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Assignment: Zilawe
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Barb answers Windar...oh shit! He waits till now to tell me
22.
Molabayo Detention Center. December 18, 2017
Immediately after the so-called 'party' with Tuma and Jerry, Meghan and I were escorted back to our cell. When we arrived Masippa was nowhere to be seen. We had the place all to ourselves, but within minutes we had fallen asleep, whether from exhaustion or too much to drink is hard to say. Most likely a combination of the two.
In any case, it was just as well, for they had us up before dawn the next morning for the trip to the state prison farm where we were sentenced to spend the next ten years of our lives ... assuming we lived that long in what was reportedly a little hell on earth. With little fanfare, Meghan and I were escorted out of the cell block by two guards.
We were led outdoors and down a long walkway flanked by high wire fences to a loading area beyond the administration wing. A half-dozen male African prisoners were already there, waiting for the arrival of the transport.
The pre-dawn air was chilly/ I was naked and cold. Our wrists were cuffed behind our backs and our ankles were shackled together with a short chain. Meghan stood very close to me. The male prisoners kept looking at us with undisguised interest. I shivered and tried not to notice them.
After perhaps a quarter of an hour, the gates were thrown open and several vehicles entered the loading area. We were momentarily bathed in the glare of headlights as they pulled up to where we were assembled.
The little transport column was led by an armored car with Zilawean Defense Forces markings, and followed by a white prison transport van. Bringing up the rear was a pick up truck with a machine gun mounted above the cab.
A number of armed guards spilled from the idling vehicles. They carried automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.
Tuma turned up at that moment to see us off. He was dressed in military fatigues, with an open collar and a black beret perched jauntily on his very large head.
"Good morning, ladies!" he said cordially as he passed behind us and gave us each a little pat on our asses. "I see you are looking fit and ready for the journey."
"How far is it and how come these guys are so heavily armed?" I asked, thinking that I couldn't imagine the need since there would be little chance of us escaping.
"Rebels!" he answered, his eye's flashing. "It's a long journey that will take most of the day, and will pass through areas known to be dangerous. One can never be too well prepared. The rebels have been particularly active lately."
"We haven't been given any food yet this morning," I complained, changing the subject while I digested that bit of information with a frown on my face.
"I think you two had plenty to eat and drink the other night. Don't worry, you're hardly going to waste away." he replied with a wolfish grin.
One of the guards had by that time opened the back door to the van.
"Off you go now, ladies!" said Tuma. "Have a pleasant stay at the prison farm, and don't forget to write."
We were soon clambering awkwardly into the back of the van. The male prisoners went first ... then Meghan and me. The interior had been fitted with two long benches, running the length of the van parallel to and facing one another. The first four men seated themselves on one side. The other two took up positions on either end of the vacant bench. Meghan and I had no choice but to cram ourselves into the space left between them. A couple of guards moved amongst us to fasten the shackles binding our ankles to brackets welded onto the floor. The metal seat felt cold against my bare butt.
When we were all settled, the doors were slammed shut and locked. The engine gunned, and the van moved off with a lurch as it was thrown into gear. The sharp start caused Meghan to slide into me and I into the prisoner next to me. We struggled to right ourselves as the bus careened around a corner and picked up speed.
The windows were filthy, but I could see the facades of buildings flash by as we barreled down Molabayo's still deserted main thoroughfare. We didn't stop until we reached a checkpoint on the edge of town. Passed through after a cursory check, we continued on into the Zilawean countryside.
The first light of day cast flickerings of light on the dark faces of the four male prisoners facing us. They were staring intently at our nakedness, and it wasn't hard to imagine what they might have had on their minds. So entranced was the guy directly across from me with what he must have thought to be an inviting little dark triangle between my thighs, that one might have suspected that he never saw one before. I pressed my knees together tightly and fixed him with a withering glare. There was little else I could do.
The hours and the miles passed by. And, as the sun beat down on the van from a cloudless sky, the temperature inside rose quickly. We were soon covered with sweat, and I was feeling drowsy. Alongside me Meghan appeared to be dozing, her head drooped forward and swaying gently. A couple of the men across from us had fallen asleep as well.
I was thinking I would close my eyes when suddenly there was a loud explosion up ahead. The van lurched left, then right and straight into the ditch. We were all thrown from out seats, tossed together on the floor between the benches in a tangled heap. I was lying on top of Meghan, who was shrieking hysterically. One of the male prisoners was draped over me, and someone's foot was in my face.
There was the chatter of small arms fire. Windows shattered and fusillades of bullets perforated the metal ceiling and walls of the van. I pressed my face to the floor and closed my eyes.
The firefight continued for several more minutes and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun. One of the Zilawean security men had been hit. I could hear him screaming for help just outside the van.
Raising my head, I found I could see through the rear doorway of the van, which had popped open when we hit the ditch. The pickup truck, which had trailed behind in our small convoy, was riddled with bullet holes and on fire. A dead security man slumped over the machine gun attached to the roof of the cab.
Other security men were emerging warily from behind the van, weapons at the ready, scanning the foliage at the far edge of the field that adjoined the road. Apparently, the rebels ... assuming that's who attacked us ... having wreaked their havoc ... had melted away. The danger had passed.
Someone barked an order to mount up and get moving.
The stalled engine of the van roared into life and the vehicle rocked back and forth as it struggled to exit the ditch and regain the pavement. Two security men hopped inside, one of them bleeding heavily from wounds in his thigh and arm.
And then we were underway again, the wrecked pickup truck left behind. Slowly, we prisoners set about untangling ourselves and reclaiming our seats on the benches. Tension filled the air after what had just happened. Meghan was trembling uncontrollably. I was eying the wounded man who seemed to be going into shock.
"Is he going to be ok?" I said to his partner, noting the exact position of the castoff automatic weapon lying on the floor not far from me in a pool of dark blood.
"I don't know," he responded. "I can't seem to stop the bleeding."
"Uncuff me and I can help. I'm a trained nurse," I lied.
"Sorry, not allowed. Prisoners are not to be released under any circumstance," he replied woodenly, as if reciting from a rule book.
Well, it was worth a try, I thought to myself and shrugged. I probably wouldn't have known how to use the gun if I could have gotten my hands on it anyway.
The convoy rolled on, presumably still led by the armored car. I could sense that we were climbing. My ears popped and from what I could recall from when I was reading up on Zilawe in preparation for my assignment, the interior of the country was a vast and sparsely populated Savannah plateau. It made sense that a prison labor camp might be located there, isolated and difficult to reach.
The rest of the journey passed without incident, although the ride couldn't have been more miserable. The afternoon heat turned the interior of the van into a veritable oven. At times I thought I would pass out. The brute next to me kept leaning on me, and I kept laying my shoulder into him to shove him back. Meghan meanwhile leaned against the prisoner on her right, eyes closed and mouth wide open. I wondered if she was alright. To add to my general annoyance, one of the men sitting opposite from me kept trying to force my legs apart with his foot. And the wounded man lying on the floor moaned and groaned while his companion leaned against the wall of the bus, eyes glazed over.
Eventually the van slowed and left the highway. The road quickly deteriorated, causing the vehicle to sway and bounce wildly. With nothing to hold onto, we were all mercilessly tossed about. The rough ride soon got even rougher, the wheels of the van often dropping into bone-jarring potholes. The discarded automatic weapon that I had briefly contemplated getting my hands on, rattled around on the floor and eventually slid out the open back door.
The sun was low on the horizon when the van finally braked and rolled to a stop. I heard voices outside and poked Meghan, who was stirring, in the side with my elbow. We had arrived.
Within moments a number of security men entered the back of the van. They evacuated the wounded man first, then turned their attention to the prisoners. Stiffly I got to my feet as my shackles and cuffs were removed. Rubbing my sore wrists, I made my way to the back of the van and hopped to the ground. Meghan was right behind me. The male prisoners, who had gotten off first, were being led away, while the two of us were detained.
Looking around, I found the place to be much like I might have imagined it to be.
We were standing near the gate, with the van behind us and an open parade ground before us. The parade ground was lined on two sides with buildings ... long low ones off to the right that appeared to be barracks, and some larger ones at the far end that were undoubtedly administrative. To the left was a high wire fence, topped with coils of razor wire, that separated the parade ground from an identical space on the other side of the fence. Since there were male prisoners hanging around on the other parade ground, I assumed that was the male compound and the one before me was the one for the camp's female prisoners. The female camp seemed to be deserted at the moment. Another high fence, topped with razor wire, encircled both compounds.
Near the fence on the left side of the women's compound were a series of posts festooned with dangling wrist irons, presumably for whipping prisoners. There was also a scaffolding and gallows sporting three empty nooses, a row of wooden stocks and horses, and an open area just this side of the whipping posts in which a double row of stakes had been driven into the ground. A flag pole flying the Zilawean flag and a small reviewing stand completed the scene.
Beyond the compound stretched cultivated fields, and in the distance a range of low, heavily stream-dissected hills, covered with patches of dark foliage.
We hadn't been there long before a short little man approached. He was wearing shorts and a fatigue jacket with officer epaulets on the shoulders, and carried a short riding crop in one hand. His knee high boots made him look even squatter. He was flanked by two comrades, one male and one female.
"Welcome!" he said as he drew up in front of Meghan and me, a look of appraisal on his face as eyes darted from one of us to the other. "I am Okereke, Commandant of the Camp."
"Where are the other inmates?" I asked, deciding to skip any pleasantries.
"Still in the fields. They should be returning soon."
The woman to his right handed him a clipboard.
"Which one of you is the American newspaper reporter?"
"That would be me."
"Ahhh, so you are Ms. Moore. In the flesh. I have viewed your video. And your companion is ... ah, yes, Ms. Shanahan.
"Now," said Okerke. "Listen carefully. We run a tight operation here. You have both been sentenced to 10 years hard labor and we intend to work you hard. You will sleep in the second barracks over there. Roll call and breakfast is at sunrise daily. You report here on the parade ground for the roll. Punishments are meted out at that time too. Then it's out into the fields on work details. The workday lasts until sundown, when you report back here for roll call and dismissal to the barracks. Any slow down in work, or refusal to do work, or any other kind of disobedience will be severely punished. No fraternization with the male prisoners is allowed. And, bear in mind that some infractions may result, at my discretion, in summary execution. Do I make myself clear?"
We both nodded ... as if we had any choice in the matter. Behind him the work details were beginning to come in out of the fields. The female prisoners were arriving in small groups, tired and grimy. Some were naked, others were partially clothed. No one looked at us as they lined up for roll call. Across the way the male work details were returning to camp and lining up for roll call too.
"Why are some women naked while others have clothes?" I asked.
"The women have a pecking order. One has to earn the right to have anything to wear here."
"Oh ... figures." I said.
"Now, as a demonstration of our power over you and the need to be totally obedient,' continued Okerke, "new prisoners, by tradition, spend their first night staked out naked on the ground."
Meghan and I shared our, by now, all too familiar look at one another.
The prisoners, having completed the evening roll call were wandering off towards the barracks.
Escorted by several prison guards, we crossed over to the area with the double row of stakes driven into the ground. They ordered us to lie down side by side on our backs and spread-eagle our arms and legs to be bound to the stakes. The stakes were placed just far enough to stretch us out, but not so far that we couldn't shift our position a bit. Meghan reached out for me and we were able to touch fingers.
Then we were left alone.
It soon grew dark. Arc lights mounted on poles came on, illuminating the grounds in a ghostly white glow. The temperature began to plummet. I wriggled uncomfortably, tugging at my bonds. Looking up, the night sky was clear and studded with stars. A quarter moon had appeared. One by one the lights in the prisoners barracks were extinguished. The only noise was that of insects and critters. I shifted again, wondering if it was possible to sleep spreadeagled on the ground in the cold night air.
Time passed. Nothing was said. Neither of us really wanted to talk.
Then I thought I detected movement and the sound of voices. It was off to the left and coming closer. I turned my head. A group of figures had emerged from the admin buildings. As they came closer it became clear that they were male guards. There were eight of them, and judging by their uncertain gait, they had been drinking heavily. Some of them even carried bottles in their hands.
"Oh Shit!" I murmured to Meghan. One didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know what these monsters had in mind, and that we were entirely at their mercy.
Within seconds they were standing over us, blocking out the light. Moments later, some of them were hopping about as they removed their trousers, and the first pair of them were already kneeling between our spread legs. One of the others knelt near my head, and holding my nose attempted to pour the contents of his bottle into my open mouth. I shook my head, the liquid flying in all directions.
Meghan screamed.
I felt the end of my first assailant's hardened penis probing between my spread thighs, and then the weight of his body pressing down on top of mine as he forced his way in. I gasped and gritted my teeth as he brutally raped me.
He didn't last too long, which was fortunate, but he was quickly replaced by another. The bastards had lined up to take turns. Shouts of encouragement and guffaws rang in my ears as my second assailant pounded away on top of me.
I felt Meghan's fingers again, touching mine. I wanted to turn toward her, but one of them had me by the hair and was laughing loudly as he poured from his bottle over my chest before spreading it around with his free hand.
With a satisfied grunt my third assailant was releasing inside me, and another about to take his place when a pair of whistling sounds passed over head, followed by a pair of ground shaking explosions over near the camp gate. Two more shrill whines rent the air. Another pair of explosions, this time much closer, showered us and our attackers with clumps of dirt.
I had been on assignment in war zones before, and knew in an instant that we were being mortared. So did our attackers. The gang rape quickly forgotten, they fled for their lives.
The next dual salvo took out one of the smaller admin buildings at the far end of the compound and ... judging by the screams .... some of our fleeing rapists as well. Debris and body parts flew through the air, falling all around us.
At least there is some justice in the world, I thought to myself.
Then all was silent except for the cries of the wounded and the crackle of flames.
"Just great!" I said to Meghan, thinking our time at the prison farm is going to be even worse than I thought.
Molabayo Detention Center. December 18, 2017
Immediately after the so-called 'party' with Tuma and Jerry, Meghan and I were escorted back to our cell. When we arrived Masippa was nowhere to be seen. We had the place all to ourselves, but within minutes we had fallen asleep, whether from exhaustion or too much to drink is hard to say. Most likely a combination of the two.
In any case, it was just as well, for they had us up before dawn the next morning for the trip to the state prison farm where we were sentenced to spend the next ten years of our lives ... assuming we lived that long in what was reportedly a little hell on earth. With little fanfare, Meghan and I were escorted out of the cell block by two guards.
We were led outdoors and down a long walkway flanked by high wire fences to a loading area beyond the administration wing. A half-dozen male African prisoners were already there, waiting for the arrival of the transport.
The pre-dawn air was chilly/ I was naked and cold. Our wrists were cuffed behind our backs and our ankles were shackled together with a short chain. Meghan stood very close to me. The male prisoners kept looking at us with undisguised interest. I shivered and tried not to notice them.
After perhaps a quarter of an hour, the gates were thrown open and several vehicles entered the loading area. We were momentarily bathed in the glare of headlights as they pulled up to where we were assembled.
The little transport column was led by an armored car with Zilawean Defense Forces markings, and followed by a white prison transport van. Bringing up the rear was a pick up truck with a machine gun mounted above the cab.
A number of armed guards spilled from the idling vehicles. They carried automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.
Tuma turned up at that moment to see us off. He was dressed in military fatigues, with an open collar and a black beret perched jauntily on his very large head.
"Good morning, ladies!" he said cordially as he passed behind us and gave us each a little pat on our asses. "I see you are looking fit and ready for the journey."
"How far is it and how come these guys are so heavily armed?" I asked, thinking that I couldn't imagine the need since there would be little chance of us escaping.
"Rebels!" he answered, his eye's flashing. "It's a long journey that will take most of the day, and will pass through areas known to be dangerous. One can never be too well prepared. The rebels have been particularly active lately."
"We haven't been given any food yet this morning," I complained, changing the subject while I digested that bit of information with a frown on my face.
"I think you two had plenty to eat and drink the other night. Don't worry, you're hardly going to waste away." he replied with a wolfish grin.
One of the guards had by that time opened the back door to the van.
"Off you go now, ladies!" said Tuma. "Have a pleasant stay at the prison farm, and don't forget to write."
We were soon clambering awkwardly into the back of the van. The male prisoners went first ... then Meghan and me. The interior had been fitted with two long benches, running the length of the van parallel to and facing one another. The first four men seated themselves on one side. The other two took up positions on either end of the vacant bench. Meghan and I had no choice but to cram ourselves into the space left between them. A couple of guards moved amongst us to fasten the shackles binding our ankles to brackets welded onto the floor. The metal seat felt cold against my bare butt.
When we were all settled, the doors were slammed shut and locked. The engine gunned, and the van moved off with a lurch as it was thrown into gear. The sharp start caused Meghan to slide into me and I into the prisoner next to me. We struggled to right ourselves as the bus careened around a corner and picked up speed.
The windows were filthy, but I could see the facades of buildings flash by as we barreled down Molabayo's still deserted main thoroughfare. We didn't stop until we reached a checkpoint on the edge of town. Passed through after a cursory check, we continued on into the Zilawean countryside.
The first light of day cast flickerings of light on the dark faces of the four male prisoners facing us. They were staring intently at our nakedness, and it wasn't hard to imagine what they might have had on their minds. So entranced was the guy directly across from me with what he must have thought to be an inviting little dark triangle between my thighs, that one might have suspected that he never saw one before. I pressed my knees together tightly and fixed him with a withering glare. There was little else I could do.
The hours and the miles passed by. And, as the sun beat down on the van from a cloudless sky, the temperature inside rose quickly. We were soon covered with sweat, and I was feeling drowsy. Alongside me Meghan appeared to be dozing, her head drooped forward and swaying gently. A couple of the men across from us had fallen asleep as well.
I was thinking I would close my eyes when suddenly there was a loud explosion up ahead. The van lurched left, then right and straight into the ditch. We were all thrown from out seats, tossed together on the floor between the benches in a tangled heap. I was lying on top of Meghan, who was shrieking hysterically. One of the male prisoners was draped over me, and someone's foot was in my face.
There was the chatter of small arms fire. Windows shattered and fusillades of bullets perforated the metal ceiling and walls of the van. I pressed my face to the floor and closed my eyes.
The firefight continued for several more minutes and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun. One of the Zilawean security men had been hit. I could hear him screaming for help just outside the van.
Raising my head, I found I could see through the rear doorway of the van, which had popped open when we hit the ditch. The pickup truck, which had trailed behind in our small convoy, was riddled with bullet holes and on fire. A dead security man slumped over the machine gun attached to the roof of the cab.
Other security men were emerging warily from behind the van, weapons at the ready, scanning the foliage at the far edge of the field that adjoined the road. Apparently, the rebels ... assuming that's who attacked us ... having wreaked their havoc ... had melted away. The danger had passed.
Someone barked an order to mount up and get moving.
The stalled engine of the van roared into life and the vehicle rocked back and forth as it struggled to exit the ditch and regain the pavement. Two security men hopped inside, one of them bleeding heavily from wounds in his thigh and arm.
And then we were underway again, the wrecked pickup truck left behind. Slowly, we prisoners set about untangling ourselves and reclaiming our seats on the benches. Tension filled the air after what had just happened. Meghan was trembling uncontrollably. I was eying the wounded man who seemed to be going into shock.
"Is he going to be ok?" I said to his partner, noting the exact position of the castoff automatic weapon lying on the floor not far from me in a pool of dark blood.
"I don't know," he responded. "I can't seem to stop the bleeding."
"Uncuff me and I can help. I'm a trained nurse," I lied.
"Sorry, not allowed. Prisoners are not to be released under any circumstance," he replied woodenly, as if reciting from a rule book.
Well, it was worth a try, I thought to myself and shrugged. I probably wouldn't have known how to use the gun if I could have gotten my hands on it anyway.
The convoy rolled on, presumably still led by the armored car. I could sense that we were climbing. My ears popped and from what I could recall from when I was reading up on Zilawe in preparation for my assignment, the interior of the country was a vast and sparsely populated Savannah plateau. It made sense that a prison labor camp might be located there, isolated and difficult to reach.
The rest of the journey passed without incident, although the ride couldn't have been more miserable. The afternoon heat turned the interior of the van into a veritable oven. At times I thought I would pass out. The brute next to me kept leaning on me, and I kept laying my shoulder into him to shove him back. Meghan meanwhile leaned against the prisoner on her right, eyes closed and mouth wide open. I wondered if she was alright. To add to my general annoyance, one of the men sitting opposite from me kept trying to force my legs apart with his foot. And the wounded man lying on the floor moaned and groaned while his companion leaned against the wall of the bus, eyes glazed over.
Eventually the van slowed and left the highway. The road quickly deteriorated, causing the vehicle to sway and bounce wildly. With nothing to hold onto, we were all mercilessly tossed about. The rough ride soon got even rougher, the wheels of the van often dropping into bone-jarring potholes. The discarded automatic weapon that I had briefly contemplated getting my hands on, rattled around on the floor and eventually slid out the open back door.
The sun was low on the horizon when the van finally braked and rolled to a stop. I heard voices outside and poked Meghan, who was stirring, in the side with my elbow. We had arrived.
Within moments a number of security men entered the back of the van. They evacuated the wounded man first, then turned their attention to the prisoners. Stiffly I got to my feet as my shackles and cuffs were removed. Rubbing my sore wrists, I made my way to the back of the van and hopped to the ground. Meghan was right behind me. The male prisoners, who had gotten off first, were being led away, while the two of us were detained.
Looking around, I found the place to be much like I might have imagined it to be.
We were standing near the gate, with the van behind us and an open parade ground before us. The parade ground was lined on two sides with buildings ... long low ones off to the right that appeared to be barracks, and some larger ones at the far end that were undoubtedly administrative. To the left was a high wire fence, topped with coils of razor wire, that separated the parade ground from an identical space on the other side of the fence. Since there were male prisoners hanging around on the other parade ground, I assumed that was the male compound and the one before me was the one for the camp's female prisoners. The female camp seemed to be deserted at the moment. Another high fence, topped with razor wire, encircled both compounds.
Near the fence on the left side of the women's compound were a series of posts festooned with dangling wrist irons, presumably for whipping prisoners. There was also a scaffolding and gallows sporting three empty nooses, a row of wooden stocks and horses, and an open area just this side of the whipping posts in which a double row of stakes had been driven into the ground. A flag pole flying the Zilawean flag and a small reviewing stand completed the scene.
Beyond the compound stretched cultivated fields, and in the distance a range of low, heavily stream-dissected hills, covered with patches of dark foliage.
We hadn't been there long before a short little man approached. He was wearing shorts and a fatigue jacket with officer epaulets on the shoulders, and carried a short riding crop in one hand. His knee high boots made him look even squatter. He was flanked by two comrades, one male and one female.
"Welcome!" he said as he drew up in front of Meghan and me, a look of appraisal on his face as eyes darted from one of us to the other. "I am Okereke, Commandant of the Camp."
"Where are the other inmates?" I asked, deciding to skip any pleasantries.
"Still in the fields. They should be returning soon."
The woman to his right handed him a clipboard.
"Which one of you is the American newspaper reporter?"
"That would be me."
"Ahhh, so you are Ms. Moore. In the flesh. I have viewed your video. And your companion is ... ah, yes, Ms. Shanahan.
"Now," said Okerke. "Listen carefully. We run a tight operation here. You have both been sentenced to 10 years hard labor and we intend to work you hard. You will sleep in the second barracks over there. Roll call and breakfast is at sunrise daily. You report here on the parade ground for the roll. Punishments are meted out at that time too. Then it's out into the fields on work details. The workday lasts until sundown, when you report back here for roll call and dismissal to the barracks. Any slow down in work, or refusal to do work, or any other kind of disobedience will be severely punished. No fraternization with the male prisoners is allowed. And, bear in mind that some infractions may result, at my discretion, in summary execution. Do I make myself clear?"
We both nodded ... as if we had any choice in the matter. Behind him the work details were beginning to come in out of the fields. The female prisoners were arriving in small groups, tired and grimy. Some were naked, others were partially clothed. No one looked at us as they lined up for roll call. Across the way the male work details were returning to camp and lining up for roll call too.
"Why are some women naked while others have clothes?" I asked.
"The women have a pecking order. One has to earn the right to have anything to wear here."
"Oh ... figures." I said.
"Now, as a demonstration of our power over you and the need to be totally obedient,' continued Okerke, "new prisoners, by tradition, spend their first night staked out naked on the ground."
Meghan and I shared our, by now, all too familiar look at one another.
The prisoners, having completed the evening roll call were wandering off towards the barracks.
Escorted by several prison guards, we crossed over to the area with the double row of stakes driven into the ground. They ordered us to lie down side by side on our backs and spread-eagle our arms and legs to be bound to the stakes. The stakes were placed just far enough to stretch us out, but not so far that we couldn't shift our position a bit. Meghan reached out for me and we were able to touch fingers.
Then we were left alone.
It soon grew dark. Arc lights mounted on poles came on, illuminating the grounds in a ghostly white glow. The temperature began to plummet. I wriggled uncomfortably, tugging at my bonds. Looking up, the night sky was clear and studded with stars. A quarter moon had appeared. One by one the lights in the prisoners barracks were extinguished. The only noise was that of insects and critters. I shifted again, wondering if it was possible to sleep spreadeagled on the ground in the cold night air.
Time passed. Nothing was said. Neither of us really wanted to talk.
Then I thought I detected movement and the sound of voices. It was off to the left and coming closer. I turned my head. A group of figures had emerged from the admin buildings. As they came closer it became clear that they were male guards. There were eight of them, and judging by their uncertain gait, they had been drinking heavily. Some of them even carried bottles in their hands.
"Oh Shit!" I murmured to Meghan. One didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know what these monsters had in mind, and that we were entirely at their mercy.
Within seconds they were standing over us, blocking out the light. Moments later, some of them were hopping about as they removed their trousers, and the first pair of them were already kneeling between our spread legs. One of the others knelt near my head, and holding my nose attempted to pour the contents of his bottle into my open mouth. I shook my head, the liquid flying in all directions.
Meghan screamed.
I felt the end of my first assailant's hardened penis probing between my spread thighs, and then the weight of his body pressing down on top of mine as he forced his way in. I gasped and gritted my teeth as he brutally raped me.
He didn't last too long, which was fortunate, but he was quickly replaced by another. The bastards had lined up to take turns. Shouts of encouragement and guffaws rang in my ears as my second assailant pounded away on top of me.
I felt Meghan's fingers again, touching mine. I wanted to turn toward her, but one of them had me by the hair and was laughing loudly as he poured from his bottle over my chest before spreading it around with his free hand.
With a satisfied grunt my third assailant was releasing inside me, and another about to take his place when a pair of whistling sounds passed over head, followed by a pair of ground shaking explosions over near the camp gate. Two more shrill whines rent the air. Another pair of explosions, this time much closer, showered us and our attackers with clumps of dirt.
I had been on assignment in war zones before, and knew in an instant that we were being mortared. So did our attackers. The gang rape quickly forgotten, they fled for their lives.
The next dual salvo took out one of the smaller admin buildings at the far end of the compound and ... judging by the screams .... some of our fleeing rapists as well. Debris and body parts flew through the air, falling all around us.
At least there is some justice in the world, I thought to myself.
Then all was silent except for the cries of the wounded and the crackle of flames.
"Just great!" I said to Meghan, thinking our time at the prison farm is going to be even worse than I thought.
The rebels might be a way out, if they don't turn out to be as bad as the guards.
Exciting stuff! You must be looking forward to your first full day. 10 years should just fly by.
Watch out for the ones with clothes then. They're the ones that will sell you out.
Exciting stuff! You must be looking forward to your first full day. 10 years should just fly by.
I just think that if you have to earn those clothes, clearly they're the ones who are following orders and maybe brown-nosing to the guards.You know something I don't? Yikes!
Watch your tight little...
Just for a moment there I was wondering if the rebels could be any worse than Tuma and his lot.
Then I figured that they were almost certainly not much better.
'We never walk alone' ? That might cheer up a Liverpool football fan. Maybe it will cheer up Barb?
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
The sweet, silver song of a lark
I guess I'm failing to cheer you up much, Barb!
Just for a moment there I was wondering if the rebels could be any worse than Tuma and his lot.
Then I figured that they were almost certainly not much better.
'We never walk alone' ? That might cheer up a Liverpool football fan. Maybe it will cheer up Barb?
When you walk through a storm
Hold your head up high
View attachment 557984
And don't be afraid of the dark
View attachment 557985
At the end of the storm
Is a golden sky
View attachment 557988
The sweet, silver song of a lark
View attachment 557989
I guess I'm failing to cheer you up much, Barb!
Apologies to Gerry and the Pacemakers?
I just think that if you have to earn those clothes, clearly they're the ones who are following orders and maybe brown-nosing to the guards.
I think you have been reading ahead again.
Profound ones....
windar
Teller of Tales
Is that the slogan of the Liverpool team? Are they the Livers?
I don't have a pacemaker...
You're very soon going to need one, at this rate
I am sure this will work out just fine, Barb...
...I think so, at least...
...I think so, at least...
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
That rebel activity was unforeseen? It could be an extra lethal factor as well, since their bullets and grenades wll not discriminate between guards and prisoners.
Considering the rebel activity, those inmates on top of the pecking order have a kevlar vest?
geolier
Tribune
I think it is time for a (successful) revolution, getting the president, Tuma and Jerry to be crucified
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Considering the rebel activity, those inmates on top of the pecking order have a kevlar vest?
Well, there are limits ....
windar
Teller of Tales
It's an idea, just a very, very, very BAD one. Jerry is on your side Moore, OK? Besides, crucifixion has been done to death here.Now, THAT'S an idea!
Hmmm... an overzealous reporter now siding with unknown rebels. The idea seems dangerous enough on the face of it but what do these rebels think about fair-skinned women? Are they there to rescue them or to expand their harem of slaves?Now, THAT'S an idea!
I wonder what dangers are ahead...