On Our Own Terms

By Henry Givens

Sgt. Brody 'Bo' Schultz put his life on the line for his family and his country. He had finished a nail biting tour as a sniper in Afghanistan. He was certainly looking forward to coming home to his wife, his daughter and his son. Instead, he was met at the door of his house with a restraining order and divorce papers. The childhood sweetheart that he had married was three months pregnant by the captain of the Savannah police department and she wanted to do the 'right thing' and marry the father of the baby. Naturally he lost his temper and had several harsh words with his wife in her lawyer's office. His anger caused him to volunteer for an immediate tour back to Afghanistan. He wanted to die.
He was captured while on a dangerous mission into the rugged mountains. The terrorists threatened to behead him. Bo demanded that they do it as soon as possible. Since that was his desire, the terrorists decided to video him as they tortured him for days just to make a spectacle of him. Finally, he wound up in the death tent to await his wish.
He didn't know that he would share the death tent with Khaterah Zadran. She was destined to die the next day as well. Her big sin was no longer being able to have children for the terrorist's cause. Unfortunately, she had been taken from her home by her uncle and raped at the terrorist's camp as her initiation into their organization. She was tied up and unable to escape. She was also unable to defend herself from the men that visited her each night. Her job was to produce babies for their glorious 'cause'. Finally, her body stopped making babies for them. There was no good to them anymore. She wanted to die.
After being beaten unconscious, Bo woke up in the death tent and met Khaterah. After hearing her story, something changed inside of him. All the things that the Army had drilled into him came charging to the front of his consciousness and yelled, "Rescue". An idea struck his fogged mind that gave them one slim chance on living.
If they made it out alive, could he face his children and his ex again? Could he make things right with his kids? Would Khaterah ever be free from the horrible circumstances that ruled her life for the past five years?
ON OUR OWN TERMS is a story with a familiar theme. Bad things happen to good people. But, through patience and perseverance, God always has a plan to make all things work together for their good. The only drawback is, He only tells the good people about His plan one day at a time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Henry Givens
• Release date: Jan 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310330803

Henry Givens

I was a pastor and a worship leader for ages. When I tried to slow down a bit, I got involved with Savannah Christian Church's Drama team. The idea of telling the story of Jesus Christ through drama and stories began to pull at me. I slowly started writing and began to enjoy it more and more. It's a very rewarding challenge.

Book preview

ON OUR OWN TERMS

HENRY GIVENS

ON OUR OWN TERMS

By:

Henry Givens

Published by Henry Givens

Smashwords Edition

Copyright by Henry Givens 2015

Cover Art by Henry Givens

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ON OUR OWN TERMS, is a work of fiction. Though some actual towns, cities, and locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author. Any similarities of characters or names used within to any person past, present, or future is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Brief quotations may be embodied in critical articles or reviews.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

On Our Own Terms

Chapter One

The throbbing pain on the right side of his head roused Bo back to consciousness. The horrible smell and the taste of his own blood made him sick to his stomach. Why wouldn't his right eye open? Did they knock it out?

Like a nightmare that kept repeating itself, his mind recalled the events. The cheering crowd of terrorists egged each other on. They tied his hands to the rear bumper of a truck. They made him run behind it until he stumbled and fell. That was the driver's cue to turn sharply and let the inertia cause him to roll over and over across the stony terrain. They took turns kicking him. But, it was the rifle butt to the side of his head that finally put him out.

Several of the terrorists caught it all on their cell phones. Were they really videoing him or was that part of the torture? My God, what if they did? What would Ryanna think?

His mind whirled in the pain. 'Ryanna, I'm sorry, Sweetheart,' he thought, 'Why did I have to get mad and run off that way? Oh, Baby, I'd give anything if I could have done it all over again. God, why was I so stupid? She must think her daddy's gone nuts or something. No, I'm not the stupid one. Beth is the bitch. Damn her soul! She couldn't keep her clothes on while her husband fought for our freedom, could she. Oh, yeah, that's right. I'm fighting for her freedom so she and the honorable captain of the police force can screw and screw and screw. Oh, yeah. What was Beth's HONORABLE line? I want to marry the father of the baby? She's not a bitch. She's a whoring bitch. I'm sorry Jesus. I know I'm not supposed to think of those words. Somehow help me with this anger just one more day.'

His left arm was numb from laying on it. He needed to roll over but couldn't. For a few seconds his mind wouldn't tell him anything other than how much he hurt. As the fog in his mind began to clear away, he realized that his legs had been tied at his ankles and tucked behind him so he couldn't roll over on his back.

Those bastards, he groaned, Those Godless bastards.

A whispered voice with an Afghani accent cautioned him, Sh-h-h-h-h. Don't let them hear you. They might come back in and beat you again.

How could he not moan? He hurt all over. He was stiff from the running. His stomach and chest were sore from being beaten and dragged across the rocky ground. And his face felt like it was twice its normal size.

But, his hearing was fine. He heard a rustle of movement and felt a pair of hands grab the rope that held his ankles together. Slowly, so no sound would be made, they straightened his legs.

There! At last he could roll over on his back. As quietly as he could, he let out a sigh of relief as he tried to see his helper in the semi darkness of the tent. The small oil lamp attached to the center tent pole didn't let off much light.

Would you like to sit up? You could lean back on the center pole of the tent. It should hold you, the kind voice suggested.

It dawned on him as the fog in his head continued to clear that his helper was female. But, what was she doing here? More than that, why was an Afghani woman trying to help him? That's all he needed right now, more mysteries. As if his wife or, his EX-wife wasn't a bad enough mystery.

She was to the right of him. He turned his head farther than normally necessary to try to get a look at her.

Don't look at me! she sharply hissed as she grabbed his shoulder. Do you want to sit up or not?

Was that a quiver in her voice? It could have been. Bo wasn't quite sure what he was hearing. His right eye wasn't the only thing that was swollen. The whole right side of his head felt like it was a thousand sizes too big.

Yes....please, he whispered in return. With her help he slowly raised himself up to a sitting position. With his eye on the tent flap, he slowly butt-crawled his way to the center tent pole. Gingerly he rested his back on it. Thanks, he managed.

She leaned as close as she dared and whispered, This is the death tent. Tomorrow we will both die.

Before he could ask the obvious, she quietly made her way to the side of the tent. He watched her until she sat cross-legged. Obviously, she was going to be the next market place explosion and he was going to be the next beheading.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Tomorrow. It was all going to be over tomorrow. No more pain, no more heartache and he would get to be with Jesus. Surely, Jesus would overlook his cussing. He prayed in his heart, 'Jesus, walk by my Ryanna. Help her get over this. Let her know, somehow, how much I love her. Tell her I'll be in Heaven waiting for her. I hope Troy's too young to realize what's going on. And forgive me for the awful words I've said...please.'

Bo knew God loved everyone enough to do just that. And because of His grace He would forgive Beth's adultery. He had tried in vain not stew over it any more. She just wasn't worth it.

But, Ryanna and Troy sure were. Ryanna was Daddy's little girl alright. Troy was a Mama's boy but Bo had hoped to train him to play for the Atlanta Braves. He regretted his rash decision for a second tour. He had let his anger toward Beth demand his actions. His anger cut short his time with his kids. Why did he let his anger get the best of him again?

Tons of remorse gripped his heart. Maybe his kids would be just as well off without him. Yep. He wouldn't be in the way. They could get used to their new daddy. At least that was what Beth rubbed in his face. Her past two letters just gushed with how much Ryanna and Troy loved their new little brother. And how much easier it was for them to call her new husband, 'Dad'. Why the hell was she writing anyway?

Yeah. Fred Goulds, a captain on the police force. Oh, yes, he was fine upstanding citizen of the community. He was the great fighter of crime and filth in the great city of Savannah, Ga. He was so fine and upstanding that he couldn't keep his ding-dong in his pants. He was such a credit to Bo's home town that instead of chasing criminals he chased Beth until she let him jump her bones. And, Bo had the great opportunity to come home to his childhood sweetheart who was three month's pregnant with Fred's baby. And SHE wanted to do the right thing and marry the baby's father.

The right thing? That was the right thing? What happened to the promise of clinging ONLY to her husband as long as they both shall live? Oh, yeah. That's right. He's not going to live much longer. So, I guess it's OK.

His thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of two drunken men. He only knew a little of their language. Nothing they said to each other made any sense to him. He looked toward his tent mate for any clarification she had.

Even in the half-darkness of the tent, he could see the disgust on her face. She almost spat the words out, It's not about you. They're arguing about who's going to take me first. After all, it's their last chance. They might as well make the best of it.

The rumors he had heard made Bo ask, You gave them children?

In a flat monotone she answered, Five in five years. Then my body stopped. She took a deep breath and continued, I am no good to them anymore. Now I want to die. And let them think that it's for their... glorious cause.

She reached under some clothes and pulled out a butcher knife. Muttering to herself as well as making a statement she declared, But for the first time in five years, I will be free from this rope while he mounts me. She pulled her right leg behind her and cut the rope that had been tied to her ankle. She hid the rope and the knife underneath the pile of clothes and gently massaged her ankle. If only she could cut her mind loose from the last five years as easy.

Bo couldn't help but ask, Did you just cut a rope from your ankle?

She hesitated for a few moments before she turned her torso around to answer him. As she held up her scarred forearms she answered, Five years that rope was attached to me somewhere. They twisted strands of metal in it when they made it. When the cuts got too bad on one arm, they'd put it on another arm. Then, they would do the same thing to my ankles. Today, while cooking for them, I slipped the knife into my pants and hoped they wouldn't see it. At least for a few hours I will be free from it.

From the sound of her voice, she was as tired of life as he was. As much as he wanted to die, something sparked in Bo. Was it a dare? Did he really want to live? Or did he just want to change the way he died for his own satisfaction. Certainly Beth didn't care. The kids wouldn't know.

Since we're both going to die, why don't we choose the way we die?

She turned her head to look at him and asked, What do you mean?

Bo was looking into the face of a very tortured woman. Even in the semi darkness, her eyes spoke volumes of the hurt she had been through. She obviously had been tethered like an animal for five years. Didn't she say five babies? All of them sacrificed for the terrorists? Dear God, no wonder she wanted to die. He realized that they were two of a kind right at this moment.

Why do we have to die on their terms? Why don't we die on our own terms, he asked as his swollen lips showed the hint of a smile.

She tilted her head. A bit of curiosity brought the question, You mean, fight?

Bo suggested, If they're going to kill us, let it be in anger...or fear. Yeah, fear that we're going to kill them. His voice got stronger and his smile bigger as he dared to say, Let's make 'em fight to kill us.

She furrowed her eyes and asked, How do we do that?

Why don't you cut my hands loose and leave that knife in my hand? When the goon comes in, do whatever you have to do to get him to turn his back on me. I take him out with the knife. His friend hears the struggle, rushes in and I take him out too.

And then?

That's up to you, Bo answered as he lowered his voice. Can you think of a safe place we can get to so I can figure out another plan? Or, how long can we get them to chase us? Maybe we can get some guns and ammo. Hold 'em off. Take some of 'em down.

Her voice strengthened as she grasped the concept. Die on our own terms and not theirs? she asked almost through clenched teeth.

The voices stopped. She pulled the knife back out from under a stash of clothes and crawled on her knees quickly. Hurry, she mouthed.

Bo turned quickly. He tried to hold his wrists apart for her to slice the ropes. He felt them loosen and then felt the handle of the knife slip between the palms of his hands. She slipped back to her place and none too soon.

The tent opened and the fat goon they called 'Bull' glared at Bo and then at the woman. Did you sit him up like that? he demanded as he pointed his rifle at her.

She returned his glare knowing that his orders would have been not to harm her. She was too valuable a weapon for them tomorrow. Defiantly she looked up at him and said quietly, Sure. Wouldn't you do that for him?

The big one swayed as he tried to come up with a tough answer. Instead, he began to chuckle as he propped his AK-47 against a small table. Get your clothes off. Tonight, you'll find out again why they call me 'Bull', he smirked.

The goon stood directly between Bo and the woman. Bo silently prayed that God would show him the opportune moment. He heard her pants unzip and heard them fall to the floor. He got just a glimpse of her as she turned her back to Bull and bent over at the waist. Go ahead...Bull, she taunted.

Bull's drunken attention was fixed on his naked goal. Bo had to work quickly to keep him from reaching her and possibly using her as a shield. He yelled, Let her alone, to cover the noise of him bringing the knife around and cutting the ropes on his ankles.

Just sit there and watch, was all that the goon got out. Bo's left hand covered Bull's mouth and pulled his head back while he deftly slit his throat. The big man fell back on top of Bo and they both crashed to the floor. Bo held Bull's mouth firmly shut with his left hand as the big man struggled. A practiced knife thrust just under the big man's sternum collapsed his diaphragm.

Footsteps raced to the tent. The woman whispered, Stay down, as she fell on her stomach and slithered toward Bull's gun.

Without warning the tent door flew open. The obviously new recruit closed his eyes and looked away as he sprayed a waist high burst of bullets throughout