Lore:
Water rushed through his sinuses, pouring down the back of his throat. He could see nothing, all sounds were muted. SERE never prepared him for this.
“What is your name?’ shouted a man with a barely understandable accent.
The flow of water stopped, and Sergeant Jake Dalton sputtered as the Talib pulled the soaked hood off his head.
“My… my name is Terry Derringer,” he said, using the false identity taught to him during Special Forces training.
His interrogator leaned forward, “I said, ‘No more bullshit.’ You say that you are an Infantryman, yes? Never have I seen infantryman withstand torture for so long.”
Dalton remained silent. He wouldn’t spill. He knew that his countrymen would rescue him at any moment. Never before had a member of their unit ever been captured. After all, the US Army 1st SFD-Delta never left a man behind. Or, at least, not before now.
“You no speak? I guess we will continue then…”
“Alright boys, we are going to hit them hard and fast, just like training,” said Jake Dalton, looking around at the group of heavily armed men before him. “My team will go in through the front, and Gaston will take a team to enter through the emergency exit in the back.”
“What about civilians?” asked Karl Gerben, a former member of the elite German police force, GSG-9.
“Don’t worry about them, they will be too shocked to do anything,” answered Dalton as the van bounced over a rough patch of road, “When you get inside, drop the guard and the clerks instantly. The last thing we need is the alarm going off.”
Gaston, the second in command, said, “After this group one will blow the vault door. Don’t worry about the money inside, it is not worth it. Group 2 will storm the upper levels.”
“Once there, we will enter the treasurer's office,” said Dalton. He clicked his radio on, “Status,” he snapped.
“We have his children,” came the slightly distorted reply, “but the wife was an issue. One of my men shot her.”
“Fuck,” said Dalton, “the kids will have to do,” He turned to his men, “Once in the office, we will show him the live feed. Every minute that he does not transfer the funds, we cut something off of one of his children. He will cooperate very fast, I think.”
“Isn’t that… a little cruel?” the newest crew member asked.
“Cruel? Ha!” said Dalton, “This man works for the country that left me to rot in the desert. The country that told my family that I was dead. They didn’t give a fuck about me, I don’t give a fuck about them," after a pause he said, "Now we strike back. They will learn to fear our names. The Adderall Cartel will go down in history, my friends."
Just then the truck came to a stop and the driver shouted, “We’re here!”
“Alright men, let’s get it done,” said Jake Dalton, throwing the back doors open and jumping out of the truck.
Water rushed through his sinuses, pouring down the back of his throat. He could see nothing, all sounds were muted. SERE never prepared him for this.
“What is your name?’ shouted a man with a barely understandable accent.
The flow of water stopped, and Sergeant Jake Dalton sputtered as the Talib pulled the soaked hood off his head.
“My… my name is Terry Derringer,” he said, using the false identity taught to him during Special Forces training.
His interrogator leaned forward, “I said, ‘No more bullshit.’ You say that you are an Infantryman, yes? Never have I seen infantryman withstand torture for so long.”
Dalton remained silent. He wouldn’t spill. He knew that his countrymen would rescue him at any moment. Never before had a member of their unit ever been captured. After all, the US Army 1st SFD-Delta never left a man behind. Or, at least, not before now.
“You no speak? I guess we will continue then…”
Seven Years Later
“Alright boys, we are going to hit them hard and fast, just like training,” said Jake Dalton, looking around at the group of heavily armed men before him. “My team will go in through the front, and Gaston will take a team to enter through the emergency exit in the back.”
“What about civilians?” asked Karl Gerben, a former member of the elite German police force, GSG-9.
“Don’t worry about them, they will be too shocked to do anything,” answered Dalton as the van bounced over a rough patch of road, “When you get inside, drop the guard and the clerks instantly. The last thing we need is the alarm going off.”
Gaston, the second in command, said, “After this group one will blow the vault door. Don’t worry about the money inside, it is not worth it. Group 2 will storm the upper levels.”
“Once there, we will enter the treasurer's office,” said Dalton. He clicked his radio on, “Status,” he snapped.
“We have his children,” came the slightly distorted reply, “but the wife was an issue. One of my men shot her.”
“Fuck,” said Dalton, “the kids will have to do,” He turned to his men, “Once in the office, we will show him the live feed. Every minute that he does not transfer the funds, we cut something off of one of his children. He will cooperate very fast, I think.”
“Isn’t that… a little cruel?” the newest crew member asked.
“Cruel? Ha!” said Dalton, “This man works for the country that left me to rot in the desert. The country that told my family that I was dead. They didn’t give a fuck about me, I don’t give a fuck about them," after a pause he said, "Now we strike back. They will learn to fear our names. The Adderall Cartel will go down in history, my friends."
Just then the truck came to a stop and the driver shouted, “We’re here!”
“Alright men, let’s get it done,” said Jake Dalton, throwing the back doors open and jumping out of the truck.
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