Jout was brutally yanked out of his unconsciousness, awakened by the sudden coldness splashing in his face and on his body. It was so cold that it took his breath away for a moment, before he gasped for air a few seconds later. As Jout slowly opened his eyes, he tried to move but noticed that his arms and legs were chained to the chair he sat on. Suddenly, there was another wave of cold liquid pouring on him that got from him the same reaction as the other one; first not able to breathe and then gasping for breath.
"See who decided to wake up," Jout heard Fuhrmann saying. "Guten Abend [Good Evening], Sleeping Beauty!"
Jout focused his gaze on the man in front of him and saw Fuhrmann leaning against the wall again and this time Fritz standing next to him, a bucket in his hand and many others on the floor. He wondered for a short moment where Hans was, but this question was answered when he saw him bringing another two buckets full of probably ice-cold water into the cell.
"Getting ice-cold water thrown into your face makes you do that," Jout answered bitterly. He detested the feeling of soaking wet clothes clinging to his body.
Fuhrmann rubbed the fingernails of his left hand across his uniform coat and looked at them. "Yeah, well, sorry for that. But you were sleeping for five hours now and I wanted to continue our little talk."
Jout snorted. "Which part. You asking ridiculous questions or your sidekick beating me to a pulp" The reward for this defiant answer was another bucket of water poured into his face.
While Jout breathed laboriously and started to tremble from the cold of the water combined with the winter cold in the cell, Fuhrmann sat down on the stool that stood next to him at the wall. His fire-red hair was gleaming in the yellow-white light of the light bulb hanging over Jout's head, making him look like the devil himself. "Depends on you which part we repeat. This time, I will ask you different questions. If you give me an acceptable answer, nothing happens. But if you decide to be stubborn, you will be rewarded with a bucket of ice-cold water after every question. Understood?"
Jout glanced at Fritz who stood right next to Fuhrmann and gave him a devilish smile, just like Hans before. Yup, Fuhrmann had found the right guys for the job. He glanced back at Fuhrmann and gave him a small nod, not wanting to get another load of cold water thrown at him just yet.
"Good," Fuhrman said, a broad smile crossing his face as he thought that he had succeeded in breaking his prisoner's will. "Is Colonel Robert E. Hogan, United States Army Air Force, serial number 0876707, the current Senior POW in Luft-Stalag 13?"
Jout looked at Fuhrmann, his face showing complete confusion. He was sure Fuhrmann would ask him again about Papa Bear, but he had not expected a question he could answer without giving anyone away. He quickly answered, "Yes," before Fritz had the chance to use the bucket in his hands.
"And he is a prisoner of war for almost three years now?"
"Yes."
"Is Colonel Hogan an underground agent named Papa Bear?"
"No. He is simply a POW waiting for Germany to lose the war."
Jout was quickly covered by the cold liquid again, which worsened his shaking profoundly. He could feel the water dripping down from his nose and chin, and he shook his head to get rid of the dripping water.
"Is it true that you are a POW since 1943?"
"Yes."
"Are you taking party in any kind of sabotage or resistance activity since you are held captive in Luft-Stalag 13?"
"No. I'm only a prisoner of war waiting for the inevitable downfall of Germany so that I can go back home."
Another bucket of freezing cold water was poured over him, which now had not the breath-taking effect on him anymore like in the beginning. Only the tremble in every limb showed his captors his discomfort.
"Are any of Colonel Hogan's men, Sergeant Richard Baker and Sergeant Andrew John Carter of the United States Army Air Force, Corporal Louis LeBeau of the French Air Army, and Corporal Peter Frederick Newkirk of the Royal Air Force part of the underground?"
"No."
Yet again, Fritz threw a bucket full of cold water on Jout. But it seemed like Fuhrmann had learned that Jout would not betray his brother and friends just because he was freezing. So he thought of something else. Something much more painful. Without saying a word, he swiftly stood up from his stool and pushed it away from the wall.
Then Fuhrmann walked in front of Jout again and ordered, "Neumann, put the bucket down. Thelig, come here. Help our friend here to stand up."
Soaking wet, Jout watched how Fritz and Hans came closer, and while Fritz removed his ankle-chains, Hans removed the wrist-chains. He pulled Jout forcefully up, making the American hiss and gasped for breath as the pain from his broken ribs shot through his body. When he stood, Hans chained Jout's wrists on his back, hurting the already swollen wrists yet again.
As Fuhrmann stood before the pain-squirming Jout, he gave him a sardonic grin. "Oh, my! Are we hurting your bruised ribs? I'm sorry for that," he said, his faked concern obvious. Fuhrmann moved a little to the side and then barked in German, "Hochheben!" ["Lift him up!"]
Before Jout could even register what Fuhrmann had ordered, he was already lifted into the air and his arms were yanked up in a painful manner. Jout bid his lips to not scream out in pain because of the unusual angle of his arms and the pressure from Fritz and Hans on his ribs. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying to breathe his pain away.
"You see, Lieutenant," Fuhrmann began. "I'm not satisfied with your answers. And since the painless method doesn't seem to work, we go back to the regular methods. The handcuff on your wrists has been hooked into the hook on the wall. The only thing standing in between you hanging from the wall are Thelig and Neumann, and they will leave if you don't give me a satisfying answer to my next question. So, who is Papa Bear?"
Through pain-shut eyes, Jout was able to make out Fuhrmann's diabolical smile. Jout knew what was about to happen; knew that an immense amount of pain lay ahead of him. He only hoped he would be quickly overwhelmed by the intense pain so that Fuhrmann could not delight in seeing him in pain.
Jout gritted his teeth and said, "Hogan, Joshua Patrick, First Lieutenant –"
Suddenly, he could feel the hands of the German guards leave his body and he feel down to the ground. When the handcuffs on the hook promptly stopped his fall, he could hear a cracking sound; right before a tremendous twitch from his shoulders made him forget everything around him. The shooting pain was only intensified by Jout's own body weight, and he started to cry out.
"I gave you a chance, Lieutenant. But you decided to play the stubborn toddler. Tja, wer nicht hören will, muss fühlen," Fuhrmann said. ["Oh well, he that will not hear must feel"]
Jout bid his lips to prevent himself from crying out any further. Fuhrmann had already revelled enough in seeing the result of his torturing methods. As he struggled to get the handcuffs of the hook by swinging back and forth, Jout could taste an iron flavour in his mouth; blood from biting his lips. But his body was already maltreated too badly with the broken ribs and the exhaustion from the ice-cold water, so he failed in getting himself off from the hook. Beside the massive pain that was only intensified by his attempt to get off the hook, Jout was beginning to feel dizzy and his movements slowed down. He had problems at taking his surroundings in and his eyelids began to weigh tons. At last, the loving unconsciousness was taking him in its refuge.
Newkirk sat in the sewing room and mended the uniforms they had. He had re-buried the metal box with Jout's love letter hours ago when he had heard Baker at the radio, not wanting anyone to see the letters or him crying. Now he was checking and when needed repairing their clothes as some kind of distraction. But it was difficult for him considering his shaky hands that he could not get to stop. He just succeeded in threading a needle when he heard a cough and feet scraping over the floor. Newkirk looked up from the needle in his hands and saw Carter standing in the doorway, shyly scratching the back of his neck.
"Hey, buddy!" Carter said in his usual cheerful voice. "Are you busy?"
"Can't ya see 'at I'm mendin' the uniforms?" Newkirk raged, immediately regretting his annoyed tone. He drove with his hands over his face and added, "M'sorry, Carter. 'aven't slept so much in the night."
"That's alright, Peter. I'm used to you being annoyed by me," Carter declared, his voice not the slightest angry, but rather a matter-of-fact tone. He walked into the sewing room and sat down on the stool across from the table in the middle. "Are you interested in playing cards with LeBeau and me? Maybe Baker wants to join too!"
Newkirk put down the needle and took a cigarette from the pack that lay on the table. "Nah! I still 'ave a lot to do with the clothes. Another time."
"But you've been down here the whole day! I'm sure it won't hurt to take a break. You can continue tomorrow," Carter interjected.
"I'm simply not interested –"
"You know, it won't do any good if you hide down here. We are all worried, Peter. You don't have to shut us out"
Perplexed at the younger man's words, Newkirk took the cigarette out of his mouth and stared at Carter. "I beg yer pardon?" he hissed.
Carter nervously played with his gloves. "The whole barracks is worried for Jout, and we are all hoping that he will come back soon. So we know how you feel. And we are worried for you as well. You have not slept a wink in the night, your hair is not combed, and you have not shaved. And now you spend the whole day down here, hiding in your fear. Trust me, you will feel better after a few rounds of gin"
For a few moments, Newkirk did not answer. He was too stunned by Carter's words, yet at the same time totally upset. He stubbed his cigarette out and continued staring at the American, his glance shooting daggers. "Ya guys know 'ow I feel? Is that so? I didn't know 'at Mary-Jane was also 'eld captive by the Gestapo. Tell me, 'ow does it feel to know 'at the love of yer life is currently tortured and ya 'ave no bleedin' way to 'elp?" Carter wanted to say something, but Newkirk raised his hand, stopping the interjection. "And 'ow the 'ell should I feel any better after playin' some stupid rounds of cards? Josh will still be tortured by the Gestapo and we can't do anythin' about it. So please, just go away and leave me alone!" Newkirk yelled the last part as he fought back the upcoming tears.
"But Peter –"
"Go!"
Carter looked at his friend and saw the trembling in the Brit's hands. He knew he could not change Newkirk's mind and so he scuffled away, giving his friend the wanted space.
At the same time, Hogan entered the main room of the barracks and was greeted by sad faces. LeBeau looked up from the stove upon hearing the door open and saw the defeated look in his CO'S eyes.
"No luck with Klink?"
Hogan shook his head. "He is too afraid of Fuhrmann. But I will try it again in the morning. I won't sit around and do nothing" He looked around the room, noticing that Newkirk was still nowhere to be seen. "Is Newkirk still down in the tunnel?"
LeBeau nodded. "Carter went down to talk with him. I told him that Pierre just wants to have some time alone, but you know how André is. If he sees his friend in pain, he wants to help him and you can't prevent him from doings so."
"Yeah, I know," Hogan said as he took off his crush cap. "Any news from Albert?"
"Baker said he talked to him one hour ago. Nothing has changed."
Hogan's facial expression saddened while he slightly shook his head. "I'm in my office if someone looks for me."
LeBeau watched how Hogan slowly walked into his office, shoulders sagged and looking down to the ground. In that moment, his heart broke for his commanding officer and everyone in the barracks felt the same upon seeing a defeated Hogan; something that they have never seen before.
