Free Casca 11: The Legionnaire by Barry Sadler Page B

expose his upper body to the light of the lamp. Scars on top of scars, wounds from shells, cuts, and fires covered nearly every millimeter of his muscled hide . Langer redid his buttons and sat back down. "Do you think you can do anything to me that has not already been done?"
    Thich said nothing. The sight of the man's body was like a blast of ice water in his face. But perhaps that was why their destinies had brought them together. He believed Langer's response. From what he had seen there was little that he could do in the way of physical pain that the man had not already experienced. But then, there were other ways. Drugs, for example, lack of sleep. Constant lights and sound could sometimes break a man where pain failed. Again Langer beat him to the punch as if his thoughts had been read.
    "Pentothal? Sensory deprivation or sensory overload? Perhaps, Comrade. But why would you go to all that trouble for a poor unimportant Legionnaire? That could take days if not weeks or months, and then I do not think you would believe the answers I gave you. Surely you have more important things to do than waste your time on a common caporal. "
    Thich would have chewed his mustache if he'd had one. This ugly big nosed thing was a most infuriating man. He had to regain control of the interview. Rising from behind his table, he stood in front of Langer. "It seems that you are not as intelligent as I first thought. Do you not understand your situation? Do you think that your friends will try and rescue you? I assure you there will be no rescue. You are completely in our power, to do with as we please." Thich had dealt with enough prisoners to know the feelings that were normal to them when they were cut off from outside help, when they at last realized that they no longer had any control over their existence and could be put to death or tortured when their captors pleased. Few of them were defiant, and those that were usually called upon the Geneva Accords as their basis for refuge. When it was explained that the Viet Minh did not accept the document nor were they signatories to it, those who had looked to it, usually fell apart or at least adopted a familiar mold. This man did not take on either one of those aspects. There were very few just simply tough men, tough of mind and body, who would give you nothing, even force you to kill them. But this one was not even like that; he was in a class all by himself. Thich walked around him as a mongoose would a cobra. There was still something he had to put his finger on. But right now the man was right. He did not have time to waste interrogating a junior non -com. But in a few days he would make the time.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Returning to his dirt cell, Langer passed several more storage areas. It looked as if the Viet Minh were expanding the tunnels. He saw several labor gangs with shovels and wheelbarrows heading down a passage. There were the sounds of men moving about at all hours; it was apparent that in the tunnels there was no night or day so work could go on around the clock if desired. Beams were used to shore up crumbling sides and tin sheets set against the walls. All were covered with slogans such as: Vi dan tru chien dau (We fight for the people), or Chet Vinh Hon Song Nhuc (Honorable death rather than a shameful life). Not a bad line, thought Langer. He had heard worse in his time.
    Thich did not return for three weeks. In that time no one spoke to him; he was left alone in the dark. The only light was that which came from the lanterns set on the walls of the tunnels and that bit of light crept through the cracks of the tin sheets which served as his cell door. Outside the door on a stool a guard sat around the clock with orders to shoot him if he made any trouble at all. Food was brought twice a day, usually no more than a bowl of pumpkin soup or a few handfuls of rice and half cooked greens of some kind. It wasn't much, but he wasn't being starved and it was probably not much