THERE BE DRAGONS (17 page)

He strained his ears and let them search for sounds that could confirm his surroundings. “I’m afraid to look around in a more obvious way, Lynch. Like turning my head. I don’t want my awakening to bring another beating. I’m not sure if I could take another.”

He felt a fist smash into his face. It had cracked his cheekbone.

He opened his eyes fully, the light offended them for a second and he had to squint. He saw Black Camo guy, the Dragon Master, as he looked down at him.

Dragon Master smiled.

Jacobs’s head pounded in time with his beating heart. “My state is akin to the world’s worst hangover coupled with a car crash body. What should I do, Lynch?”

He heard Russian and then felt an ungodly pain smack his legs, right across the injuries on his shins.

The top half of his body jolted upright. He was not tied to the table. His arms had felt too heavy to move before. Too heavy for him to notice he wasn’t fastened to the structure. “It doesn’t matter about this late discovery. I wouldn’t have been able to run to freedom anyway, Lynch.”

“Who are you talking to?” said Dragon Master. “You are really drowsy. You are over the body’s limit for thrashings. You are intoxicated from boots to your liver and are rosy cheeked from fists to the face. Punch drunk, you could say. Ha. I made a funny, yes?” The Dragon Master smacked him in the chops. Two of his knuckles clipped off his jaw.

Jacobs fell back to the bamboo.

“Painful?” Dragon Master asked.

“He might be speaking English, Lynch. But his accent is thick full of commie Russian.” Jacobs looked to the Dragon Master who was rubbing at his knuckles with the palm of his other hand. His teeth gritted.

“I’ve got to admit I take some form of comfort from knowing my face is inflicting pain to the commie, Lynch,” started Jacobs. “It isn’t a style of fighting that will catch on; a self-defense move that involves the defender blocking an attack with their kisser isn’t very productive in the long-term.”

“You are a very odd man,” said Dragon Master.

Jacobs looked down the length of his body to see the NVA soldier who had hit him in the face with the butt of his rifle when he had been lay outside. The NVA Torturer held in his hand what looked like a section of rubber hose?

“That is a rubber hose full of sand. It hurts, yes?” Dragon Master asked.

NVA Torturer brought the hose above his head then whacked it down onto Jacobs once more, this time across his thighs.

As Jacobs’s face contorted from the pain, Dragon Master slapped him.

Jacobs’s head turned sideways to bounce off, then to lie on the table. He looked towards one of the hut’s walls and away from Dragon Master’s pleased expression.

“Name?”

“Is it the accent or the pain that makes it hard to understand the question, Lynch?” said Jacobs.

Whack.

Once more he was hit with the hose. This time back on his shins.

“Typical big mouthed yank bastard,” said Dragon Master.

Jacobs turned his head to look at Dragon Master. His jaw tightened and he clenched his teeth. “I’m not going to answer this mad man, Lynch. I’m not going to play his games of pain and information, giving and taking.”

“I do not know who you speak to, but it is foolish to not answer me. I can do this all night; I can do this all week. I think, however, you cannot?” Dragon Master didn’t wait for a reply. “You are a mess. You are in pain. You are weak. Your mind and body, both of them in competition as to which will give in first. You look pathetic.” Dragon Master looked to the NVA, who struck Jacobs again.

The hose whipped off. A cloud of blood puffed from his ripped fatigues.

Jacobs tried to not let his body and expression show the pain. He fought the urge to sit up again. He fought the want to grab at the throb. He spat in Dragon Master’s face. “You look pathetic.” Jacobs smiled. He could taste the blood that was on his teeth.

Dragon Master stood motionless for a second as the liquid rolled down his cheek. The spit was red and bubbled with blood. He slowly and methodically wiped it away with the sleeve of his uniform. He made sure he got every last drop.

Dragon Master growled. Rage burst forth. He took ahold of Jacobs by his hair. He almost scalped him with the power of the tug. Then with his free hand he started to hit Jacobs in the face.

Once, twice, how many more Jacobs couldn’t be sure, he lost count. His head was a-spin and his brain once again swished around his skull.

There came one last and mighty punch.

Jacobs heard his nose crack.

Dragon Master let go of Jacobs’s hair.

Jacobs’s head fell and hit the bamboo table once more. He tried to breathe. It was difficult. His mouth and nose felt full of gore.

He saw Dragon Master walk to NVA Torturer and take the hose from him. He went and stood back by the table where Jacobs’s head lay.

Jacobs saw the hose rise into the air. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact.

The sand-filled hose struck across his neck. Blood gurgled from his mouth. He coughed and tried not to choke on the thick crimson.

Then … Jacobs laughed.

It was difficult to do so. But he did it. “Not that I find my present situation funny, Lynch, but I know it will anger my captor. And that is a small victory in my current position.”

“So, you think it funny to spit in my face?”’ asked Dragon Master as he hit Jacobs once again with the hose. This time across his broken nose.

Jacobs’s eyes watered. The tears ran into blood. The blood ran onto the table.

Dragon Master handed the hose back to NVA Torturer. He removed a packet of cigarettes from his top pocket. He placed one in his mouth and removed a lighter from the same pocket. He lit the smoke and threw the packet and lighter out of Jacobs’s line of sight. Dragon Master looked down at the young LT. He examined the damage to Jacobs’s face. He appeared to be admiring his work.

Dragon Master took ahold of Jacobs’s hair again, but this time with less fury and with … almost tenderness. He raised Jacobs’s head so they could meet eyes. Dragon Master spoke, his voice calmer, more relaxed, the smoke seemed to have taken the edge off his anger. “Do you have a wife?”

The question took Jacobs off guard. His eyes narrowed and he held the stare of Dragon Master. “Lynch, I’m pondering what such a question really means in a venue of torment. It’s obviously not meant for pleasantries and will have a hidden meaning behind it, but what is that meaning? What does it matter if I have a wife, Lynch?”

“Do you have a wife?” Dragon Master asked again. He took another drag and inhaled some smoke. He exhaled the cancer into Jacobs’s face.

Jacobs didn’t allow the cloud to make his eyes close or his eyelids flicker. “I don’t want to look away, Lynch. I’m determined to make him do that first. I will play my own game. Not theirs. I will make it as difficult as possible for my captors to play the way they want, by their rules. I will push the Russian to the limits of his patience and beyond. I will drive the man to madness.”

“I will choose to ignore your monologue of lunacy. For the time being anyway,” said Dragon Master. “Now, do you have brothers? Sisters? Any family that care for you back home?” He once more inhaled.

The red glowing tip from the cigarette cast a flare on Jacobs’s sight, but still he did not look away.

A plume of smoke went into the air between the men. They watched each other through the grey.

“I see you do not wish to talk to me. Even though you seem keen to talk to someone who is not here. That is a shame. It is a shame for you, not for me. You see, the more you talk to me, the more we listen. The more we listen, the less time we have to beat you. But as things go, we have all the time in the world. I’m going to enjoy breaking you, GI. Truth be told, I enjoy breaking everyone … and anyone. It is something I am very good at. Very skilled at … somewhat an expert at.”

Dragon Master pressed the burning amber of the cigarette into Jacobs’s face, into his cheek, just below his right eye. He turned it into the skin.

Jacobs gnashed his teeth so hard that bits of the enamel broke away and fell on his tongue. He swallowed them and then coughed them up through the clamp of blood-stained white. He smelt his flesh burning.

But he did not break the stare of the Dragon Master. He held fast, didn’t give an inch.

He felt the cigarette get turned once more, screwed and pushed deeper into his skin. It bent and started to break.

Still Dragon Master pressed it harder. His face twisted in a scowl, his anger growing, and his fingernails cutting into Jacobs’s flesh.

Jacobs held the stare. No sign that he would budge.

The burn of the cigarette eventually eased and went. It had been extinguished on Jacobs’s complexion.

Dragon Master moved from him.

“He has broken the stare. I have won.” Jacobs celebrated with a chuckle, even though it hurt like hell.

Dragon Master threw the cigarette butt to the floor. He took the hose from NVA Torturer then jumped and then raised it high above his head. He whacked it down across Jacobs’s groin.

Jacobs couldn’t fight the pain any longer. He sat up and retched. Then he was sick. The chunks shot from his mouth and landed on Dragon Master’s boots. Jacobs laughed.

Dragon Master looked at the puke on his footwear. He kicked some off, then eyed Jacobs’s bloodied and grin-filled face. He hit him again with the hose. This time across the forehead.

Jacobs fell back onto the table with a creak of bamboo. Sand fell onto his face and stuck to the blood. The hose had burst open.

He heard Dragon Master curse, “Shit,” as he threw the hose to the floor. He shouted something in Russian into the sky then shouted in Vietnamese to NVA Torturer, who left the hut.

Jacobs heard the door shut. A few moments later he heard it open again.

NVA Torturer walked back into the building. He was carrying a one-gallon plastic jug. He also had a towel over his shoulder. He came to the table and placed the jug on the floor.

Dragon Master said something in Vietnamese.

NVA went to stand so he faced the top of Jacobs’s head. He placed the towel over Jacobs’s face and pulled it down, each hand gripping a side that hung over Jacobs’s head.

He felt the NVA drop to a crouch.

The towel was pulled and Jacobs’s body moved up the table until his head hung over the edge of it. The towel smothered him and bent his neck in a direction it didn’t want to go. His neck ached from the pressure that was being placed on it.

Jacobs heard Dragon Master pick up the jug. He heard the water swish inside it. He felt it drip onto his neck.

It seeped through the towel next. He could feel moisture begin to cover his mouth. It was at first just dampness. Then it grew. The skin of his face got wetter. Some went down his nose and it burned his sinuses.

More water was poured onto the material. It was soaking now and its seepage was stronger.

Jacobs tried to exhale through his nose. He hoped to stop the water from invading it again.

It worked for a few seconds. About thirty or so, but then he was out of air. His lungs could only hold so much.

The towel was sodden now and its clammy weight pressed down even harder on his face. Since he had no more air to fight the water back, it began to pour into his cavities. Because of the angle his head lay at, it pooled there, in his nose, in his mouth.

It didn’t move into his respiratory tract. He felt as if he was drowning. But he wasn’t. At least he hoped he wasn’t

His lungs convulsed like a massive wave was crushing him. They sucked small amounts of water into them. The water attacked his head. It burned from him from the inside out. It scalded and seared inside the fragile air sacs behind his nose and above his eyes. His head was ready to explode. His throat was in the midst of an attack of gagging reflexes as he choked on more water pouring into his windpipe.

He heard Russian being spoken and then the water stopped.

The towel was removed.

Dragon Master grabbed ahold of Jacobs’s drenched hair and pulled him to sit up.

Dragon Master was still holding Jacobs’s mop as the surf began to jet from his nose and mouth. The LT retched. The pain was excruciating. He took in as many deeps breaths as possible. He was in a ceremony of panic. His lungs burned as they filled with air. Oxygen had a taste of death to it now.

The Dragon Master pushed him back onto the table. NVA Torturer pressed the sodden towel back onto his face.

Water flowed again.

The waves crashed onto the towel, waves that were gallons worth. They soaked the material into a tight clamp that gripped his features. Jacobs had no time to exhale and the water began to pool once more. The water filled to the rim of his nostrils.

Fear seized Jacobs.

His body and his legs kicked helplessly around on the table. His hands tried to pull the towel away but it didn’t work. His captors must have known it wouldn’t work, as they made no attempt to stop him.

They removed the towel and sat him up again. The water jetted from his nose and mouth once more.