Set Me Free
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I don't own it.
A/N: For 2021 Whumptober #31 Prisoner
Chief didn't know how he let the Warden talk him into this. Letting the older man throw him into a kraut jail. He had taken the damn government's offer to get out of stir in the first place. Danger and possible death seemed better than rotting away in a cage.
Chief's dark eyes darted around the enemy town, as they drove up. He was about to be a prisoner again. He had vowed to never allow himself to be imprisoned again. Living through the hell he had, from being incarcerated, he had promised himself he'd never let it happen again. He would rather die than give up breathing free air ever again.
"So far so good," Garrison reassured as they moved to set the plan into motion.
"All set?" Actor asked, sensing the tension vibrating through the younger man.
"Yeah." He was ready to get this mission over with.
The mission went to shit from the get-go. The Italians were in charge of prisoners, not the Germans. He felt icy tendrils of dread as he was taken away from his team.
"Take good care of him," Actor ordered. Somehow Chief didn't think that would be his new captors' priority. Another faceless prisoner was never someone anyone cared about.
The team would get settled then case out the jail. They would not leave him to rot in the stinking jail. He was not alone in this.
"Who's in charge," He asked looking around the cell at the beaten-down men. All he could see, was when he was first arrested. A kid, full of hate and violence against the world that had let him down. Life had dealt him so many blows that he was bruised, bleeding, and broken from the inside out. He never really had anyone he could count on, until now. He took off his jacket and laid it over the shoulder of the shivering man.
He felt all alone, trying to save the men around him. Until the downed plane's leader extended an olive branch. He was willing to believe his words but had no faith in the success of his mission. As they watched Jimmy die before their eyes, he wasn't so sure either.
He gripped the bars looking out of his prison. He looked down on the Italian square with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had been in many different kinds of prisons throughout his life. Trapped against his will, with no way out.
"Get me out of here, Warden," He mumbled under his breath.
The guards came for him just like they planed. They would take him to Actor, who he would report to about the situation back in the cell. He then would report to the Warden who would then figure out a plan to save all the wounded prisoners and get them all the hell out of there.
"Take your hands off me," He shook off the guard's hands when their plans once again went up in smoke. He would not be able to talk to Actor alone.
They were all the same. Italians, Germans even Americans. Prisoners were treated like nothing. They were no longer human, they didn't deserve the most basic of human rights. When they died it meant nothing.
"I got a cell full of people dying on me, so sick they can't even walk," He tried to telegraph the message of the change of plan needed to Actor. They were running out of time, the bombers would be there soon to take out the town. He refused to leave his fellow prisoners behind, even if they didn't make it once freed. Nobody deserved to die behind bars when nobody cared that you were a man.
He gripped the desk of the head Italian officer with a deadly challenge in his eyes. If he had his knife the man would not still be breathing, "How does that set with you Colonel?"
His insolence was met with a beating. The guard that had manhandled him into the room sent him to the ground with a rifle butt to the back. A few more hard hits were delivered to his back and stomach. He heard Actor protest, claiming rights to his prisoners in a control pissing match. The Colonel finally called his attack dog off, after his point had been made. Chief was frogmarched out of the office with only a short parting glance to reassure his teammate that he was fine. He hoped Actor didn't say anything to the Warden. He was fine. He could take a few hits. The bulls back in stir hit way harder.
He paced the cell, ignoring his throbbing bruises, trying to come up with a contingency plan. He had never been a planner, he was a doer. He was a weapon that just needed to be pointed at a target to destroy it. The men around him looked to him to save him. The weight of it felt like it was going to crush him.
The cell door opened, nobody to save them, only an Italian guard holding a gun in the doorway. Chief stood before his fellow prisoners against the threat. He had never allowed his protective nature to have control like this in his life until he met Lieutenant Craig Garrison. Somehow his trust in the man and the trust Garrison placed in him allowed his better nature to shine forth.
He was strapped into a chair. It was not Actor standing before him but the Italian Colonel. He looked upset, clutching a handful of paper.
"That Kruat ain't gonna be happy you trying to steal his interrogation."
"This is not an interrogation. We are merely having a conversation."
"Sure," Chief answered, as he prepped his body for the upcoming pain. He was no stranger to pain. They had become well acquainted over the years of his short life. He had found ways to cope with it, fight through it, and even inflict it back. He had never been able to avoid it. Pain sought him out like a shadow.
"What can you tell me about the American attack on San Rocco?"
"I ain't got nothing to say to you," Chief scoffed. He was really alone here, none of his teammates or cellmates could do anything to save him.
"You should tell me." The Italian leader leaned into his personal space, trying to act like they were on the same side, "Better me than the Germans."
"You're both damn Nazis but at least they're honest about it."
"Silencio!" The hit to the gut stole his breath away. He'd clearly hit a nerve.
He took the order seriously. He refused to say another word throughout the rest of the interrogation. Not one sound of pain escaped his lips as they pounded his sides. Frustrated they took him back to his cell.
He heard Goniff from the roof. He wasn't alone. His team had his back and had a way to get him out of there. Strapping his knife onto his wrist he felt whole once more.
"It's our way out buddy," He felt an inkling of hope take root in his throbbing stomach.
He had participated in many a rumble during his jail time. Most of the time he ended up in solitary confinement which suited him just fine. Right then he was glad he didn't have to fight anyone. He just had to blow the door, take out the guard and escape with half a dozen half-dead men. It was a cracker box. Nothing to sweat just lives at stake and bombers closing in.
He really did hope they had an ambulance waiting, cause he could sure use one. The hours ticked by as he tried to find a comfortable spot to rest. He couldn't sleep between the pain he was in and the sounds of pain-filled moans around him. He was not that bad off compared to the men surrounding him so he sucked it up. He would be home soon. Then he could find a secluded spot on the mansion grounds to nurse his hurts.
The sounds of a fight floated up to them from the street. It had started. The plan was now in motion. They would be free soon.
Chief held up the lit match ready to blow the door, instead, he was forced to light the cigarette of the man that helped beat him the night before.
The lock blew, forcing their guard behind another cell door. Locking them in, just out of reach of Chief's knife. The Italian shot down the hallway as the sounds of the rumble intensified. The Warden saved his neck again. Garrison took out the prison guard and opened the second locked door. They were free.
Together they loaded the stretches with the wounded prisoners. They were in the home stretch, they were almost home free. He gritted his teeth as he did his job and carried the loaded stretcher out of the prison and into a waiting truck. He could almost let down his guard enough to breathe in a deep breath of fresh air. If only his cracked ribs would agree to it.
"It'll do, it'll do just fine," The freed prisoner turned to him and had hope shining bright in his eyes once more. The gratitude was unspoken but felt as the truck drove forward.
Chief grunted in pain as he pulled up his muddy teammates into the back of the truck.
His body drooped as the pain began to attack him full force the farther away the truck drove. He moved away from the others, propping himself on the very back as he watch for a threat behind them. He was hiding, from his pain and hiding his pain from the others. They were still behind enemy lines. There were men much more severely wounded than him. There would be time to deal with his own pain later. For now, breathing in the free air with no iron bars locking him in was enough to keep him going.