Sabre Six : File 51 (23 page)

Some old chap walked over to me. I was barely conscious but I could plainly see that his eyes were filled with rage. I co
uldn’t understand what the old bastard was saying, but with an expression and look like his, it couldn’t be good. “What are you on about, mate?” I pleaded. He smacked me across the side of my face; it stung like a bastard.

A tall Pakistani fella came waltzing over. “You, you are scum
– a filthy Western pig!” he exclaimed chillingly.

“Hey, you speak English! What’s happening?” He turned his gaze away from mine to look at the elder who was just a few feet away.

“Hey! I’m a medic; I’ve been over here helping other villages. Why are you doing this to me? I am your friend, I mean you no harm. Why are you doing this to me, my brothers?” I shouted, but to no avail. He turned to face me, and then smacked me in the mouth rendering me unconscious again. I woke up an hour later, or at least what I perceived to be. I started thinking it was a game, the Americans were testing me; maybe that arsehole Joe was watching, laughing. I didn’t know what to think anymore. My God, I was so thirsty! I tried my luck.

“I need water. Please can I have some water? I am just a medic; I am not a soldier here to harm your people, I’m just an English medic.”

They continued to beat me as I lay on the ground prostrate and helpless, defenceless against this torrent of suffering. I knew I was going to get it in a minute, so I kept my head pinned down into my chest as best I could. They could break the rest of me, but I needed my mind.

“You English bastard! You come
– thinking you can kill my people? We know who you are, you Western pig.” I received more blows to the body for my troubles; I’d lost a tooth and my mouth was killing me. One of the villagers, a big bastard, cut me loose. He picked me up from the ground, smacking me in the ribs, before tying me up against a tree by my wrists. He walked casually over to his hut, and returned with a whip. 1 – 2 – 3! The leather continuously flailing against my back. I was forced to stare at the bark on the tree as my body was being eaten away by his vehement lashes. I slipped my tongue against the bark, biting down upon its uneven surface: could the pain become any more intense? Then suddenly it stopped. There was a silence in the midst of the pain. I continued staring at the bark on the tree, with not even the sound of a bird in the sky: pure deadly silence set in. Someone walked behind me. “Cut him free!” they commanded. I fell to the ground, trying my hardest not to burst into tears. I had to stay strong, to show no sign of weakness, if I cracked up, I might just as well die here and now. Curling into a ball, I started grinding my teeth and assessed the damage. I was lucky my jaw wasn’t broken. I slowly wiggled my fingers and my toes, one appendage at a time, to make sure I was still working and nothing major was broken. By some miracle, everything seemed to be in working order.

I was alright until some bitch came and re
ally laid the boot into my back. Jesus Christ! I looked up at the sky, definitely knowing now that this was no game; far from it, this was for real. I had walked into a trap?  Who knows? All I knew was that I was now in serious trouble.

Saturday morning, but it felt like a Monday to me
, for it had that feel-shit factor about it! My English-speaking friend in the group was talking to someone on the wireless.  I kept my head down but my ears open, I needed to conserve my energy if I were to try to make a break for it soon. I knew if my hands were freed, that I could possibly outrun them and out punch these bastards. My only problem was my foot and that big bastard with the whip, I felt like I had done a few rounds with Tyson and then gone for seconds with Ali. It was a good instinct to try to escape but the reality of it was maybe just fantasy; I couldn’t stand, let alone fight off a flock of villagers waving sticks and machetes. My stomach started rumbling very loudly and one of the younger girls walked over to me. I thought she was there to help, but it was quite the opposite in fact. She put her hands on my stomach and then pushed them up and down, causing me to scream in agony. Her parents thought it was rather hilarious, but I told her she was a witch. She didn’t understand, so she continued to have fun at my expense, the vicious little bitch. I felt like head-butting her but that would have only caused outrage in the village. They would probably have cut my penis off!

The big boy and his little friend picked me up off the ground and carried me inside his hut,
where they threw me down on the ground and pissed all over me, the dirty disgusting twats: they continued laughing as they walked off outside. Whilst I was curled up comfortably on the floor, for now anyhow, I thought about Joe, and wondered where the hell he’d got to. He couldn’t have been caught that easily, or I would have heard him scream: he would definitely have screamed – it would have been his way of telling me to run like hell, or get over there and help him. It was very puzzling. Maybe he was still making his way across the mountains, and maybe he was back with his Yankee boyfriend I smiled to myself. Who knew! Only time would tell. My fate was resting on whether I could get away with the medic scenario or not.

I was brought round to find a dog sniffing around my face,
licking the blood from my mouth; I tried to bite it but it continued harassing me for the next hour. Its breath smelt worse than one of our Joe’s farts. I then had a very stupid, childish idea! Maybe the dog could bite through the rope, which would free my hands, and then I could escape. Instead, he cocked his leg, urinated over my back, and headed off outside again, the cheeky sod. Evidently urinating on the infidel was a national pastime in this region.

It w
asn’t long before darkness fell. It was my first night in the boonies living with these filthy bastards. The only fluid I got was by sucking up moisture off the ground, slurping small little puddles of urine from the big boy and the dog: that was all I had. I tried everything in my power to free myself, but nothing worked – I was proper screwed. My feet were tied to a metal pole and my hands had been tied up to a bolt concreted into the ground. I spent the night shivering and being eaten alive by giant rats! I wiggled my body to scare them off, but it only lasted for a few minutes and they soon returned for more. I could see the sunrise through a tiny hole in the side of the hut. It looked pleasant in an extraordinary way, yet it felt somewhat hard to fathom how I could possibly feel joy or pleasure in this situation.

A lone chicken strolled in and pecked around, unaware of the threat it faced as it continued to peck around near my feet. I lay on the ground motionless, holding my breath as it came closer and closer. I took the chance that I might be success
ful. I was going to die anyway – I would at least try my best before I ran out of luck. I lifted my head and smacked my forehead into the chicken, knocking it down. My worst fear was realised, though: I’d been caught by a little boy who was standing behind me. The sneaky little shit; I didn’t even know he was there. He went running off, evidently telling his family, as within minutes the big boy came waltzing in. Time for another beating! He dragged me across the floor by my feet, my head bouncing off of each rock as we passed through the middle of the village. Onlookers watching in amusement, some even spat as I skidded across the dirty, shit-stained ground.

“I will teach you, English bastard!” I didn’t need much convincing!

He picked me up: he had to be very strong, as I knew I’d lost weight but I must have still weighed at least eleven stone or more.  He dragged me into a small pond, and once I’d sunk to the bottom he left me for almost a minute, before dragging me back out, repeating the same process over and over again until I was barely alive.

Once he had got bored, the bastard started punching me
in the face until I passed out; my final front tooth had been broken.

My eyes were barely open, as they were so swollen, and my back was in a shit state. They had stripped me t
o nothing; I didn’t even have a pair of pants on – completely naked and covered in shit. Once he finished with me, he dragged me over to the shitter and left me alone, lying in a pool of the village filth. The joy!

I worried about leeches crawling up through my bell-end and into my
Jap’s-eye and it scared me to death. It was definitely time to add to the muck, and I crapped myself. I could feel the mostly water-based crap fall slowly from my arse, soon mixing in with the rest, and then sticking to my body. Later on in the day, Big Boy and a mate dragged me by rope, and threw me back into the pond. Once they had washed me off, which took a little longer than they expected I’m sure, they tied me up in one of their dog kennels out back.

There was
a lot of talk going on between Big Boy and the Elder. Big boy handed him a sack of something I couldn’t quite make out what, though: probably drugs or food. I was left alone for the rest of the day until just before nightfall when a wagon turned up. It was a blue van with writing on the side; it looked like some kind of food symbol, though with my vision at the time it could have been the bloody RSPCA.

I kept very still, using my eyes to focus whilst my body
lay perfectly still and silent; I didn’t want to attract any attention at all. Maybe they were here for me; maybe they were here to take me away. It could even be the Red Cross coming to protect me. That’d be nice!  Four armed men jumped off the back, and the driver got out and took a piss just by his door. I could see the steam rise from his urine. Guess not then! Big Man pointed in my direction, and I pissed myself again, feeling the sting of the urine as it burnt into the cuts on my groin and legs.  They stood over me, kicking dust in my face but I lay there immobile, letting them think I was useless. One of the men stood by my side, lifting me up by the scruff of the neck, spat in my face, and then butted me with his rifle, an AK47 assault. I had definitely been rumbled, or sold over to Al Qaeda – no doubt for a small fortune, or maybe even for a bag of rice! I wondered what the going rate for a western mercenary claiming to be a medic was in today’s economy!? Left alone for what I thought was half an hour, it felt an age to me whilst sat there in that shit pit. One of the villagers came over and handed me a piece of bread, shoving it in my mouth very quickly.

“We are sorry, so sorry, mister
!”

I didn’t chew, I just swallowed:
I had no fucking teeth left. I bet Joe and the others would take the micky, especially if they saw me looking like this. Joe would crease right up, the bastard!

“Bring him to me!” One of the guards pointed
to Big Man and his little run-around.

I was
pulled up from the ground, dragged across the bloody village square again, and then tied up against another bloody tree. One of the bastards very casually stood in front of me, taking a massive draw from his cigarette.

“What is your name?”  I told him nothing: he slapped me across the face; his friends laughed, which goaded him on further.

“I said, what is your name?”

This time I
got a whack in the stomach, and bloody hell did it hurt.

“Why is an English man walking around in this village? Why are you
here?” I acted dumb, hoping he’d leave me alone for ten minutes.

“You must listen to me. I
f you want me to help you, then you must cooperate. Do you understand?” This reminded me of the interrogation I’d witnessed prior to setting off on this piss-take of a mission. No suits watching this time, I bet.

“I will ask again, what is your name?” I screamed as
he burned the cigarette into my flesh. My chest was killing me; I dropped my head further down into my chest, my legs gave way and I collapsed where I stood.

I woke up in a pool of water; it had been raining whilst I was unconscious. I lapped up as much water as I possibly c
ould and it was fucking awesome! I felt myself pick up a little, and my body had come back to life.  I moved my shoulders up and down, and cautiously tilted my head. It felt very painful, so I stopped right away. I rested my head on the floor, my hair covered in shit and mud, and closing my eyes I tried rest as much as possible. One of the guards stood over me resting his rifle in his arms, cradled like a child. He drew back on a cigarette and flicked it down onto me. I dared not move. He smiled, and then kicked me in the ribs. Far too early for this kind of shit. He left me alone whilst he attended to his cup of coffee and I remained immobile, static in case I attracted further attention from the others. I watched the people from the village bow down to these extremists, worshipping them as if they were gods. They were waving their guns about like there was no tomorrow: the villagers were shit scared of these cretins.

It came out of nowhere. One single shot from an AK47. It had a very distinctive sound. The f
our extremists picked up Big Boy, and then dumped his body outside his hut for all the other villagers to see. He must have over-stepped the mark somehow. He was thrown outside like a piece of rubbish, but no one batted an eyelid – maybe they were just too scared to.

I knew that I was in for a
rough ride with these nut jobs; my only hope of survival was to escape, and escape rather quickly. I did everything I could to loosen the rope around my wrists, and I was rather shocked when I finally did get one side loose. I struggled like hell to slide my hands through the wet rope, but my hands were at last free. I quickly looked down at my ankles: I was fucked; I was chained up, chained to the floor. I was going nowhere. I felt annoyed that I could have made it out of here, but I tried to give myself a little praise for my efforts and what I had achieved out here in the last few weeks, giving myself a personal pat on the back. My instincts told me one thing, but my common sense told me another, I did what I could to tie my hands back up, slipped my hands back through the knots, gave them a good yank and remained seated. I felt really pissed off with myself. I had nearly done it! I kicked the chains repeatedly, cursing God and how he had let me down. I had to ride this one out now: my survival instincts had kicked in; all I had to do was ride it out, and these little Hitlers were not going to get hold of my mind. I had to think quickly as to how I was going to play this game. “Do I go the old SAS route, or do I play the sympathy medic card. Mmm, decisions decisions!”