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Chapter 1
The drip of room temperature, rust tainted water landed on Brent’s forehead. The trickle came and went at will. Some nights not at all, others, like tonight, it seemed constant. If he had been captured by the enemy, Brent would have considered the past forty days to have been a form of extended water torture. But he was in friendly hands. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
To stay sane, he went back to his mantra. Two hundred became fifty, fifty became five; one dropped on request, and five became four.
These were the thoughts that kept Brent Venturi, Lieutenant Brent Venturi of the United States Army up nights.
As he continued to lie in bed, he stared at the moths as they circled the sole light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Brent’s mind was spinning as he looked around the barracks, a makeshift tin facility of prefab construction. His thoughts raced in a hundred different directions.
Sleep deprivation had been increasing with each passing night. Some of it was planned by whatever psychotic mind put this little exercise together, and some of it was unplanned due to his insomnia.
His first thought was how the hell did he get here? That thought cascaded back to the phone call that started this madness. A phone call he received from his commanding officer. A call that seemed like yesterday, but in actuality was more than a month ago. Forty-two days to be exact, Brent thought.
The call started off like every other that occurred over that past six years.
“Congratulations on a successful mission, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s good to be home,” Brent answered.
That’s when it changed. Brent expected the usual line of bull and the predictable invitation to the Officers Quarters for a steak dinner. The invitation was the main reason he looked forward to the phone calls.
“I received a request from up above,” his commanding officer stated. “This one is a bit odd.”
Brent remained silent. He had known the colonel long enough to know when he was pausing for dramatic effect and not because he wanted an answer.
“I received a call from the Joint Chiefs,” he continued. Brent sat a little straighter in his chair. “They are putting together two hundred of the best soldiers, regardless of outfit or rank for some Special Forces exercise. When they asked for my recommendation, I didn’t give it a second thought, your name was the first and only one I mentioned.”
This time when the colonel paused, Brent didn’t wait to see if he would start speaking again. “Thank you, sir. What type of exercise was the Joint Chiefs of Staff discussing?”
“Don’t rightly know, Brent. All very hush hush. All I know is that you leave tomorrow on a C-130 transport for somewhere in Montana. A list of what you will need to pack will be handed to you at dinner. I’ll see you at nineteen hundred hours.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brent shook his head. Such a whirlwind of a process. Day one, I’m given my orders. Day two, I’m in route to a destination unknown, and day three until…God knows when, here I am. He once again mouthed the mantra: “Two hundred became fifty, fifty became five; one dropped on request, and five became four.”
The last time he saw the red, florescent blinking numbers on the clock, they read 3:07 a.m. He was woken out of a sound sleep at 4:00 a.m.