Author's note: A de-anon from the LiveJournal kink meme.

A Game of Soldiers: Chapter 9

Antonio had always prided himself for being a rather cheerful man. He could almost always find something to smile about, no matter how disheartening the situation can be. Shirt stolen from his clothesline? Never mind, never liked that shirt much in the first place. His family in such a huge debt that they could not afford to send him to university after he finished school? No problem, he was not all that interested in books anyway, and joining the military sounded much more exciting.

At the moment however, he was rather hard-pressed to find something to smile about.

And he meant that literally, for he was currently being crushed by the weight of both Feliciano and Ludwig, who were on top of him.

"Mrgggh," he managed to croak out with what little breath he had in his lungs. Unfortunately for him, no one heard.

"Ve! Veeeee, what happened? Are we dead? Ludwig? Sergeant? Anybody? Aaaah! Help! Someone's trying to take me prisoner! Let me go!"

"Feliciano, calm down and stop flailing your arms, that's me you're hitting."

"Ludwig! Ve, I'm so glad it's you! I can't see anything, it's so dark! Wait, where's Sarge? And Antonio?"

With the very last of his oxygen-deprived strength, Antonio weakly patted on the warm bulk currently straddling his back.

"Ve! Something just groped me! Ludwig, did you just grope me?"

There was a rather odd choking sort of noise before Ludwig thundered, "What do you mean - of course I didn't!"

That feeble pat cost him the last of his oxygen, Antonio thought. Oh well, he decided as he started to black out, at least he was going to die in the company of his friends-

"Feli! Get up!"

"Ve?"

Fortunately for Antonio, Ludwig did not bother to give the confused Italian an explanation, but instead promptly yanked him on his feet and off the suffocating Spaniard. Antonio gasped several heavy lungfuls before the other two men flipped him over so he was on his back. Ludwig helped him to sit up and it took a few more of those huge breaths before he felt confident that he was not going to die.

He looked up to find both Ludwig and Feliciano looking at him. "Ve! I'm sorry!" Feliciano half-sobbed, "I didn't mean to squash you!"

"It's okay," Antonio said. His voice even sounded somewhat normal; he had been expecting a squeaky tone like in those kids' cartoons Gilbert watched when the corporal thought no one was looking. Then he realised that the two younger men were not only looking at him in concern, but also something else.

It took a few blinks before he figured it out. It was just the three of them.

Oh.

He blinked again.

Right.

That meant that he was the most experienced person currently around. Gilbert was probably detained somewhere here – wherever here was – while Arthur must have gotten separated somehow, and hopefully the man was not being squashed, whether by a friendly or a hostile.

Both Ludwig and Feliciano continued to look at him expectantly. Antonio took another deep breath. Yes, he should remain calm, no point in making the two greens panic, and so he did the first thing that came across his mind.

He smiled.

-x-x-

Arthur slowly opened his eyes. It took a while for his vision to adjust to the dim light, but soon he could see that he was lying on a cement floor, with nothing around him except for some battered-looking crates and wooden boxes. Oh, and that fuckingly steep metal ramp. Who was the fucking genius who thought of that?

He gingerly pushed himself up and after a few moments of contemplation, decided that it was worth the risk to use the mini flashlight he kept in one of his pockets. He switched it on and used it to take another good look around, hoping to find his weapon or the rest of the lads. No luck with those, but he did spot what seemed to be a door not too far away. Might as well leave through there before someone – or something – came to check out the huge racket he must have made when he got here.

Wondering for the second time that day why he did not listen to Mummy and join the Royal Navy – sod it, he could have been a Royal Marine, maybe even one of them smug bastards with a green beret and he was sure that they never fell into bloody huge trapdoors in the middle of some forest's arse – Arthur made his way to the door. He leaned against the wall, turned his flashlight off and tucked it back in his pocket. Once his vision had adjusted again, he tested the door and was relieved to find that it was not locked.

All right, Sergeant Arthur Kirkland. Time to get yourself sorted. Let's find the lads and get out of here.

Nothing too difficult for someone like him now, was it? And of course Arthur fancied himself as a tough character; he practically chewed nails and spit napalm, as opposed to that frog Francis, who dined on snails and used lip balm.

He opened the door just a little bit and peered through the crack. Nothing.

Arthur then as quietly and as quickly as he dared, crept out the door and down the dim hallway with a sole working light bulb. He found it rather strange, but nevertheless was thankful that no one had come to investigate all the commotion. Did it mean that there was no one here?

Then he heard it; the soft, but unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. He reached for his knife and cursed silently when he realised that it was probably too late to go back to that door. Might as well try to take out whoever that was coming his way. Arthur kept going, his eyes fixed on the turn at the end of the corridor, at the same time instinctively trying to match his own steps to the cadence of the other man, hoping that would hide his presence.

Taking slow, silent and measured breaths, he stayed still once he was near the turn, careful to keep himself in the dark so his shadow would not warn the oncoming person. Just a little bit more...

He rushed in a low crouch but his knife was aimed in a high upward stroke, going for the neck artery, but his opponent somehow managed to deflect that attempt – fuck, bastard has a knife of his own – and then he tried to stab at the other man's weapons hand. His opponent had other ideas and dodged, then quickly threw a punch that landed on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur staggered backward, but was not stunned enough not to avoid the knife-thrust aimed at his gut. He swerved aside and countered with a kick to the midriff, and he heard his opponent curse-

Arthur's eyes widened. He knew that voice... didn't he?

"Fuckin' hell!" he blurted, then barely brought his knife up in time to parry a strike, then his free hand to deflect a punch aimed at his jaw.

Anticipating a counter-attack, Arthur's opponent had rolled away. Finding none, he stood up.

The two men then just stood there in the dimly-lit corridor, still in their combat stances. The silence was not awkward; it was just fucking stupid. Dangerous, but still fucking stupid.

"Who are you?" Arthur spat. Sure, that voice had sounded familiar, but still.

The other man stiffened. "Rosbif?"

Arthur blinked at the other man when he had stepped into better light.

Maybe he should have gone ahead and stabbed the bastard.

"What the hell are you doing here, frog?"

"Arthur?" Francis said as the incredulous look on his face was replaced by one of relief. The Frenchman relaxed slightly and sheathed his combat knife.

Arthur did straighten himself, but he still kept his knife in hand. "How did you get here? And where the fuck are we?"

"Last question first. Actually, I haven't the slightest idea what this place is. What I do know about it is that I've been wandering through these corridors for hours and you're the first living person I've come across."

Living person?

Francis would have to be one hell of spectacular idiot to miss how Arthur stiffened at his statement. The Frenchman quickly added, "I didn't see anyone else down here, alive or dead. We need to get moving. And could you put that knife away?"

Arthur did. "How did you get here?" he repeated as he followed Francis down the hallway.

"Our patrol ran into something in the woods. First we thought it was just one of the other patrols, so we gave it a shooting down – until we realised that we were getting live rounds in return fire. I told the rest to run straight for our next planned camp site and stayed a little behind for rearguard action to give them some cover and a little bit more time."

Arthur nodded. So Francis' patrol was the one he and his lads heard that night.

"I kept our pursuer occupied – a little hard to do when you only have blanks, non? – but I managed. Then I ran to rejoin the group and..." Francis coughed and made some sort of nonsense gesture with his hands.

"Let me guess," Arthur said with a long-suffering sigh, "you fell through a bloody huge trapdoor?"

Francis nodded and coughed again, this time in embarrassment.

As much as Arthur really wanted to make fun of the frog for that, he fell through a trapdoor too. And as much as he hated to admit it, the current situation and the well-being of his men took precedence over his distaste of the Frenchman. So instead of a verbal jab, he asked, "Your lads made it safely?"

"I believe so. Told them to get word out that the exercise area was compromised, and there was hostile presence," Francis said, "unless your patrol managed to get on the radio to do that?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, we couldn't raise anyone. Antonio says there's a possibility of being jammed and now I'm starting to believe that we were." He scowled, then continued, "I'm going to beat the idiots who gave this place a clean go for an exercise into one big bloody pulp when I get back."

Francis snickered. "I hope you don't mind some company."

"Wait. The trapdoor you came in... was it the one down that way?" Arthur asked.

"No, why?"

"Beilschmidt's gone and I think whatever that was firing at us took him prisoner. That's what got us here in the first place; we were following his trail. The rest of my lads got separated when we fell through that trapdoor and we need to find them. Maybe they've ended up where you landed. We should head there first."

"And you want me to lead the way." Seeing Arthur nod, Francis raised an eyebrow. "An Englishman willingly following a Frenchman into battle? This is history."

"Shut it and move, sunshine."

-x-x-

Gilbert was starting to worry.

It had been hours but no one had come to get him, interrogate him, feed him or even to kick him around just for a few laughs. Were his captors planning on just leaving him here so he could starve to death?

He shook his head and shoved that disturbing thought somewhere else. That was probably what his captors wanted him to feel; break him first, so he would be easier for questioning. Well, that was one thing they were not going to get from him, because he was the most kick-ass corporal in CBAB – oh, fuck that stupid acronym and fuck whoever thought it up – and he would find a way out of this mess somehow.

The lone fluorescent bulb in the cell flickered for a little bit, making a soft buzzing noise. Gilbert noticed that it had been doing that for a couple of times now. It reminded him of those movies he liked to watch when he was off-duty, except that in his case there was no monster or crazed killer popping into view after the lights were done with the creepy flickering routine.

Gilbert stood up and went to the door so he could give it a strong kick, needing an outlet to relieve his frustration. Feeling slightly better, he crouched and flipped the slot at the door open. Again, he saw nothing but a blank wall on the other side.

Shouting for someone to come get him would probably be pointless and he was not really up to it anyway; his throat was parched. He put his hands out of the slot, grasped the bit of the door under his hands and shook hard. The heavy door rattled noisily, but refused to open.

The lights in his cell and in the hallway flickered again, but this time the flickering lasted longer than a few seconds. And unlike in those previous occasions, this time everything went dark.

And much to Gilbert's surprise, he heard a soft metallic noise as he felt the door vibrate for a second. His eyes widened and he gave the door a hearty shove, hoping that what he thought just happened, had actually happened.

The door swung open.

Gilbert surmised that the door's locking mechanism was remotely controlled from a central station and that the electrical problem and outage must have somehow activated the door's release bar, or maybe there was some sort of emergency and the automatic release was activated.

But who really cares about the technicalities anyway? It was time to make his escape.

The corporal wondered briefly whether if there were others who had shared his fate, but judging from the lack of noise in the hallways, he must have been the only prisoner there. He simply picked a direction and went as fast as he dared down the dark corridor. The emergency lighting had not kicked in, or perhaps there was no emergency lighting in the first place, so he was forced to feel the walls with his hands, hoping to find a door.

He also hoped that he would not run into any more of those freaks that knocked him out. What the hell was that thing anyway? It sort of moved like a man, but there was no way a human being could stand up to the beating Gilbert gave with the butt of his rifle. And there was that stupid metallic clang... someone wearing some sort of power suit, maybe?

Shit. This was starting to sound like a sci-fi movie, or even a video game. No, at least in video games, the player character usually started out with some sort of weapon, even though it was a beat-up BB gun or something. At the moment, he had none.

Gilbert froze when he thought he heard something. Yes, there it was, a soft humming-like sound, just like that time when he and Feli – god, he hoped the pasta-loving kid managed to get away – encountered that thing. He resisted the urge to let out a curse or two and instead desperately felt around for a door, an alcove, hell – a stupid box would do, anything to hide in from whatever was approaching because he did not want to be shoved into a cell again.

A few moments of frantic wall-groping and he found what felt like a door handle; not waiting any longer since that humming sound and loud, awkward footsteps were getting closer and closer, he pushed down on the handle, stepped through the open space and shut the door. He kept one firm grip on the handle and willed for his breathing to calm down.

The humming and the mismatched footsteps was louder now and he knew that whatever that thing was, it had just gone past his hiding place. He waited for a while until all the noise had faded away, then opened the door slightly so he could take a peek outside.

The corridor was still dark so there was nothing to see, but the footsteps still echoed in the dark emptiness. The thing must be headed for the cells to check up on its prisoner, Gilbert thought. Well, this ex-prisoner was not going to stick around, he decided; as soon as he was certain his captor was no longer in sight, he would take off in the other direction.

Then the emergency lighting finally kicked in, and the corridor was bathed in faint red light. Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise and he only managed to stop himself from uttering a curse, or even a gasp, by covering his mouth.

He really needed to get out of here now and as soon as the footsteps and echoes died down, he went out the door and ran for it.

The figure he had seen walking down the hallway and thankfully in the other direction?

It was not human.

Note: Arthur's comment about the people in green berets refers to the Royal Marine Commandos.