#pow!scott

The bed was new, he could feel that stiff, new feeling mattresses had. All the walls were bright and shiny and the smell of paint lingered on the edges. There was a table set against the wall with a jug of water on it.

He was covered in bandages too, the worst of the knife-work now treated. Scott still felt like one giant bruise and he knew that his broken leg would probably need more than just a cast. Not that it felt like the leg had been….

Huh. Only the visible wounds had been treated…

Something was going to happen. And it wasn’t going to be good.

For the next few days he drifted in and out of consciousness as his injuries healed and various nurses and doctors treated him. Scott had once woken to the sound of people arguing, but he’d been too out of it to understand, but the next time he’d woken up his leg had been set and put into a cast.

Every time he woke up he was conscious a little longer than before. He was laden with IVs and as soon as he was more capable of thought the first thing he’d done was to tear them out.

So now he was cuffed to the bed rails. Even when asleep he was cuffed. It was the most uncomfortable position.

But it wasn’t until he’d been able to stay awake solidly for more than four hours that he was paid a visit by a person that wasn’t a medic.

That person was new to him in person, but he knew who she was. He’d seen her on the news. His knowledge must have shown on his face and his surprise even more so when he was greeted with perfect English with just the barest trace of an accent.

‘My name is Stabshauptmannn Koch.’

Scott just stared at her. He dearly wished his hands were free so he could cross his arms so he looked as defiant as he felt because he was sure he didn’t come across like that at all. The merest glimmer of a smile flitted across the woman’s face before she straightened up.

‘Prepare yourself, First Lieutenant Tracy. My superior is about to arrive. It would be best if you are respectful.’ ‘Best for whom?’ ‘Best for you. And your father.’

His heart stuttering in his chest made the monitors scream and it took an enormous effort to get his breathing under control. All the while the woman just stood there.

There must have been some kind of signal that Scott had not been privy to, for the woman smartly sidestepped twice and held a crisp salute as the door opened. Two people entered, both wearing Bereznik uniforms with high ranking showing.

One he knew. His torturer leered at him but he wiped the smirk off his face at Scott’s raised eyebrow when the man he was standing behind paused and made as if to turn. He didn’t complete the turn, however, stopping to acknowledge the salute of the young woman before turning back to Scott. Who filed that piece of information away for later contemplation.

‘I am Generaloberst Koch, Oberleutnant Tracy.’ ‘Generaloberst.’ ‘As you can imagine, I am a very busy man, Oberleutnant. I do not have time for you, your nation nor the petty demands of the World Government.’

Scott held his tongue. He wanted to scream at the man that if Bereznik hadn’t attacked Poland and annexed almost the entire country then none of this would have happened, but the mention of his father had him bite the retort back.

‘You, Oberleutnant Tracy, are a spy. Shot down over the sovereign territory of Bereznik after landing in a small town and stealing secrets.’ ‘Wha-What?’

The man sighed at the interruption and inclined his head. As quick as a flash the other man was across the room and Scott’s head was ringing from a resounding blow. Once he’d recovered his hearing it was to notice anger clear on the Colonel-General’s face. He was furiously berating the Major and Scott was impressed that he didn’t raise his voice despite the anger. The Major took the dressing down but as his eyes slid to his Scott knew that, given half a chance, he’d be bearing the brunt of that.

A clearing of his throat and the Colonel-General turned back to face him. The man was carved from ice, Scott thought, no trace of emotion could be seen on him.

‘As I was saying. As you are a spy you are to stand trial in the capital. You are here to get well enough to stand trial. Once you are fit enough to travel you will stand trial for the world to see how Bereznik deals with spies.’

The man turned, saluted the Stabshauptmannn and left. The Major, with one last hate-filled look at Scott, marched after him, but Koch stayed where she was.

Scott thought carefully over the next couple of hours. It would kill his father to see him paraded around as a political prisoner and on trial. Everyone knew that Bereznik wasn’t merciful, they had executed their own people for far less crimes.

If they weren’t going to transport him until he was well, then he had to remain as he was. He couldn’t get to the IVs anymore, but he could and would do whatever it took.

Stabshauptmannn Koch stayed in his room almost the entire time. There were three others who rotated out with her, all very lower rank officers, but Koch was there almost all the time.

Two days after the visit the medics considered that he was well enough to be started on some real food alongside the nutrient IV. And Scott made his decision.

Every piece of food was refused. Every cup of water. Everything even remotely food orientated denied.

At first the doctors and nurses were unconcerned. It wasn’t that uncommon for prisoners to refuse sustenance, but once they realised they weren’t getting better they usually gave in. No one went on hunger strike any more, it was a totally ineffective method of communication. Given enough time they were positive this man would be no different.

They were wrong.

As Scott continued to refuse he could see the sense of alarm turn to panic among the medical staff. Even the ever-stoic Koch was starting to look concerned – although that could have been wishful thinking on Scott’s part.

He was getting weaker, he knew this. The nutrient drips would only go so far, he hoped, although Scott knew they would keep them alive at the very least. He was gambling that they wouldn’t “waste” good nutrients on him, but he knew it was a big risk.

Sleep wasn’t easy now. All his aches and pains were far more pronounced, and a bone-tiredness was seeping into him. All he wanted to do was sleep but it didn’t come. On occasion he drifted but that was about it.

Sometimes he dreamed his father was there beside him, a hand on his arm and warm breath on the side of his face. He never spoke but when Scott was at his lowest the hallucination brought him comfort.

And then one day the Major was back.

Fury was clear on his face as he took in Scott’s weaken condition. Scott thought back to the angry conversation the Generalobers had had with him and while his memory was very patchy now he could see that if anything prevented the Generalobers from getting what he wanted it would be the Major that would be held accountable.

Scott looked the Major dead in the eye and laughed.

He laughed weakly, but he laughed and laughed and laughed until he was choking on dryness and the observation machines were screaming.

The last thing he was conscious of was that fleeting glimmer of a smile on Koch’s face.

When Scott woke up it was different. He was no longer in his bed but was sat up in a chair, hands no longer cuffed.. In other circumstances it would have been called an easy chair, but Scott was anything but easy in it.

The Major stood before him and the three other officers who guarded him were either side of them. Interestingly enough Koch wasn’t there, and Scott wondered why that was the case…

‘You will be fit to face trial, Oberleutenant.’

But Scott just stared at him. He didn’t have the energy to argue and he knew it would be pointless anyway. The Major would do whatever he wanted to – he always had – and all Scott could do was steel himself mentally for what was about to happen.

So far the medical team had tried their hardest to persuade him to eat verbally but, other than not remove his nutritional drip, had done nothing else. The leer on the Major’s face told Scott that that was about to change.

‘The Generaloberst wants you fit to stand trial and I will make sure you are. Hold him.’

The three men moved, one for each arm and the last one moved behind Scott, hooking one arm around Scott’s throat and forcing his head back a little and holding it in place. Scott was powerless to stop them, and all he could do was watch with wide eyes as the Major strode across the room and picked something up off the table.

It was a pipe. And a funnel.

Scott struggled hard but was held tightly, handholds so tight they would leave livid bruising. The Major grabbed his cheeks and squeezed hard until Scott had no choice but to open his mouth. He choked hard as the pipe was forced down his throat.

It wasn’t a long procedure but if felt to Scott that it had taken forever, and his throat was raw and hurting, like he’d swallowed glass. He gagged several times but nothing he did made them stop.

The Major hadn’t finished, though. Without letting go of his cheeks, the man fit the funnel onto the end of the pipe and poured a pale creamy liquid through. Scott could feel the coldness as the liquid went down. Eventually the whole bottle was emptied. His stomach rebelled and he tried to throw up again but the tube wasn’t allowing that to happen.

But it wasn’t quite over yet.

The man still stood over Scott and his leer turned into a wide smirk. And while Scott knew what was coming he also knew he had no way to stop or brace against it.

The tube was roughly yanked from him and Scott coughed, bringing up bile, blood and some of whatever that fluid had been. He watched through tears as the tube was thrown into the clinical waste bin.

He was still coughing and retching when his room door flew open and Stabshauptmannn Koch stormed in, fury clear on her face.

‘What is going on here?’ ‘Nothing you need to worry about, Stabshauptmannn Koch.’ ‘Nothing? Look at the state of the prisoner! This is not what Generaloberst Koch wants! Fit to stand trial, Major. I will be having words.’

She took in the position of the three men still around Scott and her frown deepened.

‘Gentlemen, you are all to leave this room and not return. Oberleutenant Tracy is now under my direct protection.’ ‘You cannot do that, Generaloberst left him under my command.’

Koch drew herself up. Absentmindedly Scott noticed that she was a tall woman, almost as tall as the Major and in no way was she intimidated by him.

‘You forget yourself, Major. I outrank you and I assure you that Generaloberst Koch will not be impressed at your treatment. You are undermining his plans. Now go.’

With a vicious look that promised retribution the Major and his men left, leaving Scott to slide off the chair now that his support had gone. Koch hit the emergency bell and medical staff came running.

She watched as the medics swarmed over Tracy, getting him back onto the bed and then rushing him off for scans to check for any damage the forcing of the tube down his throat and then ripping it out again. Koch kept pace with them until they refused her entry. So she took a stance against the wall and reluctantly made the call.

‘Ja?’ ‘Da ich bin.’ ‘Bericht.’ ‘Der Major ist ein Idiot. Tracy wird nicht gehorchen. Der Plan wird nicht funktionieren.’ ‘Schade. Finde dich damit ab.’ ‘Und Tracy?’ ‘Ich habe gesagt: Find dich damit ab.’

He didn’t wait for her reply, and Koch pondered how she was going to “deal with it” in a way that wouldn’t bring repercussions onto them. She stayed there, thinking, until the doors opened and a now-sedated Scott was wheeled back into his room.

The Doctor’s report was scathing about what had happened but ultimately – and miraculously – no permanent damaged had been done and with rest and more medical care Oberleutenant Tracy would be able to be discharged in around four days.

Four days wasn’t long, but she had a plan now. Koch settled in the chair beside her charge and carried on making phone calls. By the time the sun rose the next day all her plans were now in motion.

When Scott finally woke up the Stabshauptmannn was standing at ease where she always stood, with both Scott and the door in full view. He had a moment when he thought that the woman must have been standing there for days, but he drifted off before the thought could coalesce.

The next time he woke up his whole upper body felt like it had been scraped raw, which he supposed was actually what had happened. As he looked around he noticed Koch was missing but another woman with the same rank was standing at the foot of his bed.

When she noticed that he was awake she saluted him. Scott returned the gesture, albeit stiffly. She didn’t talk to him but stood to the side as the medics entered the room. The doctor stopped at his side and for the first time spoke to him. When Scott answered his voice was rough.

‘You will be sore for a little while, Oberleutenant Tracy, but you have suffered no lasting damage. No food for a few more days yet, but after that we want you to eat.’ ‘I made my stance clear.’

The Stabshauptmannn tutted but didn’t say anything more, ignoring the looks both men cast her.

‘I can only encourage you. You will heal better with real food once you can eat safely.’ ‘I understand. But this is not open for negotiation.’

The doctor paused and regarded him seriously.

‘I think you are an idiot. But…’

Scott nodded and reached over, giving the doctor’s arm a squeeze. It was the only thing he could think to do to reassure the man that he’d thought through what he was doing and didn’t hold the medic in any way to blame. It was only at this gesture that Scott realised he had not been recuffed to the bed.

‘Stabshauptmannn Koch has requested we get you ready for transport today.’

Slowly Scott sat up, frown clear. They were moving him? Panic seized him – they had promised that he needed to be fit for the trial, they wanted him at his best, and Scott was realistic about how awful he looked.

The obs machine started beeping and the doctor was talking to him but Scott couldn’t hear him. Vaguely he was aware that he was having a panic attack and he fought to get himself under control.

‘Calm yourself, Oberleutenant Tracy.’

Ah, Stabshauptmannn Koch was back. She stood at the bottom of his bed where he could see her, and her calm, matter-of-face tone helped him to ground himself.

When Scott was under control she asked the medics to leave and once it was just the three of them.

‘You are to be transferred, Oberleutenant. You have become…a problem. And I have been tasked with…dealing with you. Stabshauptmannn Kurschat will escort you. Goodbye, Oberleutenant Tracy, I hope we never meet again.’

She smartly saluted, executed a perfect military turn, and left.

Scott blinked, unable to process what she was saying. But the smirk on Kurschat’s face told him that he’d heard her correctly.

Within a couple of hours Scott – bed, obs machine and IVs all and still minus cuffs – was in an ambulance with a nurse, heading he did not know where. He took the time to rest as much as he could as he had no idea what would happen once he arrived, and he had plenty of experience of how Bereznik treated their prisoners.

It was several hours later and darkness had fallen when they arrived. Stabshauptmannn Kurschat stayed in the ambulance as he was wheeled out. In the darkness Scott didn’t get to see what kind of building he was being taken into but the smell of disinfectant told him that it was another hospital.

No one spoke as he was wheeled in. He was settled in a room, but weirdly his obs machine wasn’t plugged in.

In fact, they unplugged him completely, just left the IVs in. Confused, Scott stayed quiet. He might not understand what was going on, but there was just the slightest of chances that this was not an accident.

He feigned sleep for a couple of hours and was just on the verge of drifting off when his door was slowly and quietly opened. A man entered, covered in clothing that Scott knew by heart and for once in the last six months he felt an old emotion welling up.

As Kyrano smiled gently at him Scott felt hope for the first time since he’d been shot down…

fin

Translation by google (so sorry if it isn't right)

To his left, Alan screamed, begging for Jeff to bring him back, for his Scotty to come home. 

To his right, Virgil continued to rant, “He just wanted to make you proud, he just wanted to do everything just like you, he just had to follow your footsteps.”

Jeff shook his head, unsure of which son to turn to first, which to beg more forgiveness of. He knew he hadn’t been there enough and had been trying to do better, to be the father they deserved. He had stepped up so Scott could step back and be the teenager he should have been. He’d taken the interest he should have in all of their hobbies, supported them in their aspirations, encouraged them to make their dream jobs a reality. 

He stumbled back as Virgil shoved him, falling back into the snow but not feeling the bite of its chill. 

“It’s your fault he’s gone!” Virgil yelled, “Just like Mom. It’s all your fault!”

Before he could speak, the hillside shifted to a mountain, a low threatening rumble filling his senses as he looked for both Virgil and Alan as the snow around him started to move. 

“No!”

He caught himself, the yell a gasp of breath on his lips. 

He was home, the farmhouse in Kansas familiar and warm as it always was in the summer months. 

His bedsheets were tangled around his feet, twisted in the way as they always were after the nightmare. 

Rubbing his face, Jeff forced his breath to slow, forced the racing beat of his heart to settle into something healthier. 

It was just a nightmare. 

The same nightmare he had been having for months, ever since the news had broken of the Bereznian war and he had known. 

He had known that Scott would be amongst the American Service Men and Women that would be deployed to the area in some capacity. There had been no doubt in Jeff’s mind that his eldest would face the same dangers as he had himself during the Global Conflict. 

There had been a handful of precious days before he had been deployed, Jeff had gotten John home from Oxford for the occasion, determined to have all of his boys together and in arms reach for just a moment. He had spoiled them all rotten, and if the eldest three had cottoned on to his reasoning, none of them had passed comment. Scott had laughed and joked as bright as any of them, beanpole arms and legs toned with muscle easily scooping up both youngest brothers, much to their delight. 

It had been on the kid’s last night that Jeff had pulled him aside to share a measure of whiskey out on the back porch, a memory that he clung to in the long minutes after his nightmares. He had held his son close and Scott had leant into him like he had done when there had been far fewer brothers around. They had talked about the Air Force and what likely came next for Scott after deployment and what challenges he would likely face. 

Then, when the drinks were finished and Scott had clung to his father for just a moment too long, he had promised Jeff one thing that neither knew he could guarantee. 

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

Jeff hadn’t corrected him, instead he had laughed and nodded, agreeing that the kid would be home for Christmas. 

The Holidays had been months ago, but at least had been accompanied by letters and holo-calls, even if the latter had been static-filled and intermittent. Scott had still been smiling, but Jeff had caught the weariness behind his eyes that not even the hologram could hide. He had wondered at the time if he had looked the same when calling his young family from far off lands. 

It had been after that that the nightmares had gotten more regular. Though only when John had gone back to College and Virgil had started spending more time in the library after school that his mind had started to trick him into believing that his sons were drifting out of his reach. 

He’d gone through enough psych evaluations as part of his NASA training to know it came from a deep rooted fear that he wasn’t enough for them. So he’d gone to his therapist and talked about his fears, and gone home and made sure his remaining four son’s knew he loved them and was there for them, whatever they wanted in life. 

It had been Virgil who had clocked on to Jeff’s sudden overtness, and who had gently called him out on the matter one afternoon whilst the pair had replaced a broken fence post on the driveway. Jeff had admitted as much as he had dared, not wanting to feed into the fear he knew the middle child held for his eldest brother. They had paused in their work long enough for Jeff to apologize for not being there sooner, for not being more and doing better, and Virgil had forgiven him. 

Yet still the nightmare had come. 

Life went on though and the family had adapted to their new normal, Scott’s holocalls becoming more infrequent until they had stopped altogether. Jeff had assured the rest of the family that it was simply signal issues, that a good old fashioned letter was undoubtedly in the post on its way to them to tell them as much as he could about his latest missions.

Jeff’s words had sounded hollow to his own ears as he had remembered his own most dire moments of the Global Conflict and how he had still found a way to get a message home to his family. Scott would have found a way. If there had been any possibility, Scott would have sent them something to let them know he was fine. 

The missions weren’t long, Bereznik wasn’t a large country, Scott himself had told them as much. A couple of days was usually the worst of it, newer rules of flying hours and rest periods forcing the Air Force’s hand in ensuring their people were well looked after. Jeff had tried to tell himself that they would hear something soon, that Scott was just busy and the storm system Jeff had watched sweep over the foreign country on the Weather Channel had knocked out comms. 

Then his nightmare had come true. 

It had been whilst the kids had all been away at school and Jeff himself had been in the middle of a business meeting. The incessant knocking at the door had been a mild irritation right up to the moment when he had identified the CAO. 

“No.” He had stated, stepping back from the doorway, “Tell me he’s not--”

“Captain Tracy’s Squadron has been MIA for a month.”

They had refused to tell him more, no matter how much he had yelled and how many times he had stated his rank in the same damned Air Force. Even when he had begged, finally clocking what day it was in April and using it as part of his reasoning, they had still given him nothing more to go on.

Val had been his first call, and then Kyrano. 

The third had been his mother. 

His brilliant mother who had never pulled her punches, had listened as he had berated himself for letting Scott follow his footsteps and enlist. Never once did she tell him that it would all be okay. 

Instead she had listened, patient as ever, despite her obvious horror at the thought of what could have happened to Scott. She had waited out Jeff’s rant and hugged him when he had finally burned himself out before she had asked what he was going to do about it. 

She had looked after the boys whilst Jeff had made calls to every contact he had. He had found the version of himself that had once been a Colonel and used it as the strength he needed to get through each of the calls when one after another ended in promises he knew would be empty. 

His demands had gotten him a story though, a squad on an aid mission to support a supply drop to civilians trapped in the mess of war. They had been shot down in enemy territory but had made contact from the village they had been trying to assist. There hadn’t been any further contact, too risky Jeff had been told, but when recovery crews had finally made it to the village three weeks later, the whole place had been razed to the ground. 

It was a sanitized version of events, Jeff knew that much from his own experience, but it was something to work off of.

So he had, throwing the business and his projects on the back-burner to focus everything he could on one tiny village in the center of Bereznik and the fact that nothing of the Air Force Squadron had been found there. 

As spring had turned into summer and new updates had gotten fewer and farther between, he had finally accepted a need to tell the boys. 

He had tried to explain that MIA was good news, it was better than the definitive alternative, it meant there was still hope. None of them had really seemed convinced by his reasoning, Alan screaming and begging in the same way that Jeff had pictured in his nightmares, Virgil staying solemnly quiet as he shed his own tears in a way that was entirely opposite to the reaction Jeff’s mind had conjured up. John and Gordon had both frozen, each wide eyed and horrified at what they were hearing, he had seen Gordon’s tears later when the kid had pulled himself out of the pool at training. 

As far as he knew, John had never cried. 

Despite their reactions, the nightmares had come the same as they always did. 

In his gut, Jeff hated himself. 

Even as he knew there was nothing more that he could do, not without something key in finding where Scott could have ended up. He hated that he was stuck, on the opposite side of the world, with nothing more to do than wait for one of the few that would help to call and tell him they’d found something. 

He knew he wouldn’t sleep for a while after the nightmare, the what-ifs too loud in his mind for him to shut off. So, as he always did, he pulled himself out of bed and slipped downstairs to the office, hoping to at least be productive with the few hours before he needed the boys up to get Gordon to training. 

It took him a moment to realize the vid-message icon was coming from his personal comm, not for business. 

He opened it quickly, knowing only a handful of people would leave a message for him overnight. 

Val’s hologram popped up, bathing the whole room in a soft blue as her pinched brow looked up to him.

“I’m not calling because I haven’t time.” She started, voice soft like she couldn’t afford to be heard, “So you’ll get this in the morning and maybe I’ll have more answers. The GDF have been called in to retrieve Prisoners of War from a base not far from the village. I’ll call you when I have answers.” 

His hand reached out instinctively to call her, needing something more after the long long months of nothing. 

The call didn’t connect. 

“Dammit, Val.” He uttered, rubbing his hand over the stubble that had begun to form along his jaw, “What am I meant to do with that?”

He was still too far away, needed to be closer than he was in that moment. He needed to be there. 

Jeff couldn’t go to Bereznik, but he could fly himself to London, that was only an hour from Paris, where he knew they had been taking the worst injured. 

A few phone calls later and the plan was set in motion, his mother would take the boys, he would fly himself to London and meet Hugh, an old friend he’d not caught up with in too long. 

What he hadn’t expected when he stepped out onto the tarmac into a gray London morning, was for Kyrano to be standing next to Hugh. Jeff hadn’t even been aware that the pair had known one another, let alone that Kyrano was in London. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Jeff.” Hugh had laughed, clapping him on the shoulder, “Kyrano and I have been crossing paths since before you knew me.”

Jeff looked to the Malay, raising an eyebrow, “You have?”

Kyrano smiled in that soft, knowing way that betrayed the kind of man he really was, “You don’t know everything Jeff, even if you wish you did.”

He shook his head in admission as Hugh gestured towards a truck. Where it would take them, Jeff wasn’t quite sure, but he didn’t doubt that the pair that had met him would have some kind of plan in place.

“Is there any news?” He asked as they pulled out of the airport.

“No.” Kyrano shook his head, from the passenger seat, “Val told you she would call.”

“Do we know why they’re releasing them?”

“Also, no.” Hugh answered, glancing back in the rear-view, “Though sources suggest it’s less of a release and more of a trade.” 

Jeff couldn’t say he particularly cared for the semantics of release versus trade, he needed to know the details, who and why and when. The Bereznian forces weren’t the sort to simply let people go, not without a valid reason or a high price. The opposition had to have had something that the other had desperately wanted.

“They’ve not taken people back this whole war, why now?” He murmured, “Who did we capture?”

“That, my friend, is what we’re going to find out.” Hugh answered without looking back, “Might as well get comfortable, it’s a couple of hours to Norfolk.”

Jeff took the hint, settling back in his seat and managing to doze for a brief time before the familiar roar of jet engines woke him. 

The base was familiar, likely one he himself had stayed at for a stint during the Global Conflict, though he knew he’d have been lying if the bases hadn’t all come to look the same over the years. 

Their car was waved through after Hugh had given the guard on the gate a few choice words, drawing Jeff straighter as they weaved through the buildings to one closer to the airfield itself. 

Hugh had ordered the pair to stay put as he had slipped out the car and strode towards the offices, pausing to salute the man on the door before vanishing inside. Neither had spoken as they had waited what felt like hours, both able to see the silhouettes of people arguing through the unshuttered windows. 

In all the months he had been waiting for news, he had never seen the action his friends had been taking in person. It had always been from a distance, vid-calls and messages that left out what they had all been doing behind the scenes for him and his son. 

He had always been grateful, but never more so than after seeing all they had been doing for him in action.

Hugh’s sigh was heavy as he got back into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary as he did so.

“I don’t know what new Colonel Casey is going to call you with later, but I wouldn’t expect it to be good news, Jeff.”

It hadn’t been good news. 

It hadn’t been until the next day that Val had called on a secure line, and after tutting when she had discovered he was in London, she had filled them in on everything she had known. 

A group of highly decorated Bereznian Soldiers had been caught by the Opposition on a takeover of a base close to the border, intel had suggested the loss had been devastating to the Bereznian army and left morale sinking quickly. It was no surprise that the country wanted them back, if only to boost the confidence of the young men in their forces and renew their efforts. A swap had been agreed, the handful of captured American and French soldiers were to be released in a man for man exchange.

Except the Oposition had refused to release a captured Colonel, and the Bereznian’s had accepted without argument. 

Scott’s squadron had been amongst the men and women released. 

Scott had not.

It had stunk of horseshit. 

Val had agreed as much. 

“They’re not in a good way, Jeff, but when I can I’ll try and get something out of them.” Val had promised before she had ended the call. 

So he had been left with nothing else to do, but wait. 

He was sick and tired of waiting. It had been months since he had heard his son’s voice, even longer since he had held him close and been able to tell him just how much he loved him. There had never been anything for him to do other than stand by and wait for others to make their move. 

Just where had that gotten him?

“We need to find out where that base is.” He had told Hugh and Kyrano over dinner, “I’m not waiting any more, I’m going to find my son.” 

Both had shared a look, one that Jeff knew as a question of if there was a son left to even save. 

Jeff didn’t want to think about that as a possibility. 

Hugh had eventually nodded and cleared his office though, setting up a map in place of the encyclopedias that had filled the desk space. Jeff had raised an eyebrow when the man had produced the copies so quickly, but Hugh had simply shrugged and told him how it was best to be prepared. 

They had plotted late into the night, and long into the next day. Jeff had caught catnaps as the other pair had discussed security protocols, and they had slept as he called in favors from old friends still in the forces in the hopes of someone letting slip of a location.

Time moved slowly, like the whole world around him was moving through molasses, everything just taking that much longer than he wanted it to. 

In the end, Val didn’t need to find out anything for him. 

It had come from his secretary in New York, an innocuous little box that Jeff had been too intrigued by to not open. Inside had been a letter with a number, and his son’s dog tags. 

It had been with Hugh and Kyrano at his back that he had made the call. 

“You have my attention.”

“How much does your Son mean to you, Jeff Tracy?”

“I don’t bargain for lives. Where is my son?” 

“We are not bargaining, and you are in no position to make orders of us.”

“What do you want?”

“A million of your American Dollars. A secure wire transfer.” 

“I want proof of life.” 

“Oh, we can arrange that, just listen.” 

Silence on the other end of the line for a moment before…

“Let me out! Please! Let me-- Let me out!”

Jeff’s heart stalled in his chest, a memory of his son being so much younger and getting himself trapped under the bed echoing with the cry of fear. His little boy, terrified of whatever happened next with nobody to come to his rescue.

Kyrano’s hand on his shoulder snapped him from the memory, a sharp nod as the man pointed to one of the maps where Hugh had drawn a big red circle. 

They’d gotten a location, the final piece they had needed. 

“It’ll take time to get that sort of money together.” He forced his voice to remain steady, “A week at least.” 

“We can wait that long. Let us hope your son can also.” 

And then the line was cut. 

Jeff had wanted to collapse in a heap, to sob and beg of someone to save his little boy and fix everything for him. 

“They didn’t bother about their Colonel because they need money more.” Hugh stated, “If you pay up, they’ll likely keep Scott and barter for the Colonel as well.”

Instead Jeff forced steel into his spine and cleared the lump from his throat. His heart restarted with a fire burning in its pit, anger at the players that had decided his boy wasn’t worth it, anger at the Bereznian’s that were hurting him, anger at the whole damned war for trying to take his son. 

They had confirmation, Scott was alive. They knew where he was. They had a plan to get to him. 

It all fell into motion perfectly quickly, the molasses cleared and everything suddenly running at double speed.

He had only paused long enough to visit his son’s rescued squadron when Val had finally given the all clear. Men and women, shells of their previous selves that Jeff had met in passing. Kids just like his son who had gone into the war thinking they could survive anything the world threw at them. 

Jenny, Scott’s co-pilot, once as quick witted and bold as his son had always been, had barely been recognisable, her cropped hair uneven in the way it had grown out, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes without the spark that Jeff had always seen when the crew had been on leave. She was small in the bed, a shadow, not the strong bold woman that had challenged his son. 

She had grasped onto Jeff’s hand the best she had been able with fingers that evidently hadn’t healed in the way that they should have, her voice barely above a whisper as she had told him how their superiors wouldn’t listen to a trio that would undoubtedly receive an Honourable Discharge in weeks to come. Jeff would have words about it later, once he had his son safe he would tear a new one to anyone who had considered it acceptable to leave a man behind.

“Scott’s alive.” Jenny had hissed, “Of that I’m certain, Colonel.”

“We’ll bring him home.” He had assured her, closing his hands over hers, hoping and praying that she was right. 

“He’s the strongest of us all.” She had nodded, the tiniest spark coming back to her features for a brief moment, “He’ll keep fighting, if not for us, then for his family.”

It was with that Jeff had left, his own hope quietly fanned from a spark into a smoulder. 

All that was left to do was arm themselves. 

In abstract, Jeff had always known Hugh had held an armory of sorts, though he had never seen or imagined just what such a place would contain. Never in a hundred years would he have pictured the secret room the Aristocrat had led them to, weapons old and new lining the walls on all three sides. 

Kyrano took free reign, but as Jeff reached out, Hugh stopped him. 

“You’re not coming that far, Jeff.” 

“What?” He had spun, thinking back to the plans they had made, and what they had agreed would happen once they touched down in a clearing just beyond the base.

Hugh had held both hands up, almost like an apology, “You’re too involved, too at risk yourself.”

Whilst it had been true, it wasn’t the biggest problem that Jeff had foreseen. He had a son to save, a son he was going to fight to get back, a son that he had left to face the world long before he had been drawn into a war. Jeff wasn’t going to leave him to struggle through on his own, not again.

Hugh and Kyrano of all people should have understood.

“You both have daughters,” He started, waiting until Kyrano had turned to look at him, “can you truthfully tell me you wouldn’t see the world burn for them?”

“The difference is, Jeff, we have.” Hugh shook his head, “That is a place we have both been to and a place neither of us would choose to send another parent to. We do not know your son’s status, and whatever we find there you will undoubtedly carry with you for the rest of your life.” 

Kyrano set the rifle down that he had been examining, “What Hugh means is, you might know what Prisoners of War go through and have seen the extent of Jenny and Gary’s wounds, but Jeff, that will not prepare you for whatever they might have done to your own son.”

Jeff held his hand out again for the gun Hugh had taken from him, “I’m coming with you.”

The pair had shared a look but hadn’t argued. 

Jeff had helped himself to whatever weapons he saw fit. 

Then they were there, the three of them and a car of Hugh’s own design tucked safely away in a clearing barely a mile from the base. Night had fallen and wordlessly they had moved, the plan working seamlessly as they had slipped in through a disused entrance. 

There hadn’t been as many guards as they had expected, and the reason for everything fell into place as Jeff had pulled a man he had knocked out into a small cell. Their uniforms were grubby, tattered and frayed at the edges, the men themselves skinnier than a soldier on home soil should have been. 

The country was bankrupt. 

That was why they wanted money. Why they had kept hold of Scott and used him to bargain. 

It was why the Oposition hadn’t bothered to bring Scott home, they must’ve believed that soon enough the war would be over ayway. 

All the while, his boy, his strong, brave boy, had been left to suffer. 

It was with anger in his heart that he no longer hesitated in pulling the trigger with each soldier that had come to face them. 

Jeff was finding his son and taking him home. 

It was no good…he needed to hole up for a few hours and sleep off whatever drugs they’d used to sedate him. He risked a peek around the corner and grinned as he saw the door ahead and the empty corridor.

He couldn’t read the language but he understood the image. It was an exit.

Finally his luck had turned.

Gathering his dwindling strength, Scott limped over to the door, opened it and slipped out into the night.

~

‘What do you mean, you’ve lost him?’

Colonel Jeff Tracy’s roar could be heard across the entire floor, and many of the doctors and nurses not currently dealing with this particular emergency said a prayer of thanks and hurried past.

The doctor and three nurses currently in said room were saying prayers of a different kind.

‘Colonel Tracy, there’s no way Scott should have woken up from the anaesthetic, let along been able to walk after the operation. We had no way of…’ ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’

Quiet Jeff Tracy was - unbelievably - more scary than shouting Jeff Tracy, and the ease at which he switched was frankly alarming.

‘I warned you that his fast metabolism means he burns through sedation. Hell, Scott’s medical notes hold such warnings!’ ‘And we read them…’ ‘So why wasn’t there someone there for him?! Why wasn’t I informed he was in the recovery so I could have been there when he woke up?’ ‘Hospital policy clearly states no non-medical staff are allowed on the recovery room!’ ‘But letting disoriented just-been-rescued-POWs escape is permitted?’

Placing both hands on the desk and leaning over it, Jeff dropped his voice even lower.

‘If Scott comes to further harm due to your negligence I shall be suing this hospital and you personally.’

He paused for a moment to make sure he’d got his point home before storming off, leaving the hospital to go kick his car tires and cuss in private.

And he cursed himself.

Jeff had hated seeing Scott tied to the bed, hated the superior attitude of the doctors treating Scott and their condescending attitude. The ‘we know how to treat POWs, you’re just a civilian’ looks they’d given him as Scott howled in anguish as orderlies had held him down until the medical restraints were in place.

He picked up the comm and called the only two people available to him.

‘I need you. Scott’s escaped.’ ‘On my way.’ ‘On my way, Dad.’

Taking a deep breath, Jeff drove to the accommodation he’d been given in the barracks, had a quick shower and changed into his uniform.

He may be retired, but he still had some sway, and once Val and John arrived he’d have the two necessary people to both enforce his words and find Scott.

And then he was taking his boy home - regardless of whatever else was said.

~

Scott found himself on the roof of a wing of the hospital. Even at night the complex he was currently in was well lit, but up here he was safe for a while. No one would think to check up here for him and he could rest for a bit.

He moved away from doorway and hid himself around the back so that he couldn’t be easily seen should someone think to check, sliding down the wall and using it to keep himself upright on the floor. Just in case he needed to move in a hurry.

The thin blanket he’d woken up covered in and had unthinkingly brought with him Scott now covered himself with - it may have been summer here but the nights were cooler than home and he was bizarrely dressed in a hospital gown that barely covered his dignity let alone gave him any warmth - and he settled down to nap.

When he awoke it was full daylight and the camp was full of people rushing around and Scott groaned.

He’d slept too long and missed any opportunity to get away! Well, there was nothing to be done about that. Surveying his hiding place Scott was pleased to see that no one could see him from the main building or the surrounding ones.

There was nothing he could do but wait for night to fall again, so he settled back down to sleep some more. He’d need as much energy as possible to pick his way out of the camp.

Four floors down Colonel Valerie Casey had just dismissed the doctor in charge of Scott’s care. She collapsed into the chair and sighed deeply.

Why the man had felt the need to pigheadedly stand his ground when he was so obviously at fault was beyond her…but dwelling on him wouldn’t find Scott, so she shoved him out of her mind and looked over to John. Her Godson was pouring over the footage from the few cameras the hospital had.

‘Anything?’ ‘No. I can’t see Scott leaving from any entrance.’ ‘So he could still be here? After the extensive search that was made?’

John scoffed and sounded so much like his father that Val couldn’t help but smile, looking to Jeff as she did.

‘Suggestions?’ ‘Did anyone check the roof?’

Looking quickly through the reports from the search groups she found her answer.

‘Yes. Twice. No sign of Scott.’ ‘What about the other roof.’ ‘Other roof?’ ‘There’s two roofs. The main one is obvious but the additional wing as a small roof. No cameras there and it’s the perfect place Scott would hide - where he could see the sky.’

Val looked through the reports again but she didn’t need to. Not one group had mentioned the wing. She looked at Jeff and nodded, and the three of them moved as one.

They paused at the door to the roof, Val with a restraining hand of Jeff’s arm.

‘I totally agree with you getting Scott out of here, but if he’s deep in a flashback he might need sedating …’ ‘Only as a last resort. Not that idiot doctor and no medical restraints! I’m convinced the restraints are what triggered all this in the first place.’ ‘Agreed. Give me a couple minutes to get someone ready just in case. John - you better stay here.’ ‘No way!’ ‘Val’s right, John. Too many people will freak Scott out more, and if he is in the throes of a trauma response he’ll never forgive himself if he hurts you.’

John didn’t like it but he knew his Dad was right, so he nodded and stayed put as Val called for a specific doctor to meet them and Jeff opened the door.

The click of the door opening roused Scott, and he went from asleep to fully awake in seconds, shrinking down as much as possible and holding his breath.

He almost lost that breath when his Father’s voice called out his name, but all it did was enrage him further.

How dare they! How dare they!

Rage flooded Scott’s body with adrenaline, and as the man pretending to be his father rounded the corner he leapt forward, pinning the man to the wall with one arm across the man’s throat.

Scott pressed hard, not wanting to allow the soldier to speak. He was so enraged that he’d managed to pin the man up on tiptoe, and he hissed in his ear as he lent in harder.

‘You cannot trick me into giving up my squadron so easily! How dare you!’

Jeff had stepped out onto the small rooftop, convinced that Scott would be there waiting for him. He called his son’s name softly, frowning at the lack of Scott.

There was only one place Scott could be - behind the door. So Jeff rounded the corner and…he had no time to react as he found himself pinned to the wall, a skinny but surprisingly strong arm across his throat and preventing Jeff from speaking at all.

A detached part of Jeff’s mind told him that wearing his uniform at this precise moment had been a spectacularly bad idea, while another part that sounded remarkably like his Ma noted that the surgery on his arm would probably have to be operated on again if the blood running down his arm was any indication.

But mostly Jeff was scrabbling to get a firm footing and struggling to breathe.

He needed to reach Scott! If he failed now…it would destroy his son more thoroughly than anything else. He tried to wiggle his fingers between his throat and Scott’s arm but his son just pressed harder, whispering something in his ear that Jeff couldn’t hear over the roaring of blood in his ears.

His vision began to fade into black spots and Jeff couldn’t stop the tears falling. Not for himself but for Scott…

John fidgeted.

Something wasn’t right. He’d heard his Dad call out Scott’s name but then…nothing. He desperately wanted to see what was going on on the roof, but he’d promised his Dad he’d stay put.

His Aunt Val rushed up to him and briefly placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘Anything?’ she whispered, frowning when John shook his head. ‘Something’s not right, Aunt Val.’ ‘I agree.’

She passed him a pen syringe and nodded to the door. John flashed her a tight grin and stepped through the doorway.

The sight as he turned the corner almost made him falter, but as his Dad’s hand dropped John lunged forward, throwing one arm around Scott’s neck and chest to pull him off their Dad while his other hand stabbed the pen into Scott’s arm.

John held on tight as his brother tried to lunge back at their father while trying to simultaneously dislodge him, but the fast-acting sedative soon allowed John to pull Scott backwards and they collapsed onto the floor.

Jeff’s gasp as he also fell to the floor was music to John’s ears, but even more welcome was Scott’s whispered and confused ‘John?’ Before he lost consciousness.

Coughing as he crawled over and collapsed against his boys, Jeff patted John’s hand as he pulled himself together.

‘Thank you, John.’ ‘You’re welcome. Dad?’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Can we go home now?’ ‘Val?’

Val was already standing over them, with two orderlies waiting behind her with a stretcher.

‘Wheels up in twenty minutes gentlemen.’

She helped Jeff to his feet.

He gave the area in front of the stage extra special attention.

Eventually satisfied, he gave the rostrum one last buff with his sleeve before leaving the arena and ensuring that the guards were in place for later.

It was time to visit the condemned.

~

Today was the day. Today would finally end this…endless torment he’d been living for the last…he didn’t actually know how long but…it felt like forever.

He shuffled from the shelf he called bed to the bucket in the corner he called toilet before returning to the bed.

His captors had taken great delight in counting down the days for him, filling each one with taunts about how useless he was, how worthless to his family, to his country he had been. He’d been living with it so long now that that small part of his brain that had always felt that had grown so that he was beginning to believe it.

He was worthless.

He’d been unable to evade capture. He’d been unable to save his co-pilot or the other members of his squad that had been captured. He’d been unable to escape.

Worthless was the least of it…

‘Hey, America. You ready?’

Scott said nothing. Words would only get him another beating. The door swung open and his usual two guards strolled in, nightsticks already drawn in anticipation.

But Scott had no fight left in him. Not anymore.

They had forced him to watch his Father giving an impassioned plea for his life before the world government before being denied any further possibility of extradition or of a stay of execution. They had celebrated by beating him senseless. But Scott was immune to the pain now. It had been his constant companion for so long.

Today there was no beating. There wasn’t any food either but that wasn’t a surprise. What did surprise Scott was the room they dragged him to.

It wasn’t the usual “interrogation” room. It was large and tiled from top to bottom but it still had the ubiquitous restraints that he was fastened into. But not before being stripped.

Once hanging he was hosed down with cold water and scrubbed before being dried and dressed. The guards had not been gentle but again, it was treatment he was used to. Growing up with four little brothers had cured him of any embarrassment in the bathroom and the “care” he’d received here had cured him of the rest.

Finally they were satisfied he was ready and he was led back to his room and cuffed Scott to his bed. Probably so he didn’t do any mischief to himself before whatever execution they had planned.

Scott prayed to the gods he no longer believed in that his family wouldn’t see what was about to happen. He was fairly sure his Dad would, and John too, but he hoped his younger brothers and his Grandma…Scott sighed. Life wouldn’t be that fair to him, it never had been so why should it start now?

He lay back and closed his eyes and thought of his family.

‘Time to go, America.’ ‘First Lieutenant Tracy. ‘What?’ ‘I am First Lieutenant Tracy.’

Opening his eyes he looked at the guard standing over him. It wasn’t his usual ones. This one was looking at him with an appraising eye. He didn’t say anything, though, and the expected blow didn’t come. Instead he unlocked Scott’s wrist and helped him up.

‘Lieutenant Tracy, this way please.’ ‘Thank you.’

What else could he say? Nothing else.

Scott stood tall as his hands were cuffed in front of him and he was led from his cell. Once outside he was joined by four more guards – two in front and two behind – and they all walked together to the waiting arena.

~

Jeff had made sure that Gordon and Alan were well away from any screens – Virgil had taken them over to the island. John had refused the opportunity to go, he needed to see this, but Jeff’s Ma had gone with them.

He had locked himself and John into his apartment at Tracy Towers and had given all his workers the day off. He had a glass of cheap scotch in one hand and an ulcer forming in his gut.

John sat beside him. Jeff had been oddly touched that his second eldest had refused to let him sit here on his own for this. John and he had had a rocky relationship at times that had always been caused by something happening to Scott, but this…this was something no one could have expected.

Passing a glass of whisky over to John Jeff settled back and turned on the screen. Nothing was there yet, but they had time.

Scott wasn’t due to be executed for another half hour.

That thought in mind, Jeff downed his glass in one, scowling at the awful taste. John followed suit and began coughing as the cheap crap caught his throat. Eventually he stopped coughing enough to draw a breath and calm down.

‘How can you drink this stuff, Dad?’ ‘I don’t. It’s cheap and nasty. Just what you want for a day like today.’ ‘Ah. Yeah…’

Jeff poured another glass each and they waited.

‘Dad, it’s 5:45 am. It’s time.’

He switched on the screen.

~

Scott was led out into an open-air arena.

There was a roar as he was led across the stage but Scott tuned it out. He was taken down into the area before the crowd. There he was forced to his knees and his hands were secured to a small ring in the floor so that he couldn’t move.

He couldn’t see what was going on behind him but he could hear the speech going on. Scott had known rudimentary Berezniki when the USAF first told him where he was going, cramming the language as fast as he could with John’s help. Now he was reasonably proficient.

Proficient enough to know that they were pontificating about his death as a…a spy? Scott scoffed quietly. Of all the things to call him – POW, worthless, useless – a spy had not been on his list today.

But then, he understood the reality of the situation probably better than the people gathered in the arena.

He was here as an example. An example to the world.

A roar told Scott he’d tuned out what was going on, and he snapped back to reality as a gun was pressed against the back of his head.

A hand gripped his shoulder. A voice whispered in his ear.

‘Be strong.’

The hand gripped again and released. And gripped and released.

Scott straightened and gave an imperceivable nod. A shot rang out.

The crowd roared as Scott’s body slumped to the ground.

~

Jeff’s glass smashed through the screen as he screamed. John’s normally pale face drained of colour as the tears fell. Colonel Valerie Casey’s legs momentarily collapsed under her as she watched her eldest Godson drop.