Dangerous Love V 2.0
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,511
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
4
Views:
2,511
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Ambushed
War. What exactly is war? The dictionary defines war as “a state or period of armed hostility between two nations or two parties within a single nation.” But can we really define war in a few words? Is it really that simple. The soldiers who fought in war may tell you the same, they may tell you different. But all can agree that war is horrible, filled with unreasonable hatred. It’s human nature to fight and squabble, but how necessary is war? Lives are lost, money is spent, technology is destroyed... How can war benefit the people? Especially those who have been abandoned by their country...
~*~*~*~*~
Mark Sanchez had never thought of himself as the military type. In junior high he was a band geek and in high school he had not only acquired first chair, but was part of the chorus, art clubs, and business clubs. But it had been that trip to Colorado Spings, Colorado that had changed his mind. His parents wanted him to go to Colorado State University down in Ft. Collins, Colorado. They had driven all the way from San Bernardino, his mother wanting to see the sights since his father was scared to death by planes. It was the sight of the U.S. Air Force Academy that caught his interest. No one could mistake the giant white church with the Colorado Rockies for a background just a normal college. Amazingly, they had been able to set up a visit, and seeing all of the cadets in those Air Force blues...
It wasn’t hard to get accepted. He had maintained well above a 4.0 grade point average all through school. With California being as big as it was, it wasn’t too hard to get a nomination as well. Though he wasn’t athletic, he had been able to survive the summer training before his freshman year. He had been able to survive his freshman year over all and had been able to complete the four years of a military academy. He had been picked out of thousands of officers to lead special forces, and after another year of training with the special forces, he was allowed to lead.
So here he was, on his first mission, excited about finally getting out in the field and keeping his country safe, and he had been caught. They all had been caught. It had felt like forever from first getting seen to finally getting detained. They had been blindfolded, bound, and gagged. They had been beaten and tortured. And it had been all in the first twenty-four hours.
A groan pulled Mark out of his thoughts as he looked around, his vision slightly blurry thanks to a blow to the head. He wasn’t alone in this grimy old cell; an Airman First Class named Jason Neff shared the cell with him. His subordinate was in just as much pain as he was. They had been beaten to the brink of blacking out, just so their captors could get them in their cells. They were beaten once they were in their cells as well, just for the hell of it. Mark had barely felt much pain, using survival techniques learned while in Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) training. He was sure that Airman Neff had gone through SERE training also, but what he didn’t know was whether SERE was the same for officers and enlisted. It always seemed that officers were better treated. “Airman Neff?” He finally murmured, sucking in a long, slow breath to ease the pain in his ribs. “How are you holding up?”
“Just- ngh... Just fine, Sir.” Airman Neff groaned out after turning to ease the pressure on his bound hands. Though beaten and behind bars, the enemy had refused to untie them.
“Just fine?” Mark had to force out a laugh, resting the back of his head on the stone wall. “I think ‘just fine’ would be if we were back on base and drinking a martini.”
“I’m too young to drink, Sir.”
“Too young? Holy fuck...” Mark forced out another laugh, praying that the laughter would try and ease up the situation. All it did was anger the guard that sat outside their cell door. He had yelled something in Russian, kicking the bars of the door with a booted foot before going back to whatever book he was reading before the American’s had interrupted them. Mark could only frown. “So... Airman Neff... Where are you from?”
“Texas, Sir.” Neff had answered, his obvious accent confirming his claim. “Was born in Dallas ‘fore I moved down to San Antonio. My Daddy was an Airman. E-7 to be exact. Thought I could follow my Daddy’s footsteps, that’s all.”
“So you lived on Lackland?”
“Yes Sir. Was kinda funny just movin’ to the other side of the base for Basic. Went from pretty good to shit hole in twenty minutes.”
Mark couldn’t stop himself from really laughing this time, the way Airman Neff was still so honest even in this situation. But once again his laughter earned them another couple hard kicks to their door. The guard had growled out something else, his gestures threatening. Maybe he should stop laughing. Mark turned his attention back to the Airman that laid on the floor next to him, opening his mouth to continue his conversation when a noise grabbed his attention. It was familiar; a soft clicking sound that reverberated through the stone halls. It almost sounded like a piece of metal was hitting the stone, almost like... “Boot taps?” Mark murmured to himself, dragging his eyes from the beaten Airman to the cell doors. The guard was standing now, stiff as a board while giving a horrible salute. Someone of high stature must have been coming. Mark shifted slightly, a deep frown etched on his face as the noise came closer. Although it seemed as though the Airman was as clueless as ever.
“Sir?” Neff murmured as he shifted on the floor, turning on his side to look up at Mark. “Ya think we can make it outta this hell hole alive?”
“Hush...” Mark shot back, a shadow of a man appearing on the inside of their cell before just as its owner appeared before their cell door. He was a tall man, passing six feet easily. Strands of blond hair peeked out from his WWII-era officer’s cap as icy blue eyes stared back at him. Mark could feel the hair start to rise on the back of his neck from the sheer power that was radiated from this man. Not only did he look like he had just stepped out of a Nazi propaganda ad, but he made it seem almost right.
Marked jumped when the door to their cell was opened, the tall Russian murmuring something in the language to the guard. What could they have been talking about? His heart rate was starting to pick up when the Russian’s eyes landed on him, a small sneer appearing on the man’s face. “Which one of you...” He spoke slowly, his voice heavily accented. “... is in command?”
“I...” Mark started off, suddenly feeling as though his mouth and throat was dry. What the hell was wrong with him? It was as though he was... scared? “I am...”
“Very well, then.” The Russian replied, pulling out a luger. Talk about really coming out of a Nazi propaganda ad. The man aimed the weapon at them, Mark’s eyes widening. No. No, he wasn’t going to... The gun fired, and Mark waited for the pain. When none came, his eyes went to his subordinate and cell mate, who lay unmoving on the floor. The bullet had gone through the poor kid’s skull to kill him instantly. This couldn’t have been happening. Neff was barely pushing 19. He had JUST come out of tech school!
“Jason!!!” Mark cried out, trying to move to the body. But a guard wouldn’t allow it. He was held back, kicking and screaming when two other guards came in and grabbed the body, only to drag it out of the cell and leave behind a trail of blood. As soon as the metallic smell of blood reached him, Mark felt as though he was going to be sick.
“This...” the blond Russian murmured, his voice still as cool and emotionless as ever. “...is a reminder. We have more Americans alive than just the ones from your squad. If you do not cooperate, commander, than we shall kill each one and have you witness their death. And it will all be your fault...”
“My...My fault...” Mark choked out. His fault? How could that blond son of a bitch put such a burden on him? He wanted so much to yell and scream, to fight against the guard that held him back, but he couldn’t make his body move and now he was alone. With wide eyes, he watched as the blond turned on heel and left, each step reverberating through the cell thanks to the now obvious boot taps. Airman Neff was dead. JASON was dead. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
This had to be the worst feeling in the world.
Mark Sanchez had never thought of himself as the military type. In junior high he was a band geek and in high school he had not only acquired first chair, but was part of the chorus, art clubs, and business clubs. But it had been that trip to Colorado Spings, Colorado that had changed his mind. His parents wanted him to go to Colorado State University down in Ft. Collins, Colorado. They had driven all the way from San Bernardino, his mother wanting to see the sights since his father was scared to death by planes. It was the sight of the U.S. Air Force Academy that caught his interest. No one could mistake the giant white church with the Colorado Rockies for a background just a normal college. Amazingly, they had been able to set up a visit, and seeing all of the cadets in those Air Force blues...
It wasn’t hard to get accepted. He had maintained well above a 4.0 grade point average all through school. With California being as big as it was, it wasn’t too hard to get a nomination as well. Though he wasn’t athletic, he had been able to survive the summer training before his freshman year. He had been able to survive his freshman year over all and had been able to complete the four years of a military academy. He had been picked out of thousands of officers to lead special forces, and after another year of training with the special forces, he was allowed to lead.
So here he was, on his first mission, excited about finally getting out in the field and keeping his country safe, and he had been caught. They all had been caught. It had felt like forever from first getting seen to finally getting detained. They had been blindfolded, bound, and gagged. They had been beaten and tortured. And it had been all in the first twenty-four hours.
A groan pulled Mark out of his thoughts as he looked around, his vision slightly blurry thanks to a blow to the head. He wasn’t alone in this grimy old cell; an Airman First Class named Jason Neff shared the cell with him. His subordinate was in just as much pain as he was. They had been beaten to the brink of blacking out, just so their captors could get them in their cells. They were beaten once they were in their cells as well, just for the hell of it. Mark had barely felt much pain, using survival techniques learned while in Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) training. He was sure that Airman Neff had gone through SERE training also, but what he didn’t know was whether SERE was the same for officers and enlisted. It always seemed that officers were better treated. “Airman Neff?” He finally murmured, sucking in a long, slow breath to ease the pain in his ribs. “How are you holding up?”
“Just- ngh... Just fine, Sir.” Airman Neff groaned out after turning to ease the pressure on his bound hands. Though beaten and behind bars, the enemy had refused to untie them.
“Just fine?” Mark had to force out a laugh, resting the back of his head on the stone wall. “I think ‘just fine’ would be if we were back on base and drinking a martini.”
“I’m too young to drink, Sir.”
“Too young? Holy fuck...” Mark forced out another laugh, praying that the laughter would try and ease up the situation. All it did was anger the guard that sat outside their cell door. He had yelled something in Russian, kicking the bars of the door with a booted foot before going back to whatever book he was reading before the American’s had interrupted them. Mark could only frown. “So... Airman Neff... Where are you from?”
“Texas, Sir.” Neff had answered, his obvious accent confirming his claim. “Was born in Dallas ‘fore I moved down to San Antonio. My Daddy was an Airman. E-7 to be exact. Thought I could follow my Daddy’s footsteps, that’s all.”
“So you lived on Lackland?”
“Yes Sir. Was kinda funny just movin’ to the other side of the base for Basic. Went from pretty good to shit hole in twenty minutes.”
Mark couldn’t stop himself from really laughing this time, the way Airman Neff was still so honest even in this situation. But once again his laughter earned them another couple hard kicks to their door. The guard had growled out something else, his gestures threatening. Maybe he should stop laughing. Mark turned his attention back to the Airman that laid on the floor next to him, opening his mouth to continue his conversation when a noise grabbed his attention. It was familiar; a soft clicking sound that reverberated through the stone halls. It almost sounded like a piece of metal was hitting the stone, almost like... “Boot taps?” Mark murmured to himself, dragging his eyes from the beaten Airman to the cell doors. The guard was standing now, stiff as a board while giving a horrible salute. Someone of high stature must have been coming. Mark shifted slightly, a deep frown etched on his face as the noise came closer. Although it seemed as though the Airman was as clueless as ever.
“Sir?” Neff murmured as he shifted on the floor, turning on his side to look up at Mark. “Ya think we can make it outta this hell hole alive?”
“Hush...” Mark shot back, a shadow of a man appearing on the inside of their cell before just as its owner appeared before their cell door. He was a tall man, passing six feet easily. Strands of blond hair peeked out from his WWII-era officer’s cap as icy blue eyes stared back at him. Mark could feel the hair start to rise on the back of his neck from the sheer power that was radiated from this man. Not only did he look like he had just stepped out of a Nazi propaganda ad, but he made it seem almost right.
Marked jumped when the door to their cell was opened, the tall Russian murmuring something in the language to the guard. What could they have been talking about? His heart rate was starting to pick up when the Russian’s eyes landed on him, a small sneer appearing on the man’s face. “Which one of you...” He spoke slowly, his voice heavily accented. “... is in command?”
“I...” Mark started off, suddenly feeling as though his mouth and throat was dry. What the hell was wrong with him? It was as though he was... scared? “I am...”
“Very well, then.” The Russian replied, pulling out a luger. Talk about really coming out of a Nazi propaganda ad. The man aimed the weapon at them, Mark’s eyes widening. No. No, he wasn’t going to... The gun fired, and Mark waited for the pain. When none came, his eyes went to his subordinate and cell mate, who lay unmoving on the floor. The bullet had gone through the poor kid’s skull to kill him instantly. This couldn’t have been happening. Neff was barely pushing 19. He had JUST come out of tech school!
“Jason!!!” Mark cried out, trying to move to the body. But a guard wouldn’t allow it. He was held back, kicking and screaming when two other guards came in and grabbed the body, only to drag it out of the cell and leave behind a trail of blood. As soon as the metallic smell of blood reached him, Mark felt as though he was going to be sick.
“This...” the blond Russian murmured, his voice still as cool and emotionless as ever. “...is a reminder. We have more Americans alive than just the ones from your squad. If you do not cooperate, commander, than we shall kill each one and have you witness their death. And it will all be your fault...”
“My...My fault...” Mark choked out. His fault? How could that blond son of a bitch put such a burden on him? He wanted so much to yell and scream, to fight against the guard that held him back, but he couldn’t make his body move and now he was alone. With wide eyes, he watched as the blond turned on heel and left, each step reverberating through the cell thanks to the now obvious boot taps. Airman Neff was dead. JASON was dead. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
This had to be the worst feeling in the world.