“Lieutenant?!” Petersen cried above the shouts of men and the piercing, otherworldly scream coming from the radio. Before Frank could respond, the private’s guard gave him another whack upside the head with his hand. The kid straightened in response, a wet stain spreading around his crotch. For the first time in all his long months at war, in a million awful situations with dozens of scared kids, Frank wondered whether trying to get Petersen home in one piece was going to get them both killed. The shame of the thought wasn’t as overwhelming as he wished it had been.
Then Frank went blind.
A huge white light burst forth from the center of the room, turning everything around him into a blizzard of ill-defined movement accompanied only by that infernal screaming still emanating from the radio equipment and the shouts and cries of the Nazis as they reacted — some of them sounding actually joyful.
Frank doubled over in pain, his eyes screwed shut, his heart racing. There was something fundamentally wrong, a feeling in his gut that erupted inside him the instant that light exploded into being around him. The screaming through the radio increased in volume and slowly began to… separate, somehow: a million different voices filled with pain and fear pouring into Frank’s ears.
And then, inexplicably, everything abruptly stopped.
Frank slowly opened his eyes. The Nazis were all standing stock-still, looking upward at a point nearly six feet above the table, in the center of the room.
Frank had no idea what it was, or how on God’s green Earth it could even exist.
It was about six feet around, a spherical white light that looked like it was both swirling and hovering motionlessly at the same time. The edges trailed off into the air like mist, and the light was somehow present without actually shining or illuminating the room.
It was utterly unnatural, and staring into it, Frank felt as if he were looking into some immense, unknowable abyss.
The Nazis moved into action. Long metal instruments, roughly soldered together with long cords trailing out the back and across the dirt floor, were directed toward the hovering light. They began shouting readings at each other, their hands fluttering across the controls, while others quickly scribbled down their findings. And in the middle of it all, Herr Doktor was soaking it all in, a broad, wicked smile spreading across his face like a disease.
Petersen choked out a ragged sob. “What is that? Dear God, what is that? What are they doing? What the hell is that?” the private said, over and over, a rosary’s worth of desperate prayer.
Before Frank could respond, a pulse of blinding light filled the room and another scream — this one far clearer and horrifyingly nonhuman — ripped through his ears. Everyone in the room turned away; even some of the Germans looked horrified at this. But most of them continued to poke and prod at the light with instruments. Frank could see it was definitely swirling now, like water going down a drain.
A spasm of pain rippled through Frank’s head. It was as if something had pushed its way into his skull and was somehow… writhing… inside his brains. He could practically feel ethereal fingers splitting the two halves of his brain apart and shoving something inside, something alive and unnatural that grafted itself to his mind and soul. It was a violation of his very being, his every sense becoming acutely aware and heightened. He pitched forward and fell onto his side, feeling each speck of dirt on his skin, the shouts from his guard echoing in his bones.
He didn’t know the exact moment that the pain became bearable enough to regain control of his body. But when Frank unscrewed his eyes, he found the German doctor looking down at him.
“You are not feeling well?” he asked in accented English.
Another wave of pain pushed through Frank’s head. “What the hell is going on here?” he finally said through gritted teeth, his own voice sounding like a radio turned all the way up in his head. “Who are you people?”
The doctor grinned, then pivoted away from Frank to bark out more orders in German. A moment later, probes and equipment were all over Frank as he lay on the ground, trying to control his breathing and somehow rein in everything going in his head, attempting to assume some sort of control over the thing that now resided inside his skull. When he was able to look up again, the doctor was back, a strange grin on his face.
“It is your lucky day, it seems.”
“I doubt it,” Frank gasped as he slowly pushed himself back up onto his knees. “What did you do to me?”
“I can honestly say I do not know yet,” the doctor said. “But we will find out, yes?”
Frank felt strong enough now to give the German a disgusted look. “You seriously think I’m going to help you, ‘Herr Doktor’?”
The doctor shrugged. “No, of course not. But you’ll help your soldier, yes?”
He then switched to German and barked something to Petersen’s guard. The man nodded and, without any warning, raised his rifle and pulled the trigger.
Frank didn’t even have time to shout. Petersen’s chest erupted in a bloody mess. The look on the poor kid’s face was one of mild surprise, as if he’d been told the soda counter was out of Coca-Cola. Then he fell face-first onto the ground as Frank managed to scramble to his feet — no mean feat with his hands still bound.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” Frank screamed. “You killed him!”
The doctor nodded in Petersen’s direction. “Save him if you can. Take revenge if you cannot.”
Frank didn’t move for several seconds, uncomprehending, even as one of the other Germans freed his hands. Were they mistaking him for a medic? Was their English not as good as it seemed? “W — What?” he finally stammered.
“Go! Save him! He has moments left!” the doctor shouted.
That got Frank moving. He dashed over to Petersen’s side. “Kid? Kid! Can you hear me? Can you…”
Frank grabbed Petersen’s shoulders and started rolling him over — and as he did, he felt the thing in his mind start to writhe excitedly, causing him to gasp and wince in pain.
“Mike Petersen. Duluth.” Frank wasn’t sure where those words came from, and wasn’t even sure if he had spoken them himself, aloud, or if someone was giving him directions.
The energy drained from him, and Frank collapsed on top of the dead man, then rolled onto his back. The Nazi doctor knelt down and leaned over him. “What is it? What is happening to you?” he demanded.
“Basketball player. Daisy, oh Daisy, she’s going to be so sad.”
The Nazi kept talking, but Frank couldn’t hear. There was too much else going on, and he pressed his hands to his head as if to keep his own thoughts from leaking out — or to keep other thoughts from coming in.
“Mom and Pop and little Jimmy, too, they’ll be devastated. Letters every week, back and forth from Minnesota.”
The Nazi looked up suddenly, fear on his face. Next to him, one of the armed civilians fell to the ground. In the back of Frank’s mind, the sound of gunshots registered.
“That house, that was a great house over on Lake Avenue, but the family moved years ago.”
People were running now. Frank rolled onto his stomach and tried to crawl away, but the images and sounds kept flowing uncontrollably through his brain. All he could figure out was that there were more people in the room now. And there was shooting.