For Forty Weeks the Sunbird Flew: An Airman's Tale

Chapter 9: Iacta Alea Est

Ah, shit. Here's where his stupidity got him into some serious trouble.

"And here I was, thinking we'd never get you out here that easy. Figured you'd insist on one of your little friends following behind. Luckily, you appear to be a bloody moron."

Archer, finding it hard to disagree with the man at this precise moment in time, swallowed hard and went ramrod straight, hands slowly being raised to his head in a gesture of compliance, or at least he hoped that's how it came across. He didn't want to be stabbed over a misunderstanding.
Scratch that; he wasn't overly keen on being stabbed at all, truth be told.

"Easy, I'll do whatever it is you want me to. Please just, don't hurt me."

A pair of rumbling laughs came from the men behind.
"We'll see. No promises."

"Hey," the other man laughed, "what if we chuck him now then? He wouldn't feel a thing when he hit the ground!"

Archer shook a little. He really did not want to die here.

"Sirs, I don't know what it is you want, but I promise I'll do it. Please, just, stop this."

"Oh, so you think you're in a position to start bartering, do you, boy?"

Archer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There weren't many options open to him at the moment. If he could maybe get to his toolbox then he might be able to use something as a weapon, but that would mean somehow getting past two men who were focused on him, far bigger than he was, and wielding knives. Small knives, little more than shivs, but knives nonetheless.

"On your knees, officer."

The last word was spat as though it was an insult, and Archer obeyed as slowly as he felt he could get away with. He had no doubts in his mind that the coming events would be unpleasant, but so long as he survived it he found that he wasn't all that fussed. His survival came first at the end of the day, and his pride, dignity, self assurance, hell, almost everything else could be pushed aside and dealt with later. Right now he had to find a way to get away, fight back, or otherwise simply endure whatever was about to happen. If I could get them talking, he thought to himself, that might buy me a little more time for someone to stumble atop us. At the very least I might get some information on what's happening that I might be able to pass on to Lawrence and the others if I survive.

"Why are you targeting me, of all people? I'm just the Assistant Engineer."

"Aye," one of the men spat, "you are. Despite signing on just the same as we did, there's us slumming it down with a hundred other men, and you're up here sat at the officers mess having a whale of a time each night. I'm not even sure what you do on the ship."

"Apart from warm the Engineer's bed." The other helpfully supplied.

"The engineer? I think you're getting the wrong impression, gentlemen."

A blow to the back of his head sent him to the floor and one of the men pressed themself to his back, pinning him in place with his arms behind his back.

"Of course we are. Of course that's what you'd say. How abouts we find out if the engineer has good taste or not, eh?"

Archer's eyes widened, and he began kicking and writhing in an attempt to free himself.

"Stop it, you little shit!"

Archer threw his head back, feeling a crunch behind him as the main wailed.
"Oh, my nose!"

He roughly pulled Archer's head back by the hair.
"You'll pay for that, you little cunt!"

All of a sudden Archer was seeing stars, his face colliding at force with the walkway beneath, stunning him. His head felt like it was made of gelatine, and his nose felt hot and sticky, running with something that he vaguely recognised as blood.
Fuck, that's not good.