When Nightmares Become Real

Sergeant Major Henry Jones was tall, standing at about 6 feet 10 inches, and had a heavy build that was all muscles after his 6-plus years in the U.S. Marines. He had short brown hair and a thin layer of stubble on his face. Blue eyes and a blocky face made up the most noticeable facial features. He dressed standard desert camo, as he was getting ready to go on a mission overseas near the Afghanistan border.

He stood in the cargo bay of a grounded C-17 cargo plane. It was sitting in the hangar at a military base in the northern United States, waiting to be sent on its next mission.

Jones went over a last minute brief with the crew. "Alright people! We have takeoff in five mikes! One more thing before we go!" He took out several small, hand-held radios and handed one to each of the soldiers and crew in the hangar, keeping one for himself. Three other marines made up the rest of his squad, the other seven being the crew, two of which were the pilots.

"These radios are for emergency extraction only. For talking with command for updates about the mission or intel, use normal comms. If shit hits the fan and we go down somewhere in the middle of enemy territory, these will get you in touch with allied fighters in Afghanistan, who are waiting on stand-by. Where we're going, it'll probably take five to ten mikes, fifteen tops, for them to reach us. You each have your own in case we get separated in a crash.

"Any questions before we take off?" No one raised their hands except a freshly minted private. New blood. "Yes, Private?"

"Sir, what happens if we get captured by the enemy before the fighters get there? Assuming we do go down."

"It means that they will torture you and put you through several different hells and no matter what, you cannot tell them anything that we know about their operations. Anything else?" The private just silently shook his head, obviously scared.

"Good then. It'll take a few hours before we reach the drop zone, so catch some shut-eye on the flight over there. Get on the damn plane so we can come home sooner!" A chorus of "yes, sir" rang throughout the otherwise empty hangar.

When Jones took his seat, he checked his weapons. First, his primary weapon, was an M249 LMG, fully automatic with armor piercing rounds and equipped with an adjustable foregrip. Heavy power and lighter load. His sidearm was a standard-issue M1911 semi-automatic pistol, also having armor piercing rounds and a detachable suppressor. Reliable and accurate, good for close quarters and silence.

The bay doors were about to close we he remembered something. "Hey, wait a minute! We left a passenger behind!" The bay door settled back down to the ground as a German Shepard jumped in. Military trained for stealth and recon, along with close-quarters combat, was the closest thing Jones had come to know as a pet.

Jones named him himself, Rocky. He thought it was a fitting name, but not many others agreed. Rocky and Jones had a bond that could only be made in the midst of battle. They had saved one another's asses on more than a few occasions since Rocky had been assigned to him, the dog having the majority.

They boarded the plane and Rocky settled down at Jones's feet. They both took a nap during the trip across the Atlantic.

The Sergeant Major and his companion woke up to blaring alarms and yelling. "Come on, come on! Everybody bail, we've been hit and we're going down in the middle enemy territory!"

"Shit! Come on, Rocky, let's go!" Jones grabbed a parachute for himself, attaching the dog to the harness. He ran, half carrying the dog in one arm and his LMG in the other. He jumped out of the open bay doors, the dog freaking out the whole way. He never liked parachuting.

When they neared the ground and Jones released the chute, there was an explosion. Looking up past the open parachute, he saw that the plane had exploded in mid-air, and debris was coming down. Fast.

"Dammit! Hold on, Rocky, this is gonna get rough!" He wasn't lying. He tried to steer out of the falling remains of the plane and its cargo, but one large piece of ripped metal got lucky.

The hunk of plane ripped through the cloth of the parachute and tore a huge hole in the center. The pair accelerated towards the ground. Jones didn't have time to open his secondary, so he did his best to roll where he wouldn't crush the dog on impact with the ground. Jones thought he would die from the impact, but he'd been wrong before.

Pain tore through his body as Jones came to. He groaned and released the harness that kept Rocky in place, his eyes still closed. He realized he was laying on his side and heard the dog whine in pain.

He had landed with Rocky not completely out from under him, the over 200 pound soldier easily snapping the bone in the animal's front right leg, effectively breaking it.

He moved to get up and help his injured companion when he noticed something very strange.

Why the fuck are we in a forest?

The pain had eased enough that it was bearable for the soldier, but the same could not be said for the dog. He lay on the ground, trying to stand up, but failing each time. "Rocky, hold still. Your leg is broken. Let me fix it."

Rocky understood and complied to his friend's wishes, rolling on his side. Jones got his pack and set it on the ground, getting out the materials to make a splint.

We he was done, Rocky could walk, but slowly and painfully. The heavy soldier decided to sling the LMG over his shoulder and carry the injured animal.

He spoke into his standard comms to reach his boss. "Sir? Sir, Sergeant Major Henry Jones here. It seems my dog and I crash landed in a forest. His leg is broken and I am requesting medevac, how copy?" Static.

"Sir, I am requesting medevac, how copy?" he said more sternly. Just static.

"Goddammit, Rocky, looks like we're on our own. C'mon, lets go find a cave to set up camp in." He hefted the injured animal in his arms, holding him so as to not drop him and cause more damage, and headed what he believed what was west.