Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Hart's War nor do I own any of the characters who are in this story. I am not earning nor am I seeking a profit for my fan fictions.
P/L: Hart stumbles upon the news of the latest victim of the harsh Nazi interrogation and begins to fear for his men's' safety. Then Hart is befriended by another First Lieutenant who tries to cope with death.
Hart's War 16 décembre, 2002
Le Point d'Aucun Retour
I. The Point of No Return
"Descendez le sentier foncé sans retour.
Descendez le sentier sans fin de tombent feuilleux.
Elle n'y a pas d'élairé dans cette brum brumeux.
Nature est dans l'étourdit de tous côtés.
Elle est tranquille, surnaturel, et foncé.
Entendez le silence orageux et écoutez.
Les étoiles tombent, ne les regrettez pas.
Descendez le sentier foncer vous suivrez.
N'arrêtez pas jusque vous arrivez à le creux."
Darkness fell on the dreary compound of Stalag Six "A". The heavy bitter winter air lingered on the musty American compound located towards the south-eastern part of the compound. Snow had fallen on the German countryside a couple days ago, leaving the hills in the nearby area looking beautiful with their blankets of white. Unfortunately for the prisoners in Stalag Six "A", the snow within the compound had turned to slush and had mixed with the mud, creating a slippery, depressing state.
Lieutenant Thomas Hart, a young junior officer at the age of twenty-five, marched wearily through the fresh wet snow that lay thickly around the compound. The cold German breeze blew through Hart's mop of thick, dark brown hair. The wind threatened tugged at Hart's skin, making him shiver from the wind-chill factor. Even still, Hart managed to keep his mind deeply concentrated on his growing concern for the men under his command.
Taking notice of all the enlisted men that seemed to have been disappearing from his platoon in barracks twenty seven, Hart had recently become very concerned with their disappearances. After all, the disappearances seemed to have started since Colonel McNamara's "unfortunate" death.
Hart had figured that the reason why Visser had killed the American Colonel was out of fear of a possible overrun of the Stalag. It was Hart's belief that Visser truly felt that Colonel McNamara was going to rally his soldiers against a full attack on the Stalag. That was Visser's guess for the escape of the thirty-two high-ranking men.
The possibility that Colonel Visser, the fiendish Nazi commander of Stalag Six "A", was killing men in a retaliation for the earlier escape had crossed Hart's mind on a couple of occasions. This would stand the reasoning for Visser's supposed "increase in interrogation".
Already, eight men had disappeared from Hart's barracks; only having seen two return. The two prisoners that had returned though, died shortly after, succumbing to injuries that ranged from moderate lacerations to broken and fractured bones. The whole idea that Colonel Visser, the fiendish Nazi of Stalag Six "A", was on purposely killing his prisoners appalled Hart.
Now the Lieutenant was on a mission to have a discussion with Captain Ross (Hart's superior officer) about the terrible loss of human life. Hart was determined not to let any more of his men suffer the same agonizing deaths that he had witnessed over the course of time. Hart remembered the sacrifice of McNamara, and Hart knew that the Colonel would have done all that he could have to stop Colonel Visser from killing his men.
Just then, Hart heard a distinct conversation between Captain Ross and Colonel Visser. The two officers seemed to be locked in a heated argument while trying to maintain somewhat of a military composure. Curious as he was, Hart drew near the two officers, keeping his distance (to not appear intrusive), and listened intently to the conversation.
Colonel Visser rumbled lowly, "It is none of my concern what your interpretation of the Geneva Convention is, Captain. As I've told you before, this is my world, my game, and hence, my rules!"
"So how do you justify the deaths of nine of my men today?" Ross demanded darkly. "How do you explain the death of an officer, which you keep saying was an accident? I don't see how you can justify his or any of the other men's deaths by saying that they were 'accidents'."
Colonel Visser simply smiled at Ross. The colonel replied, "It was a most unfortunate accident Captain, rest assure in that."
sarcastically, "Oh yes, it was an accidental pulling of the trigger
that killed him wasn't it Colonel?"
"Indeed, it was," Visser growled. "You weren't there Captain so you don't know what exactly went on. And for your sake, I'd better watch what you say around me because it might be your last."
Ross gave the colonel a smirk. Out of the corner of his eye, Ross noticed Hart standing unsurely a couple feet away from him. Slightly looking in his direction, Ross told Hart, "Hart, there is a new prisoner that is going to be quartered in your barracks. See to it that he's squared away."
"Captain," Hart inquired, trying to maintain military courtesies, "I was wondering if I could request an audience with you at some point tonight or when next convenient?"
"We'll see," Ross nodded.
Hart came to attention, clicking the heels of his boots together and bowing slightly. Hart then made an about face and headed towards his lonesome barracks towards the rear of the Stalag. He hadn't noticed his body shaking with sudden fright from the ominous conversation he had just overheard. Hart simply shrugged off his shaking hands and weak legs, thinking that it was the acidic German winter wind that was causing him to tremble so. Lowering his head slightly, feeling the onerous responsibilities weighing heavily on him, Hart pushed himself through the slop of mud towards his barracks.
Upon arrival to barracks twenty-seven, Hart saw a medium-height, American, junior officer standing just outside the barrack's door. Even from a far distance Hart could tell the pride the other officer had in himself by the way the officer stood rigid on the stairs, shoulders back, and chest lifted slightly, not slouching. But the fact that there was an officer standing in front of the barrack door could only mean something bad had happened; something which Hart was afraid to find out.
Hart continued towards the officer in a steady gait. When Hart arrived, Hart saluted the officer and gave him a verbal greeting, "Good evening Sir. I'm Lieutenant Thomas Hart." Hart inquired politely, "Is there anything I can help you with?"
The officer simply stared at Hart for a couple of stunned seconds. The officer's thick, dark eyebrows brought out the deep blue hue in the officer's eyes. The quiet, confused eyes combined with the gentle frowning of the lips made it appear as though the officer was looking at Hart with a degree of uncertainty and doubt.
Finally, the officer spoke in a quiet whisper, "I guess I am not dead after all."
Hart gave a soft chuckle and replied, "This may be hell, Sir, but this sure isn't death." Hart waited for the officer to laugh but when the officer simply stared at Hart with vacant, troubled eyes, Hart resigned from his humor and plainly asked, "Sir, do you have a question or something?"
"No," came the soft reply.
Hart stared at the officer in confusion. Hart didn't know what to think of the new officer standing before him. The junior officer seemed to be in a daze most likely caused from war trauma, Hart assumed. There had been cases of enlisted men losing a touch of sanity due to the horrors that they witnessed on the battlefield. Even high-ranking officers (who had become disillusioned with the war) had succumbed to the gruesome horrors that they had spectated. Hart figured that this was the case with the Lieutenant before him.
The junior officer then shook his head, as if remembering where he was. The officer chuckled, "I am forgetting my manners!" Extending his right hand, the officer spoke clearly but in his soft, calming voice, smiling slightly, "I am First Lieutenant Seth Thorpe. And please, you don't have to keep calling me 'Sir'. I would prefer it if you just called me by my first name."
Hart nodded, "I can do that, Seth." Hart smiled, adding, "You can call me whatever you want to except a 'Donkey's ass'."
Hart then inquired, "Are you here to stay in our barracks? Captain Ross informed me that there was someone that needed to be quartered in here."
"I guess that would be me," Seth sighed through a slight smile.
Hart was about to open the door when he paused, thinking about a question he wanted answered. Hart asked, "Sir, uh-I mean, Seth, respectfully, are you feeling okay? You seem to be kind of, offbeat."
"Actually I'm not doing all that well," Seth replied. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily. Opening his eyes, Seth continued, "Interrogation is hell. If you can even call what I've been through, interrogation."
"You went through interrogation, here?" Hart questioned loudly. Then, remembering that there were always Nazi guards on the prowl for any information leaks, Hart quieted his voice. Hart inquired in a whisper, "Did you see the men that were killed?"
Seth gave a slow nod, staring into Hart's curious brown eyes. There wasn't any emotion in Seth's eyes.
Hart continued, "What about the officer? Did you know him?"
Seth gave another slow nod. Then, shaking his head, Seth told Hart, "I'd really not like to discuss that right now. I don't want to talk about imprisonment, torturing, interrogating, or anything like that."
"My apologies," Hart quickly apologized. Hart didn't want to upset the officer. After all, it seemed as though Seth had been through enough hardship as it was with interrogations.
Sighing, Hart continued, "I just don't want to see any more of my men killed by these so-called interrogations. I'm really concerned about what Visser is plotting to do." Hart paused, collecting his thoughts. Then Hart continued in a low whisper, "It seems as though these men's deaths have been brought around by the escape that was led by Colonel McNamara of those thirty-two men. I think this is his version of retaliation."
"Interesting logic; good use of reasoning," Seth smiled. He then looked about him at the now dark atmosphere and gave the darkened area an indignant sniff.
Hart noticed the officer's easiness in the discussion and quickly changed the subject by saying, "Our barracks aren't the best but at least we're out of the elements." Hart then opened the door to the barracks and showed the officer in.
As Seth stepped into the room, he remarked, "Well, it's a step up from being in the hollow graves where I've been."
"Ah," Hart laughed, "You must have been at my aunt's house then. Being over there for even five minutes feels like you've been trapped in work for over ten hours!"
Seth gave a soft chuckle. Then, as they ventured into the barracks, Seth whispered to Hart, "Please, don't introduce me."
Hart was about to question Seth's reasoning when a Chief Master Sergeant came up to Hart and announced, "We've already got the new man squared away, Sir. The men know of his presence."
"Well done, Sergeant," Hart smiled. The sergeant then turned from Hart and returned to his buddy's poker game on an overturned The other soldiers in the barracks seemed to pay no mind to the two officers standing in the doorway.
Not really minding the lack of courtesy the men showed their two officers, Hart then led Seth through the barracks to his cot. Hart motioned for Seth to sit on the cot next to him. Hart stated, waving his hand at the open bunk, "Take this bunk here. The last occupant was killed two days ago in Colonel Visser's interrogation room." Hart gazed about the hollow room and stated in a quiet whisper, "It's been growing less and less crowded in here. I'll bet that within a month that there will hardly be anyone in here."
Seth gave a quiet laugh and sat on the open bunk. He saw the tiredness in the young lieutenant's eyes and asked, "Are you okay?"
Hart nodded, replying, "I'm just slightly tired." Lying on his back, Hart continued, "It has been frustrating trying to figure out what the colonel is doing during all the interrogations. I personally believe that these so-called 'interrogations' are merely cover-ups for a much larger plot; a plot to kill all of us."
"Well, that makes sense," Seth replied skeptically. "Although, I don't really see how there could be a plot to eliminate every single prisoner here. I mean, what's the logic in it?"
Hart gave a soft shrug and sighed deeply. Hart stared into the bottom of the bunk above him and tried to clear his mind from the horrible tales of torture and cruelty that had been told to him by prisoners that had come out of the interrogation room.
Seth continued to stare at Hart. Seth inquired, changing subject, "Are you tired?"
Hart gave a soft chuckle, "Yes, I am. I've been trying to play the detective in this little mystery game going on here. I've been up to my ears in evidence that I've been trying to sort out."
"I'll let you be then," Seth told Hart. Seth watched Hart close his eyes and fall asleep.
Glancing out at the soldiers in the barracks, Seth took a deep breath and let it out in one long sigh.
"Hey, wake up!" Seth called to Hart, prodding him with his violin bow.
Hart awoke with a start. Blinking against the darkness, Hart fixed his eyes on Seth. Through the dim light of the lantern located in the center of the barracks, Hart saw the look of melancholic vacancy in Seth's eyes and wondered what troubled the lieutenant.
Rubbing his eyes to adjust to the faint light, Hart gave a quick yawn, asking, "What is it Seth? Did you think that I had been sleeping for too long?"
Seth gave a quick chuckle, replying, "No, I just needed to talk to someone."
Propping himself up on his elbows, Hart regarded the bow and violin in Seth's hands and inquired in a tired but playful voice, "What, you couldn't sleep so you played your violin and now did you get bored playing your violin?"
Seth replied, "I used to play the violin whenever I was lonesome or scared. Now I play it because I have nothing else to do. All I have is memories." Seth gave a shiver and sighed woefully, "I will never be able to create new ones."
"We'll get out here alright," Hart told Seth in an assuring voice. Hart knew that Seth was suffering from mental depression from the course of being through war. Hoping to brighten the lieutenant up, Hart smiled, changing the subject, "I bet you have a wonderful girl back at home in the States." Hart gave a teasing smile, prodding lightly, "Don't you?"
"Try France," Seth smiled in a quiet, wistful voice.
"Tell me more," Hart replied in a friendly, earnest voice.
Seth glanced down at his violin and bow, reflecting on his wife back in France. Seth started, "Her name is Eleonore. Une très belle fille." Seth gave a quick cat whistle, making Hart chuckle. Seth glanced up at Hart and smiled, "She was most beautiful. Her hair was golden; much like corn silk. She had captivating blue eyes; a deep meditating smile, and the most compassionate personality I have ever seen. She is much smarter than I am. That's why she's at home while I fought in the war." Seth paused, giving a lengthy sigh that was burdened with painful sorrow. Seth whispered quietly, "I miss her."
Glancing down at his violin again, Seth whispered softly, "And I'm never going to see her again."
"Don't talk like that!" Hart exclaimed. "Of course you'll see Eleonore again!"
Shaking his head, Seth muttered, "No, no, you don't understand! I can never go back! I'll never she her again, my home, or my parents! This is it, this is the end! There's no tomorrow!"
Hart shifted uncomfortably in his cot. He was amazed at how none of the men had woken up from Seth's sudden outburst. Still, Hart knew, Seth had to put under control or else the Nazi guards would be forced to come into the barracks and then there would definitely be trouble.
Trying to sound stern while being comforting, Hart stated, "Get a grip of yourself, man. Don't think like that."
"I can't help it," Seth moaned pitifully. Glancing back at Hart, Seth continued, "You don't know what it's like out there; out in the cold, muddy fields fighting. That's where I've been for the past few months until I was brought here. I thought then that the pain and suffering would be over; little did I know that it had just begun. I can't go home after this. This is the end. There's nothing left after this."
Hart was about to respond to Seth's melancholic whimpering when suddenly the barrack's doors flung open. Hart and Seth looked to the door and saw Colonel Visser with an entourage of Nazi guards. Hart tensed at the thought of the Nazi colonel taking more of his men to the interrogation room.
Colonel Visser marched up to Hart. The Nazi colonel gave Hart a steely smile and hissed, "Das reicht. Kommen sie mit!"
Hart felt his blood run cold as the Nazi guards pulled Hart to his feet. Giving Seth a frantic look of bewilderment, Hart reluctantly allowed himself to be led over to Colonel Visser. Hart felt an uneasy feeling creeping into his soul as the uncertainty of the future seemed to be hanging like an anvil over the lieutenant's head.
Colonel Visser saw the look of uncertainty in Hart's eyes and smiled knowingly, "Don't be afraid Lieutenant. Surely your men would not like to see their superior cringing in the presence of a mighty colonel, now would they?"
Hart straightened himself and replaced his look of nervousness with an expression of courage and bravery. Hart replied boldly, glaring at Visser, "I am not afraid, Colonel, Sir."
Giving Hart a push towards the door, Colonel Visser chuckled lowly, "Oh, you're not afraid, Lieutenant?" Visser gave a hollow laugh, nodding while heading out the barrack door, "Soon enough, you will be."
Hart came into the interrogation room at the northern end of the compound. The pungent odor of sweat, blood, and death lingered heavily in the air. The bitter smell made Hart's stomach churn with ambiguity, weakening the Lieutenant's courage.
The Nazis pushed Hart into a small, dark room in the back of the building. As he came into the room, Hart saw a figure lying limply on the floor. Hart recognized the soldier to be the revered Captain Paccar of the Third Army. Hart tried to catch any sign of life from the lifeless captain but could see nothing in the dim light of the pale room.
The room was cold, damp, and musty. The room was about twelve feet wide and twelve feet in length. The ceiling hung about two feet about the soldiers' heads. In one corner of the room lay a dreary cot that looked like it had seen better days. A rat skittered from underneath the cot and under an oak table that was placed against the other side of the room.
Just then, Hart felt a needle pierce into the side of his neck. A thick, cold liquid was injected through the needle. Then, as quickly as the needle had been inserted, it was pulled out. Hart pulled away from the Nazi guards, gripping his neck at the point in which the needle had penetrated his skin. A wave of dizziness overcame Hart and a temporary sense of insanity overwhelmed the lieutenant.
A Nazi went to Hart to pull him back but Hart struggled against the soldier, giving the Nazi a forceful shove. The unbalanced Nazi soldier stumbled backwards and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the small table behind him. The Nazi laid on the ground for a couple of unconscious minutes.
At that, the rest of the two Nazis rushed Hart, knocking the lieutenant against the wall. Delivering a couple prevailing blows himself to the Nazis, Hart tried to fight off the blows that the Nazis were inflicting upon him. But that action only angered the Nazis more, for they increased their efforts at taking Hart down.
Finally, Hart fell to the floor, throwing his hands up in surrender. The two Nazis backed off momentarily. But in their eyes, Hart could see that they wanted to continue beating him.
The Nazis then looked to Colonel Visser standing sourly in the doorway. The colonel seemed neither amused nor angered at the fiasco that had occurred. Instead, Visser seemed to be in deep thought, as if pondering Hart's fate.
One Nazi asked, "Oberst, Herr, was sollen wir mit ihm tun? Colonel, Sir, what should we do with him?"
Colonel Visser glared at Hart lying on the ground and spat, "Schlagen Sie ihn, töten Sie ihn, beat him, kill him, überzeugen Sie sich gerade, dass er nicht leben wird. Just make sure that he won't live. Er ist ein Dorn in meiner Seite gewesen, seitdem er in meinen Stalag eintrat. Jetzt ist es Zeit, dass er stirbt. So dass beenden Sie es! Beenden Sie es jetzt! Beeilen Sie sich! Finish it now!"
The Nazi nodded, a dark smile hiding in his gleaming eyes. The Nazi turned to his buddy and gave a short nod accompanied by an eerie smile. The other Nazi returned his buddy's grin. Then the two turned their mischievous grins on Hart lying on the ground.
Hart knew that he was in for an even great amount of pain than he was already in now. Whatever had been injected into Hart's neck had now begun to take its full affect upon him. Now the lieutenant was giving raspy coughs that expelled blood and blurred his vision. A wave of nausea swept through the lieutenant as he weakly tried to back away from the two advancing soldiers.
Hart could see the devious gleam in the two soldiers' eyes as the soldiers began their slow advance on him. Hart didn't need a translator to know what Colonel Visser had ordered his men to do. Gritting his teeth, Hart bravely surrendered himself to the brutality the two Nazis delivered.
In a matter of minutes, Hart slumped in defeat onto the cold, frozen floor. Blood traveled down the side of his face and rolled to the ground. With his eyes lidded, Hart saw the rat that had scampered underneath the desk. The rat stared at Hart with large, uncaring black eyes. The rat kept a steady watch on Hart until the lieutenant closed his eyes, succumbing to unconsciousness.
Hart awoke from what seemed an eternity of a white abyss. Hart was lying on a rundown cot inside the same room he had fallen unconscious in. One lacking detail Hart noticed in his situation was the fact that he didn't feel any amount of pain. Surely, Hart thought, there would have been at least some pain that would have followed the brutal beatings that he had prior received. The lack of injury made Hart wonder the length of time in which he was unconscious.
Just then the door slowly creaked opened. Hart glanced at the door and saw Seth standing in the doorway with a long, melancholic frown. Hart gave a relieved sigh and told Seth, "I am so glad to see you Thorpe!" Then, becoming alarmed, Hart inquired, "You haven't been called in for interrogations have you?"
Seth shook his head slightly. Strolling over to the bed, Seth urgently told Hart, "Get up. Follow me. We cannot stay here."
Hart sat up and rose off the bed. Hart noticed Seth staring at Hart with an even deeper, disheartened frown than he had originally been wearing. Hart inquired gently, "What's wrong? You look terrible!"
Seth gave a soft chuckle, quietly laughing, "You say that I look horrible? No, it's not me who looks that way. It's you. After all, you're bloody, bruised, and beaten. You have three lacerations on your face and the spot where you were injected has spread into a large, red circle."
Hart gave a small gulp at hearing Seth's descriptions. Seth continued, "Now, you tell me who looks terrible." Not waiting for Hart to reply, Seth insisted, "Now come, let's go. We don't have much time."
"What about Colonel Visser and his guards?" Hart inquired, following Seth out the door.
"Trust me, they've got other things on their mind right now," Seth replied.
Hart followed Seth uncertainly out the door and past the Nazi soldiers resting in the lounge. Hart was amazed that none of them seemed to care that they were walking right by them. Although, a couple of the soldiers followed Hart and Seth's movements with their hawk-like eyes the entire way out the door.
Once outside, Seth led Hart towards the American prisoners' compounds. When they arrived in the compound, Hart spotted Captain Ross making his way around the barracks.
Hart called out, "Sir, I need to talk to you!"
Captain Ross hesitated, looking up at Hart with a disappointed frown. But then, as Hart observed his superior, Hart detected a look of immense distress and anguish gleaming in his eyes. Hart knew that the captain was deeply troubled by the loss of men in his unit and thus, Hart assumed, that was the reason why Ross wouldn't talk to him.
Turning to Seth, Hart remarked quietly, "I'm not going to let Visser do anything to my men anymore. This has all got to end."
"There's nothing that you can do about it," Seth breathed heavily. "It's over. You're finished, I'm finished. This is the end. You can't help anyone anymore except yourself."
Hart gave a sniff of annoyance at Seth, remarking, "Well, I'm not as cynical as you are! I have a positive outlook for the future! I'm not the type to give up." Hart gave a soft laugh, shaking his head, "Oh no, there's something more moving here. This is life we're talking about Seth; life."
Seth rolled his eyes and hissed, "I hate to be the bear of bad news, but, I think you'd better come see something. Then perhaps you'll understand my pessimistic thoughts."
Seth led Hart across the compound. Hart knew that Seth was taking him to the morgue. At this point, Hart was in no mood to see the tortured bodies of his former men lying in heaps around the tight interior. But, Hart figured, he might as well amuse Seth in order to maintain their friendship. Perhaps, Hart wondered, there was a method to Seth's seemingly mad mind.
Seth guided Hart into the damp and musty morgue. Hart's mouth dropped open as he saw the disfigured bodies of once proud soldiers lying in the forbidden heaps Hart had imagined. The room, small and unkempt, was nearly overflowing with corpses. Seth moved to the center of the morgue while Hart gazed about the room in horror.
Hart was appalled to see bodies lying in an unsteady pile that almost reached the ceiling and other bodies lying half naked in the corners of the room. Then Hart came in front of Seth and met his look of utter disgust.
Hart nodded, quietly speaking, "Now I know why you're so skeptical of this. You're right, the situation does seem hopeless. But have faith; we will get out of this. I promise you that."
Seth gave Hart a knowing smile. Seth's left eyebrow rose with the corner of his lips. Taking a sidestep to the left, Seth revealed a fresh pile of bodies that Hart hadn't seen earlier.
Hart gasped in horror. His hand clasped over his mouth and Hart stumbled backwards in shock. Falling to his knees, Hart cried, "No, it can't be! That just isn't possible!"
Hart looked again at the bodies. He saw Seth's tattered, lifeless body lying limply on the top of the small pile of bodies. Then, Hart rested his eyes on his own corpse lying at the bottom of the heap, recently drug in from after the interrogations.
Seth knelt next to Hart and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Seth quietly said, "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. But it was the only way for me to make you realize what had happened and why there's nothing that we can do."
Hart glanced up at Seth. Tears lingered in Hart's eyes as the shock of no longer being a part of the world sunk into his mind. Hart asked in a shaken voice, "Now what are we supposed to do?"
Seth stood up and opened the door of the morgue. Letting the fresh rays of the rare sunlight stream in on Hart, Seth inquired stated gently, "Well, the correct question to ask right about now is, what religion are you?"
"Christian," Hart quickly replied in a choked whisper. He still couldn't believe that he was dead. Hart glanced back at his and Seth's bodies. Giving a small shiver, Hart began a soft cry of grief and reconcile of his fate.
"Come," Seth beckoned gently, "There's nothing left here for us. There's nothing we can do to help the soldiers here." Seth gestured at the clearing sky, stating quietly with a small smile, "Heaven is waiting. We all are waiting."
Hart turned his head hesitantly to look at the lieutenant standing next to him. Recognition finally set in for Hart. Hart began understanding that Seth had been sent from heaven by Colonel McNamara to retrieve him. Colonel McNamara's strongest, and the bravest soldiers would join him.
Hart slowly nodded. Reluctantly, Hart rose and followed Seth out the door.
Hart stared at the barbed wire fence that had long-since kept the men of Stalag Six A at bay. Seth stood behind Hart, waiting for Hart to make a move. Slowly, Hart reached up towards the fence, giving the sniper lookout a long glance. No movement from the sniper came. Taking a deep breath, Hart stepped forward and through the fence. Right behind him came Seth.
At last Hart was free. But the new freedom that Hart had gained was not the most desirable of freedom privileges. It was a desolate, painful path away from the world that Hart had once loved. It was a path towards an unknown world apart from everything that Hart had known and loved. It was heaven, it was hell.
IX. End Credits
"Ici je me tiens, la tête en main.
Je ne peux pas continuer, ce le fin.
Je trébucherai à les terres stériles.
Le Dieu, lui ange il a envoyé.
Je pars mais je revenirai.
Cependant je pars d'un endoit ne retour pas.
Les autres peut mourir, c'endoit peut brûler
Mais je réglerai son compte et c'est un fait!
Ici je me tiens, la tête a haussée haute.
C'aurait eu une journée glorieux de mourir."