Part 8

We stood in the center of the yard for what felt like days, all of us back to back. We were expecting to have to fight a rush of guards coming to defend their own, but our attack was so fast and so unexpected that instead of charging the other guards just stared at us.

These clubs that we'd pulled from the fallen guards were heavy in our hands. They were made of a cold and smooth metal and I had never noticed until I help one that they were more than just something to smack someone with. That's all the guards had ever used them for. One of the prisoners would get mouthy or obstinate and he'd get a thump across the forehead. It'd either lay him out or kill him. The guards never cared which it was.

But now that I was holding one I noticed the knobs and buttons near the handle. They were all labeled with some sort of lettering that I didn't understand. It was mostly shapes and dashes. I twisted my hands around the handle and it felt like a baseball bat -- thin and comfortable. I twisted my wrists and the club swung back and forth in front of me. It felt lighter when I did that for some reason. But when I stopped and dropped the club to my side the weight returned. I swung it in small circles by my legs a felt it go light again. I watched the end of the club as I swung it as quickly as I could. That's when I saw the dirt. It was disturbed. A small tornado had built up, spinning clockwise. As I slowed the club the tornado began to fall apart. I spun faster and the little dirt devil grew larger.

Part 7

They never saw it, our bums' rush.

Ivanov was in from the beginning. We also recruited Abbey and Jefferson, although they both backed out before we actually did anything.

It was a simple plan. Daily during lunch a group of four guards would gather in the middle of the yard and divide up the meager amount of food we were fed. They would then pass our the rations to each man. During their gathering is when we'd attack. The four of us and Mason would walk in a line toward the guards with Ivanov following a distance behind. As we got closer Ivanov would start running and when he let out his rebel yell our line would break and he'd come charging through.

And that's what happened. Ivanov broke the line with his head down and his arms spread wide. He hit the first two guards like a linebacker and dragged them both to the ground. He put his boot in the face of one of them, pinning him to the ground. He wrapped the other's neck up in his massive right arm and gave it a violent twist. The guard dropped to the ground in a heap and Ivanov made short work of his second man.

While Ivanov worked over his two guards Tucker and I got the third. Carlson and Wicker handled the fourth. Tucker went high and I went low, wrapping up our man's legs. Tucker smashed him across the face with a rock and a long line of blood shot from his mouth, landing in the dirt next to me.

Wicker and Carlson took a bit longer with their guard, but in their defense he was the largest. Wicker and Carlson each buried a shoulder under their guard's ribs. He took about four steps back and then planted his heels and grabbed the back of each man's uniform. As he lifted each man from the ground a small Englishman named Mason came in from behind and took out the guard's legs. He made some sort of screaming sound and fell to the ground. He landed with a crunch and Ivanov put his heel in the guard's jaw, driving his lower teeth past his nose.

Ivanov and Tucker each grabbed a weapon from inside a guard's jacket. Carlson handed me and Wicker a weapon and pulled one for himself. We all stood back to back to back to back in the center of the yard. Mason stood in the middle of all of us.

Part 6

We sat in silence for more than a month. I was chained to Wicker who was chained to Carlson who was chained to Tucker. None of us knew why we'd been strung together like this, but it wasn't the first time it'd happened. It was, however, the longest we'd been kept this way. We were attached right arm to left in a long line that wrapped around on itself at least three times..

An overgrown Russian named Ivanov had been making tick marks on a wooden slat that held up the wire fence. He'd gotten to 35 when the guards came around, muttered in their gibberish that they speak to each other, and unlocked all of our cuffs.

Ivanov rubbed his wrists and grumbled something none of the four of us could understand.

The guards herded us all to the middle of the yard and we stood there for a few moments not understanding what was happening. The largest guard, the one with the tattooed designs up and down each arm and who we all assumed was the leader, came out of his room in the high tower and said something with a voice that sounded more than angry. He then turned to his guards and said something that caused them to back away from all of us by a few steps.

The leader then pulled something from his pockets. Small round balls that he tossed high in the air. We all followed their flight from his tower and into our cluster of men. The balls landed on the ground,made a screaming noise, and then exploded. We were all blown back and seven men never got up to dust themselves off.

It's been four days since, we know because of the ticks Ivanov has made on his wooden slat. The bodies are still lying in the middle of the yard. Whenever some of us try to move them to the perimeter the guards rush us screaming in their pig Latin and we all move away. It's been four days and the bodies haven't moved. It wouldn't have bothered us before. Something this time tells me that we will move those bodies, because now, four days later, things are different. For all of us.

Part 5

But none of us could look at Johanssen after they brought his body back. We assumed he looked like all the others. A crooked near grin. A rash on his cheek from the sliding across the rough sand. Likely one arm turned into his chest. His eyes opened wide, staring into the distance.

But none of us looked so we couldn't say for sure. We just played cards. I had three crudely drawn queens. One looked like a man except for the lipstick someone had drawn on with the red pen they had given us early on. The other two had long hair.

Part 4

He was geeked up, bouncing around and talking so fast that his accent made him almost unintelligible. He was saying something about a plan and a sprint and I had to calm him down.

"Stop jumping," I told Johanssen, my hands on his shoulders pinning him to the ground. He started shaking his head form side to side like a boxer getting ready for a fight.

"I have a plan," I think he said. "I'll run straight there." He pointed toward the gap between the mountains in the front of the camp. It was at least a half-mile away and all of us -- Tucker, Carlson, Wicker and myself -- just shook our heads.

"He'll never make it," Wicker whispered.

"Nope," Carlson said.

"Then I run through the gap. I can get there I am free."

Johannsen twisted and his back let out a loud crack. Tucker winced.

Johannsen got down like a sprinter with one hand on the ground and looked up at us.
"Someone tell me to go. Play like you are a gun. Say bang."

The four of us looked at each other. Wicker said "Bang" and Johannsen sprang forward.

Part 3

Our uniforms have faded. The grays of the federation have become nearly white. The blues of the allies are now nearly gray.

We haven't had new prisoners introduced in more than six months so now it's becoming harder to tell who got here when. My uniform is more like a white jumpsuit now. You can hardly read the Hardesty stitched above my left pocket. The bars on my shoulders fell off more than a year ago.

The sun here gets hot, which isn't surprising. This is the middle of the desert. There are mountains to our left and right which causes the heat to sit on top of us like we were in the bottom of a swimming pool. Three men have died just from the heat alone. It's also why some have tried to escape. Johanssen went stir crazy. Nuts from the heat. Sad, too. We all liked him. Cussed like a sailor but funny as all get out.

Part 2

Carlton is dealing poker and his stubby fingers make the whole affair a mess. If you don't get two cards at once, the single card he manages to pull from the deck slides off the edge of our table.

The guards always seem to take a special interest in our games. It starts with a pair of them but more soon join. They pace around our table looking at each of our hands and then smile or frown depending on what we are holding. None of us are certain they've figured out the game.

The tall one, the one with the tree-trunk arms who carries the long staff, he was walking behind Thompson a week ago and stopped. His face brightened and he called the other guard over. They both studied what Thompson was holding and started chattering to each other in a happy tone. Thompson turned to look at them and pulled his cards to his chest. The rest of us shoved our cards to the middle of the table and Thompson threw his hand down, face up. It was mixture of hearts and diamonds that added up to nothing. He just smiled and put a tick mark in his column on our ledger. One more win and he'd be tied for first.