Disclaimer – You recognise it, I don't own it.
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Six days passed in what felt like no time. John tended as best he could to his patient. Never once allowing her to become aware of her surroundings. The sedation she was under wasn't particularly heavy, but it was sufficient to keep her asleep.
Yes, it was probably technically unethical. But her unconscious state prevented Lieutenant Saini from sending her anywhere.
It was approaching eleven at night on the eve of the final day. John, as was now his habit, knocked on the door to hand over the mug of coffee to his door guard.
"Thanks, Doc." Dawson smiled at him, saluting slightly with the mug.
"You're welcome." John replied, before closing the door.
He made his way to the bedroom. And for the first time since he had been captured, put on his army uniform. It had taken him a long time, but eventually he had managed to clean it of all the blood on it. He laced up his boots. Slowly, methodically, purposefully, he did up his belt, positioned and pinned his Rods of Asclepius to his collar, and tucked his beret under his right epaulet, feather downwards.
He then walked towards the stock room, where he had earlier prepared his equipment.
As he exited the office, he heard the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor outside the door.
He opened the door, and stepped over the mug of morphine spiked coffee. He carefully propped Dawson upright against the wall, so that it would simply look like he was sleeping.
He popped the mug next to Dawson, before starting down the corridors.
The motto of the RAMC is: In Arduis Fidelis.
It means: Faithful in Adversity.
John had always taken it one step further.
Strength in adversity.
John wasn't the first member of his family to serve in the military. Wasn't the first officer.
His great uncle had served in the army during the Second World War. Had been captured.
When John was little, he had spent every visit to him listening to the experience of his great uncle in a POW camp… One of the most notorious camps in Germany. The great castle of Colditz.
Those stories had kept John entertained for hours. He had spent literally months recreating some of the techniques that he had been told about. Everything from forging to digging to duplicating keys to codes. He had even tried to build the Colditz Cock.
So John knew that he had had to keep calm. Concentrate. Bide his time.
He was not going to get a second chance if he was recaptured after escaping.
So he would have to make sure he only needed one chance.
And this was his one chance.
It would have to be.
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Creeping down the corridors, John was concentrating on the memory of the map he had found on the computer system. It appeared that Cobra's medic hadn't been too good at remembering how to get around, and so had saved the map for reference.
Weeks of studying the map had given John a perfect recollection of where he was going. And the map had helpfully included patrol routes, times and sentry locations.
John knew he was approaching one of the sentries, so he sped up into what looked like a panicked run.
"Doc?" The sentry, Zaman, stepped into John's path.
"There's a crazy woman with a crossbow." John panted, "She's right behind me."
"What did she look like?" Zaman stepped in front of John, trying to protect him from the following threat.
"Red hair." John got out.
Then he jabbed a syringe into Zaman's neck, emptying its contents into his carotid artery.
Zaman dropped like a stone.
John dragged him into a nearby room, leaving the syringe behind. It wasn't any use anymore. And he had more all ready for use.
A Doctor was always the most dangerous enemy to face. Because although they knew how to put a body back together, people always forgot that that meant they knew how to take it apart.
John moved down further into the depths of the fortress. There were very few sentries. After all Saini was certain that they wouldn't be found. However every sentry fell for the scare story of the red-haired woman with a crossbow. It sort of made John want to meet her, if she really existed.
He made his way to the dormitory block. And emptied the contents of several superglue bottles and some vitamin capsules into the old-fashioned locks.
He did the same to the Security Centre, as well as cutting the intercom link.
Then he returned to his true destination.
His body count was slowly rising, and he was running out of diamorphine filled syringes. Before long he'd have to go to his back-up plan. Though he had managed to reduce the number of people he might have to kill.
He peered slowly round the corner at where the guards to the outer section of the cell-block stood.
This would be harder, two to take down at once.
But he'd gotten this far, so he might as well die trying.
The panic in his voice was more real this time. Fear for his plan and himself seeping through to lend credence to his story.
"And there was this black shadow as well." John elaborated.
This time, he was pushed more firmly behind the two guards. Both trying to protect him.
Sometimes being left-handed gave you an advantage, John reflected. He was basically ambidextrous with syringes.
Both men dropped like a rock.
John hit the light switch, plunging the hall and the cell block into darkness.
"What's going on?" One of the internal guards called out.
John let out a low moan, even as he pulled out two new syringes and removed their caps.
He heard the inner guards walk cautiously to the door. They opened it, expecting light, but instead met only more darkness.
John moved and managed to take down the first. But the thud of the body caused the second to be more alert. With slightly frantic arm-waving, he managed to disarm John.
There was no time to grab a new syringe. Or find the one on the floor.
Moving quickly John moved and managed to get behind the guard. His eyes having adapted better to the darkness. He then reached up and quickly broke the man's neck.
He turned the lights back on and looked for his syringe. It was broken, trampled in the struggle. He brushed the worst of the pieces away with his foot.
Next he pulled guns free from the guards. Placing one in the empty holster at his waist, he slung a rifle over his shoulder and simply held another.
He also removed the ring of keys from the guards.
Slipping through the doorway he looked left and right, expecting to see prisoners in all the many cells. But they were empty. Their doors swinging slightly.
Finally he reached a cell that was firmly closed. Peering through the bared window, he could see dozens of people all crammed in the same place. All either sleeping or trying to.
John searched through the keys to find the one that fitted the lock. He pulled the door open, glad that someone had oiled it, so that it didn't make a noise.
"Up and at 'em." John called out, as loudly as he dared, "We're getting out of here."
They started stirring, at various rates.
"Alan-A-Dale," John snapped, "Front and centre!"
"What's going on, John?" Alan asked, once he reached the door.
"It's called a Prison Break." John replied, "Don't you know one when you see it? Take this."
He pushed a gun into Alan's hands.
"You're Red Cross." Alan protested, "You shouldn't be organising…"
"RAMC." John countered, "Captain. We're moving. Now!"
"You knew the Intelligence Corp is called Green Slime." Alan realized.
"Really thought I'd given it away there." John shrugged, "Come on. We don't have much time. Follow me."
John turned and was moving out of the cell block, before Alan had really come to his senses.
John had planned this escape almost from the start. However some changes had had to be made due to recent events. He made his way back to the Infirmary.
"You and you." John picked two men who were wearing uniforms he recognised, "In here."
He entered the infirmary and pulled the cover off the woman's body, revealing her to be fully clothed, albeit in clothing that in no way suited her, and would probably never fit her. She was also lying on a stretcher.
"Pick her up." John ordered, "She comes too."
He moved to the office and pulled out a half dozen or so rucksacks. One he slung on his back, arranging it, so that it didn't foul his acquired rifle.
The other backpacks he passed to the nearest people outside the Infirmary.
"Don't lose them." John instructed, "Took a bit of fudging to get them."
John then led them down the corridor to the window he had used to see the sky.
"In here. But keep quiet." John said firmly, "I just need to do one thing and we can go to the garage and steal some vehicles to get out of here."
John didn't bother to check if they followed him. He simply marched over to the window and opened it. Swinging round his rifle, he positioned it and waited.
When he saw his chance he aimed and fired three times.
"Move." John declared, "I don't know if anyone will pay attention to the shots, but I'd rather not take any chances."
"John," Alan spoke as they were moving quickly through the fortress, "How long have you been planning this?"
"Since I was captured." John replied, "My great uncle was at Colditz."
"But you kept talking about your Oath. How could…"
"Later." John cut him off, "Just… Later Alan. I need to concentrate."
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