On a Wing and a Prayer

The Soliloquy

Lying on the cold, stone floor was a far cry from the bed she was used to back at The Grove, or Thorpe Abbotts for that matter, yet it was still better than the rough cot in the corner. The fabric seemed to move on its own accord, and she could only imagine the infestation that had taken over between the sheets. The mattress was barely a few inches thick and the material was horrible rough.
Heavy footfall sounded outside the cell door before it swung open, grating against the floor with a harrowing screech. The two Luftwaffe officers stood before her, standing over her small form.
"Steh schnell auf!" The first officer called, marching over to her, "Up, now!"
The second officer appeared beside him, yanking Hope upwards despite her protests. She dug her feet into the cobbled floor, pushing her full body weight against the officers, but they didn't resist, continuing to drag her down the corridor.
Hope found tears forming in her eyes as she fought against the men that likely decide her fate. Were they going to kill her or worse would they torture her first? Death would be the easy way out at this point, in fact she would welcome death if it meant finding peace again.
The officers marched her into a small, office-like room and shoved her down into a rickety leather chair in front of a large mahogany desk. It was stacked high with folders, classified documents, and piles of letters. Her dark eyes roamed over the desk catching a glimpse of a familiar faces. Ruth. The picture was small and only half exposed but she'd recognise those blonde curls anywhere. Hope wondered if Ruth had been in this room recently. Whoever owned the office had clearly been looking over her file. She wondered if Frank's and her own file were in that mound too. What information would they have on her?
"Warren Sie heir," one of the officers instructed, slamming the door loudly behind them.
Hope knew very little German but regardless of what they had said she wasn't moving from the spot. Her heart was racing and she felt nauseous, the bile building in her throat. Her eyes remained trained of the half exposed image of Ruth in front of her. Somehow it bought her some comfort that her friend was okay. But the niggling question of , where was Ruth, and was she okay filled her mind? Her mind was full of unanswered questions and she wondered if she'd ever see her friend again. It felt like it had been a lifetime since she had seen the last glimpse of Ruth's face as she'd disappeared into her cell. Hope wasn't sure how much time actually had passed but she was sure it felt longer than it was. Her mind drifted to Frank too and she found herself reaching forward, a shaking hand brushing over the files on the desk to expose them. What would become of Ruth and Frank?
She turned to the sound of the door clicking open and saw another officer enter, his hair smeared down to his head and he wore a friendly smile, too friendly, the kind that made Hope feel uneasy.
"Ah, Lieutenant Armstrong, how nice to meet you. Are you well?" He grinned cheerfully at her, his bright white teeth seemingly dazzling in the dimly lit office and it made Hope feel uneasy. She shuffled her feet beneath her chair and continued to stare blankly at him.
From her very basic interrogation training upon joining the 806th MAETS, she knew everything was a tactic, a ploy to get her to talk. The best thing she could do, for everyone's sake, was to stay silent. There was nothing useful she could tell them anyway, she was a nurse after all and surely they would find the British pilots far more interesting than she was.
"I see you are not much of a talker, Lieutenant," the officer mused, sitting down opposite her, his hands clasped in front of him. "I am Lieutenant Haussmann."
Haussman's eyes bore into her but Hope continued to leave her eyes on the desk in front of her, not giving him the satisfaction that he could somehow get under her skin, despite the fact that his presence made her flesh crawl. Just the way each breath he took seemed to grate of her and each exhale caused his nostrils to whistle. She probably wouldn't have noticed if the room hadn't been so quiet, but there wasn't even the sounds of birds, of vehicles rumbling by, or even people talking. In this office Hope felt as though she was far away from the rest of the camp.
"Shall we begin then? I'm sure you want this over as quickly as possible," he began to shuffle the papers around on his desk until he found the folder he wanted, thumbing through the pages.
"Ah yes, here is your file. Hope Armstrong, that is not an American surname, it has Scottish origin, yes?" Haussmann raised an eyebrow expectantly at her.
"Lieutenant Hope Frances Armstrong, serial number N-770062." Hope bit her tongue, resisting the urge to spit the words at Hausssman.
Haussmann merely sighed, "Alright then. Why don't you tell me of your friend, Ruth Morgan?" Hope's stern exterior faltered slightly, the thought of them holding Ruth prisoner somewhere in some dank, dark cell like her own made Hope shudder. She only hoped that they found a Kraut doctor to assess Ruth's injured arm, the makeshift sling she had made after the jump was doing very little now to support the injured limb. She hoped Frank had been seen to as well, although she feared he would probably resist any kind of help from a Kraut.
"I believe she is an avid baseball fan. The Boston Braves. Are you a baseball fan, Lieutenant Armstrong?"
How did he know so much? How could he possibly know so much about them?
She knew Ruth wouldn't have uttered a word to him, even if she was scared out of her mind, and Frank would have rather died than told the Germans anything.
"Or what about Frank Martin? He is a baseball fan too? You Yanks and your baseball," Haussmann laughed. It was the kind of laugh that haunted Hope, it was particularly menacing but it chilled her to the core. She swallowed hard, watching as Haussman's lips turned upwards into a smile.
"He did not want to go quietly, your Frank Martin. I'm afraid, put up a fight. The guards sorted him though," Haussmann spoke plainly, flipping through Hope's folder. He stopped on a particular page, chewing his lip thoughtful as though he was going to ask a tough question. Hope felt as though she was in some sort of job interview and the real questions were about to start.
"What about Gale Cleven?" His words hung in the air, frozen in the moment as everything around her seemed to stop. Her Gale. Her beloved Gale who she may never see again.
Haussmann knew he'd struck a nerve with Gale, watching as Hope's face contorted at the thought of him. He picked up a loose photo from the file, turning it towards Hope. It was the photograph taken by the photographer from the night of Dye's party. It was Gale, dancing with her. They hadn't realised the photo was being taken at the time and Gale had been leaning down to kiss her, their lips inches apart when the camera captured the shot.
"Is he the one who gave you this?" Haussmann pulled out Hope's engagement ring that they had confiscated from her on arrival.
"Give that back!" She snapped, lurching from her chair and tried to grab the ring but Haussmann raised his hand in warning.
"He is your fiance , yes? He signs this letter 'Your Gale'. How sweet is it not?" Haussmann's lips formed a malicious smile, his words venomous as he spoke of Gale. "Do not worry, I have no use for your ring. Although I fear you will be missing your wedding very soon."
He tossed it carelessly back at Hope and she quickly slid it onto her finger. "No, I want to know about this Gale Cleven. He is a pilot, with the 100th Bomb Group at Thorpe Abbotts, yes?"
Hope's face must have had confusion written all over it because he picked up Gale's letter, turning the envelope to Hope, "I do love return addresses, don't you?"
Hope continued to stare blankly at him as she had done before. She couldn't let him get under her skin, couldn't let herself give anything away. Her mind seemed to turn over and over and her internal soliloquy of thoughts continued. It felt as though she was speaking out loud and maybe she, maybe that's how he knew so much.
Haussmann continued to press, asking about Gale, about Frank and Ruth, about Thorpe Abbotts and what base they had come from. Hope remained firm, resisting the urge to punch the officer and make a run for it. Her finger dug title into the leather chair, digging the fabric up beneath her short nails.
"I see," Haussmann finally gave up, he wasn't getting anywhere and he knew it. "Well, you have been...somewhat helpful I suppose. Thank you Lieutenant Armstrong, you will go back to your cell now."
The two officers from earlier appeared in the doorway, eyeing Hope with the same matching smiles that Haussmann wore. Those same smiles that would haunt Hope during the long hours spent in solitary confinement with nothing but her thoughts for company.
They yanked her from the chair, ignoring the way she dug her heels in and fought against their advances and hauled her out of the door.
"I look forward to our next meeting, Hope," Haussmann called after her as she was dragged away, her blood boiling at his words.
"I hope I never see you again," she mumbled under her breath, cursing the ground Haussmann walked on.
Upon returning to her cell, the large metal door slammed shut behind her and she was once again left alone in the dimly lit room. She sighed, falling down the stone floor once more, avoiding the rudimentary cot in the corner of the room.
Hope's back remained against the wall, glaring at the riveted, metal door, her eyes training on the small amount of light that came through the crack at the bottom.
The darkness seemed to close around her, making the small glimmer of light shine brighter. The air was cold, clammy against her skin and claustrophobic at the same time. Hope curled up on her side, her eyes remaining on the light, the small glimmer of hope that there was a way out of here.
.................................................................................
Hope groaned, rolling over on the cold, hard floor, her hand sluggishly feeling for the cup of water the guard had left on the tray that had been delivered with her daily bowl of soup.
Her throat was sore, raw from the hours she'd spent crying in the corner of her cell, clutching her knees as she rocked herself. The small amount of water did little to soothe it, but she drank it anyway, ignoring the potato soup that sat stagnant in the metal bowl.
She'd eaten it at first, glad of the sustenance but as the days crawled by the food became less appetising, and she began to doubt the RAF pilots from the mess hall.
"You shouldn't be at Dulag Luft too long."
Hope had lost count of how long she'd been stuck here. After her first interrogation, she'd been filled with a fighting spirit. With the return of her engagement ring, there was a return of hope that maybe she would see Gale again after all. Haussman had other ideas and after he called her back into the interrogation room again, asking her the same question, she began to wonder if they'd ever be moved out of their cold, damp cells.
Each time she fought more, resisting the questions, the guards, the regime, to the point that she'd ended up with a black eye and her abdomen felt like she'd been run over by a Dodge ambulance.
Haussman stopped his interrogation after the fifth day and Hope had been left in her own company, other than the guards bringing food and the latrine trip. She wasn't sure what had drawn Haussman to her, or whether he was interrogating all the prisoners like that, but she was glad when she didn't have to see his unsettling grin that only filled Hope with dread.
"You intrigue me, Miss Armstrong. I do not know why but you are different from other American women I have met."
Hope but back the urge to spit back a sarcastic comment but she managed. She didn't want to give him anything he could use against her, or her friends.
"But you will not talk," he sighed, clearly exasperated as he stood from his chair, moving around to Hope's side of the desk. "If you would just talk to me, Miss Armstrong I'm sure we could come to some kind of agreement."
His hand trailed up Hope's arm, causing her to flinch. She could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck as he leant forward, whispering in her ear. "You can talk to me, Miss Armstrong. I am your friend."
Hope leapt from the chair, sending it flying backwards and crashing into a filing cabinet.
"I won't tell you anything!" She screamed, throwing herself at Haussman as her fist nearly missed his thin cheek. The guards came rushing in, hearing the commotion and coming to Haussman's aid.
She was thrown to the floor, the but of a rifle slammed into her abdomen. She fell to the floor, wheezing as the air slipped from her lungs. Two arms, wrapped under hers, dragging her from the room. She fought against them, scraping her short nails against their clothed arms, doing very little damage.
She was thrown back into her cell, her heart pounding. She wasn't entirely sure what came over her. How could she be so stupid as to fight back? It was then that she noticed the blood trickling down from her left eyebrow and she noticed the blurred vision in her left eye. Feeling along her cheek bone, she winced at the sudden discomfort. Despite her discomfort she hoped that would be the last time she saw Haussman.