LEE'S P.O.V.

I leaned against the bamboo bars, watching Barney curl on his side. His health was declining every time he came back from the torture room. As our leader, he was picked on more often.

Everyone else had been in the torture chamber at least once. Our captors had a mutual hatred of pilots, so Barney and I were the ones who were selected the most. I didn't mind it so much myself, but Barney... man, he was getting old fast.

I pulled myself up against the bars, looking towards where I knew the other cage was. I could vaguely make out one man holding another in his arms, but I wasn't sure.

I turned my head towards the captor's camp, where five men were exiting the building and heading towards the other cage. They opened it, and there was the obvious sound of a struggle, then they dragged one limp man out and tied him so that he was standing up to a post.

In the dim light, I could make out some vague features from the man: his face was, mostly, beaten black and blue. He was fairly tall, and he had shaggy hair. The poor man didn't look like he could stand much longer.

One of the captors went up to him and buried his boot in his gut. The man yelped and tried to curl himself around the wound, but found that he couldn't with his hands tied behind his back.

He was kicked again, and again. He yelped and screamed, then, finally, fell to his knees unconscious.

The captors laughed and left one last parting kick, then left.

As soon as the captors were back inside the compound building, I sat back on my haunches and relaxed, to some extent.

"Murdock!"

I looked back down to the other cage. The voice seemed to be talking to the man tied to the post. The man must've had guts, 'cause you weren't allowed to talk in this camp. Small conversations seemed to be fine, but trying to seriously talk louder than a whisper was asking for trouble.

"Murdock! Are you ok?"

There was no response from the man tied to the post, or, apparently, 'Murdock'.

"Murdock! Please, buddy, answer me!"

The compound door opened, and three men came out and grabbed the man who was talking from his cage. They dragged him inside the building and slammed the door shut.

I listened for any other little trinket of knowledge, when a sudden series of taps interrupted me.

Morse code!

I listened harder, then deciphered it.

WHO ARE YOU? I AM THIS CAGE'S LEADER, HANNIBAL SMITH.

Everybody had heard of Hannibal Smith. The leader of the A-Team was in this cage? C'mon.

I took off my boot and began to bang it on the bamboo.

I AM LEE CHRISTMAS, SECOND IN COMMAND OF THE EXPENDABLES. WE'RE SPEC OPS.

WHERE'S YOUR LEADER? He asked.

HE'S SLEEPING, NEEDS IT BAD. TORTURE IS KILLING HIM SLOWLY. WE'RE PILOTS, SO THEY HIT US EXPECIALLY HARD.

MY BUDDY TIED TO THE POST IS A PILOT. SOME SAY HE'S CRAZY, AND IF YOU WENT ON A FLIGHT WITH HIM, YOU WOULDN'T DOUBT IT.

HOW IS HE? SOUNDS BAD.

NASTY. NOT ONE PART OF HIS BACK IS WHOLE, HE'S COMPLETELY TORN UP. HE'S BEEN THROUGH WORSE, AND THAT'S WHY HE'S CRAZY.

WHO WAS THE OTHER GUY WHO JUST WENT INTO THE COMPOUND?

FACE. I TOLD HIM TO SHUT UP, BUT HE CONTINUED. MURDOCK AND HIM ARE BEST BUDDIES, AND IT'S DRIVING HIM CRAZY, NOT BEING ABLE TO TALK TO HIM.

IS EVERYONE ELSE IN YOUR CAGE OK?

PRETTY MUCH. MURDOCK BEARS THE BRUNT OF EVERYTHING.

OK. KEEP IN TOUCH.

KEEP IN TOUCH.

A scream pierced the night, and I looked over at the compound, where it came from. 'Face' was probably taking it pretty bad.

I looked over at the post, where Murdock had groaned an inaudible word.

I hoped that we could get out of here soon, hopefully with this other team.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] [][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][] [][][][][][][][][]

FACE'S P.O.V.

I didn't try to move as I was thrown back into the cage. Moving just brought more pain, and right now, pain was the only thing I felt.

Someone was talking quietly above me. I felt that I knew who it was, and I knew it was talking to me, but I couldn't hear what the person was saying. My ears were ringing and full of cotton.

I was rolled onto my side, and I yelped in pain. I was pretty sure that at least one rib was broken, and every other one cracked.

Fingers probed my torso, and I tried to pull away. They hurt, they poked. Why wouldn't they stop?

Suddenly, a howl broke the silence of the early morning. It was long and pain-filled. Somehow, I knew that howl, but I couldn't place the person.

Someone hissed above me, and I focused on the howl.

Murdock.

The name flashed into my head, and suddenly, it dawned on me. It was the same howl that he had in the P.O.W. camps, when he couldn't bear it anymore, when he had enough. He would howl, then collapse into a heap, completely depleted of any energy. The enemy would drag him into their torture huts, and he would howl until he was gagged. When the gag was removed, he would continue to howl.

I listened to the piercing, soul-baring howl, recognizing the sad sound of someone gone mad.