Chapter 12
Harry groaned and gritted his teeth as another blow to his head came from the wooden club of the interrogator. Feeling the pain roll through the rest of his body, his already blurred vision only grew blurrier as he struggled to fight the ever-creeping threat of unconsciousness.
"We've seen what you are, witch! The insurgent growled in his heavily accented English, which only served to further strain Harry's concentration. He looked back up, straining his eyes to survey the small room. Behind the interrogator, he saw another insurgent sitting at a table, where his gear and personal items were strewn about. The man curiously examined his wand, while two guards stood by the door, AK-47s resting in their hands, seemingly uninterested in his torment. Another blow connected to his head, this time on the temple, sending fresh waves of pain and delirium coursing through his battered body.
"You are going to die, Englishman. But, if you tell us what we want to know, we shall give you a quick end, for Allah is merciful."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle dryly, hacking up some blood in the process. "You're not very good at this, are you? Didn't they teach you in Saddam's terrorist camp that you don't just tell someone you're going to kill them? It removes any hope or incentive the subject has. It gives them no reason to cooperate with you if they know you're just going to kill them anyway."
The insurgent growled indignantly, striking Harry in the ribs in frustration. "You think your jokes will save you, you infidel witch!
Harry just smirked, the blood on his teeth making it seem more like a snarl than a smirk. "Really? Infidel witch? That's the best you've got to hit me with. I'm actually kind of disappointed."
The insurgent growled in indignation, his eyes narrowing in fury as he drew a knife from his belt, leveling the tip mere inches from Harry's right eye. He smirks maliciously and thrusts the blade forward. Harry grits his teeth in agony, willing with every ounce of mental restraint he has, not to scream out and give voice to the white-hot pain searing through his skull. Finally, after what seems like several long and agonizing minutes, the insurgent withdraws his blade, now coated with Harry's blood. Harry slumps over in his chair, panting heavily as his muscles finally relax. He feels a steady stream of warmth flowing down his cheek, quickly realizing that it's his own blood, now flowing freely from his newly mangled eye socket. At this point, it was only his adrenaline and desire to shoot these bastards in the face that was keeping his mind at any level of functionality, or even conscious.
His torturer grinned deviously in morbid satisfaction at his grisly work, seemingly amused by Harry's plight. Harry, by contrast, realized that if he didn't get out of here soon, the blood loss from his newly carved out eye socket would surely kill him, and soon. That's when he noticed it. The ropes binding his hands to the chair were tight, but not tight enough. That's when a plan popped into his increasingly foggy mind.
"Alright… alright." He whispered, keeping his voice just low enough to where his tormenter had to lean down to hear him better. That's when Harry struck. In one swift motion, he twisted one of his own wrists, dislocating it and allowing it to slip out of the binds. With one hand free, he was quickly able to free the other. He threw himself at the man with as much strength as he could muster, taking the smug insurgent by surprise and overpowering him. He seized the very knife that had just deprived him of his right eye and plunged it into his throat. The other men in the room had by now seen what was happening, but it was already too late. Harry held up the corpse of his torturer as a shield, grabbing the man's sidearm and quickly dispatching the two guards by the door, before turning his attention to the man examining his wand, his eyes wide in terror and shock.
Harry fires off the last couple rounds left in the clip, dispatching the last threat in the room. He discards his human shield unceremoniously, paying his now dead torturer no mind as his corpse crumbles to the floor. He quickly pops his wrist back into place, wincing slightly as he did and makes his way over to the table with his belongings. He grabs his wand and quickly casts the Ferula spell, a bandage appearing from the tip of his wand and wrapping around his head, covering his bloody socket and stemming the bleeding. For now, anyway. He turned his attention to the challenge coin sitting next to where his wand had been. He grabbed the coin and turned it to the side of where the Grim was prominently displayed. He taps it with his thumb, two quick taps and one long tap. The distress signal.
His wound momentarily attended to, and his call for rescue made, Harry grabbed what gear he could carry and made for the door, grabbing an AK-47 and a few clips of ammo from one of the dead guards slumped over against the wall. He checks the weapon briefly, before opening the door and storming into the hallway. He was going to find those kids and kill anyone that tried to stop him.
The unique sound of the choppers rang through the air as the Grims circled the area of the battlefield where they had left Harry. Then, all of their challenge coins started vibrating violently in their pockets and emitting an ear-piercing siren noise. Williams is the first to retrieve his coin, looking at the Grim and seeing it display a set of coordinates in numbers that look akin to flames.
"He's alive! That crazy bastard is actually alive! Pilot, fly us to the coordinates and radio this into headquarters!"
The pilot nods in affirmation and tilts the chopper as he changes course, the co-pilot locating the coordinates on a map.
"Check your gear, lads! We're getting that mad bastard out of whatever shithole he's gotten himself stuck in this time!"
The other Grims grinned in amusement and relief, checking their weapons and mentally preparing themselves for what they might walk into once they land.
Rage. Rage and adrenaline. Those were the only two things keeping Harry upright as he tore through the compound, gunning down any fighter he came across as he moved through the maze of halls, looking for the eight children. Just as he entered another hallway, he heard a series of high pitched, obviously childlike screams. He wheeled around towards the direction of the screaming and moved as fast as his battered and exhausted body would permit. He reaches the hallway where the screaming was coming from, cutting down the guard on a door and kicking the door open to see the children huddled up in a corner. He turned to see a fighter standing guard over the children, the man's face conveying his surprise at Harry's unexpected entrance.
Harry wasted no time, raising his AK-47 to cut him down. Click. Weapons jam. His split second of surprise now gone, Harry lunged at the man, using the rifle as a club. He wrestles with the guard as he lands a hit to his ribs with the butt of the rifle, before clubbing him upside the head and landing a few brutal swings to finish him off. He takes a second to catch his breath before turning to the children, gesturing for them to follow him. They quickly comply, scurrying after him as he leads them down the hall and searches for an exit. Just then, he heard the sound of choppers approaching from the distance, and he smiled to himself. They got his call, help was coming.
Williams and the other Grims peered out of the open doors at the compound below, scanning the building and the surrounding landscape for any sign of Harry. After a few minutes of circling, the pilot calls out "Nine people, east side of the compound!"
Williams and the other Grims peer over, seeing a group of people emerging from a side exit of the building. "That's Potter alright, and he's got all the kids too. Damn, that's honestly impressive!"
Their celebration quickly turned serious as figures began chasing after them from the building, followed by the crack of gunfire as Harry did his best to hold off the pursuers. The Grims opened fire on the pursuers, covering Harry and the children as they ran to where the choppers were quickly descending. A few Grims jumped out and engaged the enemy while the other Grims quickly loaded the children into the choppers, and then finally dragged Harry onto a chopper as well. Once they're back in the air, the medic starts examining Harry's body as he lay on the floor of the chopper, his adrenaline finally having worn off and his body giving into exhaustion and blood loss.
Williams shakes his head in disbelief. "Bloody hell… how is he still fucking alive?"
The medic just looked at him and shrugged. "Seems to me that the crazy bastard is too angry to die just yet."
When the medic removes the bandage around Harry's eye, they are shocked to find nothing but a bloody, empty socket. Harry stirs as he drifts in and out of consciousness, managing a faint grin. "What? You don't think I'm pretty anymore?"
This elicits snickers of laughter from his brother Grims, half amused at his macabre humor, and half shocked he's still alive to say it. When they arrive back at base, the Grims quickly exit the choppers, ushering the children out and into the care of the waiting nurses. When they carried Harry out on a litter, Anna sprinted over to see, only to cover her mouth in horror at the sight of his various wounds and the not-so-subtle mutilated eye.
"Oh Harry… what did they do to you?"
Williams and the other Grims looked at her with a mix of sympathy and pity. "We got to him just in time, Miss Campbell. Potter's a tough bastard, he'll pull through."
Anna couldn't find the ability to verbalize a response, her throat constricting as she tried to keep her composure. She and the other nurses helped carry Harry to the field hospital, where the fight to save his life began.
Three days later, Harry stirred, a murderous headache pounding his skull. He opened his eye and looked around, seeing not the usual dirty, dusty, and cluttered setting of a field hospital, but the soft white sheets of a proper hospital bed. He looked around and saw more beds with their own occupants on either side of him. He lifted his hand up to feel the bandage around his face and covered his eye. Or rather, where his eye had been. He also sees the various other bandages wrapped along various parts of his body. Primarily, his several bullet wounds. Memories and realization slammed into him like a runaway freight train as his mind caught up with his renewed state of awareness. He starts clawing at the bandage around his face, desperately trying to tear it off to see what was left of his eye when Anna appeared beside him, carrying a tray of food.
"Hey, hey it's alright. Breathe. I'm afraid you're going to need that particular bandage for a while."
Harry stared at her for a long moment before he spoke. "Wha… where am I? What happened? The kids… where are the…"
Anna reaches out and gently strokes his hair, calming him. "It's ok, Harry. They're safe. You're safe, and in a coalition hospital. You're ok, Harry."
Harry sighed tiredly and leaned back against the pillows. "I lost the eye for good, didn't I?"
Anna hesitates for a moment, continuing to stroke his hair. "I'm afraid so. The damage was… quite extensive. There was… nothing the surgeons could do."
Harry sighed again, this time in resignation. "Well, rather an eye than an arm I suppose."
Just then, a man in an RAF officer's uniform strolled up to the bed, carrying a folder in his hand. "Corporal Potter?"
Harry instinctively stiffed, as if laying at attention. "Yes sir."
"Corporal, my name is Air Marshal Sir Brian Burridge. I'm the commander of British forces in Iraq."
Harry, if it was even possible, stiffened up even more. "It's an honor to meet you sir. Though, if I may ask sir, why are you here?"
Air Marshal Burridge smiled slightly and extended the folder to Harry. "Well son, you've been recommended for the Victoria Cross, and Her Majesty just approved your recommendation an hour ago. Congratulations son. This folder is just to notify you of the award and tells you what to expect in the following days and weeks, once you've had some time to regain your strength."
Harry laid speechless, gripping the folder so tightly, his fingers might very well have crushed it if he gripped it any tighter. He looked at Anna, who looked as surprised as he felt, but her surprise quickly gave way to amazement and pride. Harry looked back to Burridge, unable to speak with how tight his throat felt, as well as how dry his mouth had suddenly seemed to go. Then, everything went black, as he fainted with shock.