Ignoring Elizabeth's horrified reaction Peter, Andrew and the guards dragging the prisoners made their way to one of the farm trucks where the guards unceremoniously dumped all the prisoners in the back oblivious of the screams of agony from Pretty Boy.
With the prisoners secured in the truck Peter, Andrew and the Ghurkhas changed into rags under the shearing shed.
Khukuris were still prominent.
Standing to one side, Peter and the RSM quietly reaffirmed the strategy for the remainder of the night. They had to ensure that the plans included the destruction of the truck and all evidence of the evening's activities.
The RSM with his Ghurkhas were to obliterate the DVDs showing the crimes and the laptop from the shearing shed. They were to leave nothing whatsoever to link the events of this night with the disappearance of Dingo and his cronies.
The bright light of the full moon was sufficient to guide them to the far end of the farm where the prisoners were to meet their fate.
At the specially constructed pigpens for the wild boars, the truck halted. The prisoners were unloaded and forced to stand with their backs to the truck facing the pens. Moaning and cursing, Pretty Boy lay on the ground unable to stand on his two broken ankles.
"We won't ask for any last requests." Cold and emotionless, Peter was most methodical in his manner. "Pretty Boy, you sure have a big mouth and a small brain. I really have something special for you tonight that the others will be able to watch and enjoy."
"You boast that Jennifer loved your penis and what it did for her. So you're telling me your penis is your prized possession, are you? What about your face? Now I'll be as generous to you as you were to Jennifer." He bellowed an order.
Two guards immediately dragged Pretty Boy inside the pigpen where others tied him to the fence rails with a rope around his stomach leaving his hands dangling.
"Strip him."
The two guards unsheathed their khukuris and Pretty Boy screamed in fear. They laughed at the pool of urine and excrement that flowed to puddle around his feet.
The tips of the khukuris sliced though his clothing drawing blood with every slash. By the time Pretty Boy was naked, his body was covered in little streams of dripping blood from a thousand nicks and he was moaning with the renewed pain.
Fear and agony replaced the insults and curses he'd directed at Peter.
"Hand me the molasses." Peter's order was cold and calculating.
One of the guards handed Peter a huge pot of the molasses used on the farm for the production of Riverina sheep nuts - cubed, compressed biscuits made of chopped alfalfa, chopped hay and molasses. Using the spade standing in the molasses, Peter liberally coated Pretty Boy's face leaving his eyes, nose and mouth free.
"You're so vain you thought women were yours because you're so pretty, eh? We have some ravenous females here, and very soon, they'll be very interested in enjoying your penis."
Peter's voice was as cold as ice and Pretty Boy stared at him terrified at what was to come.
When Peter had liberally coated Pretty Boy's penis and testicles, it was clear that Jennifer's torturer had something real to fear. Casually, Peter climbed to sit with the others on the topmost rails.
"Anything to say, Pretty Boy? How's your penis now. Still willing to flash it and believe it's just the answer to a maiden's prayer?" he teased.
"Remember the death of your Arab friends? Well their death was speedy. I warned you that anyone who touched Jennifer was a dead man walking. You aren't walking and will never walk again. You're as good as dead."
"Fuck off!" Pretty Boy spat the words from his bloodied, toothless mouth. "You and your toy soldiers don't frighten me. Send Red here and watch how a real man looks after his whore." To the bitter end, Pretty Boy showed his innate stupidity.
Andrew had demanded to accompany Peter but now, at the sight of this contemptuous man, still willing to degrade his sister, he suddenly felt ill. He looked away trying to quell the turmoil in his stomach. Then he heard Peter's words.
"You really are stupid. You've learned nothing. Okay! Open the gate."
Suffering from starvation and driven mad by the smell of the molasses in the air a wild boar, proudly holding its tusks high, skidded through the mud into the pen. It slid to a stop in front of Pretty Boy and began to snuffle at his molasses-coated genitals.
Ignoring the agony, Pretty Boy tried to defend his sex organs by slapping at the boar with his hands even though they hung uselessly from his destroyed wrists but the boar, undeterred and enraged by Pretty Boy's antics, drove his tusks into the captive's belly. Pretty Boy's entrails splattered to the ground.
There was a high-pitched scream and with his wrists, Pretty Boy tried to gather his innards to stuff them back through the huge gash at the same time trying to defend himself even more energetically. His hands didn't seem to follow the commands of his nerves and the boar just ignored his futile efforts.
Unfortunately, in trying to defend his genitals, Pretty Boy dropped his head so the boar smelt the molasses on his face. It began licking and chewing on his nose and cheeks. Another scream longer and even more high pitched soon became a dreadful, bloodcurdling screech that stretched out to a gurgle as the boar ripped Pretty Boy's tongue from his mouth.
Andrew threw up.
Tiring of the game, the boar returned to the genitals ripping them from Pretty Boy's body and tearing chunks of flesh from his groin. Blood gushed from his femoral artery, and, as they watched, Pretty Boy's heart pumped the last of his life from between his legs.
Given the nod by Peter, a Ghurkha slashed the ropes that bound the body that was once Pretty Boy so that it fell motionless, face down, on the muddy floor of the pen. As another Ghurkha opened the gate to allow three sows and their piglets to enter the pen, Peter climbed down to pour molasses over the body encouraging them to eat.
The smell of death and the grunting of the starving pigs were too much.
Again, Andrew threw up. Vomiting continuously, he clung to the top rail until his stomach convulsed into a hard ball with nothing left to give.
Horrified he watched one Ghurkha gleefully collecting money from the others.
Noticing Andrew's querying look, Peter said, "Don't worry about them, they'd bet on two flies crawling up a wall. At the moment they are betting on how long these scum take to die or how many pleas they make asking for mercy."
With hands over his ears, his legs trembling, Andrew turned to Peter. "Christ Peter, why are you so cruel?"
Peter remarked to the Ghurkha guards, "Keep the other prisoners quiet."
