PREVIOUSLY ON QUANTUM LEAP

Sam first finds himself in 1961 and standing before a judiciary charged with war crimes against humanity.  He is horrified when he is subjected to a visit to the Auschwitz - Birkenau concentration camp.  He fights against the thought of whom he has Leapt into – Heimlich Schtroder -- but in the end he is sickened with the stench and the memories he has of that time.

Sam then wakes in 1941 finding himself mixed in amongst a strange group of people in masks.  Seeing that he’s leaped into a young woman about to have surgery without any effects of anesthetic, he’s horrified to find that Fredrik Schmitt / Heimlick Schtroder is the surgeon.  As the scalpel slices through the flesh of his abdomen, he cries out in agony and finally in torment, succumbs to the welcomed relief of unconsciousness. 

PART FIVE

Friday, 17 November 1941    

Sam's breathing stopped and the woman noticed.  “Herr Schtroder, she has stopped breathing!” she announced emphatically in German.  “We must stop this procedure at once!”

“Damned children!” Heimlich Schtroder snarled, throwing the scalpel down to the floor.  “How am I supposed to work with them Ellie, when they’re in such a weakened condition?  They know I need healthy specimens to work with.”

Ellie shrugged her shoulders and shot him a glance as though he was blaming her for not feeding the children properly.  “Tell them, not me.  I don’t hand out the daily rations.”

Making no attempt at resuscitation, Schtroder waved Ellie’s comments away.  “Get her out of here Wilhelm!” he yelled to one of the men standing at the head of the marble slab.  “Put her with the others from this morning.”

Two of the men picked up the scientist's limp body and dragged it to the far end of the room and outside, through a small courtyard and into another building.  Bodies of all ages, indiscriminate of gender or race were piled high.  Sam's body was thrown onto the side of the heap and other bodies, higher up slid, cascading down and landing on top of Sam, concealing him.

As the two men returned Schtroder’s voice could be heard shouting out further orders.  “Damned it man, I haven’t got all day, fetch the next one in.”

Even as he ordered out commands, more bodies were thrown onto the pile, toppling it even further.  Sam's body being one of many that slid and plunged, rolling across the ground.  Men’s boots kicked and trod as they made way for the ever increasing deluge.

A finger twitched.  But no-one noticed.

Project: Quantum Leap

“What do you mean you’ve lost the lock on Sam?” The Admiral hollered towards the blue orb that hung suspended somewhat miraculously in midair.

“Just that Admiral,” Ziggy replied.  “Doctor Beckett is no longer in the timeline of 1961 and from my epochtonusalgraphic probe, he is no longer within his own lifetime either.”

“Well start the probe from ’53 and work backwards then.” Al turned as he heard a noise behind him.  An out-of-breath Verbena Beeks had scurried out of  the corridor and into the Control Room.  He nodded his head in acknowledgement of her presence.

Seeing that Al and Ziggy were in the middle of their ‘usual’ discussion about Sam Leaping again, Verbena waited, her news that Sam had Leapt again was obviously ‘old’ news by now anyway.  She watched as Al raced towards the Imaging Chamber door but he didn’t enter.

“Already underway Admiral, I was prepared for just that assumption,” Ziggy purred with cutting undertones.  “Scan of 1950s complete no neurological bio signs have been encountered.  Initiating scan of 1940s…”

Verbena glanced over to the main console, where Donna and Tina were in discussion with St. John.  She felt out of place as usual in the Control Room, everyone around her was doing their own thing and she had been relieved of doing hers when the ‘visitor’ left.

“Dammit Ziggy, why are you taking so long?” Al blasted at Ziggy.

“Hmmm,” Ziggy sighed sadly.  “You do want me to be thorough, don’t you Admiral?”

“Yes.” Al cocked his head to one side, continuing calmly.  “Of course I want you to be thorough, but what I asked was…”  His tone changed,  “What the hell is taking so long!”

“Meticulous scrutiny of past eons does and will take time Admiral…” Ziggy purred, unaffected by Al's eruption.  “And cannot be rushed—besides, this is the first time that this part of the program has been run.  It is bound to take a little longer.”

“All right already, just hurry it up will ya?” Al requested impatiently.

“Scan of 1949 to 1945 complete Admiral, no physical anatomic signs detected, inaugurating scan of 1944 and beyond,” Ziggy continued unabated.

“Quit with the running commentary will you and just get on with it?”

“Yes Admiral, it’s just that I thought you’d liked being up-to-date with my findings,” Ziggy quipped.

‘Darned egotistical humanoid,’  Al thought to himself, scowling, ‘she always has to have the last word.’

Verbena chuckled at Al's expression, she knew all to well how Ziggy could vex him sometimes… most times and he always fell for it.  Hook line and sinker.

Ziggy’s undertones rang out bluntly.  “Scan of 1940’s complete.”

Her voice ceased abruptly and Al waited for her to continue and after a few moments when she didn’t proceed, Al spoke up.  “Well?”

Ziggy’s voice was solicitous and melancholy.  “I have located Doctor Beckett.”

Again Al waited, but impatience overruled him.  “And?” he questioned.

“I fear we are too late… Doctor Beckett’s biorhythms are negating, I am barely perceiving any atomical signs.”

“What the hell!” Al cursed aloud.  “Where is he?  Get the Imaging Chamber online and be quick about it!”

In the background Ziggy’s sad tones whispered, almost unnoticed.  “It’s Monday, November 17, 1941 Admiral.  He’s in Auschwitz, Poland.”

Al sucked in a deep breath.  “Beeks get to the Waiting Room and see who the hell’s in there.  If Sam's condition is bad God knows the state of our visitor.  And Ziggy, get Beth down here too, ‘Red Alert’, I have a feeling Verbena's gonna be needin’ help in there.”

However, one person did hear Ziggy—Donna.  She stood motionless, whilst everyone else scampered to the Admiral's orders.

Seconds later holographic images whirled before the Admiral’s eyes; history ‘rewound’ before him as the neural-image-dilator flicked backwards through the years.  The images started to stabilize as the year 1941 was centered upon.

Pictures slowed, depicting still frames of scenes from the early 40s, horrific scenes which turned his stomach, much more than the swirling tornado ever could.

Then from the back of his mind Ziggy’s words, echoed back at him—Auschwitz—Poland.   The Observer couldn’t understand it.  He already knew that Sam was there, that’s where he’d left him, when the blue haze of the Leaping process engulfed Doctor Beckett and had left himself in the darkened Imaging Chamber.  That’s the way it was, had always been… Sam Leaps and the hologram surrounding him fades.  That’s the way it worked.

Al's eyes widened as the images halted and the hologram around him focused into reality, then the scene began to ‘play’ out before him.  What he saw he couldn’t believe.  He’d only seen it before on flickering black and white film reels and on old yellowing still photographs, and now he found that he was in the midst of it and in full color.

Knee deep in human remains was all that Al could bare.  “WHAT THE…” he obstipated, staggering backwards, his insides churning.

He could almost smell the death that surrounded him; the decay, the excrement, the rancid stench of urine intermingled with the sweat of labor.

And then he saw it—the one thing that distinguished him from all the rest; the one thing that the Observer recognized—the silver streak of hair amidst all others, he knew exactly to whom that silver strand belonged.  His best friend, his buddy, and his pal.

His first instinct was to lunge forward and retrieve his friend from the ugly subterfuge of mangled members.  But he couldn’t help.  Try as he might he couldn’t grasp at the hand that dangled there.  Frustration welled up in him to the point of exasperation.  Of all the times Sam needed him, it was now.  He felt useless and debauched.  There were times he was glad of his holographic state, he didn’t have to dodge bullets or feel the heat from the flames, but now it felt like a curse.

He gawked at the eyes amongst the mangled mess; bloodied and blank, glazed and staring.  His own eyes stinging with the pain of tears and he fought long and hard to hold them back.  His heart was beating in his throat, pounding at his ears, causing him to gulp and stagger further.  An overwhelming sense of grief took hold.  “S—A—A—A—A—A—M—M!” he rasped hoarsely at the top of his lungs when he finally admitted it to himself, the fact that it was Sam entwined with the other bodies.

Wiping away the fallen tears and breathing a grievous sigh, he took time to think.  An unconscious thought that made him gasp for breath. ‘If Sam was dead, I wouldn’t be here; the link would be severed.  I’d be standing in the darkness of the Imaging Chamber, wouldn’t I?’  he questioned himself reproachfully.

He shook himself back to reality and pressed a button that provided a link to his time; he cleared his dried up throat.  “Ziggy, h-how’s the link with Sam holding out?” he demanded huskily; his rasping voice choked with emotion.

“Very feeble and weakening rapidly,” the voice through the tiny speaker sounded hollow, disembodied.  “I don’t know how much longer I can keep a lock Admiral, with Doctor Beckett’s reduced brain-wave activity, it’s putting a great strain on the power supply.”

“Just do it!” he yelled into the handlink.

Al's eyes widened once more as two bodies hurtled passed him in quick succession and crashed into the accumulation, dislodging the skeletal frames of two young children from the very top.  Instinctively Al stepped back as the rag doll-like corpses rolled down in slow-motion, butting Sam’s torso in their descent, expelling the last breath from the scientist's lungs.

Al heard a gasp of air, a whimper and then a groan came from the bloodied mouth of the quantum physicist.

“Sam!” the Observer bellowed, seeing the state of his friend.  Blood still oozing from a wound on his head and what he could see of it; it looked pretty nasty, running and congealing into the sockets of his opened, staring eyes.  “Breathe!  Can you hear me Sam?  Speak to me buddy, say somethin’, anythin’!  Call me all the goddamned names under the sun, but just breathe!”

Sam's crimson eyes flickered.

“Breathe Sam, breathe!  You can do it pal!”

A cough and another groan arose feebly from the haggard, blood smeared face; a hand flopped sluggishly outward and then slumped motionless.

“Sam!” Al yelled again.  “You’d better snap to it pal, you’re not gonna let those SOB’s get away with this are ya?”

Sam's cheek twitched and his mouth opening slightly.  “Al?  Is that…” he coughed—a dry throat wrenching convulsion.  “…is that you Al?” he whispered dryly.

“Yeah, it’s me  buddy,” Al said calmly, but he felt far from calm as he waded through the sea of bodies to kneel beside his friend.

Sam's brow creased as he strived to blink his eyes and smiled wryly.  “I-I can’t see you Al.”

PART SIX

“Where am I?” Sam asked after another coughing fit and he struggled under the weight of the pressing heap above him, trying to raise his free hand to wipe at his eyes he cried out in agony.   “Arrrrgggghhhh!”

Al stared at his friend earnestly.  He didn’t wan t to tell him exactly where he was or the predicament he was in.  He was just relieved that his friend wasn’t… well; he didn’t even want to think about that now.

“Don’t move Sam.  From here you look as if you’re in a bad way.  We nearly lost you for a minute there.  Ziggy was going ape locating you this time.” He looked between his friend and the handlink as he pressed buttons, doing a double take as the first wave of information glowed onto the small screen.

The strange weight squashing down on Sam dug into his ribs, groin and back.  He felt twisted and uncomfortable, suffocating under the mass above him.  He wished that he could see whatever it was constricting him, prohibiting his movements.  “I-I t-think it’s dis-dislocated Al.” He managed to croak as he remembered the blow to his head and the strength of the oaf that had tossed him about.  ‘Temporary vision loss due to a blow to the temporal lobe, just a temporary thing;’ he reminded himself; ‘it will come back, given time and rest.’

“You’re lucky Sam, at least you can’t see what I’m seeing here.” The Observer looked again at the bodies piled around Sam and shivered.

Sam knew that he’d been in some tricky situations before, but he had never felt like this, crushed and unable to move.  He wondered at what Al had meant by his comment of what he was seeing.  “What’s happening to me?  Why can’t I move?”

Sam could feel something cold and clammy against his good hand and tried to grasp at it with his numbed fingers but he couldn’t.  It was too large and too heavy to push out of the way and his efforts left him thoroughly exhausted.  He was feeling just as cold and as clammy as what lay atop him.  He shuddered at the thought of what it might be, but brushed the thought aside, as he always did with things that he found unpleasant.  Al had once marveled at his ability of being able to switch his mind on and off at will.

The Observer didn’t want to answer that question yet; he didn’t want Sam disturbed any more than he actually was.  Given his own emotions and being as frayed as they were, he didn’t trust himself as to giving anything away.  “Just keep still Sam, I’m gonna try my best to get you out of there.”

To take his mind off from what he was really seeing the Observer tried to see through to the person that Sam had leapt into, only all he could see was Sam.  He read and reread the data displayed but it didn’t change.

“Who am I Al, I know I’m a woman, but what’s her name?” Sam grappled, pushing an unseen arm away from his face with a nudge of his chin.

Al couldn’t believe what he was still reading; he hadn’t heard of this name in years, many years, a deep sigh left him as he revealed to the scientist his host’s name.  “You’re Brigitte Anna Petruski.” Al informed his buddy, cocking his head and stiffening his neck at the mere recollection of the familiar name.

“A thirteen year old Russian kid.  One of twelve who became stranded in Poland after the German invasion on September first 1939.  They and two teachers were on a school trip… when…” The Observer's voice started to waver.

Al had heard this story before—from his mother.

“I-I’m s-still in P-Poland?” Sam succeeded in stuttering.  “19—41?  No—no, I can’t be… it’s not possible.”

Al choked back a response.  “It is Sam, it is possible.  When we simo-leaped we retained some of each others neurons and neurological-makeup, we were decided on that wasn’t we Sam?”

Sam nodded, a painful expression puckering his face; tears streaming from his bloodied eyes.

“I know this is gonna sound kinda impossible, but you’ve Leapt into my mother’s sister Sam.” Al wiped at his own eyes as he began weeping.  “We all thought she died in the invasion Sam… we never thought she had to endure… this…” The Observer broke off, unable to continue.

Automatically Al tottered backwards as more bodies were catapulted onto the growing pile; he didn’t even have time to warn Sam of the impending impact.

“Ugh!  What the hell was that?” Sam's husky voice groaned as whatever it was pummeled into that something above him, sending violent vibrations down and into his injured shoulder making him wince and cry out with pain.  And what's more, it tumbled directly over the top of him, knocking his head as it fell crashing to the bottom.

Al grimaced at the thought of having to describe the carnage he was witnessing.  It was bad enough just being here as a hologram without having to be explicit in the details.

“Don’t concern yourself Sam, I’m gonna have you outta here in no time.” Al didn’t know how he was going to achieve this feat.  No-one who visited this locality took the time to check on its inmates.  It didn’t seem to matter to them if one remained alive, they had so many to choose from for their experiments.

“Hang in there buddy, I’m gonna take a butchers…” The Observer immediately chastised himself for his choice of words and tried to cover his maligned slip.  “…er, er… see if I can find any kids that can help me get you out.”

By the tone of his voice the scientist realized that the Observer couldn’t wait to get the hell out of wherever he was, so he didn’t mince his words either.  “Okay Al, whatever you need to do, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere soon.”

“Okay Sam, I’m going now.  I’ll try not to be too long,” Al said, knowing his friend couldn’t see his departure.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do in my absence,” he added, trying to make things lighter.

“Just go Al, the longer you are, the longer I’ll be stuck here,” Sam quibbled, still feeling his friend’s presence.

“I’m outta here… going… going…” the Observer's voice faded as he moved out of the building.  “…gone.”

Ignoring his friend’s advice, Sam began to wriggle and found that with his latest efforts and the recent impact; he had a leg free.  He kicked out at something that was weighing down on his other leg that was paining him.  It moved and rolled hitting the ground with a distasteful thud.  He hoped that Al didn’t hear and come rushing back.  Now he had his good arm free and ultimately embarked on massaging at his blinded eyes.  Rubbing away most of the dried-on blood his vision improved slightly, although still very blurred.

At first glance his surroundings looked somewhat normal.  He tried to sit up but a stabbing pain in his abdomen excruciated his movements and he flopped down, rescinding his posture.  “Yeeeooowwwllll!” he yelled and at the same time attempted to muffle his cries.

He lay blinking, remembering the last thing he saw before passing out, that scalpel and the agonizing sting of that first cut.  He continued to lay there, waiting for the pain to subsided and the more he blinked the clearer his vision became.  While he waited he kneaded at his swollen knee, now black and blue from that gorilla stamping on the joint, he was thankful that it wasn’t broken, it certainly felt like it at the time, he’d felt it crack.

He looked firstly to see what damage had been inflicted to his burning abdomen and was alarmed to see that the cotton garment he was wearing had ridden up, showing all in sundry his nakedness from the chest down.  From what he could see amongst the coagulum of blood, there were two vertical and elongated lacerations, running parallel to each other about eight inches apart.

If he were a woman, as he was suspected as being: it looked to him as they could have been performing some kind of ovarian surgery: ‘implants’, if his memory served him correctly.  The lacerations weren’t too deep and he thanked God that he’d passed out when he did, for if they’d continued Lord knows what other depredation they would have imposed, had imposed on this young girl,  who would have been Al's Aunt.

What he couldn’t understand though was why they had stopped, when it looked to him as though they’d only just begun.  The phrase, ‘Be thankful for small mercies,’ immediately came to his mind.  He decanted to cover his modesty.

Next, with his good hand he examined his shoulder.  “Damn!” he cursed aloud.  As he’d suspected, it was dislocated and severely so.  He gritted his teeth and in an endeavor to pop it back into place he pulled again at the damaged muscles in his lower belly, starting a fresh flow of blood from one of the open wounds.  As the pain increased so did his tears: welling up in his eyes, washing away in a crimson lake.  As his weeping subsided his teardrops dispersed, streaking his face like a sun blotched, clouded sky, but his vision enhanced.

Then he saw—for the first time he really – really saw, just unequivocally what it was he was recumbent upon.  Hundreds upon hundreds of emaciated individuals lay serenely entangled.

His heart skipped a beat as he saw the life span of some, children of little more than the age of two.  His pain racked body didn’t matter to him now.  His disjointed arm hung limply by his side as he reverently slipped himself downward, avoiding projecting limbs and outstretched hands that silently pleaded to him for help.

But he couldn’t help them now, not even he who had been given the chance to right wrongs.  This was one colossal wrong that could never be righted; not even by God himself.  He had created man and man in his indulgence had decided that the supreme race would triumph over subservience.

He gulped in precious oxygen as he finally reached the bottom; the agonizing descent had left him weak and disorientated.  The stench entered his nostrils for the first time, he remembered it from before but this time it was a hundred times worse.  His stomach flipped over and he was gratified that it was empty but even the dry retching yanked afresh at his bleeding wounds.

Sam crouched as he heard something being wheeled outside.  A squeaking wheel, metal on stone and it was getting closer.  Sam held his breath in disquiet, listening as the now audible footsteps neared and a scraping sound as the squeaking stopped.

“In hier Karl,  (In here Karl,)” one man voiced outside.  “Wir haben vergeßen, diesen gestern zu tun. (We forgot to do this one yesterday.)”

“Ja, sie häufen aufwärts schnell jetzt auf, (Yes, they’re piling up rapidly now,)” Karl uttered.

“Bahh, es stinkt hier, (Bahh, it stinks in here,)” The first mumbled as he entered the building.

“Nun Jakob, das ist was bekommen, wenn Sie ihnen für einen Tag verlaßen, (Well Jakob, that’s what you get for leaving them a day,)” Karl laughed, following Jakob inside.

Sam hid in the corner, pressing himself against the forlorn and bony skeletal body parts.  Some were whole bodies but most had been mutilated out of all recognition, left in a heap to be picked up later and burned in one of the many newly installed incinerators.

Both men laughed as they worked, one at the head and the other at the feet of each body, carrying them out one by one to the awaiting cart.  They muttered jokes to one another, making wisecracks and mimicking actions of other staff.  To the scientist they looked as if they were enjoying their work.

The cart fully loaded, they moved off.  Sam glanced up at the mound of corpses, barely an impression had been made on its size.  He decided that it was time he wasn’t there, he couldn’t risk being seen when they returned for the next cart-load.  As he limped towards the entrance way he heard the distinct rumble of the cart returning, no squeaky wheel this time though. ‘Dammit,’ he thought, ‘they must have more than one wagon.’

He quickly retreated back to his hiding place and holding his breath he waited, and watched.

Picking over the bodies for gold fillings, wedding rings and spectacles, looting anything they could find that had been missed during the processing.  Sam thought that they must have forgotten to search the first batch, unless of course, they worked in teams and left the pickings of the first group to the others unloading.  They gloated and chuckled at every find, they thought themselves lucky; whatever they found would fetch a good price at the market.  Sam felt stifled; they were certainly making the most of it this time.

The second cart filled, Sam tried to make his movements more hasty than he had managed previously and moved towards the door as soon as the two men had left.  Racked with pain, he only succeeded in reaching the outside corner before they started returning with an empty wagon.  Flushed and bemused for a moment, he didn’t know which way to turn, only just managing to scamper back inside.  Hiding once again in the corner and grabbing at the filthy rag that once served as a gag, he stuffed it into his mouth to quieten his panting, but there was nothing he could do to quieten the thudding in his chest.

PART SEVEN

To Sam it seemed like an eternity until the two men returned but in reality is was only a matter of seconds.  Again they jollied themselves with frivolous banter, laughing and joking as they tossed the silent ones onto the cart.

Their merriment sickened the scientist right through to his stomach but he dare not intervene for fear of giving himself away, thinking for a moment that his pounding heart would betray him.  All at once they were screaming aloud with wild laughter; they were prancing about with something, jumping up and down. 

“Komm hier! (Over here!)” Jakob shouted to Karl.  “Nicht soviel hoch, du Schwachsinnigern! (Not that high you stupid moron!)”  

“Du bist zu langsam. (You are too slow.)” Karl chortled his reply.

“Ich bin nicht zehn Meter groß! (I’m not ten meters tall!)” Jakob returned annoyed.

“Nein, du bist nur ein dünnes Zwergrind, (No, you’re just a skinny runt,)” Karl taunted the other.

‘What the hell… they’re playing catch! Christ!’  Sam cringed as the thought of what they could be using, imposing itself into his tormented mind, their joviality continuing.  ‘What the hell are they playing with?’

Before long, Sam's eyes enlarged in horror as something hairy flopped onto the shoulder of the carcass lying next to him.

Sam stiffened.

It was a wig, a woman’s hairpiece.  ‘God!  They’re playing catch with someone’s hair!’

He instantaneously played dead as he saw one of them peer around the accumulation to see where their plaything had landed.  Closing his eyes, the scientist strived to relax himself as best he could but he could feel the muscles in his face start to twitch as fear took him over.

He held his breath.

Now, Sam didn't think himself as a particularly religious man, though he didn’t have any doubts that God had put man on this earth for a purpose.  But also, he, as a scientist had come to believe that science held more of a responsibility in creating things, living things, science had proven that, though he did have his doubts with that at first.  Now he believed in both.  What scientist couldn’t.

For whatever or whoever had grabbed him out of time was most certainly not of a worldly presence and couldn’t be created in a test tube or petri dish.  Yet it guided and protected him, to a certain extent and healed his wounds.  As far as he was concerned, I was God that kept him safe.

Fortunately for Sam, the man was too engrossed in retrieving the object of his amusement, than in investigating the objects of toil. 

Jakob suddenly lost interest as Karl threw back the hairpiece.  “Komm mit mir. Wir werden verantwortliche gehalten, wenn wir nicht vorantreiben. (Come with me, we will be held responsible, if we do not hurry things up.)”

Sam sighed quietly and then gulped as a sudden voice boomed out of nowhere; startling his eyes open.

“No luck there Sam, they’re all caged up for the night,” the Observer informed the huddled man and then saw the expression on the scientist's face.  “What?” he asked confused.  “What did I do?”

Sam nodded gingerly in the direction of the open doorway.

“Oh… you mean we’ve got company?” Al asked in realization, seeing Sam’s nod in affirmation, he squinted his eyes and headed towards the door.

“Gerade eine wenige mehr und dann können wir es eine Nacht rufen. (Just a few more then we can call it a night.)” Al heard a voice say from outside.

As he stood in the doorway the two burly men reentered the building, walking straight through the hologram’s image, which provoked the Observer into bearing up a fist towards them, shaking it and growling under his breath.  “Goons…  How can anyone do such a job?  Jeeze… Yuck, yuckie yuck, yuck.” He added, screwing up his face in distaste and shaking his head from side to side.

The two men, Jakob and Karl filled the wagon and started back to the other building and when they left, Sam came out of hiding.

Sam's face grimaced with pain as he began to stand.  “Al?” he asked uneasily.  “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” Al shook his head slightly, turning towards his friend.  “Everywhere’s shut tight, locked up tighter than a whorehouse at noon in Texas.”

Sam shot him a glare.  “I’m in pain here Al and all you can think of is your libido.  I need medical supplies, you wont believed what they started to do.” Sam leaned on the wall and with his good arm held out the gown he was wearing, indicating to the Observer the bloodstained blotches which were still seeping through the graying material.

“This is my blood Al… understand?  My blood.  My arm is dislocated and I probably have concussion from this…” Sam pointed to the gash in his head.  “…two gaping wounds in my gut and to top it all off I can hardly walk.”

For the first time in… he didn’t know how long; the Observer was speechless.  All he could do was watch, albeit intensely aggrieved by the scientist's words.

After a long silence Sam spoke up.  “Oh Al… I’m sorry, it’s just… just that I don’t know what I can do like this…” he indicated again at his weakened self.  “How I’m gonna get out of this one Al?”

Al lowered his shaking head and wiped at his eyes.

“What does Ziggy say?” Sam asked with a more uplifted tone.

“Nothin’…” Al said as he reached into his pocket for the handlink.  “…nada… zilch… zero… zip…” He waved the colorful object around in the air. “…and this darn thing’s useless.  Ziggy’s sayin’ that all records were destroyed just before the camp was liberated on January 27, 1945.  We don’t have anything Sam.”

“Nothing at all?” Sam implored, his eyes wide with anguish.

“Oh—ho Sam… I think they’re coming back,” the Observer said alarmed as he stepped outside to look.  “Yeah they’re heading this way and this time there’s four of em… no Sam… three of them are heading off to that other building, Block 10 but the other one is still coming this way.”

“Well, I ain’t hiding again Al.  I can tackle one.  Are you sure there’s only one?”

“Yeah… What!  In your condition!” Al deliberated, reentering the building through the wall.

“Just keep lookout will ya?” Sam demanded.  “Tell me when he’s just before the doorway, I can take him by surprise.”

“Okay Sam, but are you sure you can do this?  I mean…”

Sam cut Al's words short.  “Do I have a choice?”

The Observer shook his head and returned outside to keep watch.  Sam maneuvered himself toward the doorway; he fumbled with one hand, untying the gag that still hung about his neck and waited for Al's command.

Seconds ticked by, seconds that seemed like hours in his exasperated state.  As he heard the footsteps near, he clenched one end of the rag between his teeth and the other he grasped firmly in his hand.

“Now Sam!” Al yelled.

Like a bolt out of the blue the scientist whipped the rag around the man’s neck and before Jakob knew what had hit him, Sam held him in a stranglehold.  There was no way that he was going to let go.

Jakob squirmed and gasped, flexing his arms disparagingly.  Lashing out with is feet which somehow Sam managed to avoid but in his weakened state they both tumbled to the ground and there the scientist found more leverage, tightening his grip.

Grunting and groaning with the agony of his exertions, Sam continued to hold firm, saliva dripping from his mouth from the effort and all of the time his right arm dangling and dragging limply.

Jakob’s face started turning red, choking and gagging for breath, trying to claw at the torque about his neck.

And ceaselessly, Al goaded Sam on.  “Way to go Sam!  I knew you could do it.  Yay, that a boy!” Jumping up and down incessantly.

Slowly the gasps stopped and likewise the struggle.  Sam flopped back in exhaustion, panting, pale and listless.  The crimson blotched garment even more drenched.

The Observer's cries desisted along with his excitement and he became increasingly subdued.  “Sam… you okay Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed heavily, turning his head slowly towards the Observer's image.

“Is he… is he de…?” Al mumbled.

Sam rolled over and felt for the carotid pulse.  His face showed it all as he looked back at the Observer morosely.

“One down, seven-hundred and forty-nine to go,” Al said with a quip and a second later wishing that he hadn’t.

“What?  What are you blathering on about now?” Sam groaned as he forced himself up onto an elbow.

“The SS Sam, and that’s not including the collaborators.  That’s how many they estimated ran the camps at Auschwitz and Birkenau.”

Sam pulled himself towards the wall, dragging along with him the fallen Jakob, propping himself up the scientist started removing the uniform and clothes, replacing them with his own meager garment.  Throughout all of this Sam never said a word and the Observer watched gloomily.

Sam struggled with the jacket, putting his right arm in first, swinging it around his shoulders and then slipping in the left; he also had difficulty with the pants, fitting the leg over his badly swollen knee brought fresh tears to his eyes.

Al wished that he could help in some way, but he stood silent as he watched on.  Seeing Sam tear off a piece of his original garment, folding it and placing it between his flesh and the rough fabric of his newfound clothes.  He tossed the remainder to the side of the pile.

With an extreme effort Sam managed to get to his feet, struggling once more with the buttons on both pants and jacket.  Finally he was finished and he stooped carefully down to retrieve the cap, fixing it atop his head.

“I think you’ll pass,” Al approved, raising himself to the balls of his feet.  “Though I don’t know how they’ll see ya,” he said, passing a sweeping hand down one side of his face.

Sam hobbled out of the door, the tightness of the trouser leg giving a gratified support to his damaged knee. The Observer followed closely behind but was soon ahead as he surveyed the area.  Al turned around only to find Sam way behind; he was staring at something in the sky.

Al retraced his footsteps.  “What is it Sam?”

Sam nodded towards the skyline.  “There Al, look at that.”

Al followed Sam's gaze and saw for himself what was silhouetted against the light from the moon.  Thick black smoke distended from a tall chimney polluting the evening sky.

He stood vigil with Sam for a few seconds and then imitating, patted him on an unfelt back.  “It’s too late for those poor souls.  Come on Sam, you can’t help them now.”

“No Al, I know,” Sam sighed deeply and turned away, turning back quickly for one last look.

“Sam… come on,” the Observer urged, waving a hand for him to follow.

“Okay, I’m coming… it’s just that I can’t…”

“This way Sam, the door’s open.” Al scampered off ahead, in the direction the three men had taken.

Sam followed taking a few steps backwards, still watching the smoke, lowering his head he turned and opened the door to the building known as Block 10.

“Looks like you’ll be safe in here for the rest of the night Sam.” The Observer waved a hand around the large room as the scientist entered.

Sam stopped in his tracks as he remembered where he was.

Al saw the look on his friend's face.  “What is it Sam?  There’s no-one here.”

“It’s not that Al…  I-I’ve been here before… this is—is where they—they did this to me.” Sam held a hand against his abdomen.  He glanced around and saw the marble slab at the far end of the room.  “On there.” He raced towards it best he could, limping.

“God Sam, I remember now…” Al gasped as his mind registered something from his past.  “Block 10 is where all of those medical experiments were carried out.”

“ARE being carried out Al,” Sam corrected him.  “For me and everyone here… this is where it IS all happening Al,” he looked around for the instrument tray, the one he remembered seeing Schmitt/Schtroder rummaging through, the one with all of the bizarre instruments that looked as though they belonged in some sort of torturous, medieval museum.

Sam shivered.

Alongside of the marble slab he saw the bench on which he had first found himself earlier that afternoon and limped slowly towards it.  That was when he saw the wall, the wall where his head had smashed after that ogre had thrown him against it.  It still bore the stain of his own blood.

Sam needed medical supplies but he couldn’t see any in this room, not even a cupboard where they should have been kept.  He advanced towards the door at the opposite side and entered a long corridor.  Al materialized in front of him, making him jump.

“Al!” the scientist exclaimed with fright.  He realized that he should be used to it by now but he never was, Al could pop up in the most unexpected places and at any time.  “You know how jumpy I am, why didn’t you just follow me.”

“Cos Sam, I’ve only a limited amount of space in the Imaging Chamber to move around in and you know that… don’t you?” The Observer looked at the scientist speculatively as Sam stared at him oddly.  “Okay so you don’t remember… when I run out of space, Ziggy re-centers me on you. I mean… I maybe able to walk through these walls but there’s no way I can walk through the walls of the Imaging Chamber…” he laughed as his own words as well as Sam's expression and then added as an afterthought.  “…not in my lifetime anyways.”

The scientist studied the hallway, several doors led off from both sides, there were no windows and the only light came from two low wattage pendants, one at each end of the corridor.

“What’re you looking for?” Al asked as saw Sam's scrutiny.

“Medical supplies.” Sam lifted his one good arm as if to say ‘what else’.

“Stupid question,” Al mumbled under his breath.  “Okay, I’ll search this side whilst you explore that side,” he conceded and Sam nodded, commending the idea.

What the two friends saw as they moved from room to room would have given even 'old nick' nightmares.  Sam in his quest found stacks upon stacks of medical journals and in studying one of them, almost forgot what he was searching for in the first place. 

Sam read the heading.  “Die Sprache von das Dritte Reich. ‘LTI’ (Lingua Tertii Imperii.) (The language of the Third Reich.) Band zu dieser Platz und diese Zeit. (Tied to this place and time.)”  

Some of the words were nebulous and didn’t make sense to him, and then as he studied them, he worked some of them out, knowing that words were frequently serialized consecutively.  The word ‘Fressen’ for example, he knew was usually referred to as an animal eating, but here it referred to people.  They were some kind of degenerate code for the treatment of their inmates.

There were other words too, most of which he’d never even heard of: ‘Schmutzstück’ as the inmates were called, referring to them in the document as pieces of filth or garbage.  And, ‘Spritzen,’ he mumbled, thinking aloud, ‘to spray, hmm… to inoculate or ‘abgespritzt’, to be sprayed off; inoculated,’  he took in their meaning; their code; ‘to kill or be killed by phenol injection.’  He postulated as he carried on reading through the manuscript.

There was one word he couldn’t figure out though, ‘Haftlinge’, could this be a spelling error? ‘fange’ to catch; ‘finge’ to be caught, and ‘helfen’ to help; ‘half’ to be helped… so, ‘halffinge’ helped caught.  No, that didn’t sound quite right to him and he rearranged the letters again.  ‘Halt’ to hold; ‘Hält’ holds; ‘finge’ to be captive; ‘Hältfinge’, now it made more sense: holds captive… a prisoner… taken from ‘Gefangener’.  ‘Christ the language has certainly been debauched.’

Underneath he read, “Diese speziellen Worte ‘LTI’, sollen zu den Gefangener adreßiert werden, und sollen als ‘Hältfinge’ jetzt gewußt werden. (These special words ‘LTI’, are to be addressed to the prisoners, and are to be known now as ‘holds captive’.)”

Wishing that he had read the whole page before embarking on their translations, he slapped a hand to his head, then wishing that he hadn’t.  He groaned out: “Y—yyeeooww,” as piercing pain shot though his battered skull.

The scientist was disturbed from his ponderings by Al as he entered the room.  “Whatcha doin’ Sam, I’ve done the whole of the other side and you’re still in the first room?”

“Al, I’ve found these,” Sam held up the papers he was studying.  “They’re making up their own language, to confuse the prisoners, to give them cause for torturing them.  Al, this is awful,” he said, still grimacing with pain, he laid them down on the metal cabinet next to Al.

Al reached into his top pocket and pulled out a pair of silver rimmed spectacles; putting them on he leaned forward and stared at the writing on one of the pages, “I don’t understand a word of it… it’s all foreign.”

“I’m not asking you to read it Al, just knowing that they exists is enough,” Sam stated, glaring at his friend and slapping the papers with the back of his hand.

“Never mind that now Sam,” Al pondered, returning the spectacles to his top pocket, “I’ve found the medical supplies, they’re in the next room.  If you’d taken less time in here you’d be feeling much better by now.” Al rattled off in annoyance.

“What if I’m here to stop the torture Al?”

“No, you’re not Sam!” Al said sharply, striking a hand against the handlink, making it squeal in protest.  “Ziggy’s still prophesizing the odds that you’re here to make sure Schtroder or what’s his name, Schmitt doesn’t escape the death penalty next time, for what he’s doing here.”

“And what odds would they be?” Sam asked with an illusive stare.

“Well, Ziggy’s quite adamant on what you have to do Sam, she’s giving it 93.57 percent, them’s pretty high odds.”