Still Alive Pt. 02

"How bad?"

"He … he's been beaten. He's unrecognizable," he responded through the encrypted radio channel.

Seconds later, four men scuttled into the room. "All clear, Dozer. Rheem and Otto are minding the doors," one advised.

Another unrolled a med kit on the floor and assessed the injuries which were visibly apparent.

"Holy crap on a cracker. I've only ever read it or seen it in movies. Never heard of people getting fingernails ripped out in real life⁠—oh, fuck . Check it. He might lose his nads."

Flack began dressing the fingers, and another cleaned and butterflied the lacerations on Wright's face.

"Can he be moved safely?" Martel asked.

"I think so. Not like we have a choice, do we?" Flack answered after seeing Dozer shrug uncertainly.

"Dozer, get everyone out of there. Leave the building standing," Burner said.

"Copy. What about the deceased?" he asked.

"How many?"

"Six."

"Leave them. Not our problem," she answered.

"Roger. Everyone, count your brass. We need to make sure we don't leave any behind except for one casing near each of the bodies. Chunk, go back to our stage, sweep the chalk cues, shut it down, and pack everything. Leave your weapons with me. Lose the body armor and helmets in case you're seen. Scooch and Leo, do the same and go with him. Bring the vans back here."

The trio acknowledged and sprinted back to the building they'd left not twenty minutes earlier.

The remaining men examined the mesh bags of the brass catchers attached to their Sig MPX-SDs, counting the spent casings. They then checked the magazines to ensure all seventy-two rounds each man had carried were accounted for. The last to confirm was Flack, because he spent a little more time touching up bandages before giving Major Wright a carefully measured dose of nalbuphine intramuscularly.

"Sure as shit hope this guy's not allergic to anything," he said when he'd completed the injection.

The load-out required less than a half hour. All had changed into ordinary attire so as not to draw suspicion by their previous appearance. Wright was strapped to a litter and concealed in the back of one of the three plain white vans. Flack monitored his vitals via Bluetooth sensors as they began their route to the base. Perimeter sentries and security were waiting, as was base EMS.

"Water," he heard the man groan.

"Name?"

His answer was barely intelligible. "Rye … mazher … doo wum shero⁠—"

"That's all I need to hear, sir. We're taking you back to Serrano. Sip slowly or you'll puke," Flack said, placing the valve of a Camelbak to Wright's lips.

He sucked three greedy swallows and coughed. Water and blood exited his nose.

"Listen to me. Go slow. Slow sips."

He continued to gulp desperately, forcing Flack to pull the straw away from his charge.

"We'll be secure in ten minutes. Medics will get an IV into you the moment we get through the gate. Just you wait. They're going to fix you right up," Flack advised, hoping it was true.

Having served his time in the Army as a field medic, he knew it was going to challenge the ability of whoever had the duty. Flack was equipped to provide an IV of normal saline, but when he'd tried to palpate the medial cubital vein in Wright's left arm, he couldn't find it or any other suitable infusion site. He knew the man was so severely dehydrated that, unless the medic was an expert, a central venous catheter would need to be placed by a doctor.

Thankfully, the injection of nalbuphine had done its job and afforded Major Wright some relief of the pain and offered, if only fitful, some sleep.

The members of the recovery teams stood clear as Navy corpsmen retrieved their asset from one of the three vans on their successful return to the base. They worked precisely but quickly. Martel and Gleek caught only fleeting glimpses of a beaten man's face.

"Dozer was right," she observed.

"About what?" Gleek asked.

Ashley was startled by the rush of emotion she felt, her objectivity rapidly fading. "I don't recognize him. He looks nothing like the picture we were given."

"You okay?" he asked. "You're not usually like this after a successful recovery."

"I've never been this close before. You and Dozer … have you seen an asset looking like that in other recoveries?"

"I see your point," Grady answered, because he had. "But it was successful."

Unsuccessful recoveries were rare at Wolfram Resources, but not unheard of. Grady understood that after-action reports containing two-dimensional photographs were much less unsettling to look at than a scene in person.

"Was it?" Martel barked. "His face is beaten to a pulp. Flack said he's so dehydrated he couldn't start an IV."

"He's still alive, Ms. Martel," added Colonel Richard Bragg who had been waiting alongside the others for ten minutes before the teams arrived. "I'd call it an absolute success."

"Maybe."

"I've secured accommodations for you," Bragg said. "Your men will bunk in the staging area we provided, but you're racking in VOQ. That's the Visiting Officer Quarters."

She nodded absentmindedly.

Everyone watched as the corpsmen closed up their unit and drove their charge to "sick bay," what the personnel called the on-base hospital.

"Come on, Burner. Let's go back and debrief," Gleek suggested.

Twelve men began moving to the waiting JLTVs.

"Ashley?" said Otto seeing his supervisor remaining where she stood when they started boarding.

"Yeah," she called back. "Sorry."

JONATO Base, Doha, Qatar
Wednesday, August 19, 2015, 10:30 PM

On their return to the staging area, they quickly unloaded the vans, and some enlisted personnel returned them to the motor pool. Gleek discovered a desert-sand-brown box with handles on its ends near the stack of Wolfram crates when he was tasked with checking the TamperTape on the ones left behind to ensure they hadn't been examined by anyone with prying eyes. He cautiously opened it and yelped before laughing hard.

"Someone sent us a gifty-gift!" he yelled over his shoulder as he pulled a beer from ice.

Hoots, hollers, and high fives echoed within the spacious area.

"Want to review the video now, or after we get back to Wolfram?" Dozer asked Burner as he cracked open a can. The pop and hiss mildly startled the woman to whom the question was directed.

"Uh … what?"

"The video. Now, or later?"

"Oh. Yeah. Let's have a look."

"Everyone bring me the chips from your helmet cams before crating them," Dozer yelled. "I'll lock them up separately."

Once Dozer had accounted for ten micro-SD cards, he, per typical procedure, began by playing the saved recording from the person who breached the first door of the building in which Wright was held.

"Two flank left, two flank right. One, two⁠—" The report of the breaching round fired by a shotgun was muffled by a plastic bottle stuffed with cotton. "Making entry!"

"Hold it. Go back," Martel said after several seconds of video had played. "Who are they?"

Otto back-ticked the player.

Smitty answered, "They were … uh … predeceased."

"They were already dead?"

"Yes, ma'am. The man had a bullet hole in the back of his head. His knee was blown out, too. The woman's throat was cut. Rheem found she was wearing one of Wright's dog tags around her neck."

"Jassim Kahn. The person responsible for the van," Martel posed.

"He does look like the man in the photograph Korke sent to Wesson."

"They said he had a daughter. A twenty-four-year-old. No way that could be her, is there?"

"Korke can figure it out once Wolfram sends photos of the scene."

"That's never going to happen, Dozer, and you know it. Wesson doesn't let anything out of the secure server unless it's under subpoena. This?" she said, pointing at the LCD screen. "This won't see the light of day again. The local authorities will have to deal with it."

"If they care," Gleek observed.

Ashley only shrugged.

The team spent another hour doing post-game analyses, looking for any flaws in their excision of Major Wright from his captors. Only two were noted and discussed at length. The men had expended a total of fourteen rounds of ammunition of the 720 they'd carried in their tactical suits, a percentage significantly lower than typical operations of the sort they had executed that evening. It wasn't a record-low ratio, however, though the duration of the entire operation, being merely fourteen hours, was.

"Okay. I think we're done here. I'll send Wesson a note that we'll be departing at noon. Let's get everything crated and sealed with TamperTape. And please … make sure you safe the weapons before storing them," she said, poking Rheem in the ribs with her elbow because he'd left a round in the chamber after his last job.

The task required two hours, and the men began filing out to catch some sleep. Ashley used a wall phone to dial an extension Colonel Bragg had provided. Even though it was close to three o'clock in the morning, the call was answered immediately. An aide arrived ten minutes later and drove an exhausted Martel to the VOQ. She was asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillows.

JONATO Base, Doha, Qatar
Thursday, August 20, 2015, 9:00 AM

Jet lag wasn't any problem at all. Martel slept soundly for a solid five hours until her alarm awakened her. She checked the local weather via an app on her phone before donning a jog bra, a tank top, spandex mid-thigh shorts, and a sun visor suitable for a run to get her blood moving.

After cinching her running shoes, she stepped out the door to be greeted by someone sitting in a Jeep.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Lance Corporal Stewart. I've been instructed to drive you to Colonel Bragg's office."

"How long have you been here?"

"About an hour, ma'am," she answered.

"I'm so sorry, Corporal. I had no idea you were waiting on me."

"It's no problem."

"I imagine I should change into something more appropriate than running clothes."

"You might be a distraction to some⁠— Uh … yes, ma'am."

The corporal's response elicited a smirk from Martel because she wasn't accustomed to her appearance being commented on by complete strangers.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said, returning to the suite where she changed into cargo pants and a sport shirt, packed her belongings, and rejoined the woman who was waiting at the door.

"Again, I'm sorry for making you wait."

"Really. It's no problem," Stewart said, relieving Martel of her baggage. "Hurry up and wait, you know?"

"I've heard the phrase but haven't ever been the subject of it."

"It's the Marines' unofficial motto," she said as they both climbed into a Jeep.

"Same for all the services, isn't it?" Martel asked.

"Probably," Corporal Stewart agreed. "Hang tight. I'll have you there in no time flat."

Martel laughed because the corporal's instructions were on point. She held onto the A pillar as the woman careened her way across the JONATO base, depositing her in front of the building she'd visited when she'd first arrived.

"Right this way, ma'am," said a sergeant at the door.

He opened it, and she followed him to an office.

The man behind the desk, though freshly shaven, looked haggard and weary.

"Good morning, Ms. Martel. Have a seat," Colonel Bragg said, gesturing to a chair.

"Rough night?" she asked.

"You could say that. I haven't slept since the night before."

"How is Major Wright?"

"Still in an OR. Some specialists were flown in from Landstuhl, Germany, and landed about an hour ago."

"He's been in surgery for ten hours?"

Bragg nodded. "His injuries were significant. He was so dehydrated that the doctor is concerned about renal failure or even brain damage. Bones in his face and jaws were broken. While you and your band of mercenaries were⁠—"

"Excuse me. Mercenaries?" Martel interjected. "I don't care for the label."

"I call it like I see it, and I'd appreciate it if you don't interrupt me. While you and your … colleagues were debriefing, I had the incredibly rich experience of calling Wright's parents and telling them what happened. I didn't know this until then, but Wright's mother is deaf, so I was really only able to speak with his father.

"There were a lot of questions. Unfortunately, I couldn't go into specifics because I have none to give. That's why I asked you in here this morning." He looked at his watch and added, "You look well-rested, so I'm sure you'll be more than able to tell me exactly what transpired?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to do that unless both Jeff Wesson and Major General Gonzales authorize it."

"That's it? One of my men was almost killed, and you're going to sit there and keep his commanding officer in the dark?"

"It's not my intent, Colonel, it … it's complicated. If you need, I can sift through some files on my laptop which explain how DoD-sanctioned engagements such as last night's are compartmentalized. I think I even have a note about where it's codified in the UCMJ."

"You've got to be kidding. You're going to throw a law book at me? You can't give me anything ?"

The man wasn't being belligerent. She sensed he was only desperate. His unit specialized in radio spectra and had most likely not had experiences even approaching what its commanding officer had witnessed the night before.

"Your question is fair, sir, but please forgive me if I can't be more forthcoming than what I am about to tell you."

The man's brows furrowed. He crossed his arms on the desk in front of him, leaning forward.

"We breached a building. There were two bodies, already dead. The men … they disabled four other armed individuals very covertly. The two men who remained in the forward staging area said they never heard a sound. Wright was found in a separate room along with another individual who was actively engaged in torturing your man.

"I don't know what the physicians have told you. You saw last night how severely his face was beaten. According to the extraction team's lead, the nails of his middle, ring, and little fingers were torn out. Wright had, by appearances, also been tortured in ways only males would understand."

The man visibly winced.

"How many men on your team were involved in this?"

"In one way or another, all of them."

"Twelve against four? Quite an advantage."

"It's how we achieve our objectives," Martel said.

"Can you tell me why any of this happened? It appears Wolfram had an interest in Wright. You asked about a specific person, by name, so you'd already been digging before he was grabbed. What am I missing? Why were you looking for him even before the shit storm of the last three days?"

Martel folded her hands in her lap, silently maintaining her steady expression. She didn't break eye contact during the several moments of silence that elapsed.

"You know something."

"When Wright recovers, you are certainly free to ask him. We can't prevent him from disclosing anything."

"If he recovers," countered the colonel, "it's quite possible he'll be relieved of duty. Whether it's an honorable or other-than-honorable discharge will depend on circumstances no one fully understands except you, apparently."

Ashley's heart sank at the tone of the man's voice.

The phone on the desk rang.

"Bragg," he answered and listened for several seconds. "She's here in my office. I'll let her know."

Ashley's brows arched before the man replaced the receiver.

"Your company's Gulfstream just entered our airspace. It'll be landing in about ten minutes. You're dismissed."

Ashley laughed lightly. "Colonel, with all due respect, I don't repor⁠—"

He waved her off. "I know, I know. It's habit. My apologies."

He then stood from the desk and walked her out of the building where Kimberly was waiting right where she'd been.

"One last thing," he said before she entered the Jeep. "I know I come off like an overbearing asshole sometimes, but … thank you. Thank you and everyone at Wolfram for allowing the call I had to make to Wright's parents easier than it might have been."

Martel smiled. "Believe me, sir, it was our privilege to get him back here. Thank you for your hospitality, flexibility, and whoever brought the cooler of beer to my teams. Can I ask you for the favor of keeping me informed on Wright's condition?"

"Why?"

Martel considered his question for several moments. "Just … because," she said before providing the colonel a telephone number few people knew. Corporal Stewart then drove her to the staging area where her staff was already loading sealed crates onto JLTVs which then drove to the flight line for their departure.

Over the Atlantic
Thursday, August 20, 2015, 8:21 PM EDT

The flight took on a well-deserved festive, celebratory atmosphere where there was no shortage of beer, wine, and liquor consumed once they had departed the refueling point in Munich, Germany.

Though she nursed two glasses of wine, Martel wasn't one of the revelers. She spent the entirety of the time scouring the web for information about a certain man. She read several articles in the Stars and Stripes after she paid for a digital subscription to gain access to the archives.

The earliest mention of Wright she was able to find described the events which earned him the Purple Heart and a posthumous one for a fallen member of his unit, a woman named Lance Corporal Brianna Michelson who was killed in theater when a Humvee in which both were passengers struck an IED. Wright was a sergeant at the time and was awarded a promotion to staff sergeant shortly thereafter.

An article published four years later included his name among a group of enlisted who had been nominated and selected to attend Officer Candidate School. Another later noted the names in his graduating class. His performance merited his commissioning as a first lieutenant. She recognized the name of Ronald Getz alongside Wright's.

In addition to being the subject in a number of articles, she discovered he'd also authored some as a contributor to the outlet.

What caught Martel's deeper attention, though, was the photograph she found in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch . It was a wedding announcement. The caption indicated Wright was the first of five groomsmen, all Marines in Class A dress uniforms. They held their ceremonial swords in an arch over the beaming bride and groom. Martel had the impression that the wedding had to have been quite lavish, considering the announcement was a half-page in the paper which wouldn't have been exactly inexpensive itself.

Oh, God. Those dimples again, she thought to herself as she studied the image.

"Whatcha doing, Burner?" said Chunk, startling her.

She quickly lowered the lid of her MacBook. "Uh … paperwork."

"Ah. You working tomorrow?"

"Maybe a half day. I'll need to inventory the crates and make a list of everything we left behind."

"Boring."

"You're telling me," she said, packing her laptop just as the landing gear deployed.

A significant advantage of Wolfram's flight originating from a NATO-controlled military installation was that the customs inspection was pro forma. Handlers made quick work of transferring crates from the Gulfstream for their return to Wolfram's secure building.

Though most of the men had driven themselves to the airport, a number of them wisely elected to take either public transportation or car services for the return to their homes.

When she got into her car, she wrote a name on a napkin she found in the center console as a reminder to look into the man featured in the photograph she'd been studying before the plane landed in Baltimore: Captain Adam Coleman.