Questioning with Prejudice
During the war, I was what we liked to call a “Live information gatherer” or in other words, an interrogator. It was basically our job to get information out of any of the poor sons of bitches from the other side that got caught About everything from troop movements to how much supplies they had.
Now before you start making assumptions about how we treated those prisoners, I can assure you that I never harmed a hair on their heads. Physical violence is far too inelegant for my tastes anyway. I could get all the information that I needed from psychological methods like bribery, trick questions and the good old power of suggestion. I prided myself in breaking nearly every soldier I came across. Those I couldn’t get to; well, we had something special for them.
Alonso was one of those guys you tend to find in my line of work. He was what the official documents called “Enthusiastic” We just called him an animal. He had none of the qualms the rest of us had about hurting captives. Anyone who managed to resist us, especially those who were flaunting it, were sent on to Alonso for his Questioning with prejudice.
Alonso’s office was closest to the cells so that they could hear the man work, the screams could melt the resolve of the hardest man. If the prisoner was lucky he might stay alive long enough to even answer some questions, though they might have had to whisper through a shattered jaw.
The real benefit came when the prisoner was wheeled back out, occasionally in several pieces, and brought slowly past his colleagues. I can tell you after that they were a lot more willing to hand over information as painlessly as possible.
That way; almost everybody won.
Written for Trifecta Week Ninety-Six