And I'll propose the third. Try one on "influence".
SandstormPart 2 of 3
Every bone in his body ached, something was up in his right leg, a dull throbbing pain. He looked down to see it bent in some odd direction, halfway down the leg. Lucky for him, those natural painkillers were doing their job. He let out a curse, or what garbled mumbling could pass as one. All he remembered was walking down the street, on his way to perform a dead drop. All he needed to do was retrive some intel stashed in a not-so-pretty side of town. He looked at his surroundings, he was tied to a chair, and in a small room roughly akin to that of a shipping container. He licked his gums, finding several of his teeth gone or horribly cracked. Wonderful. He thought.
Outside, the roar of an sandstorm raged with sand hitting up against the sides of the container, echoing inside. Something to make him restless, annoyed, tired, so that when they come in, it’ll be a bit easier to... influence him. Soon, an hour passed after they had noted that he had awoken. Time for some influencing. One of their own spooks lifted up a cloth mask to shield him from the sand for the short walk outside. Sand stung at his exposed skin not unlike the soldiers currently inbound to their position, making it easy to evade the long patrol, the majority taking shelter inside the base structures.
He threw open the door to find the only other being inside in a deplorable, tired and broken state. He grinned malevolently, as the other looked upon him, and down to the handgun on his hip. By the looks of it, he was an American. He gave a huff, such infidels were constantly meddling in the business of the UAN, propping it for information like a child would probe something they found with a stick. Shutting it behind him, he walked up to the American, frowning.
“Tell me, American.” He spoke in English as if the words were venom. “Who are you.”
“...” He replied. Whether or not he didn’t want to speak, or, if he could speak was left up to the captor. Whom of which decided on the former.
Better to take the secrets with me. He thought. Lest these _______ do something not so good with them. He looked upon his captor, who had become slightly more angered at his silence. Now would be a good time to speak. He concentrated on his dry mouth to formulate the words in arabic, insulting his mother. To which his captor gave a swift kick to his broken leg, sending shards of pain through him, he bit down, with his breathing becoming ragged from the pain. A slight metallic taste came to his mouth, he had cut his tongue on his broken teeth. He let out a small groan as his captor walked closer, looking him in the eye before drawing his handgun, and flipping it around to hold the front of the FNS-9 clone handgun in the palm of his hand. He took one fell swing with it, jarring another tooth loose and breaking another. He spat blood, eyes staring at him with vengeance on his mind.
“Tell me who you are!”
“...” Was all he replied, combined with what could be took as a sorry excuse for spitting at someones’ shoes. Another pistol whip, combined with the kick to the broken leg.
“So, a silent one, eh?” He said, racking the handgun, chambering the 147gr. teflon penetrator hollowpoint round. “Answer my question, or this goes in your other leg.”
“Go to hell.” He croaked out. He aimed the FN copied handgun at his other leg, and a lone shot rang out.
Howe had come across the lone patrol, and he and his squad dispatched them appropriately. They entered the base, careful to watch for any hostile targets that they may come across, though most seemed to have dozed off during the early hours of the morning.
“Watch for targets, and a place where they’re holding him. We want him alive, and he’s most likely hurt. Get that stretcher ready-”
“Sargent! Container near one of the runways That might be where they’re holding him.” Roberts said, motioning towards the faint outline of the container nearby. The sound of the nearby gunshot was drowned out by the howling winds.
“Possibly. Lets move, hunter.” Howe spoke.
His ears rang, and he let out a cry of pain, though unheard to him as the ringing assaulted his ears. After a few seconds his hearing began to return to him, with the interrogator moving to kick in to the ground. He flew backwards, and felt his fingers get caught underneath the metal chair backing as it hit the ground. The wiplash sent his head back into the ground, causing an audible clunk as it collided with the rustic metal flooring, opening up a small gash. As far as he was concerned, tetanus was the least of his worries.
“Who are you, what are you doing in the UAN. You will tell me or I will put the next through your head!” He yelled. And, to think, only ten minutes ago, he had just entered. Quick to temper, eager to kill. Not a very good interrogator. The door flew open, clanging against the side of the container.
“How about one goes through yours.” Howe said, raising his M70 rifle, and firing off a shot. The weapon shot out a muffled cough, firing the telescoped 4.5mm saboted rounds, though the sound overridden by the clicking of the action of the rifle.
“Staff Sergeant Howe! United States special forces! We’re here to get you out!” Howe boomed inside the container. He heard a knife click from its holster. “Sir, I’m going to need your name.”
“My name is Samuel Cavez.” He coughed as he was brought back up, and ties were cut. Howe looked down at his legs.
“Roberts! I need you in here to stabilize him! Hunter, set up a defensive perimeter, we move as soon as Mr. Cavez is stabilized, how copy?”
“Copy that, moving to set up a defensive perimeter.” Roberts rushed by him, pulling out a stretcher and his medical kit. Despite being the squad support gunner, he also doubled as a medic of sorts, given his EMT training prior to becoming a special forces operator.
“Mr. Cavez, we are in need of that intel.”
“What intel?” He croaked out as Roberts hooked up an IV line to him.
“The intel you were destined to make a dead drop at on Tuesday, where is it?”
“Its... its in the Outskirts of some old city, I can give you the coordinates.” He replied with a slight grin as he read off the coordinates he memorized.
“Copy that.” Howe said “Overlord, this is Hunter 0-1. We’ve got our package. Meet us at Exfil point Alpha for MEDEVAC to the Nevada. We will be securing UAN transportation, and will be retrieving the data as soon as you MEDEVAC the package.”
“Roger that. Hawk 0-1 is inbound.”
“Locke, we’re securing transportation, move.” Howe barked over the radio.
“Copy, moving.” He replied.
The group secured the small Chinese built truck within 15 minutes, and moved Cavez onto it. They started off into the night as the sandstorm began to die down, with Roberts working hard to keep him stable. They approached the LZ within the half-hour, and began to load him onto it.
“You guys got a medic?”
“Negative!”
“Roberts! Keep our guest stable. We’ll get the intel.”
“Roger that!” He replied as Locke helped him load the now-unconscious spook onto the ‘Hawk.
“Hunter, lets go get that package.” Howe ordered. “Back on the truck, we’re oscar mike!”
(First post updated)