delousing and a physical, and Borden had been pleasant to him, asking him in German about his family, but Kirst had been unable to answer because there was this thing inside that rose up and blocked his throat with rolling pain whenever—
“He wants you to hold still for another picture,” Borden told him in German.
Kirst tried to move his facial muscles to express misery, but it didn’t happen. Nothing got across. Borden seemed satisfied and nodded to Loats.
Kirst forced himself to face the camera. The churning inside got worse. As Loats prepared to get his shot, Kirst was hit with a wave of uncontrollable anxiety.
The flash went off again.
Kirst went rigid. The thing inside him went wild. He stared at Borden and tried to shout with his eyes because his voice wouldn’t work, but Borden was busy conversing with Loats.
Kirst forced his eyes shut. Then all hell broke loose inside him. The black oily thing roared past his closed lids and seized complete control.
When he again became aware of the world around him, Kirst found himself walking behind two MPs. Behind him trailed Borden with an unpleasant-looking officer named Hopkins.
Hopkins threw him a dark look and snapped his fingers, indicating he should face front. Kirst turned and tried to take in more of what was happening. There was something under his arm. He looked down at it—an issue kit, a bundle of whatever he was going to need inside this camp. He looked at where he was going. The ground sloped down toward the fence and the gate just ahead. An MP was opening it to let them in. As his gaze went to the fence and took in the length and breadth of it, the thing inside him began to move again. It roiled in his stomach and he stopped short, willing the anxiety not to return.
But the officer named Hopkins shoved him through the gate and turned him over to a German leutnant waiting for him on the other side. The leutnant had a small dog with him.
Kirst stood inside the fence and stared at the dog. Its ears went back and it shrank away from him. He got a curious look from the leutnant who was holding the leash, then his attention was drawn to Borden and Hopkins arguing. Borden said something sharp to Hopkins, who glared once at Kirst, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the camp.
Borden then spoke to Kirst in German. “If you’re not feeling well, Kirst, you go on the sick list, understand? The medical hut—the Krankenhaus —is right over there.” He pointed to a barracks hut distinguished from the others by a Red Cross symbol on the door. “The doctor is German, and he’ll take care of you. This is Leutnant Bruckner. I’m turning you over to him.” Borden paused, studying Kirst uncertainly. Then he said “Good Luck” in English and walked out through the gate with the MPs.
The gate swung shut and was chained and locked after him. Bruckner soothed the dog cowering behind his leg, then eyed Kirst suspiciously. “Major Borden thinks there is something wrong with you, Kirst?”
Kirst wanted to tell him what it was, but the thing inside him made him shake his head no.
“Hopkins thinks you’re faking. He can make your life miserable, make you wish you had died on your U-boat. So which is it, Kirst? Are you sick or faking? Do you want to see the doctor?”
Kirst felt the grip on his vocal cords relax slightly. But it was still there—a silent warning. “I’m all right,” he said.
“Good. Better that way.” He tried to pull the dog around, but it stayed behind his legs. “What is this effect you have on dogs?”
Kirst extended a hand to pet the dog. The blackness knifed down his arm. He snatched his hand back and saw Bruckner staring at him.
“He won’t bite,” Bruckner said.
“Another time,” Kirst replied.
Bruckner shrugged. As they walked down to the camp, he delivered his standard orientation lecture. Kirst hardly listened. He felt his head involuntarily whipped about as the thing used his eyes to examine the camp,
“He wants you to hold still for another picture,” Borden told him in German.
Kirst tried to move his facial muscles to express misery, but it didn’t happen. Nothing got across. Borden seemed satisfied and nodded to Loats.
Kirst forced himself to face the camera. The churning inside got worse. As Loats prepared to get his shot, Kirst was hit with a wave of uncontrollable anxiety.
The flash went off again.
Kirst went rigid. The thing inside him went wild. He stared at Borden and tried to shout with his eyes because his voice wouldn’t work, but Borden was busy conversing with Loats.
Kirst forced his eyes shut. Then all hell broke loose inside him. The black oily thing roared past his closed lids and seized complete control.
When he again became aware of the world around him, Kirst found himself walking behind two MPs. Behind him trailed Borden with an unpleasant-looking officer named Hopkins.
Hopkins threw him a dark look and snapped his fingers, indicating he should face front. Kirst turned and tried to take in more of what was happening. There was something under his arm. He looked down at it—an issue kit, a bundle of whatever he was going to need inside this camp. He looked at where he was going. The ground sloped down toward the fence and the gate just ahead. An MP was opening it to let them in. As his gaze went to the fence and took in the length and breadth of it, the thing inside him began to move again. It roiled in his stomach and he stopped short, willing the anxiety not to return.
But the officer named Hopkins shoved him through the gate and turned him over to a German leutnant waiting for him on the other side. The leutnant had a small dog with him.
Kirst stood inside the fence and stared at the dog. Its ears went back and it shrank away from him. He got a curious look from the leutnant who was holding the leash, then his attention was drawn to Borden and Hopkins arguing. Borden said something sharp to Hopkins, who glared once at Kirst, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the camp.
Borden then spoke to Kirst in German. “If you’re not feeling well, Kirst, you go on the sick list, understand? The medical hut—the Krankenhaus —is right over there.” He pointed to a barracks hut distinguished from the others by a Red Cross symbol on the door. “The doctor is German, and he’ll take care of you. This is Leutnant Bruckner. I’m turning you over to him.” Borden paused, studying Kirst uncertainly. Then he said “Good Luck” in English and walked out through the gate with the MPs.
The gate swung shut and was chained and locked after him. Bruckner soothed the dog cowering behind his leg, then eyed Kirst suspiciously. “Major Borden thinks there is something wrong with you, Kirst?”
Kirst wanted to tell him what it was, but the thing inside him made him shake his head no.
“Hopkins thinks you’re faking. He can make your life miserable, make you wish you had died on your U-boat. So which is it, Kirst? Are you sick or faking? Do you want to see the doctor?”
Kirst felt the grip on his vocal cords relax slightly. But it was still there—a silent warning. “I’m all right,” he said.
“Good. Better that way.” He tried to pull the dog around, but it stayed behind his legs. “What is this effect you have on dogs?”
Kirst extended a hand to pet the dog. The blackness knifed down his arm. He snatched his hand back and saw Bruckner staring at him.
“He won’t bite,” Bruckner said.
“Another time,” Kirst replied.
Bruckner shrugged. As they walked down to the camp, he delivered his standard orientation lecture. Kirst hardly listened. He felt his head involuntarily whipped about as the thing used his eyes to examine the camp,
Similar Books
