Dear Reader, at last I have found the time to finish the editing on this chapter and post this. Full disclosure: everything that happens in the this chapter and the next several is taken from a friend's account of actual E&E training and mock POW camp. Some of it I embellish, as you will see; but the basics are genuine. Enjoy! CS

Chapter 72 Preparing the Ground

"Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled,
and one arm bent across your sullen, cold
exhausted face? It hurts my head to watch you."

The Dugout
Siegfried Sassoon

"Down! Stay down!"

Bly recognized the tone in Rex's voice – anger and frustration under the constraints of reasonable self-control – reasonable as far as Rex went. The first day of E&E was expected to be rough, but it was just part and parcel of the deprivations and stress, both physical and mental, of the days to come. Every trainee knew that, no matter how taxing the escape and evasion phase might be, the torment of capture and interrogation would be far worse. A four-day long flight through the wilds was a far better prospect than being captured right at the start of the course.

Still, it was a rare case when more than one or two soldiers made their way to the safe zone. The Pursuit and Interrogation (PI) teams that ran the various E&E courses had ominous reputations for letting less than two percent of all their students make a successful passage. The infamy of their prisoner-of-war camp mockups were held in even more awe. Whatever else was said of them, the E&E leadership team was exceedingly capable, an elitist group, taught to value their own abilities above all others. During the pursuit phase, they showed themselves as master trackers, indefatigable and driven by a lust for the chase. Once a prisoner was in their hands, they exercised great zeal in the performance of their roles as interrogators and administers of torture, albeit a watered down version suitable for training purposes.

Presiding over the E&E operations was Captain Skidz. He had worked hard to garner his current position; and despite some lingering bitterness over his initial field assignment, he was a man of great persuasive ability and single-minded drive in pursuit of whatever ambition topped his list at any given moment. He was fully committed to being the best at whatever endeavor he chose to undertake, no matter what the cost to himself or others. He was competitive, arch, and shrewd. And in many ways, he was like the man he most despised, his former podmate, CT-7567.

The two of them both commanded astounding loyalty from their troops, although the basis for their men's dedication could not be further apart. Skidz's tactics revolved around the purchase of loyalty. He showered his soldiers with commendations and awards, put his men in for early advancement, all manner of training schools, and temporary duty to exotic locations. He gave every appearance of being a caring and devoted officer, and perhaps on some level he was.

He was a good fit in the E&E regimen. He had multiple teams assigned to him, and he regarded each as the best. Indeed, one day as a prisoner was more than enough to convince anyone that the PI teams took their job seriously; and every trainee coming through ARC training expected to be captured.

Except Rex.

Rex could not speak first-hand of the tortures. In basic training, he had not been captured at the E&E training every cadet went through. And at the advanced infantry officer course, he'd avoided capture as well. Somehow, he had managed to hit the checkpoints, secure the objectives, and reach the designated rendez-vous.

He expected this time would be more difficult but that he would emerge successful once again. With or without Bly. With or without the possibility that his former nemesis and now E&E commander might be gunning for him.

He and Bly had parted ways with the rest of their squad nearly two hours ago; and if there was one positive thing Rex could say about his companion, it was that Bly was fast. Perhaps not as stealthy as may have been desirable; but his speed was impressive. Added to that was his desire to be victorious and a less articulated desire to show up his team mate, and he made a surprisingly good partner. All of which, Rex appreciated more than he let on, for he was still not sure exactly where he stood with regard to his relationship with his fellow lieutenant. Still, he was glad to have a clear-headed and steady companion at his side for this part of training.

Now, only two hours into the exercise, he and Bly had already run into opposition. These first hours were usually the most dangerous when the squad was concentrated in one area, at their most vulnerable. Cody's idea to split up had been a good one, but it appeared that the route Rex and Bly had taken was already under surveillance. Rex had caught a slight movement in the undergrowth about thirty meters ahead of their current position.

"Pursuit, my ass," Rex grumbled internally, then in a whisper, "They're supposed to be chasing us, and they're already in place in front of us."

"I only see two," Bly replied in a low voice. "We might be able to lay low. If not . . . we have the blaster."

"Let's hunker down and see if they pass us."

As a tactic, it was successful. The patrol, wide-spread, never came within twenty yards, and as soon as they were passed and out of ear-shot, the two trainees scurried through the woods in the opposite direction.

The first day and night passed in relative peace with only the cold and rain to contend with. The following day, they came to the site of the first objective – a radio transmitter hidden inside a derelict stone hut – and finding the area clear of aggressors, they entered to find the objective had already been taken.

"One down," Rex remarked.

"Assuming our guys got it and not the PI team," Bly said.

"They said they weren't allowed to take the objectives," Rex pointed out. "I just hope our guys didn't get captured taking it."

"You know they're never going to let any of us make it to the rendez-vous," Bly asserted. "They've probably got their micro-cameras on us now."

"Don't be so negative," Rex chided. "Maybe we'll be the first team to ever make it to the pickup point."

"You live in your own world," Bly grunted dismissively.

They moved away from the location, and at what they considered a safe distance, took a moment to scarf down some rations and catch an hour of rest.

Early in the morning on the third day, before sunrise and after the setting of the planet's second moon, the relatively easy going of the pair was abruptly shattered. Coming to the location of the second objective, and discovering it gone, Rex felt satisfied that his squad mates had taken it. Bly was certain the PI team had beat them to it.

"Either way, no sense in hanging about here," Bly stated. "Let's push on."

His words were followed on the instant by the report of a blaster, which split the darkness in half and woke up the sleeping woodland. Suddenly, the whole place was filled with the sound of blaster fire.

"Run!" Rex ordered. "Don't take cover! Just run! We can lose them in the dark!"

Bly understood his companion's thinking. Taking cover would invite certain capture if a search were conducted. Two lightly armed men stood no chance against a more heavily armed sweep of the area. Flight, on the other hand, carried out in the dark, would remove them from the immediate threat and was more likely to ensure their safety.

Rex followed his own advice and ran as well. He ran until the sweat poured down his sides; and even with his helmet's night vision activated, he was tripped up so many times in his dark dash that his progress was reduced to a series of clumsy stints between falls until the sound of the commotion he had left behind faded to little more than an echo.

When, at last, he felt he was far enough away to be safe, he made a controlled tumble into a large hollow left by an uprooted tree. There he lay, catching his breath and listening carefully for indications that anyone might be near him – Bly or the enemy. It did not take him long to conclude that he was alone or to come to terms with his anger. He had not suspected the aggressors would still be watching the site of objective already claimed. He had been careless, but he did not overlook the implications of what had happened. The aggressors had enough men to spare that they could watch the objective sites after the objective had been taken. Clearly, the PI team's goal was to catch all of the squad members, not necessarily to prevent them taking the objectives.

"What if Bly's right? What if the others have all been caught already? Where is Bly, anyway?"

The two had gotten separated in their flight from the aggressors, and now Rex had no idea where his team mate was. He feared the worst.

"If he's been caught—if they've all been caught, that means the entire unit can come after me. Skidz would like that. Fine. Let them come."

Rex stayed where he was in the hollow, his adrenaline warding off the persistent call of sleep. He waited to see if Bly would reconnect with him, but when the first glimpses of sunlight began making distinctions among the trees, he decided he had waited long enough.

He set out again. In the dark after his race through the forest, Rex had become disoriented, but now he regained his bearings using the directional features built into his HUD, and so he began the long, arduous trek up a fair-sized forested hill, at the top of which was supposed to be the third objective. By mid-morning he had reached the spot but was careful not to get too close this time. From a discreet distance, he could see that the objective—a cache of edible rations—was not there. He gave the site a wide berth and began descending the other side of the hill. He was nearly halfway down when the ground beneath his feet gave way and he began to fall into a pit that had been covered with cardboard and camouflaged with dirt, rocks, and fallen leaves. It had been virtually indistinguishable from the forest floor.

As soon as he felt himself falling, he threw his weight to one side and caught the edge of the pit with his elbow. Bracing himself with his forearms, he stopped the fall through sheer strength and scrambled to safety.

Below and behind him, he heard a familiar voice. "Lieutenant Rex!"

Rex turned to see CT-2303, Commander Wolffe's shinie, trapped in the pit which was at least three meters deep. There were bruises on the Shinie's neck and face that leaped out and grabbed Rex's attention, refusing to let go. He stood frozen, looking down at 2303 with an anger that was disproportionate to the moment – and he didn't know why. Several seconds passed before he realized that 2303 was speaking urgently.

"Sir, go! They're watching this spot! Leave now, Sir!"

Rex pulled himself together. He was not about to leave without 2303. "Give me your hands," he ordered, lying on his stomach and reaching down as far into the pit as he could.

"Sir, there's no time! They're waiting for you! For you! I heard them talking – you're the top priority! Sir, you have to go!"

"Not without you," Rex replied in a voice that would brook no debate. "Now, take my hands. Can you reach?"

Without another word, 2303 sprang upwards, clasped Rex's hands, and scrabbling against the wall of the pit, managed to get to the top where he got quickly to his knees.

"Come on," Rex urged, gripping his arms, ready to pull him to his feet.

2303 looked up, and Rex saw his eyes go wide a split-second before the Shinie's shouted warning. Rex had barely begun to turn, to see what it was behind him that 2303 had seen, when something solid and heaving caught him in the side of the head. He landed on his side, stunned, but only momentarily. He reached instinctively for the pistol he normally wore at his waist, forgetting it was not there; but it was of no matter, for the instant he made the move, someone fell on him from behind and flattened him against the ground. Rex rolled forcefully to one side, dislodging his attacker. He caught sight of 2303 being hauled to his feet by two men, fighting them violently until the butt of a blaster rifle in the Shinie's gut dropped him to his knees, where he stayed hunched over.

Rex felt a surge of rage and bucked off his attacker, who then attempted to regain control by wrapping his arms around Rex's body, pinning his arms to his sides. Against a weaker man, the tactic might have worked, but Rex simply broke the man's bear hug and elbowed him in the mouth, splitting his lip.

That was the last time Rex would have the upper hand. The forest around the pit had been hiding place to at least a dozen other aggressors. Now they converged, each of them wanting a part in the capture of the man whose reputation alone was worth the contest.

Rex found himself quickly surrounded, and having been taught in Basic E&E not to fight or do anything to provoke a harsh reaction from his captors in a situation which was likely to lead to capture anyway he was dragged down with only a token show of resistance and forced onto his stomach, where his helmet was removed, his wrists bound behind him and a coarse cloth wound around his head as a blindfold.

All things considered, he had come through the encounter rather well – a couple bruises and only a slight knot on the side of his head, thanks to the protection of his helmet. But he was not fooled. He'd seen what they had done to 2303, and that, he feared, was more along the lines of what lay in store for him – and the rest of the squad.

He was led through the woods by a thin nylon rope tied loosely around his neck. With no one to guide his footsteps or steady him on the uneven terrain, he fell often; and being unable to brace himself, he fell hard. Behind him was 2303 – he could tell by the sound of awkward footsteps and the occasional sound of a tumbling body. The Shinie must be bound and blindfolded as well.

Two hours after starting their forced hike, which had been filled with taunts, insults and some minor bullying, they came to a transport and were loaded in the back, where they were made to lie on their stomachs. Some time later the truck came to a halt and its prisoner cargo of two unloaded.

His wrists were freed and both the armor and body suit were stripped from his body. It was a common tactic, designed to induce a sense of vulnerability and humiliation. He had to admit, standing naked in the cold, that it was fairly effective measure. His wrists were again bound, and he was led on another short, sightless walk to a place where he could hear the sounds of much subdued movement. When his escorts brought him to a halt, a rope was tied around his waist. His wrists, still bound behind him, were threaded with another rope, the other end of which was affixed to Rex knew not what.

After standing in silent stillness for nearly two minutes, Rex spoke softly. "Who's there?"

"Lieutenant Rex?"

Rex recognized his fellow Echo Squad member, Shinie 9218

"9218?"

"Yes, Sir, it's me."

"Who else is here? Can you see?"

"No, Sir. I'm blindfolded, but I was caught along with CT-2303, and I'm not sure if they caught Commander Wolffe. We got separated when we were trying to run—" His voice broke off abruptly at the same instant that Rex felt a violent impact against his shoulder that knocked him off his feet. As he fell, the rope around his waist tightened painfully; and his arms, still tethered by the wrists to some object behind him, were twisted at such bizarre angles that he actually screamed, until he realized that screaming was drowning him.

He pushed along the ground, trying to find a position that eased the stress on his arms and shoulders. At the same time, he processed what was happening. He and the other prisoners were being sprayed by water from high pressure hoses. The water was bitter cold, but the sheer force as it struck the hapless men made it feel like the agony of fire. No matter how Rex moved, he could not escape the streams of direct and deflected water battering his body and filling his mouth and nose. The very real panic of suffocation curled his body into protective ball.

The rope at his waist, he realized, was tied around the wrists of the man in front of him; and like a snare, every time the other man moved, the rope drew tighter or slackened. Likewise, the rope around his own wrists was fastened at the other end around the waist of the man behind him. It was a foolproof way to make sure none of the prisoners escaped during the dousing, but it was also a cruel and pain-inflicting strategy, making it a very effective introduction to life in the prison camp.

It did not last long – no more than one minute; and when it was over, there were more than a few grunts and groans of discomfort and pain. Now that the torment was over, Rex began to take stock of the damage. Other than feeling cold, water-logged, and bruised all over, the only other immediately noticeable pain was in his left shoulder, which had taken the initial blast of water. It was going to be trouble – he could tell that already. A low and unremitting pounding vibrated deep inside the muscle, clear down to the bone. It was the kind of injury Rex had entertained before in other parts of his body, and he knew that as long as the muscle was spared any further stress for a week or two, the injury would heal up as if it had never happened. He also knew that the likelihood of clemency over the next several days was virtually nonexistent.

After a few seconds, he became aware of the rope digging painfully into his waist, but he now found that could not unfurl his body without intensifying the pain. And so he remained still until two pairs of hands jerked him upright to his knees. For a split-second the pain burst from his lips as the pressure at both his waist and on his arms increased with the movement. Then there was a release, the acute subsiding into the dull. The pressure was gone. The ropes which had tethered him to the other men were severed, leaving only his wrists still secured at his back.

"Come on, prisoner." It was the voice of one of the men holding him. "We've got something special in store for you."

Rex was led away from the tangle of his squad mates towards something he could only guess at, something surely meant to be dreaded; and as he was hustled along towards whatever awaited, a bizarre combination of relief and anxiety rippled across his conscience. Relief because he could not bear the thought of having to witness the torture – even contrived torture – of his squad mates. Anxiety due to the competing voice that told him he should be strong enough to support his brothers through any trial. What would happen to them without him?

And what would happen to him without them? Rex knew that by isolating him, the cadre would prove its point about the reality of prison camps, that by splitting up prisoners and preventing contact of any sort, a man's will could be broken. The staff at the E&E school, Rex assured himself, only wanted to emphasize – with the greatest staying power – the brutality of the enemy. And what the students experienced here was only a fraction of the cruelty they could expect if they were ever to become true prisoners of war. Not that the Separatists often took prisoners.

Rex did not intend to succumb to the terrors of the E&E regimen. He would not be the one to break down under its tortures. He had made it through before, as a cadet, without getting caught. And now, even though he'd been captured, he could withstand the interrogation portion.

He tried to remember this rationalization as he was hurried, dripping wet and freezing, across a rough-graveled surface into the knee-deep mire of what had to be, judging from its smell, a livestock wade. Here, his escorts stopped.

"On your knees, prisoner."

Rex did not move. Exercise or not, he had a measure of pride which, despite the humbling experiences of the past few hours, could not be coerced into submission to such an insult; and so he stood in silent expectation of forced compliance.

"Come on, now, Lieutenant" the same voice said. "Don't make this any harder on yourself than it already is."

Rex still did not make any move to comply and quickly found himself pushed to his knees. A powerful shove against his shoulder and he pitched forward. He was up against almost immediately, smeared and spattered with mud and dung from head to foot; yet his attitude was unruffled. He heard some half-hearted laughter around him, and that was when he realized there were more men present than just the two escorts.

"You're not making this very much fun," the first escort said. "We've been hearing about you since the first day of training. We thought you'd make great sport. You're not giving us much to work with. You're so . . . stoic."

Rex almost told the voice and its owner to go to hell, but it occurred to him that such a reaction was exactly what they were looking for. He would be playing right into their hands. They wanted him to get angry and lash out, to give them a reason to mistreat him.

Then another thought crept slowly into his awareness.

These men were not treating him as if he were an unknown prisoner of war. They were treating him like the trainee of whom they'd heard so much, a piston that would present a challenge, a pariah that needed to be broken. The thought was mildly disconcerting, for while Rex had expected the course to be tough, he also had held out the belief that the cadre would treat him like any other prisoner. Now, he was not so sure.

For the moment, he remained passive and observant, trying to size up the situation and his captors' intentions. Even as he was tossed down into the mud three more times, held there with a booted foot against his back, kicked and punched in a tentative, probing manner, he maintained his calm and his silence. He would give them no satisfaction and no clue into what was going on in his mind.

Nearly thirty minutes of harassment passed at the livestock wade before his escorts led him on another walk which ended inside a building that was only nominally warmer than outside. His two escorts brought him to a standing halt and moved away. Rex was not sure if they had left him or not, but that wondering became unimportant at the sound of a voice that Rex knew immediately.

"You've never looked better, 7567. Or should I call you Rex now?"

Captain Skidz had a way of turning every word into a sneer. "Although I hardly expected to see you looking quite so good. They've taken it easy on you."

Rex did not respond. He could hear the sound of footsteps moving in a circle around him – Skidz inspecting his prize.

"I didn't believe it when the team leader told me you'd been captured already. I thought you'd last a lot longer. I had to come see for myself." A small, derisive laugh. "But it is you. No doubt about that, is there? It's very exciting."

Rex broke his silence with quiet directness. "I'm supposed to be a prisoner."

"You are a prisoner," came the equally direct reply.

"No, I'm a trophy."

"That, too." A pause. "Don't worry, 7567. I'm not the kind to hold a grudge. My teams just happen to run the most realistic scenarios in all of ARC training. I don't want you or your squad to be dealt short hands. I want you to get the full experience."

"Then get on with it."

"Patience, patience. We're just getting started." The footsteps began circling again. "Besides, I want to savor the next few days. By the time this is over, I think your entire class will see you in a totally different light."

Rex felt a twisted satisfaction. "I don't care how the class sees me."

"But you care how your roommate sees you."

For a brief moment, his words actually struck a chord and rattled Rex's calm. "He can't see me in a worse light than he already does," he ground out.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Skidz replied. "I've got a lot planned for you and your squad. Two days is a long time . . . in E&E." There was a smile in his voice. "Why, I may even request to extend the POW camp to three days. Or four. It will be nice to spend some time together."

With these words, the conversation ended. Rex heard a door open and once again, he was shuffled off by his two escorts through a maze of cold, damp corridors, down an uneven flight of stone stairs, and into a cellar with a dirt floor, wet and slick with moisture. The air in this lower level was sour and fetid, like the air that wafted up through a sewer grate. Rex thought this must be where the prisoners' cells were located, and a moment later his suspicions were confirmed.

"Welcome to your new home, Lieutenant," came the voice of First Escort. Rex's wrists were untied and in one swift motion, he was lifted off his feet and lowered by his arms into a hole in the ground. When his feet touched the bottom, his wrists were bound together again above his head and secured to a metal grate sealing off the top of the hole.

"Make yourself comfortable." A note of pleasure rang in the man's voice, and then everything was silent except for the sound of Rex's own breathing.

After only a few seconds, he discovered how very narrow and confining his prison was, permitting for only a couple inches of movement in any direction. The walls felt greasy against his skin and there were fifteen centimeters or so of water in which he was standing, but at least the heat generated by his body inside the cramped space compensated somewhat for the cold bite in the air.

It was not long before his arms began to ache, and his injured shoulder grew increasingly painful; but no shifting of position afforded any relief. In the growing haze and dullness of his thoughts, time grew indistinct, and he finally drifted into an uneasy sleep only to be awakened by a loud rap on the metal grate above him. As his head jerked up at the sound, he was surprised to realize he had actually fallen asleep.

The first thing to accost his senses was the stiffness. His entire body felt as if it were cast in cement. The second was thirst. How long had it been since he had drank any water? Since he had been taken prisoner. How long ago was that?

He heard the grate shift above him. Suddenly, the pressure on his arms increased and he was pulled out of the hole and placed face-down on the ground. With the abrupt movement returned the pain but at a greater intensity than before. Rex gasped, stifled a more vocal display of pain, then lay without moving while his arms were drawn behind him, the muscles rebelling angrily after having been so long in the forced overhead position.

This time no one spoke, although Rex could somehow sense that one of the men present was First Escort. Apparently, there were two escorts once again, and they pulled Rex to his feet. After a wavering start, they entered the labyrinth of twists and turns once again. The blood that had pooled in Rex's lower body began circulating again with an unpleasant warmth. The walk seemed to go on and on. At last, they came to a halt.

An unfamiliar, non-clone voice, deep and guttural, spoke in front of him.

"Is this my guest of honor?"

The voice that answered with a simple "yes" was definitely First Escort.

"Excellent. Let's get started then, shall we?"