I wish they had let me keep a watch or something. Not knowing the time of day is maddening. All I can tell is when the sun rises and when it sets. I can't tell if it is minutes passing or hours, just days. This cave is dark and stale. Hay on the floor makes for a nice mat to sleep on, honestly better than some nights I have spent in the guard towers on FOB. The passage that runs in front of my cell is only lit when they come down this way, which they do about eight times a day. Flashlights and AK-47s and walkie talkies. Can't understand anything on the comms, though.
I should have listened to Marie and learned Arabic or Pashtu or something. Thought I wouldn't have time before I got over here. Now all I have is time.
They came in again to question me. This time, they didn't beat me. Figure they realize after the hell they put me through when I was captured, pain was not going to help. They just talked. Mostly trying to find out about me. Asking me about my family, my friends, my reason for being over here. They were being kind. Two of them: One, a short, stocky guy who introduced himself as Hamid. He did most of the talking. Smiled a lot too, and honestly not a bad guy from his demeanor. The other kind of stood in back and watched me. He called himself Jalil, and didn't say anything other than hello and goodbye.
I feel like the kindness is a ploy. When I look into these guy's eyes, I don't see sympathy. I see men trying to get information. Selling cars back at home before Ranger school taught me how to read people. And Hamid reads like a desperate dealer trying to get rid of a beat up Chevy Geo. Jalil just looks like... a bouncer at a night club. Creepy.
I just sat there and stared at them. When they asked me why I wasn't answering, I gave them the same thing as before: name, rank, and serial. I don't trust these bastards. Just literate and articulate terrorists, nothing more. We only talked for a little while, then they left. Hamid did me a kindness, gave me something to read: the Qur'an. It may be interesting, but right now I don't care. Still in too much pain to focus on anything. Still trapped in this hellhole. I know it's futile, but every time they open that door I want to rush the guardsa and go hand-to-hand. But I can't. I can't even move. I can only drag myself to get food and water at the door. They have to bring the lamp and pencil to me.
Should have watched my sector.
I should have listened to Marie and learned Arabic or Pashtu or something. Thought I wouldn't have time before I got over here. Now all I have is time.
They came in again to question me. This time, they didn't beat me. Figure they realize after the hell they put me through when I was captured, pain was not going to help. They just talked. Mostly trying to find out about me. Asking me about my family, my friends, my reason for being over here. They were being kind. Two of them: One, a short, stocky guy who introduced himself as Hamid. He did most of the talking. Smiled a lot too, and honestly not a bad guy from his demeanor. The other kind of stood in back and watched me. He called himself Jalil, and didn't say anything other than hello and goodbye.
I feel like the kindness is a ploy. When I look into these guy's eyes, I don't see sympathy. I see men trying to get information. Selling cars back at home before Ranger school taught me how to read people. And Hamid reads like a desperate dealer trying to get rid of a beat up Chevy Geo. Jalil just looks like... a bouncer at a night club. Creepy.
I just sat there and stared at them. When they asked me why I wasn't answering, I gave them the same thing as before: name, rank, and serial. I don't trust these bastards. Just literate and articulate terrorists, nothing more. We only talked for a little while, then they left. Hamid did me a kindness, gave me something to read: the Qur'an. It may be interesting, but right now I don't care. Still in too much pain to focus on anything. Still trapped in this hellhole. I know it's futile, but every time they open that door I want to rush the guardsa and go hand-to-hand. But I can't. I can't even move. I can only drag myself to get food and water at the door. They have to bring the lamp and pencil to me.
Should have watched my sector.
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