Okay, I'm really sorry this took so long; all I can say in my defense is that finals were torture. But they're done, I can think in words again, and here is the next chapter.
I can't believe I didn't get any flames for the last chapter. If I had done that in Harry Potter, people would have flamed this story, all of my other fics, and anything else I write in the next decade. People here are too nice. Or open minded. Or something. I guess I'll have to do something particularly nasty to Carter to make up for it.
Thanks as always to Suzanne of Dragon's Breath for the beta, every one who reviewed, and everyone who remembered that Bullfrog is a suburb of Crab Apple Junction.
Enjoy.
Chapter 7-Carter
Carter looked up at the bustling cityscape that surrounded him. It lacked the obvious age of London, and it didn't have the general disrepair and cramped feeling that characterized the Detroit ghetto, yet it was far from the open countryside he remembered from his pre-army days. He did not understand how anyone could choose to live in an area like this; he wouldn't have been able to stand it for more than a few hours without blowing something up. In fact, many of the gray buildings with their billowing smokestacks looked like what he spent his nights blowing up in Germany.
"Where are we?" he asked hesitantly. He really did not want to see this. After seeing the colonel's fate, Andrew just wanted to curl up for awhile and not think about anything.
:1973.:
Carter was about to object that that was a when not a where, but thought better of it. He tried a different question. "Why are we here?"
:It should be educational.:
"Who are we here to see?"
No answer. Not even a simple acknowledgement. "Baker?"
:No. He suffered the same fate as Kinchloe. Both perished over a decade ago in concentration camps.
"Olsen?"
:He is currently a foreman in a factory in Arkansas.:
"Marya? Tiger?"
:Marya is currently living in the Soviet Union, which has yet to succumb to fascism; however, it is only a matter of time. Tiger's fate was very similar to that of Lebeau, only she did not die as quickly.:
"Klink? Shultz?" Carter did not expect either of them to be the correct, but he could not think of anyone else that he had gotten close to in Stalag 13.
:Klink's incompetence got him shot a long time ago, and Shultz died of a heart attack in 1958.:
"Then who?"
:You shall discover the answer in due time.:
As the two men walked, they saw the huge industrial complexes give way to shopping centers and apartment complexes, which in turn gave way to older, smaller homes and stores of the type Andrew remembered from before he joined the army. A few blocks later, he began to realize just how familiar this section of the city was. Although some of the paint colors and signs were different, he could have sworn this was…
He stopped dead in front of one of the small businesses. The storefront itself was nothing special. They had passed many like it on their walk. There was no gaudy window display, no gimmick to draw passers-by inside. No, what had drawn Andrew's attention was the modest blue and white sign above the store reading "The Carter Pharmacy."
"Bullfrog," Andrew whispered in shock.
:Indeed.:
"But it's huge! What happened to the small town? And to the reservation? And the land?"
:With the Nazis, industry grew, often to the detriment of the environment. The Dakotas, Montana, and other northwestern states became popular centers for this industry because of the large quantities of the available space. Factories moved into Crab Apple Junction, which expanded until it absorbed Bullfrog, and was absorbed by Devil's Lake in turn.:
"And the reservation?" Andrew asked, not really wanting an answer.
:We just walked through it.:
"What's wrong with me?" Carter asked sourly. He did not want to watch another tragedy play out. "Is it my Sioux blood? Do I end up like Kinch or Lebeau."
:You shall discover the answer in due time.:
They did not have long to wait. Before five minutes had passed, they saw an older man walking towards them. Carter was not surprised to recognize an aged version of himself.
The elder Carter unlocked the door, and all three men went inside. Although Sergeant Carter did not recognize the store itself, he recognized the type. It was the store he had wanted to own since he worked at one in high school. His mouth quirked in a sad smile as he recognized the irony of the situation. He had managed to achieve his dream in a world where his friends, many of them closer than family, had theirs trampled.
He lost track of how long he stood there, just watching his future self prepare for the day's sales. A bell rang, and both Carters instinctively looked towards the door. The man who entered was dressed neatly in brown slacks and a light green shirt, and his gray hair was cut short. He looked to be about the same age as the elder Carter, and although the sergeant did not recognize him, his older counterpart certainly did.
"Douglass!" came the enthusiastic greeting. "Where have you been, old man?"
"Watch who you're calling 'old man', old man. Don't for get I'm three years younger than you!" Both men laughed at the oft-repeated exchange. "Seriously, I was called out of town at the last minute to repair one of my machines. The factories buy them, but don't bother to use them correctly, so they break." He chuckled dryly. "Keeps me in business anyway. But forget work; did that daughter of yours spawn yet?"
"Not yet. Any day now."
"Daughter? Spawn?" the young American asked in panic, his voice at least an octave higher than normal.
:Did you believe that you remained a childless bachelor? You have three children, two sons and a daughter, as well as five grandchildren.:
"But who'd I marry?"
:Mary Jane.:
Carter was silent. He hadn't thought of Mary Jane in over a year. They'd been childhood sweethearts, and were engaged before she left him while he was at Stalag 13 for an air raid warden. He had been desperate to get home, and most of the people in camp had helped him get over her. He had planned to marry Mary Jane since high school, and he couldn't imagine being anything but happy with her, but he was getting used to the stranger's scenes. Nothing was happy. He didn't want to know, but he had to ask: "Are we happy?"
:You divorced six years ago.:
"Divorced!"
:In this society, it is not socially unacceptable; in fact, it has become quite common.:
"Divorced," Andrew said quietly to himself. "Even if it is common, it's not right. I can't believe that Mary Jane and I—"
The stranger cut him off. :Cannot believe that the woman who, rather than wait five years for you as she promised, sent you a Dear John letter in a prisoner of war camp would commit adultery? You caught her once, when your children were young. She swore she would not repeat the behavior, and, rather than tear your home apart, you chose to believe her. After your children were grown, you caught her again. This time you did not believe her protestations of innocence. A divorce soon followed.:
The young sergeant said nothing. Put that way it seemed reasonable, but he still couldn't believe it. He began to listen to the conversation again, rather than have the stranger surprise him with some detail about his life that he did not want to hear. But then, he didn't really want to listen to the conversation either.
"Did you watch the news last night?" the elder Carter asked Douglass.
"I was traveling. When I parked the car, I barely managed to get to bed. I haven't so much as looked at a newspaper in two days. What's so important?"
"There was a revolt in that camp in Montana. A bunch of Jews killed some of the guards and escaped."
"Were they caught?" Douglass asked, concern coloring his voice.
"And executed," Carter confirmed. "But I can't believe they'd allow something like that to happen in the first place."
"At least they were punished. Maybe the rest won't try anything."
"They're Jews. Who knows what they'll try."
"Good point. It's not like they were ever contributing members of society. They just made life difficult for the rest of us." 1
Andrew Carter the younger turned to the stranger, appalled. He wasn't sure which horrified him more, the fact that Americans approved of concentration camps, or that he was one of those people.
After a moment, he decided that the second was defiantly worse. Concentration camps existed even in his reality, and there were some Americans who didn't disapprove of them, but he wasn't one of them! To be casually talking about and approving of something that he fought against, that his friends died to prevent…
:You are not a bad person, Little-Deer-Who-Goes-Swift-And-Sure-Through-Forest, even in this reality. Just misinformed.
:The government's propaganda machine is practiced at getting citizens to think what the government wants them to, especially in America. The Nazis began sending anti-Semitic messages in the 1930s. With more than four decades of practice and exposure, it would be remarkable if you had opinions counter to those expressed.:
Andrew just looked at him. Over the past few hours—or was it days?—he had seen his friends in horrible situations, but this was the worst. This person he had become didn't care about the people in those situations, and didn't even try to change something that was obviously wrong. And that he'd just accept what the government told him without at least thinking about it was beyond comprehension. He might not be the smartest person in the world, but he was quite capable of deciding what was true and what was false, what was moral or immoral. He didn't need the government to tell him. "You win," he said quietly.
The stranger only nodded, satisfied. The familiar fog closed around them again, and Carter's world went dark.
1. No, I did not make this up. It is adapted from actual Nazi propaganda. My source: www . calvin . edu / academic / cas / gpa /
