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Flushing
Title: Flushing
Written for 'Flush' drabble challenge
Author: Diana (March-April 2005)
Email: shrap45@yahoo.com
Status: Complete
Category: Drama, Action/Adventure, Angst, Whumping, Humour
Pairings: None
Spoilers: None
Season: Pre-Series
Rating: 13+/18+
Content Warnings: Violence, Torture, Language, Naked Jack
Summary: Jack and Frank get into big trouble somewhere in South America
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
File Size: 76KB
Archive: Jackfic
Author's Notes: Another fic that started as a drabble, and just grew. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to keep going. Unbeated, so any mistakes are well and truly mine.
CHAPTER 1
The atmosphere in the smoky, seedy, down-at-heel bar was tense.
The game was nearing its climax.
Would Jack beat Pedro, or would Frank gain the upper hand?
Who would be the first to get a Royal Flush?
Jack was just relieved that the original idea of strip poker had been dismissed. He hadn't been able to have a shower for a couple of days, and he didn't fancy anyone seeing him at less than his best. Well, if truth were told, he didn't much fancy anyone seeing and ogling him at any time, although it seemed that the women who had suggested the idea were doing that anyway.
He couldn't understand why. He was dirty, dusty, had bristly stubble and mussed up hair. In addition, he was wearing ill-fitting, peasant clothes. Why would anyone want to stare at that? However, it looked as if their temperatures were soaring, and they were enjoying the sight. Perhaps there were going to be one or more hot flushes before the night was out.
Just then, Frank chipped in with, 'Looks like they've got the hots for you, Jack.'
'Shut Up, Frank!' I retorted, 'Perhaps you'd like me to introduce them to you?'
'I just don't think they're interested in me, Jack. They prefer your rakish charm.'
'Oh for crying out loud! I just told you, will you shut up!'
***
The poker game was all a 'front' of course.
The business of the evening was to deposit the package, make the rendezvous with agent Garcia, and wait for the dealers to arrive.
Once the game had been won, Jack made his excuses and went to the bathroom. Frank kept watch outside.
Jack checked the bathroom was empty, and then went into the stall furthest from the door. He stashed the package in the pre-prepared hole behind the tiles, and just in case anyone was watching or listening, flushed the john in order to avoid suspicion.
As he came out, he saw Frank. He shouldn't be in here. Had he come to warn him of something? Before he had the chance to ask, Jack noticed the gun pointing at Frank's head, and then the short, swarthy man standing behind him.
Garcia must either have betrayed them, or the operation had flushed out traitors in his unit.
Jack was ordered to turn around.
He sure wasn't going to go down without a fight, but he couldn't risk the life of his best friend.
What was going to happen next?
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CHAPTER 2
Jack was ordered to turn around.
He sure wasn't going to go down without a fight, but he couldn't risk the life of his best friend.
What was going to happen next?
***
The last thing that Jack remembered was being hit from behind.
He woke up in even more of a toilet than the one he'd left - a ramshackle hut that was dark, hot and wet with rain, and other substances he really didn't want to think about. He just wished he could flush the stench away.
He was dirtier, dustier, stubblier and much smellier than he had been before.
Frank was by his side.
'So, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into, Frank.'
'Hey, wait a minute. You mean, we've gotten into!'
'Yeah, well, whatever. More importantly, how are we gonna get outta here?' Jack sat up, and realised that both he and Frank were now bare-chested, pantless and bootless. 'D'ya think they're playing some kind of bizarre version of strip poker? I think I'd have preferred the comfort of doing it in the bar!'
'Quit complaining, Jack. At least you were out of it when they took off your clothes.'
'Yeah, well, there's that I suppose. Shame, I really loved those boots. They were a real, snug fit.'
Both he and Frank now had snug metal rings around their ankles, which in turn were attached to a chain leading to a stone post in the far side of their 'five star' accommodation.
Jack realised he had a huge honkin' headache to match the huge honkin' bump he could feel on his head. The proverbial blunt object in the toilet had hit him damn hard.
'You OK, Frank?'
'Yeah, I'll live. A few punches and slaps aren't going to keep me down!'
'Who d'ya think betrayed us?'
'Well, I'd trust Garcia with my life. More likely it was one of his team.'
'So much for team-work, huh! So, what d'ya think they want?'
'Our contacts? Our underground network? Use us as hostages to demand a big ransom? Who knows?'
'Well, let's just hope Garcia, or the rest of our team finds us and rescues us before any more shit hits the fan!'
The door opened, letting in some much needed sunlight, although maybe it wasn't such a good idea, as Jack could see more clearly how badly beaten up Frank was.
'Hey, I thought you said you were OK? You don't look it.'
'I told you, don't worry.'
Jack wanted to continue the conversation, but his chain was jerked to one side, forcing him to turn to face, yep, the short, swarthy thug from the club.
'Hey! How ya doing? Time for breakfast is it? Eggs, sunny side up and beer for me, please.'
'Western Dog.'
'Well, you've got the Western part right, mid-Western actually ...'
Before he could continue, Jack received the aperitif of the day, namely a fist thrust squarely onto his chin.
'Owwww! Hey, the standards of service here suck ...'
Now his ribs were kicked.
'Jack, don't antagonise him', Frank butted in.
'What! Break the habit of a lifetime. I don't think so.'
However, before Jack had the chance to indulge in any more friendly banter, another man entered the hut. He had a jet black beard, was taller and thinner than the other guy, yet had a menacing, lowering presence. Jack was unhooked from the chain, pulled up off the floor and pushed out of the hut.
'Hey, Frank! Looks like I'm off for a shower, hair-do and manicure!' Prophetic words as it turned out. 'See ya later!'
This was *so* not looking good, but he hoped whoever had captured them would leave Frank alone. This mission had been Jack's idea and no-one else should suffer on his account.
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CHAPTER 3
Ever tried walking with two heavy metal rings round your ankles? Kinda makes you waddle from side to side. Not attractive to watch, and a gun poked in your back ev'ry couple of strides doesn't exactly help to keep you on the straight and narrow either. Laurel and Hardy, as I had dubbed them, didn't bother to restrain me. They figured I wouldn't make a break for it. Well, they got that right. Frank was still stuck in the homemade sauna of the hut, and I wasn't gonna leave him behind. My trip into the outside world would have to be my reconnaissance mission to see if there *was* any way outta here.
Woah! Steep, rocky slope ahead. Not the time to fall and hurt your knees, back, or break your ankles, Jack. Just be careful! Although I didn't really know why I was so concerned, since once the inevitable torture began, I didn't expect I'd remain intact for too long.
Situated in the shadows at the bottom of the hill, I could see what looked like the estate house, or hacienda, as they called it in these parts. It was surrounded by what looked like a coffee plantation. However, hidden deep in the depths of those plants would be the opium poppies and coca plants for making the drugs, which made the money, which in turn enabled Escalier's gang to lived the luxurious lifestyle to which they had become accustomed.
Special Forces had been called in to help bust their operation, arrest the guys, and find out just who it was who had infiltrated the CIA. In addition, we needed to know how far up the Air Force and government ladder the corruption went. We knew these dealers must have help flying in their goods to the U.S. We just didn't know where it was happening, who was on the take, and who was laundering the profits back in Washington. Some young senator called Kinsey was one name in the frame, but he was probably just a small cog in a potentially worryingly big wheel. As our mission had been blown, the corruption obviously went much higher than we had suspected.
The bastards pushing me down the hill obviously wanted to try and find out how much we knew, and dig out just who was the mole in their garden, and how he had betrayed them.
***
Fortunately, I reached the bottom of the hill still in one unbroken piece. I was relieved. At least I was going to start proceedings in a reasonable state of health.
After more pushing and shoving, I reached the house.
The peeling pink paint of the wooden front door had seen better days, and probably a better colour too!
The inner hallway was quite large, with a small table standing to one side. It was draped in a lace cloth, and had an attractive red vase containing big red roses.
Kids! Dammit, I could hear kids in an adjacent room. I fervently hoped they knew nothing of what went on here, or in the nearby drug factory. How could anyone bring up kids in this corrupt, dangerous environment? Sadly the immorally high profits from the drug trade undeniably gave them a comfortable lifestyle. I didn't have any more time to continue my 'soap-box' thoughts and protestations, as I was quickly led down into the cellar, and into a small room lit only by a single, dusty bulb.
The fun was about to begin.
***
'So, who *are* you guys?'
'You do not need to know that.'
'Oh, yes, I do.'
'You, do not.'
'Oh, yes, I *do*.'
Hardy's grip on my arms grew stronger, and he wrenched them behind my back. I struggled, but his grip was firm, and tight enough to hold me still, so that Laurel was able to thump me in the stomach several times over.
'Hey, ya know an artificial punch bag is much more effective for target practice. I'm just skin an' bones. There's just no meat on me at all. It's just not worth your while.'
My remarks didn't do any good. He just kept punching and punching, until my torso was various shades of black and blue, with delicate streaks of violet thrown in for good measure. After what must have been at least ten minutes of this pummelling, I finally collapsed onto the floor. I was coughing and spluttering, but wished I wasn't. It hurt. Oh, so very much it hurt. Probably a rib gone somewhere. At least I could be thankful I was still conscious and breathing.
I was dragged to the chair that I had seen in the shadows when I had first entered the room. Now I could see it in more detail - wooden, low backed, with an intricately carved design of a hawk facing me. The delicately curved chair arms looked like the wings of the bird, a bird that was about to claim its prey.
They turned me round and pushed me down into the chair. Ropes were tied round my ankle restraints, and my feet secured to the chair legs. Next, it was thin twine tightly wound round and round my wrists, until it cut into my skin and the blood began to drip. My arms were stretched out and dragged round to the back of the chair until my wrists touched and could be tied together. God, more pain. Don't these guys stop for coffee, or something?
My body, and the wounds I already had, were stretching in ways they never should be stretched, my bare arms were picking up splinters from the chair, my hands were going numb, and I was hearing music! Music? Hey, the pearly gates were arriving waaay too early, or perhaps there really had been something bad in that hooch we had in the bar, and this scenario was just an illusion?
I listened again. Nope, definitely music. Then I realised I must be under the room containing the kids. They were having a party. Some young, innocent kid was probably celebrating a birthday, having a good time, eating cake, playing innocent games, totally oblivious to the violent games and cruelty taking place below, and the crime and death caused by their parents' 'activities'. If only I could free myself and take these kids away to a better place, but escape was not an option ... yet.
The interrogation proper was about to start.
***
'Hors d'oeuvre over? Main course next?' I retorted.
'Who told you to come here?'
'Well, obviously *that* would be no-one, you nit-wits. You heavies abducted us, and forced us to come here, and don't say 'Western dog' because that is *so* getting old. Couldn't I be a cat for once? ...'
That remark earned me a hard back-slap across the face, and Hardy's ring gashed my cheek.
'Hey, I know I have a tendency to prattle on, but hey, guys, couldn't you be a bit politer? Put yourselves through charm school or something?'
'You are here to answer *our* questions.'
This time I was slapped across the other cheek. Oh well, at least I now had two matching rosy cheeks on my face. Perhaps I could get a job as a clown?
I wanted to irritate them as much as I could. I enjoyed that, but it was also my job, as it was a great distraction technique. It gave me more time to assess the enemy, see what they would and wouldn't do to me, so I knew when to draw the line. OK, it usually meant I'd end up with more cuts and bruises than was strictly necessary, but it was worth it. On the walk down here, the constant stopping and starting as they listened to see if I was muttering anything important, allowed me to survey the landscape, and look for possible escape routes.
'Perhaps you would enjoy watching your friend suffer instead?'
'You just leave him alone. He just obeyed my orders. He knows nothing.'
Not true of course. Frank knew everything, but it was crucial he stayed in a better condition than I was likely to be soon, so he'd have a chance of figuring out an escape plan. Sure, I have to get hurt, but as I said, I had to draw the line somewhere. I didn't want a coffin outta here!
'Who sent you here? Who paid you to come?'
'Oh, my services are free. Would you like my card? All assignments seriously considered, and I have a special Gold Standard service for my favourite clients ...'
Several hard slaps across my face stopped me in mid-flow. Once the fun there was over, they both started kicking my legs. At least that allowed me to speak again.
'Have you just finished reading "The Idiots Guide To Torture"? You know there's just no originality in your technique - just the same ol', same ol' punching, kicking, hitting. Variety is the spice of life don't ya know!'
"Idiots" perhaps wasn't the best word to choose, as it simply earned me some punches to a very delicate, defenceless area. It hurt. Oh boy, did it hurt, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of screeching and howling. I knew they wanted me to screech and howl (the music above would muffle the sounds), but that would just mean they'd keep targeting that area. Sorry, the family jewels just ain't for tarnishing, folks.
'You could save yourself much pain, my friend. You can betray those who have betrayed us, and then you can be rewarded and paid handsomely by continuing to spy for us.'
'Oh, I don't think so.'
'Why do you resist?'
'Well, it's in my nature, my training, and for some strange reason, I just don't like the idea of betraying my country.'
'Fool!'
'Well, I've been called far worse things than that in my career. You lot really are only at "Torturing 101" level, aren't you?'
'Shut up! Perhaps, we can persuade you to think again!'
'I thought you wanted me to talk?'
'I said, SHUT UP!'
With that remark, Laurel grabbed my hair and yanked my head backwards, until the nape of my neck was pressing on the edge of the back of the chair. I ended up staring and focusing on the spider nestling on the ceiling. He was silently observing proceedings from the comfort of his spindly web. I began to feel distinctly dizzy as the muscles and sinews of my neck stretched and strained in pain, and the blood from the gashes on my cheeks started to flow into my eyes.
I didn't get a chance to complain. Freezing water was poured onto my face and into my mouth. The water had ice cubes in it, although they felt more like icebergs, as they hit my face from a height, and began to split and splinter into pieces.
I was choking and gasping for air, and beginning to drown in the bubbly lake that had formed in my mouth. Gargling was *so* gonna be off the menu after this little episode!
Before I took what I thought would be my last breath, and final dive into oblivion and hell, my head was yanked back up. I regurgitated the water, the liquid falling from my mouth like a cascading waterfall. My hair was dripping wet, and some foul smelling, and, as I discovered later, sticky substance was rubbed into my scalp. Maybe this was a hair-wash South-American style?
As I sat there, trying to cough up the remainder of the water, I could see more buckets of water being prepared. Yep, they were duly thrown all over me. Hey, were they trying to make an ice statue out of me, or something, and just what was it about missions with Frank and I, which meant I kept ending up being drenched. Peachy, just peachy - first we had the abuse, and now the inevitable shrinkage. They were obviously determined to get at my assets one way or another!
OK, I felt better for the impromptu shower. I did feel cleaner on the outside, but I would have given anything to be able to change out of my wet and soiled briefs.
I was beginning to shiver too. Shivering was OK. I knew that. However, I also knew hypothermia would set in soon. That was not gonna be OK. I just hoped they'd realise sooner rather than later that they had one hell of a stubborn son-of-a-bitch on their hands, and that I wasn't going to talk anytime soon. In fact, I wasn't planning on staying around to talk at all, although they didn't realise that yet! Just get me back to the welcoming heat of that hut, and let Frank and I work on our escape plan.
'Do you wish to talk now? We can give you a taste of what is to come if you do not co-operate.'
Oh, oh! This was not sounding so good. They'd already had a go at most of my anatomy, so I wasn't sure what they were likely to do next!
'Do you feel clean now?' they mockingly asked with grim, cold, smiles on their faces.
'Yeah, yeah, you've just flushed all the grime away. Gee, thanks!' I intoned with an ironic smile in my voice.
'We can dirty you up again. Do much worse to you.'
'Oh, I'm sure you can, but you see, you've got a problem. I've already had much worse done to be before, and, as yet, I've never told anyone anything, anytime, anyplace, anywhere. Hey, would you like me to sing you the song?'
'Remember, we can make you watch your friend suffer instead.'
'Suffer? Yeah, well I think you're right there. Anyone having to listen to my singing would suffer, but geez, this *is* getting old. You can bring him in here, torture him if you like, but as I already told you, he knows nothing, and wouldn't tell you lot anything even if he did.'
'Well, then, we will just have to try and persuade *you* further.'
Laurel and Hardy moved behind me once more. Although my hands were numb, I could feel my right wrist being grabbed, a firm grip being taken on my index finger, and it being raised up to a horizontal position. I couldn't see what they *were* doing, but unfortunately, I could guess what they *might* be about to do. God, perhaps they had seen too many movies, or had connections to the Mafia. They were going to send my finger back as a warning. My trigger finger - great, just great, career over! Sure, I could get a desk job in the military, but I knew I belonged in the field. I knew I was good at that, and if I couldn't do that, I knew I wasn't gonna be much use as an administrator, or mouthing off training raw recruits. What kind of example would I set as an instructor - join the Air Force, listen to my words of wisdom, or rather catalogue of mistakes, and you too could be captured and mutilated by the enemy. Just don't think it would wash somehow.
Next, I could feel pulling. Geez, couldn't they just get this over with, and cut it off with one sharp, clean cut? Then, there was a sharp, wrenching movement. This is it ...
This is not it? The grip was gone, and I could still move my finger. What had they done?
Nope, it was just a short reprieve. Grip on again. OK, maybe they messed up first time around? Perhaps they had just been having a practice run?
Another tug, and this time even with my fingers in a numb state, I could feel the burning pain. However, I was puzzled. My finger still seemed to be there, it didn't feel broken, and I could move it. God, what the hell was happening? Perhaps my finger was half hanging off, but I was just too numb to feel all the pain?
Next, I heard myself scream. The first real scream of agony I had uttered, since I had entered the room. They had finally broken through my defences, as I felt an agonising, stabbing thrust through my finger. Either, this *was* finally it, or my finger already wasn't there any more, and I was having a delayed reaction to what they had already done, and a bout of phantom pain that I had often heard amputees speak about.
***
Again and again, the stabbing jabs seared through my flesh. First one finger, then another.
They stared at me every few minutes. I knew they wanted me to plead with them to stop. I tried to focus on Frank, on Sara, Charlie, George the dog, the hockey league, donuts, anything to distract me from the pain.
At last the punctures stopped and the pain eased.
'So, you still refuse to co-operate?'
'Well, that would be a "Yes"'.
I could at last see what they'd done. Hardy held his hand out. Pliers, needles and nails. Nope, not the metal kind of nails ... my nails. They'd extracted some from each hand, and had been stabbing the nail bed with the needles.
Laurel stuck his lice-infested beard right up close to my face.
'See this needle. Do you want it in your eye?'
'Well, that would be a "No"'.
I figured that they wouldn't resort to that, at least not yet, not whilst I was potentially useful to them as a mole. If they really wanted me to be an agent for them, just having one good eye would kinda be a handicap!
I wondered if they might decide to set about my teeth with the pliers next? Instead, they grasped my right foot, and, of course, now I knew exactly what they were going to do.
They chose my big left toe first. They tugged and tugged. My nail was joining me in the stubbornness department. After several attempts, it finally came away.
Stubbing a toe is always very painful, but to have a 'naked' toe poked and prodded firstly by a needle, and then the end of a gun - oy, man, that comes real close to the top end of the Jack O'Neill pain scale. Only topped by the damage to the jewellery department mentioned earlier!
I had to scream again. The pain was just too great. This time, they decided to muffle it, stuffing my mouth with a dirty, wet, oily rag. God forbid the kids upstairs should have their 'perfect world' shattered by hearing what was going on downstairs.
Once I was silenced, they took the opportunity to lay into me more, crashing the gun butt onto my left knee, shin (getting around on that leg was not going to be a walk in the park anytime soon), forearm and finally into my chest. Yep, the rib was definitely broken now.
They ripped the rag from my mouth, and wiped it down my arms and chest, adding oil and saliva to a body already covered in a fetid, foul mix of blood, water, sweat and tears of pain. I wasn't as clean as I thought I was!
'We can offer you many thousands of dollars to tell us what we want to know. No-one will know you talked. You will be protected by our "spies". Surely, you can see the great opportunities for the future?'
'You don't intimidate me one little bit, and don't call me, Shirley!'
'We will return you to the hut now. Think over what we have said, and we will see if you want to co-operate in the morning. We have plenty of other methods we can use to try and persuade you to join us, and of course plenty of drugs that can help you change your mind.'
'Ah, see I don't do drugs.'
They decided to hit me one more time in the ribs for luck.
'You have twelve hours to decide.'
The pain was excruciating, but a few bruises, cuts and scrapes weren't going to persuade me to tell them anything, co-operate with their plans, and least of all sell out my best friend, Frank.
At least I now knew the deadline. Frank and I would have to set to work on an escape plan right away.
'Yeah, well, thanks for the shower, hair-wash and manicure. Don't expect a tip though, I've seen elephants at the zoo do it better!'
After that remark, Jack was knocked out cold.
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CHAPTER 4
'Jack ... Jack ... Jack?'
'How long?'
'Have you been out?'
'Yeah.'
'About seven hours.'
'Crap. They said we had twelve hours to decide.'
'To decide what?'
'Whether to co-operate.'
'Well, I hope you told them where to stick it!'
'I tried. Believe me.'
'You know, those rope burns could set a whole new fashion trend. No need to go to a parlor to get tattooed, just create 'do it yourself' patterns at home.'
'Very funny, Frank.'
'And hey, you know your hair is all spiky, just the way Sara likes it so much.'
'Yeah, well that's the new hair gel they were trying out on me. Perhaps I should ask for a free sample to take home?'
Home. I wondered how Sara was coping with my longest absence away from her since we had married. We'd only had four months together, before I was assigned to this team. If I made it back, how would she react to seeing me injured? How could I shield her from the knowledge that I'd been tortured? It would be a bit difficult to attribute lost nails to a difficult jungle hike, or hand to hand combat. I'd just have to meet that bridge when I came to it.
I knew Frank's comments were just trying to boost my sprits, as his eyes, and finally his voice, revealed the true intensity of his concern.
'Jack. You know you don't look so good.'
'Well, you know, I did tell you the beer in the bar was far too strong. It's roughed us up and got us into a right and proper mess hasn't it!'
'I think you should continue to rest. They might come back at any moment, and you need to conserve your strength.'
'I don't have time for that. We've gotta plan a way outta here.'
True, I would gave liked nothing better than to continue my beauty sleep, especially as I had been dreaming of the Cubs winning the World Series. However, an air-conditioned room, and warm, comfortable bed would be much more preferable than the present surroundings of wet, humid air and a dirty straw-strewn floor, which was full of pesky bugs who had decided I was the delicacy of the day.
At least whilst I was asleep, Frank had wiped away some of the foul, stewing bodily mess that had accumulated on and around my body. As for the pain? Well, the bruises were fine, but I might well have been tempted to pay handsomely for a shot of something from Mr & Mrs Drug Dealer, as my leg was killing me. It had been whacked truly well and proper. Perhaps it was broken ... like my rib. The pain from that was like a fork piercing and stabbing a hot potato, and reared its ugly head every time I breathed. That was quite a good analogy I thought, as I *was* a bit of a hot potato to handle. Coughing was *so* not going to be an option, although I sensed regular seizures of that were very near on the horizon.
My nails, or rather my absent nails, were maybe not my biggest or most significant injury, but the pain was excruciating, because of the delicate skin tissue that had been exposed. Being forced to stumble up the hill, as I struggled back to the hut hadn't been much help. Several times, I'd landed on the raw, bleeding, nail beds, and, as I'd scratched to maintain a tenuous grip on the earth, said earth had embedded itself in the wounds, and ground itself in, sharpening the pain like a knife on a grindstone. I needed to keep my hands and feet as still as possible. Even just bending my fingers and toes, stretched the newly exposed skin, and opened the scabs that were beginning to form. Amazing how the absence of something as tiny and seemingly insignificant as a nail should make me so cautious and wary about my movements.
Geez, I had to face it, I was too weak to go anywhere, but I had to give Frank every chance of getting out alive.
'Look, I'm not gonna be able to walk far like this. Far better you get outta here. If they take you next, make a break for it. I got a closer look at the forest halfway down the hill. There's not much undergrowth, but at least there's some cover, and to honest, I don't think they'll bother trying to flush you out if they still have me available for their pleasure and delight.
'I can't leave you, Jack, you're in no fit state ...'
'... no fit state to escape, Frank. That's the reality. If you get the opportunity, you have to go. Someone needs to get back to warn that there is a traitor. I'll just take my chances here.'
'I can't let you do that.'
'Oh yes you can, Frank. This mission is not worth the both of us being tortured, compromised or killed. If you can get to the trees ...'
'If? That's a hellava big if, isn't it Jack? Suppose they restrain me?
'Somehow, I have my doubts they'll do that. They know I'm their insurance policy for you not escaping. You'll just have to prove them wrong, won't you? If they do restrain you, we'll need to think of something else, but Frank, look, if you get the chance, just go, will ya. For once in ya reprobate life, just obey my orders for crying out loud!!'
***
I came round.
Strong, hairy arms were dragging my body towards the hut wall.
Crap. I must have flaked out.
As my eyes returned to life from my enforced slumber, I realised the comedy duo were back, and wanting Act II of their entertainment.
Who would they choose?
I could persuade them to take me, thus ensuring Frank remained safe and healthy for as long as possible, so that there was more time to work on an escape plan.
OK, that was Plan A.
Despite my physical tiredness and weakness, and the throbbing agony of broken bone rubbing against muscle and skin, I crawled towards the sweaty duo.
'Take me again. I'll talk.'
'No, he won't', Frank interjected.
'Yes, I will', I replied.
'*No*, he won't, but I will.'
I was beginning to think that Frank and I were becoming the Abbott and Costello to the Laurel and Hardy standing before us. Despite our earlier discussion, Frank obviously had no intention of allowing his buddy to suffer further.
'Frank?'
'Jack?'
'Frank!'
I felt like reading Frank the Riot Act. What was the point of him being so pig-headed?
Hardy had obviously noticed the two Americanos in front of him seemed hell bent on protecting one another. He addressed Frank. 'Perhaps you would like to sit and watch whilst we make this one suffer further, and then you *will* tell us what we want to know? Come. We will take both of you. We have a guest arriving who will enjoy the sport that we can offer!'
OK, that didn't sound so good, and I knew they would enjoy playing Frank and I off against one another - see who would betray the other first. Our bond was so strong, such a betrayal *would* never happen. However, the ideal scenario *was* for both of us to be taken. Frank could make his bid for freedom as we went down the hill, and I could act as cover, creating making merry hell for our captors as Frank fled.
Yep, there we are, Plan B was in place.
I was released from my chain first. Being the weaker, they obviously thought that was the safer bet, and Laurel pulled me to my feet, carefully taking pleasure to stand on the toes of my left foot as he did so. His smile of delight was cold and ruthless. I didn't give him the pleasure of audibly registering the agony that coursed through my leg.
Frank could stand on his own, and as he was released from his chain, my ever-active mind thought of Plan C.
I could create a distraction now.
Frank could run now.
I fell to my knees.
My body began to shake with a coughing spasm, then desperate gasps for air, and dry heaving, as if sickness was going to follow.
Frank watched in horror. Was his best buddy bound for the pearly gates? 'JACK!!', he shouted.
My face turned toward Frank. My eyes told Frank everything he needed to know. I was feigning. It was the signal for Frank to attack ... to make his bid for freedom.
Frank knew Jack was determined to punish himself to save others, but he just couldn't leave ... couldn't abandon Jack to an unknown fate.
Hardy must have noticed something in Frank's stare that gave the game away. 'This is pretence! He has not eaten. He cannot be sick!'
Frank winced as Hardy kicked Jack in the back with the kind of triumphant force reserved for scoring a winning field goal in the Superbowl.
***
Plan C had failed.
My efforts had earned me nothing but pain, but despite losing the first quarter, more due to Frank's stubbornness, than any basic flaw in the plan, I had indeed achieved a winning goal. Two against two made the odds even ... well, more or less ... give or take the odd injury here and there, and I was damn sure I was gonna win the next quarter. By halftime, Frank would be striking out for home, even if it meant I had to push him out toward freedom myself.
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CHAPTER 5
'Jack, you're an idiot.'
'No, Frank. You're the idiot. I gave ya an opportunity, and you didn't take it.'
'Jack, I couldn't take it. I told you, I'm not leaving you to face this on your own. Anyhow, they spotted your act, so it wasn't worth me trying to escape anyway.'
'Yeah, well, that was your fault for giving the game away wasn't it? Next time, you damn well make sure you *don't* do that, you'll just obey my orders, and run. Comprendo?'
I was fuming with Frank. Why the hell hadn't he tried to go? He knows our situation is hopeless. Rescue isn't coming, but he's still physically relatively OK, so what's the point in both of us suffering, and possibly dying?
'So, you triya to speaka the lingo do you?' Laurel interjected, over-doing his already thick accent.
'This is a private conversation if you don't mind.' I didn't care if I rubbed these jokers up the wrong way. I wanted to irritate them as much as possible ... cause havoc ...keep the attention on me ... damn the consequences for me ... just protect Frank and keep him well enough so that he could get outta here.
Unfortunately, there *were* consequences for my actions. My wrists were tied together behind my back. Peachy! That meant my descent down the hill was not exactly going to be a walk in the proverbial park. Then, there was yet another punch to my face. My nose started bleeding, and as well as blood soiling my already battered face, I could also feel it flowing down the back of my throat.
The coughing started.
Not good.
Chest hurts.
Breathing difficult.
Blood regurgitated.
At least I had the satisfaction of seeing some of it land on their uniforms.
'Out. Both of you. Do not try to surprise us again.'
"As if", I said to myself.
***
Frank went first. I hobbled behind. They ensured they kept us apart. I bet they thought I was deliberately slowing up our little party, but it was no act. Without the use of my hands, I had nothing other than the grubby, stubbly hands of Hardy to steady me.
With dodgy feet and legs, I was bound to fall over as we descended, but I could use that to Frank's advantage, that is, if only he would get the hint! If I fall, our walking buddies would be distracted, and he could make a break for it. Even better, I could roll down the hill. They didn't want me dead yet, so they'd be bound to run after their precious cargo of meat. Paradoxically, rolling down was probably the easiest way for me to reach the bottom of the hill anyway.
So ... OK ... that's it ... Plan D.
I fell ... and started rolling.
'Go, go, go' I shouted to Frank. "Go, Frank, go" was swirling in my head again and again. I was like some demented mind-reader willing him to my desired actions, "Go, Frank, go".
Yep, he went alright.
Just in the wrong direction.
Rather than running towards the forest, the idiot came scurrying down the hill after me.
He caught me after I had only fallen about fifty yards. It was far enough for my face and arms to be bleeding from the twigs, and assorted spiky plants I had met on the way down, but at least I didn't think I had broken any more broken bones. My nail-less toes were bleeding again too, and judging by the wetness I could feel on my fingers, the same was true of them.
'You OK, Jack?'
I don't think Frank expected the angry ... very angry outburst that greeted him.
'Ya stupid bastard! Did ya not get the message? Do we not speak the same language? Didn't I tell ya to "Go"? Just what part of "Go" do ya not understand? Are ya trying to stick to me like duct tape? Ya really are one heck of a stubborn son of a bitch, aren't ya?'
'Jack, just get it into that thick skull of yours, that leaving you is not an option, amigo.'
'Oh, for crying out loud! If we were on a battlefield, would ya disobey a direct order? No. So why do so here?'
'Court-martial me if you like. I don't care. I'm not leaving you.'
Our bickering was providing plenty of amusement for Laurel and Hardy, who stood there with triumphant, sneering smiles on their faces. Frank's actions had again unwittingly proved the strong bond between him and I, and I just knew that that provided ammunition they could use against us during the interrogation.
They tied a rope round my already bound wrists, and then wound it round Frank's body.
Now, we truly were inseparable. Just great, Frank. You've really blown it. No chance of running away now.
'Pick him up!' Hardy issued the brusque order to Frank.
As we waddled down the hill like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, I admit that despite what might be about to happen, to be honest, I was rather looking forward to the comfort of sitting down in that chair again. At least I would be able to take the weight off my increasingly battered and weakening body.
***
We entered the dingy hollow space beneath the house.
The spider still had his grandstand view, and they hadn't even bothered to clear up after my last visit.
Frank could see my blood, my nails, my flakes of skin, my strands of hair.
I could see the grimy, oily pliers and blood-soaked needles. It would be no surprise to me if their tools had been dirty before they had started on me, and thus it was more than likely that my wounds could become infected, and I could die of septicaemia, or gangrene.
Oh, yes, we were having *so* much fun on this mission, and it was about to get even jollier, I noted sarcastically in my head.
'So, which one of you shall we start on first?'
I interjected quickly, before they had a chance to think. 'Forget him, he's big ... beefy ... as strong as an ox. You've already started on thin, ol', wiry me. Why don't ya just carry on? You know I'll be much easier to break.'
'True, you are already well prepared for us' he said, as he squeezed my right hand into a fist, chafing the raw skin of my nail beds. 'We shall continue with you, and we *shall* break you ... quickly. Strap the other one down.'
They cut the bindings between us, and Frank was tied into the wooden chair that had been my seat of pain before. I just hoped to God they weren't going to do to him what they had done to me, but at the same time, I had to curse that I just wasn't gonna get that afternoon sit-down. Damn!
'Fine, just go ahead. Do what ya want with me.'
'So, I see your resistance is crumbling.'
Of course, they didn't know that my soul and resolve was still strong, and that I was doing all of this on purpose. Martyr, I was not. Quitter, I was not, but if perhaps they felt I *was* weakening, it would again keep their attention on me, and away from Frank.
I just hoped I was strong enough to last as long as was needed. Everyone does have a breaking point. I'd never been tortured this badly before, and I did wonder how long I could and would last.
***
They untied my wrists, but the relief of feeling free was short-lived.
A short metal chain, with manacles on either end, was thrown over the roof beam crossing the centre of the room. My arms were raised, and my wrists were enclosed in their new prison. It was just high enough off the ground, that my feet only just reached the floor. OK, not having to bear my full weight on my gammy leg was good news, but everything else was bad news - the strain on my arms; the stretching of my torso; the dodgy rib rubbing and pecking at my side like a demented woodpecker; my breathing even more effortful and difficult. I'd already kinda been through hell and back, and this was *so* not gonna be a comfortable time.
Sounds stupid I know, but I was glad Frank was there to watch. I knew he'd do his best to help me through this, and at least I had some friendly company on which to focus. I just couldn't contemplate what it would be like to undergo repeated torture on my own. Sure, we've had the training on how to survive, but the clinical cleanliness of the classroom, and the torment and terror of the torture room are very different animals. Guess, if I *were* on my own for a long time, I'd just have to focus on the hope of seeing Charlie and Sara again. I pray to God, I'm never ever placed in that situation. I don't know if I *could* cope, if I *could* survive. What the hell would it do to Charlie and Sara? Especially if they knew what was happening to me.
Still, at least I'm not facing that scenario now. Just the scenario of this hopeless mess. Three not very hearty cheers to Frank for his stupidity and stubbornness in wanting to stay with me.
'You leave him alone!'
'Frank. Will ya shut up!'
'No, I won't. You've done enough to him. Start on me instead.'
'Are you nuts, Frank, three fries short, wacko? Don't ya wanna get out of here? You've already screwed up two opportunities. D'ya have a death wish or something?'
'Jack, you can't take much more of this punishment.'
'Oh yes, I can, and I'm damn well gonna make sure I do.'
'Nuts, three fries short? Ring a bell, Jack?'
I reckon we could have continued sparring back and forth like this for hours, but our hosts' minds were obviously made up - I was the target in sight.
Laurel took out a hunting knife, caressed it lovingly, and with the delicate touch of a true artist, traced out patterns on my chest.
I braced myself for the stabbing I was sure was going to follow.
However, he moved behind me.
Next, I could feel him cutting away the sides of my briefs, and of course he made sure he incised into my flesh at the same time.
The briefs fell to the ground.
Actually, I was glad they were gone. They were so soiled, they had been pretty unbearable to wear, although with the obnoxious stinking, smell that was now permeating my nose, perhaps I needed them right back again. I just wished they could also have flushed away all the dirt and mud on my body. Jack, it was *so* not a good idea to go rolling down the hillside after a rainstorm.
'Jack?'
'Frank?'
'I never knew.'
'Knew what?'
'You know?'
'No, I don't?'
'Well, it's plain for all to see.'
'Yes, everything *is* plain for all to see. I'm standing here butt naked for crying out loud. What's your point?'
'Well, I never thought you were the type.'
Any moment now, I'd quite happily torture Frank myself.
'The type for what?'
'Going ... like ...er ... commando.'
'Frank. Sorry to disappoint ya, but those *were* briefs you saw. I'm only going commando because I have no choice in the matter. How about you?'
'Well, that would be telling.'
'Pray, do tell.'
'Yes, we wish you to tell us many things' an unfamiliar voice butted in. I had to laugh that my mind had thought of that particular word, whilst I was hanging here in my birthday suit.
I heard the door creak open further ... heavy footsteps ... and then warm breaths on my back.
Perhaps we'd moved up to the Major League, and gang leader Escalier had himself deigned to make an appearance.
'I am Roberto. I am here to help you ...'
'Help us do what? Bake a cake, make an omelette, eat donuts? Na. No thanks. Not hungry.'
'He is here to help you to be more co-operative' Hardy replied.
'Well then, I can tell him he's had a wasted journey hasn't he. He can just go right back into the ditch out of which he's crawled.'
'Jack!'
Momentarily, I wondered if Frank was trying to shut me up, but then I realised he was just reacting to what he had seen coming.
What felt like a thick plank of hardwood slammed heavily against my butt. At least there didn't seem to be any nails in it (God Jack, what it is with you and the bad jokes!), but I could feel that quite a few splinters had well and truly found a new home.
'So, have I been a bad boy again?'
At least by talking, I prevented a cry of pain issuing from my lips.
He moved round my body, and faced me.
He was about 6' 4", solidly built, but not fat, and had dark brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. Strangely, his features looked kinda kindly, but, of course, that masked the true nature of his personality, and what he did for a living.
'Silence.'
He raised the plank, like a baseball batter keenly anticipating the pitch.
Yep, we sure were into Major League torture now.
I realised what he was gonna do next.
God.
Oh, no.
No. No. No.
The butt was bad enough, but the front? My assets? The jewels? Attacked again? Third time unlucky it seemed - first the punch, then the freezing flood and now ... was it too late to take out an insurance policy on them? Somehow, I doubted I'd get a no claims bonus.
He struck.
Shaking and shivering in pain.
Shallow and fast in the breathing.
Seeing stars.
Tears in the eyes.
Moans in the voice.
Humiliating whimpering in the voice.
Just like a wounded animal.
Finally, although I didn't want to give him the satisfaction, I couldn't prevent an agonised howl of distress leaving my lips.
'Silence, you whimpering dog. Perhaps you need more training to make you obey. I can damage you, so that you cannot have a family.'
Geez, I didn't like the sound of that one bit. I coughed and spluttered a defiant, if halting reply, managing to catch my breath as the pain began to subside a little.
'Er ... don't ... worry ... not worth ya ... spending any more time ...ya know ... down there. Already got a family, thanks.'
Focus on the family, Jack. Let them help you through this. True, I did want more kids. A daughter would be great, but if it was not meant to be, then fine, I could live with that. Charlie already filled my and Sara's lives with joy. Yep, he could be quite a handful at times, but we both loved him to bits, and Sara and I often sat together late at night, thinking about how he'd turn out when he was older. Which characteristics would he inherit from each of us? I'm not sure Sara wanted two wise-cracking, cynical guys around. Yeah, a daughter would be nice. Balance out the family ... keep us guys in check!
My thoughts were rudely interrupted, as Robby Boy grabbed my jaw, and made me stare into his eyes.
Was he looking into mine for weakness?
Signs of pleading for pity and mercy?
He wasn't gonna get that from me.
I wanted my eyes to convey zilch, zero, nothing, or in his language, nada.
He turned away, seemingly full of contempt that I was not yet broken.
I didn't show it ... but I admit it ... I was scared. This level of violence proved what I of course already knew. We were unlikely to get outta here alive. Well, I definitely wouldn't make it. Frank, maybe, still had a chance.
'You, two, go. Prepare the tools', Roberto ordered, and Laurel and Hardy obediently went out of the room to get what I hoped would be the desert menu of implements. I couldn't take many more dishes of the main course.
Frank and I glanced at one another, obviously both thinking the same.
What was this Robber guy going to do next?
Strike the most vulnerable parts of my body even more violently? Or did he have different tricks up his sleeve, to bring even greater floods of tears to my eyes?
He stood between Frank and I.
'I am here to help you.'
I could have said nothing. Perhaps I should have said nothing, but I couldn't resist.
The pain made we want to talk.
I wanted to show him that although I was bloodied, I was not bowed.
'Yeah, yeah, of course you are. We know that. You said that already. Bad memory or something? Funny way you've got of showing your concern!'
'No, I *am* here to help you.'
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 6
'To help you to escape.'
'Well, if you don't mind me saying so, you're going about it in a rather strange way' Jack noted with a wryly, ironic tone.
'When we are returning you to the hut, and you are closest to the forest, you both make a run for it. I will have my rifle with me. Jos and Jsus will be no more.'
Run for it?
Who was he kidding?
I'd be lucky if I'd be able to hop more than a few paces before falling over.
It gives Frank a chance though, and I'll damn well push him into the forest if I have to.
Jos and Jsus? What kind of name was that for a double-act? Sorry. They remained Laurel and Hardy for me.
Roberto continued, 'I am sorry, but first I have to inflict more pain. I cannot help you until you are returning to the hut. First you must try and help me. I will choose the mildest drug. Act as well as you can, to show it has affected you badly. I can then stop this session and hasten your return to the hut.'
'Hey, believe me, it won't need to act, I'm in enough pain already.'
Frank and I stared intensely at one another.
Could this guy be trusted?
Was it just a ruse to make us talk?
If he was going to help us, how did he know who we were and why we were here?
Well, we *were* pretty much out of options. We had to take any chance that was offered to us.
***
Laurel & Hardy returned.
Armed with a variety of syringes.
'We are testing new drugs. Some of them for your Government.'
'Yeah, looks like you've got a nice selection there. Anything chocolate flavoured, vanilla?'
'We shall try this one first.'
'No, I like this one best', Laurel interjected.
Roberto looked on in horror, as one of the stronger potions was selected by Laurel.
He handed it to Roberto, and the latter stood in front of me.
I knew the man's eyes were asking for forgiveness.
Geez, this was obviously going to hurt. A lot.
My right wrist was released from its metal prison, and my arm fell limply to my side. Small comfort, as now my entire weight was being suspended from over-stretched sinews, and over-aching muscles. My other wrist was burning and bleeding as the remaining manacle clamped to it like a vice.
Hardy held out my arm, and Laurel bound a rope around it creating a torniquet to expose my veins.
'Noooo!' Frank shouted, 'Leave him. He's had enough.'
In a fruitless bid to try and help Jack, Frank struggled to release himself from the chair. His reward was brutal punches to his face, and kicks to his legs. Still, he struggled. Yep, Jack was right, he *was* a stubborn son-of-a-bitch, and equally as bad as Jack at accepting punishment without a fight.
'Don't ... Frank ... not worth it' Jack spluttered, almost inaudibly.
At that moment, a blow to the side of Frank's head nearly knocked him out.
He knew it was time to quit, stay stumm, preserve his health so that he could try and help Jack later ... if there was going to be a later. He wondered how long Jack would be able to survive.
The needle glistened under the spotlight of the bulb.
I noticed the spider had retreated to a corner of the room.
It didn't want to witness what was coming next.
The substance was injected.
I realised how fast blood travels round my body, as, within moments, I felt a weird bloated sensation in my extremities.
Dizziness in my head.
Sickness in my stomach.
Dry heaving.
Nothing to bring up.
Pain without relief.
Coughing.
That broken rib now like a jagged dagger scything into my side.
Blurring in the eyes.
Then I completely lost control.
Started to fit.
Limbs arching at strange angles.
My imprisoned arm and wrist feeling like they were about to dislocate themselves from the rest of my body.
Then my ultimate humiliation.
I felt the warmth and wetness down my legs.
I smelt the stench.
The drug had made me relieve myself.
I was doubly incontinent.
I think Frank was right.
I can't take much more of this, but I fought back the tears that I wanted to shed, not from the shame of what had happened, but that Frank had had to witness it. I didn't dare look at him directly to see his reaction.
***
Frank had closed his eyes when Jack had relieved himself.
Not from disgust, but from respect for the man.
Humiliation like that should not be seen by anyone, least of all by a best friend.
That was not the way to support Jack.
Frank was disgusted that Jack's suffering had been caused by a drug developed by his own Government. Surely such methods were usually just reserved for third-world, tin-pot dictatorships. Just who in the hell back in the U.S. was working on these, and on whom did they intend to use them?
'The drug will flush itself through your system very quickly, and then you will be ready for the next stage of treatment. A more powerful dose. I'm sure you'll look forward to and enjoy experiencing what that will do to you' Laurel stated with a smiling glee in his voice.
'I have seen enough for now' Roberto declared. 'We will achieve no more today. He is too weak to answer any more questions. Release them, shower him down and take them back to the hut. I will accompany you to make sure they do not try to escape again.'
'What about this one? He is well enough to speak. We could continue to work on him now.'
'Yes, but how much better to work on him, once the other has recovered from this dose. We can try the higher dose, or use a more powerful drug on this one. As the other has already experienced what can happen, I have no doubt he'll talk to protect his friend. Trust me. He is near his breaking point.'
Jack's convulsions had ceased at last.
The remaining manacle was opened, and his body fell to the ground.
Hardy rolled Jack roughly over the floor, as he used a hose of freezing water to shower him down, and clean off the worst, but not all of the dirt.
'Get Up' Hardy shouted.
'Can't' Jack responded in a thin weak tone.
'Untie the other one' Roberto ordered.
Frank was released, and he rushed over to Jack.
'Hi, there, buddy. As you said to me a few days ago, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into.'
A thin smile spread over Jack's face, reassuring Frank that Jack's spirit wasn't broken ... yet.
He helped Jack to his feet, and dressed him in the loose hemp shirt thrown to him by Laurel.
***
The party of five men and three guns left the hacienda.
What would Roberto do?
Help us, or kill us?
Perhaps this *was* a just a three man firing squad and Roberto had filled condemned souls with false hope.
Soon we would find out the truth.
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CHAPTER 7
Dusk.
The last rays of the sun danced on the horizon, like embers of a dying fire.
'Move.'
Laurel pushed us up the hill.
Both he and Hardy were keeping a very watchful eye, making sure we weren't gonna stage another break-out.
Roberto hung back.
Perhaps he *was* gonna help, or perhaps he was just there as a safeguard, the out-fielder, our executioner, if we did run for it.
Run? Huh! More like crawl in my case. I still felt like I'd had 12 vodkas, gins and beers combined. That drug sure was something, and if that was just a medium dose? Geez!
Was there still a chance I could persuade Frank to leave me behind? He shouldn't sacrifice his life for me; the happiness of his family for me. Heck, we know we can be killed any time we go into combat. What difference does it make if it's from a bullet, or from torture? Frank, you wouldn't, couldn't and shouldn't stick around on a battlefield, so why do you feel you have to stick around here, especially with the broken down wreck that my body has become? God, he was having to hold me steady like a concerned parent does an injured child - what chance did we really have if he tried to take me with him?
***
Frank was very distressed as he saw Jack struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Even with his support, he knew Jack was finding it difficult to stay upright. This was going be one heck of a long journey up the hill. That's of course assuming they were going to be allowed to live that long. If this Roberto was intending to engineer an escape, how the hell was Frank going to get Jack out of here?
***
I collapsed to my knees after five minutes. Right into the sodden, squelchy, muddy mess that the slope had become - mud baths are just not all they're cracked up to be ya know.
Laurel showed no mercy, butting me in my side with his gun. Yep, he shifted that pesky rib again.
'Get up.'
'Can't.'
'You said "Can't" before. You *can* get up, and you *will*, or perhaps you'd like us to drag you back inside right now for another dose of your medicine?'
'Er, that would be a No. I've had enough 'treatment' for one day.'
As I, with Frank's guiding hand, tried to end up vertical rather than horizontal, Roberto made his move.
***
The oldest trick in the book, but it worked.
Roberto called out, 'What's that behind you?'
Laurel and Hardy were distracted.
'Now' Roberto shouted.
Frank dragged me away, as Roberto lurched towards our captors and knocked them flying into their own slimy muddy bath.
Sweet!
However, there was no time to revel in their discomfort.
Nor, as much as we would like to, could we help Roberto.
Two against one - not good odds.
Three against two - better odds, but not when two thirds of the three are weak, tired, hungry, in pain, and one third barely able to stand.
No, Roberto was going to have to hold them as long as possible on his own, and we would try and make it to the forest.
He'd given us our chance.
We had to make the most of it.
He was risking his life for us.
We had to make that risk worth his while.
Under cover of the near darkness, and with our survival training, we just about stood a chance of making it to the trees, hiding and then escaping.
Frank decided he could carry me to the tree line using a fireman's lift. It was our best and quickest option. If he helped me limp along, or just dragged me along the ground, we'd be moving too slowly, and we'd have no chance of making it.
Frank hauled me over his back, and we were off.
I wish it *were* at the speed of a horse race, but it was much more like a donkey derby, and we were *so* re-writing the definition of a two-horse race!
I raised my head a little.
I needed to see what was going on ... how Roberto was faring.
The shadowy figures were still struggling.
Good news for us.
'How much ... further?' I whispered, my dry mouth, possible broken rib, sideways position, and bouncing up and down, kinda making it difficult to speak.
'Shut up, Jack!' Frank replied in a breathy, angry tone.
'OK, OK, only asking' although, of course, I knew Frank really needed every precious breath to support me and get me to those trees.
A shot rang out.
My body tensed.
Was Frank about to fall?
Was I about to become a corpse?
Nope.
We were still OK.
Who was it?
I looked back again.
No!!
My heart sank.
My hope descended into despair.
Roberto.
Dammit.
He was down.
He was a brave man.
He'd risked his life, betrayed his own people.
He'd put his life on the line, for us, and probably others before us.
Another shot.
They were making sure he was dead.
Cold-bloodied murder.
He'd paid with this life.
Another shot.
Next thing I know, I hear a high-pitched, sharp whistling by my ear, and a burning sting on the side of my left arm.
'Er, Frank, I think you'd better move ... fast.'
'Yes, Jack. Don't you think I got the message?'
I could see the blood dripping, like a thick red wine, to the ground.
God, I was creating a trail that would lead them right to us.
At least it felt like the bullet had only grazed my arm. I really didn't need any more real serious wounds right now.
If it had hit me, or Frank straight - fine, that's it - off to meet our maker.
We *were* after all in a vulnerable enough position to be the proverbial lambs to the slaughter.
Well OK, that could still happen.
'Frank! Keep going!!'
'I got it!!'
***
Dark grey became black.
We'd arrived in the forest.
The tree cover was dense.
An eerie mix of noises assailed my ears - my ragged, shallow breathing; Frank's heavy, out-of-breath puffing, "Hey, he needs to work out more" I thought; the whistling of wind through high branches; the scurrying of forest animals, "Just better not be any snakes"; and the startling variety of bird calls. Everything combined into a soft symphony of sound.
'Frank, find cover.'
'I thought we just did, Jack. We've reached the tree line.'
'I know, but we're not gonna be safe until we can find somewhere to hide.'
'OK, but I can't carry you much further. I need a break.'
'I know. Just do the best ya can.'
I really didn't deserve a friend like Frank. He put up with all my sarcastic remarks, insults, anger even. God, I give him grief, yet he still sticks around, still wants to be on my team. God knows why!
At last, we found a reasonably large pile of dead branches on the forest floor. There were just enough to provide us with cover, and Frank could gather some leaves to provide us with warmth for the night.
Would we survive the night? Would we be discovered?
I wasn't sure whether they'd bother following us into this wooded maze now that it was dark, but you can bet ya bottom dollar that the search parties would be out in the morning, hunting us down, stalking and trapping us in their net. Now, we *had* to rest. Try and gain a little strength for the cat and mouse game of the next day.
Frank dug a little way down into the soil, creating a hollow so that we'd have a little more protection from detection. At least the tree cover meant the forest floor was reasonably dry. No more mud baths on the horizon quite yet!
He also tore a strip from my shirt, and fashioned a makeshift bandage for my arm. Heck, as I had so many open wounds, sores, bruises ... you name it, I had it on my body ... he could just have used the whole thing and bandaged me up like "The Invisible Man". I knew infection would set in very soon. Well it probably had already. I just had to hope I could keep going long enough to reach civilisation again.
'Jack?'
'Frank?'
'You, OK?'
'Well, it depends what ya mean by "OK". I can see ... hear ... just about breathe, although I think walking's definitely gonna be a problem.'
'Yeah, well, we've made it this far. I'll make sure we both make it home. Try and get some sleep. I'll keep watch.'
I loved his faith and optimism.
I didn't want to tell him that I still had a honkin' headache from whatever was in that drug, or that the pain all over my body was getting worse by the minute.
I needed medical treatment now, rather than in a few days time. The question was whether the needles were going to be benign ones in a hospital, or the malign ones of our enemy.
***
Jos and Jsus stared into the dim, shadowy recesses of the trees stretching out before them.
'Shouldn't we flush them out of the forest tonight?'
'Leave them. Our traitor has declared himself, and paid for his crimes. We don't need them any more. It is unlikely they will survive long in this terrain. Even if they do, it is of no consequence. We will be long gone. They won't be able to find us, or Escalier's operation. Our U.S. controller will ensure any testimony about our activities will be safely locked away and buried ... never to be found again.'
***
Jack was woken by a small marmoset, which was pecking at his shirt.
It scurried away once movement was detected.
'Hey, little guy. Morning to you too.'
OK, lots of bugs had taken a nibble at me during that night too, but that was a small price to pay for the fact that we were still alive.
A cooling shower of rain droplets was filtering through the trees, which also provided precious water to drink.
Streaks of light were hitting the forest floor like sleek bolts of lightning, and there was a weird glow in the undergrowth.
'Hey, Frank. Look at that. 10 bucks says an alien's gonna walk out of that light any moment now.'
'Huh. I see you've got your so-called sense of humor back. Don't be so stupid. I know you love those '50s Sci-Fi movies, but I can assure you there aren't any aliens "out there", we're not in "The Twilight Zone", the "Invaders From Mars" are not about to call, and nor are we about to be beamed up and abducted by little green men, although, thinking about it, if they did exist, and we could hitch a lift with them, we'd get home much quicker!'
'Very funny, Frank. Well, I'm keeping my bet on. You mark my words. It'll come true one day!'
'Yeah, and I'll be President!'
***
It turned out Frank had already been scouting around the area for over an hour, since waking from the brief sleep he had allowed himself.
'So, I guess this means we survived the night. Right, Frank?'
'Yep. Looks like it, unless they're waiting in ambush for us somewhere. However, I can't pick up any trails showing that anyone has come this way. Looks like we might be home free.'
'Yeah, well, I'll believe that miracle when it happens. We should get moving.'
'Sure, you're good to go?'
'Well, I don't think I'd call it good, but I ain't gonna get any better staying here, am I? Lead on, my man.'
I could see the grin, and hear the suppressed laugh from Frank as he reacted to my last remark. God, if we did get outta here, I'd have to give him a medal for putting up with me this long - it was way, way, way beyond the call of duty!
Frank had fashioned a roughly hewn crutch for me out of one of the branches, so at least our progress, even if still slow and hesitant, would be easier on him than it was last night.
Last night.
Yep, that was some night.
Looks like Laurel and Hardy got what they wanted after all.
Their traitor was unmasked.
If he hadn't have been trying to protect myself and Frank, he would still be alive, still be able to fight against the violence and evil of the drug trade, still be able to feed information through to our side.
Why the hell did he jeopardise all of that to try and save us? We're not that important.
He needn't have died; he shouldn't have died.
Despite what he'd had to do to me, I knew he was a good man.
He'd taken a stance to fight against a rising tide of corruption, killing and underhand dirty deeds.
He deserved to be thanked and remembered.
***
Bushes, vines, fungi.
The forest floor was not thickly vegetated, but with only one reasonably good leg, it was still tough-going.
Frank kept asking if I needed help.
Sure, really I did, but I had to ease his burden as much as possible. He was gonna have to do all the work once we emerged from this haven, and he needed to re-coup as much strength as possible.
We had been walking for about thirty minutes when it happened.
'Shit.'
'Jack?'
'Jesus, I don't need any torturer's help. Seems like I'm quite capable of inflicting injury on myself. Peachy, just peachy.'
Frank rushed over to the undignified heap of my body, which was sprawled on the forest floor.
'What happened? You know you're kinda making a habit of this falling over!'
'What happened? What happened is that the forest is out to get me!'
'Jack, first it's aliens, now it's plant life. I never knew you were so paranoid. Sure it wasn't a Triffid?' Frank said in an ironically mocking tone.
'Shut up, Frank. It's not funny.'
'No, it's not' Frank said, still trying to stifle his laughter, 'OK, tell me about it.'
'I fell. That's what's happened. Isn't that obvious?'
'Weren't you looking where you were going?'
'Yes, I *was*, but the ground just suddenly sagged beneath me, my ankle went over onto its side, and next thing I know I'm flat, splat on the floor.'
Frank now looked and sounded more serious, realising this could hinder our progress even further.
'Do you think it's broken?'
'No, probably just a bad sprain, but it hurts like hell.'
'On a scale of ...'
'OK, on the Jack O'Neill pain scale, it's only about a two, but that's only because the rest of me is scoring 8 and 9s, with my "equipment" still way off scale.'
'Yep, your foot's already looking swollen. Let's get you up ... see if you can put weight on it. If you can't, we'll need another crutch to help you walk.'
Frank again did his Good Samaritan act, and helped me up. No point now I suppose telling him to leave him, persuade him, even argue with him to save himself. He was determined to get me to safety, one way or another.
Although it was painful, at least I *could* still walk on the foot, even if it meant limping my way along like a wounded animal.
Yep, my progress wasn't exactly dignified - limping, bare-foot, nearly naked, dirty - anyone who saw me might think I was from some lost tribe emerging from the jungle after years of isolation.
Frank did make another crutch. Just in case I needed it later. As yet, we still had no idea how long it was gonna take to get out of the forest.
We continued our long trek towards home.
***
At last, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.
God, just how many clichs had come into my mind during our little 'adventure'.
We emerged from the forest to see a river valley stretching out below us, and a village only a mile or so away. We should be able to take refuge in some out-building, and I'm sure Frank would be able to purloin some food, drink, clothes, and maybe a few medical supplies too.
Over the last few days, never had we been so grateful for the thorough Special Ops Survival training that we'd both been through. It had helped us cope, as we lived through the experiences at the hacienda, and it had then provided us with the practical skills to keep going as we moved through the forest.
With the welcome sight of civilization in front of us, now we knew we *had* survived, and we truly did have a chance of making it home, and back to our respective wives and families.
Yep, it would take a while, probably involve the stealing of a truck or two, but we'd make it ... had to make it.
I knew with our goal close in sight, I'd have the strength and determination to get to safety before my injuries got the better of me, but I wouldn't have got this far without Frank.
***
Yep, we make one hell of a team.
Frank and me.
I don't know if I helped him much, but he sure damn well helped me get through this ordeal.
Don't know if I'd have survived it on my own.
Despite our training, and all the 'coping techniques' I had learnt, everyone has their breaking point, and mine would have come much sooner if Frank hadn't have been there to support me.
As I already said, I really don't deserve him as a friend.
I hope to God I can help him sometime in the future.
It's the least he deserves.
Until that day, it's gonna be as many free beers as he wants down at the bar, as soon as we get back.
That's good.
I'm thinking about the future.
Must mean I know we'll get home OK.
'Thanks, Frank.'
'For what?'
'For hanging in there with me.'
'Well, you did the hanging bit!' he smiled, 'but I was under the distinct impression that you kept wanting me to go?'
'Yeah, and I was under the distinct impression that I kept telling you to go!'
'Yeah, well. Sticking around. Hey, that's what friends are for. Just choose a better hotel next time!'
'Deal.'
'Deal. We'll always stick together, buddy.'
***
We made it home.
In one piece.
Just about.
I was in hospital for a while, but fortunately there was no lasting damage.
Sara wasn't too happy when I explained things away by saying it was just a misunderstanding and the injuries were from a bar brawl. Well, that *is* where it all started, so I wasn't exactly lying.
Anyway, even if I were able to, she knew I wouldn't tell her what had really happened, even though I knew she knew most of the injuries were from torture. Thank God I could spare her the details of precisely what *had* happened. It would only make her worry more about what could happen on future missions.
She accepts what I do for a living.
She knows it's dangerous.
She knows I can't tell her much.
She just takes everything in her stride.
God, I don't deserve her either.
***
The mission had failed.
We never found out who had betrayed us.
Instead, they found their traitor, and he had to sacrifice his life to save us.
However, we *had* learnt something important.
He'd managed to tell us what was happening with the drugs.
He trusted us, wanted us to take away that knowledge. OK, we didn't have any examples of the drugs, but the knowledge they existed was a start, and at least in my de-briefing, I was able to describe my first-hand experiences of one of them.
I couldn't really believe our Government was working on drug warfare, although of course I knew there *had* been plenty of experiments in chemical warfare.
OK, we kill people in war, sure. It can be distasteful, distressing and depressing, but at least bombs and guns are visible, 'up front' weapons, not stealth attacks from within.
If these drugs were being developed so that we could torture our captives, then we were no better than many of our enemies.
If these drugs were being developed and tested, possibly unknowingly, on our people, then our ethical standards had slipped to a new low, and somehow I also had the horrible thought that if these nasty substances were going to be used, they weren't just intended for our enemies.
Was it really our Government at work?
Or was it some rogue element within it?
Who might the traitors among us be?
Without knowing that, future missions might be compromised, more lives endangered, and more people would suffer and die.
Yep, some slimy toads are out there, betraying their country left, right and centre.
We would have to be much more wary whom we trusted from now on.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EPILOGUE
'Senator Kinsey?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Start a new file, please. After that business in South America, we must keep a close watch on this Captain Jack O'Neill. It looks like he could be a big, prickly thorn in our side. We may need to eliminate him ... or better still, we can help him eliminate himself ... avoid incriminating ourselves. Ensure your contacts send him on the most dangerous missions. One day, we'll be able to leave him behind to meet his fate.'
FIN
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