Acknowledgements:  Thanks Doc II for your valuable beta powers.  That S on your chest and that cape that blows in the wind should give people the idea you're something special!  DocB, you deserve a great big thank you too.  The IM's, sentence restructuring, and the encouragement that you've given over the last couple of months have been very useful.  Another big thank you goes to Ricochet.  Your final beta and invaluable insight into bondage has really spiced this story up!  :oD  Endings are your specialty.  Special thanks go to my niece, Lauren, for the 'muddy' ideas and the use of her daughter's name for a town, and to Nana, Jester, and Stanley for being there with town names.  Sorry I didn't use the suggestions but I'm glad you were there for me! 

Note:  Foreign dialog denoted with < >

The seven men heard the sound of small weapons fire between explosions. Ste. Claire was being overrun and they were right in the middle of it.

An 88 landed close by and the men dove for cover.

Lieutenant Edwards stood, dusted himself off and yelled, "Whittaker," over the receding noise.

A freckle-faced redhead worked his way through the men to stand at his lieutenant's side.  "Yes, sir?"

"Take these plans," the lieutenant pulled the paperwork out of his pocket, "and hide them under that loose brick in the main room.  They won't look in the most obvious place."

"Yes, sir."  The young man took the folded papers and started to walk away.

"Then meet at the rendezvous in ten minutes."

The soldier nodded as he left the others.

"Double-time, son!" Edwards shouted.

The corporal did a quick skip and ran around the corner.

The lieutenant turned to the remaining five men, as they walked down the hallway toward an exit.  "Francois, you, Marcel, and Bastien head back to your homes.  We'll head toward our lines.  I'll contact Arnaud and let him know where the paperwork is hidden."

"Are you sure you will be okay?" the young Frenchman asked.

"We'll be fine.  Now go."  The lieutenant shook the man's offered hand as they neared an intersection.  "Thank you, Francois, for everything.  God speed to you."

"And to you, Lieutenant."  With that the three French resistance fighters ran into the darkness.

Whittaker returned.  "Lieutenant, they're coming in the back of the building."

"Then let's head out the front."  The small squad ran to the nearest exit.

Hearing gunfire and shouting on the other side of the door, the four men flattened themselves against the wall and pulled their weapons up.

Connors, Whittaker, and Anderson fixed bayonets to their M1's.  The lieutenant pulled out his service revolver and opened the door enough to see what was going on.

From the darkness of the factory came a shout, "Hande Hoch."  The lieutenant froze and turned.

"Drop your weapons, gentleman."

If Edwards didn't know better he would have thought it was an American.

"I mean it, drop them, now."

Connors, Anderson, and Whittaker looked to the lieutenant.

A German fired above their heads. "Now," the voice demanded.

The lieutenant dropped his small handgun to the floor, not taking his eyes from the darkness that engulfed their captor.

"You three had better follow your lieutenant's lead or the next bullets will come in contact with your flesh."

Connor lowered his weapon, and then Whittaker's descended.

Anderson's grip tightened on his M1.

"Anderson, do as he says," the lieutenant's attention was drawn to the voice in the shadows.  "That's an order, soldier," Edwards commanded.

The lieutenant turned his head to look at the private.  The young man looked like he was wound tighter than an eight day clock.

"Anderson, stand down, now," Edwards demanded.

Anderson turned to look at his superior, and the terror in the young man's eyes told the lieutenant everything.

"I know what they do to prisoners, sir." Anderson responded.

"Stand down, Swede." Edwards used the familiar name to calm the panicked private.

"But…."

"I mean it, put the gun down," Edwards watched as Anderson's weapon sank to the ground.

Each man was searched by a German soldier.

"So, Lieutenant, what are you doing here in this factory?" a thick German accent asked from the darkness.

"Edwards, Jaxon, Lieutenant, six-two-two-five-zero-eight-nine."  A rifle butt hit the side of his head, causing reality to spin out of control.  The pain was just beginning.

*****

Sergeant Saunders was tied to a chair.  His body had given out, and he was now sagging, semi-conscious.

Lieutenant Ormond Jaegar of Hitler's 'influential' SS guard would be one of the Fuehrer's top men one day, he knew it.  He was becoming one of the privileged few on the front lines, and it was only a matter of time before the great man would see his progress through the ranks.

Germans would one day be the master race and all others would bow to their superiority and strength, and he would be the one to put them there.

As Saunders became fully conscious, he took a deep breath in the stagnant room.  He coughed and felt the tell-tale tingle in his cheeks as his stomach decided that moment to empty out onto the floor.

The room smelled of old blood, fear, and at the edge of it, death.

Saunders' one good eye looked up at the jabbering lieutenant.  His mind flashed back to the beginning of this mission that morning….

*****

Billy signaled in the dim light of dawn and the men behind him scattered and disappeared into the surrounding brush.  The young private ran back to Saunders, who gave him a moment to catch his breath.

"What is it, Nelson?"

"Two men," Billy replied.  "One wounded."

"Stay here," Saunders called over his shoulder, "Caje, on me!"  The two men worked their way along the ditch.  They stopped and waited, watching the two men approach.

< "Not much farther, Bastien.  At the American lines we can get help."> Francois told his friend.

Caje translated the sentences into Saunders' ear.

Saunders nodded at the two men on the road, and Caje spoke.  < "Do you need help?">

At the sudden sound, Francois stumbled and fell, twisting to break his friend's fall.  Francois saw stars as his lungs emptied of oxygen and his head hit the ground.  The world spun and then went dark.

Saunders and Caje ran up to the two men. Caje rolled the injured one onto the road, and checked for weapons on both, while Saunders kept his eyes fixed to the trees on either side of the road, Thompson at the ready.

"All clear, Sarge," Caje informed him, standing.

"Doc!" Saunders yelled, and waved his arm.

The medic ran up and began an assessment of the men lying in front of him, finding there was nothing he could do for the resistance fighter with the blood-stained chest.  He had been dead for a couple of hours.

Pulling scissors from his rucksack, Doc cut the sleeve of the other Maquis' shirt. "Looks like a graze, Sarge.  Not too deep."

Doc grabbed a sulfa packet, sprinkled it liberally over the injury and tied a bandage around the arm.

"Littlejohn and Baer, make a litter."

*****

"Has our guest come around yet?" Hanley asked, as Saunders and Caje entered the aid station tent.

"Not yet sir," Doc responded and looked at his patient.

"Take a break Doc.  I'll wait with him, 'til you get back," the tall lieutenant told his medic.

Doc nodded, stood and left.

"What do we do with him, sir?" Saunders asked the lieutenant.

"I'm waiting to hear back from S2," the lieutenant began.  "He may be part of the resistance in the area, but with the take over of Ste. Claire yesterday, S2 has been scrambling, so I've been unable to talk with anyone at HQ."

The young man on the cot said something in French.

With a nod from the lieutenant, Caje took the seat that Doc had vacated and leaned down to hear what he was saying.  He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. Francois turned his head, opened his eyes and looked at Caje.

The lean scout smiled at him.

Francois returned the smile and said, "American?"

< "Oui, American.">

"Bastien?"

< "I'm sorry, but your friend did not make it.">

Francois closed his eyes, < "I'm sorry, Bastien, I tried.  May God's angels take care of you now,"> he said and crossed himself.

Francois looked at Caje, "I am Francois, where is your lieutenant?"

Hanley stepped forward, nodding for Caje to leave.  "I'm Lieutenant Hanley.  You speak English?" the lieutenant asked, as he sat down.

"Yes, my mother taught me."

"Where were you going?"  Hanley asked.

"I was with Lieutenant Edwards at the factory in Ste. Claire.  He told us to head for our homes when the Germans began shelling.  Bastien, Marcel, and I got out."  His emotions threatened to run away with him.

Hanley lit a cigarette and put it to the young Frenchman's mouth.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he replied around the appreciated offering.  He took a deep drag and savored the tingle in his lungs.

"Marcel was killed as we left the factory and Bastien was shot when we went into the trees."  He touched his bandaged arm, "and it appears that I was wounded as well."

"Did you see Edwards and his men get out?"

"No, we..." he paused "…I did not.  They may have gone out the back way, I am not sure."  He put his uninjured arm over his eyes to cover the feelings that tried to overwhelm him.

"I thought it best that we look for your lines, because of Bastien's wound, and you were much closer than home."

"What was Lieutenant Edwards doing in Ste. Claire?" Hanley asked as Saunders stepped up behind his superior officer.

"We brought an equipment and manpower list so that S2 could help us get the factory up and running again to supply the allies.  We must go back to get them."  His meaning was two fold.

Hanley looked over his shoulder at his noncom.  "Take three of you and Doc.  No contact.  When can you be ready?"

Saunders shifted his weight.  "Soon as you give the word," he responded.

*****

Saunders' squad worked their way though Ste. Claire.  He sent Kirby and Caje to the opposite side of town to search, while he checked their rendezvous point.

Doc squatted down at the door and listened to Saunders' footsteps crunching up the stairs.

Silence filled the room.  Doc stared down at his feet.

"Doc!"

The medic stood and turned his head to listen.  Doc heard Saunders' return and raised his hand.

The pain-filled moan came again, "Doc!"

Saunders stepped over to stand beside his medic, his finger on the trigger of his Thompson.

"Kirby?" Doc whispered over his shoulder.

"Doesn't sound like him, he wouldn't holler like that in Kraut territory," Saunders whispered back.

"Caje then?" he asked.

"I don't see him doing it, either," Saunders responded.

"Maybe it's one of the guys we're looking for."

"That's possible or it could be Krauts."  Saunders stepped in front of the medic using the wall as a shield.  Looking down the street, he stepped onto the crumbling sidewalk and proceeded forward, listening for the call again.

*****

The German Lieutenant stepped up to Heinrich as he called out, "Doc."

The officer watched the young man, very impressed.

<"Do you know which building they're in?"> He asked.

<"Not far down this street, sir, in the building on the left,"> the young man whispered back.

<"You didn't see anyone else with them did you?">

<"No sir, no one.">

<"Very good, the Americans took the bait. Now, let's see what kind of fish we have caught.">

He turned to the other three men that he'd brought with him and signaled them to work around behind the two Americans.

<"No gunfire,"> he whispered, as they left the building.

*****

Saunders had worked his way down the street, checking each doorway and alley that he came across.  Doc was right behind him, always a comfort, when a Schmeisser butt hit him in the side of the head, knocking him unconscious.

*****

Someone grabbed Doc from behind, putting a hand over his mouth and pinning his arms to his body.  Doc watched, powerless to do anything, as his sergeant was hit in the head, dropping him like a stone.

Doc struggled to get free as his hands were tied behind him.

A German lieutenant stepped out from a building with a corporal following on his heels.  He shouted orders to the two privates standing guard over Saunders.  They bent down and began dragging the unconscious sergeant toward another building.

The young man that stood behind Doc poked him in the back with his rifle, indicating for him to follow.

When they entered the building, the lieutenant pointed at a door and the two men dragged Saunders through it.  He then spoke to the corporal and nodded down the hallway.

Doc was led down the hall and shoved into a different room, hitting the floor hard.

"Get up!" a voice commanded.

Doc tried to comply with the order but it was hard to obey with his hands tied behind him.  A boot connected with the medic's right side, forcing the oxygen from his body in a massive whoosh.  The pain was blinding, as his system screamed for attention.  Worse than any bullet that he had ever taken, and no matter how he struggled he couldn't force his lungs to expand.

"Get up!" the voice commanded again.

Doc could feel the smooth wooden floor under his cheek as he lay there trying to breathe.

"Can't you hear me," the corporal spat out, "American?"  There was another kick to Doc's stomach.

The medic's arm was grabbed and he was forced to his feet.

The German corporal held him against the cold brick wall.

"This is your fault, you know," Heinrich said, punching the medic in the stomach.

Doc gasped, looking into the eyes of his tormentor and saw only pleasure.

The corporal punched him again, and the medic fell to his knees, wheezing.

Heinrich stepped back observing his handiwork.

Doc looked up at him.

"This is for my grandparents."  Heinrich kicked Doc again, and then squatted down in front of the winded medic.

"They never did anything to anybody."  He hesitated, in thought.  "American planes came with bombs, wiping out everything!"  Heinrich stood.

Doc leaned back against the wall.  The corporal slapped his face and he bit his tongue.  His mouth filled with blood and he spat it onto the floor.  The medic wiped his chin on his shoulder.

"This is payback for what you Americans did to my grandparents."

Doc still didn't respond.

"You know, I was born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin.  Well, until my parents were killed in an auto accident.  I had no family there, so they shipped me over here to my grandparents."  He began pacing the room.  "They didn't know what to do with me.  They had raised their children and didn't need to be burdened with a six-year-old."  He continued to pace.  "My grandparents accepted me, even though I was an American."  He stopped in front of the medic.  "I found out, over the years, that Americans had been responsible for both of my uncles' deaths in the first war.  My mother ran away when she turned eighteen and found her way to America."

"Heinrich," someone yelled from the corridor.

< "What?"> Heinrich yelled back, aggravated at the interruption.

< "The lieutenant wants you.">

< "Coming,"> Heinrich answered, glaring at the medic before leaving the room.

*****

There was a hard slap across Saunders' face that jarred his teeth.  The German had reached his limit with the stubborn American.

"Sergeant, I will ask you only one more time.  What are you doing here?"

Saunders looked in defiance at the lieutenant.

A young man entered the room, snapping to attention as his superior's eyes focused on him.

After giving the corporal his orders, the young man left the room.  Jaegar turned to the NCO.

Saunders realized that his time with the lieutenant wasn't over yet.

*****

Doc had managed to prop himself up in the corner, away from the door.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.  What a situation.  With his arms tied, he was unable to gain any comfort from them.

The door to the room banged against the wall when it opened, causing Doc to jump, and the sudden penetration of light blinded him.

Heinrich strolled in and smiled at him.  "The lieutenant wants to see you."

Doc rose to his feet and stumbled as a wave of pain seized his body.

Heinrich grabbed Doc's arm and pulled him into the hallway.

Doc tried to control the ache mentally as he was pushed forward.  Each step was excruciating and he pulled his arms in tighter to his body hoping that would stop the throbbing.

Heinrich grabbed his shoulder when Doc came to a closed door.  Heinrich opened it and shoved the medic into the middle of the room causing him to stumble and fall.  Doc hit the floor hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

As Doc fought for air, he saw his sergeant tied to a chair looking like death warmed over.

The medic gasped as he got to his knees.  "Sarge?" Doc stood.  He took a step toward the noncom but was stopped by two very large German men.  Doc glanced at the SS lieutenant who leaned against a table smoking a cigarette.

Saunders' head came up.

The sadistic lieutenant asked, "What are you doing here?"  When Doc hesitated, Jaegar continued, "I don't want name, rank and serial number, I only want the reason you are here."

Doc was not going to give this lowlife anything.

"Did anyone come with you?"  The lieutenant watched the anger crawl through the medic's tense body.  Jaegar scrutinized the intensity of Doc's determined gaze.  "Your loyalties run deep. Give me what I want, and I will let your sergeant live."

Saunders knew what was coming.  "He's a noncombatant, don't do this," he pleaded.

The lieutenant smiled as he switched tactics.  Jaegar stood to his feet and walked over to the medical GI.  With a cold hard stare at the medic, the lieutenant sized him up.

"I've heard that, of all GI's, medics understand what pain is all about," and with one quick move Jaegar punched Doc's solar plexus, making him retch.

Doc saw stars and struggled for air.  The two Germans at his sides pulled him upright by his arms.

"It takes a big man to hit one that has his hands tied behind his back," Doc hissed as he glared at the German lieutenant.

Jaegar smiled back at him.  "You are inferior."

Doc huffed and lifted his head.  "Sticks and stones…." he muttered.

"Don't," Saunders begged, "please don't do this to him."

The lieutenant turned to the sergeant and took a threatening step.  "Then tell me what I want to know."

Saunders looked at Doc and then back at the lieutenant.  "Saunders, Sergeant, two-two-seven-oh-six-two-two."

"You are forcing me to do something," the lieutenant pulled his Luger from its holster; "I really don't want to do."  Jaegar faced the medic, blocking Saunders view.

Doc stood up straight and looked the lieutenant in the eye.

"If it will be easier, you can close your eyes."  The lieutenant told Doc, as he settled the muzzle of the weapon against his temple.

"No," was all he could muster.  His knees felt like melted butter and if the two big guys hadn't been holding him up he'd have been flat on the floor.

Saunders closed his eye and turned his head.

"Not your fault, Sarge," Doc said as the gun fired.

The gunshot echoed through Saunders' head as he heard his friend's body being hauled from the room.  Doc's constant presence was gone for good, and he felt very alone.

"You should have talked."  The lieutenant turned, wiped off his gun, and re-holstered it.  "I hate to waste good medics, they're in such short supply."

*****

When the medic came to, he was in the same room as before, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Sparks were flashing like gunfire behind his eyelids and his head was pounding.

Working his way over to the corner, away from the door, he rolled onto his back.  Oh God, this hurts.  When the nausea subsided, one thought fought its way to the front, what am I gonna do?

I need to get this damn rope off my wrists.

*****

<"I'll get nothing from him now,"> the lieutenant told Heinrich, as the noncom collapsed again.

No amount of poking or prodding would bring the sergeant around this time.

<"Get him out of here.  Dump him with the medic.  The truck will be coming for the five of them later.">

Heinrich nodded, grabbing the semi-conscious sergeant under his right arm.  Another soldier stepped up, grabbed the other arm and they dragged Saunders from the room.

*****

Doc's brain was thumping hard behind his eyes, and he sat in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest.  He had worked the rope loose and was about to pull his hands free, when he heard movement at the door.

Oh God, I don't want to go back!  He silently pleaded.  Their terse conversation told Doc they weren't here for him.

The door violently hit the wall, and he saw two men dragging a third, as the light flooded the darkened room.  Terror gripped his insides, and Doc curled farther into the corner.  He blinked frantically trying to see.  As his eyes adjusted, he saw in the brightness his sergeant being thrown to the floor.

There was a loud 'ohf' as one of the men kicked Saunders and laughed.  The two men left the room.

Jerking his hands free, Doc quickly worked his way to his wheezing sergeant.

When his hand connected with Saunders' head he moved to assess his patient.  No broken arms, a couple of broken ribs, some tenderness in the abdomen and no broken legs.

"Sarge?" he whispered, as Saunders moaned again.  He waited a moment.  "You okay, Sarge?"

"I hurt so bad," Saunders replied.

"I know, me too."  The medic moved around to Saunders' hands and worked to untie his sergeant.

When he was successful, Doc stepped over Saunders and repositioned himself.

"Kirby?"  Saunders' eyes were swollen shut and everything sounded far-away.  The pain shut out any rational thought.

"No, Sarge, it's me," the medic responded.

The ache in Saunders' body clouded his mind, it wasn't Doc... Doc was dead.  His hand reached up and grabbed the front of Doc's bloody shirt.  "Caje, you gotta get back to the lieutenant and tell him what's going on here."

"Sarge, it's me," Doc insisted, pulling Saunders' hand from his shirt.

"Let the lieutenant know that Doc is dead.  I couldn't stop it."  Saunders lapsed into unconsciousness.

Doc sat back.  What was he to do now?

It took some time, but Doc managed to move Saunders farther into the room, away from the door.  Kirby and Caje were still out there, Doc hoped, going for help.

Doc finally gave in to his exhausted body and fell into a pain-filled, restless sleep.

*****

"Where are they?"

"Will you stop asking that?"

"They should have been here, Caje.  We need to go back and tell the lieutenant what's happened."

"Don't you think I know that, Kirby?  We'll wait a little bit longer and if they're not back, then we'll go get help."

"But Caje, we've been waiting for almost an hour.  We've been darn lucky there've been no patrols."

Caje looked down at his feet.  The scout knew that if the two men had been captured, there wasn't any way to get them out without help.  The thought of leaving Doc and Sarge behind caused his heart to pause, but a decision had to be made.

"Okay, let's go."  Caje turned and headed out of Ste. Claire with Kirby right behind him.

*****

Caje and Kirby burst into Hanley's office, all military decorum forgotten.

Hanley stood as the two privates entered.  "Report."

"They have Doc and Sarge, sir" Caje responded between ragged breaths.

Hanley stepped around the desk to stand in front of his men.

"Get the squad, and I'll meet you in front of your bivouac in five."

*****

Billy, Littlejohn, Stewart, and Baer were starting another round of poker when the two exhausted men ran into the room.

"Hey, guys, wanna join us?" Billy asked, as he handed out cards to the other players.  "It's my deal, and you know how much you win when I deal, right, Kirby?"  When the man didn't answer Billy looked up.  "Guys?"

"They have Doc and Sarge," Kirby said.

"The lieutenant is on his way, get your stuff, we're moving out!" Caje said.

The four men stood, knocking over the chairs, and began gathering their equipment.

*****

Sometime later Doc heard voices at the door and sat forward.  The discomfort from his ribs hit him like a freight train, and he fell back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his chest.

The door opened and a huge man filled it.  He was as tall as or taller than Littlejohn.

Doc heard someone in the hallway say something in German to the big man, and it didn't sound good.  One thing popped into Doc's mind, the Sunday school story of David and Goliath.

Dread gripped Doc's heart, causing it to skip a beat.  The medic put his hands behind his back to make it look like he was still tied.

Goliath seemed even bigger as he stood over the two GI's.  He slid his knife from its scabbard, and concentrated on the semi-conscious sergeant.

Doc remembered something that Caje had told him once.  "The heel of your hand is a great weapon, Doc.  If you hit a guy a hard as you can in the nose, it'll do one of two things, kill them or incapacitate them long enough for you to get away."

"Leave him alone, you dirty, stinkin' Kraut."  Doc was staring into the face of death.

Goliath turned toward the medic.  <"What?" >

"I said, leave him alone, you dirty, stinkin' Kraut."  Doc stood, using the wall for support.

Goliath straightened up to his full height and put his hands on his hips.  The big man's body language told Doc that he was in serious trouble.

I hope you're right, Caje.  Doc stepped forward and repeated himself, "Leave him alone."

Goliath leaned down into the medic's face and snarled at him.

Doc cocked his arm back and with all the strength he had left in his body, he slammed the heel of his hand into Goliath's nose.  He felt the cartilage snap, and he watched the big man fall backwards with the force of his blow.

Doc rubbed his hand and walked to the door.

Glancing around the jamb, Doc saw there wasn't anyone in the hallway.

The time was now, Doc had to hurry.

The medic rushed over to his semi-conscious sergeant.

"Sarge...."  Doc shook Saunders' shoulders.

Doc bent over and pulled Saunders' arm up over his neck.  Adrenalin raced through Doc's body, his pain forgotten for the moment.  The only thought that filled his mind was escape.

Doc lifted with all he had and half-dragged, half-carried the wounded noncom to the door.  Checking again, Doc moved into the hallway.

Halfway down the corridor, Doc heard voices and footsteps.  The medic looked around for a hiding place and saw a door.  Doc hurried over to it, turned the knob, and was surprised to find that it wasn't locked.

The medic pushed the door open and dragged his semi-conscious sergeant through it, shutting it behind them.

Doc lowered Saunders to the floor against the wall and took a deep breath.  The throbbing pain came roaring back, doubling him over.  Doc squatted down next to his semi-conscious noncom, willing the ache to subside.

"Who's there?" Doc jumped at the voice from the darkness but remained quiet.  "I heard you come in, who are you?"

Saunders took that moment to moan.

"Answer me, soldier, who are you?" the voice was insistent.

"I'm a medic with the 361^st, first squad." Doc answered.  "This is my sergeant.  We were captured a few hours ago."

"Hanley's men?"  The voice sounded surprised.  "I thought they pulled out?"

"No, now, who are you?"

"Corporal Thomas Whittaker, assigned to Lieutenant Jaxon Edwards."

"Where's the lieutenant?" Doc asked.

"I don't know.  I was hog-tied and thrown in here yesterday.  No one has bothered to even bring me water."  The corporal sounded annoyed.  "Someone is going to hear about this."

Doc worked his way toward the voice.

"How did you know we were here?" Whittaker asked.

"Our squad was on patrol this morning when we found two resistance fighters."  Doc reached the corporal.  "The one named Francois told us that they were able to get away before the Krauts came in."

Doc began working on the rope that bound the young man.

"What about Bastien and Marcel?" Whittaker asked.

"Bastien died before reaching us, and Marcel was killed as they were leaving."  Doc stopped a moment and shook his hands.  He had no feeling in his fingertips and his head was throbbing.  He rubbed his temples and then began again on the knot.

"Hanley only sent two of you?" Whittaker asked.

"He actually sent four.  Sarge and I were captured.  Caje and Kirby, the other two… I dunno.  They've probably gone for help by now.  How many of you were captured?"

"There were four of us—the lieutenant, me, Connors, and Swede, I mean Anderson.  I haven't seen anyone since they knocked the lieutenant unconscious."

Doc tugged hard on the end of the rope and it slipped free.  "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"You need to ask?" Whittaker said, following the medic over to the door, rubbing his wrists.

Whittaker reached down and pulled the sergeant's arm around his neck.

Doc did the same with Saunders' other arm and the two men stood.

Doc opened the door and looked around the jamb.  He nodded at the corporal and they stepped out.

Several steps down the hall, Doc heard someone talking in one of the rooms.  He stopped to listen.

"What is it?" Whittaker whispered.

"Shhh…." Doc leaned closer to the door.  The litany sounded familiar but the words were definitely not English, French, or German.

Doc tried the door as the words started over, and the three men moved into the room.

Doc saw a blond man leaning against the corner of the room with his tied arms wrapped around another man who appeared to be unconscious.  The beautiful words continued, almost as if the man speaking them didn't realize the door had opened.

Whittaker inhaled, "Swede!"  Whittaker dropped Saunders' arm.  The corporal ran over to his friend and worked on the rope that bound him.

Doc sat Saunders against the wall and hurried over to the three men.  When Swede finished speaking, he looked at Whittaker and smiled.  Several of his teeth where missing.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah, it's me.  How's the lieutenant?"  The blond man looked down at his superior.

"He's been pretty quiet for the last half an hour."

Doc felt for the jugular vein.  The lieutenant's pulse was barely there.  Doc untied the lieutenant's hands, checking for broken bones.

"Have you seen Connors?" Whittaker asked.

"No, they took him out of here about an hour after they took the lieutenant yesterday afternoon.  They haven't brought him back."

He looked up at the young corporal.

"I think they killed him."  Tears started in the slate blue eyes.  "They took me out first, thinking I would cave and tell them what they wanted to know."

The tears rolled down the bruised cheeks and dripped onto his lieutenant's forehead.  "I didn't tell them anything, Tommy."

"I didn't think you would, Swede.  Besides, the only thing you know is Swedish.  I'll just bet that confused 'em."  Whittaker patted the young man on his shoulder.

"Did it ever."  The private smiled.  "You should have seen them when I told them to <'kiss my ass.'>"  He started laughing.  "I did give them my Gramma's strawberry popover recipe.  I didn't think she would mind."

"Well, we gotta get out of here," Whittaker said.  "Doc, check the corridor, and I'll help Swede with the lieutenant."

Doc nodded and moved over to the door.

"All clear," Doc whispered over his shoulder as he pulled Saunders' arm around his neck.

The sergeant groaned.

"Come on, Sarge, we're getting out of here."

Doc checked again before stepping into the corridor.  Whittaker closed the door behind them, gave Doc a quick nod, and they continued down the corridor.

Doc heard voices as he neared one room.

Doc approached the room and glanced through the slightly open door.  There were at least ten men in the room, most of them resting on bedrolls, and several playing a card game.

Whittaker, the lieutenant and Swede came up behind him.  "What is it?" Whittaker whispered into his ear.

"About ten of 'em," Doc whispered over his shoulder.

Whittaker looked into the darkness.  "There's an intersecting hallway about three doors down.  It leads to another hallway that will take us to an outside exit.  Can you get past the door?"

"I think so."  Saunders moaned again.  "Shhh, Sarge you gotta be quiet."

Saunders nodded understanding as they moved across the doorway.  Whittaker and Swede did the same and Whittaker closed the door as he passed.

Doc moved down past the three doors.  "Which way?" he whispered.  "Left or right?"  Whittaker pointed to the right and Doc nodded.

Doc heard whispering behind him and then movement in the opposite direction.  Doc turned in the dim light to see Swede dragging the lieutenant.

Doc stopped to wait for the man.

"Where did Whittaker go?"

"Back to get the papers.  He said he'd meet us outside under the trees."

"You okay?" Doc asked.

"So far.  I just wanna get out of here."

"You and me, both."  Doc proceeded on to the exterior door.

Doc leaned Saunders against the wall and opened the door a crack.  Hearing footsteps behind them, Doc turned to see Whittaker walking up behind them.

"You guys still in here?" Whittaker whispered with a smile.

"Well, our burdens aren't light, ya know," Swede whispered back.

"I'll be sure and let the lieutenant know that you think he's fat."

"Ha ha," Swede responded.

"Coast clear, Doc?" Whittaker whispered.

"Sentry."  Doc closed the door enough to see through.  "Another coming up."  When Doc thought they were gone, he stuck his head out.  "All clear, let's go."

Doc pulled Saunders' arm around his neck and swung the door wide.

In the shadow of the building, the men were able to run into the woods.

They lay down in the underbrush and waited as the sentries passed again.  When they had moved around the opposite corners of the building, the men moved out, quickly disappearing into the woods.

*****

< "These American's are not as easily persuaded as the French are,"> Jaegar commented, when Heinrich returned.

< "Wendell is taking care of the last two that we brought in,"> Heinrich reported.  <"You know, there is still one you haven't spent time with.">

< "I had forgotten about him. Bring him here,"> Lieutenant Jaegar ordered.  Heinrich gave a sharp nod and exited the room.

*****

The seven men squatted down beside a building on the outskirt of Ste. Claire, each catching their breath from the long run.  The sun was just beginning to go down.

Hanley looked over at Caje, "The factory, where is it from here?"

"It's on the other side of town."

Hanley looked around the corner.  "There doesn't appear to be any activity here.  Kirby, you, Stewart, Baer, and Nelson cut around, get into the woods and wait there.  Position yourselves to watch any exits behind the building.  Avoid any contact with the Krauts, if you can.  Caje, Littlejohn, and I will work our way down the middle."

Kirby nodded, stood up, shifted his BAR strap, and headed out, the three other men following close on his heels.

"Okay, Caje, lead the way."

The dark-haired Cajun also nodded and moved along the street using doorways and alleys to get them to their destination.

*****

It was getting harder for Doc to put one foot in front of the other.  The pain from his bruised ribs was excruciating, and it raced through him with every step.

"I gotta stop for a moment," Doc gasped.

"Me too, Doc," Swede commented.

Whittaker looked around and saw some cover not too far from where they were.  "Over there," he pointed.

Doc headed toward the brush and what he hoped was a small respite from the war.

When Doc got under cover, he collapsed.  Saunders landed on top of him, forcing the air from his lungs, and the pain roared through his body unchecked.

Whittaker and Swede maneuvered the lieutenant in and laid him down.  Swede collapsed out of breath.

Whittaker stepped over and lifted the unconscious sergeant from the medic's gasping form.  "You okay, Doc?"  Whittaker asked, patting the medic's shoulder.

Doc managed to roll over onto his stomach, winded.  He nodded his answer, closed his eyes, and used his hands as a cushion for his pounding head.

"How long have you been on the front line, Corporal?" Doc asked.

"This is my first mission in the field."

Why doesn't that surprise me?  "How about Swede, how long has he been on the front line?"  Doc sat up.

"His first, too."

"So why did the lieutenant have you two greenies on such an important mission like this?"

"Connors vouched for us.  He said we needed the experience if we were going to be in S2," Whittaker explained.

"So you guys have been behind a desk, running operations?"

"I guess you could say that.  But I've been studying up on wartime tactics, and I know woods.  I grew up in them.  We'll be all right in here.  Trust me."

Doc shook his head.  His Gramma always said 'pride goeth before a fall' and he sure as hell didn't want to be under this kid when he tumbled.

"So are you a hunter, then?" Doc asked, checking on Saunders and getting him comfortable.

"Yep, and a fisherman too."

Well, that'll sure help, Doc wanted to say but instead he moved over to the lieutenant, doing what he could for the officer.  "You want to check on Swede? I haven't heard him make any noise since we came in here."

"Oh, yeah."  Whittaker moved over to Swede, touching his shoulder.

"Swede, you okay?"  Whittaker shook Swede's shoulder, when the young man didn't answer.  "Swede, answer me."

The private turned his head and opened his eyes.  "Are we out?"

"Yeah, buddy, we're out."

"We headed home yet?"

"Soon, pal.  Everybody needs to catch their breath first and give our lieutenant and his sergeant a chance to come around a little bit."

"How's the lieutenant?" Swede asked.  Whittaker looked over at the medic who was tending to the injured officer.  Doc shook his head.

"You took care of him real good, Swede.  The Doc here seems to think he'll be okay."

"Really, Doc?"  Swede looked at the medic.

"He's real weak, and we need to get him to battalion aid, but I'll do my best to keep him alive."

Swede nodded and closed his eyes.  "How are you doing, Doc?"

The medic was taken aback by the question.  He hadn't even thought about himself.  "I'm hurting, but I'll be okay, thank you for asking."

"Good," Swede said.

Whittaker looked over at the medic.  "That's Swede for you, thinking of everybody but himself.  He should have been a medic."

Doc moved over to the private and took his pulse.  "Are you doing okay, Swede?" Doc asked, concerned with the beat under his fingertips.

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