Running out of breath, he reached for Farag’s shoulder. “Farag, we gotta get-”
On the other side of the column he saw someone with long hair. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. It was Holly! She was taped to a metal chair, with thick silver tape covering her mouth. As soon as she saw Crocker, tears started to fall from her eyes.
“Holly, sweetheart! Oh, my God…”
Farag opened a pocketknife and started trying to cut her free.
Crocker squeezed her arm. He wanted to hug and kiss her, but there was no time.
Emotion coursing through him, he saw Farag struggling with the tape and pushed him away. “Forget it! We’re running out of time!”
He handed him his MP5 and picked up the chair with Holly in it. “Let’s get the hell out of here! Follow me!”
He ran to the stairway with the chair and Holly in his arms. Thick black smoke curled around their heads. They’d made it down to the landing, eyes and throats burning, when Crocker saw flames shooting up and realized they couldn’t get through.
He slapped Farag on the arm and pointed upward. Returning to the third floor, he thought fast. He found the rope, determined that it was long enough, and tied it around the top of the metal chair.
Then he grabbed the radio from his back pocket. “Akil!” he shouted. “We’re trapped up here. Tell me, are you able to safely approach any part of the building?”
“The front is the clearest, boss. How come?”
“I’m going to climb out one of the front windows. Look for me. I’ve got Holly. I’m going to lower her down.”
“You found her? Is she okay?”
“Listen! You grab her and get as far away from the building as you can. The third floor is rigged to blow in less than two minutes!”
“But-”
“Do it! Now!”
He picked her up again and ran to one of the front windows, using the cast on his wrist to punch away what was left of the glass. Black smoke was pouring out of the first- and second-story windows.
He shouted and waved to Akil and Mancini below. They ran and positioned themselves under him.
Crocker wrapped one end of the rope around a water pipe in the corner that ran from the floor to the ceiling and handed it to Farag. He said, “Hold this. Don’t let it go. Wait for my signal, then let it out slowly.”
The young man looked confused.
Crocker quickly demonstrated what he wanted him to do. “Like this.”
“Okay.”
With the rope around the chair taut to the pipe, Crocker picked up the chair and lifted it out the window until Holly was clear.
“I love you, baby.”
Silver tape still covered her mouth, so she nodded vigorously.
Then, holding on to the rope, Crocker signaled to Farag to give him some slack. The rope burned his hands, ripping the skin off his palms, twisting the bones in his injured wrist.
Gritting his teeth through the searing pain, he watched Holly’s head disappear in the smoke. He hoped she could breathe.
After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Akil shout, “We got her, boss! We got her!”
Huge relief. Alright!
Quickly pulling up the freed rope, he grabbed Farag by the shoulder. “You’re next!”
“No!”
“Hold on to the rope. Use your legs and walk down the side of the building. Like this.”
“Maybe.”
“You can do it. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Yes.”
He helped Farag out the window, took a deep breath, then climbed out himself. Halfway down Farag stumbled and got caught in the rope. The thick smoke stuck like hot tar in Crocker’s throat. He couldn’t breathe, but he heard his colleagues shouting. He was too light-headed to make out what they were saying.
Instead he focused on Farag, and climbed down as fast as he could to where he was stuck and hanging by one leg. He was reaching around to try to untangle him when the explosion went off. He saw a tremendous light and felt the oxygen being sucked out of his lungs. As he was flying through the air, he lost consciousness.
Chapter Sixteen
It was close; but that’s the way it is in war. You win or lose, live or die-and the difference is just an eyelash.
– General Douglas MacArthur
He lay on his back in the dark, feeling as if he’d been there for years. He couldn’t move and was barely conscious. He couldn’t even feel his body, aware only of the blackness nestled around him.
Maybe I’m dead and buried. This is what it is.
It was like being stuck in a void, only worse, because part of him was alive enough to be aware of the state he was in.
How long is this going to last…Forever?
He’d deal with it; take what was coming to him, as he always had. Figure out a way to make the best of it, if that was possible.
He kept repeating, “At least Holly’s safe.”
It made him happy. I didn’t die for nothing.
More darkness.
After what seemed like hours he heard a sound that was barely perceptible, like a breeze stirring the grass, or a whisper.
“Ka…Ka…”
Or the sound of a bird calling.
“Kr…Kr…”
It took him awhile to realize that someone was whispering his name.
“Crock-er…Crock-er…” Almost like a song.
He tried to respond but nothing came out. So he focused on the sound, and as he did, the darkness around him started to move like a million moths waking up and taking flight. The flutter of their wings tickled his skin and brought it back to life.
“Crocker…Hey, Crocker…” Sharper this time.
As the darkness dispersed, he saw a gray light with touches of green and yellow around the edges. Tried to raise his arm, but it wouldn’t move. Tried to raise his head, but couldn’t do that, either.
Made out a fuzzy dark object looming over him.
“Crocker. Boss, can you hear me?”
He felt himself blink, which brought him joy. Hope. Slowly, and with great effort, he made out a face with two dark eyes.
“Crocker, can you hear me?”
He blinked again and moved his head slightly.
“Crocker, it’s me, Manny.”
He blinked one more time and tried to smile. The pain he felt around his mouth and in his neck was welcome. Affirming.
“Crocker, we’re in Germany. Holly’s here. The rest of the team is back in Virginia.”
He smiled slightly.
“Unfortunately, Farag didn’t make it.”
He winced and shook his head.
“That brave little man saved your life.”
He tried to pull himself up.
He heard Mancini say, “His body shielded you from the explosion.”
Crocker stopped and sighed. Felt a tear form in his eye.
“I’ll go call Holly. She’ll want to see you. I’ll get her now.”
An enormous feeling of warmth and appreciation enveloped his chest and squeezed his heart. He started to weep.
There were no medal ceremonies or parades. Just six weeks of convalescence for injuries to his wrist, lungs, back, neck, head, and ribs. Then another week with Holly on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, where they held each other, rested, took long walks on the beach, paddled their kayaks in the bay, and made love.
Holly wasn’t ready to talk about her ordeal in Libya. Though she was okay physically and hadn’t been sexually violated, she’d been tied up and forced to witness the torture and execution of Brian Shaw. She said he’d been her friend and colleague, nothing more.
It was difficult, ugly stuff. Both of them understood that the psychological wounds would take time to heal, if they ever did.
Crocker was happy to be alive, but still pissed off.
His first day back at ST-6 headquarters, he was in the team room unpacking his gear and talking to Ritchie about Harley motorcycles when someone summoned him to the CO’s office. As he slowly walked across the cement exercise area, teammates came over to congratulate him and shake his hand.