M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

They walked for hours, stumbling and often falling. Their captors took delight in pushing them into areas where they were told might hide mines.

At night they were chained to trees and were threatened not to talk or try to communicate with one another.

After several days they were brought to what appeared to be a temporary camp holding other prisoners. There were some huts and some of the prisoners were held in bamboo cages. George and jack were once again chained to trees with two other prisoners while cages were built for them by their captors.

Kelshaw attempted to communicate with one of the Lao guards in their language, but was struck across the face numerous times, knocked to the ground and kicked repeatedly. The English speaking soldier spit at him calling him a CIA dog!

Jack watched in horrified silence at the brutality. The guard’s eyes darted here and there as the cages were built, watching the captive’s reactions. He reminded Jack of a ferret, ready to attack at any moment.

George had been temporarily chained closer to Jack, still under close guard. A brief opportunity to communicate occurred as a result of a change of guards. Kelshaw spoke urgently in a half whisper, “If you get back to Vientiane go to the Embassy and try to get through to Neil Klein and tell him what’s happened. I hid a packet and a letter in the monastery. About six feet inside the door and about six feet up from the floor there’s a loose stone in the wall. It pries out… everything is there. Make sure Klein gets it if I don’t get back.”

“C’mon, Kelshaw, don’t talk like that, you’ve got to; they’ve got to let us go. They shouldn’t even be taking prisoners since the Peace negotiations have started,” Jack said angrily.

“Listen to me, Hubbard, they might let you go… don’t fight them too much; pretend to cooperate as much as possible when they start asking questions. Tell them that you came to get a story; that you don’t know anything about me and if they ask about Vang Pao, tell them you’re curious about him, had hoped to meet him, but that’s all you know.” George instructed.

“You don’t think for a minute they’ll believe me, do you?” Jack asked doubtfully. “I don’t really think these guys care a lot about the Peace ‘negs’.”

“They might. Once they’re convinced you are a news correspondent they might let you go. I don’t hold a lot of hope for me, at least at this point. They believe I’m CIA and they’ll be interrogating me soon, I’m certain,” George added. “Remember, I told you about another side of the story? These guys are it. Just don’t lose your nerve, kid; it won’t be easy, but you’ll get out of this,” he spoke confidently to Jack.

A guard was approaching and the conversation ceased.

They were unchained briefly and moved to now completed cages. Jack thought about George’s instructions and wondered if he had the guts he knew he would need to get through. The cage was small and too low for Jack to stand up. He tried to sit, but the guard prodded him to stand hunched over.

He watched as two guards removed Kelshaw from his cage and led him, hands bound, to a thatched hut that served as the central interrogation center. The English speaking guard accompanied Kelshaw inside.

He heard angry voices directed at Kelshaw. He strained to hear, but a guard near him poked at him through the bars of his cage and said something that sounded menacing. Then he heard what sounded like a cry and a dull thud; then silence from the hut. Soon the guards exited dragging Kelshaw between them and threw him into the cage.

He was barely conscious and it was obvious he had been beaten. His face was swelling and there was a cut over one eye that was bleeding.

Hubbard was more frightened than he had ever been. He knew he would be next.

Jack had lost track of time, but he estimated that they had been held more than two weeks in this camp. The camp commander had questioned George every day and each day he was more severely beaten. The English speaking guard seemed to delight in dragging Kelshaw past Jack and the other prisoners as an example.

They had not communicated since before the first beating. Jack was sure Kelshaw was more dead than alive. Then one morning it was Hubbard’s turn. As he was led to the interrogation hut he passed Kelshaw’s cage and heard a faint voice, “Round one, kid; don’t lose your nerve.”

Inside the hut his hands were tied and he was forced into a chair as the interrogator began, “What is your name? What is your mission?”

“Jack Hubbard. I’m a correspondent for United Press International.”

“You are a liar, you work for CIA. What is your mission?” he repeated. “I will ask you again, what is your name and who are your contacts?”

“No, I do not work for the CIA… I work for United Press International. My name is Jack Hubbard and I came to Laos to get a story about the Peace negotiations.”

A rifle butt smashed into his side driving him to the floor. The English speaking guard was standing over him, grinning as he lay trying to breathe. The guard pulled him roughly back into the chair and the interrogation began again.

Each time Jack answered he was accused of lying and was struck again and again, blows striking his body and his head and face causing his nose to bleed and one eye to swell shut. Ferret obviously enjoying his work, looked displeased when the interrogation ended. Jerking Hubbard to his feet he pushed him toward the doorway causing Jack to fall. Hands still tied behind him he struggled to get to his feet while a guard kicked him ordering him to get up.

Finally, two guards grabbed him and dragged him back to his cage, throwing him in, leaving his hands tied. Jack fell face down on the floor of the cage. It hurt to breathe, but he was thankful that he still could. Hours later a guard opened the cage and forcing Jack to turn over, he thrust his bayonet at Jack lying helpless. For an instant Jack was certain he would be killed. Then the guard cut his hands free while laughing at the fear that had shown in Jack’s eyes.

Although Jack’s interrogations continued, there seemed to be a lessening of interest in him. He could tell that such was not the case with Kelshaw. It was almost as though there was a personal vendetta incorporated in the questioning.

‘Ferret’, the English speaking guard, hated Kelshaw. He seemed to resent Kelshaw’s command of the language and his knowledge of the Laotian people. Each interrogation left Kelshaw weaker and more injured. Jack was afraid he would die. That terrified him more. One morning Jack looked at Kelshaw’s cage and felt sick to his stomach, the cage was empty, George was gone!

‘Ferret’ came over to Jack’s cage and goaded him by saying, “You’re accomplice is gone; he died last night. “You will be next,” he laughed as he walked away.

Jack was devastated. He couldn’t believe George was dead. He looked around at some of the other prisoners and saw three of the other prisoners were missing also. In a cage close to Jack, a remaining prisoner who had appeared listless and semi-conscious slowly shook his head, ‘no’. Jack understood. George and the other prisoners were gone, but still alive, at least for the present.

Mustering up his courage, Jack called to the guard. “I am a news correspondent. I was in Paris when the Peace Negotiations were going on. Why are the Pathet Lao still taking and holding prisoners?”

“It is of no matter, we are not party to your peace negotiations,” stated the guard. “They are of no consequence to us. You are of no importance and you are a criminal and an enemy of our country!”

Jack persisted, “That’s not true. What are you going to do with us? You don’t understand who I represent,” he repeated. “I have been sent to Laos to report on the Peace Negotiations and the Prisoner of War exchanges…”