Chapter VI: Missing in Action
June 8th, 1944
Strasbourg, France
"Beilschmidt."
"Kraus." Germany addressed the commandant coldly. He held no fondness for the draconic SS officer, nor for the entirety of the SS ranks, if he were being honest. They were arrogant, and fanatical, and even though Germany was an ardent supporter of the Third Reich he found their enthusiasm overbearing and rather frightening.
"Do you have the prisoner?"
"My men are retrieving him now." Kraus said airily, adjusting his black officers' cap. The hair beneath it resembled hoar frost, it was so heavily mixed with gray, and it caused an up swell of self-righteous vanity in Germany, who, despite all his years, maintained his youth, "I do not like him."
"I doubt you would." They spoke without looking at each other, choosing instead to stand side by side, each trying to appear taller and more put-together than the other. Germany liked to think he was winning, but Kraus's cold unflappability undercut his sense of victory.
Behind them a step stood Italy, for his authority in this place was nil, thereby relegating him to a subordinate position. He fidgeted, though Germany supposed that any amount of fidgeting was preferable to his usual chatter. Even so, the imposition of a tag-a-long was quickly rankling Kraus' already foul disposition. Germany watched the crow's feet about his eyes deepen as the minutes passed by until it seemed he was peering out through slits.
"At last." Kraus said. A chorus of protests heralded the arrival of the two SS guards and their charge: a thrashing, indignant American held nearly aloft between them. As they came closer, a fresh welt made itself evident, bisecting Major Carter's sweaty, dirty, blood-encrusted face. A mark from a riding crop. Germany frowned deeply.
It was no secret that he, a Wehrmacht commander, had very little control of the goings-on at Stalag IV. It began when France was arrested and the Führer insisted that the SS take control of his imprisonment. Germany received no consultation or warning, and, in fact, it was in complete disregard of international wartime law that the Führer proceeded. If a country was conquered it fell to the conqueror – in this case, Germany himself - to see to their detainment. The Führer had walked all over that particular provision, and Germany was none too thrilled about it. He must have some larger goal in mind.
"Bring him here." He ordered. Major Carter lifted his battered head high, surveying Germany with a fervid loathing.
"Hello there!" Italy, having stayed silent for as long as he could handle, burst forth with his usual verboseness, causing the American's head to snap suddenly in his direction. Had Germany wished initially to gauge Major Carter's reaction to the other country he would have been thoroughly satisfied with the results. The man was thunderstruck, to put it lightly. His lips were drawn back in horror, his posture tensed, and his eyes wide with recognition. Germany and Kraus exchanged a look.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Major Carter ground out through clenched teeth. The statement was reactionary, not a thought out response, and Germany narrowed his eyes to disguise a triumphant smile. He knew Italy!
"Vargas, have you ever met this man before?" Germany queried, a might smugly. Italy opened and closed his mouth, brow creased, before approaching the captive.
It didn't take a genius to understand that the two men were as different from each other as night was from day; however, their polar personalities did nothing to refute the physical likeness. Even through the blood and grime and simmering resentment, their profiles were strikingly similar. Carter had Italy's straight nose and expressive eyes, storm blue rather than warm brown. Even the shape of his mouth was indicative of Italian blood. But that was where the similarities ended. The rest of him was utterly American; the rest of him was Jones.
Italy leaned in closer until he was nearly nose to nose with Major Carter, looking at him intently with a child's curiosity. The man in question barely breathed.
"No, I do not." Germany pursed his lips and said nothing for a moment, considering.
"Fine then," He murmured tonelessly, "This way."
The room in which they conducted questioning was windowless and soundproof. It was situated in the center of the main command center with white walls and a table and chairs to accommodate its occupants. Brutal efficiency. Just to Germany's taste.
"Commandant, I thank you for your assistance, but I will take it from here." Kraus snapped his head Germany's way.
"General, this man is imprisoned in my camp. I reserve the right to be present during the interrogation." Germany narrowed his eyes. He would have none of this, not with this prisoner. Kraus had managed to insert himself into every high-profile interrogation that Germany had ever undertaken in this compound and he would be damned if he had to indulge him this time. It was imperative to the Wehrmacht that he get what he could out of this man while the chance presented itself, and he could not accomplish anything short of that with Kraus present. He was violent and belligerent and most importantly, he knew nothing of the true nature of international politics. By law, Germany could not disclose his true identity, or that of any other country, to a man who lacked government authorization to receive such information, and Kraus, most certainly, was not authorized.
"With all due respect, Commandant, I will conduct this interrogation on my terms. This man was arrested by the Wehrmacht and under Wehrmacht authority he shall remain." Without waiting for a reply, Germany performed an 'about face' and followed the screaming, obscenity-hurling procession, comprised solely of a single man, to the place they would be conducting their business. All the while he felt the furious heat of Kraus's gaze on his back, which he heartily ignored, until the door was shut.
Major Carter was shoved unceremoniously into a chair where made a big show of righting his tattered, filthy uniform and flicking the equally filthy hair from his forehead. His eyes, the only part of him not covered in a layer of grime, were as turbulent as the English Channel. They fixed on Germany with a proud contempt as the two SS guards were dismissed. He was putting on airs, goading him. Germany didn't know whether to be offended or impressed.
"Now then, I do not like to beat about the bush, so I will ask you directly: Who are you?" If the Major was caught off guard he did not show it.
"You know who I am."
"I know who you are pretending to be." Germany said flatly, "I want the truth, American."
"I am not required to tell you anything more than what I already have." His voice shifted from the casual American slang into the decisive, warning tones of an officer.
"It is time to drop the act!" Germany let his fist drop with a bang. Major Carter's reaction was instantaneous. He was out of his chair and head to head with Germany in a half a second, shoulders wrenched back defiantly. Italy, too, was brought into the fray, flitting about the perimeter in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Fruitless, however, were his efforts; neither of them were the type to back down, "Tell me, who are you really?"
"I'm the man who's gonna bring down the temple, you Kraut son-of-a-bitch."
Germany hit him so hard he felt the bones in his hand shift. Major Carter was sent sprawling, his broken nose dribbling red down his chin. He held his face reflexively, but what little fear and surprise that sparked in his eye was overpowered by intense hatred. To say Germany was unnerved would have been rather an understatement, but he pushed it aside and approached the dirty, bleeding officer, planted a boot on his chest and leaned down hard. Carter squirmed and writhed as he was pressed into the floor.
"Germany!" Italy cried in protest. He flew to his friend's side like a startled canary, yanking at Germany's arm with all the force of an underweight dachshund. In the manner of an aggravated owner, Germany merely brushed him off. Major Carter had to understand the danger posed by a man with little left to lose. Besides, Germany thought, idle threats were of no use here, they must be preceded and reinforced by action.
"There is no Geneva Convention to protect you here. I know you are a state," Major Carter drew his lips back in a snarl as he wheezed and sputtered. Germany increased the pressure on his sternum until the dry crack of his ribs snapping split the air. Carter cried out - a low, throaty noise - and grasped at his leg, "I swear, I will do whatever is necessary to get you to speak, so for your own sake you will cooperate with me." Germany shoved against him once more and moved off, leaving the American to cough and clutch his chest. The horror on Italy's face as he clapped his hands over his mouth was almost enough to make Germany regret his actions. Almost. But it had to be done. For the sake of the Reich, it must.
"I don't know what you're damn-well talking about!" Another blow to the face left his already fractured nose bent gruesomely to the side. Carter's eyes watered as the beginning of a nasty bruise leached its way outward from the center of his face and under his eyes. He wiped the blood away from his mouth, but the flow was too heavy for it to matter much; the bottom half of his face was already coated in red.
"Do not lie to me. I know you are more than you appear to be - I saw it!" Carter recoiled at that, for the first time since the interrogation began, the manic light of true fear sparked in his eye, "I will say it again: who are you?"
But the American rallied in spite of everything.
"You'll have to kill me first. I'll die before I tell you anything!" The force behind his declaration made Germany take an involuntary step backward. He had always known states were tough, but the sheer conviction in his words sent shivers down his spine. It had an effect on Italy as well. He looked to Germany, mouth open, and then back at Major Carter who swayed as he picked himself up. Once he was on his feet he stood erect, chin high and back straight, with the steady bearing of a lord. With injuries, new and old, and the blood all over his ravaged, war-torn body, he resembled something out of the Old Testament.
Fury swept over Germany in a hot wave. Who did he think he was?
"Do have any idea what will happen to you if you do not cooperate?" He demanded, desperate now, "I have no wish to put an end to a state, but believe me when I say my purpose is no less than yours. I will kill you, if necessary."
"Do it then. I dare you." Major Carter said in a ragged voice. His cutting blue eyes scrutinized Germany with an arrogance to rival that of Italy's awful brother, while his mouth pulled back in an awful crimson smile.
"You are a fool." Germany let him go and, in his disbelief, retreated a step. Major Carter just watched him warily, a hand on his broken ribs, "You will die in here, don't you understand that? I know you are a state, if you comply, I can grant you amnesty."
"Think I care? You're not gettin' a thing from me." He said lowly. Germany looked at him hard, trying and failing to put a name to his blood-stained face. He was certain he had never met this state before – whomever he was. He would have remembered.
A long moment passed in which the two men simply regarded each other, willing someone to bend. But none did. Germany would get nothing from the American this day and they both knew it.
Germany barked an order. The two SS men at the door materialized by his side, "Take him back to the barracks." They did as ordered, and soon all that was left of their debacle of an interrogation was a Carter's blood on the floor and the gloomy cloud hanging in the air. Neither Germany nor Italy knew quite what to say, for there were few words that would suit the situation. "That was vile." Italy said at last.
"That is war." He answered tonelessly.
"I thought that you wanted me to handle it."
"He did not respond to you earlier, he will not now."
"Then why did you make me stay?" Italy demanded in an explosion of volume. Germany turned to him at once, shocked by his outburst, "I am your friend Germany and I will follow you as long as I am able, through thick and thin, but do not ask me to play witness to this! I won't do it!"
Germany felt his mouth open and close of its own volition. Italy never talked back to him. Never. But this time he had, whether by accident or design, and it was grounds for pause. Germany felt suddenly very guilty. He hadn't intended for it to go so far. There was a certain level of battlefield decorum which Germany tried at all times to obey. It was blasphemous to his principles to treat a prisoner, let alone an officer, in such an egregious manner, but he was left with little a choice. Rommel and the rest of the men on the Western Front were relying on him to bring them inside information on the Allies plan of attack; he could not afford to show mercy
"Italy, I-" His throat closed in on itself. He had to swallow before he could speak again, "Forgive me… for putting you in such a position. It was not my intent." The accusing glare of his naïve, albeit infallible ally softened a tad. Italy looked downward at the floor, then at Major Carter's bloody handprint on the wall.
"It should not have come to this." Italy murmured, earning a tired breath from Germany.
"What choice do we have? The Allies are coming, I cannot afford to let this opportunity pass us by. Surely you can see that!"
"I do, Germany. But is this not going too far? America will not like that you have tortured on of his states."
"Now you listen to me Italy. That state is in violation of his own laws. Even if this does get back to America, there is no path of recourse."
"Would it not be easier to hold him for ransom? The mafia do it all the time!" Germany shook his head.
"We are not the mafia, Italy," He chided good-naturedly, "He has broken federal regulation - the Americans would sooner declare him a traitor than claim responsibility for a runaway state. And in any case, I need the Führer's approval if I am to negotiate with the Allies."
"That is insane."
"Italy…" He cautioned. The last thing he needed was for Italy to unintentionally slander the Führer and implicate the both of them. Kraus would be ever so pleased, "Come, we shall try again tomorrow. Major Carter cannot hold out forever."
