The Train

When Dr. Jones regained consciousness, he found himself lying on the ground in the fetal position. His body ached in every place imaginable, and he felt as if someone had dipped his hands in boiling oil, but his shoulders were thankfully free of their previous ordeal.

He opened his eyes and tried to right himself into a sitting position, but attempting to move his hands met with burning resistance. He looked at his wrists, and found that the electrical shackles were still cleanly affixed just as they had been before. He looked up at the ceiling, and he could see that both electrical outlets the cords had been previously attacked to were burned black with soot. I must have burned out the breakers, he reasoned. Melted through the damn cords.

Wincing at the pain, he used his right hand to the left shackle and tapped on the code pad. As he had expected, Vogel used the exact same four-digit pin number on his prison shackles as his storage locker, and the device gave a high-pitched "beep" upon acceptance. He tapped the 'open' button, and he winced as the copper electrodes extracted themselves from his bones.

Dr. Jones let out a surprised scream as the shackle itself opened, the smell of charred flesh wafting to his nose and nauseating his stomach. He saw that he had a third-degree burn line around his entire wrist where the electrical current passed into his body. He tentatively clenched his fist, and was relieved to find that he could still move all of his fingers properly. Didn't reach the muscle, just singed the skin.

He turned to his other hand, and his heart sank. The entire side of the cuff was blown out, and exposed electrical wires demonstrated the non-functionality of the mechanism. I'll need a hacksaw to break out of this one. He twisted his wrist, and found that, at the very least, he could move it. There was significantly less pain than in his other hand, but that worried him- it meant his burns were more severe than in his other hand.

Dr. Jones stood up, and examined the cord firmly anchored to his hand. The first six feet, the insulated section that had been exposed when hanging him earlier, ended with a four-foot non-insulated section of electrical wire. This last section, he surmised, must have been a part of the electrical mechanism hidden in the ceiling. The last foot of the non-insulated section was flayed into about six tendrils, giving the entire length an appearance similar to a whip that may be used by an animal trainer.

Smiling, he coiled the wiring in the way that he always did with his old whip, remembering the years of use he got out of his old one before he had to abandon it during the war. He stopped; however, as he remembered something he saw when Vogel was busy making electrical shackles back at the Castle. I wonder…

Dr. Jones turned around to examine the side of the torture chamber that had been behind him when he was hinging in the center. He saw a large metal door against the far wall, and on each side of the door were large metal cabinets with multiple drawers. A squat chair sat in the left corner of the room, which was exactly what he was looking for.

He pulled back his right arm, holding the cord in his hand, and threw his new whip forward, getting a feel for its heavy weight. He missed his first throw, so he pulled it back in and adjusted his aim. The whip coiled around one of the chair's armrests, and Dr. Jones tentatively gave it a pull. As he pulled, the cuff triggered and, as the cord was not properly anchored, the electrical current flared out and engulfed the chair in electrical arcs. The cuff around his hand gave out a pitiful electrical buzz, no more painful than a joy buzzer one might buy at a prank shop. As he coiled his whip, he considered how many ways he could use it to get out of whatever dungeon Vogel had thrown him into this time.

Dr. Jones scanned the floor for his hat, and he found it lying under the table. He walked over to it, and leaned over to pick it up with his free right hand. He brought it up to his chest, turned it to face the right way around, and he placed it firmly on his head. Clenching the whip in his hand, he walked up to the door, and his intent was clear in his mind: he would escape from this prison, he would get back to America, and he would run as far away from the Nazis as he possibly could. As he turned the handle, there was only one issue with his plan, and it came directly to the front of his mind: I need to find dad.

W + J

"He actually built the damn thing," Dr. Jones exclaimed as he looked out a window in the side of the corridor.

Dealing with the solitary Nazi soldier that had been guarding his prison cell had been pitifully easy with his new whip, as a single electrical shock to the neck had stunned him long enough for the American to snap his neck. He was now peering out a nearby window, watching as buildings passed by at extreme speeds as the massive landtrain drove down the German Autobaun.

Dr. Jones' viewpoint was more than ten feet above the highway, and he could see over the rooftops of the hundreds of cars in the other eight lanes, with the landtrain taking up two full lanes of traffic.

He knew that Vogel had wanted to build such a vehicle since the day they met, and it appears that his aspiration had come true. Dr. Jones looked to his left and right to gauge the layout of the car he was in.

There were four doors on one side of the train car, including the one leading to his torture chamber, and the other ones presumably holding the same function. The four rooms occupied ran along the right-hand side of the train car, and took up most of the room, leaving a rather narrow corridor along the left-hand side for movement. This corridor was lined with windows, giving an open view of the highway and the Berlin skyline beyond.

Viewing the speed of the passing scenery, his heart sank. We must be going at least two hundred miles an hour. We will reach the rail system in no time. Dr. Jones knew that this landtrain had the ability to latch on to railroad tracks, allowing it to use the high-speed underground transit system. If he couldn't escape the train before it went underground, he would be stuck onboard until arrival at Castle Wolfenstein- and he did not like his chances of fighting through tens of thousands of the most heavily-armed Nazis in the world.

He noticed a poster on the wall; a convenient map of the train itself. He spotted the red arrow marker, and traced his finger to the "you are here" spot- railcar three, just two cars separating him from the engine. He saw one of the directories labeled "escape car" and he traced it back to the caboose, where the image showed multiple vehicles and what appeared to be an unloading ramp. That's my ticket out. Just got to get to the back, snag a car, and hightail it out of Germany.

Dr. Jones turned to his left, and walked down the corridor to the rear of the train. Despite the pain, he walked with brisk excitement in his step. He did not know how much he missed the excitement of an adventure, being stuck in that damn museum for so many years. He always thought he wanted to be the director of some academic institution, but now he knew what he had been missing all those years: risk.

As he rounded the corner, Dr. Jones came face-to-face with a very surprised German officer. With lightning reflexes, the American punched him in the face and circled behind him, strangling him with his arm. The officer clawed at is arm with his hands, but Dr. Jones pulled his arm tighter, until the officer finally stopped struggling and passed out. He kept his grip, however, until he was sure that all the life had drained from the Nazi's face. Letting go of the fresh corps, he briefly considered donning his SS uniform- before realizing that the train would likely have a very small garrison, and he would be spotted as an imposter immediately. He instead took the officer's pistol holster and fastened it to his belt. He held the pistol in his left hand, momentarily regretting the metal apparatus occupying his shooting hand. He placed the pistol in the holster, and opened the door.

Dr. Jones found himself in an accordion walkway separating the two train cars, with a door on the other side. He walked over to the other door, and opened it to find a long corridor lined with barred doorways along each wall. He walked up to the first two doors and peered inside to see an empty jail cell, completely bear with the exception of a bed and a bucket. He realized that this must be where Vogel stores his subjects when he is not actively torturing them.

His heart skipped a beat as he heard a faint whisper from the cell behind him. He turned around and looked through the window, and he almost vomited from what he saw. The man, or at least what he assumed used to be a man, was lying on the cot and softly whimpering in pain. His skin had been cut off all over his body, leaving his muscles and bones visible to the air. Dr. Jones also noted that its genitals were missing. He turned away from the window, and looked to the other cells- twelve in total. Vogel, you sick son of a bitch. He realized that the other cell must have been for him, meaning that all of the others were currently occupied. He moved his hand to the holster at his side, but then reconsidered his instinct to put them out of their misery. If I get caught in here, that will be me.

He moved down the hallway with caution, ignoring the cries and moaning emanating from every cell as he passed. Near the end, however, he heard a German voice speaking on the last cell on the right-hand side.

"Come on Hans, we are almost done cleaning this cell," one voice spoke.

"I told you, I am cleaning. I am merely saying that cleaning the feces of an untermensch is hardly work worthy of two soldiers of the SS," the other replied.

Dr. Jones hugged the right side of the corridor, ready to ambush the two bickering soldiers as soon as they left the cell.

"Vogel's medical assistant said that this specimen might not survive the trip to Wolfenstein. We need to clean it up so it can be ready for another one as soon as we get back."

"Don't you think this is a little… wrong?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? These are fucking Jews. They oppressed out people for decades, they made us loose a fucking war for Christ's sake! They deserve it."

"I know what the Jews did, Edgar. I am not questioning that. I am questioning why it is necessary to do these things to them. Just look at that one Dr. Steiner is tending to right now- even the devil himself won't do that to him when he finally dies! Why not just execute them and leave it at that?"

"I don't like your tone, and I do not like how you are questioning the decisions of your General. Shut up right now, or I will report you as a dissident- then maybe we will see how much you 'deserve' what General Vogel does to you…"

"Fine, fine, I'll stop talking about it. It looks like we are done here anyways."

Dr. Jones, clenched his whip as the door opened away from him, concealing him from the duo.

"Right answer," one said, as he exited the cell.

"Come on, help me carry this bag to the incinerator," the other replied, closing the cell door behind him.

Dr. Jones threw his whip forward, catching it on the neck of the first Nazi, and pulled him backwards into the second one. The electrical cord shocked them both, causing them to both tangle together in the cord and flail their arms as the electrical current passed through their bodies. Dr. Jones relaxed the cord, allowing the two Nazis to lay on the ground, both gasping for air. He walked up to them and snapped each of their necks while untangling his whip.

With his whip firmly rolled back into place, he reopened the jail cell and dragged both soldiers into the room. He was thankful that they were both in cotton uniforms rather than battle armor, as he could easily drag them a few feet into cover before exiting the cell and closing the door behind him. He looked over to the next doorway, leading to what he assumed to be some sort of medical facility, and readied himself to deal with this Dr. Steiner.

W + J

Dr. Steiner slammed into the floor with a loud "bang" after Dr. Jones struck him over the head with the butt of his pistol. The doctor had been so engrossed with his work in the medical station that he had not noticed as the American entered the car, assuming that he must have been the two soldiers returning from their janitorial duties. Dr. Jones, returning the pistol to its holster, looked at the naked subject in the hospital bed before him, and shuddered slightly in disgust.

The woman before him had been mutilated almost beyond recognition. Her arms and legs had been removed some time ago, given the healed skin over the stubs left in their place. Her abdomen was open, allowing him to see into here abdominal cavity. Most of the organs were missing, save for a few feet of intestines and a segment of her liver. Her diaphragm was visible, and he could see it slowly pumping air into her lungs. Her chest pushed up and down, struggling against the pain with each breath. Her head, locked to the table with a metal brace, forced her eyes to the ceiling. Dr. Jones followed her gaze, seeing his own reflection in a mirror placed just above the operating table. He wanted her to watch.

Dr. Jones looked back down to the woman, and followed a medical tube injected into her neck. They led into a strange box next to the bed, covered in dials and knobs and small digital displays. Seeing a power switch, he quickly flipped it, and the displays went dark. The woman's breathing instantly halted, and the heartbeat monitor flatlined. It was the least I could do.

He leaned over to examine the German doctor. He was unconscious, and a welt was forming where the pistol had struck the back of his bald head, but he was otherwise unharmed. Dr. Jones recognized him as Vogel's assistant, and assumed that he must have overseen his master's victims when they were not being tortured. Dr. Jones picked him up by his shoulders and carried him to the left wall of the medical room, where the walls were lined with nine mortuary shelves. He opened the door of the nearest shelf, and lifted Steiner's body onto the roller as if he were a corpse. He closed the latch, locking the doctor in place.

Dr. Jones continued through the room to the wall on the far end, which cut the train car in half. His hand on the handle, he was close to passing through the door before he looked through the window and gasped. Without thinking, he sprinted to the corpse-shelves and opened the one next to Steiner's, shoving his body feet-first inside and slamming the hatch shut just as the door to the medical room opened. He could hear the unmistakable sound of massive metal feet as two Übersoldaten clanked against the clean metal tiles, followed by the jackboots of three Nazi soldiers sheepishly entering the room a few seconds after the behemoths. Slowly straitening his legs, the American did his best to be as quiet as possible. How are you going to get out of this one, Indy?