Rader Stockyard

Carter came to with a weak groan. He kept his eyes closed as he took a deep breath- or at least, tried to take a deep breath. A stabbing pain in his chest cut his breath short. He squeezed his eyes tighter and wrapped his free arm around his chest as he took a series of shallow breaths instead. Somewhere along the way to… wherever he was… Hochstetter had given him a few good beatings. He wouldn't be surprised if he had a cracked rib to show for it.

Slowly, Carter cracked open an eye. And then tried to open the other, but it was swollen shut. He carefully ran his tongue over his teeth. Good, it seemed they were all still there. They must've been made of steel because, boy, it wasn't the first time they could have been knocked out. He remembered his first experience with the Gestapo, back in the French city of Bayonne. If his teeth hadn't fallen out from those beatings, he supposed nothing could crack them.

The brief memory of Bayonne made him shiver. Or maybe it was just the brutal cold. Carter's perfectly intact teeth chattered together when he realized just how cold it was. Carter bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to make them stop– the chattering made his head hurt.

It took a moment for the vision in his one eye to focus and he gingerly looked around, ignoring the pain in his head as he did so. He was inside some sort of shed. His one hand was cuffed to the leg of a workbench which was bolted to the floor. There was a tall stool partially tucked beneath it. All sorts of tools lined the wall. A wood stove sat, unused, on the wall furthest from him, with some wood stacked up beside it. In the far corner, there was a lawnmower, along with shovels, rakes, and hoes. A fluorescent light fixture, with two exposed, long bulbs, hung from the ceiling in the middle of the shed. A few other odds and ends cluttered the shed. Carter tried to catalogue what might prove useful, but his head swam from the effort.

Carter shifted uncomfortably. It was then that his knee forcefully reminded him of its complaints, causing him to retch. Carter dry heaved until he nearly passed out from exhaustion. Then he whimpered and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes tightly. The rough wood dug into his bare shoulder and the cold that seeped through from the wall caused him to shiver. Right. Even if he did find something useful for escape, he was stuck. His leg was completely useless. Worse than useless. The slightest movement made his stomach churn as pain engulfed him.

"I… can… get… through… this," he ground out between clenched teeth. He didn't have a choice. He had a wife. Four children. He needed to get through this for them.

Years ago, he had gotten through similar– although, if he thought about, not nearly as painful– situations by telling himself that he had to because his teammates were counting on him. And everytime he survived. Every. Time. So he could do it again.

The door suddenly burst open, hitting the shed wall with a crash that shook the tools on their hooks. The noise caused Carter to jump a little. And, consequently, pain shot up from his knee. He fought back the urge to retch again and peered through his good eye to see Hochstetter standing in the doorway. Hochstetter shut the door behind him. He made a show of sinking into his heavy coat and shivering.

"Ach, so cold," he said. He blew into his gloved hands and shook them. Then he went to the stove and threw in a few pieces of wood. He pulled a matchbook from his pocket and lit a match. He was about to put it into the stove, but then shook it, killing the flame. Then, he pulled off another match and turned around.

"Good morning, Sergeant Carter," he greeted. Carter did his best to glare at him. Hochstetter tsked and pulled an apple from his other pocket. He took a big bite of it and, as he chewed, he let the juice dribble down his chin. "How are you feeling today?" he asked, as bits of apple flew from his mouth.

Hochstetter's tactics weren't anything new. Carter could see it all playing out in his head. Tell me what I want to know and I will light the fire. Or Are you hungry? This apple is yours if only you would talk. It was the same old song and dance.

So, with a sigh, Carter just closed his eye again.

Something hit his knee, causing his eye to pop open again in surprise. He jerked away from the wall and the world spun. When he got control of himself, he saw the apple had rolled under the workbench, with a smudge of blood on its open white flesh.

"So brave," Hochstetter said.

"Old hat," Carter sighed in response because he didn't really think of himself as being all that brave.

Hochstetter regarded him for a moment and then pulled out the stool from under the workbench. He sat on it and rested his elbow on the table and then his cheek on his fist. "Really, aren't you tired of this game?" he asked, waving his free hand in the air. "I'm tired of it. You know that I know that Colonel Hogan is Papa Bear. Why not just admit it?"

"If you already know, why ask me? Since when do you need proof, anyway? I guess when you had to convince General Burkhalter, or someone in Berlin, then it makes sense you needed proof. But now? The war's over. There's no one to hold you accountable. No one's gonna send you to the Russian Front. I guess the police will be after you, considering everything you've done. But that has nothing to do with whether I confess or not. Not that there's anything to confess." No matter how tired he was, there wasn't a lot that kept Carter from rambling when his thoughts hopped onto a train in his head.

Hochstetter was silent for a moment. Then he sat up straight. "You're right. I suppose I have no need for you then." He reached inside his coat and pulled out his luger. Carter eyed it warily, but didn't protest. Sure, he had a lot to live for, but he wasn't about to beg for his life. At least, he wasn't going to beg Hochstetter for it. Lucy would be okay, he told himself. She was beautiful. Of course she would be okay. Someone would scoop her up in a flash and take good care of her and the kids. She didn't need him to survive. Hell, she'd find a way to survive even if no one was smart enough to snag her. She'd be okay. The kids would be okay. Really. They'd be okay. They'd be–

BLAM

From inside the house, Elsa heard a muffled gunshot and sat up straighter. She set down the tourist guide she was reading and stood up. Bertha, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen, looked over her shoulder and scoffed.

"Another cow being slaughtered," the older woman said. "There's no need to look."

Elsa frowned and went into the kitchen. She stood on her tiptoes to look past Bertha and out the window. "It's the wrong sound," she said to explain her curiosity.

"The wrong sound?" Bertha asked.

"That wasn't a rifle."

Bertha sneered. "I didn't know you were an expert."

Elsa's frown deepened, but she didn't reply. She grew up on a cattle ranch. She knew what a rifle sounded like. And, unless she was mistaken, the noise she heard– a popping sound– came across as a pistol instead. And even if it had been a rifle, it was a poor way to slaughter an animal.

"I think I will go outside for a minute," Elsa said.

"If you must," came Bertha's reply.

Quickly, Elsa put on her outside clothes. The air bit at her face as soon as she opened the door and nearly stole her breath. Oh, why did Wolfgang's business have to bring him here? She could not wait until they left to visit sunnier climates. Florida sounded nice. Or California.

Not knowing where exactly to go, Elsa followed a set of footprints in the snow. They seemed to be Wolfgang's size. She followed them around the house and into the yard, right up to a wood shed. She stopped there and knocked on the door.

"What? Who is it?" Wolfgang barked from the other side.

"Darling? Is that you?" she asked. "What are you doing in there?" She put her hand on the door knob. However, it turned without her effort. The door cracked open and Wolfgang slipped out.

"What are you doing here?" Wolfgang snapped. Elsa was taken aback by the tone.

"I- I heard a gunshot," Elsa stammered.

"Bah! We are on a farm!" Wolfgang said by way of explanation.

"But–"

Wolfgang quickly grabbed her elbow and put his other hand on the small of her back before quickly leading her away from the shed. Once they were a few feet away, he pushed her forward and caught her hand to whirl her around to face him. His eyes were cold, but suddenly they softened and he smiled. "I am sorry, darling," he said. "I was in the middle of a very tedious project and it was not going well."

"What project could you possibly be working on in there?" Elsa asked, looking over at the shed again.

"Something for the business deal I am trying to close," he replied, that sharp tone again creeping into his voice. Then he softened as he continued. "It is nothing to worry about, my love. Go on inside. Keep breakfast hot for me, I will be there soon." He gave her a gentle push forward before smacking her bum.

"I will," Elsa said. She started towards the house and looked over her shoulder to see Wolfgang watching her. She gave him a small smile and continued forward. When she rounded the corner of the house she paused and peeked back around. Wolfgang was just now turning to return to the shed. "Qué diablos?"

Her husband had never actually told her what business had brought him to the states. Perhaps she should have asked, but she hadn't felt the need. The prospect of touring America had driven any questions from her mind. But now she found herself wondering if she should have pressed the issue and found out more.

There was something just not right about this whole thing. Why did they need to stay here, in the middle of nowhere, for this business of his? If his business here was connected to her father's cattle industries, then surely her father would have discussed it with her, as he usually did. If the Raders were supposed to be a new connection, he would want her opinion of them and their operation since she had more experience in dealing with such things than her husband. And she was quite certain that once she gave her father her opinion, he would not approve of moving forward with them.

And just how did her husband know Karl Rader? 'An old friend from Germany,' he had said. But even though she knew about her husband's rough edges, it still seemed impossible that he would be friends with someone as odious as Karl Rader.

Perhaps Wolfgang wanted to leave Argentina with the knowledge he had gained from her father, and set up his own cattle venture with Karl. That was an exciting prospect, wasn't it? Maybe he hadn't told her because he wanted to find out if it was worth doing, or if he even liked America before committing.

Yes, that made sense. Wolfgang was an ambitious man who wanted to expand his wealth away from her father's influence.

Elsa nodded, convinced she had solved her little puzzle. She confidently strode towards the house, but then faltered.

But… She looked over her shoulder. But just what was he doing in that shed?