Time Sensitive Target

Part 4 - Concrete Hell

Blood and bile surged up in my throat, and with a pathetic gurgle I spluttered it out and immediately gritted my teeth.
My jaw was in agony; I couldn't feel the ends of my legs; there was a persistent ringing in my ears, completely disorienting me; and every inch of my flesh burned. So, that was torture. Books and movies had it all wrong. No one burst through the door to stop it. No laser sights were trained on my captors before they could inflict more pain. Nothing, nothing at all, could have prepared me for the experience. On a screen the camera would have panned away, only the screams audible, merciful unconsciousness providing blissful relief.

The sheer expanse of time and pain shook me to my core. There was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel. The assault was on all senses, with the scent of blood, vomit, urine and whatever else... however many volts of electricity could do that to the human body. At times the embarrassment and humiliation eclipsed the pain. Tears pricked uselessly in my eyes as I relived smothering fabric pressed tightly against my face, the full force of what felt like a waterfall drowning me slowly and mercilessly.
After I had gurgled up two lungs worth of liquid, a stomach full of acid and whatever food remnants there were, I was forced to consume the bucket full of coughed up water, bile and food entrails. More vomiting ensued, and this went on, and on, and on, until I succumbed to unconsciousness. A sweet, serene escape; it was welcomed with open arms. But I soon return to hell when a sickening wave of adrenaline coursed through my veins until I was unnaturally bolt upright, searing pain from broken ribs groaning at the pressure as my arms rattled.

I had been left alone now, the last droplets of bloody drool drying into crust on my chin. I could barely move and didn't dare want to prompt more pain. I was rested up against a concrete wall at an awkward angle, so it would be better to shift over ever so slightly. I wasn't sure where to start, so I gave an exploratory wiggle of my fingers, which were pressed painfully against the dank coolness of the concrete ground. Then I tried pressing weight on both of my hands ever so slightly until a sickening pain jolted through my wrists. I gritted my teeth harder, the same pain searing through my jaw. I groaned aloud, a pathetic noise; I couldn't breathe through what was probably a broken nose congested with clots of bloody snot. I couldn't open my mouth either, so I kept my teeth gritted together, jaw painfully still, raspy breaths whistling out through my teeth. Nope, wrists broken then. I allowed my eyes to roll and eyelids sink down. Revelling I'm the small relief, I lulled myself into an uncomfortable and exhausted sleep.

*

Laughter erupted from the op room. Ant joined in too, avoiding the inevitable moment where they would have to take the proposition seriously.

"A co-op? Joint forces? Wha- who came up with this?" Ant steadied his laughter, he was slightly lost for words. He could entertain the idea of joining forces with a host nation, because that was political. But this... why would they co-op with the Americans?

"The HVP's they're asking for are under US military supervision. They're their property, to keep or to hand over. Obviously the captors went to them first, and the CIA extended the invite as courtesy," Graham knew he was harbouring the same feelings as the rest of the lads, but he had to keep it to himself.

"A courtesy? They're British citizens!" Ant exclaimed, slapping the blue brief folder down on the table.

"This one grew up not too far from me, crazy really. They haven't taken any Brit hostages in a long time," Rob drummed his fingers on the edge of the paper he was studying. Shame, beautiful girl. God knows what they'd do with her.

"They went out of their way this time, snatched in Greece. Smuggled through to Syria via Turkey, so it would have been a long shit journey. However they did it they went to a lot of trouble, so they're not going to kill them," Graham rested his hands on his hips, his slightly moist shirt sleeves rolled up in the uncomfortably muggy day. "Well boys, it's up to you. PM is unconcerned, as long as we can be seen to be doing everything possible to secure their safety. The decision to co-op is in your hands."

"Fuck," Ant exhaled an irritated breath. "Join forces with the Yanks, to save our own fucking women. You could send us there now and we'd have it done before they plan their operation," he threw his hands up and back down to the table with a heavy clunk. He didn't like the idea, but he would like it even less if the American's could claim victory over rescuing their own. His team would never live it down.

"Alright," he sighed. "Co-op with Devgru. If the op doesn't kill them I might."