AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I thought all you moneyed people did law?” Andy replied, standing and crossing the kitchen to get another beer.
Jamie laughed even louder. “Fuck no! Boring as hell. I could never do law.”
“So, what languages do you know?” Chris asked, genuinely interested. This was really the first truly personal information that Jamie Barratt had divulged to him.
“Uh…French, German, Russian….a little Arabic…”
“All those languages must have made you quite an asset to the army,” Andy replied as he sat down, three fresh beers in his hands.
“Somewhat,” Jamie said with a yet another shrug.
Chris didn’t want the conversation to gravitate towards Afghanistan again, so he interrupted politely. “Maybe President Barratt will put you on her staff. I reckon you’d be valuable with those qualifications.”
Jamie grinned at him, a genuine, warm smile. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
* * * *
The air was still as they came to a halt, almost all at once. It was too still, too quiet. The sun was high in the clear sky and it seemed to reflect harshly off the yellow sand and white rocks into their eyes. Sweat poured out of him and pooled in his hair, trapped by the helmet that fit snugly. The Kevlar vest was heavy and made his shoulders ache. His body was saturated under the layers he was wearing in the Afghan heat.
And in that second, he knew. He knew they had walked into an ambush.
He tried to give the signal to retreat but they were fired upon in that same instance. The whole unit tried to find cover but there was none. They were open, exposed—lambs to the slaughter. Except that none of the shots were meant to kill. The insurgents meant to keep them pinned down, meant for them to waste their ammunition trying to fire back. He gave the order to call in air support.
It was deafeningly loud, shots ringing in his ears. And then there was an explosion, and he was knocked onto the ground, ears ringing, and vision blurred, striking his head on a rock. When he came to, he discovered he had been blindfolded, hands tied behind his back and feet bound. He wasn’t alone—this squad were here with him, obviously in the same situation. His armour had been taken away and he had been stripped of his weapons, all except the Glock 19 strapped to his leg, just above his boot, under his khakis. He was in a truck—he knew because he was on the floor and not a seat, and his body swayed as the wheels bounced over stones and rocks.
He lost track of time as he tried to ease the bottom of his pants out of his boot, which was difficult because of the rope binding his feet, but he eventually managed it, just before the truck ground to a halt.
There was shouting and they were bodily dragged from the truck and into a building by many pairs of hands. He was separated from the others, his feet unbound as he was hauled upright. They were numb and painful to stand on.
“Who are you?” someone yelled at him in a vaguely familiar language.
He answered in kind, his own response slightly broken: name, rank, serial number. That’s all he was allowed to say. That’s all he wouldeversay.
They kicked at the back of his legs, and he dropped to his knees. And then they made the fatal error of cutting the bonds at his wrists. He was still blindfolded, but the second he felt the pressure ease on his skin, he went into action.
One elbow jabbed out and made contact with a stomach. At the same time, his other hand pushed the scrap of cloth upwards just enough so that he could see. The sudden light blinded him, but he blinked and lashed out, making contact again before reaching into his boot and pulling out the hidden Glock, sliding off the safety in a fluid, easy motion. His arm swung up, but he was still too blind to aim properly. He squeezed the trigger anyway.
The shot that rang out was real—too real to be in this nightmare—and Jamie’s eyes snapped open as he was suddenly roused. He was kneeling on the bed and his arms were outstretched, his finger on the trigger of a Glock 19.
There was a body on the floor.
* * * *
Chris had been woken by a shout and the sound of something ceramic falling to the ground and smashing—a lamp, perhaps. He was up immediately, throwing back the covers and grabbing the gun that he kept on the nightstand. Chris opened the door and swung up his arm, ready to meet an adversary, but it was only Boomer, whining piteously at Jamie’s closed bedroom door.
The dog looked frantic and pawed at the wood, trying to get it open with no success. Chris held his pistol steady with his right hand and used his left to turn the door handle. The door swung inwards, and Chris was met with the sight of Jamie, kneeling on the bed and holding a gun aimed right at him. His eyes were glazed, and Chris knew instantly that Jamie was still asleep. He threw himself to the ground a second before the gun went off.
The shot must have stirred Jamie from his semi-sleeping state, as a few seconds later, Chris heard him cry out in horror, followed by the sound of the gun hitting the floor. It was a miracle it didn’t go off again.
“Oh, my God, Chris!” Jamie shouted as he stumbled to get off the bed, his legs getting caught in the sheets and tripping him as he rushed to Chris’s side. “Chris?”
“It’s okay,” Chris replied as he eased himself up. “I’m okay.”
He wasn’t prepared for Jamie to practically fall onto the floor beside him and immediately wrap his arms around Chris’s neck and shoulders, holding him so tight that Chris had difficulty breathing for a few seconds.
“I thought I’d killed you,” Jamie whispered into the soft gray fabric of Chris’s T-shirt.
Jamie was trembling all over, his breathing ragged, and now it was Chris who wrapped both of his arms around Jamie and held him close.
