The Billionaire Soldier's Revenge

Chapter 8: Resurrection.

March 15, 2022…

Kandahar Province, KHORZABAD…

2:14 AM…

James woke up with a loud gasp, choking on wet metal as dark blood shot up from his throat. He looked around, easily noticing something wasn't right.

The last thing he remembered was Freya's drink that burned his throat and made it difficult to breathe. By intuition alone, it was clear that he had died in his own dining room.

His wife's greedy eyes were the last thing he could recall, but looking around, it was clear he wasn't in his ranch house anymore.

The name "Khorzabad" jolted into his memory. He wasn't sure why he knew this building, let alone the location.

The billionaire had never set foot outside America apart from a few business deals in London during his early years. Although that was only an excuse to spend time alone with Freya during the honeymoon phase.

Yet somehow, he knew this region like it was his home and could feel the combat boots heavy on his feet and the Kevlar armor tied to his chest.

He instinctively placed both hands on his stomach, searching for a gaping hole that wasn't there anymore.

Apparently his last memory was no longer getting poisoned by his wife, but having an explosion tear right through him as he threw himself on a grenade to save a young man he cherished but had never met before.

A boy named Evans. Both memories clashed in his head so much that traces of his old headaches began to creep in.

"I'm going crazy," he whispered to himself, now surprised by how deep and rough his voice sounded.

Then he heard a weak voice from slightly ahead.

"Sergeant Major?"

The CEO looked up and saw a young soldier lying against the far wall with blood spread out under him. Barely a legal adult, with his blonde hair moistened by blood and sweat.

"Evans?"

The name came out like he knew the boy all along, even though the businessman had never met him before.

Right then, more memories flooded in. From teaching the kid how to search and destroy to sharing the smallest food rations during night watch.

He remembered laughing at the cheesy love letters Evans wrote to his girlfriend who lived back in Ohio. These were intimate moments, but the executive had never been a soldier, as corporate life was all he knew as an adult.

Yet his hands moved as if he was used to taking care of wounded people and he didn't feel the need to puke even with all the gore around him.

While looking around for what he could use to stop the bleeding, the man heard the sound of different helicopters approaching.

"Sergeant?" the soldier whispered.

"How the hell are you still breathing? I saw you jump on that grenade to save my sorry butt. Hell, I could have sworn some of your insides had splashed all over me."

The older man looked at his hands. They were scarred and rough from many years on the battlefield. These hands were very different.

They weren't worn out from signing papers. These belonged to someone else entirely.

And it was then that a new name appeared in his mind; words that belonged to him but others used more than he did. John Collins.

With that name came everything about this new persona. The soldier was 28 years old, joined the military straight out of high school after his parents passed away.

Three brutal combat tours in this desert. No wife, no kids and no company.

The only things he fought for were his Army brothers and his honor as a soldier.

The problem was that the billionaire's memories were just as real. He could still remember Arthur asking about business strategies while struggling with autism, Linda's struggles through her rebellious phase and Freya's betrayal by choosing Charlie over him.

It was then it occurred to him that he was the CEO stuck inside the younger body of the fallen warrior.

Now he had the soldier's military background and experience with the businessman's strategic mind and love for commerce.

But the louder sound of the approaching helicopters jolted him back to the present moment.

The wounded boy coughed. This time, it sounded weaker, and his face looked pale.

"They got Diaz and Roth too, they are downstairs. I heard two bombs go off right after ours exploded."

The man felt the warrior's grief well up inside him as he thought of his comrades.

Diaz had a happy baby girl at home and a wife who always worried about him.

Roth's mom was sick and also worried about her son's well being, hating the fact that he had to send half of his paycheck to keep her alive.

Now they were both dead. All because someone wanted the sergeant gone for knowing too much.

It almost felt the same as someone wanting the executive dead for his company. On both sides, it was still the same game, but with different players.

The choppers landed outside as the survivor crawled up to the window. He kept his head down to avoid getting seen.

Four men wearing tactical gear jumped out, moving in a formation that showed they were there to kill. This was likely a cleanup crew.

His years in the military had helped him watch enough corporate operations that ended the lives of people like him all in the name of training accidents.

These soldiers were sent here to make sure nobody lived to tell stories about what happened tonight.

The man pressed his back against the wall. He peeked outside once again to analyze the situation.

There were four shooters with full auto weapons and thermal scopes. By normal procedure, they would check each room by protocol.

It would take at least two minutes before they reached the top floor where he and the kid were.

The survivor looked at his young friend, as a new idea came to his mind. He would have to rely on the soldier's special skills and military expertise to save them both.

So while crawling back to the wounded boy, he said to him:

"I'm going to get us out of here. But for that to work, you'll have to stay quiet, alright? Can you do that?"

Unable to speak anymore, the young soldier only nodded his head.

The man lay down next to him and slowly controlled his breathing into the death rattle.

It was the sound dying men made as their throats filled up with fluids they couldn't swallow anymore. Relying on the warrior's muscle memory, he managed to do it.

As he made the rattle sound, he heard heavy boots coming up the stairs and could see the glow of bright tactical lights.

The survivor stayed still, he could feel the back of the kid's hand, and it grew cold with every passing second.

He tried his best not to accept that the young boy was going to die.

As the men walked closer, the man could feel his lungs burning inside from keeping up the death rattle pattern.

But stopping now would give it away that he was alive.

A tactical light swept across his eyes. He forced every part of his body to stay limp while the light stayed on his blood-stained uniform.

"Two people killed in action. Collins and the kid."

Though the survivor felt relieved, he couldn't bring himself to do anything, not until the light moved away.

The team checked the other rooms on the top floor. Then they walked down the hallways to re-examine the other victims before calling the second crew to take care of the bodies.

He couldn't believe it. It actually worked!

The man waited until the sounds faded before allowing himself to breathe normally.

Though he felt the urge to choke, he held back, looking at the boy lying still beside him with his eyes staring at nothing.

The kid was gone, as well as the others in the floors below.

He had managed to survive with a new chance at life, but the difficult part was finding a way out of here.