Winfred

v

Freidrich Von Steubon, Captain, SS

That evening, I took the whip and, slowly and methodically, in the most painful of manners possible, delivered the promised punishment.

At the beginning, it was easy. After the first few lashes, however, it was clear that the man was not fighting us. It was not even in the manner of one giving up, but simply of one surrendering honorably to the enemy soldiers. His eyes were closed, and he rested his forehead against the whipping post without complaint, only moving when he was struck and could not resist flinching from the pain.

His calm and submission was unsettling.

Snap! Down on his back. Again. He was already bleeding from earlier.

I reached nine.

The man was on the verge of unconsciousness. I could not take it anymore. Each crack of the whip felt almost as if it were digging into my back instead. I let my hand fall to my side, letting the whip go limp.

"That is only nine, Sir," Dietrich said, feigning helpfulness. "He was promised ten."

At that point, I was hardly registering his words. My ears were ringing, and the air felt thick and heavy with the metallic scent of fresh blood.

"Sir..."

I whirled on Dietrich, slamming him against the wall, arm against his throat. "Do you dare to question me, soldier?" I demanded, throat burning. I felt that I was about to vomit. What was it about this man that would make me feel so guilty? What was it about him that would make me feel anything for the first time in months? "Do you dare to insinuate that I counted incorrectly?"

A brief flash of fear shot across Dietrich's face. However, it was soon replaced with satisfaction. Apparently, he had judged me as being of a mostly normal mindset, given that I had been known for fits of anger before. "I do not, Sir," he said, letting the subject drop.

"Very well," I said, removing my arm from his throat.

"Gentlemen," I announced to the other guards. "We are finished here."

They nodded and began to see to getting the prisoner to his feet, jostling him as much as possible.

I turned on the heel of my boot and made my way hastily past the injured man, fully aware of his bleary eyes fixed on me, as I made my way past and out into the relative comfort of the outside corridor.

But the smell of the man's blood seemed to follow me all the way out of the building.