A/N: Socialism is a form of Communism. According to the World Book Encyclopedia, all people of the Yugoslavian area is considered a Slav, since Bosnia and Herzegovina is right next to Yugoslavia, I think you get the picture.
Chris was roughly awoken from his daydream by a Serb guard.
"Lazy bastard, all your Yankee friends are already dedicating their time to help us become a great Socialist military power, and here you are sleeping," the guard hissed in broken English.
Chris took the time to notice the stench of alcohol on the man's breath and his rotting teeth.
"Sure thing buddy, but I bet Bergen isn't even awake yet," Chris mumbled.
He stood up and staggered back into the shed, leaving the drunken guard in his place by the tree. The shed was nothing more then some barn siding nailed to a few wooden posts. The crude housing offered no real protection from the Bosnian winter.
The air inside the shed was thick with smoke. Not only did the shed offer no protection from the elements; it had no way for the smoke to escape. The Serbs were dead set on making anyone who opposed to their ridding Bosnia of Slavic Muslims life miserable. The scant pieces of wood they gave the prisoners were in no way practical or dry enough to be used for firewood. The Serbs loved to see the men choke and cough on the on the hot cinders the fires gave off.
Chris brushed at his watering eyes; trying to stop the stinging from the smoke. His uniform was streaked with ash from the fires he had tended to. The stench of unwashed bodies in the small camp was almost unbearable. So far no one had contracted any particularly life threatening diseases, but dysentery and scurvy had set in for the winter.
He stumbled over the other men. Most were either pilots, like himself; who'd been shot down or the foot soldiers of other nations in NATO; who'd had their camp ambushed. He accidentally kicked a few, but they just groaned and rolled over. In a space meant to hold 15, 45 men were crammed together.
He found a slightly empty space and lay down. He looked over at Bergen. Bergen shivered and drew his knees closer to his chest. His blanket had been used for shoes. Bergen's boots had been "confiscated" by a Serb, who Chris had dubbed Coyote, because of his sly ways and conning voice. Chris drifted off into an uneasy sleep, but was awaken all too soon by the same Serb guard.
"You come with us!" he snapped, his eyes shining with victory. Chris nervously got to his feet, knowing full and well why he was going with the Serb. He tried hard to avoid the questioning stares of his, now wide awake comrades.
The Serb marched him out of the shed, and much to Chris's surprise, out of the barbed wire encampment. He was shoved into a waiting military convoy and then blindfolded. He couldn't see the countryside pass by him, but he could feel it every time the unknown driver hit a rut in the road. He had a feeling the driver was doing it on purpose too. He lost track of time while in the jeep, minutes felt like hours. He dozed miserably, jerking awake every few minutes. After what seemed like eternity, the jeep came to a stop in front of a stone mansion.