Warnings: Contains descriptions of starvation/dehydration, torture, physical and medical violence, swearing. But still rated T because it's non-sexual.

Sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter. I couldn't decide on POV.

I hope it's not too OOC.

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12: Solitary Confinement III

After three days and three nights spent in solitary confinement, a guard brought me my first meal, a bowl of gruel. I started to gobble it down, but after I had eaten a few spoons full, the guard took it away again.

"You want to eat more?" he asked with a sneer. "Then tell me what you did."

"What?" I asked, puzzled. Didn't he know I had already confessed?

A sudden jerk of his arm, and part of the gruel was spilled on the ground. "Don't play stupid with me. Confess," he said menacingly.

I deemed it best to repeat my confession, as Estonia had advised me to do.

"That's not what I was talking about," the guard said with growing impatience. "Stop lying and tell me what really happened that day."

This didn't sound like Estonia's plan was coming off too well. Yet I maintained, "It was me. Instead of doing my assigned job, I left the forest and contacted a citizen."

He emptied the rest of the bowl on the floor, turned on his heel and walked away.

After they had shut the door on me again, I touched the floor of my cell to find out if there was anything wet. I was lucky. Some of the gruel had leaked inside. Lowered down on my knees, I helped myself to all I could get of it.

When the guard returned the next time, he handed me a cup of water, which I downed in one swig.

"Look what I've brought," he said when I had finished drinking. He held a bowl of soup out to me. "You can have it. The only thing you have to do is tell me everything."

I said nothing.

He waited a minute or so, then he swayed the bowl tantalizingly in front of me. "Doesn't it smell delicious? I'm sure you'd like to have it. You must be very hungry and thirsty." He snickered.

I would have smacked that stupid grin of his out of his face if I'd had the chance. But again, I didn't say anything.

To torment me even more, he dipped a spoon into the soup and fished out a scrap of sinewy meat. "Look at this fine piece of pork," he tempted me, holding it under my nose. "Wouldn't it taste delicious? Just tell me all you know, it's really easy."

I jolted forward, and in a second I had snapped the meat from the spoon and swallowed it.

It was really easy. Its taste though was not near as good as the guard had suggested. I admit that my pleasure at the guard's face boosted the flavor of this average labor camp canteen's creation, but my enjoyment of it was marred by a nagging feeling in my stomach that remained after the guard had stomped away. I wondered what they had in store for me.

They didn't hold me in suspense for a long time.

A while later, two guards walked me to a windowless room at the end of the hallway. With its tiled floor, neon light and smell of blood, it reminded me of a butcher's shop. The queasy feeling in my stomach grew into a full-grown knot because I had seen similar rooms before and knew well what they were built for.

My gut feeling did not betray me. What they did to me in there was the usual stuff, I'd say. My famished state put me at an advantage because at that point I was already so worn out that I didn't notice all of what happened, and the blows to my head added to that effect. I remember they tied me to a chair in the middle of the room and questioned me; beating or kicking me every time I didn't answer or repeated my false confession. Compared to other interrogation standards, I must say their practices were rather unrefined. That guy was either inexperienced or lacked sensitivity in regard to how far he could go. All in all, I must say their interrogation was a total failure. I mean, if your aim is to make someone talk, it's not the smartest idea to flog them senseless.

It seems I didn't mention the flogging before. That was at some point after the questioning. They released me from the chair and strapped me to the wall instead. My memory of it is sketchy at best. I counted about twenty lashes before I stopped because I wasn't really aware of what was going on anymore.

Years later, when I had just returned to Ludwig and refused to talk to him about what happened to me while I was in Russia, he had the bright idea to find out how many times they had whipped me. While I was asleep, he pulled up my shirt to count the scars on my back. But I woke up and told him to stop it because it didn't make sense. I mean, did he seriously believe they chose a new patch of skin for each blow? That's just ridiculous. Even if he had managed to count, let's say, 28 or 33 separate welts, what's the point in it? It just doesn't matter.

But Ludwig didn't understand. He wanted to bring the issue before the International Court of Justice and sue for compensation. It would have meant to testify in front of the court and go through all of it again. I didn't want that shxx, so I told him to stay the fxxx out of it. The past is the past, and there are things you better not dig up. But I'm digressing.

So it's back to the events in solitary confinement. When they were finished with me, they must have brought me back to my cell because that was where I woke up. By then, I had completely lost track of time, so I couldn't tell which day it was. I couldn't get up into a sitting position, so I just kept still on the floor, the concrete floor absorbing my body warmth. Soon, my body began to tremble. A guard brought me water and soup, just like that, without any attempts at questioning me. But it wasn't enough. I was parched.

The next day, the guard showed up again and asked me if I had changed my mind. "Will you finally tell me what happened and who made up the plan?" he asked.

I rattled off some of the phrases they taught us during indoctrination, like "I'm not a proper Communist nation" and "I didn't follow the rules and I committed a crime against the camp's authorities." I had acquired quite a repertoire.

Maybe I messed some of them up, maybe my voice was too hoarse; the guard wasn't satisfied. "Describe from the beginning and in detail how you and the others wrote the letter, and how you planned to smuggle it out of camp!" he barked.

For the umptieth time, I repeated my confession, aiming to sound coherent and convincing.

My still not going back on my claims got the guard so enraged that he stooped down, grabbed me by my hair and pulled me up to his face, so close I could feel his breath on my skin.

"If you want to leave solitary confinement today," he threatened, "you will not only confess that it was Lithuania and Latvia who illicitly left camp; you will also admit that it was the joint plan of your little conspiring group. You will provide the names of the other prisoners involved in the conspiration and describe in detail in what way they contributed to the crime so that they can be punished accordingly. Who, for example, stole the paper and the stamps for the letter?" He shook my head one last time, glaring at me wildly before he let me sink back on the floor. His bad breath lingered, and I felt his spit on my face.

I finally knew what they wanted to hear.

The guard placed a bowl of soup on the ground beside my head. "Be reasonable," he said, having cooled off considerably. "Drink the soup and tell me all you know. But I warn you, my patience is not unlimited."

Lying at his feet, I swallowed the hot soup. I felt new strength surging through my body. My mind was made up. I would never tell him what he was asking me for; not when I had promised Estonia to keep everything secret.

"I promise to never do it again. I am asking for a second chance," I resumed my 'confession'.

The guard lost his patience. He kicked me in my face with his boot, adding one more gash to my forehead. "That's not what I want to hear! Stop talking nonsense! I already know about your little scheming and plotting group. You must report what you did as a group. If you don't, you'll stay here!"

He stormed off. The other guard pushed me back into the cell and locked it. My heart sank as I heard the sound of his footsteps fade away.

I was at my wit's end. I had hoped they would release me after so many days and all that I'd gone through. I had endured the hunger, the thirst, the cold, the beatings, and now it seemed there was no end in sight. I didn't have it in me to betray the others. I just couldn't. If this was what I needed to do to be released, I would never get out.

If Estonia wanted to get me out of here alive, he'd better do it soon, I thought before I dozed off into a stupor.

As time passed, I didn't feel my body anymore. Instead, my mind was playing tricks on me. I imagined that I was sitting on a tree stump in the forest, together with Bulgaria. We're waiting for Estonia. It's cold and it's getting dark, but Estonia doesn't show up. Something bad, unforeseen must have happened. When I turn to talk to Bulgaria, he's suddenly gone and I'm all alone.

The image fades and I see my brother at the entrance gate of the camp, asking for me. The porter tells him that he has never heard of a person with my name living in camp. He checks a list, shaking his head.

The next thing I felt was being dragged out of the cell. Someone slaps my face. "Wake up! Look at me." There's urgency in his voice.

I blink, but I see only black.

"Ah, finally you're awake." He sounds relieved. "Come on, sit up so you can eat."

He grabs me by my shoulders and I'm propped up against a wall.

"Try to drink some soup."

I feel the rim of a cup pressed against my lips. A small amount of soup is poured into my mouth, making me cough and choke.

"Stop it."

As I gasp for air, someone gently slaps my back. It hurts, and I wish they would just let me sleep.

"You overdid it." Again, the commander's voice. He sounds furious. I don't have the time to be surprised that he's here, as the noise of blood rushing in my ears is getting louder, drowning out all other sounds as I fall asleep again.

...

I wake up in terror because something is stuck into my nose and pushed deeper inside, far too deep. It hurts, and I'm in panic because I believe it's probably some sick new method of torture that I don't know of yet.

And it could easily have passed as that, because you can't breathe when they shove that tube down your throat to feed you. I thought I was being suffocated. Temporarily revived by a rush of adrenaline, I thrashed around to make them stop. But my arms were held back, and someone clasped my head so I couldn't move.

"Far enough," I finally heard someone mutter, and I could breathe again.

When I woke up again, I lay sprawled on my back on the ground. Footsteps were shuffling close to my head, and I heard people murmur over me. I pried my eyes open and could discern a guard, the medic, and to my surprise, Estonia and Latvia.

When the medic bent over me, a tube in his hands, I realized they were about to do it again. Latvia and the guard kept me pinned to the ground, and Estonia knelt behind me to hold my head in position while the medic squeezed the tube inside me, setting me gagging and choking all over again.

This time I was more awake. I was aware of Estonia shushing me when I writhed under their grip. I heard Latvia break out in sobs, giving Estonia some more comforting to do while they poured some liquid through a funnel into the tube.

When they let go of me, I felt something being squeezed into my hand. Closing my fingers around it, I noticed it was a small piece of paper.

After the guard had shoved me back into my cell, I unfolded it. Smoothening it with my thumbs, I recognized Estonia's clear handwriting. "Confess. Only Latvia and Lithuania." So Estonia had kept his promise and had finally come up with a plan to get me out. I rolled up the scrap of paper and swallowed it.

I spent the afternoon lying in my cell, swallowing the blood that kept dripping from my nose into my throat.

When the guard appeared in the morning of the following day, I told him I wanted to confess.

He threw me a glance of distrust. "Don't try to fool me again. What is it that you want to confess?"

I began to speak, but my words were nothing but hoarse grunts.

"Get out of your cell so you can sit up and speak better," he snarled.

I crept out of my cell, laboriously and painstakingly slowly. When I had reached the hallway, blood started gushing out of my mouth and nose. Disgusted at my sight, the guard turned away.

"Come over here, I need your help," he called for another guard.

"Let the medic have a look at the prisoner and then take him back to his cabin," he instructed the guard. "Allow him three days to get better so he can write down his confession."

Turning to me, he threatened, "If you don't make a full confession, we'll see each other again soon."

...

It was over.

...

The medic's first measure consisted of sending the guard to the canteen to bring soup, bread and tea.

"I won't treat you unless you eat a decent meal first," he insisted as he placed a bowl of soup and a morsel of bread in front of me.

I liked the man instantly, even though he was the one who had conducted the force-feeding.

That meal tasted better than anything I had eaten in a long time.

When I had finished, he had me sit on the table. "Now let's see what's under all this blood," he said. He gently took my chin in his hand and carefully washed my face with a wet towel. I was surprised at how much blood there seemed to be. I hadn't looked in a mirror lately, and I figured all the blows and nosebleeds had left their traces.

Turning my head to the left and to the right, he closely examined the bruises. "Nothing too serious," he said. "I'll cleanse them and you'll be fine." He returned from the cupboard with a cotton swab and a bottle and started his work.

When he had almost finished, he said, "As soon as I'm done with this, I need to take a look at your back. The bruises on your face are nothing compared to those wounds you seem to have on your back." He lightly touched my shoulder and looked down my back, where my shirt was caked with blood. "Whatever they did to you, it looks horrible." Putting the supplies aside, he demanded, "Please take off your shirt."

I had secretly dreaded that moment. The cotton fabric of my shirt seemed glued to the gashes on my back, and I feared they would tear open again if I took it off. I wanted to explain that to the medic, but I was barely able to whisper.

He, however, seemed to have noticed the problem by himself. Getting a bottle of vodka from the cupboard, he said,

"I see what you're getting at, but it's absolutely necessary that I cleanse those wounds. You don't want to end up with an infection, do you? I'll soak your shirt in vodka so it's easier to remove."

At these words, the more unpleasant part of his treatment started. However careful he was, I squirmed when he removed my shirt. When it finally came off, I heard him draw his breath in through his teeth. "Isn't it good that I took it off?" he remarked as he inspected the gashes. "You might not live until spring if I didn't have rubbing alcohol." He started to disinfect the wounds and wrapped my back in bandages.

"This will have to do," he said. "I'm short on dressings."

Then he rummaged his cupboards and found a spare tin can that he filled with tea. He gave it to me before I left, together with the rest of the bread, urging me to eat and drink as much as I could and telling me to see him again to change the dressings.

Feeling immensely rich with all the food, the guard and a prisoner half dragged, half carried me to my cabin. They set me down on Bulgaria's bunk where I stayed, as I was unable to climb to my upper bunk. In fact I was unable to leave the bunk for two days. Bulgaria slept in my bunk now.

I wasn't fully aware of what was going on around me all the time yet, waking from my dozing only when someone stood right next to me and addressed me in a loud voice. But I noticed the concern speaking from their eyes. In the mornings, I got to drink Poland's coffee, and now and then they offered me some of their food, which must have been hard for them since they had just experienced a week of halved bread rations. Lithuania even served me a dish of tender meat from leftovers of the officers' mess that he and Poland had somehow managed to scavenge. Gradually, the strength returned to my body, and I was amazed at my reserves. I was alive, and that was the only thing that mattered.

...

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A/N:

I settled on first person POV for this chapter, but I still have doubts about it. What do you think? Did I ruin it? Please tell me if it's too OOC.

I'd also like to hear your opinion on the POV changes in the other chapters. Would you prefer it if I stick to third person POV for the entire story?

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You've reached the end of the last chapter I've uploaded so far. I'll add more chapters soon.

Thank you for reading the story up to this point! I know it's looong ... I'm grateful for the attention and time you devoted to reading it, and I'd be delighted if you leave a review! :)