Chapter 8
The following day followed the same routine as the previous one. Breakfast was delivered to the prisoners in the form of stale bread, a pot of creamed, chipped beef, and some unknown, tropical juice. It had been four days since I had had a healthy meal and adequate hydration. The Cobra troopers once again entered our cell and walked around looking for someone new to torture. Many of my fellow Marines had already experienced at least one session at the hands of our captors. It had been nearly two weeks since Cobra’s forces had taken the base and little had been done by anyone to uproot them. I began to wonder if the rest of the world was even aware of the situation here in Kenya. I let my mind wander to the image of Dangerous, my cheetah cub. Was he being cared for back at the Pit? My daydreaming was cut short as the butt end of an Officer’s rifle connected solidly with my ribs. I grimaced in pain.
“You there. . . new guy. Savior….not! You’re with us today. The good doctor wants to have a discussion with you.”
They laughed as they mocked me. I had to fight through the pain and clenched my fists. I would only have one chance here to make it count. I glared up at my oppressors, who merely laughed at me more. I could feel the rage bubbling up inside of me. It took me back to my first real fist fight in the fourth grade. I had been bullied as a kid for things that were beyond my control: The color of my socks, my haircut, my oddly shaped ears and the number of siblings I had. It was sheer torture going to school some days. All I wanted was to have friends, but no matter what I did to gain popularity, the other popular kids would continue to knock me back down. This had been going on since the third grade.
One day, I was in a particularly sour mood due to the fact that someone had savagely attacked and killed my pet rabbit overnight. He had been kept outside in our backyard in a rabbit run for many years without incidence. Every morning before school, I would make my way to the backyard to feed him and refresh his water as well as pet his soft, gray fur. This morning had been different though. Instead of being greeted by his warm twitching nose and excited thumping, I beheld a terrible sight. The door to his cage had been forced open and several yards away, my beloved bunny lay on the ground motionless. I was beyond distraught, angry and not in the mood for anyone’s taunting. Then it happened. The chanting of, “Mel-vin! Mel-vin! Mel-vin!” It only got louder. I asked them to stop and said it wasn’t my name and that I was already having a bad day. This did nothing to quell the assault.
The name calling continued, only now it escalated.
“Oh, what’s little Melvin going to do? Huh? Are you going to run home and tell your Mommy on us?” The lead bully, Jack continued to tease me. I asked them to stop one more time or else.
“Or else what? Nerd-boy? What’s little dorky Melvin T. Winklefoot going to do with his big ears and a goofy haircut?”
That was it! I snapped. Out of nowhere, I clenched my fist and swung at the lead bully with all my might. My first strike connected with his chin and he fell back. I then kicked him in the stomach which caused him to fall down and cough. The next thing I knew, I was on top of him choking him in a side headlock. My teacher, Mrs. Worthington, kept yelling for us to stop, but I wouldn’t hear any of it. We rolled around on the classroom floor toppling over several desks amidst the cheers and jeers of my fellow classmates.
The ruckus alerted the other classrooms on our floor and finally, the sixth-grade teacher, a rather large man by the name of Mr. Barrister, came in and pulled the two of us apart. He hoisted both of us up by our shirt collars and successfully kept us separated. We were promptly escorted down to the Principal’s office and my mother was called. This was actually worse than getting in trouble in school. Growing up, my generation feared the consequences given by our parents more than those enacted by the school.
That feeling of extreme rage had returned to me. Without so much as a warning, I swung at the first guard knocking his head clear out of his helmet. His partner quickly came to his defense, but I was the quicker and kicked the AK-47 out of his hands. My cellmates looked on in surprise for a half second before joining the fray. Soon the entire cell block was up in mutiny, but it would be short-lived. A half dozen heavily armed Cobra elite troopers called Vipers flooded into the prison. After firing off a few live rounds into the ground around us, we instinctively froze, not wanting to be shot. As I turned around to better see the reinforcements, I took the butt end of a rifle to my face. I could taste the coppery warmth of blood in my mouth. I spat a blood-soaked loogie to the ground just as a second rifle end struck me in the head from behind. My eyes started to get fuzzy and I felt extremely dizzy as everything around me went black.
The next time I awoke, I found myself bound by zip ties to a chair in a dimly lit room. The sound of dripping water resonated in the background. My head was pounding, my lip was swollen and I could only see out of my left eye, but... I was still alive.
“You have some fight in you. We like what we see...indeed.”
I looked in the direction of the esoteric voice, but couldn’t make out the visage of its source. My eyes and head were still hazy from the earlier rifle strikes.
“The brainwave scanner could easily crush your spirit and have you devoting yourself to the Cobra cause! But I much prefer my methods and we have some questions for you….indeed!”
My grogginess was a bit more than I had expected and I found myself having a hard time keeping my eyes open and staying conscious. There was an odd hum and shortly after I began to experience a feeling of uneasiness as my mind was assaulted by waves of vertigo. In the background, the odd doctor would chuckle a bit and mutter an audible “indeed” from time to time. I felt my senses being attacked by invisible forces and I held my wits together the best that I could. It was then that I felt the pinch of a hypodermic needle as it pierced the side of my neck. I figured the syringe contained some type of truth serum as I began to feel rather relaxed. The doctor’s voice became more soothing.
“So tell me about your mission soldier. Why is your unit in Kenya? You will tell me….indeed.”
I tried to resist and block out his voice, but I found myself wanting to answer. No! I told myself. You have to resist! I began to dive deep into my psyche looking for a lie or another suitable response. My Marine training told me if I was ever captured to only ever give my name, rank and serial number. I began by reciting only those things. Private First Class Kordos 131 446 23334. The doctor’s laugh became more egomaniacal.
“Oh, you poor soul! Brainwashed by Uncle Sam and the military mindset. You know you want to tell me…everything.”
His voice was so melodic, and I felt myself falling into a state of complete relaxation.
“Tell me PFC Kordos. Why are you in Kenya?”
The doctor’s assault of questions began again. I tried to go deeper into my mind when a different answer escaped my lips.
“I really wanted to be a part of something bigger and travel the world. Plus, this is Africa and who can resist a safari? The animals are so majestic.”
The Cobra inquisitor chuckled at my response. “Very interesting. You have managed to trick my system by offering a truth. No matter. I will get what I need from you in time. Indeed.”
I didn’t know where the answer had come from, only that it did. I had not betrayed the U.S. military or myself even. I found my thoughts now slipping to Hidalgo, my Hopi roommate back on base, who had spoken many times of his spirit quests and how the mind would not betray what is in one’s soul. I never thought his spiritual ramblings would help save me, let alone preserve national security. The overall atmosphere of the room was heavy and continued to get more and more nauseating as the waves of vertigo hit me once more.
“Now, now, PFC Kordos. There must be some other reasons for you and the United States Marine Corps to be stationed in Kenya of all places. Just tell me and I promise, I’ll make all the discomfort of this room go away. It’s rather easy dear boy.”
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