The Easy Day Was Yesterday Read Online Free
Author: Paul Jordan
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As I struggled for air beneath the pillowcase, I was dragged to my feet and forced to run. Again the wet pillowcase clung to my face and limited my air supply, so every 10 paces I just ran out of air and fainted. My escorts flapped the opening of my pillowcase until I came around, and then I ran 10 more paces before collapsing again. My feet ached. I’d been wearing boots almost continuously for the past four weeks so my feet were soft, and running blindly on gravel bloody hurt. I’m glad the interrogators didn’t ask me any further questions at that time. I guess I would have hung on knowing that this was just an exercise, but I was a wreck. I also realised that fighting an interrogator was foolish and I’d probably be lucky if I passed this process.
Six hours later and I was back in the interrogator’s chair. After the swim in the pool I was given a pair of very loose cotton pyjamas bottoms that had no elastic in the waist so I had to hold them up with my handcuffed hands. This interrogator was a woman and introduced herself as Comrade someone or rather. She was very official and barely looked up as the guards pushed me into the room.
‘Lance Corporal Jordan, I’m going to ask you some questions and you will answer them.’
She looked up at me expectantly, but I said nothing.
‘Is that clear?’
‘Jordan, Lance Corporal, 25th of March 19…’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, cutting me off from giving the reply required under the Geneva Convention. She studied me for a few minutes while I watched her. She was quite a nice-looking woman and I wondered if that was part of this interrogation session.
‘What are you doing with your hands?’ she asked, but didn’t wait for my reply. ‘Put your hands above your head.’
If I did that, my pants would fall down. So I spread my legs and raised my arms above my head. My spread legs secured my pyjamas. ‘Put your feet together,’ she ordered, continuing to study me. Damn. I put my feet together and tried to lock my pyjama bottoms by squeezing my legs together. They fell a little, but still concealed my kit.
‘Jump up and down.’
I should have told her to get fucked, but this was a test, and I was probably on thin ice given my last effort, so I just did it and that was the end of my pyjamas. They went straight to my ankles. So there I am jumping up and down with all the kit bouncing around. I would also say in my defence that it was very cold this particular evening.
‘Stop jumping. Are all Australians built like that?’ Again, she didn’t wait for answer, but shook her head. ‘Right, you were captured at this location. What were you doing there?’
Away we went and I started my usual Geneva Convention reply while periodically being forced to jump up and down with the Comrade watching me. After an hour of this I was marched back to the waiting area and forced to kneel on my board.
My board was my home for the duration of the interrogation phase. It was where I spent my time between sessions. It was about 30 centimetres wide and 150 centimetres long. Under foot I could feel that it was made of two lengths of rough-cut timber nailed to two cross members underneath. I couldn’t see the other guys but knew they were in the room with me and were also kneeling. Prior to my arrival in the holding room, the guard tapped the bell twice which meant we had to kneel.
A few hours later I was abruptly dragged from my board and frogmarched outside. I was keen to get outside as identifying the position of the sun in the sky would help me with direction and the time of day. It had been dark when the Comrade got a look at my kit and now the sun was high in the sky. I was forced to walk quickly over the rough road for about three or four minutes before suddenly being ordered to stop, with the added warning, ‘Don’t move!’
I heard something being shifted; it sounded like a steel lid being opened. Then they grabbed me and pushed me down until I fell into a
As I struggled for air beneath the pillowcase, I was dragged to my feet and forced to run. Again the wet pillowcase clung to my face and limited my air supply, so every 10 paces I just ran out of air and fainted. My escorts flapped the opening of my pillowcase until I came around, and then I ran 10 more paces before collapsing again. My feet ached. I’d been wearing boots almost continuously for the past four weeks so my feet were soft, and running blindly on gravel bloody hurt. I’m glad the interrogators didn’t ask me any further questions at that time. I guess I would have hung on knowing that this was just an exercise, but I was a wreck. I also realised that fighting an interrogator was foolish and I’d probably be lucky if I passed this process.
Six hours later and I was back in the interrogator’s chair. After the swim in the pool I was given a pair of very loose cotton pyjamas bottoms that had no elastic in the waist so I had to hold them up with my handcuffed hands. This interrogator was a woman and introduced herself as Comrade someone or rather. She was very official and barely looked up as the guards pushed me into the room.
‘Lance Corporal Jordan, I’m going to ask you some questions and you will answer them.’
She looked up at me expectantly, but I said nothing.
‘Is that clear?’
‘Jordan, Lance Corporal, 25th of March 19…’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, cutting me off from giving the reply required under the Geneva Convention. She studied me for a few minutes while I watched her. She was quite a nice-looking woman and I wondered if that was part of this interrogation session.
‘What are you doing with your hands?’ she asked, but didn’t wait for my reply. ‘Put your hands above your head.’
If I did that, my pants would fall down. So I spread my legs and raised my arms above my head. My spread legs secured my pyjamas. ‘Put your feet together,’ she ordered, continuing to study me. Damn. I put my feet together and tried to lock my pyjama bottoms by squeezing my legs together. They fell a little, but still concealed my kit.
‘Jump up and down.’
I should have told her to get fucked, but this was a test, and I was probably on thin ice given my last effort, so I just did it and that was the end of my pyjamas. They went straight to my ankles. So there I am jumping up and down with all the kit bouncing around. I would also say in my defence that it was very cold this particular evening.
‘Stop jumping. Are all Australians built like that?’ Again, she didn’t wait for answer, but shook her head. ‘Right, you were captured at this location. What were you doing there?’
Away we went and I started my usual Geneva Convention reply while periodically being forced to jump up and down with the Comrade watching me. After an hour of this I was marched back to the waiting area and forced to kneel on my board.
My board was my home for the duration of the interrogation phase. It was where I spent my time between sessions. It was about 30 centimetres wide and 150 centimetres long. Under foot I could feel that it was made of two lengths of rough-cut timber nailed to two cross members underneath. I couldn’t see the other guys but knew they were in the room with me and were also kneeling. Prior to my arrival in the holding room, the guard tapped the bell twice which meant we had to kneel.
A few hours later I was abruptly dragged from my board and frogmarched outside. I was keen to get outside as identifying the position of the sun in the sky would help me with direction and the time of day. It had been dark when the Comrade got a look at my kit and now the sun was high in the sky. I was forced to walk quickly over the rough road for about three or four minutes before suddenly being ordered to stop, with the added warning, ‘Don’t move!’
I heard something being shifted; it sounded like a steel lid being opened. Then they grabbed me and pushed me down until I fell into a
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