Behind Enemy Lines

Air was thin as Sullivan flew through the sky, his P-51 Mustang rumbled slightly at the air resistance. The ocean below him was huge and blue, so high up he couldn’t see any of the waves or details below. Clouds above him as well the same level as he was on, the canopy was closed as the air would be too thin to breathe. Needing to get into formation again Sullivan pulls back on the stick turning his plane upwards, he rises to height and starts maneuvering, looking out of his canopy he tries and finds an empty spot to fall into, someone comes in over the comms.

“P-fiftyone. Enter formation, do you copy?”

“Copy that, falling in.”

He pulls into the empty spot and stays there, following the plane in front of him. Up ahead an unknown aircraft has been spotted, barely coming in through the trees. That was, until a few more came visible from within.

“Unknown fighters ahead, anyone able to get a read on them?”

Boman asks out, hoping someone could be able to reach them via radio or morse code, but to no avail. Though it was out there, none of his own responded, he usually had been ignored though as it was only his first month on the job and they give the new guys a hard time. He sighed and pushed the throttle further forward going slightly more ahead than the other pilots in formation. He wanted to get a better view of them, though as he got closer bullets whizzed past his cockpit.

“Contact! Contact!”

He yelled, in the span of only a few seconds bullets between sides went out. Sullivan made tough maneuvers to try and avoid getting shot. Getting behind one of them he starts tailing.

“Behind one, trying to get a good shot.”

The radio crackles as people talk to each other over it. Gunfire makes it hard to hear each other, some of the planes (mostly German) going down look like small meteors. Like fireballs falling from the sky to be extinguished on the ground. Sullivan was still holding down the trigger on his plane, each bullet tearing the wehrmacht pilot apart.

“I’m hit!”

Sullivan yells looking behind him to see a BF-109 on his tail, the guns taking a break for a moment, he dives trying to get out of firing range of the enemy pilot though he was persistent. Following him on the decline he fired again, the bullets tearing a wing and cracking the windshield.

“Mayday! Mayday!”

He yelled as the ground grew closer and his nose pointed down, opening the canopy he ejected out from the pilot seat, now in a freefall. Sullivan reaches from the cord to the chute, it was hard to find, the plane spiraled down beneath him also in a ball of fire. Finally finding the cord he was violently pulled out of the force dragging him down and gradually slowing. The ground seemed closer than it was when he had been falling. Bullets whizzed by from one of the enemy planes. A war crime though it would mean one less allied pilot. Sullivan was completely blind to what was going on above him, he couldn’t tell who was winning.

Descending into the trees below he looks for a good place to try and land, a small field in the mess of the forest seemed like a good place, that was if he had been lucky.

“Fuck!”

He yelled, the parachute getting caught in between two trees, at least fifteen feet of the ground he thought. Sullivan’s feet dangled below him like a child swinging their feet on a tall chair. His back felt terrible at the catch of the tree, no matter how much he prepared. Looking down at the ground he considered his options, sit there and starve or be caught be Nazi. Or. Cut himself free and maybe break a leg. He went with the latter, looking for one of the straps he put his knife to it that had been sitting on his hip. Sawing at it he watched as the fibres started to split. Eventually his body weight became too heavy for it and snapped, a few branches whipped him on the way down barely breaking the fall, he still landed on his back. Winded he lay there, breathing shallowly, his vision blurred.

***

Finally after a few minutes his breathing came back and so did his sight. Hoisting himself up next to a tree he is using as support, is a struggle he can barely stand. His ankle completely twisted from the fall, pain hit him like a freight train burrowing down the tracks. But he said to himself it would be better than getting captured and turned into a POW. people who had that come to them never would see the outside world again, all of the Americans knew what would happen to themselves if they did get caught. Looking around he wasn’t able to get a good view of anything, the trees acted as a wall to anything beyond them. A blindness he couldn’t help, above him planes started to fly away and the sounds of gunfire stopped. Reaching into his pocket Sullivan pulled out a compass, heading North would be the best chance he had at finding some sort of civilization. His ankle killing in pain now that adrenaline wore off, he held his hands against the bark of trees, keeping himself up.

The compass pointed him in the right direction for salvation, so he hoped for it. Blindly walking his ankle really started to hurt, and there really wasn’t anything he could do, staying off of it would be best, the wolves made him wanna keep going. Getting caught with those at night in the wild would be a terrible encounter, A city was north and he could remember, and that is what the mission had been about. A bombing was supposed to be carried out, the squad sent wouldn’t make it back, maybe he was the only survivor. Continuing to walk on the twisted ankle hurting more and more, every step and limp. The smell of fire rose to his nose, he took a fast glance around trying to see a source, above the thick tree line he could see a cloud, a cloud of dark smoke. Checking his waist the gun was still there, a Colt 1911. Walking towards it he grunts trying to fight through the pain, each of the thoughts going through his head praying he won't be outnumbered when he gets there.

“Ok…”

He mumbles to himself trying to look past a few of the branches in his way, instead of a big outpost or even a few soldiers, there was a cabin. A log cabin. Taking a breath before walking forwards again he gets closer to the door, before he opens it the door swings open before he touches the handle.

“Who the hell are you and why are you ‘ere?”

An old crotchedy looking man asked, Sullivan looked down at the double break being pointed at him.

“O-Ok… just point that away?”

“No! Tell me, who are you? Nazi!?”

He pulled back on the trigger slightly.

“No! No, I ain't no goddamn Nazi. I’m American!”

He shouted as the gun grew closer to his face. The owner of the cabin looked at the uniform again, he took a close look at the colors, brown and beige not grey or black.

“Come inside then.”

He says with more than an asking tone. Sullivan steps inside, the warmth of the fire consuming him beyond the door. He looked at the inside of the cabin, it looked warm and safe mostly but even still. The cabin owner walked towards the felt blue and brown couch in the middle of the room, facing the fireplace which crackled.

“Who are you?”

The owner asked after setting the shotgun down by the side of the couch and sitting down.

“My name is Sullivan, Edward Sullivan. What about you?”

He looked over, eyeing him up and down, soaking in what he looks like.

“I’m Otto.”

Nothing else was said, he said all he needed. Sullivan just nodded, he looked around awkwardly unsure of what to do, Otto lights a cigarette and smokes it. Hangs out of his mouth like a lollipop. The smell hitting his nose.

“C-could I stay here for a day or two? Just to get on my feet here.”

Otto turns at his request and considers. His eyebrows raised as he thought about it.

“Sure, and you can’t be walking around ‘ere with that on.”

He grumbles and points at his uniform.

“Well what am I supposed to do about it?”

“There are clothes in that bin over there.”

Sullivan limps towards it after being pointed in the direction, he gets on his knees and starts to sift through it all. Looking for his size the closest thing he finds is a pair of jeans and an oversized off-white dress shirt. He couldn’t tell if it was by design or Otto had been smoking so much. He lifted himself and got over to the bathroom where he could change. Closing the door he took off his uniform, bruises over his body and a swollen ankle.

“Wash yourself while you are in there! Smells like ash and American.”

Otto calls out. He puts the clothes on the rack next to the bath, the wooden rack darkened with moisture, turning the water on. Sullivan was still confused, why was someone on the enemy side helping him? And who was he really? The water filled the tub and he got in, there wasn’t much soap so he used what he could, the grime came off of him from the crash and also his ankle felt a little better, the warmth of the water helping ease the soreness and pain. He scrubbed himself and cleaned, hummed a small tune as he was soaking. After the shower he started to dry off with one of the towels, it was rough from excessive use and wasn’t very nice to dry off. Certainly not like anything from America, back home. Finally being dry Sullivan started to get dressed, the clothing fit him loosely, the jeans baggy and the off-white dress shirt fitting like a dress, he tucked them into the pants.

“Ah, now you don’t look like the devil spat you out.”

Otto laughed a little, some of the few bits of emotion that he was able to show. The smile on him wasn’t pretty, yellowed teeth and breath like dirt.

“Thanks.”

Was the only fit response. The sun was getting lower and the sky came darker, Sullivan sat in a wooden homemade looking chair facing the fire.

“Why are you helping me?”

Otto looked at him with pitiful eyes, he scanned over the bruises on his arms, face.

“You needed ‘elp, and you ain’t no fascist.”

The answer was vague but all he needed for the safety of not dying at night in his sleep, soon with time the only lit thing was the fire which was slowly dimming in the cabin.

Otto stands and starts to go towards one of the rooms, he moves with heavy feet and a tilted head.

“Where are you going?”

“Bed.”

He answered shortly and quietly. The door of the bedroom shut behind him before anymore questions, Sullivan was left there with his own thoughts, where was he supposed to sleep? Where should he sleep? Should he keep the fire going? All of these questions remain unanswered, it was getting cold though. A small pile of wood rested beside the stove, so he got up and started to fill it.

“Ok…”

Muttering to himself while opening the door and taking a log, surprisingly more heavy than he would expect for a simple small log. As he set it in the ashes rose from the bottom and out of it, the heat coming back stronger, greatly overpowering that of the outside world. Sullivan grunted off of the floor, he shut the door and got back onto the couch. As he lay there he stared up at the ceiling and contemplated, he knew staying  there for long couldn’t be of any use. He needed to get back to his own country, his own soil, own people. As his eyes closed the only thing around him was the crackling of the fire and the light gusts of wind on the outside of the cabin. A stark contrast between the war and where he was, though the break was perfect.

In the morning, for only a moment he forgot where he had been, though after looking around while rubbing his eyes he eventually knew where he was. It felt like a hangover from the bed not being great for sleep. The fire was out and the cabin was silent, the morning sun shining through the windows. He sat up, the ankle feeling a little better now, the couch squeaked as he had gotten up.

“Still ‘ere then?”

Otto asked, coming out of seemingly nowhere. Sullivan gasped not seeing or hearing him come in.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Don’t worry I will be out of your hair soon.”

Otto looked at him and sighed, feeling kinda bad.

“Do you have a plan yet?”

“Yeah, I think.”

“Well. Tell me.”

Sullivan motions him to sit, in which he does. And it helps to explain his plan. He goes on about how he needs to get better, more fitted clothes for it also.

“Once I get all of those, I will be able to start blending in with the work crew, all I have to do is snatch a uniform.”

Otto nods along listening to it.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to stowaway on a boat, if I look like them they wouldn’t even know who I am, who pays attention to someone's face when you recognize them. And I could just say that I am new or something like that.”

“Uh huh… solid plan but do you ‘ave any money? What about Nazi guards? Or even-”

“Just wait.”

Sullivan cut him off.

“I thought real hard about this, it’s the only thing I can imagine working as well as I can.”

“Ok then, need a ride to town?”

“Yeah.”

He went over to his old slightly burnt uniform with soot all over, reached into the pocket and took out his pistol, slipped it into his back pocket. Fit quite well for being oversized jeans by only a size. Sullivan straightened out his shirt and pants making it out of the cabin, the throbbing from the twist still persisting. The wind hitting his face one the way out of the door, squinting from the dismay of the bright sun. Otto’s ride was an old beaten up and kind of rusty truck. The handle cracked a little as flakes of rust fell off of it, the stress of being pulled on had made it be too hard to handle. A waft of something hit his nose, he let out an audible sigh before stepping in and sitting on the torn leather seats.

“This ‘ere is what I use for wood luggin’.”

The engine roared to life as the key turned, and they started to drive.

The mudded ground held surprisingly well for such a vehicle, after all it is Otto’s work truck. Looking out the window Sullivan kept going through the plan in his head, it was solid but still some room for error. He prays to himself silently hoping that he wouldn’t be caught. The town was now visible from the road, they moved to cobble after getting off of the private road Otto owned. The ride came bumpy but soon the real road will come, with time he will be back to his own country, back on American soil. Trees pass by their side speeding down the road, leaves and rocks being kicked out from behind them, Otto rolls the window down with the roller the older cars had.

“How much longer until we get there?”

“Not too much time, ‘ere’s a little somethin’ to keep you busy.”

He grumbled and handed out a cigarette. The car smelled like tobacco already. Sullivan thought about it for a moment, he took one out of the pack which was half full. Using the lighter the truck had built into it, he waited not too long, Otto held his hand there for no more than an exhausting time. The lighter shot out into his hand and he stuck the tips of the cigarette into it, handed it back to Sullivan and huffed on his own. The car filled with a light smoke, slipping out of the windows, coming up on the town a guard stopped them.

“Halt!” (Stop!)

The truck squeaked as he complied.

“Yeah?”

The soldier walked around to the driver side of the truck, he took a look at both Otto and Sullivan.

“Papers.”

He demanded, his cold gaze left Sullivan sweating a bit.

“We have them in the glove ‘ere.”

He pointed to the glovebox of the truck, telling him to open it without speaking. He did, and in the glovebox were a pile of papers.

“‘Ere.”

The guard inspected them occasionally looking at them while reading it.

“All is good, go on.”

He said handing back the papers, and raising the blocker. The truck started up again and they got going again, the houses were surrounded by a sea of buildings.

“There, a port.”

And so there was, he pointed towards a port though well watched, they didn’t want just anybody stumbling around in there.

“Before you get out, read over your paper, I do not want you gettin’ busted over that.”

“I will.”

Stepping out of the car he held onto the paper, pulling up the pants a little keeping it from falling down. Otto drove off, so he was standing there left alone, not a cent to his name. Sounds of water splashed up against the  shore where the rocky land met the ocean water. Though it wasn’t really an ocean, just a big lake that went into the ocean. Across the street was the tailor, he could try and get some new clothes there, out of what Otto spared him. Looking both ways before crossing no cars or jeeps or trucks drove past, the street empty except people, at the door it said open. Inside he was hit with the smell of freshly ironed textiles and new clothes, suits along with slightly more casual wear lined the walls and tables in the middle of the big room. Already there had been two people inside, his attention went towards the suits then casual wear of: Suit jackets, suit pants, suit vests, and T-shirts, jeans, shoes and boots. If there was any there, the shelves were emptied. The person behind the counter of the tailor shop asked Sullivan if he needed help, it was all German and he didn’t speak it.

“Nein, Ich keine Sprache Deutsche."

He said hoping it was the right phrase. He understood and motioned towards the door that he came in from. Sullivan nodded and walked out, he would have no luck in there and without knowing much German he thought to himself there wouldn’t be much hope for getting into the dock, he stood outside of the shop for a while, thinking over what he would be able to do with what he had. A truck started to drive by, had the label of the port on it, if he was able to get onto one of those trucks he could sneak on and figure it out from there. He watched it intently, studying how the truck moved and where it was going. Once it reached the gate it stopped, a guard walked over to the driver side window. He said something but not well enough for Sullivan to hear, he moved to the back of the truck with a flashlight, sweeping it across the back of the truck he cleared it, yelling something before the gates opened and the truck went in, walking through on the sidewalk he passed houses and shops. The Reichmark was written on signs, he didn’t have any money so shopping would do him no good. There was a bar just ahead and he was pretty thirsty. He hoped that they were kind enough to English speakers, not knowing German could be the death of him, he thought. Walking in through the doors nobody batted an eye, the bar was on the left side of the big room and there were a few tables scattered about where some people were passed out at. He rummaged through his pockets hoping to find at least something to pay with. Thankfully in the pockets were 0.45 Reichsmarks.

“A beer bitte.”

He hoped it would be enough as he was holding out the exact amount for a beer, the bartender just grumbled something in German and poured him a drink, Sullivan nodded while taking it and drinking it. A man stood next to Sullivan, when he started to talk to the bartender he listened, intently. He couldn’t make out much of what they were saying but what he could make out is something about work, and hiring, and water.

“You need help?”

He asked looking the man up and down for a moment, he looked at Sullivan with a considering feel.

“Ja, work at the port.”

Now was his chance to get into the docks without getting into too much danger, and he is lucky that they don’t care enough for people who speak well, just people who will do the work. He asked for papers and Sullivan gave him the ones Otto did for help with anyone who was giving him trouble, though he looked at Sullivan with a bit of suspicion. Eventually he agreed, though not long after two SS officers walked into the bar, looking around at people. They called out something that made everyone look, Sullivan was stuck trying to figure out what was being said.

“Ein amerikanisches Flugzeug ist unweit von hier im Wald abgestürzt. Wenn Sie etwas sehen oder hören, verheimlichen Sie es nicht. Es werden Verhaftungen vorgenommen. Sein Name ist Edward Sullivan.” (A plane has crashed not far from here in the forest, it is an American plane, if you see or hear anything do not hide it. Arrests will be made, his name is Edward Sullivan.)

Hearing his name he knew he needed to get out of there, a back door was wide open and he finished his drink and carried on. He managed to slip out without being detected by the officers or anyone else, he needed to get to the port, inside of his pocket was a pass through the gate that he could use.

“Verzeihung.” (Excuse me.)

A man said, bumping past him without a care, he scoffed at it though continued on walking. The dock was across the street, once again no truck and no need to sneak in.

“Identification.”

Sullivan showed the card the man gave him, the gate guard just nodded and let him through, walking further a big boat was coming through, looking like it would be transporting people and supplies. It would be perfect to get aboard and make it home.

He watched as people would walk aboard and grab crates and bring them on shore. Though they had uniforms, they looked like boiler suits. Walking around for a bit in the port he found where they would get suited up, after three outfits he found his size, then he sat down.

“What am I doing…”

He mumbled to himself, confidence in the plan fading a little bit, the armed men at the boat didn’t help at all. Eventually he gained a little bit of confidence and started getting it on, then moved out towards the boat. He made it aboard although a little shaky. Looking for a spot to hide for later one of the actual crew pointed to the box and commanded something. Moving a few boxes will probably help him blend in with everyone else anyways. It was super heavy though he could manage, it wouldn't be a big issue at all. One of the crew kept looking at him, it felt weird but he thought he was just nosey. Walking down the ramp of the ship with the box he goes towards where all of the other people went with the boxes, setting it down he takes a breath. Only a few more times before he probably wouldn’t be noticed not coming out of the ship. Walking back his shoes clack against the wood of the port, he got back onto the ship and people next to him were picking up and setting down boxes, though he picked another one up and started towards the drop off zone again. On the boat he found a nice post to cuddle into that he would be able to stay on for the duration of the ride back to one of the other countries. With his actual ID inside of his pocket he would be able to show the friendly side he is one of them, he placed down a box in one of the corners of the boat where the supplies were so he would have a spot to stay. Looking around he made sure that nobody was going to be there to see him hiding, sitting down behind the boxes he stayed silent, checking through one of the cracks that the boxes didn’t quite connect to. He watched people work. Then the horn of the ship sang, people were raising the ramp to the boat, though as someone got close to the boxes it got knocked over bashing against him, it was enough to get a sound out of Sullivan, the worker looked around the box and saw him, he knew something was wrong. Though it confused Sullivan as he walked away, now his only objective was to try and get the box out of his way, no use though because when he started to get it off of him the guy came back, he wasn’t alone either sided with someone else, they dragged him bringing him over to the stairs and up to the deck, others watched in shock as they seen a stowaway. They brought him over to the railing, water deep below them.

“Wait, wait! Please.”

He pleaded, trying to get them to listen to him. They didn’t care because before long he found himself plummeting down to the cold waters below, he managed to keep himself a float not drowning, he frantically looked around trying to find a way back up to the dock, a ladder was half submerged in the water leading back up. He swam over to it, gripping onto the slick with water handles and pulling himself up. Eventually he did start to climb up with ease. Getting to the top and laying on the hot ground for a moment just looking up at the cloudy sky he took a breath, getting up to his feet he shook a little trying to get the last waters out. He looked around understanding that he was still stuck inside of the wrong country, the sounds around him dimmed out and people stopped talking. Turning back there was a shockingly empty port, he knew something was off but it didn’t register in his mind as fast when he was hit on the head with the stock of a rifle. Before that happened the guard yelled something incoherent. Sullivan was out cold for just a few hours though when he woke up again he was inside of a box with many others.

It was hot and miserable. Inside of it, people looked at him as he started to awaken, people didn’t seem to care very much and he continued to struggle getting up, other Americans and soldiers on the allied side were on here. Along with others who seemed to be locals, most likely Jewish or thieves. People had their hands sticking out of the small windows trying to cool themselves, everyone constantly being bumped into.

“Where are we headed?”

Sullivan asked, trying to look outside. Nobody answered him, instead he heard the crying of someone who didn’t seem too old. He made his way past most of the other people to get to where he heard the sobbing at. Looking down he saw a small child, and wasn't the only one that he had seen but it is a very hard sight. He tried to calm the child, not much would help though, the terror in the eyes was so strong. Everyone was jolted forward though as the train started to stop. The wheels screeched to a stop, for a moment nothing was happening, then the doors slid open. Soldiers wearing grey and black started dragging people out of the train and onto the platform below, people stood tall and strong wearing uniforms and symbols. People got off of the train really confused and on the big sign above saying where it was and what the name was, he couldn’t get a good read on it, though it is also where four guards waited, watching with their weapons ready.

“Halt!” (stop)

One yelled as somebody tried to run. He didn’t make it too far and he had gotten shot in the back. He collapsed to the ground and people were terrified, though he recognized a lot of the people there being a part of his own. Other pilots who have been fighting with him by his side, they started funneling people in through the gate. SS officers and Nazi soldiers kept in mostly order, they would shove people to make them go faster through the gates. Soldiers pointed them in the direction of rooms and bunks, each bunkhouse held about two-hundred soldiers each. He reaches into his pockets and realizes that he has been stripped of everything, the only thing he has on him is the clothes he is wearing. It was getting pretty late in the day, though people were quick to leave the bunkhouse and go into the workyard. They all had their own roles of work, most of them moved boxes from one area to another onto trucks.

“Don’t just stand around, you don’t want them to think you are lazy.”

One of the other prisoners said to Sullivan, he couldn’t ask anything else as he had to work with the box he had been holding. Sullivan looked around for a little bit trying to see how he could survive. The Germans had no patience for those who would not listen.

“Mach Schnell!” (Hurry up!)

One of the guards ordered him, he looked angry and unhappy about it. Sullivan knew he wouldn’t be able to fight back as there was no way that he would be able to fight back, bullets could tear through him in seconds. Rushing over to the boxes that were on the pile which was slowly emptying he started moving them. They were heavy and nobody was willing to help, all of them just trying to survive, those who had been there for longer were skinny and weak. Placing the box down a few bells rang, people started rushing somewhere but some stood around wondering what was going on.

"Essensrationen." (Food rations.)

A loud speaker above cried out, he still didn’t understand what was going on and therefore he decided to go with the crowd. Walking past a few more bunkhouses and workzones he comes across what looks like a canteen, the food there was nothing to gawk at. Soup which everyone was pretty sure had rotten or half eaten vegetables, and the meat was terrible too, what was there if any usually had maggots. People would be ecstatic to eat anything they possibly could. He was standing in line and he watched as people would have a bowl filled. Eventually after some time of waiting in the line it was his time, the person in the back of the kitchen area brought out another pot for them to pull them out. They gave him a bowl and told him to get on his way, no spoon or fork. Lifting it up to his mouth once he got out of the way of others he hesitantly had some, though he hated it, the soup was cold and raw-ish. He swallowed with barely chewing, he hated the taste. It was disgusting. He stood around while eating as there were no chairs for him to be on, some people were sitting on the ground of the camp, and didn't care for the dirt that was getting on their outfits. Sullivan stopped himself from eating the soup; he couldn't stomach it.

“Are you going to eat that?”

Someone else had said to him noticing that he put the bowl down. He shook his head before handing the half-emptied bowl of soup to him, he took it gratefully and started to woof it down. A bell went off and people dropped off their bowls at the canteen, before they all got to work. Once again Sullivan found himself doing work for others even when he didn’t want to, instead this time it wouldn’t be to escape, would be to survive. A wheelbarrow lay against one of the walls next to a wood pile, he went over to it. Lifting it up he set it down to fill with logs, and it wasn't long before he eventually got it stacked enough to bring over to one of the buildings. An officer spotted him and went over, he pointed at the wheelbarrow and then at one of the buildings, it was a lot nicer than what everyone else had to go inside of. They assumed that it would be for the soldiers that had to stay here, he moved quickly and with haste. The tread of the wheel and the shoes left imprints on the ground behind him, it was a heavy load to be carried over to the living quarters of the soldiers. Wasn,t winter yet but he assumed they either needed it for cooking or heating when it did come. And it wasn’t far away until winter came. It was only September, the mornings and nights were cold, though often the days ran warm. He got to the other pile of wood next to one of the entrances to the building and dropped off the wood, picking up and tossing the little sum that didn’t fall out. After that he took it back to the original pile. He repeated this until most of it had been gone. The sun started to set and he grew yawns the more he stayed up. People started moving to the barracks and trying to get comfortable anywhere they could. Some people would have to lay on top of each other, he tried to find a spot but everyone wouldn’t be able to make space, the evening sun became colder and less warm, finding an ok-ish spot he lay down. There were no pillows and the bed blankets weren't working as they should. Also that there weren't many of them, especially with so many people. He was in between two people, he tried to have his eyes closed wanting to get some rest, it was too hard though.

“Hey…”

Someone whispered. At first he ignored it, still trying for rest. But then it happened again. He turned his head to where he thought that the voice had come from.

“What?”

He replied into the darkness, the sun had gone past the line of the horizon. Stars filled the sky as he could barely see out of the window.

“You’re new right?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… keep your eye out.”

He turned over ending the conversation of whispers, Sullivan wasn’t able to dream that night.

Waking in the morning no birds were chirping, nobody wanted to move but they had to, they all looked so mechanical, like robots moving along an assembly line. He eventually found himself standing, and over some speaker like a PA system a loud demanding voice yelling ‘Appell’ and at the sound of that everyone started to walk outside of their barracks. A big group of everyone huddled into one big square, he joined in finding an empty spot. A pair of people started walking around taking a look to see if everyone was there. There was a process to it, they counted out people as they moved along through the groups of people. After some time they stopped counting people and yelled something which made everyone get to their work stations, by one of the barrack buildings was a small group of other prisoners talking. He went over to them but once he got close they eyed him and went silent, he was a little weirded out by it.

“What?”

“What are you doing here?”

They replied quickly. He thought for a moment before speaking.

“Just making conversation, what’s with the secrecy?”

They looked at each other, their clothes fitting loosely against them.

“Nothin’ just leave us be.”

Another one of them said he understood and took himself away, looking around wondering what to do as a guard walked up to him.

“You, come with me.”

There was no way that he could even think about fighting it, following the guard. He remained silent not saying anything, he walked and walked and walked and walked. Going through a gate, barbed wire strung across the top of it keeping people from climbing over and running, the building in front of him cast quite the shadow across the ground. The entrance of the building had a double door that was on bearings letting it be able to get swung open, people wheeling carts would be going in and out, all of them looking half dead. The guard grabbed Sullivan on the shoulder and shoved him to the door.

“Get moving.”

He rushed into the building, it was a factory-like building with a lot of equipment. Quickly the guard moved him to a station where he needed to use a machine and hammer to weapons parts, they gave him a barely intelligible instruction. As he read he heard others work and struggle with their machines but most of them were getting by understanding what to do. He took a piece of one of the metal square sheets and put it into the roller, then he took one of the screws and held it up to one of the holes on the now rounded hinge like piece and screwed it in. He had a bolt on the other side of it and it clamped together, he added it to one of the piles with the finished product. This went on for hours but there was no sense of time, he wasn’t able to take a break either as they wanted constant workers, the gun parts were being made in increased numbers.

“The work day ends soon.”

He heard someone muttering at their station, he listened to them for a little while but they just kept repeating it, kept it so that they had some hope of being able to stop working, he started to look around frantically, watched as the guards patrolled past and how they stopped for a moment and looked out of the window next to them. They were tinted letting a little bit of light though but you could see the dust in the air. He dropped whatever it was that he was holding and started to waltz out, the doors to the outside of the factory were open and nobody seemed to notice as he left. The man kept going until he came face to face with a guard or so Sullivan thought as he watched the man walk back into the factory reluctantly while looking over his shoulder, swearing under his breath. The guard eventually went into the building and over to his station, he watched him work, with deadly precision not wanting him to make a mistake. The man's hands shook as he felt the presence of the guard at his back, one other guard saw that Sullivan was slacking off and hit him atop of the head.

“Arbeit!” (Work!)

He yelled. A very demanding voice especially after the blow to the head he delivered, he quickly got back to work, the other guy who was being watched made a few mistakes, he knew this because of the yelling from over in that direction, along with a gunshot. It left the big open room surprisingly quiet, even the machines seemed to quiet down at the sound of it, Sullivan jumped a bit but still kept working, he imagined that gun now pointed at his head forcing him to work, he dropped a screw though meant to be put into the holes to hold it together, the guard took his weapon upon seeing this and bashing it against his back making him drop to the ground, he grunted at the pain. He got back up and was able to keep working, then the work day came to an end. Though that wasn’t the only instance and for which his body was sore and barely capable, getting back to the bunkhouse he lay with the same guy he was with last night, except this time the spark in his eye faded, he fell to the night almost immediately. Just for the bells to wake him in the morning.

**Months later**

It was winter now, the morning was the coldest. Everyone had been staying close together hoping their body heat would be sufficient, Sullivan lost an absurd amount of weight his ribs and other bones will be visible, snow coming down hard on top of everyone else who tried to work, he envied the guards who were geared with winter schmocks and jackets.

“I wish this damned snow would end already.”

Someone taking refuge in the bunkhouse said, even then the temperature was beyond unbearable.

“I know, I wish that also, I don’t know if I’m going to make it, that soup isn’t working anymore.”

They all collectively agreed, though their conversation was coming to an end as a guard walked in. He looked disconcerted.

“The Soviets are planning to make a move on this camp.”

He announced, people started cheering.

“Silence!”

He demanded they didn’t stop, though only got louder, and for that brief moment they felt a little warmer inside, short lived though as the guard reached for his holster aiming at the sky and shooting, that made them quiet.

“We will be marching out of here to another camp.”

Everyone looked at each other, they were in no shape to be marching in that weather, it would lead to certain death. The guard left and everyone started arguing and fearing over what might happen. They saw another bunkhouse go into disarray.

“I can’t do this!”

One guy yelled starting to run out of the bunkhouse and over to the fence, the guards didn’t stop him either, they knew he wouldn’t make it far in this weather, and not to mention the fact of the condition for sight, hardly could see ten feet in front of you. He disappeared into the distance climbing over the fence and probably getting cut up by the barbed wire, he vanished behind the wall of thick snow and fog. The guards started to round up the prisoners of the camp, they were all in a grid, they started moving people from Sullivan's bunkhouse. He wasn’t able to get out of it, the gates at the front of the camp opened, the train tracks covered by the thick layer of snow, their shoes barely giving them any comfort. And so they started. Snow attaching to their clothes like dust under a couch.

“Fuck, it’s cold…”

One guy next to him muttered, most of the people were starving as they hadn't eaten before they left because of the time. Each step bringing them closer to the grave, he watched as other people held their arms close to their bodies trying to keep warm, it was no use as the temperature had to of been much below freezing, the hair on Sullivan's face started to turn to icicles. The snow they were walking through started getting deeper and deeper, some of the prisoners were slowing down not even far from the camp. Others kept pushing.

“This is fucked.”

One of the people next to Sullivan said. He looked over at him, a man looking at him back, they were slightly faster than some. Wind at the front of the pack was way worse than in the back because of the amount of people blocking it.

“I know, we will get through it though, I hope the Soviets get here though.”

“I hear you there.”

Sullivan looked over at the soldiers, trucks following them, the headlights shining through the thick fog of the snow. Tracks would be left behind it as they continued forward, prisoners watched them go by.

“What’s your name?”

Sullivan asked, trying to get some light in a dark situation.

“Tyler. You?”

“Sullivan. I can’t feel my feet”

“Neither can I.”

They talked a bit about what they did in the camp, they hadn't seen each other before but then again the camp was pretty big. Almost like a school with hundreds of students, and how some go their whole school career not knowing about each other. Though they were united now, under particularly terrible circumstances. Sullivan reached up to itch his face even though most of the receptors in it have froze over, a big unkempt beard now lives on his face. He hasn’t gotten a chance to shave, icicles sit inside of it.

“Los! Los!” (Go Go)

One of the soldiers yelled at the prisoners marching, the snow getting worse and worse. Visibility has been getting worse also. Though it did give one of them enough confidence to run, it was no use because one of the soldiers grabbed him.

“Alle!” (All!)

The soldier yelled while walking with the prisoner.

“He tried running. Leaving you all.”

Kicking the back of the knees sent the prisoner down. Sullivan recognized him to be one he befriended, Tyler. Rage filled his body as he watched the soldier take out his Luger. He rushed forward towards them, he first grabbed his wrist trying to disarm him of the weapon. He wasn’t able to, at least not in the weak state of his body. The soldier easily overpowered him. A shot went out but didn’t hit him, he kept wrestling with the soldier. Tyler took the opportunity to keep running, he went into the direction he believed the Soviets to be. Sullivan and the soldier barbarically yelled at each other trying to get control of the weapon, another guard started to aim his weapons at Sullivan. He was quickly tackled though as another prisoner got enough courage. Before long the march turned into a battle between the prisoners and the soldiers, bullets flew through the air hitting people, left and right. Lights over the horizon of where the night connected with the land. Snow makes the light more luminous and vibrant than it would be. The air is thick with smoke from bullets and other pollution from the fight with the soldiers and the prisoners. Shouting increased as the Soviets got closer to the fight. They started to speed up trying to get there before everyone ended up dead or severely injured. Vehicles of the Soviets had been getting closer and closer and the ground rumbled as the vehicles got closer, bullets started flying faster than others could process because of the fast fire rate. Standing up Sullivan looked around quickly trying to get his bearings after a blow to the head from the stock of a weapon. He soon fell though from the adrenaline crash, the shooting started to stop and the Nazi soldiers died the Soviets started checking and searching the bodies. The snow is now bright with the light of the headlights from the cars and trucks from the Soviets. He lay on the ground watching the stars in the sky, they got brighter and darker the longer he watched. One of them came up to him and looked at his face then at his body, then said something in Russian. He lifted him up with the collar of his shirt then held him to his feet, he said something about him walking.

“W-what?”

He asked, trying to get an idea of what was going on, but one thing that he knew is he was in the hands of the right people now. He kept getting colder, blood not rushing as fast as it was during the fight, memories of it already fading. His vision went dark. Some time later he came to the inside of a bed in what seemed to be a semi-ok hospital. He looked around and saw his arm attached to an iv. A nurse walked over to him with a clipboard in hand.

“Where am I?”

He asked, rubbing his head with a free hand. The bright lights shining down on his face.

“You are in a hospital in Moscow.”

She explained calmly checking the bag and then his arm where the iv was in.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know we just got a whole lot of injuries on a  truck, they got off loaded here.”

“Why do you speak English?”

The nurse chuckled softly, finding it ridiculous.

“We are part of the Allied forces, you were lucky because of the amount that were here.”

He looked around and saw the chaotic and crowded hospital. He started to hyperventilate of the sight, reminding him of the camp. The nurse started to calm him down trying to get his mind back to the present. She had seen this in the other patients, he wasn’t able to easily go back. It took them some time to finally get Sullivan back to where he was, his breathing started to slow and his eyes glassed over.

“I need to get home.”

The two nurses that now stood over him and looked at each other.

“Well you can’t quite go home just yet as there are no planes or boats going that way. The best we can do is make you comfortable until you are able to go home.”

He just stared at them, his blank stare full of irritation, his weak and fragile body wouldn’t let him do anything rash, he wanted nothing more than to get up from the bed that he was confined to and catch a boat back to his home, instead of being here. After a moment the nurses left and he had nothing other than his thoughts, the beds were lined up next to one another and he was unable to feel comfortable.

“You ok?”

Someone asked a patient from the bed next to him on the left. Sullivan looked in his direction. Thought for a moment.

“I just wanna go home and not rot in this bed.”

He thought for a little bit longer, anger and rage replacing the hurt and longing. He ripped the iv out of his arm and stood up, he had blood seeping out of the hole where the iv originally was.

“Sir, I need you to stay in bed.”

He shoved her away with surprising strength.

“I’m going… I’m going home!”

He mumbled lightly, the blood falling from his head and making him light headed.

“Get off of me!”

Reality and imagination and the memories of the camp came back to him and made him outburst even more. He bawled his fists trying to get past the now three people trying to stop him. Taking him down was easy as he could barely see.

“No… no… w-wait…”

He tried saying, a nurse yelled for a sedative, flood covered his arm and outfit along with parts of the floor. Before long he came to the effects of the sedative they injected him with.

Waking up hours later he was alone, in a cold room with nothing but a ragged mattress. He lay on his back feeling sluggish from the sedative that they have given him, he looked around trying to move his arms. He couldn’t move anything but his  neck and legs, after some struggle from laying down, Sullivan eventually stood up and looked around. His legs felt shaky and unreliable, no lights in the room were on and the only reason he could see is because of a small open slit in the door. He stumbled over to it trying to look outside, there was a chain holding him back that clashed with the movement of him trying to get too close.

“Hey!”

He yelled trying to get someone's attention.

“Hey! Hello!? Anyone!?”

He sat himself down trying to free his arms, he couldn’t no matter how much he tried, whatever it was that had been holding him back from being able to reach out was too strong. Though Sullivan could hear some footsteps, they seemed to be getting closer.

“Hey! Someone there!?”

A shadow consumes the slit in the door, the person behind the door huffed before leaning down so his eyes would meet Sullivan's. He took a look at him, he brought his flashlight up to the slit of the door next to his face shining it on Sullivan.

“You have attacked hospital staff.”

“Who are you? A-and where am I?”

Sullivan asked, squinting his eyes.

“I’m not important to you, and you are in solitary for your crimes.”

“You can’t… you can't do that!”

The guard didn’t bother him with a lie of an answer, like that he would come out of there anytime soon. So he left. The guard fixed his posture from the hunched over to the straight up.

“Where are you going?”

Sullivan tried to ask but it had been no use, the guard ignored him with a scoff and ended up fading down the hall, Sullivan started to flail inside of the suit that he had been placed in, like the ones they give the people in the mental hospitals for the looneys. He let out a loud shriek, the entire block of people could probably hear it. After some time of struggle he still, despite his best effort to get out of what he was in. Not useful. Sitting on the cold ground of the concrete room he felt as if the walls around him were closing in, like there would be no way for him to be able to ever get out. He closed his eyes but the familiar feel of the room compared to the rooms and the bunks of the camp, his mind shattered by the thoughts. Sullivan thought of Otto how such nice people would be able to help him, he missed him, wished he would be here now to try and help him like he did way back then. He couldn’t remember his face now, and not even the voice of the man who saved him. A ruckus outside of his room grabbed his attention, quickly getting to his feet. Sullivan looked outside of his small box to see what was going on.

“Do you know who I am!?”

A voice yelled.

“I don’t have time for this.”

Another said more calm than the first guy.

“Let go of me!”

The voice yelled again. It was no help as wherever he was going seemed to be inevitable. The view from the middle of the concrete box was not the best but he could see enough to where the man was being brought to, and that the guard was being awfully rough with him. A second guard entered soon after the first with the prisoner, how Sullivan imagined them.

“Hey!”

Sullivan yelled. He heard as the guards opened the big door in front of the patient and took him inside.

“You!”

He tried to get their attention once more, they probably couldn’t hear him past the loud sounds the patient had been making, absurdly loud, obnoxiously. The sounds of chains and struggle could only be made out after they got into the cell with him.

“What are you doing to him!?”

Still no response except for the sudden silence and the sound of someone hitting the floor with the thud. Both of the guards left the room and shut the room, they also shut the small slit on the outside of the door. After that was taken care of one of the guards came back over to Sullivan's cell with an obvious sigh.

“What?”

He asked, irritated.

“Who was that you put in there?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“Useless…”

Sullivan muttered under his breath. The guard heard and took offence.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

The slit in the door went dark after that and the door started to open, Sullivan brought himself back into the corner of the room and the door started to open. The guard walked though and stood strong, and tall in front of him, a lot more intimidating than the Nazi’s at the camp. Though seeing it the memories once again came back.

“Stay! Stay away! Don’t come near!”

He tried to argue to the guard but for nothing, he came closer and squatted down.

“I don’t know what your issue is, but we will fix you. I have better things to do though than set you straight right now.”

He stood up with a bit of a chuckle seeing Sullivan in such a pathetic place, nothing like the heroic pilot he once was. The door slammed shut. He was left alone with nothing but his own thoughts, which were intensified with the slit being closed. Once again he lay on the ground though in the fetal position, no tears just fear. The silence grew louder more than any gunfight that he had ever been in. His mind started to wander with the loneliness setting in, he imagined what his life used to be like with his wife. He started to think back to when he would be sitting in the kitchen to the smell of her cooking. Not the rotting and damp smell of this solitary confinement, he wished that someone would walk in through that door and tell him he was set free and returning home. He wished it was soon too, not being held prisoner like he had been for so long. He remained in the same spot, same position and the same feeling of emptiness and numbness. This went on for a few minutes until someone started to open the bottom hatch of the door, with not a word said they slid a tray underneath to the other side to where he would be able to grab it.

“Eat.”

The man on the other side said, something about not knowing who was on the other side and who wasn’t didn’t sit right with Sullivan but he complied anyways, and for some reason his stomach hurt he was so hungry. But the only thing in the tray was potatoes with very little vegetables. He looked at it with restraint and a feeling of repulsion, then again he wasn’t really sure what to expect. He felt another fit of rage build inside of him, he found this terribly ridiculous.

“Hey, what the fuck is this?”

The top slit slid open.

“Your food prisoner, now eat, it’s not going to be a five star meal.”

“Food? This isn’t food, I will starve!”

“Then don’t eat it, doesn’t matter to me all you would be doing is making one less mouth to feed.”

He listened in terror and shock upon hearing this, the slit sliding shut and the footsteps disappearing into the distance. He breathed as deep as he could before letting out, with whatever was left of himself.

“You can’t keep me here forever!”

Though nobody had been there to care about the words, he still tried, one last time, before the dark set in the room.