Disclaimer: The following characters belong to Janet Evanovich. This is for artistic exercise only. I am not profiting financially from this story. Warning: Graphic Violence and Adult Themes. Eventual Babe HEA.

A Walk Through Hell

Chapter 2: Amateur

Her voice drifts further and further away; until I can no longer distinguish her words. My vision becomes tunneled; I scream for her, desperate not to lose the connection. I feel the warmth of her presence fade, and all is black.

I am pulled from the darkness by the pungent smell of death and decay. My body rebels, uselessly trying to empty my already barren stomach. The acid rising burns its way through my nose and throat. A white heat floods through my torso; a pain so intense that I gasp aloud, clutching at my broken ribs. My body labors to control my breathing.

I try to open my eyes, but my body struggles to comply. I gingerly touch the left side of my face, my skin sticky and wet. My left eye is swollen shut and aches at the touch. I manage to open my right eye, the brightness momentarily blinding my vision. I squint and blink, giving my eyes time to adjust to the light.

I am back in our cell, my body propped haphazardly against the cold cement wall. The room is lit by a single light bulb, dangling by its wire from the ceiling. A single, paper thin mattress rests in one corner of the room on the dirt floor. The cloth is diseased with a mixture of unidentifiable stains. I hear screaming in the distance followed by the repeated thud of a blunt object connecting with flesh.

The interrogations continue.

I am crushed with the knowledge that she is gone; then again she never really was here. A beautiful mirage my mind has conjured to help me to survive. Yet, I am grateful for those moments with her; no matter how fleeting. My will to survive is renewed and rages inside of me. I will return to her. The alternative is unacceptable.

I look at the men around me. Our numbers have dwindled during my unconsciousness. The chains surrounding Private Andersons neck have thickened. Each representing a fallen comrade and brother; their bodies discarded as common trash. He is diligent in collecting their dog tags; needing something tangible to hold on to. He said that he will send what is left of these soldiers back to their families. I admire his kindness.

Feeling the weight of my stare, Anderson swivels his eyes to meet mine.

"Welcome back, Sir."

I nod in return.

His shirt is stiff with dried blood and sweat, clinging to his skeletal form; his eyes dark and gaunt. His blond hair is matted to his head and stained red; a deep laceration running along his scalp and forehead. He is so young, my heart aches for this boy. I want desperately to save him from this God awful place. A wave of helplessness washes over me.

He slides a wooden bowl across the floor to me, containing a single ball of rice. I have become accustomed to this meal. It is the only ration of food that we are provided daily. Right now I am grateful for even this small reprieve, desperate to rid my mouth of the copper taste of blood.

"Thank you," My gravelly voice unrecognizable even to myself.

Two guards walk past our cell, the one closest to us running a police baton along the metal bars. The clanging sound rouses the soldiers who have managed to fall asleep. They scramble to attention, fear gripping them as they await their fate. I look at the man who enters the cell, recognizing him as my most recent captor; the other remains standing guard outside of our cell.

The first guard walks across the room and approaches Private Anderson. He barks at him in his native tongue; ordering him to stand and follow. Anderson stares back at the man, a weary expression on his face; shaking his head in non comprehension. The guard knows that he does not speak Korean. He will use it as an excuse to beat him.

I watch as he pummels Andersons body with the baton in his hands. Anderson curls into a fetal position, trying to protect his face and head. His whimpers and grunts of pain cause my hands to shake with fury. The guard changes tactics and begins brutally kicking his chest and legs. I watch as Andersons body slackens, his hold on life tenuous. The guard continues his assault beating him into unconsciousness.

And then, he makes the biggest mistake of his life.

Lost in his rage, he turns his back to me. It takes every ounce of strength that I have to stand and take the step closing the distance between us. I grip his neck and twist, a satisfying crack echoing against the walls.

I release him, his body quivering as it collapses to the floor.

"Fucking amateur," I snarl. A soldiers death at the hands of this untrained man would be a disgrace. He is nothing more than a savage in a uniform.

I am filled with relief as I see Private Andersons chest rise and fall with his shallow breathing. Perhaps he will live to see another day.

The guard at the door is frantically trying to enter the cell; screaming to the others for assistance.

I step back and allow my body to slide down the cement wall; knowing that I have sealed my own fate. I will pay for his death with the cost of my own life; but I cannot bring myself to regret the act. I could not continue living, having stood by and watched one of my own men die. Another piece of my soul is marred with death, and this piece I will freely give.

The door to our cell is jarred open. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes. I picture her face, the only person that I have ever truly loved. In that moment I offer up a silent prayer. I pray that she will know how much I loved her and how hard I fought to return to her. I pray for mercy upon my soul, that I may someday be reunited with her.

Eternity without her would be the worst kind of hell.

I grieve for the life we could have shared together; for the love I held at bay from her. I realize now that my stubborn ways have cost us both dearly. Nothing is more painful than regret.

I feel the barrel of a rifle pressing into my temple. I wait for the bullet, and wonder fleetingly if I will feel any pain. I focus on her face, those deep blue eyes; the image I choose to be my last.

My body is suddenly thrown forward violently, an explosion rocking the building; pieces of cement and dust raining down upon our heads. The sound of machine gun fire reverberates off of the walls. Muffled voices seem to surround us, growing louder as they close in. The guard scrambles to his feet, eyes wide with confusion. My men cower on the floor, terrified and defenseless.

The sound of heavy foot fall grows louder with every second. The guard opens fire, the rounds strobbing the room with light. His body jerks backwards before he falls limply to the floor; blood oozing onto the ground from the single bullet hole in his forehead.

Men flood into the room, pausing to assess the situation.

"My name is Colonel Mark Davidson of the U.S. Army; weve come to take you boys home."

Thirty seven days of captivity, and the cavalry has finally arrived.

Thank God for second chances.

TBC...