Rader Stockyard

Carter huddled against the wall, shivering in the cold and dark shed. The blanket Hochstetter had given him as a 'gesture of goodwill' was plush, but hardly enough to keep the cold of a February night off him. His one hand, cuffed to the table leg, stuck out from the cover and his mangled leg, also uncovered, had gone numb long ago. That wasn't good. Neither was the smell coming from it.

Carter groaned. How long had it been since Hochstetter had kidnapped him? He didn't know. The Major had spoken to him only twice since he had awoken to find himself in this shed, but Carter couldn't be sure if both times had been on the same day. The shed had a window, but it was covered with a thick sheet so no light could get through. Both times Hochstetter had opened the door, there had been light shining through. So one day? Two? Carter had drifted in and out of consciousness so much that it was hard to tell. While hungry, he wasn't starving. Hochstetter had fed him. So… Carter groaned again, his head pounding as he tried to cobble together his thoughts.

One thought that continued to nag him was the information Hochstetter had shared during their first conversation. He had a wife. And a son. It seemed impossible to Carter. How could such a monster have a family? Not only a family, but a family he apparently loved? Hochstetter? Capable of love? Impossible and astounding. His only love was torment and despair.

But if Hochstetter did indeed have a heart, maybe Carter could use that to his advantage. Maybe he could find that one small spot of goodness in a sea of black and bring it to the surface. If Hochstetter truly was a loving family man, maybe he could take pity on a fellow father whose children needed him?

Carter shook his head. No. The loving father routine had to be an act. A good act, maybe. Hell, it might've been so good that even Hochstetter himself believed it. But after everything Carter had been through with Hochstetter, he knew there was no way this transformation could be genuine.

Besides, even if there was a smidgen of goodness to play upon, Carter didn't think he had the skills to do it. The colonel could. Newkirk, too. But Carter wasn't nearly as good a manipulator as those two.

So just how was he going to get out of this?

The simplest answer was that he would just have to wait for rescue. Surely Colonel Hogan had heard about the kidnapping by now and was on his way. Hogan never gave up on his men, even if it took a while to get to them. How long had Olsen been missing? Three years? But the colonel had never given up on him, so why would he give up on Carter?

The problem was, Carter couldn't wait three years. He wasn't even sure if he could make it to the end of the week. He could feel infection starting to set into his knee and the beginnings of a fever coming on. Whenever he woke up from his uneasy slumber– a task which, in itself, seemed monumental– his thoughts were worryingly jumbled and it was getting harder and harder to organize them. Even if Hochstetter kept him warm and fed, he was in trouble. Serious trouble.

No, he couldn't wait. While he knew Hogan was on the case, he just didn't have time. He had to do something himself. He could break his other thumb and try to slip out of the handcuffs, but even if he did that, then what? He couldn't walk. He certainly couldn't run.

Carter realized he had gone through this whole thought process before and felt his stomach drop. He couldn't keep running through impossible escape scenarios– it would drive him insane. As long as his leg was the way it was, he was stuck. He had to wait. He just had to wait.

In frustration, Carter slammed his fist against the table leg. He heard something rattle in response. Something on the table top. Hochstetter had mentioned a knife. Had he been telling the truth?

Carter craned his neck to try and look over the edge of the table, but it was no use. All right, so maybe there wasn't a knife on there, but there had to be something. Possibly even something useful. Hochstetter had had a wrench before. Maybe it was sitting on the table. If Carter could nudge the table enough, maybe the wrench would make its way to the edge and fall to the floor and then he could…

And then he could… what? Beat Hochstetter with it? What good would that do? Oh sure, Carter was at the point now that he would love nothing more than to beat Hochstetter with a wrench, but he didn't see how that could improve his situation. In fact, it might just make it worse. If he killed Hochstetter, then whenever the colonel did eventually show up, he'd just have two bodies to deal with.

Carter wanted to scream. He had no good options. There was nothing he could do to save himself. There was nothing he could do to get back to his family.

Carter growled and pressed his fist against his good eye. He needed to think of something!

But before he could even begin formulating another plan, doomed though it might have been, the door creaked open. Carter sighed and dropped his fist, looking up to see Hochstetter enter the shed. He carried with him a tray with a steaming bowl and mug. Hochstetter set it down on the table and then lit the fire.

"I brought you soup and hot chocolate," Hochstetter informed him, somewhat amiably. "Here." He took the tray and knelt down, setting it on Carter's lap. Carter was half tempted to dump it over to the side, but– he hated to admit it– it really smelled delicious. And that wasn't just his hunger talking.

Hesitantly, Carter picked the spoon off the tray and ladled some soup. He brought it to his lips, blew on it, and then took a tiny sip. Despite himself, he slurped up the rest and went for another spoonful. It was surprisingly full of flavour.

"Do you like it? My wife made it," Hochstetter said as he sat down on the stool.

Carter's hand faltered as he dipped his spoon back into the soup. There Hochstetter went again– engaging in seemingly innocent conversation about his wife. But Carter had learned his lesson earlier. Give him a beating, whips, chains, bring back that devil-dog, and he could resist giving vital information. But Hochstetter's new tactic had thrown Carter off. The amiable tone and safe topics had caused Carter to let something slip. He had known as soon as he had said it. And, now, he had to be extra vigilant. In fact, it was best to just stay silent.

"She really is a wonderful cook," Hochstetter said. "Although she does not have to do it often. She is a woman of leisure, my wife. Of course, she is rich in her own right, but I came into our marriage with quite a few treasures of my own."

"Stolen treasures," Carter growled, despite himself.

"Abandoned treasures that I simply recovered," Hochstetter said. "Their owners certainly had no need for them anymore."

There was the Hochstetter Carter knew. A heartless villain who had sent innocent people to their deaths– or worse– for one reason or another. A shameless plunderer who had taken his victims' treasures for himself.

"How much does your wife know about who you are?" Carter asked. She couldn't know. She couldn't possibly know.

Hochstetter waved his hand. "She knows who I am; a man of passion and conviction. What those drove me to do in the past is irrelevant. Our future together is all that matters."

"Then why am I here?" Carter asked. "I mean if the past is the past—"

"As far as she is concerned. But for me… I can never truly leave the past behind until I bring Colonel Hogan to justice," Hochstetter said. Carter just grunted and rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He didn't need to hear more of Hochstetter's unhinged rantings.

"But, surely," Hochstetter continued, "you have kept secrets from your wife? Secrets about the war?"

Carter let out a long sigh. He'd kept secrets from Lucy. Too many. Secrets she, of all people, deserved to know. He wondered how much she had put together by now. There had been hints over the years and now some crazed Gestapo man had burst out of the past, hungry for revenge. What had Hogan told her? And what would he tell her if— no, when— the colonel rescued him. He started going over what he would say to her when he got back, but realized all he wanted to do was hold her. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could smell her lavender soap.

"War, after all, is a messy business," Hochstetter said, pulling Carter back to reality.

"Yeah," Carter murmured. Very messy. Even before Stalag 13, it had been a damned mess with too many terrors he had buried deep. He'd mostly moved past them, but every once in a while they would crop up in his nightmares. "Which is why we should just leave it in the past," he continued, peeking out to glance at Hochstetter.

Hochstetter rolled his eyes. "You will not convince me to drop this, Sergeant. I know Hogan was Papa Bear. No doubt he continues to be a spy even now!"

Carter hummed at that. Hochstetter wasn't wrong. But that was a dangerous topic. Wasn't it? His brain was starting to get fuzzy.

"What's your wife like?" Carter asked, trying to change the subject. If it existed, he had to find that soft spot.

"Young, beautiful," Hochstetter said. "Enjoys her crossword puzzles. She can solve them in three languages! Ach, but her German is terrible!"

That made Carter's brow furrow. "You said she wasn't in Germany for the war? She isn't German?" Carter found it odd that such an avowed Nazi would marry anyone else.

"She's German." Hochstetter paused and shrugged. "German enough. Perhaps not up to the fuhrer's standards, but one takes what he can get in such foreign places."

"Foreign places?" Carter asked. His tired brain told him this might be an important thread to pull on.

"It's unimportant," Hochstetter said amiably.

"How'd you meet her?" Carter asked, genuinely curious.

Hochstetter thought for a moment and Carter could see a smile tugging at his lips. An honest, genuine smile. Nostalgic even. Who was this man?!

"At a party. I was new in town and I was not pleased. But she saw through my snarls and I suppose she saw me as a challenge. She always says I am the beast who was charmed by her beauty!"

"She must be something," Carter said. This new side to Hochstetter was making his brain spin. Was he honestly in love with his wife? Was that possible?

"She is a good wife," Hochstetter said. "And a good mother. I could not ask for better. And, little Wolfie! Six and thinks he knows everything!"

"Like Ila," Carter mused.

"Ah, yes. Your wife must be something, too," Hochstetter said. "Four children? Amazing! I suppose she was waiting for you at home the whole time you were at war."

"Nah," Carter replied. "Had a girl, Mary Jane, but she sent me a Dear John. Nearly busted out of camp because of it!" Carter snorted. "Boy, looking back, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me! Don't know if she would've liked me as much after the war."

"Oh?" Hochstetter asked.

"Like you said, war is messy. She knew me when we were kids and war turned me into a man, I guess. Lots of responsibilities, lots of destruction, lots of death, lots of… everything."

"Hmmm, yes," Hochstetter said slowly. "Life changes once you witness so much death." He paused for a beat. "I remember helping to clear the wreckage of a train accident outside Düsseldorf. It had been carrying soldiers to the East when it was blown up. Body parts everywhere."

Carter flinched before he could stop himself. Hochsetter's jab may have been obvious, but it still hit its mark.

"Does it keep you awake at night, Sergeant, knowing what Hogan did to all those poor boys and so many more like them?" Hochstetter asked. Carter stayed quiet. "Although… Something that had bothered me is how Hogan could acquire so many explosives… Perhaps he had a chemist to help."

"Hogan wasn't Papa Bear. And anyone can make a bomb."

"Anyone who knows anything about chemistry," Hochstetter pointed out.

"Take someone real smart to come up with enough bombs to blow up everything Papa Bear did. A munitions dump is one thing, a train is another. Gotta time it just right. And anything homemade would be really unstable."

Wait. Carter realized he might not be proving the point he wanted. What point was he trying to prove? Right, that there was no way a bunch of prisoners could do what Papa Bear did. "'M not smart."

"I never thought so," Hochstetter said. "But perhaps you have your niche…"

Pain suddenly burst through the fog in Carter's brain and he cried out. As he tried to curl in on himself, his tray slipped off his lap and the soup and chocolate splashed on the floor.

"What—" He blinked back the stars, and looked to see Hochstetter was standing now. Had he kicked Carter's foot?

"I never mentioned a munitions dump!" Hochstetter cried. Whatever genteel veneer he had worn until then was suddenly stripped away, leaving the snarling, growling Hochstetter Carter had always known.

Carter blinked. "What?"

"You said Papa Bear blew up a munitions dump, but I never said anything about one!"

"Didn't you? I… Years ago?"

"Stop!" Hochstetter moved closer, bearing down on him. "I have you now! Confess!" He raised his foot, resting it on his heel, before bringing it down slowly onto Carter's knee.

Carter knew he had spoken too much. Knew that his confession was a mere formality now. But the blackening edges of his vision offered him an out.

"Confess? To what again. I—"

Hochstetter pushed harder and Carter embraced the darkness.

That's enough beating on Carter for a long while now.