Prisoners of War

Name: Natea <natea2x1@hotmail.com>
Title: Prisoners of War.
Rating: Pg-13-R
Warnings: AU, Shounen ai, Yaoi.
Pairings: 2+/x1, 3x4x3, 5x6.
Summary: Alternate Universe. Duo, a Flight Lieutenant in the L2 Air Force, finds himself locked up as a prisoner of war by Oz.
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the G-Wing characters. I’m not making any money from this story.
Authors Note: I’m taking some liberties with this fic, for one thing there are no Gundams. That’s not to say there weren’t ever Gundams but for the purpose of this fic they no longer exist. It’s really freaky...I’ve been writing this for about a month now, playing around with different ideas...and yet on the night I finally decided to post the first part up what’s playing on tv but a brand new fictional series called P.O.W. I’m watching it right now lol.

Prisoners of War.

Chapter Two.
First Day of a Million.

Life in Khush-Renada followed a strict schedule. Every morning at five thirty the peace was shattered by the electronic tone of the morning alarm as it was piped through the P.A system of the camp. Meanwhile the guards on morning duty would be patrolling the barracks, unlocking all of the huts. A few minutes later the groggy forms of prisoners would begin to wander from the doorways, making their way to the washrooms or the kitchen in order to make themselves feel a little more human before roll call.

This morning was no exception and the shrill tone blared out over the dusky camp at five thirty precisely.

Duo groaned a little as the sound forced its way into his dream, shattering it effortlessly. He hadn’t been able to sleep for the longest time either, nerves still on edge from being amongst strangers in a new camp. Every time he’d been close to dropping off something had happened; one of the guard dogs that roamed the camp freely at night had sniffed at the door, or one of his bunkmates had turned over. The smallest thing had jolted him back to awareness again.

Rolling over onto his back he slid a sock-clad foot out from under the blankets to test the air. Only to draw it back in again quickly.

...Jesus, Quatre wasn’t wrong about the place getting chilly...

Waking a little more he became aware of the damp chill of the surrounding air as it touched his face. The wooden surfaces of his bed were slimy with wet and the blankets were damp. Half an hour ‘til roll, he thought morosely. He threw back the covers recklessly and shivered a full body shiver as the cold air hit him.

...Fuck!...

He slipped to the edge of the bed, all the while fighting with the idea of simply getting back under the covers, and lowered himself to the floor, stepping on the mattress of the lower bunk in the process.

The currently occupied bunk.

Duo looked at the curled up form with interest, remembering the shadowy figure who had arrived after lights out the previous night, the only Zero he hadn’t met. Not a single part of the person was in view, bedcovers were pulled up tightly around his head and all the limbs drawn in towards the body to conserve warmth.

And with good reason.

It might have felt cold on the top bunk but warm air rises and the temperature was distinctly chillier at ground level. He shivered again as he padded across to the cupboard in sock. Reaching up to the food shelf he pulled down a hard loaf of bread and began to cut five thin slices from the end with a blunt ended knife that was most definitely illegal in the camp. He had just finished spreading a thin layer of margarine over the last slice when the voice hissed out, barely an inch from his ear.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Shit!” He dropped the knife in surprise and spun around. Two freezing blue eyes glared at him out of the darkness, the rest of the boy was coated in shadow, he could almost feel the air crystallizing between them with the frigidness of the stare. “Hey man,” he grinned, trying to defuse the situation a little. “You must be Yuy. I’m Duo Maxwe--”

“I didn’t ask who you are.” The eyes grew colder.

Duo‘s eyes narrowed. “I was just making breakfast for the hut before the morning call,” he said, moving to one side so that the other boy could see the loaf and margarine for himself.

“You’ve cut the bread too thickly,” came the stiff response. “This is all we have until next Monday. If you eat it all now we’ll starve later.“ There was a rustle from the bunk against the far wall as Trowa sat up.

“Take it easy, Yuy, he’s new here.”

“That’s no excuse. Any idiot should know the importance of food rationing. We can‘t afford to be greedy.”

Duo was too incensed to reply. This guy was calling him greedy. He was anything but greedy...he’d purposefully cut the bread thinner than usual, in his last camp they’d had twice the thickness. He gritted his teeth to keep from retorting, not trusting himself to be able to say anything without making the situation worse.

Fortunately for him, WuFei came to his rescue. “He’s not completely unused to camp life Yuy. Give him a chance, he doesn’t know the routine here yet.”

Yuy snorted again and pushed past Duo, reaching for the knife. Taking the thinnest piece of bread he sliced it in half carefully, keeping one half for now and placing the other on the wooden shelf furthest from the door for safe keeping to eat later. Throughout all of this Duo remained silent. Finally the other boy turned, glacier blue eyes raking up and down the braided boy’s form intensely for a moment before he spoke.

“Bakayarou.”

Duo didn’t understand the meaning of the word but he certainly recognised the derogatory tone it was spoken in. His face flushed with anger and he was glad for the darkness of the early hour as it masked his reaction.

Even without the dark Yuy wouldn‘t have noticed, he had turned away, an obvious sign that he no longer had the slightest interest in the new addition to the hut, and begun to make his bed. He smoothed the blankets out carefully, tucking the corners under neatly and making sure the pillow was straight. Once this was finished he slipped his feet into his shoes, which were positioned neatly underneath the bunk, and took the final bite of his breakfast before grabbing an old, ratty jacket and walking out of the door without a backward glance.

Duo blinked but he couldn’t dwell on the other boy’s reaction for long as the others were getting up. The tall boy, Trowa, nodded to him in greeting and reached out for a piece of bread.

“Is he always like that?” Duo found himself asking the solemn looking boy.

“Yuy?” Trowa shook his head and smiled a little, “You met him on a good day. He’s usually a lot more constipated than that.”

“Did I do wrong in preparing breakfast?” Duo asked, looking contrite. He had been a bit presumptuous in assuming the others would allow him near the food, it galled him really but Yuy had a point. Trowa shook his head, assuaging the braided boy’s fear.

“No harm no foul.” he said lightly, “Yuy is the only one to cut the rations that much. He likes to prepare for the future, the rest of us...” he smiled, “...let’s just say we prefer to eat today and be hungry tomorrow rather than vice versa.”

Duo laughed, a slightly forced sound at first, the encounter with the other boy had really thrown him. Trowa’s eyes sparkled a little with humour.

“Roll call is in five minutes.” The taller boy said, glancing over as a sleep mussed Quatre wandered blearily past in the direction of the food. “If you wait I’ll show you where to go.”

Duo nodded. “Thanks.” He moved across to his bed to straighten his covers, stepping up onto the lower bunk in order to make a decent job of it. Remembering a particularly hard lump in the middle of the mattress that had been a major reason for his restlessness he hit it hard with his fist a few times. Trowa watched in amusement.

“You finished?”

Twisting his foot a little in order to turn his body around Duo grinned. “Yep, I think my work is done here.”

“It’s not going to bother him, you know.”

“Maybe not this once.” Duo’s eyes were lit with an unholy glee, “but you wait till I‘ve done it fifty times or so.”

Chang surveyed the damage with a silent smirk as he opened the door.

Yuy’s previously neat bed was a mess, the covers were rumpled and pulled from their neat ‘nurse’s corners’ by Duo’s feet while a fine layer of sawdust was settling over the top, courtesy of the L2 pilot’s heavy handling of his own mattress. “Maxwell, you must have a death wish.”

“Me, a death wish?” Duo grinned as he grabbed his great coat and stepped past the Chinese and through the door. “Hell, I’m the God of death wishes, Chang.”

.o.O.o.

Roll call in ‘Renada usually took twenty minutes to complete and was held on the exercise ground or circuit in the camp. Silence was mandatory and the prisoners stood there in ten straight rows of five, mirroring the barrack hut layout; they were visibly shivering as the early morning mist swirled around their legs, the October air was beginning to gain more than a hint of the winter bite. The armed Oz soldiers walked slowly up and down the rows of five, counting quietly.

Ichi...ne...san...chi...go.

Most of the Oz troops spoke Japanese; a language that was practically defunct on the colonies where the inhabitants tended to favour the Latin based tongues. Of course there were exceptions to this such as L5’s large Chinese community and the Arabic speakers of L4 but even so English or French was still there in the background.

This strange language, so different to anything he’d heard before, never failed to send shivers down Duo’s spine. They could be saying anything to him and he wouldn’t have a clue; he hated that.

Thinking back to the Sweepers, he could remember Howard standing in front of a blackboard and writing out various Japanese phrases alongside their meanings, trying to teach a bunch of young, headstrong pilots the finer points of the language. He’d always scoffed at the older man though, called him a pessimistic defeatist before daydreaming his way through the lesson.

He had preferred to think out his next flight plan or recalibrate his fighter ‘Deathscythe‘s’ computer systems rather than learn a language he had the arrogance to believe he would never need.

He was simply too good to be caught.

Duo sighed at his own past naivety, wishing, not for the first time, that he’d paid attention to Howard’s teachings when he’d had the chance. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so lost when he heard the foreign words that now surrounded him daily. He could see that Howard hadn’t been pessimistic as much as realistic, he’d been trying his best to prepare ‘his boys’ for anything and Duo had practically laughed in his face.

In an attempt at diverting his attention from the past Duo studied the slight figure of the pilot on his left covertly, smirking at the sight of the scruffy boy who stood military straight, head and eyes facing front, chest out and stomach in, hands behind his back in the ‘at ease’ posture.

Duo slouched.

It was his way of making life miserable for the enemy, refusing to conform.

Not so Yuy, he noted with interest as he continued his study.

It was obvious at first glance that Yuy was small, they all were; it was a requirement of pilots that they be slight of stature for numerous reasons, one of the most important being that the rigours of space travel didn’t seem to have as adverse an effect on a smaller figure. Plus the oxygen and fuel supplies lasted that little bit longer and in a medium where the failure of either usually meant death the smaller and lighter the pilot the better.

It alsoalso obvious that he was young, fifteen Duo guessed, sixteen at the very most. Again not surprising as most pilots were conscripted at the tender age of fourteen. He was barely sixteen and a half himself.

Scanning his eyes over Yuy’s body Duo came across his first surprise. Yuy’s dress code wasn‘t exactly in keeping with the camp. Most of the prisoners wore some variation of their uniforms whenever possible, they were proud of their military background. Yuy’s clothes were military, Duo could see, but they weren’t one military...they came from a myriad of sources.

The olive green tank top Duo easily recognised as an L3 infantryman undershirt - minus the sleeves. The black trousers were L2 air force, similar to his own. The shoes were a little more difficult but he finally pinned them down as an extremely dirty pair of exercise sneakers. jackjacket was the only real problem but with a little imagination and a fair amount of squinting he could picture it in a former incarnation as part of an L5 N.C.O dress uniform.

The clearing of a throat close by stopped him from any further study and he turned his head quickly to find himself face to face with a distinctly un-amused looking guard.

“Look front.” The guard growled before proceeding to veer off into a vicious stream of Japanese during which Duo was sure he heard the word Bakayarou mentioned.

He flushed a little as a snort from Yuy indicated that the other prisoner knew exactly why he was being reprimanded. Probably approved too, he didn’t doubt.

The soft counting had stopped now and the guards were congregating at the front of the line up. They spoke to Lieutenant Marquise for a short while before saluting. He dismissed them and turned to the lines of prisoners standing, some still in a state of half undress despite the weather, others munching on pieces of bread or stale looking biscuits.

“It is oh six twenty on the morning of October fourth AC 197,” the blond soldier stated clearly, “The new intake of prisoners will meet at the kitchen at oh seven hundred for pro rata rationing of food. That is all; fall out.”

They rushed to obey and within a few seconds the circuit was practically empty.

.o.O.o.

One hour later found Duo sitting cross-legged on his bunk, sorting through the meagre pile of rations he had tipped onto the blanket. Below him, standing on the lower bunk in order to see better, was Quatre.

“What did you get?”

“Nescafe.” Duo pulled a face and read the writing on the side of the packet carefully. “I keep telling them I can’t stomach the stuff but they never listen to me. Gold Blend. Gold Blmy amy ass.” He threw the paper packet to one side in disgust and continued. “Apart from that food-wise we’ve got six small potatoes, half a loaf of brown bread, three pats of margarine, two packets of sugar, one of salt and...” he lifted out all pll paper box in interest, “...ten cigarettes - Marlborough - Hn, they have some taste at least. Looks like I‘ve got soap and shampoo too but no conditioner. That could be a problem.” He looked down at the blond and grinned. “Come on up if you like, Quat. Don‘t stand down there, you remind me of a whipped puppy like that.”

Quatre smiled and shimmied up onto the higher bunk quickly. Staring at the food stuffs on the bed he sighed. “Never mind. The Aid boxes arrive next Monday and you’ll be on the list for one from L2. That’ll help out a bit, until then you’ve got the cigarettes at least.”

“Hmm. Not a lot I can buy for ten ciggies though.” Duo said thoughtfully, looking at the ten small, white cylinders in the box.

“Eight is enough for an ounce of uncooked rice from the exchange.” Quatre said. “Pretty filling, either that or two packets of dried raisons, but you don‘t get many of those in the packet...the rice is always your best option.”

“Oh joy.” Duo murmured, “Plain rice.”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s better than going hungry.”

“You sure?”

Quatre laughed. “WuFei is from L5; he’ll know what to do with it if you get it. You want to put this stuff away and go spend your money?”

“Why not.” Duo grinned, “After that though I‘ll have to write a letter to my superior back home, let him know I‘m still breathing.” He picked up the single sheet of A4 paper and small pencil he had been giearlearlier and looked at them hard.

“If you like you can give me the cigarettes and I’ll go for the rice myself. You can write your letter while I’m gone.”

“Thanks Quat. You’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure.” Quatre smiled as he jumped down from the bed and grabbed his flight jacket. “I won’t be long,” he said, and disappeared through the door, closing it behind him quietly.

.o.O.o.

Left to himself Duo grabbed one of the tin trays from the food shelf and used it as a writing board for his letter. Lying down on his stomach on the bed he crossed one ankle over the other and bent both legs at the knee. He picked up the pencil and stared down at the paper in silence for a while before putting it down again and staring out of the window. There was a halfway decent view of the circuit and he wasted some time watching for the solitary figure in the ratted NCO jacket who passed through his field of vision every so often.

Bakayarou, he thought angrily, What kind of idiotic insult is that? Didn’t even have the guts to insult me in English.

He’d had a point though; Duo was forced to admit to himself. In the camps food was scarce, Oz only supplied them with the mere essentials - fortunately the colonies sent aid boxes once a month to supplement the prisoners diet, otherwise they’d be a helluva lot skinnier than they were.

He should have asked before cutting the bread.

Sighing, he tore his gaze away from the grey scene outside and began to write a short letter, informing Howard of his arrival at ‘Renada and driving all thoughts of his faux pas that morning out of his head. The letter wasn’t long, less than half a page on completion. It didn’t really matter though; Howard had always been almost psychic in his ability to read between the lines. He’d get the pertinent messages, Duo knew, as he began to draw a large, convoluted D at the bottom of the page.

He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear Quatre come back. The first thing he was aware of was the plain, paper wrapped packet of rice as it was deposited squarely in front of him. He looked up into the blond pilot’s smiling face.

“Rice was down the day.” Quatre said, putting on a countrified accent, “Seems like the L1 aid boxes from last month went a little overboard with the supply. Seven cigarettes for an ounce and a half.”

“I’m impressed.” He looked down again at the paper and began another small doodle to fill in the space. Quatre watched in curiosity.

“Are you an artist?”

Duo laughed, “Hell no. I can just about manage this,” he said, motioning to the little stick figure.

Should he go for it? Hell yeah, he thought, you’ve got to be in it to win it. Sobering a little, he lowered his voice conspiratively, watching the blond pilot as he spoke, “I can do a mean boot heel though.”

The blond pilot‘s eyes flickered up to Duo‘s face in instant understanding and he smiled. “You should do an example,” he murmured back, equally quietly; “The E.C is always on the lookout for good stampers. It‘ll get you in their good books.”

“Are you an artist?“ Duo asked with a level stare.

Quatre smiled slightly, “I try my best... I’m more of an art critic than an artist though.”

Duo nodded.

Every camp had an E.C, or Escape Committee, but they were always elusive as hell for newbies to find...Oz were to blame for that. Years of sending in spies disguised as prisoners to befriend and betray the prison camps’ inmates had tempered the committees’ willingness to trust people it didn‘t know implicitly. The resulting problems had led to stricter security on the E.C’s behalf; now they vetted all new prisoners on arrival through their own little network of spies.

Duo had just been vetted.

“I’ll get carving this afternoon, should have the stamp ready by this evening. Any suggestions?”

Quatre considered, “I’d say the best one would be the Oz authenticate stamp. It’s a difficult one but I know the EC don’t have any decent replicas of that one.”

“You don’t pull any punches do you?”

“Can’t afford to...not in this place.” Quatre grinned. “You up to the challenge.”

“Hell yeah.” Duo grinned back.

“I’ll get you a knife and a spare boot heel after the two o’clock roll. If you can get it finished this evening I’ll take you to see the E.C commander.”

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. You finished yet?”

“Almost. Oz read these so I‘m just leaving them a little message.” Duo grinned, adding the final touches to a patchy caricature of a man mooning the reader. “Do you know the Japanese for ‘Up Yours’?” he asked.

Quatre laughed, “Try Kisama. Oz say it to us often enough for it to mean something nasty.”

“Good enough.” Duo pencilled in a speech bubble and added the words ‘Kisama ass’ inside before reaching for the thin envelope. He folded the sheet of paper into three and slipped it inside, sealing the flap down before writing down the address on the front. A simple:

Howard
c/o Sweepers squadron 666
LaGrange 2.

It was a short, simplified address for security purposes but it served its function. Everyone in the L2 colony system knew where to find 666. For a joke he added Space - the final frontier, at the bottom before flipping the envelope once again and drawing a large, convoluted D over the junction of flap and envelope. “My seal.” was all he said when Quatre questioned him about it. “Howie always knows it’s really me when he sees it and it lets him know if the letter’s been tampered with before he gets it.”

“Good idea.” The blond looked thoughtful, “I’ll have to try it out.”

Duo finished the D with a flourish and grabbed the letter, “Now to post it.”

“I’ll show you where the box is.” Quatre jumped down from the bed and grabbed his flight jacket again. “Come on. Might as well give you the guided tour at the same time.”

.o.O.o.

Khush-Renada was not a large camp by any means and its layout was fairly simple in design. In the very centre of the camp were the barrack huts, laid out in five rows of ten. Each hut was designed to hold six inmates, meaning that at full capacity the camp was capable of housing three hundred prisoners. Currently the number was two hundred and fifty six.

The huts themselves were very rustic in design. Made of wooden panelling they were single roomed and contained two windows, one in the front and one on the left side, plus one door, which was locked every night by the guards after lights out. They were also raised from the ground on wooden stilts to a height of three feet and a wooden ramp led up to the front door. This was to enable the guards to check for the presence of tunnels.

Each hut was twenty feet in width and length and they were positioned twenty feet from their neighbours on all sides, thereby creating a rectangle of living accommodation that was two hundred by four hundred feet in the centre of the camp.

Apart from the huts there was precious little else in the camp of interest; the kitchens and the washroom were situated at the rear of this rectangle and were meant for common use. There was nothing else. Space radiated out from the centre, perfect, flat from countless hours of being trampled by the prisoners; there were no trees or shrubs to break up the expanse...they could be used as cover for a night time break.

The space continued unmarred, for a distance of one hundred and fifty feet from the inner rectangle. Then you came across ‘Renada’s first line of defence.

The perimeter wire.

Suspended at a height of two feet from the ground and no thicker than a pencil, it surrounded the camp completely. Any prisoner setting one foot over that wire without authorisation would not be alive to bring his other foot across. Oz monitored the wire with an almost religious fervour.

And with good reason, it was a mere twelve feet from the perimeter wire to the first of the double barbed wire fences that surrounded the camp. And past those was freedom.

Prisoners walked the wire on a daily basis, in an unconscious attempt at getting as close to the outside world as they possibly could. They would walk in small groups, in twos and threes, chatting with friends, conspiring with allies, and working out the stresses of prison life while they could; the constant activity over the years had worn out a footpath on the inner side of the wire that was mirrored on the other side by the guards as they patrolled.

Less than a foot apart and yet so very far from each other.

Heero Yuy was the exception that proved the rule. He, like the other prisoners, walked the wire all day...every day. Beginning straight after morning roll call...sometimes even before if he was feeling particularly stressed, he would walk down the length of the circuit, hugging his coat tight to his body... more as a reflex than with any hope of keeping out the chill.

But he walked alone.

He would talk to no one...look at no one...walk with no one...get to know no one...

...and no one would get to know him.

The other prisoners had learned to keep a wide berth from the boy who walked with his eyes to the ground, not interested in viewing the outside world. In a way it was amusing to see the strapping six-foot soldiers veering off to avoid the tiny slip of a youth as he walked.

They knew that the tiny slip could fight when provoked though and, despite his figure, he had power behind his punches; people found it easier to keep out of his way rather than end up with a couple of broken ribs or worse...

...And so Heero found himself alone.

Which was exactly what he wanted.

Reaching the end of one side of the rectangular shape cut out with the wire he turned to his right and continued along the connecting side. From this angle it was possible to see Zero and he lifted his head from watching the ground for a while to stare at the slatted, wooden hut instead.

As he watched, two figures stepped out of the hut and began a brisk stroll towards the guardhouse at the gates to the compound, talking and laughing a little as they walked. Posting a letter, he supposed, realizing that the new pilot would be informing his next of kin of his safe arrival.

A faint drizzle began to fall from the grey sky but he continued walking, appearing to not even notice as the water soaked through his jacket in seconds and plastered his hair to his scalp. Rain would force the prisoners inside; the circuit would be empty. It was the perfect time for it. He waited...

“Konnichiwa Yuy-San.”

Heero’s smirk was hidden from view by the angle of his head as he bent it down against the drizzle. He pulled his jacket closer still as the enemy guard began to match him stride for casual stride on the other side of the perimeter wire.

“Konnichiwa Saito-kun.”

They walked on in the rain together.

 
TBC.....

Author’s Notes:

Hiya Asaroth, you see! I do react to pressure lol. Thank you for your comments, I really hope you carry on reading this. This chapter has been more scene setting than anything else but I’ll be getting to the more interesting stuff very soon, hopefully I’ll answer your questions then too. Thanks again.

Hi Selune, I guess you could say it’s a partial AU, I’m using the same war only removing the Gundams from it and lengthening the war itself. Duo and the others are definitely not going to react well to being imprisoned for any length of time so escape attempts will abound lol. You’ll find out then what happens to the prisoners when they fail...*cue ominous music* :D Thanks for your review and I hope you carry on reading this!!!