P. O. W.

P.O.W

By

Max Vos

About The Book You have Purchased

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously to further the plot in this story. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by: A. J. Corza

Website: www.maxvos.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any persons depicted on the cover are models.

Editing by: Elaine Coates

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This purchase allows you ONE LEGAL copy for personal reading on your devise of choice. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution by any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law. Violators of same are subject to criminal prosecution, and, upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to: photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the express written permission of the publisher and/or author, and where permitted by law. Reviewers and/or Bloggers may quote brief passages in a review or for promotional purposes, only. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact the author directly.

P.O.W

Copyright © 2016 Max Vos

Warning: This book contains material that may be offensive to some: graphic language, military situations, P.O.W scenes, adult situations and other situations only meant for an adult audience.

Books by Max Vos

My Hero

My Hero: The Olympian

The V Unit

P.O.W

Inappropriate Roads

Going Home

Life After Living

Memories Series

A Christmas Memory

A Christmas Memory 2

A Valentine’s Memory

A Spring Break Memory

A Christmas Memory 3

Available in French

Souvenirs-de-Noël

Mon Héros

Mon Héros: L’Olympien

Hawk ‘n’ Harley

Unite V

Rentrer a la Maison

Available in Italian

Il Mio Eroe

Il Mio Eroe Lolimpionico

Andare a Casa

Available in German

Mein Held

Dedication

I would like to take a moment to thank the armed forces, especially the United States Marine Corp, for their service, protection and dedication. It isn’t without sacrifice, and I truly understand this. This work in no way belittles what they do every day as they face the horrors of war. It is my greatest wish that every service member who comes home are rewarded with everything they deserve, most importantly the love, respect and support from those they have served. I wish I could thank each and every one of them personally.

POW

By Max Vos

Chapter 1

Mayday, Mayday, Black Hammer is hit. I repeat: Mayday, Black Hammer is hit. We’re going down. Bucky’s voice may have seemed calm to an outsider, but those who knew him understood he was anything but calm. Mayday, Mayday. Black Hammer’s current location: thirty-three Lat by seventy Long. Repeat. Mayday, Mayday. Bucky choked out as the cabin of the helicopter quickly filled with smoke.

Samuel J. Stone looked at the other five members of his team. Fuck, he mumbled, wondering if perhaps they weren’t going to make it out of this one. He yelled at his best friend Benoit. After all the fucked-up shit we’ve been through, I’m not gonna fucking die splattered on the side of some mountain in this hellhole.

Vasquez, get that damn door open! Stone yelled across the cabin to the other Marine.

Gettin’ it, Stone! Vasquez yelled back to his lieutenant.

Stone opened the opposite door, letting some of the thick smoke billow out of the burning helicopter. He and his fellow Marine, Benoit, looked out the open door. They could tell they were going down fast.

We’re still too high to jump, Stone yelled at the others trapped in the flaming bird.

"If there was anywhere to fucking jump to," Benoit yelled back.

Even with both side doors open, the cold winter wind whipping through the cabin, the acrid black smoke continued to surge in, making their eyes burn, their chests constrict with the lack of breathable air. There was a bitter taste in Stone’s mouth from inhaling the foulness of burning rubber and jet fuel.

Using hand signals to keep from yelling to be heard, Stone motioned for Vasquez and the two others to use the door they had just opened to escape through, while he and Benoit and the new kid, Saundersen, would use the one opposite.

The high-pitched scream of the rotor motor was loud enough to pierce the ear-protection headphones, making it nearly impossible to speak. Each man could barely hear Bucky still calling out a Mayday over the radio, through the headsets.

Stone grabbed Saundersen, the newest and youngest of the team, pulling him to the open door, not only for the fresh air, but also to jump if and when the opportunity presented itself. Young Saundersen was wedged in between Benoit and Stone, their arms interlocked at the elbows. The other three members of the team were doing the same on the other side of the rapidly failing chopper. They all knew that the chance of surviving an RPG in a helicopter was slim to none.

Giving Bucky his due, he and Puck, his first officer, were keeping this bird in the air and under control, making the Marines’ odds of survival better and better by the passing seconds. The closer the two pilots could get them to the ground without crashing, the better their chances would be.

Looking down at the topography, it did not look promising. Flying between two mountain ranges, which is probably how they were hit in the first place, Stone knew that there was no way Bucky was going to be able to land this thing, so the only alternative was to abandon ship before it hit the ground, and even then it didn’t look good.

Bucky continued to give coordinates; the chopper that had been behind them was nowhere to be seen. A rescue wasn’t going to be easy in this terrain, either. It wouldn’t be long before the whirling blades struck either one side or the other of the mountain ranges that had quickly risen up, engulfing the aircraft like a gaping open mouth.

Pointing ahead to what looked like a snowdrift, Stone indicated that they were going to go for it. He only hoped that it was indeed a drift and not snow-covered rock. The decision was a split-second one, but their options were running out. Benoit nodded his agreement. With arms still interlocked, the three Marines jumped.

Tuck and roll was the mantra that kept running through Stone’s mind. They all landed in the snowdrift that wasn’t as deep as they had hoped. There was rock under the snow, Stone realized as he heard, and then felt, a rib or two snap. White-hot pain exploded as he rolled through the stinging ice crystals that coated the surface of the not-very-deep snow. The ground shook with the explosion of the helicopter when it hit the rocky surface of the steep mountainside less than a hundred yards away. The flash of heat warming the side of his face told him all he needed to know. Bucky and Puck hadn’t made it.

Stone’s first concern was about Saundersen. He wasn’t as seasoned as the rest of the team, being only nineteen, and on his first tour in this godforsaken hellhole. Benoit was probably the most experienced of the team, having put in his third tour, while Stone was finishing up his second. Had Stone not gone through Special Ops training in San Diego, he would have been finishing up his third, right alongside him.

Stone heard a low groan as his head began to clear. His eyes still closed, he reached out, feeling around as he tried to isolate where he had heard the sound. Not finding anything, he forced his eyes open. Lying about a yard from him was a human lump, but from the position in which they were lying, he couldn’t determine who it was. Starting to crawl towards the lump, Stone had to fight down the bile rising in his throat that the blinding pain in his side caused. In what was probably only seconds, but felt like hours, Stone was able to reach the lump, which turned out to be Saundersen.

Stone rolled the man over as gently as he could. There was a deep jagged gash down his left cheek, turning the white snow pink where he’d landed. From the loud yelp of pain, he knew there was something else going on with him other than the cut on his face.

Saundersen, Stone choked out, the pain in his side intense. Saundersen…Country, you hear me?

In a flash, Stone remembered when Saundersen had first joined their platoon.

"Howdy" was the first word out of Saundersen’s mouth, and from that moment on, he would be known as ‘Country’.

Benoit shook his head, while Vasquez, a New York City native, rolled on the ground laughing, and the confused-looking nineteen-year-old stood there holding his gear.

Trying to hold himself in check, Stone asked the kid, Where ya from— He glanced down to read the name from the orders in his hand. —Saundersen?

"L.A., sir!" the newbie responded, a grin on his face.

There is no way that accent is from California, Benoit frowned.

"L.A. is for lower Alabama, sir!" Saundersen informed them, a big grin on his fresh, almost baby-face.

Stone couldn’t help smiling at that point, while the rest of the team burst out laughing. Welcome to the team, Saundersen.

Country, Vasquez announced. That’s his call name, as he continued laughing.

The others quickly agreed, and from then on Saundersen was dubbed Country.

"Well, Vasquez, why don’t you take Country here and help him get settled in? Stone said. Then meet us for some target practice. Let’s see what kinda sharp-shooter they sent us."

Lying on the ground, Country licked his thumb, then spread a bit of spittle on the gun sight at the end of the barrel of the rifle.

What the hell was that for? Benoit asked the teen, a sneer on his face.

My daddy taught me that little trick, Country answered. The shine makes it easier to line up.

Country took aim at the target, took a breath, and as he exhaled, let the shot go.

Man, you missed, Vasquez spat out, shaking his head.

Might wanna go check t’make sure ’fore ya say that, Country grinned, squinting as he looked up at the nay-sayer.

Go check it, Vasquez, Stone said.

Shaking his head, Vasquez trotted out to the paper target. A few feet from the target he stopped, and then looked back over his shoulder. He walked to the target, pulled the paper down, and jogged it back to the rest of the team.

Damn if he didn’t nail it, Vasquez said handing the target to Stone. It’s so clean it didn’t even tear the paper, and it’s dead center, too.

The rest of the team circled around, looking at the target.

Stone looked at the young man still lying on the ground. You can do that consistently?

Yeah, pretty much, Country grinned. Hell, I can shoot a pea outta its pod ’bout ninety-nine percent of the time.

What about moving targets? Benoit asked, still not impressed.

Yeah, I’m pretty good at that too, Country replied. I got real good at that huntin’ quail. I still hold the record for most quail back home. Not meanin’ to brag or nothin’, but I rarely miss.

The rest of the team looked at each other and smiled, knowing that they had a real jewel.

Later, they were to learn that Country had joined the Marines when his football scholarship didn’t pan out, thinking this would be a way to go to college once he got out of the service. Personally, Stone thought that any college that turned this young man down must have been crazy.

Country was one of those guys most other people are drawn to. He was lighthearted, fun and a little goofy, but he was no dummy. The boy had brains to go with all that brawn, and there was plenty of brawn. He worked out religiously.

When Stone asked about it later, while Country was doing one of his work-outs, he said, It goes back to a football coach I had back in middle school. He was always pushing us to get stronger. Guess I been at it ever since.

All Stone could say was, God bless that coach.

The first week that Country arrived in Afghanistan, he was horsing around with some of the Marines in their platoon and the army guys, playing touch football. He had his shirt off, and it was all Stone could do to keep from staring.

Later that night, Country approached Stone. Hey, uhhh, sir? The kid was miserable.

Yeah, Country, what is it? Stone asked as he looked up from the