Forfeit - Chapter 2
The beating seemed to last for days. He knew it couldn’t have been for more than a few hours, but it felt like forever. When one of his captors would tire, another would take his place. Hitchcock knew he had two choices. He could end the torture now, by telling Captain Weintraub what he wanted to hear or he could extend the pain and hope Sergeant Troy would find him. He knew Troy wouldn’t leave him here, he just hoped he had the courage to endure.
The German guards used the bamboo batons on his sides and his back. His skin was becoming a patchwork of colorful and painful bruises but as of yet, no more cuts.
Trying to avoid one of the strikes to his side, he twisted and screamed as his left shoulder dislocated. It didn't take much for him to slip into unconsciousness. One of the guards left and returned with Captain Weintraub.
"Cut him down and wait until he regains consciousness then start again." He ordered the soldiers.
~*~
Troy unfolded the map he’d stolen from Col Harmon’s office. Jabbing a finger on it, he’d nearly torn a hole in the sheet. “Here,” he growled, “That’s where the mission file said they’d be.”
Cotton shook his head, “This dinky, rat hole town is some kind of super-secret-all-important stop for the Reich?”
"Tully?" Troy nodded toward the buildings. "Which one?"
Tully scanned the buildings slowly, "That one."
"Cotton?"
"Gotcha covered Sarge." Cotton got to his knees, aiming his rifle toward the building Tully indicated. He scanned the building through his rifle scope, "I don't see anything, they must be inside."
“Cover us, we’re going after Hitch.”
Cotton grinned, “Don’t make me come in after you.”
“Keep it quiet,” Troy advised, “no thunder unless you have to.”
Troy and Tully quickly zigzagged across the sand and made their way to the front of the building, taking time to check every corner and shadow. There would be no enemy sentry left alive on this raid.
The sergeant eased the door open slowly, not a sound could be heard, not even the wind. He signaled and Tully went in, crouching, rifle at the ready.
“Clear.” Tully whispered, unsheathing the long knife he kept strapped to his leg.
Troy checked the area outside and slipped in, closing the door behind him. The room was dark, the windows shuttered and they carefully explored, finding nothing that gave them any clues to their friend’s whereabouts.
“Are you sure this is the right building?” Troy asked, worry making his voice harsher than he’d intended.
Tully gritted his teeth, “Has to be.”
Troy kicked at the rush mat on the floor and it slid aside, uncovering a trap door.
Tully grabbed the ring and Troy nodded. The door pulled up with a soft creak. The dark haired man dropped into the cellar, heedless of any watcher that may have been waiting in the darkness below.
He pulled a lighter from his pocket, opened it, striking a small flame.
“Damn it!” the lighter dropped from his fingers and he cursed again as the flame died out in the sand.
“What is it?” Tully called.
“Get down here.”
Troy stepped back as the lanky driver slid through the opening.
“Sarge? What’s wrong? Is it Mark? Is he…?”
“Light one of those damn matches you’re always chewing on, I dropped my lighter.”
Tully struck a match on his belt buckle and held it up. The small corona of light didn’t reveal much of the room. He took a couple of steps and froze. The sand at his toes was dark and wet. Just beyond that, lay a body with blood soaked hair.
Tully hissed in a breath, "He's dead.”
“Damn it, not Mark…”