Chapter 13

'Stand to attention in front of a superior officer' Mai yelled as the starving soldier stood outside the cage he'd been moved to. Starsky looked around him, his eyesight blurry. He'd gone for three days straight without food and with only three cups of water and now his stomach felt as though it was touching his backbone and his tongue had swollen in his mouth. His vest had been ripped from him, leaving only his green regulation boxers which were grimy and torn and after the last round of torture, he'd been taken outside the prison block and stuffed into one of the small cages he'd seen on his way in. It was no more than three feet square and he'd been unable to stretch out or straighten his legs or sit upright. There was no cover and he was at the mercy of the elements, either baking in the sun, dripping wet from the rain, or shivering in the relative cool of the night.

He'd watched fatalistically as the soldiers had brought out a long trestle table into the middle of the compound. They set up a chair in front of it, facing him and had started to set out a feast. Bowls of fruit, a whole chicken, steaming bowls of rice and noodles, platters of fish and soft fried fritters nestled on a snowy white table cloth and General Mai had strutted out from his office and sat down at the table.

Two soldiers opened Starsky's cage and dragged the pitifully thin man from its interior, standing him in front of the table as Mai poured himself a glass of red wine. He held it up in toast to the brunet who stared at it longingly. It had been seven and a half weeks since he'd been captured and during that time, the most he'd had to eat was a bowlful of steamed rice each day and a few cupfuls of tepid dirty water. Now he swayed on his feet as his stomach rumbled and cramps assailed his guts, the sight of the food both tempting and sickening.

He staggered forward, then stopped himself as Mai yelled at him again. 'Stand to attention in front of a superior officer'. Slowly, he brought one foot next to the other and straightened his back, fixing his eyes on a point in the middle distance, just as he'd done at boot camp all those months ago. And he thought that was torture.

The sun was at its height as he continued to stand. There was no shelter, but his body had long since stopped sweating, instead going into reflex to conserve what little energy and moisture he had left. The sun was hot on his shoulders and he felt them start to burn, his shoulder blades sticking out proud from his skin. He breathed deeply, trying to keep his concentration as Mai tore off a chicken leg and started to gnaw at it, wiping his lips delicately with a white napkin. A banana followed, then another glass of wine and finally, the brunet's body gave up its unequal struggle with gravity and he slumped to the floor as he struggled to suck in air. He convulsed, the fever he'd had for the past weeks now weakening him further until he could do nothing but shake on the ground.

Immediately the soldiers were upon him, hitting him with their rifle butts and kicking at his prominent ribs and backbone. He refused now to scream. Screaming seemed to drive them on and silence was the only means of defiance left to the young soldier. Grimly he concentrated on getting through each successive blow until the soldiers tired and picked him up, throwing him bodily into the cage again. He slumped against the bars and allowed himself finally to succumb to unconsciousness, the various wounds on his chest, back and limbs seeping blood.

General Mai continued his feast undisturbed by the assault on the brunet and after completing his meal, he looked up and grinned at the approach of two of his men escorting two girls into the compound. There was nothing like a good meal with fine wine, accompanied by some afternoon delight. The twin girls looked at the small, monkey like man with some distaste. But this was a living, and the General paid well. They walked carefully past the small cage and looked down at the bruised and bloody body inside before stepping on into the tent.

Three hours later, with the sun lowering in the sky, they emerged with a handful of dong, giggling now that their weekly ordeal was over. The General had a mean streak and liked to inflict a little pain if the service he was provided with was not up to standard. This time, fortunately, they had been in good form. They walked on, past the cages as Starsky slowly raised his head and watched. It had been a long time since he'd seen a female and it was refreshing to hear a girly laugh. He rested his head against the bars and closed his eyes again as they walked on, but the girls looked a little more carefully at the cage's inhabitant, muttered something behind their hands, and hurried off.

oOo

Tom Trafford was busy in the camp as he had been on every single day since he'd lost three of the best friends he'd ever had. His heart broke the second Sharpe had told him of their deaths, explaining that theirs had been a top secret mission and he was unable to tell Traff anything of where they'd gone, or why. Traff had pressed him for details, pleading to be allowed to go make sure – that maybe they'd survived, but Sharpe had been adamant and Traff had finally realised the score. Sometimes war meant he couldn't know the bigger picture. He didn't accept it, but he understood it.

And so he went mechanically out on his missions, shooting, dodging, returning. But nothing had any meaning any more and he began to take more and more risks, making a reputation for himself as a maverick to the extent that none of the other men wanted to go out into the field with him.

Today, he was recovering on light duties after he'd been winged by a bullet fired at a Loach from a ground sniper. He'd fired back and killed them, then spent the morning in the infirmary having his arm cleaned and bandaged. Now he was sitting outside the front of his tent staring moodily into a cup of coffee as he heard a commotion. He looked up, wiping a hand over his eyes. He didn't want noise. He didn't want company. He just wished they'd all leave him alone.

But the noise was getting closer now and as he looked again, seeing a group of soldiers laughing and joking around two very pretty and remarkably similar looking girls. Something about them made his stand up and look harder at them. Not that he'd had countless girls in his time in Chong Dai, but did he know them? He thought he did and he found himself walking more quickly towards them. As he got closer her saw that they seemed to be twins, long dark hair held back in loose pony tails down their back and suddenly the memory came back to him. A bar in Chong Dai. A night with his friends – his heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. With Starsky, Tugs and Merry.

He cleared his way through the group of soldiers using his rank to clear them out of the way and he pulled the girls towards his lonely tent. Away from the noise he looked at them and they gazed agitatedly back at him. Ai – yes he remembered her name now – pointed at him and then at his eyes and screwed her eyes up as she shook her head. What did she mean? No eyes? One eye? Wrong eye?….wrong... His stomach turned a somersault. He pointed at his eyes and shook his head and Ai nodded. He pointed at himself, then at his eyes, then put his hands up, palms outwards as he shrugged his shoulders. The sentiment was clear. Where is Starsky? Where's the guy with the other colour of eyes? The one that looks like me.

Ai pointed back the way she'd come, through the jungle and he shouted at her, grabbing her arms as she nodded vigorously.

'Have you seen Curly? The guy who looks like me? Have you? Where? Can you show me?' he yelled at her and she and her sister nodded again, pointing more animatedly now. She bent down and drew in the dirt a room? No…a cage with a body in it. Oh my God! Was that Curly?

Swiftly he motioned for them to wait there while he ran to Sharpe's tent, pausing for only the briefest knock before pushing his way in. Sharpe looked up.

'You'd better have a damned good explanation for bursting in here like a Corporal' he said.

'I think Curly…Starsky is alive. I think I know where he is' Traff blurted out.

Sharpe's face blanched. 'How do you know this?' he asked.

'There's some girls. We knew them they…um…well they told me they've seen Curly. He's alive. We can go rescue him' Traff said excitedly.

'Which girls?'

'They're um…well they're whores from Chong Dai, but I believe 'em'.

Sharpe grinned coldly. 'So you're gonna base a rescue mission on the information from two little pros who don't speak any friggin' English? Over my dead body Corporal. Now get those whores off my base now'.

Traff looked at the Major as though he'd grown two heads. 'That's it? You're just gonna dismiss this? You're gonna give up on three of your men?' he asked.

'I'm using my skill as a seasoned tactician to cover the odds and decide on a course of action. Dispassionately and logically. And you, soldier, would do well to learn from me'.

'Learn? You cold hearted bastard. Those are my friends out there. An' if you're too "institutionalised" to do anything to get 'em back other follow orders dispassionately and logically, then I will'. Traff turned on his heel and made for the door as Sharpe yelled after him.

'Traff? Trafford. Corporal Trafford get your ass back in here now'.

But he was talking to the young soldier's back as Traff walked out of the tent and back to his own. He started packing equipment into his kit bag. An extra pair of clothes, some bandages, tape, gauze, two extra water bottles, some k.p. rations. He paused. Was that all he'd need? As an afterthought, he packed the rest of his bag with extra ammunition and his semi-automatic revolver, slinging his snipers rifle over his shoulder. Ducking outside, he looked at the girls again.

'A name. Can you give me a name of the place?'

They looked at him blankly and in desperation he bent down and pointed at the drawing in the dirt. 'Where? A name? Where is he?' he asked them.

Ai looked uncertain. 'Nah Am?' she said, pointing at the drawing. He kissed her, then stepped back.

Traff sighed. Shit! Nah Am was at least four hours north of the camp, closer to Chong Dai than to the base. He looked around then had an idea. Stopping only to give whispered instructions to one of the other men on the base, he set off into the jungle, the pack on his back. He pushed through the vegetation, feeling it pulling at his clothes and kit bag as if trying to stop him from getting to his destination. There was no way he could walk trough the jungle to Nah Am. It was too far and he'd be exhausted by the time he got there. And he felt he needed to be in as good shape as possible if he was to rescue his three friends. He plunged on, his spirits renewed now he had evidence to say that at least Curly was still alive. Thank God. Now someone keep him alive till I get there, please?

At last, he came to the helicopter clearing and sighed his thanks as he saw the loach on the landing pad, the pilot sitting relaxed and drinking coffee.

He waved and the pilot waved back, recognising the young corporal.

'Hey Traff. What brings you here? I'm not due out for hours'.

'Callaghan. I need your help. Can you fly me to Nah Am?'

'Nah Am? Hell that's an hour's flight north. Whatcha want to go to that godforsaken place for?'

'I think Curly, Tugs an' Merry are there. An' I want to get 'em out'.

'Yeah? Has Sharpe sent ya? Are ya goin' alone?'

Traff looked down wondering if he could trust the pilot. But there again, who could he trust? He needed the loach.

'Sharpe doesn't know. He forbid me to go. But I need to Cal. I know they're alive. Please? I need your help pal'.

The pilot put down his coffee cup. 'If you think they're alive that's all I need. Climb aboard. We can be there in 50 minutes'.