Champions Vol. 01

WHAM!

Something struck the back of her head hard, and she tripped to the ground in an instant. The world was spinning and growing fuzzy, but as her vision darkened she prayed to Eros she would not awaken. There was no one to save her, and she felt a quick death was a blessing compared to what these bandits had planned for her.

*** Chapter 5: Close Encounters of the 7.62mm Kind ***

101300MAR13 DW [David's Watch]

Korengal Valley, Kunar Province, Afghanistan (?)

There was a rock poking him in the face.

What. The. Fuck?

How many times am I going to wake up with a fucking rock poking me in the fucking face today?

Seriously?

As David rolled over and opened his eyes he looked around, spotting and glaring at the offending bit of earth responsible for his discomfort. Once was bad. Twice was an extremely odd coincidence. If it happened again he was certain it would be a sign that his life had become the butt of some divine joke.

Checking for additional injuries, and / or missing gear took him a few minutes. He was missing one of his M67 grenades from a trouser pocket, and one of the straps on his rucksack had popped loose. Also his right knee and left hip both had a slight twinge when he moved a certain way. He buttoned his pocket closed again, and fixed the buckle on his rucksack, after checking to make sure nothing was missing. With those tasks complete he surveyed his surroundings, looking for the missing grenade and trying to determine how far he had fallen from the trail.

Looking out from his spot on the mountain he could no longer see the other side of the valley. In fact, there was no valley. He was looking down onto sparsely wooded foothills, which stretched toward a large forest to his far right and open farmland to his far left. Something was seriously wrong. Where was the ridgeline on the other side of the Korengal Valley? Where were the villages at the bottom of the valley? Where the hell was the valley?

Realizing something was extremely wrong, he reached down and powered on his Garmin GPS and grabbed his map and compass out of his pockets. Opening his compass, he took a north reading, and saw that it pointed to his right, paralleling the mountain range he was on. Looking down at his map, he started trying to find a large enough ridgeline in his Area of Operations that had a north-south orientation. He found a few, but couldn't spot one that had that much open terrain east of it. Even more confused, he checked his GPS for his MGRS (Military Grid Reference System) coordinates, hoping that those would plot somewhere on his map that he had missed.

NO SIGNAL AVAILABLE

That was weird. This Garmin was one of the most reliable GPS watches on the market. Half the damn Army owned one. Guys would pay whatever they had to in order to get them, and they were more reliable than DAGRs (Army issued GPS devices) every day of the week, and twice on Sundays. He popped the back clasp and pulled the batteries, swapping them out for a fresh set he carried in his right shoulder sleeve pocket. He powered it on again, and checked the position of the sun to see if his compass might be faulty. Facing out perpendicular from the mountain, it was a few hours off the horizon to his right, at almost a 45 degree angle. Checking his watch he saw it was almost 1700. That was the problem, his compass was broken. It was pointing him west, not north.

Looking at his map again, he tried to find a mountain range that met all the previous criteria, only oriented east to west. He still had no luck. There simply wasn't that much open land in this region of Afghanistan. He started to think about his situation further. There also weren't that many trees anywhere in Afghanistan. Trees were rare, and logging was heavily regulated by the Afghan government. You could spend twelve months in Afghanistan, walking patrols every day, and never see more than the same two or three trees. David looked again, but the forest had chosen not to move during his deliberation. Yup, he was definitely staring at an enormous forest in the middle of Afghanistan. Shaking his head he checked his Garmin again, hoping it had answers.

NO SIGNAL AVAILABLE

Crap.

He went to the satellites menu to see if the issue was too few satellites over his position to pull an accurate location. That was rare, but he didn't know what else it could be. On the screen he checked, and re-checked, but his GPS couldn't find any satellites. Not even one. That had never happened before.

Must have broken in the explosion, he thought to himself.

Not coming up with any other good options, he resolved to walk to the top of the ridgeline he was on, and try to see what was on the other side. He should at least be able to get a bearing from the snowy peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains to the north-northeast, and, if he was really lucky, the Pech River. All he had to do was find the Pech, and follow it down stream. It would take him all the way to COP Able-Main if he needed.

Powering off the GPS, and flipping it over to remove the batteries he noticed his hands were shaking. This had become a common occurrence lately. At first he had little trouble with the stress of Afghanistan. The occasional insurgent attacks on their base were ineffective. They had never managed to injure a soldier, and only twice had damaged important base infrastructure with a mortar or recoilless rifle round. But the stress had continued to mount day after day. Two months ago he had been out visiting an ANA base, doing the security and training assessment that was part of his advising job, when his team had come under fire. They had been pinned down on the trail for nearly an hour. The insurgents were horribly inaccurate that day, but the sheer volume of fire was enough that they were stuck hiding behind the biggest rocks they could find until the insurgents gave up. David had tried to call in artillery support from Able-Main, but the higher ups had denied his request because the shooters were too close to a local village. Apparently American lives were less valuable than Afghan lives now.

Once the insurgents ran out of ammo, his team had hurried down the trail and off the mountain. They had all made it without injury, but after he got back to the COP and dropped his gear off in his room David had sat on his bed staring at his hands for nearly two hours. He figured they had started shaking from the post mission adrenaline dump, but they wouldn't stop. He hadn't smoked a cigarette in nearly ten years, quitting when he left home to attend college. He smoked his first one of the decade that night, and had been using them to fight the shakes ever since.

Pulling his pack from his right sleeve pocket, he popped a cancer stick in his mouth and lit it with his Zippo. Checking the pack he confirmed it was still mostly full, and then returned the pack to its rightful place. Taking a few deep puffs he wondered the same thing he always did, would he be able to quit again once he got back stateside. He knew if the US Army hadn't banned all alcohol on installations in country he wouldn't be smoking again. That first night he would have drank his ass off instead. But cigarettes were the best he could come up with in the absence of a better alternative. Would he become an alcoholic like his uncle when he got back? Realizing the side of a mountain in Indian Country was the last place to have a philosophical debate with himself, he gathered his gear while he finished his smoke.

Donning his rucksack, and weaving the Mk 48 sling over his shoulder, he began to carefully wind his way up the mountain, stowing the finished butt in his lower leg pocket. No sense in leaving an easier trail for the insurgents to follow he thought ruefully. He hoped he could find a decent footpath soon, or this was going to really suck.

***

The first thing that Laurena noticed was her head hurt. Bad. The second thing she noticed was she seemed to be hanging by her hands, which were painfully bound above her head. She could also hear the crackling of a fire not far away, and the voices of the men who took her, joking and laughing near the fire. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but she had suspicions regarding the subject. She feared they were talking about what they were going to do when she woke up.

Afraid to open her eyes, but even more afraid of not knowing what was going on, she carefully cracked her lids the smallest amount. Hoping to glimpse her surroundings, but still appear unconscious. As the anemic sunlight from the twilight sky barely illuminated her captors, her hopes of escape vanished. All five of the men were looking directly at her bound form. With the minimal light from the dying day, and the dancing fire, they hadn't noticed her awaken yet. But it was only a matter of time.

She tried to think of any spells that might free her. She knew of a few that would easily destroy the bindings on her hands, but all were beyond her skill. She might be able to conjure a small blade, if she put everything she had left into it. Her magic was not very strong, and it had taken her years of focused study to be able to conjure her mirror correctly. She didn't have years now. Not to mention, she had no idea how to do it without her captors noticing. Finally, even if she did get free, then what? Any chance she had of escape depended on their inattention, something her beautiful body and flawless face was unlikely to secure for her.

For the first and only time in her life she cursed her beauty. Why couldn't she have chosen drabber clothing to travel in? Something that hid her charms, with a hood to cover her face. At this she barely suppressed a shudder. Hide her body? Cover her face? That was a crime against Eros. It was he that had gifted the world with her perfection. It was her duty to display it in all its glory. Why else would he have created such perfection, if not for display? She was not like the other clergy, pious and devout in their ordinary way. She was walking proof of divinity. How else could her body exist to such perfection, than as a gift from Eros; her beauty bringing light to a mundane world?

Lost in her self-reflection, Laurena did not see the bandit leader, Broast, stand from his place by the fire and walk towards her. Hearing his shuffling steps get closer, she quickly shut her eyes, and tried to steady her breathing to feign sleep a little longer.

"Sleeping beauty has been out a bit too long here Dalmer. Are you sure you didn't throw your bolas too hard?" Broast inquired of his man, standing a mere handful of feet before her bound form.

"Nah boss, I barely hit'er with 'em. The whore might be fakin' it, thinkin' she's too purty to warm our beds."

Struggling to control her breathing, Laurena couldn't help letting out a small cry of mixed pain and fear when Broast slapped her hard across the face.

"It looks like we have ourselves an actress here gents. It seems she's been faking her little snooze for our benefit."

Opening her eyes in fear, she saw Broast standing barely two feet before her. His mouth curled in a smirk of equal parts cruel amusement and lechery. Worse, behind him the other four bandits were standing quickly from before the fire, removing their belts and loosening their breeches.

Beginning to cry, Laurena looked back at Broast with pleading eyes, "Please sir. Please don't do this. You can have the horse, all the food, everything. But please don't rape me!" This last request was spoken with a hysterical scream as Broast drew a knife and cut her robes from her bound arms and chest. As they fell, trapped around her waist by an ornate sash, she tried to kick at him, but her legs became tangled in the flowing robes.

As Broast reached for her naked breasts, she watched two more of the men step to either side of him; their breeches gone and their hardened members clasped in their slowly stroking hands. Realizing that the time she feared had arrived, and that her god had not granted her prayer and saved her from this horror, she closed her eyes tightly and screamed her denial into the late evening; raging against the fate that was about to be thrust upon her.

***

David stood at the top of a ridgeline; in the middle of a mountain range that he used to think was Afghanistan. Used to being the key words. Looking where north should be he didn't see the Hindu-Kush peaks in the distance. In fact, he didn't see much of anything in the distance. All he saw was a small trail leading through a mountain pass to the east, and what looked like a great grassy plain on the other side, peaking through the gaps in the mountain range. He had also looked behind him at the sun setting at the edge of the horizon, and realized he was completely wrong.

Either the sun was setting in the south-south west, or he was in the southern hemisphere standing on a mountain range that ran north to south. Pulling out his compass again, he compared magnetic north, with the position of the sun. Yeah, he was in the southern hemisphere. That explained the trees, the farms, and the plains. Not only was he no longer in Afghanistan, he was nowhere near it. Now, if only he could figure out why his GPS wasn't working, how he got this far south, or where the fuck he really was. Because he sure as shit wasn't in Kansas anymore.

As he jokingly thought about looking around for a yellow brick road, or an angry bitch with a house on her head, he heard a faint scream down near the pass. Looking that way he could barely make out a campfire. Realizing a campfire meant people, he began to jog in that direction, limping slightly and carefully checking his footing as he went.

As he drew closer he heard more screams, which sounded female, and definitely distressed. Judging the distance in the minimal light, he dropped his Mk 48 and rucksack quickly. Pulling the M14 out and attaching his NODs (Night Observation Device) to the specialized mount in front of the scope. Raising it to his shoulder he had to immediately reach across and adjust the focus on the device. It was set to his unaided left eye, not the heavily magnified image of the scope. Getting the night vision device tuned in was a challenge, as it was not really intended to be used with a scope, but rather for use with an unmagnified electronic dot sight or the human eye. However, he was able to get it adjusted well enough to use, and he returned his off hand to the fore grid, looking through the green tinted scope towards the fire.

There were three men standing around a woman, and two more standing behind the three. Her hands were tied above her head to a post she was hanging from, and she had been stripped to the waist. He realized she was the voice he had heard screaming, because as he watched the man standing before her punched her hard in the mouth, and David heard the screams muffle and stop. If he still harbored any confusion about their intentions, it disappeared when he realized four of the five men were naked below the waist and the fifth was beginning to disrobe as well.

Seeing this, he began to question if he wasn't still in Afghanistan. Gang rape and murder was an all too common occurrence in that country for an unfortunate woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. He realized that he could ask the lady were the hell he was after he saved her; but only if he saved her.

He reached forward and dropped the bipod legs on his rifle. Next he looked around for a stable shooting position, finding a decent sized rock that would serve the purpose. Checking the laminate sheet taped to the rifle's stock, he double checked Mother's dope (stock windage and elevation data for the scope). Thankfully it hadn't changed. Checking the distance through the scope, and double checking it with his naked eye, he estimated he was about 600-650 meters away. The air was so clear from the lack of humidity, air pollution, and the elevation, everything often seemed closer than it really was; so he picked 650. Checking the dope he needed; he adjusted his aim appropriately. Tucking back in behind the rifle, he sighted in on the campfire again, and followed the ground to the left until the five men and one woman came back into sight.

Steadying his breath he thought about his team, lying dead on the top of a mountain, betrayed by corrupt untrustworthy fucks. They were the kind of people that would sell out an ally for the right price; the kind of people who would threaten to kill the entire family of a seven year old boy if he refused to blow himself up when and where they said.

They were the kind of people that would rape innocent women for fun.

***

Laurena's jaw hurt. The leader, Broast had punched her when she refused to stop screaming. What did she care if they disliked her screams? But the ache in her jaw was telling her that she may want to consider doing whatever she had to in order to keep them happy. She doubted they would let her go, or even let her live for very long, but they could easily make her last moments far worse than they had to be.

Stiffening her resolve, she decided to do whatever they wanted. If they wanted her body she would give it to them. If they wanted her passion, she would fake it better than she ever had before. If they wanted to debase her for their amusement, she would go through with whatever cruel machinations they could imagine, as long as they promised a quick, painless end once they were done. Hoping to get their games over with quickly, and bring her final release from this terrible fate, she stopped her crying and sniffling; forcing her best sultry look onto her bruised face.

"If you boys are absolutely certain this is what you want to do, how about you untie my hands so we can do it right?"

Broast and his men shared a look of confusion. This is the last thing he expected. They rarely stole sexual favors from women travelers. They were business men after all, not animals. But this mouthy bitch just didn't know how lucky she was that she had been way-laid by enlightened highwaymen like themselves. They were doing her a favor, teaching her how much trouble her smart mouth could get her in if she wasn't careful around less civilized company. Any woman this beautiful should realize her place, and they were just going to help remind her of that. But now she was acting like a seductress, not a sufficiently cowed maiden.

Uncertain what he should do, but knowing that he had to be decisive before his men, Broast decided on a compromise.

"I'm glad to see you in a more agreeable mood my dear, so I will meet you half-way. I will cut you down from yon post, but the bonds shall remain on your wrists until we are through."

Knowing that the sooner they began the sooner it was over; Laurena nodded her head, still struggling to keep the seductive look on her face while trying not to vomit at the thought of the men touching her. As Broast approached her she heard a strange high pitched sound, like a whip swinging through the air, and Broast staggered sideways. No more than two heartbeats later, she heard the strangest thunderclap of her young life.

Looking at her principal captor, she saw his lifeblood begin to leak from two small holes on each of his sides, below his left and right armpits. As she gazed upon him in confusion, he fell to the ground, and she realized he was dying. She couldn't imagine how such small holes could do that, and she couldn't really bring herself to care.

***

David wasn't sure what that sick fucker had planned to do with the knife, but he was never going to get the chance now. His shot had come in low, apparently it was more like 700 meters, and so with his next shot he adjusted accordingly. His second target was the head of the fat fucker on the left. He wasn't sure why he picked this guy, but he guessed it had something to do with the fact that this guy looked like he was too ugly to get a decent woman without force. I'm probably just projecting, David thought to himself.