Saturday, 21 July 2012
06:06:06 PM (GMT)
Flynt Phillips woke in the middle of the night, immediately on guard. Being a heavy
sleeper, it took a lot to wake him usually, but out here, in the burning heat even at
night, it seemed that even his unconscious form was aware of the constant danger. He
jerked around quickly as someone shook his shoulder again,
"Corporal... Corporal Phillips..." The whisper was urgent, and already the Marine
was pulling on his boots.
"What is it?"
"Corporal, they've found us!"
"Fuck..." He breathed, lacing his boots as tightly as he could comfortably, and
donning his belt and beret (both of which were contributing to his pillow) "Where
are they now?"
"Not far away at all... Thompson reckons it'll be tight CQC..."
"Fuck." Flynt repeated. It's not that he was bad at it, not at all, but CQC was a
last resort. And the target would be far more accustomed to it. He crouched under
the canopy that served as a tent and slipped his rifle sling over his neck and right
arm, checking his ammo pouches before loading one. "You're ready?" He asked,
frowning at the... shit, he was barely a boy...
Kingsley, however, put on a brave grimace, and nodded, "Yeah. We sent those letters
yesterday, remember? I told her I'd be back soon." He voice was choked, and it was
perfectly obvious to anybody that he was hardly containing his tears.
Flynt clapped a hand onto the Marine's shoulder, looking at him head on. At times
like these, Corporal Phillips believed that rank was bullshit. They were two men,
each wanting to get home. Their training was the same, and Kingsley certainly
deserved credit for his facade. "I'll make sure you get home, okay? You'll be
alright. Let's go. This is it." He smirked slightly, although it was at least half
forced, "Be brave."
"Flynt." He corrected, dropping his arm from Kingsley's shoulder, "I'm not a complete
arse all the time. From now, we're friends, alright? Fighting side by side with the
others. I'll protect you just the same as if I was protecting Sergeant Cook."
"Robert." The boy smiled, "Thanks."
"Good lad. It's now or never." Flynt nodded once and emerged cautiously from their
bunk. "I'll get you home, Robert. Don't be scared."
"Leave it out! I'm fucking petrified!" Flynt laughed, cocking his weapon and
holding it ready, patting his belt to check that his knife was there. "Two-six,
FUCKING GET 'EM!"
The fire-fight was brief, and did, as Neil Johnson guessed, end in CQC. Flynt wasn't
exactly small, and within minutes of engaging, there were more than a few unconscious
men around his feet. Neil was dead. Robert was still fighting with Flynt. Three
others were dead. It was him, Robert and another man, Ryan, left. They were in a
rough triangle, each marine outnumbered by at least ten. Ryan was gone.
Several words were shouted in crude Arabic, and the fight changed. Not in style, but
This was no longer a fight for life.
A few of the men around Robert moved on, helping the others pin Flynt to the floor,
his wet cheek pressed painfully to the hot ground as he felt a sharp cord around his
wrists, and his weapons were collected by someone. About ten meters away, he heard
Robert in a similar situation, and then silence. Fuck, please don't let him be
dead... A damp rag was pressed over his own mouth and nose, and the dirt on the
ground faded to black.
Remember me, Robyn...
Don't forget, my little Angels...
Flynt awoke for the second time that night (At least, he thought it was still the
same night...), coming face to face with a wide eyed Robert, illuminated by
flickering lights. There was a filthy strip of fabric gagging both men, and they
were seated on dark, (bloodstained?!) cold metal chairs.
"Gentlemen." A voice announced to Flynt's right, and he turned sharply to look at
the source. It was a man with a dark beard and heavy shadows under his eyes.
Arabic, obviously, and his English was broken and harsh to listen to. "I'd like to
tell you that you're being broadcast live on British television. Smile." He grinned
widely, flashing his yellowing teeth. Flynt pulled against the restraints, but a
sharp blow to the side of his face sedated him slightly. "You're being held ransom,
as you've probably guessed, and only when your Government decides to remove your
troops from OUR country, will we let you go. Any words?"
Someone sliced the side of Robert's gag, letting it fall down, and he screamed at the
top of his lungs "BULLSHIT! I'LL DIE HERE BEFORE WE GIVE UP!" A kick was delivered
swiftly to his stomach, and Flynt heard a sickening crack. Despite their
position, he made a mental note to have the boy promoted several times when they got
"How about you, Corporal?" The rank was a sneer, "Want to say anything brave and
His own gag was cut loose, cutting his cheek as it was, "BASTARDS. FUCKING BASTARDS,
THE LOTTA YOU. BRITAIN WON'T GIVE UP!"
The main man chuckled softly, "Such idiotic sentiment." He gestured to the man stood
to the side of Flynt, and he emotionlessly raised his gun, firing a shot into Flynt's
calf muscle. He screamed out in pain, and again as someone punched him.
The static, unclear picture flicked to black, the dark red strip along the bottom
reminding everyone that they were watching the BBC news. The newreader's voice spoke
over the cut-off screen.
"Due to explicit materials displayed, we have had to remove this from the television.
For constant updates, and to watch the live stream, please visit our website at
I feel obliged to warn you, though. There is a high possibility that the kidnappers
may stage a live execution. Please be aware of this as you watch."