Page 2 of Salute, To Bravery
Rehan
T he sting of cold metal against my wrists as handcuffs are applied when I enter the enemy base is a harsh reminder of my new status as a prisoner. It’s a discomfort that’s matched only by the exhaustion I feel following the sleepless night I spent out in the open.
I didn’t expect my mission to be compromised so soon. I was just about to be captured by government soldiers, my fellow prisoners, so it was fortunate timing when the US army intervened.
The camp is strategically nestled between two hills, partially obscured from any distant vantage point. High chain-link fences topped with razor wire illustrate the level of security. Guards with dogs patrol the perimeter, their movements synchronized with military meticulousness.
I’m led through a series of stringent checkpoints.
The enemy soldiers around me are alert but wary, their eyes constantly scanning for any sign of trouble.
It’s clear that they are well-trained, and their movements are confident and calculated.
Yet, beneath the surface, there is a tension that indicates they are far from relaxed.
“Keep moving,” a stern voice orders from behind me.
I don’t need to look back to know that it’s Captain Harper Riley with her vibrant red hair and intense green eyes.
Her presence is imposing, and her authority is unquestionable.
When I was captured, I took immediate note of her firm directions, her careful observation of her troops, and her tactical acumen. She’s a born leader.
We approach what looks like the central command tent, and I take in the details that could be crucial later— the layout of the tents, the location of what I assume is the armory, and the comings and goings of senior officers.
I am taken to a tent in the heart of the base and pushed into a chair in front of a sturdy table. Captain Riley takes the seat opposite me.
“Rehan Haddad, isn’t it?” she starts, her tone neutral yet firm.
“Yes, Captain,” I reply, meeting her gaze steadily.
“I can tell you’re not a regular foot soldier. Apart from the fact you aren’t wearing standard issue uniform, your calm demeanor when captured and your close observance of your surroundings lead me to think you may be trained intelligence.”
Her eyes are sharp, missing nothing.
“Observation is a survival skill in war, Captain,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “As for intelligence, isn’t every soldier so trained?”
A spark of amusement flickers in her emerald eyes, but then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. “What are your objectives, Haddad?”
“To survive, Captain. To live another day,” I respond truthfully.
I know she’s fishing for more, but I need to fully understand her motives before I divulge anything further.
“Survival is a basic instinct, but what was your mission before you were captured?” she presses, leaning forward slightly.
I pause, considering my options. Revealing too much could compromise my comrades, but revealing nothing would make me a less valuable prisoner, potentially expendable. I decide to be evasive.
“My mission is to observe and report. The dynamics of conflict are ever-changing, so understanding them is key to adapting strategies.”
Captain Riley nods, her expression unreadable. “And what have you observed about us?”
“You’re disciplined, well-equipped, and cautious,” I say, watching her reaction closely. “Your leadership is competent. However, like all invading forces, you are stretched thin, having to balance aggression with defense.”
She leans back, absorbing my analysis. “You’re quite perceptive.”
“In my line of work, one has to be,” I admit with a small shrug.
“What about your line of work before you joined the military? What were you?” Her tone is casual, but her gaze is anything but.
“I was a teacher of history, Captain,” I reveal. “As well as teaching us about the past, it’s a subject that educates us about the present and the future. Patterns repeat, and the resulting strategies echo through time.”
“A teacher turned soldier,” she muses. “That’s quite the shift.”
“In times of war, everyone must play their part,” I respond, thinking of my students now scattered by conflict.
Captain Riley regards me silently for a moment. “For now, you’ll be held here. Cooperate, and we can ensure your safety. Try to escape or cause us problems, and you’ll regret it.”
I nod once, understanding the parameters of my confinement.
She stands to leave, and I call out, “Captain Riley.”
She pauses before looking back at me.
“History also teaches us about respect,” I add, holding her stare. “Even enemies can find mutual ground where it exists.”
Her lips twitch in a slight smile before she leaves the tent, saying, “We’ll see.”
The guards lead me away to a holding cell, and I let my thoughts wander back to my teaching days, to lessons about resilience, the cyclical nature of conflict, and the errors made in both World Wars as well as the heroics of those involved.
Here, in the heart of an enemy camp, surrounded by the realities of conflict, those lessons feel more pertinent than ever.
As I lie down on the makeshift cot provided for me, I know that understanding my captors, maybe even respecting them, could be the key to surviving this ordeal. After all, knowledge is power, and in war, power is everything.