Post by Wing on Jan 24, 2007 6:46:35 GMT -5
A/N: Aaaat last! Chapter 4 is up! Sorry for the wait!
Note: This is a very italicised chapter in terms of thoughts and such, but of course that doesn't copy over into the message board, so...yeah. My italics went missing. *frowns*
Chapter 4
It was the pain that woke Hans up, the mass of utter pain that was his back flaring to the point that it reached into his unconscious mind and dragged him into the present. He came awake abruptly and flinched reflexively when he opened his eyes, jolting his back. Fighting back tears, he bent his head to the floor with an agonised whimper, biting his lip hard.
After several moments, the fresh stabs began to fade a bit, and Hans was able to remember where he was and focus on why his back was causing him such trouble. Gott in himmel, but it hurt worse than it had yesterday, even when the beating was going on, it seemed! His stomach, too, ached from a combination of hunger and the fact that it was unused to being lain on for several hours as its owner usually slept on his side, but that really wasn’t as bothersome. Actually, it might not have even been several hours—Hans had no idea how much time had passed from when he had finally managed to sleep.
Summoning the reserves of his strength, the general turned his head to look for Erwin. The field marshal was asleep with his back to him, but close enough that Hans still benefited from the warmth of his body in the freezing cell. He was shivering slightly in his sleep, Hans noticed guiltily, feeling his superior’s heavy overcoat on his shoulders with a pang of discomfort.
Any further remorse, however, was not possible, for when he shifted back to a more comfortable position on his stomach he felt something in his back crack—a reopened wound—and was instantly overwhelmed with new, blinding pain. Hunching his shoulders, Hans tried valiantly not to make a sound and failed, emitting a strangled sob that ignited a round of painful coughing. When he finally managed to get his breathing back under control, he dropped his head to his folded arms, allowing the tears he was holding back to flow silently as he waited for the agony to pass. It hurt so much.
Beside him, Erwin stirred, apparently roused by the fit of coughing, and glanced over. Hans didn’t look up, but the field marshal evidently knew he was awake as he hissed lowly, “Are you all right, Hans?”
“No, ---- it,” the stocky general gritted out through clenched teeth, pressing his forehead harder into his arms. “Leave me alone.”
The Desert Fox rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, waiting patiently for his subordinate’s harsh breathing to become more regular. He stared at the concrete floor in front of him for a few moments. “Mein Gott, Hans, it should’ve been me. Why didn’t you tell them?”
Hans laughed hoarsely, wiping his eyes on his sleeve roughly. “You know, Erwin…” he managed, “I’ve always been struck by that…how you always manage to blame yourself. Something goes wrong…it’s your fault.”
“I do not,” Erwin said indignantly. He paused, then added uncertainly, “Do I?”
“Ja!” Hans coughed. “All the time. You shouldn’t, though…because it usually isn’t. You’re too hard on yourself.”
Sighing, Erwin shrugged and laid an arm gently around Hans’ shoulders, careful not to lean too heavily on him. “You’re a mess, though,” he told him softly. “Either way, that’s the truth.”
Hans was silent. He wasn’t going to argue with that.
“And what if…” The field marshal trailed off, but Hans knew what he was going to say—if they came to get him again, there was very little doubt that he would be unable to do any talking after another interrogation. “I know, Erwin,” he replied quietly. “I know. But what are we going to do?”
“Actually, it’s funny you should mention that,” the Desert Fox said, a touch of smugness coming into his voice. He sat up again and stood, pacing over so he was sitting where Hans could see him without turning his head. The general propped his chin on his arms and looked at him inquiringly, raising an eyebrow at his expression, which was one of self-satisfaction.
“You thought about it?” he confirmed, tilting his head slightly. “Escaping?”
Erwin nodded, a small smile flitting about on his face. “I think it could work.”
“Well, tell me!” Hans said eagerly, raising his head as far as he dared.
“You said something last night about accomplishing two things with one action,” the other Swabian explained, leaning forward and folding his hands in his lap. When he got a small nod in response, he continued. “That got me thinking. Somebody helped you last night, someone who works here, by putting those things in your pocket.”
“The doctor, I think,” Hans said, still nodding.
“Right. Now, if you were able to go back to the infirmary or wherever you were last night where that happened—by insisting that you go, that’s the tricky bit—you would be put in contact again with that person, with any luck. If they felt pity enough to help you, maybe they’ll do something else for you—something like carry a message. It’s worth a try, after all and even if they refuse, you’ll get some real medical attention, at least more than I can do, anyway.” He paused. “And then, if the message gets to the right people, we wait. We can’t do anything else besides that.”
Hans considered it with a touch of irony—it was a typical Rommel battle plan despite the wildly unlikely odds. Simple, yet efficient and straight in to the attack without messing about with specifics. And, unbelievably, it actually sounded plausible.
There was just one thing. “It’ll work, Erwin,” Hans said confidently, drawing a wider grin from his commanding officer. “But I want one thing for certain.”
“Yes?”
“Von Stauffenberg goes to the infirmary, not me.”
Erwin’s smile vanished, his brow furrowing. “I thought about that too,” he said reluctantly. “It needs to be you, though. We don’t even know if he’s…well…”
“In one piece?” Hans supplied dully.
“Yes,” the field marshal admitted. “Mentally and physically.”
“Physically, he wasn’t in one piece to begin with,” his subordinate mused with a careful shrug. “But he needs it more than I do, Erwin, he really does. You saw him the other night—he can’t last like that. I had someone to clean me up, but he doesn’t even have bandages, for God’s sake. He’ll die if we don’t do something, because they certainly won’t. I’ll be all right, I promise.”
“You can’t even sit up, Hans,” Erwin snapped with unusual force. “You’re in no position to promise anything.”
The general sighed. “We both owe him one, sir. He did so much for the conspiracy—he was in charge of covering up for both of us, you know.”
The field marshal stared at him. His dark eyes were unreadable, but Hans knew he had him: imploring to Erwin’s honour always worked.
“All right,” he relented. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. The guard left before you were brought in, I think.”
“We’ll talk to him,” Hans said firmly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I know him better than you do. He’ll recognise me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the field marshal scolded him quietly. “You’re in no shape to stand.”
“I know,” Hans coughed, trying not to wince. “You’ll have to help me.”
“I am not going to help you injure yourself further,” his friend said flatly. He folded his arms over his chest and stared challengingly back.
“Erwin. This is the only way this will work. I’ll live.”
“Christ.” Looking furious, the field marshal stood up, paced angrily to the door, and glanced out before returning. “Well, now is as good a time as ever, I suppose,” he said irritably, adding with a touch of anxiety, “Are you sure? I can speak to him just as easily by myself, you know.”
Hans nodded wordlessly but empathetically. Sighing, the field marshal crouched beside the other Swabian as he lifted his chin off his arms and tried to push himself up. Cruel claws of excruciating pain dug into his back ruthlessly, and Hans nearly fell back to the floor, but, shaking his head, Erwin caught him by the shoulders and pulled his subordinate towards him so he was sitting up. Hans leaned against him for a moment, panting with effort and pain, his eyes tightly shut.
“All right?” Erwin asked quietly. “Do you think this was a bad idea yet?”
“No,” Hans gasped defiantly. He touched his side to feel the blood soaking his shirt and made a face. “I’m fine. Just get me up.”
Erwin slowly stood, lifting Hans with him. The stocky general ground his back teeth in pain as he struggled to get his feet under him, straightening up with an agonised grunt. The Desert Fox put an arm around his shoulders and helped him limp to the door, where Hans steadied himself against the reassuringly cool door, holding his commanding officer’s arm tightly. Glancing worriedly at him, Erwin braced his shoulder against Hans’, taking his weight without comment.
Resting his forehead against the door, Hans fought for breath, realising his bad vision was further blurred by fresh tears. His body wanted him to lie back down, now, and was insisting rather forcefully that he do so, but he couldn’t. You didn’t have to do this, you know, the part of him that remembered the doctor’s diagnosis about not being able to sit up for a few days nagged, but he did. Erwin couldn’t persuade people for his life, and just getting von Stauffenberg to listen to him would be hard enough.
Taking a deep breath, Hans glanced down the passage again and called over in a hoarse whisper. “Oberst von Stauffenberg!”
No answer. He hadn’t really expected one. Daring to raise his voice a little louder, he tried again. “Von Stauffenberg! It’s us. Are you there? Come on…wake up!”
Erwin shot Hans a quizzical look, which he returned with a distracted shrug. “Please, Claus,” he said softly, gripping the bars blocking the slit in the door with his free hand. “It’s Hans. Hans Speidel. Come on, Claus. Say something. Come on now.”
“Shh,” Erwin murmured, nudging him. From behind the door came the faintest of sounds—something stirring.
“General…Speidel?”
The voice was barely audible, even in the silent passageway, and it sounded strained, as if its owner was trying hard to get words out. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hans leaned farther out to reply. “Yes, Herr Oberst, it’s me. Are you all right?”
Von Stauffenberg coughed. “Afraid…I’m…not very…well, sir,” he whispered. “I tried…I didn’t talk.” These last few words were spoken with strangled forcefulness.
“That’s good, Herr Oberst,” Hans whispered back, touched by the anxiety in the Prussian’s voice. “You’re a credit to the Wehrmacht.”
“Is…our Desert Fox still with you?”
“I’m here, von Stauffenberg,” Erwin replied quickly, leaning forward without loosening his tight hold on his chief of staff. Although Hans knew Erwin was privately embarrassed by the frequent use of his famous nickname as well as flattered by the respect with which people referred to it, he responded at once to it now without thinking about it.
“Oh, good,” the aristocrat breathed. “I wanted to…to thank you for…what you said to the guards, sir. The other night. It was…a very noble thing. I hope…” He coughed again, this time a deep, hacking cough that took several seconds for him to recover from before he went on. “I hope you didn’t…suffer on my account for…for it.”
“No, they didn’t do anything,” Erwin reassured him, adding quietly, “I’m sorry for what they did to you, Herr Oberst.”
“Listen, von Stauffenberg, we’ve thought of something,” Hans cut in. “We need your help.”
“I’m all ears,” the oberst replied wryly, managing to sound sarcastic despite his injuries. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
Now leaning fully against Erwin’s shoulder, whereas before he had been trying to maintain his dignity and hold himself up, Hans quickly outlined the plan, trying not to allow the growing discomfort in his back to find its way into his voice. It was essential, he knew, that he kept the aristocrat’s attention—although it appeared that his mind was intact despite the torture he’d gone through, he knew firsthand how easily pain could distract someone, and if he didn’t get all the details, it was unlikely that the plan would succeed.
When he had finished, there was a long silence, and for a few moments Hans wondered dully if von Stauffenberg had lapsed back into unconsciousness, but the soft sound of his hoarse voice a few seconds later reassured him.
“I’ll do it.”
“All right,” Hans whispered back, feeling the small thrill of victory for the first time in a long while. “Thank you, Herr Oberst. Best of luck.”
He stepped back from the door and swayed, his head spinning—he had been standing longer than he thought. Erwin caught him by the elbow and steadied him, remarking in an undertone, “Well, you did it.”
Hans managed a feeble grin. “I think so.”
“You’re going to lie down now,” the field marshal informed him firmly, helping him sit again. “I’ll take a look at your back once you’ve rested.”
Rolling over onto his stomach again, the general nodded stiffly and laid his head on his arms, waiting for the fresh stabs of pain at the recent movement to pass. He didn’t close his eyes, though, but instead watched as Erwin moved back towards the door to complete his part of the plan. The only way to get von Stauffenberg to the infirmary was by the permission of the SS or the Gestapo, and it would probably take a field marshal’s authority to get that.
Note: This is a very italicised chapter in terms of thoughts and such, but of course that doesn't copy over into the message board, so...yeah. My italics went missing. *frowns*
Chapter 4
It was the pain that woke Hans up, the mass of utter pain that was his back flaring to the point that it reached into his unconscious mind and dragged him into the present. He came awake abruptly and flinched reflexively when he opened his eyes, jolting his back. Fighting back tears, he bent his head to the floor with an agonised whimper, biting his lip hard.
After several moments, the fresh stabs began to fade a bit, and Hans was able to remember where he was and focus on why his back was causing him such trouble. Gott in himmel, but it hurt worse than it had yesterday, even when the beating was going on, it seemed! His stomach, too, ached from a combination of hunger and the fact that it was unused to being lain on for several hours as its owner usually slept on his side, but that really wasn’t as bothersome. Actually, it might not have even been several hours—Hans had no idea how much time had passed from when he had finally managed to sleep.
Summoning the reserves of his strength, the general turned his head to look for Erwin. The field marshal was asleep with his back to him, but close enough that Hans still benefited from the warmth of his body in the freezing cell. He was shivering slightly in his sleep, Hans noticed guiltily, feeling his superior’s heavy overcoat on his shoulders with a pang of discomfort.
Any further remorse, however, was not possible, for when he shifted back to a more comfortable position on his stomach he felt something in his back crack—a reopened wound—and was instantly overwhelmed with new, blinding pain. Hunching his shoulders, Hans tried valiantly not to make a sound and failed, emitting a strangled sob that ignited a round of painful coughing. When he finally managed to get his breathing back under control, he dropped his head to his folded arms, allowing the tears he was holding back to flow silently as he waited for the agony to pass. It hurt so much.
Beside him, Erwin stirred, apparently roused by the fit of coughing, and glanced over. Hans didn’t look up, but the field marshal evidently knew he was awake as he hissed lowly, “Are you all right, Hans?”
“No, ---- it,” the stocky general gritted out through clenched teeth, pressing his forehead harder into his arms. “Leave me alone.”
The Desert Fox rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, waiting patiently for his subordinate’s harsh breathing to become more regular. He stared at the concrete floor in front of him for a few moments. “Mein Gott, Hans, it should’ve been me. Why didn’t you tell them?”
Hans laughed hoarsely, wiping his eyes on his sleeve roughly. “You know, Erwin…” he managed, “I’ve always been struck by that…how you always manage to blame yourself. Something goes wrong…it’s your fault.”
“I do not,” Erwin said indignantly. He paused, then added uncertainly, “Do I?”
“Ja!” Hans coughed. “All the time. You shouldn’t, though…because it usually isn’t. You’re too hard on yourself.”
Sighing, Erwin shrugged and laid an arm gently around Hans’ shoulders, careful not to lean too heavily on him. “You’re a mess, though,” he told him softly. “Either way, that’s the truth.”
Hans was silent. He wasn’t going to argue with that.
“And what if…” The field marshal trailed off, but Hans knew what he was going to say—if they came to get him again, there was very little doubt that he would be unable to do any talking after another interrogation. “I know, Erwin,” he replied quietly. “I know. But what are we going to do?”
“Actually, it’s funny you should mention that,” the Desert Fox said, a touch of smugness coming into his voice. He sat up again and stood, pacing over so he was sitting where Hans could see him without turning his head. The general propped his chin on his arms and looked at him inquiringly, raising an eyebrow at his expression, which was one of self-satisfaction.
“You thought about it?” he confirmed, tilting his head slightly. “Escaping?”
Erwin nodded, a small smile flitting about on his face. “I think it could work.”
“Well, tell me!” Hans said eagerly, raising his head as far as he dared.
“You said something last night about accomplishing two things with one action,” the other Swabian explained, leaning forward and folding his hands in his lap. When he got a small nod in response, he continued. “That got me thinking. Somebody helped you last night, someone who works here, by putting those things in your pocket.”
“The doctor, I think,” Hans said, still nodding.
“Right. Now, if you were able to go back to the infirmary or wherever you were last night where that happened—by insisting that you go, that’s the tricky bit—you would be put in contact again with that person, with any luck. If they felt pity enough to help you, maybe they’ll do something else for you—something like carry a message. It’s worth a try, after all and even if they refuse, you’ll get some real medical attention, at least more than I can do, anyway.” He paused. “And then, if the message gets to the right people, we wait. We can’t do anything else besides that.”
Hans considered it with a touch of irony—it was a typical Rommel battle plan despite the wildly unlikely odds. Simple, yet efficient and straight in to the attack without messing about with specifics. And, unbelievably, it actually sounded plausible.
There was just one thing. “It’ll work, Erwin,” Hans said confidently, drawing a wider grin from his commanding officer. “But I want one thing for certain.”
“Yes?”
“Von Stauffenberg goes to the infirmary, not me.”
Erwin’s smile vanished, his brow furrowing. “I thought about that too,” he said reluctantly. “It needs to be you, though. We don’t even know if he’s…well…”
“In one piece?” Hans supplied dully.
“Yes,” the field marshal admitted. “Mentally and physically.”
“Physically, he wasn’t in one piece to begin with,” his subordinate mused with a careful shrug. “But he needs it more than I do, Erwin, he really does. You saw him the other night—he can’t last like that. I had someone to clean me up, but he doesn’t even have bandages, for God’s sake. He’ll die if we don’t do something, because they certainly won’t. I’ll be all right, I promise.”
“You can’t even sit up, Hans,” Erwin snapped with unusual force. “You’re in no position to promise anything.”
The general sighed. “We both owe him one, sir. He did so much for the conspiracy—he was in charge of covering up for both of us, you know.”
The field marshal stared at him. His dark eyes were unreadable, but Hans knew he had him: imploring to Erwin’s honour always worked.
“All right,” he relented. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. The guard left before you were brought in, I think.”
“We’ll talk to him,” Hans said firmly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I know him better than you do. He’ll recognise me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the field marshal scolded him quietly. “You’re in no shape to stand.”
“I know,” Hans coughed, trying not to wince. “You’ll have to help me.”
“I am not going to help you injure yourself further,” his friend said flatly. He folded his arms over his chest and stared challengingly back.
“Erwin. This is the only way this will work. I’ll live.”
“Christ.” Looking furious, the field marshal stood up, paced angrily to the door, and glanced out before returning. “Well, now is as good a time as ever, I suppose,” he said irritably, adding with a touch of anxiety, “Are you sure? I can speak to him just as easily by myself, you know.”
Hans nodded wordlessly but empathetically. Sighing, the field marshal crouched beside the other Swabian as he lifted his chin off his arms and tried to push himself up. Cruel claws of excruciating pain dug into his back ruthlessly, and Hans nearly fell back to the floor, but, shaking his head, Erwin caught him by the shoulders and pulled his subordinate towards him so he was sitting up. Hans leaned against him for a moment, panting with effort and pain, his eyes tightly shut.
“All right?” Erwin asked quietly. “Do you think this was a bad idea yet?”
“No,” Hans gasped defiantly. He touched his side to feel the blood soaking his shirt and made a face. “I’m fine. Just get me up.”
Erwin slowly stood, lifting Hans with him. The stocky general ground his back teeth in pain as he struggled to get his feet under him, straightening up with an agonised grunt. The Desert Fox put an arm around his shoulders and helped him limp to the door, where Hans steadied himself against the reassuringly cool door, holding his commanding officer’s arm tightly. Glancing worriedly at him, Erwin braced his shoulder against Hans’, taking his weight without comment.
Resting his forehead against the door, Hans fought for breath, realising his bad vision was further blurred by fresh tears. His body wanted him to lie back down, now, and was insisting rather forcefully that he do so, but he couldn’t. You didn’t have to do this, you know, the part of him that remembered the doctor’s diagnosis about not being able to sit up for a few days nagged, but he did. Erwin couldn’t persuade people for his life, and just getting von Stauffenberg to listen to him would be hard enough.
Taking a deep breath, Hans glanced down the passage again and called over in a hoarse whisper. “Oberst von Stauffenberg!”
No answer. He hadn’t really expected one. Daring to raise his voice a little louder, he tried again. “Von Stauffenberg! It’s us. Are you there? Come on…wake up!”
Erwin shot Hans a quizzical look, which he returned with a distracted shrug. “Please, Claus,” he said softly, gripping the bars blocking the slit in the door with his free hand. “It’s Hans. Hans Speidel. Come on, Claus. Say something. Come on now.”
“Shh,” Erwin murmured, nudging him. From behind the door came the faintest of sounds—something stirring.
“General…Speidel?”
The voice was barely audible, even in the silent passageway, and it sounded strained, as if its owner was trying hard to get words out. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hans leaned farther out to reply. “Yes, Herr Oberst, it’s me. Are you all right?”
Von Stauffenberg coughed. “Afraid…I’m…not very…well, sir,” he whispered. “I tried…I didn’t talk.” These last few words were spoken with strangled forcefulness.
“That’s good, Herr Oberst,” Hans whispered back, touched by the anxiety in the Prussian’s voice. “You’re a credit to the Wehrmacht.”
“Is…our Desert Fox still with you?”
“I’m here, von Stauffenberg,” Erwin replied quickly, leaning forward without loosening his tight hold on his chief of staff. Although Hans knew Erwin was privately embarrassed by the frequent use of his famous nickname as well as flattered by the respect with which people referred to it, he responded at once to it now without thinking about it.
“Oh, good,” the aristocrat breathed. “I wanted to…to thank you for…what you said to the guards, sir. The other night. It was…a very noble thing. I hope…” He coughed again, this time a deep, hacking cough that took several seconds for him to recover from before he went on. “I hope you didn’t…suffer on my account for…for it.”
“No, they didn’t do anything,” Erwin reassured him, adding quietly, “I’m sorry for what they did to you, Herr Oberst.”
“Listen, von Stauffenberg, we’ve thought of something,” Hans cut in. “We need your help.”
“I’m all ears,” the oberst replied wryly, managing to sound sarcastic despite his injuries. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
Now leaning fully against Erwin’s shoulder, whereas before he had been trying to maintain his dignity and hold himself up, Hans quickly outlined the plan, trying not to allow the growing discomfort in his back to find its way into his voice. It was essential, he knew, that he kept the aristocrat’s attention—although it appeared that his mind was intact despite the torture he’d gone through, he knew firsthand how easily pain could distract someone, and if he didn’t get all the details, it was unlikely that the plan would succeed.
When he had finished, there was a long silence, and for a few moments Hans wondered dully if von Stauffenberg had lapsed back into unconsciousness, but the soft sound of his hoarse voice a few seconds later reassured him.
“I’ll do it.”
“All right,” Hans whispered back, feeling the small thrill of victory for the first time in a long while. “Thank you, Herr Oberst. Best of luck.”
He stepped back from the door and swayed, his head spinning—he had been standing longer than he thought. Erwin caught him by the elbow and steadied him, remarking in an undertone, “Well, you did it.”
Hans managed a feeble grin. “I think so.”
“You’re going to lie down now,” the field marshal informed him firmly, helping him sit again. “I’ll take a look at your back once you’ve rested.”
Rolling over onto his stomach again, the general nodded stiffly and laid his head on his arms, waiting for the fresh stabs of pain at the recent movement to pass. He didn’t close his eyes, though, but instead watched as Erwin moved back towards the door to complete his part of the plan. The only way to get von Stauffenberg to the infirmary was by the permission of the SS or the Gestapo, and it would probably take a field marshal’s authority to get that.