Certain Demolitions: Play a Fantasia
Summary: Another AU of an AU. France, 1944. An idea was coming together in Clay's mind. "You know Gavin, it occurs to me that you are a real lousy Nazi." "I am insulted by the allegation that I am a Nazi. I am a German soldier, not a Nazi," Klavier said coolly. 15. From Dusk to Dawn
Note: I have rescued my muse, finally. It was trapped in something resembling the Le Brea Tar Pits, but I got it back. Blah! Throughout CD proper I toyed with the idea of "what if all of our stars were actually in the war?" I'm glad I didn't pursue that idea any further at the time, because this took forever to finish. I've played with history here maybe more than I did in CD, but I hope I did it respectfully. More notes at the bottom, as usual.
Chapter 15: From Dusk to Dawn
France, 1944
"Isn't this great, Apollo? We always said that if we were rich we'd travel to Europe and see all the great sights. And now we can!" Lieutenant Clay Terran said. He was standing on a piece of rubble, looking out over a field. A few scattered remnants of farm houses still stood; heavy fighting had decimated most of the area.
"Yeah, Clay, this is exactly what I had in mind when I said it would be great to travel Europe. The rocket attack last night was a nice touch." Captain Apollo Justice, if asked, wouldn't say that he was unhappy. He wasn't exactly unhappy, but it was hard to be happy in war.
"Ah, don't worry about them. We've got the Jerrys on the run," Clay said cheerfully.
"You might want to get down off of there. If there are any enemy soldiers nearby, you're an easy target." Apollo pointed out.
Clay complied, jumping down back to the field. "Are we moving forward tonight? I know we're out, uh, a little ahead of the rest of the force."
"I've got orders to stay here, hold the place if we can, and if not, we fall back," Apollo said as the pair set off across the field. "Once reinforcements get here, we can get on with our real jobs."
"Do we have supplies for an extended stay?"
"I think so. We've got plenty of ammunition and a lot of medical supplies. The real question is if we're going to have food."
"If not, we'll have to live off the land," Clay said, looking around them. "Well, not that much to see for the land. I hope we don't have to use that in lieu of supplies."
A flash of movement made both men reach for their guns. "What is that?" Apollo demanded.
Clay re-holstered his sidearm and reached for the binoculars handing from their cord around his neck. "It's…" He lowered the binoculars and looked confused. "It's a kid."
"A kid?" Apollo asked, giving him an incredulous look.
"Yeah, a little kid." Clay said, giving his friend a confused look.
"A battlefield is no place for a child," Another voice said, and the pair turned to see Igor Sokolov coming up behind them, his rifle in hand. His rifle was an old World War I model that his father had used in the war and that Igor had insisted on using as much as he could, even when the American unit he'd joined had offered him newer, better weapons.
The Russian had been working in France before the war, and after the war had stayed on to engage in espionage until the town he had lived in was liberated by the odd-jobs brigade, known as the Flying Sidewinders, that Apollo was in charge of. Then he had joined them in their fight through France towards Germany.
"We know," Apollo said.
"Let's track that kid down and get him to safety if we can." Clay suggested earnestly.
"Agreed," Apollo said.
The three men split up. "Kind!" Clay called, followed by Igor's, "Enfant!"
Igor was the first to spot the small dark haired boy, heading towards one of the ruins of the small town. "Enfant!" He called again, following the child.
The boy glanced back once, looked alarmed, and then darted away. "Enfant!" Igor called again. He followed the boy across the field.
Behind him, Apollo and Clay had realized that Igor was on to something and followed him.
The boy crawled over some rubble and went to part of a foundation of a building that was still standing. He was holding a battered canteen in one hand as he crawled through the rubble. Lying against the wall was a young man with blond hair, wearing the uniform of a German soldier. The boy had just knelt by the soldier when Igor appeared behind him.
"Child, what are you doing?" Igor asked. He spoke in French.
"Go away." The boy replied. He looked terrified.
Igor did not go away. He strode over the prone soldier and rolled the man onto his back. Blue eyes fluttered open at the movement. "Ah, a Boche. And still alive, I see." Igor said.
"Leave him alone!" The boy cried, yanking on Igor's uniform shirt.
Igor batted the kid away. He had heard all the reports of fighting on the Eastern front, and knew what his homeland had gone through at the hands of Germans. He was not feeling forgiving, and so far had managed to take no prisoners with his American allies – who accepted surrenders more willingly than Igor liked – none the wiser to it. "I'm going to solve a problem for you." He said, raising the rifle with its bayonet up over the soldier.
A gunshot rang out and Igor jumped back, startled. He hadn't been hit, as far as he knew. He turned and saw Apollo, who looked furious and who was still holding his sidearm at the ready. "What do you think you're doing?" Apollo demanded. Behind him, Clay slid into the remnants of the building. The boy was clinging to the soldier and crying. Clay tried to be gentle as he pulled the child away to check on the soldier.
"We don't kill people just because we feel like it." Apollo spat. "What do you think you were doing, Corporal?"
Igor looked more annoyed about being stopped then about the fact he'd been caught. "Captain Justice, do you know what the Boches have done?"
"Corporal, I don't care what they've done!" Apollo shot back. "I'm not gonna stand about while you skewer someone who's no threat to you or anyone else here!"
"You Americans are weak," Igor spat.
"Corporal Sokolov, I think I've heard quite enough out of you. Get back to camp." Apollo ordered.
Igor gave a sarcastic salute and stomped off on the direction he'd come.
Apollo watched him go and then turned back to Clay. "How is he?"
"Feverish," Clay said, "but alive." He unbuttoned the German's uniform. "Ah-ha." There was a gunshot wound in the man's side.
The boy pulled on Clay's sleeve and said something to him.
"What's the kid saying?" Apollo asked, coming down to join his friend.
"He would like for us to…help his friend." Clay said, sounding confused by the message he had just translated. He looked at Apollo. "What do you want to do?"
"Let's take them both back to camp for the moment." Apollo decided.
(-)
"Your German soldier was shot by a German weapon." Pierce Nichody announced, stripping his gloves off outside the operating room.
"Not my German soldier!" Apollo protested.
"Sure he is. Unless you want to give him back to Igor who will render the outcome of Dr. Nichody's surgery a moot point."
Apollo gave his friend a long look. "Clay, you are not helping right now."
"Nonetheless," Nichody interrupted. "He was shot by a German weapon. I extracted the bullet because I had to open the wound to try and clean out the infection."
"Will he recover?" Apollo asked.
"If he lives through the infection I have no reason to believe he wouldn't," Nichody said. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm late." He stepped past them, out into the night.
"Where is he going?"
"Probably late for his date with his phonograph and classical music records," Clay said, then noticed the look Apollo was giving him. "I'm not joking. You ever walk by his tent at night?"
Apollo rubbed his eyes. "This day has been way too long. What do we know about the prisoner?"
"I'm glad you asked." Clay pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "I can't figure out anything from his dog tags, but I found this paper and tried to translate it. His last name is Gavin, but that's all I've gotten out of it." The letter wasn't the only thing he had found while going through the German's uniform. A book bound in brown leather, small enough to fit in a pocket and wrapped in oilcloth, had come of the search as well, but he hadn't had time to look at that in any detail either.
"Are you going to pour over your German to English dictionary for the rest of the night, trying to figure it out?"
"I might! Think of what a great exercise this will be." Clay was fluent in both English and French, and his new mission since the war had begun to turn in the Allies' favor was to learn German.
Apollo sighed. "I'm going back to my tent. I'm overdue for writing a letter to Trucy. You do what you want."
(-)
Most of the fighting has moved past this encampment, but they've been told to wait here until they're told otherwise.
It's not generally what the Sidewinders do, but for now, they are acting as reinforcements for this little Allied outpost.
Crickets were chirping when Ema stepped out of her tent and walked to the medical tent. She went through the small medical tent until she came to wing where those who were recovering from surgery were kept.
Only one bed was occupied at the moment: a German soldier, stripped to waist with bandages wrapped around his abdomen. His left hand was cuffed to a bar attached to the bed, with an IV in his left arm. He was wrapped in a couple of blankets, and still unconscious from the surgery.
Ema checked his pulse and temperature, nothing them on her chart, and then the sound of someone sniffling caught her attention. It wasn't her patient. She looked around and then heard the sound again. She knelt down and peered under the bed. A pair of brown eyes stared back at her.
"Hello," Ema said, looking at the child. "Who are you?"
There was no response, so she switched to French and repeated the question.
"I'm Peter," The boy replied, sniffling.
"What are you doing here, Peter?" Ema asked.
"The soldiers brought Klavier here," Peter said, and Ema filed that name away for later. From what she had heard, Clay had been able to get very little information on their prisoner. "So I came too."
"Okay," Ema said, standing back up. Peter crawled out from under the bed and looked up at her.
"Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt?" Ema asked, looking back at the little boy. He pointed at the IV line, where it went into Klavier's arm.
"No, it doesn't hurt." Ema told him.
"It looks like it hurts," Peter said, and looked like he was upset at the sight of it.
Ema thought it over. "Here." She came back with gauze and adhesive plaster, and taped the gauze over the IV insertion site. "Now it's bandaged, so it won't hurt. Okay?"
Peter nodded solemnly and watched as she finished up and turned to leave.
(-)
Clay was pouring over the letter he'd taken from Gavin as well as his German-English Dictionary, trying to piece any information together that might help him learn more about their prisoner, when there came a light rapping at the door to the tent.
He cast a glance at Apollo, who was sound asleep in his cot, and then went to answer the door. He opened it to find Ema standing there. She beckoned him out of the tent with one finger. Clay followed her silently out into the night. When they were far enough from the tent that he was sure Apollo wouldn't hear them, he said, "The beckoning finger. Not a good sign. What's wrong?"
"We have a little bit of a problem." Ema said, leading the way back to the medical tent. He followed her into the tent and into the recovery area. There, she pointed out the cot that Klavier was in, and the child curled up underneath the cot.
"Oh man. The kid is still here?" Clay asked, looking nervous.
"Yes. I get the feeling that he has nowhere else to go." Ema said, her voice flat.
"Uh…the kid…"
"Peter." Ema supplied.
"I hate to tell him to leave, but should he really be in here?" Clay asked.
"I don't know." Ema replied. "But I do not think the kid is going to leave. He is very attached to Klavier."
"Klavier?"
Ema gave him a curious look. "I guess the soldier's name is Klavier. At least that's what Peter – the kid – said."
Clay looked tired. "Ema, a thought just occurred to me. What is that kid, who looks like a Jew, who I am informed the Nazis hate with a passion, doing staying so close to a German soldier who was wearing a swastika on his arm when we found him? The kid was trying to stop Igor from impaling Gavin… Klavier, earlier today. What is going on here?"
Ema shrugged. "You got me."
"Apollo's right. This day's been way too long." Clay rubbed his eyes. "How are we doing on casualties?"
"A few men hurt in the aftermath of the cleanup work. But we haven't sustained serious casualties." Ema said. "At least based on what I've seen on my end. Most of the injuries were minor."
"Well that's going to change if the Germans stop running and dig their heels in to fight back." Clay said. "Give the kid a couple blankets. Let him sleep there tonight. We're not busy, thankfully, so I don't care. And I don't think Apollo's going to care either."
Clay departed back to his tent, and Ema got some blankets for Peter and told him where to come find her if he needed her. Then she departed to her own bed.
(-)
Ema woke up in the middle of the night to find someone shaking her, and speaking in French. "Miss Ema! Miss Ema!" In the dark, it took a moment for her to place that it was Peter. "Miss Ema!"
"What? What is it, Peter?" Ema whispered to him.
"Klavier won't wake up," Peter whispered back.
Ema yawned and stretched and got to her feet. She followed Peter back to the medical tent where Klavier was sleeping. The blond was still unconscious, but his face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Well, that's not good, Ema thought and went to get the thermometer. It showed what she had already expected: his fever had spiked.
Peter was twisting his hands together. "He always woke up, before. Even after the bad man shot him, and he was bleeding, Klavier woke up when I was afraid or needed him."
"What bad man?" Ema asked, and then wished that Clay was there. "Never mind." She would have to find out what Clay was doing tomorrow and make sure that he and Peter sat down to have a discussion. "Listen Peter, Klavier is very sick. That's why he's not waking up."
Peter was still twisting his hands together. "Will he get better?"
"We hope so." Ema said. "I'm going to get the doctor and we'll see what we can do, okay?"
(-)
The story that Clay and Ema pieced together the next day from Peter is one that left them both stunned. By the time they've finished questioning Peter, a process slowed by Clay's periodic pauses to give summaries to Apollo, who only speaks English, and both of their attempts to make sure that the questions they ask don't suggest answers for Peter, he tells them a story that Clay said later to Apollo, "is only topped by the one you told me about how you got your promotion."
The German's name is Klavier Gavin, and Peter met him when his mother was trying, one night, to scavenge food for them. She and her son had missed being sent to a concentration camp when the Nazis came through, but the woman who had been hiding them in her broken-down home was taken away by the Gestapo one day and they had not seen her since.
"Probably means she's dead," Clay muttered, but in English, so only his fellow Americans would understand. Outside the tent the three of them are in, they heard Jake Marshall, another member of Apollo's special unit, shouting at Nichody about something, and Molly, another nurse, singing an Irish ballad as she made her way to the medical tent to check on the wounded.
"Don't say that to Peter," Ema warned.
"Give me some credit here please, Ema," Was all Clay said about it before they started asking questions again.
Peter and his mother had met Klavier Gavin by accident. The German had been on patrol one evening and Peter's mother had run into him.
"What happened when your mother ran into Gavin?" Clay asked.
"He-he told her to show him where we were hiding. And, and, then he brought us food." Peter replied earnestly.
"How long did he do this?" Ema asked.
"I don't know. It was days. But then the soldiers came to the house. Klavier was there but, but he, Momma told me to go with him when the soldiers came, and Klavier took me somewhere else. I waited and waited for Momma but she never came." Peter's lip quivered, and he looked ready to cry.
"What happened next?" Clay asked, trying to stave off any tears.
"Klavier said that we were going to play a game of hide and seek but it had special rules. I had to be somewhere where he could find me but nobody else could." Peter told them. "He told me that Momma wanted me to play the game with him and that it would be our secret. But then the bad man shot him."
"Can you tell us about the bad man?" Ema asked gently.
There was little Peter could tell them, other than the "bad man" was another German soldier who ambushed Gavin one day and shot him. He had been ready to shoot Peter as well, but Klavier, though shot, was not dead, and was able to shoot the "bad man." When Klavier shot him, the bad man died.
"But Klavier was hurt," Peter said, and he looked upset again. "And there wasn't no one to help him."
"How many days were you there after Klavier was shot?" Ema asked.
"Don't know," Peter said, swinging his legs back and forth. The camp stool he was sitting on was too tall for him. "Then the tall man came, and he wanted to kill Klavier with his knife."
"So this would be the part where we come into the story," Clay elaborated for Ema's benefit. "The tall man's gotta be Ivan, who was definitely ready to stab Gavin to death when Apollo interfered."
Clay turned out to be correct. "Then," Peter pointed, generally, at Apollo and Clay, "they brought Klavier here and I came too."
Apart from this, there wasn't a great deal more that Peter could tell them.
Ema headed back to the medical tent when the interview was over, with Peter running on ahead of her, because he refused to be separated from Klavier for too long. Apollo and Clay drifted over to the command tent.
"I don't know what to make of it." Clay said as they walked along.
"I'll be really interested in hearing what Gavin's explanation is." Apollo said thoughtfully.
Inside the command tent, they found Jake Marshall sitting by the radio, feet propped on the desk, chewing a piece of grass and shaving himself with the long, wickedly sharp knife he carried everywhere. His poncho covered his army uniform, and his cowboy hat was set firmly on his head. "Just took a message from HQ, pardners." He volunteered before either of them could ask. "Repeat of yesterday. They've asked us to sit tight and wait for reinforcements to get here. Oh, and the other half of the team's coming."
"Oh, good! I guess Casper didn't die!" Clay said cheerfully. Of the Flying Sidewinders, about half of the group had remained behind when Apollo, Clay, Jake, and Ivan were sent on ahead with a smaller unit to shore up the part of France they were holding now. Part for the reason for the split was that Casper Sly, one of the members of the group, had been shot in the buttocks and needed time to recover from a wound he was firmly convinced he was going to die from.
Jake raised an eyebrow at him. "Dying from that particular wound would have taken some doing. He may have been dying of embarrassment, but that's about the worst he would've got. I saw worse out West before the war."
"So I guess as soon as the others get here, we can move on." Apollo mused. He glanced at the stacks of papers on other administrative detritus in the tent, most of which he hadn't moved. This was to keep things from getting mixed up for the clerk that was supposed to be coming when the reinforcements came. But he would need to find the forms for having Gavin transferred to a prisoner of war camp…
"What's this I hear about a German prisoner we've got?"
"We've got a wounded German prisoner." Apollo replied absently, digging through the closest pile of documents.
"And them's the facts!" Clay added.
Jake gave them both a long look and put his knife away. "Sokolov was telling me about it. It's funny."
"What's funny?" Apollo asked, still trying to locate the right forms. It was impressive, he thought, how many forms the army managed to have.
"You realize we haven't taken a lot of prisoners in our line of work since Sokolov joined us?" Jake asked.
There was a pause as the other two men thought it over.
"It's …probably a coincidence." Clay said after a long moment. He didn't sound very convinced of the fact. "Maybe. I think."
Apollo had stopped looking for the forms and now turned to Jake. "What are you implying?"
"I'm not implying anything, Cap'n. Just observing that we used to take enough prisoners before Sokolov, but the longer he's been with us, the fewer we've taken." Jake said, folding his hands across his chest. "This new prisoner's the first in a long while."
Apollo sighed. "Jake, this is a problem I don't need right now." Clay was giving him a pointed look, and he knew his friend was thinking of the fact that Apollo had narrowly prevented Gavin from being killed by Sokolov. "Let me find these forms in peace."
Jake shrugged and went back to shaving. Apollo gave up looking for the forms and left abruptly, and Clay followed him.
(-)
Something was cold on his face. Klavier Gavin tried to pull away, only to find his movements stopped. Fever-glassed blue eyes flickered open and looked up into the face of a young woman with brown hair and green eyes. "An Angel," he muttered.
She looked down and noticed that he was awake, but she didn't say anything, instead, reaching for the cloth she had been using to blot the sweat from his face. That was where the cold was coming from, and he winced and tried to pull away. "Nein. Halt. Stop." He managed to catch her wrist, even though his hand was shaking.
"You're actually awake," Ema said. Until now, she had not been able to determine how aware he was of what was going on around him, but this time she knew he was awake.
"Ja. Yes." He said quietly. "Where am I?"
"You are at a US Army outpost."
"Ah." That probably meant he was a prisoner. This fact was reinforced a moment later when he tried to move and discovered first, that his left hand was handcuffed to the cot he was lying on, and then that there was an IV in that arm. He looked at these items for a moment, then swallowed and asked, "There was a boy, Peter, a French child…"
"Last time I saw him, he was with Molly, one of the other nurses, and she was taking him to the mess hall to find something to eat." Ema told him.
"Gut." Klavier said tiredly. "Who are you?"
"Ema Skye."
"Klavier Pfalzgraf von und zu Gavin."
Ema couldn't be bothered not say what came out of her mouth next. "What a mouthful."
He gave her a tired grin. "Klavier Gavin, if you leave off the rest of the mouthful that makes up my name."
Ema dropped the cloth back into her basin. "Are you hungry?"
"Nein, danke," he said, then seemed confused. "No, thank you."
She didn't seem pleased by his answer, but she nodded and stood up, taking her basin with her. "Someone will be by to check on you in a little bit." Then she was gone.
Klavier settled back on the cot and rubbed his chin. Then he grimaced. He needed a shave.
He had meant to stay awake until Peter came back. He had been pleased to hear that Peter was off eating. In spite of his best efforts, it had been hard for him to smuggle food in any large amount to the boy, even though he would eat anything Klavier managed to bring.
But he was asleep again only a few minutes later.
2.
"All I'm saying is that all we're doing is patrolling and twiddling our thumbs. The reinforcements have decided to take their old sweet time getting up here, and the Jerrys are not shooting at us at the moment, at least not too much. So I want to hear the story of how this Nazi and that French Jew wound up together," Clay finished.
"And what do you plan to do once you're aware of the story?" Apollo asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Depends on what you want me to do." Clay replied. "But I want to know first."
"You've been sitting here all morning." It was true. Clay had been sitting on a camp stool out in the medial tent most of the morning, waiting for Gavin to wake up. "Want to help me with some paperwork?"
"Are you asking or ordering?"
"I can make it an order," Apollo offered, then both of them stopped. Gavin was awake, and looking at them.
"My time has come!" Clay announced. He then proceeded to speak to Gavin in German.
There was a long pause where Klavier just stared at him. Then the German replied in English, "If you meant to say 'Sprechen Sie Englisch" the answer is yes, I do speak English. But I do not know what you were trying to say."
Clay gave an awkward grin. "Uh, yeah. Um…that is what I was trying to say. Uh… I'm glad you speak English. Who are you?"
"Klavier Pfalzgraf von und zu Gavin."
Clay grinned nervously, but before he could ask for a translation and have to admit that he had no clue what to make of what he had just been told, Apollo asked, "How would we understand your name in English?"
"Klavier Gavin. I…think," Klavier finished tiredly. He hadn't been awake that long, but he was already cold and tired and ready to go back to sleep. "The rest of it does not matter."
"So, your friend Peter told us a strange story that we'd like to hear your side of." Apollo went on.
Klavier was too tired to have this conversation with an American officer. Especially if… "What did Peter say?"
"He said that you helped him and his mother, and then you helped him after his mother was taken away." Apollo replied. "And you ended up shooting one of your comrades in arms who had already shot you and was getting ready to shoot him. That's the short version, anyway."
Klavier winced at the phrase "your comrades." "Comrades is not a word I would use. That implies some kind of friendly affiliation, yes? There was no friendship between Franz von Metz and myself. We did not like each other, and I was not happy the day I learned he had transferred to my division. I was not sorry to have to shoot him."
"So you don't deny what Peter told us is true."
"You have evidence to back up his story, do you not? If you did not, I would not be here. He might be. I may have sent him to you, because that would be sending him to safety. But I would have retreated and made my way back to my side of the war."
The bracelet Apollo wore was the last memory he had of his real family, whoever they had been other than his sister Trucy. In the beginning of his time in the war, he had had to carry it in his pack, or pocket, as it was not part of the official Army uniform. But when he had been put in charge of his own special brigade, doing odd jobs to make the life of the Allies a little easier, he had started wearing it again.
After what he'd been through to get his promotion, he had felt entitled. Now the bracelet felt tight around his wrist, and he knew that Gavin was not being completely honest with them.
He decided to hazard another guess. "You would have retreated, but you didn't want to."
Klavier looked away from them and didn't answer. "What I did or not want was not relevant."
Clay decided to ask a question of his own. "This guy you shot, what happened to him?"
"Von Metz was a faster draw. But I have better aim." Was all Klavier would say about the matter.
The thin threads of an idea were starting to come together in Clay's mind. "You know Gavin, it occurs to me that you are a real lousy Nazi."
"I am insulted by the allegation that I am a Nazi. I am a German soldier, not a Nazi," Klavier said coolly.
Clay wasn't about to let it go. "You fight for the Nazis."
"You fight for the government of your country. Are you going to tell me that you agree with everything they do?" Klavier retorted.
Clay nodded and settled back in his chair, as though he'd found an answer to an unspoken question. "Guess that explains why you, what did you do? You took a bullet for that kid, rather than turn him in, if I understand what I've been told correctly."
Klavier did not look as though he cared very much. "I took a bullet, as you say, because von Metz had been looking for a reason to shoot me for a long time."
"His justification for it was that you were suffering a Jew to live." Clay replied. "And as far as shooting you, he wasn't very good at it."
Klavier gave a derisive snort and looked away. "That is obvious."
"Downright heroic of you, almost." Clay went on, looking extremely interested.
"You make too much out of nothing," Klavier said, turning away from them again. "If it is alright with you, my captors," He added in German, assured that neither of them could understand what he was saying, "I would like to go back to sleep now."
Apollo and Clay looked at each other, and Apollo shrugged. "Alright," Clay said. "We'll be back later."
When they were outside the tent, Clay started to say something, but Apollo shook his head. The pair walked in silence until they were back in their own tent. Then Clay asked, "What did you think?"
"I don't know what I think yet," Apollo said, sinking down onto his cot. "Why don't you tell me what you think? I can tell from the look on your face that something has occurred to you."
"I think I've found an answer to one of our problems. We need someone who can speak German. I mean, I'm doing my best here, but damn this language is hard. We've got a German here with us now, one who doesn't seem too fond of his own side of the fight. Let's make a deal with him. In exchange for not being sent to a POW camp, he can join us and be our new interpreter."
"I think there's some merit to it." Apollo replied after thinking it over for a moment or two. "There's a couple of things first. The first one that comes to mind is that he's injured, and the second is we don't know how the others will react to him." He meant the remaining members of their group.
"I think, based on past experiences, they'll be happy with whatever we do, because even though this war is apparently going to last forever and a day, it's going to take me at least that long to figure out how to speak German." Clay pointed out, sitting on the other cot and facing his friend and commanding officer. "I miss Stefan all the time."
Apollo had to agree with that. The Frenchman had been killed during a mission a few months earlier, and he had been their primary translator of German as he spoke both German and French. His grasp of English was somewhat limited, but Clay could translate French where needed.
"As far as being injured, well, I think he'd be getting better by now, don't you? But I'll ask Ema about it later. Anything else?" Clay asked.
"No. If I think if some other objection, I'll let you know." Apollo stood up. "I have to go find Marshall and see if he got those radio messages sent. We need the Red Cross to get here and take care of Peter. And then I need to get that paperwork done. Find Ema, or Nichody, and talk to them, and then come find me in the command tent and you can help me do paperwork."
Clay saluted. "Aye aye, sir!"
Apollo shook his head and exited the tent. Clay followed close behind him.
(-)
There was something wet on his face again. Klavier stifled a groan and opened his eyes. The same brown-haired Fraulien from before, her brown hair twisted into a milkmaid's braid wrapped around her head and pinned, was back with her sponge and her water bowl.
What now? "Nurse…" Her name came back to him a moment later. "Nurse Skye, what are you doing?"
"You are still running a fever, and I am trying to bring that back down."
"Ach…" He put his free hand to his face and grimaced again. He still really needed a shave, but he hadn't realized until now that apparently the Allies had cleaned him up at some point between his falling unconscious in the abandoned home and landing in their camp as a prisoner. That was a relief, at least. "Please stop. I am already cold."
She did stop, but she didn't look happy about it. Ema vanished and reappeared with a thermometer a moment later. Klavier knew what she wanted and offered no resistance as she took his temperature. The look on her face when she saw the reading told him exactly what he already knew. His fever was still high.
Ema started to say something, but she stopped abruptly as Peter came racing back into the room. "Klavier! Klavier! You're awake!"
The little boy jumped up on the cot, and did his best to hug the German, careful of the bandages that encircled the man's waist and the IV and fact that Klavier's other arm was still cuffed to the bed.
"Peter," Klavier returned the embrace with his free arm. "Are you being good?"
The little boy nodded excitedly, then asked, "How come you're not up yet?"
Klavier was spared from having to answer the question when Ema replied, "He's sick, Peter. He can't get up right now."
"Ja," Klavier agreed quietly.
"Are you going to get better soon?" Peter asked.
"I am going to try." Klavier told him.
Ema set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Peter, I need you to leave now, okay? Klavier needs to rest, and I have work to do."
Peter didn't look happy about it, but her slid off the bed. Then, staring at Ema the whole time, he slid underneath it.
She watched him and shook her head. Then she told Klavier in a low tone, "Terran and Justice are supposed to be getting the Red Cross here to take care of Peter."
Ema hadn't been sure how he would take it, but he looked relieved. "Good. That is good. Maybe they can find whatever is left of his family."
"Does he have any left?"
"He may. But I don't know anything beyond vague details about where they are."
Klavier was silent after that, and in a few moments he appeared to be asleep. Ema finished up what she was doing, made the notations that she needed too on Klavier's chart, and left.
(-)
Ema came around the corner to the front of Nichody's tent and found herself face to face with Clay Terran. "Hi Ema."
"Hi Clay."
"Looking for the Doc? I was just looking for him too." Clay told her.
They heard singing a moment later. "…Girt around with cruel foes, still their courage proudly rose, for they thought of hearts that loved them far and near; of the millions true and brave o'er the ocean's swelling wave, and the friends in holy Ireland ever dear."
"Molly!" Clay exclaimed, and he and Ema hurried off.
The auburn haired Irish-American nurse was walking between two of the tents nearby, carrying a pile of clean sheets. She paused when she saw Clay and her senior officer coming towards them. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"Where's Dr. Nichody?" Ema asked.
"He got a pass to leave for the day, so I think he went to town," Molly reported.
"What's in town that he wanted to see?" Clay asked. The nearby town had taken a thorough beating in the war, and there wasn't much that was standing. There was even less if one was looking to buy items like soap or ink.
"I could not tell you." Molly replied. "What is it?"
"We need to ask him about a patient."
"Oh, well, he's supposed to be back later this evening. I think I heard that he only got a 24 hour pass." Molly knew most of the gossip in the camp.
"Alright. We'll try to catch him when he gets back, then,"Clay told her.
Molly nodded and went on her way. Clay and Ema looked at each other. "What did you need Nichody for?" Clay asked.
Ema frowned. "I wanted to find out about a patient. And he's not going to like what I have to ask him."
"Which patient? Gavin? I was going to ask you about him. How's he recovering?"
"He's not. That's why I wanted to talk to Dr Nichody. I wonder if he missed something during surgery. Maybe when he was cleaning the infection out he didn't get everything."
Clay thought it over. "How is Gavin?"
"Still running a fever. It goes up and down, but it won't go away, and we're going through the antibiotics on him," Ema told him. "And the doctor will not be happy when I tell him what I think."
"Do you think he's trying to die? Does he seem suicidal to you at all?"
Ema considered the question for a long moment before she answered. "No. I think if he was, he would have taken that IV out by now. That's how we're keeping him fed and giving him antibiotics. But he hasn't messed with it, and he doesn't really resist treatment." Other than sponge baths, which Klavier seems to detest.
"Good to know. I'll talk to Nichody as soon as he gets back. I want Gavin back on his feet," Clay said, turning away, but Ema was curious and not about to let him go with that answer.
"Why does it matter? Is he going to a POW camp?" She asked.
Clay paused. "Uh, maybe. Depends on some further discussions that Apollo and I will have with him."
Ema started to say something else, but then had to stop. Jake Marshall was walking towards them. "Pardon me, Bambina," he said, nodding in Ema's direction. "I hate to interrupt you two, but I've got a gentleman from the Red Cross here in the command tent. Says he's responding to my radio call about a kid who needed help."
Clay nodded. "I'll go meet him. Marshall, will you find Justice and let him know?"
Marshall gave a short nod. "Sure will."
He walked on by, and Clay and Ema turned and headed to the command tent.
(-)
After Apollo has joined them, Clay and Ema, together with the Red Cross Representative, headed for the medical tent. It isn't meal time, so this is the place that Peter is most likely to be.
Sure enough the little boy was on Gavin's bed, curled up under the German's left arm, carefully, in light of the IV and handcuffs. He sat up when he saw the group come in, and his action roused Klavier back to a semblance of awareness.
Clay spoke first, in French. "Peter, this is Marc Rigel. He's with the Red Cross and you're going to leave with him today, alright? He's going to help you find your family."
"How?" Peter wanted to know. "Mama's gone."
Klavier spoke up. "The Red Cross helps find people who've gone missing, Peter. They'll be able to help you, too."
"Really?" Peter asked, his brown eyes going wide.
"Ja." Klavier slipped back into German by mistake, but Peter knew enough German to understand that word.
The little boy sat up on his knees on the bed and looked at the German earnestly. "You're coming too, right?"
"No Peter," Klavier told him. "I am not coming with you. This time you have to go without me."
Peter looked devastated at this news. "But I want you to come with me." He looked at Klavier's left hand and the restraint there, then back at the German. With an astuteness that shocked them all, he said, "It's because you're a prisoner, isn't it?"
Klavier struggled to put his feverish thoughts in order to come up with an answer that would satisfy Peter, but before he could say anything, Ema leaned forward and looked at the boy. "Peter, Klavier is sick. He can't go with you. He has to stay here and get better."
Peter considered this information for a moment, then nodded solemnly. He turned and threw himself on Klavier, hugging the man as tightly as possible. Klavier wrapped his free arm around Peter and hugged him as best as he could. "Be good, Peter," He whispered to the boy. Peter nodded, and slid off the bed, going to stand by the Red Cross man.
"Sprechen Sie Englisch?" Klavier asked Rigel. The man nodded, and Klavier switched to English, as he knew that Peter knew even less English than he did German. "Peter's mother was taken away not all that long ago. If she isn't dead, she may be in a concentration camp, but I don't know where she was taken. His father and grandfather you may be have better luck finding; his grandfather went to join the French Resistance and his father may be in a prisoner of war camp, as he was part of the French Army in the early campaigns of the war."
"We will look into it," Rigel promised. He left a few minutes later, taking Peter with him. Apollo had turned to leave, but Clay caught him and pulled him back. Then he turned to Klavier. The French conversation had been the last information that he had needed to hear.
"How would you like to avoid being shipped to a prisoner of war camp in mainland America?"
Klavier raised an eyebrow. "Was?" He hadn't noticed that he was still speaking German.
Apollo stepped forward. "We could use someone in my…my unit, who can speak German. In exchange for your help, you could stay out of a prisoner of war camp."
"It wouldn't be conscription." Clay added. "You would be signed up in the US Army, and draw pay and everything. Basically, we're asking you to switch sides."
Klavier considered it. Then he shook his head. "I would prefer being sent to a prisoner of war camp." He was speaking English again.
Clay looked floored at that news. It was unbelievable to him that Klavier would turn down the offer. "What? Why? You can't convince me for two minutes it's because you're such a loyal German and want to keep serving a Reich whose laws you just finished flaunting."
For a long time, Klavier said nothing. Then he spoke. "My brother is being held prisoner, and his safety depends on my doing what I am told. I have no control over whether or not I, as a prisoner, am sent to a prisoner of war camp. But if I switch sides and it's discovered that I did so, the Nazis will take their anger out on my brother."
Ema, who had found reason to be loitering nearby, gasped. Apollo tried to look stoic at the news but he wasn't entirely successful at it. Clay looked grim. "Where's your brother being held?"
"It's called Castle Brocken. It's where the Nazis are holding some political prisoners. They sent me to the Western front and him there." Klavier replied.
"Where is Castle Brocken?" Apollo asked suddenly.
Klavier shook his head. "I…" He sighed and put a hand to his head. "It's on the other side of the border, in Germany. I can't remember where, without a map." He was tired. And cold. He was always tired and cold these days.
"If we could protect you, and keep anyone from finding out you're helping us, would you do it?" Apollo asked.
"If you could do that, I would consider helping you." Klavier replied.
Clay looked Apollo. Apollo looked at Clay. Clay looked at Klavier and nodded. "Alright, we'll make it work."
They left the tent a few minutes later, Ema in tow. She looked pale and upset.
"Don't go back there," Apollo warned, but he could see by the look on her face that it was too late, and she was thinking about her sister being blackmailed to protect her.
"These Nazis are such lovely folk," Clay said dryly, putting his hands on his hips. "Well, time to see what we can do about getting Gavin enlisted in our side of the war. And get Nichody on figuring out why Gavin isn't back on his feet yet."
3.
As Ema had predicted, Dr. Nichody nearly had a fit when Clay was finally able to corner him and ask why Gavin was still sick. There was a substantial bit of bickering, which finally attracted Apollo's attention over to Nichody's tent. The officer had intervened by ordering Nichody to find out why Gavin was still sick and if that meant another operation, so be it.
Nichody had griped, complained, and generally raised a fuss until he reviewed Gavin's chart. Then he called for another surgery.
It was while Gavin was in surgery that Clay finally got around to looking at the small book that was in Gavin's possession when he was brought into camp. It was made of brown leather, sized to fit in a pocket and wrapped up in a piece of oilcloth. A leather cord wrapped around it and attached to the book kept it shut. A pencil stub had been tucked in this cord to keep it with the book. He opened the book up and was surprised to find that part of what was inside was written in French.
"Golly Gee," he muttered. He was sitting in the medical tent, against one of the support poles and waiting for the outcome of the second surgery when he had decided to start reading. "I should have looked at this first. It would have saved me some time."
The very first page is written on in German and French. The name and addresses appear to be duplicated; written once in each language.
If discovered please return to Kristoph Gavin.
There was an address in Munich, and another that named "Castle Brocken" as a location the book should be returned to.
"Must be the brother." Clay decided, wetting his fingers in his mouth and flipping through the book.
Some of the first pages were written in German, and appear to be coded with initials throughout. All of these Clay skipped. Some pages are just filled with odd circles and letters and Clay couldn't make out what those are supposed to be either.
He was looking at them, trying to determine if they were a new German code, when he felt someone's presence behind him and turned to see Molly with a stack of clean sheets, looking over his shoulder. "Your work?" she asked, nodding at the book.
"Nope. No idea what it is." He replied, turning his attention back to the book.
"I think it's music," She said, and Clay turned back to her again.
"What?"
"Music," She repeated, and started to hum under her breath. Clay listened carefully until she stopped.
"What you were just humming is this," he asked, indicating the symbols on the page of the book.
"Yes," Molly nodded. "I don't know what key it's supposed to be in, though. Maybe G?" She asked, noting the tiny letter, that Clay had thought was a key for how to start decoding the message, in the top corner of the page. The opposite page had similar notations on it, but an "A" in the top corner.
"Curiouser and curiouser," Clay muttered, looking back at the book. Molly drifted off to finish her work, and Clay went back to reading.
The notations in French were enlightening. The dates are staggered, with the earliest dating from 1940.
Dear Kristoph,
If I told you what I thought about this war, I'd be executed.
So I won't say it. I think you can guess.
K.
Dear Kristoph,
If only the High Command wasn't insane. We'd be further along.
K.
Some entries weren't even finished at all.
Dear Kristoph,
…
Dear Kris
…
Kristoph,
I wish that
Then it was notations in German, for pages, and more music.
Dear Kris,
Cold. Wet. Guess who gets to climb trees and go scouting for targets?
Rain is nice when you know you can get out of it. It's not as much fun if you can't.
K.
Clay snorted at that one and shook his head. Some things never change, no matter whose side of the war one was on.
Kristoph,
I guess I'd appreciate this war more if I believed in what Germany is fighting for.
I really have no idea what Germany is fighting for.
If it's land, I don't think Germany needs it.
K.
Most of the entries are short. Very few are of any substance, but some are.
Dear Kristoph,
In case I get shot, I know it's risky writing this and I don't think you'll ever see it even if I do end up getting shot. But I have to do something, or I'll go mad. I have to say what I think, somehow. Don't worry, any more than you are, anyway. I make sure no one can see me write in this and so far I believe no one in my unit knows I have it.
I wish that we would face facts. Now that America has joined the war, there's no way we can win this. How can we bomb a country on the other side of the ocean? Our C.O. let it slip that America makes new ships and planes at an amazing rate, turning out ships so quickly the U-boats can't keep up.
We're not allowed to be honest about anything that might "demoralizing." Schmidt was executed the other day for getting drunk and predicting disaster in Russia. So it's "demoralizing" to be honest about how the war is going to end.
I'm hoping that I can come see if you my request for leave ever gets approved. I've been waiting for months now. At least I have something to look forward too; every morning I get to find out whether or not my requested leave will be granted. It adds excitement to the general routine of trying to not get shot by irritated soldiers of the countries we keep invading. They get to defend their homelands. I get to be the invader.
K.
The next page is a doodle in pencil of some kind of family crest. The only symbols that Clay can make heads or tails of are a kind of bird looming over a stylized "G". There are more pages of writing in German, and music. Clay read as much as he could, and when he was finished, he closed the book and looked back up at the cloth ceiling overhead.
"You make a real lousy Nazi, Gavin. I think you'll do great on our side of the war."
(-)
Nichody was forced to admit, after the end of the second surgery, that he had missed something in the first surgery, and the few threads of torn clothing that he had missed were what had given the infection a way to hold on.
Clay was sitting by the German's cot the next morning, wondering if and when the other man would wake up, and flipping through Gavin's tiny book, looking at the music and entries that he could read, when Apollo walked in. "I'm flying back to London. I think we can make arrangements, some kind of cover identity for Gavin. I'm also planning to meet up with the rest of the brigade and bring them back with me."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Clay replied. "I'll keep an eye on our new recruit!" Even though Gavin hasn't officially agreed to join them yet, Clay is confident that he will.
Apollo looked at Gavin, who was still handcuffed to the bed. "I doubt he's going anywhere. Not without our knowledge, anyway. Keep the place running while I'm gone?"
"Always," Clay took his duties as second in command of the Flying Sidewinders very seriously. "Fair winds and smooth sailing."
"Great thing for a guy from the USAAF to say. You'd think you were in the Navy before the Sidewinders," Apollo said, but he was grinning. His grin faded and he looked reluctant. Clay was the prop that held him up and he didn't like leaving his best friend and emotional support behind, even if it was for something as simple as a trip to London. He clapped his best friend on the shoulder, then vanished back out the door of the tent.
When it became clear after awhile that Gavin wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, Clay drifted away to deal with the paperwork and other assorted problems that were left behind and fell to him now that Apollo is gone.
Later that afternoon, Ema dropped by the command tent to let him know that Gavin was awake, and eating for the first time since he was brought to camp. His fever has broken as well.
"Good," Clay said when he heard the news. He was sitting at the desk in the tent, opposite the table that held the radio equipment, and was midway through a stack of documents that he was finishing and busily forging Apollo's signature on. As the captain's consigliore, the Flying Sidewinders treat his word as Apollo's word, and Clay had an unlimited right to sign Apollo's name to anything. "When Apollo gets back, we'll have the new ID all ready for Gavin, and we'll have a translator for the Sidewinders, too."
(-)
Gavin has had another visitor during his time in the medical tent, though no one knows it yet.
Corporal Igor Sokolov has made it a point to know exactly what Gavin's prognosis was at any time. Ever since the German was bought back to the camp, it has been clear to Sokolov that the German has not been recovering and at the rate he's going, will eventually succumb to his injuries.
He feels nothing over this, neither pity nor sympathy. In his mind, this is nothing more than what the German deserved.
But now there has been a change, and Nichody has performed a second surgery. This in itself did not cause Sokolov any concern when he heard the news. Many people have died on the operating table before, and Gavin wasn't well before he went into surgery. This might be the last straw that it takes to push to the German into the afterlife.
To Sokolov's disappointment, admitted only to himself when he heard an update later on, Gavin survived the second surgery.
This news was worsened in his mind the next day when he learned from Nichody that the German was awake and eating, something he hadn't done since he was brought into the camp. Prior to this, the only nutrition the German took in was from the IV in his arm.
Then Sokolov knew that Gavin would live.
But he also knew that there was still time to act.
Sokolov knew the routine of the nurses in the evening, having watched them come and go for the last couple of days. More soldiers have been joining the unit today, together with their leaders and it's only a matter of time before some officer who outranks Lt. Terran comes in and relieves Terran, and by extension Captain Justice, of duty. The unit will move forward soon, back into the fight, and the Flying Sidewinders will move on to whatever next mission the Allied command sees fit to give them. So if he does anything, it will have to be tonight.
Sokolov entered the medical tent silently. No battles had taken in the last week, so that meant that there were no casualties and no injuries yet, other than minor injuries that arose in the course of normal non-combat work for the soldiers. There is still only one patient in the medical tent.
This is better than Sokolov can ever hope for. There are no witnesses.
He entered the tent silently. Igor can see, when he got closer to the cot that Gavin was in, that the man is now recovering, and will be back on his feet in no time.
He took a seat on the cot next to Gavin's and after a moment's consideration, reached over and shook the German awake.
The German came awake quickly and gave him a curious look. "I do not believe we have been introduced," He said in clear, though accented, English.
Sokolov couldn't speak German and he had no plans to ever learn how. He suspected that the German couldn't understand or speak Russian. So English it is. "You must be comfortable here."
"Comfortable enough, I suppose," Gavin replied cautiously. There was something in the other man's demeanor that he did not like, and he was starting to wish that his left wrist was not still handcuffed to the bed, or that he had his sidearm, but the Americans had taken that away when they'd taken him prisoner.
"How amusing. In German prisoners of war camps, it's not so comfortable for us Russians, you see."
"You might get the opportunity to complain about that to the Storm Troopers," Gavin replied carefully. "But I am not a Storm Trooper and have never been in charge of any prisoners of war."
"No. No, I believe that. You simply take them, and shoot those who resist." Sokolov said with an unpleasant smile. "You are a Boche. And the Americans may let you live, but I am not as forgiving as they are. When Russia has done to Germany what Germany did to them, then I will rest, but not until then." He set a hand on the pillow that was lying on the cot he was sitting on, and then picked it up and set it on his lap. He fluffed it for a moment, then lunged forward and clamped the pillow over Gavin's face.
Panic set in almost immediately but Klavier tried to keep it at bay. If he panicked, he couldn't think clearly. He swung his free hand into a fist and aimed it in the general direction of where Sokolov had been when he had decided to smother him. He felt his arm get caught and twisted, and the pressure on the pillow over his face increased.
Growing more desperate, he curled his legs up to his chest. The action tore at the stitches in his side, but he didn't notice it at the time. He kicked out as hard as possible, and this time he felt impact.
The pressure on his face was relieved, and then a moment later the whole cot went over.
The IV bottle on the stand by the bed shattered on impact as Klavier hit the ground. But his crash to the ground had made it impossible for Sokolov to continue to smother him. Klavier shoved the cot off of himself and wished again that his hand was not cuffed to it. His elbow ached and spots of blood colored the ground where the IV in his vein had been stressed. He hadn't noticed yet, but he was bleeding from his where the stitches in his side had totally been torn out. He was breathing hard, and when he saw the Russian approach again, he ducked his head down, keeping his free arm in front of his head on the ground.
Sokolov was furious. What should have been a simple smothering had quickly gone awry and now there was no way for the German's death to be written off as a death as result of complication from surgery, or something else that the Allies wouldn't investigate too carefully in the middle of a war.
He would never let himself be accused of a crime by a Boche. Now the German would have to die. In a near frenzy, he looked around for another method of dealing with the Boche, and hit upon a new idea. He got to his feet and stepped on the German's left wrist, the one that was still handcuffed. This caused the handcuff to dig into the skin and start drawing blood, but this was a bonus. What Sokolov wanted was what happened next: the German lifted his head off the ground.
"Nein! Nein!" Klavier tried to shove the Russian off of his wrist with his free hand, but after his extended convalescence he didn't have the strength to budge the heavier man so much as a centimeter. In trying to do so, he had lifted his head and turned to see what was causing him pain now, and then moved his arm to try and shove the other man off of his wrist. That was what Sokolov wanted.
Sokolov yanked the IV tubing out of the German's arm and disconnected it from the shattered remnants of the bottle in one swift motion. He quickly folded it in half before he wrapped it around the German's throat and pulled his improvised garrote together as tightly as possible.
And that was when Klavier realized that he had made a big mistake.
4.
"Talk about a whirlwind trip. I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow morning at the earliest," Clay said, looking up from the paperback book he was reading when the tent flap was swung aside and Apollo let himself in. "Did you bring the rest of the Sidewinders back with you?"
"Yes, I did. And I talked to General Debron while I was there," Apollo stripped off his uniform jacket and dropped it onto his cot. "He's more than okay with us converting a German National to our side. And I mentioned Castle Brocken to him. He didn't say anything outright, but he said enough that I gathered that we won't hurt his feelings if we storm the castle if we happen to be in that part of Germany."
Clay nodded. "Sounds good."
"I got," Apollo held up a packet. "Documents and new dog tags for Gavin, if he'll take them, and I talked to Miss von Karma who happened to be back in London while I was there." Apollo only knew Franziska von Karma through his sister's godfather, Miles Edgeworth. Sometimes, even now, Apollo struggled with the fact that he had a family waiting for him back in America. They couldn't send me over here to be target practice for Germans while I didn't think I had a family. Now I have to get shot at and just keep hoping that I make it home to my sister, and I almost already haven't once. "She said that Brocken isn't the only castle that the Nazis have been using to hold prisoners. There's at least one more that she's heard of. Apparently, those are places where the Nazis put prisoners that are too important to let go, but equally too important to put into the prison camps."
Clay dog-eared the page of the book that he was on and set it to the side. "Alright. Let's go finish recruiting Gavin."
The walk across the camp was brief, but when the two men entered the medical tent, he scene that greeted them took a moment to comprehend.
Gavin was on the floor, the cot that he had been on upside down next to him. Sokolov was standing over the prone German, pulling on some kind of cord that was wrapped around Gavin's neck.
Clay reacted first. He charged forward, shoving the Russian away from Gavin. The attack took place faster than Sokolov could react to it, and he wasn't able to maintain his grip on his improvised garrote.
Apollo had raced into the tent as well, but rather than follow Clay to deal with Sokolov, he stopped to check on Gavin. The German was pale and still, lips tinged blue from lack of oxygen. Apollo pulled the garrotte away and then hesitated, unsure of what to do, and wished that Northwood, the Sidewinder's radio man/medic, was there, or Dr. Nichody. He laid a hand on Gavin's chest and discovered a heartbeat, and then he hit the other man between the shoulder blades as hard as he could, hoping that the action would be enough to start the other man's lungs.
It was. Gavin exhaled in a sudden rush, and on taking his next breath, started to cough. Apollo took the key to the handcuffs from his pocket and released the German's bloody wrist from the restraint. Amidst Gavin's fits of coughing, Apollo managed to get him on his back. He yanked the pillowcase off a pillow lying nearby, and used that to try to stem the other man's bleeding wrist. It was awkward, as the IV catheter was still in Gavin's arm and Apollo didn't feel bold enough to pull it out. It needed to come out, he suspected, based on the bleeding around it.
Clay reappeared a moment later, and Apollo was filled with a relief he couldn't name. "Sokolov's days in the Sidewinders are over." He announced grimly. Nothing he said was a surprise to Apollo. Clay looked around and came back with a sheet that he used to try and stop the bleeding side wound.
Ema appeared a moment later. "What happened? I heard a racket…" She trailed off as she took in the scene.
"Someone thought that the Geneva Convention was an option, not a rule," Jake Marshall said behind her, and she gave him a confused glance, attention flicking behind her to Jake and then back to the scene in front of her. Jake re-holstered his side-arm. He too had heard the racket, and he hadn't been about to burst in without any weapons and he certainly wasn't going to let Ema come in without backup. "Get Dr. Nichody, please, Bambina."
Ema gave a short nod and darted away. Jake looked at his two commanding officers, then saw Sokolov nearby, fuming. "I'll escort the…perpetrator …out," He said, keeping one hand firmly on his sidearm.
Gavin had not said a word, though his coughing had begun to ease.
Clay and Apollo exchanged a long look, the same question exchanged between them: now what?
(-)
"I have just been given a lecture that my rank should protect me from having to take from a doctor who was not happy about having to repeat a surgery for the third time," Apollo announced as he entered the tent he shared with Clay. He saw the third cot set up there and did a double take. "Someone else moving in?"
"Yep. Soon as he's out of surgery, I'm having Gavin moved in here," Clay replied.
"This feels like overkill somehow," Apollo told him.
"Are you sure?" Clay asked. Apollo had to pause to consider it. The dark-haired man went on. "So where's the rest of the Sidewinders? I hear a Major just came into camp so I think your time in charge has ended."
"They're getting set up in their tents, I think. I have a new objective from the General to present to them. You want to talk to them about Gavin?"
"I was thinking we would both go talk to them."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
"And then I will talk to Gavin as soon as he awakens from surgery," Clay promised as he got to his feet and the pair headed for the tent door.
(-)
When Klavier woke up, he wasn't sure where he was, but he was sure it wasn't the medical tent. His throat was sore, and he was surprised when he shifted and discovered that he was not handcuffed to anything. He lifted his left wrist and inspected it carefully. It was bandaged, and then what had happened to him in the medical tent came back to him. There was no IV in either arm this time. He set his hand down and glanced around the tent. It was grey inside, so it must be evening. The black-haired man from before – Clay Terran, his mind placed after a moment – was sitting on one of the other beds, reading a paperback.
"Where am I?" Klavier whispered in English.
"Still in camp," Clay said, looking up from his book and dog-earing the page he was working on. "Just, not in the medical tent anymore. We, uh, moved you out of there." He closed the book and set it aside. "Igor Sokolov has been sent back to London to be dealt with. We didn't know he intended to do what he did."
Klavier gave a half-nod. In the dim light, it was hard to see.
"We'd still like you to join us, if you're willing. We have a new identity for you, and we're willing to go storm a Nazi castle, if you're willing to go with us," Clay offered.
Klavier considered it, but not for too long. "I will join you," He agreed. His voice was low and hoarse. "But there's something else I want."
"What is it?"
"I want arrangements to be made so that my brother and I can move to America after the war is over."
"Sounds reasonable. We'll get it taken care of," Clay promised.
"Then I will join you."
Clay's grin seemed to illuminate the tent. "Welcome to the Flying Sidewinders. It'll be good to have someone with us who can speak German."
Klavier was curious. "Why do you need someone who can speak German so badly?"
Clay's grin dimmed a little. "Oh, well, if you stick around long enough, you'll find out. Believe me, you'll find out. I'm never gonna be allowed to live it down."
[A/N:] This story was supposed to be short, and it ended up being 12,000+ words. But it is a CD spinoff, so who am I kidding?
Alright. What do I need to note? I am still not exactly sure how Army Ranks work so I have played fast a loose with those in here. This is a little bit closer in spirit to Hogan's Heroes with Apollo's special brigade. For example, we Jake Marshall carrying a sidearm. He would probably not have been allowed to do that in the American Army. Klavier has a sidearm too but I don't know what the rules were in the Wehrmacht as far as sidearms (if it helps, in this AU Klavier is an officer in the Heer. That's the Army part of the German Armed Forces, at least in the WWII period.) Peter is the same Peter who we met in the first chapter in CD. "Enfant" and "Kind" both mean child. Igor is using French and Clay is trying out German.
What else? Northwood, who Apollo briefly refers towards the end, and Molly are OCs. The Germans and Russians and how they treated each in WWII is a discussion I'm not even going to wade into. But Igor is working for the American Army, and America did hold to the Geneva Convention during the war, and killing prisoners is not allowed under the Convention. Klavier uses the term "Storm Troopers" in his conversation. "Storm Troopers" is a term that Germans used to refer to the SS during the Third Reich, according to Berlin Embassy by William Russell, which was a fascinating read.
Clay's paperbook is significant only because he's reading an Armed Services Edition. These books were, according to NPR, printed on paper about the quality of newspaper paper and were designed to fit in a pocket. Some books were classics, like "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" and others were trashy but they gave soldiers something to do during the War. About 122 million books were distributed during the war. Being made of such thin paper, they tended to not last through too many readings. Oh, and dog-earing books - folding down the corner of a page so that you know where you left off - is bad for them. Don't dog ear books.
I do think that's everything. I may or may not continue this later on. I make no promises. If you have any questions, as always, please PM me and please review.