Trigger warning, short story with violence and torture. Not for everyone.
When she heard about the Division’s new secret project, she volunteered immediately. Her team mates at the base said she was mad. Trusting blindly with no option to back out if you changed your mind, was not for everyone. How exciting. Top Secret! It must have something to do with the insurgents. They would be briefed at their new location, which was somewhere in the desert, south of the base.
So here she was, packed in a hot airless SUV with four other volunteers. Not even army issue. Was being incognito more important than safety? She wasn’t sure. Her teeth jarred as they hit another pothole. Hannah was tempted to open the window but half the desert hung in the air as their small convoy snaked along. Someone farted. She gagged and tried to wind down the window. The handle came off in her hand. She glanced at the sergeant squeezed in next to her. He shrugged. Hannah dropped the piece of plastic to the floor and breathed through her mouth.
The road in front of them exploded and all hell broke loose. Gunshots tore through the air, coming from both sides. Bright spots of sun appeared in the door. Ambush! Hannah’s thoughts tried to keep up with what was happening outside. She threw open the door and dived to the relative safety of the rock lined ditch at the side of the road. The sun and dust made it difficult to locate their attacker’s position.
The sergeant threw himself on the ground next to her and rummaged in his pack. She provided wild return fire. Hot empty shells spilled over her, singeing through her fatigues. Her fellow volunteer tied a tourniquet above her knee. She hadn’t even noticed the bullet tear through her calf. She spared a glance back inside the vehicle. Why were the others still sitting there?
Oh. One was missing half his face.
The gunfire stopped. The desert was silent; apart from the moans coming from the first car and the gurgle and splosh of diesel spilling back to the earth. Hannah looked into the white face of her companion and saw the same gut wrenching fear mirrored there.
A shadow crossed them. How had they approached without a sound? The jubilant faces of the rebels were the last things she saw, before a rifle butt connected with her temple.
“Hannah Smith. Sergeant. 93425788.” She took a deep breath. The pain where they “cauterised” her leg made it difficult to think straight. “And I don’t know. I told you. We weren’t briefed yet.”
They had been at this for hours, but it would never be long enough to reveal what they wanted to know. Her tears had dried up. The room alternated spinning and rocking and cold sweats racked her body. Things were not looking good.
“Water. Please?” Her voice was so weak and pleading. If she wasn’t so scared, she would be disgusted with herself. All those months of training vanished in the face of real captivity and interrogation. A bowl of broth lay half-empty; the rest had dribbled down her torn shirt, scalding her. She had kept her lips sealed. It was heavily salted. An old trick.
“You leave us no choice, Eahira!” She turned to avoid his fetid breath.
Her eyes widened when he waved the latest tool in front of her. A rusted metal band with bloody studs circling the inside.
She thrashed frantically against her bonds as he fastened the band across her forehead. Standing behind her, he twisted the device. Hannah whimpered.
“Tell us where it is.” He tightened it a fraction as he repeated the question. Again and again.
Soon screams were the only answer she could give.
