Any translations for the meagre amount of German that hasn't departed from my knowledge will be at the end of this chapter along with anything I feel needs clarifying, as always. This chapter is in Archer's POV (remember him?)

Archer watched intrigued at the ginger haired figure being led into hut A3. Dear God, he was only a kid, hardly 16. Fate was such a cruel, unforgiving mistress. It seemed to be a reenactment of his own experience. He absentmindedly weaved his hand through the folds in his scarf and felt the rough scar underneath. He checked himself quickly and withdrew his hand, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had, thankfully. He continued his nonchalant behaviour, as he strolled closer to the hut and leant against the wall. The walls were so thin that he could hear everything, down to the crunching sound of hobnails as one of the guards left. He heard the splashing sound of a tin mug being filled. Poor boy, he was going exactly as the others had. Unless they made a mistake, that was the only reason he was still alive. They had made a mistake.

Archer risked a brief look through the window. He could see the ginger boy on the verge of passing out, the mug falling from between his fingers. The private stood, smiling sinisterly. There was a slight thud as Ginger collapsed, unconscious.

"Scheisse, we've done it again Helmut." He called at the other German, who was loitering by the door.

"Fick dich, sterbe ins einem Loch, halbarsch." Came the harsh reply "Der Commandant, will be after our guts."

"Ich kenne, Ich mag nicht der idee, let's get this over with"

"Ja," came the reply, somewhat heavy hearted.

A whistle sounded and Archer pulled himself sadly from the scene, he could not speak German therefore he took it that they were deciding Ginger's fate. Roll call. His mind wandered as he meandered his was to the acting parade square. The boy might survive as he had, but he tried not to speculate, there was no point.

Von Stalhein strode purposefully towards the basement cell, intent of teasing Hebblethwaite more, he rather enjoyed it. As he entered, he surveyed the scene, and took in the slight figure huddled in the corner of the cell, he was brown haired, not ginger. He seen the trio do some fairly impossible things but changing appearances wasn't one of their skills. Hebblethwaite wasn't there. What were those fool guards doing?

"Who are you?" he inquired harshly.

"T-Talbot,"

"Where's Hebblethwaite?"

"Who?"

"The ginger one,"

"I don't know, he wasn't here when I got back."

"Christ," Von Stalhein muttered and slammed the door behind him and yelling for a guard.

After an anxious minute of being screamed at by the pale, threatening officer, the guard sprinted toward hut A3. He wrenched open the door just as the 2 other guards were muttering profanities aimed at the man slumped on the bed, planning how they were going to bring about his 'unfortunate demise' as the commandant put it.

"Thank fuck, I swear that Hauptmann was going to skin me alive if you had done what you were meant to."

"What do you mean?" asked Helmut.

"He meant for you to put him in the basement and drug the other one,"

"Fick, he obviously wants this one for something, we're in deeper shit now, SCHEISSE!"

"Swearing won't get you anywhere, I suppose we've just got to get him back into the basement and face the Hauptmann."

"If we come out of this alive, I WILL kill you," promised Helmut.

Nothing more was said as they carried the limp body through the compound, making sure to keep out of sight of the other prisoners. They deposited his lifeless form in the basement cell, taking no notice of Tom, hunched in the corner, trying to comprehend the events unfolding around him. They departed to face the irate and short-tempered Hauptmann and agreed that they would rather be at the front lines than in their current position.

As soon as the guards had departed Tom rushed over to where Ginger lay, still out cold. It was hard to examine him in the darkness, so Tom took to sitting against the wall waiting for any signs that Ginger was stirring. The angered voice of Von Stalhein tore through the building, Tom felt sorry for whoever was on the receiving end of the bollocking. He didn't know that the mistake they made may have saved his life.

German translations (words and phrases in italic):

Scheisse- Shit

Fick dich, sterbe ins einem Loch, halbarsch- Fuck you, die in a hole, half arse

Ich kenne, Ich mag nicht der idee- I know, I don't like the idea

Ja- Yes

Fick- Fuck

Hauptmann- German officer rank, equivalent to that of a Captain

^ Yes my limited knowledge of the German language consists mainly of insults, or describing words as I like to call them.