(It's fixed! Thanks to Book 'em Again! Now maybe your eyes wont bleed when you read it :p)

Feel free to point out any errors you see! Constructive criticism is all ways helpful!

I just wanted to post the first chapter to Carter's Story on the 4th of July. (Happy 4th by the way! :D) So this is pretty short... the next chapter will be much longer!

A great ole' big thank you to Book 'em Again for betaing this story!

And a huge thank you to Belphegor and Fortune Maiden for helping me with the plot for this story!

And... In this story I have made Carter a little younger, he is 20.

Please leave a review!

Thank you for your patience!

GS

Disclaimer: This story was inspired by the song Sound the Bugle by Bryan Adams. I don't own the song, I do not own HH, I do however own the characters that I made up...

I can't believe it. One minute I was flying high getting ready to drop a bomb and the next I was setting in an interrogation room with two Gestapo.

So much for that weekend pass I was going to get when we got back. Speaking of we, I haven't seen the other men since we were taken prisoner by that SS patrol when we crashed, I hope they're all okay.

Now I am headed to Stalag 5, a real live POW camp.

The truck I was in came to an abrupt stop that almost sent me and the two Gestapo privates that were with me in the back of the truck to the floor.

I heard a couple of German voices shouting back and forth outside of the boxed in truck bed; one I recognized as the Gestapo escort in the front of the truck.

The truck jerked into motion again and went a little ways before stopping once more. Then there were more German voices and the door to the back of the truck opened.

I stood up. "Aussteigen!" one of the men on the ground told me, but, of course, how was I supposed to know what that meant? I didn't speak German.

"Schnell!" one of the guards in the truck with me said as he pushed me forward.

I got the gist of what they were saying and climbed down out of the truck. I saw a man standing on the porch of what was obviously the Kommadant's office, as it was the only one that wasn't run down looking.

The man had an ugly sneer on his face as he stepped down off the porch and walked over to where the three Gestapo guards and I stood. When the Kommandant appeared, the guards saluted with a "Heil Hitler."

If I could use one word to describe that man it would be snake, that's what he looked like as he cocked his head to the side and looked me over.

"So, Sergeant Carter," he said in a thick German accent "I am Kommandant Hitzig, and I do so hope you will enjoy your stay here at Stalag 5." He smirked as he glared at me; I almost flinched from the hatred in his voice and eyes.

"For you, Sergeant. The war is over." This was the point that it finally sunk in that I, Andrew J. Carter, was a prisoner of war.

It took all the strength I had in me to keep from sagging to the ground right there and then.

He turned to a tall man standing over to the side "Nehmen Sie diesen Mann in die Baracke 4."

"Jawohl, Herr Kammandant!" The sergeant saluted and grabbed me roughly by the arm and shoved me forward until we reached a rundown barracks.

The sergeant opened the door and shoved me in. At the table in the middle of the small room sat four men. All of them looked thin, over-worked and malnourished. I jumped when the sergeant slammed the door shut as he left.

I shifted nervously as the men at the table still were sitting there, staring at me.

"Um… I'm Tec. S-Sergeant Andrew Carter." I said, hoping to break the ice, I gulped as they continued to stare at me. But finally one of them gave me a small smile and held out his hand.

"Welcome to Barracks 4. I'm Private Blake Dawson, nice ta' meet cha," he said

"Same here." I smiled back at him as I shook his hand.

Dawson introduced the other men, who were still staring at me: Sergeant Frank Thompson, Corporal Sammy Adams and Corporal Casey Jones.

"It's nice to meet all of you," I said. Some of the men grunted while others nodded and they went back to stare blankly at the wall or tabletop.

I sat down on one of the empty bunks and looked around at the worn out bunk beds, table and small pot-bellied stove. What a dump…

But what did I think it would be like, the Ritz? I was in a POW camp for crying out loud!

"So I guess you're our new Barrack's chief." Dawson shifted from foot to foot.

"I guess so." I nodded; I've never done anything like this before.

"Roll call is in an hour," Dawson informed me.

"Okay, thanks," I said with a smile.

"So... where are you from?" Dawson asked.

"Bullfrog, North Dakota. You?"

"Atlanta, Georgia."

I studied Dawson for a moment, he looked to be about nineteen maybe twenty, so me and him were about the same age.

He had a square face with low eyebrows and a nordie nose, his hair was chocolate brown and his eyes were turquoise was short, I'd say about 5'7", and had broad muscular shoulders. He was stocky and much more muscular than I.

"I just got here three days ago," he said sitting down on the bunk to my right

"I guess that's why you're a little more talkative than them," I said with a small smile.

He smiled back and nodded.

"Sergeant…" Dawson began.

"It's Carter," I corrected him.

"Carter, you need to watch out for the Kommandant. He's a bad one."

I nodded to show my understanding; I knew he was a snake.

"And since you're the new Barrack's chief, he'll be watching you. Just do what he says and he'll leave you alone."

After roll call, Dawson and I talked for a while about things we had in common and of home.

Me and Blake, I don't know when we started calling each other by our first names, but by the end of the night we were. We had hit it off really well.

The next morning roll call was held at 4 o'clock in the morning. The Kommandant came out of his office with another man, a slim man with beady eyes and thin lips. After the sergeant told Hitzig that all prisoners were present and accounted for, the Kommandant turned to the other man and said in English, "As you have requested, Franz, our smallest barracks of men. We cleared the scum out of this barracks to make room for new prisoners that should be here after their interrogations are finished, but for now we only have five men in Barracks 4."

Franz nodded his head in approval as Hitzig continued, "This one here was brought in only yesterday." He pointed at me. "And the one beside him…" He pointed at Blake. "…was brought in three days ago." Franz again nodded in approval.

"The others have been here for some time now, but they can still work very well!" Hitzig ensured Franz.

"I'm sure they will do just fine, Major." Franz smirked

I looked over at Blake, who was glaring at Hitzig and Franz.

"Sergeant Morich!" Hitzig bellowed, even though the sergeant stood not five feet away from him.

"Ja, Herr Kommandant!" Morich snapped to attention

"Take these prisoners and load them into the truck, assign seven guards to go with them."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" the sergeant saluted and began ushering us toward a box truck that was parked outside the Kommandant's office.

I looked over at Blake yet again to see if he knew what was going on. Blake just gave me a very sad excuse of a reassuring smile as he climbed in the back of the box truck.

TBC...

Aussteigen - Get out

Schnell - Quickly

Sargent, nehmen Sie diesen Mannin die Baracke 4. -Sergeant, take this man to the barracks 4

Jawohl, Herr Kommandant! - Yes sir ((mister)) Kommandant