Der Eismann
Sergeant Carter's lungs burned intensely as he ran and stumbled his way through the dense, snow-covered forest, narrowly dodging the closely-packed evergreens. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the German soldier was still following him, looking more at ease in the winter weather than the young American. Not once did the German call out to him—he just kept following him, and had been ever since Carter delivered a bundle of explosives to an Underground contact in nearby Hammelburg. What did he want? He wasn't behaving threateningly, and he was completely alone. He wasn't dressed like the SS or Gestapo, but rather in the private's uniform of the Wehrmacht.
Carter was getting close to the tree stump that led down into the tunnels under Stalag 13. He couldn't lead the German to them. Without pausing, he turned to head further into the woods, away from the camp, wondering if he could lose the soldier.
Nope. The German was still behind him, and getting closer. I can't stay out here all night, Carter thought. He knew the woods around Stalag 13 by heart, but the weather was supposed to deteriorate sharply after midnight. It was going to get colder. Ice had formed and weighing down the already snow-laden branches of the evergreens around him. More snow was due. It was certainly going to be a white Christmas that year.
He stopped and ducked behind a tree with a thick trunk, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Okay, okay, think, Andrew! You gotta lose this guy somehow!
Carter nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gloved hand take his shoulder. He scrambled for his sidearm, but the German took hold of his wrists. The young man's face was incredibly pale. It almost matched the snow around them. His eyes were a bright, ice-blue color. Carter could feel the German's breath on him, and his breath was cold, like Carter had stepped into an icebox.
"What do you want?" Carter asked, keeping his voice calm.
The German didn't respond, not verbally. He held a finger to his lips, then reached into one of his pockets on his greatcoat, from which he pulled out a small sheet of paper. Only one word was written on the paper, and that word was "Help," in English.
Carter gave the German a confused look. "Help? Help with what?"
No response. The man continued to stare. Occasionally, he would blink and look around. He seemed determined not to talk. Or, perhaps he couldn't.
Carter sighed. This probably wouldn't be the strangest thing he and the other prisoners of Stalag 13 have had to deal with. "Alright. If you want help, come with me."
The German nodded, and trailed close behind Carter as they headed to the tree stump. He seemed curious when Carter opened the top of the stump, and climbed in when Carter gestured for him to.
"Carter!" Sergeant Kinchloe hissed. "Where were you? We were—" His eyes widened when he saw the pale German soldier. "Who's this?"
"I don't know. Get the colonel. This guy was following me and has a little paper that says 'help' on it," Carter replied. "He won't talk. Not a single word."
In an open space underground, the German soldier was seated while Colonel Hogan paced around him, the rest of the team nearby. Hogan had asked the German a few questions, but got no response. Giving a frustrated sigh, Hogan paused in front of the soldier, folding his arms over his chest. "Carter, go get Wilson, have him take a look at our guest."
"Right, Colonel." Carter headed up a ladder into the barracks.
Hogan locked eyes with the German. "You do realize we can't help you unless you answer us, right? Now, what's your name? Why did you follow Carter?"
The German looked increasingly uncomfortable with five pairs of eyes on him. Finally, he spoke. "Lechner. M-My name is… Private Lechner."
"Okay, we're getting somewhere. Why did you follow Carter?"
"Underground. You help people… escape Germany, yes?"
"Among other things."
"I want to escape. Flee. I… I am no longer welcome."
Carter returned with the prisoners' medic, Sergeant Wilson. The older man had hardly taken a step toward Lechner when he said, "I have never seen a human being that pale before."
Lechner looked down at his boots.
Opening his bag of supplies, Wilson approached Lechner. "Are you feeling alright? Any pain or injuries?"
"No," Lechner said, softly.
"I'm still gonna look you over, just in case. You're in good hands here with Hogan."
The men watched as Wilson did his work. Throughout the examination, Lechner looked more and more uncomfortable, even as Wilson reassured him, over and over, that he was completely safe.
At some point, Wilson murmured, "I just used this thermometer. There's no way it's busted."
"What is it, Wilson?" Hogan asked.
Wilson gave a heavy sigh before taking the thermometer out of Lechner's mouth. "You're not gonna believe this, but Lechner's temperature isn't even eighty degrees. He should be dead, but he's not showing any signs of hypothermia. He's completely healthy, except for this."
"Maybe the thermometer is busted. We'll get a new one."
"Sir, look at him. He looks like he was born and raised in the North Pole."
"His breath was cold when he caught up to me, Colonel," Carter said.
Hogan raised an eyebrow. "So, what does this mean?"
Wilson took a deep breath. "Well, sir, I think it means… Lechner is something supernatural. Magical, perhaps. I think that's why he wants to get out of Germany."