Chapter 6

John

06-11-2022

3 days after Chapter 1

John woke up, slowly. His eyes ached horribly as he tried to open them. He slowly came back to senses, and started to feel the strain on his biceps and triceps. A bucket of freezing cold water was splashed over his head.

'Oh, fuck!'

A wet layer of water remained on his skin. He was shirtless. He only saw silhouettes and shapes, because a bright light shined in his face. He kept his eyes aimed downwards, to make sure he wasn't blinded. A fan was switched. The cold wind caught onto John's wet skin. The man shivered all over. His arms were chained to two hooks and were held up high, stretching his muscles. John tried to remember what happened. It started to come back to him. The explosions and the flash of light. The gigantic airships which descended. Where was he now? Was he on one of those? Was this the SRCF, or was it something else? That last question was answered when a man behind John spoke with a strong Russian accent.

'You must be hungry. You haven't eaten in 17 hours.'

John did not answer. The first rule of something like this is to never speak. That is what he kept in mind. He was bloody hungry though, and his entire upper body hurt, inside and outside.

'John Farsworth. No family. Went to boarding school. Left home at 17. Tell me, is there anyone who would miss you if you die here?'

What the fuck? They knew so much about him. Sure, he had had his ID in his pocket when it all happened, but to know that from someone only by looking up their name was insane. There was more behind this. The Russian man came to John's front. He squatted down to John's level. His body blocked the bright light, and John looked up. The man was surprisingly young for his deep voice. Only in his twenties. He had a smooth spotless face, short blond hair and blue eyes, which glared into his.

'Is there anyone at all? A reason for me not to cut your throat?'

John looked the man in his bright, gleaming blue eyes. After more than ten seconds of staring at each other in complete silence, a slight smile appeared on the man's face.

'You're good, John. You're smart. I think there is an understanding between us. I think we both understand, that the only reason you are still alive, is because of your silence. You know, I have actually not heard your voice yet. I am curious as to what it sounds like.'

The Russian came back up from his squat and patted John painfully hard on his bare shoulder.

'If I don't find out what your voice sounds like by talking to you, there's plenty of other ways.'

John's strength faded. He woke up at the buzzing and crackling of electricity. As he opened his eyes and tried to move a little, a jolt of the tool of torture burned through his back. He groaned in pain and all of his muscles tightened. The metal chains clinked softly.

'What was that? Want to say something?'

John kept his mouth shut in the next few seconds. There was no response from the man either. John did not know when to expect anything, and another jolt fried through the skin between his shoulders.

He breathed heavily as the tears sprung into his eyes. Another jolt followed in his neck, and another in his lower back. He couldn't help but let out a soft groan of pain as the tears streamed down his face. The stench of smouldering skin and flesh filled his nostrils.

'No? No submission? Not even a scream? I will hear your voice today, or else...'

'Do you have a fucking obsession with voices, asshole?' answered John.

There was silence behind John. No response. Footsteps, from his behind to his side. The legs of the Russian then came into sight. He went to stand in front of John.

'What... did you... call me?' The man's voice had become higher and shrill. John found a hint of hysteria in the tone of his voice. This guy certainly wasn't okay in his head.

John did not say anything. He had gone too far already. In the next few seconds, the Russian let John know that insulting a torturer was no wise thing to do. He kneed the defenceless man in the face and struck his throat with a powerful punch. As John gagged and struggled for breath, the swish and buzz of the electric door sliding open sounded.

A superior voice echoed through the compact metal chamber. Russian language. John had no idea what was being said, but the man in front of John stood at attention. The man behind John stopped talking. The man in front of him simply nodded and saluted. Suddenly, from John's right side, a needle jabbed into his neck. He grunted. A few seconds later, as John's eyes became heavier, his muscles weaker, and his breath longer, he felt his arms falling down. The drug, combined with the immense relief of the biceps and triceps being under pressure no longer, tranquilised John to unconsciousness.

John was being dragged through a hallway as he opened his eyes. He felt that a part of his strength had returned to him, since he last woke up. His mind raced. Where the fuck were they taking him? And why? The thoughts and questions were endlessly surging through John's mind, as his legs slid across the smooth floor. His shoes sometimes squeaked as they slid. The dragging stopped. What if they thought that he was still asleep? That spark of hope was lost when the man who had beaten and electrocuted him spoke.

'We had to make room for another prisoner in your suite. We're just gonna check you out.'

The electrical buzz of a door sounded, and the dimly lit hallway was filled with bright sunlight. Freezing cold air surged into the hallway, and John shivered from the cold. The two Russian men dragged him outside, onto rough grey asphalt.

'You know what, I think you're fit enough to walk.'

John felt his arms being let go of, and he dropped with his arse onto the asphalt. The two men stood by him as he turned over and supported himself on his hands. The asphalt bit into them. There was a fierce wind, which rustled wildly through the thin clothing John had been given.

He stood up on his feet, and felt the muscles of his legs getting back into action. He had to get used to walking again, and his legs were stiff. His knees hurt as well. It was freezing cold. John looked around. They were at the edge of a large asphalt platform. The steel wall of the hallway was behind John, and in front of him, the asphalt stretched very far under a clear blue sky. Fighter jets were lined next to each other in parking spots marked by yellow lines on the platform. The yellow lines led to a long white line which stretched over the length of the platform.

That's what this was. An aircraft carrier. It was insanely cold, incredibly windy, and the sky was blue. They were in the air. He was on one of the ships. He had to be. Only then did he realise what the man had said. "We're checking you out."

'Move,' said the Russian with an unforgiving tone. It was almost as if he knew that John had just realised what they were doing outside.

John looked at the two men. The torturer was just as tall as him. The other man was taller, broader, had a thick black beard and short black hair, and a rough face. Both men were wearing thick jackets and pants, whereas John only had his thin clothing, which had the fabric of pyjamas. Both men had a handgun on their belt.

The blond man who had tortured him looked into his eyes.

'I said; move.'

John turned around and started walking. Every few steps, he received a slight shove in his back, either because he was going to slow or purely as a reminder that there were two people with guns behind him. They were heading to the edge of the deck. John just knew it was so. Every step forward on the asphalt felt like another bit of John's life ruined. His past had been for nothing. He had no family. Probably no friends alive. No legacy. They reached the edge. There was a metal ledge, a bit higher than the asphalt, only some 20 centimetres, like a small step. The ledge was just about a foot wide. John breathed heavily and fast. It was the result of both fear and lack of oxygen in the air.

He turned around at the men. A man was walking towards them. He had come from the door of the hallway, just as they had. He had goggles on and thick clothing, but a little different-looking.

'Get onto the ledge, now.' said the blond man angrily, taking his handgun from his belt.

John turned towards the sky. The sun stood high in the sky. He looked down. An endless sea of clouds stretched as far as the eye could see, maybe 200 metres below the ship. As John looked down, he did not see the endless stretch of thin air, and the layer of clouds which blocked the view of the cold ground far below. He saw only the end. An abyss, waiting for him. Death, luring him to the utmost edge, only to tumble over, seducing him with fine promises.

John heard the cocking of the handgun. The metallic sound of the bullet sliding into place in the chamber. The crack of gunfire sounded, echoing across the winds. It was quickly followed by a second. John felt his knees weaken. He had not felt anything. Was this it? Was he shot? Maybe he had gone numb. He carefully turned around on the edge. The man who had come walking towards them was running towards him, and only three metres away. The two Russians were on the ground, bleeding onto the asphalt. John, shocked by the sudden change of events and the man sprinting towards him, stumbled backwards. He stepped into the nothingness of air. The man launched himself at John and grabbed him tightly around his waist before he fell off. The two men soared down. John felt a belt tightening around his back. The man must have clipped it around his back when he reached behind his waist.

John let out a long, hollow scream as the fell through the cloud layer. His very breath was taken away by the speed of the drop, and his pyjama-like clothes were now soaked, making it even colder for him then it already was. The man simply silently looked at John. His goggles blocked all vision coming inside, but John just knew that he was. He had a huge grin on his face. He gave the cord a tug, and a second later, the two men were hauled upwards. John held on tightly to the man, who steered the parachute sharply to the left and then a little to the right.

Around two minutes later, without John really knowing when he had to expect it, they landed. The man tried to make it a clean landing, but John's shock at the feeling of ground and bit of a spasm of adrenaline knocked the two men off balance. They tumbled and rolled over the ground. John lay on his back in grass. The man unclipped the strap and stood up. John saw red smoke in the air. An indicator of where to drop. He felt two strong arms grab his shoulders. He was hauled up onto his feet by a man who had a friendly smile on his face.

The man who had rescued him spoke for the first time. John realised he hadn't heard what he sounded like yet. 'Warm him up and give him food.' The voice had a weak Scottish accent to it. Despite the accent, it was still clear to John what he had said. A man came from behind and supported John by putting John's arm over his shoulder. John's legs felt rather weak, so it was a good thing that he was being helped. They were in the clearing of a forest. It was only now that John realised that he had no idea where he was.

'Come on, bud. Take it nice and easy,' said the man with a French accent.

The forces of the UNE were very diverse in language and cultures, but all soldiers had learned to speak fluent English, and that was the main language. They went towards a group of large green tents. John was brought inside one of the tents, and put down on a comfortable chair. The man left the tent without saying another word.

John sat in the tent, staring outside through the half-open flaps. Soldiers were walking around. Had this been a rescue mission? The flaps widened. A German Shepard entered. The large dog growled, showing off its fangs. John held his breath in fright. The dog glared at him.

'Hold it, Shadow! He's a friend.' A known voice sounded from outside the tent.

John stood up from the chair as the dog calmed down and stopped growling. Mike entered the room. John was suddenly overwhelmed with happiness as he felt Mike's warm body around his, and they embraced each other tightly for a few seconds.

'Mike! My god! Are the others here as well?'

Mike gestured for John to go sit on the chair again.

'What's up with the dog, by the way?' asked John.

'Ah yeah, Shadow was the dog of a sniper whom was killed in action two days ago. Poor thing cried at the man's grave for two days. I just had to take him, you know? So yeah, I decided to take care of him.'

'Alright. Pretty cool,' said John with a grin.

'Yeah... listen, John. I don't know how well you knew Robert, but you two seemed like great friends. He wasn't found on the ship, and neither was Mason.'

A woman came in with a plate of food. She smiled and nodded silently at John as she placed it on the small plastic table, together with some cutlery. John simply looked at the food. He had lost all appetite.

'But hey, listen. It's only one ship. We saw around four ships in the Alps, remember?' said Mike.

'There weren't any bodies at the Pass either?' asked John.

'We don't know. The Alps have been occupied by SRCF forces. It's all been completely overrun and blocked off.'

'Where are we now?'

'This is Austria, my friend. They've been tracking down Russian carriers like the one you were on for a few days now. There is another coming this way.'

'So Robert and Mason could be on that one?'

'Yeah, they could. But the forces here have no reason to infiltrate that ship. We'll have to see what we can do. Believe it or not, this wasn't really supposed to be a rescue mission for you either. Gathering Intel was the main objective.'

'Well, great... When and how did you get here though?'

Mike grinned a little. 'I escaped the ship you were on, two days ago, myself. As soon as I was on the ground, I called the forces. That's how I got here as well. This was the most nearby little outpost.

Mike brushed through Shadow's fur. The dog looked at him thankfully.

'John... We will find Rob and Mason. Definitely.'