Page 22 of Scar

Julian blinked, still unable to open his lids all the way. His eyes felt like he was wearing sandpaper contacts. Everything hurt, from his nose and ears to his eyes, mouth, tongue, throat… Like he’d taken a shower in sand instead of water.

Recalling the metal he’d used to lift himself, he used his finger tips to investigate more. The links were easily identifiable as thick pieces of chain. He realized then that his hands were above his head. His cheek was resting on his right bicep, like a makeshift pillow.

Julian managed to open his eyes—and immediately wished he hadn’t. They were indeed inside a dimly lit cave. A string of lightbulbs ran around the outline of the misshapen ceiling, illuminating the different hues of brown and sepia surrounding them. Scorch marks like blackened grill marks hinted that the structure was manmade.

The rough grainy feel, like brick, on his back told Julian that he was not wearing a shirt. His arms were bound above his head by thick manacles attached to the ceiling by chains. He could hear running water but saw no visible stream. There were no windows or doors, no sunlight to indicate the passing of time. A break in the wall created a horseshoe-shaped room rather than a circular one. He could not see what lay beyond the darkened gap.

To his right, hanging in the same fashion as Julian, was St. Nick. He had a black eye, split lip, and a chunk of his right ear was missing. Cajun was next; he was still unconscious, all of his body weight hanging from his bleeding wrists. Farmboy was bleeding from his shoulder, but Julian couldn’t see the shape of the wound to know the cause. The former CIA operative was trying to loosen the bolts of his chains from the ceiling to no avail. Sparkles was trying to contort himself in such a way that he was putting a tremendous amount of pressure on his shoulder, as if he was trying to pop it back into place.

Little Tyke, the twenty-two year old that had been on their team for less than a week, was trying in vain to stretch his foot far enough to reach the center of the room. In the middle lay Patriot’s still form. Half of his head was missing, taken in the initial explosion, but he was still recognizable. Unlike the rest of them that were stripped down to the skivvies, Patriot was still in his uniform and boots.

Next to him was Lamb Chop. The man was not bound or restrained in any way, because he honestly didn’t have to be. The gaping hole in his chest guaranteed that he would not be any threat. Lamb Chop’s eyes stared up at the ceiling sightlessly as he took gasping, irregular breaths. His hand kept opening and closing at his side, like he was trying to reach for someone or something. His blood-splattered skin was deathly pale.

Even if Little Tyke could reach him, it would be pointless. The soldier had minutes left, if that.

St. Nick was the one who’d spoken to Julian, coaxing him back to consciousness. He was staring at Julian through his one good eye. “You with us, Solo?”

Julian nodded carefully, not wanting to invoke pain or sickness again. “How long?”

“Few hours,” St. Nick replied. “One tried to kill Lamb Chop, but the others wanted him to…” St. Nick’s voice trailed off. “Tyke says that they’re speaking a very specific dialect but he can get a good amount and glean the rest.” St. Nick’s expression and voice turned somber. “They want the code, Boss.”

Fuck. Julian closed his eyes, dread filling his soul. Best case scenario, the terrorists trigger the package’s failsafe and destroy the contents. They would kill Julian and his team in anger of their failure, likely making their executions public and humiliating, but it would be quick. Worst case… If they knew about the failsafe then they would know the only way to get inside would be with the code.

The code only Julian knew.

Their route to Mazar-i-Sharif was classified, or it was supposed to be. Yet they’d been ambushed with such precision that it could have only been a coordinated attack. That led Julian to believe that someone had told the Taliban about the package, which meant there was a high possibility that they also knew about the failsafe.

“No, Lamb Chop! Hold on! I’m almost there! Just hold on!”

Little Tyke’s desperate plea rang through the cave, but the echoes did not give his words strength. A glance at Lamb Chop confirmed what Julian had already known. His brother in all but blood was gone.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Julian gave himself a moment to grieve before squaring his resolve. “Tyke!” he shouted. The harshness of his voice startled the young man enough that he froze in his attempts to reach his teammate. He looked up at Julian with tear-filled eyes from across the cave. “Save your strength. He’s gone. You can’t help him now.”

Little Tyke winced. The kid went through the same training they all had, but this was still his first mission out. He was so fucking young. What he needed now was a bit of harshness, not coddling him like the toddler they’d named him. He needed to understand the reality of what they were facing.

The fear in Little Tyke’s eyes was real because he knew the unlikelihood that he would ever see his family again. The kid had a fiancée back home.

Fuck. An image of Lamb Chop’s little girl popped into Julian’s head. That precious girl had just lost her father and didn’t even know it.

Two of their brothers were down. There was a high possibility that their mission had been betrayed, doomed to fail before they’d even been given their orders. Cajun’s prediction that the mission would go tits up had now become a reality.

Unless they figured out a way to escape, they were all going to die. Rescue would not come because the package was not supposed to exist. Commander Arik’s private warning to Julian rang through his head. Neither man knew what was in the package, only that they’d been told it could not, under any circumstances, fall into enemy hands. The repercussions of such a fate could mean mass American casualties.

It was why a stealth mission had been chosen for transportation. Several decoys had been launched the days prior to Julian’s Delta Team’s departure. No one was supposed to know.

Yet they’d known.

Whatever was inside the package needed to be protected at all costs.

Julian looked around the manmade room. From St. Nick to Cajun, who was still unconscious, to Farmboy, Sparkles, and finally Little Tyke. His brothers. The six of them would face whatever it was that was coming together. Because the knowledge of how to open the package might be in Julian’s head, but it still would not save their lives.

Unless they escaped, they were dead either way.

* * *

It wasanother several hours before five men came storming into the cave. The six Deltas had done everything in their power to escape from their shackles, but the manacles would not budge. Sparkles’ dislocated shoulder limited him. Cajun had finally woken up. Like Julian, he was obviously concussed and was suffering the aftereffects.

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