10. Mixed Feelings

As soon as Prussia and the guard had left his office, Ivan leaned forward over his desk and buried his face in his palms, confused about his feelings. Why was it that he felt so bad about sending this prisoner to solitary confinement? As the camp's commander, he had punished many inmates before, but he had never felt sorry for any of them. Usually, he couldn't care less about them. He didn't understand himself any more. He needed to sort out his feelings before he made any further decisions concerning this prisoner and the 'letter' case.

Feeling sympathy for a prisoner must be a sign of weakness; maybe this was an indication that his job in this godforsaken camp wasn't doing him any good. Perhaps he spent too much time alone and should mix more with the captain and the officers. But he didn't particularly like them, and there was always the hierarchy distance between them. He had tried to be a good commander and he had managed to establish trust with his subordinates, but it wasn't enough to build up a friendship. Yes, it sure was lonely at the top. It wouldn't be such a problem if the camp was in a large city. Then he could go out every night and meet other people besides his co-workers, but here he was stuck in the back of beyond with no company except the other officers and the prisoners. Lately he had been so bored and miserable that he had caught himself enjoying being cruel to the inmates, venting his frustration on the defenseless, wretched prisoners.

But this one prisoner had been different from the others. He was so alive, so unbroken still, holding his head up high despite his rough looks and the unfavorable circumstances. He was deeply fascinated by his liveliness and admired his bright upbeat spirits and his optimism. With these qualities, the inmate seemed to be the total opposite of him. He himself might be the camp's commander, but he was lonely and unhappy. Since the day he had met that particular prisoner, however, he had felt a restless yearning for something new and different burning inside him. All of a sudden, his life seemed incomplete, dull and grey when compared to how it could be.

It seemed years that he had last felt so excited and full of hope. Back than, he had been surrounded by people who, with a deeply rooted fear of anything unusual or different, had told him that his feelings were unnatural and that he was weird, so he had learned to suppress that part of him. It had come at a price, though. It had taken no small amount of rigor towards himself to subdue part of who he was, and he had become so bitter and resentful that at times he felt hostile towards people in general. Sometimes it even resulted in bouts of cruelty, when he enjoyed seeing others suffer. If his own life was joyless, if he himself was miserable, he didn't want others to feel any other way.

In a way, he had become a lot like the people that he had so passionately hated in his youth. He was similar to them in his drive to destroy any happier, intact souls that reminded him of what he himself could have been.

But there was a part of him that was undamaged still, that he had managed to keep safely hidden from his intolerant environment, and that very part of him had surfaced again. It seemed the years of hiding had done nothing to diminish it in the slightest degree, and it was starting to fill every fiber of his body with energy that made him feel so alive. The feeling was delicate still, but it was bound to flourish if he allowed it to grow stronger.

But he couldn't allow these feelings to take over. No. He needed to decide what he should do based on reason, not on feelings that were bound to be transitory. As much as he desired to act on his feelings, he knew this wouldn't be a good choice. He was the commander, after all. He mustn't let his personal feelings override reason and affect his decisions. By putting the prisoner in solitary confinement, he had acted right, and it would be best to follow through on treating him like any other inmate. If he treated him any better than the others, the officers would think he was crazy and question his authority. He would do what a commander had to do, and as it couldn't be helped, he might as well try to enjoy it. He would suppress his feelings like he had always suppressed them, or, better yet, he would eradicate them while they were still in their budding. The best way to do this was by convincing himself that this prisoner was not worthy of his feelings: After a couple of days in solitary confinement, he would be just as meek and subdued as any other internee, unlikely to attract his attention any longer.

Plus there was this 'letter' case he was determined to solve. It was clear as day that it had not been Prussia who had given the letter to the civilian, despite his confession. His confession had been fake as fake could be. That prisoner was incredibly bad at lying, Ivan couldn't help but chuckle at the memory. How stupid did they think he was? The false confession had to be part of a plan, which meant that this group of inmates were still scheming and plotting against him, wanting him to draw the wrong conclusions. He had played along for now, but he wouldn't let them fool him. He could see right through their plan, and he would thwart it.

How gallant it had been of Prussia to jump in and sacrifice himself for his fellow inmates, Ivan thought with a tinge of derision, but solitary confinement would drive any gallantry out of him.

He would make sure of that. He would make him bitterly regret it.

This promised to be entertaining. Also, this would be the best strategy to keep his mind off these strange feelings for Prussia that there was no denying he had. If only he could break his resistance and make him beg for mercy, he wouldn't be any different from all the other prisoners and be just as despicable.

He got up and called the guard that he trusted most. "Alexei! I need you to do something for me." ...

...

...

Rain was pouring against the window in Germany's office. Just having arrived at his workplace, he was about to carry out his brotherly duty before starting with his day's work. It had become a matter of routine for him. He picked up the phone and dialed the number the Red Cross had given him. Having dialed it so many times, he knew it by heart. He listened to the ringing tone and tensed up when he heard the clink of the receiver being lifted.

"Camp Baikal, Ivan Braginski speaking."

"Hello Mr Braginski, this is Ludwig Beilschmidt calling. Could I speak to my brother Gilbert Beilschmidt, pl…" He stopped when the person at the other end hung up on him. Ludwig put the receiver down, sighing with disappointment. It was not that it surprised him, though. This had happened every time he had tried to call the camp. Ever since his brother had disappeared somewhere in Russia without leaving a message, he had tried to phone him every single day, to no avail. He frowned. What was happening to his brother? Their relationship had been so close, but since Gilbert had left, he hadn't heard of him. His brother might be reckless and irresponsible at times, but it was very unlike him not to contact him for such a long time. If this continued much longer, he was about to be seriously worried. He would have to ask America, England and France for advice.

...

A/N:

Isn't it ironic that I have mixed feelings about a chapter that I called 'mixed feelings'? Maybe I should have given it a different title ;)
I might rework parts of it.