Title: Thin Red Line
Characters: Father John "Dago Red" Mulcahy and Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Rating: M
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: The Red Scare spreads to the 4077th when a no-nonsense colonel is sent to investigate one of their own.
Author's Note: Based on the characters portrayed by Rene Auberjonois and Donald Sutherland from MASH (1970), the original film production.
In response to persimmon's whump challenge. As always, please ignore any typos. I don't always catch them right away. Thanks for reading. –RW
Dago stuck close to Hawkeye as the two were led in through the front gate by the colonel. The camp seemed nearly empty except from the armed guards and the colonel, and Dago found himself wondering exactly where the other prisoners were. They were taken into one of the tents that housed clothes and bed lines, and each man was given two pairs of pants, two shirts, two socks, two undershorts, a pair of suspenders, and one set of bed linens.
"Pardon me, Colonel, but there are 7 days in the week."
"Yes?" West said, eyeing Hawkeye. "This isn't a resort, Captain. You'll have the opportunity to wash your clothing and linens twice a week. However, if you are dissatisfied, I'm sure I could take one set of clothing back…then you might be grateful for a spare pair of shorts."
"No, thank you, Colonel. I'm sure this is more than I'll need." Hawkeye replied bitterly.
"Good. Then change out of your clothes and remove your tags. Until you've earned your freedom, you have lost the right to call yourself soldiers."
"We're not soldiers." Hawkeye couldn't stop himself. "I'm a doctor; he's a chaplain."
"I've been warned about you Pierce," West sneered. "One more remark out of you, and I'll make you wish you'd been born without a tongue."
Dago could see the contempt on Hawkeye's face and the desire to rebuttal, but he didn't want either of them to start off on the wrong foot in this place. Laying a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder, the chaplain tried to wordlessly plead with Hawkeye to let this one go. As a way of acknowledging Dago's request, Hawkeye simply reached down the front of his shirt and pulled his dog tags off over his head, holding them out to the colonel.
The colonel grinned victoriously and took the tags from the doctor, then looked at the priest. Dago took his own tags off, handing them over. "Change your clothes, then report to your barrack in tent number three. The men will be returning for lunch within the hour, you can join them in the mess tent, then you will receive your work assignments."
Hawkeye and Dago watched the man leave before he stopped in the doorway.
"Remember, gentlemen; work hard and respect the rules and you may leave here a free man." The colonel gave a superficial smile then pointed to a bin next to Dago. "You can place your uniforms in there."
"I'm not sure what the lesser of two evils is—Grayson or this clown." Hawkeye said when they were alone again.
"Just keep your head down," Dago said as he carefully removed his t-shirt.
Hawkeye grimaced at the bruises staining the chaplain's pale stomach. "Guess ol' Iron Fist gave you the one-two in the gut, too."
Dago looked down his torso. "And the three-four."
"That son of a bitch… I've done a lot of things, but I've never punched a priest." Hawkeye said, yanking his own shirt off.
The two quickly changed into the clean non-descript clothing—a pair of brown trousers, a linen shirt and their suspenders—and discarded their soiled uniforms in the bin.
"Christ," Hawkeye said, pulling at the suspenders. "I feel like a farmer."
"You're probably not far off," Dago told him. "I'm sure we'll be plowing a field or digging a ditch or some kind of other labor."
"I never thought I'd miss the hullabaloo at the 4077th, but I'll be damned if I'd give anything to be back there right now."
"Me too." Dago sighed. "Come on, let's go. I want to find a washroom so I can wash my face."
Hawkeye nodded and led the way into the compound. They walked around familiarizing themselves with their new surroundings. There was one latrine with three toilets and shower stand surrounded on three sides by plywood. They looked at it forlornly. "Guess we checked our privacy at the gate too."
Dago hummed in acknowledgement, handing his spare clothes to Hawkeye before stepping up to the shower stand and pulling the chain to turn on the water, standing back as far as he could to avoid getting wet. He cupped his other hand and let it fill with water, bringing it to his face and gently washing away the blood that had dried on his nose, mouth and chin. Though the water had a slight sulfuric stench to it, Dago had not forgotten how thirsty he was. Once his face was clean, he let his hand fill with water again, then brought it to his lips and slurped from the palm of his hand. Though the water was warm and tasted almost as foul as it smelled, Dago couldn't drink it fast enough and filled his hand again and again until Hawkeye's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Slow down, babe. I know you're thirsty, but if you drink too much too fast it'll make you sick. Especially this water…I can smell the sulfur from here."
Dago wiped his mouth on the back of his hand but let go of the water chain. His thirst was nowhere near quenched, but he didn't feel like he was going to die anymore.
They found tent 3 easily enough, but it provided about as much comfort as a dry oasis in the dessert. The room was filled with old metal cots with thin pads that someone must have facetiously labeled as a mattress. There were 6 cots with sheets on them and six without, which meant that before Dago and Hawkeye had arrived, the tent was only at half capacity. The two men claimed empty bunks side-by-side, making the beds and stowing their extra clothes beneath.
Dago sat down on the edge of his bunk, folding his hands together. "Hawkeye…do you think we'll get out of here."
"Of course we will, babe. Henry's bound to do something to spring us. I mean, they can't do anything without us, right?"
Dago gave him an incredulous look.
"Look," Hawkeye said, sitting down next to the priest. "Let's just do like you said: keep our heads down. We'll do our work, keep our mouths shut, and sing Yankee Doodle 'til the cows come home if that's what they want."
The chaplain nodded as the door to the tent swung open and half a dozen dirty, sweaty men spilled in through the door. The men eyed the new comers warily.
"Place is starting to fill up," a tall silver-haired man said. "That makes 3 new-comers this week alone."
"Hawkeye Pierce, surgeon," the doctor said, standing up and extending his hand to the other man. "This here is Dago Red, he's a chaplain."
"Don't expect special treatment, Father," the man said. "We've got two rabbi's in the next tent and a Baptist minister in another. They'll stick you in the hole sure as shit if you step out of line."
"What's the hole?" Dago asked.
"Solitary confinement. A stinking hole in the ground about the size of a broom closet. Better hope you're not claustrophobic."
The thought made Hawkeye shudder. "Well, let's do what we can to avoid that detail. What's your name, friend?"
"Richard Williams, Major." The man answered. "This here is Mac, Ace, and Zip. Those two over there are Donovan and Sully."
"I'd ask what you're in for, but something tells me there's only one ticket for this ride."
"Has anyone ever gotten out?" Dago asked the more important question.
"Oh sure…in a box." Williams said ominously. "Ain't no one that comes here gets set free. I don't care what West tells you; you'll die here. If the dysentery doesn't get you, then your mind will. No one in here is a commie, but that doesn't stop them from trying to get you to say you are."
"West said people have tried to escape." Hawkeye posed.
"Yeah, tried. No one's made it 10 feet beyond those fences before they were shot full of shells. If I were you, I wouldn't even think of the word escape. West will break your ankles just for good measure."
Dago and Hawkeye looked at one another. "I'm beginning to think Grayson was the lesser of the evils."
Hawkeye nodded in agreement just as a bell sounded out the courtyard.
"Roll call," Williams said. "They like to count heads throughout the day, before and after meals, and generally anytime that's inconvenient."
The other men were already filing out the door and Dago and Hawkeye followed suit, seeing men scrambling to form lines. They fell in towards the back just as one of the guards began to call roll in alphabetical order. Dago counted 21 men besides himself and Hawkeye. They were all dirty and ragged looking. There was a boy just down the line from where they stood with a swollen face that was varying shades of black and purple. Dago wondered if he'd had the misfortune of meeting Colonel Grayson.
Once everyone was accounted for, the men were granted permission to go to the mess tent for lunch. It was a near mad-dash to the dining hall and Dago could only think of the phrase "every man for himself" as he watched the men shoving their way through the people to try and be the first in line.
The lunch was a meager helping of cabbage stew that smelled of old socks and a piece of stale bread that was questionable. Ever the devoted Catholic, Dago knew to always be thankful for meals, no matter how repulsive they were. He and Hawkeye took their trays of food and followed Williams and the others from Tent 3 to a table where there were tin cups and pitchers of water. Dago immediately reached for the pitcher and filled a cup to the brim. He was still thoroughly dehydrated and wanted water more than anything else.
Again, Hawkeye gave him warning, "Easy on the water, Dago."
Dago tried to heed the warning, taking smaller sips rather than gulping it down like he wanted to. He surveyed the others in the mess tent. Most men were hunched over their bowls, eating as if they hadn't seen food in a week and protecting their bounty from anyone who might take it away. He noticed that the majority of them, while brawny, were also thin as a rail.
Starvation. His mind said. Maybe Williams hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that people only left this place in coffins. As he looked upon each man, he began to see how roughed up they all seemed to be. Some of them were sporting dirty rags tied around their hands or arms in makeshift bandages. Some men had severely crooked fingers, indicating that they'd been broken once or twice, maybe more. They were cut and bruised to varying degrees, and if you looked close enough you could tell which ones had been here the longest.
He tore his eyes away from the others, refusing to believe that, one day, that might be himself and Hawkeye. Despite his lack of appetite, Dago forced down some of the stew and bread, not sure how often the men had edible meals. He knew that he would need all the nutrition he could get to not end up like the rest of these men, but tainted water and boiled cabbage was hardly enough to sustain a grown man for long.
"You know I have six brothers who've spent their entire adult lives in and out of jail." Hawkeye said as he poked a piece of cabbage with his spoon. "I'm willing to bet the food they got there wasn't half as bad as this."
"Don't let 'em hear you complain." Williams grumbled from across the table. "They hear you complain or ask for more, they'll put you on nothin' but bread and water for a week."
After lunch was over, the bell tolled in the courtyard and all the men quickly filed out of the mess tent, carrying their dirty dishes with them and stacking them near the door. Hawkeye and Dago, again, followed suit and found themselves in their second roll call. After Zimmerman, Paul was called, Colonel West stepped forward and called for Pierce and Mulcahy to stay behind, but dismissed the others, who formed various lines in front of guards and were marched out the front gates, some handed various tools as they passed by a shed.
One of the lines, Dago noticed, hadn't moved yet and several pairs of eyes were tracking him and Hawkeye. West began to lead them over to the group, speaking as they moved. "You'll be in Bravo Company; road detail. Sergeant Powell here will be in charge of you boys."
"Say, Colonel…" Hawkeye couldn't help himself. "Do we get paid for the work we do? You know the Geneva Conven—"
West laughed humorlessly, "I'm afraid you misunderstand the situation, Dr. Pierce. You are not prisoners of war… you are simply prisoners. The fact that you happened to be arrested and placed here during a war is merely a happy coincidence."
Without anything further, West dismissed the Bravo Company and Dago and Hawkeye were marched along with the others in their group to the tool shed near the gate. A heavy pickaxe was thrust into Dago's hands and he looked back at his companion. Hawkeye's bruised mouth was set in a thin line, belying his cool exterior. It made Dago's stomach knot with nerves as he began to realize more and more how bad things were, and how much worse they were going to get.
Pull. Swing. Strike. Pull. Swing. Strike. Again and again, the chaplain wielded his tool, driving the sharp head of the axe into the earth to break up the soil and rock. Sweat was pouring off of him, leaching him once more of moisture. It was a warm day with no breeze. Dust filled the air around him and he felt it clogging his airways every time he took a breath. His already sore body was screaming in pain, arms shaking with every swing of the axe. The wooden handle was worn and splintering, digging into his bare hands, rubbing the skin raw and bringing up blisters.
Dago wondered what time it was, but the position of the sun told him it was still only mid-afternoon. He wondered how much longer they would have to keep this up, and it boggled his mind to think that the rest of these men had already spent the morning out there working like this.
Hawkeye was a few feet away from Dago, shoveling the rock that had been broken up. His blonde hair was soaking wet and sticking to his forehead, sweat was dripping off the end of his nose. He looked tired, but he seemed to be holding up better than the priest was. He is also quite a bit younger that I am. Dago thought to himself as he panted for air.
"Pick it up, Padre." The Sergeant said as he walked down the line towards Dago.
Taking a steadying breath, Dago weakly lifted his axe, letting gravity carry it back down the ground. When he tried to pull again, he found his strength completely sapped. "I'm sorry, Sergeant…I can't do anymore."
"We've still got a mile of road to dig up," Powell said. "You better find a way because we don't go in until we're done."
Dago knew that the rest of the company would be punished for his weakness, so he dug down deep within himself, past he pain, past the weariness, and somehow found the strength to keep going.
They worked relentlessly under the sun until the Sergeant decided they'd done enough for the day. Dago's knees were wobbling under him as he tried to find his place in line and he could only just drag the pickaxe behind him. Every inch of his body hurt in a way he'd never experienced before. Was this why some of the men had tried to escape; they couldn't handle the physical demands? Dago couldn't say that he blamed them, the poor saps. He didn't even want to think how far they would have to walk back to the camp, but a hand landed on his shoulder and urged him along gently.
"Give me your axe, I'll carry it." Hawkeye said.
"Thank you…" The priest gratefully released the heavy tool into the other man's hand and watched Hawkeye heave both tools onto one shoulder. "I'm exhausted."
"I know." Hawkeye said. "You're also burnt to a crisp. That's going to hurt like hell tomorrow."
"Nice to know I'll hurt as much outside as I do inside." Dago said weakly.
When they finally made it back to camp, Dago had to drag his feet in order to make it back to their tent. He collapsed in a heap on to his bunk, unable to carry his own weight one step further. He felt someone sit next to him and pick up his hand, and upon opening his eyes, he saw Hawkeye assessing the injured flesh with a near-sighted squint. Dago had almost forgotten that Grayson had broken the doctor's glasses.
Hawkeye tsked in annoyance, pushing his wet hair off his forehead. "Jesus…isn't there a medical kit or anything we have access to?"
"If there ain't a bone stickin' out, forget it." Williams said as he sank down on his own bunk.
Dago watched Hawkeye think about what to do for a long minute before the doctor released his hand and got up, stalking back out of the tent.
"First week is the worst for everyone," Williams said. Dago couldn't even think about turning his head to look at the other man, but at least his mouth still worked.
"How long have you been here?"
"Couple months." Williams answered. "Best any of us can figure it, anyone who's got a little dirt on their nose while they've been in Korea is being red flagged."
"And those that refuse to rat out the ones being investigated."
"That why you're here?"
"Yeah." Dago said with a tired sigh.
"Well, word of advice, Padre…no matter how bad you hurt in the morning…make sure you get out of bed and get to roll call. If you don't, they'll probably put you in the box."
"The box?" The priest asked, summoning the strength to look over at Williams.
"The box is probably worse that the hole. It ain't big enough to stand up in but there ain't room to sit either." Williams described. "Once, they left a guy in there for three days straight."
"Why?" Dago couldn't comprehend why anyone would treat other human beings so cruelly.
"They want to break you; make you confess to being a commie." Williams replied. "Like I said, ain't none of us commies, and that's why we're never gonna get out."
"What's so important about us confessing to being communists? What difference does it make? If they're already treating us like we're traitors, what would be the point in confessing to actually being one? To risk something worse than this?"
"Beats me," Williams shrugged and laid back on his bunk.
The chaplain watched him for a long moment, too tired and in too much pain to turn his head back around. He closed his eyes as a feeling of utter hopelessness settled over him. Dago had always been able to rely on his faith to get him through tough times, but was that going to be enough to carry both him through this? And what of Hawkeye; a man who had no faith whatsoever?
"Help us," Dago whispered in prayer. "Please…help us."
Hawkeye made his way towards where he assumed West's office would be. Two armed guards were standing out front and effectively blocked Hawkeye from entering.
"Let me see the Colonel."
"Go back to your barrack." One of the guards said dismissively, as if Hawkeye was nothing more than annoying younger brother.
"Maybe you didn't hear me," Hawkeye said. "Let me see the Colonel."
"You got a mental problem?" The other guard said with a think Bronx accent. "He said go back to your barrack. Unless you's looking for some trouble."
"There's no need for trouble if you'd just let me talk to the Colonel."
"No one talks to the Colonel unless he calls for you."
"Who is he? The Wizard of Oz?" Hawkeye said, reaching between the guards for the door handle. Each man shoved him back by his shoulders, leveling their guns at him. Hawkeye held his hands up at chest level. "Listen, fellas, there's no need for all of this. I just need a medical kit—I'd even settle for some Band-Aids and alcohol—but I'm not giving up until I get them.
"Oh, a band-aid," one of the guards said with a snarky snort. "Hear that, Joe; alls he needs is a band-aid."
The two men laughed as if Hawkeye had told them a great joke. Hawkeye furrowed his brow in annoyance and tried to push through the guards once again. This time when he was shoved backwards, he landed on his backside. Hawkeye looked up at the men just as the butt of a rifle swung down and clocked him across the face. Though dazed, Hawkeye could feel the blood trickling down from his check. He pushed himself onto his knees, trying to get back on his feet.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll stay down." The Bronx boy said.
Hawkeye looked up at him blearily, but stumbled to his feet. "Let me see the Colonel."
Two more guards approached him, flanking Hawkeye on either side. He saw the one of the guards give a nod to the new comers, and immediately they grabbed Hawkeye's arms, twisting them behind his back and holding him in place as the two guards who had been blocking West's door raised the butts of their guns and began striking Hawkeye in the stomach, knees, face, and anywhere else they could get.
Hawkeye cried out in pain, trying to curl into himself to protect himself from the blows, but the guards holding him kept him upright. He could hear people yelling all around him—other prisoners shouting for the guards to stop, for Hawkeye to fight back—but he could do nothing but take the beating.
The doors opened behind the guards and West rushed out, shouting above the roar of the crowd. "What is going on here?"
The guards ceased beating Hawkeye, but he was still held upright by the others. He sagged between them, weakened and bruised and bleeding, and unable to support his own weight. He listened as one of the guards explained the situation—how Hawkeye had demanded to see the Colonel and had demanded a med kit.
"What do you want with a med kit?" West demanded.
"My friend," Hawkeye panted through the pain. "Mulcahy…it's for him."
"Not for you?"
"I'm a doctor," Hawkeye told him. "I have to help the injured. Let me treat him…let me treat the others. Please."
"Why should I?" West asked cruelly. "Pain is an important tool, Doctor Pierce. It can motivate even the strongest of men. If I let you treat these men, then they have no motivation."
"Motivation for what?" Hawkeye asked as the two guards dropped him down to the ground.
"To redeem themselves."
"Let me treat Dago," Hawkeye said again. "He has nothing to redeem himself for. He's only here because he's a priest who takes his vows of silence too seriously. He's not a traitor."
West squatted in front of Hawkeye, looking at him with a peculiar expression. "What about you, Pierce? Are you a traitor?"
Hawkeye panted around the pain in his side as he looked at West through swollen eyelids. He strongly considered saying yes just to see what would happen, but the thought of what such a confession would do to his wife and children stopped him. "No."
West look disappointed but rose up to his full height. "Your friend seems to be more of a motivator to you than the pain…So be it. Sound the bell. Summon the men to the courtyard."
Hawkeye felt his stomach drop and clench with fear. He wanted to protest, to beg them to leave Dago alone, but knew that one more word would make whatever punishment they were about to give to Dago ten times worse. Hawkeye tried to get to his feet, but his side screamed in pain. He knew he had at least two cracked ribs, but he couldn't worry over that… The bell tolled and the men started scrambling to form lines. Hawkeye pulled himself to his feet, limping slowly towards his line, his eyes trained on the door to their tent.
Williams and the others filed out almost half a minute before Dago appeared. Hawkeye could see the man's exhaustion even from this distance and he dropped his head in shame, unable to look at the chaplain as Dago managed his way next to him.
"Hawkeye…what happened?" Dago asked quietly, his hand lightly grasping Hawkeye's upper arm. "Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry," Hawkeye choked, angry tears stinging his eyes.
"Why? For what?"
"John Mulcahy, step forward." A voice called from the front of the group and Dago looked up in surprise and trepidation. He heard Hawkeye swear beside him, muttering over and over that he was sorry. The lines in front of him parted like the red sea until he was staring into Colonel West's bloodthirsty eyes. Dago gave Hawkeye's arm a light squeeze, not blaming him for whatever had happened, then focused on moving himself forward. His legs felt like they were filled with lead and it seemed to take hours for him to move to the front of the lines.
"It seems your friend feels you deserve special treatment, Father. He seems to be under the impression that he can make demands."
Dago said nothing, merely listening to the colonel as he berated Hawkeye's audaciousness in front of the entire camp. West strutted self-importantly back and forth in front of the group of men, reminding Dago of a very fat, very unattractive peacock. When he stopped in front of the chaplain, his eyes were narrowed.
"Tell me, Father, do you feel you deserve special treatment?"
"No, sir." Dago answered, his voice quavering slightly.
"Then why do you think Pierce feels you do?"
"I can't know his reasons, Colonel. I can only guess at them."
"Then guess." The colonel demanded gruffly, leaning in close to Dago's face.
Dago opened his mouth to speak, but found no words.
The colonel began to strut again. "We have rules here; one of those rules is that you understand your place as prisoners. You do not have any rights or freedoms in this camp that are not explicitly granted to you. Perhaps I did not make myself clear to you and Doctor Pierce this morning. Since he seems to be motivated by you, his punishment will be doled out on you. Perhaps this way he will learn."
Dago felt his heart hammering in his chest as West stalled intentionally, moving to the back of the line where Hawkeye was looking at him murderously.
"20 lashes and a day in the hole." West spat.
Two guards seized Dago's arms, dragging him forward to what looked like a tall hitching post. There was a heavy rope that had been nailed high on the post and the guards wrapped Dago's wrists tightly in the rope. He winced as it dug into the raw and bruised skin.
"No…please…" he found himself begging them for mercy as one of them retrieved a long whip-like chord. Over his shoulder he could see West approaching, the guards handing him the whip.
"Don't do this!" Hawkeye cried out from the back. "Punish me! I was the one who did wrong!"
West looked at him coldly. "You've just raised the punishment to 50 lashes, Doctor Pierce. Would you care to add more?"
A look of horror marred Hawkeye's young face, but he said nothing more. Dago could feel the thrum of anticipation from the others in the camp as they looked on the morbid curiosity. West gave the whip a test crack, making the priest jump and cringe, but before he was fully ready, West cracked the whip against his back.
The chaplain screamed in pain, feeling the skin of his back tear from the stinging, fire-like lashes. There was no mercy from the colonel, who seemed to bring the whip back across him immediately in a crisscross pattern. Dago dug his fingers into the post in front of him as tears coursed down his face. He wondered if there was any part of his back that hadn't been cut to ribbons, and he knew they were only ten lashes in.
Hawkeye felt violently ill as he was forced to watch the colonel give Dago 50 lashes. He could see crimson staining the back of Dago's shirt, and even some of the linen material had been ripped through, revealing the broken flesh beneath. Dago's primal screams of agony echoed through the camp and Hawkeye watched the priest's legs give way under him. His arms jerked in the socket as the rope binding his wrists caught at the slack. Still, West wailed on Dago's back, making sure to get at every inch of skin he could. When he finally reached the last lash, West was breathing hard and the only audible sound in the camp was Dago's sobbing.
The guards stepped forward and unbound the chaplain's wrists, letting him fall the rest of the way to the ground, where he lay motionless, but conscious. West handed the whip to one of the guards as he stood over the incapacitated man.
"Take him to the hole."
Dago groaned in pain as each arm was tugged upwards by a guard, lighting another agonizing fire across his back as the skin pulled around the wounds. Unable to get his feet under him, the guards simply drug him away from the others, across the compound, and down a flight of steps that had been cut into the earth.
From what Dago could see through his torment-induced delirium, the hole was very much was Williams had described. A cave-like hole dug in the dirt no bigger than a broom closet. There was no structure to support an actual door, so once the guards had tossed him into the hole, they slid a heavy plank of wood over the opening, blanketing him in total darkness. With his back already against the far wall, and the wooden door less than two feet in front of him, Dago reached his arms to the side—encountering dirt less than half his arm span away. This wasn't a hole…it was a coffin.
Panic began to settle over the priest, bleeding into the lingering pain in his back and he began to scream in absolute terror, horrified that he would run out of air before they let him out, or that the ground might cave in. Dago's body began to tremble from the combination of fear and pain and he felt a warm wetness leaking down his leg. Belatedly, he realized he was urinating on himself and the humiliation only added to his agony. Tucking himself in as tightly as possible, Dago managed to wedge himself into a corner, curling into a ball.
With nothing else to do, and no other comfort available to him, Dago began to recite the Lord's Prayer in Latin.
"Pa—Pater noster," he whimpered brokenly as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. Amen."
TBC