12 Minutes (#2 in Military series)

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"Safia is gone?" Marc blinked in stunned shock as he felt a bead of sweat at his temple, "What do you mean she's gone!?"

"She's not here," Jules told him, holding her hands out beside her helplessly, "She was taken away before we got here along with three others." Her eyes scanned over the children that stilled remained, their eyes like large moons looking up at her. 

Marc felt paralysed as his brain abandoned all other bodily functions, racing to comprehend what she had said. He thought about how long it had taken them to get here, how much danger they had gone through and still they were no closer to finding her. His jaw clenched and his fingers curled into a fist by his side as the closest thing he had to a daughter was wrenched from his grasp once again. It was worse than all the times he had woken up to find Julia curled up in bed on her side with a small pool of blood between her legs as she miscarried their child again. It was ten times worse because that was something they had no control over, this, however, he thought he could fix but he was wrong. 

As his brain started to unfreeze snippets of conversations drifted through the haze that had fallen over him in those few moments and he began to not only hear but understand what the others were saying around him, but as he listened through the different voices he heard the one that tipped his anger over the edge. 

"Just kill me," The terrorist half-laughed half-cried in a heavy accent on the floor behind him as he cradled his injured leg, "More men will be here soon!" The man spat at Twitch, who stared down at him in disgust, whilst his words ignited the anger that was already lingering inside of Marc's frustrated body.  
As Marc listened, the mans words replaying in his head, something in him shut off. With his last shred of control he turned and handed his rifle to Jules who was still staring down at the children. She took it before realising what he was handing her and the significance of it. 

Across the room, unaware of what was happening to Marc, Carlos booted the terrorist in the arm, "Stick a sock in it." The man shifted on the floor sweeping some of the beige brick dust with his shoulder that layered the floor from the blast, staining his tunic. 

"You will all be dead very, very soon," The man threatened them in his guttural voice that it was almost hard to understand what he had said. Marc started slowly walking over to him as Jules looked down to see what had had given to her. It was cold and hard and felt familiar. As she saw what it was she looked back up and watched Marc cross the room. She parted her lips about to say something when she stopped herself. What would she say? Stop? Protect a terrorist?
Her thoughts turned to Safia, alone, scared and only a child, and then she looked at the man on the floor who had tried to kill them, who had used children as hostages. So Jules kept her mouth shut and let Marc walk on. 

"Hey," Carlos called across to the General who was stood with his cheer squad of soldiers having a pep talk, not noticing Marc, "Can I shoot him yet?" 

"No," Ridgeway replied dismissively not even bothering to turn around and look Carlos in the face. If he had he might have seen Marc walking towards his wounded prisoner that he so highly regarded. Carlos glared at Ridgeway's back, if he had been feeling any regret about leaving his clandestine little squad he didn't anymore. Rolling his eyes Carlos turned back and clocked Marc stood less than a foot away from him.
"Hey Marc-" Carlos began to speak when he saw the deep etches in his friend's forehead and the dark look in his eyes and knew that something was wrong.

But before Carlos could do anything Marc had reached down, grabbed the man by the scruff and yanked him to his feet. Ignoring the man's grunt of pain Marc wrapped an arm around his throat and held it tight against his windpipe. 
"You're going to tell me where the children are or so help me God," Marc growled into the man's ear. The man grappled at Marc's arm around his throat as it constricted his breathing. Hobbling on a single leg he was weak and Marc's arm simply tightened around his neck like a snake.