Prompts: torture (Carter); "I could have you shot for that!" (from day 4 of the Falling for Hogan's Heroes event on Tumblr/AO3)
Author's note: I've been working on this fic based on the "torture" prompt on and off for about two and a half years now, and the Falling for Hogan's Heroes prompt finally helped the last piece click into place 😊 (And then I completely forgot about the event until over halfway through the month...ah, well; better late than never!)
Crack!
"Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine."
Crack!
"Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine."
Crack!
"Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six...oh-seven-oh-nine."
The leather whip licked at Carter's back, slicing through Carter's undershirt and tearing his skin to shreds.
Crack!
"Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five...thirty-six...oh-seven..."
Crack!
"Sergeant...Andrew...Carter, thirty...five..."
Crack!
"Sergeant…"
Crack!
"Thirty…"
Crack!
Carter's vision filled with dark fog. The world around him began to fade away. He couldn't remember his serial number.
"...thirty…"
Carter tumbled into the darkness.
Carter woke up sputtering to frigid water being thrown on his face. He was sitting on a chair- no, he was being tied to the chair, ankles to ankles. Or, well, legs. Ankles to legs. Carter's ankles to the legs of the chair.
The word "thirty" still echoed inside his head, and it took him a few minutes to remember why. Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine.
His back ached where it made contact with the chair. His eye was swollen nearly shut, but he wasn't sure if it was because his eye was black or his cheek was bruised. His lip was fat, too, and probably split, though Carter couldn't be entirely sure where the taste of blood had come from.
Now Gestapo agents were hooking him up to some sort of equipment that looked like it had come from Kinch's box of radio parts. It kind of reminded him of that time they'd turned his rabbit trap into a gonculator. What was it? Some sort of a lie detector? Carter was filled with dread at the idea of what they'd do to him when he failed the lie detector; he'd never been good at lying.
One of the Gestapo agents flicked a switch and then pressed a button, and suddenly Carter's world was filled with white-hot agony. His muscles contracted painfully, leaving him curled into himself (as much as he could be, strapped to the chair) and breathless when it finally stopped.
Carter hardly had the chance to catch his breath before another shock ripped through his body. And then another. And then a longer one, more like the very first.
After that, a short lull. Carter could hear voices near him, drowned out by his desperate gasps for breath and the phantom buzzing that lingered in his ears. And then the source of that voice was in his face, screaming at him.
"What is your mission here in Germany?"
"Sergeant A-andrew Carter, thirty-five...thirty-six..."
The pain of the slap barely registered on his already aching face, but the jolt was enough to shut him up.
And then Carter's world was filled with white-hot agony once again.
The Gestapo agents finally untied Carter, panting and heaving, from the chair. If they hadn't taken hold of his arms, Carter would have crumpled straight down to the floor. His body tingled as if some sort of electric residue was still buzzing around in there. They half-carried, half-dragged him down a hallway and tossed him in a tiny, dungeon-like cell–probably the same one they'd had him in before, though Carter couldn't see quite well enough to tell. He heard the sound of chains rattling, and then someone was lifting him up under the armpits. A second person lifted his arms above his head and encased his wrists in cool, rough metal bracelets.
And then they both let go.
It took Carter a moment to realize that his tiptoes were just barely brushing the floor, and, well, it was all downhill from there. It didn't take long for his wrists and shoulders to start to ache, pulled down by the weight of his own body. His shins ached, too, feet longing to rest firmly on the ground. His sides ached from the electricity that had coursed through his body, and his chest hadn't felt right since that first electrical shock. And if he was able to look, Carter was sure he'd find his skin polka-dotted with electrical burns from where the Gestapo had hooked him up to that machine.
Carter tried to shift his arms, find a more bearable position, but his muscles weren't quite ready to listen to his brain. He tried again, this time succeeding in grabbing the chains well enough to lift himself off the ground, relieving the pressure on his legs. But that sent him bumping into the wall, which was agony against his lacerated back. And it didn't take long before his arms screamed for a break. So Carter carefully let go and went back to standing on his toes, which certainly made his arms feel better, but boy, what he wouldn't give to put his arms down at his sides. And his legs and feet quickly grew tired of standing on tip-toe. So he hoisted himself up by the arms again, lasting just a few moments before his muscles shook and he had no choice but to go back to his tip-toes.
Name, rank, and serial number. That was the last thing Newkirk had said to him before they'd split up, and a common refrain from Colonel Hogan. The only information a soldier was required to provide the enemy-and Carter would be damned before he'd give them anything else.
Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine.
Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine.
Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine.
Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine.
Sergeant Andrew Carter, thirty-five thirty-six oh-seven-oh-nine…
Carter was roused from his stupor by the sound of heavy footsteps striding close by accompanied by loud voices. He couldn't make out what they were saying until the door to his cell opened.
"The General made himself quite clear: I am to take the prisoner straight to Berlin for questioning."
"And that is fine...as long as the paperwork is in order."
"Corporal!" The man snapped his fingers. "The orders from the General!"
"But I told you, mein Colonel, the papers have been misplaced!"
Carter knew those voices.
"You have lost the orders from the General?"
"I-I'm sorry, mein Colonel."
He couldn't be sure-he couldn't seem to muster the strength to lift his head at the moment-but hope began to blossom in Carter's chest.
"I could have you shot for that!"
"Y-yes, mein Colonel!"
"And sent to the Russian front!"
"Herr Colonel, if I may," the voice of one of the Gestapo agents who had taken part in Carter's interrogation cut in, "Why don't we get the General on the telephone so he can clear this up?"
"Excellent idea, Captain," the colonel said.
"Right this way, mein Colonel," the Gestapo agent said.
"Corporal!" Colonel Hogan snapped again. "Stay here with the prisoner until I get back."
"Yes, mein Colonel!" Newkirk answered.
"Do not let anyone touch him!"
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
As soon as the door swung shut, Newkirk rushed over to Carter. "Bloody 'ell." Gentle fingers brushed against his cheek. "Can you 'ear me, Andrew?"
Carter tried to crack a grin, but he wasn't sure that it showed through his swollen, tender face. "Hiya, Newkirk," he croaked.
"Good. I'll get you down from there in a jif," Newkirk said, his tone brightening, though Carter could hear him muttering to himself as brought over the chair pushed against the wall. He climbed up on it to have better access to Carter's shackles and pulled out a thin key from his pocket.
"Like stealin' candy from a baby," he said. Newkirk wrapped his free arm under Carter's armpits to hold him up before opening the cuffs "Easy does it, Andrew," he said, gently guiding his feet to the ground. "How are you doin'?"
"'Ve been better," Carter said, voice still weak.
Newkirk snorted. "Ain't that the understatement of the war." He helped Carter lower his arms and then shifted so that he was better supporting Carter's weight. "Do you think you can walk out of 'ere?"
"I can try," Carter said. His elbows were painfully stiff, his shoulders were on fire, and his knees felt like they were made of Jell-o. The wounds on his back burned where Newkirk's arm held him up.
Carter heard voices coming down the hallway. Colonel Hogan and the Gestapo agent soon appeared in the doorway.
"What is this?" Colonel Hogan–er, Hoganmueller–snapped. "I told you to guard the prisoner, not free him!"
Newkirk snapped to attention–carefully, Carter noticed, so as not to let go. "I'm sorry, mein Colonel."
"With such a dangerous prisoner as this one, we can take no chances!"
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
"Weren't you paying attention at the briefing?"
"Of course, mein Colonel!"
Colonel Hogan smacked his swagger stick against the doorframe to punctuate his point, and Carter couldn't help but jump. He felt Newkirk's arm tighten around his midsection.
"We are lucky that these agents have put him in such a…docile condition," Colonel Hogan continued. "Otherwise, this errand of ours could have ended in disaster!"
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
"I will have to make sure to mention them in my report to Berlin."
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
"Well? Don't just stand there! Bring the prisoner outside to my car!"
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
Carter heard Colonel Hogan sigh and turn to the Gestapo man. "You just can't find good help these days."
Newkirk gave Carter a gentle tug, and they started walking. Carter soon found himself disoriented as they walked down long corridors, Colonel Hogan strolling behind them making Nazi small talk with the Gestapo man. His muscles began to ache and cramp, and his legs felt like they were tied to lead weights. Carter stumbled, and Newkirk caught him.
"You really did a number on him," Colonel Hoganmueller remarked admiringly. Carter was too overcome with pain to care, and besides, he knew the Colonel was just playing a part. But he could still feel Newkirk tense up beside him.
By the time they reached the exit, Newkirk was half-dragging him. The cool, winter air hit Carter's face as a welcome distraction from the pain. Colonel Hogan stayed back on the stoop to make his final goodbyes to the Gestapo agent who had escorted them out while Newkirk brought Carter to Klink's car.
"'Ow are you 'olding up, Andrew?" Newkirk murmured as he settled Carter into the back seat.
"Just dandy," Carter said without a trace of sarcasm, trying to inject a little levity into the situation. But instead of a chuckle, Newkirk swore as he made sure Carter was reasonably comfortable and secure.
Colonel Hogan's footsteps crunched in the snow behind them.
"On with it!" he said loudly to Newkirk, clearly for the Gestapo's benefit. Then, much more quietly, "How is he?"
"If I ever get my 'ands on the bloody bastards–"
"That bad, huh?" Then, louder, "Get in the car, Corporal. We can't keep the general waiting."
"Yes, mein Colonel!"
Newkirk shut Carter's door and took the driver's seat. Colonel Hogan went around to the other side of the car and slid in next to Carter.
"Step on it," Colonel Hogan said.
"You don't 'ave to tell me twice," Newkirk said. The car pulled away from the curb and soon they were heading back to Stalag 13.
Colonel Hogan leaned over and took Carter's chin in his hand to give him a once-over. "They really did do a number on you," he said, voice grim. Newkirk started to swear again.
Carter didn't say anything. Now that he was finally sitting down and comfortable and safe, the adrenaline that had kept him conscious was wearing off.
"Get some rest," Colonel Hogan said. "We'll be back at camp before you know it. I'll have Wilson look at you once we get there."
"Don't worry, Colonel," Carter said against the undertow of sleep pulling him away. "I didn't tell them anything. Name, rank, and serial number. Nothing more."
"You did a fine job," Colonel Hogan said, his voice fading.
"It's a damn bloody miracle," Newkirk's voice came faintly from the front seat, but Carter didn't have the time to think about why he sounded so far away before he was swept up into peaceful, painless sleep.