Ethan kicked out, slamming his foot into the side of the kneecap of one of the men holding him. The guard went down with a yell of pain. The grip of the other guard loosened as he reacted in surprise. Ethan punched him in the solar plexus, dropping him to the ground, then bolted for the jungle.
He made it halfway across the airfield before the guards caught up with him. Ethan went down under the weight of them, his face slamming into the concrete. The guards dragged him upright, then slammed him against the nearest plane. This time a guard held his feet. He struggled, but in vain. He was far outnumbered and still feeling the effects of the flashbang, in addition to his other injuries. Pain stabbed through his head, and he subsided, feeling dizzy and sick.
A tall man stepped in front of him, rubbing his chin. Glancing at the name on his uniform, he said, “Ethan McNeil.”
Ethan recognized the voice. It was Ayers, the man who’d seemed to be in charge of the agents who’d captured his fire team. “We thought we’d lost you. Thanks for coming all the way here. Now we have the complete team, just like we’d intended in the first place.”
“I’ve already radioed for air support,” Ethan said. “You’d better start running now if you want to have any chance of getting away.”
Ayers smiled. “Good try. But if you’d radioed anyone, we’d have detected it. Now, how did you get here?”
Ethan didn’t reply.
“Kritsick!” Ayers snapped his fingers at the man beside him. “Hurt him.”
Kritsick punched Ethan in the mouth. Pain exploded through his head, and he felt his lip split. Warm blood trickled down his chin.
You’ll have to do better than that, Ethan thought.
Getting punched in the face was no fun, but it wasn’t as if he’d never been knocked around before. In fact, that hadn’t even hurt more than his head already hurt from the concussion. He was tempted to say so, but decided keeping his mouth shut was the better part of valor.
“Not like that,” Ayers said, sounding exasperated. “You think a Recon Marine can’t take a punch?”
Ethan saw something in his captor’s eyes that unnerved him. It wasn’t sadism; Ayers didn’t seem to be getting any particular enjoyment out of the situation. It was a total lack of feeling. This was a man who might do absolutely anything to anyone without flinching or caring at all, so long as it got him what he wanted.
Still, presumably they wanted Ethan for the same reason they’d captured the rest of his team: to force him to work for them. They couldn’t damage him too much, or he’d be useless to them. But that thought didn’t reassure him. There was plenty of damage that could be done that wasn’t physical and wouldn’t impair his usefulness. You only had to take one look at Shane to know that.
Ayers leaned in close. As if he’d read Ethan’s mind, he said, “We can break you without damaging your ultimate effectiveness. There’s so much that can be done with very simple means. Water, electricity, loud noises. Or no noise, no light, nothing. Just you, alone in a dark silent cell, with no way to even tell how much time is passing. Everyone has a breaking point. We have your teammates, you know. How would you like to watch while I try to figure out theirs?”
Ethan’s blood ran cold at the thought. He didn’t particularly get along with them, but the thought of watching them being tortured made him feel sick. Trying for a bravado he didn’t feel, he said, “Fuck those assholes. Do whatever you like to them. I don’t care.”
“Is that really how you feel?” Ayers rubbed his chin. “We could find out.”
Some treacherous part of him said, Just tell him you hid in the cargo bay. What does it matter?
Another part forced him to keep his mouth shut. He’d been trained for exactly this kind of situation. Once you started talking, you didn’t stop. The best thing to do was to delay that moment as long as possible.
The two men stared into each other’s eyes, neither backing down. Finally, Ayers broke eye contact, shaking his head in disappointment. “Fine. We’ll start with one of the simple means. Lay him on his back.”
The guards forced Ethan down and pinned him to the ground. The concrete was hot against his back, the sky a sheet of blue-white glare. They were holding his head in place, so he closed his eyelids, all but a crack, against the sun.
Ayers knelt down beside him, fishing in his pocket. Despite Ethan’s resolve, fear cramped his belly. He knew Ayers wanted him to wonder what he’d pull out, but that didn’t make him stop wondering.
“What are you waiting for?” Ayers inquired, pausing in his search. “Sooner or later, you’ll talk. Might as well be sooner. No one’s going to swoop down and save you.”
I know, Ethan thought.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Ayers take out a pocket knife. Ethan took a deep breath, held fast to his resolve, and kept his gaze fixed on the sky. It was cloudless, featureless except for a black dot. He’d focus on that, no matter what Ayers did to him, and distract himself by trying to figure out what it was. Might be a hawk… No, it was too big for that. A hawk wouldn’t be visible that far up in the sky. A vulture, maybe.
Sharp pain stabbed through Ethan’s hand, jolting him all the way up and down his spine. He forced himself not to flinch. The black dot. It was getting bigger. The vulture must have spotted something. Another stab of pain. His jaw was clenched so tight, it hurt.
The black dot was even bigger now. It wasn’t a bird at all. It was a small plane, coming in fast. A two-person plane, like Destiny occasionally rented to fly for fun. She’d taken him up for a spin once, and he’d had to sit on his hands to stop himself from leaning over and kissing her. She’d offered to teach him to fly, and he’d meant to take her up on the offer, but he’d deployed before he could get the chance.
The plane came close enough to hear the faint roar of its engine.
Ayers looked up, and unfeigned shock spread over his face. “That’s not one of ours!”
A wild hope made Ethan’s heart leap. Seizing the opportunity, he said, “I told you I radioed for help.”