~*~Disclaimer=Me own nowt! D'ya hear me?! Nowt!~*~ Whoa! You lot seemed to
really like this lil idea of mine! Much appreciate all the reviews! Hope
you like this chapter just as much!~*~
Malcolm opened his eyes a fraction. He would've preferred to have stayed quiet and listened to the conversation going on near him but something else made him open his eyes.
"Hiya mate, welcome to Stalag 39" said one of the men smiling slightly.
~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trip became aware someone was sponging his forehead. He opened his eyes a fraction, it was that woman again only this time there was also a man in a white lab coat examining a chart.
"When can I get out of here?" he asked suddenly.
*Huh? Did Ah just say that?*he thought*that was weird, felt like someone else was talkin' for me*
"When I say you can," said the man "You'll be released back to guard duty in about a week."
Trip closed his eyes again, memories began to surface one after the other- except they weren't his.
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~
Malcolm pushed himself upright.
"Stalag 39?" he asked
"P.O.W camp" the man replied. "Congratulations, you were caught by the enemy fly-boy."
"Go easy on 'im Drew! He's only been 'ere five minutes!" the other man exclaimed.
"You gotta sink or summats round here?" Malcolm asked.
*How come when I want to talk I can't say a word and then I say other stuff I never even thought of?*He wondered confused*It's like I'm watching a play through another blokes eyes*
"Yeah, follow me" said Drew.
The other one who Malcolm assumed was Alfie held out his hand. Malcolm took it and was pulled to his feet.
"Don't stretch yerself, you look like hell" said Drew catching him as he stumbled. "An' I'm bettin' you ain't a favourite with the guards right now"
"Oh yeah" Malcolm muttered. "The git jumped me! Just managed to squeeze the trigger before the rest of the goons got me"
*What in God's name am I talking about? Goons? Guard? What have I done?*he thought wildly.
Drew helped him out the room. He blinked in the brilliant sunshine and realised that the other men dotted around the yard area were staring at him. Embarrassed he looked away and limped after Drew towards an area in the shade, tin sinks were resting on a wooden table with a mirror propped up against a wooden post in the centre.
Malcolm stood in front of the sink and the mirror seemingly unwilling to look up. When he finally summoned the courage to face the mirror he nearly collapsed and had to clutch the wooden table for support.
Staring back at him, beneath the heavy bruising and cuts was a man with scruffy blonde hair and deep brown eyes.
*Oh bugger* Malcolm thought. *I'm in big trouble*
~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Hoshi faced the translation, head pounding and just about reaching the end of her tether-she was almost at the stage that when interrupted it was like poking an angry bear with a stick.
"C'mon! Why won't you translate?!" she muttered darkly throwing the pad murderous glances.
"Have you made any progress with the translation Ensign?" T'Pol asked sitting down primly.
*Does it look like I would be sat here tearing my hair out if I'd done it?* she thought annoyed *You don't half ask some stupid questions for a Vulcan!*
"Not yet" Hoshi replied. "It's proving more difficult than I first imagined"
"I am sure you will succeed soon" T'Pol stated.
Hoshi stared at it again, racking her brain for ideas. She tore her eyes away from it and stared at her plate. Then it came to her. It was so simple! She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it earlier. She immediately began beavering away at it a smile on her face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Trip stared at the ceiling, he'd already counted the chips of paint twice, played a mental game of i-spy with himself and picked the fuzz off the blanket-boredom had set in and then grown roots.
He stared at his hand with the tube coming out of it, it felt weird, out- dated somehow and he doubted that it would work. Still no complaints.
He also couldn't speak his mind-only think for himself, the rest of the time it was like being controlled by someone else like a puppet in a show.
He worked out he was in a war-zone, on Earth at some point or other, one of the wars judging from the conversations going on around him. He was at a P.O.W camp but he wasn't one of the prisoners, he was one of the guards.
He tried to sift through the other memories locked in his mind but had little success, everything seemed foggy in his mind and ploughing through it took a long time.
*Wonder if Ah'll ever see Enterprise again* He thought resuming the fuzz- picking again. *They betta look after mah engines!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoshi stared at the translation.
*I can tell a poet didn't write this* she thought wryly. *Or someone who had any way with words at all, no wonder it took so long to translate!*
She stopped at sickbay doors, she knew Archer would be there by Trips side asking for an update on their condition but she didn't want to see their silent bodies, stiff as boards staring at the ceiling.
She was just about to go in when Archer came out.
"Captain, I've completed the translation" she announced "I think you ought to see it."
She held out the pad.
Archer took it and read it through slowly, his face a picture of disbelief.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me" he said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Malcolm splashed the ice cold water against his face and then raised his gaze back to the mirror. His (?) hair was still sticking up in all directions. He pressed his hand against it and tried to flatten it but the second he removed his hand it sprang back up again.
He sighed and turned away from the sinks.
It was going to be a very, very long bloody day.
The guards at the gate stared at him, guns shining menacingly in the sunlight.
*I guess they don't like me* he thought sarcastically.
For the first time he properly looked at his clothes, he was wearing navy blue trousers and a light blue shirt complete with a nice brown bloodstain down the front.
*Ah, no wonder they called me fly-boy* he thought *If I remember rightly this is a Royal Air Force uniform, so that makes me....a pilot or something. Oh joy. Well, it could've been worse-I could've ended up in the Navy!*
~*~End of chapter heh heh heh, more will come if people review!~*~
Malcolm opened his eyes a fraction. He would've preferred to have stayed quiet and listened to the conversation going on near him but something else made him open his eyes.
"Hiya mate, welcome to Stalag 39" said one of the men smiling slightly.
~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trip became aware someone was sponging his forehead. He opened his eyes a fraction, it was that woman again only this time there was also a man in a white lab coat examining a chart.
"When can I get out of here?" he asked suddenly.
*Huh? Did Ah just say that?*he thought*that was weird, felt like someone else was talkin' for me*
"When I say you can," said the man "You'll be released back to guard duty in about a week."
Trip closed his eyes again, memories began to surface one after the other- except they weren't his.
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~
Malcolm pushed himself upright.
"Stalag 39?" he asked
"P.O.W camp" the man replied. "Congratulations, you were caught by the enemy fly-boy."
"Go easy on 'im Drew! He's only been 'ere five minutes!" the other man exclaimed.
"You gotta sink or summats round here?" Malcolm asked.
*How come when I want to talk I can't say a word and then I say other stuff I never even thought of?*He wondered confused*It's like I'm watching a play through another blokes eyes*
"Yeah, follow me" said Drew.
The other one who Malcolm assumed was Alfie held out his hand. Malcolm took it and was pulled to his feet.
"Don't stretch yerself, you look like hell" said Drew catching him as he stumbled. "An' I'm bettin' you ain't a favourite with the guards right now"
"Oh yeah" Malcolm muttered. "The git jumped me! Just managed to squeeze the trigger before the rest of the goons got me"
*What in God's name am I talking about? Goons? Guard? What have I done?*he thought wildly.
Drew helped him out the room. He blinked in the brilliant sunshine and realised that the other men dotted around the yard area were staring at him. Embarrassed he looked away and limped after Drew towards an area in the shade, tin sinks were resting on a wooden table with a mirror propped up against a wooden post in the centre.
Malcolm stood in front of the sink and the mirror seemingly unwilling to look up. When he finally summoned the courage to face the mirror he nearly collapsed and had to clutch the wooden table for support.
Staring back at him, beneath the heavy bruising and cuts was a man with scruffy blonde hair and deep brown eyes.
*Oh bugger* Malcolm thought. *I'm in big trouble*
~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Hoshi faced the translation, head pounding and just about reaching the end of her tether-she was almost at the stage that when interrupted it was like poking an angry bear with a stick.
"C'mon! Why won't you translate?!" she muttered darkly throwing the pad murderous glances.
"Have you made any progress with the translation Ensign?" T'Pol asked sitting down primly.
*Does it look like I would be sat here tearing my hair out if I'd done it?* she thought annoyed *You don't half ask some stupid questions for a Vulcan!*
"Not yet" Hoshi replied. "It's proving more difficult than I first imagined"
"I am sure you will succeed soon" T'Pol stated.
Hoshi stared at it again, racking her brain for ideas. She tore her eyes away from it and stared at her plate. Then it came to her. It was so simple! She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it earlier. She immediately began beavering away at it a smile on her face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~
Trip stared at the ceiling, he'd already counted the chips of paint twice, played a mental game of i-spy with himself and picked the fuzz off the blanket-boredom had set in and then grown roots.
He stared at his hand with the tube coming out of it, it felt weird, out- dated somehow and he doubted that it would work. Still no complaints.
He also couldn't speak his mind-only think for himself, the rest of the time it was like being controlled by someone else like a puppet in a show.
He worked out he was in a war-zone, on Earth at some point or other, one of the wars judging from the conversations going on around him. He was at a P.O.W camp but he wasn't one of the prisoners, he was one of the guards.
He tried to sift through the other memories locked in his mind but had little success, everything seemed foggy in his mind and ploughing through it took a long time.
*Wonder if Ah'll ever see Enterprise again* He thought resuming the fuzz- picking again. *They betta look after mah engines!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoshi stared at the translation.
*I can tell a poet didn't write this* she thought wryly. *Or someone who had any way with words at all, no wonder it took so long to translate!*
She stopped at sickbay doors, she knew Archer would be there by Trips side asking for an update on their condition but she didn't want to see their silent bodies, stiff as boards staring at the ceiling.
She was just about to go in when Archer came out.
"Captain, I've completed the translation" she announced "I think you ought to see it."
She held out the pad.
Archer took it and read it through slowly, his face a picture of disbelief.
"Oh you've got to be kidding me" he said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Malcolm splashed the ice cold water against his face and then raised his gaze back to the mirror. His (?) hair was still sticking up in all directions. He pressed his hand against it and tried to flatten it but the second he removed his hand it sprang back up again.
He sighed and turned away from the sinks.
It was going to be a very, very long bloody day.
The guards at the gate stared at him, guns shining menacingly in the sunlight.
*I guess they don't like me* he thought sarcastically.
For the first time he properly looked at his clothes, he was wearing navy blue trousers and a light blue shirt complete with a nice brown bloodstain down the front.
*Ah, no wonder they called me fly-boy* he thought *If I remember rightly this is a Royal Air Force uniform, so that makes me....a pilot or something. Oh joy. Well, it could've been worse-I could've ended up in the Navy!*
~*~End of chapter heh heh heh, more will come if people review!~*~