Chapter 14

Traff leapt down from the Loach as the copter's runners touched the soft earth and flipped a quick salute at the pilot who hovered briefly and then took off again. It wasn't the wisest thing in the world to remain in Nah Am unless you had too. More then a few copters had been shot down in these jungle areas and the pilots were never heard from again.

Traff shouldered his pack, took a firm hold on his rifle and set off through the lush dank vegetation following his compass bearing. Repeatedly he went over the conversation he'd had with Sharpe, or, more accurately, the shouting match he'd had with his superior officer. He knew he'd blown any chance of further promotion and knew he'd face more than a couple of days in the stockade as a result of going AWOL. But the thought of maybe finding his friends alive again drove him on and he made good time through the tress, vines and waterways on the way to the camp.

Slowing as he reached the outskirts of the camp he gazed at the unforgiving, desolate looking place. The wooden nissen hut looked dark and brooding in the clearing, but behind it, the huge concrete structure of the main prison wing made him shudder. It was long and low and had an evil feeling to it which made the young soldier shudder. There was a smell of death and decay in the air that left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. In front of the prison there were small cages arranged in a wiggly line, out in the open and designed to have no cover or shade at all. He looked at each of them realising that these were the structures that Ai had drawn in the dirt. These were where Starsky was being held, and he hoped Tugs and Marry wouldn't be to far away.

There didn't seem to be any guards patrolling the perimeter of the camp, but looking at the weary bodies in the cages closest to him, Traff didn't think the occupants would be in any fit state to make a bid for freedom anyway. Most of the bodies he saw were thin to the point of emaciation and were covered in grime and festering sores. Flies buzzed around the cages, giving an extra hellish dimension to the lives of the occupants, but from this distance, Traff couldn't decide whether Starsky was one of those he could see.

Keeping himself to the shelter of the tree line, he got down on his belly and took his monocular from its case. Holding it up to his eye, he ran down the length of the cages, stopping at each one to scrutinise the man inside. So many of them looked like living skeletons that he was beginning to have serious doubts as to whether he'd find his friends alive or not when his gaze caught the next cage to the end of the line.

It was set a little apart from the others and was set half in a large puddle of muddy water, it's inhabitant being made to sit in the wet as there was no other place for his to go. Traff raked the monocular up from the ground and hitched a breath. Curly! But oh my God, what had they done at him? This wasn't the health vital young soldier who he'd last seen. This was a pitiful specimen of humanity, huddled sunken eyed against the bars of the cage.

Traff so desperately wanted to run out into the open right there and then to free his friend, but he knew that, despite there being no sign of a guard, there would be armed men around. And it wouldn't do for the rescue party to be killed at the last hurdle. Instead, the curly haired man swallowed down his need and huddled further back into the vegetation, biding his time until the cover of darkness. He sent out a silent message to his friend to hold on, the settled down to watch.

Towards mid afternoon, Traff watched as a small monkey faced older man strutted out into the hot sunshine, accompanied by two soldiers. Traff had to bite back a shout as he watched the two armed men reach into Starsky's cage and pull his friend out so that he was kneeling between them.

The brunet no longer had the strength to stand. Neither did he have the inclination. His feet were so infected and painful that any movement of his toes, ankles or legs sent lancing pains though his lower body. And so as the rough hands hauled him out, he collapsed onto his knees in front of the General. He forced his head up, too defiant to let the little man see how exhausted he was and too proud to look at the shiny boots.

'We have a new game for you' Mai said clearly, making Starsky jump slightly.

As the brunet soldier looked, General Mai drew a revolver from his side holster and flicked the barrel round, making a satisfying ratcheting noise in the heavy afternoon air.

The General tossed the sidearm to one of the soldiers, who took it and cocked the weapon, grinning as he held the muzzle against Starsky's head. The exhausted man looked up at Mai through bleary dehydrated eyes and snorted softly.

So, it had come to this. The end. Thank God for that! Starsky had no idea how much more of the General's treatment he could take and now, despite the hammering heartbeats in his chest, he welcomed the end, embracing the thought that despite everything that had been done to him, he had won. He hadn't told them anything and so he had played their sick game and won. He wasn't a prisoner any more. His spirit would be free because he'd endured.

'Why are you here?' Mai asked in a bored manner.

'Davvvvid Mmmmichael Ssst….'

Mai nodded and the soldier pushed the muzzle of the gun into the brunet's temple and pulled the trigger. Starsky braced himself wondering how it would feel to have his brains blown out. Would he feel it? Would he have any recollection? His body tensed at the metallic click of the trigger and……..nothing.

His body sagged as the adrenaline flooded his veins. The chamber of the gun had been empty. Oh my God. They were playing Russian roulette with him! He let out a desperate sob, almost disappointed that the shot hadn't been fired. He was so ready to die, and this at least seemed the easier way out!

The General was looking back at him, laughing. He nodded to the soldier and again the trigger snicked against an empty chamber, and again Starsky flinched away from the noise as Mai enjoyed the entertainment.

How many more times? Six chambers. Two shots taken. He rode out bogus shots three four and five. All came and went without the expected explosion. It had to be now. Had to be this time. Number six, surely.

Suddenly drawing on reserves of energy that he didn't know he had, Starsky half stood and grabbed the revolver from the surprised soldier's grip. Kneeling in the dirt he brought the muzzle round and levelled it at Mai's head as the General looked on in bewilderment. Starsky grinned. This was his chance. He knew the soldiers would be on him in a trice, but at least he'd have taken out that evil son of a bitch. He held the revolver two handed and squeezed the trigger as Mai laughed back at him. The gun failed to respond, all six chambers were empty!

In a trice, the soldiers were on him, pulling him up and holding his arms behind him. He let out an involuntary groan as his knees buckled. They leaned into him, forcibly pushing his arms behind his back until his elbows touched and his shoulders felt as though they would pop out of their sockets. The impact on his chest was enormous; his arms straight and locked together so that he had to lean slightly forward to be able to take a breath. And then they tied them there, lacing them from wrist to shoulder so that Starsky could hardly even breathe in the stricture of the bonds.

Mai stepped forward and slapped him hard across his face. 'Useless American pig! I've wasted enough time on you. From now on, you'll be left to rot. I can waste no more time on you'.

He nodded at the soldiers who knocked Starsky's legs out from under him and stuffed him back into the tiny cage. With his arms bound so tightly behind him, he couldn't managed to get his balance and merely fell over onto his side and stayed there as tears of frustration pricked at his eyes.

From the sidelines, Traff witnessed his friend being brutalised and the only thing he could do was grind his fingernails into the palms of his hands so hard that small trickles of blood escaped and seeped into the band of his watch. The brunet wanted no more than to kill the whole lot of them for what they'd done to his friend. It reinforced his thoughts that Tugs and Merry had not made it when he didn't see them in a cage too, but he refused to give up all hope, instead hunkering down to calm himself and wait for nightfall

Dusk in the tropics was a perfunctory affair, almost as though someone had get fed up of the light and decided to flip the sun's switch off for a while. In the rapidly gathering gloom, Traff saw that Starsky hadn't moved a muscle since the escapade earlier that afternoon. He seemed to be either unconscious or insensate and the stillness in his friend made Traff's wait all the more difficult to bear. So near and yet so far! But darkness was gathering quickly now and so Traff started to make preparations for the escape.

Despite wanted to get out there as soon as possible, he waited a full thirty minutes after the camp was engulfed in darkness before venturing out of his hiding place. Regular as clockwork, the rain had once again fallen in a heavy, sultry blanket during the afternoon and now, although it had ceased, the air was damp and the night redolent with the smell of wet earth and the noises of water droplets hitting the mud.

Traff leaned down and grabbed a handful of the red mud and wiped it over his face to stop the moonlight from shining on his pale skin and giving him away. He inched his way out of his hiding hole and glanced left and right. There was no movement and no noise save for the soft groans and pitiful moans coming from some of the cages. Evidently the guards were away at their evening meal, happy in the knowledge that their caged "guests" were in no fit state to stage a mass getaway.

The brunet soldier hunkered down and ran a zig zag pattern through the line of trees until he was right opposite Starsky's cage. From there it was only a few yards to get to his friend and push his hands through the bars.

Close up, the captive was in even worse condition that Traff had suspected, but closer inspection and triage would have to wait until they were out of the camp and far enough away to keep the guards from following them.

'Curly' Traff hissed at the semi conscious man lying in the hige puddle in the cage. There was no reply and he poked at the too thin shoulder.

'Hey Curly….Dave. S'me. C'mon buddy. Gimme some help here'.

Painfully Starsky lifted his head, the extra strain on his bound shoulders showing in his face. Blurred eyes regarded his saviour for a moment before he truly understood that it was indeed his friend in front of him and not some mirage. And then the thin, but still handsome face split into a pained grin.

'Mmmm you?' he rasped .

'Uh huh. Here, lemme get you outa there' Traff whispered, glancing around to check on the guard situation. He went round to the front of the cage and looked at the padlock on the bars. Amazingly it opened in his hand. Obviously the NVAs didn't expect Starsky to be able to go anywhere. How wrong could they be?

Traff swing the heavy metal cage door open and reached in. The only part of his friend he could reach was his legs, and reluctantly he took a hold of the brunet's ankles, gasping as he saw the swollen and purple feet. OK Tommy, do that sorry thing later. Just get him out huh?

He pulled and Starsky moaned softly. Clear of the cage, Traff tried to get his friend up, but Starsky was unable to stand and in desperation, Traff flung the featherlight body over his shoulder and ran for the cover of the trees, closing his ears to the pitiful moans and the soft cries from the inhabitants of the other cages.