This bit may seem out of place, but I hope it gets clear soon enough.
The two soldiers leading him away from his team were both smaller than him, probably weaker as well.
He could have fought them.
And if it had been only those two, he probably would have. But that was just it, there were more, lots more, where these came from. Even if he managed to defeat them, they would be quickly replace by two others, or three, or four, or... or just one, one bullet. So he kept walking between them. His back straight, his chin up, even after they were out of sight of the Team. He could shown weakness now. Could, but wouldn't. He was a man.
He stumbled and fell, as they pushed him into a small enclosure. His fingers dug deep into wet soil. Another man landed on top of him.
"Get off of me," Face complained automatically and started at the noise of his own voice. It was so damn loud in the reigning silence.
He got to his feet and walked over to the fence opposite the gate. He wasted only one thought on climbing the bamboo and disappearing into the jungle. He would be shot faster than he could think.
"What's this about?" a boy somewhere left of Face asked in a whisper.
"Psycho-terror," answered another one.
"Will they bring us back?" the first asked naively, sounding terribly young.
"Surely not tonight, man." Then there was silence again.
Face tried to catch somebody's eyes, just anybody's. He needed to look at someone, needed someone to look at him. He couldn't stand to be just one of the masses. He needed to stand out, at least to one person. He... He caught a fearful gaze. Big brown eyes looked up at him, the boy was sitting on the ground. Face looked back; two fearful gazes. Face walked over to him. "Hi, what's your name?" he asked.
"Bedbug," the boy answered warily. "Well, no, Tim. Tim Sanderburgh." He looked down at his fingers for a second. "I'm gonna die soon, we all are. I... I don't want to die under that silly name," he explained.
"I'm the Faceman," Face introduced himself. "Real name's Tem." He smiled sadly at the similarity of names. "Templeton Peck." He was tempted to shake Tim's hand, just to feel the other boy, to shoo away the loneliness and surreality, but he suppressed it. Instead he made do with crouching down next to him.
"What we gonna do now?" Tim asked, sounding very much like that naive boy before. Maybe it had been him.
"Pray, if you know any prayers," Face answered plainly and closed his eyes. The green gardens of the Guardians' Angels appeared in front of his inner eye. The big entrance hall, the old wooden stairs, the dormitories, the kitchen where they were not supposed to be, and where he had been so often. He wished to be home. How little it had felt like home when he had had it, it was all he wished for now. It was true then, what they say: You only know what you had when you lost it.
"I wanna go home," Tim whimpered beside him, as if he'd read his mind.
Face put his arm around him. "Me too."
"Wanna see my Mom and Dad and Carol, my sister. She's eleven next week." Tim wiped his nose. "I should have written her a letter, but... I'm from Dehoma, South Dakota. That's a little spot in the middle of nowhere. Where're you from?"
Face wondered for a second why Tim told him all that. "LA, I'm from LA," he answered. Maybe it was just reassuring that they were human. "That's in the middle of everything, though some New Yorkers may tell you differently," he tried for a joke, and indeed Tim laughed softly.
"What bout your family, you miss them?"
'What a stupid question,' Face thought. 'Show me a prisoner that doesn't miss his family – provided he has one.' Face shook his head, then nodded. His family might not consist of parents and siblings, but of nuns, priests and other orphans. And yes, he missed them, very much even. He made Tim look at him. Tim's eyes reminded him very much of Murdock's: almost black now, big and gentle.
The night turned out to be just as dark as Hannibal had wished. It became cold and moist. Tim had fallen asleep beside him, but Face couldn't sleep. He looked up at the stars that weren't there. 'God,' he prayed in his thoughts. 'Make it quick, yeah? Do me that one favour, make them shoot me.' It didn't occur to him, that praying for death was about the saddest prayer one could speak.
At some point he must have dozed off too, because he woke to orders shouted in Vietnamese.
They were taken from the enclosure one by one.
Tim looked back at Face in sheer terror, as he was dragged away. In the short time they'd had together, Face had become his anchor. Face resisted the ridiculous urge to wave him good-bye. After half an hour the next guy was taken: a steady rhythm of death. They heard no shots, but... Everyone tried hard to hide behind the others. No one wanted to be next.
For those who didn't guess: That was a flashback. ;)
TBC