SEREality

[Cassie Granger 0]

[This log has been edited for graphic violence. For the full version, please send a message board PM to Cassie Granger.]

 

SEREality

(Edited Version)

A Silver-Granger Log

 

It was in moments like this that I gained my intimate knowledge of fear. It starts in the pit of your stomach then travels up and down your spine making every movement an effort. I had to break through those terror-formed blocks of ice.... I could not let them destroy who I was.

~Brian Stann, Heart for the Fight

 

 

You can be prepared, but you're never ready.

 

No amount of Survival Evasion Resistance Escape training can ever prepare you for what happens when you're actually captured by an enemy force. No matter how realistic your training is, no matter how brutal your captors pretend to be, no matter how many evil thoughts they plant in your mind or how much they pretend to enjoy battering your body or watching you drown, somewhere buried in the back of your mind is the knowledge that the instructors and observers are on your side. You'll come out battered and bruised in body and ego, but you'll survive. They're not going to let you die.

 

Reality is that when you're really captured, they don't give a damn. Unless you're a tradable high value target, all they want is what you know. Then you're as disposable as yesterday's garbage.

 

Marine Warrant Officer Cassidy Granger was prepared, but she wasn't ready. Not by a long shot.

 

Cass awoke to a hand jerking her head back. A harsh voice growled a question she didn’t understand, then repeated it as a sharp blow to the side of her head slammed it into the chair back. Her head spun and blood trickled down her jaw. The headache was back.

 

A string of several other versions of the same question followed one upon the other, each accompanied by a sharp heavy blow. Her left eyelid began to swell; her mouth filled with blood.

 

Yeah, the room was spinning now.

 

Finally she understood, "Who are you? Who do you work for?" repeated again... and again... and again... with the same punctuating wallop, allowing no opening to respond. He was on a power trip, enjoying his work, his domination over a helpless captive.

 

Instead of trying to respond, Cass concentrated on relaxing against the blows, timing his swing and turning her head so they’d do less damage. He didn’t seem to notice for a while, but then he suddenly changed his rhythm and landed a massive clout. He’d been playing along, playing her game, allowing her to believe she was fooling him.

 

She forced herself to think, to keep from blacking out.

 

Then he stopped. Cass raised her eyes against swollen eyelids to glimpse her captor: short and stocky, missing several teeth, a deep scar running from left temple to jaw. Unkempt hair and body language that betrayed overwhelming excitement at what he might accomplish with her shouted sadism, if not insanity. He half reminded her of the neighbor’s crotchety old English bull that terrorized the neighborhood when he got loose.

 

Weird thought. She tried, but couldn’t shake it.

 

Bulldog barked an order into the darkness and a strap from behind secured Cass against the chair back. Then it began in earnest.

 

Pins surgically pierced strategic areas of her back, pecs, sides, neck, and jaw. She grit her teeth against it. Her body involuntarily jerked as each stab hit a major nerve junction. As they attached the energy cables her legs began to shake.

 

Cass fought to keep her mind in the moment, to keep those paralyzing blocks of ice from forming by forcing herself to think of anything but what might come next. Anticipation led to fear; fear led to terror; terror led to any number of things from spilling the beans to total mental breakdown.

 

Spilling the beans was not an option; she vowed she’d die first. Total mental breakdown meant losing all reason, going into a catatonic stupor. If the team got to her they’d have to carry her out, and she would not put them at risk for a vegetable.

 

"Now, you will tell me..." the man finally spoke, breaking her concentration with a slow, deliberate cadence, "...everything." He grinned, leaning close to her battered face, exposing his remaining teeth, most of them rotten, their putrid stench overwhelming. "You will tell me who you are... who you work for... how you found our camp... everything...."

 

He nodded into the darkness.

 

The initial pain was subtle as they engaged the electrodes. It built slowly, every increase making her suck in a breath and tighten her jaw despite her efforts to relax. The slow progression was a classic psychological ploy. Theoretically it would tease her into believing they’d reached maximum. When they increased the charge and she realized it wasn’t maximum and she should begin to wonder how far they would go. As the charge continued its upward swing she should question her ability to endure.

 

Theoretically.

 

A solid block of ice formed in her belly. As the pain increased, icy tendrils slithered up her spine and wrapped itself around her resolve....

 

“Breathe through it, Buddy. Breathe through it.”

 

Frank: extracting a scorpion’s tail from her shoulder. The trail head was several miles back; descent from the plain was a good 500 feet; the outskirts of the colony lay at least ten miles farther, way out of range of communication. Though he’d administered a broad spectrum anti-venom, he had to remove the stinger and bleed it out or she’d be dead before they hit the trail head.

 

“Breathe, Buddy. Slow, deep breaths. That’s it...” her dad worked his knife, expertly prodding the area for extraction, careful to cut around the venom sack without pressing on it. “Hang in there.”

 

The dial clicked. The pain shot through her temples.

She wanted to scream then.

She wanted to scream now.

She would not give them that satisfaction.

They would not...

….destroy

...who she was.

 

“Fear is contagious. So is courage. Suck it up.”

 

The click of a dial behind her came an instant before the pain skyrocketed. Jeers and laughs echoed against bare walls.

 

Her resolve turned to anger at the taunts. An adrenaline surge took her back to Coronado Island.

 

Brutally cold storm-fed surf penetrated to the bone. Her muscles cramped and every step, every movement took supreme effort, the kind of effort that needed more than raw determination. Wave after wave pounded them on the rocks, her foot wedged in a crevasse, each breaker twisting it mercilessly while she struggled to work the boat and keep herself from drowning. Coronado became a living, breathing monster; her anger surged against it.

 

Her head pounded against the back of the chair.

 

“Too slow. Too slow,” the instructor barked from the safety of the shore, his arms folded casually across his chest, his eyes shrouded in reflective sunglasses, his face an emotionless mask. “Get back in there. Do it again.”

 

Sudden short, intense bursts jerked her body like a marionette. They laughed uproariously, enjoying the show. Someone danced in her peripheral vision, clapping to the rhythm of her body jerks. The words human, PetaQ, and pathetic weaklings came between jeers.

 

Coronado paled against the monsters in the room. Mental images of the MIAs they had just rescued flashed violently, their emaciated bodies riddled with the signs of torture. She imagined the fate of those not rescued, the ones now languishing in the hell-hole they knew as Rura Penthe....

 

Cassie’s face flushed as her anger turned to unbridled rage.

 

…. I humbly serve as a guardian...

...always ready to defend...

...those who cannot defend themselves....

I serve with honor on and off the battlefield....

I will never quit!

I persevere... and thrive... on adversity....

If knocked down, I_will_get_back_up...,

every time.

I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength...

...to protect my teammates...

...and to accomplish... the mission....

I am never...

...out of the fight....*

 

The pain rocketed and her rage erupted into an involuntary scream.

 

The pulses stopped. Suddenly. But the pain lingered long after as she sucked breaths through her clenched teeth, her mind reeling with rage, her entire body engulfed in shudders, the real world fading away.

 

"Now," Bulldog said casually, taking a seat before her as her breathing slowed to pants. The room still spun but her mind jerked back to reality. “Are you ready to tell me who you work for, or shall we revisit the nature of your neural pathways?"

 

Cass blinked, a surreal thought about his widening vocabulary stuck among the swirling images in her mind.

 

He waited. After several minutes Cass managed to lift her head, her eyes swollen and cloudy. Squinting didn’t help. Still looks ugly.

 

"Who do you think I work for?” she managed, barely getting the words out. “Who else would steal your Rihan pets and your Federation cargo from under your nose?"

 

Another vicious jolt sent her body into spasms. As soon as her head cleared he was in her face. “Tell me..,” he breathed, “is it Moroth?” He paused for some time, as though judging her reaction. “Is it Gudag?” Another pause. “What about Kregar? Is it... Kregar?”

 

“Who do you think it is?” Her head was still spinning when the next jolt wracked her body.

 

"It’s Kregar, isn’t it,” he hissed when the burst subsided. He bent toward her and followed her lolling head with his face, exhaling his putrid breath. “It has to be Kregar!"

 

Shouting an obscenity, he heaved his chair into the opposite wall, took hold of her hair and jerked her up, bellowing, "Where is he? Where have they taken our prisoners?"

 

Cass gasped as he released his grip. "You know where he is," she spit out, sucking a breath to brace for the next round. But the hum of the generator had gone silent.

 

“Yes. I do, hu-man,” he replied with forced calm, turning his head this way and that, pushing his face to hers, taunting. “In fact, I’ve always known. The far moon of alGuhl is not as barren as it looks, eh? He thinks he can hide there? I’ve known for a long time and have left him alone. He has his operation; I have mine. Until now we have had an... understanding; we have shared the goods."

 

Jerking her head up again, his grin grew deadly and his tone intensified. "He will pay for this! You will pay for this!

 

“Kill her,” he said into the darkness as he propelled her head against the back of the chair one last time. “Slowly. As slowly as you can.” He spat in her face, turned and stormed out.

___________________________

*Excerpted from the U.S. Navy SEAL Creed.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

The compound was quiet again, but hadn’t returned to the complacent readiness in which they’d originally found it. The initial assault had put them on alert, shaken the idea that they were safe behind the Klingon border. Security had doubled and all eyes were on the jungle, roving patrols sweeping the perimeter at short intervals. They expected a second assault.

 

The mortar crew and lookouts on the cliff-top were among the first eliminated, their concealed position revealed in the recorded footage from the raven.* Ropes were anchored and the team began their descent into the compound, eliminating three more emplacements on the way.

 

From somewhere in the jungle, Daniels reached out and Quigleyed* a pair of guards. The team was in the compound now, advancing smoothly, aware that the window was steadily closing; at any moment the compound would become aware of their presence. More tangos down. The team split. Gonzales and Frank Granger going the left, O’Neill and Sam Ducharme going to the right, each carrying a share of explosives to destroy key targets within the compound: communications equipment, stockpiles of ammunition and supplies, HVTs.* The rest slipped between buildings with one objective: the hut near the center of the compound where the enemy held Cass.

 

A few minutes later, Bulldog rounded a corner of the hut outside, confusion the last thing he felt as he crumpled into the soggy dirt. Crossing the open, Souter sidestepped the body and briefly paused, eyes trained down the side of the building as the others advanced behind him. Bringing up the rear, Moa tapped his shoulder and Souter fell in behind him. Gage crossed to the opposite side, eyes out as the others stacked up on the frame, keeping clear of the door. Moa gently checked the latch.

 

The door opened with a light push and the enemy soldier behind Cass collapsed before he realized who opened the door, life draining between the floorboards. The team filed inside, clearing the single room and easing the door to a crack.

 

Gage stared at her slumped form, keeping back as the others swarmed in, his jaw setting as their medic kneeled by her chair. Tasha’s hands wavered, uncertain where to begin and a hint of shock in her eyes as they darted over her teammate’s body, battered and riddled with wired needles. Souter pulled out his knife and gingerly cut the drying leather binding Cass’s wrists. Moa searched the body behind her for the key to the shackles securing her ankles. Gage ripped the cable harness free from the shock machine — all he could do to keep from kicking over the equipment and alerting the enemy.

 

Gage keyed his radio. “Main, this is Viper actual. Target secure. Status to follow.”

 

“Help me get these out,” Tasha lowly asked Souter. They began working the needles free, Tasha pressing her lips into a thin white line and Souter looking grim.

 

Cass’s head lolled as she began to come around, the presence of the team apparently triggering consciousness. “Assets?” she mumbled on an exhale, “assets?”

 

“Safe,” Souter replied. He didn’t mention that they’d stumbled on the body of the prisoner that got trapped in the compound with her.

 

“Good,” she breathed, then relaxed into their hands as she slipped in and out of consciousness.

 

“Come on, Cass,” Gage’s voice suddenly pierced through the haze, close. “Taking you home.”

 

“Rog’... that... sir,” she managed and struggled to push herself to a stand.

 

“Easy.” Hands steadied and lifted Cass into a pair of arms.

 

“Let’s go,” Gage directed. Tasha wiped her hands on her fatigues and collected her weapon. Souter took point. The heavier sound of Moa’s boots brought up the rear. They slipped back into the cool humidity of early dawn and moved at a steady pace toward their rally point.

 

The first explosion was close, somewhere behind them. Numbers guarding their exfil point thinned and the rest were cleared out in a crossfire between Daniels and those inside. The cliff towered over the compound in silence as the team slipped away, evading their pursuers. More explosions, farther away this time, as panic and fire erupted at the compound.

 

The sudden rush of air across her face as the SPIE* rig shot from the ground toward the hovering shuttle brought Cass around. It banked away from the compound as the bird reacted to the pilot’s sure touch while his steady voice called, “Main, Adder. Package secure. Inbound, ETA ten minutes. We need medical on site in the bay. Say again, we need medical in the bay. How copy?”

 

The muffled voices of the shuttle crew and her teammates as they unhitched her harness and lay her gently on a stretcher, then wrapped her securely for the trip home: the sounds of freedom.

 

Silver, Daniels, Gonzales, Hammond, O’Neill, Souter, and Momoa: her family. The bond they shared went beyond blood. Built on implicit, steadfast trust, it was rooted deep within the soul and transcended life and death. Their reassuring presence and the lulling thrum of engines were her last thoughts before Tasha’s cocktail worked its magic and she slept.

____________

*raven: small Unmanned Aerial Vehicle or drone

*To Quigley: to use one bullet of a sniper rifle to kill two men.

*Tango: Used in place of the letter T for clear voice communication; in this case it refers to a target.

*High-Value Target: any person or resource vital to an enemy’s operations.

*Special Patrol Insertion/Extraction: a harness rig, used to rapidly insert and/or extract from an area that does not permit a hovering aircraft to land.

Edited October 1, 2012 by Cassie Granger