Prekrasna IsidoraChapter 2
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Prekrasna IsidoraChapter 1: Ambush free porn video
I was riding shotgun in the first armored E-350 1 in the column when, in the rear view mirror, I saw the tree fall. I remember thinking that back home in Virginia I would have called the tree a Poplar, but here in Chechnya I only knew that it was big and tall and that someone had blown it to fall across the road and cut us off from the client.
My driver saw the tree fall and was about to punch the accelerator when the windshield exploded and everything went red. The windshield was bulletproof glass so I was guessing that whatever had hit it was bigger than small arms fire, probably an RPG 2. We were in a world of shit. When I came back to my senses I glanced at the driver and saw that he was either unconscious or dead. I considered my options. Either I could stay in the van, which was now sideways across the road, and wait for the next RPG hit or I could bail and take my chances with whoever might be waiting to pick me off as I came out the door. I guessed that maybe all the shooters were back at the client's limo, and that only one or two were assigned to take out the lead vehicle. Odds were better on bailing.
I reached across and took the driver's Glock 3. He wouldn't be needing it, and the fewer times I had to reload the better. I clutched my MP-5 submachine gun 4 to my chest and rolled out the door and into the bar ditch. No one shot. I poked my head up and saw two yahoos, both lugging RPG launchers. One launcher was empty and they were high-fiveing and running back down the road toward the client's limo. I un-slung the MP-5, kneeled, took aim at the middle of the back of the one with the loaded launcher and cut him down with a short burst. The second man turned to me with a look of surprise. My next burst caught him in the chest and stitched up his face. Then I thought about moving. All the firing I heard was from AKs 5. Someone would come looking for the sound of an MP-5 very soon.
One side of the road, the side I was on, was bounded by a concrete wall about four meters tall. On the other side was a grove of something that looked like olives. The shooters had to be in that grove. I loaded another 30 round clip into the MP-5 and then dashed across the road and into the grove. I ran in almost a hundred meters, and then turned back up the road toward the client's vehicle. I figured that with any luck I could come up behind the ambush, and maybe have a chance of picking a few of them off while we waited for help to come. As I ran, I screwed a silencer onto the muzzle of the MP-5. I didn't have any sub-sonic rounds 6, so there would be some sound, but at least, with all the other noise going on around, the shooters might not be able to pinpoint me.
When I figured I was in about the right position I moved toward the sound of the firing. I'd guessed right. There were six of them. They were crouched behind a little berm at the edge of the grove, and every few seconds one would pop up and empty a clip into the limo. I was about 40 meters behind them. The limo engine compartment was on fire and although the exterior layers of bulletproof glass were shattered the flexible inner layers still seemed to be holding. Someone was alive inside. I could hear what sounded like a Glock returning the AK fire. One of the shooters had an RPG and he was reloading. I took careful aim at his head and squeezed off one silenced shot. A red dot appeared on the back of his neck and he slumped. I congratulated myself. Not bad for an MP-5 at 40 meters! Five to go.
I tried to decide who was the boss. He'd be next. A quick scan, and they all looked the same, so I waited for the next one to pop up over the berm to fire at the limo. When he did, I squeezed off another round. He went down, but his four remaining buddies were beginning to suspect something was going wrong. They were looking in my direction but I was well concealed. Finally they decided that whoever was shooting the pistol from the limo must have gotten lucky. When they turned back, I took the next one with another single shot.
Now the three remaining shooters knew something was up. They were looking all around in confusion, trying to determine who was picking them off and from where. They were getting panicky and it looked like they were getting ready to bolt. I swapped to a fresh clip in the MP-5. They'd probably run my way, and if they did, they'd find me. I'd need all the shots I could get. I slipped the driver's Glock from my waistband racked the slide and made it ready to fire then laid it on the ground within easy reach.
Sure enough, they started to pull back. They weren't too professional about it. One started to run and the others just jumped up and followed. I waited until they were almost in a line, and then popped up and squeezed off a burst into the first guy. I only had to shift my aim a little to get the next man. The last one was on the ground and fumbling with his AK when I nailed him in the face. I was feeling pretty good about the way things were going when I heard a twig break behind me.
There was a POP, and I felt like someone had hit me across the back with a baseball bat. The impact knocked my MP-5 flying, and I fell to the ground on my face. As I lay with my nose in the dirt I heard footsteps approaching. I had fallen directly on top of the Glock, and I managed to get it to my hand without too much movement. Out of the corner of my eye I saw muddy boots next to my left shoulder. I sensed rather than saw a pistol being raised to the back of my head. Instinctively I rolled and tapped off three rounds at almost point blank range. The guy went down in a heap. He was probably the brains of the outfit.
It was quiet now, and I lay on the ground next to the dead man trying to steady my breathing. I thanked my stars for the body armor I was wearing. I was bruised, and I probably had a few broken ribs, but I was alive. After a minute or so, I struggled to my knees and recovered my MP-5. It sounded like the shooting was over, but no use taking chances. If I ran up on the limo too fast, whoever was inside might just as well shoot me. I was tired, and it wouldn't hurt to sit and rest for a bit.
In a while, I heard voices in English. There was shouting and door slamming. It sounded like the cavalry had arrived so I tried to get to my feet. As I stood, I noticed that my shirt felt damp, then the world went black.
I was feeling pretty sleepy, but someone kept pushing on my sore ribs. It hurt and painfully I was dragged back to consciousness. I was on a cot in a dimly lit room. In the next room I could hear men's voices. They were speaking in Chechen. I had been trained to speak Russian in a military language school and there's enough shared vocabulary so that I can muddle by in Chechen. They were talking about the ambush and the hostage. I guessed the hostage must be me.
Just then I felt another prod in my ribs. I let out a little groan and turned to see who was tormenting me. It was a girl. She looked to be about thirteen, but it was hard to tell for sure. She was slender, almost skinny, with dark hair and dark eyes. When she saw that I was looking at her she spoke.
"So, you are awake American man." Her English was heavily accented but understandable.
I decided it would be a little trite and probably useless to ask where I was. I responded in English. No use letting anyone know I understood Chechen.
"How badly am I hurt?"
"Not bad. You bleed some, but is little hole. Bullet did not go in. Make still so I can put bandage."
Then I saw what she was trying to do so I gritted my teeth and held still while she dressed the wound. Apparently my body armor had a chink and the bullet that had knocked me down had grazed my side just under my armpit.
She worked gently and professionally. Obviously she had done this before. When she finished she stood back and studied her work. When she was satisfied she turned to leave, but I took her sleeve. I needed to learn all I could about my situation and she would probably be the best source of information. When she turned back to me she had a look of impatience on her face.
"Please. Don't go yet. What's your name?"
"I am Isidora." She said flatly.
"Isidora? That's a beautiful name." I figured that a little flattery might loosen her up.
"I don't like it. It was my grandmother."
I assumed she meant the name.
"Isidora, where did you learn English?"
"School, mostly TV, Internet. I watch I Love Lucy. Is very funny."
She was warming to me now, but I could tell she still felt uneasy.
"Isidora, do you know what happened today?"
She shrugged. "Some shooting. Some people killed. They bring you here for me to fix."
"Who is they?"
"My brothers, Ramzan and Nurpashi."
"Were your brothers at the shooting today?"
"No, Soslan my older brother. He did not come now."
I interpreted her answers to mean that Soslan, her older brother had been one of the ambushers. I wondered if he was one of the one's I'd killed. I hoped not, and if he was, I hoped that she wouldn't find out.
Just then a man called from the other room.
"Isidora!"
"I'm coming." She answered in Chechen. Then she turned to me and gave a little smile.
"My brother calls."
She gathered her medical kit together and scurried from the room. I heard her say something to her brother, but the voices were too low for me to understand. Then I started feeling sleepy again. I figured I wasn't going anywhere for a while, and it wouldn't hurt to get some rest, so I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
It was pitch black when I came back to consciousness. A searing pain shot through my left side as I attempted to sit. With some effort I struggled upright and got my feet on the floor. I glanced at my watch. It was gone. They must have taken it. I had to pee.
"Hey! Anybody here?"
It was quiet except for what sounded like wind blowing and splatter of rain on what was probably a tin roof.
"Hello?" I shouted louder this time.
I heard the sound of movement in the next room, and then a dim light shone under the door. There was more shuffling, then I heard the bolt slide back, and the door swung open. There stood Isidora rubbing her eyes.
"Everyone sleeps American man. What do you want?"
"I have to pee."
"Pee?" Isidora was confused.
"Yeah, you know, urinate, tzikat." I used a generalized word that I thought might be reasonably close to whatever pee meant in Chechen.
She laughed. "Oh. Pee. Now I know. Use pot under bed."
I bent to find the pot under the bed, but even that simple motion shot another burst of pain through my side. I bolted upright and groaned. Isidora gave me a look of sympathy.
"Could you help me a little?" I was embarrassed, but broken ribs do hurt and I really needed the help.
Isidora gave a little smirk and came to me. She kneeled at my side and slid a large white porcelain pot from under the bed. The pot had a heavy cover and reminded me of an old crock-pot my mother used to have.
"OK?" She asked.
"Could you take off the lid? I'm not going to be able to bend."
She laughed. "So. You want me do you like little baby? Hold your thing too?"
"No, I think I can manage that. I just can't bend or turn right now." It was humiliating enough to have to beg someone to help me pee. It was worse that that someone was a young girl.
As I struggled to get my fly down, Isidora turned to face the door, giving me a modicum of privacy. When I finished I gave a little grunt and she turned back to me.
"OK?"
"OK." I agreed. She placed the cover on the pot and shoved it back under the bed. She rose and turned to leave, but I wanted to get more information from her.
"Isidora, where is everyone? Where are your brothers?"
"They went to their women. Back in morning. Sleep now."
"They left you here alone with me?" I was mildly incredulous. These people were no professionals.
Isidora was unperturbed. "You can't even pee. I can guard you." She had a point.
Again, she turned to leave, but I had more questions.
"Isidora, why do your brothers want me? I don't take sides in Chechen politics. I'm just hired to protect important people. I don't even know whose side the guy in the limo yesterday is on."
"Why do you tell me politics? I have no politics? What is limo?" She asked.
"A limo is a big car." I explained, and then I went on. "But your brother was with those people shooting at me yesterday. There must be some reason."
"Money." She spat. "They do it for money. If they capture big-shot, they keep him for money. Big-shot get away, they get you instead."
Then it was clear to me. I'd been captured by bandits. This part of the world is full of them 7. Most claim some political cause to camouflage their true motives. Maybe Isidora's brothers would, but Isidora saw no need for such deception.
"You sleep now." She gave me a little smile as she closed the door. Soon, the light went off in the other room.
I didn't think I'd be able to sleep, but almost as soon as my head hit the bed I was out.
A terrible noise roused me. I forgot where I was and sat upright. The pain in my side reminded me. It was light in the room now, and someone was wailing and crying in the next room. I had an idea what might be going on, but there was nothing I could do, so I lay back and stared at the ceiling. About 15 minutes later, my door opened, and a red-eyed Isidora entered. She was carrying a little metal pail and what appeared to be cheese and bread wrapped in a light colored towel. She was sniffling and her dark hair was pasted to her temples. She pulled a small table to the bed then placed the pail, bread and cheese on it.
"Eat." Was all she said.
"Isidora, what's going on?" I'd play as dumb as I could for as long as I could.
"Eat."
"Something bad happen? You've been crying."
"Soslan is dead. He die yesterday, but my brothers are afraid to tell me."
In all probability, Soslan was the one who had shot me, the last one I killed. I wasn't sorry I'd killed him, but when I saw the anguish in Isidora's face, my heart went out to her. She looked so small and vulnerable, and she had given me nothing but kindness. Tears flowed from her dark eyes, and I lifted my good arm toward her. She hesitated for a minute then fell to her knees beside the bed. She buried her face in my chest and began to sob softly.
I held her head to me and gently stroked and petted her. There were a million things I could have said, but none of them would have made the least bit of difference. Sometimes things are what they are and there's no changing them. You just have to live through them.
I held her like that for almost ten minutes. She let it all out and the tears flowed. I felt like shit, but I knew I shouldn't. Soslan got himself killed attempting a violent crime. He'd tried to shoot me. I was only doing my job.
Finally her sobs subsided. She raised her face and looked at me. She was a mess, red eyes, and runny nose, hair plastered to her cheeks. She looked so sad, so hurt. To this day, I don't know what came over me. I kissed her. Not on the lips, on the forehead. It was a kiss like a brother would give a favorite sister.
She gave me a look of surprise, and then her face hardened.
"You are a nice American man. I thank you. But if I ever find the one who kill Soslan, I will kill him with my hands."
Usually I didn't see anyone but Isidora. She tended my wound, brought me my meals, and emptied my chamber pot. She never complained and always had a little smile for me. She learned my name (Trent) but when she said it, it sounded more like Treeent. She no longer called me American man. Since there wasn't much else to do, we talked frequently and our conversations grew longer and covered increasingly far-ranging subjects. Her English rapidly improved and I soon learned she had a mind like a steel trap, never forgetting a thing I said or a new word. It surprised me to discover that she was seventeen. She was so delicate that she looked much younger.
I never left the room and I came to realize that in a way, Isidora was just as much a prisoner as I was. On the second day, the brothers decided that I might be getting well enough to cause trouble so they handcuffed my right wrist to a chain which was in turn locked to the metal cot. They laughed when they did it, grunting something in Chechen about how now I'd have to whack off with my left hand. Isidora had a key, and as soon as they left, she extracted a promise from me that I wouldn't cause her trouble. When I agreed, she unlocked the handcuffs. Whenever she thought her brothers might look in, she locked them again. It was our little joke. The fact was that for the first five or six days I was feeling pretty weak and sore. I was in no shape to attempt an escape.
She talked to me a lot about Soslan. He was the eldest of the brothers, and she had loved him dearly. Isidora's father and mother had died when she was six, and Soslan had assumed the role as head of the family. He was fourteen years older and was the only brother who had ever treated her with any kindness. She considered her other two brothers pigs, and in turn, they only saw her as good for cooking, cleaning and occasionally acting as the clan medic. The clan was apparently down to just her two brothers now, and I seemed to be their only marketable resource. I never hinted to Isidora that I might be the reason that clan membership was in such decline.
Sometimes when she talked of Soslan, the tears would flow, and after the first time, it just seemed natural that I would hold her and pet her as she cried. It made her feel better, but it always left me feeling like scum. I couldn't change the fact that I was the one she wanted to kill with her bare hands yet I was the one that she came to for comfort.
One day I asked her about her religion. I had assumed she was a Moslim, but her manner, and the fact that her brothers saw nothing wrong with her spending time alone with a man caused me to wonder.
"My family is from Northern Ossetia, in the mountains near Georgia. Long ago, we were of the Orthodox Christian religion, but now we have no religion." She thought for a minute. "Maybe criminal is our religion now." Her tone was one of disgust.
"What is your religion?"
"Me? I guess I don't have a religion either. One thing I know, all organized religions are just bullshit. Just look at the evil people do in the name of religion." I was spouting like a college freshman, but she seemed to agree.
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