"Run Lisa, Run!" Her colleague cried out urgently. They had been spotted and were about to be over-run by the motley group of terrorists, or freedom fighters, depending which side you were on.
Lisa hesitated for an instant, realizing that it was impossible to help Ben who was already wounded, and too late for Jack and Tim who were by then lying dead, their blood already drying in the scrubby sand.
She fired off the last three rounds from her pistol, at least one of them finding its target and adding him to the long list of dead that the fire-fight had created over the last couple of hours.
Once discovered, they'd had little chance of escape, and Lisa knew it, but she stood up and ran, dropping her empty gun, and making it back to the road, expecting any moment to feel the burning pain of a bullet tearing into her vulnerable flesh.
But they wanted one of the group alive, needed to know what information they had gathered, and what they had passed on. They wanted that so bad, that they didn't so much as risk a wounding shot, but chased her, knowing she would not get far. She did well, being as fit as any woman in the US army, but there were too many of them, and her fear almost choked her as the robe clad men closed in from both sides, cutting off all routes of escape.
Captain Lisa Roberts came to several hours later, a searing headache where they had clubbed her to unconsciousness. She shook her head trying to make sense of her surroundings, surprised to find herself still alive, and as far as she could tell in one piece. At twenty six, Lisa was one of only a handful of women who had passed all the requirements to join the elite special services squad that she had been operating with, a hundred miles the wrong side of the Pakistani border, and even then only an outbreak of food poisoning had made it necessary for her to go out live on such a dangerous mission.
She shook her head again, the long brunette hair that had once hung down to her shoulders long since cropped off, just a stubble covering her scalp. With her slim toned body, and small pert breasts, it would be difficult to tell when in uniform, that she was not just another soldier, if a little shorter than average at five foot six. That is till you looked at her face, and her pretty features and cute little nose gave the game away, in particular the huge soft brown eyes that looked out from under her long curly lashes.
Out of the bulky uniform she was altogether different, though few had enjoyed that privilege. She was, and always had been a tom-boy, not preferring women in any way, but had spent more time playing with big boy's toys, than the boys themselves.
It took a few minutes to realise that she was tied up; her wrists bound and tied up above her head, to the mesh fence that she was secured to. It was night time, and she was outside in the open, just a glimmer from the waning moon giving her any idea of what was around her, a light truck to her right, and what looked like two or three tents just beyond. With a jolt, Lisa recognized that this was probably the camp they had been looking for, what the other three had died trying to find. If only she could pass this extra bit of intel. on, but it was too late now, and a single tear ran down her cheek as the hopelessness of her situation dawned.
She shivered as the cold of the night got through to her for the first time, and the bindings began to cut into her flesh. She stood, almost hung there, not knowing how long it would be till they come for her, as come for her they surely would.
An hour later, there was a flash of dim light from one of the tents, as someone lifted the flap to leave. Lisa squinted into the darkness in an effort to see where they were going, but could make nothing out. Then suddenly they were there, right in front of her, staring at her with hatred in their dark eyes. There were two of them, one in dark flowing robes, and the other in a western style suit. One of them flashed a lamp in her face, just for an instant but long enough.
"You're right," one said in good English. "It is a woman. The Americans must be desperate if they're using women for this sort of work."
Then the one in the suit stepped forward and slapped her hard around the face, sending Lisa's senses reeling, the stinging pain surprising her.
"I don't suppose you will tell us what we want to know young miss, will you?" He demanded.
Lisa gave her name, rank and number as required by international law and no more, but the man just laughed cruelly.
"You will soon enough," he replied. "By this time tomorrow you'll be begging us to listen to you. Meanwhile the Americans have been good enough to send us a little gift. Something to amuse the men maybe."
Lisa's insides turned over, the implications of his words sinking in, as he issued an instruction in Arabic to the other man.
He stood back, and the robe clad man took his place, drawing out a wicked looking knife as he did so, causing Lisa to draw back in terror. He reached out with the knife and pushed the flat of it into her stomach, threatening to twist it and sink it into her flesh. Instead he pushed it under her belt and with one quick movement sliced through the heavy leather as if it was butter. Then he grabbed the top of her trousers with his other hand, and sliced them open, not bothering with the buttons, ripping them all the way down one leg till they fell in a heap around her ankles.
Lisa sobbed, all her training not preparing her for this reality; death was always a possibility, but a brutal strip and probably more had never been on the list.
She struggled with her bindings, hopelessly trying to save herself, but knowing it was useless.
"Ready to talk yet young miss?" the voice from the darkness beyond teased her, but still she shook her head, not trusting herself to say anything.
The man in the background spoke again, slowly, in plain English, making absolutely sure that the girl in front of him would fully understand what he was saying. "OK, Khalid, have your fun. Strip her naked and we'll see what the men make of her when they find her tied up here in the morning." With that he turned on his heels and made his way back to the tent, having lost interest in the girl for the time being.
Lisa bit her lip, desperately trying not to break down, not to beg for release, but with a sob, she could not hold out.
"Please, please don't. Please leave me alone," she cried pitifully, but he ignored her, for the moment more interested in what a pretty young American girl looked like naked than anything else. He'd never seen a western woman in the nude, but had seen pictures and liked what he'd seen. Khalid was looking forward to carrying out Wahid's orders to the letter.
He put his knife inside the bottom of her regulation shirt, and slowly sawed his way upwards, slicing the material easily with the razor sharp blade, laughing as she turned her head away as it threatened to cut into her as it emerged at the top. Then he roughly grabbed it with both hands, opening it up, and tearing the last few shreds that still held it together. The terrorist stood back to admire his handiwork, a grin on his face.
"So not all American whores have big tits like in your filthy magazines," he spat at her.
He then grabbed at her bra and yanked at it causing her to jerk, the pain in her wrists suddenly worse. Then the knife came out again, and he slid it under the flimsy garment, the cold steel sending shivers through her as she felt it against her bare skin, one flourish ripping through the bra, then the straps, so he could wrench it from her.
