slaves for ISIS warriors and the highest bidder, so perhaps they weren’t considered prisoners, which was why they had been left alone.

  Or maybe they just hadn’t got to them yet.

  Helan gripped her arm tightly, the two having become inseparable since Mary had been taken.

  I wonder what happened to her.

  She had never returned, so she was either dead or a slave, probably already raped dozens of times by God knows how many filthy, bearded men. Her stomach churned at the thought, her mouth filling. She swallowed.

  Whoever had won the battle outside the door was coming to either claim their spoils, or confirm their spoils were still here.

  The door swung open, slamming against the concrete, a yelp escaping despite her best efforts.

  Helan’s grip tightened as a flashlight shone across the room then onto the man’s face.

  A man with no beard.

  “I’m a United States soldier. We’re here to rescue you.” He repeated it in Arabic, then in English again, nobody, including her, moving.

  It simply couldn’t be true.

  He stepped forward, kneeling in front of them. “I’m an American soldier. We’ve got a truck outside and a helicopter waiting. But I need you to come with me, quickly and quietly. Can you do that?” His eyes rested on hers and she nodded. He reached out a hand and she took it. “Everybody take a hand, make sure nobody is left behind, okay?”

  She rose, Helan still hanging onto her arm, and followed the man toward the door, still not believing what was going on.

  Are we really saved?

  Niner opened the outside door slightly, the sounds overwhelming of the overhead attack aircraft laying waste to the surrounding area. It was a beautiful thing. He did a quick check to confirm they were clear, then stepped outside, hugging the side of the building as he rushed along the wall, his eyes on the flaming surroundings. He spotted the occasional hostile, running for cover, but left them alone—any gunfire from his position would give away their presence.

  And those assholes had enough to worry about.

  He rounded the corner and spotted the truck. “Cover me.”

  Jimmy took up position near the front of the transport as Niner hopped in, closing the door and hunching over. It took only a couple of minutes to hotwire the vehicle, the engine roaring to life. Jimmy looked over the hood and Niner gave him a thumbs up. His partner climbed in as he put it in gear.

  Jimmy pointed to their left. “Take a look at that.”

  Niner glanced over, spotting a row of burning cars. “What?”

  “They missed one.”

  Niner’s eyes narrowed as he peered through the smoke. He grinned. “That’s a Jag! I guess somebody above has good taste.”

  “Or figured the poor bastard had suffered enough.”

  Several dozen 30mm shells tore through the engine block of the sports car.

  Niner glanced at Jimmy and shrugged. “Musta heard us.”

  “One-One, you in position?”

  Niner activated his comm as they rounded the corner. “Affirmative, your chariot awaits.”

  Dawson stepped out of the room and took a gasping breath, the smell from the poor girls overwhelming. A young girl, perhaps twenty, gripped his hand tightly as if afraid should she let it go, he might be lost to her forever. He breathed a sigh of relief at Niner’s confirmation. They had a way out of here.

  For all of them.

  “Okay, we’re coming to you now.” He turned to the girls. “Okay everyone, we’re leaving. Follow these men to the truck outside. Get in the back and be as quiet as possible, understood?” There were several murmured replies in English, and he repeated the instructions in perfect Arabic, receiving a chorus of excited replies. He pointed at Atlas. “Lead them out.”

  Atlas nodded, taking the girl’s hand from Dawson, heading for the rear doors now guarded by Spock and Mickey. Dawson turned to Alia Monroe, their target, to see Mary Todd crumpled on the floor, sobbing about somebody, probably the target the CIA had reported she had been with in one of the rooms. He held out a hand to her. “Let’s go.” She took it and he hauled her to her feet.

  And she bolted, running down the hallway, blindly feeling along the corridor, coming to a stop in front of one of the locked doors. He cursed, turning to Spock and Mickey. He pointed at Alia. “She’s your responsibility.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

  They each took her by an arm, leading her toward the door, half the young girls already through the stairwell and out the door on the other side. Dawson took after Mary as she shoved the bar to the door aside, pushing it open.

  “Pete! Pete! Are you okay?”

  Dawson heard a moan as he entered the room, the hostiles obviously having missed one of their prisoners. He stepped inside, a naked man lying on a bed in the corner, young Mary feeling for him in the dark. Dawson flicked up his night vision goggles and pulled out a tactical light, giving it a twist, the entire room bathed in a bright glow.

  And gasped.

  “Red!”

  Red rapidly blinked his eyes, the bright light overwhelming them at first, though he didn’t need to see to know the voice of his best friend. “BD?”

  Dawson rushed toward him, dropping to his knees as he reached forward and grabbed him, hugging him hard. “We thought you were dead!”

  Red groaned in agony, a fresh bullet wound to the shoulder the result of the execution orders he had heard shouted in the hallwa
y, a hastily fired volley from an AK-47 mostly tearing apart the wall, a quick roll on his part and a genuine cry of pain resulting from what he hoped was a flesh wound and nothing serious, enough to leave his would-be executioner mistaken. He had known it was likely Americans assaulting the complex, the distinctive sound of MP5s and Glocks making it obvious friendlies were here.

  He just hadn’t realized how friendly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Shot,” he gasped. “Left shoulder.”

  Dawson quickly went to work on the wound, activating his comm. “On my way with another friendly. Sixty seconds.” He turned to Red. “Can you move?”

  “Try and stop me.”

  Dawson hauled him to his feet and he clenched his teeth, fighting through the pain, his body weak, there little doubt he was near death. Mary put his arm around her shoulders and helped Dawson carry him toward the door.

  “I can’t believe you know him! Did you do a news story on him?”

  Red frowned, sorry he had been forced to lie to the kindhearted girl this entire time, though it was for her own good. If he had told her anything about himself, and they had found out, she could have been tortured to death, or worse. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Red winced as Dawson adjusted his grip, killing the light before peering down the hallway.

  “Clear, let’s move.”

  They struggled forward, Dawson on one side, Mary the other. He had no idea where they were going, seeing nothing but his cell and the torture chamber since he had been brought here. He didn’t remember arriving, only waking up, the RPG having blasted him backward, away from the chopper, his memory ending there. He had figured the guys had thought the explosion had killed him, since there was no way they’d leave him behind if they thought he was alive.

  His chest tightened. “Shirley? Does she think—”

  “Yup. You’re dead dude. Funeral and everything.”

  He heard a door open in front of them, the sound of their footsteps changing, light visible as another door beyond the one they were stepping through opened, somebody holding it for them.