already taken by Styles and Miller. Gonzalez could remember Miller returning to the base but after that it all went fuzzy. As they were pushed towards the seats Miller tried to stand and was pistol-whipped by a Talib for his trouble. Without a word from any of their captors, Rockbridge and Gonzalez were made to sit. Rockbridge sat teeth clenched attempting to hide the pain that his shattered shoulder was causing him. Two Talibs, their faces covered by Shemags stood behind cradling AKs. Their leader appeared and addressed the Americans in Pashtun. A much younger Talib, whose beard reminded Gonzalez of pubes, translated.
“He says that Ghulam Ali is a name you and all of the ISAF forces will learn to respect and fear!”
“If you let us go now I can promise that you will be treated fairly by the Government of your country.”
Ghulam Ali’s eyebrows raised as the translator relayed Rockbridge’s reply. The warlord then laughed so hard that his belly shook. After he had regained his composure he replied again via his translator. “You are a famous American comedian, but you shall soon stop joking. Now you shall each read a statement to the camera and then we shall see what your own government says.”
Another Talib stepped forward carrying several sheets of paper. He tried to hand one to Styles who snatched the paper, quickly scrunched it into a ball and rammed it into his mouth. Without hesitation Ghulam Ali drew a Makarov pistol from his waistband and shot Styles in the left knee. Styles screamed.
The translator again made the Afghan leader’s words clear. “The next refusal gets one in the head. What is it, can you not read? Are you that backward?”
The video camera was now switched on. Apart from Styles’ moans the group was silent. Each American was handed their own piece of paper. Rockbridge studied his, the hand was spidery but the English correct. He looked up to meet the eyes of his captor. Rockbridge was under no illusion that the man was capable of murder but would he really risk the loss of such an HVH as himself or one of the Deltas?
Miller must have been thinking the same as without warning he stood. “I ain’t reading this. Screw you.”
The round hit Miller in the forehead, propelling him backwards. Gonzalez snarled and Rockbridge closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Two Talibs dragged Miller’s body away, his head leaving a bloody trail.
“Read.” Ghulam Ali said in thickly accented English as pointed his Soviet sidearm at Rockbridge.
Rockbridge looked at the note again and cleared his throat.
***
In the darkness Dratshev thought about his next move. The serum codenamed ‘Chornyi Svet’ (black light) had shown promise, at least one subject had displayed signs of photoresistance. The serum was derived from the blood of the elder of a small clan of Ingush in the North Caucasus region of Chechnya. Local legend had put the man’s age at well over one hundred and twenty. There were many more legends in other former Soviet territories. This had lead Dratshev to tie longevity with the missing ‘daylight’ gene, namely the human body’s ability to repair dead cells. Following this lead he had undertaken some research in Abkhazia where there had been reports since the nineteenth century of many men living well past a hundred. Some noticeable examples such as Tlabganu Ketsba had claimed to be one hundred and forty. Western science dismissed these claims as lies or mere Soviet propaganda but as with stories of vampires, Dratshev knew there was some truth. He had pursued this link over a century before but without the advancements of modern science had been unable to establish a strong enough tie. In 2008 the war involving Abkhazia, South Ossetia, Georgia and Russia had given him another ‘in’ but when peace had been established less than a month later Dratshev had been forced yet again to pull out and much of his new research had been destroyed by an errant Georgian artillery shell.
“He says that Ghulam Ali is a name you and all of the ISAF forces will learn to respect and fear!”
“If you let us go now I can promise that you will be treated fairly by the Government of your country.”
Ghulam Ali’s eyebrows raised as the translator relayed Rockbridge’s reply. The warlord then laughed so hard that his belly shook. After he had regained his composure he replied again via his translator. “You are a famous American comedian, but you shall soon stop joking. Now you shall each read a statement to the camera and then we shall see what your own government says.”
Another Talib stepped forward carrying several sheets of paper. He tried to hand one to Styles who snatched the paper, quickly scrunched it into a ball and rammed it into his mouth. Without hesitation Ghulam Ali drew a Makarov pistol from his waistband and shot Styles in the left knee. Styles screamed.
The translator again made the Afghan leader’s words clear. “The next refusal gets one in the head. What is it, can you not read? Are you that backward?”
The video camera was now switched on. Apart from Styles’ moans the group was silent. Each American was handed their own piece of paper. Rockbridge studied his, the hand was spidery but the English correct. He looked up to meet the eyes of his captor. Rockbridge was under no illusion that the man was capable of murder but would he really risk the loss of such an HVH as himself or one of the Deltas?
Miller must have been thinking the same as without warning he stood. “I ain’t reading this. Screw you.”
The round hit Miller in the forehead, propelling him backwards. Gonzalez snarled and Rockbridge closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Two Talibs dragged Miller’s body away, his head leaving a bloody trail.
“Read.” Ghulam Ali said in thickly accented English as pointed his Soviet sidearm at Rockbridge.
Rockbridge looked at the note again and cleared his throat.
***
In the darkness Dratshev thought about his next move. The serum codenamed ‘Chornyi Svet’ (black light) had shown promise, at least one subject had displayed signs of photoresistance. The serum was derived from the blood of the elder of a small clan of Ingush in the North Caucasus region of Chechnya. Local legend had put the man’s age at well over one hundred and twenty. There were many more legends in other former Soviet territories. This had lead Dratshev to tie longevity with the missing ‘daylight’ gene, namely the human body’s ability to repair dead cells. Following this lead he had undertaken some research in Abkhazia where there had been reports since the nineteenth century of many men living well past a hundred. Some noticeable examples such as Tlabganu Ketsba had claimed to be one hundred and forty. Western science dismissed these claims as lies or mere Soviet propaganda but as with stories of vampires, Dratshev knew there was some truth. He had pursued this link over a century before but without the advancements of modern science had been unable to establish a strong enough tie. In 2008 the war involving Abkhazia, South Ossetia, Georgia and Russia had given him another ‘in’ but when peace had been established less than a month later Dratshev had been forced yet again to pull out and much of his new research had been destroyed by an errant Georgian artillery shell.
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