Paper Cranes

The Captive

Teague's POV:­

I crack my knuckles, stooping to tug on my boots.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Callen asks me, strapping on his bullet proof vests.

I send him a lopsided smile, rolling my eyes at him.

"Do I look like I am ready to go?" I tease him, holding out my arms in emphasis as one of the guys throws a shirt across the tent at me.

"Shut up and put a shirt on," Callen jokes. I chuckle and toss the shirt on, not caring if it is mine or not. By now all of our clothing is dirty and full of holes anyways. It doesn't really matter if this is his trashed shirt, or my trashed shirt, they all look the same by now.

Tying my combat boots, I survey my squad as we all suit up for a mission.

Many of the men keep up a playful banter, but some like myself suit up in silence, aware the war zone we are about to enter.

My mind drifts to my mother, my father, my brothers and my sister; the submissive I never got to meet yet, to hold or to love. I know I'm not dead yet, but thoughts like this always surface when we are about to go out.

We never know if we are going to come back and that's what makes us have these sentimental thoughts.

How long has it been since I was allowed to return home to Marin, to hug my mother or my sister, or any submissive for that matter? A year? Two?

It didn't sound like a long time, but when you're used to being surrounded by submissives all the time, cooking you breakfast, cleaning your laundry, cuddling with you, a reality without having one near is hard to cope with.

"Teague, hurry up and put your tampon in already. You're taking longer than my sister," Callen huffs, tossing me a baton. All the boys laugh and I playfully shove Callen, earning a punch to my arm.

"Listen up!" Our squadron leader shouts, coming in with orders. "Orders are to do an immediate sweep of the capitol of Duro. Any male is to be killed on site, no questions asked. It should be pretty quiet, but we have to be on our toes.

"This wouldn't be the first time they would have pulled this 'abandoned city' tactic. We're checking for survivors. Intel tells us some type of sacrificial ceremony went on... We have reason to believe it was their charges. If any charges are found alive, we are to bring them in. Alive.

"Any intel we can get from them could be one less day out here, so let's do our best to get our boys home, yes? Teague, it's on you today to keep whoever we find alive, our other medic has been pulled to another assignment. They need to be healthy enough to be questioned."

"Yes, Sir," I reply.

"... This is a classified mission, no one is to hear of this. It's a matter of national security and any breach in information will be dealt with as a matter of treason. Am I understood?" he asks sternly, a certain graveness in his tone.

"Sir, yes, Sir!"

He nods sharply and dismisses us to continue to ready.

I toss on my pack, adjusting my shoulders as I get reaccustomed to the weight.

I don't know what to make of orders, but it doesn't really matter—I've learned that much while I have served here. Something tells me today will not go as expected and I don't know yet if that is good or bad.