“Of course you can, Father.”
18
Victoria awoke to the sound of one of the American prisoners screaming and pleading for the guards to stop torturing him. Then the voice seized and grunted, followed by cries of pain.
In the darkness, Victoria could barely make out the faces of the prisoners in their cells across the way. Faces pressed up against the bars, they looked like dogs in a kennel as they listened to the same sounds that had awoken her.
She could hear the men whispering to each other, trying to figure out who was being tortured. Then came the sound of a wooden door creaking open and slamming shut. Boots on gravel. A crew of PLA guards dragging the prisoner’s limp body back to his cell.
Then the guards moved to the next cell. This time she recognized the prisoner’s voice. “Hey, fellas. Hoping you’d show up.” It was the chief. The PLA guards took him into the wooden building. Within minutes, the prisoners could hear his screams.
Victoria wondered what they were doing to cause such pain. And who would be next. The fear of the unknown was what drove you crazy.
The whispers between cells died down as the chief’s screams grew louder. The sailors looked up to him because of his seniority, and the sounds were horrific.
By the next morning, everyone was sleep deprived, starving, and wondering when their own turn would come. The soldiers placed loudspeakers outside the interrogation hut, facing the rows of prison cells, and blasted an English-language propaganda recording on loop. Despite the ear-shattering volume, Victoria could feel the rumble of heavy vehicles nearby and hear the occasional roar of jets overhead.
They were served one small bowl of rice and some water each day. Unless being interrogated, they were mostly kept in their cells. The interrogations always happened at night. Eventually people began to break.
The Chinese interrogators wanted information. But also propaganda. Signed and video-taped confessions. When prisoners confessed, they were given rewards, usually in the form of hot plates of food served to them in their cells so everyone else could smell it.
While the prisoners ate, their confessions were broadcast on the loudspeakers for the whole camp to hear.
One week in, losing weight and starting to hallucinate from lack of sleep, Victoria began fantasizing about what might be on those plates.
Eventually she found out. It was the chief, two cells across from her to the right. She could see his face when they put the plate of steaming chicken, vegetables, and warm flour tortillas in front of him. Victoria’s mouth watered.
Then they played the recording of his confession. It was the standard stuff announcing to the world that he was a war criminal, and that he and his ship were engaged in illegal activity attacking a peaceful Chinese people.
At first the chief didn’t touch the food. The plate lay outside the metal bars of his cell. But after a moment, he stuck his hand through and began eating, bringing bits of chicken to his mouth. After the first few bites, he began vomiting. Then he stuck out his hand and flipped over the plate, trying to get it as far away from him as he could manage. The chief began to sob, his confession still playing on the speaker system.
Victoria snapped her fingers, trying to get his attention. He looked up, his eyes red and moist. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t want to risk bringing the guards’ wrath down on them both. But she gave him a thumbs up and a look that told him it was going to be okay. She wished she could talk to him. Tell him to shake it off. Everyone was bound to break.
“Commander Manning.”
A female PLA soldier stood over her cell door, two guards flanking her. “You have been summoned.”
The jingle of keys. Her cell door swinging open. It was her turn. They pulled her out and marched her away.
Until now, Victoria hadn’t been interrogated. She’d hated herself for feeling relieved each time the Chinese had taken someone else away. Now, though, she was actually glad to get the first interrogation over with. Let them do what they will.
She tried to make herself believe she really was this brave.
Victoria sat on a metal chair in the center of the interrogation room. The cement floor was wet. A fresh spray of water to wash away blood or bodily fluids was still dripping down the metal grate drain in the center of the floor. Outside she could hear guards barking orders, followed by the footsteps of her men being moved throughout the camp’s central yard.
The door creaked as it opened. Victoria’s pulse quickened as she saw a man’s silhouette surrounded by bright daylight. The crisply starched uniform. The tall, ornate military cover atop his head. Shoes shined to a reflective, polished black. He radiated intensity and precision.
Captain Tao. The same Chinese officer who had spoken with her at the train stop. He appraised her from just outside the door. Her hands were bound in front of her. He smiled cordially as he entered the room.
“Good morning.” His polished shoes clicked on the floor as he made his way toward the table in the center of the room.
He sat down across from her and spread out his papers, then removed a felt pen and placed it beside them.
“Commander,” he began, “I must say how refreshing it is to be sitting across from you. It’s such a welcome change. For the past year I have been relegated to interviewing low-level soldiers in East Asia. The work had become so routine. There was no challenge. Do you ever feel that way about your work? Like it’s always just the same old thing?” He motioned with his hand while he spoke, his palm facing the ceiling.
Victoria didn’t answer.
Captain Tao said, “Routine interrogations on such men got to be mind-numbingly simple for us. You put three soldiers in a room, you tell them the one who talks first lives, shoot one of them a few seconds later, and voilà! You get a confession. Two, sometimes.”
His eyes glowed. He removed his cover and placed it down, parallel to the edge of the table.
Victoria remained silent. She forced herself to control her breathing and keep a calm demeanor.
He studied her, cocking his head to one side. “Commander Manning, it is an honor to be sitting here with you. You’re a decorated officer. Quickly promoted after a series of incredible victories in battle. Well, until you were captured by an enemy force.”
He paused, looking at her. Giving her the opportunity to speak.
Satisfied that she wouldn’t, he said, “But this shall give you another opportunity, no? Prisoners of war are celebrated in your country?” He changed his tone. “Hmm. Well, they were. Although I’m not sure what will happen once the PLA begins marching down Pennsylvania Avenue. Do you know what happens to the prisoners of a losing nation? Have you given much thought to that?”
Victoria shrugged.
Captain Tao said, “Do you think about what will happen when this all ends? I’m sure you do. You’re in a prison cell all day long. You probably think about the end a lot. You must think about returning to your home in…” He looked down at his notes. “Jacksonville, Florida? That is your home, correct?”
He paused, offering her a chance to reply. After a moment of her silence, he continued. “Do you know what happened just a few days ago? We attacked an American military base in Florida. The week before? We conquered an entire continent by driving the last remaining Americans out of Colombia.”