Acknowledgements:
Thank you for those who have reviewed, followed and favourited this story: ShrapnelGirl, Irish Maid, Kadek-is-the-best, Quity190, nekohime15, ApplePajama.
Where Idiots Dare
Chapter 3: Idiots and Interrogations
America fell out of the tavern, down the steps and clapped several German soldiers on the back as he went. They were all laughing. "See you later, guys! We'll do it all again next week!" he yelled.
"What a wheeze," he said to Russia.
"What do you mean?" Russia stepped out of the shadows of the alley behind the tavern.
America showed him the pile of coins thrown at him while he'd sung a mish-mash of American show tunes.
Russia looked in wonder. "You got paid to kill them? I didn't get paid!"
America frowned at this, "What do you mean, dude?"
Russia pointed to the pile of bodies behind him. All had the same terrified expression on their faces. "They didn't pay me!"
"Right…" America said and backed away slowly.
Russia began to tell him how he'd jumped out at the Germans as they'd passed. Some had died of shock before Russia had even laid a hand on them. He was disappointed in this, he told America.
America pointed at Russia's lead pipe, "Why is there notches on there, dude Russkie?"
Russia smiled creepily, "It represents the number of Germans I have killed."
"Wow! You've killed loads! Was that in the battle of Stalingrad?"
"Nyet. Just today."
"Oh…" America was silenced for a while. At least a minute anyhow. Then he said, "Guess what? Dude England pulled!"
"Pulled a muscle?"
"No! He pulled a bird!" America said, trying to use an English idiom.
"You mean like a chicken? Good, because I ate all my sandwiches."
"No, I mean he picked up a woman!"
Russia almost fell over. "That is amazing. Is that part of the mission? Is she the princess?"
America hadn't considered this, but now he did. "Oh my God! Dude Artie rescued the princess without us!"
"Are we going home now?" Russia asked. He would have liked to stay there all night, killing Germans as they passed but really he should be in his own country killing Germans.
America was still annoyed and didn't answer the Russian's question, "Bloody Artie! He's a sly one. Mind you… she didn't look very pretty."
Russia hummed over this, "Princesses should be pretty," he said wisely. He looked up and pointed, "Is that her?" he said with some disbelief.
England was coming down the steps followed by the buxom blond barmaid.
"Wait Arthur!" the barmaid called and then stopped on the steps to adjust 'her' stockings again, before hurrying after him.
"I cannot believe this!" Arthur said, as he approached America. He was still wiping his mouth, and couldn't wait to get his backpack and find his toothbrush to brush his teeth. "Bleurgh!" he said and tried to clear his mouth again.
"Oh mon ami!" the barmaid cried. "You cannot mean this… Oh bonjour, Alfred… you are looking very erm…"
"Heroic?" America said. "Do I know you?" he peered at the mascara'd eyes, the rouge, the bright red lipstick (now smeared). He tried not to look at the very tight miniskirt which revealed quite shapely legs and the straining bosom.
"Oh Alfred!" the barmaid said, playfully swiping the American on his arm, "You're are awful! But I like you!"
Arthur thought he was going to throw up. "Where's the stuff we stashed, Russia?" he asked. "Let's get out of here and get on with the mission."
Russia had been staring at England, then the barmaid and then at America and then back again. He shrugged, "Hello Francis. What are you doing here?" he asked and began to lead them back where he'd stashed America's and England's backpacks.
"Je m'appelle Marianne!" Francis said, smiling through gritted teeth. A spy had to keep their cover at all costs.
"You've got an apple? Marianne? That's a nice name… Are you the princess?" America asked 'her' and took her arm, like a gentleman should do.
"I can be whoever you want me to be!" Marianne/Francis said suggestively and batted his/her false eyelashes at him.
"Oh God…" Arthur groaned.
Somewhere high above them, in the Castle Farting…
Major Gilbert Beilschmidt strutted down a stone corridor. God, he felt good. He had an ace uniform on, an Iron Cross which he'd stolen from his brother, and he had been re-instated to officer rank after having been demoted three times in short succession due to a series of unfortunate events.
He was still rankling over these. It hadn't been his fault that that tank regiment had gone over a cliff. He'd said 'over there', and then been distracted by some idiot who couldn't sing 'Der Preußlenlied' properly, so had had to teach it him. He'd been told he couldn't be in charge of any more Panzer divisions.
Then there was that bombing expedition over to England when he'd supposedly been in charge of loading the bombs. Apparently, flour bombs, although funny, were not effective. So he'd been taken out of the Luftwaffe.
He didn't even want to think about when he'd sunk that u-boat. Who knew you weren't supposed to pull out the plug? So his very short-lived (two days) career in the Kriegsmarine was over as well.
So now he had been given the job of interrogator. And he was good at it. In fact, everyone was amazed at how quickly he got information from prisoners.
He did little hop, skips and jumps down the corridor. He was really going to enjoy interrogating this particular prisoner. Oh yes. This one would scream and scream…
He motioned to the guards to open the door and entered.
The cell was dark and damp. The prisoner was sat on a low bench in the corner and looked - to Gilbert - terrified. (They weren't.)
He motioned to the guards to shut and lock the door.
He then hesitated and then knocked on the door until the guards re-opened the door.
"Get me a bloody light. Are you being bloody funny?" he asked impatiently.
The guards trembled and said nothing but saluted. One of them returned with a lamp.
Gilbert nodded satisfied, "Well put it in there then," he ordered.
The guard did, opening the door and locking it again - leaving Gilbert now outside the cell…
Gilbert sighed and hit the guard around the head until the guard re-opened the door for the fourth time and allowing Gilbert in.
He waited until they had turned the key and then turned theatrically to the prisoner, who had been watching all this silently from their bunk.
"I can see you are terrified. And so you should be!" Gilbert announced and took off his greatcoat. It landed in quite dirty straw. So he picked it up and tried to hang it on the back of the door. There was no hook. So he folded it neatly and placed it carefully at the door so he wouldn't forget it. He wasn't going to do that again in a hurry.
The prisoner just stared at him and then yawned.
"I am going to make this easy on you… You vill tell me all that you know…" Gilbert said, rolling up his sleeves.
"Why are you using that ridiculous accent?" the prisoner asked.
"Shut up! You vill listen to me and tell me all that you know!"
The prisoner was silent.
"Vell?"
"How can I tell you all that I know if I'm supposed to listen to you?"
Gilbert strutted up and down all this time and then suddenly leapt in front of the prisoner and pulled a disgusting face. "You are not making this very easy for yourself! I can make things very difficult and painful for you!"
"Yes I can imagine…"
"Vat do you mean?"
"Just being in your presence is painful enough. Why are you wearing that ridiculous monocle? You never used to have trouble with your eyesight."
"It makes me look villainous," Gilbert said, stepping back. He liked his monocle. All villains had them. The only thing was it kept falling out. Also, as he'd stolen it from some General and it wasn't plain glass - he couldn't see a thing out of it through that eye. So he had to keep swapping eyes.
"I will tell you nothing!" the prisoner said and promptly turned his back.
"Kesese! I knew you would say that!" Gilbert yelled. "I was prepared for that. And I'm glad! Do you know why?"
The prisoner refused to answer.
"Do you know why?"
No answer.
"I'm going to tell you anyway…"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door.
The idiot guards opened it and peered in fearfully. The screams had not started yet, but they were expecting them…
"Sir?"
"What? What do you want?" Gilbert yelled at them.
"There's a disturbance down in the village."
"So? Do I look like I care?"
"Well no… but they're saying…"
"Who? Who is saying?" Gilbert asked, incomprehensibly.
"They're saying there is an elite assassin down in the village. Someone who has been…" here the guards gulped, "… killing soldiers in the most horrifying ways and…"
"Do I look like a policeman?"
The guards actually looked him up and down, "Not really."
One of them actually said, "You look like a pantomime villain."
"Get out of here!" Gilbert shouted.
"But somebody in the canteen said…"
"Wait! What? We have a canteen?" Gilbert asked, amazed.
"Yes! Gunther in the canteen said…"
"You mean Gunther who swears there is a Russian around every corner?" Gilbert asked, sceptically.
"There might be!" one of the guards said.
His brother guard hit him around the head, "Shut up! There isn't!"
"Well?" Gilbert asked.
"Well… no, not that Gunther, we mean the Gunther who was in love with that barmaid down at the tavern…"
"What?" Gilbert looked appalled.
"I know… we told him we thought that barmaid was really a man!"
"There is no way that barmaid is a man! Don't be so stupid," Gilbert said confidently. "I myself have…" here Gilbert hesitated and then said, "Tell him to stay away from that barmaid!"
"Oh okay… why?"
"Shut up. What did Gunther say?"
"He said that this assassin isn't really an assassin it's an evil demon and it will kill us all!" the smaller guard said quickly.
"Idiot." Prussia said simply.
"No he didn't!" the other guard said and hit the smaller guard on the head with a clunk. "It was you who said that! He said that he thinks there is a rescue party come for the prisoner!" the larger guard said.
Gilbert shook his head, "This Castle Farting is the most secure place in all of the Third Reich. Nothing can get in or out unless I say so… or my bruder. So get back to your knitting."
He shut the door on their arguing and turned back to his prisoner, rubbing his hands. He couldn't wait to get to the torture. It was his favourite part.
"Is my humiliation not enough that I have to be guarded by those two fools?" the prisoner moaned.
"Saxony and Silesia are good lads. They're just…"
"They have the combined IQ of room temperature!" the prisoner said.
"Shut up!"
"Oh I see! That's how it is, is it? I'm not allowed an opinion? Well, I will tell you this. I will be putting in a complaint. The facilities here are not in compliance with the Geneva Convention for Prisoners of War."
"I've told you before you're not getting any napkins! What do you think this is? The Ritz?"
"It's disgraceful!" the prisoner retorted and crossed their arms.
Gilbert resisted the urge to get into another three hour argument with the prisoner which had raged yesterday and had ended when he'd slammed out into the corridor and had to spend the rest of the day lying down in a dark room with a flannel over his eyes (or one eye as he kept his monocle on).
He opened his briefcase and began to take out the implements of his particular brand of torture.
"You vill talk," he mumbled, keeping his accent (he liked it). "Oh ja."
The prisoner eyed the tools that emerged from the bag with trepidation. "You can't do this…"
"Ja. I can. And I vill…" Gilbert muttered. He had pulled on an iron glove with sharpened steel-tipped knives on the ends of the fingers. He approached the prisoner.
"Noooo! Please! Don't…" the prisoner cringed back, horrified.
"Tell me what you have told the Allies about what we have told you…"
"What?" the prisoner sat up.
Gilbert paused and thought it over in his head. It sounded sensible in his head, but now he wasn't sure. He rephrased it, "Tell me everything you know!"
"Everything?"
"Everything!" Gilbert insisted.
"No, I will not!" the prisoner said with sudden courage and braced themselves to whatever horrific torture the Prussian had devised.
Prussia scraped the steel knives down the stone walls creating a terrible screech.
The prisoner covered their ears. "Noooo!" they screamed. "Nooo!"
"Tell me!"
"You're a monster!" the prisoner gasped.
Gilbert nodded. He loved his job.
Down in the village…
"So, how do we get up to the Castle?" England asked France, who, England was dismayed to find, had no intention whatsoever of changing out of his barmaid disguise.
France, put his hands on his hips, "You didn't say the special word, mon amore!"
England growled.
America stuck his hand up in the air, "Oh I know, I know!"
"No, Alfred, don't humour him."
"Him? Artie dude… are you going to buy her dinner? Cos I don't think we have time for that. If you've forgotten, dude, we have a princess to rescue."
Russia also stuck his hand up. "Excuse me?"
"What, Russia?" England asked wearily.
"We could go up by the cable car," Russia said and pointed at the said cable car.
America looked at the Russian but shook his head, "We could! But that would be too easy and not as much fun as…" here Alfred pulled out some rope, "…climbing up!"
Arthur snatched the rope from him. "Idiot! It's at least 2000 feet up!"
America didn't see what the problem was, "Well, that's okay isn't it?"
"I don't know. Can you fly?" England asked, impatiently.
"We could go by the cable car," Russia repeated, now looking annoyed.
"Are you invisible?" Arthur asked him.
Russia considered this and looked down at his coat. He didn't think he was. Although it had been ridiculously easy to grab those Germans before they'd even had chance to scream.
France was contemplating his visage in a compact mirror and re-applying his lipstick, "I know a back entrance we can use," he said matter-of-factly.
"Don't be disgusting, Francis," England said.
Francis put his compact away in his handbag and smiled a red lipsticked smile, "I know a secret entrance through ze mountain which will take us right to the back of ze castle. I can get you in. Isn't zat what I am here for? Or am I here just for my looks…" Francis looked at each of them.
England looked as if someone had placed a turd under his nose. "Well I suppose…" Of all the bloody agents to get them in the castle…
Russia nodded, "Is there a cafe or somewhere I can get sandwiches?" he asked.
"Do I get to abseil up the mountain?" Alfred asked, waving his machine gun around.
"You don't abseil up something. You abseil down and put that damned gun down before you shoot me in the bloody leg, " Arthur told him.
"You will not need ropes, and no, you will not need your weapons yet," Francis told them as he tottered off in his stilettoes. (England noted that the Frenchman was not as proficient in high heels as Poland.)
"Follow me!" Francis called over his shoulder.
"I got a bad feeling about this," America murmured to England.
England nodded. So did he.
And they were right to have a bad feeling…
Author's Notes:
I'm trying to keep the prisoner's identity a secret until the big reveal later… but I'm sure a lot of you have already guessed…
What do people think of Saxony and Silesia? I thought I'd add them as incompetent guards.
More incompetent guards coming up…
