It happened on a 29th of December.
29/12/2009: Abduction of two French reporters by Talibans in Afghanistan; they are liberated 18 months later. Write a story in which one or more of your characters are abducted in a foreign country.
Chapter 1The explosion lifted the military car into the air with a terrible sound. Steve held onto the seat and braced himself for the landing shock. It was violent, and came with a second blast . The roof of the vehicle was blown off, the occupants evicted from it. Steve was thrown a few meters away before crashing onto the burning sand which seemed as hard as rock. Stunned, his vision went blurry and his hearing was replaced with a muffled buzz. He saw two blurred shapes coming closer to him, but he couldn't get his gun or stand up, his body was shaking and his movements were too clumsy. The shapes came nearer, very close to him, and he couldn't do anything against the blow of the rifle butt, which knocked him out.
General pain was the first feeling which came back to him, then it became more precise. His head and left shoulder, as well as his whole left leg from his hip to his foot, were stabbing him more than the rest of his body. Then, he realized that the floor under his back and the air around him were cold. Whispers and moans of pain reached him. As he didn't understand the words, he opened his eyes as little as possible, the minimum he needed to assess his situation, and it didn't look good to him. He was in a cave, closed with a metallic door. A fire a few meters away from him slightly lit the dugout room. The only other people there were wearing Navy uniforms.
Reassured to not be in immediate danger, he opened his eyes completely and tried to sit up. His wounds embarrassed him, especially on his leg, and a moan of pain escaped from his lips, getting his companions' attention.
"Easy Steve, you're in a bad shape." whispered Catherine, limping toward him.
She had makeshift bandages around her right foot and her head, but didn't seem badly hurt. Jones, a young black man who had been a Seal for less than a year, followed her. He had a bandage on his left eye and around his belly.
"How bad?" whispered Steve.
"I'm fine, scratches for me," answered Catherine. "Jones had mostly lost his eye and has a pierced wound on his stomach to observe. You have a wound on the hip, that we bandaged, and a broken tibia; we made you a splint as we could. I'm worried you have a head injury, but I couldn't check."
Steve agreed with a nod to confirm that he understood and listened to what was coming next.
"Jack lost his leg in the explosion, we had to cauterize the limb with embers, he was losing too much blood. And Harley had his torso pierced multiple times by pieces of metal. He's struggling to breathe, we can't do anything to relieve him. I don't know how long they will hold."
Steve felt sorry for his brother in arms and wondered why the Taliban had kept them alive. He felt ever worse when he realized that none of the reasons he could think of indicated a good future for them. Catherine and Jones helped him to stand up and go closer to the fire; he used this time to glance at the unconscious men and made a face. Catherine was right, they might not hold on for long. She resumed her report once they sat down around the fire and Steve had a glass of water.
"They put us here without explanation, they took our weapons and everything we had in our pockets. I counted ten men when they came, but they could be more. Two out of the ten speak English. The door is usually guarded by two men, heavily armed, and leads to a corridor, no other exit."
"Thanks, Catherine. Did you and Jones get some rest?"
"No, commander."
"OK, Jones, get some rest, Catherine and I will keep watch. We will take quarters."
"Yes, commander."
"Jones, call me Steve."
He watched the man, too young, lay down and close his eyes. Silence settled over them, speaking would waste their saliva and they only had a limited quantity of water, which would be necessary to their survival.
Minutes, then hours passed, Steve and Catherine were lost in their thoughts even as they stayed alert to all the sounds reaching them. Jones woke up and Steve sent Catherine to sleep. The commander went to the wounded men, checked their heart rate, gave them some sips of water and sat back down. His hip and leg hurt like hell, but he didn't vocalize it.
Catherine had been sleeping for a while when the door opened, making the woman stand up as if she hadn't been asleep the minute before.
Thirteen men, in beige clothes, with bulletproof jackets, scarves around their heads and submachine guns in their hands, came in. Steve, Jones and Catherine stood up immediately, ignoring their wounds. One of the Talibans came closer.
"Names and ranks" he said with a strong accent.
"Commander Steve McGarrett," answered Steve, not intending to lie about it; these men might know it already.
"Capitain Catherine Rolling."
"Sergent Jones Davis."
"And they?" asked the taliban as he pointed the unconscious men.
"Head Sergeant Jack Martinez and Sergeant Harley Brown," answered Steve, tense.
"You take they and follow we."
Steve, Catherine and Jones looked at each other, stunned, wondering by what miracle they could do that in their state.
"Now," said the man again as he armed his submachine gun.
"We need help, they can't walk at all."
"Take table," answered the Taliban before saying some words in his own language.
A man came out of the armed group and went just in front of one of the tables where the injured men were and took hold of the edge of it. Steve moved to take the other edge of the table, and they carried it out. Jack's weight added to his own on his injured leg threw sparks of pain each time he put his foot on the ground, but he clenched his teeth and didn't show a sign. His hip was hurting him as much, but he managed to avoid making it worst.
They went out of the cell and into the corridor, which was about ten meters long. They passed three rooms, two on the left and one on the right, all closed by metallic doors and guarded. They went into the third room on their left. This one was lit with a white spot and the most lit part was covered with a big carpet.
"Sit. Carpet."
Steve put the table on the floor and sat next to it. In a glance, he evaluated the state(s) of his men and then the forces of their enemies. Their weapons were pointing in their direction and they still were as many as before. Fighting would have been useless, except to bring death to all of them. He knew what was going to happen the second his glance stopped on the cameras. Three in total.
The terrorist who spoke English spoke again.
"Commander, names and ranks to cameras and say the American government has to do as we ask. If no, you die one by one."
Steve nodded and faced the cameras. He looked at a man behind one of them, who counted with his fingers. A red light turned on and the commander started to talk, a pit in his stomach.
"I'm Commander Steve McGarrett, abducted by the Taliban with a part of my team: Captain Catherine Rolling, Head Sergeant Jack Martinez and Sergeants Jones Davis and Harley Brown. The Talibans are asking the American government to fulfill their requests… or they will kill all of us, one by one. Two of my men are already badly hurt and need emergency help."
The red lights turned off. The Talibans brought them back in their cell and gave them more food and water before leaving. Hours of waiting and anxiety began.