Chapter 11

Lack of Pity

Pain has a powerful effect on a human being. When one experiences pain their state of mind changes. Everything from a person's attitude to their perception of time becomes fundamentally different. With regard to attitude pain may cause one to be passive, mean, or aggressive. In the case of time, seconds can seem like minutes, minutes can seem like hours, and hours can seem like days. Not a whole lot for a person to look forward to.

Taking into account the detrimental effects of pain, it can be used as an effective tool for interrogation. Not only does pain alter one's state of mind it also instills a sense of fear. Combining a sense of fear with an altered state of mind yields interesting results. Just the mere thought of experiencing pain will make even the most stoic of people think twice about withholding information.

Since every person is unique, the methods for obtaining information from those people must also be unique. These methods require a level of ingenuity, manipulation, and not to mention some unorthodox thinking. Interrogators and torturers alike use special methods to obtain the information they so desire.

Over the years, Peters had played the role of both interrogator and torturer. He preferred to not label himself by any of those monikers, considering such names over the top. Instead, Peters chose to call himself an investigator, a man who simply wanted to know the truth.

Groggy and disoriented, Peters' prisoner struggled to find out where he was. He was tied to a chair, stripped down to his underwear. The prisoner's eyes were unable to focus on anything as his vision was blurred. His head moved around flamboyantly, with an obvious lack of coordination. Morphine was after all, a powerful drug.

Before beginning the interrogation process, Peters first had to isolate his prisoner. The location of choice was the top floor of an unfurnished office building. It was eerily quiet with a hanging light bulb emanating a weak glow across the darkness.

Peters and Tomas stood around the prisoner, their stern gazes half hidden from the yellowish light.

"How nice of you drop in on us!" Peters announced.

"Where am I?" The Osean asked in a drunken voice.

"You're in Yuktobania!" Peters replied loudly.

The prisoner tried to reply, but couldn't. The morphine hadn't quite worn off yet.

"We never really have guests in this part of the country, so you could imagine we're thrilled to have you as a guest. If you don't mind I'd like to ask you a couple of questions." Peters was starting the interrogation.

"First off I'd like to ask you where you're from?" Peters asked.

"I'm from Osea and… that's all… you're gonna… get!" The prisoner replied managing a somewhat cohesive sentence.

"Don't mean to be rude, but that seems a bit obvious." Peters replied walking around the prisoner.

Tomas made a slight smirk.

"Now if I remember correctly, you told us you were in the Osean army. Is that correct?" Peters lied.

"I never said that!" The prisoner yelled back, his morphine had obviously worn off.

"Calm down. There's no need to get excited. Remember I just want answers."

The prisoner finally realized what was happening to him. Following orders he gave the following reply, "Corporal Jacob Samuels, serial number 6-7-8-5-3-3-1."

Following orders I see, Peters didn't say, "Oh thanks for the name Mister Samuels, but I don't remember me asking you for that kind of information. But thanks anyway." Peters replied, rolling up his sleeves.

"You're not going to get anything out of me, you bastard! You won't!" The prisoner yelled.

In a calm voice Peters replied, "We'll see to that."

"So before you get any more excited, just let me ask another question."

Peters got in the prisoner's face and spoke quietly, "What, are you doing here?"

Instead of answering the question, he just stared back at his interrogator.

Sighing, Peters asked the same question again, "What, are you doing here?" He asked in a darker tone.

Silence. Now it was time to turn up the heat.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!" Peters yelled kicking the chair over.

The prisoner yelled as the back of the chair landed on his hands. Peters quickly grabbed the chair and put the prisoner back up.

"You know what we can do to you." Peters said, grabbing the prisoner by the shoulders.

"I don't care what you say, because deep down inside I know you're terrified. If you're trying to save your friends, it doesn't matter. We know where they are and we can kill them, anytime, we want. You can choose to speak or not, but either way, you lose. Now I'll ask you again, but clearer this time. What are you, meaning the Osean 77th, doing in Yuktobania?"

"You're not getting anything."

Following the routine, Peters quickly motioned for Tomas to pull out his knife, "That's it!" Peters shouted, "I'm tired of you not cooperating. Tomas, get rid of what's most precious to a young man. Cut 'em off."

Tomas motioned to cut off some specific organs. The prisoner looked down and began writhing in his chair.

"NO! STOP! NO! DON'T! STOP IT!" The prisoner screamed.

"Too late Mister Samuels, you should have talked."

Feeling the knife's cold blade touch his skin, the prisoner finally agreed to speak.

"WE WERE TO SET UP A BASE OF OPERATIONS FOR OUR ATTACK HELICOPTERS!" He replied in a rapid voice.

"See! That wasn't too hard was it?" Peters said quietly.

"Please, no more." The prisoner said.

"No more what?" Peters asked acting oblivious. "I wasn't the one that was about to shatter your chances of having kids. And I don't know why you're asking me to stop, I still haven't gotten all the information I wanted." Peters explained.

This caused the prisoner to groan.

"Now, for my next question. Are there any more coming?"

"I… I… honestly don't know sir. I don't." Came the prisoner's nervous reply.

Peters lunged at the prisoner forcing his head back. In his face he yelled, "BULLSH!T!"

"I don't know, honestly." The prisoner still replied on the threshold of emotional shock.

Peters threw his hands up in the air and started pacing around the room, "You said honestly, twice already. I hate redundancy. So you know what? My staff sergeant, will make sure you don't give me anymore redundant answers."

Tomas began putting on some rubber gloves. He then opened the top of a gallon size container of nitric acid.

"You see what my staff sergeant is doing?" Peters asked grabbing the prisoner's face and forcing him to look. "He's pouring nitric acid into a spoon. I'm not a scientist and neither are you, but I think its safe to say that we both know what acid can do a person's skin. I really haven't seen what acid does to the skin, but you are gonna end up showing me. Give me your hand."

Desperately, the prisoner tried to pull back his hand, but it was useless.

"Give me your hand dammit!" Peters growled grabbing the prisoner's arm.

Carefully, Tomas moved forward with the spoon. In fear, the prisoner watched Tomas bring the spoon above his palm. He watched it turn over, as the acid dropped towards the soft skin.

"ARGHHHH! NO! STOP!" The prisoner agonized, shaking and screaming.

"Didn't feel good did it?" Peters replied rhetorically.

Hissing and groaning, the prisoner shook his head.

"Even if you got half a brain, I don't think you'd want to go through that again. If you don't answer my questions from this point forward though, its not just going to be your hands that are on fire." Peters explained moving to the prisoner's face. "Is, that, understood?"

"Yes." The prisoner managed, trying to nurse his scalding palm.

"There are supposed to be more flights of paratroopers soon. Like… All week."

"Good. That was all I wanted to know." Peters said with a fake smile.

"What are you… going to do?" The prisoner asked noticing Peters walk away.

"None of your business." Peters replied acting like he was walking out of the room.

Peters gave Tomas a look, "Shoot him up with more drugs, so the next session won't be as difficult."

"Yes sir." Tomas replied walking towards the prisoner with another load of morphine.

In fear the prisoner looked at the long needle. Not knowing what the needle contained he screamed for Tomas to stop. But Tomas moved forward grabbing an arm and sticking the needle into the young man's veins. Slowly, the screaming died down, as a cold sensation ran through the prisoner's body. In twenty seconds, he was sound asleep.

Standing in the dark Peters realized that the prisoner only reinforced what had been assumed, that the Oseans were setting up a base of operations within Yuktobania. In all actuality the little acid trick, was over the top. Peters could have felt sorry for the soldier, but that wasn't his job. Soldiers never felt sorry for their enemies.

--

For people surviving a traumatic experience it is awfully hard for them to decide whether they're blessed or just plain lucky. Atheist or not, all people grapple with the thought. It's just one of life's mysteries that will probably, never be answered. But regardless of the answers a few Osean paratroopers were just happy to be alive.

Copes and twenty other paratroopers managed to get out of the C-17s, unscathed. Feeling some degree of sympathy, Athos took it upon himself to attach Copes and three other survivors from his squad, to his. This gave time for the shocked troopers to cool down and gradually speak of their experiences.

Athos' original squad was fascinated and amazed at the story of their fellow paratroopers. Not many men managed to escape certain death and stare that death in the face. As far as Athos' men were concerned, Copes and his squad mates were the bravest men they had met.

Near a small fire, Athos squad along with Copes and other survivors ate their rations, slept or talked about women, sports, or life after the army.

"Y'know, I've always wanted to be a poet believe it or not." James said eating a mouth full of beans from his ration.

"Private James, a poet? Naw." Addison replied with a laugh.

"Long way from being in the paratroopers my friend." Copes replied.

"I'm not surprised." Andersen added.

"James is probably the only guy in this squad with his head on. Thinks more than all of us here grunts."

"Yeah, a poet isn't exactly a paratrooper. But I'm not a poet in the sense of 'roses are red, violets are blue'. I do stuff called spoken word." James replied.

"Can't say I've heard of that before." Copes said.

"Why not? Where you from?" James asked.

"Sotoa, believe it or not. But my family moved to Osea when I was thirteen. Lived in the middle of the country though. Lived in a really small town. So… That aside, what's this spoken word stuff?"

"Oh nothing really different from poetry, but with more of a hip hop flare. A couple of cats I grew up with in Oured, used to do it all the time." James explained.

"Yeah, I listen to some hip hop now and then. But I'm a rock fan to be honest." Copes explained. "You ever try and write some stuff down though?"

"At times, but ain't much down time here in the Army. But the Army has given me some inspiration for words. But I don't have much to say though." James said.

"He has plenty to say, Copes. He's just being modest." Andersen said patting James on the shoulder.

"C'mon Andersen." James shook his head, "I'm not that good."

"You gotta have something?" Copes said.

"Just because I'm a rock fan doesn't mean I like to hear what you gotta say. Lets hear it."

James hesitated and looked around, "Alright, I'll just say what's been going through my head. Give me a sec."

"He says a lot of deep things. Gotta hear it." Addison told Copes.

"Yo, check it. Through the heaven and hell, we swoop on down. Free, fallin' angels, no chance at redemption. Yo, the war game is rough, the fear is real, don't like it, that's tough. You see, we're drones, marching long days and nights, your left, right, left. Out here is paradise lost, no deliverance for us. We stick to a script. But while ya'll enjoyin' the show, we livin' this movie." James spoke.

Everyone was quiet soaking in the powerful words. James couldn't have been more on point. Addison was the first to break the silence.

"Damn, James. If you wanted us to think you sure as hell succeeded."

"Hell'uva job, James." Cope said.

"I'd like to hear more of this."

"Thanks guys. That's just a little something I do to keep myself from losing it out here." James explained.

"You can't be more right, James." Andersen said

"We all need something to stay sane out here."

"Well being a soldier ain't exactly easy." Addison added.

"And paratrooper at that." Copes added.

"Ain't that the truth?" James replied.

"At least we're alive. Don't know how long that'll last. But I don't care." Copes explained. "I'm just gonna enjoy the time that I'm here."

"Amen to that." Everyone replied in unison.

Life as a soldier was hard, and James' poem reiterated that fact. None of them knew what catastrophes or circumstances the future held for them. But considering what just happened, none of these men worried. Just being alive, meant more than anything right now.