Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER NINE
A week after accepting employment with the Cooper
Organization, I began my initial training. Dana
Simpson briefed me that I'd receive the same education
that many before me had undertaken and that she was
certain I'd come through the rigors of the controlled
abuse in fine condition. Jim concurred. The training
was to be held at the Cooper Organization's Training
Center outside Wheeling, West Virginia. The course
lasted two months.
While aboard the van en route to Wheeling, I read the
training directives. It would be as realistic as
possible the materials explained. Once departing the
van, I was to submit myself totally to the
instructors. We arrived at the training compound at
dusk. The big Ford rolled to an automatic gate
inserted in a 10 foot high, barb-wired topped mesh
fence. Several people stood outside the gate in gray
long-sleeved shirts and pants. From the van, I
couldn't determine any of the instructors' sex. I was
alone in the van and disembarked as soon as it
stopped: the sooner I got going, the sooner this thing
would be over with. I was hooded and handcuffed
immediately as I left the van. I spent a very long
time this way as I sat in a circle of unknown people
while they calmly explained what was to happen. It
didn't sound pretty; however, one particularly
kind-voiced instructor wrapped-up the whole situation
for me:
"Colonel James, you are an experienced military
professional who has undoubtedly undergone some sever
training. What you'll be going through here will make
your Air Force training look like Cub Scout activity.
However, I ask you to remember that your personal
financial awards will be greater than you probably
ever imagined. Additionally, although you will under
go extreme physical and mental duress, other people
have endured much worse; your comrades detained as
POWs in Vietnam for example. We will monitor you to
ensure you leave this training on schedule and in
decent shape. Steal your will and have courage."
Following that speech, I was stripped and would not be
allowed clothing for the remainder of my stay in West
Virginia. Overnight, I subjected to compression
bondage by having my knees drawn up and tied tightly
against my chest with my hands tied behind me. I was
left in this position for what seemed like hours. An
after-action critique revealed it was a total of 4.5
hours. The initial dull ache increased rapidly to
burning agony that was amplified by the inability to
draw a full breath as my chest expansion was
restricted. This gave me my first taste at what
tremendous, unfamiliar pain can do: instill knowledge
that any individual can be completely broken. Over the
next three nights, I built up a tolerance to the pain
and learned tricks to endure it; however, my
instructors seemed to be too eager to apply new
methods. Exposure to temperature extremes caused me
permanent damage. Cold weather still makes me
nauseous.
Humiliation is a terrible thing to endure when it's
heaped on a single individual. In each class, one
trainee is singled out for dehumanizing. The
unfortunate man or woman is kept naked and leashed. He
is forced to eat excrement, serve as a vessel for
other trainees urine and semen, be a sex toy for
instructors and serve as an ashtray. If the
mortification were equally distributed, the shame
would be tolerable. After all, misery loves company.
As we were taught to induce pain through various
methods, we needed to serve as recipients of each
technique to gauge for ourselves the effectiveness of
the application. We became proficient in best
placement of bare-handed body blows. We learned the
body's nerve "wiring diagram". We studied the
cumulative effects of pain and the formulas to match
damage to recuperation. We learned to design and use
torture devices. Eventually, we were ready for our
"final". We were divided up in two man teams and each
person given a sealed envelope. The contents of the
envelope were cards that read either "prisoner" or
"interrogator". Both cards also were annotated with a
safeword. I drew a "prisoner" card and my safeword was
"pieplate". Each prisoner also was given a paragraph
describing facts they were not to reveal. This was the
information the tormentor would attempt to get from
the prisoner; conversely, this was information I would
not reveal. Each two man team was to be monitored by
an instructor who would grade each person and pass or
fail them based on certain criteria. If you failed you
would not be hired. I discovered later that nobody
failed. If you didn't score high enough, you were
simply used as the victim in subsequent "finals" until
you were tortured to death--nobody left the Cooper
Organization,
The final exam criteria was revealed to us later that
night. The exercise could last a maximum of 72 hours.
The victim could not reveal all the pertinent facts in
his objective. The objective contained seven facts.
The tormentor would be required to get five of the
seven facts from the prisoner.
That night, the prisoners were herded together in a
large, comfortable room. The interrogators were
sequestered in a separate facility. There were ten of
us prisoners and we were reluctant to discuss what we
had learned during our previous weeks of training.
However, to a man we knew we could not be broken. We
also knew we needed to sleep but the anxiety of
wondering how we would conduct ourselves kept us
hyperactive. In the morning, our assigned
interrogators met us outside the room as we were
individually called out. My interrogator had the
number 7 stenciled on his biceps. He was about my
height but heavier. He wore canvas shorts, heavy
lace-up boots and big dark sunglasses. He was
shirtless and a nipple ring adorned his left breast.
He bound my wrists to the rear and lead me to a small
punishment room. I was ready for any tricks number 7
had. He was hesitant and nervous as he began the
session. His verbal grilling went on for several
minutes and his impatience grew as he gained no ground
with me. As I felt I was "winning", his frustration
became anger and he began slapping the furniture and
me as well. His rage intensified and open hand
irritations became closed fisted blows to my belly.
The blows intensified continually and were applied to
my entire body. I managed to fend off most to the
sensitive areas. He suddenly stopped and left the
room. A clock in the room showed we been at our
initial sparring for two hours.
With my first round completed, I was feeling proud of
my resistance and was getting cocky. Tiredness was
also seeping in. After 15 minutes, number 7 was back
with a ball bat. My courage left suddenly and my knees
shook. The knees were number 7's first target. As the
bat arced toward my legs, I shifted enough that my
right thigh absorbed the blow but I hit the floor
instantly as the pain shot through my leg. I went into
a defensive fetal curl as blows were laid on over my
back and legs. The instructor stopped the beating soon
after I lost count of the blows and began wailing.
Number 7 grabbed my shirt collar and hauled me to an
adjacent, heated room where he applied a noose to my
ankles. He hoisted me off the ground with my hands
still bound behind me. Using his large survival knife,
he began cutting at my clothing nicking me on several
occasions. My fear factor was increasing rapidly as my
mind raced to figure how to cope with the situation.
When I was completely stripped, number 7 demanded I
supply him the information. I refused. Seven picked up
a long switch and began lashing my body. I danced on
the end of the rope attempting to minimize the lash
but I lost to exhaustion before number 7 tired. My
body stung completely but I refused to relinquish
anything.
Seven disappeared behind me and began wrapping my arms
together in the coils of a rope. The cord began
circling up my arms with each loop pulled tighter. As
the coils and pain increased, sweat wept from every
pore filling my nostrils, ears and eyes and eventually
accumulating beneath my head. Finishing the bindings
just above my elbows, Seven looped the cord through a
hook on the floor and drew me taught.
The pain in my shoulders and chest was excruciating.
Seven circled me and again offered me the opportunity
to agree to his demands for information. I begged for
him to release my arms and I would talk. The pain had
broken me. Seven quickly untied my arms. The pain from
the returned blood flow hurt as much as the initial
torment. Next, Seven lowered me to the floor and gave
me much needed water. I was then assisted to a table
and chair configuration and told to write the
information. Free from my entrapment I hesitated. I
looked at the wall clock and saw only eight hours of
my "final" had passed. It was too early to
surrender--surely nobody else had and I wasn't going
to be the first! I told Seven I had nothing to write.
Seven glared at me and ordered me to write I refused
again. Seven was stunned. I had made a mistake.
Seven smashed the side of my head with his fist. The
blow staggered me and sent me to the brink of
unconsciousness. When I regained my senses, I was
stretched tight, suspended from a ceiling hook and a
rope from my ankles attached to a lever and fulcrum
assemble on the floor. Seven doused me with icy water
to shock me into reality. He then began pumping the
lever and racking my body taut. Trembling began in my
extremities and soon was quivering like a plucked
guitar string with agony streaming through my body. I
couldn't get enough air in my lungs to howl to release
the pain and I fought not to utter the safeword. I
could only quiver and attempt to keep from crying.
This effort failed and I felt myself blubbering and
begging for release. Seven released the torque a bit
and I felt the strain on my limbs and chest lesson
slightly. Seven demanded I talk. After several deep
breaths I refused. The terrible tension was again
administered and I screamed.
A woman I had never seen before entered my torture
chamber and demanded that Seven "...finish with the
whore soon." Seven said I had as yet revealed nothing.
The woman said she would assist Seven. She circled my
quaking form and commented that I had the most
pitiful, ridiculous cock she'd ever seen. She said my
"so-called dick" would never please any woman...ever
again.
Panic ceased me and I would have spilled my guts if
the pain in my chest would have allowed me to breathe.
I quickly realized that there was no way I'd be maimed
as this was a training scenario. The woman began
twisting my penis and testicles with a leather-clad
hand. My penis had virtually retracted into my body
due to the racking stress and pain. However, due to
the heat, my testicles hung low and vulnerable. I
glanced at the clock and noted with despair that I was
only 16 hours into my session. I was loosing my
resolve quickly. When the woman began pulling at my
nipples with heated pliers, I lost control of my
bowls. This action was punished my a vicious chest
beating with a leather strap by both Seven and the
woman. The instructor stopped the session as I lost
consciousness.
I regained my senses when Seven sprayed me with cold
water from a thick black hose. I was unbound in small
cement block cell. The cell door closed and I was
alone in near total darkness save for the sliver of
light entering at the bottom of the door. Every part
of my body ached yet I was pleased I'd said nothing. I
felt around the cell and discovered a tin of water
that I practically inhaled. I tried to rest my beaten
bones but it was not to be. The cell door opened and
the woman entered with Seven remaining at the opening.
The woman, carrying a riding crop, stood over me and
commanded me to disclose my information. I refused and
braced for blows from the crop realizing I would soon
talk. Instead she folded her arms across her chest,
leaned against the cell wall and ordered me to
masturbate. I naturally refused. She gave me a choice:
masturbate or my genitals would be pounded by her
crop. I let loose of any remaining shame, and began
stroking my penis. Unfortunately, my anguished body
wouldn't respond. However, her ruse had worked in that
I'd attempted to commit self-abuse at her direction.
She and Seven now knew I was close to breaking.
The cell door closed and I was again alone. After an
undetermined time, I was taken back to the punishment
room and ordered to reveal my information. I glanced
at the clock and was surprised to see that I'd held
out until early in the third day of my test--nearly 55
hours.
I began writing incoherent sentences and altered my
assigned facts considerably. When I'd finished, the
woman took my "confession" and left the room leaving
Seven to guard me. I put my head on the table and
relaxed knowing I'd beaten my torment and retained by
pride.
Soon the woman and an instructor were shaking me
awake. The instructor explained in a soothing voice,
"Unfortunately, you can't lie. In an actual scenario,
your captures will be able to verify the truth. When
it's discovered you've lied, they'll apply intensified
techniques and continue past your breaking point as
they won't trust your further confessions." I could
only stare at the group before me as the instructor
announced, "Resume the scenario."
Both interrogators grabbed me and dragged me to an
adjoining room where I was fastened, face up, to a
long wooden table. My wrists were bound and pulled
toward one end of the table while my ankles were drawn
toward the opposite end. The woman and Seven working
opposite each other. They pulled the ropes until I was
racked taut. The women wrapped a thin cord noose
around my genitals and pulled the noose tight.
Simultaneously, Seven attached large electrical clamps
to each of my nipples. The woman ran the cord from my
genitals to the clamps and tied the together in a
tight triangle. They racked me again to ensure all
bindings were as taut as possible. The woman got up on
the table and, sitting on my thighs, attached more
line to the triangles sides and began pulling in
opposite directions. The pain in my already racked
chest was directly connected to the awful burning
pressure in my groin. Seven began braising my
sensitive skin along my sides and underarms with a hot
implement I couldn't identify. But upon each touch of
the burning metal, I shrieked. The clamp on my left
nipple ripped free. The instructor shouted "Break!"
and approached to examine the damage. As the tissue
was mostly intact , he stated simply, "Resume".
The woman dismounted and began soaking two towels in a
bucket of water. After wringing them partially out,
she folded each one lengthwise then in half. She
handed one to Seven. Seven removed my remaining nipple
clamp but left my genitals cruelly bound. Using the
soaked towels, both interrogators began brutally
slapping me. Seven concentrated on my face while the
woman attacked my swollen privates. After only a few
whacks, I was unable to open my eyes due to swelling
and my genitals were on fire. I uttered my
safeword--pieplate--and the beatings stopped. I'd
lost.
I was freed of my confinements and provided a
bathrobe. The instructor simply stated, "Sixty-two
hours. Hot wash at noon tomorrow. Report to the
infirmary." I'd taken over two days of torment and
collapsed with only 10 hours to go. En route to the
infirmary Seven introduced himself by his real name
and apologized for abusing me. I assured him that I
knew it was nothing personal and congratulated him for
passing the final. My wounds were tended to and I was
offered a narcotic pain killer which I gratefully
accepted--better living through chemistry. I collapsed
in clean white hospital sheets.
The after-action "hot wash" was basically to review
our strong and weak points. The instructor praised me
for lasting as long as I did. He bolstered my
self-confidence when he told me very few made it past
24 hours. In fact, he'd only known two men lasting the
duration. He chided me however, for not giving out
pieces of information rather than completely
stonewalling the interrogators completely. In an
actual scene, you need to feed their sense of
accomplishment. Giving them nothing can result in
death very easily. We discussed many of the activities
of my 62 hours and were able to review each session as
we had been videotaped. I winced when I saw how
pitiful I was and rubbed my sore shoulders and
black-and-blue face reliving the facial pummeling.
Following our wrap-up, the instructor shook my hand as
well as the man I knew as Seven. He reminded us that
he'd see us on Monday--when our roles would be
reversed. It would be my turn to administer the
punishment.
On to Chapter 10
