Timely Arrival

June 20th, 1944

Strasbourg, France

"There's no justice in the world, France." The man perked at my grousing, made from a one-hundred-and-sixty degree angle recline on my bunk. He gazed back with baleful eyes.

"No, there's not." I sighed at his supplicating answer, far too servile for my liking. It was the kind of shitty moral we tried our hardest to knock out of the men early on before it really took hold.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you know that, right?"

"Do not make promises you cannot keep. Our best hope is to wait for liberation."

"France, liberation is upon us! What do you think I'm doing here? Sight-seeing?" I said, frustrated now, "They won't twiddle their thumbs for long, not with the way things are going. We have to make a move." A small smile began to ply his lips, and I knew I'd made at least a little progress, but it wasn't enough.

"I do not remember you being so stubborn."

"And I don't remember you being so weak!" France flinched away at my venomous denunciation and, like a dog tucking its tail between its legs, looked downward shamefully. It prompted no sympathy from me.

"Do not think I've given up all hope," He said, almost more to himself than to me, "There has been so much bloodshed. There is no need for any more, least of all on my account, and especially when it will be your blood."

"Don't start worrying about me now. I've had worse," I gestured to my bum shoulder, swift on its way to recovery, "Besides, the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner the war will be over."

"And what will they do to the rest of the men here after I am gone? What will they do to you? I cannot bear to have that on my conscious."

"And what about the men out there?" I gestured violently westward, towards the front, "What about their lives?" France looked away meekly with the force of my censure.

"You know that is not what I meant."

"Look, the point is, we have to come up with a plan before Germany goes and ruins everything. Now you've been here longer than I have, what's our best shot?"

"I could not tell you. The SS are not idle in their duties."

"But you got to have some idea-

"I'm telling you, I don't know!" I was about to say more when the morning reveille sounded across the grounds. France was up and out of there faster than I'd ever seen him. The rest of us filed out to the main grounds, standing in alphabetical order as the guards bid us. I kept shooting glances France's way every chance I got. In all of my dealings with him, I never remembered him being so meek. Never. And I was far from comforted by it. We didn't have a chance in hell of get out of here if he lacked the will to do so.

I swallowed my lingering ire as Kraus paced up and down the lines, barking out names with his usual erratic vehemence. There was something in his normally pompous mien, however, that seemed a little less than reliable this morning. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it smacked of danger just on the horizon.

When he got to my name on the roster a pregnant pause stilled the air. He fixed me with a piercing, pointed glare.

"Carter!" He ground out. A sudden flare of pain knifed through my shoulder, right where Germany shot me yesterday. I hissed under my breath, resisting the urge to seize my arm.

"Present." Another tense moment passed before he continued on. France observed the exchange with wide eyes before turning his gaze on me, questions sparking like fireworks in his face. I inclined a brow quickly in his direction to let him know that I'd explain everything later. Maybe. This was my battle, not his.

"Alright, move out!" Kraus barked, turning on his heel as he did so. France exchanged a glance with one of his froggy compatriots, Blanchard I believe his name was, and then began a slow march after the Commandant.

While the Geneva Convention prevented them from working us captured soldiers in industries related directly to the war effort, it didn't stop them from working us. Alsace was an agricultural region - mostly viticulture, but there was a decent market for industrial crops and produce. For the past few days they'd sent us out to harvest the tobacco fields near the camp. Before that it was cabbage. The work was hard, but it was better than sitting around, even though I knew the food was going to a hoard of Germans.

German citizens, I reminded myself, not soldiers. Either way, I took the sickle they offered me without much guff and followed the rest of my POW brethren down the road. Behind and in front of our procession were armed guards, the Commandant included.

I frowned, not trusting him one bit. Even being near him made my skin crawl. The only consolation was the suspicious upturn of his collar, no doubt concealing the evidence of my violent indiscretion yesterday from his subordinates' eyes. It gave me a grand feeling of satisfaction.

The tobacco field where they had us laboring was a couple miles down the road to the east. In the dry Alsace air, surrounded by verdant, springtime green on all flanks, I was both fondly and painfully reminded of my homeland. Out here, under the open sky, the illusion of freedom was so tenacious I didn't even mind the work.

My reverie was broken by the force of a riding crop smacking into my midsection.

"Not you." The Commandant's voice gave everyone pause, "You're going elsewhere."

Two of the guards peeled off to flank the Commandant as he led me further down the road. Anxiously, I glanced back over my shoulder towards the others, all stock still with confusion and worry, but none more so than France. I almost wished he would come to my defense, make a scene, or something, anything, to halt these abnormal proceedings. It was a fool's hope though, for he did nothing. Then again, what moron would? No need for anyone to get killed on my account.

"I've decided that in light of your… special circumstances, this would be more accommodating," He gestured to a wide, five-acre swath of un-harvested tobacco leaves, "I want this field harvested in completion by nightfall."

"Are you out of your damn mind?" I said before I could stop myself, taking two steps his direction. One of the guards drove his forearm into my chest and shoved me into the dirt.

"I would spend less time complaining and more time working, were I in your place," He sneered and turned away, leaving me to dust myself off. I raised my sickle, wondering what would happen if I brained the bastard with it right now. At the last moment I redirected my arm toward one of the bushes. Slashed it clean through.

"Shithead," I said.

Somewhere Outside Berlin

~Prussia~

It was always amazing to me the volume and breadth of certain ironies; most pressing that of coming to my brother's aid when my situation was the dire one. The Russians were practically knocking at out back gate and he desires - no demands - that I simply drop everything and assist him? Where was the justice, nay, the equity, of that?

I found my antipathy deepen with every mile that came between myself and the soldiers I was leaving behind. It felt like betrayal - dereliction of duty at the very least – and that did not bode well for my disposition in the slightest. I was an officer for God's sake, and more than that, a figurehead for every man under my command. They would start to lose what little heart they had left if it seemed as though I was abandoning them. That being said, I could not have determined particularly what had driven me to Strasbourg with such haste, given depth and breadth of my skepticism, but I could not forget the underlying tone in Ludwig's message. It had been vague, but not in Ludwig's normal manner, there was indeed more to the story, for I refused to believe that he needed my help simply to interrogate a prisoner.

With luck, this interlude would be a fruitful, but not an overly lengthy foray. There were other, more important issues that occupied my time. Honestly… I sat forward, head in hand, lamenting yet again. Did he really think that one man could utterly reverse the current of the war? Such a thing, he had to understand, was near impossible at this point. Even if it was truly a state in his custody – which I staunchly did not believe – what made him think that I would have any more luck than he? It was no secret that of the two of us, I was vastly more contrarian, and far less willing to please. There was very little place for me in a situation in which politicking and delicate maneuvers won the day.

Then again, Ludwig had been onerously vague in his explanation, indicating only that he wished for my consultation and authority on the matter. Perhaps he merely wanted advice. Truly, I had very little idea, and I was not in the mood to analyze his motives based on a four-sentence telegram.

Outside, I watched the landscape pass me by with a growing morbidity. Every minute I spent sitting on this train I could imagine being used doing something else productive, were I back where I belonged.

All throughout the eight hour journey, one recurring thought kept circling my mind: how long did we have until the Allies broke through? How long until their progress became irreversible? The situation in Normandy was no secret to me. The Wehrmacht generals were doing all that they could with what little resources they had, but they would need a miracle if they hoped to fend off the Allied war machine. I sighed in spite of myself. Perhaps Ludwig was right to regard this prisoner as he did – any possibility, no matter how much of a long shot, was better than nothing at all.

Strasbourg, France

~New York~

They say Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. Today, I was walking proof of that particular turn-of-phrase. I was so fighting mad I cleared the first half acre in an hour. Of course I'd also sweat right through my service blouse, I was hot and sticky, and my shoulder hurt like all hell. I kept on going though. The trick was to imagine each bush as the Commandant's face. It worked too, until I was forced to consolidate the utter inconceivability of a single person doing a twenty man job.

"You som'bitch." I groused when my sickle slipped and sliced my hand. A Frenchman in the adjacent field looked at me pityingly before returning to his own work. Just another day the army, huh?

At noon, the POW's were granted a short reprieve for water and lunch, comprised of little more than watery broth and a bit of biscuit. I, consumed by rage and a defiant need to prove something, elected to skip it in favor of bailing another row of tobacco leaves.

"Stupid bastards." Usually I wasn't one for whining, but I felt an exception could be made given the situation. Tobacco wasn't the trickiest crop I'd ever dealt with - England and I tried it once in 1702 – but it was a real bitch to harvest alone. The way I'd always done it involved two men per row, one cutting, one piling, so as to maximize production and efficiency. Unfortunately, such a factory-like system was made impossible here.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Commandant. He was watching me from his high handed perch on the road, a nasty look in his eye. It served only to fuel the strength of my arm. I'd show the son of a bitch what Americans were made of.

~Prussia~

Ludwig's chauffer met me in the station outside the city. Why Ludwig was not there in person I had no idea, except that he must have wanted to save our glorious reunion for later. Indeed, it had been over a year since we had last had the pleasure of each other's company, and we had not parted on the best of terms.

Now that I thought about it, perhaps it was better that we did not meet here; I was not yet sure whether a fist or a bullet would have been a more appropriate greeting.

As was evident, five hours on the train had done little for my disposition, but I was still of sound enough mind to greet the chauffer with a tolerable level of cordiality. He nodded in return and we boarded my brother's yacht of a Mercedes, ignoring the interested eyes of the other people, citizens and soldiers alike, on the street.

It was strange being back in Strasbourg again. France and I had scrapped over the Alsace region more times than I could count, but even so, the city remained as I remembered. A calm town, with a pace slower than I was accustomed to, filled with hard-working country people who had little inkling of the complex web of politics that continuously put them in the path of one war machine or another.

I could understand why Ludwig had chosen it for his headquarters.

Strasbourg possessed quite a different feel than the likes of Konigsberg or Berlin, obviously more agrarian, but there was something else too. A provinciality perhaps that was absent in the understated majesty of my capital. Simplicity. That was it.

"How much longer until we reach the base?" I queried after the river and the quaint, half-timber houses had become shadows on the horizon.

"Approximately ten minutes, sir."

I nodded and allowed the lush, pastoral setting to pass me by with a quiet sadness in my heart.

~New York~

It was nine o'clock before I twined together the last bushel. At that point my hands were rubbed raw and blistered, as were my feet, and my back ached like hell. But by God that fuckin' field was finished. I stood near the road, thumbs hooked in my belt, overlooking over my work with an exhausted, albeit smug eye, waiting for the Commandant to come look it over when a great rumbling rose up in the distance, giving pause to every remaining man in the vicinity, including me. I watched as a sleek black automobile thundered down our stretch of road, churning up dirt and rocks, only to disappear a second later, as quickly as it came. I coughed the dirt of my lungs. The hell? What was a nice car like that doing in a place like this? Sightseeing?

The Commandant, hair blown out of place and black uniform turned gray with dust, shouted angrily at the vehicle as it passed us by. His rage was already going before but now he was practically steaming from the ears. I flinched prematurely when he turned my way, advancing in long, angry strides. There was a manic, almost crazed look in his eyes, and suddenly I wished that France and the others were still out here.

I stood my ground as he moved past me in order to look over my work. Any disbelief was masked by his rapidly deepening scowl while his lips parted to reveal clenched teeth. Clearly he had not anticipated that I would finish in the time allotted, although that had been the point, hadn't it? I couldn't help a vindictive smile as it stretched from ear to ear. How do you like me now, you bastard?

"Who assisted you?"

"No one." Apparently that wasn't a satisfactory answer, for Kraus turned on his heel and seized me by the collar.

"I said, who assisted you?"

"Are you fucking deaf? I said no one!" He growled, shoving me. But I'd well and truly had enough of him. In a surge of impulsivity, I shoved him back just as hard and came face to face with a drawn pistol in the same instant.

"Mark my words, I will kill you."

"Go ahead and shoot then!" I shouted, loud and clear into the night, common sense be damned. Kraus seemed momentarily taken aback by my declaration – a prisoner asking to be shot? Unheard of. In the back of my mind I contemplated what would happen if he actually pulled the trigger. What would he do with the body? And more importantly, how would he explain it to Germany? I sneered vindictively when slowly he lowered his arm.

I win, asshole.

"Move, American." He flicked his head in the direction of the camp and, with one last scorching look, I did as I was bid. He followed a pace behind, pistol at the ready in case I tried anything and eyes practically burning a hole in my back. As we passed through the gates into camp I remember looking over to the base and seeing the sleek car from before parked in front of the main house. A feeling of foreboding came over me. New faces always signaled disruption amongst the ranks, and disruption was that last thing I needed.

~Prussia~

"'Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness.'" Ludwig's chauffer looked at me confusedly, "Dante." I said, by way of explanation.

The chateau which Ludwig had appropriated for his own use was a large and appealing edifice of the half-timber variety, very commonplace for a German town, or a French one that lay on the border. It felt very homey, if not a tad reminiscent of our own childhood domain so very many years ago. I took a breath, wondering again at his motivation for asking me here.

"Gilbert!" I turned in time to see Italy bounding down the drive toward me. Tired as I was I managed to return his warm embrace with a tolerable level of vigor, "It has been far too long!"

"Indeed. You look well." He beamed at my statement, as if the world was not tearing itself apart as we spoke. It was an optimism to be admired.

"Thank you for coming so quickly. I was afraid you wouldn't."

"I could not pass up the chance to see my baby brother," I indulged him with a bit of my old wiles, "Where is he?" Italy looked suddenly downcast.

"He is waiting for us inside." I narrowed my eyes, glancing up at the many windows in the old chateau. Was he watching us right now?

"Well then what are we waiting for? I am aquiver with the prospect of meeting him again." If Italy registered the my biting inflection he gave no indication, only clinging tightly to me in order to better regale me with tales of his time here. The omission of the current business at hand was glaringly evident.

"You quarters are on the third floor, next door to mine," Italy explained, "Germany's office is just here." He said. I sucked in a great breath. Straight to business then.

We entered and immediately encountered Ludwig with his back to us, pouring over a vast map of the continent on the far wall. His office was luxurious in design, with pale green walls and maple flooring. A small hearth crackled and burned in the corner, turning the pristine white curtains a lovely gold and everything else a deep amber. His desk, covered in all manner of document, sat opposite the fire.

"Italy, if you would, please take my brother's affects to his quarters." Italy looked between us worriedly, but acquiesced nonetheless. Germany turned then to me and we looked upon each other for the first time in over a year. He was the same as I remembered, gaunter perhaps, and more careworn, but the same. I could not know if the same could be said of me.

"Ludwig."

"Gilbert."

"It has been a while."

"Yes. It has." I pursed my lips, trying to see past his bland inflection but remembering only his public disavowal of me four years ago after Stalingrad. He had used that tone then, too.

"Are you well?"

"I am," He replied, seeming somewhat disoriented as though he had not expected civility from me, "And you?"

"As well as can be expected," I clasped my hands behind my back, "I heard you had a spot of trouble?"

"I do. I wish to ask your opinion on a certain matter." I arched an eyebrow.

"Come now, Ludwig. If that was simply the case you would have said so in your telegram, or better yet, asked someone else. Now tell me, what is truly going on?" There was no handshake, or brotherly embrace, or any semblance of companionship, just the cold detachment of two men doing business. With a sigh I seated myself in an armchair before the hearth, tenting my fingers. Ludwig's eyes barely narrowed, but otherwise he comported himself well and took the seat opposite me.

"I will not beat about the bush," He began, staring into the crackling log in the fireplace, "The Allies have invaded and are very close to breaking out of the peninsula."

"I am aware of the situation." He shot me a barely restrained look of exasperation. I resolved to keep my answers short, to the point, and devoid of emotion; I would most certainly inflict violence upon him otherwise.

"We captured one of theirs on the day they invaded, and I have since imprisoned him here," Ludwig paused, perhaps for effect, "The man is one of America's states." I sat forward stridently.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. He is one of the most resilient men I have ever had the displeasure of interrogating. He has not said a word, not one blasted word about America or their operation."

"And you need my help to persuade him otherwise?"

"Yes and no. I've hit a snag, the Commandant, Armin Kraus, is an unreasonable man. He's had Himmler order a joint custody of the prisoner. I cannot succeed with the Commandant hounding my steps and sabotaging my progress." I nodded, beginning to understand.

"He is SS then?"

"That is right. Allgemeine." I sat back in my chair, taking a deep breath while Germany continued, "The man is under your authority as an SS high commander, I hoped that you might be able to reign him in, so to speak. I cannot have him compromising my efforts, not when Rommel is relying on me."

"I see." He scrutinized my face carefully, seeking out some indication as to the emotion behind my neutral response, but I'd become too practiced in the art of fallacy for him to discern anything concrete.

"And, if you could, I'd like for you to take a look at the prisoner as well. You might have more luck than I."

"What makes you think that?"

"You've had far more dealings with the states than I. He may know you."

And there it was. My whole reason for being here. I was an asset. A piece in the game. I'd known that, of course, but hearing it affirmed made something in me deflate. My hope, I realized. Of rekindling the relationship with my last living family member on this earth.

"I suppose we will see about that tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow," He said stiffly, "Oh'sevenhundred."

"Agreed," I started for the door, but at the last second turned back to him, "Goodnight, Ludwig."

He only nodded in return.