“What are you doing?” Seiler asked. The fat man put one hand against the wall for support, but he was clearly amused.
By way of response, Hans began to piss, his yellow stream splashing into the steps beneath the bunker door.
Harald paced towards them. This was too far. Too goddamned far.
The boy sang, “Männer umschwirr'n mich, Wie Motten um das Lich,” but that was as far as he got. Harald grabbed the back of his head and smacked it into the side of the bunker. The kid dropped face down in his own piss, unconscious. Harald hadn't hit him very hard, but Hans was halfway there from the liquor.
“This ends today. No more pranks. No more hunting outside of the walls.”
Seiler stumbled. “We were just having fun, Lieutenant. Fun is allowed.”
“The commander has ordered no more foolishness. If he catches you, he will have both of our heads on a platter. Do you understand me?”
“Yes but… he is not here now.”
“I want everything in top shape. I want this foolishness stopped.”
The fat man pointed. “You… you cannot order me.”
Ah, and finally the predictable defiance. “I give the goddamned orders around here!” Harald shouted. “I will not have the grunts pissing on things! Further, I will not have you wasting explosives on fish. If Richter finds out they are not being used for live drills, there will be repercussions.”
“We can say we needed them for target practice,” Seiler said sulkily, but he looked different. Maybe some of this was getting through.
“Enough. Take him,” Harald said, pointing at the boy. “For God's sake, pull him out of his own piss and get him cleaned up. I don't care what you do until tomorrow morning as long as I don't hear about it, and as long as it doesn't involve our prisoners. Do you understand?”
Seiler nodded. He knelt and began gathering the boy from the ground.
“Good. Make sure he understands when he wakes up.”
He walked off, leaving the pair of them to sort it out amongst themselves. He felt flushed, his heart racing from the confrontation. Harald never questioned himself when dealing with the men though. It was the one time when he allowed his instincts to rule, and so far, they'd served him well.
The only thing left to do was have a word with Kaminski. There would be no more excuses, not from the prisoners, and not from his men. Richter was getting too impatient.
3
When Harald arrived at the laboratory, the men had already gone home for the evening. Is this how they expected to get things done? Perhaps they just needed the proper motivation. That, certainly, would be the attitude of the commander.
Perhaps he was right.
Harald squatted next to the largest cage and looked at the tentacle growing inside. Predictably, it sensed him, and it opened. A small creature climbed out of the folds as if being birthed. The lieutenant took a step back, then found himself leaning closer. The creature was a bird, a tern with a wounded wing Ettore had found on the grounds. It was a small thing, frail and pulsing black.
Then the thing screeched and launched itself at the glass. It smashed into it full force, reset, and then hurled itself again. In moments, the glass was smeared red. When it had crippled itself, the bird thing crawled as close as it could and began snapping its beak. Harald had no doubt that it wouldn't stop until it was dead.
Carefully, he reached up and began to undo the top of the cage. “Methods,” he said to himself. “You want effective methods, Commander? Maybe we should teach Kaminski to stop leaving his things unattended.”
The bird could do no damage by itself, that was clear. Of course, the good lieutenant had no idea the real danger was not in the bird, but in what it carried.
Leaving the top undone, he walked out of the lab and out of the bunker, feeling a little better for the mischief. On the way out, he bumped past Kriege and berated the man to watch where he was going.
4
The boy stumbled into the cave, holding his jaw. He hurt, but he knew that he would be better soon. His Thinking Place always made him feel better.
Always.
He had discovered the place some time ago, and now it was simply his. He had thought about showing his new friend Boris, but he was glad now that he hadn't. Boris had not protected him from the lieutenant. He could still feel the bruise on his forehead. He could still taste the nasty on his lips. The lieutenant had hit him while he was peeing, and that wasn't fair.
Hans liked peeing outside. There had been a time when he had trouble hitting the bowl as a child. “If you don't quit making that mess in here, Hans, I'm going to cut that thing off!” his mother had yelled. That had made him mad. She had no right to make fun of his thing, even if he did miss the bowl. He always cleaned up his mess.
Some time later, he had sneaked into his mother's room while she was away at the night shift and peed in her bed. That had been fun, even if she caught him when he tried it a second time. Even if she burned him down there so he wouldn't do it again.
Maybe that was all right, because when his thing healed, he peed better than ever. He had no problem hitting the bowl. Peeing outside just felt good, so he did it when he could. It was especially good when you were sauced on whiskey or bourbon. He liked to get sauced. It helped pass the time. And passing the time was something he had done a lot of growing up, with his mom gone. On the night shift.
His room at home had been small, but he been able to fashion a Thinking Place in his closet. It was where he kept all of his friends. When he went to the army, he had wrapped the Thinking Place in a sack and buried it outside; he knew his mother would not understand if she found it. When he came back, he would dig it up and have it again. At first, it had been very hard without it, and he had been afraid he would never have another. There was no privacy in the army. Go here with the unit, and go there with the unit, and sleep with the unit in a hundred bunks all side by side.
Then, he had come to the island. His Thinking Place here was even better than the one he had at home. In fact, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to leave it, even if it meant his old sack had to stay buried in his back yard. Even if it meant he wouldn't see his momma again.
Sitting in the middle of the cave, he reached up to pet Hans Junior. Little Hans was his favorite, which is why he had given him his own name. The little guy had stopped moving the day before, which made it all the better to pet him. He had been the biggest of the baby seals Hans had been able to find. It was very difficult getting him onto the stake, but he had managed. Little Hans hadn't liked it when Hans had sawed off his flippers, but it made him easier to pet.
His other friends were dead too, but he didn't think they minded. They were so peaceful here, sitting in the dark, in the Thinking Place. With him.
By now, he had quite a collection. Hans Junior had three companions just like himself: Friedricke, Lucas, and Hellen. Well, maybe Lucas didn't count since he was just a head. And Friedricke, being the oldest, had started to crust and stink. At least there were no flies here. That was another reason this Thinking Place was better than the one at home.
He had birds, a whole row of them on a string. He had penguins, a sea leopard, and a weird-looking starfish he had pulled off of the shore. The centerpiece of the lot — aside from Hans Junior, of course — was a bird that was jet black and nearly featherless. He had found it by the chasm. His Thinking Place was, in fact, right outside the chasm.