1939

Chapter 12: Prisoners

Teeth chattered as sea air battered groups of men, as salt water dripped from uniforms, hair soaked Pete watched the guns pointed at him and his fellow men as Patrick's voice smashed against his skull, hands shaking from dehydration, malnutrition and the bitter snap of the cold as it bit down upon his slender frame. Crusted blood sat upon his back as he felt coarse material grinding against his tender flesh. Patrick's eyes stared back at him as they wandered up the gun guarding him.
"Ertrink im Ozean, du irischer Schwanzlutscher." Brendon's voice silenced Patrick and the rest of the men let out a giggle which was soon silenced by a kick to the ribs.
"If ya don't shut up I'll throw yer bloody corpses overboard you get tha'?" Brendon keeled forwards from the pain and muttered, "Ja." His brown eyes burning as they bored into Patrick's pale skin.
"Sei kein Arsch, er ist es nicht wert." Patrick kicked Pete in the ribs this time, choking on his words as steel toed boots collided with brittle bones, cracking splitting through the air as a malnourished body broke.

Brendon spat at Patrick, swallowing sea water as a wave splashed upon the deck, men soaked they shivered as they attempted to stand strong, boat taken captive they waited for their fate. Dubbed as Nazi scum Pete watched the shoreline, as they approached the nearest prisoner of war camp. Patrick explained that the Americans wanted them to extract Nazi codes from them. They'd give anything in return for the information that Pete had. Only him and Brendon really knew where they were hidden but he would refuse to drop Brendon's name in this. The men he had forewarned were yet to be discovered and hopefully they could flee before they had the chance to be seized.

As night froze their bones the men heard the announcement that land was ahead. The knew what they were about to face and yet the men still chastised the soldiers and each other. Several sarcastically wished Pete the best of luck, he was going to have the brunt of the welcoming on the shores as they approached American soil. Feet found their composure as dirt ground against waterlogged boots and caked the torn uniforms of the men as they disembarked. Screams of hate came from the surrounding soldiers as the men were marched towards the prisoner of war camp situated along the shoreline, the Nazi's being met with the insults of the Americans as every member, kind hearted or not, was threatened with death and more horrific forms of torture for being on the wrong side of the war.

The gates loomed ahead of them as steel twisted around their bleeding cuffs, chains subduing the men as certain ones spat at officers. Pete simply bowed his head as he walked. His time of luxury had come to a close, even if he was slowly starving to death on minimal rations he knew the crunching bones under stretched cloth would face so much worse than the ache of the cold sea. The guns that lined the gates only proved it. He had information these insolent Americans wanted and they'd extract it any way they could. His name had already been exchanged as the only one who knew the whereabouts of the item they seek. Patrick watched with a harsh glare but his eyes held soft tones, he wasn't a despicable monster. Neither was Pete. They were made to do what they did and if that brought them death, it brought them death. They couldn't change their fates, no one could but that didn't mean that it was something Pete looked forwards to.

Blindfolded all he could hear was the screams, the scent of deaths stench drifting amongst rotting corpses as feet stumbled on ground he wasn't used to as touch arms clung to his frail bones, the feeling of his bones crunching underneath the unrelenting grasp of American soldiers. He was the only one of the group blindfolded, no doubt for the torture he was about to endure. He bit his tongue in anticipation, just wishing for it end. He would never break, never give up information that could take lives. Not for any means of torture. He didn't respect or love his country but on a moral grounds he knew what he had to do and the stained cloth obscuring his vision and shrouding him in darkness couldn't change that viewpoint. Nothing could, but perhaps someone, the right person, just might. But he knew he'd never see him again, and that brought him relief for he knew that despite his struggles the one he cared for would be safe.