In Jim Stewart’s story ’INITIATIVE TEST’ a British Air Force guy is captured by two trainee army Commandos as part of an exercise. Their task is to deliver him to an army base.
At this point in the story they have stopped for food in a remote field. The captive remains sitting roped to a tree as they eat.
They amued themselves while we rested, describing how two duffel bags with one over my head to waist and the other from feet to waist - the two could be then laced together. I tentatively suggested that such a sack might draw attention to itself if it wriggled about. They considered the problem logically and decided that if the sack was being dragged along over bumpy ground the wriggling wouldn’t be noticed - and if they dragged the sack along the bottom of a ditch through fields, no one would be there to notice ... and if they dragged it along a ditch with water in it - I wouldn’t be wriggling for long - because I’d start to co-operate. I began to suspect they would pass their Initiative Test.
They reached a decision - to (A) demonstrate their ability to stay in control, and (B) take a look around the near-by village without having to keep an eye on me.
An army sleeping bag and a few tent-pegs later, they were free to take as long as it took to explore the village and “have a couple of drinks when it’s Opening Time”. I was left under a hedge with nothing for company but an occasional rabbit and my thoughts.
As the time ticked by under my hedge, mouth firmly taped and efficiently trussed up and pegged down with my head sticking out of a tough padded waterproof sleeping bag, my mind drifted. There was nothing to do and I was going nowhere.
How long my abductors were gone for I had no idea - but I had pee’d before they got back ... I couldn’t exactly tell them because they didn’t take the gag off. However, it’s amazing what body language can achieve even when bundled up and pegged down. I grunted urgently to indicate that I needed to tell them something - and they asked what - offering several interpretations to my frantic grunting.
“Need the bog?”
Nod, nod, nod.
“Shit or slash?” (British army jargon).
“ Mur ... umph” was my reply. “
“Shit or slash? One nod for shit, two nods for slash”.
I nodded once, very emphatically.
“He needs to crap, Charlie”.
“You think so, Robert?”
“Looks like it, Charles”.
“I’m not so sure that’s what he’s saying, Robert. I think you’ve misunderstood. I think he’s saying we should let him out of the bag so he’ll have a better chance of spoiling our plans - isn’t that right, Sunshine? We know your little games, Stewart. All about your little games. We’re surprised you’re even still here because from what we were told, you think you’re something of a Houdini. Well, we’ve decided we’ve proved you’re not - and there’s a weekend pass for us starting soon as we’ve delivered you and finished our test - so we have plans for getting you to our Depot quick as we can, right Bob?”
“Right you are, Charlie? - so, you stay in the sack, Sunshine and you stay gagged - and if you crap you crap - because at this stage of the game we’re not taking any unnecessary risks. Am I correct, Charles?”
“Indubitably, Robert. We’re officer material - and know all about crap.”
“But in case you think we’ve done with the Houdini-bit, we haven’t. Charlie and I worked out a little plan over our bacon and eggs in the village caff. We convinced a couple of local lads that our training mission is to transport a piece of very heavy equipment across country and deliver it to an Army depot (not Air Force base, you’ll note). We made them feel very sorry for us - so once we get you to the village they’ve promised to give us a lift to the Base. Isn’t that generousof them - and you’re not going to embarrass us , are you, Stewart. That isn’t a question. You are going to be an inanimate object, Stewart; a piece of mysterious equipment - a Top Secret - Thing. And we are going to carry you, comme ça.” he said producing a chunky wooden pole. “One carrying pole, requisitioned for the purpose.”
PACKED AWAY:
The following half hour is burned into my memory. I was assisted into a kneeling position still inside the soggy sleeping bag and ‘invited’ to straighten my arms down my side and reach for my ankles. In this position I was expertly roped so I would remain there. From experience I knew that in that position the next however many hours were going to be excruciatingly uncomfortable - if not dangerous. As if reading my mind one of the two oppressors reassured me “Don’t worry, Stewart, we’ve decided two hours top whack before you’re delivered and signed for. We’ll make sure they let you out immediately, rather than keep you there so they can show you to their friends, won’t we Bob?”
“Well, we’ll try Charlie, but you know what these army types are like. Not like those nice polite Brylcream Boys in the RAF.”
There was little time to dwell on this prospect because surprising things were happening: Two metal-framed rucksacks, still lumpy with their contents, were being lashed along either side of my body. During this complicated process it was helpfully explained to me that this was, in essence, a camouflage exercise. The shape of the eventual package must not even hint at it’s ‘top secret’ contents. The third rucksack frame was fitted above my head and shoulders in such a way that any head movement would be inside the frame. Found objects were gathered from the woods, anything to mask the internal shape.
From one of the rucksacks a plentiful supply of rope appeared - and so the covering of the package began. Now, I’m good at wrapping awkward shaped packages, but these two lads really got into the spirit of the thing. With three waterproof poncho/groundsheets and unlimited rope to play with they took their time to prepare what I’m sure must have looked like a very plausible piece of heavy equipment. I had absolutely no way of knowing.
The rolling from side to side to get the thick covering on every side and roped to keep it (and me) firmly in place, actually helped to postpone the inevitable cramping that I knew the kneeling position would produce. Luckily, I was younger then and fit - but I was very nervous that there would not be enough air inside the waterproof covering which was rapidly becoming more securely roped. But, they’d thought it through - and, speaking loudly into the dense covering, reassured me that air was available through two carefully concealed openings - which, they then demonstrated could be closed at will from outside. They confidently stated that they expected me to play along. Another factor was how the lifting and shifting would intensify pressure on my already aching (and sticky) body. A running commentary from outside kept me informed that the lifting pole was ready to be tested.
Surprisingly, they’d calculated well. My suspended weight didn’t too much increase the lateral pressure. I swayed a lot - but they soon let me know they were ‘just testing’. I had fears of vomiting into the gag - and the situation is not one I would, in the light of experience, recommend - but I was in no position to argue and was preoccupied, steeling myself to survive the rest of the journey - plus the embarrassment of arrival at ‘the depot’ which would inevitably be enjoyed by many - an RAF man captive and humiliated in a Royal Engineers army depot - and there was no hope that news of the ordeal would not get back to my home Base before I did.
The penultimate development was to learn (hear) that the offer of a ride to our destination included the truck meeting us at the end of the lane, well outside the village. So, the journey on the pole was relatively short - but the encounter between the four guys at the lane end was much more eventful than anticipated. Of course I could only hear indistinctly, but it soon became obvious that the two Turks were deliberately talking loudly so I could get the gist of what was going on. They thanked the two locals for their help and described the effort of having carried the ‘Equipment’ over fields for more than thirty miles. The owners of the van were impressed, asking how heavy and what was in the package. The elaborate evasiveness of ‘Charlie & Bob’ seemed calculated to stimulate curiosity. The dialogue need not be repeated here in detail, but questions about weight; fragility; whether the package had to be kept upright - all seemed to invite further curiosity. Hands roamed the covering - more than two pairs. It was obvious , as the voices of the two locals also became louder that, whether by sign or prior information, they knew what was inside the package.
Hands roamed and groped and probed around the covering and my body, as voices loudly speculated on what the package could possibly contain. Tilted first to one side and then the other, I was systematically allowed to rest on all six sides as the feeling and squeezing intensified and the ‘bad acting’ vocal commentary continued. This slightly unnatural dialogue took a decidedly sinister turn as compliments on the efficiency of the packaging began to dwell on the fact that it was seriously waterproof. The army guys elaborated on the fact that it had rained for the first twenty miles they had ‘carried’ the package.
The first voice to say it needed to pee was one of the locals. The two army guys agreed that it might be wise before lifting such a heavy load into the truck - and all agreed. Whether the covering was fully waterproof or not I had no way of knowing in advance. Being inside a waterproof sleeping bag I suppose it didn’t really matter - but it mattered to me at the time. Whether by accident or design I was lying on my back which was more comfortable than kneeling - and my head was almost inside the front rucksack - so however many gallons rained down on the package, mercifully, I was proof against it - but it was situation totally outside my experience or taste. I was in no position to complain either then or later.
They tired of their fun - and handled the package onto the truck carefully, discussing as they did, whether to take the short or long route, the “good road” or the “bad road”. They discussed at unnecessary length whether they should lash the cargo down. “Wouldn’t do to have it fall off the back at forty miles an hour.” But Charlie and Bob rode with me in what I discovered was an open pick-up. I was kneeling again, their boots braced against my sides (or, more accurately, against the two rucksacks). They talked to me during the journey, thanking me for my co-operation, promising to keep at least some of the details to themselves - but suggesting that as soon as we arrived at the depot they should get the guys at the Transport P ool to hose the package down. Bob decided it might be more practical to do it at a petrol station on the way - because they had a couple of extra pairs of willing hands to help with the process. The two locals enthusiastically accepted the additional opportunity to play games. I assumed it was Bob and Charlie who managed to hose the jet of water in through both breathing holes just for good measure.