ithin a week Sung Wu had replaced enough clothes on which to get by and had buried the two workers killed by the thugs.  He was settling into the home of William and Sharon Travis.  He had become enjoined with The Patriot Gentleman's Club, and, had been voted into the Four.

He was now one of the trusted operative handlers.  Very proficient in the use of firearms of all types, the use of knives, swords, nunchuka, and a host of other weapons most of the group had never heard of much less pronounce, he had trained for the hopes of meeting the executionist of Post 731.  He hoped all his life that he would be granted the chance to exact revenge for his grandparents.

His parents were in the city as a young married couple near the city of Harbin, Northeast China.  Both sets of grandparents died as a result of anthrax spread by experimentation of the dreaded microbiologist, General Ishii, of Post 731.  Their oldest child, the first born, a brother above Sung Wu, died as well.  With no other kin left, his parents were fortunate enough to migrate to America.  He was born within a year of his parents arriving.  He had never gotten his chance to meet Ishii face to face.

He loathed the US government for their part in bringing Ishii to America where he could live out his life in luxury.  He should have been executed for his war crimes.  Sung Wu had heard the horror stories all his life from firsthand accounts of the operations he did on people, never taking the time to anesthetize the patient, just strap them down, and start cutting.  Forced abortions, vivisections, removal of limbs, open heart surgery, brain surgery, all while his victims were concious.

The atrocities were endless.  He would test bombs by exploding them with people strapped to posts at varying distances from epicenter.  He tested the application of numerous plagues, viruses and the like by spraying whole villages with airplanes like cropdusting, by cluster bombs and many other experiments on spreading the viruses over large areas.  Actual human casualties were numbered many times greater than history books recorded.

No one could render in writing the sufferings under the knife of Ishii and the doctors under him.  They would have their way with the women in order to provide pregancies with the sole intention of aborting them.  They then would perform C-sections on the women while awake, purposely killing or aborting the fetuses from their own loins.  They experimented in many ways to perform these horrendous practices.  When Sung Wu related this story, he normally just receded into a quiet inward place; there he would just go silent.

William took that opportunity to turn back to the project they were planning.  Old Joe stirred after a few minutes obviously shaken.  He visited the head, then poured himself another cup of coffee.  He sauntered into another room of the house where he was checking out a drawing of the raid they'd attempt in the early morning hours the next day at Hanoi Hilton.  Sung Wu knew something of the place and offered several points of interest none of the others had caught.

George would cross the field on his stomach.  He would commence shortly after dark this very night.  It would take him hours to get across the field crawling on his stomach to prevent detection by the sentries.  Once at the wall, he would place a charge.  One flash from his laser toward the woods would signal he was on target, and ready.  Several men would be around the complex completely surrounding it by that time.

Precisely at 5:21 on the dot, they would fire their grenade launchers in unison into the windows of the house.  Then, they all had to get across the field and through the breach in the wall made by George on one side, and by Hazard on the other.  All this would be accomplished under withering fire.  Most of General Randolph's own men were present in the charge wanting to free their General.

General Randolph had been grabbed a week earlier.  This was done by knocking his vehicle out of control and into a ditch where it had landed on its side and incapacitated.  On his forehead was a deep gash and he had been knocked unconscious by the collision.  When he woke up, he was in a dark room and secured to a bed.  He opened his eyes to orient himself as to his location and predicament, but could ascertain no visual details.

Well, at least he was not in some hole lying on the concrete covered by two inch roaches.  But he was shackled tightly and securely.  On the morning of the eighth day, he was awakened by extensive gunfire.  He could not open his eyes beyond a mere split, for what good that would have done in the pitch dark where they kept him until it was time for them to work on him some more.  But his eyes were swelled nearly shut, and he was sure two fingers, an arm and a kneecap were all broken.

His side hurt like some ribs were broken as well, and a couple of teeth were missing.  Including the one with the cyanide pill.  When it disappeared he had no clue.  His back was bloodied and raw, he sat in his own excrement, and his kidneys hurt fiercely from lack of enough water.  The swill they gave him to eat he had not been able to stomach as of yet.

At first he thought they were Russian, but they didn't behave and/or act like Russians.  They were not Muslims, but he did not think they were Chinese either.  He was kept blindfolded all the time they were working on him.  It seems he was thought to know where a large shipment of Russian arms had disappeared to and a couple of times there were questions about some property in Arkansas of which he knew nothing.

How they had obtained the information about what to grill him over he had no clue.  Early yesterday afternoon, he did hear one say that if they didn't have the information they wanted by this afternoon, to finish him.

Something about that voice.  Although the speaker was speaking very low and he had to really strain to catch what was being said, but it was a deep voice, meticulous in pronunciation . . . .  "I think I've heard that voice somewhere before," he thought.  Then he shook it off and forgot about it.

He shuddered at the thought of the many ways a man could be put to death slowly.  If it was to be, then, so be it.  Many good men had died in service of their country in just this same manner, and many in some gruesome ways to which the normal citizenry just are not able to relate.

The commotion outside was heating up.  It had began with a series of explosions, and they were all around.  Sounded like grenades.  Rifle fire commenced almost immediately, and running feet, slamming doors, all mingled together in one large continuous roar.  He figured it was an attempt to break him out if they knew he was here.

He had to be ready because one of the lesser soldiers would be sent to finish him off quickly.  He'd practiced getting out of the shackles and replacing them.  At the first sound of gunfire he'd slipped out of the shackles, and limped to the door and was waiting.  He knew the guy sent to kill him would be along shortly, and he was going to have to work at finishing that detail!

Suddenly the door exploded open, and a AK 47 emptied itself of ammunition with one long burst being sprayed toward where he had been merely seconds before.

The shooter then ran back down the hall without even checking or turning on a light.  General Randolph slipped out of the room, across the hall and waited for the owner of the footsteps he heard now coming in his direction.  The man turned the corner to walk toward the room where the General had been kept.  Fortunately he had not caught sight of him.  He slipped his hand inside the door and flipped the light switch.  Through his swelled eyelids, the General Randolph could see the man start backing toward him.

He delivered one of the best head-grab neck-snapping procedures he had ever done.  The man crumpled and fell at his feet dead before he hit the ground.  He instantly drug him over to the bed, switched clothes and shackled him in.  Grabbing his Russian revolver and AK 47 he headed out the door as fast as possible and met two guys come racing down the hall toward him.  Too late they realized who he was and immediately met their deaths as the 47 spoke it to them.

He had no sooner dropped them when another came around the corner at full trot down the hall.  And another.  He used his ammo cautiously, and when it would speak no more, he grabbed another 47 from one of the guys still leaking red stuff on the concrete floor.  In a space of less than a minute, he'd killed four of the men, and put two more out of the fight.  A quick glance showed they wouldn't live long.

He quickly decided he was not in a place which was conducive to a peaceful walk, and if he wanted to live past the hour, he needed to vacate the premises.  The fighting was in a lull outside, and he wondered what was happening.  He hesitated for a second before peeking around the corner cautiously.  He looked right into the black and evil eye of a big ol' 45.

"Normally, that would be a fearful sight" he said lowly.  "But right now, it's quite a joyous sight."  He knew the gun into whose barrel he was staring.  There was only one like it, and it belonged to William.  At least, he hoped it was William who was holding it!

The chuckle confirmed who the owner of the pistol was, who then stepped around the corner.  "What are you doing in these parts?" asked General Randolph.

"Well," in a drawl that only William could do. "We're looking for this lost General whose 'sposed to be somewhere over here.  Man, you look terrible!"

"Thanks for the compliment.  But I'm not feeling any thing above terrible at the moment.  Let's get out of here!"  He started forward and faltered, then fell face first onto the concrete.  That's when William noticed he'd been shot.  Out of the thirty eight men of the compound, thirty three of them lay dead.  The others were rounded up, shackled securely and were being trucked out to the bunker.  They'd been strip searched prior to loading them on the truck, and had nothing on but their shorts and a blindfold.

One of General Randolph's men was standing beside him as he was loaded on the truck.  A couple of others were also on stretchers, and there was another man which was completely covered over.  The soldier standing beside the General said "I found this on one of the guys we captured," he reported.  Then added "I thought you might like to have it."

The General examined the pistol then looked up at him in complete surprise.  It was a pistol that few had any idea as to it's importance, what it meant, and the story about them.  General Randolph said "Thank you Gunny.  Deliver this to William and have him keep it for me."

"Yes sir!" the soldier responded. "Is that all sir?"

"No Gunny.  Lift up the cover on the man laying there."

"Yes sir."  He reached over and pulled back the cover from the head of the man lying there, and General Randolph looked full into the face of George Gacy.

"Thank you Gunny.  That will be all."

Gunny = Gunnery Sergeant (GySgt) is the seventh enlisted rank in the United States Marine Corps, just above Staff Sergeant and below Master Sergeant and First Sergeant, and is a staff non-commissioned officer (SNCO).

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Chapter XIII