Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.

PART SEVEN: Surrender

A scream of unrestrained hot agony parched through the still jungle air. It was a grey, misty morning and the camp was yet to fully awake but the scream summoned everyone from the sanctuary of sleep into the bleak uncompromising day.

Hannibal opened his eyes and shuddered. He rolled off the pitiful leaf mattress that was his bed and forced himself up to his feet, ignoring the stiffness that threatened to stop him.

"Hannibal?" BA asked, his voice still weak but now uncharacteristically fearful too.

The Colonel threw him a supportive glance. "It's OK, BA," he said.

"No it's not!" BA spat. "Help me up!"

Hannibal shrugged and offered a helping hand as the muscled black man forced himself up on to his feet and they shuffled to the bars of their cage. Once there, the sweat glistening off him from the exertion, BA propped himself up leaning heavily on the bars.

"They're cutting him free," Ray, who had been watching events, reported wearily.

Everyone was awake now, shambling towards the front of their cages to watch. Hannibal threw a glance towards the cooking fire, noting that the two boys there had stopped their industry to stare. The smallest one, Coo, met Hannibal's glance for just a second and looked away. He was a good boy and a brave one, the Colonel had found out rather more by luck than design when he had been dishing out the rice gruel that the prisoners ate. Hannibal had spoken to him and been surprised when Coo had responded in broken English while flashing him a toothy grin. Knowing the power behind such an alliance in their current predicament Hannibal had cultivated the friendship. Coo was obviously frightened but he had sneaked them fresh fruit and meat and even managed to acquire the antibiotics that had allowed Baracus' innate strength to fight off his infection and bring him back to his feet. The bullet was still in his leg but the big man was considerably better than he had been before the drugs.

Hannibal remembered the conversation he had with Coo the night before when he saw that the boy was more nervous than normal.

"Big General come," he had said. "General Chow – bad man."

"Why is he coming here?" Hannibal asked. "Does it affect our plan?"

Coo had shrugged, so eager to be away that his feet were already walking back towards the cooking fire. He tossed his head toward where Peck sat. "Want dead man."

"Why?" Hannibal had hissed but Coo shook his head and moved away. The Colonel had slept fitfully all night, worrying over what the cook had meant. Now it seemed in the grey light of the morning he was about to find out.

A further screech drew Hannibal's eyes back to the swamp area. A number of soldiers were gathered around Peck's body. They had slit through his bindings with a sharp knife and allowed him finally to fall to the floor. He was lying now on his side, arms still stretched out above his head at an obscene angle. The soldiers were taking it in turns to poke Peck with blunt sticks and laughing at the subsequent pain-filled responses that came from the tormented man.

The Captain appeared from one of the tents, shouting at his men who quickly followed orders. They ignored the obvious agony of Peck as two of them lifted him up and carried him towards the cages. Hannibal and the others stepped back as the door to their cage was opened and Peck was thrown inside. The Colonel and Ray caught the lifeless body as he fell so he did not hit the ground and suffer further hurt than his current wounds generated.

Hannibal bent down easing Face gently to the floor as the cage door was locked once more. Behind them the Captain stood. "He confessed to murder," he said savagely. "General Chow comes to administer punishment."

"Punishment?" Hannibal felt his stomach tighten as the Captain smiled smugly. "Execution," he beamed. Then he turned on his heal and walked away.

The Colonel filed the information but did not dwell on it, Peck needed him now and he turned his full attention to the moaning, ragged figure.

"Face," he said softly as his eyes took in the full horror of the lieutenant's condition. "Face talk to me."

Peck was groaning softly, his breaths shallow. His uniform was barely recognizable, ripped, covered in stains and hanging from his frame, revealing his emaciated body covered with numerous bruises and cuts. The extremities of his limbs were black from lack of circulation, the muscles twitching violently sending pained shudders throughout his body as the blood returned to them and there were welts covered with dried scabs where the twine had been wound around too tightly. But blue appeared within the black eyes, hooded with pain but still bright. "Hann'bal." It was more a sigh than a word.

The Colonel smiled. "You done good, kid," he said.

Peck nodded, his tongue running across parched lips, teeth so white in the dirty face. "Hurts," he said.

"We're gonna have to fix your shoulders, kid," Hannibal said indicating to Ray that he should take hold of Peck's spasming body. "Gonna hurt a hell of a lot more but just for a while."

"Drink?" Peck asked.

"When we're done, we'll give you some water."

"Water," Face's voice grated but his eyes twinkled. "Need stronger!"

Hannibal smiled. "'Fraid not, kid. We haven't got anything."

Face snorted. "Need a decent Supplies Officer," he whispered, his voice was getting softer and weaker. His eyes began to roll up in his head but by a supreme effort he forced them back to fix on his commanding officer. He said something but it didn't carry so Hannibal bent in closer. No body else heard what he said but Hannibal's grin widened. He leaned back, put his hand into Peck's breast pocket and withdrew the battered, damp cigar that he found there.

Ray and BA exchanged a knowing grin. "I got a feeling this is gonna taste better than any I've had before," Hannibal sighed as he put it in his mouth. "Now, Lieutenant, stop trying to deflect me. We need to sort you out."

Peck gulped. "If it's gonna hurt, I'd rather not," he whispered hoarsely. "I don't do pain well."

Hannibal signalled to Ray to brace himself and then taking hold of Peck's right arm he twisted it painfully until it clicked back into place. Peck screamed. "On the contrary, Lieutenant," Hannibal said around his cigar. "You do it better than anyone I know."

Peck screamed again as his left side received the same treatment. He was barely conscious as they laid him down. Ray tried to get him to drink some of the stale water they kept in the cage but it stayed down for only a matter of seconds before Peck threw it back up again. So Ray contented himself by using the rest to clean off the wounds on the lieutenant's battered face.

"Show's over!" Smith said to the rest of the captives who had been craning their necks to see what was happening. "Exercise period is starting." Since he had taken over command Smith had ensured that all the prisoners put themselves through a daily training pattern. Now though there were a few grumbles the men moved to obey.

Hannibal moved to the front of the cage and BA followed him, features set in a scowl. "We gotta get out, Colonel," he said. "You heard what that slimeball said. They gonna kill Faceman. We can't let that happen!"

Smith sucked on the cigar. "I know, BA," he said. "I know."

"Ray told me what he did when I was out of it with this leg. Twice he saved me. I owe him and I owe him bad. What's the plan, Hannibal?"

"Watch and wait, Sergeant," Smith said. He threw his arm around BA's shoulders. "Everything comes to he who waits!"

Murdock pursed his lips and hummed loudly, oblivious to the anxious looks the rest of his crew were throwing each other. He had a job to do and he was damn well going to do it. They were going deep into enemy territory and he was going to get the chance to pay back the debt that had been eating at him for weeks.

"We gonna blast 'em to hell!" he screamed as he eased the bird beneath him into the air. "We're gonna kill us some slant eyes!"

The rest of his crew looked alarmed but they knew better to contradict their Captain. To a man they all wished they had filed the transfer request they had been contemplating since Murdock's behaviour had become so outlandishly crazy! Sam, the rear gunner, shook his head. "We always called him Howling Mad," he muttered. "Now we know why!"

"How you doing, kid?" Hannibal was kneeling beside Peck. He reached over and gently grasped his hand, knowing that every movement was painful, the Colonel squeezed it only very softly.

The young lieutenant had slept for most of the day, his body shuddering so violently at times that he had woken screaming. The others had taken it in turns to hold him and soothe him during the worst times. Now it was going dark, there was still no sign of the promised General Chow and Coo and his colleague were moving from one cage to the next, dishing out rice.

Hannibal had taken two bowls. As Coo had filled them, the Colonel had asked. "When?"

Coo looked over his shoulder to make sure no guards were in hearing distance. "Soon," he whispered.

Smith snorted in frustration. "I need to know, kid," he said trying to keep hold of his anger. "They're gonna kill my man."

"The message went," Coo replied. "I do all I can. If your army come is up to them. Don't know when." He hesitated again; his gaze went to where Face was lying. "He already dead – Chow want him."

He moved away then and Hannibal took both bowls and sat down beside Face. "You reckon you can eat something, Face?" he tried again. Peck groaned and shook his head weakly.

"You gotta try," Hannibal continued. "You're been starved since we got here. We need to get you strong again."

Peck gulped. "What for?"

"So that when the rescuers come, you'll be ready."

Peck closed his eyes and moaned despondently. The little strength that had returned to him during his sleep was all used up. He was so tired and weak. The dull throb of pain although lessened from the horrific agony of earlier when the blood had rushed into his empty limbs, was still there. He could endure it no longer; he needed to escape to oblivion and he did not care if he ever came back.

"Face," Smith prompted as Peck threatened to drift away. "Just try a little." Gently he placed the stick they used as a spoon to Peck's mouth. "That's an order!"

Peck's eyes flashed open. He let the food into his mouth and chewed slowly but he was taken by a coughing fit when he tried to swallow. Again pain wracked through him and he lay back, powerless to defend himself.

"Easy, kid," Hannibal soothed. "Maybe just water then, for a while."

After the fit had past, Peck sighed. "Heard what he said," he began softly, gulping in air between every word. "Shouldn't have confessed… just wanted it to stop…."

"Sssh," Smith said. "Doesn't matter, Face. Nobody'll believe a confession made in these circumstances. Besides you were only following my orders – if they want to execute somebody it should be me."

Peck gulped, shook his head. "No Colonel. You're needed. No difference if I…."

"Enough!" Smith silenced him, his tone still soft but firmer somehow. "I don't want to hear how you're dispensable, Face," he said. "Because you're not. You're part of my Team and that makes you the best. And I don't want you giving up on yourself either. Do you know what it was that I saw in you in the brig? What it was that made me chose you?"

Face shook his head feebly. "Kind of wondered," he gasped. "Thought it was because I reminded you of you in Korea."

Hannibal nodded. "But what was it that reminded me?"

A wave of pain rushed through Peck then and he tried to bite back the groan that threatened to escape him. Smith sensed the tensing of his muscles, saw the pain flash in his eyes and tightened his grip on the kid to help him through it. "Easy," he breathed.

Peck let out a ragged breath but then he relaxed and his eyes sought Smith's once more. "Well?" he asked croakily.

"Your self containment. Your complete confidence that no matter what was thrown at you, you would work your way through it, you would survive. I wanted that for my Team but I wanted it to be controlled, channelled, not for you but for me, for the Team." Smith smiled. "Reckon I got what I wanted all right. So don't lose the spark, Lieutenant. Don't let the goddamn bastards here take that from you cos if you do they'll have won and they don't deserve that." Hannibal was still sucking on the cigar from earlier. "You will survive this, Face, trust me on this one!"

Smith's eyes were blazing with the confidence of the jazz and Peck held the stare, feeling the strength from his commanding officer buzzing through his own veins, making him whole once more. He let himself believe it completely, thrusting away the doubts and grasping on to the encouragement that was being offered, he gave himself to his Colonel and to the jazz. What alternative did he have? To cower and fear was not an option, better to ride the wave of confidence that Hannibal was offering, better to ride it to the very end! And if that end were to be here and soon then better to do it in style.

As he accepted everything the Colonel offered, gave himself completely, Peck realized he had nothing left to fear. He felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him as he understood. Even after all that he had been through, even in his dilapidated state, even with the threat of execution at any moment hanging over him, Peck's smile was breathtaking in the extreme. Ray would later swear that its warmth lit the Colonel's cigar all on its own. "I trust you, Colonel," the conman said and he had never spoken a more honest sentence in his whole life!

Peck actually had three days to regain his strength before they came for him. Three days of sipping water and sleeping, of listening to the camp routine and almost feeling a part of it. Three days when the pain gradually began to recede and the blackness of his hands and feet seeped away to something more resembling their proper colour. Three days to tentatively stand on wavering legs, clutch hold of Ray or Hannibal and take small but monumental steps. Three days to smile. Three days to make a friend of Coo and investigate supply possibilities. Three days to wash and shave and to begin to feel almost human again.

And on the fourth day General Chow arrived. He came with a platoon of men, weapons drawn, eyes wild and brutal, fanning out into the camp and turning over baskets, scattering chickens, bringing destruction. And in those few seconds the morale that Smith had managed to nurture in the men was gone. Suddenly fear returned to every heart as the prisoners were pulled out to stand in front of the cages.

As if awaiting his time General Chow, a small insignificant man made big by the authority of his uniform blustered on to the scene. He stood before the GIs, face contorted in arrogant disgust, swatting his boot with the horse whip he carried. "Who is commanding officer here?" he spat, completely ignoring the Viet Cong Captain who had exited his tent at the commotion and now stood uncomfortably to the side.

"I am," Hannibal stepped forward, eyes twinkling.

Chow snorted, eyes assessing the Colonel critically. "You will prepare to move out," he spat.

"Move out?" Hannibal repeated. "Where?"

The horsewhip swatted across Smith's cheek, causing him to gasp in surprise and raise a hand to the cut that had appeared there. He dabbed at the blood as it bubbled out but his eyes remained steady on Chow's.

"We leave at dawn tomorrow," Chow continued.

"With respect, General," Smith replied. "I have men here who are not fit enough to move anywhere. Give us decent food and medical supplies and then we may be able to move."

The horsewhip swatted again. Hannibal put up his hands to protect himself as the blows rained down on him. Finally Chow stopped, his face furiously red from his exertion. "Tomorrow we go," he repeated. "Anyone who cannot walk will be shot!"

There was a stifled intake of breath from the gathered prisoners. Smith snorted. "We are prisoners of war," he stated. "You cannot…"

Chow dropped his whip and punched Hannibal hard into the stomach. Completely taken by surprise, the breath whooshed out of the Colonel and he sank to his knees with a groan. Chow picked up his whip and walked passed the downed figure, he spat something over his shoulder in Vietnamese and the Captain answered in a strained voice. Chow's face twisted into a sadistic grin as he stopped in front of Peck where he stood leaning on Brennan for support. He thrust his whip under Peck's chin and lifted his head until their eyes met but the lieutenant refused to be intimidated, he remained beautifully still save for the flaring of his nostrils and did not look away. Hannibal climbed back to his feet, rubbing his stomach gingerly but ready to leap at the General at any moment.

"You owe me!" Chow spat digging the whip into Peck's neck. Peck gulped, cleared his throat, and prayed his voice was as unconcerned as he hoped when he replied. "I think you're mistaken, Sir. I don't believe we've met!"

The whole unit was painfully silent, bodies quivering in anticipation like animals before a storm, for each one knew the tempest was about to hit. Chow's body shuddered in anger, his moustache twitching as he continued to stare at Peck. But slowly he forced his mouth into the horrific smile of earlier.

"How very gracious of you, American," he spat as he lowered the whip. "But you will remember soon enough why and what you owe me!" He barked out a command and two soldiers stepped forward.

"What are you doing?" Hannibal demanded, moving to intercept them.

Chow threw him a withering, impatient look. "This man is a confessed murderer. Sentence has been passed. I am about to administer it!" He glared at the Colonel challengingly.

"On whose authority?" Hannibal asked bluntly.

"Mine!"

"You have no right! This man was simply following orders; he is an American soldier and a prisoner of war. Your men have already abused him against international laws. He is not the criminal here!"

But as Hannibal spoke the two soldiers took hold of Peck's arms and began to pull him away. Face groaned as new pain flamed from the embers of old. Resolutely Hannibal moved to bar their way. BA and Ray stepped up to help as did others and soon a melee developed with Peck at its centre being pushed first one way and then the other.

The scene was getting ugly with scuffles breaking out and Chow's soldiers swinging rifle butts in an attempt to quash the growing mutinous rage of the prisoners. It came to an abrupt end when three gun shots cracked through the air. All eyes turned to regard the small Viet Cong General who stood with his pistol raised pointing at Peck. "I shall perform the execution here and now if you do not give ground!" he snapped.

Slowly men began to disentangle and to move away, not one eye left Chow. He turned the gun from Peck to Smith. "Move back to your ranks!" he ordered.

"I'm not leaving him!" Smith's tone was equally imposing.

"Move away!"

"Make me!"

"Colonel," Peck's voice was calm, cutting through the explosive atmosphere. "Let it go. There's no point in anybody else being hurt."

"Face, I won't let…."

Peck shook his head slowly. "You can't stop it, Sir. Doesn't matter; none of it!" His sad smile was poignant but proud. "I got the jazz from you, that's all I need!"

"But Face…"

"They can't touch me, not really. Believe me Hannibal, I'm cool!" He shrugged off the two soldiers who were still half heartedly holding on to him and straightened his uniform. Then he pulled himself to attention and gave his commanding officer a final salute.

Smith returned it, their eyes met in a stare of comprehension. Peck nodded, his eyes gleaming intensely. "I understand, Sir," he confirmed. With the greatest dignity he took the few steps to stand in front of Chow. "Lieutenant Templeton Peck, Sir!" He snapped to attention once more, even in rags the picture of military discipline.

"Hannibal," BA growled. "Can't let this…."

The Colonel let out a long sigh as he watched Peck, flanked by two soldiers, Chow bringing up the rear and swatting at his boot with his whip, disappear into one of the bamboo huts. "I knew he had style," he murmured. "But I wasn't sure he had the guts to match!"

"Hannibal!" BA repeated.

"It's OK, BA," Hannibal whispered to only him and Ray. "I don't think Chow has any intention of killing Face just yet. We just got to hope our reinforcements get here before the kid's strength gives out!" He turned back to the men. "We better get packed up," he called. "Everybody who is fit enough to march team up with somebody who isn't; damned if I'm gonna lose another man in this shit! Dismissed!"

There was a miserable mumbling but every man did as he was told, turning and shambling back to their cages. As the day progressed they prepared to move out as best they could. A desperate, despondent air had fallen about the camp and it got worse…. at dusk the screaming started.

"You have a foul mouth, Lieutenant."

"It's had some dirty things in it!" Peck retorted.

He was kneeling, arms cuffed behind him, as Chow circled him like a vulture eying his dinner. Periodically he swatted Peck's body with his whip as he passed. The lieutenant flinched each time but gritted his teeth and did not utter a sound.

"You think yourself tough!" Chow mocked. "Because you survived the hell-cuffs but I am going to show you what soft, weak American scum you are."

"I believe you already, so can we skip the lesson?" Again the whip fell and this time Peck grunted.

"You are incredibly stupid," Chow said. "Do you know who you killed?"

"No," Peck lifted his eyes to regard his tormentor, noticing how tense Chow was, sensing his anger and wondering at its source. Was it something he could use, something that would delay the inevitable? He had to play for time, had to give the relief force every chance to get here – can't get rescued if you're already dead! Still he had to fight back with what little he had. "It was a mark, that's all," he responded.

Chow had been moving away but he whirled back onto Peck, slapped him hard across the face, not with the whip but with his hand this time. Peck's head cracked back as the semi-healed cut on his lip split once again.

"My daughter!" Chow's voice was more a howl of lament than a shout.

Peck gulped, tasted the blood in his mouth, spat it out and wiped his face on his shoulder. Oh shit, no wonder the guy was taking it personally! And no wonder he didn't want a simple execution. Great Peck; when you screw up, you screw up good! But he forced the panic away, stored the information for use later if he got the chance. "It's a war," he said emotionlessly. "People die."

Chow shuddered, made to hit him again but stopped and smiled evilly instead. "You won't provoke me, American!" he promised. "I won't beat you into oblivion so you can have respite you don't deserve. By the end of this day you will be dead. The only question is how much pain I shall make you suffer before I allow you that escape!"

Peck inhaled a long breath but kept his eyes firmly on the General's. "I did what I had to," he said. "I will be judged for my actions and I may even pay for them but you have no right to punish me. I won't accept your guilt as well as my own – maybe you should have brought your daughter up not to get involved in wars!"

Chow screamed an order at the men who rushed forwards, lifted Peck up and threw him belly down onto the wooden table in the corner of the room. His head banged roughly as his arms were pulled upwards, his shoulder joints stretching agonisingly once more. He grunted as he felt his fatigues being pulled down, a rush of colder air on his bottom told him he was thoroughly exposed. He closed his eyes, knowing what was to come next, knowing how it would burn and rip and skewer him but also clinging to the memory that he had suffered such pain before and he had survived it.

Still the thrust when it came was brutal and unforgiving and Peck could not contain his scream. He slid along the table top, feeling splinters of wood embedding themselves into his chest and then was pulled back. The action happened again and again as the weight that forced him on to the table also pumped viciously into him. He tried to disconnect himself from it, to focus on something else. His mind grasped for the image of Murdock that had nourished him through his previous torment but the thrusting was too intense, too oppressive to allow him the time to build his defences. He couldn't find focus, couldn't control the pieces of the image into a consistent whole although he forced them with all his strength. And Murdock's comforting face remained agonisingly out of his reach.

Peck opened his eyes in panic as his control deserted him. He was surprised to see Chow sitting watching him intensely as the thrusting continued. The General's face was set into a contented grin as he enjoyed the proceedings. He smiled smugly when he read the terror in his victim's eyes; he had known all along this American was a coward. How gratifying it would be to make him pay utterly.

At that point Peck lost it entirely and began to scream hysterically……

There was no notice of their arrival. No sounds of choppers and no gun fire. One moment the camp was in its own eerie world, silent how that Peck's screams had ceased, the next there were men in US Army fatigues everywhere, seemingly rising out of the ground and engaging Viet Cong wherever they found them.

Then the guns started and the air was suddenly full of choppers and the sounds of war. The prisoners were released from their cages by Special Forces as the choppers landed near by to ferry them home. It was all done with a lack of fuss which made it somehow unbelievable and dreamlike.

Hannibal found himself in front of the Colonel in charge of the operation. He saluted and flashed a relieved grin. "Glad you could get here, Bud!"

Bud Simmons snorted. He had never liked Colonel John Smith, found him unorthodox and insufferable at best. In fact if he'd know this mission was to liberate him, he would have thought twice about accepting it! He was, however, somewhat gratified that even Smith was having difficulty in looking as arrogant as he usually did in his ragged uniform and obvious physical distress.

"We came as fast as we could," he snapped, annoyed with himself for rising to Smith's barb. "Get in the chopper, Colonel. The sooner we're out of here, the better!"

Smith's grin strengthened. "Not just yet, Bud!" Before Simmons realised what was happening, Smith had relieved him of the pistol at the holster on his hip. "Got a man in there," Smith nodded towards the huts. "Not leaving without him!"

Simmons stood bemused as Smith followed by two equally ragged burley soldiers pushed passed him and make their way to the nearest bamboo building.

Ray was the first through the door way and he stopped, mesmerised by the sight he saw there. Hannibal pushed past him, eyes swiftly adjusting to the lack of light, nostrils flaring at the brittle scent of blood and sweat that assailed them, a strange annoying dripping sound on the air. He saw the dark shadow of a man, which from his diminutive stature must be Chow, sitting beside the only furniture in the hut, a wooden table. He was motionless, and the light that shafted in from outside behind Hannibal caught his eyes. They were black and sparkling with satisfaction, daring the Colonel to act.

Hannibal gulped as he became aware of what was in the foreground between him and the Colonel. It hung from the top point of the roof, spinning slowly …. a body.

A shudder of cold fear slapped the Colonel hard then as he looked up to see the lower half of the carcass was naked, the top half barely concealed by a tattered uniform and all was covered in blood, an ensanguined stream ran along one of the legs and dripped noisily on to the matted floor. Smith's eyes wanted to look away but he steeled them to look higher, to see the head slumped on to the chest and dirty, blonde hair fallen forwards to cover the features but Hannibal knew they would be familiar to him.

Ray and BA pushed passed him as he froze in silent desperation. The sour smack of defeat hit him and he let out a mournful, frail gasp of despair.

"Face!"

TBC