Brothers in Arms	      [Home | Quicksearch | Search Engine | Random
Story | Upload Story]  


 Scroll to the end of the fic to see links explaining WWII references used
throughout.
  
  Brothers in Arms by Bithysith  

 In his opinion, the quiet, uneventful stretches of time were almost more
difficult to bear. This was due less to numbing boredom than the creeping
fear that such illogical inertia couldn't possibly last, and any minute
they would be hit by a deluge of fire, or the whining cry of a bomb
dropped from above. He lifted his dog tag and studied it with more
interest than was necessary. 

 BEECHER TOBIAS C 97412000 T42 43 O E

 He ran his thumb over the embossed type and wondered absently, and not
for the first time, who would find it when he was killed. He had been
shipped to France from England in the spring. A limited number of troops
had been deployed to lay the basis for the American presence in the
European Theatre of Operations before the massive influx on Normandy's
shore, and he had been among them. The afterglow of June 6th was still
fresh in everyone's mind, and Tobias couldn't help but be reminded of how
even though he had preceded the carnage on the beaches by a few months, he
wasn't a stranger to killing. He couldn't recall the faces of the men that
he'd gunned down, and it wasn't for lack of trying. He wanted desperately
to feel guilt and remorse, but the emotions eluded him. In that fraction
of a moment, when the screams and bullets had pierced his ears, he'd
reacted like a machine; his only thought had been to simply make it stop.
The M-1 in his hands had been his only means of doing so. He couldn't
remember eyeing a specific target, only shooting in the general direction
of the most offending noise. His commanding officer, Staff Sergeant Sean
Murphy, had pulled him to the ground as a mortar shell hit only yards
away. The ringing in his ears had faded into a sublime state of deafness
that had lasted a few days afterwards. 

 The circumstances that had made Tobias a killer had also raised him in
rank. Murphy had been effusive in his praise once the dust had cleared,
having witnessed the spectacled man show an unexpected calm under
pressure; Beecher had killed four enemies and saved two of his peers. His
shooting hadn't been the most efficient, but he was tenacious and
resolute. For this reason, Murphy had recommended that he be made
Corporal, skipping the rank of Private First Class. It was an honor that
Tobias wasn't entirely sure he was worthy of, but he respected his
commanding officer's opinion and was grateful when his was consulted. Most
of the men in the squad were appreciative of his quick mind, grace under
pressure, and unassuming nature. Private First Class James Robson had
voiced irritation at being denied the rank of Corporal, but Ryan O'Reily,
a man who shared his rank, but garnered greater respect, had promptly told
him to shut up. This had been the beginning and end of any hostilities in
the squad, but Tobias still felt that he was on shaky ground. He couldn't
blame Robson for the resentment he harbored. Beecher was a young,
well-educated lawyer from a wealthy family, having entered the war by way
of the draft only months prior. He often felt like an outsider, but
admitted to himself that he didn't entirely mind it that way.

 They hadn't engaged in any form of battle for almost a month, and he
could tell that the other men in his squad felt the same acute
restlessness. They'd tramped across narrow, dusty country roads with the
intention of merging with a platoon that had since been delayed by unknown
circumstances. Murphy was agitated at being left in a state of ignorance,
but was powerless to change the situation. He'd ordered the men to stay at
the rendezvous point, an abandoned dairy farm outside of a small
provincial town, until he received new orders or the missing platoon
arrived. They had since eaten almost all the food that had been left
behind by the family, who'd obviously been in a rush to vacate. Tobias had
lost all interest in card games and bawdy discussions about girlfriends
back home or the latest pinup. He sat with his back against the old, stone
wall of the farmhouse, legs bend in front of him, and stared into space
while the other men engaged in more social activities. Murphy emerged from
the house and quietly joined him, offering a sip from a tall glass of
water.

 "It's damn nice to be able to drink from something other than a canteen"
Murphy remarked as he hunched down next to Tobias to hand him the cool
drink. "It's well water, but it's not bad. They've got an icebox, too."

 "Thank you, sir" Beecher smiled and took a long swig before handing it
back to his superior.

 "You look beat, Corporal" Murphy observed, breathing heavily. It was hard
to keep everyone alert during stretches of inactivity. Complacency soon
set in. He glanced over at the other men as they laughed at a joke
courtesy of Private Alvarez. 

 "No sir... I'm too rested. It's got to be killing you that we can't keep
moving, sir" Tobias intuited and spoke plainly, grateful that he shared a
candid rapport with his commanding officer. 

 "Yeah. Well, I got no choice. This situation is frankly making me very
nervous. If that platoon has been intercepted or ambushed then it means
we're sitting ducks out here. I don't see what else could be keeping them.
If they were redirected by new orders, they would have left some
communication for us."

 "Maybe they did" Beecher said, nodding his head towards a figure coming
towards them over the grassy hillside. 

 The other men in the squad had already spotted the lone soldier, and
immediately stood to train their weapons on him. As he came closer, the
men noticed that he was dressed in standard-issue American fatigues, and
had an M-1 slung over his back in a non-threatening manner. He walked with
a slight limp, and one side of his face was smeared in blood, obscuring
his features. 

 "At ease!" Murphy ordered, standing to approach the soldier. The squad
immediately lowered their weapons and observed quietly as their Sergeant
walked to the man, who was still a good ten yards away from the farmhouse,
and began to talk to him. O'Reily traded glances with Beecher, who merely
shrugged and studied the conversation attentively. Murphy was nodding, and
his body language didn't betray any sense of threat. After about two
minutes, he and his bloodied companion began their trek towards the squad.
They were all struck by the man's impressive build. Despite his injuries,
his presence still commanded respect. "Whitehall!" Murphy called out to a
young Private who had been studying medicine before the draft and acted as
their informal medical officer. "Take this man into the house, clean him
up and dress his wounds."

 "Yessir" Whitehall answered and directed the stranger towards the open
kitchen door. Tobias couldn't help but follow the man with his eyes,
amazed that his stride had a loping grace in spite of the limp. He tried
to catch his gaze but failed. The stranger was through the door and out of
sight too quickly. 

 "Corporal" Murphy addressed him, face serious. "Come with me."

 Beecher regarded his Sergeant with curiosity, but didn't question the
order. They made their way around the corner of the farmhouse and out of
the earshot of the others. Murphy immediately began to recount the
conversation to his second-in-command.

 "That man's Sergeant Christopher Keller. He was a member of the platoon
that we were supposed to rendezvous with. According to him, they were hit
by machine guns and mortars while coming through Auribeau. As far as he
knows, he's the only one that survived. He was hit by shrapnel, knocked
unconscious, and came to this morning, surrounded by unrecognizable
corpses."

 "Jesus" Beecher exhaled slowly. "He's lucky to be in one piece."

 "Luck's all there is to it, sometimes" Murphy observed in a weary tone.
"I don't understand why whoever hit his platoon hasn't found us yet. We
haven't exactly been incognito out here. It makes me nervous."

 Beecher straightened and regarded the rolling hills that surrounded them
with trepidation. 

 "We're only ten men strong, sir. Eleven with Keller. Why the hell would a
force with that kind of firepower hesitate to attack us? It doesn't make
any sense."

 "I want to get out of here ASAP. I'm not waiting for orders that may or
may not come. These are special circumstances. Keller said that if the
rendezvous had gone as planned, our instructions were to move north
towards the Riviera. So that's what we're gonna do. We'll get whatever
supplies we can from the house and be on the road within a quarter of an
hour."

 "I'll go see if Whitehall's done with Keller, sir" Beecher volunteered,
hoping to get a chance to talk to the man who had somehow survived certain
death. Murphy nodded his ascent and walked off to communicate his orders
to the rest of the squad.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 When Tobias strode into the kitchen, Whitehall was cleaning a wound on
Keller's inner thigh. He sat unabashed, his pants pooled around his
ankles. Beecher immediately looked at the floor and searched for words to
alleviate the irrational unease that he felt at the sight of the
half-naked man.

 "Corporal Tobias Beecher, sir. Sergeant Murphy apprised me of the
situation. I wanted to make sure your injuries weren't serious. We'll be
marching in fifteen minutes" Tobias looked up as he finished, and was
surprised to find the Keller's eyes staring intently into his own. He
struggled not to flinch under the examination, and was pleased that he was
able to hold his ground. Keller seemed just as impressed by his resolve,
and flashed him a wolfish grin.

 "Private Whitehall got all the shrapnel out, and it ain't very deep. I
should be okay to walk on it if he binds it tight enough."

 "I've run out of proper stitches, sir. I found some needles and thread in
the cupboard, but I'll have to redress it with gauze every day to check
for signs of infection" Whitehall explained. Beecher sighed and nodded.

 "Keep a close eye on it. We can't afford a man to be going lame on us;
we'll be on the move for a while. I'm going to go help the others look for
whatever food and supplies might be left around this place. Fill your
canteen in the well when you're done fixing up Sergeant Keller and meet us
outside. I would advise that you do so as well, sir" Beecher said,
capturing the officer's stare. This seemed to amuse the larger man, whose
mouth twitched in an enigmatic grin as he nodded in acknowledgement.
Tobias only hesitated for a moment before turning to leave the kitchen,
but it didn't escape Keller's notice.

 Before they left the farmhouse, Murphy had quickly introduced Keller to
his men, communicating only the essential details of the circumstances
leading up to his arrival. This produced expressions of alarm and
interest, particularly in the case of Ryan O'Reily, who immediately
recognized why they were leaving so abruptly. A good hour passed before
the Private First Class hung back and aligned himself in step with
Beecher, whose intelligence he felt complimented his own and would often
consult.

 "Corporal, have you had a chance to speak with Sergeant Keller yet?"
O'Reily inquired with measured nonchalance.

 "Only briefly. He isn't badly hurt... shouldn't slow us down."

 "Yeah. Looks like he's doing just fine" Ryan remarked, slightly nodding
his head in the direction of the larger man limping ten paces in front of
them. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what do you think happened to his
platoon?"

 Tobias gave his companion a sidelong glance before answering.

 "It looks like a case of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong
time. Or the right place, as far as Keller is concerned. We've been in the
middle of an attack like that. You know how random and senseless it is." 

 "Yes sir" O'Reily answered with a lopsided smile and a nod before
rejoining the line. Beecher regarded him thoughtfully. Ryan O'Reily was as
smart as a whip, and noticed critical details that other men ignored. He
could gauge the thoughts of those in his squad with uncanny precision, and
often employed the talent to keep rapport among them running as smoothly
as possible. Tobias himself had felt grateful for the young man's
charisma, particularly before being promoted, when he'd been a Private to
James Robson's Private First Class. Ryan's strategic humor and subtle
flattery worked wonders in diffusing Robson, who was often quick to take
offense and liked to use what little rank he possessed. When O'Reily made
an observation, Beecher was never quick to dismiss it as fancy. It was
apparent that he had been hinting that there was some debate among the men
about whether they had been told the entire truth behind Keller's
miraculous survival.

 CHAPTER 2

 As evening approached, Murphy instructed the men to keep their eyes open
for any place that would provide them with even minimal shelter. They had
diverged from the road almost immediately after their departure, due to
fears of being discovered by enemy vehicles. As the sunlight waned, Tobias
found himself squinting through the lenses of his glasses as he scanned
the grassy horizon for a silhouette belonging to something other than a
tree. It was a young private named Caleb Martin who first noticed the
sagging, forlorn remains of barn in the distance, and alerted his
superior. Murphy was quietly relieved and led them to the structure, which
had been deserted by both humans and livestock. The men were more than
satisfied with the prospect of sleeping on soft hay, so matter how damp or
moldy. Alvarez was chosen for first watch, and stoically took his post
while the others spread out and exchanged only a few whispered words
before falling asleep.

 Tobias awoke just before dawn and waited for his eyes to adjust to the
faint light that peeked in through the planks of the barn wall. He glanced
over the men reclined around him, and let his eyes rest on the still form
of Sergeant Keller, who lay on his back, injured leg slightly elevated.
Beecher took the opportunity to study the other man's features, something
that had been difficult when his dark, piercing eyes had been open. There
was an undeniable magnetism about him, even while he slept. The
realization made Tobias smirk he considered the confidence and ease with
which Keller had carried himself in the kitchen. They'd spoken for mere
minutes, yet the impact of the interaction had left Beecher undeniably
affected. And he wasn't sure how he felt about it. It wasn't often that he
fell prey to irrational behavior. Murphy's voice quickly roused the squad
from their sleep, and Tobias from his thoughts of Keller.

 "Okay men, I've let you sleep longer than I should have. Get up, eat
something, take a piss, and then we're on the move again as soon as
possible."

 Beecher rifled through his pack and pulled out an apple and a small hunk
of cheese that he had managed to scrounge from the farmhouse. As he bit in
and chewed from the pulpy fruit, he looked over at Keller and realized
that the man wouldn't have had a chance to look for provisions after
Whitehall's makeshift surgery. Without hesitation, he got up and walked
over to where the other man sat wincing as he tried to move his sore limb.


 "It got a bit cold last night. Your leg should feel better once it starts
warming up" Tobias remarked as he sat next to the Sergeant.

 "Yeah. I'd still better let Whitey take a look at it, though." 

 "Whitey?" Tobias choked back his laughter at the nickname. "Did you come
up with that?"

 "Naw. Told me that's what his friends called him back home. The kid seems
kinda lonely, so I thought..." he shrugged and smiled faintly.

 "Private Whitey. It suits him" Tobias quipped and was rewarded with a
full grin. The two men regarded each other warmly before Tobias cleared
his throat and spoke again. "I noticed that you don't have any food, and
I've got more than I need."

 He held out the apple, hoping that the big bite missing from it wouldn't
offend the Sergeant. But Keller's eyes only conveyed surprise and sincere
thanks as he took it from Tobias' hand.

 "Thank you, Corporal. I appreciate it." 

 Tobias had forgotten the difference in their ranks, and the reminder
jolted him. For a moment, it had seemed like they had existed in their own
little world, outside of the squad, or the French countryside. Even the
war itself had seemed distant.

 "No problem, sir" Beecher replied solemnly and stood up. "If you don't
mind, I'm going to go take a leak."

 "You don't need my permission." 

 Tobias nodded and walked outside to relieve himself.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Murphy had been true to his word, and the men were again in formation,
walking across the dew-covered grass within ten minutes of waking. They
had been quiet at first, bodies still shaking off the lingering affects of
an unusually restful night's sleep. A few hushed murmurs had evolved into
a discussion that was soon engaging almost the entire squad. 

 "I swear to god, I think she's trying to kill me or something. Spraying
perfume on her letters like that. Fuuuuuck" Alvarez boasted, grabbing at
his heart with dramatic flair. 

 "What a way to go" Private Martin rolled his eyes, "At least you're
getting letters, Alvarez." 

 "No cute little chickadee waiting for you back home?" O'Reily asked,
painfully aware that there was no cherished female praying for his own
safe return. 

 "There was this one girl who went to my church. I saw her almost every
week, but never had the balls to tell her... well, you know" Martin
shrugged his shoulders, trying to pretend like it was no big deal.

 "Maritza's all that keeps me going. You shoulda said something to your
church-girl, Martin" Alvarez couldn't help but brag some more.

 "Yeah, well. I'm sure I ain't the only guy here not getting any letters."


 "I thank the Lord that I don't got some clingy broad sending me crap
every week" Robson interjected with a laugh. 

 "Oh please, that's such bullshit" O'Reily shot back. 

 "Until a letter can suck my dick, I stand by what I said." 

 This produced enthusiastic laughter from nearly the entire squad. Murphy
looked behind him and leveled his eyes at the men.

 "Keep it down. This ain't a party, ladies."

 "Sorry sir" O'Reily responded. Robson grinned mirthlessly, rolling his
eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was low. 

 "See, there are some men, like me, who don't want to limit themselves.
And then there are men who couldn't get pussy if their lives depended on
it" he cast his eyes around, studying his squadmates. "Alvarez used to be
the former, until Maritza came along. Now she's got his balls in a tight
grip."

 Alvarez bit his tongue to keep from mouthing off against the man who
slightly outranked him. Robson saw his discomfort and chuckled before
continuing.

 "We all know which group poor Martin falls into. Same with Whitehall.
Simmons and Ferraro are both married, so they're casualties. But I have no
doubt that they were ladies' men back in the day. Right boys?"

 Simmons grinned, but Ferraro didn't seem amused. Murphy monitored the
conversation carefully, aware that Robson was treading a fine line between
humor and ridicule. 

 "Sorensen is my hero" Robson continued, nodding to the fair-haired
college athlete. "I doubt he could remember how much pussy he's had,
concussions or not."

 Private Sorensen reddened before flashing a toothy grin, and even O'Reily
couldn't help but laugh. 

 "Then there's Beecher. You're a tough one to peg... girls love rich boys.
You ever fucked someone over the hood of daddy's car?"

 Before Murphy or Beecher could object, a voice that had been mostly
silent snapped the squad to attention.

 "That's enough, Private Robson. Corporal Beecher is your superior"
Keller's tone was abrupt. Robson gave him a long, challenging stare before
relenting.

 "Yes sir. Sorry sir."

 Tobias didn't know whether to be thankful for or irritated by Keller's
interjection. The sergeant was likely just trying to thank him for sharing
his provisions, but Beecher couldn't afford to look like he needed
rescuing from Robson. Thankfully, O'Reily seemed to sense his discomfort
and skillfully started the men talking again, but this time about a
neutral subject.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The men sat on the floor of a modest stone church located on a hill a few
miles outside of Auribeau. They had encountered a handful of abandoned
farms in the vicinity, but there had been no supplies or food left behind.
Murphy did his best not to voice his growing concern to his soldiers - he
could tell by the waning level of conversation that their spirits were
low. He tried to convey a healthy level of optimism; at least the
farmhouses had provided them with shelter and warmth during the past few
nights. It had rained continuously, which had made it difficult to walk
more than a few hours at a time. Clothes and boots had been soaked
through, and the majority of the squad had developed painful blisters and
coughs. Murphy knew that if they didn't find some food soon, those coughs
would develop into fevers. He may not have any choice but to lead them
into town, where their chance of finding nourishment was much greater.
There was also a chance that the enemy force that had attacked Keller's
platoon was still there; but if things got much worse, it would be a risk
he'd have to take.

 By studying their gaunt faces and hollow eyes, it was apparent that his
men were running on their last reserves of energy. He thanked God that the
rain had provided them with a source of drinking water that didn't carry
the risk of disease that a stagnant farm well often did. There was no dry
wood to start a fire, so the men sat bundled in groups, trying to conserve
their body temperature in spite of cold, wet fatigues. A few of them spoke
in hushed tones, in an attempt to keep their minds occupied, while others
drifted in and out of a troubled sleep.

 Tobias Beecher wasn't engaged in a conversation, instead strained to
follow what Private Alvarez, Martin and O'Reily were whispering to each
other. He sat a few feet away from them, eyelids at half-mast, but fully
alert. He'd heard them mention Keller's name, though the voices were too
indistinct to gauge who was saying what.

 "Do you buy his story?" "I don't know. He hasn't said much since he
showed up. Except when he told Robson where to stick it." "In my opinion,
he deserves a medal just for that. But it must have chapped Beecher's
ass." "Beecher didn't say anything about it." "Beecher doesn't say much of
anything at all." "True. But I just get the feeling that Keller's not
telling us everything, you know? What if he's a deserter or something?"
"Why would he fall in with us then? That doesn't make any sense." "Safety
in numbers, I don't know. He might ditch us as soon as he heals up. All
I'm saying is that there's more to him then what he's letting on. I'd bet
a six course dinner on it." "Jesus, shut up. Don't talk about food..."

 As the hissed exchange shifted to discussion of cuisine, Beecher tuned
out and mulled over what he had heard. He predicted that if the entire
squad didn't already have doubts about Keller, they would in a few hours'
time. Gossip had a tendency to spread freely when minds were idle. He
opened his eyes a crack and regarded the sergeant, who lay directly across
from him. The man was sleeping, his leg hoisted up on his supply pack.
Whitehall had struggled to keep the bindings dry in the downpour, and had
complained that he was quickly running out of gauze. It was good that
Keller was getting some rest; his weakened body needed it to heal. It
wouldn't help the situation if he became a burden as well as a source of
unease amongst the men. With these thoughts, Tobias finally closed his
eyes and managed to get a few hours sleep himself. 

 It was Keller's moans that woke him early in the morning. The sun hadn't
even begun to rise when Tobias cracked open his heavy lids to determine
the source of the noise. It took a few moments for him to adjust to the
dark, but Keller wasn't difficult to make out, his large body tossing
restlessly. Beecher immediately feared that the other man had come down
with a fever, and crawled over to the Sergeant as quietly as he could.
Keller's eyes were closed, but rimmed with dark circles. His brow was
knitted in pain, and skin looked almost translucent, it was so pale.
Beecher spread his palm on Keller's forehead and found it clammy. Before
he could turn to rouse Whitehall for his opinion, Keller woke up and
stared directly into his eyes. Tobias was startled, but glad to see that
the injured man wasn't delirious. 

 "I thought you were feverish. You were making a lot of noise in your
sleep" he whispered.

 "I was just having a dream. Don't worry about it" a hint of embarrassment
was evident in the Sergeant's hushed tone. Beecher nodded in
understanding, but was still concerned.

 "Do you mind if I take a look at your leg, sir? I want to make sure it's
not infected." 

 Keller's stare wavered and he shifted his hips.

 "I'm fine. I'll have Whitey look at it when he gets up. Sorry for waking
you, Beecher."

 Tobias just nodded, recognizing that he was being dismissed. His eyes
only lingered on Keller for a moment before he crawled back to where he'd
been sleeping. He rested his head on his pack, and drifted into a light
slumber. Murphy's voice roused the entire squad only fifteen minutes
later. It wasn't raining, and he wanted to get on the road again as
quickly as possible. The men were allowed time for a piss, and Whitehall
redressed Keller's wound, confirming that it wasn't infected, but not
healing as quickly as it should. Later, as the men stood outside the
church, yawning and stretching, he expressed his concern to Murphy. The
Staff Sergeant was equally troubled by threat of illness that all of his
men faced, and decided that entering the town of Auribeau would be a
necessary risk. He wordlessly signaled for Corporal Beecher's attention,
and explained his plans. Tobias listened to his superior, and waited for
the other man to stop talking before he responded.

 "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asked respectfully.

 "Beecher, you know you don't have to ask me that. What's on your mind?" 

 "Sir, the men are uneasy about Sergeant Keller. They think we aren't
being told the whole truth about what happened to him. After going through
a trauma like that, I don't blame him for not being particularly
forthcoming, but his silence isn't endearing him to them. I'm concerned
that when they find out we're going to Auribeau, they might overreact.
They're borderline paranoid as it is."

 "They might blame Keller if we meet any resistance there", Murphy added,
following his corporal's line of thought.

 "It's possible. It's also possible that there's a legitimate cause for
their suspicions." 

 "Do you have any reason to doubt him?"

 "No. He doesn't seem dishonest, just very intense."

 "He's given you the stare, huh?" Murphy asked, chuckling. The knowledge
that he wasn't the only one to benefit from Keller's attentions hit
Beecher with a feeling that he couldn't quite identify, and it irritated
him. Murphy saw the emotion flash across his subordinate's usually calm
features and cocked his head in curiosity. Tobias recovered almost
instantly.

 "Yeah. He threw me off guard the first time he did it. Keller's obviously
aware of the affect he has on people." 

 Murphy grinned wider and nodded in agreement. 

 "Listen, you go and brief Keller on the situation while I tell the men
about the detour we'll be taking. Try your best to resist his charms,
Corporal" Murphy joked, winking as he turned to assemble his squad. Tobias
flushed momentarily before approaching Sergeant Keller, who stood alone,
intently watching the movement around him. He shifted his glance to
Beecher, steadying his eyes on the other man until he stopped in front of
him.

 "Corporal, I wanted to apologize if I was a bit short with you earlier
this morning" Keller spoke before Beecher had a chance to open his mouth. 

 "No need, sir. I'm just glad you're not sick" he cleared his throat and
tried to ignore Keller's bold grin before he continued, cutting to the
chase. He explained Murphy's reasons for taking them to Auribeau, and
tried as tactfully as he could to communicate Keller's standing with the
men, without overtly stating anything. The larger man's smile never
wavered, and Tobias couldn't help but look at the ground when he finished
talking. 

 "Beecher, I want you to know that I'm usually a real friendly guy. I've
never had problems talking with other people. That's why I was made an
officer - they say I'm a natural leader and all that. But I'm not so sure
anymore; I saw some gruesome shit, and I've changed. I know that I've been
quiet since joinin' up with your squad, and I'm sorry I haven't been more
chatty. I want to thank you for trying to socialize with me, even though
I've been a dick. It means a lot" Keller's eyes were earnest and piercing
as he spoke. Beecher couldn't respond with anything but a self-conscious
nod, which seemed to encourage the other man. "I'll be honest with you,
I'm not going to like going back into that town, but I'm not going to
question Murphy's orders either. And as for getting along with the other
guys, I'll try harder."

 Tobias decided that Christopher Keller was a good man who had been
through hell, and felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't been friendlier
towards him. He knew what it was like to be mislabeled as antisocial, and
recognized that they had at least that much in common. So when Sergeant
Murphy called them to attention and started the march, he fell in beside
Keller and began to talk.

 CHAPTER 3

 They had been walking for nearly the entire day, only stopping for
fifteen minute breaks every two hours. Twilight descended upon their
group, which continued onwards despite the fading sun. Usually, Tobias
felt that the time dragged by slowly on such marches, the monotony of the
countryside got under his skin and distracted him from his thoughts. But
Chris Keller had been entertaining company, and the hours had flown by. He
felt at ease with the other man, despite the obvious differences in their
personalities, but somehow they complimented each other surprisingly well.
Their banter was light and playful; Chris had a love of sports, and
rattled on for long stretches of time during which Tobias did nothing but
nod and smile in response. Even though he didn't share the other man's
interest, his enthusiasm was contagious, and Tobias found himself engaged
by every word that came out of Chris' mouth. Similarly, whenever Beecher
opened up about music, film, or a novel he enjoyed, Keller always reacted
with interest. This simple act of courtesy made a deep impression on
Tobias, who realized that he'd never been so comfortable in the presence
of another human being, including the friends he'd had in college. Even
the other men in the squad didn't know what to make of it when they heard
Beecher laughing at Keller's jokes, and by the end of the day, their
corporal's acceptance of the new arrival had them feeling more receptive
about his addition to their squad. 

 They'd traveled an impressive distance, but Murphy stopped his squad
abruptly when they were about a mile from the town. He called his two
officers aside. 

 "Sergeant, Corporal. It's going to be dark soon and I don't want to keep
us on the move. We're close to Auribeau, but I can't have us walking into
an ambush." 

 "Do you want us to send scouts ahead, sir?" Tobias asked skeptically.

 "If we did send someone, I doubt they'd be able to search the town in
less than a few hours, which is more time than we can afford. If there's a
hostile presence in Auribeau, our scouts could be killed. I'd feel more
comfortable about going in tomorrow morning. It doesn't look like it'll
rain tonight. I think we can risk sleeping out in the open, maybe digging
into the hillside for cover" Keller offered his opinion without
hesitation.

 "I agree, that's probably our best option, sir" Tobias turned to look at
Murphy, "We've run out of farm houses and churches to squat in."

 Murphy nodded his agreement and communicated their plans to the rest of
the squad. It didn't take them long to burrow a few feet into the ground,
providing a sod cover that would work as both camouflage and insulation.
The steady exercise of the day meant that most of the men had no trouble
falling to sleep, but Tobias stayed awake for a good half an hour, and
savored the events of the day in his head. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 They had roused before dawn, and entered the streets of the town as the
first rays of sun passed through the buildings, which lined the streets
like crumbling, desolate sentinels. The entire squad was on high alert,
scanning the dark caverns of stone and brick for any sign of danger. There
was an eerie absence of sound, which made Keller nervous. Tobias could
detect the unease in the other man's eyes, and guessed that Auribeau had
been just as quiet before his platoon had been hit. It was then that a
shrill noise jolted them, and all guns were instantly pointed in the
direction that it had come from. 

 "Wait, that's a child crying" Tobias realized, motioning for them to
lower their weapons.

 "It could be a decoy or something" Simmons hissed, which earned a not of
agreement from both Ferraro and Alvarez. 

 "I don't care, Private. If the kid's hurt, we've got to do something"
Beecher's voice was forceful but laced with concern. 

 "Corporal, Simmons has a point" Murphy warned, "We don't know what's the
situation is."

 "Then I'll find out. Permission to scout ahead, sir. No one else needs to
be put at risk."

 Murphy felt torn at the request, and only relented when he saw the look
of fierce determination on Beecher's face. 

 "Make it quick."

 Beecher's eyes met Keller's for only a second before he turned, but he
could see the mixture of concern and respect in them. This gave him an
unexpected jolt of courage as he raced over the rubble and moved deeper
into the ruins, leaving his squad behind him. The wails had subsided into
periodic whimpers and moans, which Tobias had no difficultly following. It
took him only ten minutes to find the source; a skinny young boy trapped
in a house, the entire front of which had been obliterated. He quickly
gained access to the child, who was pinned beneath a thick, oak table. 

 "Jesus. How long have you been here like this?" Beecher whispered,
appalled at the boy's frail frame and sunken eyes. He received no reply,
which didn't surprise him. He doubted that the child could understand
English, let alone have the energy to speak. Beecher quickly appraised the
situation and decided that the table was too heavy for him to move by
himself. His eyes darted around the room for something strong enough to
work as a lever, but there was nothing suitable. The only option he had
was to get the rest of his squad to assist him. He crouched by the child,
who looked at him with a quiet terror. 

 "I'm sorry buddy, but I've got to leave you for just a few minutes. I
can't get you out by myself. I'm going to get some help" he spoke as
soothingly as possible, and stroked the small, damp head of hair. As he
stood to leave, a familiar sound whisked by him, followed by the sickening
thud of pierced flesh. He looked down, stunned, to see that the child had
been hit in the spine, and instantly killed. Beecher collapsed and crawled
behind the table as more shots peppered the floor around him. He was numb
all over, as the image of the little boy's back, hemorrhaging with blood,
replayed itself in his head. 

 "Fuck no, fuck no, fuck no..." he moaned the litany over and over as he
began to grasp what had happened. His hand didn't seem to obey him as he
moved to grab his weapon, then realized that his arm had been hit.

 "Beecher!" Keller's voice brought him to his senses. He looked up and saw
that the rest of the squad was positioned outside the house, returning
fire in the direction of the sniper's shots. Keller stood at the entrance
of a side door that connected the house to the street, and signaled for
Beecher to hold his position. Eventually, the men stopped shooting, and
waited.

 "Did you get the fucker?" Beecher asked, breathless.

 "There could be more than one" Keller responded, voice taut, "I'm coming
to get you."

 "No! Stay where you are. I'll come to you."

 "You've been shot!" 

 "Not badly-" before he could finish his thought, Keller came through the
doorway and ran towards the table. Beecher expected the sniper's shot at
any second - Chris was a perfect target. But none came, and before he knew
it, the other man's arms were around his waist, pulling him across the
floor. 

 "Keller, for Christ's sake. I was shot in the arm, I can walk" Beecher
struggled free from the tight grasp. 

 "Hurry the hell up then, we've got to get outta here" Chris shoved him
towards where the rest of the squad stood, still attentive for any sign of
sniper fire. 

 "I think we've eliminated the target, but we've got to hide, and fast. I
doubt he was alone." Murphy informed Beecher and Keller as they exited the
shelled house. The squad was on the move immediately, running through the
narrow streets in hopes of finding a building with all four of its walls
still standing. Tobias hadn't had time to bind his arm, which was bleeding
freely and had begun to throb. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Keller had spotted a modest apartment building that had retained its
structural integrity, only suffering from superficial damage. It had been
a few hours since the incident, and there was no sign that the enemy had
followed them. The men were treating Keller with quiet respect, awed by
his courage in the recovery of their corporal, who now sat against a
filthy, cracked wall inside the building. Murphy pulled Keller aside and
nodded towards the injured man, who stared ahead with an unsettling
vacancy.

 "What happened in there?" Murphy asked.

 "The kid was shot. Beecher thinks the sniper was aiming for him and
missed, so he blames himself" Keller responded, his voice low.

 "If Beecher hadn't gone looking for him, that kid would have died
anyway." 

 "I know, but try telling him that. Why's he taking this so hard?"

 Murphy sighed and looked down at pitted floor before responding. 

 "Recently, we were stuck in the middle of a siege. It was pretty brutal;
shells, artillery, all that good shit. Beecher had been shipped from
England only a couple weeks before. To be honest, I doubted he would last
very long. But something came over him when we were under fire. He just...
reacted. Usually, when men kill for the first time, even in war, they feel
it afterwards. But Beecher has never so much as uttered a word about it.
He's just kept it inside." 

 "So the dam finally broke" Keller winced.

 "Looks like it. If I were you, I'd leave him alone for a while. He needs
to rest."

 Chris nodded, but couldn't shake the desire to go and speak to Tobias. He
waited until Murphy left - motioned out of the room by Robson and O'Reily
- before walking over to the corporal. 

 "How bad is it?" he asked gently, motioning to Beecher's arm. The other
man's gaze leveled at him, but still seemed remote.

 "I just got grazed. Whitehall fixed me up. I'll be fine" his words were
limp and heavy. Keller nodded and sat down beside him, close enough so
that their legs were almost touching.

 "That boy didn't feel anything, Toby." 

 The use of the nickname earned Keller a perturbed glance from the
recipient. 

 "Don't like it, huh?" Chris elbowed him, winking. "I think it suits you."

 "It's what they called me when I was young. About that boy's age" Tobias
responded miserably. 

 "Shit, I'm sorry. Listen, you can call me Fuckface if it'd make you feel
better", Keller offered sheepishly, hoping to see some kind of reaction in
the other man. But to his dismay, Tobias just stared ahead, unresponsive.
It was then that Murphy re-entered the room, and addressed the squad.

 "I've got some good news, boys. Robson and O'Reily found a house down the
street that had a boarded-up cellar full of food" he paused to let the
whoops of celebration die down. "Now, most of it's pickles and jam and
crap like that, but at least it's something. I don't want to risk moving
everyone out into the open for it, so they're gonna be bringing it here in
a few loads. I want the injured men to have first crack at it" he looked
directly at Beecher and Keller. Chris nodded in thanks, while Tobias gave
no sign that he'd even heard. 

 The first load was hauled in about half an hour later. Keller immediately
went over to survey the selection, and instantly homed in on some cans of
soup. Simmons and Ferraro had already started a small fire in the middle
of the room. Rags and bits of broken furniture had been placed in a
porcelain wash basin and set alight. Using his knife, Chris punctured
several holes in the lid of a can and then collapsed it inwards using the
blade's handle. He then held it gingerly over the flame until it was
painful to the touch. When he was satisfied that the soup was at an edible
temperature, he walked back to where Beecher was slumped in the corner.

 "Tobias, I want you to eat some of this. You need it more than I do" he
insisted, holding out the can. Beecher turned his head away only slightly.

 "I'm not hungry right now."

 Keller sighed and clenched his jaw in frustration.

 "That's not a request, Corporal. We can't afford a weak link in the
chain. I know that all this death is finally catching up to you, but don't
risk the safety of these men by wallowing in your grief. I need you
healthy." 

 Tobias glowered at him, but took the can and sipped from it gingerly.

 "Jesus Christ. This can has been torn to hell. I think I cut my lip."

 "Stop bitching and eat it" Keller couldn't help but grin. Hearing Beecher
complain was somehow encouraging. He watched silently as the other man
ate, and didn't speak again until the empty can was placed on the floor.

 "Listen Tobias, I know exactly what you're going through. I've seen some
horrific shit in this war, and it takes a while to get the faces out of
your head..."

 "That's just it" Beecher interrupted forcefully, "I don't see any faces.
I haven't even had a single nightmare about it. I got the job done, and I
got it done efficiently. I kill the same way I practice law." 

 "Your mind dealt with it the only way it could. We all react to death
differently." 

 "I didn't react when I should have, and now a little boy is dead. I'll
never forget the look on his face" Tobias admitted, his voice cracking.
Chris leaned in, placed his hand on the other man's shoulder and stared
deeply into his eyes.

 "That means you're human, Tobias."

 Beecher didn't respond, but instead clasped his knees to his chest and
buried his face there, letting the tears finally spill over. He cried
silently, only the shaking of his shoulders betrayed his grief. Chris
could do nothing but stroke his back, and hope that Tobias would find some
kind of catharsis.

 CHAPTER 4

 Beecher had fallen asleep after his cry, head still resting on his knees.
Keller was using his fingers to scoop up the last chunks of some cherry
jam out of its jar when Murphy walked over to them.

 "Sergeant, turns out there was more than just food in that house", he
started, voice quiet, "O'Reily found a radio in a bedroom on the first
floor. It was set to an Allied frequency."

 "Did you get through to anyone?" Keller looked surprised as he responded,
setting the empty jar on the floor. 

 "Yes, Captain McManus in Toulon. He wants us to rendezvous with his
company in Vallauris in five days. They received word that a squadron of
German troops will be coming through the city on their way to provide
reinforcements further up the coast."

 "Is McManus' company the only one going to Vallauris?" Keller asked.

 "I don't know" Murphy admitted, well aware that if so, the odds would be
two-to-one against them, "but we have our orders. We have to leave first
thing tomorrow."

 "Yes sir." 

 "Keller, I have to ask... did that radio belong to your platoon? There's
no way of knowing how long it was there, on that frequency..."

 "We had a radio, but we didn't come near this part of town. Maybe it was
taken from the body of one of my men." 

 Murphy grimaced and exhaled deeply.

 "You'd better get some sleep like Beecher there, Sergeant. The situation
is likely to get worse." 

 Keller watched Murphy as he left to join the other men closer to the
fire, which was now little more than glowing embers. Alvarez was
scrounging together detritus from around the room to provide them with
enough fuel for the night. Robson and Sorensen were sitting together,
laughing quietly and sharing a jar of pickled eggs. Simmons, Whitehall and
Ferraro were curled up on floor. Murphy and O'Reily sat together and
conversed in whispers. Chris reclined next to Tobias, and was soon lulled
to sleep by the other man's steady breathing.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The boy looked up at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound
came out. Tobias felt nothing as he aimed his gun calmly over the sunken,
waif-like face and pulled the trigger. The bullets pierced the narrow
back, leaving macabre blooms of red in their wake. The child didn't make a
sound, yet his eyes never stopped staring. Tobias watched as the life
slowly ebbed out of them, and only death stared back.

 He awoke, throat strangled with fear and confusion. He couldn't scream,
and he was covered in a thick sheen of sweat, eyes wide and searching in
the darkness. Chris had heard Tobias jolt, and heaved himself alongside
the shaking man, pressing his body against him. He cradled a wet cheek
with his hand and caressed it gently, softly rocking back and forth.

 "Shhhh... it's okay, it's okay" he repeated almost inaudibly.

 "Don't! Let go of me!" Tobias hissed and tried to push Chris away, "I
don't deserve any fucking pity."

 "It's not pity, damn it. I know how real flashbacks can seem" Chris'
struggled to keep his voice low.

 "They're not real, I can wake up. But that boy, he'll never..." 

 "You didn't pull the trigger, Tobias." 

 Beecher couldn't think of a response, but remained unpacified. He could
see Chris' features outlined by the pale flickering of the fire, gaze
holding him like an embrace. The gentle touch of the other man's hand
against his face calmed him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd made
physical contact without the expectation of violence. Instinctually, he
leaned into the large, warm hand and closed his eyes. Chris began to speak
to him, voice barely above a whisper.

 "We've talked a lot these last few days, Toby" he waited for a negative
reaction to the nickname, and when none came, he continued, "but I know
there's much more to you than you're letting on. Hell, I had no idea that
you were a lawyer until a few hours ago. Why don't you tell me about it?"

 "Not much to tell. It's pretty boring" Tobias answered drowsily.

 "What, no cute little blonde secretary?" Chris smiled, still stroking the
damp cheek. Tobias couldn't help but chuckle.

 "God no. It's a modest family practice... just my dad and me. Business
law in a small town doesn't require much personnel" the words were slurred
with fatigue. Chris watched Beecher's lids drop, and felt his head slump
into his palm. As gently as he could, he pulled his hand away and reclined
next to his companion. He wanted to curl up against the other man and fold
his arms around him, but privacy was a luxury too great to hope for. So he
was content to just watch Tobias drowse until sleep claimed him as well.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Their trek to Vallauris was less lively than the one to Auribeau. Each
man had stuffed as many rations into their packs as possible, which added
a considerable weight to their loads. Tobias was just as gloomy as the
weather. He'd kept pace with Chris all morning, but hadn't uttered a word.
His eyes possessed an almost giddy detachment, which his devoted companion
found disquieting. Chris had attempted to initiate conversation throughout
the entire morning, only to be trumped at every turn. Beecher wasn't
interested in revealing any of the emotional vulnerability that he felt,
and met all attempts with either silence or song. He found that breaking
out into a soft rendition of 'Frre Jacques' perplexed Keller sufficiently
to redirect his prodding. However, Chris was a very stubborn man and
resolved not to give Tobias what he wanted. 

 "I know what you're doing, and I'm not going to leave you alone just
because you're pretending to be a little nuts" Chris stated firmly.
Beecher didn't blink, although Chris thought he detected the slightest
hint of a frown. Encouraged, he continued speaking, but decided to take a
different approach.

 "I was a mechanic back home in Connecticut. Not as glamorous as being a
lawyer, but I absolutely fucking loved it. Got to tinker with beautiful
machines every day. Bikes are my favorite. Give me a Harley Davidson with
a 61E Advance engine and I'm in heaven. Have you ever been on a
motorcycle?"

 Tobias grunted and looked ahead.

 "I'll take that as a no. That's a shame. There's absolutely nothing like
it, not even sex. Having something that fast and powerful between your
legs is a sensation that every man should experience" Chris looked over at
Tobias as he spoke, and was met with a wide-eyed stare. 

 "I've got my own bike. Been my pet project for years. Nothin' special,
but she purrs like a kitten and will take you where you need to go. I'd
bet you'd like her, Toby" Keller couldn't help but wink as he said it.
Tobias had to turn his head to conceal the blush that spread across his
cheeks. "Women never gave me nothin' but grief, but Lady's a looker who
won't break your heart or talk back to you. Flesh 'n blood broads are
shackles, but that bike was freedom" his voice was tender, as if
remembering his first love. 

 "Trouble with women, huh?" Beecher's voice was measured. Chris felt a
surge of victory, but wisely subdued it, reacting as if Tobias hadn't
broken his vow of silence. 

 "You have no idea. I fooled around in my youth, but nothing serious... no
broken hearts. But I'm a good Catholic boy, and the guilt piled up until I
couldn't ignore it any longer. So I decided to marry one of them. You can
guess the rest of it" he was grinning, but his tone was flat.

 "Rushing into a marriage is always a bad idea" the pragmatist in Beecher
offered an opinion. 

 "You ain't joking. We were at each other's throats in no time. She didn't
trust me, and I couldn't do anything to change her mind. I hung in for a
couple of years. Spent as much time in the garage as I could, hoping that
putting some space between us would cool things down. Because of my pride,
I resisted a divorce even though I wanted out. But when the war became a
reality, I had to take control of some part of my life before I was
shipped off. Ending my marriage was my last act as a free man."

 "Shit. How'd she take it?" Tobias asked, genuinely interested.

 "I think she was almost relieved. Like I proved her suspicions right.
Thank God there were no kids involved. It was pretty clean, all things
considered. I hope you've had better luck in love than me, my friend."

 "My love life was never that exciting. The only serious girlfriend I ever
had was educated, pretty, docile... my parents loved her. I thought I did
too, until I came over here and got just one letter from her. She said she
couldn't stand the thought of waiting, and needed to find someone that
would be a 'source of joy' in her life. So that was that." Tobias shrugged
and refused eye contact.

 "Sorry Tobe, that's tough. At least you didn't marry her." 

 "Yeah", Tobias allowed himself a smile as he met Chris' eyes. 

 "Women are more trouble than they're worth."

 Tobias nodded in agreement, and they continued to walk together in a
comfortable silence.

 CHAPTER 5

 The sun was setting when Private Martin's boot caught on something hidden
in the grass of the field they were crossing. He cursed and kicked at the
offending object, which appeared to be a large, metal ring. Intrigued, he
bent over and examined it, bringing the entire squad to a halt around him.
He pulled with all his strength, but to his frustration, it remained stuck
in the earth.

 "What the hell is this? Some kind of farm equipment?" he asked no one in
particular. Keller crouched and stared at the ring, which was severely
rusted and weathered in appearance.

 "Looks like the door to an underground bunker" Chris muttered, "this
thing's old. Probably from the First War." 

 "Jesus. That's a long time... you think it's still safe?" O'Reily asked.

 "Let's get this baby open and see" Chris responded and got to his feet.
Using his knife, he began to dig up the sod that had grown over the door,
until he saw the weathered planks of wood underneath. Soon, all the men
were kneeling to help him expose the bunker's entrance. It only took them
a few minutes to finish the job, and a few more to pull the door open. The
stairs leading down inside creaked, but hadn't succumbed to wood rot.
Sorensen and Robson were the first to enter, Zippo lighters flipped and
ignited. The rest of the squad followed them tentatively into the damp,
stale air. There was an oil lamp hanging from a nail on the wall, which
Sorensen was surprised to find still had enough fuel to function.
Exhausted, the men unpacked their rolls, thankful to have found a safe and
hidden shelter. Within a matter of minutes, they were all asleep. 

 Keller woke up in the dead of the night. The room was completely black,
the lamp having burned what little oil remained, but he could still hear
the faint sound that had roused him. Tobias was crying, and trying
desperately to stifle it, but his ragged breathing gave him away. Chris's
roll was only a few feet from the corporal, so it wasn't difficult for him
to inch his way over to the source of the noise, which was only loud
enough for his ears to detect.

 "Don't cry, Toby" Chris soothed, feeling the other man flinch slightly as
he embraced him. He knew Tobias had been tormented by another nightmare,
and instinctively leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. When he
didn't recoil, Chris kept his lips pressed softly against the warm, moist
skin and savored the simple contact between them. Tobias' breath was hot
against his neck, and slightly less labored. The two men lay clutching
each other, lulled by the assurance of the other's company. Finally, after
some minutes, Tobias was calm. 

 "Thank you" he whispered, voice strained and thick. He reached up in the
dark and lightly cupped Chris' cheek. He ached to kiss the other man, but
was confused by his own feelings, and debated whether or not they would be
reciprocated. Leaning forward, blind and nervous, he found Chris' lips. It
was if he had been wandering in a desert his entire life, and had finally
stumbled upon a cool, flowing spring. He drank full and deep, taking his
fill, ignoring his lungs as they burned for air. Chris tasted fresh and
sweet, and it was if he was drowning even when the other man pulled away
to catch his breath. Tobias' head and heart pounded, and he tried to quiet
his breathing as his hands clutched at Chris' neck. Suddenly a deep fear
took hold of him. His entire body ached for the other man with an urgency
that he could barely control, and had little experience with. There was no
way he could act on it, yet he couldn't ignore the potency of his
feelings.

 "I want you" he kept his voice as low a possible, almost hoping that it
would go unheard. But Keller's face was still only inches from his own,
and the admission was understood. 

 "We can't. They'll hear" Chris' spoke into his ear, lips brushing against
him softly. "Holding you is enough, baby."

 Tobias nodded, recognizing the truth in Chris' tender words. As carefully
as he could, he turned over and pressed his body against the larger man's,
so that they were spooned together tightly. Chris' draped an arm around
him and squeezed, resting his face against Tobias' neck. It felt so
natural, so right, that both of them quickly found the peace of sleep,
consequences be damned.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Murphy looked down at the two men, entwined together in an unmistakably
intimate embrace. He'd slept lightly and woken early. The bunker was still
dark, with only the faintest glow of dawn peeking through the door's
warped planks. He'd intended to consult the two officers, and had been
surprised to find them in such a position. Finally, after a few moments of
internal debate, he crouched down and squeezed Keller's shoulder. The man
woke instantly, and turned his head to look at Murphy. There was no fear
or shame in his eyes, only a calm professionalism. His arm stayed firmly
around Beecher as he spoke in hushed tones, so as not to wake his
companion.

 "Yes sir?"

 "Is there anything I should know about, sergeant?" Murphy asked, his eyes
expressing what the volume of his voice couldn't.

 "No sir. Corporal Beecher was having severe nightmares. I'd do the same
for my brother" Keller's intonation was as even as his stare. Murphy
raised an eyebrow skeptically, but decided to let it go. He had seen many
a soldier yell out for his mother, curl into a fetal position, or beg to
be held. But he never thought Tobias Beecher would be one of them.
Apparently the dam hadn't just broken, it had ruptured in a tidal wave. 

 "Is he going to be fit for Vallauris? I don't need a man flippin' his lid
on me in the middle of battle." 

 "When the bullets fly, he won't flinch. But afterwards... that's when
we'll need to keep an eye on him" Keller answered honestly. Tobias began
to stir in his arms as he pulled away gently to face Murphy. 

 "We'll be ready to leave shortly, sir." 

 Murphy nodded and immediately raised his voice to wake the rest of the
squad. The men drowsily rose from their rolls and scrounged in their packs
for food. Keller stayed next to Beecher and smiled warmly, trying to
communicate that his sentiments hadn't changed in the light of day. Tobias
rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat next to the larger man. They didn't
touch or exchange a word as they ate their breakfast, but both were well
aware of the emotion that hung thickly in the air between them. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 They spoke little on the approach to the city, nervous that their
intimacy would deepen. Both recognized their shared attraction, but the
idea that it could develop into a something more profound right before a
battle that would likely kill them both was unsettling. Tobias agonized
over his decision to keep Keller at arms' length, weighing the desire for
human affection in what could be his last hours on earth, and the reflex
to spare them both the pain of loss if only one of them survived.
Eventually, he decided to abstain from pursuing his feelings, and felt
confident that Keller's withdrawal meant he had arrived at the same
conclusion. As Tobias walked, he tried to categorize exactly what his
feelings were. Under close examination, he had to admit to himself that
his prior relationships were essentially useless for any kind of
comparison. He'd felt attraction towards many women, but rarely acted upon
his urges. He'd had a handful of fumbling, sweaty encounters in college
that had left him with no lingering satisfaction, only a strange
detachment. His relationship with Genevieve had been based on mutual
interests and a similar social background. He'd felt a deep affection for
her, but looking back, they'd shared no physical chemistry whatsoever.
They'd fooled around a bit, but she was determined to save her virginity
until marriage. At the time he hadn't questioned her decision, but later
wondered if that was the real motivation behind her reluctance to be
intimate with him. Somehow he had a feeling that she had spread her legs
for the man she'd doubtlessly left him for. Truth be told, neither
passion, nor love, had been a factor in his relationship with Gen. He'd
never been in love before, and seriously doubted he was qualified to gauge
whether what he felt for Christopher Keller could be identified as such.
Sure, he felt the fluttering of butterflies whenever Chris gave him that
intense, probing stare, or when he noticed how the angles of Chris' large
body filled his fatigues as if they had been custom-made for him. Granted,
both the conversations and silences they shared were so comfortable, it
was as if they'd known each other their entire lives... but, that wasn't
love, was it? Well, there was the little fact that he'd never slept so
peacefully than he had in Chris' arms, and when they'd kissed, Tobias had
been reduced to a quivering, incoherent bundle of raw nerves. That kind of
desire had definitely been a new experience. He wasn't sure if he could
handle anything more. He might just explode. 

 The other men had reacted solemnly to Murphy's orders, immediately
grasping the severity of their situation. The march had been accompanied
by little chatter; hopes grim and enthusiasm drained. When Vallauris was
visible on the horizon, Private Martin had pulled away from the squad and
promptly emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grass. No one said a
thing when he silently rejoined them. They could all relate. 

 The most disquieting aspect of their final approach on the city was the
absence of any noise besides their own weighted footsteps in the damp
ground. Upon entering the streets, they were met by the familiar sight of
boarded windows and doors, crumbling bricks, and an eerie lack of a
civilian presence. The residents of Vallauris had either fled or secured
themselves inside what remained of their homes. 

 Murphy led his men through a maze of narrow side streets before coming to
a stop in front of a non-descript building with the remains of a forlorn
sign that read 'Ouvrire Couturier' in flaking red paint. He knocked three
times, and waited. A boy with a face too serious for his youth peered out
and assessed the squad quickly, then opened the door to let them enter.
Inside, the shop had been transformed into a makeshift base of operations.
Tables were pressed together to support a network of maps and charts, and
radios faintly buzzed under a lively hum of voices. O'Reily couldn't help
but be drawn towards the activity, and began to strike up a conversation
with one of the resident soldiers. Robson mulled around the radios and
studied the maps, while Alvarez took the opportunity to eat some food he'd
stuffed in his pack. Whitehall immediately began to inquire about medical
supplies, anticipating that his skills would soon be in high demand. He
knew that he didn't have time to observe either Beecher or Keller's wounds
before the battle, but neither was in serious condition. Murphy pulled a
soldier aside, asked a quick question, and was pointed in the direction of
a compact, slim and balding man. He was bent over a map, brow knitted in
an expression of weary distress. 

 "Captain McManus? Staff Sergeant Sean Murphy reporting." 

 McManus looked up at him, face pinched. He rubbed his temples and let out
a deep sigh.

 "Murphy. I honestly thought you wouldn't find us. I wasn't sure the
transmission went through before we cut out." 

 "I was able to catch the coordinates, sir" Murphy acknowledged, almost
wishing that he hadn't. 

 "Well, you arrived just in time. The fun's about to begin. We just
received word that the Germans are approximately an hour away, and will
enter the city from the north" he pointed to the corresponding location on
the map in front of him. 

 "They're estimated to be six hundred strong, and well equipped. There
have been no reports of armored vehicles, but they have about twenty
Willys. A good portion of which will likely be mounted with 50 caliber
machine guns" McManus continued, voice sour. Murphy let out a long breath,
dismayed at the odds that were piling up against them.

 "It's not going to be easy, sergeant. But, my men are fortifying
strategic locations near the anticipated entry point as we speak. I'm
going to position your squad here" McManus indicated a street located the
apex of the city, "The time frame is crucial, so I want you at that
location within the next half an hour. If you leave immediately, you
should make it."

 "Where will your company be, sir?" Murphy inquired.

 "I'll be following behind you with the thirty that are in this building.
The remaining hundred are already in position out on the streets." Murphy
saluted and motioned for his men to follow him out into the city. Tobias
saw his superior's face, and recognized the expression as belonging to a
man who expected death. Suddenly, a profound regret overtook him, and he
locked eyes with Keller. Tobias was agonized to see the same look of pain
and futility staring back at him.

 CHAPTER 6

 McManus had made good on his assurance, and followed Murphy's squad to
the hot spot in the north of Vallauris. His company spread itself like a
fan, snipers at the ready, the rest bearing standard-issue firearms. All
men were concealed in the battered structures that lined the street, their
breath shallow with fear and anticipation. Keller and Beecher crouched
together next to a doorway that stood only feet away from the cobblestones
that now vibrated with the approach of the enemy jeeps. Without thinking,
Tobias reached out his hand and placed it on the other man's knee, and
squeezed it gently.

 "I'm sorry", he whispered, filled with a wild regret. Why hadn't he
spoken to Chris on their walk to the city? Now it was likely they would
never do something as simple as share a laugh ever again. 

 "Don't" Chris begged, his voice cracking. He shook his head as he spoke,
eyes desperate. He knew what Toby was thinking, and didn't want him to
articulate it. Somehow, the acknowledgement their mutual misjudgment would
be more painful than ignoring it. Toby nodded, but only withdrew his hand
when the rumble of the approaching vehicles could be felt beneath their
feet. He gripped his M-1 tightly, pointed at the ready, and waited. He
couldn't tell if the first shot was fired by an enemy, or one of theirs,
but it immediately triggered a deafening volley of bullets. Tobias felt as
though he'd left his body. The chaos that erupted around him dimmed to a
mere hum as he leveled the nose of his weapon and pumped out rounds with a
cold efficiency. He didn't blink as he hit the two men in the first
vehicle that passed by, knocking them off as if they were dolls. He swung
back behind the doorway and waited for the next jeep, leading the target,
then destroying its occupants. He felt Chris' presence beside him, but
didn't take his eyes from the action, firing at each Willy that rumbled
past, careful to dodge the returning fire. 

 Suddenly, an explosion knocked him off his feet, and backwards onto the
floor. The humming in his ears became a high-pitched drone, which faded
into the screams of men around him. He fought for purchase against the
stone while coughing from the debris. Finally, he was able to get to his
feet, trying to get his bearings, calling out Chris' name. After what felt
like an eternity of groping dead air, he finally connected with the wall,
and inched his way to the house's back entrance, where the cloud had begun
to dissipate. Just as he was preparing to reenter the room to confirm that
Chris wasn't still inside - injured or worse - another shell hit the
building, throwing him down. Through the smoke, he could see that the wall
facing out onto the street had collapsed inwards. Tobias immediately
realized that if he had maintained his position by the doorway, he would
have been killed by the blast. A wild panic gripped him, and he crawled
over to the rubble. The house no longer offered him protection, but he
sifted desperately through the bricks and timber. He knew he was
vulnerable, but ignored the bullets as they whizzed by him, needing to
verify that there wasn't a body trapped underneath. Before he knew what
was happening, he was grabbed under his arms and heaved back into the
house. To his dismay, it was O'Reily's face that met him when he looked up
at his savior, not Keller's.

 "What the hell are you doing, Beecher?" Ryan yelled over the continuing
firefight.

 "Was Chris in here when the last shell hit? Did he get out?" Tobias
demanded, voice strangled with fear. 

 "I don't know, I couldn't see anything. Everything's gone to hell...
Martin's dead. So's Ferraro. I saw Alvarez go down, but I'm not sure if
he's still alive. I've got no fucking idea where Murphy or the rest of the
guys are. Jesus Christ."

 Hopelessness hit Beecher like a great wave. He could barely register the
information that O'Reily had given him, certain that Chris hadn't
survived. He felt like curling up and letting the Germans trample him into
the ground. Just then he heard a man's voice, hoarse from yelling and
lifted his head to see Sorensen running towards them, eyes wide with fear.


 "Our snipers were taken out, half of McManus' company has been blown to
shit. I can't find-" Just then, a bullet hit his neck, tilting his head at
a strange angle with an eruption of blood. His body kept moving for a few
feet, before inertia relented and let him hit the ground. Tobias and Ryan
were horrified, both at Sorensen's gruesome death, and the news he'd
managed to relay. Before they had time to react, another explosion hit.
The last thing Tobias thought before the darkness claimed him was how he
wished that he'd had more time to search the rubble for Chris. Then at
least he would have known for sure.

 PART II

 Tobias faded in and out of consciousness, picking up only scraps of
information, like the distinct jostle of a vehicle driving on a bumpy
road, the miserable, damp cold, and whispering that seemed to surround him
on all sides. Luckily, these fragmented moments of lucidity quickly
passed, and he fell back into darkness. He was experiencing a dream so
vivid that he refused to accept it wasn't real. He and Chris were in a
lush, green park, watching a game of baseball being played in the
twilight. They sat on at picnic blanket, Chris leaning back on his elbows,
long legs stretched in front of him. Tobias was nursing a bottle of root
beer, silently enjoying the other man's company on such a perfect evening.
Chris was intently following the play on the field, oblivious to the pair
of blue eyes that were glued to him. Tobias got a kick out of how
engrossed Chris was, and smiled at him warmly.

 "What're you grinning at, you goof?" 

 "You just look really happy" Tobias shrugged, and reclined next to Chris,
deliberately pressing his leg up against the larger man's. 

 "That's 'cause I am" Chris said softly, holding his companion's gaze.
Tobias took the opportunity to indulge in what he'd wanted to do for some
time, and leaned his head on Chris' shoulder. Without realizing it, he
slowly let out a breath he'd been holding inside.

 "Me too, Chris." 

 This admission earned him a kiss on the forehead and long, gentle fingers
stroking through his hair. 

 "Beecher, can you hear me? Beecher, wake the fuck up."

 The voice gradually became more distinct, and the hands that held his
head gently shook him. With great pain, Tobias opened his eyes and tried
to adjust to the faces in the dim light around him. He knew immediately
that he was now on terra firma, but the world still swam around him.
O'Reily leaned in and stared into his eyes.

 "Jesus Christ. I wish Whitehall was here. I think he's got a concussion,
but I can't tell. Do his pupils look normal?"

 "If it was a concussion, he woulda died by now. It's been days since he
went down" Murphy's voice sounded distant and strained.

 "Not necessarily. I knew this guy in high school who got a concussion and
didn't realize it. He threw up for days before the coach told him to go to
the doctor. He was pretty sick but didn't die." 

 "Beecher was pretty fucking sick. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so
delirious. And he was burning up."

 "The fever's broken." 

 Their voices sounded like a marching band crashing around inside his
skull. Without warning, Beecher leaned over and vomited onto the floor. 

 "Definitely a concussion" O'Reily sighed. "But I think he'll live." 

 "Beecher, can you hear me?" Murphy asked, grasping his arm.

 "Yes. Please, shut up", Tobias moaned, and heaved again. O'Reily grinned
with relief and disengaged himself from the gagging corporal. 

 "What did I say? Good as new." 

 From his crouching position, Tobias stared at the rough planks of the
floor beneath his hands and knees. 

 "Where are we?" he managed to choke out.

 "Stalag 5C in Czechoslovakia" Murphy sighed, and patted Beecher's back in
reassurance. 

 "Who else made it?" Tobias asked, trying to keep his voice level.

 "Martin, Ferraro and Sorensen are confirmed casualties. No one knows what
happened to Whitehall, Alvarez and Keller. Simmons and Robson are here,
but Simmons was shot pretty bad and is in the infirmary. It's crowded with
McManus' men - that's why you're here with us. As for McManus himself, we
don't think he made it."

 *So this what it feels like to have your guts pulled out, inch by inch*,
Tobias thought as Murphy's words registered. He leaned forward, pressed
his forehead against the floor, and heaved again. Chris was dead. He was
under that rubble. Beecher couldn't allow himself to hope for any other
possibility. Curling up, he wished he could just go back to sleep, and
re-enter that dream. It had seemed so real. He spent the rest of the day
in a stupor, completely unaware of the men around him. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 In the dead of night, Beecher woke up from a nightmare, sweating and
flushed. In it, both Chris and the young French boy had died by his hand,
their eyes staring at him, glassy and blank, after he had released the
trigger. He sat up sharply and leaned forward to catch his breath. His
glasses had been destroyed or lost somewhere between France and
Czechoslovakia, and he could hardly see three feet in front of his bunk in
the darkness. He closed his eyes and tried to remember Chris' face as it
had looked in that park; so happy, so alive. A whisper from the lower bunk
directly across from his startled him out of his imaginings.

 "Hey, you okay?" 

 Tobias squinted into the darkness and tried to discern the features of
the man who had addressed him, but failed.

 "Yeah, thanks. Sorry, I'm blind as a bat right now" he hissed in return,
"I don't think we've met..."

 "Augustus Hill."

 "Tobias Beecher. Nice to meet you, wish it was under better
circumstances." 

 The comment earned him a quiet chuckle. 

 "Well, goodnight Tobias."

 "Goodnight." 

 Beecher repositioned himself on his bunk, agitation subsiding. It was
reassuring to know that he was in the company of some real human beings,
even though he had his doubts about whether he could count himself among
them. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The next day, Beecher discovered that the Germans kept life within the
stalag rigidly structured. The Geneva Convention strictly forbade using
prisoners for labor, but the men were still expected to eat and leave the
barracks for exercise at specific times during the day. He spoke to a few
of prisoners who had been there for some time, and was informed that their
days would be largely unoccupied. He could see that an underlying sense of
both apprehension and boredom had already gripped the population. The men
played cards, talked of their lives back home, wrote to their families -
anything to keep themselves from surrendering to listlessness and
depression. Tobias resisted O'Reily's prodding to participate in an
activity with the other prisoners, electing instead to lie on his
straw-filled burlap mattress, morose and withdrawn. Even Murphy couldn't
convince him to emerge from his shell, and soon he was left in peace to
fall deeper into despair. 

 Beecher watched the prisoners as they milled about, and noticed that
there was a group of black men gathered together for a game of bridge in
one of the barrack's corners. They had found an old stool and were
crouched around it, visibly enjoying themselves. He couldn't help but
observe the irritated glances that their exclamations and laughter earned
from the whites, who outnumbered them by a significant margin. As he
considered this, one of the black soldiers observing the bridge game
caught his eye and smiled. Tobias was surprised as the man got up and
started to walk towards him. As he got closer, Beecher was able to make
out a kind and handsome face. 

 "Tobias Beecher, right?" the young man asked, his voice immediately
familiar.

 "Augustus!" Tobias returned the grin, sitting up on his bunk.

 "I couldn't help but notice how depressed you look. I know exactly what
you're going through. I felt the same way when they first brought us here.
Didn't know what to expect."

 "How long has it been?" Tobias inquired.

 "Couple of months. My entire platoon was captured, so I'm lucky in that
respect. At least I've got familiar company. A lot of men here were
brought in alone. It's harder for them to get used to this place."

 "Yeah, I can imagine." 

 "Look, why don't you come play some cards with us?" Augustus was genuine
in his invitation.

 "That's a nice offer, but I'm recovering from a concussion. I can hardly
sit up without feeling dizzy" Tobias answered, only telling a half-truth.
He couldn't very well say that he was mourning the death of a would-be
lover. 

 "Hey, no problem. If you start feeling better, you know where to find me.
I couldn't hide in this place even if I wanted to" Augustus joked with a
smile and left to rejoin his platoon. Beecher could feel the stares from
around the room as if they were hot against his skin. O'Reily, always a
good gauge of human behavior, left what he was doing and hunched down
beside Tobias' bunk.

 "What're you doing, Beecher? Things are tense enough in here. You don't
need to start getting all chummy with the blacks."

 "I didn't know you were a racist, Ryan." 

 "I'm not! I'm being realistic about things. There are too many men packed
in here, and they're looking for anyone to take their anger out on. Right
now, the blacks are the most obvious outsiders."

 Beecher hated to admit it, but O'Reily had hit the nail on the head. He
sighed and leaned back against the rough burlap. 

 "Then maybe what we need is someone willing to bridge the gap" Tobias
mumbled.

 "Don't get all altruistic, Beecher. This place is one big pressure
cooker. From what I hear, a week or so before we arrived, the Nazis
transferred in a new officer to run things. Apparently he's a fucking
psychopath. Been randomly taking prisoners without reason. They haven't
been returned yet, and the rumor is that they've been killed."

 "Jesus" Tobias breathed, going rigid, "sounds like he's not a fan of the
Convention."

 "Yeah, using us for slave labor would be too obvious, so he's found a
different way to fuck with our heads." 

 "I'll keep to myself" Beecher assured him, content to maintain his
isolation for as long as needed. 

 "Good man" Ryan nodded and returned to Murphy and Robson. Beecher
couldn't help but notice the hard look he received from the latter. One
more reason to stay away from everyone, Tobias thought as he rolled onto
his side and tried to fall asleep. 

 CHAPTER 2

 The next few days passed in much the same way. Tobias sat on his bunk,
replaying his memories of Chris in a loop in his mind. He couldn't help
but dwell on the sequence of events that led up to their capture in
Vallauris, and tried to determine the exact moment when he'd lost sight of
Keller, but his recollection was hazy, and riddled with gaps, thanks to
the lingering effects of his concussion. He was a model prisoner, eating
the meager meals and walking rounds in the yard when they were ordered to.
The German guards were harsh and efficient, but not particularly brutal.
For the most part, the POWs were left alone in the barracks, and Tobias
quickly fell into the numbing routine. Augustus had approached him a few
times in hopes of a friendly conversation, but Tobias had rebuffed him
gently, claiming that his head injury still lingered. But the friendly and
earnest young man wouldn't be deterred, and as Beecher lay in quiet
concentration, attempting to pinpoint exactly when Keller had disappeared
from his side, Augustus walked up and held out his hands.

 "Pssst, Beecher. I've got chocolate - you want some?"

 Tobias blinked, not quite registering the question, and looked at the
foil wrapper barely concealed by Hill's fingers. 

 "Where did you get that?" he hissed before quickly breaking off a piece
and popping it into his mouth. It was such an extreme departure from the
bland rations that he had to suppress a moan of pleasure. 

 "Good, huh?" Augustus grinned, and sat down on the bunk next to the
reclining corporal. This action didn't escape the observant eyes of Ryan
O'Reily. Fearing that Tobias was becoming too friendly with the black
soldier, he casually approached the bunk.

 "Hey Ryan. Want some chocolate?" Beecher asked, hoping that a proffered
olive branch would reduce the tension he could see in the private's face.
Augustus shot Tobias a curious glance, and was given a subtle nod of
approval. He pulled the candy from his pocket and unwrapped it, offering
the contents to O'Reily. The Irishman was too surprised to protest, and
instead took a small chunk.

 "This is damn good. Where'd you get it?" Ryan inquired with genuine
curiosity, his attention now diverted to subject of greater interest. Hill
nodded in the direction of his comrades, and began to explain how another
soldier in his platoon, Arnold Jackson, had become adept at circulating
contraband in the months since their capture. He'd made connections with
the men in most of the stalag's barracks. Not only had his operation given
him access to desirable items like candy, cigarettes and girly magazines,
but it had also eased racial tensions, allowing the blacks to escape any
major harassment. Jackson was the best, and you had to be respectful to
get your hands on the goods. O'Reily absorbed this information with
obvious fascination. Tobias saw the gears turning, and knew that such a
venture would suit Ryan's charisma and resourcefulness to a tee. Ryan
didn't waste time in asking Hill if Jackson would be interested in having
a white ally, which earned him a shrug of uncertainty. 

 "I don't know. I can ask him for you. But I'll tell you right now that
Sergeant Truman isn't exactly delighted with the operation as it is. I
can't see him being happy about us working with a white boy."

 As Hill spoke, Tobias looked over at the black platoon sitting at their
habitual game of bridge. He immediately spotted the man Augustus must have
been referring to. Both his stature and posture were imposing, and his
cool stare suggested a considerable intelligence and pride. 'Leonine' was
the first adjective that came to Beecher's mind. 

 "Why doesn't he approve of the operation? Sounds like it's been helping
to keep the peace around here" O'Reily asked Hill.

 "More than anything, I think he's worried that we'll get caught by the
guards. It's nice not getting the shit kicked out of you by some bigot,
but that's nothing compared to what the Krauts could do."

 "But you haven't been caught."

 "No, Arnold's been good about that. He's got everything figured out down
to the last detail."

 "But he can't be everywhere at once, and he'll never be white enough for
most of the guys here. Please, talk to him for me. I promise I won't let
you down."

 Augustus shrugged and tentatively agreed to broach the subject with his
companions. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Staff Sergeant Goodson Truman was uneasy about the proposition, but he
saw Arnold's immediate interest and knew that when the man recognized an
opportunity to improve business, he would grasp at it, even without the
blessing of his commanding officer. With this in mind, Truman suggested
that O'Reily be given a few trial runs to test his aptitude for stealth.
The Irishman was a prodigy. He was slick and charming, earned others'
trust, and began circulating items that they would have never considered:
whittling tools, colored chalk, banjo strings. Anything that could be used
to reduce boredom was instantly considered a hot commodity. He quickly
developed a strong rapport with many members of Truman's platoon, and
within only two days was engaged in a heartfelt conversation with both
Beecher and Hill, a man he would previously have never considered
fraternizing with. 

 "I can't believe how much morale has improved" Augustus admitted,
grinning at Ryan, who was facing him, sitting cross-legged on the floor in
front of Beecher's bunk. "Even Sergeant Truman is impressed with you,
O'Reily." 

 "What can I say? It's the luck of the Irish." 

 "I was getting really goddamn sick of bridge. It's nice to see the guys
doing other things for a change. It's given me a chance to write to my
Annabelle." 

 "Oh yeah, she your wife?" O'Reily asked out of politeness, still
sensitive about the subject of love.

 "Yeah. We got married right before I left, which was lucky for me, in a
twisted way. I thought her old man was gonna kill me." 

 "You knock her up or something?" Now Ryan was slightly interested.

 "No, nothing like that. She's not black" Augustus told them, not blinking
an eye. Tobias watched Hill's earnest face for any hint of reluctance or
shame, but found neither. The young man was utterly unabashed about his
feelings, and refused to be affected by anyone else's opinion. 

 "You must really love her" Beecher finally broke the silence.

 "You have no idea. Sometimes I miss her so much that I could kill
someone. But I've already done that, and I'm not any closer to her. All it
got me was stuck in this hellhole. Sometimes, when I'm lying alone here at
night, I wish that I'd never met her. That way, it wouldn't hurt so much
to be apart, and it wouldn't matter if I died." 

 "Jesus, don't say shit like that" Ryan felt a flash of anger at the young
man's gloomy words. "I'd give anything to feel that way about someone.
Even if there's no chance my letters would ever get outta here, just
knowing I had a girl who'd want to read them would be enough for me."

 Tobias was stuck by the confessions both men had made. He was surprised
to hear Ryan open up about such personal details, knowing what a painful
issue they were for his squadmate. Beecher had been there the day O'Reily
had received word that his younger brother Cyril, who had been stationed
with a different company, had suffered severe head trauma in battle. He'd
healed, but it was discovered that he would possess the intelligence of a
child for the rest of his life. Cyril had been sent home to their father,
who Beecher guessed was an abusive bastard, based on Ryan's refusal to
discuss him. Ryan's mother had died when he was young, so he'd essentially
raised his little brother alone. He carried a deep guilt about not being
there for Cyril when he was injured, even though there was nothing he
could have done about it. Tobias himself could identify with Ryan's
conflict, having a beloved younger brother of his own. However, Angus was
too young for the draft, and remained safely at home. Augustus' words
affected Beecher in an even more personal way, because he'd had similar
contemplations when remembering Chris. At his darkest moments, he not only
wished for death, but also regretted ever meeting the other man, so strong
was his grief. Hearing someone else articulate such fatalistic thoughts
made him realize how disrespectful they were to Chris' memory. He would
have wanted Tobias to celebrate every moment they had shared together, not
resent them.

 "Ryan's right. It's better to know love and the pain of losing it, than
the alternative" he spoke quietly, unable to make eye contact with the
other two men. 

 "Have you ever been in love, Beecher?" O'Reily asked, faintly surprised.
Hearing the question articulated made Tobias realize without any doubt,
that he had. It was as if the torrent of emotions inside him crystallized
into a singular truth that was impossible to rationalize or ignore. A
great swell of pride at this knowledge gripped him, and he was able to
lift his head and answer 'yes' without hesitation. Augustus reached over
and grasped Beecher's arm in support.

 "Then you know exactly what I'm going through."

 "Except your Annabelle is still alive" Tobias attempted a meek smile
through his anguish.

 This silenced both his companions, who regarded him with a deep sympathy.
Although unspoken, all three knew that from that point onwards, their
confessions had forged a bond that none of their squadmates could trespass
on. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Murphy hadn't forgotten Keller's cryptic words about Beecher's likely
descent after the battle in Vallauris. He watched with concern as the
corporal succumbed to a depression so deep that that bordered on madness.
Murphy knew there was little he could do for his fellow officer - boredom
and melancholy were common afflictions in POW camps. He was certain that
the Nazi guards would be unsympathetic to Beecher's condition. There'd
been no room for him in the infirmary when he had a concussion, so a
mental disorder definitely wouldn't qualify him for acceptance. The
sergeant tried talking to Beecher on several occasions, but made no
progress. He lamented Keller's disappearance: when it came to infiltrating
Beecher's defenses, no one else came close. At least that was what he'd
thought until O'Reily began his alliance with Truman's platoon. The
relationship that had developed between Ryan, Tobias and Augustus out of a
business necessity had evolved into an easy camaraderie that was slowly
drawing the corporal out of his shell. Murphy had felt a profound relief
the first time he glanced across the room and saw a smile on Beecher's
face. Somehow it made the pain he felt for the six men that he'd lost more
bearable. 

 Though he'd never admit it to himself, Murphy harbored a slight jealousy
at the bond the three men had formed. As the squad's commanding officer,
he had always felt at a distance from his soldiers. He knew that he was
fair, consistent, and stern when need be; all traits that made him a
well-respected leader. But those very same attributes would never let him
gain complete access as one of their peers. He realized that he missed
Keller for another reason. With Beecher, the three of them had formed a
kind of triumvirate. At the time, he told himself that he sought the two
other men's opinions because both were intelligent, level-headed, and were
dissimilar enough to contribute unique perspectives on a situation. But
watching the trio of Beecher, O'Reily and Hill, he realized that he'd been
part of a genuine friendship. He wasn't blind - he'd sensed that Tobias
and Chris had possessed a rare bond, but they'd never shut him out. Since
entering the stalag, he'd tried to converse with Robson, and had succeeded
on a superficial level, but found the man ambitious and hot-headed, often
making ignorant remarks about Beecher and O'Reily's familiarity with the
colored platoon. His words were never outright threatening, but had
bordered on incendiary more than once. Murphy didn't want to create more
of a racial rift within the barracks, so he usually let the behavior
slide, but not without an ounce of guilt. More and more he found himself
on the outskirts; not amongst his men, and unable to befriend any of the
other prisoners, who had already formed their alliances. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The door to the barracks was opened abruptly, causing the immediate
silence of all inside. Hauptmann Metzger held every eye as he entered. A
cold, intimidating man, he had been stationed at the stalag for as long as
any of the POWs could remember, and his presence immediately caused a
perceptible tension in the crowd. Metzger regarded them indifferently for
a moment, and then stepped back, allowing a bulky, broad-shouldered
officer to step inside. The man was brutish, yet his unusually round,
almost protruding eyes betrayed a calculating intelligence. He pursed his
fish-like lips and evaluated the prisoners in the way a bear regards
salmon in a stream. Without uttering a word, every man present immediately
knew who he was, and what he was capable of. He suddenly yelled, his voice
clipped yet guttural, and two uniformed Germans came into the room, barely
supporting the limp form of a large man between them. They cast him onto
the floor, where he sprawled, unconscious, face against the planks.
Schillinger sneered at his captives and turned on his heel, leading the
officers out of the room. Metzger said nothing as he closed the door,
leaving the prisoners alone with the unconscious cast-away.

 CHAPTER 3

 Beecher watched with both interest and trepidation as the Nazi Major made
his entrance. He knew from the fear that the man provoked that he was a
formidable threat, and resolved to keep a low profile. But the moment that
the two officers had struggled into the room with their victim, all breath
escaped him. The body that hung between them was unmistakable. Beecher's
heart ricocheted as he strained to make sure that his eyes weren't playing
a cruel trick on him, but the instant he saw the long limbs splayed out on
the ground, he knew that they belonged to his Chris, and the world began
to spin. 

 He didn't remember jumping up and pushing through the crowd of standing
bodies, straining to get to the open patch of floor that they encircled as
they gaped at the still, battered body. All he knew was the moment that he
first touched him, and felt that he was warm, and breathing. He wanted to
cry out with joy, relief, and gratitude, but his throat was constricted
and blood rushed to his head so that he felt light and detached from
everything around him. He turned Chris over and cradled him, rocking
softly, just as he'd been held after his nightmare. 

 The stormy blue eyes were swollen shut, his lips cracked, forehead split
and bleeding, but Tobias was certain that he'd never seen a face so
beautiful. He began to wipe at the blood, whispering softly, hoping to
somehow penetrate Chris' state of unconsciousness. He wondered if he
kissed the dry, bleeding lips if Chris would awake like in a fairy tale,
but caught himself at the last second, suddenly aware of all the faces
staring down at them. Beecher felt a surge of anger and resentment,
jutting his jaw out in defiance, and returning their glares with one of
his own. 

 Murphy had been watching from the perimeter, and suddenly realized that
the embrace he'd witnessed between them on that early morning in the
bunker had been one of sexual intimacy. He studied Beecher, who looked
down at the unresponsive Keller, and recognized the undeniable rapture and
tenderness of love. Something inside him stirred.

 "Hey, hey... what's everyone gawking at? That man saved his life" Murphy
growled stepping out between the two lovers and the other prisoners. "Let
him return the favor."

 This seemed to jolt some sense into the crowd, which slowly dissipated.
The scene was nothing that they hadn't witnessed before. Murphy bent down
to assess the extent of Keller's wounds.

 "Shit" He cursed as he lifted Keller's shirt, studying the pattern of
bruises that were hidden beneath. He hoped that there was no internal
bleeding. "Looks like they tortured him pretty good." 

 "Jesus" Tobias choked, suddenly finding his voice. The severity of
Keller's injuries suddenly dawned on him, and he couldn't ignore the
possibility that he may have to grieve all over again. He began to shake. 

 "Tobias, listen to me. Stay with him all night, and watch him closely.
Monitor his temperature and keep him hydrated. Besides that, there's
nothing much we can do." 

 "I'd never leave him." 

 "I know" Murphy responded, voice sympathetic. "But right now we have to
get him out of the middle of the floor. Help me move him over to that
corner. Your bunk is too far away."

 Beecher and Murphy strained as they grasped Keller under his arms and
pulled his dead weight over the dry hardwood. Tobias sat with his back
against the wall as Murphy lowered Chris down and placed his head gently
in the corporal's lap. 

 "Keep talking to him. You've got a few hours before nightfall" Murphy
smiled through his apprehension and left the two men alone, knowing that
Beecher would want some privacy. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Beecher waited until Murphy was out of earshot before he began to
whisper, stroking Chris' close-cropped hair. He didn't say anything grand
or poetic, just whatever came into his head. He soothed, expressed his
love, apologized through tears, and cursed Chris' attackers. As the words
poured from him, the body in his arms began to stir. Chris let out a groan
of pain and struggled to open his eyes. He managed to squint up into the
face of his protector.

 "Toby..." his voice was faint and raw. Tobias couldn't help himself. His
face crumpled and he wept softly with relief and joy. Chris smiled, and he
tried to speak again, but was overcome with fatigue. Tobias hushed him,
and he was soon lulled to sleep. 

 The minutes of the afternoon passed in much the same way. Chris drifted
in and out of slumber, mumbling barely audible words during his brief
moments of lucidity. Tobias never stopped serenading Chris with whispers,
even while he slept. During such moments, Tobias was enrapt, studying the
face that he thought he'd never see again. Augustus was across the ocean
from his Annabelle, and Ryan was had no one waiting for him. Tobias felt
like the most blessed man on earth. 

 In the evening, O'Reily woke him from a light slumber, and handed him a
large wool blanket.

 "I thought you might need this tonight, he looks pretty rough" 

 "Shit, thanks Ryan" Beecher was at a loss for words.

 "Yeah, well. It's no big deal" Ryan shifted awkwardly, trying not to make
eye contact. 

 He'd seen the way Tobias had reacted when Keller was thrown in the room,
and was perceptive enough to recognize the behavior of a person in love.
At first O'Reily had been shocked and disturbed at the implication, but as
he spent the afternoon watching Beecher's tender ministrations from afar,
he eventually had to admit that he was jealous of what the two men shared.
The blanket hadn't taken long to acquire from his network of contacts. He
liked Beecher as a friend, and felt that it was the least he could do.
Seeing the man smile was a hell of a lot better than a blank, sullen
stare. 

 "You need anything else?" Ryan found himself asking. Beecher timidly
requested some water for Chris, which wasn't hard to find. The Irishman
needed only a few minutes to bring back a flask of it, again requiring
nothing in return for his act of generosity. Somehow, seeing Tobias gently
dripping the liquid on Keller's cracked lips made it worthwhile.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 After the sun set, Tobias had wrapped them both with the heavy blanket.
The other prisoners had retired to their bunks, but he sat awake in the
dark for some time, his thighs cramping and feet tingling from a lack of
blood flow. He didn't dare move and disrupt Chris, who kept waking, and
retaining consciousness for longer each time. On the last such occasion,
he had tried to reach up and touch Tobias' face, whispering "I thought I'd
never see you again, baby" before closing his eyes. Beecher decided that
he wouldn't mind if Chris never called him anything else. He tried to
focus on the reality of his lover's survival, still not quite believing
that he held the man in his lap. Tobias was exhausted from the emotional
turmoil, but he kept waking up right as he began to drift off, terrified
that Chris would take a turn for the worst while he was sleeping. He
didn't succumb until hours later, and so didn't see that Chris stayed wide
awake, thoughtfully staring up at him for a good portion of the night. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Private First Class James Robson was in the bunk closest to Beecher and
Keller, and saw the sergeant studying Tobias, his eyes betraying full
mental clarity. Robson had been unable to fall asleep; the nearby presence
of the two men had been a source of severe irritation. He prided himself
on being somewhat of a Lothario, and expected nothing less of his male
peers. He'd suspected that Beecher didn't possess much charisma in regards
to the ladies, but he never would have pegged him as a queer. But
Keller... Keller was unforgivable. He had all the necessary ingredients to
be a pussy magnet, and yet he didn't reject - no, he encouraged - the
nancy boy's doting. Robson hadn't liked Keller from the moment he'd
appeared out of nowhere near Auribeau. At first, he'd felt threatened by
the other man's stature and rank, but that had evolved into something more
personal when Keller had overstepped his bounds and cut him down in front
of the entire squad. Robson was aware if how Murphy gave Beecher and
Keller preferential treatment, and so he had deliberately kept his
distance as they made kissy faces at each other all afternoon. But now
Keller's miraculous recovery put his mind into overdrive He was so
engrossed with devising a way to use the information against them, that he
didn't notice the sergeant closely observing him as well. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 The next morning, Robson pulled O'Reily aside.

 "Ryan, what was your first impression of Keller?" he asked in as neutral
a tone as he could muster. O'Reily considered for a few moments before
answering.

 "I don't know. I'm usually pretty good at pegging people, but he was
tough to figure out. I asked around, and the boys were kinda suspicious.
Him being the only survivor out of an entire platoon didn't sit right with
them. And the fact that he had only a minor injury to show for it didn't
help. But I don't know. They were probably just being paranoid. He proved
himself when he jumped out in front of that sniper for Beecher."

 "Yeah, that was quite an act of bravery" Robson couldn't help but sneer.

 "What're you saying?"

 "It's probably nothing, but I can't help but wonder why the hell the
Nazis would torture Keller and then return him. What kind of information
could a fuckin' sergeant have that they'd keep him alive just to get it
out of him later?"

 "You think they're interrogating him? I thought Schillinger just liked to
torture for the fun of it" O'Reily asked, curiosity piqued.

 "That's just it. I got this feeling that's what they want us to think. I
don't wanna sound like a conspiracy nut or anything, but last night I saw
Keller wide awake, looking around like there was nothing wrong with him.
What if those injuries of his were strategically inflicted, you know... to
make everything look legit. Using him to get information from us would be
quite the setup. There are some high ranking officers here, and a guy who
endured a whole week with Schillinger would earn a lot of trust."

 "No way" Ryan stated flatly, his eyes narrowing. If Keller were a double
agent, he would have picked up on it. And he didn't want to think that
Tobias had fallen in love with a Judas. The man wouldn't be able to handle
that type of betrayal. 

 "I'm just throwin' that out there as a possibility" Robson shrugged.
"It's just that he sure knows how to survive, don't he?"

 "Yeah" O'Reily had to admit that much.

 CHAPTER 4

 When Tobias woke up, the first thing he saw was Chris' battered face
smiling up at him.

 "Hey baby" Chris greeted Tobias softly, caressing his arm. "What were you
dreamin' about?"

 Tobias smiled and stretched. He was sore from spending the night sitting
beneath Chris, but he wouldn't trade the experience for anything. 

 "It was the same dream I've been having a lot lately. You and me in a
park, watching a baseball game together" he sighed and fell into Chris'
blue eyes. 

 "Yeah? My old man used to take me and my brother out to the ballpark when
we were little. I haven't been to a game in a long time, though."

 "Did you ever play?" Tobias asked, trying to picture what Chris must have
been like as a boy. Probably fearless, charming, and constantly dirty.
Tobias had never been to a baseball game with his father. He had been a
polite, shy, and impeccably tidy little boy. 

 "Yeah, I was a catcher. Though I wanted to be a pitcher something fierce,
just didn't have the arm for it." 

 "That's more than I ever managed" Toby sniffed.

 "What did you play when you were a kid?"

 "Chess."

 Chris tilted his face to the ceiling and chuckled warmly. 

 "I should have guessed. Not the sporty type, huh?"

 "I had a bike once, for an entire summer. I loved it, but my parents
confiscated it after I took a nasty fall and spent a few months in casts.
Broke both my legs. After that, it was all indoor activities for me."

 "I broke a few bones myself, growing up. Damn it, I miss bein' a kid." 

 "You're lucky those bastards didn't break anything, Chris" Tobias' face
suddenly became serious. "How the hell did you get through a whole week?"

 Chris' eyes immediately lost their spark. His expression shifted, face
turning into an emotionless mask. 

 "I shut myself down, Toby. My mind wasn't there... I don't really wanna
talk about it."

 "Jesus, I'm sorry..." Tobias felt sick with guilt for reopening such a
major wound.

 "Don't worry about it, baby. Let's talk about something else. Why don't
you describe the way the park in your dream looked?"

 So Tobias did. He was careful to go into detail about how vivid the
greens were; almost a riotous emerald against the deep blue of the sky.
There had been no clouds, and he remembered that the blanket they had been
sprawled out on was checkered red. The game had been a small, relatively
informal affair. There were only a few rows of old bleachers, which hadn't
been filled. The two of them had chosen a spot in the grass about 30 yards
from the field, which gave them privacy, and an adequate vantage point of
the gameplay. They had been drinking sodas, talking, laughing with a
familiar comfort. Tobias then lovingly described his favorite part of the
dream; how he had laid his head on Chris' shoulder and been completely at
peace. 

 "Sounds perfect" Chris sighed with a wistfulness that bordered on
sadness. "If we could get outta here, there's this one place I wanna take
you more than anything - a park in the town I grew up in. It was where I
spent the best moments of my childhood." 

 Tobias' throat constricted with emotion. He knew that it had been hard
for Chris to expose such a treasured memory, and he immediately recognized
the significance of it. Without plainly stating the words, Chris had
articulated the extent of his feelings for him. 

 "I love you Chris" Tobias finally managed to say, having no hesitation
about laying himself bare. He had been given a second chance with Chris,
and resolved never to regret things unsaid. The gaze that he was given in
return was infused with such potent emotion, that he almost had to look
away. 

 "I love you too, baby." 

 Tobias found it strange how the barracks of a German stalag had suddenly
become his most cherished place in the world. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris was still extremely weak. Tobias hated to get up, but he had to
take a piss, and knew that the both of them needed to eat. He gently
extricated himself from the larger man's weight, wrapped the blanket
around him, and hobbled his way out to the slit trench to relieve himself.
When he came back into the barracks, he immediately zeroed in on O'Reily,
who was engaged in a casual conversation with Augustus. Tobias nodded
respectfully to the young private and turned his attention to Ryan. 

 "I need some high calorie food. Chocolate, condensed milk, anything like
that. Chris has to eat something."

 "How is he?" Ryan asked.

 "He's doing better than expected." 

 "Yeah, the guy's got nine lives" Ryan paused before continuing, "I'm not
the type of person who believes in luck, Tobias" he tried to keep his
voice from taking an accusatory tone, but Beecher immediately picked up on
the inference.

 "I know what you're suggesting, and there's no fucking way..." Tobias
hissed, eyes blazing. Ryan immediately felt guilty for touching on it, but
he'd only done so out of concern for his friend. 

 "Why?" 

 "Because he loves me" Tobias kept his voice low enough so that only Ryan
could hear him.

 "Jesus fucking Christ."

 "And I want him to. So think whatever you want about me, but don't say
shit about Chris."

 Tobias was as angry as Ryan had ever seen him; jaw clenched, teeth bared,
tendons in his neck bulging. He didn't say another word before he stormed
away, back to the man that waited for him in the corner. O'Reily felt
conflicted. He wanted to believe in the altruism of mankind, but
everything in his experience predisposed him to be wary of selfless
behavior. Robson was a competitive, vulgar prick, but he brought up some
legitimate points. Then again, Keller had been awake most of the morning.
It wasn't difficult to assume that he'd gained consciousness some time in
the night and had taken the opportunity to simply watch Tobias sleep. If
he really did love him, like Tobias had said, that wasn't too far-fetched.
Ryan wanted to believe that was the truth, but he wasn't much of a
romantic.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 After his conversation with O'Reily, Beecher made a resolution to stay
exclusively in Keller's company, even though the Irishman tried to make
good by bringing them an impressive array of candy bars. Tobias accepted
them with appropriate civility. Chris improved as the day progressed, and
was able to walk unaided to Tobias' bunk later that afternoon. Both men
were relieved that they wouldn't have to spend another night on the hard
floor, but were also looking forward to the simple pleasure of sleeping
next to each other in a bed. That night, they hid beneath the wool blanket
and kissed with both ferocity and tenderness. Tobias' heart raced, and he
fought to catch his breath as Chris devoured him, aching to feel the other
man's bare skin against his own, but terrified of what it would do to him
- and what would happen if they were caught. He'd never felt such a lack
of control over his body, and it was daunting. He knew that he could
easily become addicted to the euphoria. When Chris reached down and
grabbed his erection through the thick fabric of his fatigues, he had to
pull back, gasping.

 "Jesus... I can't..."

 "Why, baby?" Chris' whisper was tender and coaxing. He didn't let go of
his prize.

 "Because I won't be able to stop. It's too much" Tobias gasped.

 "Shhhh... just lie there and relax." 

 Tobias was going to protest when Chris opened his trousers and took him
in his hand. He froze, unable to breathe as the larger man began to stroke
in a firm, slow rhythm. Chris leaned in and reclaimed Tobias' open lips,
silencing the moan that had tumbled out. As the stars swam behind his
closed eyelids, and pelvis strained in time with the fingers that grasped
him, all Tobias could think of was the noise that they must be making, and
that he didn't give a damn. It reminded him of so many nights during his
adolescent years; sweating, breathless, hoping desperately that his
parents wouldn't hear the thump of his hand against the linen. He felt
like a teenager as Chris pulled him over the edge, too overwhelmed to be
embarrassed at his lack of endurance. Eyes closed, still recovering, he
felt the bunk jostle as Chris maneuvered to reach over the side and wipe
his hand; a reminder that a hushed sexual encounter in a POW barracks
carried no glamour or romanticism. They preserved what little of the
illusion that they could by falling asleep wrapped in each other's arms.

 CHAPTER 5

 Beecher and Keller's exclusive devotion to each other created a shift in
dynamics within the barracks. O'Reily began to spend almost all of his
time with Hill and his platoon, which provoked Robson to seek out
similarly-minded soldiers with whom he could vent his disgust at the
Irishman's preferring colored company to those of his own race. The
rejection didn't result in much lamentation from his former squadmates,
particularly a scrutinizing Christopher Keller. Murphy became even more
isolated, a circumstance that greatly contributed to the boredom that was
already beginning to affect him. Out of a need to keep his hands and mind
busy, he acquired some whittling tools from Ryan, and began to carve
whimsical little miniatures. It was a skill he had learned as a boy and
often revisited when he wanted to escape his troubles. Before long, other
prisoners noticed his growing collection of figurines, and began to make
requests of him. Not surprisingly, the most popular choice was a custom
female nude based on a wife or girlfriend. Murphy took great pride in
completing each voluptuous little form with anatomical precision. Beecher
asked if he could carve some simple Chess pieces, and Murphy was happy to
oblige. It was while he was whittling one of the rooks that Staff Sergeant
Goodson Truman approached him, and waited politely for Murphy to stop
before speaking.

 "I see that you are skilled in wood carving."

 "I dunno about that. I enjoy it..." Murphy smiled up at him.

 "It's important that a man has a passion for what he does, even in
leisure." 

 "Yeah. I won't argue with that" he paused a beat before asking, "is there
something I can do for you, Sergeant?"

 "Could I impose upon you to make me a figure of Madonna and the infant
Christ? Nothing elaborate."

 "Sure, as soon as I'm done with these chess pieces. Why, you expecting
Christmas early this year? I can throw in some Wisemen and a sheep, if
you'd like." 

 Truman flashed a bemused smile at Murphy's good-natured teasing.

 "I prefer to make worshipping our Savior a year round affair." 

 "I hear ya. It's just that most people prefer a crucifix."

 "I'm afraid this war has given me a distaste for anything violent in
nature" Truman answered honestly, "I find that Mother and Child represent
the opposite. They mean life, rather than death. Wouldn't you agree?"

 "I guess I never thought of it that way" Murphy admitted, giving the
elegant man a thoughtful stare. "Actually, I wouldn't mind hearing your
thoughts on the subject. I was raised Catholic, and I admit that I've been
neglecting my duties lately. Now's as good a time as any to get back on
track."

 Truman's eyes lit up as brilliantly as his grin. He'd never ignore the
chance to discuss his passion with an interested soul. As he began to
speak, Murphy felt the sensation of being an outcast slowly ebb away, and
was thankful for the other man's simple gesture of acceptance.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias and Chris knew that they had to conduct themselves with the
strictest self-control. Escaping the watchful eyes of their fellow
prisoners wasn't an option. Even using the slit trench or circling the
yard for their daily exercise routine was done in the presence of posted
guards. During the day, their intimacy was relegated to stares, light
touches, and simple conversation. At night, they were afforded slightly
more privacy, but even then their options were severely limited by the
close proximity of the other bunks. There had been a few close calls when
one or both of them had surrendered a faint sound despite all efforts not
to do so. Their loveplay was limited to nothing more than petting and
fondling, yet their hurried sessions were almost too potent, leaving both
men breathless, wet, and wondering how the hell they could possibly handle
anything more intimate - if the opportunity ever presented itself. 

 The two of them were sitting on Tobias' bunk, sharing a bar of marzipan.
Chris was enrapt, studying every little move Toby made as he took as small
chunk between his thumb and forefinger and brought it slowly to his lips,
letting it dissolve in his mouth. Chris couldn't help but notice how
Toby's tongue darted over his lips as he sucked the sweet residue off his
fingers. The mental image that the oral striptease gave Chris was cruel
and beautiful, and he had to close his eyes to recover from it. But an
image of Toby; flushed, wet and wantonly sprawled upon a bed lay waiting
behind his eyelids. 

 "Jesus" he swore, putting his face in his palms.

 "What?" Tobias asked with mocking innocence, trying to suppress a smile
of victory. He relished playing the role of seducer, something he'd never
previously indulged in.

 "I've never wanted to be a piece of marzipan before" Chris half-joked,
taking some for himself. Tobias was about to reply with a glib remark when
Chris began sucking on the candy, eyes boring into him with a distracting
intensity. The larger man was equally capable of seduction, and swiftly
turned the tide of power. Tobias was completely at his mercy as he rolled
the confection over his tongue and parted his lips almost imperceptibly
right before he swallowed. Judging by the look in Toby's eyes, it was a
good thing the other prisoners were engaged in their own activities.

 "We'd better stop this" Tobias managed to croak, gaze never breaking from
Chris'. 

 "Yeah. Maybe we should save the rest for later" Chris couldn't help but
add a teasing edge to his voice as he wrapped up the rest of the candy and
hid it under Toby's burlap mattress. 

 "Now what? More chess?" Tobias asked, trying to clear his mind of all
indecent thoughts. Ever since Murphy had finished the set for them, the
two men had often engaged in day-long tournaments with each other,
grateful for an activity that would allow them to spend time together
while keeping temptation at bay. Tobias had the advantage of playing the
game since childhood, while Chris had an uncanny intuition to match his
intellect, and made the perfect opponent. Their bouts often ended in
stalemates. Chris exhaled slowly, suffering from Chess-fatigue. 

 "I dunno. I don't really want to share your attention right now" he
admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

 "You just want to talk?" Tobias suggested, leaning back on his elbows.
Chris nodded, but didn't speak. One aspect of their relationship that both
men appreciated was how naturally conversation always flowed between them,
but now, for some reason, both were tongue-tied. Chris guessed that it was
because their exchanges had always been spontaneous. He racked his brain,
trying to pick a topic that didn't sound contrived or rehearsed, but
failed. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

 "We don't have to feel obligated to do anything, babe. I'm happy just
sitting here with you."

 "Yeah" Toby smiled, content. Chris only waited a few moments before
breaking the relaxed silence.

 "You look great without your glasses, but I kinda miss them in a weird
way" the casual remark earned him a questioning glance.

 "Now there's a non sequitur."

 "Sorry. I was just thinking about how you looked when I first saw you.
Those glasses definitely caught my eye."

 Tobias reddened and looked downwards.

 "Yeah, well. They weren't that thick... I've seen worse. I can see
alright without them, if I'm not too far away. I get a headache from
squinting sometimes, but nothing serious",

 "I didn't mean it that way" Chris couldn't help but chuckle, "I've always
had a thing for glasses."

 "Really?"

 "I dunno what it is. Maybe it reminds me of Clark Kent or something.
Makes you wonder if the person has a hidden wild side."

 "If I have anything resembling a wild side, you definitely bring it out
of me." 

 "You ain't seen wild yet" Chris leered, and decided to take a gamble. It
was high time he and Toby indulged in some spontaneity. 

 "I need to take a leak, and so do you. Come with me" he announced, eyes
glinting with mischief. Tobias couldn't think of anything to say, and just
followed his lover out of the barracks and into the yard. It was early
afternoon and the weather was balmy. He took at deep gulp of air and
looked questioningly at Chris, who gestured towards the trench. Once
there, both men stood on the edge and exposed themselves to urinate.
Tobias tried his hardest not to sneak a sidelong glance. They stood so
closely together that their arms brushed. Chris whispered over the sound
of his piss hitting the dirt. 

 "I was right. The guard on duty is the young one. Ryan likes to keep
track of their shifts." 

 Tobias didn't dare glance in the direction of the youth in question. He
felt conspicuous enough as it was. 

 "So...?"

 "So, I want you to meet me behind the north wing of the barracks in about
three minutes" Chris lowered his voice even further, and tucked himself
back inside his trousers. Without any further words, he turned and walked
towards the rendezvous point, leaving Tobias holding his dick and with
three minutes to burn. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Ryan O'Reily had been surprised when Chris had sauntered up to him. The
image of Keller without the nearby presence of Beecher seemed so
out-of-place, that it took his brain longer to process what the large man
was saying. When he'd finally realized that Chris was asking him about the
guard rotation, he couldn't help but question the motive behind it. Of
course, he and Arnold had made a point of memorizing the face of every
German stationed in the Stalag, and their respective shifts. It was
essential for transporting items between barracks, particularly during the
day. But as far as he knew, Keller could have no legitimate reason to know
their schedule. Unless of course, he was planning to meet with one of
them. Ryan grimaced and decided to give up playing detective. He had an
active imagination and tended to over-analyze. It was giving him a
headache. Besides, he didn't want to suspect Chris without any real
evidence. Robson's elaborate theories weren't exactly reliable. He clearly
hated homosexuality in any way, shape or form, and there was a distinct
possibility that he simply had an axe to grind. 

 Ryan glanced over at Augustus Hill, who sat next to him, writing in a
leather-bound journal. Because he'd never be able to send them, he slowly
reduced the number of letters he wrote to Annabelle in favor of scribbling
thoughts in the book's blank pages. The man obviously had his share of
philosophies and opinions about the world around him. 

 "Hey Hill" O'Reily interrupted him, "What're you writing?"

 "An account of life within these walls. History needs to be written from
first-hand experience. People should know what goes on in a place like
this" was the matter-of-fact response. 

 "So, what're you writing right now?" Ryan couldn't help but be curious.
He wondered how Augustus could make an existence so tedious into an
interesting read. 

 "About the prisoners. I feel like an anthropologist sometimes, just
observing the behavior that goes on. The alliances, the feuds. It's
fascinating."

 "Yeah. Fascinating." 

 "I'm serious! I'm not just talking about large-scale group dynamics like
the tension between the good old boys and the blacks. For instance, look
at Beecher and Keller."

 "Okay, I'll agree with you there. Those two are something else."

 "Definitely. At first glance you'd assume that Keller's the dominant one,
considering the difference in their builds. But on closer examination,
Beecher's got equal footing. Their personalities feed each other... it's
like a perfect symbiosis."

 "Beecher says it's love" Ryan didn't feel guilty letting Hill in on it.
The guy was intelligent and likely receptive to different ideas. He didn't
blink an eye. 

 "It's almost more than that. Have you ever heard of the Sacred Band of
Thebes?" Augustus asked him.

 "Um... no."

 "It was an elite corps of warriors from the ancient world, made up of 150
pairs of male lovers. They were the best, undefeated. They'd kill for each
other, and chose to die rather than survive without their other half.
Apparently all 300 fell together when they were finally beaten by
Alexander the Great and his father." 

 "No shit" O'Reily was speechless. 

 "Yeah. I've got a feeling that those two form their own little Band."

 Augustus' words struck a chord. Ryan had seen Keller rush out in front of
that sniper to get at Tobias. At the time, he'd been perplexed at the
suicidal action, but in retrospect, it appeared as if Chris had been
genuinely willing to forfeit his life to save Beecher's. In return, Tobias
had fought like a berserker next to Keller in Vallauris. No wonder he'd
sunk into such a deep depression after Chris was presumed dead. He
probably felt he should have saved him, or died there beside him. Ryan
didn't know another couple that shared such an extreme level of devotion
to each other. He definitely had never been part of relationship like
that.

 "Robson's been saying shit about them, Keller in particular. He'd better
watch out, or Beecher just might lose it. And he's scary when he goes
nuts."

 "He probably shouldn't underestimate Keller, either" Augustus said with a
chuckle. "That man definitely has the potential to so some damage. You can
see it in his eyes."

 O'Reily had been the recipient of Keller's penetrating stare. He knew
exactly what Hill was talking about.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 When Tobias snuck around the corner of the barracks, Chris had
practically pulled him off his feet, and slammed him against the wall.
With the air knocked out of him, he had little time to react before being
assaulted by the other man's mouth, their teeth colliding. Tobias quickly
forgot about the pain in his back as he struggled to gain equal footing in
their heated dance. Chris grasped his neck, fingers playing with the short
hair at his nape, other arm encircling his waist. Tobias reached up and
cupped his lover's face, snaking his free hand over his chest. They tested
and tasted each other, touching in ways that had been impossible within
the confines of a small bunk and in the presence of so many others. The
two men allowed themselves the luxury of moaning, and Tobias even let out
a gasp as Chris pressed his straining erection against his own, moving so
that the fabric between them created a teasing friction. Chris trailed his
lips down his lover's jaw and over the soft skin of his neck, stopping
there to lightly nip and suckle until the man was almost vibrating with
arousal. It was now or never. Chris pulled back and glanced around quickly
to make sure they were alone, then dropped to his knees. 

 Tobias could hardly comprehend what was happening as the man kneeling
before him pulled his cock free and began stroking tightly. When he felt
Chris' tongue lap gently at the tip, his knees almost buckled. The moment
Chris took his entire length into his warm, wet mouth, Tobias had to will
himself to keep from crying out. Jesus Christ, no woman he'd ever been
with had done anything like this. It would have been unthinkable,
debauched, sinful... and so fucking amazing. Every time he hit the back of
Chris' throat, he was sure he was going to climax, but somehow the other
man sensed it, and slowed his ministrations, prolonging the pleasure.
Tobias held on as long as he could, gazing down at his lover through
hooded eyes, mouth parted in a silent moan. He almost felt regret when he
finally did come, shuddering violently, pressing his head against the
barracks for support. He stood there, savoring the sweet afterglow when
Chris stood up and reclaimed his lips. Tobias could taste himself, and
wondered faintly if Chris would taste the same. He wanted to learn how to
do what Chris had just done to him, so that he could reciprocate. 

 "Jesus..." he gasped as Chris finally relinquished his swollen lips.
Tobias leaned his head against the broad chest - which seemed to be
heaving just as much as his - and took a deep breath. 

 "You like that, baby?" Chris asked with a playful glint in his eyes,
massaging Toby's neck. 

 "Hell yes. Where have you been all my life?" 

 Chris laughed into his ear and kissed him there while pulling him close
for an embrace. The two of them just stood there, listening to the thump
of their heartbeats. 

 "We'd better go back inside, or we'll be missed" Chris rumbled,
reluctance tingeing his voice. 

 Tobias just nodded and tucked himself back inside his trousers. He had to
fight the urge not to grasp Chris' hand as the two of them walked towards
the entrance of the barracks. 

 CHAPTER 7

 Major Schillinger prized loyalty more than any other human attribute. To
one's race, to one's Fatherland, to one's leader. He considered himself an
exemplary model in this regard, and would do any task necessary to prove
his loyalty, even when it wasn't requested of him. It was for this reason
that he wasn't aggravated by the interruption of Hauptmann Metzger's
knocks at his office door. He looked up from his paperwork and called his
subordinate in. Metzger was a man of little humor, and few words. When he
did speak, he pronounced his native tongue with an impeccable, clipped
accent, which Schillinger approved of. In his precise voice, the officer
introduced a shiny-faced young guard who kept his eyes directed downwards
out of fear and respect as he was given entrance to the room. 

 The Major had a special fondness for the Nazi Youth. They were so
enthusiastic and fresh, easily molded to fit any purpose required of them,
and eager to please. Some of his best informants came from among their
ranks. Their reports offered a fresh perspective - they often included
details that an older man would omit. They were also notoriously
underestimated by the enemy. It was almost incomprehensible that ones so
young could be capable of such cold ruthlessness, such uncompromising
vision. But the truth was, he himself had witnessed boys and girls perform
acts of brutal efficiency without batting an eye. They did what they were
told to do, and they did it well. His own two sons, the pride and joy of
his life, were members of the esteemed group.

 Schillinger made a point of knowing everything that happened in his
stalag. It was no great secret that there was an elaborate contraband
network that flowed between the barracks. He allowed it because it
mollified the prisoners. Men given a superficial source of contentment to
distract them from the hopelessness of their situation were so much more
satisfying to break. The information that the boy proceeded to share
proved his worth. Of course, he was already aware that Keller had taken a
lover, but judging by the details of the witnessed encounter, the bond
that the two of them shared was quite strong. Even more fascinating was
the physical description of the man Keller had chosen - something he
hadn't yet been made privy too. Sky blue eyes, copper hair, a lithe,
athletic physique. He sounded like the perfect German specimen. Keller had
been a delightful toy while he had been their guest. It had been the
Major's intention to bring him back for another round of fun and games,
but now he was considering another way in which to play with the American
sergeant. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Goodson Truman was finding it difficult to pray with Beecher and Keller
in plain sight, sitting together on the bunk that they unabashedly shared.
They weren't even touching, and yet the true nature of their relationship
was blatantly clear to anyone with any level of intelligence. He grimaced
and clutched at his wooden figures, trying to banish the anger that
clouded his mind. Sitting only a few feet away, Murphy noticed the dark
change in Truman's expression.

 "What is it?" he asked, knowing that his companion wouldn't evade the
question. Goodson's candor and honesty were traits he deeply respected.

 "Those two have no shame" Truman growled, lowering his gaze at the
lovers. He practically winced as they laughed at some private joke,
Beecher placing a hand tenderly on Keller's shoulder. Murphy exhaled. He
wasn't surprised at Truman's reaction, considering his devout nature. But
as strict as his own religious upbringing had been, Murphy couldn't bring
himself to disapprove of the intimacy that had blossomed between his two
officers. Its affect had been nothing but positive, especially in regards
to Beecher's volatile state of mind. He was like a new man around Keller.
A complete man. Murphy felt it was his duty to defend them, but with
carefully chosen words.

 "Goodson, what you said about the brutality of the crucifix has really
stuck with me. I think the violence of this war has affected us the same
way... I'll always feel guilt over losing those boys in Vallauris. Their
blood will be on my hands for the rest of my life. I'm not surprised that
the horrors you've seen have made you a pacifist." 

 "What is your point?" Truman interjected, slightly perplexed at Murphy's
line of thought.

 "I think we would both agree that in every situation, it is important
that love prevails over hate."

 "We're not talking about love. This is physical indulgence, weakness of
the flesh..."

 "No, it's love. Just watch them, it's plain as day. The God I believe in
teaches that love is sacred."

 "The Bible states plainly that homosexuality is a sin" Truman had to
fight to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. He was flabbergasted at
the stance Murphy was taking. 

 "The last time I checked, homosexuality ain't mentioned in the Ten
Commandments. But killing is - and that's something almost every man in
this room is guilty of, Truman. Why is it you can forgive that, but are
incapable of finding peace with Beecher and Keller? What they're doing
ain't hurting anyone. Frankly, I find it comforting to know that something
good can still exist in a shithole like this." 

 "Ridiculous..." Truman responded weakly, his fortitude shaken. 

 "You're a good man, Truman. Don't be blinded be prejudice. Try to
understand what's going on between those two. If you just flat-out reject
it, you're no better than the likes of Robson and those other racists.
It's easy to hate what you don't know anything about." 

 Goodson was shocked into silence. He was accustomed to being the beacon
of wisdom and spiritual growth. Others came to him for advice and
guidance. Recognizing the truth in an opinion that was diametrically
opposed to his own was a brand new, and disorienting, experience. But he
had to respect Murphy for it. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Beecher sat cross-legged on one end of his mattress, facing Chris, who
lay with his hands folded over his chest, staring at the underside of the
bunk above their own. His usually intense features were instead placid and
contemplative. Tobias didn't want to intrude on the other man's thoughts,
but he couldn't help but feel slightly isolated. He ran a finger lightly
up and down Chris' calf. 

 "Hey, what're you thinking?" he asked softly. Chris stirred with a sudden
exhalation of breath and turned his head to the side to glance at his
lover.

 "I wish we'd known each other when we were kids. I was thinking about all
those great times I had with my brother. But you and me? We woulda made
quite the pair." 

 "Yeah" Tobias agreed, sadness plain in his tone. He'd also been thinking
of how he'd known Christopher Keller for only a short fraction of his
life, and yet it seemed incomprehensible that he'd been able to exist
without him. The emptiness that he'd felt every day since entering
adulthood completely vanished when he was in the company of the other man.
It was like having the innocence and happiness of youth restored.

 "What's your best memory of childhood?" Tobias asked, curious to know
everything that he could about Christopher Keller. In response, a wide
grin spread across the man's handsome features.

 "I'm a lucky guy, there are a lot to choose from. My dad worked all the
time to support us, and my mom was usually sick, so me and Jamie were
mostly on our own. Remember how I said I wanted to show you that place
that meant so much to me? It was just down the street from us... Hyacinth
Park... just trees and birds and wildflower gardens. To a little boy, it
was a private world where you could pretend that you were Peter Pan or
Robin Hood. The two of us would spend most of our day there, just lost in
the fantasy we'd created. We built a little fort out of branches, invented
our own secret language. We even made our own costumes out of potato
sacks. All that kid stuff..." Chris' voice trailed off, and he looked up
at Toby to see if he still had his attention. 

 "Go on" Tobias urged him, hanging on every word.

 "Well, one day we had the bright idea to find our own food. It was too
late in the season, so the crows had picked off the last of the wild
blackberries we usually ate. We got it into our heads to be hunters, so we
took our pocket knives and stalked around woods. We found a creek, and
Jamie noticed that there were little crawdads on the bottom. I'd made
myself this felt pirate hat, and I used it to scoop up as many as I could.
We ran back to our fort, all wet and excited. It took us about half the
day, but we finally started a little fire from twigs and leaves. We stuck
the crawdads on sticks and held them over the flame. They were charred
black on the outside and practically raw on the inside. Tasted horrible -
but we ate every one of them. We were sick as dogs the next day" Chris
chuckled, and shook his head as if trying to sweep the vivid memory away.
Toby just stared at him, completely enchanted. 

 "Wow. I never did anything like that. I should have - maybe if I'd had a
friend like you...."

 "I'd have corrupted you, Tobe. Your parents woulda hated me" Chris
grinned widely.

 "And I would have loved you for it. We would've made some great
memories."

 "I'd share all of mine if I could. Telling you just ain't the same... I
wish I could take you there..." 

 A contemplative and mournful silence followed. Neither man could dare to
hope that such a circumstance would ever present itself. It was painful to
even look a single day into the future, their fates were so uncertain. 

 "Did you grow up in Connecticut?" Tobias tried to steer the conversation
into less emotional territory.

 "Yup, a town called Deep River. What about you?"

 "Ashland, Massachusetts."

 "Only 100 miles apart, but we had to be sent to Europe to find each
other" Chris breathed, lowering a hand from his chest to grasp Toby's.
Neither of them wanted to contemplate how closely both of them had come to
never meeting. It was during this moment of silent thanks that Hauptmann
Metzger entered the stalag without ceremony, two guards tailing him. 

 His eyes drifted over the faces within the barracks, all aimed in his
direction. His gaze came to a rest upon spotting Keller, and then lingered
on Beecher. He barked an order in German and pointed in the direction of
the lovers. As the guards advanced towards them, Chris' entire body
tensed, and he braced himself with a cold acceptance. This immediately
turned to desperation and fury as he realized that he wasn't the one they
intended to collect. He jumped up, and positioned himself as a shield
between them and Toby. 

 "Don't fucking touch him!" he snarled, fists clenched, eyes blazing.
Chris managed to land a few punches before one of the guards drew his
pistol and whipped him soundly across the back of his head. He collapsed
to one knee, trying to catch his breath, as they proceeded to kick him in
the gut. Struggling to retain his balance, he felt a dull whack against
his skull again, and fell over. Toby's hoarse yell was the last thing he
heard before everything became black.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias fought as hard as he could against the two men after they knocked
Chris unconscious. They beat him as well, but only to the point of dazing
him - he never completely lost awareness. As they hauled him, he felt as
if he were under a veil, picking up vague bits and pieces through a cloudy
haze: the dull brown of a corridor, the musky scent of mildew and lumber,
the rough texture of a jacket against his cheek. After an indeterminate
span of time, they threw him roughly into a chair. He fell forward and
collapsed against the grainy surface of a table, moaning. As he struggled
to regain control of his senses, the sound of a deep voice grabbed him. It
was familiar, and somehow seemed more intimidating in broken English than
the German he had heard before. 

 "There is no reason to be frightened. We treat our guests well... you can
ask Sergeant Keller."

 Tobias knew it was Schillinger, but couldn't find his voice to answer. He
was still trying to figure out which direction was up, his forehead flat
against the table. The Major walked up next to him and ripped his dog tag
chain from his neck, then proceeded to examine it.

 "Tobias Beecher. German or Norman origin?" Schillinger asked
conversationally.

 "Your guess is as good as mine" Tobias' answer was deliberately
non-committal. 

 "Come now, Corporal. A man should know his family's roots"

 "I guess I never thought it was that important. Both choices are equally
white" Beecher bit back, regaining his equilibrium. This elicited a
chuckle from his host.

 "True enough. It's hard to argue against such compelling physical
evidence. You are a remarkable Aryan specimen." 

 Schillinger was only inches away, staring down at him with a salacious
grin. Tobias felt an overwhelming urge to take a swing at him, but didn't
trust his balance or what degree of punishment he'd earn for his trouble.
If the rumors about the missing prisoners were true, then execution was a
definite possibility. Instead, he met the man's appraisal with a
challenging stare, refusing to back down. 

 "You're a fucking caricature of a Nazi, aren't you?"

 Schillinger's eyes flashed with excitement the second before his fist
connected with Beecher's jaw, whipping his neck back so hard he slammed
against the floor. 

 "Do not forget your place." Schillinger muttered before delivering a
swift and brutal kick to his midsection. Tobias bent double at the
dizzying pain, gulping for air. He clawed at the floor, trying to pull
himself away from his attacker, only to feel the tip of the German's boot
slam into his cheekbone, splitting the skin. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 As Tobias recovered from the blow, Schillinger called the two guards into
the room. He watched, satisfied, as they bound the limp, bleeding form to
the chair, and then ordered them to wait at the door, should their
services be further required. It was his intent to break the fair-haired
American without permanently disfiguring him. The work would be delicate,
but not without a sense of achievement.

 "You need discipline, mein Liebling" Schillinger began, devouring the
sight of the limp body before him. "Sergeant Keller was very
accommodating. I hope you will be, too."

 "Fuck you, fuck face" Tobias spat, eyes glinting with abandon. They were
the only feature recognizable though the blood and swelling. The challenge
resulted in a well-placed hook to his face, snapping his head back. 

 "That mouth of yours is becoming a problem" the major stated flatly,
circling his prey. He wondered how long it would take to reduce Tobias
Beecher to tears. There were so many possible routes before him, he was
unable to choose which one to pursue. He fingered a small, agile razor he
kept with him for such situations. 

 "The human mouth is full of blood vessels and nerve endings. It also has
a remarkable ability to heal quite fast. Did you know that?" Schillinger
asked. Tobias muttered something unintelligible through his swollen lips. 

 "Here, let me show you, Corporal." 

 Schillinger motioned for the guards, and gave them a quick order in
German. They removed their belts and gripped Beecher as they forcefully
inserted the leather straps into his mouth like a horse's bit and then
pulled as if reigning him in, locking his jaws open. Schillinger removed
the razor from his pocket and examined it, allowing his captive full view
of the glinting metal. With agonizing deliberation, he approached Tobias,
and seemed to relish every second before finally sinking the blade into
the flesh of the shaking man's gums, cutting a jagged slice above his
teeth. The noise that came from the corporal was too muffled to be
described as a scream, but was filled with enough desperation and agony to
satisfy the Nazi officer.

 CHAPTER 8

 Chris paced like a wild animal. His entire body was coiled with fury,
stare frenzied. The other men in the barracks gave him a wide berth,
seeing that even the slightest disturbance would set him off. He felt
lethal but helpless, and the conflicting emotions only made the agony of
not knowing even worse. Only Murphy had the courage to approach him, and
even then used great caution and tact. 

 "They'll bring him back" he tried to assure the manic sergeant.

 "You can bet on it. The question is how bad he'll be when they do.
They're using him to get at me. It's fucking psychological warfare" Chris
snarled. 

 "Why?" Murphy asked, perplexed.

 "I dunno. That Nazi fuck, Schillinger, has my number. Had it from the
second they brought me in." 

 He didn't mention the reason why they'd singled him out, or how he'd
deliberately given them reason to do so. The memory of it made him sick to
his stomach; he had little doubt that his behavior had contributed
directly to what they were now doing to Toby. He couldn't allow himself to
contemplate it. Trying to keep his body and his mind in motion, he strode
over to O'Reily and was immediately given his full attention.

 "Ryan, I need some medical supplies from the infirmary as soon as
possible. Anything you can get your hands on." 

 "Shit. You think it'll be that bad?" 

 "I just wanna be prepared" Chris rasped. 

 As the Irishman left, Keller continued his pacing, trying to fight the
overwhelming urge to leap onto Robson and pummel the satisfied smirk off
his face. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias was literally choking on his own blood. They'd removed the belts,
so at least he could lean his head forward to let it drain out of his
throat. His mouth had long ago become numb, but the fear hadn't left with
the pain. He tried to gain control over terror that threatened to snap
him, but Schillinger's obvious enjoyment of it made the effort nearly
impossible. He was able to mentally detach from the battlefield because
he'd always possessed the means to defend himself. But now he was bound
and helpless, and on the verge of collapse. 

 "You didn't ask me any questions" he managed to spit out the words
through torn and swollen tissue. 

 "You have nothing that I want to know." 

 Beecher's felt as if the chair had been ripped out beneath him. The
major's hollow response meant that there was nothing he could do or say to
stop the torture. He began to shake, and struggled to conjure images of
Chris to calm himself. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere safe. He
had to find his way back to that park again. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 They threw Beecher back in the barracks as roughly as they had Chris. The
prisoners' immediate impression was that he was in even worse condition
than the larger man had been. Tobias' face, and the entire front of his
shirt, was covered in blood, and he'd clearly been unconscious even before
the guards tossed him onto the floor. Chris rushed across the room and
yelled for O'Reily, who came bounding up behind him with a handful of
bandages and morphine syrettes. They pulled off the injured man's shirt
and looked over his torso for any deep cuts or puncture wounds, but found
only bruises. 

 "Jesus, it's coming from his face" Chris grimaced, and used the stained
garment to wipe away the blood that masked Tobias' features. But to his
surprise, except for a laceration across his cheek, they were unmarred. It
wasn't enough to explain the volume of blood.

 "Look in his mouth" Ryan said, his voice thick with trepidation. Chris'
mind raced as he gently parted his lover's lips, and saw the ragged slices
crisscrossing his gums. He breathed out with relief at the realization
that his teeth and tongue were still intact. 

 "Give me some of that gauze" he asked, holding out his hand. Chris was
careful not to apply too much pressure as he inserted the fabric under
Toby's swollen lips, staunching the wounds. 

 "Save the morphine until he wakes up" Chris sighed after he was done.
"Help me get him to his bunk." 

 The two men grunted as they hauled Tobias over and placed him on the
mattress as gently as possible. Chris nodded in thanks to O'Reily, who
immediately recognized his unspoken signal and left the lovers in peace.
Tobias looked peaceful despite what must have been a horrific ordeal.
Chris lowered himself next to the sleeping angel and held his body
lightly, careful not to inflict any more pain. Tobias was out cold into
the night and well into the morning, and Chris kept a vigil the entire
time.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 When Tobias did wake up, his face and gums were on fire, but had already
begun to heal. Chris carefully removed the gauze, and poured water between
his lips, which elicited a hiss of pain. 

 "I know this hurts, baby. But you've gotta drink something" Chris
soothed. 

 Tobias couldn't have put up a fight even if he'd had the will for it.
Chris didn't say much to him, out of fear that he would feel obliged to
respond. Instead, he tried to reassure his lover with constant and gentle
physical contact: a hand on his thigh, or a cupped palm against his
wounded cheek. The other prisoners were long since used to the close bond
shared by the two men, and let them be. Tobias had just downed some
diluted chicken broth and was taking a light nap, Chris at his side, when
the door to the barracks opened. As soon as Chris saw Metzger and the
guards, a cold fear gripped him. 

 "No, you just brought him back!" he yelled at them, vaulting to his full,
imposing height. O'Reily and Murphy were immediately at his side, equally
determined to protect the injured corporal, who stirred from sleep. As
soon as he realized what was happening, he began to panic, emitting a
strangled cry.

 "Toby, calm down! I'm not gonna let them take you!" Chris turned to hold
his gaze, speaking forcefully. Metzger had brought more guards with him
this time, anticipating resistance, and Chris knew that there was little
they could do, but he wanted Tobias to know the extent of his devotion.

 "Take me to Schillinger instead" Keller pleaded, pivoting to face the
approaching Germans. The hauptmann didn't respond, only stared at him with
a cool detachment. Before Chris knew it he was down on his knees, being
beaten by the blunt ends of numerous machine guns. Murphy and O'Reily were
similarly assaulted, and could do little to resist the blows. Tobias only
struggled momentarily before a dull acceptance set in, his eyes glazing
over. He stumbled out of the room, flanked on each side by an armed guard,
unable to look back at the man who'd tried to protect him. It was too
painful. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Schillinger waited for them to bring Beecher into the room. He knew that
he'd caused Keller just as much suffering as his lover; the decision to
separate them again so quickly had been a particularly cruel strategy. For
this reason, he was savoring every memory of the corporal's torture, and
knew that he would enjoy the next few hours even more. It had been a
stroke of brilliance and irony to slice inside Beecher's mouth,
considering the man's reported proclivity for oral sex. But even more
fitting had been the act of forcing himself on Beecher afterwards; shoving
into the hot suction, slicked with blood. Beecher had already passed his
breaking point, otherwise Schillinger wouldn't have risked putting himself
at the mercy of a vengeful man's teeth. After he'd finished, Beecher had
merely gagged a few times and spat out the fluid, which pooled a dark pink
on the floorboards. The triumph of that moment had been slightly dampened
by his suspicion that Beecher had remained silent about the incident. Only
confirmation that Keller was aware of the act would fill him with a
complete satisfaction. That was why he planned to leave behind an
unmistakable signature this time. Proof that he'd damaged Keller's
property.

 His thoughts were interrupted by Beecher's arrival. The guards left him
so he stood only a few feet away. His gaze was empty, his posture slouched
and broken. He'd already mentally vacated, which was unacceptable.
Schillinger considered his options. More torture would only drive him
deeper into seclusion - he'd have to draw him out before beating him back
down again. He decided to go for the jugular. 

 "I know that you and Keller are lovers; that you share a bunk together
every night, eat every meal side by side, and are never more than a few
feet apart, even when you go outside to exercise. I also know that you two
hid behind the barracks so that he could get on his knees and service
you."

 Beecher's eyes flickered, and he looked up at the major, confusion
evident in his expression. Schillinger saw that he had the man's
attention, and continued.

 "Yes, I'm aware of that little clandestine liaison. I was also touched to
discover how you cared for him after his time in our company. He begged,
you know... offered me anything to stop. Anything" he paused to enjoy the
pained expression on the corporal's face, "Perhaps you should ask yourself
how I know all these things about the two of you." 

 "This isn't going to work" Beecher's voice was hoarse but seething. 

 "It already has. At least now you'll have something to keep your mind
occupied for the remainder of the afternoon" Schillinger narrowed his eyes
at the prisoner, who visibly flinched at the threat of impending violence.


 Before Beecher could retreat into himself, the Nazi gripped him, pinning
his arms behind his back. He struggled valiantly, but without success -
Schillinger had him in a tight lock. It wasn't difficult to kick one leg
out from under Beecher, forcing him to buckle onto his knees. It was even
easier to force his head forward so that it was pressing against the rough
grain of the floorboard, and wrench his trousers down so that his pale,
supple flesh was exposed to the room's stale air. 

 CHAPTER 9

 Tobias was filled with such revulsion and shame that his entire body
shook. It wasn't the agony of the dry and brutal rape, so much as the
knowledge that he would forever be tainted by it. A part of himself that
he'd wanted to give to Chris was being ripped from him. Hot tears stung
his eyes and the cut on his cheek as he was slammed forward into the dry
wood. Desperately, he tried to steady his mind and focus on something that
would allow him to find refuge there. He stared at an oddly-shaped knot in
a floorboard that was close to his head. If he used his imagination, it
looked like a human eye staring back at him with benign curiosity. He
wanted to reach out and touch it. Instead, it blinked at him. 

 //His mother put her hands on her round hips and cocked an eyebrow. He
was sitting on the kitchen counter, trying to fish in the cupboards for a
jar of her raspberry jam.

 "Now Toby! How many times have I told you not to get up there? You'll
fall and hurt yourself!" she scolded, folding her arms around him and
placing him gently on the floor. His eleven-year-old self was rightfully
embarrassed by her doting, and looked down at his feet. 

 "Aw mom, I just wanted a sandwich." 

 "Dinner will be ready in half an hour, young man" she reminded him,
wiping a pair of long, capable hands on her apron. "Why don't you go read
until then?"

 "I was thinking I could play with Chris for a little while" he suggested,
looking up at her through his glasses and smiling hopefully. This earned
him a slight frown and a pair of pursed lips. 

 "Honey, you know how your father and I feel about that boy. He's a
trouble-maker. Why, Mrs. Reynolds told me yesterday that she saw him
trapesing right through her garden, with no regard for her new begonias.
And when she called out at him to stop, he just grinned at her!" 

 Tobias couldn't help but smile. It was pure Keller, and the way his
mother was telling it, he might as well have been burying a body in the
flowerbed. Their neighborhood was far too idyllic; in his opinion, it was
in dire need of some excitement, and the boy that had just moved in across
the street seemed to be just the remedy they needed. Tobias was drawn to
him like a moth to a flame. Chris was everything he wanted to be, and
unapologetically did everything he secretly wanted to do. 

 "Wipe that grin off of your face, Tobias. This is exactly why we don't
want you spending time with him."

 Deciding that she was in no mood to argue, Tobias just shrugged and
scurried upstairs to his room, where he lay on his bed and skimmed his
well-thumbed copy of 'Robinson Crusoe'. He usually had no problem
inserting himself within the story, but instead couldn't help but
contemplate all the adventures that he was likely missing by being denied
Chris' company. He sighed and flipped through the pages impatiently. The
whack of a pebble against his window interrupted his sulking. He threw his
book to the side and darted over the pane and huffed as he lifted the
heavy sash. Leaning his head out into the humid evening air, he saw Chris
staring up at him, Cheshire grin prominent against his dirt-smudged face. 

 "Have you been in Mrs. Reynold's begonias again?" Tobias hissed.

 "Geez. Those women can't keep their tongues from waggin'" Chris muttered,
wiping a forearm across his brow. 

 "What could possibly be of interest to you in a bunch of crummy flowers?"


 "Never mind that. I've got something better to show ya. Come down here!"
Chris urged, motioning with his hand. 

 "I can't. I'm having supper soon. Come back in about an hour, and I'll
try to sneak out."

 Chris gave the proposal some serious consideration before finally
agreeing to the terms. 

 "Okay. Meet me out here in exactly one hour. Don't be late!" 

 "I promise."//

 "Promise what, ssse Erbse?" Schillinger grunted, finishing with a trust
so violent that it ripped Tobias from his elaborate fantasy. The shock of
the being thrown back into reality coupled with the searing pain of the
rape made him cry out. This seemed to please the German, who swatted his
ass as he pulled free.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Schillinger rejoiced inwardly. Beecher's mind had been there, in the
room, at the moment it mattered. He was still bent forward against the
floor, unable to move even though the rape was over. No doubt the American
was in a deep state of shock, but Schillinger knew that he was far from
hitting bottom. He pulled a portable lighter from his jacket pocket,
ignited the flame, and held it over the end of his dress dagger. Beecher
didn't scream when he pressed the searing metal to his backside, but
flinched reflexively and emitted a low, animalistic keening. 

 The major took time and care in reheating the blade and pressing it
against the immaculate ivory skin so that the swastika's lines was
replicated with exact precision. By the time he finished, Beecher was
lying flat against the wooden planks, cold and shivering. His eyes were
open, but he didn't make a sound. Schillinger studied the man's features,
still attractive underneath a swath of blue and purple bruises, and the
freshly closed gash visible on his cheekbone. He knew that the physical
abuse was inconsequential to a mind like Beecher's. What had made this
conquest so gratifying was the knowledge that he had irreparably damaged
an essential part of who Beecher was as a human being. He'd forever
altered the course of another man's life, and with it, the life of the man
who loved him. That was power. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Beecher was propelled by pure instinct as the guards escorted him back to
the stalag. He couldn't process a coherent stream of thought, instead only
raw emotions and images flickered in his mind. Although he would have been
incapable of articulating it, he was gripped by an overwhelming need to
lose consciousness When they'd returned him the first time, he'd been out
cold, blessed by darkness. No memories, no pain, no guilt. He briefly
considered throwing himself at them to instigate a retaliatory attack, but
the thought escaped him as quickly as it had come. He kept walking,
completely detached. 

 Tobias barely registered the familiar faces that surrounded him when he
was led through the door to his barracks. Their voices seemed muffled and
distant as he passed them. Then one face and one voice pierced the haze
surrounding him Chris gripped his shoulders and pulled him close, but
Tobias flinched at the contact, unable to even make eye contact. He
extricated himself from the embrace and found his way to his bunk, and lay
down, trying to will his body to sleep. 

 He felt Chris sit down on the mattress beside him, and the tentative
touch of the other man's fingers against his arm. Tobias pulled away and
curled himself up as tightly as he could, burying his face behind his
knees, trying to take refuge in the shadows there. Chris whispered
something, but he had already escaped into himself, soundlessly mouthing a
lullaby from his childhood. 

 PART III

 Chris was genuinely frightened. Even after the trauma of witnessing that
boy's death, Tobias hadn't reacted so severely: it was apparent that he
was teetering on the edge. Chris wanted to shake him, demand to know what
Schillinger had done, but knew it would cause irreparable harm to Toby's
mind. He glanced over the familiar lines of his body for new injuries, and
saw none. No broken bones, no seeping lacerations. Maybe they'd tortured
another prisoner in front of him, and he'd had a flashback. No doubt they
were aware of his fragile state of mind and had exploited it. Chris wanted
to pound his fist into something, but instead reclined next to Toby on the
bed and curled an arm around his waist. He was already asleep, and didn't
recoil at the touch. 

 Chris had been drawn to Tobias because of his humanity. Beecher thrived
on punishing himself for having a normal response to extreme
circumstances, an attribute that Chris deeply respected because he himself
lacked it. His understanding of psychology told him that people often
detached themselves during a traumatic experience as a natural defense
mechanism. But as long as he could remember, he'd possessed the rare
ability to disassociate from almost any situation, stressful or not. It
wasn't that he was devoid of emotion, but rather it was as if he could
turn it off at will, particularly when he felt himself losing control. 

 The skill had been harnessed and perfected during his extensive training.
He regarded his sleeping lover with a twinge of guilt. He hadn't been
completely honest with Toby. Sure, he'd once been a mechanic, but that
wasn't the entire picture. He'd enlisted in the army right after his
divorce from Bonnie, but years before any real threat of war. It was
impossible for him to tell the other man about how in the time since then,
he'd been precisely conditioned, and for a specific purpose. He was
capable of resisting almost any method of interrogation or torture, deft
with weaponry that a foot soldier would never lay hands on, could adapt
his behavior to infiltrate almost any group, and disappear from even the
most volatile combat situation. 

 Toby killed on the battlefield with no lingering remorse, and considered
it a curse. Chris was honest enough with himself to recognize that not
only did he lack guilt in such circumstances, but he actually felt a sense
of accomplishment after making a challenging kill. 

 Under strict instructions, he'd taken lives that had posed no threat to
his own, and done so with stealth and efficiency. Toby only knew the chaos
of war. He was a complete stranger to the world of organized death that
Chris was inured to. For that reason, Chris had felt it necessary to allow
Toby to believe that he suffered the vivid flashbacks that accompanied
Shell Shock. In truth, he'd made himself immune to its affects. He
tightened his grasp on the peaceful form beside him, as if he could
somehow absorb the other man's innate ability to empathize. He whispered
an apology, and closed his eyes.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias withdrew a little bit more each day after the rape. Chris'
stalwart devotion somehow made him feel even more tainted and disgraced,
which in turn caused him to recoil further. Desperate to try anything,
Chris eventually decided to give him some space, periodically seeking
refuge in the yard to exercise his frustration away. It was during those
brief respites that Tobias would approach Arnold Jackson - not Ryan
O'Reily - for something to dull his pain. He considered alcohol, but
instead chose morphine because it left no odor on his breath. The high was
less euphoric than he expected, instead giving him a disjointed sensation
that often resulted in him lying on his bunk for hours on end, laughing
softly and singing. Chris was so disturbed when he first saw Toby's
altered state that he walked right up to a German guard and punched him in
the gut. He was soundly beaten as a result, but his plan worked: he was
brought directly to Schillinger.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Schillinger fought hard to disguise his delight when Keller was delivered
to him, battered and seething. He immediately recognized the murderous
intent in the sergeant's eyes and savored his victory. Before he could
devote too much time to contemplating how Keller had discovered the
evidence of Beecher's rape, the captive broke his train of thought.

 "What the fuck did you do to him?" Keller demanded, his voice shaking
with hatred. The question threw Schillinger off guard, who struggled not
to let his disappointment show. He quickly recovered, but felt a blackness
spread inside him.

 "I do not want to spoil it for you" he leered, allowing himself come
satisfaction at the fury his words inspired.

 "You're a twisted sack of shit, and a fucking coward. You didn't have the
balls to go after me directly, so you used Toby instead."

 "You can't blame me, sergeant. You gave me very little satisfaction
during our first visit." Schillinger let the innuendo sneak into his
words. 

 Upon their initial encounter, the major had immediately recognized that
the American was different. After further observation, it became apparent
that he wouldn't be affected by sexual abuse. He could usually pinpoint a
man's weakness, but Keller had been unreadable, which had simultaneously
flummoxed and infuriated him. He'd felt ill at ease in Keller's presence;
he had a demeanor that was alternatively alluring and coldly analytical.
This behavior had shaken Schillinger, who'd never had the tables turned on
him with such ease. Even a week hadn't been enough time to crack the
enigmatic officer's shell, so he'd thrown him in with the other prisoners
in order to study him remotely. Keller was a rare challenge, one that
required patience and understanding. Schillinger was certain that he was
hiding something, and was determined to know what it was, even if it meant
breaking the man open to look inside. He knew he'd have to attack him
obliquely, and Beecher had been the perfect tool for that purpose. 

 "But your boy more than made up for your own inadequacies" he finished,
driving the point home. Keller's eyes widened as realization hit him. 

 "You didn't..." he hissed, frozen with rage.

 "It was a very special moment we shared. I think I may have been his
first, but I left him something that he can always remember me by."

 Keller was on him before he could savor the effect of his revelation. His
head slammed against the floor, and the shock of his attacker's fists
pounding against his face disoriented him. Before he could yell out for
his guards, Keller's hands wrapped around his neck, and tightened
viciously. He felt himself losing consciousness, but couldn't help but be
impressed by the singular determination in the dark blue eyes that glared
down at him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris had lost control, and he hated it. But the second that he began to
choke Schillinger he managed to strip himself of any emotional investment.
His method was quick and efficient, and his victim's struggles weakened as
he gripped him. Before he could finish the job, he heard the door to the
room open behind him. The guards yelled as they ran to the aid of their
major. Chris knew it had been too much to hope that the sound of
Schillinger's body hitting the floor would go unnoticed. He let go before
they started to beat him. They focused most of their blows to his head and
then aimed their weapons to execute him. Schillinger coughed and raised a
hand to stop them.

 "Don't. Put him in the hole" he gasped fiercely. 

 Keller almost fell prey to his emotions again as they pulled him, dizzy
and bleeding, into the corridor. He was stripped, beaten again for pure
amusement and dragged out to a small, corrugated metal box in the yard
behind the barracks. Chris had always assumed that it was used for weapons
storage, but felt a sickening chill at the realization of his error. They
pulled off the top and threw him roughly inside. He sucked in his breath
at the pain of hitting the concrete bottom, and braced himself as the dull
metallic bang of the box being resealed and locked echoed above. Lying
flat, he made an effort to control the tempo of his breathing and heart
rate. There was about three feet of space above him, and less than two on
each side. Small slits for ventilation allowed light to reach him, but he
doubted that it would provide much relief when the sun was at its zenith.
He would be lucky if he wasn't cooked alive. Chris had been trained to
resist sensory deprivation torture, but knew that Schillinger would take a
personal interest in his suffering. All of his skills would have to be
called upon in order for him to survive. As he slowly eased his body into
a state of near-hibernation, he was infused with a deep regret for
attacking the Nazi. In an attempt to avenge Toby's rape - and he was
certain that's what had happened - he'd made his lover even more
vulnerable to Schillinger's whims. 

 CHAPTER 2

 Tobias was on the verge of a panic attack. The gravity of the situation
had sunk in soon after Chris was removed from the barracks. Hours had
passed since then, and as each second ticked by, a cold, oppressive fear
tightened its grip on him. He was certain that whatever the Germans were
subjecting his lover to was even worse than the brutality that he'd been
made to suffer. Tobias had sensed that Schillinger harbored a deep
resentment against Chris, and couldn't decipher how or why it had
originated. But at the moment, the motivations of an insane Nazi major
were less important to him than determining Chris' situation. Unable to
bear the burden of inaction any longer, he pulled himself up and
approached Ryan O'Reily. The private was relieved to see that Beecher had
emerged from his near-catatonic stupor, and gave him his full attention. 

 "O'Reily, I need information" Tobias' voice was thick and weary.

 "Sure thing. We can trade that just as easy as anything else around
here."

 "I've got to know where Chris is and what they're doing to him."

 Ryan winced. There was one favor that he'd been praying that Beecher
wouldn't ask, and that was it. The solidarity amongst the Germans was
remarkably strong. Any knowledge that existed outside the prisoner
grapevine was fiercely protected, and almost impossible to acquire without
the use of discreet and continuous observation. Despite his and Arnold's
best efforts, the condition of the prisoners who hadn't yet been returned
to the rest of the population was still unknown. He had no reason to
believe that his luck in tracing Keller's whereabouts would be any better.


 "That's gonna be tough. I can tell you right now that the Nazis ain't
exactly broadcasting that info. But I'll see what I can do" he patted his
squadmate on the shoulder in reassurance. 

 Tobias recognized it as a platitude, but knew that O'Reily would try as
hard as he could to satisfy the request. He nodded his thanks and started
back towards the familiar comfort of his bunk. Before he could get there,
Robson inserted his bulky form in Tobias' path. His expression was so
similar to Schillinger's predatory stare that Beecher had to force himself
to repress a shudder. 

 "You look lonely without your boyfriend around" Robson tried to bait him
with a sneer. "Need someone to keep you company?"

 "Go fuck yourself" Tobias' response was as deadpan as his face.

 "No need to be antisocial, Beecher. I'm just trying to be supportive. Who
knows what they're doin' to him right now" he saw Tobias' lips tighten and
continued, "Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if he found a way out by
using that mouth of his."

 "I always thought you were a prick, Robson. But I never suspected you
were such a cunt" Beecher enunciated carefully, sticking his jaw out as he
stepped forward. Robson wasn't expecting the threatening posture, but
didn't show it. 

 "Looks like you've got a mouth too. Better watch that." 

 "Is that a threat, Private?" 

 The heightened volume in Beecher's voice drew the attention of a few
nearby prisoners. The possibility of a confrontation was a welcome break
in the tedium, and they were all surprised to see the corporal emerge from
behind Keller's shadow as an intimidating presence in his own right. They
oriented themselves for a better view. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Augustus Hill was engaged in a conversation with Arnold Jackson. While in
the process of writing his chronicle of POW life, Hill had noticed Jackson
exhibit some interest. He'd let the man read a few chapters, after which
Arnold had voiced his admiration and nervously handed Augustus a few
crumpled sheets of paper with a frenetically-paced poetry scrawled on
them. Hill prided himself on being open-minded and non-judgmental, but was
slightly ashamed to learn that he had significantly underestimated his
peer's literary ability, having previously dismissed him as simply
brooding and ambitious. He was floored by the other man's raw talent and
unorthodox style, and immediately suggested that the poems be incorporated
into his novel. This had pleased Jackson immensely, and inspired him to
spend any time that he didn't devote to maintaining the stalag's trade
network penning new compositions. Augustus was excited by the idea of
collecting the thoughts of other prisoners, and had immediately approached
his respected superior, Sergeant Truman, about the possibility of a
contribution to his book. Truman had produced a smile of genuine
enthusiasm, and admitted that he had more than a few tales of spiritual
growth that he wanted to share. Hill was in the process of relating this
news to Jackson when they became aware of raised voices and a small crowd
that had gathered on the other side of the room. Out of curiosity, both
men moved closer for a better view. In the middle of the crowd stood
Tobias Beecher and James Robson, only inches apart, faces twisted in
anger. Neither man said a word, but it was apparent that they were both a
hair's width from violence. Augustus still felt a connection to Tobias
because of their similar experiences in the arena of romance -
particularly when it came to braving society's disapproval. So it was
without any hesitation that he pushed his way through the wall of bodies
and placed himself between the two opponents.

 "What's going on, Tobias?" his voice was stern and his gaze never left
Robson's face. The simple act of defiance succeeded in enraging the
aggressor even further.

 "Since when do you need a nigger to fight your battles for you, Beecher?"

 "Say that again, and I'll rip your throat out" Tobias hissed, pale blue
eyes like ice. The tension in the room hummed like electricity. 

 "Does Keller know he's sharing you with little black Sambo?" 

 Hill barely managed to stop Tobias from grabbing Robson, taking the full
force of the enraged corporal's lunging body. The wind was knocked out of
him, but he kept his footing, bracing himself against the floor and
holding Beecher back. He didn't have to raise his voice to keep the men
separated, as the riot that erupted between the white and black prisoners
engulfed them.

 It only took a few moments for the Nazi soldiers to rush into the room,
weapons ready. None of the prisoners had seen their captors employ so many
men before and instantly froze in place. They were overtaken almost
immediately - those who didn't drop to the floor in submission were beaten
there. Amidst screams of pain and confusion, Hill managed to find Tobias,
who was on his knees trying to staunch a gushing nose bleed. Hill yanked
at his arm and strained to pull him from the center of the melee. As the
two men scrambled over their aching limbs to a corner of the barracks, the
brawl began to die down. Metzger stood silently in the doorway, surveying
the aftermath.

 "Who's responsible for this?" he demanded.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Beecher tensed, but all eyes instinctively fell on Robson. Apparently the
man's aggressive demeanor hadn't won him much loyalty. Metzger nodded his
head in Robson's direction, and he was swiftly removed from the room,
struggling and cursing. Tobias finally allowed himself to breathe as the
Germans exited, leaving a throng of bruised and bloodied men in their
wake. He'd succeeded in stopping the blood flow with the end of his shirt
while trying to determine whether or not his nose was broken. He was
feeling the familiar itch for a hit of morphine when the sight of O'Reily
attempting to navigate through the crowd slapped him with guilt. Chris
could be gravely injured, or worse, and all he could think about was
satisfying his appetites. Tobias stared at the floor as Ryan came up to
him.

 "Jesus, what the hell happened here?" the Irishman asked incredulously.

 "Robson opened his mouth and started a fucking riot." 

 "Shit. I knew he'd get the crap kicked out of him one day for shooting it
off to the wrong guy." 

 "Yeah. You're lucky you weren't around. Did you find anything out?"
Tobias cut to the chase, hoping to steer his thoughts away from what had
just happened. 

 "You're in luck, Beecher. Seems like your boy got the Krauts more riled
up than usual... they threw him in solitary."

 "What? Where's that?" 

 "That's the million dollar question. You know, with the missing prisoners
and all..." O'Reily saw the look of panic on Beecher's face and rushed to
reassure him, "Don't worry, my sources say that he's alive. Right now
we're trying to figure out where they've got him hidden."

 "I don't even want to think about it." Tobias moaned, turning a sickly
shade of white. He instantly forgot the pulsing pain in the bridge of his
nose.

 "Then don't. Or at least try not to... I've got this covered."

 "Please Ryan, I've got to know how bad he is" Beecher implored, voice
forceful.

 "Relax, corporal. This is what I do best" Ryan grinned. He left the
barracks fueled by a sense of purpose, his strides confident. Augustus
pulled himself up next to Tobias and looked at his swelling face. 

 "I'd tell you to put some ice on that, but I doubt even Ryan could find
some for ya" he sighed. It had been hot the last few days, but the air was
still heavy with heat despite the fact that the sun had set. No one
doubted that it would only get worse. Tobias sighed and nodded in
agreement, silently hoping that "solitary" was someplace dark and cool. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris managed to keep panic at bay throughout the night, as he drifted in
and out of sleep. He had pressed his body up against one of the slits, and
was able to gulp in some of the night air. It was still warm with the
lingering heat of the sun, but he knew it would quickly get worse at the
break of dawn, and breathed in as much as he could. He'd hoped that he'd
dream of Toby, but because of his restless night, he wasn't able to dream
at all. Focusing his mind on his lover was calming, despite the faint,
gnawing fear that he'd never see him again. But Chris wasn't the type of
person to allow such thoughts cripple him, instead using it to fuel his
determination to survive. He imagined Toby's face flashing with an
unguarded smile, his clear blue eyes bright with affection. A sudden sense
of melancholy seeped into him as he realized how long it had been since
he'd seen Toby that happy. Chris winced. Schillinger had succeeded in
damaging what he loved most about Toby. The thought filled Chris with
revulsion and fury, but he was too exhausted to react. He seethed alone in
silence as the first light of sunrise peaked though the slits in the
metal. Minutes and hours blurred together as the temperature rose, and
soon he lay panting on the concrete, careful not to touch the scalding
steel that surrounded him. Sweat rolled off his body and he fought to suck
in enough oxygen from the thick atmosphere. His mind began to flash in and
out of consciousness before he finally fell into the world of garish
shapes and colors that closed in on him.

 He was back in the room where they had first brought him upon his arrival
at the stalag. Major Schillinger's face was so close to his own that the
man's features were even more fishlike than usual. His eyes were bulging
and distorted as he spoke, his voice tense with anger. He prowled around
the chair where Chris was tied, and studied him intensely.

 "You think you're in control here?" he asked, backhanding his captive
across the face. "You're shit!"

 "Then why the fuck are you so obsessed with me?" Chris asked defiantly,
mouth stained with blood.

 "I know that you aren't one of Murphy's men" Schillinger growled at him.

 Chris slowly licked the blood from his lips and languidly readjusted
himself in the chair as if the beating was a minor inconvenience. The
German's observation had thrown him off-guard, but he didn't show it.
Chris decided that it was too risky to continue with the operation as
originally planned, so he decided to make a few adjustments. Results would
take longer, but he had no other choice. He had to roll with the punches. 

 "Suck my dick" he grinned, refusing to break the gaze he held with his
captor. Schillinger lunged forward and proceeded to beat him into
unconsciousness.

 Chris struggled to open his eyelids as a screeching metallic noise
pierced though the fog in his mind. He was back in the present. He heard a
tray being slid across the rough concrete floor, and repositioned himself
to see what it was. A bowl of what looked like water, and a slice of
bread. Luckily, it was within reach of his right rand, and he was able to
pull the food close enough to his mouth to eat it. The water was warm, but
he had to will himself not to gulp it down too quickly, instead letting
the sweet liquid trickle past his dry lips and down his throat. After
finishing, he pushed the tray back where they'd put it in, and fell into a
deep sleep, lacking the energy and willpower for anything else. 

 CHAPTER 3

 Tobias could sense that Hill, O'Reily and Murphy were concerned about
him, but he didn't care. He'd felt guilty whenever he injected himself
with a syrette, and so had resolved to stop abusing morphine. But his body
was rebelling against the decision, and he lay on his bed, bathed in a
cold sweat. He knew that the pain he felt likely couldn't hold a candle to
what Chris was enduring, but still he felt his willpower eroding. Glancing
around the room for something to take his mind off the cravings, he
spotted Sergeant Truman kneeling in a corner, figurines placed in front of
him, eyes closed in prayer. Tobias had been raised Christian like every
other white-bread kid in America, but he'd never really taken the
teachings of the church to heart. It had just seemed like anything else
that was expected of him - he learned and practiced it by rote, but it
held no greater meaning. Watching the quietly rapturous expression on
Truman's face, he couldn't help but wish that he could find the same peace
in his life Since coming to the stalag, he'd lacked the sense of purpose
that military life had given him. He'd always been the kind of person who
thrived on structure, which was part of the reason why he found it so
difficult to pull himself out of depression. In contrast, Chris could find
purpose in any situation, even a chaotic one. That ability was doubtless
what was keeping him sane in solitary. And it was also one of the reasons
that Tobias loved him. *What the hell*, Beecher thought as he swung his
legs over the side of his mattress and began to walk towards Truman. *If
religion can't help me beat this habit, at least it'll keep me busy.* 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Hauptmann Metzger used his rare time alone to complete paperwork. The
logistics of running a stalag was a delicate matter, and he took great
pride in making sure that the records were kept as clean as possible.
Little more than a signature from Schillinger was required to finish the
heavy workload, and for that, Metzger was pleased. He didn't begrudge
having to do it himself. Otherwise, he was certain it would never get
completed at all. He tapped his pen on his desk and drifted into thought. 

 Although he'd never give any indication of it, he disliked the man who'd
been recently placed above him. Schillinger had a reputation for getting
results by any means necessary, and that ruthless ambition had allowed him
to secure the coveted position he was now occupying. But Metzger, a man
who wasted none of his energy on unnecessary words or actions, felt
nothing but distaste for the indulgences he knew that his superior was
secretly partaking in. He could care less that the behavior was a blatant
violation of the Geneva Convention: what unsettled him was the fact that
Schillinger's games were simply entertainment for his bloated ego, and
would likely backfire against him. By keeping some of his pets alive
rather than disposing of them, he just created more enemies. 

 It was a lapse in logic that infuriated Metzger, and shaped his own
agenda to expose the major as the incompetent hedonist that he was. He
intended his plan to be as simple as possible, and would have preferred to
keep the players involved to a bare minimum, but the American soldier who
had offered himself as an ally presented too great an opportunity to
refuse. It had been difficult to meet with the man without alerting
Schillinger, but now that the Judas had been removed from the prison
population, Metzger would have an opportunity to get everything that he
needed from him. Knowledge was power, and an invaluable commodity that he
planned to have sole possession of. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 They'd brought Chris a single cup of water on every one of the five days
he'd spent in solitary, and no solid food following the meager helping of
bread they'd given him on the first morning - but he wasn't even capable
of contemplating his predicament. As time dragged on, he began to
recognize that his body was feeling the effects of starvation, and
concentrated on achieving a near-comatose state in order to conserve every
ounce of energy left in him. Because of this, he was blessedly unaware of
his surroundings. The agony of the heat would have tempted anyone else
with madness. His mind was still torpid when they gripped his limp,
unresponsive body and hoisted him out of the box. He felt weightless, like
he was floating, as they moved him in the cover of night. Their voices
seeped through into his brain only intermittently, and the words seemed
like gibberish. The motion caused him to gag and he heaved bitter stomach
acid onto the ground, but wasn't aware of doing it. He'd been weak before,
almost hallucinating from fatigue, but this was completely different; his
body didn't scream in protest - it was silent. Instinctively, he knew that
he was near death. He didn't utter a sound when they deposited him on a
worn cot, but let out a stifled moan as they slowly trickled water over
his mouth. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias had finally found peace, kneeling silently in prayer, letting
Sergeant Truman's deep, confident voice pacify him. When he'd first
approached Truman more than a week earlier, the other man had met him with
a scrutinizing gaze and silence, but not outright refusal. Not one to be
easily discouraged, Tobias stayed in the officer's company, and resolutely
studied his spiritual routine. Truman was at first aggravated by the
corporal's presence, but found it easier to simply ignore him. Acceptance
was soon to follow. He hadn't said many words to his informal protg, but
for some reason Truman suddenly felt the need to articulate the thoughts
that had been brewing inside him for days.

 "Are you here to atone for your sins?" 

 "Isn't that why everyone prays?" Tobias responded, raising an eyebrow
wryly.

 '"Some people simply want to speak with God. Undoubtedly you are fueled
by guilt."

 "I know I've turned self-flagellation into an art form, but most people
feel guilty when they kill someone." 

 It wasn't quite the answer that Truman was expecting, and he couldn't
help but allow his eyes to widen. 

 "Every man here is expected to kill in order to protect his people and
his way of life. Our actions are self-defense in the simplest definition
of the term. I'm referring to your insistence on having a sexual
relationship with another man."

 Tobias smirked and shook his head. He'd suspected what Truman's viewpoint
on his relationship with Keller was, but he hadn't thought the man would
be so upfront about it. 

 "I don't regret that I love Chris. I'll never apologize for it, not even
to the Almighty. I'm thankful for it."

 "I can't listen to this..." Truman began, sitting back on his haunches. 

 "No, don't you walk away. You'd have me repent and deny the one thing
that gives my life meaning, and I can't do that. Chris fulfills that same
need in me that God does for you."

 "That's blasphemy, Corporal Beecher" came the heated reply.

 "No, it's not. Think about it. We're all selfish creatures when you get
right down to it. Christianity itself is a selfish religion."

 Truman began to interrupt, but Tobias barreled on, ignoring him. 

 "Salvation, an afterlife in heaven with God... that's a selfish ambition.
When you're 'good', when you go to church and pray, you're rewarded with a
sense of accomplishment. If you're one of the lucky few who truly
experiences spiritual rapture, science says that feeling is biochemically
identical to the euphoria of love - nothing more. I'd do anything for
Chris. I'd sacrifice my life for him, and I know you'd do the same for
your beliefs. But I'm not going to pretend that I don't crave the
sensation that loving him gives me. Don't delude yourself, either."

 "Don't lecture me about delusions" the sergeant's voice was thin.

 "I'm not lecturing. I've got no doubt that you truly love God. But I
can't believe that you've ever really loved another human being."

 Truman was about to argue Tobias' presumptuous declaration when O'Reily
rushed up to them, out of breath and visibly excited. 

 "Beecher! We got one of 'em to spill! They're keeping Chris in that big
metal box in the back of the yard. He's been in there for more than a
week, and they haven't brought him food in days. We went out there and
banged on it, but there's no response. It's too dark to see inside..."
Ryan raced, his eyes wild. He tugged on Tobias' sleeve, but he didn't
move. He was frozen in panic. 

 "I'm sorry, Corporal Beecher. I'll pray for you" Truman said quietly.

 "Pray for Chris." Tobias managed to choke out, getting to his feet.
Without even thinking about it, he proceeded to directly contradict the
speech on humanity's innate selfishness that he'd just given Truman. He
turned to O'Reily, features grim.

 "I've got to speak to Schillinger."

 "And do what? He'll try to kill you too." 

 "I don't fucking care. I've got no other choice" Beecher almost yelled at
him. Ryan regarded his companion with disbelief and respect. He knew that
he'd never be able to talk him out of it.

 "Lets go get the guards." 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Schillinger almost couldn't believe his good fortune. Things were
seemingly falling into place on their own accord, without his provocation
or encouragement. It was a rare case of luck, and he wasn't above reveling
in it. Keller had been close to death when they retrieved him; severely
dehydrated, heartbeat irregular. The physician had declared that his
organs were on the verge of shutting down, and he needed to be immediately
transferred to the infirmary. The major had ignored the medical advice,
but made all efforts to see that the sergeant was kept alive. He was
weaned slowly, graduating from water to more nourishing liquids like milk,
then to small quantities of soft food. His stomach rejected it at first,
but he was too disoriented to protest. Enough time had passed that he was
now able to sit upright and spoon himself some raw porridge. His eyes were
still glassy, hooded by weighted lids. He hadn't yet uttered a word,
evidently still reeling from his ordeal. Keller was hunched over table,
silently bringing some tepid sludge to his lips when Schillinger was
informed that Corporal Beecher was demanding to see him. He had to take a
moment to compose himself. The timing couldn't have been better if he had
personally orchestrated it. Nodding to his subordinate, he left Keller in
the spare room, and made his way to where they had brought Beecher.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias was frantic with fear and anger. He could feel the vein on his
forehead throbbing as he paced the room, hands clenched. The guards that
accompanied him stood back and gave him berth to move. Metzger stood
quietly in the corner, waiting for his commanding officer to arrive. When
Schillinger finally entered, homely face twisted in a smirk, the corporal
almost lost control. He strode towards his enemy, and stopped only inches
from him.

 "Where is he?" Tobias growled, jaw tight. He was almost lightheaded with
rage, and had lost any fear of the man who had raped him. Tobias knew that
this wouldn't escape Schillinger, and wasn't surprised when he attempted
to reclaim his psychological advantage.

 "Why would I tell you anything? There's nothing you can give me that I
haven't already taken from you." 

 Tobias flinched only slightly at the barb, his eyes still flashing with
anger. He was silent for a moment, desperately trying to think of a
bargaining chip that he could use. When it came to him, the answer seemed
so obvious it was almost unthinkable. But, he was resolved to sacrifice
anything for Chris, and so didn't hesitate to cross a line that most men
wouldn't dare to approach. O'Reily and Murphy would likely never look at
him again if they knew what he was about to say.

 "I've become acquainted with some powerful men in the barracks. British
and American commanding officers. I can get information from them...
anything that you want to know" he uttered with a calm that most men
committing treason would lack. Schillinger responded with a laugh that
made Tobias shudder.

 "My poor, na*ve boy. I already have an informant." 

 Metzger's head snapped in the major's direction as the words left his
mouth. Beecher was just as stunned by the revelation, and dutifully
followed Schillinger as the man ordered him out into the corridor. They
walked only a few paces before the Nazi stopped, and wordlessly opened a
door that led to a small room. Inside, Keller sat at the table, eating,
oblivious to the horrified stare of his lover. Tobias felt the blood drain
from his face as the image slowly began to register. The major closed the
door again and turned to face the man he'd just demolished.

 "I've answered your question. This is where Sergeant Keller is. Is there
anything else you would like to know before we take you back to the
barracks?"

 Tobias shook his head slowly, and didn't utter a word as the guards took
him by the arms and escorted him out of the building.

 CHAPTER 4

 Metzger was furious. After Major Schillinger had led Beecher out of the
room, the hauptmann left without being dismissed, seeking refuge in the
quiet of his office. Once inside, he stood frozen in the center of the
floor, wishing that he could throw the contents of his desk against the
opposing wall without alerting others to his anger. The American had
promised that he would work with him exclusively. Evidently, the bastard
had been supplying Schillinger with information as well. Metzger grit his
teeth and swore heavily under his breath. He'd been an idiot to trust a
man who would betray his own country. It was too much to hope that he'd
been made privy to news that hadn't reached his rival's ears as well. The
advantage he once prized so greatly had evaporated. He intended to
confront the American about it. And maybe get some satisfaction out of a
bleak situation.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 O'Reily rushed to Beecher's side as soon as he was brought back in,
relieved to see that he hadn't been injured out of retribution for his
bold demand. However, the man that returned looked like death itself, and
Ryan began to wonder if the corporal really had escaped punishment.

 "Jesus Beecher, are you alright?"

 "Leave me the fuck alone" Tobias responded, voice dull. Ryan stopped in
his tracks and gaped as Beecher lurched to his bunk and fell back onto it,
evidently determined to repeat the cycle of despair that he'd so recently
succeeded in escaping. The Irishman debated following his friend, but
decided against it, opting to go alert Murphy instead. 

 Tobias knew that he'd soon be accosted by his companions, but he couldn't
bring himself to care. He couldn't get the image of Chris out of his head;
how he'd just sat there, relaxed, enjoying a meal, refusing to even look
at him. Tobias was beyond feeling deceived. A cold acceptance washed over
him as everything fell into place. The embraces, the tender words of
comfort, simple acts of kindness, hours of intimate conversation... they'd
obviously just been a way for Keller to get close to him. The fact that
the sergeant had used sex to seal the deal made Tobias want to gag with
shame and disgust. How could he have been so easy? His neediness had made
him the ideal target. Hot tears began to burn his eyes as he lay seething.
The shame he'd felt at Schillinger's rape now seemed almost laughable in
comparison. The very thought that he'd wanted Chris to be his first was
now wincingly painful to contemplate. It was obvious why he'd been chosen
as a patsy instead of a man of higher rank and access to sensitive
information, like Truman or Murphy. He was close enough to them to have
their confidence, but unlike them, would willingly bend over and take it
up the ass. He buried his face in his hands and suppressed a scream. He'd
spent the entire week in agony over Chris, only to find that the fucker
had been a Nazi VIP the entire time. He needed a hit of morphine. Then he
wouldn't have to recall the sensation of Chris' gentle lips, able hands or
joyful smile... any the reminders that he was still in love with the
memory of the man who'd betrayed him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris had never possessed a weak constitution. However, he still hadn't
completely regained mental and physical equilibrium, despite finally
having the strength to feed himself. He knew that Schillinger wouldn't
nurse him back to health without an ulterior motive, but was too famished
to care. His survival instincts took precedence. Chris had recovered
enough to be under no imminent threat of death, but his mind was still
clouded and dull, and he found it difficult to concentrate on more than
one task at a time. When the German major had intruded into the quiet of
his small room, he'd been too engrossed in the process of eating -
something that he was unlikely to take for granted any time soon - to
notice that another man was standing behind Schillinger. The strange visit
lasted only a matter of moments, and when the door was closed again, he
hardly gave it a second thought before plunging back into the thick
helping of oatmeal. After finishing, Chris lay down on the small cot that
had been supplied to him and fell into a deep, recuperative sleep. When
the creak of the door woke him, he had no idea how long he'd been out. He
blinked and strained to sit as Schillinger walked towards him, face
displaying a satisfied smirk. Immediately, Chris was wide awake. He
recognized it as a sign that didn't bode well for him. 

 "I wanted to come here in person and extend my thanks to you, Sergeant
Keller. You played your part to perfection" the major grinned in a manner
that reminded his captive of a barracuda.

 "What?" Chris asked, trying to make sense of the strange remark.
Schillinger ignored him and kept talking.

 "But, I fear that you no longer serve any purpose. In fact, you've become
a liability, really. I'm glad you enjoyed that meal. It was your last." 

 Keller bolted upright as the Nazi pulled his pistol from its holster and
pointed it directly at his face. He had been trained to survive graver
situations than this, and didn't intend to go out with a whimper. A vivid
image of Toby's smiling face flashed in his mind, and he blurted out the
first thing that came to him.

 "You're being betrayed."

 Schillinger's aim wavered, but he kept his weapon pointed at its target.

 "Stall tactics" he stated, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his
voice that Keller immediately recognized, and took advantage of. 

 "A double-agent. Very close to you" Chris announced with all the
authority he could muster, keeping his stare calm and assured. He studied
the German's reaction, and detected evidence of confusion and anger.

 "But there is no spy" Schillinger spoke almost inaudibly, unable to
reconcile that the lies he'd told to manipulate others had actually held a
grain of truth. "Prove it!" he yelled, cocking the gun.

 "Now why would I just hand my chips over to you, Major? Give me some
credit."

 Schillinger considered his options, despite the overwhelming urge to blow
the arrogant American's head clean off his shoulders. In the end, he
decided that he could get both the information and the satisfaction. He
would just have to exercise some patience. He took a deep breath and
hesitantly lowered his weapon.

 "What do you want?"

 "Your guarantee that I'll be returned to the barracks, unharmed. I want
protection for Beecher as well. I should kill you for what you did to him"
Keller hissed, his eyes piercing his enemy, "but that wouldn't do either
of us any good, would it?"

 "Fine. You and your boy will be safe. Now tell me what you know."

 "Nice try. You'll know what I want you to know only when I want you to
know it" Chris smirked, savoring the fury in Schillinger's glare. "Right
now, I'll tell you this: your man's working with an American who has been
feeding him valuable information behind your back."

 "You" the reply was strangled with hatred. The German raised his weapon
again.

 "Now, now. Don't jump the gun. It's not me. It's Private First Class
Robson" Chris paused, letting the information sink in. 

 "How do I know you're not lying?" Schillinger snarled, furious that such
a plot could have been carried out under his radar.

 "There's only one way for me to prove this to you without exposing my
hand. Follow Robson. He'll meet up with your man sooner or later, and you
can catch them both red-handed" Chris pushed, studying the other man's
reaction.

 "If you're lying to me, I'll kill both you and Beecher." Schillinger
stated plainly.

 "I know."

 This answer seemed to satisfy the German, who finally returned his
revolver to its place at his side. He called out to his guards, who
quickly entered the room and flanked Keller to escort him back to the
barracks. Chris was warmed by the prospect of reuniting with Toby after
more than a week of separation. But he couldn't shake the sickening fear
that he'd put his lover's life in danger by making a deal with the devil.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias knew that Keller was back in the barracks without even having to
turn over to face the entrance. The hush of reverence that came over his
fellow prisoners was an immediate indicator. Slowly, with an almost morbid
interest, he rolled himself over and stared at the small entourage that
had entered the building. His instincts were right. The familiar lines of
the sergeant's body that had so recently provoked feelings of both lust
and adoration in him now elicited disgust and anger. One glance confirmed
his fears; the man looked alert and healthy. Not what you'd expect from
someone who had spent the last week clinging to life in a small metal box.
Tobias grit his teeth and clenched his palms, which had broken out in a
cold sweat. More than anything, he wanted to leap across the room and
attack the face that was now staring at him with a hint of both
apprehension and shame. But, he refused to give the other soldiers the
satisfaction of such a display. When he confronted Keller, he didn't want
it to be in front of a jeering audience. Tobias exhaled deeply and turned
over, giving the bastard a good look at his back. He heard the guards
leave, and Keller's rushed footsteps approach is bunk. He refused to
react.

 "Baby, are you okay?" the concern in the sergeant's voice seemed to mock
him, "Are you sick or something?"

 Keller reached to place a hand on Tobias' forehead, but the man flinched
away as if burned by fire. 

 "Fuck off" Beecher managed to keep his voice steady and cold. The hand
froze inches from him, and a tense silence followed.

 "Tobe, what is it?" Chris whispered. Tobias ignored him, staring at a
nonexistent spot on the wall facing him. Chris said his name again, this
time in a tone that would have ripped Beecher's heart out if it hadn't
already been broken. When he was met by nothing but further silence,
Keller released a ragged sigh and walked away from the bed. Part of Tobias
wanted the man to come back, just so that he could revel in dispensing
more guilt. But, since Keller had never actually loved him, he wouldn't be
burdened by any pain or remorse.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Keller was in a daze as he left his lover's side. He did the only thing
that seemed logical, and sought out other familiar faces in the crowd.
O'Reily and Murphy found him before he had a chance to spot them. Both had
witnessed the sergeant's rejection, and were curious about what had been
the cause of Beecher's unexpected behavior.

 "Is everything alright, Keller?" Ryan asked cautiously, trying not to
pour any salt on the wound. He and Murphy exchanged worried glances as
Chris blinked and stared straight ahead.

 "I don't know..." he finally replied, voice like sandpaper. He focused
his gaze on the private, face grim. "Did they take Toby away while I was
gone? Was he tortured again?"

 "No. Things were pretty uneventful around here. Well, Beecher got into a
fight with Robson. A riot started, but Metzger was in here before things
got too bad. He pulled Robson out and we haven't seen him since. Not that
anyone's complaining."

 Keller's stomach almost dropped through to his feet. Ryan's news made him
forget his woes over Beecher's rebuff. The other men saw the color drain
from his face and grew concerned.

 "Does Schillinger know that Robson's been taken out of the barracks?"
Keller asked urgently.

 "He'd have to, wouldn't he?" Murphy responded, confused by the sergeant's
line of questioning. Chris' mind was in overdrive, trying to anticipate
how that major would react when he inevitably discovered that Robson
couldn't be shadowed because he was being held elsewhere. Based on
Schillinger's almost pathological need for control, it seemed safe to
assume that he'd discover who had quarantined the man, and draw the
inevitable conclusion. But that was dependent upon the German possessing
some level of intelligence. Keller winced. Events had already been set in
motion, and it was too late to redirect them. He'd have to step back and
hope for the best - something that he'd always had trouble doing. He
wasn't a passive individual. 

 "Are you sure that you're alright?" O'Reily intruded upon his thoughts.
"We found out how they had you in solitary. Beecher fuckin' flipped out
this morning when I told him. You should have seen the guards' faces when
he demanded to see Schillinger. It was like he had a death wish or
something."

 Chris turned sharply to stare at the Irishman, taken off guard by his
comment. 

 "You knew where they were keeping me?"

 "Yeah, it took forever but we finally managed to bribe one of the guards.
I think Beecher feared the worst. To be honest, I thought you were dead
when he came back in here a few hours ago, looking like ten pounds of shit
in a five-pound bag. He's hardly said a word since. I thought he'd be over
the moon when you came back through that door." 

 "We're surprised, to say the least" Murphy agreed, sympathy in his voice.
Keller hardly heard him, preoccupied with trying to figure out what could
have turned Tobias against him so quickly and so radically. Like a flash,
he realized that Ryan had never succeeded in bribing a guard, but was
instead given the false impression that he had. The guard had deliberately
fed him information that Schillinger wanted Toby to have. A deep chill ran
through Chris as the German's earlier words - "you played your part to
perfection" - finally made sense. He let out a deep groan. O'Reily and
Murphy could only stare in bewilderment as Chris bolted back towards his
lover without a word of explanation.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Metzger hadn't rushed to confront Robson about his duplicity, instead
opting to bide his time until he was certain that Schillinger was
preoccupied with his two favorite pets. He had been keeping the American
in a simple room not far from his own quarters, and made sure that he was
supplied with basic amenities. It was important that the private wasn't
given any indication that his deceit had been discovered, but it was just
as vital that he wasn't provided with treatment that could be considered
too preferential by questioning eyes. Their prior dealings had to remain a
secret. The information that Robson had given him was invaluable. Right
before his capture, the American had seen strategic intelligence -
including maps and decoded commands - while inside the Ally's hidden
headquarters in Vallauris. Forces stationed in Italy were preparing to
convene with the forces from Normandy in late August under General Jacques
Leclerc. That was only a week away. The strategy was admittedly brilliant,
and one that could mean a vital victory for Germany's enemies. By
notifying his superiors, the hauptmann would be guaranteed significant
advancement. Metzger was careful not to be observed as he entered Robson's
room, closing the door behind him. The traitor looked up at him with an
expression of sullen petulance, which immediately made the German's blood
boil.

 "What the hell is the meaning of this, Metzger? How many days are you
planning on keeping me in here? Are you protecting your investment, or
your boss' plaything? I wouldn't have hurt Beecher too badly" he smirked
with self-satisfaction.

 Metzger regarded him coldly with a disquieting silence. Eventually,
Robson began to fidget under the intense scrutiny.

 "What?" he asked accusingly. The hauptmann's carefully maintained veneer
ruptured.

 "I should kill you right now, you waste of skin. We had an agreement!"

 As the last words left his mouth, the door swung open, and Schillinger
entered. Time slowed, as if he was in some kind of bad dream, unable to
retrieve the damning statement he'd made, or even concoct an excuse to
save him. Metzger just stood, dumbfounded, unable to believe that his
carefully orchestrated plan had come crashing down around him. How could
his superior have known? He'd been so careful not to be followed. He
looked at Robson, and something inside him snapped. Metzger pulled his gun
and rushed towards the stunned American, who was unable to utter a single
word before a bullet hit him above his left eye. The hauptmann had only a
second to savor the man's death before a sharp pain tore through his back.
As the weight of his body collapsed to the floor, he realized with a vague
indifference that his spinal column had been severed by Schillinger's
steady aim. But he didn't really care, because there was no pain as the
darkness crept over him and the world faded away.

 CHAPTER 8

 Tobias saw Chris coming towards him and decided to make a preemptive
move. Without giving him a second glance, he got up from his cot and
walked out of the building, deliberately leading the other man to the
yard, which was essentially deserted. When he was sure that Chris had
trailed him out behind the barracks, he stopped and waited for the
inevitable confrontation. He was ready.

 "Toby, wait... I don't know what they told you -" Chris pleaded as he
approached.

 "Shut up. I don't want to fucking hear it. They didn't tell me anything.
I saw you with my own eyes. I should go back in there right now tell the
others how you're a traitor. They'd rip you apart." 

 "When exactly did you see me?" Chris pressed. It just provoked Tobias
further. 

 "You're a talented actor, but there's no way you could have missed me
standing there right next to Schillinger. Nice try, though." Beecher
hissed back at him. A look of pained realization spread over Chris'
haggard expression. 

 "Tobe, I swear... I wasn't in my right mind. I had no idea there was
anyone else in the room with that bastard They starved me for days and
then started feeding me. I couldn't understand why the fuck they were
doing it, but I didn't care. All I could think about was eating." 

 "That's such bullshit. Everyone had misgivings about you from the
beginning, but of course, I wanted to believe that you actually gave a
fuck about me. Hell, even Schillinger practically said you were a spy
right before he raped me."

 Chris bent forward and put his hands on his knees. His entire body seemed
to be vibrating with rage, but when he raised his head, Tobias saw that
his eyes were red and moist. 

 "I didn't want to believe it. He hinted at what he'd done to you, but I
still held out some hope..."

 "You want fucking proof?" Beecher yelled as he turned his back to the
other man, and yanked his trousers down far enough for the raw, burned
flesh to be exposed. The morphine in his blood didn't fully dull the pain,
and he winced as his hand grazed the swastika.

 "Jesus Christ." Chris' eyes widened, and he began to pace like a caged
animal, choked with rage. 

 "Stop pretending to give a shit. It's pathetic. I want to fucking puke
when I think of how you whored yourself out to get close to me. You're
nothing more than a male Mata Hari."

 "You think I'd actually blow someone in the name of international
espionage?" Keller was both hurt and disbelieving. Tobias seemed to falter
for a moment. He tried to regain some composure, quieting his anger and
regarding Chris with as little emotion as possible.

 "Give me proof."

 The simple request hung in the air between them, and the two men stared
at each other silently until Keller finally spoke.

 "There was a spy, Toby. It was Robson. He was working with Metzger behind
Schillinger's back. That Nazi fuck was going to shoot me, so I struck a
deal with him. Right now, he's likely discovering that his second in
command betrayed him. But if Metzger finds away to avoid getting caught...
I'm dead."

 Tobias considered Chris' words carefully. If the man was telling the
truth, then an obvious conclusion could be drawn by anyone who understood
the way that Schillinger's mind worked.

 "And then I'm as good as dead, aren't I?" Tobias knew that the major
would have no reason to keep him around if he couldn't be used as a weapon
against Chris. 

 Chris nodded morosely, and sighed. At least Toby was acting rationally
now.

 "I'm sorry, I had no choice. He said he'd kill you, too. I took a big
risk, but it was the only way I could save the both of us."

 "I can't believe you fucking used my life as a bargaining chip!"

 "You're welcome. And no need to apologize. Being accused of treason by
your lover is nothing, especially after a week's worth of torture" Chris
clenched his jaw, suddenly infuriated by Toby's petulance.

 "Well, it's not like I didn't have reason. How honest have you been with
me Chris? I still get the feeling that you're keeping some things to
yourself. Like, what happened to your platoon in Auribeau?" Toby deflected
the jibe, taking a tentative step forward. "I don't want it to be that way
between us..." 

 His eyes still betrayed an injured trust that was unlikely to be healed
by placating words alone. Chris' gut clenched up. The other man had asked
the question that he'd been dreading. He looked down at the grass, unable
to maintain eye contact.

 "Toby, you have to understand... there are some things that I just can't
tell you. For your own safety."

 "What the hell does that mean?"

 "Please, don't ask me..."

 "Okay then. I won't. I think that this makes us about even. We don't owe
each other anything else" Tobias kept his voice calm as he turned to
leave. When Chris reached out to grab his arm, he snapped.

 "Don't lay a fucking hand on me."

 He wrenched away and stormed from the sergeant, who was frozen in
disbelief. Tobias didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted when he
heard no footsteps following him back into the barracks.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Chris was furious with himself. His mind had been so adversely affected
by starvation that the obvious hadn't occurred to him until he was
standing out in the yard, trying in vain to alleviate Toby's suspicions.
The moment Toby had pressed to know more about Auribeau, the details of
Chris' mission came flooding back to him. From the very beginning, one
parameter had been fixed, and of paramount importance. He was required to
make contact with his superiors and keep them informed of the situation,
by any means necessary. Chris was tenacious and resourceful - he had never
failed to meet the terms before. It was decided from the very outset that
his mission was of an extremely sensitive nature, and the risk of
discovery exposed the entire program to detection. If he didn't make a
brief report once every three weeks, they would assume the worst; that he
had been captured and the operation compromised. In such an event, the
immediate elimination of all mission elements was required. And that
included him, if no other option was viable. He knew the risks going in,
and had never allowed himself to be bothered by them before - if anything,
he'd fed off the adrenaline rush of such dangerous work. But now,
everything was different. Toby not only made life worth fighting for, but
when the attack came, everyone in the stalag would most likely be killed.
His people generally preferred to use an aerial assault - blitzes were
messy, but any lack of precision was more than made up for with sheer
firepower and a negligible margin of error. If the prisoners were hit by
friendly fire, they would be considered a small price to pay for the
greater good of national security. From the very beginning, his
installment at the stalag had been the goal, so it was likely that his
superiors took it for granted that he had made it inside. As time passed,
he'd soon realized it would be almost impossible to get a message to the
outside world. Schillinger ruled his kingdom with an iron fist, and
inspired both fear and respect in his young subordinates. None had been
susceptible to bribery nor practiced lax security. His hope had been
quickly fading when Robson had so unexpectedly provided him with another
option. Chris had watched his dealings with Metzger carefully, making sure
that Schillinger never caught wind of their alliance. When the time was
right, he'd planned to blackmail the hauptmann in exchange for making the
critical communiqu to prevent the attack. However, it was now apparent
that he'd misplayed his hand. He had little doubt that Schillinger had put
the pieces together and discovered Metzger for the traitor that he was. At
the very least, the man had been stripped of his ranking, but Keller was
certain that the punishment would be nothing less than execution. As he
sat contemplating his unforgivable mistake and inability to be forthcoming
with Beecher, his mind couldn't help but wander back to another instance
when he'd been tormented that he couldn't completely open up to Toby about
his life. Ironically, of all the moments they had shared together, it was
probably the one he treasured the most.

 It had been an uncommonly beautiful day. Warm, clear and bright. Hardly a
soul in the entire stalag had neglected to take advantage of the weather,
and the yard was overcrowded with men. Some sat in quiet conversation,
while others played card games with the contraband decks that the Germans
felt were innocuous enough to ignore - busy prisoners were less likely to
riot. Sergeant Truman led a group of followers in a heartfelt prayer. Even
the guards seemed to be in good spirits. But Tobias and Chris had decided
to take advantage of a rare opportunity and stayed indoors to enjoy the
privacy of a deserted barracks. Both knew that it likely wouldn't last
long, and were hesitant to engage in any kind of loveplay, but were still
enjoying an intimacy with conversation. Chris was reclined on Toby's bunk,
the other man's blond head resting casually in the dip between his
shoulder and pectoral muscle. Chris played absentmindedly with the closely
sheared hair at the base of Toby's neck, listening to him recount stories
from his early school days.

 "I was so mad, I could hardly think straight. I felt like the entire
world was conspiring against me. He was the best pet I ever had. Such a
good-natured little bird. But she wouldn't even give me an inch of
leniency... I ended up staying after school to clean the classroom." Toby
sighed in melancholy remembrance. 

 He was telling Chris about the time he'd accidentally let his parakeet, a
little blue and white character named Queequeg, escape while cleaning his
cage early one morning. He'd spent thirty frantic minutes running from
tree to tree in his neighborhood, trying to find him, but with no luck.
Finally, at the urging of his parents, he'd tearfully left for school. The
entire way there, he'd stumbled along the sidewalk, blaming himself for
deciding to clean the cage on the front porch instead of inside the house,
which was his usual habit. When he'd arrived, far after the morning bell,
his teacher had scolded him harshly in front of the other students and
belittled the reason he'd given for his tardiness, which had made his
mistake even more difficult to bear. He'd been in the third grade at the
time, and the teacher, Mrs. Adamson, still held a special place on his
List of People Who Needed to Drown on Their Own Vomit. Chris gave him a
sympathetic kiss on the forehead.

 "I hope you had some positive experiences at school, baby. You must've
had a favorite teacher... you know, the one that made learning fun for a
change."

 "Yeah", Toby responded thoughtfully, a wistful smile spreading across his
face. "His name was Mr. McCarthy."

 "So, were you sweet on him?" Chris teased, which earned him an elbow in
the gut.

 "No! I was only ten and he was in his thirties. Good Lord."

 "Jeez, I was just pullin' your leg, Tobe. Did he inspire you to become a
lawyer and help other people?" the question earned Chris some laughter.

 "Not exactly. I think he would have been disappointed if he'd found out
what career I fell into."

 "Oh? What's wrong with upholding society's laws?" 

 "Nothing" Toby shrugged, "but I don't think any normal kid dreams of
being an attorney when he grows up. I had my mind set on other things."

 Chris stared at him thoughtfully, sensing that he was about to hear
something that Toby wasn't in the habit of sharing with other people. He
decided to nudge him in the right direction.

 "What things?"

 Toby colored a little, and looked away, chewing at his lower lip. He felt
Chris rub his chest gently in encouragement, waiting patiently for him to
continue his thought.

 "Something a bit more creative."

 "Really? Like drawing and stuff like that?"

 "No. More... um... performance oriented."

 "What, like an actor?" Chris asked, surprised and intrigued at the same
time.

 "No... uh... I liked to sing" Toby admitted, blushing with embarrassment.
Chris' eyes grew wide at the admission, and he felt his stomach flutter
with excitement. The thought of Toby's rich, sexy voice crooning a ballad
made his knees weak. And he wasn't even standing. Suddenly conscious that
he likely had a goofy expression on his face, Chris sobered up and cleared
his throat.

 "Oh yeah?" he inquired, trying to sound casual. "Any songs in
particular?"

 "Well..."

 "Come on, don't be stingy. Lay it on me, baby."

 "Are you serious?"

 "Hell yes. Lay it on me, baby." He grinned wolfishly, deciding he didn't
care if the other man knew how much he wanted it. Toby lay quietly for a
moment, seemingly considering his choices. When he opened his mouth, his
voice was clear and strong, hitting the perfect key.

 "You're making me blue, all that you do seems unfair. You try not to
hear, turn a deaf ear to my prayer. It seems you don't want to see what
you are doing to me. My arms are waiting to caress you, and to my heart
they long to press you, sweet heart..."

 As Tobias sang 'Body and Soul', Chris studied him, completely enrapt. He
was filled with a near-painful love for the man in his arms, and decided
that the impromptu serenade was one of the most erotic things he'd ever
experienced. Toby's eyes were closed, his cheeks still tinged with a blush
of self-consciousness. His lips were moist, and Chris couldn't stop
staring at them, noticing how his tongue kept darting out to lick them
furtively between each verse. Every moment that the performance
progressed, Chris felt the emotions inside him build until he was taut
with desire. He tried to wait patiently, but couldn't control himself,
snatching Toby up into a heated kiss before the last word of the song
could leave his mouth. His lover crumpled in his arms and moaned softly,
parting his lips and yielding as if he were a ripe fruit being bitten
into. Chris savored the sweet warmth of the other man's tongue pushing
against his own, slick with saliva. Finally, Toby pulled away gulping for
air as desperately as he'd been consuming Chris. 

 "Jesus. I've got to sing more often" he gasped. Chris laughed deeply,
squeezing the Toby against him.

 "Definitely. Hey, we should have a variety show or something. You know,
with comedy skits and stuff like that. You could sing..." Keller rattled
away, confident that the other men in the barracks would enthusiastically
welcome such a break in the tedium that dominated their lives. 

 "I don't think so. They're already convinced that I'm a fairy and I don't
want to confirm it in front of everyone" Toby said sternly, pursing his
lips together. He meant business, and Chris recognized it immediately.

 "Okay, okay. Forget I said anything. By the way, you're the deadliest
fucking fairy I've ever met. And I demand private performances whenever
possible."

 "Yes sir. It would be my pleasure" Toby breathed, nuzzling the other
man's neck. He lay quietly for a few moments before speaking again, "So,
what about you? Do you have any hidden talents I should know about? Or did
you always want to be a mechanic?"

 The innocent question caught Chris off guard, and he raced to think of a
reply that wouldn't be a complete fabrication. He chuckled to buy himself
some time, and hoped his words would satisfy his lover's curiosity. 

 "Ever since I was little I knew that I was a problem solver and loved to
work with my hands. The more difficult the task, the better - and if can
use both my mind and body to complete it, I'm a happy man."

 "Did I detect a few double entendres in there?" Toby quipped, smirking
mischievously. Chris planted a playful kiss on his lips and couldn't help
but smile with relief. They were able to enjoy a few more minutes of each
other's company before the silence was disturbed by a group of soldiers
returning to the barracks. Chris never got a chance to enjoy another song
before he and Toby were separated by Schillinger.

 CHAPTER 9

 Schillinger was livid. He had always considered himself to be a
relatively observant human being, but Metzger's betrayal had come as a
complete shock. He'd performed his duties willingly, efficiently, and
quietly - Schillinger couldn't have asked for a subordinate more suited to
his tastes. But, he'd never had the hauptmann pegged as ambitious. At
least not enough to pose any real threat to him. Why was it always the
quiet ones that secretly schemed? He'd already had the bodies taken care
of, but somehow their presence lingered, and he couldn't help but feel a
weight pressing down on him. A voice inside urged that two more men would
have to be disposed of as soon as possible, but Schillinger resisted. It
was obvious that Keller was more than what he seemed. As the worn but true
adage said, knowledge was power, and Schillinger's need for both prevented
him from disposing of the sergeant without first uncovering the truth
about him. His patience was frayed thin. He had spent the previous night
in a fitful sleep, unanswered questions gnawing into his subconscious. One
troubled him most of all: did Metzger and Robson have a co-conspirator? He
cursed himself for disposing of them before finding out. If there was a
third man, he'd likely taken notice of their absence and wisely adopted a
low profile. It was a possibility that irritated Schillinger for two
reasons. First, such an individual would be logistically impossible to
locate, short of interrogating every prisoner within the stalag. Second,
if he did exist, he was in possession of information that was either
beneficial or threatening. The more the German turned the problem over in
his head, the harder it was to discard his original instinct about Keller.
He'd known when he'd first laid eyes on the man that he was different than
the others he'd been brought in with, and that was why Schillinger had
guessed that he wasn't part of Murphy's crew.

 In Schillinger's experience, the simplest explanation tended to be the
correct one. How else could the swaggering American have known about
Metzger and Robson? The bastard had evidently offered up the lives of his
co-conspirators to save those of himself and his bitch. Schillinger wanted
to storm into the barracks and give the man the bullet that was owed to
him. But, he couldn't ignore the fact that sparing the sergeant's life
carried an unexpected blessing. There was a strong possibility that the
intelligence he carried could still be retrieved. The Nazi contemplated
what method would best be used to gain access to Keller's mind. So far,
their most brutal methods of torture had proved ineffective. And then,
like a blinding flash of light, the answer came to him. He gave silent
thanks that he'd decided to spare Beecher's life as well. He'd regretted
not being able to witness Keller's reaction to he corporal's rape. But now
he had an opportunity to see his opponent's torment by ensuring that he
observed an encore performance of the humiliation first-hand.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias and Chris elected to ignore each other, continuing to co-exist
with a charged yet wary detachment. So far, they had managed to maintain
their deliberate avoidance. Not a single harsh word had been dealt between
them, let alone a punch. To Tobias' great relief, the others had left him
alone. He could sense that they were perplexed and concerned, but he was
too preoccupied with a simmering anger to give them even a cursory
explanation for the tension that hung in the air. Hill had been kind
enough to quietly offer him a cigarette, but he'd declined it immediately.
He got all the mollification he needed from the residual levels of
morphine still adrift in his veins. He kept replaying the argument over
and over in his head, analyzing Chris' explanations down to the last word.
Tobias wanted desperately to believe that he hadn't fallen in love with an
impostor, but the other man's reluctance to be completely honest with him
cast doubt on everything he'd said. The fact that neither Robson nor
Metzger had been seen since Chris' reintroduction to the barracks wasn't
lost on Beecher. It supported Chris' story and suggested that Schillinger
had identified the traitors and eliminated them. However, he couldn't
believe that the German major would uphold his end of the bargain and
simply leave Chris and him alone. The monster got too much enjoyment out
of playing with the two of them. Tobias was plagued by a dull fear at the
bottom of his stomach, half expecting Schillinger's men to burst through
the doors at any moment and abduct him for another round of torture. As he
stewed, preoccupied by anxiety and resentment, he idly revisited other
conversations he had shared with Chris, wondering if anything the man had
ever told him was true. Above all, there was one that he hoped hadn't been
a fabrication. As he recalled it, Tobias let a smile of contentment spread
across his face.

 It had been during the walk to Auribeau, when they were first becoming
acquainted with each other. Before even the murdered French boy or the
rendezvous with McManus' platoon; when Tobias was preoccupied with nothing
by Christopher Keller's open smile and laughing eyes. Inevitably, their
discussion had turned to the war, something that the corporal usually
didn't like to talk about. However, he found that he couldn't refuse the
man who limped beside him, bright and affable despite his wound. Chris
seemed genuinely curious about him, something that Tobias couldn't help
but be flattered by. He couldn't remember the last time someone else had
displayed any kind of interest in finding out who he really was - which
was often a mystery even to himself. Surprisingly, something as simple as
the attentiveness of another person was enough to make him feel a renewed
interest in life, a sensation that he hadn't experienced in years. It was
for that reason that he'd answered Chris' question with an honesty that he
didn't know he still had in him. 

 "So, have you been under Murphy since your deployment?" the sergeant had
asked, eyes bright.

 "No. I came over a few months ago. Shipped here from England as part of
the first wave of the ETO. They assembled our squad here in France... it
was nice being among other Americans for a change, you know? No offence to
the Canucks or the Brits."

 "I know what you're sayin'. At least you weren't at Normandy, though."

 "Yeah, I count my blessings every day for that. Sounds like it was hell
on earth... you weren't there, were you?" Tobias ventured. Chris was
silent for a moment, his face contemplative, before answering.

 "Not directly on the beach. I was part of a night drop prior to the
invasion. They got us close so we could take out some artillery batteries
on the Atlantic Wall. I was lucky as fuck not to be on those boats."

 "Jesus Christ. I didn't know you were a member of Airborne... you must
have been right in the middle of it." 

 "Naw, it wasn't as bad as what the sacrificial lambs had to face. Most of
'em were just kids." Chris sighed.

 "I know. We've got them to thank for that victory... how much of the
battle did you see?"

 "Too much. We had to press in near the cliffs that overlooked the battle
to get at our targets. It takes a while to disable a gun battery, and it
was hard to ignore what was going on around us."

 "That must have been extremely dangerous. Which division were you in?"
Tobias gaped, in awe.

 "I dropped with the 101st."

 "The Pathfinders?" 

 "I worked with them."

 "They trained with the 82nd! The Airborne's elite!"

 Chris colored slightly, his lips pursed in an awkward smile. Rubbing the
back of his neck, he broke eye contact with his companion.

 "You seem to know a lot about that kind of thing."

 "I know that you should be given a medal for what you did. Usually they
only give those kinds of missions to commandos."

 "Yeah, well..."

 "Don't sell yourself short. You're my hero" Tobias grinned, sizing up the
sergeant with appreciative eyes.

 "I'm just lucky" Chris couldn't help but grin, winking back. Beecher had
responded with a smile of his own, secretly exhilarated by the modesty and
bravery of the man beside him. 

 As Tobias fondly reviewed the memory of their conversation, a detail that
had never held much significance before suddenly jumped out at him. The
question of Chris' fidelity had been answered for him weeks ago. Leaning
forward to place his head in his hands, Beecher let a moan of regret and
realization seep out of him. It had been as plain as day, in front of him
the entire time, but he'd been too inflamed by suspicion to see it. 

 //"Usually they only give those kinds of missions to commandos."//

 He'd made the comment innocuously, not fully considering the logical
implications that it held. Chris hadn't denied it. He'd simply steered the
conversation away from the truth that Tobias had nearly stumbled upon.
Christopher Keller was no common soldier. He had been specially trained to
complete one of the most vital and delicate operations in the largest
offensive maneuver of the war. The men he'd been with in Auribeau had
likely been on the same caliber, and were prime targets because of it.
Chris was bound by procedure, and so couldn't discuss what had transpired
before he stumbled upon Murphy's squad at the abandoned farmhouse. It was
also the most plausible reason for Schillinger's interest in Keller upon
his arrival at the stalag - the German had sensed that the sergeant was of
a rare quality. Tobias got up, furious with himself; he'd never want or
expect someone he loved to betray their superiors because of his personal
insecurities. The fact that he'd put Chris in such an awkward position
pained him. Seized by the need to make amends for his error, he strode up
to the first man within sight that he recognized.

 "Ryan" Tobias began, interrupting a conversation the private was engaged
in with Augustus Hill. "Have you seen Chris?"

 "Last I saw him, he was pacing around outside." O'Reily answered, eyeing
his superior quizzically. 

 "Shit. Thanks!" Beecher hollered as he bolted towards the exit, hoping
that Keller was still in the yard. He was so engrossed in the task of
finding the other man that he didn't hear the rumbling drone of the
approaching aircraft.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Schillinger propelled himself down the hallway, his boots pounding
against the floorboards. His blood was surging and his mouth was dry. The
anticipation of meting out his revenge against Keller was almost euphoric.
He'd devised a game that involved trying to guess how long he would have
to force himself upon Beecher before Keller relented. There was little
doubt in his mind that any information the sergeant divulged would be
legitimate - he wouldn't risk further damage to his lover by playing games
with the truth. Schillinger was interested in finding out the exact nature
of the intelligence, but that revelation wouldn't compare with the
satisfaction he'd gain in the extracting of it. He wanted complete victory
over the infuriating American; nothing more, nothing less. As the hollow
pounding of his stride slammed against the pine, he thought he detected a
strange vibration beneath him. Slowing his pace, he concentrated on trying
to identify the sound. When the answer dawned on him, he knew it was
already too late to make a successful escape. He eyed the pistol clipped
to his belt.

 CHAPTER 10

 Chris knew what it was as soon as he felt the softest tremor. His heart
leapt into his throat, and his gut churned. He'd anticipated their
arrival, but he hadn't guessed that it would be so soon. The first thought
that came to him was to locate and protect Toby. There was little chance
that they'd survive the assault unscathed, but they had to at least make
the effort. He sprinted towards the barracks and nearly barreled into the
very man that he sought. Toby was breathless, and grabbed Chris
forcefully.

 "Please forgive me, I'm an idiot..." he pleaded, voice tight with
emotion.

 "Toby, forget about that. We've got to leave or we'll die. NOW!" Chris
yelled. Toby regarded him with a dazed expression.

 "What are you talking about?"

 "An airstrike. They're gonna level the whole fucking place."

 "Why they hell would the Germans hit one of their own prisoner camps?"
Tobias asked, confused. Chris stared at him, allowing the obvious answer
to be inferred by his silence. Beecher gaped. "You mean they're OUR
planes?"

 "We don't have time for this! Come on!" Chris grabbed Toby's wrist as his
voice climbed, aggressively pulling away from the buildings. "We've got to
get to that box they were keeping me in."

 "What about the others? We can't leave them in there!"

 "Toby, we don't have a choice! There isn't enough time to go back. We'd
all be killed..."

 "Chris, they're my friends! I wouldn't be able to live with myself"
Tobias yelled. The hardened survivor that Chris had become wavered at the
display of altruism that he'd come to cherish in the man he loved. He
pursed his lips and glanced over at the barracks, weighing their chances. 

 "Hurry!" he shouted, finally relenting. "I'll stay here and keep an eye
out."

 Tobias nodded and rushed back into the building. Once inside, his heart
sank. He knew that if all the prisoners were alerted to the severity of
the situation, a stampede would occur and escape would be next to
impossible. It was up to him to decide who would live, and who would die.
Burdened by such knowledge, but still aware of the seconds ticking away,
he loped up to Ryan and quickly explained the situation.

 "Tell whoever you want. Murphy, Hill, Jackson, Truman... but make it
quick and quiet. The planes will be here any minute."

 Ryan was dumbfounded, and for once, speechless. It didn't take him long
to recover.

 "Are you serious? Our own planes? Where the hell are we supposed to go?"
he volleyed the stream of questions at Beecher without taking a breath. 

 "Chris and I are going out where they had him in solitary. Meet us
there."

 He rushed back out to rejoin Chris, who was pacing in the yard, alert and
agitated. The engines on approach were getting louder by the second, and
both men knew that time was running out. Without having to exchange a
word, they both broke into a sprint. Upon reaching the large, metal box,
Chris reflexively flinched in memory of his deprivation torture, but
didn't hesitate before crouching down on his knees and inspecting the dirt
that surrounded the structure. 

 "Thank God. It's pretty loose here. Start digging."

 Tobias looked at him like he was crazy, but didn't argue, bending down
and furiously scooping the crumbling soil away. He was so engrossed in the
task that he didn't hear the others arrive and take up positions beside
him, scooping the earth out from under the foundation of the box. It was
light and powdery, and within minutes they had displaced enough to allow
them all room to curl up tightly inside. Chris insisted that they all
enter before he did, and waited steadfastly despite Tobias' protestations.
He began to enter only when he knew that his lover was safe inside, and as
he struggled to fit his long limbs inside the small remaining space, the
first explosion hit.

 All the men were squeezed together so tightly they could hardly breathe.
None made a sound as the ground shook and the metal above them screeched
and moaned. Tobias was frozen with fear, blinded by the swell of bodies
and falling dirt, unable to see if Chris had managed to make it inside. As
the pounding outside continued, the oxygen in the hole became thinner, and
more heated. Soon, all were gasping, bodies sweating, mouths filled with
earth. The bombs that hit became so numerous that each impact melded into
one, continuous roar. Tobias' breath became labored and stars swam behind
his tightly closed lids. He fought to retain consciousness, but the air
was quickly becoming poisoned with carbon monoxide. Before the darkness
finally descended, the thought came to him that death by suffocation was
still preferable to being burned alive. He prayed that Chris had met as
merciful an end.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 As the first rays of awareness soaked through into his sluggish brain,
Tobias tried to move, but found his limbs were weak and unresponsive. He
moaned, mouth rough like gravel, and struggled to speak. 

 "Water" he croaked. Just uttering the word depleted all of his energy,
and his head rolled to the side as if weighted.

 "Sister Marie, Corporal Beecher said something!" he heard a soft,
feminine voice speak not far from him. He didn't even have the strength to
open his eyes.

 "Thank the Almighty. He's a fighter, alright." The answering voice
sounded older, but was not lacking in enthusiasm. Tobias felt a small hand
cup the back of his head and lift it gently. Tepid water poured over his
lips and down into his throat. He gulped at it desperately, forgetting to
breathe. When the cup was finally pulled away, he fought to catch his
breath.

 "Easy there, soldier." said the voice he'd guessed belonged to Sister
Marie. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask her, but he
couldn't separate them in his mind. He didn't fight his body as it fell
back into a deep sleep.

 A warm sponge mopped at his brow. Tobias was immediately awake, and this
time was able to open his lids. The light in the room flooded his eyes and
he winced, squinting against the assault. He was able to make out the
blurry form of a female beside him, and reached out to touch her, still
unsure of whether or not he'd been dreaming earlier.

 "Where am I?" he asked as he made contact, barely recognizing the alien
rasp of his voice.

 "A school. The Nazis closed it down before the war, but now we use it to
treat the wounded."

 He processed the information silently, guessing that he was still in
Czechoslovakia. 

 "You don't sound European."

 "I'm not. We were sent here with the troops. You wouldn't believe how
many men poured in after Normandy. We're desperately needed here."

 "What's your name?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from
the subject of battles and death.

 "Gloria. Or Nurse Nathan... whichever you'd prefer." She answered
sweetly, mopping his brow again. 

 "How long have I been out, Gloria?"

 "About a month." She replied sympathetically. Tobias felt something
inside him whither, and fought the urge to roll over onto his side and
retreat into himself. 

 "Jesus. What happened to me?"

 "The camp you were a prisoner in was destroyed. The explosion attracted
some locals, who found you and a few others in the debris. The fact that
there were any survivors at all is a miracle. Whoever did it made sure
they got the job done."

 "Don't they know who it was?" he couldn't help but ask, curious if any
evidence of friendly fire had been found. He doubted it.

 "They can't tell. No one will take responsibility. Seems both sides just
want to sweep it under the rug. It's shameful... all those poor soldiers."

 Tobias felt a great sadness descend upon him, and he exhaled a jagged
breath. There was no doubt in his mind now - Chris had been right. But
what kind of military would commit such an atrocity against its own men?
It was a question he wasn't sure that he wanted the answer to. Bracing
himself, he finally worked up the courage to ask her the next question on
his mind.

 "How many other survivors were there?"

 "Three."

 Tobias' stomach lurched, and he brought a shaking hand to his brow. It
was a shockingly dismal statistic. There had been hundreds of men in the
barracks, not including the injured from Vellauris in the stalag's
infirmary. He had no doubt that the truth behind their deaths would be
concealed - most likely their families would be told they succumbed to
illness or were MIA. He tried to comfort himself with the thought that
even if the prisoners had been given advance warning of the attack, it
would have been impossible to organize a successful escape. The camp had
been too well controlled by Schillinger. In all likelihood, the Nazi
sadist was now strewn across what remained of his little kingdom. Tobias
could at least take some satisfaction in that knowledge before he asked
the question he feared the most.

 "Do you know their names?"

 "Private First Class Ryan O'Reily. He suffered severe burns on 20% of his
body, but he'll make a full recovery. Corporal Augustus Hill. The poor man
got a piece of shrapnel lodged in his spine. He'll never walk again, but
he's in remarkably good spirits. Seems a manuscript he had hidden in his
fatigues managed to survive mostly unscathed. It's amazing the simple
things that a wounded soldier can take comfort in" she shook her head
sadly, continuing, "And Staff Sergeant Sean Murphy. Head trauma and burns
all over his back. His lungs were scorched, but he'll live."

 "Do you know what happened to Private Arnold Jackson, Staff Sergeant
Goodson Truman, or Sergeant Christopher Keller?" he inquired, already
knowing the response that he'd receive.

 "I'm sorry, Corporal. All we have are you four. I know they're making a
list of dog tags found in the rubble..."

 Tobias broke off her sentence with a long moan, eyes stinging with tears.
He felt her grasp his arm tightly. Her voice was gentle and sincere as she
spoke.

 "I'm so sorry."

 He nodded his thanks to her and turned his head away, ashamed of crying.
He felt the bandages that wrapped his legs and guessed that he had burns
of his own, but not serious enough to warrant a mention from her. It
wasn't without a twinge of guilt that he asked for a small dose of
morphine, claiming that his pain was getting worse. Her large, doe eyes
held him with pity and she fulfilled his request immediately. Tranquilized
by the drug, his exhausted body didn't take long to fall back asleep. 

 CHAPTER 11

 His head injury lingered, and he had fevered dreams both day and night.
In some, he and Chris were back in the park, enjoying the same endless
baseball match. In others, they were both children again; able to
experience the innocence of play in a manner they'd never been allowed in
the harsh circumstances of life. Rarely, the line between what was real
and what wasn't would blur, and he'd wake with Gloria's sponge on his
brow, unable to decide whether or not what he'd dreamt had ever actually
happened. It was during one of these fitful spells that Tobias glanced
over to the side of his bed and saw the blurred outline of a male figure
standing beside him. Heart beating rapidly, he squinted and recognized the
distinct physique and posture. Even a faint trace of the unique, musky
scent seemed to accompany the presence. Emotions and memories enveloped
him, and he felt he would burst from both the pain and joy of it. As the
man moved closer his face was revealed, and Tobias stared into the cobalt
eyes of his absent lover. He decided that even the beauty of Lucifer
before the fall would have paled to Chris' otherworldly radiance. A white,
flashing smile was bestowed upon him like a blessing, and he reached an
unsteady hand to touch the angelic apparition.

 "Chris..." he rasped, mouth like sandpaper. Tobias had so many questions
that he wanted to ask, but neither his mind nor his mouth would cooperate.
Then, Chris began to waver like a mirage, and slowly transform into the
familiar form of Ryan O'Reily, who in contrast, was undeniably flesh and
blood.

 "Beecher, are you alright? Do you need some more meds?" the private
asked, face etched with concern. His limbs were bandaged beneath his
infirmary gown, but the handsome face - his secret pride and joy - was
unharmed. 

 "No, I'm fine. I think I was dreaming." Tobias answered heavily, dejected
to realize that the vision had been of his own making. Ryan heard the
sorrow in the corporal's voice and was hit with a wave of guilt and pity.
He extended a tightly pound paw and placed it on his friend's shoulder.

 "I'm so sorry, Tobias. When the three of us found out, we felt sick. We
know how much you loved him. He was one in a million."

 "Thanks", was all that Beecher could manage to force out. 

 "I'm not just saying that, either. Before, I only had a general idea of
what you two had together, but I know better now. Love's something else,
ain't it? It turns you upside down."

 Tobias shot a curious look in the Irishman's direction, causing him to
flush with pride.

 "Me and Gloria. I love her more than anything in the world, and she loves
me too. I fell for her the first time I saw those beautiful brown eyes,
and I had to use every trick in my bag to get her. She tried to keep
everything professional between us, but I knew I would win her over. It
took me almost the whole month since getting here, but it was worth every
second. As soon as I'm discharged, I'm taking her back with me. We're
engaged."

 "That's great, Ryan." Tobias struggled to give his friend a genuine
smile, but couldn't mask that pain that the news caused him. He would have
given anything to be in O'Reily's position. This wasn't lost on the
perceptive soldier.

 "I'm such an ass, I'm sorry. I'd better just leave you alone before I do
any more damage."

 "Don't worry about it. I remember what it's like. You feel like shouting
it from the rooftops."

 "Yeah." Ryan said sheepishly. 

 "Tell her that you love her every day. Promise me."

 "I promise." 

 "Thanks." Tobias said quietly, and turned his head to stare out the
window. O'Reily took it as his queue to leave, and did so, shooting a look
of adoration at the Gloria, who was attending to the wounds of an
unconscious soldier, before going back to his bed.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias got progressively better with each passing day, and like Ryan, was
soon able to leave his bed and walk around inside the building. Despite
his freedom, he remained listless and detached, and rarely ventured far
from his bed, except to sit on the sill of towering bay window in the
school's main hallway. It was usually deserted, and he enjoyed the
solitude, often spending hours just staring out into the parched yellow
grass of the courtyard, lost in the scant happy memories that had peppered
his life since entering the war. His body had healed enough that he no
longer needed medical care. He knew that he was only kept under
observation because they were concerned about his mental health. It was
inconceivable that they would return him to active duty in such a state:
he wouldn't put up a fight. It was during a bout of such fatalistic
thoughts that he distinct tapping of a feminine gait interrupted him.
Without glancing up, he knew it was Sister Marie, the matronly nun who
seemed to be the 'Mother Superior' for all the nurses. She walked up
cautiously and rested a hand on his nightgown.

 "I knew I'd find you here, Tobias" she intoned softly, "There's something
I think you should see."

 Her words were unexpected. Usually he found her simplistic optimism
irritating. She'd wanted to solve his depression with some heartfelt
discussion and soul-searching. He knew she was well-meaning, but healing
emotional wounds wasn't like treating a broken leg. Most of the time he
just sat and pretended to listen to her, but now he actually wanted to
hear what she had to say.

 "What is it?"

 "They brought us the latest casualty list, with names from the tags they
found at your prisoner camp."

 He thought he was falling, and gripped the cold granite beneath him as an
anchor. She saw him lurch forward and placed her petite hands on his
shoulders, looking at him with kindly, age-creased eyes. 

 "Go and look. You need some closure." 

 He'd never even told her Chris' name, but she instinctively knew that the
root of his agony lay in the uncertain fate of someone close. Tobias
nodded wordlessly and shuffled towards the auditorium where they kept the
hospital beds. The men who could walk were gathered around Ryan O'Reily,
who was quickly scanning the list.

 "Shit!" he called aloud to Hill and Murphy, who sat tensely on their
beds, anticipating the worst. "Sergeant Truman's on here."

 Both Hill and Murphy sighed deeply. He had been both a gifted leader and
a friend.

 "That's a shame." Tobias said as he entered the room. He meant it. Truman
had helped him weather some painful times, and he would always be grateful
for the acceptance that the other man had granted him. 

 "Jackson's on here, too. There's a lot of guys from your platoon, Hill.
Wangler, Van Dyke..." 

 "Damn it! Kenny was only sixteen. Lied about his age when he enlisted."
Hill exhaled, face lined with sadness and fatigue. 

 Beecher listened as O'Reily continued, and couldn't help but feel
irritated when his three companions seemed surprised and dejected to hear
more familiar names. What did they expect? Some kind of miraculous escape?
Anyone else who had been in the stalag was dead. End of story.

 "This is interesting" Ryan mused, pausing for a moment. "McManus and
Alvarez are listed as MIA."

 "Anyone else?" Beecher strained to see past his shoulder, almost feeling
a glimmer of hope as his eyes rushed over the page. "What the hell? He's
not on here."

 "That's impossible. If they didn't find his tag, they'd have him listed
as missing." O'Reily stated, inspecting the page closely.

 The implication was obvious. Christopher Keller officially didn't exist.
Exactly how elite had he been? Suddenly, Tobias' head hurt and he lurched
over to his bed to lie down. He didn't want to think too much about what
the unexpected information meant. He'd much rather go to sleep. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Tobias knew that it wouldn't be long until the four of them were sent
back home. They had all shown steady progress, and had recovered to the
point where they felt guilty for occupying beds that could have been used
for the freshly wounded that poured in every day. Ryan was becoming giddy
with anticipation, which Hill and Murphy couldn't help but be infected by.
Tobias was more cautious with his enthusiasm, unable to wrap his mind
around the looming reality of returning to "normal" life. Everything
inside of him rebelled against it. He couldn't comprehend how a human
being could readjust after experiencing the horrors of both the
battlefield and enemy imprisonment, and was terrified of the loneliness
and isolation that awaited him. The day they were finally given notice of
their departure, he had to walk a lap around the perimeter of the school
to hide his emotions from the other men. By the time he reentered the
building, he had managed to stop shaking. He was on his way to speak to
O'Reily, Murphy and Hill - they had less than 24 hours together and would
likely never cross paths again - when Sister Marie rushed up to him. Her
face was flushed, and her eyes were sparkling. He didn't dare let his mind
contemplate the reason for her excitement. It would only lead to
disappointment.

 "Tobias! Thank God, I've been looking everywhere for you. This was just
delivered" she handed him a bare white envelope, "with very specific
instructions to be given to you, unopened."

 Bile rose in his throat. They had decided he was mentally fit for duty.
They were sending him back to the trenches. His hands fumbled at the lip
of the envelope and he had to resort to tearing it. Holding his breath, he
unfolded the contents and felt the color drain from his face. Without
having to be asked, the nun recognized the importance of the letter and
left him alone in the hallway. He didn't look behind him, but somehow he
managed to find the sill of the bay window and lean his weight against it.
Tobias examined every word in front of him as if they were holy writ. He
didn't have to glance at the bottom to know who had penned them.

 Toby,

 Please forgive me, but I had no other choice. This was the safest way for
both of us. I know that you resented me for keeping information from you,
and even now I feel guilty for holding all the cards, so to speak. I know
that you survived the raid and I know where you've been recovering for the
last month. When I found out, I wanted to yell and laugh and cry all at
once, but I couldn't let anyone know how I felt. It killed me, but I had
to stay on the sidelines and quietly monitor your progress from a
distance. I waited until my situation changed before sending this letter,
so there would be less risk of it being diverted or monitored. But more
about that later. First, I need to tell you everything that I couldn't
before. 

 I was part of a highly classified program called MIS-X. For your safety,
I can't tell you what its core purpose is; all you need to know is that
you can never repeat that name to anyone, ever. I was sent in with one
objective - to earn the trust of the Germans and operate as a double
agent. It wasn't a coincidence that we found that radio set to an Allied
frequency in Auribeau. I deliberately placed it there days earlier, and
was injured in the process. I then had to join up with nearest band of
American troops (I'm sorry - there was never any platoon for your squad to
rendezvous with - that was a front. I was working alone), and make sure
that they encounter the radio signal. McManus' situation was hopeless, and
so it was anticipated that we would be captured and taken as POWs by the
enemy. I know what you're thinking: that your lives were carelessly
gambled with. Toby, I promise that every contingency was taken into
account. The German officers that intelligence told us would be at
Vallauris were known to prefer capture to wholesale slaughter. 

 Needless to say, those elements of the plan worked. When we arrived at
the stalag, Schillinger immediately singled me out, and I saw it as my
opportunity to earn his trust and offer my services as a spy. But before I
could, he said something that suggested he already had a source of Allied
information, and I had to abandon my original objective. When they
returned me to the barracks, I was in pretty rough shape, but still
determined to identify the traitor who was feeding Schillinger
intelligence. That first night back, I caught Robson staring at me in the
dark, and something about his expression didn't sit right with me. 

 I don't ignore a gut instinct, so I followed his movements. After your
torture, when you wanted your distance from everyone, I used the
opportunity to do some surveillance. Remember when I told you I was going
outside to exercise? Well, on more than one occasion, I secretly observed
Robson talking with Metzger behind the barracks. Schillinger would've
never used Metzger as an intermediary, so I knew right away that he must
not have known about the meetings. 

 I feel as if it's my fault that the raid happened, but looking back, I
don't know if there was anything I could have done to prevent or
anticipate it. Their speed surprised me. Basically, the Powers That Be
decided it was safer to eliminate any danger to our wartime national
security than to allow a few hundred of its own men to survive. Don't ask
me to defend them, Toby. I can't. 

 To be honest, that's part of the reason I'm leaving the program. Now, I
can't justify many of the actions that I once performed without even
blinking an eye. I like to think that I'm a better human being because of
you. There is more, though. Like you, I didn't escape the explosion
unscathed. My left knee was pretty busted up, I'm afraid. It's healed now,
but I'll never walk quite right again. I hope you don't have anything
against limps. Needless to say, the program doesn't have much use for me
anymore. I also think that they sensed my "psychological state" has
changed since my return from the mission. They know I'm a different man,
but they don't know why, and it's pissing them off. I don't think they'd
ever guess it's because I'm head-over-heals in love. 

 Baby, I'm going to have to wrap things up here, but there are two more
things I need to tell you, and they are the most important. Number one;
destroy this letter as soon as you're done reading it. And number two;
I'll be waiting for you back in America. I know that you're being
discharged soon, so when you read this, you'll probably be on your way in
just a few hours time. I will wait for you every day at noon in that park
I told you about - the one I used to play in when I was a kid. I pray that
you've forgiven me, because I've promised myself that I won't stop going
there until I see you again, or I die.

 I love you, Chris

 FIN

 RESOURCES:

 About the M-1 rifle: http://www.pattonhq.com/garand.html

 About the Willy Jeep: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willys

 About the Top Secret POW Agency known as MIS-X:
http://www.aiipowmia.com/wwii/msx.html

  Please send feedback to Bithysith.