Rader Stockyard

Hochstetter slammed the door shut behind him. Sergeant Carter looked dazed and confused as smoke from Hochstetter's bullet smoldered in the wall beside him. Hochstetter imagined his ears must be ringing from the shot hitting so close to him.

"Ah, sorry for the interruption," Hochstetter said. He struck a match and threw it into the stove. "Do you wonder why you're not dead yet, Sergeant Carter? Surely you must know that in temperatures such as this, you would have frozen long before now." He paused for a response, but Sergeant Carter stayed quiet. "The fact is, I came in last night and lit the stove. I kept it stoked throughout the night. And I didn't shoot you now for the same reason: I don't want to kill you. Not yet."

Carter groaned and rested his head against the wall. "Why?" he asked reluctantly.

Hochstetter rubbed his hands in front of the stove and then sat down on the stool. He leaned forward, closer to Carter. "For years I tried to get the truth out of you and your little friends. But someone always came to your rescue. Now? Now no one is coming for you. I have all the time in the world. And when Hogan finally shows up, you'll still be alive. Alive to tell him that you betrayed him. He will know I finally won. That I finally have proof, all thanks to one of the men he trusted so dearly." Hochstetter leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face. "So I am willing to wait. You will talk. I know you will. You know you will."

Carter just closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Maybe." Then he held his head up and glared at Hochstetter. "But not today."

Hochstetter only smirked at the defiance. "Not today," he said. "Of course. You must maintain some dignity. How long did I have you before? You and Corporal Newkirk? Near the end? Three days?"

"Two days," Carter corrected tiredly.

Hochstetter grabbed a long wrench from off the table and stood. For all of Carter's brave words, the man still flinched when he saw Hochstetter smack the wrench into his gloved hand. He tried to move closer to the wall as Hochstetter approached and Hochstetter couldn't help but grin. Carefully, he brought the wrench down to rest on Carter's elbow. He traced the wrench along the grotesque network of scarred skin that ran up the top half of Carter's arm to his shoulder, and along his back.

"No, it was three," Hochstetter said smoothly. "I suppose you lost track of time when Bruno joined us."

Carter's good eye grew wide at the name. He licked his lips and then, suddenly, his expression hardened. "Three days then. Three days before you ran away like a coward," he spat, jerking himself away from the wrench.

Hochstetter ignored the jab. He hadn't run away. He had escaped. There was a difference. He had escaped the Allied advance, allowing him to live another day. Allowing him to continue the fight Papa Bear had started the first time he blew up a factory under Hochstetter's nose.

"What does your wife think of my handiwork? I suppose she's asked about it," Hochstetter said, tapping Carter's back with the wrench.

Carter stayed quiet. Then he growled. "What does your wife think of you being Nazi scum? Or are you a miserable, single Hosenscheißer who's spent the last ten years stewing in revenge?"

Hochstetter shrugged. "My darling, beautiful wife is a smart woman. Had she been in Germany, I am sure she would have followed the Fuhrer as ardently as I do."

Again, Carter was quiet. Hochstetter saw his brow furrow, as if he were trying to come up with some sort of insult. Always the polite one, Carter had never been as quick with the witty retorts like his comrades. But Hochstetter wasn't here to banter anyway.

"I suppose one of your adorable little girls has asked for a puppy more than once," Hochstetter continued. "Does the very thought make you shake with fear?"

"I'm not scared of dogs," Carter replied stiffly, but Hochstetter grinned when Carter's hand went to his shoulder.

"Really?" Hochstetter said, his voice full of exaggerated surprise. "We are on a ranch, you know. I am sure there is a dog around here somewhere I can bring in to join us." At that, Carter's breath quickened. "Ah, but maybe I'll wait for that. At least for two days."

Carter visibly relaxed. Hochstetter was tempted to whack him with the wrench, to show he didn't need a dog to terrorize him, but refrained. He had tried brute force before. In fact, during the war when he was younger and more impulsive, it had been all he had relied on. And while brutality had kept Carter compliant to this point, it was unlikely to be useful going forward, now that he was helpless and already severely injured. Oh, Hochstetter had no doubt he would resort to it eventually– Carter's knee made for an inviting target– but he was sure he could keep himself in check for the time being.

So, instead of hitting him, Hochstetter simply tapped the wrench against his back a few more times before retreating to his stool. He sat and gazed down at his captive. Carter kept his eye planted on the ground, but slowly brought it up to meet Hochstetter.

"I have a son, you know," Hochstetter said amiably.

Carter blinked, apparently surprised by the sudden shift in their conversation. "What?"

"A son," Hochstetter repeated. "I have one. He's six."

Carter tilted his head, looking thoroughly confused. "A son?" He suddenly looked horrified. "You have a son?"

"Yes, little Wolfie. Oh, he's a wonderful little boy. Very smart and handsome, like his Papa. That's what he calls me: 'Papa'."

"I…" Carter started but his voice trailed off, apparently completely flabbergasted by either the information or the fact Hochstetter was sharing it.

"He loves comics." Hochstetter snapped his fingers, trying to recall which ones his son enjoyed the most. "Beetle Bailey, Donald Duck, oh and what's that new one… Oh, yes, Dennis the Menace. Do your girls like comics?" Carter didn't answer. "No, I suppose that's more for boys."

Carter eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Talking," Hochstetter replied. "Surely you can appreciate that?" That caused Carter to snort. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes, our children. Wolfie is quite the horseman as well. He says he wants to grow up to be a cowboy. And he could. Why not? Perhaps we could buy some land here. There seems to be a lot of it. Maybe we'll move near you. Our children can be friends!"

"Over my dead body."

Hochstetter tsked. "I'd choose my words more carefully if I were in your position, Sergeant," he chided. "So, you must hate my son as much as you do me. There is no such thing as an innocent German."

Carter furrowed his brow. "No," he said slowly. "Of course there are innocent Germans. A whole lot of them."

"And yet you dropped bombs on us indiscriminately."

"It was war."

"Yes, yes. The war is over now. I wonder if, given the chance, you'd still drop a bomb on me and my family."

"I… no. No, of course not."

"I'm glad to hear it. I could've killed your children, you know. I didn't. So, you see, I'm not quite the monster you think I am. But you'd no doubt slit my throat if you could."

At that, Carter glared at him and, despite his pathetic appearance, Hochstetter could see the hard resolve in his eyes. "Before you kidnapped me? No. Now? You bet."

"There's a knife on the table. If you can get it, I won't put up a fight," Hochstetter replied with a shrug. Carter craned his neck, but apparently couldn't see over the edge of the table and scowled. "I'm not the only one you'd murder if you could though. You must hate Colonel Klink, your jailor." Carter laughed, but then quickly covered his mouth. "You find that funny?"

Carter shook his head. "No. Of course I hate Klink. He was a monster. But if I wouldn't kill you before all this, I certainly wouldn't kill him. He might have been a monster, but he never tortured us."

Hochstetter frowned. It was too soon to push on that. Hochstetter knew Klink had been no tyrant. Rather, he suspected Klink had been little more than a useful idiot in Hogan's schemes. Eventually Carter would confess to that. Hochstetter just needed to be patient. Not his strongest suit– he was already becoming bored with this rather cordial conversation. But if he could just keep going, get Carter to open up and talk as he was prone to doing, maybe he could guide the injured man into more damning territory.

"I do remember him using what little sway he had to try to regain custody of you and Corporal Newkirk when I took you in for questioning. He was quite frantic. Hardly a monster." At that, Carter shrugged. "Well, anyway, I suppose he is off living a completely unremarkable life now."

"Probably."

"I have been living quite comfortably. And it seems you have done well for yourself. A teacher, correct? You may not believe this, but I was a teacher before the war." That earned him an incredulous look. "No, really. I taught German. If you ask my students they would say I was a little strict, but they all excelled. I suppose you're the popular teacher at your school. So easy-going and friendly. What do you teach? English? Math?"

"Chemistry."

Hochstetter tried to keep his face neutral. Chemistry. That was new information.

During the war, Hochstetter had compiled dossiers on everyone at Stalag 13– the men in Barracks 2 in particular. Carter's file was relatively scant– a farmer from North Dakota with a business degree from Ball State University, and some time spent in Muncie Indiana. His military record was almost completely bare– he had been stationed in Texas with a quick transfer to England before being shot down on his first mission. Then a bit of time at Stalag 5 before a transfer to Stalag 13. Completely ordinary. But now it occurred to Hochstetter that all that could have been faked. What if Carter had been brought in as an expert in chemistry? It made sense. Until now, Hochstetter had never been able to track down where Papa Bear had procured all the bombs needed to blow up so many things. But now he realized that, with a chemist, they could simply create their own bombs. With his own limited knowledge of chemistry, Hochstetter didn't know how that was possible, exactly, but it made sense to him regardless.

"I never understood all of that," Hochstetter said easily with a dismissive wave of his hand. "When I was in school, my teachers were always afraid I'd mix the wrong chemicals and blow up the classroom."

"Oh, I've do–" Carter instantly stopped talking and Hochstetter mentally cursed. His excitement over the new information had caused him to push too hard, too fast.

"Ah, well, perhaps I just needed you as a teacher," Hochstetter continued with a shrug. "Do you enjoy teaching?" He was met with stony silence. "I didn't care much for it. But I found my true calling eventually– a father." He glanced at Carter but got no reaction. "I really love it. But look who I am talking to. You must love it too. You have, what, three children? Four? I love being a father, but I do not think I could handle more than one. I barely survived the first two years. But they are so precious at that age, don't you think?"

Carter kept quiet. Hochstetter frowned. His maneuver to safer topics didn't seem to be drawing Carter in.

"I remember when Wolfie was small enough to cuddle with in my big armchair. Now he is all arms and legs, even though he is quite short. I keep telling him he will grow, but, unfortunately neither Elsa nor I are very tall. Elsa is my wife's name. And your wife is… Lucy, correct?"

Carter just glowered at him. Hochstetter felt his temper rise. Being amiable didn't seem to be working and he had felt a touch of mania creeping into his tone. "My Elsa. So beautiful. Too beautiful for me," he said with what he hoped passed for a self-deprecating laugh. "Yes, yes, very beautiful. And your wife, of course, is beautiful as well. Too beautiful for you." His laugh faltered in the face of Carter's silence and blank expression. He balled a fist while his other hand rested on the wrench. "But they say love is blind. It must be. Tell me, how did you and your wife meet?"

"Carter. Andrew, J. Sergeant. Serial number–"

Hochstetter grabbed the wrench and held it up. When Carter didn't flinch, he smacked it onto the table. "Never mind," he said tightly. "I suppose you're hungry. I'll go get you some food."

With that, Hochstetter headed for the door. He peered over his shoulder at Carter who maintained a blank face. Hochstetter grunted and opened the door. He resisted the urge to slam it.

He had been close to a breakthrough. It was encouraging. If he could keep his temper under control, maybe he could keep pushing and get more information and, eventually, a confession.

But keeping his temper was easier said than done.