by Peter Hall
“Ken! Ken!” Susan screamed, and tried to stand up. Strong arms grabbed her shoulder and held her in place.
Davidson chuckled. “Some people never learn.” He took a sip from his mug. “Benson! How do you manage to make such fucking lousy tea? Do you piss in it or something?”
“Er, yes sir. I mean, no, sir. I think it’s the powdered milk, sir. It ain’t no good.”
Davidson sipped his tea again, screwed up his face and tipped the rest away. He looked back at Cal. “Well? Do you have anything to say or not?”
The breeze blew smoke from the campfire into Cal’s face, making his eyes sting, but he could do nothing to relieve it. “As you say, sir, I’m in charge of this group. We weren’t aware that we were breaking any rules. If we were, then I’m sorry and I take full responsibility. As for the ordnance, it’s all mine, that’s why it’s all in my Land Rover. I’m an officer in the British Army and trained and authorised to use such weapons. Sir.”
It was a long shot, but he hoped the excuse for having the weapons would carry some weight.
Ken groaned and moved.
Davidson leaned back and lit a cigarette. “Well said, Mr Jones—taking responsibility for your actions. Good on you. Usually, by this time, people are whining, grovelling and begging for mercy. Disgusting. It’s a pity we didn’t meet under different circumstances.”
He took a drag of his cigarette and slowly blew out the smoke. There was no hurry.
“Tell me, John Jones, if that’s really your name. You say you were a soldier, eh? What rank, serial number and unit?”
“Captain. 24424202. Sixth Battalion, The Rifles, Sir. Finest regiment in the Army.”
Davidson nodded. “I see. Tell me, when you were in the army, were you permitted to help yourself to whatever weapons took your fancy?”
Cal’s heart sank. “Well, no, of course not, Sir.”
“No, I’m sure you bloody weren’t. You carried only what you were allowed and signed for, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“So, where’s your authorisation for that mountain of guns and explosives?”
Cal realised Davidson was not about to be placated. He had doubted his excuse would work, but it was worth a go—it was all he had.
“Hmm. Suddenly very quiet, aren’t you?” Davidson said, smirking. “Sergeant, mark the records that the defendants were found guilty on all charges.”
“Sir!”
“Very good. These crimes more than justify the death penalty. However, in mitigation, I accept the fact that you probably weren’t aware of the offences you were committing—communications not being what they were. Furthermore, and, fortunately for you, although you resisted arrest, my men weren’t harmed. Thus, I’m inclined to be lenient. Of course, your contraband property will be confiscated. Since you do not possess receipts for anything you have, we’ll take everything. That includes the Land Rover. You can keep that other monstrosity of a motorhome.”
The men chuckled.
“In addition, as punishment for your offences, one of your women is to serve under the C.U.G. for a period of six months.”
One man gave a wolf whistle. Davidson continued. “You can collect her from C.U.G. headquarters at Drewsteignton at the end of the sentence.”
He looked Cal in the eyes, leaned forward, and smiled. “Since you lead this group, you may choose which woman we’ll take with us.”
“For the love of God. No, please, you can’t.”
Davidson handed the clipboard back to the sergeant, who was also grinning. The serious business was over, and everything was under control. Now they could enjoy themselves.
“Oh come on now, Mr Jones, or should that be Captain Jones? It’s not so bad. If she behaves herself, you’ll get her back, more or less intact, and who knows what tricks she’ll have learnt in the meantime.”
The men guffawed and jeered. One shouted, “I’ll teach her a few tricks.”
Cal’s face twisted with hate and frustration. He futilely pulled at the binding on his wrists. The plastic cable dug deeper into his flesh, but he ignored the pain.
Davidson seemed to enjoy the distress Cal was suffering.
“Come along Jones. If you can’t decide, then we’ll take both of them.”
Cal was paralysed with indecision. How could he possibly choose? But if he said nothing, Davidson might take out his spite on both Juliet and Susan.
It was Ken who relieved Cal of having to answer Davidson. He had been regaining consciousness and, without warning, sprang up from the ground. With a wild banshee scream, he ran headlong straight through the fire and rammed his head into Davidson’s face, throwing them both over backwards.
There was a scrum while they pulled Ken off, kicking, screaming, and biting, before they viciously kicked and beat him unconscious.
Davidson staggered to his feet, gasping and holding his face, which streamed with blood. In the dim light, it seemed a shiny jet black waterfall oozed from his nose.
“Hold ‘em here,” he shouted, spitting blood, then he lurched away towards the C.U.G. vehicles with the sergeant following dutifully behind him.
Captain Davidson returned to the campfire a few minutes later, holding a handkerchief up to his face. The front of his jacket was blood stained.
“Jenkins!” he bellowed, wincing at the pain his shouting caused to his injured nose. The soldier who had been watching over Ken jumped to attention.
“You were supposed to be guarding that man. How did he manage to jump up and attack me?”
“Sir, I don’t know Sir. I thought he was unconscious. He was too quick for me, Sir!”
“You mean you were too bloody slow! You weren’t paying fucking attention, were you!”
“Sir, no Sir!”
“Good, I’m glad that’s cleared up.”
Davidson pulled out his revolver and shot Jenkins in the face. The bullet exploded from the back of his head and he staggered back several steps before falling backwards to the ground, making a dull thud. The other soldiers cursed.
“Let’s be clear. The C.U.G. does not tolerate failure, or incompetence. Because that man didn’t do his job properly, I have a fuckin’ broken nose. Learn from this, all of you.”
He pointed at Ken, still in an unconscious heap. “That black bastard is to be executed if he ever wakes up. Slowly and painfully, is that understood?”
The group grunted approvingly, glad that their officer’s wrath was being directed at the prisoners. Susan’s whimpering turned into uncontrolled sobbing.
Davidson looked at Cal. “Well, Jones. It seems that idiot has done you a favour. You no longer have to make a choice between your women. Both of them are to serve the C.U.G. for five years!” He pointed to Juliet. “Sergeant, I’ll have that one tonight. Take her to my tent and secure her. The men can amuse themselves with the other bitch.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The soldiers whooped and cheered, clearly looking forward to unexpected entertainment. The fate of their comrade was already history.
“Wait!” Juliet said. Everyone stopped and looked at her. “I want to propose a deal.”
Davidson laughed. “A deal. The lady wants to deal with us lads.” They snickered. “This should be interesting.”
He turned his folding chair the right way up and sat opposite Juliet.
“Well go ahead, I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath. “I have access to several supply caches. They’re mostly irreplaceable medical supplies—drugs, antibiotics, that sort of thing. Only I know where they’re located, not even my friends could find them. I can take you there. Keep me if you wish, but let my friends go and I’ll show you where they are.”
Cal groaned inside. No. No. No. You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t bargain with these monsters.
Davidson smiled. “Hmm. An interesting offer indeed. So it appears your looting has been more extensive than we first thought. No matter.”
He stood up. “Sergeant. Tie the
two men to that tree.” He pointed at a huge oak tree a few yards away. Several soldiers rushed forward, eager to please their officer. They dragged Ken and Cal to the tree and bound them on opposite sides, spread eagled, with their backs to the bark. Cal’s arms were pulled behind him and around the trunk. Each of Cal’s hands was tied to one of Ken’s hands. The trunk was so large, Cal’s hands barely reached Ken, who stayed unconscious through the process.
As they were being moved, Cal noticed Ken was a terrible mess. His face had been pulped, and one eye was horrifically swollen.
Davidson strutted up and down impatiently as he waited.
“The two men are secure, Sir,” one soldier declared.
“Good. Now this is where things become really interesting.” He turned to the guard standing directly behind Juliet. “Taylor. Make sure that bitch keeps kneeling and hold her head back so she doesn’t miss any of this.”
“Yes, sir!” Taylor knelt right behind Juliet, putting his arm around her neck and taking a good handful of her hair at the back. She cried out.
“Bring the other one over here. Hold her down on the floor and spread her legs nice and wide.” Two soldiers came forward and picked up Susan.
“Oh God! No! Please, I’ve not done anything.” She screamed. The guards dragged her as she kicked and struggled violently, but their grip was relentless. The troops pushed her down in front of Davidson, and two more men joined in to pin her to the ground. Davidson looked down at her and smiled. The thugs tugged Susan’s legs apart and ripped her pyjama trousers off to leave her half-naked.
Davidson strolled to the fire and pulled out a burning stick. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it with the stick before flicking the stick to kill the flame, leaving the end glowing red hot. Davidson inhaled the cigarette deeply as he looked at Juliet.
“Did you really believe I’d let you bargain your way out with looted goods you’ve no right to have in the first place?”
Without hesitation, he pressed the glowing stick against the inside of Susan’s thigh. She became rigid and gave a piercing scream that went on and on.
Juliet shouted, “Noooo!” then started sobbing.
Davidson slowly dragged the stick down Susan’s thigh, then removed it. Susan wept hysterically.
Cal kept his head bowed, pretending to be looking at the ground, but could see every horrific detail of the torture. His mind raced for a way out of this nightmare. Again and again he pulled at his bonds, to no effect. The smell of burnt flesh reached him and he had to clamp his throat to hold back the bile.
“Hmm,” Davidson said. “This stick has lost most of its heat. I’ll have need to get a fresh one.”
“No, no, no! Stop!” Juliet said. “I’ll tell you everything, everything.”
“Well, go on then,” Davidson said.
“Okay, okay. In our Land Rover. Inside the jacket of the book called ‘Herbal Remedies Revisited’, there’s a map. It shows the location of all the medical caches. There’s a code. All the marked sites have an eight figure number, but only those numbers that include my day and month of birth are real locations.”
Davidson nodded. “Excellent. That wasn’t so difficult now, was it? Sergeant, find the map.”
The Sergeant began rummaging through the pile of books in the Rover and a few moments later shouted. “I’ve found it, Sir. Just like she said.”
He ran over to Davidson, opening the map and showing it to him. Davidson scanned over it.
“Very good indeed. I’m impressed.” He walked back to the fire and picked another burning stick out of it.
“No, please,” Juliet screamed. “I promise I’ve told you everything.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have,” Davidson said. “But you need to understand the consequences of resisting.” He held the smouldering stick against Susan’s other thigh.
By chance, they tied Ken to the tree facing towards the campsite. Cal was on the opposite side, unable to see the horrors unfolding—but he could hear them.
After Davidson scorched both of Susan’s thighs, he lost interest in her. The soldiers continued to hold her down and took turns to use her while Juliet was forced to watch. Susan screamed continuously and Juliet pleaded and sobbed. Juliet begged for them to leave Susan alone and take her instead. One thug guffawed. “Don’t be in such a hurry, darling. Your turn will come soon enough.”
Ken moaned. Cal stretched his arm backwards so he could grab Ken’s hand and shake it. “Ken, Ken, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”
“Urrr,” Ken coughed several times and spat. “What happened?” He opened his remaining good eye to witness the events in the camp. “Oh shit, no man. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
“It is happening. We have to stay in control. Keep focused. Look out for an opportunity. Wait ‘till they make a mistake.”
“Oh, man, are you crazy? We’re royally fucked. What are you expecting them to do—accidentally untie us? We’re dead meat. All we can hope is that it’s quick.”
Ken was unaware that Davidson specifically ordered his soldiers to give him a slow and painful death. Cal decided to leave Ken in ignorance.
“I can’t see anything from this side. Tell me what’s happening.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do! I need to know everything. Any tiny bit of information might help us.”
“Wake up and smell the coffee, man. There ain’t no getting out of here. We’re fucked.”
“Will you stop moaning and just tell me what’s going on, for Christ’s sake.”
Ken described the macabre scene he was witnessing. He was barely coherent, wailing and groaning pitifully. When the gang rape of Susan ended, her hands were tied behind her and they left her in a naked, sobbing heap. The sergeant pulled Juliet to her feet and marched her off to Davidson’s tent, with the men following in a jeering group. The sounds of voices near the tent reached Cal, but he could not make out the words. Juliet gave a long scream that pierced the night like a dagger. Cheering and laughing followed. Cal strained against his bonds with every fibre of his being until it seemed his veins would burst. When nothing moved, he gave a banshee cry into the woods and collapsed.
“Cal. Are you still there?”
“No. I thought I’d go off and take a walk. Of course I’m still here. You—”
“I’m sorry, man. You’ve been right all along. We should’ve been more careful.”
“Yes, Ken. We should’ve been more fucking careful.”
And I should have insisted on it.
A few moments later, a small group of soldiers sauntered towards the oak tree, laughing and joking with each other.
Ken piped up. “Cal. It’s time. They’re comin’ for us. They got fucking big knives. I think they’re gonna skin us alive. Oh, God, no.”
The men stopped in front of the tree, facing Ken. Once again, Cal could only hear them.
Cal recognised the sergeant’s voice. “Okay, men. These are the rules. First man chucks his knife. He says before he throws what he’s aimin’ for. He sets the standard. Second person follows. If he gets closer, then he’s still in the game. If not, then he’s out. Next person throws and so on. Simple. If the blade hits the fella, then it don’t count. The prize for each round is a smoke from everyone playing. But if you hit the fella, you lose a smoke, it goes into the pot. Savvy? Remember, you’re trying to get as close as you can without cutting the fella. We’ll start off with the darkie over here. Questions?”
Another voice with a Scottish accent. “I think we should win an extra smoke if we slice his knob off.”
Raucous laughter followed.
So they began their macabre game, hurling knives at Ken, aiming to strike close without actually hitting him. They were drunk and clearly not skilled. Ken screamed many times. With each throw, Cal listened out for either the thud of metal striking timber or the scream of metal sinking in to flesh. Frequently, Ken was struck by the knife handle, or blade edge, causing only bruising,
or a surface gash.
The game continued and, as each round passed, the competitors became increasingly drunk and riotous.
Again, the sound of screaming came from Davidson’s tent. Cal used all his strength to fight his bonds, but they held firm. He was utterly defeated.
Eventually, Ken went quiet and stopped reacting to the impacts. One man came forward to check on him. “Aw shit, he’s dead. Looks like he bled out and we ain’t finished our game yet.”
“Not to worry. We’ve got a spare target, remember?”
“Stuff that. I’m fucked and losing too many ciggies. I’m going to turn in.”
“You’re fucked? Not as much as that bitch over there.”
Roars of laughter followed.
“Speaking of which, I think I’ll give her another seeing to before bed. Helps me get to sleep.”
“Good call, I’ll join you,” said another.
The sergeant shouted after them, “When you’ve finished, tie her to a tree or something. I don’t want her wandering about in the night.”
Cal heard two men walking to the campsite, casually discussing what to try next with Susan. Three others came round the tree and stood in front of him.
“Okay, looks like just the hard core knife throwers left to settle this contest,” the sergeant said, then belched.
Cal watched the proceedings closely and tried to stay calm. He did not know how to survive this situation, but he needed to try. He could do nothing to help Juliet and Susan if he let them kill him.
So it began again. The soldiers always declared where they were aiming. Cal observed each throw carefully and tried to move his body away at the last moment. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not.
The knives struck him several times—both arms, a shoulder, a shin. One throw bounced off his chest, leaving a long, shallow gash. He wore a white T-shirt, which soon became drenched in blood.
He must stay alive. It was late into the night and his tormentors were so drunk they staggered about like Bambi on ice. Surely, they would give up the game soon?
Now the target was Cal’s right thigh. The first throw was accurate and stuck in the tree between his legs, only a few inches from his groin. The other two players would aim to hit even closer. On the next throw, Cal tried to gain an inch in height, but the knife still hit him, handle first, before bouncing away. He breathed out, relieved. The men jeered.
