Introduction: Okay, sorry if the first chapter was a little hard to read. I must have done something wrong, but I was just so excited to finally post this story! (It's amazing how computer illiterate one person can be.) I hope you are all enjoying it anyway and - at the risk of sounding completely desperate - I'm begging for a review. This is my first story and thanks to my utter lack of computer skills, I've been sitting on it for a long time. I really need to know that someone other than myself has read it.

Disclaimer: Please see chapter 1. This story is pretty big and I really don't want to have to re-type the same message over and over. Assume the disclaimer is for the whole story.


Emanations of Hate

Chapter 2

The job, as Colonel Hogan described it, barely qualified as a mission at all. A contact named Heidemann had told them of a place on the other side of Hammelburg that he thought might interest the men of Stalag 13. An amateur but well-known naturalist, Dietrich Heidemann had been prowling the woods since just after the first war, and by this method had become an invaluable asset when it came to spotting hidden construction and other unusual activity. This time he had not only brought news of a new secret headquarters that the Nazis were building, but a location for the heroes to work from that was nearby the proposed site. He had brought word to Papa Bear with the idea that Hogan and his men would be able to cover the distance to the new headquarters easily, but when Hogan heard that the distance in question was less than a quarter of a mile, that familiar light, which his men met with either excitement or apprehension depending on their state of health, lit up his eyes.

"A tunnel?" his men had exclaimed as one.

"A tunnel," Hogan repeated, clapping his hands together. "Think about it. We build a tunnel right up to the site, they build their headquarters overtop and then we devise a secret way in and Bingo! We have access to everything!"

Seated around him at the barracks table were four very stunned, very incredulous men - gob smacked, to use a term of Newkirk's. Actual minutes seemed to pass while they stared at their leader.

"Look guys, I know there's some problems…"

"Like how we dig a tunnel that's a quarter of a mile long…" Kinch started.

"Right under the German's noses…" Lebeau continued.

"Outside of camp where we can't bring everyone…" Newkirk went on.

"In less than a month!" Carter finished.

Hogan's wide grin said, 'fellas, trust me'.

"So, are there any other problems apart from the tunnel?"


Carter's job tonight however, was simply to look the place over. Hogan's solution to the tunnel question was that, as soon as possible - meaning before the place was swarming with Kraut construction crews and the general overkill of Nazi snoops - they would blast through a good part of the way, and then simply dig the last little bit when they felt safe and had a clearer idea of the layout. Heidemann, who knew a bit about geology, had already gone over the place and he thought it would be alright, but Hogan wanted to hear Carter's opinion about how exactly to go about it.

"Heidemann says it's mostly rock," he told Carter. "If we can build this thing we won't have to worry about cave-ins."

"I'll do my best Colonel."

"I know you will Carter, but look, don't tell me we can blast if we can't. It won't be your fault if this whole idea just isn't viable."

"Okay. But what are we going to do if we can't build this tunnel?"

"Don't worry about it Carter, we'll find some other way. And, if nothing else, we can always use Heidemann's abandoned cellar as a new stop on the underground. Now, I gave the directions to Newkirk and told him to do the driving, so you can take it easy tonight. So get going. Peter's already outside waiting."

"Yes sir." Carter said this with such a bleak tone that Hogan nearly pulled him back, but then he remembered that he wanted to talk to the others before he and Lebeau left on their own chore, and so let him go.


Nearly an hour later, anyone who would have bet that Andrew Carter couldn't go ten minutes without speaking a word would have went home with empty pockets. Other than Newkirk's impatient grunt for him to get in the 'borrowed' truck, they had ridden in complete silence; Newkirk staring sullenly at the road and Carter pretending to concentrate intently on the scenery as if Hitler himself might jump out from behind the nearest bush. When they parked on the back road Newkirk started into the woods at a quick pace without checking to see if Carter was following. Carter held his tongue and glumly fell in behind him.

The cellar, as Heidemann had called it, was under the burnt out remains of a house that had once belonged to a local scientist who was now a high up Nazi official and currently living in a much more luxurious residence. When describing the previous occupant Dietrich Heidemann's voice had managed to convey not only the idea that this "scientist's" methods were questionable at best, but also that his promotion was certainly not through hard work and diligence. However, Heidemann would not go into details and even the Colonel hadn't been able to get anything more out of him than the ominous statement that, "nothing could be proved."

Remembering this now, and the grim look that had been on Heidemann's face when he said it, brought a shiver to Carter's spine as he and Newkirk approached the clearing where the house had once stood. A few charred timbers were still standing starkly against the darkening twilight like large, black crosses demanding worship in some harsh, medieval church. Unconsciously Carter took a few quicker steps to walk closer to Newkirk, who had headed off to the northeast, towards a stand of dark pines where the entrance to the cellar was supposed to be located.

Just as Carter was about to ask if Newkirk knew what he was looking for, he saw the other man walk into a thick clump of bushes and bend down out of sight. For a moment he wondered if Newkirk was planning to jump out to try and scare him, but when he walked over he saw that the bushes were shaped in a ring and in the middle Newkirk was pulling at the handle of a set of wooden doors that reminded him a lot of the doors to his family's storm cellar back home.

"I wonder why they put the doors there. Why didn't they cut down these bushes some? And why put'em so far from the house?"

"Never mind that Carter!" Newkirk hissed. "Stop being such a useless sod and come and help me open the blasted things." Carter stomped over in righteous anger only to have Newkirk whisper harshly at him to keep the noise down. Together they wrenched the old and surprisingly heavy doors open, and found themselves staring into a well of blackness.

"You first," Newkirk said, as he waved towards the opening. Normally Carter would have replied with a sarcastic "thanks", but now he was determined not to let Newkirk think he was a coward and so he cautiously felt for the stairs with his foot and started down, just managing to keep himself from turning on his flashlight until he was sure the light wouldn't be seen from the outside.

It was a steep incline, and it seemed to go on forever. As the two men walked further and further down Carter's curiosity grew. Why would they build down so deep? It's more like a darn mine shaft than a cellar. Memories of his father reading him "Journey to the Center of the Earth" came back to him, but those memories were suddenly more disturbing than comforting. Didn't one of those guys get lost? He tried to remember if the other characters ever found him. They must have. Nothing bad ever happens to the good guys.

Not in books anyway, he thought ruefully.

Oh stop it, he told himself. It's a straight tunnel. How can you get lost in a straight tunnel? All you have to do is turn around and go right back up. It's not a maze for gosh sakes! Still, he felt better - marginally - for knowing Newkirk was right behind him. Finally the pair reached the bottom and their narrow stairwell opened up into a much bigger space than Carter was expecting for a mere cellar. The ceiling wasn't that high, maybe a couple of feet or so above their heads, but the room itself was nearly sixty feet wide and nearly twice as long.

"Wow!" he breathed. "I thought we'd never get to the end of that! This place must be ten times as far down as any of our tunnels." Oblivious to getting nothing but a grunt in response he prattled on, walking further in. "And would ya look at this place! It's huge! Why would anyone do this just for a cellar? They would've had to blast all of this out! I mean, it's not like the war was on back then, they wouldn't have been using it as a shelter. Look! There's a door over there. Think there's anything behind it? There's nothing here." He was right; the only thing breaking up the cavernous feel of the chamber were the thick, square support posts bracing the ceiling. The young demolitions expert glanced up nervously, wondering if the ceiling wasn't quite as stable as it looked. Would a blast bring it down? Carter had been in a couple of cave-ins since coming to Stalag 13, and had even been in one during his time at Stalag 5, and had hated every second of it.

Then he noticed something strange; between some of the posts on each side of the room there were what looked like the remains of stone walls, as if both sides of the main room had been lined with little storage rooms.

"Cells," a voice corrected.

"What? Did you say something Newkirk?"

"Oh belt up Carter! Just see to your job so we can be out of 'ere," Newkirk ordered.

"What's your problem Newkirk?" Carter snapped back. "You've been yelling at me and insulting me for days now and I'm sick of it! What the heck is wrong with you?" he demanded.

"What's wrong with me?" Newkirk strode right up to him and started yelling right in his face. "You want to know what's wrong with me? You're what's wrong with me! I'm tired of you!"

"Me? What the heck did I do?"

"You're just like all of'em! Always pushing! Always around!"

"All of who?"

"Americans!"

"Americans? What've you got against Americans?" asked Carter, slowly becoming more perplexed than angry.

"You know what I've got against Americans? You're all over paid, over sexed and OVER HERE!" Newkirk spat out, poking Carter hard in the chest with each part, spoiling for a fight.

Carter stared at him, completely stunned. Over sexed? he repeated to himself. Baffled, wide eyes met furious, glittering ones for a tense moment. And then, with a growl of exasperation, Newkirk shoved Carter aside and stalked off to one corner of the room.

"Newkirk wait! What's wrong?" Carter's voice was concerned this time.

"It's useless…" he heard his friend mutter, keeping his back towards him.

"No Peter, you can tell me. C'mon Peter, what's wrong? What's bothering you so much?" Carter pleaded, walking over and grabbing hold of Newkirk's sleeve.

"Let go of me!" Newkirk shouted and ripped his arm away from Carter.

"Then tell me what's wrong!" A sudden thought burst into his head and was out of his mouth before he knew it. "Peter, is something wrong at home? Is there something wrong with your sister?"

"WHAT?" Before he could think Newkirk had grabbed hold of the front of the German uniform Carter was wearing, pulled him off his feet and thrust him hard against one of the pillars. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Newkirk screamed at him, completely enraged, and knocked him against the pillar again.

"I…I just asked…" Carter stammered.

"What the 'ell do you know about my sister?"

"Nothing, honest! I just wanted to know if anything was wrong!"

"You leave 'er out of this! You leave 'er out of this and you keep your mouth shut or I swear to God I'll shut it for you!"

"I didn't mean anything by it Peter. Really! I was just trying to understand - "

"Well, that's the problem ain't it chum? You never understand anything! Don't 'ave the capacity for it. We 'ave to explain every bleedin' thing to you and you still don't get 'alf of it!" Newkirk pulled him away from the post and threw him to the ground.

"That's not true!" Carter jumped up and gave Newkirk a hard shove.

"It is true and it's a right pain in the arse! We're all sick of it. All of us. You're so bloody thick we spent the first three months we knew you trying to figure out if you were working for the sodding Gerries, until we realized you were so stupid even they wouldn't want you." Newkirk shoved him back. "What good are you Carter? Blowing us up, getting us lost, pestering us with daft questions every five minutes. And you can never shut up! You'd think someone who ran on at the mouth like you would at least say something smart eventually! By accident if nothing else! Not you though, you're always putting your foot in it."

Carter stood there, trembling with rage and humiliation.

"You're useless Carter. I don't think I've ever seen such a useless sod as you."

"Take that back!" Carter threatened.

"But we won't 'ave to put up with you much longer," Newkirk continued, as if Carter had never spoken.

"What?" Carter gaped.

"Fraid so, mate." All of the resentment was spilling out of Newkirk in a gleeful rush. "The Colonel thinks you've cracked. Thinks you're getting a tad too fond of your little firecrackers."

"HE DOES NOT!"

"Me, I don't know why he's bothering. I mean, I could've told 'im you were a complete nutter five minutes after I met you."

"STOP IT!"

"But the guv'nor wanted you to make bombs. That's all you were ever good for. I didn't understand that either. After all, demolitions men are common enough, I never saw why we needed such a daft one. Now, though…well, let's face it, what kind of man is so obsessed with blowing things up? What kind of man gets 'is jollies from such destruction?"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"

Then Newkirk said something that would haunt him the rest of his life, but his tone was smug and gloating, as if he knew he was delivering the final thrust of the sword: "Tell me Carter, do you even remember that you're blowing up people anymore?"

He could see the breath leaving Carter's body, could see him take the slightest involuntary step back out of sheer shock, could see the questioning horror cross his face as he wondered if it was true. For the rest of his life Peter Newkirk would remember that look and feel such shame. But now, even as a tiny, niggling part of his brain gasped, almost sick with what he had just said, another part of him exalted in hurting someone - anyone - and he could feel that cruel grin still plastered to his face.

With a desperate, painful, cry of fury, Carter lunged at him, driving him to the ground. The younger man was fierce in his rage, but in his emotional state forgot everything he knew about defence and Newkirk was quickly in control, easily avoiding the worst of Carter's ineffectual blows. With a severe sort of satisfaction he pounded his fists into Carter's ribs. Carter made a quick roll out from under him and tried to get to his feet, but Newkirk roughly yanked him back down. Then Carter's elbow shot back and caught the dark-haired man right on the chin. It wasn't a hard enough hit to do any real damage, but it smarted enough to cause Newkirk's anger to surge further.

"You're going to pay for that, you are!" he growled and, pulling Carter up by his shirt, he swung Carter towards yet another of the sturdy pillars, causing Carter's head to strike the post hard enough that the younger man was dazed and fell to his knees.

This was when Newkirk was given a sudden inspiration. Only ten feet or so from the strange door at the back of the chamber, Newkirk rushed over and pulled back the giant cross bolt and slid the door open. Grabbing Carter, who was still on his knees and clutching his head in his hands, he then shoved the American inside and closed the door.

Momentarily stunned, the still wonky Carter stumbled to his feet. "Newkirk?" Realizing what had happened he rushed to the door and started pounding on it with his right fist. "Newkirk! Let me out!"

Nothing.

"Newkirk let me OUT!"

He paused to listen. There was nothing but silence.

"C'mon Newkirk! This isn't funny!"

Did he leave? Did he really lock me in here and leave? Despite what had just happened between them, trapped in the darkness Carter for a moment still couldn't make himself believe that Peter would really leave him here like this. Probably outside laughing at me. Overcome by a burst of rage and nearly crying with frustration, he started kicking against the door and pummelling wildly with his good hand.

"NEWKIRK, LET ME OUT RIGHT NOW! YOU HEAR ME? RIGHT NOW!" He yelled and shouted for a good five minutes to no avail, then he drew himself up and demanded in the fiercest voice he could muster, "CORPORAL, I ORDER YOU TO OPEN THIS DOOR!"

Not a sound.

The failure of his order made Carter hope for a second that Newkirk actually wasn't there. The thought of him outside, laughing at him, deliberately disobeying him, made Carter feel foolish and helpless. Like he was nothing.

None of the guys listen to me. They all walk all over me. Why am I even a sergeant? I shoulda told the Colonel to bust me down to private the last time he said he was gonna. That way there'd at least be an excuse for it.

He started kicking madly at the door again, without even thinking it would be opened for him. Then Newkirk's words came back to him, "Tell me Carter, do you even remember that you're blowing up people anymore?"

It was like a blow to the stomach. He sank to the ground, feeling like he might be sick. Sitting in the darkness, hunched against the locked door, he felt more miserable than he ever had in his whole life.