us all. For now. But I do look forward to our next move.” Outside, the wind begin to howl as an arctic blast embraced the camp. He turned his gaze to the Camp Commander.

“Captain Loren.”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary.”

“Bring that Breuer man over to our side, then pour yourself and this young fellow a brandy and we can chat.”

“We’ve tried, sir, but no one’s been able to muster up the courage to get near him, tied down or not.”

J. Walter Parish regarded the soldier, then turned towards the sickened man. He was bound from his feet to his chest. His head rolled and his tongue lolled from a gaping mouth. His eyes were as dry and completely bloodshot and fixed upon Pierce’s intermittently His complexion was beyond grey now. Orange. Black. Green. Clotted. He gasped for air in great gulps like an old man taking his last breaths. Chest barely moving. Not breathing. Instinctive and nurtured.

“Sir, like we said, no one’s been willing to,” the soldier looked away for an instant. “been able to get close to him, sir.”

“Well then how’d you tie him up, genius?”

“Sir. We didn’t do it, sir. We made the others do it. You know, the Westfrontgefagenen.

“The what?”

He pointed away towards the other barracks. “999 Straftbataillon. You know, the criminals. The communists and the…”

“So, these prisoners were able to tie him up but you weren’t? Is that what I’m hearing, pal?” He turned away from the ghoul and faced the private, nose to nose.