George sat by and watched as his friend met death at the hands of the commandant. It was not fast. Frederick stood for as long as he was capable and took the blows with stoic composure, unafraid of what he was facing and unwilling to let their slaver enjoy any outburst of fear out pain. In this, he succeeded.

George, however, held no such composure within himself. Only restrained by the knowledge of the consequences of an outburst, he boiled on the inside. His frontal lobe flashed forth images of peeling up the finger and toenails of the commandant, then cutting off his nose and ears, along with more sinister tortures. No remorse would he feel for inflicting the same punishments on them as they had on their slaves, many times over.

Finally, the commandant, Joseph by name, though none were permitted to utter it, delivered the final blows to Frederick’s lifeless body. He stood with his flayed bamboo switch and breathed heavily from the effort, sweat poured down his back and off his forehead. The stick in his hand had been new at the beginning of the ordeal, but was now broken and splintered. Blood clung to the raw edges where it had opened cuts in the skin, and Frederick lay in the center of a blood-stained ring, now shiny with his own blood.

George strode forward after Joseph had departed and took up the corpse of his good friend. At least he would be able to bury him properly.

The group of them moved sluggishly toward the longhouses where they lived in little more than a barracks, with only rough straw cots on the dirt floor. George carried the body out to the side where their improvised graveyard stood, followed by a small group of men to help bury Frederick. He was laid to rest and covered over with a pile of stones before the men went back into their respective housing structures.

George was comforted by Marian when he made his way to his bed and they lay under the wool blanket. They lay still in each other’s arms, each too deep in mourning to even consider making love. Instead, silence reigned in the hall as the slaves turned in and drifted off to sleep.

The dawn brought a new outlook to the land and they resumed their daily grind, strip mining the mountains.

George mulled over ideas for obtaining freedom as he worked alongside his friends. The mindless work allowed him time to examine his own plans despite the commandant’s best efforts. It was a simple enough conclusion to arrive at; the slaves far outnumbered the commandant’s men.

At the great hall when they returned home, George was in higher spirits. He lay with Marian, more active this night after they had erected the improvised privacy screens which provided little more than a peace of mind. Life was not disrupted by Marian’s cries as the rest of the slaves simply ignored them, most having done the same in recent past.

As they lay together after, George outlined his plans with Marian. They dressed and got up to spread the plan among their comrades, the rumors spreading through the hall and between the longhouses like wildfire until all were appraised of it.

When the sun rose on the land and poured in the windows of the longhouse, their plan began to unfold. The slaves stood as a single entity and took up their tools, but when they left the longhouse, they did not walk toward the mine.

They began the trek to their master’s house, intent on tearing it down brick by brick.