Okay, okay, you've twisted my arm with your enthusiasm.
I was planning on only doing one update per week, but to be honest, I'm excited by this too, and really feeling on fire with ideas. So I'm just going to up my updates (ha ha) to two times a week, if possible.
...Everyone okay with that?
Oh, and just to warn you, this is where the dark part starts.
Carter wasn't sure he'd ever been this afraid in his life. Of course, it was a little hard to judge since he was actually experiencing this in the moment, so naturally being held captive by the Gestapo would seem like the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. But from what he could remember of his life (it hadn't quite reached the flashing-before-his-eyes stage that he'd heard people talk about having when you were in mortal danger), nothing had ever come close to this.
They'd brought him to a small townhouse somewhere in the middle of Hammelburg, dragging him through the front door and down to the cellar.
On the way he'd been surprised to see what looked like a family, dressed in some kind of fancy clothes, and two men in air force uniforms sitting in the living room, guarded by soldiers.
He'd wondered why they hadn't blindfolded him or put a bag over his head or anything.
Now that he was here, though, he realized the truth with sickening clarity.
They hadn't tried to conceal anything from him because they had no plans for him to leave here alive.
Carter was in a chair.
A high-backed, uncomfortable oak chair, the kind with fancily decorated armrests.
His wrists were currently handcuffed to the armrests, rendering them much less aesthetically pleasing, and his ankles cuffed to the legs. He'd been divested of his greatcoat, so he was just in his shirt and slacks and boots, making him very aware of how chilly this cellar was.
That wasn't the scariest part, though.
The scariest part was that the armchair had been bolted to the floor, and at an angle just a few feet away from a drain, probably leading to the sewers.
Every time he looked at it, he got a little chill in his heart, and wondered how many people before him had been forced to sit in this chair.
He wondered how many of them had gotten out of it walking on their own two legs.
Finally the cellar door opened, and down the steps came Hochstetter, still with that triumphant look in his eyes.
Right behind him clomped one of the most enormous men Carter had ever seen.
His head had been shaved bald-either that, or he was just really bad at growing hair, like Colonel Klink; the top of it scraped against the ceiling slightly even as he descended. He had an enormous, thick neck, muscular arms that seemed to be straining against his uniform, and big, meaty hands with fingers that looked as thick as pieces of bratwurst.
Next to him, Hochstetter looked like a particularly malicious little boy, even with the mustache.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the hulking soldier stood at attention, eyes staring dully ahead, while Hochstetter sauntered forward, tapping his riding crop into his fingers.
"Sergeant...Carter, isn't it?" he finally asked.
Carter just stared at him, blinking a little, concealing his shock that he remembered who he was.
"Oh, yes, I know who you are. You are a little far from Stalag 13-and in a Wehrmacht uniform, no less." The riding crop flicked at his shirt as the major clucked in disapproval. "Did Colonel Hogan-I'm sorry, Papa Bear help you acquire it?"
The normally loquacious Carter said nothing. This wasn't so bad; it was just someone with a big mouth talking down to him. He could handle that.
"I advise you to talk to me now. You don't want to drag this out, I promise you."
He was greeted with more silence.
Hochstetter evidently decided that he didn't feel like trying to drag information out of Carter with words anymore. He raised his hand, gesturing to the soldier with two fingers.
The big man stepped forward, and slowly removed his coat, revealing that yes, his arms were even more muscular when bared. His bratwurst hands curled into fists.
"Mind the throat and the lungs," Hochstetter said, moving out of his way. "We still need him to be able to speak."
Expendable.
The most expendable member of the team.
He called Carter expendable.
Newkirk felt his hands clenching all over again at the memory of that son of a b_'s words.
Most of them were back in the barracks now, except for Kinch, who was still on the radio. The Englander had been sent to his bunk to cool off-essentially Colonel Hogan's method of telling him that he was grounded. He was lying on his back, staring morosely up at the ceiling and brooding over what had happened.
He didn't regret his actions, though.
Not even a little.
It was...absolutely appalling, that level of coldheartedness coming from Heidegger. I mean-even if he did get on the man's nerves, Carter was still a person, just as much as he was! How could he possibly think it was okay to just let him get captured, and not even bother trying to find out where he was so maybe they'd have a chance to save him?
To have that much disregard for life?
As he thought that, something odd happened.
Newkirk found himself understanding something about Carter that he hadn't before.
Climbing down from the bunk, he reached under Carter's, and pulled out a large shoebox, lifting the lid off.
Inside were piles of dirt, scraps of cloth, a tiny bowl of water, a pile of sunflower seeds and pieces of vegetables and cracker crumbs...and a small gray mouse.
Felix looked up at Newkirk with curiosity in his dark eyes, whiskers twitching madly.
The Englander stared back at him for a moment, before extending a cautious finger into the box.
The mouse shrank back for a moment, before leaning forward and sniffing at it. Seeing no obvious threat, he allowed Newkirk to run his finger along his furry back.
With a small smile, Newkirk went on petting the mouse. He really was rather cute; and if what Carter said was true, he was rather intelligent for a mouse.
The smile faded.
I should've said something.
I knew 'e shouldn't 'ave gone with ruddy Heidegger.
The far bunk rolled up, and Kinch climbed up the ladder into the barracks. His expression was rather grim.
Hogan bounded over to him.
"Did you find out where he is?"
Kinch nodded.
"He's in Hammelburg, in a house being held by the Gestapo. But there's a bigger problem."
Hogan stiffened.
"What?"
Kinch said softly, "Hochstetter has him."
"That's enough!" Hochstetter commanded.
The brutish soldier-Carter still didn't know what his name was-stepped back, and took the handkerchief Hochstetter gave him to wipe his knuckles.
Carter sagged in his chair, feeling blood dribbling down his face and chin from he-didn't-know-how-many areas. His ribs throbbed; he thought he'd heard some cracking in there during the...questioning, and had a mental image of them shattering and crumbling into a pile of dust like in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
If they did, his spine would be the only thing holding his torso up, and being such a frail thing, it would probably snap and make him fold up like an accordion.
He wanted to giggle hysterically, except it would hurt too much.
Hochstetter was standing in front of him now, leaning forwards slightly, using the tip of the riding crop to lift his chin.
"Do you feel like speaking yet?" he asked. "All I want is for you to confess that Colonel Hogan is Papa Bear, and tell me how he has been doing all this sabotage. And then I will let you go."
We both know you're lying, Hochstetter. Even if I told you, you'd have me executed as a spy. Along with everyone else in camp.
"Answer me!" the major barked.
Carter stared at him for a moment, and then croaked, "I am Little Deer who goes Swift and Sure through Forest. I have nothing to say to you."
Hochstetter and the soldier shot each other very confused looks; possibly because he had said it in Lakhota.
Their expressions were quite comical, really. Carter could practically hear canned laughter playing as he watched them.
It didn't last; soon enough Hochstetter was turning back to him, eyes narrowing angrily.
"I don't know what language you are speaking, but I know you can understand me!" His hands slammed onto the armrests of the chair. "Is Colonel Hogan Papa Bear?"
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Is Colonel Hogan Papa Bear?"
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Is. Colonel. Hogan. Papa. Bear?!" The riding crop lashed across his cheek.
Carter whimpered at the stinging, but just said again, "I have nothing to say to you," and tried to keep his face impassive.
Hochstetter glared at him, and then looked down at his hands. Slowly he let go of the armrests, and gestured for the brute to approach. Then he gestured at Carter's right hand.
Carter stared apprehensively.
"Tell me what I want to know," Hochstetter demanded.
Carter said nothing.
With a world-weary sigh, Hochstetter made another gesture.
The brute reached down and picked up Carter's pinky finger.
Carter didn't move.
The brute jerked his finger outwards, with a resounding crack.
Carter screamed.
Part of this is rather shamelessly borrowed from the movie Dances With Wolves. It just seemed appropriate.