Aces and Eights
Copyright© 2009 by Monbade
Science Fiction Sex Story: Prologue - Meet Walter Brakes, a man who has reached his last milestone. His son, murdered in Iraq by militants, his wife dead from a massive heart attck when she watched his murder. Now the Aliens come and offer him a new life. This was my nanowrimo for November 08. This is book 2 of the Traveling Science Project
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Science Fiction
Saturday March the 1<sup>st</sup>
Lieutenant Andrew Brakes
I raised my left fist up and crouched by the edge of the building. My M-16 clutched in my right hand as I was scanned the buildings around me. The guide pointed at the building across the way from me and whispered in my ear.
"Al-Qaida inside. Three, four men with explosives and machineguns," the man said.
"You sure, Azim?" I asked as I looked around for any danger.
"Yes, everyone knows they are there. But they afraid to do anything," Azim Hussein said.
"Ok, you stay back here, let us deal with them," I said and pointed to two of my men and pointed to the left side of the building. I quickly repeated my orders to the squad and they spread out to surround the building.
Calling my radio operator up, I relayed my Intel to the base and said we were going in. I told them I was leaving half the squad as reserves. I crossed the street using the cars parked on the side of the road and started inching along the mud-bricked walls.
We reached the alley next to the target house and two of my men ducked into the alley. I looked back at Corporal Isaac Washington, from New York City who grinned at me.
"I got your back, Sir," the big black said as he clutched the M-243 in his massive hands. Its drum magazine was packed with 5.56mm death, if it didn't jam on us like they usually did.
Nodding my head, I darted across the alley and to the corner of the house. Moving down the wall, I ducked under the window as Isaac stopped to cover me in case it gets nasty inside. Stopping at the door, I pulled a flash grenade, looked at Isaac and kicked the door in.
I awoke three hours later, chained, and in the back of a bouncing pickup. I couldn't see anything, and I hurt all over. With a groan, I tried to sit up, but a gun butt hit my side and I fell back over.
"Don't move, Sir, they got ... uggg," Isaac's voice was cut off as he was hit.
A voice snarled in Farsi telling him to shut the hell up or they would kill him.
'Shit! How the fuck do we get out of this? What the hell happened?' I thought to myself. I remember kicking the door in, tossing the grenade and then nothing. We drove for what must have been hours, I heard us go through several checkpoints. I knew they were manned by our men, because when we pulled up to them, knives were placed at our throats. We were told not to say a word.
I knew by now that the word must be out that we were missing, captured and presumed dead. My mind raced on how to let anyone know we were alive, and I couldn't think of anything.
The car came to a stop and we were told to stand. The hoods were pulled off and we saw a wall of fruit baskets in front of us that was quickly removed from in front of us and I saw we were in a warehouse. We were dragged out and I saw there were only three of us left out of the squad.
Private John Grant looked bad. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds. Isaac had five or six and I could feel about seven wet spots on my body. I nodded to my men, and before I could say anything a butt of a rifle hit me in my back and I stumbled forward.
"Move American Dog!" the man said.
We walked about thirty feet and told to stop. We stood there, looking around. Then a grinding noise was heard and the floor in front of us dropped into a ramp. As the ramp was lowering, I was hit in the back of the knees and I went down and started tumbling down the ramp.
I rolled to a stop and I cried out as a big Iraqi lifted me up by my hair. Once I was on my feet I was thrown towards a hallway and another man shoved me through the open door. Behind me I heard the door close.
Day Three of capture,
"Andrew, what is the name of your parents? Where do they live?" shouted the voice.
"Fuck you!" I said.
Pain came as they beat me. I passed out.
Day Six of capture,
"Andrew, what are the names of your parents? Where do they live?" shouted the voice.
"Fuck you!" I said again as I have said every day for six days.
Pain came as they beat me once again and I passed out once more.
Day Twelve of capture,
"Andrew, why do you keep doing this? Just tell us what we want to know and the beatings will stop. What are the names of your parents? Where do they live? What is their address?" shouted the voice again.
"Why? Why do you want to know?" I cried out.
"So you can send them a letter. Do you think we like doing this to you? This is not what the holy book teaches us. Let us have the address so you can send a letter to them, saying you are alive. Do this and the beatings will stop. I promise you on my word of honor. I'm sorry I wasn't here to stop the others from beating you. But I am here now and no more will happen. But you must help me help you. I will let the medic see to your injuries now. I promise you no more beatings," the new voice said.
I whimpered in pain and mumbled out my parents' address and name just to get the beatings to stop. I screamed in agony as the fingers on my left hand were set and bound in plaster.
"Andrew, they will take you back to your cell to rest. Later you will be allowed to send a letter to your family. In a couple of days, we will send a video too, showing them you are alive. But first we will get your wounds looked at. I will have our doctor come examine you later," he said and turned away and stopped.
Turning back he continued, "I am sorry to tell you your man Grant didn't make it. He died of his wounds. We tried to stop his bleeding, but there was a nick in one of his arteries that we didn't know about. We had his body placed so your people could recover him."
I hung my head as I was led away to my cell. Sitting down on the bed I sobbed for the first time in my life. I had broken down and given something away. I know it wasn't a military secret, but why did they want my parent's names and address? I was wondering what else they would want next.
The next few days went quickly by, I was fed and my wounds seen too. I was allowed a shower for the first time in two weeks. I wondered about the structure I was in, and I was told it was an old interrogation building that wasn't on the map. It was only known by three people, in the old government, and two of them were now dead.
Day Twenty-seven of capture,
I was led into the room and sat down. Two of the guards stood on each side of my chair as usual. Their faces covered with their scarfs, swords and pistols at their hips. Hanging from their shoulders were AK-74s.
I was looking around when the door opened and Muqtada Ahmadinejad came into the room. He was wearing his scarf and I couldn't see his face, but his eye looked around the room. In his hands was a clipboard and pen. I watched as he walked to the table.
"Andrew, are you ready to write your letter? How is your hand?" Muqtada asked as he sat down across from me.
"It's fine, and yes, I am. Thank you Muqtada," I said with a smile.
"You're welcome, Andrew. Here are paper and a pen for you, but first fill out the mailing address for your family," he said as he slid the clipboard across to me.
I took the board, picked up the pen and filled out the address form. I then started writing the letter and that was when he started speaking again as he picked up the mailing slip.
"Remember, we will read it first to see if you give any information away about us. So please don't try. I would hate to believe our trust in your was misplaced," he said.
"I won't, I promise," I said as I started writing again and he stood up and went to the video camera. I was writing away when he spoke again.
"Lieutenant Andrew Brakes, for crimes committed against the Iraqi people, we, The Free Iraqi Council sentence you to death. Executioner, do your duty!" he said.
"WHAT? Muqtada we had a..." I screamed as my arms were grabbed and stretched outward and I was yanked backwards onto my back. I was looking up at the roof and the man with the sword stepped in with the sword held high in his hands and then the blade came down as I closed my eyes.
Day thirty-nine after capture,
Elko Nevada, USA
Mister and Miss, Walter Brakes
I watched the mailman drive up and let out a sigh of relief. The house was encased with yellow bows for our son who was still missing in Iraq. Walking to the door, I opened it and smiled at Mike Banning as he walked up the walk with a determination I have never seen before.
"You're early today Mike," I said.
"I know, Gail. But when I saw the post mark, and saw it was from Andrew. I had to bring it by before I started my route," Mike said as he handed the package to her.
I took the package with shaking fingers. Looking at the address I smiled when I saw Andrews name and address on the return form as well as ours. It was in his handwriting, and I now knew he was ok.
"Is it from Andrew?" Mike asked.
"Yes! Thank you, Mike," I said and kissed his cheek and went inside to Walter who was sitting drinking his morning coffee.
"What is it dear?" Walter asked as I came in.
"A package from Andrew," I said as I handed it to him.
I took the package and looked at it. It was indeed from Andrew. His neatly written writing was on the package and he even made the 'U' with the 'T' on Walter like we had planed so I knew he wrote it.
"Yes it's from Andrew," I said as I picked up the steak knife I used to cut my morning steak with. Slitting the tape, I opened it and looked inside and saw a DVD case.
"What is it, Walter?" Gail asked.
"It's a dvd," I said as I got up and we walked over to the DVD player. I opened the machine. Placing the disk in the machine, I closed it, and hit play as I stepped back to stand with my wife.
We stood in shock. We watched as the trap was played out. We saw the building explode, and the men of Andrew's platoon get wiped out. Then Andrew, a black man and another white man were loaded into the back of a truck and taken away.
The torture was shown, and Andrew begging for his life. The murder of the other two men, then Andrew was dragged into a room where he was started to be treated nicely by his captures. Then a new scene was shown, Andrew was brought into a new room. He was wearing new clothes. His hand was in a cast, his wounds taken care of. He was forced to sit down and then another man came in wearing a scarf.
"Andrew, are you ready to write your letter?" the man asked as he sat down across from Andrew.
"Yes, I am. Thank you Muqtada," Andrew said with a smile.
"You're welcome, Andrew. Here are paper and a pen for you, but first fill out the mailing address for your family," the man said as he slid the clipboard across to Andrew.
Andrew took the board, picked up the pen and started filling out the address form. Andrew then started writing a letter and that was when the other man started speaking again as he picked up the mailing slip.
"Remember, we will read it first to see if you give any information away about us. So please don't try. I would hate to believe our trust in your was misplaced," the man said.
"I won't, I promise," Andrew said as he started writing and the man stood up and walked out of the screen. Andrew was writing away when he spoke again.
"Lieutenant Andrew Brakes, for crimes committed against the Iraqi people. We the free Iraqi council sentence you to death. Executioner, do your duty!" he said.
"WHAT? Muqtada we had a..." Andrew screamed as his arms were grabbed by the men behind him and he were stretched outward and his body was yanked backwards and he was looking up at the roof and the man with the sword stepped in with the sword held high in his hands and the blade came down.
Gail screamed as our son's head flew from his body. I grabbed the chair in front of me and I didn't hear Gail at first, but heard her hit the floor. Turning, I saw her clutching her chest and I raced for the bathroom and her nitro pills.
By the time I got back, my beloved wife of thirty years was gone. I sat there cradling her head for what I thought was minutes as I cried, but was about an hour. It was the knocking on the door by the Army that brought me around as they came to tell me they had recovered my son's body.
The first punch laid the Major out cold as I stood there with tears running down my face. Looking at the Chaplin I screamed, "I fucking know he's dead. They sent us a CD, and now my wife is gone," as I picked up the phone and called 911.
Edited By TeNderLoin