The Desert Wolf, Chapter 5

												----------The Desert Wolf----------
															Chapter 5
													Twice Bitten, Thrice Shy
March 10, 2013
Terrorist camp
Sinjar Mountains



	The paths up and down the mountains and through it's valleys were rough on Jason as the day dragged on. The sun hung bright and hot in the blue sky, and the intense heat beating down on him made sweat drip into his eyes. It stung like bees, but he couldn't reach up to wipe his brow with his hands bound behind his back. The dust and sand kicked up from the groups trudging sucked all the moisture from his mouth.

	The brown gray mountains loomed over him like a guillotine. His wounded thigh ached and burned, and he was worried it was getting infected. A little blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage on his thigh into his multicam ACUs. Between the blood, mud and dirt from sleeping on the ground, and his over all disheveled appearance Jason looked the worse for wear. Not that his captors would care at all; if his death came sooner then it was the will of their god and that suited them just fine. He didn't know which was worse, a slow death from infection or a quick death from beheading or firing squad.

	He tried to push the thoughts from his mind as he had more pressing matters to think of. They were close to the camp now and his overseers had quickened the pace to bring an end to their journey. And no doubt to show off their prize. Jason had not been as religious as his father, but he said a prayer to himself asking God to strike him down now instead of letting him suffer at the hands of these cruel people. He looked into the clear blue sky, hoping to see a sign. It was so peaceful he thought, the only thing in this country that could have that said of it.

	His eyes then fell on Ashah's rifle form, and longed to speak with her again; her slight kindness was the only he had been shown since his being taken prisoner. Even though she had been the one to alert her superiors to his state, and had been cold to him at the beginning, she had opened up to him somewhat near the end. Could she really be called a friend? She hadn't done much more than talk to him and answer some of his questions but it was still something he thought better of. Though anything would be better than his current situation.

	The elder jihadist leading the group turned back to look at Jason as he slowly walked, or rather limped, along the path. Jason stared back halfheartedly, lacking the energy or willpower to put on any bravado. Then to Jason's surprise the man spoke, in English.

	"We are soon to be at the camp, American filth. You will die there, and I will be your executioner. But not before you tell us all that you know of your allies." The man said this with little emotion or expression, as if he were reading the morning paper. He then unslung Ashah from his shoulder and tossed her to the ground with a clatter. The rough treatment caused her to turn into her geist form, a mix of anger, emptiness, and sorrow on her face. A few words were spoken between the two and then Ashah walked over to Jason and told him what words had passed between them.

	"We are close to the camp, we will be there in less than an hour. You'll be taken before the rest of the fighters and be beaten and shamed, most likely tortured for information. Then when you have no further use, you will be killed." Ashah had repeated what the elder had told her without blinking. Not a single stutter or pause from her, and it made Jason's heart grow cold with fear and loathing.

	"What's the point in telling me this? I know what will happen, I've heard the stories of POW's fates," Jason spat back. How can she be so cold to him, after seemingly opening up to him before about her life. "How can you say that while looking me in the eyes Ashah? I thought...I thought you were my friend." The last part had caught her off guard, and she cast her eyes down in shame. She didn't look him in the eyes again when she responded.

	"I was told to tell you. The elder doesn't like speaking in the infidel's tongue, so I have to be his interpreter. I am not Ashah, and I am not your friend. I am...a rifle and nothing more. A tool to be used and serve it's masters will." The rifle replied, standing there in the heat of the afternoon sun scorching the earth, yet looking cold and distant. "My master's will is my own, and he has willed me to act like a rifle of the Taliban. It was a mistake to talk to you American, I should have never done it. I am your enemy, and nothing more." With that, the rifle turned her back on Jason and walked back to the old man, her eyes cast down the whole time. He grabbed her up by the throat causing her to switch back to her AK form.

	Jason's heart felt like it had burst in two. At the end of his life's journey, the only person he had hoped to give him some small comfort had instead ripped his heart out and crushed it underfoot into the sandy earth beneath. His eyes welled with tears, and he didn't bother trying to hold them back. The other men looked on at him with sneers and mocking looks but nothing mattered to him now.

	A short time later they crested a rise in the small mountain path which dipped down suddenly into a small valley. There it was, the base camp he had heard about. He took in the scene before him. A small cluster of tents and small cook fires were on one side of the valley, nestled away in the upper left corner. Straight down from that was what appeared to be where the men bathed and washed, spotting a couple of large barrels filled with water sat together. Some men were dipping out water with small buckets and pouring it on themselves while others dunked their clothes in the other and scrubbed away. The sight made Jason wish desperately for a cool shower and a fresh change of clothes. Jason spied a few men wandering in and out of an opening in the side of the mountain to the east, no doubt leading to a series of tunnels and living areas further in the back.

	Looking around, the tall mountains that made up the range had the valley hidden on three sides, the fourth being open towards hostile terrain occupied by the Taliban. No wonder nothing was known of this little den of insurgency. Then he turned his attention to the west of the valley, and beheld the horror that awaited him. A large square of land lay there, void of anything save for a few posts that had dark stains all around them. Jason didn't need to be told what it was that stained the ground that dreadful sanguine color. Jason looked over the barren patch of earth further, and his stomach tightened when he laid his eyes upon a man tied up to another of the posts.

	As they drew close to the camps entrance, a few sentries met the group and the excuse for a gate. A brief exchange was had between the elder jihadi and one of the sentries, a few looks of disgust past the group at Jason, and then they stepped aside and let them enter. No sooner did Jason come within arms reach of the sentries did they spit on him, mocking him and degrading him further. As one of the sentries ran ahead of the group to deliver the news of their friends return, the old man led Jason to one of the unoccupied posts. He took the rifle off his shoulder and barked an order at it before tossing it on the ground.

	Ashah appeared again, getting up from the ground to dust herself off before moving behind Jason to undo his bindings only to retie his hands around the post sunk into the ground. The wooden pillar was at least eight feet high and the top came out to a "t" shape; no doubt to keep people from climbing to the top to slip their arms over to free themselves.

	"Ashah, what's going on? Tell me!" Jason pressured her for an answer, but she only turned her back on him and slowly walked back to the man who had ordered her around. He took her back onto his shoulder again, this time with the slightest smirk on his old weathered face. He seemed to be enjoying forcing her to act this way towards Jason. Or maybe he was glad that he finally would see the American soldier brought low.

	"Now American, you will feel the indignation my people have felt all these long years, being forced to live under the shadow of your country's military." The old man said with a hard look in his eyes. Jason figured he was already a dead man at this point, not knowing what lay in store for him, so he decided one last hoorah before death was warranted.

	"Your people are oppressed by the likes of you, their own people you goat screwing morons." It was a weak attempt but Jason didn't care. Judging by the wild look in the old man's eyes he had hit a nerve.

	"Infidel!" cried the man, before raining down blows with his fists on Jason's face and stomach. The cry and commotion had drawn a large crowd of others to the area and before long it had turned into a mob of blood thirsty jihadis. All of them wanted a chance to beat and abuse the American who had the nerve to insult their honor.

	Fists, boots, rifle stocks and small rocks were lobbed at Jason from seemingly every angle. He fell to the blood drenched ground on his knees with his head resting against the dried blood and gore of the wooden post that kept him from fleeing. he knelt there, feeling the pain and anguish of the men's blows hammer across his body. He felt one of his ribs crack, and a gash open on the side of his head. One person had spotted the bandage on his leg and stomped on the wound repeatedly. Again he wished for death but his wish wasn't answered. Instead, a rapid silence fell over the mob of angry terrorists as they parted to let a man and a few others walk through them.

	He was an older man, even older than the elder that had taken him captive. His hair was nearly snow white as was his beard. The deep numerous lines in his tanned face held stories of a lifetime long ago. And adorning his face was a large burn mark on the right side. What ever had caused it has seared his flesh, taking his eye along with it. Nothing was left there but an empty grotesque socket and an ugly scar. He didn't wear the black robes of the Islamic State like most of the others present did; instead wearing what Jason would describe as common civilian attire.

	The man, obviously the one in charge of the whole outfit, raised his hand to silence the few who still called for Jason's death before speaking in their own tongue. Jason had no idea what was being said, and he started to turn to look for Ashah to interpret until he realized the effort was pointless. She still lay slung across his captors shoulder.

	The scarred jihadist moved over to the one who had taken Jason captive and hugged him, smiling all the while as if they had not seen each other in ages. Then he moved to Jason, who was so drained from the merciless beating he made no effort to stand or even look the man in the eye. He spoke to Jason in near fluent English.

	"Welcome to our home American. My name is Ahmed Almasi, I am head here of this group. Tell me your name," the scarred elder demanded. Jason remained silent however which seemed to have no effect on this man who called himself Almasi. He waited a moment more for Jason to reply before lowering himself to eye level with Jason.

	"You wish to be strong American, I can admire that. But soon you will tell us what we want to know. That man over there," said Ahmed while pointing a bony finger at the other American POW, "was the same way when we capture him. But he talked in time, they all do. It's how we knew to ambush you at the road leading to Sinjar city."

	Jason just listened to the man ramble on, not hearing much other than a ringing in his ears. He shifted slightly to ease the strain on his knees and injured leg which now had fresh bright red blood flowing out from the wound. It dripped down onto the sand and mixed with the already saturated earth. The smell of the dried blood and gore made Jason sick to his stomach. He tossed a glance at the other POW.

	He looked like Army to Jason, wearing the same multicam ACUs he did. The guy looked Caucasian but with all the blood and bruises he couldn't be too sure. It was a dreadful sight and it bothered Jason to know that it was a fate he would share. The old man took notice of this.

	"You are uncomfortable, that is good. You will be that way from now on, I will see to that." Ahmed stood and turned back to the other old timer, still speaking in English. "Brother, have him washed up. He stinks like the pigs. And have that infernal woman stitch up his leg. We do not want him to die before we can get information from him."

	The elder man simply nodded and turned to speak to a couple others standing next to him who then ran off toward the bathing area Jason had seen earlier. They came back with a few buckets of water from the barrels and sat them down. They stepped up to Jason and tore his jacket and shirt from him, stripping him of is boots and socks as well before dumping the buckets of water on him in Rapid succession.
To his surprise the water was frigid cold and it almost stung to be doused in it after being in the heat all day. Jason dropped to his knees again having the last of his strength sapped from him by the icy chill. Sand clung to his wet skin and clothes and he hated the sensation.

	As the crowd dispersed at their leaders command, Ashah took form before Jason having been discarded from the old man's shoulder. He barked another order at her quickly before handing her a pouch from his pack and turning away towards the bathing area. Ashah moved over to where Jason kneeling and dropped down onto the ground in a sitting position next to him.

	"Hold out your leg so I can sew up your wound." She opened the bag and began to take out a needle and thread along with some other basic first aid supplies. She threaded the eye of the needle and began to pull apart the ripped fabric of his pant leg to gain access to the wound. Jason said nothing as she began to stitch up his thigh, only wincing here and there as the sharp point of the needle pierced his skin and muscle over and over as the thread was passed through. The sensation was unpleasant but it was made even more so at the near
tangible tension between the two. After several minutes of silence Jason spoke up.

	"Why bother stitching me up when you are just going to kill me later?" Jason spat out the question with obvious anger and hurt in his voice. "Why now, after everything do you side with them? They treat you like trash and talk to you like your worthless." Jason felt a knot of anger building in his stomach. "I thought maybe you would-" Jason began to say before Ashah cut him off with a wave of her hand.

	"I am nothing more than a tool to serve my master's will, as I said before. When will you get that through your head American? I'm just a rifle with no real home and no true owner. I must do that which makes my master happy," she replied as she finished the stitching on Jason's thigh. The sun had begun to set and the mountains cast long dark shadows across the ground. The smell of food being cooked over the nearby fires made Jason's stomach growl audibly.

	"There will be no food tonight for you," Ashah said plainly, hearing his protesting stomach. She offered no other words for him before walking off to where the old man was last seen. Left to his own devices Jason tried to get into the least uncomfortable position he could and rested his head against the grime that coated the wooden pillar and tried to get some sleep. He was dead tired, and the void of sleep took him quickly. But it would not be a restful one.

	Ashah walked back to the elder man and informed him she had done as he asked, with no hint of emotion or expression on her face. In truth, she felt conflicted. One part of her felt she should push the American out of her thoughts and obey the will of the old man who had carried her, after all, that is the duty of a weapon. The other side wished she could somehow free the prisoner, the only one that had shown her any shred of decency or kindness. The two halves tore at each other in side her mind and it was enough to drive her into despair. She took one last look back toward the area where Jason had been tied, before being forced back into her form of wood and metal.
The old man headed into the caves with the group as he talked in Arabic to the one who called himself Almasi. Ashah listened in dismay while slung across his shoulder. They spoke of plans for the other POW, and of the new one they had captured. What she heard was horrid, but she tried to push any thoughts from her mind. It wasn't her business to question the man's will. Her place was to serve him as he saw fit; at least that what she kept telling herself.

	It was dark now outside, the last rays of the red and orange sun had disappeared below the horizon and the men had packed away their food. Most moved into the caves to sleep, while a few small groups were left outside in small tents as sentries and patrols for the night. The absence of the sun's warmth and the lack of clouds in the night sky soon brought a deep chill to the valley. It pierced the men's coats and sank into their bones, ensuring discomfort would be their companion all the long hours of the dark.

	Jason had curled up into a ball on the ground to try and contain as much body heat as possible. It didn't help much what with his clothes being damp still from the dousing. He shivered violently in his sleep, and his eyes darted back and forth in is sleep.
Another nightmare, worse than the one he had back in the cave. He was at the sight of the ambush again. But this time he was alone on his side, none of his comrades were with him. An incomprehensible whisper brought his attention to the top of a ridge, where the red rider sat atop his horrid steed. He unsheathed his sword and held it in the air. Jason looked on in dismay as a wave of countless jihadis flooded over the ridge line and down the bank toward him. The sound of gunfire was like a rolling clap of thunder, deafeningly loud and never ceasing.

	Jason raised his hands shouldering his M4A1 and leveling it at the enemy. He flicked the selector with his thumb to full auto and began a long burst of fire in their direction. But it had no affect on them. The rounds of 5.56 just dissipated into thin air before ever hitting their marks. Jason's rifle ran empty and he winced as the innumerable terrorist's fire ripped through his body tearing flesh and muscle and bone from his being. He tried to scream out in agony, but his voiced was drowned in the sounds of war.

	The jihadis were right on top of him now, and they ran around him, and through him as if he wasn't even there. In the midst of them was the horseman. He came thundering down the bank headed straight for Jason, sword raised in an arc over his head. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye and his blade was brought down upon Jason's neck. He felt the first instance of the edge cleaving into his neck before he jerked awake from the dreadful vision.

	His eyes wandered around the landscape before falling on the other POW who was now awake and staring at Jason from his own post. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before the other man spoke.

	"A nightmare?" was all he said, his speech slightly lisped. No doubt from the obvious bruising and probably broken jaw. Jason couldn't help but notice that it hung at an odd angle.

	"Yeah...been having them for a couple nights now." Jason replied to the man. He straightened himself up into a sitting position in the sandy earth while he conversed with the other man. "I'm Jason Winters, from the U.S. Army. 3rd Infantry Division."

	"Scott Greene...Airborne." the man replied, with an noticeable difficulty. When he didn't continue and stared, Jason took it as a sign to continue.

	"How long have you been here? Are there any other POW's here besides us?" Jason asked the questions that seemed most important at the time.

	"About three weeks. There were others, dead now." he replied to Jason's questions with slight grimacing each time he moved his jaw. "We will be too, soon." he said after a brief pause. And with that Jason had lost the heart for conversation. They both tried to ease their troubled minds and ease back into sleep before the morning came.

	As the first rays of light broke over the mountain tops the men began to shuffle about out of the cave and begin their routines of relieving the night watch with fresh sentries and tending to the morning fires to ward off the still lingering chill.

	As Jason and Scott were just rousing themselves from their restless slumber, a group of five men along with the older man Almasi moved toward them both AKs unslung at low ready. A knot of fear formed in Jason's stomach, and he looked over to Scott to see tears streaking down his face.

	"Scott...Scott, look at me man. Be brave man, don't give them the satisfaction." Jason attempted to comfort the fellow soldier. They both had a good idea of what was about to happen to them and they tried to steel their resolve. "What ever happens, don't be afraid." He had said it aloud, but mostly to try and calm his rapidly beating heart.

	"Both of you, up on your feet!" barked the scarred elder, as they neared the two Americans. With a heavy heart, Jason and Scott complied. Two of the insurgents moved to retie their restraints above their heads on hooks that had been screwed into the posts. A blind fold was placed over Scott's eyes as the sounds of charging handles being racked on the men's AKs echoed in valley. He was shaking but showed no tears or sign of begging for his life. Jason hoped he could follow Scott's example. But no blindfold was placed over his eyes. The old man walked up to him, speaking again in English with an Arabic accent.

	"You do not get to die so easily today American. I have far worse in store for you than a firing squad. You will tell me everything you know, all the smallest details of your bases weakness and numbers of your allies. Only then can you hope to be given deaths sweet release." The man prattled on like some villain from a bad 80's movie Jason thought. But all he did was stare forward. When he didn't reply, the old man just smiled slightly. Then without warning he grasped Jason's face with a rough hand and turned it toward Scott.

	"I want you to watch and see what your fate will be American, for you will suffer the same for your crimes." And with that, he looked back at his men, now standing in a line a few yards from Scott, and gave a slight nod.

	The burst of automatic rifle fire reverberated around the small valley as Jason was forced to watch as Scott was torn asunder by the hail of bullets. It was a gruesome, heart wrenching scene and Jason screamed out as he saw the life extinguished from his brother in arms. Tears poured freely down his face as he averted his eyes to the ground not wishing to see the end result as the rifle fire tapered off.

	"Good, I want you to know true despair and sorrow American. You will perish just the same as your friend here. And for what? A war that you had no business fighting in the first place." Almasi stared at Jason with his one good eye for a brief moment before turning and speaking to other elder jihadi.

	The old man replied in Arabic to Almasi and unslung the rifle he had on his shoulder. But this time it was just an ordinary looking AKM, not Ashah. Jason was saddened by her absence for a moment, before remembering she had sided with the enemy. She wasn't his friend, she was his captor. His only other friend had just been shot dead next to him and he had been powerless to stop it. Just like he had been powerless to save his friends when they had been ambushed.

	The old timer handed his rifle to Almasi, before walking up to Jason and delivering a hard right hook to his jaw. Jason felt the impact of the blow as if a sack of bricks had been slung at his face. The old man was stronger than he looked. With no food and poor sleep mixed with the trauma of the morning, Jason had no energy to shrug off the punch and he went limp while still tied to the pole. His head lolled back and forth in a daze as he was untied from the post and dragged forward toward the cave's entrance, legs trailing behind him.

	On the way into the first steps of the cave, he looked up briefly and there she was on the edge of his vision. Ashah stood at the mouth of the cave in her black robes, the fabric fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. She didn't meet his gaze, instead keeping her eyes cast downward. For a second, he thought he saw the hint of tears brimming up in her eyes before she turned away walking back to the elder jihadi.

	It didn't matter he told himself, the less he saw of her the better. They placed a bag over his head before continuing into the cave then dragged him for several minutes down dimly lit corridors and twisting hallways inside the cave's expansive tunnel network. The trip finally ended in a small chamber with a makeshift cell against one wall.

	It was just a large metal cage with no floor wedged into the back of the chamber. thick metal bars made up the ceiling and walls while cold stone would be his bed. They flung Jason into the open door of the cage and slammed it back shut with a loud clank.

	"Get used to this American, it will be your new home for now." Almasi walked over to the cage and peered in at Jason like he was watching an animal at the zoo. With not another word, the men left Jason alone in the chamber. With no way to get out and no way to know how to navigate out of the tunnels there was no need for a guard. Jason sat in his cell in the dimly lit room. The only source of light a small lantern hanging on the wall from a metal peg hammered into the rock face.

	He sat there for hours simply staring into the flame of the lantern as it danced and flickered behind the glass. Despite the day being well into the afternoon, it was chilly inside the cave. And Jason knew it would get even worse as the night drew nearer. Any hope for warmer clothing or a simple blanket was a pipe dream, he knew.

	As the hours ticked by slowly Jason wondered if it was day or night out yet not having anyway to tell inside his prison. He had spent the time since being locked in there just staring a hole into the wall or trying to nap in short periods with little success. The echo of footsteps draws Jason's attention to the entrance of his makeshift prison.

	The last person he expected to see rounded the corner and walked into his chamber holding a bowl and a ratty blanket. Ashah stepped up to the cell and tossed in the blanket then slid the bowl of food under a small opening at the bottom of the cage obviously meant for allowing one to pass a plate or bowl but nothing much larger.

	"Take this so you don't freeze to death tonight." Ashah spoke quietly as if she could barley muster her own voice. "And eat, you will need something to puke up tomorrow when the questioning starts."

	"Is it poisoned?" Jason asked hatefully as he looked at the food.

	Ashah turned her back to Jason as she answered him, "They wouldn't kill you before getting the information they want from you." She replied with no hint of emotion in her voice.

	"They'll get nothing from me, better to kill me now and save yourselves the trouble." Jason spat back, anger welling up in his gut.

	Ashah walked back to the opening of the chamber and moved to exit when she turned back to look at Jason.

	"Steel your resolve, American. You'll need it." With that, she left him alone again in his cell with his thoughts. Jason grudgingly ate the food as he knew he would need it for the trials to come, then wrapped himself in the sorry excuse of a blanket and tried to drift off to sleep on the cold stone ground.