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#Post#: 4308--------------------------------------------------
Wolfe's Small And Secret Wars
By: wolfman_six Date: August 6, 2013, 11:14 pm
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This WIP thread will chronicle the (fictional) stories of
Lieutenant Karl Wolfe and the Sailors of his Naval Special
Warfare SEAL platoon in service to their nation and there by the
grace of God.
Wolfman_Six
WARNINGS
This series is a work of fiction and may include adult themes,
graphic depictions of violence or other parental guidance
material. If you might find such things offensive, do not read
further except at your own risk. I will not be liable for what
you find.
Characterizations are not intended to depict or allude to actual
persons, living or dead. Any such references are coincidental.
#Post#: 4365--------------------------------------------------
Re: Wolfe's Small And Secret Wars
By: wolfman_six Date: August 13, 2013, 12:19 am
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"Which one of you pathetic fucks is the leader? I can make this
far less painful if you give up your leader."
The voice was thick with a European accent - not French, as the
Intel had suggested... But European without a doubt. Lieutenant
Junior Grade Karl Wolfe listened to the voice through ringing
ears, the result of a vicious buttstroking with the automatic
rifle of one of his captors. The voice sounded distant and soft,
as if the speaker was mumbling through a towel, despite the
interrogator practically shouting in the faces of the captured
sailors.
Wolfe felt weak, a dull muscle ache burned almost everywhere in
his body, with the exception of the thickly swollen welts on his
face where he had absorbed the enemy's blows for refusing to
identify himself, and those taken during the capture of his
four-man tactical targeting team. There was a soft pitter-patter
of light rain pinging off the corrugated sheet metal roof that
covered the hooch where the captors brought the Navy special
operators after stumbling on a significantly stronger patrol.
The rain only meant one thing - after the interrogations were
over for the night, the GEAR 1 operators could look forward to
immersion in cold rainwater in a deep holding pit at the camp.
It was the kind of nightmare the SEAL instructors had warned
about - torture and hardship until someone talked or the team
died to a man.
"Pff," the European spat. "You all remain silent. You force me
to devise unpleasant things to get the information I desire. It
is regrettable, as I can see you are brave men. Such a shame."
Wolfe was being held in a stress position, a favorite of
interrogators, which used his own body weight against him,
without being able to flex muscles that became too tired to
support his body. He was unable to stretch out from a crouching
shape, held fast by rough cut timbers and rope. His eyes
traveled around the small room where his three teammates were
also being held by dark, muddy faced enemy fighters.
Thud - thud - thud... The leather jackboots of the European
interrogator clomped back and forth as he paced, watching the
silent SEAL operators looking back at him with angry eyes and
not a sound being uttered. The single armed guard that was in
the hooch leaned casually against a wall by the single door,
smoking and waiting for a signal to raise his automatic rifle
for another dose of pain.
Another enemy fighter entered the hooch. The black-clad soldier
whispered to the European and ducked out as quickly as he had
arrived. A smile crossed the European's lips.
"There is no longer any need to ask you four men any questions.
I now know what your silence is protecting." The European
beckoned to his guard. "Bring the new arrival in."
#Post#: 4385--------------------------------------------------
Re: Wolfe's Small And Secret Wars
By: wolfman_six Date: August 17, 2013, 9:10 pm
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Guards half walked and half dragged a struggling figure into the
hooch. Clad in similar baggy, tiger-striped camouflage fatigues
as the SEAL operators, this prisoner entered wearing a burlap
shroud that covered the entire head and was cinched tight around
the neck. The prisoner's hands were tightly bound behind the
back and one leg dragged as the prisoner was led in, implying to
the trained Navy operators' eyes that the prisoner had sustained
a leg injury and was trying to use the painful resulting limp as
a way to resist the guards.
The European casually walked over to the prisoner, looked back
at each of the other prisoners' faces one by one and then
loosened the drawstring of the burlap shroud. With a quick
motion, he drew the shroud off, revealing a young, beautiful
female face framed in mud-caked and sweat-soaked fiery red hair.
The guards brought her to her knees with grunts, but the woman
gritted her teeth and silently resisted, a single tear forming
at the corner of one eye in reaction to the pain in her injured
leg.
"What do you men think?" the European asked. "Are you crazy to
bring along a servicewoman into enemy held territory? What
purpose does she serve?"
The European gazed at the operators. One of the guards, a
tough-looking brute of a man that was probably a sergeant of the
enemy force just by beating the hell out of anyone who
challenged him, cracked his knuckles and flashed a grin,
memorable by the gap from a missing front tooth breaking what
would've been a perfect set. He appeared to be thinking about
what the European would allow him to do if he were to
interrogate the redhead.
"Tell me!" the European shouted, backhanding the female operator
but watching for a response from the men. "Do you really want to
see or hear the things my fighters will do to her? Who is going
to be a man of honor and stop her from being tortured?"
"Don't... don't tell... Don't tell the bastards nothing," the
redhead managed to spit out through her gritted teeth. She
absorbed another backhand and crumpled to the floor in a fetal
heap.
"She's nothing but our guide," Wolfe said after hesitation. "I'm
the one you want. I'm the leader."
"That's good," the European replied. He cocked his head at the
guards, who raised the redhead to her knees and forced her into
a stress position. "Was that supposed to protect her? Why should
I believe that she is not the key player of your little mission?
Why would you speak now, Americanist scum?"
"I told her to head for the border when your bastards jumped
us," Wolfe replied, spitting out a little dried blood. "I'm the
one you want. Wolfe, Karl. Lieutenant Junior Grade, GEAR 1 Naval
Forces. My teammates have no mission knowledge."
The European hauled back and swung hard at Wolfe's jaw, knocking
him sideways onto the hooch floor. "We shall see."
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