TITLE: A SPOT OF TROUBLE
AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: Strong PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst
SUMMARY: Hogan and the boys race to save one of their own from torture at the hands of the enemy. It gets darker from this point forward.
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own. If you haven't yet read their Game Universe stories, run don't walk. They are awesome!
Chapter 5
Cold. Had Peter stolen his blanket again? That wasn't very nice of him. Colonel Hogan, sir, make him give it back.
Hay. Mold, damp, and rot. The rank stench filled his nostrils and clogged the back of his throat. His bunk didn't smell that bad, did it? Louie would have complained by now if it did.
Voices. That didn't sound like the colonel. Or any of his other barracks buddies. What were they saying?
Carter moaned and rolled onto his side. He roused enough to note the bite of metal bands around his wrists. Steel cuffs bound his hands together in front. He opened his eyes and blinked against the harsh yellow glare of a kerosene lantern.
The farm boy from Bullfrog, North Dakota, found himself in a dilapidated old barn, its boards warped and weathered. A broken-down tractor, covered by a thick blanket of cobwebs, stood in the far corner. Bits and pieces of farm tools littered the ground--a hayfork with a missing tine, a broken ax handle, and several metal buckets swiss cheesed by rust. Even as he looked, a family of mice skittered through a hole in the back wall.
A door slammed. Carter rolled onto his back and looked toward the sound. Two German corporals, both with rifles aimed directly at him, stood against the wall. Between them, in front of the door, stood an SS captain.
"You are awake. Excellent. So then. What is your name?"
The German asked the question first in heavily accented English. He repeated it in German, Russian, and badly fractured French. Carter offered no response. He beat down the instinct to blurt out name, rank, and serial number. In his current situation, that information would only make things worse.
"Name, rank, und seriennummer. Sprechen sie! (Name, rank and serial number. Speak!)"
A vicious kick, courtesy of the SS captain's metal-tipped boots, struck his hip. Carter huddled in on himself. Trembling fingers dug into the front compartment of his utility belt, searching for his lock pick. Even as the comforting coldness of the metal tool slipped into his palm, the two enemy non-coms yanked him to his feet. The officer slipped a meat hook beneath the chains of his cuffs and all three hoisted him up.
When they finished, Carter stretched between the rafters and the floor, his heels barely able to brush the ground. His shoulder screamed in their sockets even as the metal cuffs bit into his wrists. Andrew gasped once but made no other sound.
The soldiers stripped him. First the tool belt then his boots. Carter got in three good kicks, including a hard one to the officer's jaw, before a rifle butt to his right kidney stilled his resistance. Paralyzed by pain, Carter gasped for air and blinked away the fireworks that filled his vision. Lamplight glittered off the blade of a knife--his own--as it sliced through shirt and undershirt. Within seconds, they stripped him down to the skin, without even his underwear between him and the night chill.
The captain spread the contents of Carter's belt over the top of a pair of rickety sawhorses. The American watched, flushed with satisfaction. The Kraut would find nothing that could possibly identify his prisoner as anything but a professional saboteur. All the tools were of German manufacture, most of them 'liberated' either by the German underground or by Hogan and his men. A search of his clothing proved equally fruitless.
The German officer threw down all but one scrap of rag and turned back to his prisoner.
"I am Wilfred Von Hippel, Captain, SS. You have resisted and I am proven the victor. We shall now move on to more important matters. We shall talk. Or, rather, you shall talk and I shall listen."
The captain moved toward Carter with a serpentine slide. He limbered his shoulders and wrists. Knuckles crackled. He wrapped the scrap of cloth around his right hand to protect his knuckles.
"We have much to learn from one another. I, at least, intend to learn a great deal from you."