[i]Key:
Schutzstaffel: SS (Nazi party’s “Shield Squadron” or ‘MI6 of Nazi Germany’)
Obersturmführer: 1st Lieutenant equivalent in the SS.
Note:
* The paragraph spacing on this is different from actual document. Otherwise content is identical.
Please review the work! I really, really want to improve and value all criticism
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Reg Carter: Deep Cover
by Ben Franks
Prologue
“People of Britain. On this day of 3rd September 1939, Britain and France are at war with Germany, following the invasion of Poland two days ago.” The radio crackled and breathed out a fuzz of noise into the small room. In the room a man and a woman, their mouths gaping wide, listened like a hawk. The woman squinted to try and hear the speech above the buzzing. The man glanced up to his wife before quickly looking back and imitating his wife’s actions. Before he could make the right face the woman changed her expression and began to seem angry.
“Roger, you bloody blitherin’ idiot! Fix the radio!” She cried and began whaling her arms hopelessly murmuring about anything that came to mind, “Well Roger? Have you done it? Come on! Chambers is tryin’ to tell us somethin’ that might be important!”
The man simply carried on pondering over the electronics and didn’t say a word.
“Roger!” His wife cried.
“Oh for God’s sake, woman! I’m bloody doing it aren’t I?” He shouted and towered over his wife. His outbreak had happened so quickly, she was genuinely frightened and shocked. Probably shocked he had the nerve more than anything. As soon as she noticed his confusion she took her stand.
“You listen ‘ere, Roger! No-one, no matter who you are, takes a tone like that to a woman!” She desperately tried to scramble into a position that made her look superior; “I’m naturally annoyed that you’re takin’ so darn long to fiddle with that radio when we’re tryin’ to listen to Chambers! Do you not know a war has broken out?”
“Marie, I am sorry – but I do insist you be more patient,” Roger replied before returning to the radio. He picked it up and shook it around a little.
Marie had thrown herself backward into the armchair that stood in the small front room. Her face was wrinkled and her neck hung saggy under her eyes. She wore a simple, black sweater and a grey skirt. Her expression was blank and irritated but at least she was quiet. Roger, on the other hand, was her opposite. His body was rounded and plump, his head sat on him like an egg in quick sand and he wore simple, blue work overalls. He was losing his hair on his head and what was left of it was gray and stringy.
“Buzz… zzz… and as of September the 5th operations in Belgium will begin to secure Britain and Western Europe’s national safety. Do not panic, Britain will triumph against the Axis and against Hitler! With the help of the Allies, the Axis don’t have…” the broadcast continued to fill the room as Roger returned to his own seat. He looked over to his wife. She scowled at him, and he drew his gaze back. He felt the need to make it up to her and stood up, began walking to the kitchen and stopped mid trip turning to his wife and saying, “Can I get you a cuppa Marie?”
“I could bloody well do with one!” She exclaimed staring at the ground.
Roger looked at her, pondered in thought momentarily, and then said gallantly, “Well, my dear, in that case – get off your backside and get one yourself!”
Marie just laughed.
“What’s funny?” Roger said in disgust, worrying his comment had backfired on him.
“Oh, nothing dear.” She continued to chuckle.
“Marie, don’t be childish.”
“How dare you! You’re the one being childish. You tell your own woman to get her own cuppa? That’s disgusting Roger!” She stood out of her armchair and told him off like she was his mother. “We both know perfectly well you’re going to get me a cuppa because you’re a naturally born gentlemen. So my dear, it is you who is being childish!”
“Marie, I am tired of this. May I insist that you’re not going to be my woman for much longer if you don’t realise your place!” He decided his best bet would be to fight back and he continued, “Don’t think that because you're my wife, you can talk to me as if you were my senior!” Roger was in panic of where his argument was heading. He knew for one that he was too passive to not make her a cup of tea, but at the same time knew he was threatening their marraige over it.
“Roger my dear, please stop! Don’t make your woman feel so bad about herself!” She cried. “Just go make us both a cuppa and we can sit and listen to the radio together.” Her mood had clearly altered. Roger huffed like a child who couldn’t get his own way.
“I will Marie.”
“Thank you,” she said smiling fruitfully.
He realised there was no point in continuing as she had obviously decided to take him on a guilt trip. Roger advanced into the kitchen and put some water over the stove to boil.
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Chapter One
Three years later - 1942
Belgium
“I want your name.”
“F-fuck you…”
“No, your name.”
“And… I said… fuck you!”
“Well, Mr. Fuck you, if you don’t give me your real name, I shall be forced to put you under a lot of pain.”
The man was speaking with a heavy German accent. He was of medium build and stood in gray Nazi overalls, his eyes were a deep blue and his wispy gray hair was covered by an officer’s hat that crowed over the man’s dark gray eyebrows. A pair of gold, thin-framed spectacles sat on his perky nose. He was pacing back and forth in a black room; the only light was the illumination of the moon outside that had weaved its way through the barred slit windows near the ceiling. Momentarily the Nazi’s gloves were lit to reveal a coating of dark red blood. It was clearly from the other man’s face, a man who appeared to be more of a corpse, his face hanging to the ground and he sat with a crippled, arch back. His face was covered in blood and bruises from where he’d been hit. It looked yellow, red and purple all at the same time and it was very disfigured – probably a fractured jaw and a broken nose. The Nazi turned to the sweating disfigured man one more time and peered deep into his eyes. His gaze was cold.
“I will ask you one more time.” He said without blinking, his arms steady on his prisoner’s weak shoulders, “what is your name?”
The prisoner managed to look up and give him an ugly grin, “And… I’ll tell you one more time… fuck… you!” the prisoner spat at the Nazi’s face.
The Nazi blinked and slapped the man with the back of his hand. He walked a couple of steps away and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the lenses of his saliva-covered spectacles. If he was angry he didn’t show it, he appeared to be relaxed and he was breathing steadily. He walked towards a small, lit tray of tools and smiled to himself. “Now this shall be very hard for you.”
Suddenly before he could pick up a tool another Nazi, this time dressed in all-black overalls but with a single, red Nazi flag band, which was strapped round his arm, stepped into the room. He saluted to the interrogator. This new man was extremely well built. His jaw was muscular and his hair was a thick blonde, he had dirty brown eyes and a layer of unshaven bristle on his cheeks, chin and neck. He was far taller than the grey haired Nazi and clearly had more authority as the smaller Nazi backed away when he’d entered. He had realised that the new guest was SS.
“Mr. Von Schlick, I require a word with the prisoner.” Said the SS Officer in German. Von Schlick nodded slowly and his face became emotionless. The SS Officer turned to him and growled, “alone Von Schlick.”
“Obersturmführer, may I see your ID? The Führer told me to make sure I get information… and well if you’re not who you say you are-”
The Obersturmführer interrupted, “Yah, this is my ID…” he reached for his pocket with his left hand, but with his right he quickly delved into his holster and ripped out a Luger pistol shooting Von Schlick three times in the chest. He was thrown back and the tray of tools was knocked to the ground, his body was left to lie in a pool of his own blood.
“Don’t worry Von Schlick, you’ll rest in peace yet. This room is sound proof.” Groaned the Obersturmführer in bad English. The prisoner was watching wide eyed, but you couldn’t tell because his disfigured face made it look like he was squinting. He laughed.
“Ha! All you fucking Nazis are the same! Shootin’ your own people. You disgust me you bastard!” The prisoner dramatically tried to scramble free of his imprisonment but couldn’t wriggle through the rope. His wrists began to bleed.
“Shut your mouth Corporal.” His English was better now.
“What… I’m no corporal you ass! You rotten German scum!” He cried as he pushed again to get threw the rope. Blood trickled from his hung face and his burning wrists.
“I am no German, corporal. Now stop moaning, this may be a sound proof room but if you carry on they’ll hear your fuckin’ moaning in Berlin!”
The SS Officer drew a knife from his holster and cut the rope that was tied around the corporal’s wrists, and then cut the rope round his legs. The corporal reacted by quickly kicking at the Officer’s legs to bring him down, then pulling up his face and intended to then repeatedly punch him until his face became a pulp of blood and fragmented bones. His attack failed and after the first punch he broke his knuckles on the Officer’s square jaw. This was enough time. The officer grabbed his knife and hit the corporal with the butt of it, not hard enough to knock him out, but to give him enough time to bring his mind to the reality of the past few minutes’ events. The man grunted as he lay on the cold stone floor twisting back and forth.
“Corporal, I’m with British intelligence. I’m on your blitherin’ side!” said the officer and gave him a kick in the lungs for bruising his jaw. “You’re not as tough as I thought.”
“Well Mr. British intelligence, firstly I’ve had my face battered in by some old tart in leather gloves and then a fancy undercover SS officer hits me with the butt of his blade.” He groaned and got to his feet, “Secondly, what the bloody hell is a British intelligence officer doing rescuing a bloody Corporal? Especially when he could be snipin’ that Hitler’s fucking brains out of his skull.”
“Ah, trust me, if I had no debts to repay or no friends, I’d happily leave you here and go to shoot some fella’s brains out. Unfortunately your old man, Roger Testing and your lovely Mother, Marie, happen to be part of a division of the British Intelligence. Well, when they found out we knew you were being imprisoned, well, it felt morale that I’d go and get you out. As well as your old man being quite insistent we do something.”
“Fuck me. Even the British are bastards. You saying that you rescued me because I’m the blood of two old knockers who like to earwig German radio communication? Christ! I miss the days when they’d rescue people simply because of their service to their country.”
“This is war, not paradise. Going to tell me your name Corporal? It’ll save me a few syllables.” The officer laughed.
“Like I told the Nazi here, fuck you.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll just call you Reg and you’ll go along with it. You can call me Carter.”
“How about I just call you an immoral shit?”
“Because Reg, that would be a waste of fucking syllables.”
The two of them laughed, however Reg seemed more sarcastically, and then Carter changed his mood; the authoritive man was coming through again.
“Right, Reg. Put on that Nazi’s uniform. We can’t fight our way out, so we’ll do it the old fashioned way. From a distance they won’t look twice at you, but up close you’ll have to keep your head down. Any trouble, you take after me. Got that Reg?”
“Yeah, I got that. Besides the facts that if I keep my head down, it might be a bit of a fuckin’ give away if my face is hanging off and bleeding.”
“Well, take that dead lad’s handkerchief and give your face a good wipe over, eh?” he gestured towards the corpse that had been sprinkled with silver tools.
Reg crowed a groan and ripped the handkerchief from the body. He wiped his face painfully and squirmed when he felt his saliva from it. Carter was busy stripping the interrogator’s clothes, and Reg mumbled at the thought of having to wear them.
“How’s my face look now?” snarled Reg.
“Blimmin’ beautiful, now get off that blood soaked prisoner overall and stick on this fella’s clothes.”
“Carter, what about the bloody holes in the shirt. Three of ‘em as well! Couldn’t you have just shot him between the eyes?”
“Stop moaning. They won’t be noticed. Besides, the cover story is that the prisoner attacked you, I killed the prisoner, and I need to get you out to find out what you’ve learnt. Genius, eh?”
“We best hope these Nazis are fuckin’ retarded.” Reg laughed.
“No worries, Joshua. They are.” Carter grinned.
“Joshua? Oh for fuck’s sake. If you knew my real name why didn’t you just use it?”
“It’s no longer your name. You’re Reg. You need an alias, and you’ve now got one. Besides, Joshua is a waste of syllables.”
They both laughed and Reg nodded in acceptance. He scrambled over to the body with a crippled back. He put on the German overalls like a whining child. Slowly pulling the boots onto his feet, replacing his shirt, putting on a grey jacket and smirking at the medals it was decorated with as if they were his. Carter watched out through the door for any activity, but peered at Reg with one eye, amusing himself with what he saw.
Two uniformed Nazi privates approached from the corridor outside. Carter turned to Reg and his eyes burned at him, “Hurry up, before one of these half wits decides to wander on in ‘ere!”
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Next Chapter: 9th January 2010
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