The boredom and monotony of life in a prisoner-of-war camp had allowed Sergeant Olsen to read books he probably wouldn't have otherwise. The quietness of his downtime from being Papa Bear's "outside man" was definitely a stark contrast, but it was nice. Colonel Hogan insisted that he take the time to rest and not do anything until he was needed again. He valued Olsen's talents, though Olsen would shrug and say it was merely a result of growing up in the heart of Philadelphia, constantly surrounded by people from all walks of life. He knew how to talk to people, and that made him good at getting information without the person he was talking to knowing it. He had entered the camp already knowing German from having Pennsylvania Dutch relatives, making his work even more valuable.

He took the biggest risks, alongside Hogan's regular team, but if he didn't, who would? They made him nervous, sure, but he undertook them and kept a myriad of backup plans in the back of his mind.

Olsen knew he was going out on a rather routine assignment the following day. Everything was in order—his papers, the information he was supposed to deliver to an Underground agent, and his codename. Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about his codename, as they came from everywhere and anywhere. He had just read A Tale of Two Cities just a day ago and found Hogan's choice of "Sydney Carton" to be strange. Mildly ominous, even, as the character died in the book. Olsen hadn't been fully invested in the story when he read it, but wondered if it was really wise to be utilizing the names of characters in any book who are executed at some point within the story. Olsen was never sure of his views on luck, but he wondered if this was something that could be considered bad luck.

Before going to bed the night before his mission, Olsen wanted to dismiss his nerves as having spent a lot of time around magic users—witches, warlocks, vampires, psychics, and the elemental folk known as Conjurus. They all tended to carry pendants and charms to protect themselves against dark magic. He was up early that morning to see if he could find something in his belongings that Florian Reiger, a German army captain who had been forcibly turned into a vampire, had given him. When Olsen found nothing, he proceeded as normal. You're overthinking it. You'd think nothing of it if you didn't read that book, he thought. It's just another codename, and none of the codenames have had much significance. Well, he did remind himself that "Papa Bear" had become the bane of every Hammelburg Gestapo agent's existence. They all knew his name, but not who he really was. That was really the only exception.

Olsen left Stalag 13 after morning roll call. The forest was green and dense with spring growth. The last of the fog was beginning to lift. It was humid, but the temperature was pleasant—not too hot and not too cold. Birds were singing, and amidst the melodic sound were the harsher calls of crows and ravens. Crows and ravens were a good presence, according to the magic folk. Olsen kept that in mind while heading into town by way of the forest, enjoying the scents of the woods around him. All his life, he had been surrounded by people. He had been to more rural parts of Pennsylvania as a kid, and spent time among farm fields and forests. It was a unique, refreshing experience.

When his bomber crew was shot down over Germany, he was surrounded by nothing. The sensation of freefalling haunted him at times, particularly in dreams. Worse yet were the dreams where his parachute wouldn't open.

Olsen stopped walking when the thoughts, memories, and nightmares of his actual bailing out became pervasive. There was a slow but heavy upward pulling sensation in his stomach. It would quickly intensify, like he was falling. He hadn't told anyone other than Reiger that his constant dreams about falling and the nightmares associated with his bailing out were part of the reason he didn't want to be sent back to England to return to flying. It felt cowardly, and he was afraid of being chastised by the other residents of the camp. Reiger insisted that it wasn't cowardly, but he respected Olsen's wishes to not say anything unless Olsen gave him permission.

He remained still in the forest until the unpleasant pulling in his stomach had faded, then kept walking. Olsen shook his head, trying to turn his thoughts to something else. The mission seemed like a good choice of "something else" to think about. He drew in a deep breath, mentally going over his words to his contact. It seemed easy enough, but something felt different and he couldn't pinpoint why.

Olsen eventually found one of the old walking paths that led to Hammelburg through a park. He often wondered what that park would look like in peacetime. Probably much less desolate and overgrown than it was now. There was still something pretty about it, but it was still a strange combination of pretty and sad due to its abandonment in wartime.

That morning was quiet. There were the sounds of car motors and horse hooves in the streets. Olsen had been doing this long enough to look casual whenever he saw the red flags adorning black staff cars of SS officers. Gestapo made him a bit more nervous, as they were typically in civilian clothing. They could be anyone. At the same time, Olsen had gotten to know the more suspicious faces in Hammelburg. Director Hochstetter was very recognizable, but he looked… different when Olsen spotted him in the window of a restaurant, having a cup of coffee with breakfast and talking with another man. He was calmer. Then again, Olsen could understand how anyone, Allied or Axis, dealing with Hogan would get frustrated to the point of screaming.

Olsen was to meet his contact in an old farmhouse that bordered a tree line overlooking a vast expanse of fields and vineyards that made up the northeast edges of Hammelburg. The farmhouse had been empty for quite some time, but a few animals had taken residence there. It wasn't Olsen's first time there, so he was familiar with the critters living there. There were plenty of mice, songbirds, adders, and even a fox at one point. Plants had even started growing inside, with great patches of ivy wrapping around beams and other structures. That day, Olsen noticed the huge, black form of a raven perched near the mossy chimney, and that the raven was watching him closely.

He couldn't see through the windows, as they were filthy and grimy, but he was able to see that there was no movement inside aside from the breeze gently moving the ivy leaves from one of the windows that wouldn't stay closed due to broken hinges. Olsen still glanced around nervously before opening the door. He was usually greeted with the sight of mice or snakes rushing off to their hiding places. Even the sound of birds chirping and singing was somewhat muted. This time, there was nothing, as if they were already hidden. A chill moved down his spine, and a knot of anxiety rose in his stomach. His contact was supposed to be here already.

The blood in his veins froze when he heard the sound of slow, booted footsteps behind him, and he felt the icy muzzle of a Walther P38 press against the back of his neck, followed by a man's voice saying with an audible sneer, "Hello, Sydney Carton."

Olsen gulped before saying in German, "Who is this Sydney Carton?"

"I would advise against playing stupid with me. Turn around, hands raised."

All of Olsen's movements were slow, from how he raised his hands to the way he turned. He saw the face of a middle-aged SS officer, possessing the coldest blue eyes Olsen had ever seen. He glanced at the gun's muzzle first, then returned his gaze to the officer's. He could also see two helmeted men wielding MP40s outside the door.

"You were scheduled to meet with a member of the Underground pestilence today, were you not, Carton?" the officer asked.

"No. I still have no idea who you are talking about. I come this way to pick berries."

"Do you now?"

"Yes. You have the wrong man, sir. This is an unfortunate coincidence. I have no sympathy to the Underground."

The officer looked like he was thinking about what Olsen was saying. "You are a skilled liar, I will give you that."

"It is not a lie, sir!"

Without warning, the officer struck Olsen hard across his face, then forcefully turned him toward the table and held him there. "Cuff him!" the officer barked to his men. "We will prove your innocence elsewhere."

"Wait, wait! I can help you find this man!" Olsen feared fighting too hard would get him shot. The two helmeted men cuffed him tightly before dragging him outside. He looked around, and locked eyes with the raven. If anyone's listening, please help me!

Much to his surprise, the raven dipped its head slightly, then took off. Wherever the raven went, Olsen could only pray that help would arrive soon.

Before Olsen was shoved in the back of a waiting car, the officer turned his sidearm around and whacked it against Olsen's skull. Pain burst through him, but it didn't last long as inky blackness suddenly overtook his vision.

The first sensation Olsen felt upon regaining consciousness for the first time was a heaviness in his limbs and head. His vision was blurry and faded in and out. He could feel he was being dragged on a hard floor, and heard the steady sound of the SS men's black jackboots tapping against the same floor. Olsen then closed his eyes, losing consciousness again. He awoke again, unable to think of anything other than the throbbing pain in his head and the heaviness in his limbs. He could see the boots of the SS men dragging him, and was dimly aware of how much he was going to have to fight so they didn't find out anything about Colonel Hogan and his operation. He wasn't sure he could. A feeling of failure crushed his chest. What could he do now? Was it best to let them kill him? That seemed to be the cold, hard logical choice, if the rest of the Underground was going to survive, but deep down, Olsen didn't want to die.

He wondered if he had lost consciousness again, as the next thing he knew, he was being strapped into a chair. He felt someone's gloved hand taking his chin. His vision focused, and he saw the cold-eyed officer who had found him in the farmhouse.

The man's face was expressionless as he looked over Olsen's face. "I have a strong disdain for lying. Any sensible person would. So—" the officer took hold of the strap holding Olsen's left arm down, "—we are going to have a truthful conversation. The more you lie, the harder I will pull." Just to demonstrate, he pulled on the strap.

Olsen bit back a wince when the tough leather tightened around his left forearm. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to mentally go over his routine. He had never been captured before. It wasn't something he could afford, especially since he operated alone most of the time. Part of him expected the SS officer to reset the strap, but he kept it tight. Olsen struggled not to panic. Panicking would only make things worse.

"Your papers claim you are Franz Kleiner. Is that your real name?" the officer asked.

"Yes, sir," Olsen replied.

"Are you from Hammelburg, Herr Kleiner?"

"Yes, sir."

"So am I, and as we both know, Hammelburg is a small place. I have never seen you before in my life."

"I have never seen you before, either, sir."

The officer grabbed both straps and pulled hard. With the left strap already fairly tight, it hurt far worse than the right. Olsen couldn't hold back his screaming, then the screaming was cut off by the cold-eyed man slamming one end of a baton into Olsen's stomach. His breath rushed from his lungs. He wanted to curl up and hold his abdomen until the pain faded and he could breathe again, but was only causing more pain in his arms by struggling in his restraints. He gasped for breath, noticing his captor had begun slowly pacing around the chair, watching like a predatory animal.

When Olsen was able to breathe more easily, he relaxed his arms as best he could, knowing tensing would make it more difficult for blood to get through his veins. On one hand, he felt there was nothing he could do to make it more bearable, but something deep inside was telling him to at least try.

The officer paused in front of him. "Are you trying to make a fool out of me?"

"I am trying to say that you are mistaken!" Olsen hissed through his wincing.

His captor grabbed his head, holding him still and saying in a low voice, "I never make mistakes. I cannot afford to make mistakes."

"Please, sir—"

"I will make you drop the act eventually. I can be patient."

Olsen almost wished that his captor wasn't patient. It was the patient ones who were more relentless and thorough in their torture. Worse yet, they were often very… creative in their torture as well. The impatient ones got things done quickly. He maintained his story through the first few hours, but in the back of his mind, he was wondering when—or if—Hogan and the others would find him. He had to be past due to return.

There came a point when the light in the cell diminished significantly. Olsen couldn't tell if it was from cloud cover or a setting sun. When the light continued to fade, and tiredness began seeping into his muscles and bones, pulsing along with the blood in his veins and arteries, he determined it was sunset. Have I been left here? Are they waiting for nightfall? Where even am I?

He blinked when the single lightbulb in the cell was turned on, illuminating the icy features of the SS officer. Olsen blinked, and glanced up at his captor. "I will tell you the same thing as before."

The officer acted like he didn't hear anything. "You must be tired."

Olsen bit his tongue, not wanting to play any games with this guy.

"Guards. Chain him."

Two men came in and removed the straps from Olsen's arms. Blood rushed back through his wrists and hands, granting a brief relief before the guards cuffed him to a set of short chains on the ceiling and floor, keeping his arms and legs spread apart.

The officer was quiet for a moment, studying Olsen's form and pacing the cell as he did before. "You will not sleep tonight. At the first sign of faltering, the guard on duty will strike you. Understood?"

Olsen wasn't sure what to say or do anymore. He became aware of a parched sensation in his throat, and hollowness in his stomach. He wasn't counting on getting basic necessities here.

The lightbulb flickered out, as did the lights out in the hallway. The SS officer snapped, "Check the fuses and grab some torches!" He stood in the cell entrance, even though there was no chance of Olsen escaping.

Olsen heard a nervous guard stammer, "S-Sir, we have an intruder."

"Then go deal with the intruder!" Olsen sensed the man's cold eyes turn toward him. "Your friends in the Underground, perhaps?"

For a brief moment, Olsen was hopeful. He assumed it was Hogan, but at the same time, a simple intrusion didn't seem like Hogan's style. If it wasn't Hogan, who was it?

Olsen knew it definitely wasn't Hogan when he heard the nervous guard gasp, followed by the sound of his neck being broken. He could see the officer in charge slowly backing away, toward Olsen, while fumbling with his flashlight. His cold air suddenly became anxious, and Olsen heard him cursing and breathing rapidly while trying to turn the flashlight on. The light was finally turned on, revealing the gleaming, white fangs of a vampire standing in front of him. Reiger's grayish-blue eyes were blazing with fury. He stood at the same height as the SS officer, but the officer was shrinking back in terror, still holding his flashlight while also trying to open his holster and grab his gun.

Reiger was quicker. He shoved the officer against the wall, keeping his arms pinned above his head. The flashlight clattered to the floor. The officer was begging for mercy, begging not to be turned into a vampire. His cries were suddenly stifled by a loud snap, and silence fell over the room after the man's body slumped to the floor.

The next sound was the lightbulb above being turned back on. Reiger gave Olsen a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"Bit sore. Geez, your timing couldn't have been better," Olsen said. He slumped himself after being released, prompting Reiger to catch him.

"Easy. Relax. I took care of everyone here. We can take our time."

"No, we can't. I gotta get back to Stalag 13."

"At least give yourself ten minutes."

Olsen sighed before he was allowed to sit on the floor. "Well, it'd be rude if I didn't say 'thanks.' How did you find me?"

"A little birdie told me."

The raven. "I better thank that bird, too, then."

Reiger smiled a little. He stayed by Olsen, not letting him move for the next ten minutes, then held out his hand to help his friend stand. "Are you sure that you are uninjured?"

"Positive. That officer whacked me on the head before bringing me here, but I don't think any serious damage was done."

"You have horrible bruising on both arms."

"Yeah. That chair has straps that he was pulling. I can—" Olsen paused, testing the movement of his hands and fingers. "I'm alright. Like I said, sore."

The two were able to leave the dingy compound without resistance. Olsen noted that Reiger had been quick and painless with dispatching the guards, and not one looked to have had blood taken from him. "Where exactly are we?"

"Deep in the woods, south of Hammelburg. It will take us only twenty minutes to return to Stalag 13," Reiger said.

"That close?"

"Apparently so." Reiger climbed into the driver's seat of a car he had borrowed from his own camp, Stalag VII C, and motioned for Olsen to get in quickly.

"There's no one here, Reiger, why're you—"

Reiger gave him a rather sheepish grin. "I may have set charges around the compound so no one knows exactly who or what killed the men here. It will be easily seen as just another Underground attack."

"I think you're spending too much time around Papa Bear, buddy."

"Quite possibly." Reiger slammed on the gas, heading deep within the woods, down an unpaved road. About another minute passed by when a massive explosion was heard behind them. Olsen could hear debris raining down on the roof of the car, and considered it a miracle that nothing managed to shatter the windshield. Now, in the safety of the vehicle, next to a man he trusted, Olsen allowed himself to feel relief, but uncertainty was rapidly building inside him.

Things were quiet up until Reiger drove the vehicle out of the woods and out onto an empty road that would lead them to Stalag 13. Olsen glanced at Reiger, letting his nervousness come to the surface. "Can I say that I'm not sure I should even go back to camp? I am—was, I don't know now—the 'outside man.' If those SS guys managed to get me, what's to stop them from trying again? Someone tipped them off."

"That was another reason I destroyed the compound," Reiger said. "Any evidence is history. The man in charge of the operation is dead."

"Yeah, but… we don't know where this started."

"No need to worry, my friend. We will figure this out."

Olsen nodded, wanting to believe Reiger. He kept quiet until they came to a secluded part of the road, where he and Reiger left the car and dashed into the woods, not stopping until they reached the tree stump. They both climbed down into the network of tunnels under Stalag 13. Home at last, Olsen thought, though he wondered if they were going to remain home for him. There was no way this incident was going to go over well with Hogan.

The mustached face of Sergeant Kinchloe appeared in the entrance to the radio room. "Olsen! Holy cow, you're alive! You okay?"

"Yeah, thanks to Reiger," Olsen said.

Kinch looked at Reiger. "How'd you find him so fast? The colonel was going to wait until after lights-out to go find him."

"A raven was witness to Olsen's capture," Reiger explained. "It came to Stalag VII C and informed me of what happened. I borrowed a car and followed the raven as fast as I could."

"Wait a minute, capture?" Kinch looked at Olsen. "You were caught?"

"The Germans never found out who I really was." Olsen panicked. "W-We can get back to business as usual—"

"No, the colonel needs to hear about this." Kinch's tone and eyes were serious. "Come on. Roll call's going to be called in a minute or two."

Olsen's shoulders slumped. He followed Kinch back up into Barracks Two, where the others were getting ready for roll call. Olsen stood out in formation like everyone else, glad that Klink and Schultz were none the wiser about the fact that he had technically been missing all day. That day had started pleasant, weather-wise, but as the sun set and night gradually shrouded the land, it became cold. The forest outside looked black against the sky, appearing as foreboding as the icy-blue eyes of the SS officer who orchestrated Olsen's capture.

The prisoners headed into their barracks for the night. Olsen was welcomed back, but the cheeriness faded when he had to inform them that his mission hadn't been carried out. The conversation was brought down into the tunnels, where Olsen faced Hogan, Kinch, and the rest of their team. Reiger sat nearby, offering his description of events when asked. When their stories had been told, Hogan started to pace, as he always did when he was deep in thought. This time, though, there was no mischievous smile or genius gleam in the colonel's eye. There was only seriousness.

"It's too bad Reiger blew up the base. Any documents left behind may have had a clue about where this started," Hogan said, breaking the silence.

"My apologies, Colonel," Reiger replied. "My goal was to erase as much evidence as possible."

"Which is completely understandable. I'm not saying you're wrong for doing that, but it does leave us with a pretty massive dilemma."

"We can't send Olsen back out for anything if there's someone out there who's figured him out as a spy," Kinch said. "The risk is too high of this happening again."

"We'd be losing someone pretty valuable if we end his role completely," Sergeant Carter said.

"We can always find someone else," Corporal Newkirk replied. "Not like Olsen's the only one here who's fluent in German."

"There's more than just that," Carter added. "Olsen knows people. He has a better read on the people who live in Hammelburg than any of us could ever hope to have. He knows who can be trusted and who can't. Sending out someone new will complicate things. He also knows the route people take to get back to England, and every detour in case of a roadblock. We can't afford to lose him."

"No, but it also means that if he's captured again, we all risk losing everything if he talks."

"I wouldn't have talked," Olsen said. "I kept up my cover, even when Reiger showed up."

"It sounds like the Kraut torturing you was only getting started."

Olsen's face reddened. "Wow. Nice to know you have so much faith in me, Newkirk."

"Easy," Hogan said. "Knock it off, both of you. Newkirk does have a point. If there's one thing we can count on with the SS and Gestapo, it's their creativity when it comes to torture. There's no way of knowing how well you would hold up."

"Colonel—"

"I'm making this an order, Olsen, your operations are temporarily suspended until we figure out who tipped off the SS, and whether or not we'll be able to reinstate you."

There was no use arguing. Olsen slumped in his seat, the feeling of failure from earlier crashing back down on him like the handle of that SS officer's gun in the back of his head.

Olsen spent the following day on his own, wandering around camp. He had a feeling for a long time that something like this could happen, but never thought it actually would. Now, he wasn't sure what was next. Would Hogan determine it to be safer that Olsen was sent back to England? Would he just have to sit around camp like the rest of the prisoners? Neither were good options, but whatever Hogan said went, no matter what Olsen felt about it.

All around him, he heard the other prisoners talking about how much they wanted to get back to flying. He couldn't blame them; after all, he really enjoyed it, too, at one point. Now, it was out of the question. The fear of death by falling was immensely pervasive, and Olsen couldn't bring himself to go through it again. Then again, he wasn't sure what was worse—death by falling or being ripped apart by anti-aircraft guns or the metal shreds of the plane itself. He stopped his walk as the nausea and pulling sensation started up again.

He was pulled from his thoughts by hearing Carter call, "Hey, Olsen. You got a minute?"

"Sure. What is it?" Olsen asked.

"Just… wanted to make sure everything was okay," Carter replied. He walked alongside Olsen, hands in his pockets. "You know the colonel will get to the bottom of this, right? He doesn't want to see you get put out of the action."

"I believe him, but what if this is something he can't fix?" Olsen asked. "I know how risky my work is, but—"

"Right now, the risk isn't worth it. Kinch has already informed London of what's going on, but they said that if we're going to find a solution, we need to do it fast. I sent a raven to Veidt, asking if he can do some digging into where this may've started. Probably won't hear back from him until later tonight. Until then…" Carter shook his head. "Not much we can do. I already volunteered to go out and at least do some listening in town."

"You'd probably be the best replacement for me, if Hogan didn't need you to build explosives."

Carter smiled a little. "Thanks."

The two were quiet as they continued walking around camp. They were surrounded by the voices of prisoners and guards alike. A spring breeze wound its way between the barracks, bringing with it the sweet smell of blooming flowers from the forest. Olsen occasionally glanced at Carter, and figured he would be the best to open up to about his fears. "Hey, can I… can I talk about something that I want you to keep between us?"

"Sure. Anything," Carter replied.

"Whatever does happen, I don't want to go back to England."

Carter gave him a somewhat confused look, but he also looked concerned. "Why?"

"I can't fly again. Ever since I had to bail over Germany, I've had dreams about going through it again, or going through it and not being able to open my chute. During the day, if I start thinking about it, I feel…" Olsen struggled for words while clenching both fists in front of his stomach. "I-I feel like someone's tied rope around my guts and pulled on them. It feels like I'm falling uncontrollably."

Carter nodded while listening. "I had bad dreams about my plane getting shot down for a few months afterward. They've gone away, mostly."

"Did they just stop, or did someone help you with them?"

"They kinda just stopped on their own. They still happen every now and then, but if I was able to fly again, I'd do it." Carter shrugged. "The same thing could happen to you, but if not, you have people to talk to about it."

"I already know some people here would think I'm being a coward."

Carter lowered his voice. "I won't argue with that. You can go to Kinch or me for sure. I'm not sure how long Reiger's planning on staying, but you two are pretty close."

Olsen nodded. "That's another thing. I don't want to leave you guys, or Reiger. It's kind of been by chance that we were meeting up so often after he was sent down to Augsburg, but it's been nice, actually. Mostly because then my work doesn't feel so lonely anymore." A smile finally came across his face. "That, and being friends with a vampire has its perks. He didn't hesitate to take out all the guards in the compound I was being held in, and scared the daylights out of the officer in charge."

"It is nice seeing Reiger a bit more confident compared to when we helped him out last year," Carter replied. "He doesn't see himself as a monster anymore, and I think having a friend like you has helped him a lot."

"Yeah. I don't want to take that from him."

"Hogan's not even going to consider that when it comes to what we do next if we can't put you back in business. Not with more important things on the line." Carter looked like he felt terrible for saying that. "We'll think of something, though. Hopefully, we can put things back to the way they were before."

"That's all I want, too."

Carter looked up when Kinch called his name near the entrance of Barracks Two, then turned to Olsen. "I hope I helped a little."

"You did. Thanks," Olsen replied.

Carter kept his hands in his pockets as he turned to head toward the barracks, but then paused to face Olsen once more. "Just so you know, I'm glad that you got out of that compound alive. I know stuff might look a little bleak now, but you're still here."

Olsen figured that Carter had a point, but he still stood in the middle of camp, a sense of icy dread trickling through his veins.