He rubbed his temples gently at first, but as the kinder kept talking, he rubbed harder. He'd tried in vain to interrupt fifteen minutes ago. It seemed that every thing he said set off a new, long-winded topic. None of these topics involved the wanton sabotage of the ball bearing plant which killed twenty men - two of whom were his Gestapo agents.
He picked up the pencil and tapped it against his other hand. When the chatter lulled, at least long enough for a deep breath, he seized the opportunity. "I believe that you were not in Camp Thirteen last night, Sergeant Carter," he said.
"I wasn't?"
He shook his head, "No, Sergeant, you were not."
"Well, where was I then?"
"Schweinfurt," Hochstetter hollered. "You were in Schweinfurt blowing up the ball bearing factory!"
Carter looked at his gloves while chewing on his lower lip, his face screwed up in thought. "No, sir. I'm sure I was in Camp Thirteen. The Commandant doesn't allow day trips, let alone night trips. And even if he did - which he doesn't - I don't think the Colonel would be too pleased. I remember once, right after we moved to Muncie, - I was about sixteen… or maybe fifteen? - my dad (did I tell you that he worked in the highway department? That's why we moved, you know.) anyway, we were doing a road trip back to Bullfrog with my ma and baby sister. Grandpa Carter wasn't feeling too good. We thought it might be a heart attack(it was, but it wasn't a bad one). My sister and I talked non-stop - she was just learning to talk, so Ma said that I should talk to her as much as possible - and Dad drove the whole way out and back without saying a word. Ma says it was worry for Grandpa, but I think he was a little angry, too…"
Hochstetter's eyes glazed over as Carter continued to talk. He couldn't have done it, he thought, feeling a little bit desperate. He couldn't stop talking even if he tried. However Hogan does it, it's not with Sergeant Carter!
He stood without a word and left the room, Carter's voice drifting after him. He'd swear the non-stop voice was following him. He passed Schultz on his way to his office. The Sergeant of the Guard attempted to speak with him, but Hochstetter didn't dare listen. He was quite done with listening for the day.
He reached his office, locked the door and poured the stiffest drink possible. It would take a few hours to recover from that interrogation.
Perhaps afterward, I shall try again?
He shuddered at the thought, downed another belt and refilled his glass. No. He was done for the day.
Can you tell I'm having fun?
:D