As the door closed in front of him, Dietrich closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
That man is honestly going to be the end of me.
After an unsuccessful attempt at extracting even an ounce of information from Troy, Dietrich had begun to grow almost as frustrated as he was acting. It seemed as though no matter what he tried to do to help the American, he refused to give an inch. On top of that, he wasn't sure what scared him more; the fact that he wanted to help Troy, or the fact that he couldn't.
A rustling of papers caught Dietrich's attention. He turned to face the camp Kommandant Colonel Strauss, a short man of stocky build who appeared to be the all brawn and no brain type. It was moments such as those when Dietrich wondered how on earth certain men got to be officers.
The Colonel looked up from his desk, eyeing Dietrich for a moment. "Captain, is that what you honestly call an interrogation?"
"I do, sir," Dietrich replied, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.
"We will soon change that, I assure you," Strauss said sternly. He rose from his chair and walked around to the front of the desk, leaning against the frame. "If only you had arrived a day earlier, Captain. Then you would have witnessed how a real interrogation works."
"What a shame," Dietrich replied, not sounding disappointed at all. He didn't need the Colonel to elaborate on what he meant by 'real'.
Strauss cleared his throat before continuing. "You also missed the results of the interrogation, I might add. Mickey Roberts may boast other talents, however, a strong man he is not.
Roberts... where have I heard that name before?
"Yes, Mickey Roberts the American singer," the Colonel snapped impatiently, having noticed Dietrich's facial expression. "Hardly lasted ten minutes before telling us all we needed to know. And that Captain, is exactly what we are going to teach you to do. Get results."
Dietrich was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of dread, similar to the one he'd experienced as he was standing in Colonel von Graff's office a week beforehand. Only this time, he was right in the middle of his nightmare.
He rose to his full height and folded his hands behind his back. "Very well. Will that be all?"
"Not so fast," Strauss said through gritted teeth. "The information provided by Roberts concerns another prisoner here, a Corporal Perkins. The SS will be arriving to take care of him within a few hours. Until then, I plan to make use of Roberts' presence to entertain them. I hear they are admirers of his work."
"And you want me to ...?" Dietrich trailed off, realising where the conversation was going.
If you think I would willingly torture this Corporal Perkins, you are sadly mistaken.
"I need you to inform Roberts of our need for his services," the Colonel replied, interrupting Dietrich's thoughts once again.
The Captain's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"
"Ensure you remind him that there are certain rewards for cooperating," Strauss continued. "As he now knows."
Dietrich struggled to suppress a sigh of relief as he composed himself. "Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"No, you may go," Strauss replied with a wave of his hand. "I'm assigning Corporal Vater to you as your aid while you are here. He will direct you to your temporary office."
Dietrich glanced back at Vater, the young man who had taken Troy to his cell. The Corporal smiled slightly, to which Dietrich nodded in response. Something about that look, he noted. It reminded him of another certain young man.
He turned back towards Strauss who had since returned to his seat, giving him an almost careless salute before turning on his heel and heading towards the door.
Troy sat on the bottom half of a bunk in the corner of the cell, silently trying to make sense of the previous twenty-four hours.
First he tries to warn me, then he tries to kill me. And when he doesn't do that, he drops me off with the krauts he didn't want me going near in the first place. At least the mission's on track but Hitch was right; what the hell is Dietrich's angle, anyway?
Troy pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. He'd spotted Roberts outside the prison cells as he was ushered into the Kommandant's office, but hadn't seen him since. After figuring Roberts would show up eventually, Troy decided to start planning their escape. Grabbing a blanket from the bed he was sitting on, he began to rip the material into thin strips which would be useful as strangulation devices later.
That's when he heard footsteps approaching the cell.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Herr Hauptmann?" Vater asked from his position at the office doorway.
Dietrich looked up from his desk towards the Corporal, only slightly annoyed that his thoughts were being interrupted for the umpteenth time that day. "No thank you Vater, I will call if I need you."
As the younger soldier returned to pacing back and forth in front of the office door, Dietrich studied him. Vater appeared to be extremely young, perhaps even younger than some of the men under his own command. He took note of the worried look that seemed to be permanently etched into his face, and Dietrich could only wonder what had the other man so riled up.
"If I may ask, why are you stationed here of all places?"
Dietrich's question stopped Vater mid-pace. "Wounded in action, sir. My right leg is currently out of commission in regards to all combat roles. Whether or not that is the case temporarily or not, I don't know."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Dietrich replied grimly. He eyed the Corporal for a moment more, a sense of familiarity washing over him. "You remind me of someone, you know. He's about your age, a Corporal too."
Vater raised an eyebrow, having visibly relaxed. "That's quite amusing, sir. You are close with this other Corporal?"
"Quite," the Captain replied smiling, doing his best to ignore the uneasy feeling that had been nagging him since earlier that morning. Looking around the room, his gaze fell on a clock perched by the door next to Vater. Realising how much time had passed since speaking with the Kommandant, Dietrich stifled a gasp. "Actually Vater, there is something you can do for me."
The Corporal turned at the mention of his name. "Yes, sir?"
"I'm required to speak with the prisoner, Roberts," Dietrich said, glancing at a vinyl on his desk. "Could you please bring him to me?"
"Of course, Herr Hauptmann," Vater replied, snapping a quick salute.
Once the young man left the room, Dietrich turned his attention towards the vinyl again. Pulling it towards him from the corner of the desk, he studied its cardboard cover for a moment.
'That Tiny World' as sung by the legendary Mickey Roberts. I see even the rich and famous cannot escape the war's grasp.
Sliding the vinyl from the cover, he turned towards the phonograph placed neatly on a filing cabinet behind him. What such a machine was doing in a prison camp in the middle of the desert, Dietrich didn't know. He assumed however, it couldn't have been that difficult to obtain it considering the sort of men who were running the place.
Once everything had been put in place, Dietrich turned in readiness for Vater's return with Roberts. His eyebrows furrowed however, as a thought occurred to him. In short, the Corporal's case just seemed downright odd. Yes he was injured, but why station him somewhere when it would only make sense to let him continue to rest? What purpose did patrolling serve other than to delay his leg from healing? Surely his commanding officer could see that.
Dietrich leaned against the cabinet, arms crossed. He hadn't spoken with Vater enough to find out much of anything, but anyone could see he wasn't enjoying his stay at Camp Strauss. Regardless, he did his job and did it well.
I believe a transfer is in order. That's if I ever get out of this miserable place.
Dietrich's head snapped up as the sound of footsteps gradually began to grow more prominent. Turning towards the phonograph, he proceeded to put the needle in place, smiling as the first few notes of That Tiny World filled his ears. Indeed, it was a nice uplifting change within surroundings that were grim. With a sigh, Dietrich once again took a seat at his desk.
He had a job to do.