Hey guys, sorry it's been a few months since I've uploaded a new chapter. I haven't had the most time on my hands if you get me. Also, I think I've been so captivated by my own story to write about somebody else's. Anyways, I'll try and keep at it. You might see chapter four soon, might not, we'll see how it goes.

Enjoy!

**P.S - I just figured out that I suck at editing my stories. Bear with me

III

All is quiet except the purrs of the Panzerhund. She stands within arms' reach of me, her nonexistent eyes piercing my soul. One word and she'll rip me apart. My knees tremble from fear, adrenaline, and the cold. It starts to snow.

"Peterson," Flashlight says. "Do you know Mr. Kennedy here?"

Peterson shuffles forward. He scratches his chin and says in a monotone voice, "Yes I believe I do. We were on PT 109 together. I was not aware Mr. Kennedy was still a resident in Boston."

Flashlight forms an O with his mouth and looks back and forth between us. He holsters his gun and his flashlight and throws an arm over the both of us. His breath smells of spearmint gum.

"Ah a merry reunion for a merry Christmas! Fantastic!" In a swift motion, he tugs the pistol from my hand and steps away from us. "Stand with your head against the wall, Kennedy. Go on."

Outgunned and ungunned, what can I do? I set my forehead against the brick wall of the flower shop.

There is chatter amongst the team. All are not focused on me. I consider slipping away but almost as if she could read my mind, Sofia releases a growl. I stand perfectly still like the good little captive I am. Fuck me.

Adrenaline fades away as I rest on the wall. The damned back pain returns. Bending forward never felt good on my back but there's no chance in hell I'm moving while Sofia's watching.

Eventually, Flashlight slaps my back. I release a groan.

"Mr. Kennedy. I have allowed Peterson to converse with you privately but with the promise that afterwards you would come with us willingly. Understand, Kennedy?"

Not having much of a say, I nod.

"Excellent."

And so we travel down the sidewalk, Flashlight at 12 and Sofia at 6. Peterson assists me in traveling. A strange sense of deja vu and irony washes over me. I haven't seen this man in years and now he's assisting the Nazis. Maybe he joined the police force after his service and he's doing this under orders. God, I hope my old comrade isn't a fucking Nazi. What does he plan to say to me when we have our private talk? Can I trust him? To which America does he protect and serve, ours or theirs?

I've always found snowfall to be particularly beautiful, especially at Christmas time. Touring a snow covered Boston with a long lost comrade on Christmas night. Sounds like a good time right? No, nope, it's not. Why is it not a good time? Fucking Nazis, that's why.

Flashlight draws to a sudden halt, holding his right fist in the air. Slowly he turns to the right, holding his silence until we all peek tot the right. It's some small street-side bar named Roth's. Flashlight grins and nods. "Roth's… Yes. Yes. Sounds German to me. Very well."

He has the soldiers check the place out first. They break the glass with a rifle stock, then sweep the building. All clear.

Flashlight strolls into the bar, arms outstretched like he owns the place.

"Not very large, no. But eh… what's the word I'm looking for? Urig. Yes, quaint." He says. Flashlight swings himself over the counter and reaches for a bottle of Jack Daniels atop a shelf. "Peterson, there's a storage room in the back. Go on, be acquainted with your companion."

Peterson wordlessly begins walking me to the room.

"Oh," Flashlight interjects. "Am I forgetting something? It is very late. Oh yes, your piece. Leave it here."

Peterson slips the revolver from his holster and sets it on the round table closest to us. We then step inside and close the door.

There are metal shelves storing boxes across all four walls, and a spare round table and two spare chairs in the center of the room. At the very top of the wall opposite the door, moonlight gleams through a foggy window. I take a seat at the chair furthest from the door, closest to the window.

"So?" I speak.

Peterson nods, standing wordlessly.

"What'll you do know, sonny? I don't see you in three years and now you're doin' rounds with fuckin Nazis?"

He narrows his eyes. It could mean many things.

"Why, Pete? All I ask is why? Do you remember the island, Peterson? When we swam all that way and we finally got to that damned island? We were all exhausted on that beach and you asked me those questions. Do you remember that, Pete?"

Peterson nods again. We sit in silence for a good ten seconds. "I remember."

My skin burned.

My teeth ached.

My spine felt like it'd been shattered six times over.

But we finally made it to that damned island.

"Well I'll be, Lieutenant!" Peterson hollered. "I was starting to think we'd never make it!"

He swam ahead of me and put his feet in sand as soon as his legs felt something solid. He outstretched his arms towards the sky and hopped around for a little while until his legs gave way and he collapsed in the dry sand. He couldn't stop laughing that happy, relieved laugh.

The other guys made it before me. Some of them laughed. Some of them cried. Most were silent, too fatigued for any further exertion. A couple guys helped pull McMahon and me in. Everyone with a hint of medical skill tended to McMahon and I lied there resting face down in the sand. I'd have to get up eventually. I'd have to check out the island, search for life, for food, water, all that. Our mission was far from over, but for now we rest.

I'd always had issues with my back since I was a little boy, but nothing as bad as this. My spine was in incredible pain but my legs? They were growing more numb by the second. I wiggled my toes for as long as I could but eventually I couldn't anymore. Couldn't wiggle my toes, couldn't lift my leg, couldn't bend my knee, nothing. I rolled onto my back and looked about my crew. They all had so much hope. I couldn't tell them that their Lieutenant couldn't walk. I couldn't kill their hope.

I looked above to the sky. The sun was starting to rise. The blue sky, pink clouds, and orange horizon mixed so perfectly. It was beautiful, maybe one of the most beautiful things I'd ever see. A large grin sprang from my cheeks and an overwhelming sense of calm washed over me. This would be a good place to die.

Feet in sand approach my location and then plop right down next to me.

"Hey Lieutenant?" An easy voice says.

"Yeah, Pete?"

"Sure is beautiful isn't it."

"Yeah, Pete."

"I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for getting me this far. I know I'm not the most capable man in our crew. Hell, the amount of things I can't do outnumber what I can do by a longshot."

"It's good to have you on the team, Pete."

We're silent for a good minute.

"Why are we here, Lieutenant?" Pete asks, the easiness in his tone slipping away.

"Come again?"

"Why are we here?" The easiness in his voice is replaced with a hint of frustration and urgency. "You, me, all of us."

"Ain't no one answer, sonny. Some might say we're here to defend liberty. Some might say we're here to fight fascism. If you're a believer, you might say you're here because God wants you to be here."

"But what do you think, Lieutenant?"

I don't say anything.

"You don't know, do you, Lieutenant?"

More silence.

"You're goddamn invincible, Lieutenant. You didn't just carry McMahon through those shark and Jap infested waters. You carried the weight of the world too. I can see it in your eyes. You'd swim a thousand miles, and I bet you have before, but would you or have you ever asked why?"

Silence.

"Ever hear that quote by Socrates? The unexamined life is not worth living?"

"Where are you going with this, Pete?" I'm growing tired of his rhetoric.

"Why are you here, Kennedy? Why do you fight? It's these questions you have to ask yourself, or else your life isn't worth living. I've been asking myself these questions a lot lately, and I don't like the conclusions I've drawn. I'm not here because of some personal grievance with the Japanese or fascism or Hitler. I'm not here because of patriotism, or to defend the rights of people to live their own lives, or any other spoon-fed bullshit. They just keep pumping all these ideas into our heads until we're forced to believe them. If I had stayed home, I would have been vilified by my family and my town. Now I'm here, launching iron into kids who are just like me, same predicament, same problems, maybe even the same thoughts, but just a different uniform. I'm not here for any other reason but force."

The silence returns so thick that I think I can reach out and touch it. It lingers.

"Peterson?" I finally speak.

"Lieutenant?"

"Go."

Peterson gets up, dusts himself off, and turns to leave. He stops, however.

"You still haven't answered me, Lieutenant. You've stayed silent, and there is no more powerful cry than silence."

I stayed on that beach and the silence stayed too. It stayed with me for a very long time.