007. Captivity

Grasping her gently by the elbow, John Brady walked Caroline across Guerrero's camp and to the edge of a clearing. Knowingly followed by two armed guards, Brady pushed his way through the thick, bushy undergrowth with Caroline in tow.

'You wanted to know what deal I'd made with Guerrero?' he said.

Caroline nodded. The clearing was draped in a greenish-brown camouflage net which covered some ten square miles. With some difficultly, Brady lifted a small section of the net and nodded for Caroline to slip underneath. She complied and found herself shrouded in darkness. A moment later she felt Brady slip in beside her.

'No funny business, mister.' she growled.

'No, ma'am.' Brady chaffed.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the constantly shifting light. Beneath the green glow of the net and bathed in thin beams of sunlight were a dozen or more Great War-era biplanes. These sand coloured relics of a bygone age had been subtly repainted with three vertical bands – two green and one yellow –bracing the rear fuselage aft of the wings.

'My part of the bargain,' Brady was saying, 'After the Great War, the Royal Flying Corps abandoned these DH.4s and a dozen more in the Thar Desert. I bought them for a pound a piece and had them refurbished.'

'And what's Guerrero giving you in return?' Caroline asked.

Brady shrugged, 'Enough.'

'Oh, come on, John. Don't be so cryptic.'

'I'll tell you if you do me a favour.'

Caroline scoffed, 'Why would I do you a favour?'

'Your life is in danger.'

Caroline recoiled slightly, 'Is that a threat?'

'No, Caroline. You've got to listen to me. Guerrero...he's a merciless bastard with a superiority complex. The only reason you're still alive is because I asked him not to kill you.'

Caroline laughed. It was an uneasy laugh, though it covered her underlying fear well enough for John not to notice.

'What's the favour?' she asked.

'Guerrero wants you to teach his men to fly.'

'Guerrero intends on launching a full blown aerial assault on Brasilia before the year is out. I promised him you would teach his men to fly.'

'You're kidding!'

'That promise is what's keeping you alive.'

'What sort of timeframe are we talking here?'

'Twelve weeks.'

'I don't intend to be here in twelve weeks, John.'

'Stay for twelve weeks, train his men and I can guarantee your safe passage back to Lima.'

Caroline considered her options. If unescorted, the journey back to Lima would be practically suicide. What other choice did she have?

'Ten weeks,' she said at last, 'and I get a proper bed. And shoes; these ones are falling to pieces.'

'Consider it done.'

'And you're sure you can guarantee my safety?'

'Absolutely.'

Caroline paused. 'It won't be easy...' she said.

'Nothing is these days...'

'Ten weeks isn't very long.'

'I realise that...'

Caroline ran her fingers down the leading edge of one of the DH.4's wings. It was rough, like sandpaper and slightly ribbed. She smiled weakly.

'Tell the pig to have his men ready at dawn.' she said.

============

Forcefully, Rex was escorted off the back of the half-track and across the Luftwaffe's newly minted airbase. Baader remained planted at Rex's side, pontificating about the greatness of Germany's air force.

'Naderwald is a veritable city, Herr Rexton. At full capacity, it will accommodate six hundred and fifty thousand servicemen and two thousand five hundred aircraft...'

'And at present it's operating at...what, two percent capacity?'

'We have sufficient.' Baader growled.

Rex cracked a weak smile, 'Budget cuts, Generaloberst?'

He felt the butt of a rifle hit him square in the back and Rex fell to his knees. White hot pain seared up his spine. He glanced up to see Baader's unsmiling face silhouetted by the sun.

'You're quite the comedian, Herr Rexton; I hope that quality remains,' Baader said, continuing, 'The average life expectancy of prisoners at Naderwald is thirty-six days; sadly, their will to live usually departs long before then.'

'What do you want, Baader?' Rex said weakly.

'I want you to suffer, Herr Rexton, suffer like I suffered at the hands of your superiors...'

'No, that wasn't my fault. I thought...I thought I could protect you. I was wrong.'

Baader removed the glove from his left hand. Half of his ring and index fingers on that hand were missing.

'You see?' he said.

He tugged down at his collar, revealing a large patch of scarred flesh. Baader also indicated the jagged edge on his right, evidently where part of it had been sliced off.

'That isn't the end of it, either, Herr Rexton,' Baader said, replacing his glove, 'The scars run far deeper; the shame, greater still. Whitehall broke me, Rexton. Stole from me what little humanity I had left after the Great War...'

'Baader, I...' Rex began.

'Take him to detention,' Baader said to his men, 'Ensure that he receives the full treatment.'

Two soldiers dragged Rex to his feet. He was dragged away towards a small, squat building at the edge of the base.

'I hope you enjoy our facilities, Herr Rexton,' Baader called to him, 'I am sure you will be well looked after.'

Detention loomed closer. Rex considered resisting, though suspected it would be of little use. Baader's words stuck with him as he was forced into a small, windowless cell. He was alone, cornered and surrounded by enemies. Deflated, Rex sat down in one corner of his cell, and wept.

TO BE CONTINUED...