(no subject)
Brazil
1947
Inside the hidden base, always at temperatures of near-unbearable heat, the air felt thick and tense to all the soldiers resting silently in the barracks. Only a few minutes ago, the announcement had been made and now all the low-ranking members of Millennium were reeling from the aftershock of the Major's words.
The Doktor had at last run out of test subjects. In his fervor and madness - though no one would dare question his methods in front of him or the Major, there were whispers of insubordination in the frustrating aftermath of Germany's surrender - he had put the last few P.O.W.s through a series of grueling and desperate tasks that left the remainder braindead and nonfunctioning. He had then had them incinerated.
It was too costly and far too risky to travel out to the countryside to kidnap and use the local Brazilians. It was important that Millennium should lay low, until they could build and strengthen their ranks once again. Right now, they were far too vulnerable. Attracting unnecessary attention was something to be avoided at all costs, which meant that leaving the air ships was definitely not on the itinerary.
The trouble was that to bolster their ranks, the Doktor desperately needed a breakthrough in his research. Which meant test subjects. Which meant turning towards the disposable members of the army; the low-ranking privates who numbered in the hundreds.
It was an almost-certain death sentence. Everyone in the base knew that to submit oneself for testing was, in essence, suicide. Having sensed reluctance from his men, the Major had in his address ordered a lottery to commence. If one's unit was called, the men would have to answer. That is, unless someone else volunteered before the lottery would begin the next morning.
"You should do it, Fritz," one of the soldiers broke the tense silence, lying on his bed and staring up at his bunkmate. "You're the strongest. You'd survive."
"Fuck that," Fritz answered back, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I'm not letting that fucking doctor cut me open and turn me into a meat puppet. You do it, Hans."
"I'm not doing it," answered a third soldier - Hans - who glanced up from his dog-eared novel. "I like living. I'll take my chances with the lottery."
"Someone's got to step forward," the first soldier insisted, whose name was Fredrik. "The Major won't be pleased if he has to resort to the lottery. We could all be drafted, if he suspects we're being insubordinate."
"There's a difference between insubordination and walking yourself to the slaughter!" Fritz snapped. "Face it: that fucking hack is never going to reach whatever he's working on! Vampires?! This whole group is insane! We should never have left Berlin!"
Going white in the face, Fredrick quickly stood up and locked the door to the barracks. "Shut up!" he hissed over his shoulder. "Do you want them to hear?"
"I don't care!" Fritz declared, taking a long drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out on the bedpost. "Let them hear; maybe they'll finally wake up and know what a mistake they've made in dragging us all out here, only to kill us off one by one! There's pride in the fatherland, and then there's needlessly murdering your own countrymen! They're insane if they think we'll stand for it!"
Frustrated, Hans slammed his book closed, sitting up and adjusting his glasses, giving Fritz a sour look. "Would you rather be trapped in a gulag, or facing a war crimes tribunal?" the smallest of the soldiers demanded. "Whether you admit to it or not, the Major rescued us all from unconditional surrender, and we have a duty to uphold Germany's name when she herself cannot!"
"He rescued us so that he could kill us!" came Fritz' stubborn reply. "So he could kill us off one by one in his lunatic quest to find something that never existed in the first place!"
"I will do it." spoke a quiet but determined voice, from the bunk above Hans' head. Rip van Winkle scooted forward into sight, rubbing at her eyes from where she had been trying to nap in her bed. "I will volunteer for the procedure."
There was dead silence from the three other men in the room. At last, Fredrick let out a worried laugh.
"Don't...don't be a fool," he choked out, laughing without humor. "It's nothing guaranteed but a bloody death, and you are....well, you are..."
"Do you want to make us look like cowards?" Fritz spoke angrily, finally snapping out of his stunned disposition. "How will it look if all the men in this unit don't step forward, but the one woman, the one girl who should not even be here, volunteers instead? Damn it all, I'm doing it before I let you take my place."
"Tomorrow," Rip reached up, brushing her long hair out of her face and over a shoulder. "I will go to the Major, and I will tell him I am doing it. And you cannot stop me. I will show you the proper way to be a respectful German!" Huffing, she dropped back onto her bunk, mulling over the seriousness of her words.
"This is ridiculous!" Fritz threw up his hands, frustrated. "Are we going to let the women of Germany take over while we act like children? Hans, talk to this insufferable excuse for a soldier!"
Slowly, Hans closed his book, getting up from his bed and standing to look his bunkmate in the eye.
"Rip," he spoke, setting his hand on her bunk. "Don't throw your life away like this. Let the lottery draw the names; it will be fair, and if you get selected anyway, there is nothing lost."
Rip rolled over, turning away from her fellow soldiers.
"I am doing it." came the stubborn reply. "If I live through it, then perhaps I will have earned the respect I deserve from this army. And if I do not...well, it will still be better than continuing to talk to idiots like you!"
And no amount of threats or persuasion throughout the night would convince her otherwise.
-----
"I must admit," called the Major on the following morning, his hands folded neatly behind his back to overlook the proceedings. "I was surprised to hear you come forward, Sturmmann Rip van Winkle. Not many people would, given our Doktor's....unfortunate reputation." He smiled happily, watching the Doktor's aides strap in the young soldier to the operating table.
Shivering, stripped down to her underclothes and lying on a cold metal table, Rip stared up ahead of her at the near blinding lights, in order to take her mind off of the terrified feeling that was slowly tying her stomach into knots. She was struggling to remember everything about her; every sound, every smell, every small, seemingly insignificant detail that would perhaps be the last few things she would ever experience.
"Reputation, Herr Major?" Rip answered swiftly back, struggling to keep her voice steady despite the fear creeping into her throat. "I know only that Herr Doktor is a brilliant man, whose research must be completed for the good of Millennium."
"Ah ah ah!" tutted the Major, walking over to stand by the side of the table. "It is no good lying to me; I know precisely what goes on in the soldiers' barracks. But I will commend you for your bravery, soldier; had you not stepped forward, it would have been a near certainty I would have chosen your unit for complete liquidation anyway."
He bent forward, leaning further in.
"If you happen to live through this," the Major whispered into the ear of the pale and shaken soldier. "I will promote you to the rank of First Lieutenant." Smiling, he drew away, holding up his hand in farewell.
"Adieu, my brave little soldier! Adieu, Herr Doktor! I will be expectantly waiting the result on the flight deck." He turned away, humming under his breath, and exited the operating room with a jaunty two-step.
Rip watched the Major go with a sinking heart, then turned her attention to the Doktor, swallowing nervously. "About...how long will I be asleep for?" she ventured. "I mean...if all goes well?"
Snapping on his latex gloves at the elbow, the Doktor turned back to the table, picking up a scalpel from his available tray.
"I do not use anesthesia." he professed with a stoic, all-business look, bending over Rip's body to make the first incision. "It is a waste of resources."
And the procedure began.