This is the first fic I have written in a very long time, so please pardon the quality of my writing which is bugging the crap out of me (I'll get the hang of it again, hopefully). I am also new to this fandom, and I was completely surprised to see that there are painfully few fics dealing with Joe's time in the Manchurian Slave Camp. Possible one shot, but if I happen to get inspired, you may find more of this by me. If ya happen to catch any errors pertaining to grammar, plot, etc, I'd be more than happy to hear about it.
I did not know whether Manchuria was occupied by the Japanese at the time of this fic, so the camp, for this fic, will be run by the Chinese.
Disclaimer: Why is this even necessary?
Warnings: Torture ahead…no like, no read, savvy?
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"Why do you continue to resist? Death would be far less painful than continuing to defy our efforts. If you were to just answer my questions, I could arrange for your release," a voice taunted from above the bound man's stooped head.
Words that, had he heard two weeks ago, would have caused him to respond with a clever retort, went by seemingly unheard. Joe made no effort to retaliate. After all, any energy he possessed was concentrated on keeping the air flowing through his bleeding mouth and nose and into his heavily bruised abdomen so as to sustain what life he had left.
"I have heard stories about you. Of your heroism, your daring deeds, and your cunning. I am ashamed to say that I once was amazed by what I heard. Now, I know better than to believe that rubbish. Hero?" he snorted, "Ha! Your 'heroics' may saved lives where you are from, but when you deal with real warriors, you will see that such nonsense as bravado gets you nowhere."
Joe recognized the tactics that the man was using were to get him to become worked up and thus react. His inaction, in the eyes of the Chinese, was worse than a violent reaction, as the latter would at least show he could still be broken and coerced into revealing the details they wanted to know. Apathy to his captors meant that they would get nothing from his resigned silence.
His current company was the only Oriental who spoke fluid English in the slave camp. Joe knew he had orders to interrogate Joe, by using any means, short of killing, necessary, and gather information on the Allied forces. For endless days and nights, Joe had been chained outside to a heavily guarded brick wall in the corner of the compound. His interrogations took place at that same location as well, as blows to the torso were twice as effective when a wall broke one's momentum. However, Joe had yet to give in to such brutal measures.
He would have remained anonymous during his captivity. When he was captured, the only thing his Chinese captors knew concerning his identity was that he was British (as they had gathered from his accent) and he was involved in the military (as they had gathered from what was left of his plane). They had assumed that he was of no high rank due to his lack of standard military dress and therefore he was treated and expected to work as a standard slave camp prisoner.
That is, until the about a month ago the camp leader had received a local newspaper with the headlines reading "Sky Captain Goes Missing" and a picture of Joseph Sullivan leader of the Flying Legions mercenaries.
The leader was quick to identify Joe though he blended in well with the crowd of malnourished, exhausted captives. Joe's definition of agony had changed dramatically since then, as the wounds he suffered from his emergency landing coupled with endless hours of intense labor were nothing in comparison to the situation he was in now.
Joe, numb from the constant downpour of rain and frigid temperatures, was jerked out of his trance by a rough hand punching him square in the gut. Desperately struggling to catch his breath, he heard his tormentor continue.
"Now that I seem to have your attention, I will continue. How many airships are on duty?"
Ah, a simple question, but Joe would not give in. He would rather die than betray his allies.
Instead of wasting precious air for a verbal retort, he resorted to somehow managing to gather enough strength to lift his head and give his interrogator a fierce glare. Had his hands been free, he would have done more than that, but his bindings, as he had discovered, we as tight as they could possibly be.
The defiant look disappeared off his face when the Oriental smashed his boot into the Sky Captains chest. He doubled over as far as he could whilst bound standing. They wanted him alive, he knew, so they could endeavor to force what knowledge of military details he possessed. However, he was not sure what lengths they would take to keep him alive. Their desperation for answers was becoming apparent by the increasingly rough treatment given to him.
His interrogator sighed, "I should have expected this stupidity from you. I will make you one last deal. Tell me what I want to know…" here he inserted a dramatic pause that was not lost on the half conscious captive, "…and I will let you keep your fingers."
As the man expected, his prisoner, though a bit slow to comprehend the threat, reacted violently when the Oriental grabbed his hand. Joe, who had previously acted as animated as the frigid bricks behind his back, bucked wildly with frantic energy in an attempt to throw his assailant off of him.
The attacker, who interpreted the reaction as a statement of incompliance, was surprised that of all the threats that had been given and carried out, the one the pilot reacted most to was one jeopardizing his fingers. Then again, reasoned the man to himself, one cannot fly without fingers to grip the controls of a plane. Grinning he called over two nearby guards to aid him in keeping the Sky Captain still so he could begin the grisly procedure.
The consequences of his panicked reaction caught up with the already fatigued Sky Captain. He could not fight anymore. His body would not respond. Even as these monsters were about to remove his fingers thus killing his chances of ever flying again, he still could not find the energy to retaliate.
However, he was determined to go down bravely and not plead with his inhumane torturers. Despite his set mind frame, he could not help but wince at the sharp crack that resounded through the air. When the expected pain did not come bewilderment filled his fatigued mind. Two cracks later, though, the confusion was replaced by astonishment and great relief.
As the three men fell to the ground due to the well shot rounds fired into them, Joe looked at his savior, a boy no older than 18 in British uniform who was now attempting to release Joe from his bonds.
"About time," muttered Joe as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
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I'm praying that this did not suck as bad as I think it did…