A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

62. Crimes of War

Chapter 62: Crimes of War

A summons from Michelle Mallon could not be ignored.

The only surprise was it came on the fourteenth day of February, a day which her friends expected her to be almost certainly occupied on. It was some time since she'd spent a Valentine's Day alone from what her closest friends could remember, and though they'd usually see her on the day, seeing her during the early evening was a surprise. The time she'd asked them to meet her down by the docks was just after six, the darkness already setting in for the night, though the weather was surprisingly warm for the time of year.

The streets shone in a mix of the fading natural light of the day and the artificial light of those lights that were about to shine. On a lot of nights over the year prior, the streets would not be lit at all but contented with being safe in Derry seeing as the Germans were yet to come back, lights shone out around the streets. Erin, Clare and Orla were walking together as a group to the vicinity where Michelle asked them to meet her, in almost the same spot as where Erin had first met Lieutenant Hamilton when he'd saved her from a kerbside tumble. Despite the unnatural warmth of the day they still all wore their jackets, wary that the warmth would not stay around for much longer. Their mothers, though Sarah was not present at the McCool house, would not let them leave without them anyway.

The initial buzz from having the yanks around the city was beginning to wear off rapidly, the soldiers and sailors all settled in. They were supposedly going to be building air bases too, which would mean that there would be pilots to come at some point later on. Still in initial development though, it would be some time before their skies would be filled with squadrons training to go off to fight. That week there were few Americans about at night, mostly the officers rather than the troops, who were attending meetings with the local authorities. One of the downsides of their arrival were a few acts of isolated violence, varying in scenario and severity. There was one report of a local woman being raped by soldiers a couple of nights after they'd arrived, which was investigated immediately, and the perpetrators were found. Some men would be heading home on charges before the war had even begun for them, unable to be trusted to fight an enemy when they could commit such barbarity to their allies.

There were also a number of acts of vandalism that had apparently taken place, though some were found to be fabrications. One of those that was not, was multiple tables being broken in one of the pubs one night after some of the British soldiers were offended by their American counterparts. Two Yanks found themselves rather literally thrown through tables by their allies, the Brits suffering wounds of their own too. Some of the locals, and more important the local authorities, were far from pleased, resulting in diplomacy being required between them to ensure the situation didn't get out of hand. There were assurances given by the American officers that the poor discipline would stop, mostly due to the men being sent on more intensive training to get them ready for front line combat. Some regiments issued curfews to their men if they were given leave into the city, and errands were only carried out by other staff officers or men who could be trusted.

The American officers raised concerns of their own though, about the number of local women that appeared to have turned to prostitution upon their arrival. It took a few days for the officers to cotton on, but one Captain went out into the city to find out for himself after a tip off from one of his men, discovering at least three women that were whoring themselves to the Americans. He'd gotten them of the streets immediately, taking them to the local authorities for the cops to deal with, where their authority meant nothing. A concern before they'd arrived, all of the officers began to discover that their men were seeking out these women when they were supposed to be out to build up rapport with the locals. Instead, they were lining the pockets of some women, who were happy to take their money off of them. Michelle and Orla might not have charged when they went out, but the two would be amongst the women being watched if it were known they were having relations with multiple soldiers.

"It's a lovely evening, so it is". Orla commented as they neared where Michelle was stood.

"Aye it's not bad". Erin replied. "Quite cosy for Valentine's Day".

"Cosy if yer into that". Clare added with a grumble.

The three walked on without saying anymore, an oddly quiet walk for them. Mulling over the reasons for Michelle asking to meet them there that evening was the reason for it, all of them trying and failing to work out what the point of it was. After the boke incident after the Yanks first arrived, Orla was enjoying a rare trip out, having been banned from doing so indefinitely by her Granda. At twenty-one she could have still done what she wanted, but the word of Joe McCool was often taken as law by his family. The ban was not contested by any members of the family in fact, Sarah and Mary in particular supporting it. For them both, the worries that Martin and Deirdre held about Michelle were equally present. It was no secret that Orla was putting out somewhat from what they'd discovered, and the last thing that the family needed was an unplanned child. They'd coped with a lot since the start of the war with James and David's deaths, the night of the bombing raid where they'd lost the wee dog Napoleon and nearly Erin too. A loss of reputation would certainly challenge the family's standing.

Clare decided to bring it up to her as well, as even an indefinite ban on going out at night was something her Da had not gone to the lengths of, and Joe was a far fairer man than he was.

"I bet yer enjoyin' this, Orla". She engaged her. "I'm surprised yer even allowed out with us".

"Aye… well Erin has to keep an eye on me, so she does. I tried to ask Granda why not both eyes but he would not tell me! Shockin', so it is".

"Amen to that…". Erin commented quietly.

"Ach did ye say somethin' there, Erin?"

"Yes Orla… I said that's my job to look after you, so it is".

Rolling her eyes, away from Orla so that only Clare could see, Erin was far from pleased about having to act as a minder for her cousin. When she was a grown adult with a child of her own, she should have been able to look after herself, but Orla would forever be the woman that she was. Her understanding of why they were all concerned for her was not guaranteed, and she'd ducked out of a conversation with Mary when the issue was pressed. It told her that the young woman was certainly aware to a degree, though perhaps understood it differently from how they all meant to put it across to her. Their concern being a pregnancy that was unplanned, they thought she was more likely to think they didn't want her to make any new friends. However, guessing and second guessing her mind was a fool's errand, which left Erin monitoring her as the most viable plan for the evening when Joe allowed her out.

"Michelle looks happy". Orla noted as they got even closer.

"Aye that could be dangerous". A wary Erin noted. "Ye know what she's like when she's got fella's falling on and off her like the feckin circus…".

Clare was just as wary as Erin was, knowing how Michelle could get herself incredibly excited from the combined promise of a good time with fellas and the afterglow of the last good time. However, neither could still quite work out why she wanted to see them at that time on Valentine's Day. Something did not quite strike right, and they desperately wanted to know what it was. The thought of Michelle doing anything other than ridin' a fella on Valentine's night was one which did not come easily to the minds of her friends.

Wearing a jacket of her own despite the warmth, Michelle waved to them, even using her hand to beckon them over quicker. When they were finally in front of her, the three of them could almost feel the energy radiating off of their dark-haired friend. Although Michelle could be extremely excitable at times, they'd never quite seen her so genuinely happy in the way in which most were happy, not her way. The energy that flowed out of her was not the energy that spoke of wild nights with American soldiers or riding until morning's light in the bed of a local lad. There was more to it than that… a connection to something that made her happy, rather than the more materialistic ideals of shagging that she usually swore by. Concerns grew amongst the others…

"Christ Michelle, ye look like ye've taken something from the Doctor's cupboard that ye shouldn't". Erin snorted, immediately moving onto the subject.

Brushing off the comment, unwilling to let it affect her glowing happiness, Michelle did not even rise to a reply directly to the blonde, instead addressing them all as a group.

"Ye all made it on time then. That's cracker".

"How could we not?" Clare answered. "Ye know what Erin the human clock is like over here…".

A rare snarky comment from the diminutive blonde, the other three took a moment to register that she'd actually said what she had. Erin's obsessive timekeeping was well known to them as a group, though Erin would go through stages of accepting and denying that she was. At work she could really pile on the pressure with time when it came to getting big orders out, but an attitude that perhaps should have stayed at the factory, was not left there. Transcending all parts of the young Quinn's life, she would always make sure that whenever they made plans, meeting up was done so on time. What happened after would not always be such a problem for her, but if a night out was much more than a minute late in starting, it would place her into an oppressive mood.

"Ye'll pray for me when yer late to yer own weddin' Clare…".

Unfortunately for them both, Erin's comment was an extremely hard one for her to take. In a world where society was different, more understanding of the nuisances and quirks to human life that went off the script of how the bible might have said they should be, she would be able to get married. Another woman would hold her hand in front of the world, kissing her to proclaim their union for all those who were there to see it. That world was the thing of dreams, not even a world that could be written about in a story without receiving vicious condemnation from those who did not understand, or perhaps did not want to understand, that not everyone followed the pre-designed script that the church preached. Some women were different, beautifully different, as were some men. The house of the Lord did not see things the same way.

"I didn't know ye were gettin' married Clare…". Orla added even more pain for her. "Sure ye kept that quiet, so ye did… who's the lucky fella. Is it that wee fella who checks the bathrooms at the dances".

"What!?" Clare snapped back. "Ye mean the cleaner?"

"Aye that's him, the wee cleaner. I thought Michelle said he smelt of wee all the time but good for you for seeing past that".

"I am not getting married to a piss-stained cleaner, Orla! And for the record, he has a name. Mark or Martin, I think…".

Michelle's happiness dropped for a second as hearing her Da's name made her think of him being a toilet cleaner, which was a horrendous thought. He would never want to do the job anyway, and the thought of the house smelling of urine whenever he walked in was one of the more revolting ones she'd ever had. Getting in the way of her excitement for the evening, it would not though, the smile on her face growing even wider when she looked beyond them further up to where the American warship was docked to the side of them.

"Can ye feel it girls!? It's feckin' awesome, right?" She chirped away.

"You sure ye didn't take somethin' ye shouldn't have?" Erin queried with her again. "I've not seen ye this happy since Aoife McClean got her hand trapped in the science room door when we were ten".

"Erin!" Orla, also uncharacteristically, shouted at her. "Ye know the rules. We DO NOT talk about Aoife McClean!"

Aoife McClean was thankfully long gone from Derry, having left to go back to Donegal where she'd came from years earlier. A nasty girl from a young age, she'd constantly terrorised their group between the ages of eight and ten, three years of complete hell for them in school and even out. One of those to get on Sister Michael's bad side from the first moment she opened her mouth around the head mistress, she'd resorted to harsher tactics to avoid the constant glare of the nun, who looked out for the girls at all times. Erin got away the lightest of them all, having only cried once thanks to Aoife, the rest of them being far less lucky. She'd pushed Clare over in the playground one lunchtime and badly hurt her, cuts that didn't leave the young Devlin for weeks. Orla's anger with Erin about mentioning the Donegal girl was thanks to her stealing one of Orla's early crushes, not that anyone knew that Orla liked the fella. Playground romance was hardly lengthy, but amongst anything Aoife ever did to them, it was a defining moment of her young life, feeling the pain of losing the fella to her.

The worst sufferer from her time in Derry though, was undoubtedly Michelle. Unusually, Aoife targeted the most headstrong of the group rather than picking on the weaker members of it. When it came to Orla it was hard to mock her intelligence, as it was widely accepted she was a bit slow, but Michelle's early years of academic work were difficult too. Looking to belittle her at every turn, Aoife made a concerted effort to make sure Michelle feel stupid all of the time, even doing so blatantly in front of the nuns. Martin and Deirdre were often presented with a wain crying herself to sleep not wanting to go to school because of it. They'd done all that they could along with Sister Michael to combat the problem, although Aoife's parents proved to be less than helpful, which showed more about their family as a whole. The day she'd trapped her hand in the door of the Science room was, at the time, the greatest day of the girls lives. None of them saw the incident in question, but through tears Aoife explained what happened, much to their delight. What none of them realised at the time, nor anyone would ever realise unless the Donegal girl actually told the truth to someone, was that she hadn't trapped it on purpose as the story went. The truth remained with her and Sister Michael only, who'd forced the girl's hand behind the door before slamming it on her fingers. Making it very clear that she wouldn't tolerate any bullying of the four that she cared for more than most, Aoife only lasted another five weeks before the family were back in Donegal. In any other light it would have been child abuse, and in the eyes of the law it still would have been, but to Sister Michael and the girls, Aoife had it coming.

"Yeah… well girls, this is better than any revenge on that slag from Donegal".

"Are you goin' to tell us what or do we need to start guessin' with all of the clues you've so kindly provided Detective Mallon…". A snarky Erin continued. "What have ye found God or somethin'?"

"That would be stupid, Erin…" Orla spoke before Michelle could reply. "I could tell ye all where god is. He's up there beyond the wee clouds and the wee planets".

Astronomy was not a strong point for any of the group, Orla especially, but it did not stop her from believing she knew exactly where God's position was. Although they didn't know it, it worked to their benefit that Anna was not there with them, as she would have almost certainly questioned the theory of heaven in her ongoing loss of faith. The only truly ardent Atheist in the family, not that it was a title that she could or would go by, she was not convinced at all by God existing somewhere far away beyond the stars. James was the only other member of their family and friends to have thought in any way similar, though he'd always happily attended church and prayed with them. Doing anything but would have made him stand out like a sore thumb though…

"So…". Clare pushed too.

"I've met someone!" Michelle blurted out. "A fella… ye know… that I like".

"Ye can just ride him Michelle, we don't need to know his life story on Valentine's night before ye do it…".

Erin was still not best pleased about being dragged out down to the docks that night, where the natural light was now all but gone, replaced by the streetlights instead for the source of vision around the streets. Michelle dragging them out into the city just to tell them that she was riding some fella, was hardly the idea of a Valentine's night in her head. Although the rest of them including her were not going to be doing anything that night anyway, no fellas for Erin nor Clare and no fellas allowed for Orla. More information was required in one way but in another, the blonde did not want to know.

"No… I don't… I don't mean it like that…". An unusually flustered Michelle uttered.

"What do you mean then, Michelle? I can't see what else you would want to get up to with a fella besides… ye know…". A nervous Clare replied first.

"It's not… w… w-we…".

Slowly, the truth dawned on Erin to the point where she nearly burst out into laughter. It wasn't the kindest course of action to take with a friend, but she couldn't help it. After years of Michelle living loose and free, moving from fella to fella to the point where she'd lost count even before James arrived, her friend had proper feelings for someone. In her own quest to be with the Englishman, Erin made just as many foolish moves that betrayed how much of a lovesick puppy that she really was, but it was far more entertaining to watch the bold, brash and loud Michelle Mallon beginning to flounder when talking about fellas. They were little more than objects of sexual desire to her a lot of the time. Until now. Now she'd found someone that she really liked, and Erin could hardly believe it. When Clare took a look over at her fellow blonde's facial expressions, she too cottoned on to what it was really about, feeling just as shocked.

"Feck off!" Erin almost squealed. "Ye proper fancy the fella!"

"Alright keep yer voice down he's comin' over!" A red-faced Michelle fiddled with her hands, letting out a sigh of exasperation at her friend.

"I… I think I must be dead… am I dead?" Clare questioned, genuinely wondering whether she was. "Ye… ye not just ridin' the fella?"

"Clare, I've only known him a week!"

"With all due respect Michelle, yer turn around time with a fella is about thirty seconds if he's lucky…".

The snarky, almost critical comments from Erin were a little annoying, but Michelle couldn't deny the latest one. She normally would not get to know a fella at all, other than the wee Proddy and a few other exceptions. Most lads would get one chance with Michelle and that was their lot, an elite group being fortunate to be with her twice and only the Protestant lad having slept with her more than that. Of the, what must have been getting on, if not already over, one hundred fellas that she'd slept with, she could scarcely remember the names of more than twenty of them. The soldiers especially were worse, because she specifically made an effort not to ask, as their ranks would make them even harder to remember.

"Clint!"

Michelle shouted the name at the man who was approaching out of the darkening sky over the city, dressed in the uniform of a sailor. His blue top and white cap were distinctive even when the sun was down over the North West, illuminated even more brightly by the unnatural light of the street lighting. He was soon in front of them, moving immediately to Michelle, who he wrapped into a warm hug, placing a kiss onto her cheek. The young Mallon accepting such tender care was shocking for them all, Orla scratching at her eyes for a moment before Erin stopped her. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain to her Ma why her cousin was now blind…

"Michelle!". He spoke her name with such glowing sincerity. "May I say Miss, you look mighty fine this evening".

"Stop it!" She swatted his arm, cheeks burning. "These are my friends that I was tellin ye about. Erin, Orla and Clare".

"The four most beautiful women in the city talking to me tonight. I thank the Lord to be put in such a position".

Unlike a lot of the soldiers, who would make such a comment in their smooth-talking manner, Clint spoke in a way in which he wanted them to understand that he meant every word. That he really saw them all as beautiful. Instantly it was clear why he was easy to fall for, though still remaining surprising that it was Michelle who was the one to have done so. Without so much as their names given to him, the young American treated them as if they were his family, and that he'd known them all for years. However, not quite understanding the deeply romantic moment that was taking place before her, Orla's habit of poorly timed commenting continued.

"So where are you from then?"

Slightly taken aback by her comment, Clint hesitated to answer, whilst Michelle scowled at her taller friend for being so rude. Orla didn't understand the looks that she was getting at all, and with Clare unwilling to speak up when she saw the look on Michelle's face, it was left to Erin to pick up the atmosphere from where it suddenly dropped.

"He's from America, Orla". The irritated cousin informed the other.

"Aye I know that, Erin… he came from that ship, so he did. But ye know, where are ye from in America".

Relaxing, the smile returned to Clint's face as it did Michelle's, Orla's innocence being remembered by the latter to replace her prior split-second reaction.

"Just outside New Orleans, Miss Orla, Ma'am".

"Oh I don't know where that is…". She replied. "… ye see I have this way of knowing whereabouts in America people are from".

"Really? That sounds fascinating, if you don't mind me saying so myself, ma'am".

She might not have minded, but her three friends were bracing for the worst when it came to whatever Orla was about to say. It certainly wasn't a talent that any of them knew that she possessed, all of them fearing of how offensive it could be, even if it was completely innocent. Which it would be when she was the one to come out with it.

"Aye I'll tell ye. Ye see, I met this fella who's from Washington. Well that's simple so it is, it's somewhere up to the north of America… ye know… because ye go upstairs for a wash in the bath. The people there must be so clean…".

Clare was looking away.

Erin's eyes closed in a wince.

Michelle… Michelle held a hand over her face…

"And now I met this other fella, who said he was from Georgia. Well that must be further to the south ye know, because we knew this girl called Georgia and Michelle said she liked to go down…".

"Johnson!"

The girls' blushes were spared, and there would have been plenty of them, by the arrival of another man's voice in the vicinity. Turning around, Orla and Clare did not recognise the second man that was walking towards them, and neither did Michelle when she peered over their shoulders, but Erin certainly did. She recognised his voice too, even though she'd never heard the Yank shout before. Lieutenant Hamilton was the man who was appearing from the city side behind them, his officer's uniform standing out. He wore more badges than Clint did, the artificial light bouncing off of them. Although he might not have been a senior officer, he walked as if he was one, with the grace of a British gentleman rather than an American one.

In the short time they'd stood talking to him, neither Erin nor Clare, had enquired with Clint as to what his rank was. Orla wouldn't have probably been interested in anyway, but the other two understood the ranks a little more thanks to having read something that some of the Yanks gave to them one evening. He was clearly inferior to Lance though, who'd shouted the man's surname as if he was his commanding officer. Stood to attention stoutly, the Lieutenant saluted the man back as he drew up next to the girls, flashing a small smile Erin's way that went unnoticed by the others. Michelle was far too busy eying him suspiciously to anyway…

"You are on duty if I'm not mistaken, Mr Johnson?" The Lieutenant enquired.

"I am, yes Sir!"

"I can only assume that you have been spreading the good word of our intentions to these young ladies at this time of night, Johnson? Would that be right?"

"Yes, Sir! I was reassuring these ladies of their safety, Sir!"

"Good man Mr Johnson". Lieutenant Hamilton nodded his head whilst staring at him. "Now, you best get yourself back to your duties before Lieutenant Masterson notices you are missing".

"Yes, Sir!" He replied once more. "Goodnight, Miss Mallon… goodnight, ladies".

Gentlemanly even when he was being rushed back aboard his ship, Clint left with a final salute to Lieutenant Hamilton, who once again reciprocated the gesture. An annoyed Michelle glared at the newly arrived Lieutenant, who appeared to ignore her looks. She was angry that her time with Clint was cut short, having looked forward to what she knew would have only been a few minutes of her day. It was almost unthinkable that her Valentine's Day was only at its best for little more than a couple of minutes, but in the week that she'd known the fella, she'd fallen so hopelessly. Within minutes of speaking to him the Sunday before, a couple of days after talking to her parents about her future, she'd unexpectedly found the ideal man in her mind. There was little that Lieutenant could do though, having to spoil her fun to remind Clint of his duty, doing his own within the same action.

The Lieutenant didn't have eyes for Michelle though, nor did Clare and Orla get anything more than a slight curve of the lips. His focus went to Erin, the only of the girls he'd previously met. She met his gaze with a slight smile of her own, which was picked up by Michelle who'd happened to glance in her direction. Immediately she was brought out of her mood from having watched Clint go, enticed by the mysterious Lieutenant who Erin clearly enjoyed the sight of.

"Miss Quinn, you are a beautiful sight after a long officers meeting". He told her softly, properly smooth unlike Clint who was sincere.

"Ach…". She squirmed, blushing a little under his stare. "Thank you… Lance".

Remembering to call him by his first name, it felt a lot more natural to her to say his actual name rather than his rank. She'd always called James by his first name even in her letters, never referring to him as Lieutenant Maguire… Lieutenant Commander Maguire… or Captain Maguire. Quickly though she shook the thought from her head, as the man in front of her was not the deceased Englishman, but a fresh faced American.

"Are you not going to introduce me to your friends, Erin?"

Referring to her by her first name, Erin struggled to contain her embarrassment as her cheeks began to warm from the familiarity that he'd displayed around her. It hadn't escaped any of her friends either, Orla sending the first knowing look to Clare, who passed it onto Michelle, Erin missing each exchange with her eyes concentrating on the Lieutenant, though she knew what they'd be doing anyway. So long since she'd spoke so pleasantly around a nice fella like him, they were always going to pick up on it.

"Aye… of course! This is Michelle and this here is Clare…". She pointed to the blonde. "And this is my cousin, Orla".

"It is lovely to meet you ladies". He nodded to them all individually, receiving smiles back from each, even Michelle. "I am sorry to say that I have to shoot off and break the Valentine's mood now girls, but it was nice to meet you all".

Turning away, he began to walk off, only to stop and look back to them. All four of them were still stood there watching him go, without a word passing the lips of any of them. Once again though, his eyes were only drawn to the taller of the two blondes.

"Be careful on those sidewalks Miss Quinn, I might not be around to catch you again".

Giggling, Erin couldn't help but shout her reply.

"I will be!"

"Oi!" Michelle shouted herself to get his attention. "Yer not goin' to get Clint into bother, are ye?"

The Lieutenant's expression changed for a brief second, flashing an angered look that could have easily been missed… and was by the girls. They were too far away to see it… which was almost certainly for the best.

"I don't own him, Miss Mallon, it's not my responsibility".

"What do you mean… 'own him'?"

"He's not one of my section, Miss. I'm not going to mention it to Lieutenant Masterson though… no harm done".

Bidding farewell once again, Lance returned to the ship, the girls returning to a huddle. Erin's red cheeks were back to their normal colour again, though Michelle was more than convinced by what she'd seen. The four of them walked back off into the night after a couple of minutes, the conversation quickly changing to the latest drama at work, as well as Orla's complaints that the amount of work was going up again. Michelle didn't need to say anything else when it had all been played out in front of her. She'd seen the way that Lance looked at Erin, and incredibly, how her friend reciprocated those looks. Having witnessed Erin at her lowest without James, a turning over of a new leaf was occurring after so long. She'd never thought that the young Quinn would get over the loss of the Englishman, her cousin, yet his memory looked to have been put aside.

She didn't need to be told to know they would be seeing a lot more of Lieutenant Lance Hamilton in the future…

---

A few days later, London…

The setting was a new one for Captain Smithers, but not for Lieutenant Colonel Menzies. Two of Britain's most important men in the Intelligence services, if not the most important two, were present at the Cabinet War Rooms on what was a wet Friday evening. The rain started early that day without ever really stopping, the two quite drenched from only the short walk between the car and the war rooms. They'd ignored it though, brushing themselves down before the long walk to the room that they were in, underneath the ground in what was Britain's most important structure. Officers from all branches of the war effort, from the Army to the Navy and some members of the intelligence services, there was a co-ordinated structure to the place. Churchill frequented it often, the base of operations for many key decisions that were made rather than Downing Street. He might have preferred to sleep at Number Ten, but his work was put in underground in the War Rooms.

The Prime Minister was the man that they were there to see, along with the rest of the inner circle of ministers who knew of the most important secret Britain held, war or no war. They were meeting with the PM first though, for a full debrief ahead of meeting the rest of the group who knew. For Smithers it would be the first time seeing the other men face to face, though Menzies prepared him with their names before hand so he knew who he would be speaking to. Amongst some of the most prominent in the country, not every minister was a serving one, some even from Governments of old gracing the war rooms with their presence. For those who knew, it was no privilege to withhold the information.

Once they were sat down in the room they were to meet Churchill in, cups of tea already prepared for them, the two men didn't have chance for further discussion. Prompt but seemingly unhappy, the Prime Minister strode in with only his bodyguard, a man who was the most trusted of all. The four of them shared the small space of the meeting room, the bodyguard stood covering the door whilst the other three sat around the table. The purpose of the meeting was to give Churchill an idea of what was to be proposed before putting it across to the others. It would be unlikely that they would be overruled, but revisions to their plans would always be possible when more eyes were drawn to them.

"Gentlemen". The PM addressed them as he sat down. "You come to me with a news and a plan, I hope?".

"Indeed we do, Winston". Menzies replied. "How are you?"

The Churchill that was seen in public was quite brash, a very able motivator of people with his actions. Behind closed doors when the public who were beginning to take a shine to him could not see him, he could resort to quite foul language when he was not in the mood. His mood that evening was very bleak to say the least, his morale at what was possibly the lowest ebb since the beginning of the war. Over the ten days prior, Britain suffered greatly in more than one theatre, the toll on the Prime Minister's mentality being massive, though hidden well from the prying eyes of the public. Around men such as Menzies and Smithers though, he could allow his guard to drop and tell the truth about how he really was.

"Quite shit, Stewart, my dear fellow". He swore, shocking Smithers. "One struggles to keep himself sane when the world begins to close in around him".

Some might have accused him of exaggeration, but there was some sense to what he was saying. The world really was closing in around the old Empire that one hundred years or so prior was the dominant force within it. His faith in his soldiers was shaken already before the beginning of the ten days of hell that followed, but the fall of Singapore only made it worse. He couldn't quite believe that the Japanese were advancing in the way in which they were, but the facts were plain to see. The British Army in the East could not stop the Japanese. When Singapore fell on the day after Valentine's, more ground was lost to the rampaging armies of the Eastern power, that were dominating large parts of Asia. Through all of it though, Britain could always have faith in its Navy. That was until the Germans broke that faith…

On the eleventh day of February, two German Battleships and a heavy cruiser left the French port of Brest late in the evening, after nine o'clock, to complete what was a perilous journey back to their home ports. The British Navy's detection skills were impeccable in the Med, smashing the Italians with their superior radar and to their enemy, incredible ability to be in the right place at the right time, all the time. Yet three of Nazi Germany's most prized assets managed to sneak up through the British Channel in the night without so much as a hint of them being there until the next morning. By then, they were already nearly clear of Dover and everything that could be thrown at them was having to be done so with Britain on the backfoot. What followed were brave attempts to slow the convoy down, mostly failures other than the sea mines that were placed in the North Sea, the very same weapons that James was so opposed to spending time on. Units of his Fleet Air Arm attempted to stop the ships, but none of them sent out to stop the Germans came back. Recognised for their bravery, they'd carried on with their attack despite having their fighter cover taken away when the Spitfires were attacked by ME 109's. The gallant six aircraft charged straight into a cloud of smoke, shells, fighters and death, the latter of which winning it out when the first cleared. There was no other way of saying it; it was a disaster.

"I suspect your news about Mr Maguire is no better?"

Churchill's mood was only about to worsen. Smithers knew he would have to be the one to deliver the news, looking at Menzies to only confirm that he was the one who was going to have to speak.

"Emerald One has located him on the outskirts of Rome, away from where she is housed. It appears that Doctor Van Der Heijden is keeping him under the manor house located on the site, on the same complex that houses his laboratory, Prime Minister, Sir".

"The boy is alive?"

"He faces extreme torture from what she has been able to tell us. She could not reveal any other details but it would appear Doctor Van Der Heijden is looking for something specific from him".

On receiving the news that James was being tortured, an already low Churchill paled completely. Menzies attended meetings with him frequently, having never seen him as ghostly white as he did at that moment. It was understandable, given that it was James Maguire that was being discussed, though for a brief second it flashed across the Lieutenant Colonel's mind that the information might have given the PM a heart attack. Britain's greatest secret looked to be under threat, which was a threat that needed to be extinguished. All of them knew that if the Nazi's found out about how important James really was, the war was as good as over. Coupled with the picture of a psychotic madman in Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, a description that was completely correct, it made for a bleak picture.

"We are losing time, Gentlemen. I fear the Nazi's may be close to discovering the truth".

"We have the advantage, Winston, young Captain Maguire does not know the truth, does he… he cannot tell them something he does not know".

"He is no fool though is he? He may work it out for himself".

Deeply troubled by the news regarding James, the Prime Minister stayed silent for a couple of moments as he drank his tea before asking for the plan from the two men. They too were drinking their tea and composing themselves, concerned for the evening when the PM was already in a foul mood. The poor news dampened his spirits more, worsening their chances when it came to the plan they'd discussed previously. A risk that was calculated but one which would have been laughed at as ridiculous anywhere else, Menzies watched as the PM kept his eyes on Smithers at all times during the explanation. As terrible as the fall of Singapore was, as well as the failure to stop the German ships returning to home waters, they were totally eclipsed by the news that James Maguire was once again in danger. Recovering him from the hands of the Nazi's was absolutely paramount. This time there could be no mistakes either. No more amateur attempts at removing the young man from the custody of those who could break him.

"I do not like the plan but I fear we have no choice. The most foolhardy of men would consider it folly to throw one's assets to save one's greatest annoyance, but those are the times we live in".

"Risking the lives of so many sailors is not something which can be done lightly, Winston, yet we must. Neither myself nor Captain Smithers have enjoyed putting this plan together".

"Is that so?"

Churchill looked towards Smithers for his opinion. The Captain had done most of the talking, conveying the information about James' situation and the plan to rescue him, content to leaving the PM to discuss his concerns directly with the Lieutenant Colonel. He wasn't expected to normally give his thoughts on the matter, but when the PM asked, he could hardly refuse the man. Especially not when his bodyguard was stood directly behind him.

"When you are given a pot of treasure, it does not sit well with the receiver if he is told he must spend it all".

Amused by Smithers' comment, Churchill achieved his first chuckle in days. When lives were on the line it felt wrong to make jokes, no matter how small and innocent they were, but when their fighting spirit was diminished, something was required to lighten the mood. The Prime Minister was grateful for the intelligence Captain's quip, which not only brought him out of his mood but added a steely determination to his duty in ensuring that James made it back to Britain safely. He needed his country, and his country needed him, a hellish scenario in many ways. At all costs they needed James though, which meant even the whole of the Mediterranean Fleet could be sacrificed to bring him back safely.

"Your Italian man… I am concerned about his new ally. Can he be trusted?"

"Domenico has never proven to be incorrect in his judgement of people, Winston. I have faith that he will not fail us". Menzies answered.

"If I may add…". Smithers butted in. "… This is another risk that we must take. I cannot see why the man would help the Nazi's with the story that we received from Domenico. He will have no love for them at all".

Thinking about what to say once more, the PM finished off his tea whilst the cogs ticked over in his mind. The James Maguire issue was the most difficult of his reign as Prime Minister, which was yet to even reach two full years. Britain as a country did not know of the story that only a few men were involved in yet could change the outcome of the war within seconds should the Nazi's learn more than they should. Menzies was correct with his thoughts on their advantage, as though he'd raised an issue when it came to James being able to work out his own importance, it was hidden so well from the young man for years that it would be quite the shock. He might have been one of the most competent pilots that Britain had ever seen, Churchill knowing so from all of the reports he'd read when it came to him, but he was not a mind reader nor was he a magician. He would never be able to work out the truth unless it was fed to him.

"We shall have to press ahead, Stewart…". Churchill sighed. "Captain Smithers, I will require daily reports on the situation from today. I trust you will be able to provide them?"

"Yes, Prime Minister, Sir". Smithers responded stoutly.

"Good. We must not delay our friends any further, unless there is anything further that we need to discuss?"

Smithers and Menzies looked at each other, the former this time trying to convey to the latter that there was something else that needed to be said. There was one detail which the others would need to know, though it was up to them all to debate it rather than it being set in stone as part of the plan. In theory, it was a different plan entirely. Menzies left his sigh to be an internal one, leading by example rather than getting the Captain to explain it to the PM a second time.

"Well Winston, there is something to add".

"Stewart?" He replied, brows furrowed. "Please explain?"

He took a deep breath.

"We do have a second option…".

---

She'd been on his mind for days.

There was nothing else on the mind of the young Englishman other than the blonde he'd fallen in love with, who he now struggled to protect. Erin Quinn was the best thing to have ever happened to him during his entire life, yet her life was going to end up a nightmare because he didn't know who he really was. James Maguire had experienced hardships during his time, not having seen his mother for nearly three years after she'd sent him over to Ireland to begin a new chapter of his life thanks to her work taking her away. Kathy was safely tucked away in Switzerland, which was at least some solace to him, but her guidance was sorely missed by her son. All he wanted was for life to go back to the way it was before the war, albeit with her in it more closely, where he could start a family as he wanted to with Erin, once they'd married. If he was to get back to Derry though, the way the war was shaping for James, she would be long dead before his feet were on Irish soil again.

His ribs took days to heal after the literal hammering they received from Lieutenant Hartmann, who'd not spared him at all. Losing to the man both mentally and physically, where James was previously dominant in both aspects, sunk him to a low ebb much like the defeats for Britain's military sunk Churchill. Kurt's threats on Erin's life and the sickening details he went into when describing what he would do to her still rang in his head to that day. He'd always seen Kurt as a despicable man who could not be trusted, but a rapist and murderer did not seem above him. Unbeknownst to James, the Nazi Doctor was already proven in both. A demon in the robes of an Empire that was just as demonic, the young Pilot had never hated anyone more than he hated Kurt Van Der Heijden.

Days in Rome went by slowly, with James receiving no interaction with Kurt or Hans for days again. The only people he saw were the guards who handed him food and brought him fresh water to wash with, along with a razor for him to shave. They always remained present while he did so to ensure he did not attempt to harm himself with the razor, but it was never going to be a concern. James would not take his own life, not allowing the Nazi's such an easy victory. There was never any conversation with the Italian soldiers due to the language barrier, though he hardly had much to say to them regardless. While his ribs recovered, he was glad to have the time to himself anyway, to rest and contemplate the future that was no longer in his hands anymore.

If the British military were determined to try to rescue him, then he hoped they would do so sooner rather than later, to at least give him the chance of saving Erin. If Kurt's word was true that he held a spy in Derry, though that spy was no killer in James' eyes, there was always the threat of Erin coming to harm or being killed outright, if he were to escape and Kurt was not dealt with. Let alone Kurt, there was also Hans to contend with, who would no doubt carry on the more senior figure's work if anything were to happen to him anyway. Saving her life was the only mission he had left to fulfil, well over a year since his skills as a pilot were required. After his successes in the air made him believe he was at least competent, he was being let down by his inability to safeguard those that he loved. Michelle's life was in danger too, possibly Clare's and Orla's as well. They didn't need to suffer because of him… but they might.

James expected the twentieth day of February to be a somewhat normal day in his confinement, given that he'd not seen anyone to talk to for days. Hans killing Frank the Pigeon did not help him at all either, as the conversations he imagined having with the avian visitor were part of the coping mechanism that he set his life by. Sociable at heart, James needed a friend desperately when all he found were enemies waiting in his way. Taranto might have been his greatest success, one of Britain's biggest triumphs in the war to date, but the cost to him personally far outweighed the damage to the Italian Fleet. The attack would forever be remembered, but cut off from the world that he knew, James was gradually being forgotten. Except by a handful of men in London… who knew something that he did not…

What he expected against the reality though, was proven to be far different. It was early on the Friday, hours before a meeting in London was taking place about him, that Kurt and Hans arrived at the complex, heading straight for the Englishman's room. They'd let him stew for days, letting him believe his helplessness just how Kurt wanted it. James continued to lie to him, the Doctor firmly knowing that the young man knew exactly why he was so important to his country, even though the truth was that he did not. Showing incredible aptitude for being able to deal with the pain thrown at him thanks to the torture, James impressed the man in a way, but it also made his contempt for him grow further. Resistance was futile, and it took Kurt down to his final hand, Erin's life, to finally break him. When he broke though he'd done so thoroughly, with the determination to want to take life because of the threat to hers. That was a weapon that Kurt could utilise… that he wanted to utilise.

James knew they were coming from their footsteps, which he'd inexplicably grown used to. As much as he hated the pair of them, they were the only men who engaged with him, even if his engagements with Hans were only taunts. Social interaction, albeit one which saw him come out with physical scars, was what he craved. Although Kurt might have believed he'd broken the man, James was determined to rise above him to show him the true steel of the English gentleman, but it would all be bluster when Kurt knew his weakness. His weakness was the woman he'd fallen in love with during the greatest months of his life. Knowing he would do anything to save her, anything at all, the opportunistic Kurt held great plans for his prisoner.

Creaking iron made James's head dart up from where it was in a staring contest against the ground, finding both men there as he knew they would be. Hans lead the way, sub-machine gun out and pointed at him, not stopping until he got up close. A quick glance to the side of the Lieutenant allowed James to see the rope that was no doubt going to be used on him again, to tie his hands and potentially legs, together. Kurt walked behind his young protégé, the sinister smile that he often wore being spread across his face once more. Kurt Van Der Heijden, the man who'd never been an active torturer in his life before, wore the smile as if it was his profession since he was a small child. The day was only just beginning at ten o'clock that morning, but as he came to a stop right in front of the Englishman who was still sat on his bed, the fun was about to start.

"Good morning James, did you sleep well?" He began pleasantly.

"Which night? Last night or the night that you assisted me?" The Englishman retorted in a vain attempt to renew their mental games.

"Either, James. I hope you haven't found anything to keep you awake".

Kurt could almost read his mind, but then again he didn't really have to. With the idea that he might harm Erin at some point in the future, planted firmly in the Englishman's head, there was little doubting that the young man would have dreamt her death. If Kurt asked outright, then he would not be able to deny the accusation. There were three nights where he'd dreamt of Erin's death, each time featuring the two Nazi's that stood in front of him, seeing her off to an early grave. There was the first night where Kurt held him down and forced him to watch Hans setting the Quinn house alight, killing not only Erin but the rest of her family. There was another night where the two of them were shot in the street, dying holding hands after the momentum of the shots took them through a shop window. And on the final night he'd ran from the ship that dropped him home, only to arrive at the Quinn house too late and find her dead, Kurt and Hans stood over her. James was not ready to admit that to Kurt though, and instead resorted to his fast-becoming favourite pastime… lying.

"My sleep has been sound, thank you". He replied with a clear hint of annoyance.

"Good… Good…".

"Back to English, are we?" James asked the question. "Did you tire of my knowledge of your language?"

"No, James. I just do not want you to overdo it, speaking the language of your enemy".

Nothing further was needed to be said on the subject, though for James it did at least allow a mental battle with Hans to wait. He wouldn't break out into their language unless they did, the two only able to whisper orders instead of openly giving them around him. A minor victory was scored in doing so, making the two Nazi's hesitate when speaking in his vicinity, when he could use anything said for attacks of his own when they held verbal sparring sessions. Kurt certainly found it an inconvenience, with Hans ultimately finding himself out of a battle that he was enjoying getting the upper hand in too.

"Your concerns for my welfare are touching, Doctor, but I suspect you are not here to make my situation any easier".

A smile flashed across Kurt's face, which was an otherwise serious one. There was a special kind of pleasure that he could take from knowing that James was so resigned at being harmed, that on the one day where he was not going to cause him any physical pain, the Englishman believed that he still would. Looking across to Hans, he smiled too, having some idea of what the plan for the day was. Although the details were somewhat hidden from him too, the idea of what it was that they would be putting the young Englishman through could only make him happier. The defiant James was already on the backfoot thanks to his love for the blonde woman Kurt taunted him about; it made Hans even happier to know that worse was to come.

"You can really be very rude to me sometimes, James. What would your mother say?" Kurt jested, grinning all the while.

"My mother would make sure that you were silenced first before saying anything to me". James responded with complete defiance. "You would not stand a chance against her if she were here".

"Perhaps we can arrange to find her… but we would need to know where she is first…". Kurt thought aloud, beginning to pace around. "It would be a shame if something were to happen to Miss Quinn because you would not tell us…".

James didn't dare do what his mind told him to do when Erin was mentioned; rise from the bed and throttle Kurt. Hans' sub-machine gun also went a long way in convincing him that an assault on the Nazi's doctor would be a poor idea, especially when it was clear that Lieutenant Hartmann held no qualms when it came to ending his life. Her life was in his hands though, despite not being tied together through matrimony, his efforts to keep her safe once again thrown into disarray. The Nazi's were resourceful, more resourceful than his own military if he were forced to admit it, which meant the threat to Erin was incredibly real. Though the name that Kurt gave him of the spy in Derry was one which calmed him, knowing that the woman in question was incapable of harming the love of his life, he was still wary that Kurt could find someone else, most likely through the person that he knew was a spy. His thoughts were grim, but it was hard for him to think any other way when his situation was so desperately bleak.

He would have to dismiss Kurt's words as lies.

"You would not harm Erin, Doctor". He grunted. "I am not going to be drawn into your lies and neither will my mother".

"No?" Kurt questioned, eyebrow raised as he stopped again to the side of James. "That is quite the shame, I was looking forward to meeting your mother. She might be my type…".

The lack of response from James gave Kurt more ammunition in his overall aim of breaking the young man down, to reveal who he really was. The further that the Doctor dug, the closer he knew he was to the truth that he believed the Captain was hiding from him. He would be luckless if he did, as neither he nor James would ever know the truth if the British Government maintained control of the country's great secret. War-ending secrets were never ones that could be given up easily, especially not when the fate of not only Europe, but the world, could be changed forever. The lynchpin of the whole war was sat in a dingy, damp room under the ground in Rome, at the hands of one of the war's most evil participants. The odds were not pretty for James…

"Perhaps she would not be my type if she is like you though…". Kurt continued to monologue. "… I like a woman to know she is inferior to me when I take her to bed and if your attitude is reflected from her then I would not want to know her at all. But Miss Quinn… Miss Quinn looks like she would give herself up without so much as a word…".

James tried not to become riled at Erin once again being mentioned, her honour stained further at every mention of her name by the Nazi. She was too innocent to be dragged into the bloodshed of war but the spy in Derry made sure that she would be. James failed in his attempts to not become riled, exactly as Kurt could have told him beforehand. The Doctor could not be stopped though, not when his hand was so great, and he could inflict so much pain on the young Englishman. Determined to make James even more miserable, Kurt did not hold back at all. Hans couldn't understand a word of what was being said around him but was satisfied by the look on James' face as Kurt continued. The Englishman he despised was being torn apart emotionally, as he should in the Lieutenant's eyes.

"I imagine your blonde slut would come to me willingly…".

Fist clenched, James growled, returning to staring at the floor where he could not see the Nazi's eyes. If he did then he would completely lose the control he fought so desperately, that was whittled away constantly by Erin being brought into every single conversation. He would normally never blame a man for pressing home his advantage, having told his own pilots many times to press on when they were on a good bombing run, but his hatred rose to new heights from Kurt following that instruction too. For the Doctor though it was everything that he wanted, his prisoner completely in the palm of his hand when the threat to the woman he loved was so great. Love was the killer of many dreams and the breaking point of many men. James was the newest name on the list.

"You grow angry James…". Kurt snorted, looking at his clenched fist that was balled up on the bed. "… not as angry as you will be when Erin dies in front of you… pregnant… carrying my bastard".

The point of no return was reached for a second time.

As quickly as the words rolled off of Kurt's tongue, James was onto his feet, reaching out with his hands to try to strangle the Nazi Doctor. Already wise to what would happen, Kurt had taken a half step back so that James could not reach him, Hans already rushing forward with the gun to remind James of his place. As soon as he heard the clicking sound of the sub-machine gun, James stopped, allowing himself to be pushed back down onto the bed by a laughing Kurt, who was achieving great success with his weapon of harming James. Erin truly was the man's only weakness, having withstood even five hundred lashes of a flogging that he'd gone as far as to claim was not hard enough. The whip needed to be cracked on the heart and not the back with James. It was the key to breaking him.

"Calm down James, you will not be of any use to Miss Quinn if you are riddled with bullets".

On some days, when he was at his lowest, he would doubt that statement and wonder if he was better off dead. Whatever his importance was to his country it was already costing them a lot, Giovanna's life amongst others, weighing on him heavily. Having desperately searched himself for months, he was no closer to understanding the importance that was seemingly deadly to all those close to him. If he was dead then Erin would no longer be threatened, any harm coming to her being unnecessary if he was no longer there to face the threats against her. To Kurt, she was little more than a bargaining chip in gaining his obedience and would certainly leave her alone if he could not use her to his advantage, James knew. His death would bring Kurt joy though, which he was not going to standby and allow. Too tough to give in when such fire and spirit lay inside him, James carried on through the threats.

"Likewise, Doctor, you will be of no use to your precious Mr Hitler if he finds you dead in here".

"Oh! Such a threat James… you scare me".

Opting not to engage with the Englishman for a moment, Kurt instead turned to Hans to instruct him to tie James' hands together. His comments about the threat James made was done to mock him, Kurt evidently feeling about as terrified as a tank driver was of a rabbit in his way. The Lieutenant made quick work of the task at hand, having already practised weeks before. Tied as tightly as ever, James would not even attempt to move, knowing how the rope would slice the skin off of his wrists should he wriggle too much. It would still be harmed with how tight the rope was tied, but to avoid any further harm he decided not to resist. There was little point anyway with the position that he found himself in. Kurt kept staring at him too, his irises locked onto the Englishman, though James did not stare back as to not become involved in another battle of wits that he would lose.

After another minute where the two Nazi's discussed something, bringing a grin to James' face when he saw them forced to whispers again, Kurt finally spoke up once more. An addition that James noted before he did, which he hadn't previously when his eyes were clouded with rage, was the small pencil-like moustache that the Doctor sported. Having always seen him completely clean shaven, the wafer-thin line of hairs looked out of place resting on top of his lip. If anything, he looked more French than German.

"Stand up, James".

Complying with the request, he was on his feet within an instant. This time his hands were tied though, unable to reach out to throttle the evil man stood before him.

"What will it be today, Doctor? Hmm?" James immediately pressed him for an explanation. "Am I to be half-drowned or half-hung. Do I get to be attacked by wild dogs!?"

"They are all brilliant suggestions James, I shall have to write them down…". Kurt laughed. "… Oh I do wish you would be more pleasant to me when I am being generous to you".

"Generous!?" James shouted, Hans having to remind him of the sub-machine gun to quieten him down. "Threatening my family and putting me on the rack!? That is hardly generous Doctor".

"It could be far worse with the Soviets. They would have probably eaten you by now".

"Do not be ridiculous, Doctor. They are proud men not cannibalistic savages".

"You should not be trusting of the Soviets, James". A wary Kurt warned him. "They might be your ally today, but they will certainly be your enemy tomorrow".

James was not actively involved in politics, holding little interest in the battles that went on in that part of life. He was too honest a man to be involved with such a dishonest man's game but was equally not stupid when it came to understanding the fragility of alliances. The Soviet Union was an enemy of their enemy, he'd come to learn from Professor Molinari back in Taranto, which made an easy friendship a possibility when the Nazi's invaded. The Soviets lived in a completely different world to the one that he knew though, a clash of cultures that he was aware would not last if there was but a hint of peace.

"As much as our discussions amuse me, James, the three of us must get going shortly or we are going to be late". Kurt continued, explaining his plans.

"The three of us?" James queried.

"Yes James. I have put you through a lot since we have known each other, and I have never given you any fresh air at all. But, I am a man willing to realise his mistakes and I am trying to put that right today".

There was an odd sincerity to the Doctor's voice that James did not like nor understand, convincing the young man that there was a catch immediately. Whether or not he gained any fresh air should hardly have been a concern to Kurt when he was a prisoner of war, even when he was perhaps the most important prisoner that ever could be classed by the title. Traps were frequent when it came to the demonic entity that was Kurt Van Der Heijden, a man he'd grown to know as perhaps the evillest he'd ever encountered. Curiosity festered within him in seconds too though, and unable to help himself, James asked the question, to determine where he might be being taken.

"Where are we going? Am I coming back?" He joked.

"You will be coming back of course, James! I would be a terrible host if I were to kill my guests… that's how it goes, is it not?"

"For a man who I've seen treat death as little more than a note in a ledger, you will forgive me for not being fooled into naivety by you".

Shaking his head, left to laugh quietly, Kurt could not help but feel somewhat delighted that James still tried to fight. As much as he would have enjoyed him to be completely broken, there was an element of higher power in holding his prisoner so close to the edge of degradation without fully committing him to it. Fighting a current that was too powerful, thanks to his love for Erin, James would drown at some point in the future, but it was fascinating for Kurt to find out how long the man would try to hold out for. It was additional notes for his research too, studying human resistance to all forms of torture. James was setting a high bar for the rest of the world in his attempts to remain sane and loyal to his country.

"You will have to see for yourself then". Kurt smiled. "I am even going to let you stay awake for the whole journey, so you can see the beautiful Italian countryside for yourself".

Torture him with freedom.

That's how the negative mindset of James saw it, still eying the Doctor suspiciously, wondering exactly what the catch would be. Quickly glancing at Hans, a futile effort was made by the Englishman to attempt to read into the situation with the Lieutenant, who remained completely expressionless.

"Where are we going? Will there be sand in between my toes when we have finished?" He questioned, trying to stay amused to spite Kurt.

"It is February, James not July!" Kurt chortled. "Today we are only going a few miles down the road to a little train station outside of a village. I cannot take you too far or I will break my word of bringing you back!"

"You let off enough steam without the need of a engine".

The comment was muttered, but loud enough so that Kurt could hear it. Expecting to be laughed at by the Doctor and then told he was a fool for trying to fight him mentally, it was instead James' jaw that became the first to know of Kurt's feelings. A hooked punch was thrown towards him, catching him cleanly, though without the power to knock him off of his feet. Stumbling slightly, the blow was welcomed by a smiling Hans behind the Doctor. The more pain that James was put under the better, as far as he was concerned. Amazingly he'd managed a victory though despite Hans' amusement, forcing Kurt into resorting to violence when he could not match the comment with his own words to keep his prisoner in line. James could still fight.

"We must leave now". Kurt announced, James shaking off the punch.

Kurt led the way as the three of them departed, leaving the two Italian soldiers on guard to lock the door behind them. James did not look at them as they went passed as a group, the soldiers not looking at him either, doing their duty as they should. When they reached the door at the top of the stairs that led out into the fresh air that James was properly starved of for too long, Kurt warned him that his eyes would sting. When the sun hit them, James began to stumble under the intensity of what was a very weak sun if truth were to be told. Used to being locked away in the room under the ground where the light was all artificial or incredibly condensed, his body reacted to it strangely all the way to the car, Hans having to drag him by the arm in order to keep him moving in the right direction.

Once his eyes were accustomed to the natural daylight they'd been starved of for so long, James was able to take in the surroundings of the Italian countryside. Derry was a beautiful place to him in many ways, but it was put to shame by the brilliance of Italy's untouched countryside. The trees were thick even in the late days of winter when they should have been withered from the long hard cold spell that had taken place over the months prior. Instead, there was luscious green on both sides of the road that left him mesmerised. The sweeping fields that were untouched by the war sprawled out over the landscape whenever there was a gap in the trees, showing animals grazing without a care in the world. Perhaps the most startling of all was the silence around them as the car made its way around winding bends, up short hills and back down again. Apart from the sound of the engine, he could hear nothing. A stunning sound in a time of war, when he'd been accustomed to the sound of battle thanks to his days in the Fleet Air Arm.

The miles went by in a flash though, time flying when the young Captain was having the first bit of fun he'd had in a long time. The car turned off the main road that they were on, heading into what seemed like a vale of tall trees that let in little light, along a long straight road. Through the gaps in the trees, James could see the village that Kurt spoke of. There must have only been around twenty to thirty buildings, but they were packed in so tightly that there would have been hundreds still living there if he was to guess. After what must have been a couple of miles, the road opened out to the train station, which was surprisingly large for a village. Four sets of tracks ran through it, though two were sidings. There were multiple buildings, one of which being the train station itself, along with some cargo sheds on the far side. Beyond those sheds were more trees, which stretched round to cover the entrance to the village, leaving the train station in almost a vale of its own. To his left, James looked up the hill from where they'd descended a couple of miles back, which was littered with trees too, along with the entrance to a tunnel which went underneath it, the destination for trains travelling to the north.

"Here we are, James". Kurt finally said something, having been silent the whole journey. "Did you enjoy the trip?"

As much as he wanted to say he hated it just to be difficult, he could not lie again when there was no need. He'd enjoyed every second of the car journey, breathing in proper fresh air for the first time in a long time. The sights of Italy's nature were also enough to make his eyes water, he'd noted part of the way through the journey, such was the effect they had over him. In another time, where there was peace and he was Italian, he would have happily lived there. That was not his life though; he was an English prisoner of war in a foreign land, at the hands of a Nazi Doctor who wanted to know who he really was. Those lives were opposites.

"It was nice to have fresh air again…". He finally commented, doing so distantly.

"Yes, I imagine it was. Time to get out".

They'd pulled up behind the back of the station, without a clear view of the tracks to the front thanks to some hedges that ran alongside the track. The whole place was a green sprawl barring the brick buildings, which around the back of the station included a couple of outhouses. That was where Kurt headed at first, in need of relieving himself. James was even permitted to use one himself a moment later, Hans untying him whilst Kurt stood guard with a pistol. The door being shut was not allowed though, a humiliation of sorts knowing that he was being watched whilst he urinated. As quickly as he could he'd finished, and the three of them began the walk around to the front of the station, back out to the road first and cutting around the previously obstructive hedges.

Once they'd cleared the hedges, the catch which James did not receive from Kurt verbally, was displayed before him. There were a lot of people around the train station that morning, along with a couple of trains, one on each side of the track. The three of them kept walking until they were at a point around halfway between the two sides, their backs to the tunnel to the north, facing south to where the village began beyond the trees, a small road continuing on down the other side of the tracks. Stood in front of the carriages to the left were soldiers, who James assumed were German, a greener tint, ironically, to their uniforms that the ones that Hans and Kurt wore. They were in their full uniforms that morning, which he'd thought nothing of at first as they sometimes did when they went to see him. The scene in front of the young Englishman painted a rather different picture though.

To the right was another train, complete with four carriages. However, it was not the train that was the focus of his attention. There were two groups stood separated in front of the carriages, a distinct separation that he could work out without having to be told. As the weak sunshine shone onto them, one group were children of varying ages, most likely the youngest being around two and the oldest thirteen or fourteen. From a quick head count, he made there out to be around thirty children altogether, the smaller of the two groups. The other group were made up of adults, of which there were nearer sixty, almost certainly the parents of the children they'd been separated from, judging by the tears that were running down some of their faces. A lump began to form in James' throat, fearing why they were separated, especially when he knew the levels that Kurt could sink to when it came to how little he cared for human life. An explanation soon came.

"What do you see, James?" Kurt enquired, turning to face him.

Unable to decide on an answer for the scene to his right, James instead focused on the soldiers that were away to his left. Whilst he deliberated how he worded his answer, Hans remained stood behind him, the barrel of the sub-machine gun unsubtly placed against his back.

"Soldiers… waiting".

"Correct, my young English friend". Kurt softly spoke the mistruth. "They are a regiment of the Schutzstaffel… the armed branch as you can".

James knew enough about Nazi Germany to know who they were. He'd heard of them before the war, having read an article in a newspaper about them one day in London, but the men of the regiment in front of him were not the same men who policed the streets of German cities. They were more likely to be the men that the rumours spread about, as far as the HMS Illustrious when it was sat in port at Alexandria. The death squads that would go around France finishing off stranded soldiers, killing the innocents and murdering anyone who they pleased for the sake of it. That was the SS that James knew from what his men told him. He was not a man to take much notice of the gossip between aircrews but a gargling in his stomach told him that the theory was about to be tested.

"And over there…". Kurt waved his hand in the general direction of the people stood opposite. "… are a collection of filthy Jewish dogs. Useless pigs of society that we do not need, that drain the resources of good people with their evil ways and their greed".

Nazi hatred of the Jews was well know, persecuting the race that they saw as inferior most likely due to their own fears of being outsmarted by them. The people lined up opposite the soldiers at the train station that day though were not going to harm the Nazi's in any way, families with their children who were simply trying to live their lives in a time of war. The Italian government were against the deportation of Jews, though were not completely put off by the idea of persecuting them, however Kurt was a resourceful man. To convince The Führer to allow him to round up a village of Jews in Italy was not hard at all, and with the right amount of money, Il Duce was forced to turn a blind eye. SS Death Squads were notable for the impact wherever they went, and though James had no way of telling whether that was their intention that day, it chilled him nonetheless.

"Such a drain on resources they are, no matter what country they are in. You have Jews in London, do you not, James… maybe even in Londonderry?"

He didn't know any Jews personally in Derry, but he wouldn't have been completely surprised if there were one or two. Even though religion was a tightly contested subject in the city, it opened its gates to him, and he was the arch enemy of them all, an Englishman. Back in London, some of the neighbours where he'd live with his mother were Jewish and he'd always got on well with them. One of his friends from back in his school days, Solomon, was a Jew and he was no different to the Pilot. The views that they held about religion may have been different, but they were young, honest, hard-working gentlemen at heart. Solomon certainly was not a drain on resources.

"You cannot value human life so lowly! Look at these people, they have done nothing to damage the intentions of your regime. Why bring them out here, in the middle of the countryside?"

"I completely agree, my friend". Kurt grinned, sadistically as normal. "They are innocent pawns in a little game that I want to play with you. Or perhaps, a lesson that I wish to teach you".

"I do not play your games, Doctor".

"No? Then why do you fight back against me when all you have to do is tell me who you really are and you can be free!"

James' problem was that he was lying again; he knew full well that he was an active participant in the mind games. On a losing streak thanks to Kurt's hold over him with Erin, he still played them to try to remain sane and as if fear did not exist within him, though at the mention of her name he was easily riled. Bringing others into their games, other than Hans, was not what he wanted to do though. Watching as an instruction was given from mentor to protégé, James' hands were untied again from where they'd been re-tied behind his back after his trip to the toilet. Fighting back was definitely out of the question when there were members of the SS present, who would have no second thoughts about gunning him down should he try anything. Their orders were to leave him alive, not that he knew, although they'd gone against orders before to commit worse atrocities. War crimes that were unforgiveable.

"This is very simple James. This train to your left…". Kurt gestured towards the locomotive. "… will head to the north, to one of our… facilities… in Poland".

The Polish facility in question was that one that the Nazi Doctor helped to set up, where his first live tests began in complete secrecy. His testing there was amongst the finest the Nazi's had attempted, bringing forth a new age of extermination across the continent. So many deaths were planned in those camps, the eradication of the Jews first along with anyone else they saw fit to gas. Those who were no longer welcome to society, no longer required in the new world that they would form and go onto dominate. James knew nothing of those places, but he knew enough to guess at the intentions that were implied without voicing his concerns, which would have fallen on deaf ears anyway.

"The train to your right, will return to the village that these Jewish goblins came from, thirty miles away from here to the south".

Slowly, James was working out what he was to be asked, his expressions changing to be more horrified by the second. He knew Kurt was a man who could not care about the lives he destroyed from his work or his loyalty to Hitler. However, he was still finding out just how suited the man who held him captive was at the games that they played… torture too. There was no angle he didn't cover, attempting to coax information out of the Englishman either the easy way or the brutal way. Morality was one of the only angles he was yet to test, but on a mild late February morning in a rural patch of countryside in Italy, it was all going to change.

"Your choice is which group gets to go on which train. Do the adults go home or do you allow their children to return home without them?"

"You… you cannot…". James stuttered, stunned by the words of the terror-inducing Doctor stood before him.

"What is it, James? Have you never had to make a difficult choice in your life?"

Some choices were not meant to be made, that being one. He could not play God, aptly for a man who was not devoted to believing in the deity, but that was what he would be doing. It was not up to a Captain of the Fleet Air Arm to decide the fate of one hundred or so innocent Jews, that he would have done anything to free were he not so hopelessly outnumbered. Throughout his life there were difficult choices he'd made, at least he'd thought they were at the time, but they were suddenly nothing compared to what he was being asked. Determined not to become a man that he did not want to be, James's resilience rose to the fore once more. The spirt of a nation of hope and glory ran through his veins, to rise to the challenge of a man whose Empire stood for nothing more than needless butchery.

"I will not do it". He replied coldly, staring Kurt dead in the eye.

"That is not an option, James. Professor Molinari spoke of a man who knew his duty, but here I find that he was mistaken". Kurt toyed with him, walking around slowly in front of him.

"My duty is to my country, not yours".

Growling, James attempted to play the game with Kurt again, hoping for another violent reaction in order to gain ground on the man. Kurt did not play to his strengths a second time though, laughing off his words that the Pilot delivered with absolute sincerity. If anything, James only found himself losing even further.

"Oh James, you forget… I own you now, your duty is to me…". Kurt paused, chuckling away to himself to annoy James even more. "BUT! If you will not do it then that is not a problem at all. Well… except for Miss Quinn, of course…".

He'd told himself that he would not snap when there were men with guns around him, a whole unit that would put him down if they so wished. But it was Erin… the woman he loved above all in the world, the woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his, hopefully peaceful, life with. When she was threatened again, he finally snapped for good like he'd done back in his room. This time he was out in the open though, with room to be able to act as well as free hands unlike when he'd been swinging from the bar above his bed. Lunging forward, his right hand was faster than Kurt realised it would be, the punch catching the Doctor on the cheek as he desperately attempted to move away from it landing on his nose. The force generated was incredible, knocking the man to the dusty floor of the road that led across the tracks. Mistake it was, of course, as within a split second, Hans swept James' feet from under him, quickly using his advantage to pin the Englishman to the floor, whilst the men from the SS unit all pointed their guns in James' direction. All he wanted was for Kurt to feel some of the pain he was in from the constant threats to Erin's life. Her life which would be placed into further danger thanks to his foolishness.

"That… that was good… James…". Kurt struggled for words as he picked himself up out of the dirt, cheek already swelling. "… you… ja, you have power".

"You do not mention her!" James shouted from where he was pinned to the floor from Hans' boot. "Leave Erin out of this! She does not deserve to be punished because of me!"

Gesticulating to Hans to allow the Englishman to his feet, it was James's turn to drag himself up from the dirt that he'd landed hard on. The dusty like nature of the tracks stained the jacket that he wore, which still contained his picture of Erin that the Nazi returned to him, along with Mary's wooden spoon. Brushing himself down, he found himself under the intense gaze of the Nazi, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"I will do what I want, James… because while you have power… I have more. Miss Quinn will find out all about that power if you do not give me your answer. The parents, or the children… who goes to Poland?"

Faced with a decision he did not want to make, James found himself with little choice other than to do so. Kurt's moral dilemma personified him as a man, chillingly forcing one man to choose the fate of around one hundred people in what was little more than a game. They were not criminals who were in the dock, accused of heinous crimes that demanded a sentence to be decided. They were innocent Jewish people whose only crime was being born into a culture that was despised by the men in Europe with the most power, who sought to kill them all. In the same manner, James was no judge either. He was a Pilot, Britain's greatest according to some of those who'd flown with him, a gentleman with a conduct record that was second to none, excluding the infamous incident during the Dunkirk Evacuation. Smithers and Menzies saw that it would not be remembered anyway…

Sending the parents away would devastate the children, who would almost certainly never see those who brought them into the world ever again. To break a child so young, no matter whether they were at the younger or older end of the spectrum of ages to his right, was harrowing but they still had lives ahead of them that could be changed if the Nazi's were beaten. They could lead active lives in the future, and the early demise of their parents at the hands of the Nazi's would foster a steely determination and lust for revenge. If he were to send the children away instead, he would be ending that potential far earlier in life than it should have been. So many futures would be lost that could have led to technological breakthroughs or even the greatest peacemaker in human history being killed thanks to him. The parents would have to watch their children head north whilst they were powerless to stop the Nazi's from ending the lives they'd created. The majority of the parents were still young though, with time to be able to create more lives if they were spared and sent back to the village instead. The toughest of choices it was when he thought on it more.

"Come on James, you love Miss Quinn, do you not?". Kurt teased as his prisoner continued to think away. "How far will you go for that love? Is her life worth more than the decision that you will make?"

One life should have never meant more than so many under any other circumstance, but his love for her was too strong to ignore. So many could lose their lives for the sake of protecting hers, yet he could not abandon the young woman he felt so strongly for. Love was a dangerous weapon in the hands of the wrong man or woman, Kurt being the exact definition of the sort of person who could not be allowed to wield it. Playing on James' fears for her safety, which was not in doubt at all when there was no one available to carry out any violent actions towards her, all he had to do was keep pushing to crack James into doing what he asked. His question was spiteful but ultimately valid. Sending a train full of people to their likely deaths, thousands of miles from their homes just to keep his love alive. Could she really matter that much? And there was which group it needed to be… who exactly would be sent off to die.

The parents or their children.

The choice to end one set of lives and save the others.

Kurt's lips curved up even more at the torment he was putting the Englishman through. He'd already broken him a couple of times; now he would decimate him permanently.

James' right hand suddenly raised from his side, pointing to the group of adults, the further away of the two groups on his right hand side. His choice made, before knowing the exact consequences, he knew he would have to live with his decision for the rest of his life.

"The adults…". He mumbled.

Eyes widening at receiving the answer, Kurt was merely acting to find out what reaction he would get from James. Unshed tears were forming in the Englishman's eyes when he stared into the pupils, the weight of a decision that even the Doctor knew no man should ever make being shown within them. His job was to find out who James really was through whatever means were necessary, to find out why Britain wanted him back so urgently. Physical torture was proving to be ineffective, but it was in the mind where the Doctor found his battleground, and where he would find his triumph. Nothing he'd ever achieved in his life, not even his precious work on his various research projects was as important to him as his mission with the Englishman. That sort of decision being made told him more about his prisoner… and hopefully, led him one step closer to the truth.

But he was still Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden.

A man loose with the truth.

The next thirty seconds passed by in a flash for James. The period of time began with him watching the Doctor when he tilted his head to the side, nodding to the SS officer at the front of the group of men, angling his head towards the group of adults on the far side. He'd seen the unspoken orders between Kurt and Hans before, which was emerging as a standard habit for the former of the two, while the latter understood them brilliantly. Assumptions were not made easily, but James thought nothing of their movement towards the adults for a moment. They would have to be herded onto the carriages, most likely in the same way one would herd cattle, the SS men being the only soldiers present to perform the duty of rounding them up properly. Over the seconds that followed, there was no reason to believe they were doing anything but that.

That was until the men came to a stop, all twenty or so of them in their tacky faded grey, almost green uniforms. Stopping in front of the group of adults was not a problem for the job that James thought that they were doing, but in the blink of eye it became clear that the unspoken orders did not reflect the nature of the choice James made. There would be death for the group, but far sooner than the cold wasteland of the Polish prison camp that Kurt helped to create. It was immediate. The sub-machine gun wielding men were in a perfectly formed double rank too, ready to complete what was their real task without a thought for those who would suffer. In perfect synchronisation they opened fire, gunning down the fifty or more parents that were stood only a few metres away from them. One by one the men and women fell, the brutal sound of bullets ripping through thin layers of flesh becoming the opera to the Italian country air. The screams of their children joined the sound of the guns, the young ones so terrified in witnessing the massacre of their parents, that none of them even tried to run. Blood sprayed around the tightly packed group, heads exploding as bullets pounded into them from close range. By the time that the SS troops were required to reload, their targets were all dead, not even a single ragged breath of life left amongst them.

James's tears fell silently, joining the silence around the glade-like train station when the children stopped screaming.

He'd ordered their deaths anyway by sending them to Poland but there was something far more harrowing about watching them being cut down in front of him like pigs in a slaughterhouse. Which is exactly what they were to their murderers, Kurt included even though he'd not pulled a trigger. They'd all killed the poor innocent Jewish adults… James too.

Turning his head back around slowly to face James, whose mouth hung open at the devastation he'd ordered and then witnessed, Kurt could not stop himself from giggling.

"Oops! They do say that accidents can happen!"

If he wasn't so monumentally stunned by the scenes of slaughter that played out in front of him, he would have attacked Kurt again. So frozen to the spot with a mix of guilt, anger and fear, he did not even think to inflict violence when he was so shaken by what he'd seen. More than fifty people lay dead in a large pool of blood across train tracks, crimson red filling the gaps between rails, bits of brain laying decimated across the smattering of corpses. Death could already be found as a smell in the air, the fragrance of the radical Nazi policy of exterminating those that they did not deem worthy of a place in their new world. James remained unable to speak for minutes, missing the words of German that Kurt spoke to the officer of the SS men with, instead following what happened with his eyes. The oldest of the children, who were all crying their eyes out at the deaths of their parents, was brought out of the line, offering more resistance than James did before ultimately being dragged by the collar. Shouting obscenities at the Germans in Italian, Kurt slapped the boy in the face when he was thrown in front of him, ordering him to stand next to him, facing James.

"English?" Kurt asked him.

"L… Little…". The sniffling boy replied gingerly.

"This man!" The Doctor bellowed, pointing at James. "He killed your parents!"

Terrified, the boy looked up into James' eyes to find out if that was the truth. The guilty man would look away, ashamed of what he'd done, unwilling to look into the irises of a child whose parents he'd put to their deaths. That was not James though, who remained the honest man that he was by looking back at the child as they cried in unison. His attempt at conveying to the young boy that he was not at fault was not convincing at all though, only making the thirteen year old cry further. He'd not kept his eyes on the child out a cold, sheer-hearted pleasure to bring the boy pain, but out of sorrow and guilt that although he could not have seen the outcome, it was on his word that the parents were chosen. His conscience lay broken… exactly how Kurt planned it. Saying nothing whilst stood behind James with the barrel of the gun, Hans did not engage with the Englishman nor his mentor. He tried not to look out in front of him to the right at all. It was not his place to question Kurt's morality… he was there to guard James. That was all…

"Are you not going to allow these children to return home, you savage English bastard?!" Kurt goaded James, shouting at him. "You have killed their parents and you want them to stand there and look at their corpses? And you say that I am cruel…".

Words, let alone sentences, were still becoming stuck in the Englishman's throat. Taking a second to readjust himself, he shivered through his grief, loudly clearing the throat that was preventing him from saying anything. He was cold but dry, his mouth feeling as if it hadn't seen water in days whilst his skin was icy to the touch. A thoroughly defeated man stood in place of a previously highly regard, highly motivated, young Pilot of Britain's Fleet Air Arm.

"Tell the men to open the doors".

The order was another simple one from Kurt, but James hesitated. He'd seen what Kurt's orders had done to the parents of those children, and he was not going to see the lives of those with so much more ahead of them destroyed by it. Suffering terribly already from the loss of their parents, partly due to him, it was his duty to see that they returned to their village safely. When Kurt Van Der Heijden was giving out the orders, that safety was not guaranteed.

"Why?" James finally spoke. "Why don't you do it?"

"I have to keep this little Jewish pig from running away…". He snarled, grabbing the collar of the boy's shirt to make him welp. "And seeing as you know German so well, it is a chance for you to practice".

"Practice for what?"

Kurt hesitated for a moment… but only to chuckle quietly at his prisoner.

"That answer will come in time, James. But the children will freeze if you do not allow them into the carriages. Now tell the men to open the doors!"

The SS men were already stood waiting by the carriage doors, a few of them anyway, whilst the others had moved to the far end on the left, right at the rear of the train that was on course to head north. They would presumably be going with it, entering into the rear carriage and occupying guard positions all along the carriages. There was not a driver in sight, though knowing the resourcefulness that Kurt possessed, James did not think it unreasonable that one of them could have known how to operate the locomotive. In wartime those skills were incredibly important, especially when men like the Doctor were giving out orders.

His morality smashed to pieces, and his conscience battered by a hurricane of grief and tornado of guilt, James could not bring himself to order the children into the carriages. Glancing across to them, he found a sea of tear-soaked faces staring back at him, a den of red eyes that spoke of horror that was witnessed through them. They were all looking at him as if he was a different being altogether, somehow even the two year olds coming to understand that he was partly to blame for the deaths of their parents. At least that is what he told himself, though it was more likely the children were desperately trying to find a friendly face in a time of great need. His face would have normally provided such comfort but instead it was a film of the most savage of traumas. Swallowing loudly, his dry throat barked out the words in German that he'd taken so long to say, unable to allow the freezing cold children to stay out in the crisp February air any longer.

"Türen öffnen!"
("Open the doors!")

The fears that he was dooming the children came to fruition within seconds.

He should have known.

When the SS men opened the doors, they did so whilst crouching, immediately throwing themselves down into prone positions once the carriage doors were wide open. With feet planted to the tracks that they were stood on, none of the children attempted to shout or scream, or move for that matter. Their fates were sealed the moment the first of the doors began to open even slightly. The train was heading north, but not to Poland. It was heading back to Germany, where the men of the SS unit were based… with no room for any passengers on board.

Only James's voice could be heard in the split second after the doors were opened… when he first saw them for himself.

"NO!"

The four MG 42 machine guns, once in each carriage, operated by a gunner and a spotter, opened fire on the defenceless children once the doors were open. Twenty nine children of various ages were mowed down where they stood by the relentless pounding of the four guns, crushing their bones with heavy calibre bullets when they struck. Not a single child stood a chance of survival when the hailstorm of fire crashed into them, heads exploding in the same way in which their parents had previously, some thrown feet backwards by the impact. A couple of them managed dying shrieks as they were mercilessly cut down by men of seemingly no morals whatsoever, limbs coming off with such velocity in the shots. The SS men were child killers that had been waiting in their carriages for the moment to strike, carrying out Kurt's orders.

Then there was Kurt himself. A stone, cold-blooded killer who hadn't even claimed a single kill of his own. His plan it was though, the machinations of an evil mind that once existed in a man who'd genuinely believed he was doing good work for his country. The time in Poland might have raised his standing with the most important man in Nazi Germany back home, but it sent him down a dark path that could not be turned back from. The orchestrator of a heartless massacre of innocent Jewish men, women and now children, stood back from the scene of tiny falling bodies with the most nauseating of grins slapped across his face, which still ached from the punch it received from the Englishman whose conscience carried the guilt of his plans. The whole day was executed down to the finest detail, providing the Nazi Doctor with the greatest victory he could possibly achieve over the Englishman. He'd turned James into the very monster that the Englishman saw reflecting back in front of him.

And when James sank to his knees, Hans not stopping him and still doing everything he could to not look to the right, Kurt was going to make sure that his prisoner knew his place. After he dealt with the only survivor of the massacre, the thirteen year old who was sobbing violently into their hands next to him, crying for their dead friends and relatives.

"YOU!" Kurt grabbed the crying child by the lapels, screaming into their face. "You get back on the train, understand?"

"Sì".
("Yes".)

"You go home! You tell everyone… everyone… that Capitano James Maguire killed all of your village. Understand!? Yes!?"

Nodding, the boy was too terrified to be able to muster a response. He tried to glance towards James, to see if the man on his knees would contest the claim, but James did not notice him when his hands were cupped over his face. He wept into them, completely shattered by the murders he'd seen take place in front of him, that he'd technically ordered, without knowing he was doing so. Only a heartless man could not cry at what they'd inadvertently done. The cost of being near him only rose, the death toll of those around him who'd died indirectly because of what he'd said or who he was, now beyond one hundred.

The SS officer escorted the boy back to the train at Kurt's command, a small detachment of his men being ordered to take the train all the way back to the village, where a car would be waiting for them to make the return journey, before they then returned to Germany. The death squad's job was completed, not a single man in the unit showing any signs of being affected by what they'd done. They did exactly as they were told, knowing not to questions the orders of men like their own officer or Doctor Van Der Heijden. Trusted implicitly, with their loyalty to Das Reich being legendary, they would not have to die because they'd seen James either. None of the men would ever speak about that day ever again. Once the corpses were buried in the pit they would dig, it would be consigned to a place in history that would never be discovered.

With the boy out of the way, Kurt turned his attentions on the crying James. His weeping subsided, sniffling taking over, but his eyes were still covered by his hands. Forcing the hands away, Kurt crouched down in front of the man he'd mentally and emotionally destroyed in the face of a few minutes that morning. The intentions might have been different to his exact orders, but Kurt knew one thing. He would always be the winner, no matter which objective he was actually achieving, by order or personal.

"You see James, when you do not tell me the truth… when you do not tell me who you really are… you are punished!"

Wincing, James struggled to make eye contact with Kurt without feeling the need to bring up the contents of his breakfast, which he would do immediately if he were to gaze out again over the dead bodies piled up alongside the train tracks. Continuing to monologue, Kurt was in complete control, strongly pressing his power down onto the helpless young man while Hans simply stood and watched, letting him do it.

"Erin must be some woman if she is worth one hundred dead, even if they are… or were… lowly Jewish scum". Taking pleasure in their deaths, Kurt's tone was gleeful. "You have been a most valiant competitor James, but you are failing yourself and your country by continuing to resist. So, seeing as you will not tell me who you are but will do anything to save Miss Quinn… you have become my killer, James… an asset to our new world".

"NO!" James suddenly roared, climbing to his feet, crying shouts of anger. "I AM NOT THAT! I AM NO KILLER!"

"But you are James…". Sadistically, Kurt reached out and stroked his cheek, the young man turning away in shame. "If you will not reveal why Britain desperately needs you back, then I will prompt your country and your government with a question of my own".

The pause over the next few seconds was done deliberately, the Doctor assessing James, staring at him to ascertain what was left of the man that previously fought against him so well. That man was a shadow upon being broken so completely, not even able to argue against the false claim that he was the murderer of one hundred innocent Jews.

"When word of what you have done reaches London, they will have to think James. How important are you when you are massacring civilians? What will the British public think of their Jew killer?"

Another silence came.

"What will Erin think of you?"

He did not dare think of what her reaction would be. She certainly would never love him again, even when the allegations were false. Derry would turn on the Englishman they'd previously taken in like one of their own, which he was thanks to his mother. A pariah who would be forced to live in Nazi Germany, under the regime that he despised, would finish his days as nothing more than a pitiful murderer locked away in asylum somewhere, far from the thriving Empire that would dominate Europe around him. She would be broken again, just as he was, finding out that he was alive only to discover the monster he'd falsely been painted as, awaiting her.

"Come James, we must leave this place…". Kurt spoke again, not looking for an answer to his final question. "If we cannot find out why, then it is time that we find out just how valuable you really are to the British Empire…".