Chapter 1
Operational Mistakes
He could already feel the life slipping away from him. The distant sounds of the gunfire were slowly drowned out by the silence that was nearly deafening by itself. If only that he would have known that damn clip was empty, if only. His vision was fading now too, a black haze creeping in from the sides of his eyes. From all around his body he could feel the vibrations of the enemy grenades, the shake from incoming rockets. He could hear the muffled cries of his fellow soldiers, cornered, trapped, dying. What was the point of this mission, why would these Americans have to be sacrificed, why, why, why. This thought stayed in his mind as he slowly faded out, into death, into peace.
Chapter 2
Personal Agendas
The men in the room knew how serious the incident had been. A group of elite American operatives had been discovered operating in a very unfriendly Lebanon, doing very illegal things for this very secret group of some very rich and important men. They had known the project had been a long shot from the very beginning. It had been a risk worth taking in their views; the lives of the petty agents were of little concern to them. This turn of events however was not expected. The mission that had been pre-scripted as a dead switch for the men, an impossible mission during which the project could essentially be de-constructed with had failed. One of the agents had lived, and was now in the hands of the very men who America was at war with. It wasn’t a fear of the agent breaking down that feared them, as they all knew he was to deeply committed to his country to divulge anything, it was the mere fact that he was still living that scared them; a living piece of evidence to their greed and treason. Something had to be done, the men all knew it; they couldn’t rest all of their hopes for secrecy on a single agent that they weren’t even sure still couldn’t remember what they had done…
Chapter 3
Imprisoned
The wash of cold water bit into his face, like thousands of tiny needles penetrating his skin. He opened his eyes slowly, not knowing whether he would wake up in heaven dead, or back in his Virginia townhouse and realize that it had all just been a dream. The answer he received shocked him more then if he had just been confronted with the vision of Michael the Arch Angel. Standing a few feet in front of him, still holding the bucket of freezing water was a middle aged Middle Eastern looking male wearing the garb of a Hezbollah soldier. It took only a brief moment of shock before Bruce regained his composure, and aloud his countless hours of training to take over. He began discretely testing his bonds, checking for any looseness. Before he could find one however, another startling fact came to light, he was badly injured. Before he had finally succumbed to the pain and passed out on the battlefield, he had sustained several bullet wounds, two of which were just shots that grazed his side. The other however, had slammed into his calf muscle, virtually making it impossible for him to move with any speed, therefore robbing him of the chance to attempt an escape. Another shower of freezing water, this time getting him to cough, alerting the guard to his regained conscious. The guard left, quickly brining in what looked like an older religious leader, though Bruce doubted he was there to “spread the faith.” The questions came at him as fast as lightning, question after question. “Who sent you?” “Why do you disturb the peaceful Muslims in this country?” “Who do you work for?” “Are you American?” Bruce bit his tongue, keeping him from responding in English. Sputtering back fragmented responses in French, he pleaded with them to let him go, that he was part of a secret French special forces group sent to evacuate citizens trapped in Lebanon’s civil wars. The guard started to yell, but quickly silenced himself. Bruce looked the man in the eyes, trying to convey the fear he imagined a French agent would be feeling at the moment. The guard bought it, leaving to the room to confer with the other guard as whether or not to report this information back to headquarters. This was the moment Bruce had been waiting for; moving quickly he started fraying his rope bonds with his teeth, loosening them to the point that he could move his hands freely if the need be.
Decisions
“So it is decided then?” the tall man in the gray suit asked rhetorically. The other suited men nodded in agreement, knowing that this was the last possible action they had left.
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