Hochstetter growled in frustration as he sped down the highway. As he had predicted, the drive had been intolerably cold and he was only an hour into it. There were several more to go before he reached his final destination. He only hoped that it wouldn't start snowing. There was already a decent amount blanketing the fields and piled up on the sides of the highway. He didn't need to try and navigate his way through more. He really should have put this mission off until it was warmer. But the decision was made, and there was no going back now, no matter how cold it was.

More frustrating than the cold, however, was the fact that Sergeant Carter had woken up and was making all sorts of noise in the back. It sounded like he was trying to kick his way out. And he was throwing all sorts of insults in Hochstetter's direction. Not just personal insults, but the vilest accusations against the Fuhrer and the Reich. Hochstetter could hardly hear them over the wind whistling through the bullet hole in his windshield, but he heard enough that it made his anger rise.

As it happened, he needed to pull over to consult his map. It was late, but he still wanted to avoid the 'big city' of Fargo. He had managed to get through Bismarck without trouble, but that made sense- it was late and most of the inhabitants had probably gone to bed. What else was there to do in such a place? Fargo, however, might not be so quiet and, therefore, it was best to bypass it if possible.

So he pulled the car onto the side of the road and took a few minutes to get his bearings.

"Say, why don't you put a bullet in your brain like old Schicklgruber, you dumb, stupid Nazi arsch mit ohren?!" he heard Carter shout from the back. "I'll help if you're too stupid to figure out how to do it yourself!"

Hochstetter rolled his eyes and tried to tune him out.

"Hey! Hosenscheißer! Can you hear me? Hey! Let me outta here, you kotzbrocken!"

Hochstetter snorted in amusement. He had to hand it to the sergeant—he had a colourful array of German insults at his disposal. And he was far more brazen than Hochstetter remembered him being. Odd, considering most people mellowed with age. But perhaps the American was under the wrongful impression that Hochstetter was incapable of enacting the same kind of treatment he had delivered during the war.

After another round of cursing and insults, Hochstetter's amusement devolved back into anger. He had had enough. With a growl, he shut off the car and grabbed the keys as he threw open his door. He slammed it shut and stomped around the back. He hoped Carter could hear him and realize that he was about to be punished for his insolence.

Hochstetter shoved the keys into the lock and turned it. "Shut—"

Hochstetter was caught off-guard when the trunk flew open, hitting his chin. Then a powerful kick hit him right in the chest. He stumbled back and fell to the ground. Somehow Carter was out of the trunk in an instant, and he kicked the gun from Hochstetter's hand. Then he stomped on Hochstetter's face, bringing his bare heel crashing down onto Hochstetter's nose.

Hochstetter groaned as he rolled to his side in a daze, holding his nose and feeling blood pour out from it. He had not expected that, although he probably should have. He was rusty. And he had made the mistake of thinking Carter was rusty too.

He heard Carter hiss and mutter under his breath. A moment later, Hochstetter heard the car door open and close. Then open again.

"Arg, the keys!" Carter growled.

Pulling himself together, Hochstetter scrambled around on his hands and knees, looking for his gun in the darkness. It could not have gone far. Carter apparently had no time for him or his search as he came around back and took the keys from the trunk lock. Hochstetter had to stop him. Where was that gun?! He had to find it before Carter drove off and stranded him in the middle of nowhere. Or, worse, ran him over and left him for dead.

Aha! Hochstetter found the gun just on the edge of the road, nestled in the snow and glinting in the moonlight. He scrambled to grab it and gripped it tightly. Not wasting a second, he twisted towards the car and let off a shot. He didn't bother to aim, he just wanted to let Carter know he was no longer helpless. But luck, it seemed, was still on his side. He must have hit him because the American crumpled.

Hochstetter jumped to his feet and hurried over to survey the damage. The American was curled up in a ball, holding his knee, his face contorted in pain as he pushed curses out from between his teeth. Hochstetter smirked and stomped on his wounded knee and was satisfied with the scream that elicited.

"Ah, arschgeige, you never were the brightest, were you?" Hochstetter sneered as he scooped up the keys from the ground. He jangled them slightly in front of Carter's face. "Almost had it, ja?" He stomped on Carter's knee once more and Carter cried out before going limp. Hochstetter spat on him and then dragged him back to the car. He wasn't as young as he had once been, so it took some effort to bundle the American back into the trunk. But he managed and, with a frustrated growl, he slammed the trunk shut.

He was glad that he hadn't killed the American—although he confessed, he would not have shed any tears if he had. After all, he didn't actually need him alive. He had already thrown out his line with the kidnapping and he was sure Hogan would take the bait either way. Still, he had hoped to interrogate Carter for a while—finally get him to confess to his and, more importantly, Hogan's crimes. Maybe this injury would make that task all the easier.

With a huff, he smacked the trunk and then got back into the car. Hopefully, now he could drive in relative peace. He checked his map one last time and started the engine. He took a moment to check his nose in the rearview mirror, wiping the blood away. Stars crowded his vision and he scowled. It was most likely broken. Well, he would see how he felt once he got back to Karl's— if it got worse, maybe he would decide to shoot Carter's other knee in retaliation.

Pain buzzed around Carter's head, pulling him out of unconsciousness. It took a moment for the pain to centralize at his knee and Carter bit back a whimper as he curled in on himself in the dark trunk.

Stupid.

He knew an escape attempt would be risky, but he hadn't thought it would end in such a spectacular defeat. If only he had thought to grab those keys! Then he could have abandoned Hochstetter in the middle of nowhere—only to come back to collect him with a whole squad of police. Better yet, he could have just run over the bastard.

Never mind the keys- if only he had picked up the gun instead of kicking it away. If only he had taken the time to look for it before Hochstetter could get to it. Then he could have shot him, dead.

But though Hochstetter would have deserved that, Carter knew that revenge was no substitute for justice. Besides that, it had been years since Carter had had to kill someone. It wasn't something to take lightly, even if it did mean getting out of this situation. It was peacetime, not war. Although he supposed if he was going to survive this, he was going to have to change his mindset, and fast.

Carter gingerly touched his knee and gagged from the pain. He sucked in several quick breaths and looked down. He couldn't see much in the darkness, but he could feel blood covering his hand and soaking his pant leg. The fact that he wasn't dead yet and that the blood wasn't squirting out of him meant the bullet hadn't hit an artery, but Carter had to stem the flow of blood anyway. Awkwardly, he shucked off his shirt, wincing a little as he pulled his hand through the sleeve. He had had to break his thumb to free himself from the cuffs. All for nothing, he reminded himself sourly. And now his chances of escape were altogether abysmal even with the fact that Hochstetter hadn't bothered to cuff his hands again.

Choking back bile, Carter fumbled with his shirt and wrapped it around his knee. He blinked back tears and snorted a few times as a tsunami of pain threatened to overtake him. He kept his hands pressed against his makeshift bandage despite the pain it caused.

Funny to think that he had made it through a whole damn war without getting shot. Oh, there had been some close calls, sure. And he had been injured, but never from a bullet. He had to admit, he wasn't enjoying the experience. Now he knew why Newkirk had made such a big deal about it.

But he had dealt with pain before, he reminded himself, and he had the scars to prove it. Hell, right before they were liberated, Hochstetter had Carter strung up by his thumbs and tortured for two days. And maybe, like before, Hochstetter would run off with his tail between his legs like the little coward he was.

So he could handle this.

Piece of pie.

Cake.

Whatever.