P. O. W. Read online

  The sun had disappeared behind one of the mountain ranges, not that there’d been much sun to begin with, but with it gone, the temperature dropped drastically. The likelihood of being picked up after dark was slim to none, and night was fast approaching.

  “Looks like we’re in for a long night,” Stone whispered to Country over Benoit’s still body between them.

  As Stone was about to drift off to catch a few winks, Benoit shifted, then moaned. Stone wrapped his arm around him, pulling his face to his chest. First to comfort him and second to muffle his voice to his chest should he cry out. Watching him closely, Stone could see that he was starting to come to.

  “Hey buddy, I’m here,” Stone spoke softly, close to Benoit’s ear, offering him some comfort. “We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible, okay? Just need to lay low for a few more hours is all.”

  Stone hated seeing his buddy like this. Benoit and he had been through a lot over the last couple of years, and they had gotten close during that time. They were equal in height and build, weighed within five pounds of each other, but that is where all similarities ended. In every other way, they were complete opposites.

  They were so close that the others started calling the two friends salt and pepper, hardly ever seeing one without the other. Benoit had dark hair, opposed to Stone’s sandy blond; his complexion dark, whereas Stone was the fairer. Stone’s body was almost totally hairless, and Benoit was a walking fur ball. Benoit was straight and married, and Stone was gay and single, not that anyone on his squad knew that, especially Benoit.

  Dominique Jean Benoit had been raised in southern California, although his family roots were from the bayous of Louisiana. If anyone ever called Benoit by his first name, they would be in for a fight. He’d been teased unmercifully growing up, and hated the favored family name. From what he had told his best buddy, only his mother got away with calling him Dominique. His father and siblings called him Dom, and that was pushing it, as far as Benoit was concerned. Stone suspected part of the reason Benoit had joined the Marines was because of the bullying and constant teasing he’d had to endure growing up. He needed to prove what a badass he really was.

  Stone looked at his friend as he felt another vibration of a moan into his chest. He hugged his buddy closer. Benoit’s hand went to the back of his head, to the large bump that Stone had found earlier. He pulled back, looking up at Stone, a grimace on his face.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Not all that long,” Stone said, keeping his voice low. “Take it easy. I’m sure you’ve got one hell of a headache.”

  “You fucking got that right,” Benoit moaned, closing his eyes briefly. “How’s the kid?” He kept his voice low so that only Stone could hear him.

  “Not so good,” Stone spoke close to Benoit’s ear, smelling his maleness as he did so. “His shoulder was dislocated, and his leg is busted up pretty badly.”

  Benoit looked up at the sky. “Don’t think we’re gonna be picked up anytime soon.”

  “Yeah, I think we’re gonna have to tough it out for the night, at least.” Stone was still holding him tightly to his chest, still enjoying the close contact.

  “What about the others?” Benoit asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve not heard anything, but then they are probably doing what we’re doing, staying low. If they survived.” Stone’s face tightened. He couldn’t believe it, but he was getting hard, with Benoit being so close to him. Really? Now? Stone thought to himself. He had learned from the shrink in Special Forces training that men tended to get horned up as part of the basic instincts for survival. Something about it being self-procreation or some bullshit like that. Stone guessed that this was a prime example of that. There was no other reason for him to be all boned up at a time like this.

  “You seen any sign of the Tali’s?” Benoit asked, his liquid dark brown eyes questioning as well his voice.

  “Nope, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. Haven’t heard anything either, but with all this wind, it’d be hard to,” Stone answered.

  “Why don’t you try and catch a few Z’s?” Benoit suggested, still not moving away from Stone’s closeness. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Yeah, okay. Then I’ll keep watch for a while and let you get some rest, too.” Stone looked over to see that Country was dozing, his head nodding up and down a bit. “Keep an eye on Country there. He doesn’t look so good. I think he may be going into shock.”

  “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Benoit said, glancing over his shoulder at Country.

  Stone drifted off to sleep, with the man he secretly loved still in his arms.

  Chapter 2

  Stone jerked awake from feeling cold snow in his face. “What the fuck?”

  His eyes opened wide when he saw five––no, six men, four of whom were holding guns on Country, Benoit and himself: Taliban. Two of the other men, one older, one younger, probably close to Stone’s age, were off to the side, arguing. The younger was obviously angry, the older one remaining calm. All the Americans could do was to lie still, wait, and see what they were going to do.

  When the two men finished arguing, the angry one seeming to lose, one of the men holding a gun on the three Marines motioned for them to get up. Benoit and Stone slowly rose, and then started to help Country stand.

  The angry man exploded again, yammering on to the obvious leader he had been arguing with before he turned and walked away. The elder nodded. Two of the men forced Benoit and Stone towards the small path that the leader had just taken. Stone tried to help Country to walk, but one of the goons pushed him away from Country with the barrel of a rifle.

  The angry man had a sinister grin on his face as he walked up to Country, pulled out a pistol, and placed it on his forehead. He fired.

  “No!” Stone screamed in the still-early morning, the sound echoing off the rocks as Country slumped to the ground, his eyes still open, a look of surprise frozen on his face.

  Stone surged forward toward his friend, but two of the other Taliban held him back. Stone would never be able to forget the astonished look on Saundersen’s ashen face, his eyes wide, mouth open in a large ‘O’ as he struggled to stand on his one healthy leg. Then to see him lying in the snow, eyes still open wide, a hole in his beautiful head, a small trickle of blood running down his face, broke Stone’s heart.

  “Oh, God, no,” Stone sobbed, knowing that a bright light in the universe had just been extinguished. A light that only just begun to shine was now forever gone. It was all such a waste.

  Stone was shoved towards the path, the man who had murdered Country only moments before yelling, indicating they should move along the narrow path. With a gun jammed into Stone’s back, he had no choice but to follow behind Benoit and the other two men behind him, one holding a gun to his back as well.

  When they reached a small clearing, the group stopped. Benoit’s and Stone’s hands were now tied behind their backs. Then they continued their trudge down the narrow rocky path. It was difficult, even more so with their hands bound behind their backs; they almost lost their balance at times. It was barely dawn, the sun still hidden behind one of the ridges, and the wind was still blustery, chilling the Marines to the bone when they reached the bottom of the mountain side.

  During the long trek, Stone could think of nothing else but how he’d let Country down, hadn’t kept him safe. Perhaps had he tried to get him off this mountain, he would still be alive, and his future still bright. The tears that were streaming down Stone’s face caused him to chill even more, but he was now so numb that he didn’t even feel it. How could I have let this happen?

  A few hours later, they reached a clearing at the base of the two mountain ranges, Stone and Benoit saw that there were two large trucks, the beds open and uncovered, with benches. As soon as their captors had Benoit and Stone sitting opposite each other, they gagged the men and placed cloth bags over their heads, tying them securely around their necks.

  The T
aliban chattered away in their native language, which neither American understood; they remained silent. In situations like this, they were trained not to say anything.

  There was no way for the two Marines to judge how far or how long they drove, or in what direction, and quite frankly Stone was beyond caring. The only saving grace was that Benoit could not see him crying, and Stone was spared the disappointment in his face that he imagined was there. Stone could take almost anything, but he could never take his best friend’s disappointment in him.

  Stone was unfeeling by the time the trucks stopped. Whether it was the cold, the guilt over Country, fatigue, or all of the above, he wasn’t sure, and at that particular moment he didn’t care. He didn’t care, that is, until he heard Benoit grunt in pain and curse through his dirty rag gag. That sparked Stone back to the present, out of his self-induced funk.

  Whatever happened from there on out, Stone’s main objective now was to get Benoit out of this mess and back to his family, no matter what it took. He’d had extensive training for situations like this, and in the back of his mind he started reviewing everything that he had been taught.

  Roughly, Stone was taken by his upper arms and led into a building. The sudden warmth of being inside shocked his system; he became acutely aware of how cold he’d been. His body started shivering uncontrollably, his teeth clamping down hard on the gag, making the muscles in his jaw stand out, aching.

  Without warning, he was shoved face first into a wall. The noose around his neck was loosened, then taken off, and the hood removed. Stone was shoved hard back into the wall, its rough texture scratching his cheek. What was obviously the barrel of a gun was placed to the back of his head, and something said in Arabic. A few moments later, the bindings around his wrists were undone, making his hands tingle with the rush of blood, further proof of how cold he’d actually been.

  The light was dim in what looked to be a narrow hallway, with no apparent windows. The gun still pressed into the back of Stone’s head. His shivering body betrayed him, causing the coarseness of the wall to scrape the chapped skin on his cheek, rubbing away the skin.

  Still forced against the wall, Stone was stripped naked, the cold once again seeping into the very center of his being. He was brusquely pushed along the dirt floor of the hall, and outside, into a courtyard of sorts. There was a light snow falling, and the cold hit his naked, exposed skin like needles. It was only when Stone saw three other men, Taliban, standing there that he began to get a sinking feeling deep in his gut.

  They strung Stone up on a frame that reminded him of a swing set he’d had as a kid. A burst of pain went off in his head as they stretched his arms above his head, stretching the broken ribs. Then there was even more pain when his legs were stretched, then tied to the base of the frame. Stone was stretched tight, spread-eagle, naked, shivering in the cold. There was no sign of Benoit.

  A skinny kid, no more than eighteen, slowly walked towards the naked, spread-eagle Stone with an evil grin. Picking up a bucket, he threw water into the Marine’s face. The water was freezing, and after the initial shock, the cold air made Stone’s wet body shiver uncontrollably. The muscles in his jaw were cramping from biting down on the dirty gag so hard, but the rag kept his teeth from chattering.

  The kid did this over and over, waiting between each bucketful to let Stone feel the full effect. He could feel his body temperature drop with each subsequent dowsing. His nipples had pulled up so tight and hard he felt as though he could have cut diamonds with them. The pain in his side from the broken ribs had become a dull ache, and he recognized the feeling of his body starting to go into shock.

  The other men were cheering the kid on each time the tortured American was doused, feeding off each other like a pack of wild dogs. When Stone felt himself about to black out, he got a hard punch in the gut, making his side scream in pain, bringing him wide awake again. This went on and on and on, with no end in sight.

  When the two men who’d argued on the mountainside, one of whom had murdered Country, came into the courtyard, Stone’s blood flamed hot. He wanted to get his hands on that animal, wanting nothing more at that particular moment than to tear him from limb to limb with his bare hands. He felt he could have done it easily, even in his current condition.

  The calm, elder man regarded Stone with little interest, but his counterpart, the murderer, looked quite pleased at the Marine’s predicament. Stone hated that his body had taken on a mind of its own, showing how cold he really was. His body was shaking nonstop, with no way to stop it. Still, he was burning with hatred for what that murdering bastard had done to Country.

  Speaking in Arabic, the murderer said something to one of the younger men, the one who had thrown the buckets and buckets of cold water on the captive Marine. That young man then scurried from the courtyard, and the other two spoke among themselves as Stone hung there, shivering helplessly. Every so often the murdering bastard would glance at Stone, smiling, quite pleased with himself.

  The young man who’d left only moments before came running back into the courtyard, speaking excitedly, before falling silent. They all waited. It wasn’t much longer till Stone found out what they were all waiting for, or whom, as it turned out.

  A man strolled into the courtyard at a leisurely pace. He stood out from the others because he was clean-shaven except for a neatly trimmed mustache, and wore Westernized clothing. He seemed to be of the same height and build as Stone, and in an odd way, he reminded Stone of Benoit, whom he’d had not seen since they had arrived.

  When the newcomer looked at the prisoner, Stone got a hard, strong shock. The man had electric blue eyes, which against his dark Arab complexion seemed bluer than perhaps they were. If that weren’t enough, Stone’s gaydar went off, going all the way into the red zone. This beautiful Arab man was gay.

  He spoke quietly and calmly with the two apparent leaders, with his back to the naked Stone. Stone took the opportunity to look him over, to study him. His shoulders were broad, and he could see that he was in excellent shape. The slacks he wore looked as if they had been tailored. The drape of fabric wasn’t enough to hide the fact that he had a muscular ass and legs.

  Turning, his eyes locked on Stone’s, and there was that secret dialogue that always seemed to happen between gay men when they realized that they were of a select brotherhood. For the first time, Stone became acutely aware of how naked and exposed he was. He hadn’t really cared before, but now he felt his nakedness.

  Their eyes never broke contact as the newcomer approached Stone. He stopped right in front of Stone, their eyes still locked.

  “They need to know what your mission was.” He was close enough for Stone to feel warm breath wash over his skin, making goose bumps appear. Stone instantly recognized a proper, educated, British accent. That would explain the Western-style clothing, Stone thought.

  Of course, Stone couldn’t answer because of the gag in his mouth.

  Understanding his mistake, he reached behind the American’s head to untie the filthy piece of cloth, freeing his mouth. His warm skin almost caressing, he pulled the gag from around Stone’s head. The rag had sucked all the moisture out of Stone’s mouth, and he croaked instead of speaking.

  “Water,” the English-speaking Arab demanded over his shoulder. His voice was deep and authoritative; still, his eyes never left Stone’s.

  He must have been a man of some importance, because his order was followed immediately. The young man who had gone to get him, came with a bucket of water and a ladle. When he started to lift the ladle to let Stone drink, the Westernized Arab took the implement from the youth and brought the cold water to Stone’s mouth, letting him drink deeply.

  Once Stone had his fill, the newcomer dropped the ladle back into the bucket, but when the young man who had carried it over went to leave with it, the newcomer instructed him to set it down and leave. He looked back at Stone, and the connection between the two was even more apparent.

  Surprisingly, he lifted the d
og tags that hung around the Marine’s neck. “Stone, Samuel J.,” he read. Looking back into Stone’s eyes, his own eyes were sad. “A very strong name, Samuel Stone. You know they will not stop until you have told them what it is they want to know.”

  “If I tell them, then they will only kill me.” Stone’s voice still cracked, but at least he was understandable, not just croaking.

  The deepening sadness Stone saw in his eyes confirmed what he had said. “I wish I could help you, my friend, but my hands are as tied as yours.” Stone believed him, strangely enough.

  “Thanks. I believe you.” Right then, Stone knew he was doomed.

  “Perhaps…if it were…” His voice trailed off. Stone knew what he was thinking. He was wondering what might have been between them had they not met under these conditions.

  “I think I would have liked that,” Stone said sadly, knowing it would never happen.

  He gave Stone another long drink, of both water and of the sadness that each man silently spoke. Then he shook his head to his comrades, and quickly left the courtyard, significantly differently than how he had entered.

  The murderous bastard had such a gleam in his eyes; Stone knew he was looking forward to trying to get the information they sought out of the Marine by any means necessary. Stone’s resolve to beat him at his own game became stronger with every step that he took. Stone swore to himself, I will not give in, especially to this man.

  The slim, barbaric Arab barked out an order, and Stone was once again drenched in ice-cold water. His lips were numb from the cold, and he continued to shiver, his teeth now free to chatter away. More and more water was doused on the freezing prisoner. When Stone thought he couldn’t take any more, his torturer added another element. After the next bucket, he hit Stone with a cattle prod. The electric current screamed through his naked, shivering body, up and out, creating an obscene duet with his own scream to the skies.