Forgotten

by J. Robert Kennedy

  It was Atlas.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  Atlas’ jaw dropped. “Holy shit!” He grabbed him, giving him a hug, Red feeling like Roger Rabbit hugged by Jessica Rabbit without any of the good parts.

  He moaned in pain.

  “Dude, we thought you were dead!”

  “Keep squeezing me and I will be.”

  Dawson took the girl, lifting her into the back of some sort of transport truck as Atlas helped him forward. Spock and Mickey reached out, both gasping in shock as they realized who they were helping inside.

  “Holy shit! It’s Red!”

  “Did you just say Red?” A panel at the front of the truck slid aside and Red smiled as he saw Niner and Jimmy poke their heads through, both sporting Arab garb. “I can’t believe it! What the hell are you doing alive?”

  Dawson ended it as he climbed in the back, Jimmy hopping out of the cab. “Reunion’s later.” Jimmy rounded the truck and gave Red a huge grin before slamming the doors shut.

  Red eased back on the floor, a smile on his face. “Let’s go home.”

  He was out within seconds.

  Dawson stared at his friend for a moment, concerned. He checked his pulse. Steady but weak. He activated his comm. “Control, Zero-One. We have the target Alia Monroe, as well as Mary Todd, thirteen female hostages, and one passed out master sergeant. We are evacuating on the planned route. Have the A-10s cover us, over.”

  “Copy that, Zero-One. Standby for A-10s to reposition, over.”

  “Zero-One, this is Control Actual. Repeat that last part?”

  Dawson grinned at the others. “Sir, we found Zero-Two. He’s alive!”

  Niner put the beast in gear, their commandeered transport apparently fairly well maintained. He glanced at Jimmy, dressed like one of the bastards they had just killed, a keffiyeh covering his face. “Can you believe this shit?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “No way. You saw the explosion. How the hell did he survive that?”

  Niner glanced back. “Does he have all his original parts?”

  Atlas’ voice boomed from the back. “All of them, including his little white—”

  “Hey! No locker room talk, big guy. And put some clothes on the poor man.”

  “Bravo Team, Control, A-10s are in position. You may begin your run, over.”

  Niner popped the clutch, the vehicle surging forward, several of the girls in the back squealing in fear, some in delight. “Keep them quiet!” he shouted as he watched the A-10s tear apart the street ahead, those still alive scattering or joining their fallen brethren. Fires raged around them, dozens if not scores of bodies strewn about, the AC-130 having leveled most of the buildings in the immediate vicinity.

  I love that thing!

  He switched gears, gaining speed, the tracers from the A-10s leading the way, any opposition quickly silenced as the two Warthogs and the AC130 took care of business from overhead. He heard Dawson over the comms.

  “Control, Zero-One. We’re clear of the structure. Take it out, over.”

  “Roger that, Zero-One.”

  Niner continued to gain speed, dodging debris from collapsed buildings and the hollowed shells of vehicles, yet keeping his attention divided between the road ahead and his side view mirror.

  “Impact in three… two… one…”

  He didn’t hear the rest of the transmission as the sky lit up behind him, a series of air-to-ground missiles fired by the AC-130’s Gunslinger slamming into the building, the entire structure erupting in a fireball that clawed its way into the sky and down the street toward them. Debris peppered them harmlessly as they continued forward, Jimmy picking out landmarks as they went, this route, along with half a dozen others, rehearsed during the few hours they had been given to prep. If all went well, they’d be out of the city inside of five minutes.

  But things never went well.

  77 |

  I-77, West Virginia

  Shirley Belme glanced in the rearview mirror, Bryson in his booster seat, humming away. They had been driving for hours and would need to stop soon for the night. They hadn’t made as good time as she had hoped, Bryson throwing a tantrum on her, his mood swinging between anger and depression and indifference since she had told him about his father.

  She sighed.

  I guess it’s better than constant crying.

  Which is what she had been doing.

  And it was exhausting.

  Another reason they weren’t making good time.

  She had already been forced to pull over once for a power nap and was working on her third Red Bull, her heart fluttering on occasion, giving her yet another thing to worry about.

  When will it end?

  The emotions were still raw, despite it being well over a week since she had received the news. And sometimes she found herself turning, expecting him to be sitting beside her. At night, she hugged his pillow, breathing in his smell, swearing she’d never wash it again. She barely slept. When she did, it was filled with nightmares as she pictured his death, the explosion, the agony she had been assured he didn’t feel.

  Maybe it would have been better if I wasn’t told.

  No, she wanted to know the truth. Too many had been told of training accidents or some other bullshit cover story, and she was happy to know her husband had died in combat, proud even. Red had died doing what he loved, with the men he thought of as brothers, and would have done everything he could to come home.

  But he had failed.

  The worst was the anger. She had cursed him more times than she could count. Why had he done this to her? How could he do this to Bryson? What was she supposed to do now?

  Then there was the guilt that would follow the shame at blaming him for something that wasn’t his fault. Then the tears.

  So many tears.

  Her entire body ached, her stomach in agony, her shoulders on fire. She had never cried so much in her life, and couldn’t imagine doing so again. She could never love anyone again, not if it meant this much pain, and besides, it would be a betrayal to his memory.

  Argh! What are you doing?

  The very thought of even considering another man in the future had her sick to her stomach with guilt.

  He’s not even in the ground and you’re planning for your next husband!

  And that was part of the problem. He wasn’t in the ground. There had been nothing from ISIS, no humiliating videos of his body paraded around by the vermin who would dare claim to be doing the bidding of God.

  Not knowing what had happened to his body was eating away at her. And at times, it gave her false hope. Maybe he was still alive out there, maybe he was just wounded and the guys were mistaken. Maybe he might escape and show up on her doorstep one day.

  And what if it took years? What if she had moved on? Remarried? What then?

  A tear rolled down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away before Bryson could see it.

  She needed a body. She needed something to put in that grave.

  Otherwise, she may never have closure.

  The Bluetooth in her car indicated an incoming call, startling her. She glanced at the number on the radio and frowned, recognizing it as a Bragg prefix.

  Can’t they just leave me alone! It hasn’t even been a day!

  She grabbed her phone and turned it off, tossing it back on the passenger seat.

  And cried.

  “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

  She sucked in a quick breath, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Nothing, dear, I’m just tired.”

  “Okay.”

  His innocence killed her, and she hoped when he was older he would still remember his father. They had lots of pictures and video to remind him of the love that was there, but would it be enough? Would he have genuine memories of his father, or just the false ones created by the stories that accompanied the images?

  She spotted a hotel and pulled in. She shut off the car and sighed, closing her eyes.

  I just need some peace. So
me time to myself.

  She glanced in the mirror at Bryson, a wave of shame washing over her at the stray thought of how much easier life would be if he weren’t in it.

  Oh God, I need help!

  78 |

  ISIS Held Territory Al-Raqqah, Syria

  Mary Todd clung to Alia, June and Helan on either side of them, all the while watching as Pete—or Red as she had heard the soldier call him, possibly because of his bright red hair—was tended to by their rescuers. He was weak before the gunshot, and it might be the final straw to put him over the edge, his friends’ rescue coming too late.

  Her chest tightened at the thought as she watched his friends work on him, trying to save his life.

  Red snorted, a terrific snore heard even over the chaos outside.

  “He’s sleeping!” she cried, this entire time she fearing he was passed out from his ordeal, perhaps even dead.

  The man who had carried Red out—BD, she thought Red had said—laughed, smiling up at her. “I think he deserves a rest after what he’s been through, hey?”

  She nodded, grinning. “So he’s a soldier?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not a reporter.”

  “No.”

  Her chest ached with the confirmation. She frowned, her chin dropping to her chest. “So he lied to me.”

  “If he did, he did it to protect you. The less you knew about him, the better. If they thought for one moment that you knew something, they’d have tortured you as well.” His eyes narrowed in the dim light provided by some type of special flashlight, held by him, casting a wide, gentle red glow in the back of the truck. “It looks like they did a number on you.”

  She nodded. “After they caught us in bed together—”

  BD’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” He glanced at Red, naked on the floor, one of the soldiers having thrown a bulletproof vest over his genitals.

  She held out a hand, shaking it rapidly. “No, it’s not like that. I was upset. I just lay in the bed beside him, but they thought we had, you know.”

  “Understood.” He took her chin in his hand and examined her face.

  “They didn’t hit me in the face for some reason.”

  “That’s against their law. They’re really quite particular about how they can abuse their sex slaves.”

  One of the other soldiers glanced at her. “Yeah, they’re not allowed to hit you in the face, otherwise you might become ugly to them, and they can’t risk that.”

  “Pigs,” muttered Alia beside her.

  The man grunted. “That’s insulting pigs.”

  BD took a knee in front of her. “Where did they hit you?”

  “The chest and stomach, mostly.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not too bad. Some pain, but nothing crazy.” She gestured at Red. “He’s the one you need to worry about. I did the best I could with him, but he’s really weak.”

  “Well, he’s alive, and I have no doubt that’s thanks to you. We’ll have you properly checked out when we get back to the base, but if you feel anything get worse, you let one of us know right away, okay?”

  She nodded. “Umm, how did you find us?”

  “Your brother.”

  Mary smiled, a tingling sensation rushing through her body. “Bobby?”

  “Yeah, he wouldn’t shut up about you, talked to a reporter who started asking the wrong people questions, he mentioned that you were looking for Miss Monroe, who the government was already looking for but didn’t know where she was, and Bob’s your uncle. Once we knew where to look, it was pretty easy.”

  Alia leaned forward, staring at Red. “But what about him? How did he get captured?”

  “On another op, the first time we tried to get you.”

  Alia gasped, leaning forward and reaching out to touch Red, but stopping herself. “This is my fault! If I hadn’t been such a fool and come here, none of this would have happened.”

  “No, it wouldn’t have. I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you like the education system you’ve been raised in does. There’s no safe spaces in the real world, no crying rooms, no teddy bears to hug because you’re upset that you didn’t win. This is the real world. Scores are kept, there are winners and losers, and there are consequences for your actions.” He stared at Alia, then at the other Western girls in the truck, all there by choice, unlike the poor Muslim girls kidnapped from their families. “A lot of people are dead because of you two. Luckily, they’re all bad guys, but it could have been a lot worse.” He pointed at Red. “He could have died, the chopper crew from our last mission could have died, some of my men could have died, all because you two decided life was too hard and decided to run off on an adventure.”

  Tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks, the other girls who could understand what he said joining her as his words sank in, every one of them true.

  He softened his voice slightly. “You both have a lot of growing up to do, and I hope you do it. You’ve been given a second chance at life in the greatest country in the world. Embrace what God gave you, and never forget what you saw here. This is the hate that we should all be fighting, not our petty differences back home. Red states, blue states, left wing, right wing, Fox, CNN, it’s all bullshit. This is the real world, where people are being slaughtered because of their beliefs, where girls like you are being raped day in and day out, where those who refuse to fall in line are murdered, burned alive, drowned, beheaded, where gays are tossed off of buildings to their deaths.

  “We need to stop arguing about bathrooms and pronouns, and realize that this is the type of tyranny we need to unite against. What all of you went through should never have been allowed to happen, but it did, and it’s still happening, and it’s going to keep happening until we decide to do something about it. And now that you two have seen it, I hope you tell your friends, tell the world, what you saw, tell them how close you came to being another victim, and maybe some kid out there will read it, some kid who’s hating life and blaming the system for their problems, will decide throwing everything away to join ISIS or whatever the next version of ISIS will be, isn’t worth it.”

  Mary sat in stunned silence, her chest aching, tears burning her cheeks, Alia gripping one arm, June the other. No one had spoken to her like that.

  Ever.

  Yet he was right.

  She played soccer growing up, it one of the cheaper sports her family could afford, and they never kept score. There were no competitions in school, and she couldn’t remember actually losing at anything.

  Or winning.

  And America was great. It had everything. Her life there had been good.

  Then why had she been so willing to throw it all away?

  She looked at him. “I-I don’t know why I did it.”

  He smiled at her. “I’m sorry for going off on you like that. I was venting at your entire generation, not just you.” He paused, holding a finger to his ear, then cursed.

  “What?”

  “Russians.”

  Niner grinned at Jimmy as they listened to Dawson’s rant. He rarely lit up like that, but he was obviously frustrated, and Niner understood why. They had been on hostage rescue missions before, though they were usually to save some politician, businessperson, public servant, or volunteer captured doing their job, or some idiot do-gooder getting himself caught.

  Yet this was different.

  These were two American girls who had decided they hated their country and their way of life so much, they would go join the most destructive, hateful force the planet had seen in decades, to join a cause with one goal—the establishment of Islam as the sole religion, to enforce Sharia law on the land, and to revert to a way of life not seen in over a thousand years, where there would be no women’s rights, no gay rights, no freedom of speech or the press. How anyone could be so delusional to think that was a good thing, was beyond him, and so frustrating at times, he agreed with every word coming from Dawson’s mouth.

  And the ironic part wa
s that the beliefs these two girls had adopted, had the roles been reversed, would have meant he and his team wouldn’t have rescued them. They would have left them there to be raped and tortured because they would have been infidels, unworthy of saving.

  Insane!

  Jimmy pointed ahead. “Edge of town.”

  Niner nodded, the A-10s making quick work of two vehicles wedged in the road ahead, the half-dozen manning the roadblock shredded to pieces by the 30mm shells. “Hang on!” He slammed into the smoldering vehicle on the right, shoving it out of the way with a jolt, breathing a sigh of relief at the empty road ahead of them. “We’re clear! We’ll be at the LZ in five mikes!”

  “This is Control, be advised we have Russian choppers heading to your position, over.”

  Niner cursed, exchanging a glance with Jimmy. “That’s all we need.”

  79 |

  The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Colonel Clancy stared at the tactical display in the operations center, everything not going to plan, though still going well. His team had successfully retrieved Alia Monroe but had gone off script, circumstances demanding it. And if they hadn’t, they would have left Red behind, never knowing he was still alive, the poor bastard likely to face weeks if not months more of torture.

  This time, going off script had paid off. And even if it wasn’t Red in that room, saving those other girls was the right thing to do, even if the Pentagon was screaming in his ear that they should have been simply released and left to fend for themselves, there not enough room in the chopper to evac them and Bravo Team.

  And that was the problem he had yet to solve. He had ordered another Black Hawk deployed, though it wouldn’t be there in time. They would evac the girls first then hold their position, or continue to run. But word had gone out and the enemy was converging on the area.

  He cursed. Silently. There was no need for the operations center staff to know how worried he was.