Dreamland

“Yeah, I’m one lucky dog.”

“You will find in time, Major, that that is very true.” The Iranian motioned to the guards behind him. Two strong arms levered him upward from his chair; caught by surprise, Mack dropped the water, splashing it on his uniform and the floor. The two men behind his interrogator bristled, stepping forward quickly as if he had made a threat.

“An accident, I’m sure,” said the Iranian, holding them back with a subtle gesture of his hand. He looked at Knife the way an older relative might, as if he had known him all his life, as if he were comparing the man before him with a mental image of the child he had been. “I must attend to some business, Major Smith.”

The Iranian started to leave.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Smith asked.

“Possibly, you will be put on trial. If that happens, I will be your advocate.”

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Iman or Teacher. I am your advocate,” said the Iranian. He swept from the room, the two brown uniforms and half a dozen Somalians in tow.

“GODDAMN FAGGOT IRANIANS,” MELFI TOLD JACKSON.

“Least they could have done was beat the shit out of us.”

“Yeah,” said Jackson.

He’d been shot in the leg and Gu

“Stinkin’ pilot’s probably making a deal for us right now, what do you think?” said Gu

Jackson snorted. His eyes started to close.

Gu

“Yo, stay with me, boy. Yo. You’re mine, shithead. Don’t go nowhere.”

“I’m okay, Gu

“Hey, you douche bags—get me a fucking doctor here, okay?” Gu

The door to the basement opened. Still holding Jackson, Gu

“Hey, Ayatollah, where the fuck is that doctor?”

The others rushed around the two Americans. One grabbed Gu

“We need a fucking doctor,” Melfi told the Imam.

“Your soldier will receive what attention is available,” said the Iranian. He nodded, and two of his men lifted Jackson up and carried him away. The Marine’s head flopped to the side. “The wound does not appear serious.”

“I’ll tell you what. Give me a fuckin’ AK-47 and you can find out how serious it is.”

“Your false bravado is hardly appropriate.”

The Imam nodded again. Gu

“This ain’t exactly Geneva Convention style,” growled Gu

“This isn’t Geneva, Sergeant,” said the Imam.

A man with a video camera appeared from behind the cleric. A red light flashed on near the lens; Melfi spat and stuck his tongue out. The videographer continued for a few more moments, then snapped off the camera.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” said the Imam, seemingly amused. He said something to the others. One or two of the men gri

“You’re a real fuckin’ comedian, Ayatollah,” said Gu

Grub wasn’t as bad as some of the crap the Navy served on their aircraft carriers. He spooned it quickly into his mouth with his fingers. Like before, the soldier waited for the bowl quietly a few feet away.

“Here ya go, Sport,” Gu

“You find a beer up there, you let me know, huh?” Gu

Hell of a jail, he thought. Reminded him of the storage room in an old NCO club in Florida. Guys used to help one of the waitresses rearrange the boxes downstairs.

Ooo-la-la.

The door above opened once more. A pair of black boots appeared, followed by the Somalians in their beat-up sneakers.

Major Smith.

Gu

The instant the door closed, Smith collapsed on the floor.

“Jesus, Major, you all right?” said Gu

“Yeah, I’m okay,” said Smith. His eyes were closed. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Jail, I think,” said Gu

“Upstairs looks like a school or something. We still in Somalia?”

“They had us in the back of a van the whole time,” Gu

“The Imam,” said Smith.

“Looks like Khomeni,” said Gu

“This guy’s our lawyer or something.” Smith groaned. “Or he’s pretending to be, so we trust him.”

“Lawyer?”

Smith pulled himself forward, finally opening his eyes. “Ribs are killing me,” said the major apologetically.

“Yeah. They beat you up?”

“Haven’t touched me.”

“Us neither. Strange. They must be scared.”

“No. They’re going to put us on trial. They don’t want us hurt before then. We’re propaganda.” Smith glanced toward the two Somalians standing at the foot of the stairs. They were holding South African 9mm BXPs, Uzi-like weapons with telescoping stocks and air-cooled muzzles. “What happened to Jackson?”

“They took him upstairs. He got shot in the leg.”

“How about you?”

“Head hurts like shit,” said Gu

Gu

“I guess I got shot somewhere along the way,” added Gu

“Let me see it.”

Melfi bent down and let Smith examine the wound, even though Jackson had already said the bullet had only grazed him. The major agreed, describing it as the sort of red singe a barber’s razor might make.

“What happens next, you figure?” Gu

“If we don’t get rescued first,” said the sergeant. “Or bust out first.”

Smith gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, we’ll just have to bust out.”

“I got a knife blade in my buckle,” whispered Gu

The major didn’t understand at first. Finally he nodded. “My radio,” he told Gu

“They’ll come for us,” said Melfi. “Don’t worry, Major. Hell, Jackson and me are expendable. But you’re a fuckin’ officer. You bet your ass they’re going to come and get you back.”