It had been three days since they’d been abandoned in the wilderness, and if she’d been a four on a scale of one to ten when it came to outdoor stuff when they’d been stranded, she was at least a six and a half now.
Bubba admired her. She didn’t let her frustrations get the better of her and most of the time she stayed upbeat and positive. He wasn’t surprised that she was flagging now. They’d had to take cover for much of the day, since it had been raining. The worst thing that could happen to them was to get soaking wet. They had no clothes to change into and even though it wasn’t the middle of winter, it wasn’t exactly warm. Wet clothes would leech out their body warmth and they could get hypothermia, even though the temperature wasn’t below freezing.
The rest of the evening went by fairly quickly. They’d eaten their dinner, which consisted of the salmon he’d caught and more berries and mushrooms. The fish had been delicious and a welcome change from the tough meat of the squirrels he’d caught. But Bubba could tell Zoey was having a hard time shaking off her frustration.
When they’d finished their meal and had built up the fire as far as they’d dared, Bubba held out his hand. “Come here.”
She looked at him questioningly, but put her hand in his and let him pull her over to where he was sitting. He situated her in front of him and put his arms around her. His legs were outstretched on either side of hers, and it felt like they were literally the only two people in the world at this moment in time. Resting his chin on her shoulder, they sat cheek to cheek, staring at the fire for a few minutes.
He didn’t like to talk about the past events he was preparing to share with her, but he thought at this point, she needed to hear it.
“I told you before that I’d been held captive by the Taliban.”
He felt her jerk slightly in surprise in his arms, but she didn’t pull away, just nodded once.
“Rex and Ace had been injured, and even with the other four of us healthy and able, we couldn’t take on the twenty men who’d surrounded us, so we allowed ourselves to be taken.”
“Holy shit, really?” Zoey asked.
“Yeah. We probably could’ve gotten away, but we weren’t going to leave Rex and Ace. No way in hell.”
Zoey turned her head to look at him, but he stared straight ahead at the crackling flames. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but after a moment, she turned back around, curled her hands around his thighs and held on tightly.
He sighed silently, loving her hands on him, but needed to get his story over and done with.
“They searched us, and much like this time around, I had a ton of shit in my pockets, and they were too busy laughing at me and my huge assortment of supplies to really do a thorough search.”
Zoey inhaled sharply. “What’d they miss?”
Smiling because of how quickly she’d caught on, he said, “A knife. It was tucked into a secret inside pocket of my pants.”
“So you used it to kill them and get out of there?” she asked.
Shaking his head, Bubba said, “No, unfortunately. They were pretty excited to have us at their mercy and spent the first twenty-four hours beating the shit out of us. They tied us all up in separate rooms—actually, they were more like stalls…there were walls but no doors—next to each other and went from room to room, beating us.”
Zoey inhaled sharply and her fingers tightened on his thighs, but she didn’t comment.
“We could hear what was happening, but couldn’t see each other. We’ve been trained to withstand torture, so it wasn’t the beatings that got to me. I could handle the pain. It was the worry over Rex and Ace that almost broke me.
“I remembered back when we were in Hell Week together. It’s the third week of BUD/S training, before the navy makes an expensive investment in SEAL operational training. It’s five and a half days of literal pure hell. Four hours of sleep the entire week, running, swimming, paddling, sit-ups, pushups, rolling in the sand, slogging through mud…you name it, they put us through it. The sand was chafing me in places I don’t want to remember, and the saltwater from the sea was making the cuts and scrapes on my body burn. We had to perform evaluations that required us to think, lead, make good decisions, and functionally operate while hallucinating, having hypothermia, and while sleep-deprived.”
“That sounds horrible,” Zoey said. “Why in the world would they do that to you?”
“Because they want to know who really wants to be a SEAL. They want to know who has the physical ability and mental fortitude to make it through the training and possibly save their own life, and the lives of their comrades, when shit gets real on a combat mission.”
“And you did,” Zoey said simply.
“Eventually, yes. But I had gotten to the point where I was done and about ready to ring the bell.”
“Ring the bell?” Zoey asked.
“Yeah, quit. The instructors for Hell Week take great pride in doing their best to entice the trainees to quit. They use a bullhorn to basically mimic our inner voices that tell us we can’t do it. That we’re no good. That it’s too hard. They make it seem logical, even honorable, to quit. To come out of the cold, ring a bell that signifies defeat, and to enjoy doughnuts and a cup of hot coffee.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. But only because of Rocco, Gumby, Ace, Rex, and Phantom.
“See, Hell Week is more about making it through mentally than physically. The instructors could get anyone to quit if they really wanted to. They truly want people to succeed. But the trainees have to have the mental strength to see it through. To ignore the pain and the inner voice that wants them to quit. That says they can’t endure anymore. And my teammates helped me find that burning desire deep within me to be a SEAL. To not quit. To not give up and ring that fucking bell.
“I thought about that when I was being beaten by those Taliban assholes. They wanted me to quit, to ring the bell. To give in to the shit going on in my head. I remembered what my teammates had done for me in Hell Week, and I returned the favor. Every time I was hit, instead of groaning or swearing, I yelled out a word that reminded me of Hell Week. Loud enough for my teammates to hear. Sand, cold, log, paddle, boat, food, sleep…it went on and on. My entire concentration was on thinking up new words to use instead of thinking about what was happening to me, or my injured teammates.”
Zoey was as still as a statue in his arms. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing. Wanting to finish up his story so he could think about something else made him talk faster.
“How long they fucked with us, I have no idea, but eventually they left. We were all still in our own stalls, and I’m sure they’d thought they’d broken us. After a while, I managed to slip my hand out of the rope they’d used to tie me up.”
Bubba didn’t tell Zoey that he’d had to dislocate his shoulder and use his own blood to lubricate his wrist in order to do it.
“I got the knife out of my pocket and cut myself free. Then I went from stall to stall and freed the others. We did our best to stabilize Ace and Rex and get the fuck out of there.
“My point with this long, rambling story is that it’s okay to get frustrated. To feel like you want to quit. But you can’t. Even when things seem horrible and you think you can’t continue, you can’t quit. I know this isn’t easy for you, Zoey, but trust me when I tell you that you’re doing great. So you can’t start a fire, big fucking deal. You’re more than pulling your weight. You’re making this so easy on me, I almost feel guilty.”