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.”

“And how am I supposed to that?  Look at me Al, I’m in no fit state to do anything.”

“Do yourself a favour Sam, you can always nip next door and clean yourself up a bit first.  Then maybe you’ll start feeling better about you.”

The scientist laid the papers down on the heavy wooden table and arranged them to be as he’d found them.

The Observer seeing his friend’s actions and taking them to be a sign of rebuttal, returned through the wall and into the corridor.  Popping his had back a moment later to give the all clear.  “Come on Sam, what you dawdling at?  It’s all quiet on the Western Front.”

Sam made his way to the door, joining the Observer where they both entered the room next door.  He opened cupboard doors and slid out drawers in search of what he could find, gathering them all together on one metallic tray.

Picking up a glass syringe Sam inserted the separated metal plunger.  “Damn!” Sam muttered aloud.  “It wasn’t discovered until ’43.”

Al looked confused.  “What wasn’t?” he asked.

Deflated, Sam returned the assembled syringe to the tray.  “Local anesthetic, xylocaine was the first I think, Al I need to get this shoulder back in place.”

“Seems as though you’ll have to revert to the good old-fashioned method Sam.” Al squirmed at the thought.

Enlightened, Sam turned to the Observer.  “I didn’t know there was one before xylocaine.  What old-fashioned method?”

“Grin, grit your teeth and bare it.” Al suggested with a chortle.  He was thankful for being a hologram at that moment, for the tray full of the supplies that the scientist had found hurtled though the air and headed straight for him.  Nevertheless, he still ducked out of instinct.

The tray and its contents clattered to the floor making an outrageous din.

Al recoiled at the racket as the clanging persisted to ring in his ears.  “Whatcha do that for?  Ya’ll have em all come running to see what the hubbub is all about.”

“Well…” Sam said, turning to the large square washbasin; he proceeded to turn on the water and filled a kidney shaped dish with water.  Silently, he gathered up the strewn supplies and returned them to the tray.

Unable to endure Sam's silent treatment, Al apologized for his remark.  “I’m sorry Sam, I know you’re hurting pretty bad right now… I shouldn’t have said that.”

Sam turned and gave him a wryly glare.  “It’s not what you said Al, it’s the way you said it—as though you were gonna enjoy seeing me suffer.”

“You know I would never do that.  I hate it when I see you in pain,” Al rebutted.  “But you must admit, it was kinda funny though.”

“No Al, I didn’t think it was.”

“Okay, no it wasn’t.  Sorry Sam,” Al said, despondent.  “Erm… I’ll go check and see if anyone heard the racket Sam,” he continued, wanting to let Sam cool off awhile.  Getting no response, he grimaced and made a hasty retreat into the hallway.

Sam, ignoring the Observer’s departure tore chunks from a large roll of cotton wadding and dunked them into the dish of water and poured a few measures of surgical sprit into another.  Further along the wall, he espied a mirror on a ledge and lifting it, propped it against the wall near to the sink.

Squeezing out surplus water from the cotton, he gazed into the mirror, at the image reflected there and wept. Thrown back at him was the emaciated face of a young girl, bloodied and wracked with pain; fear showing in her dulled brown eyes and her dark hair matted with blood.

The image misted as his eyes filled with unshed tears but he couldn’t look away.  Unspoken words of revenge filled his head as he stood transfixed, beguiled.

A noise from behind stimulated his senses back to reality and as he turned he saw a rat scurry across the countertop.  Unruffled, he turned back to the mirror and proceeded to clean the girl’s face and dabbed at the wounds with the spirit.  All of the time racking his brain for the formula hidden somewhere within.  Slowly he remembered each one in turn.  Ethyl, ether, Novocain and vegetable oil.  He couldn’t remember the exact quantities of each ingredient but he didn’t let a little thing like that deter him.

After cleaning, he searched again, finding everything but the Novocain but instead found a small vial of 4 per cent solution of morphine hydrochloride.  He stood and thought about using this.  He was very tempted.  Even knowing that morphine hydrochloride was still in the experimental stages until the mid 50s he began to instinctively formulate everything together.  Filling the syringe, he injected his shoulder in several different places around the joint and waited.

After five minutes he began to feel the effects and after ten, his shoulder was completely numb.  Lifting his numbed arm with the other, he jammed his elbow into the corner between the architrave of the door and wall, and holding his shoulder joint in place he pushed with his whole body weight until he felt it snap into place.  The sound it made sickened Sam but he felt better in himself for having done it.

He found that there was enough left in the vial for several more doses and knowing that after the anesthesia had worn off his shoulder would still be painful, he filled the syringe with the remaining fluid and placed it back onto the tray.

After bandaging his shoulder and getting in a right state doing it with one hand, he started on his knee, injecting it too with a small dose of the morphine hydrochloride. Then he sheathed the needlepoint and placed the whole thing in his breast pocket.  All he wanted to do now was sleep but he knew that he couldn’t.  He had too much to do and for one thing, he had to clean up the mess he’d left in this room.

His eyes were weary and his head throbbed as he began to put everything back in its proper place.  He took one last look at the girl in the mirror before he placed that back in position on the ledge.

“She looks in a worse state than you do Sam,” Al's voice boomed sorrowfully from behind.  “Least you’ve got meat on your bones.”

“How long have you been there Al?” Sam inquired as he span around.

“Oh, erm… long enough…” Al stammered.  “I-I came back earlier but you were busy so… erm… I thought I’d leave you to it.” He shuddered as the remembrance trickled though him.  “I-I never could stand needles.”

“Oh Al!  You and your aversions.”

“I can’t help it.  I can put up with anything, if I’m doing it myself but to see anyone else doing it…” Al shuddered again, grimaced and tensed his fingers in repulsion.  “…bahh, it makes my skin creep.”

Sam laughed at his friend’s antipathy and it lightened his spirits.  “Did you find anywhere where I can spend the rest of the night Al?”

“Yep sure did pal, there’s a room in Block 11.” Al pointed in the direction of the far end of the corridor.  “Looks like a storage room but at least there’s a cot in it.  It don’t look like it’s used much either so you should be pretty safe there.”

“Great, I could really do with some sleep, I’m feeling pretty whacked,” Sam said, looking around to check that all was in order and rubbing at his brow.  “Okay, you lead the way,” he continued saying after he was satisfied that everything was, as it should.

Al led the way and a wearied Sam followed, still limping but not quite as much.  Along the dimly lit corridor towards the far end, turning right and into another passage, a wooden pavilion type walkway, drafty, letting in the winter night’s cold air.

Al indicated to a door that was dusty with cobwebs.  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been in there for years.”

Sam had to agree, even the cobwebs had cobwebs.  “I’d give almost anything just to lie down.” Sam tried to stretch his weary limbs but they hurt too much and just managed a groan.  He pushed at the door with a fingertip, so as to not disturb the cobwebs too much and thus giving his presence away.

Al saw him settled.  “I’ll go and check with St. John while you’re sleeping Sam.  Are you gonna be okay?” He waited a few moments for a reply but none came.  Sam was sleeping.

PART EIGHT

Saturday, 18 November 1941

The sound of the Imaging Chamber door opening awakened Sam.  The Observer had left him as long as he could, he knew that his friend needed all of the rest he could get but in light of what Ziggy had uncovered he couldn’t wait any longer.  He needed to warn Sam and he had to do it now, before daybreak.

Sam looked around him, not knowing where he was at first.  His head pained him as he turned it towards the familiar sound and he squinted at the light that began to dissipate as Imaging Chamber closed behind the Observer.

Seeing Sam awake, Al stepped forward.  “Sam!  Ziggy’s come up with some new info.  I don’t know where she pulled it from though, she’s being pretty cagey about it… if ya know what I mean?”

“What new information Al?” Sam blinked out as he held his head in pain.

“Ziggy… she’s sayin’ that she’s been monitoring the situation here and I think that she’s kinda fixating about this block Sam!” Al slapped the handlink as it squealed for attention and read the small screen as new information became visible. “Oh-ho!”

Sam shifted stiffly, trying to get up.  “Huh!” he groaned as a pain shot through his right shoulder and darted up to the base of his scull.  “What is it Al?” he requested, grimacing as he rigidly reached over for the jacket and fumbled in the breast pocket.

 “This block, Block 11, they’re gonna be clearing it this morning.  They’re gonna be turning it into another experimental medical block.  You gotta get out Sam!” Al stared wildly from the handlink to Sam's face.

“Now!” Sam jarred, holding the syringe in one hand and the sheath for the needle in the other.  “But Al, I can hardly even move.”

“Yes now Sam!” the Observer flummoxed, waving his hands for Sam to hurry.  “Ziggy says that they’re on their way over here right now.”

“But…” Sam held up the syringe in attempt to convey his need.

“No time for that now Sam… just grab your stuff and get the hell out of here,” Al altercated as he rushed towards the hallway.

Sam re-cased the needle, heaving his pain racked body from its resting place.  “Why is it t-that whenever I-I find a lit-tle comfo-ort, you al-ways h-have to c-come along and twi-ist the knife in a-a little further,” he groaned as he tucked the jacket under his arm and picked up the cap from a pile of dusty crates.

“Don’t blame me—Ziggy’s only just told me,” Al said, holding up the handlink and waving it under Sam's nose.  “If you want someone to blame—it’s her.  I’m only here to save your butt from getting blasted all over Europe.” Al was getting agitated at his friend’s sluggishness.  “Come on—hurry!”

Sam stood, his head felt dizzy and everything about him began to swim before his eyes.  He staggered backwards as he saw Al drift in and out of focus.

“Whoa, steady on there,” Al warned as he saw Sam swaying.  “You’ve gone a little green around the gills.”

“I’m okay Al,” Sam breathed, steadying himself against the wall.  “I think I got up a bit too quickly, but I do feel a little lightheaded.”

Shoulders hunched and steps uneven, he tried to follow Al out into the corridor and when he reached it Al was nowhere in sight.  He didn’t know which way to turn either; the events of the previous night were very hazy, though he could vaguely remember entering the door from the right.  But for now, which way would be the safest route?

“Al?” the scientist whispered.  “Where did you go?  Al—Al?” he pleaded a little louder but the raspy sound of his friend's voice remained silent.

He needed to decide and fast.  Muffled voices wafted thought from the right and so he headed left, turning into the direction of the previous evening.  Half way down the wooden walkway that joined the two blocks, raised voices ahead of him stopped him dead.  He didn’t really want to about turn and so he looked for another escape route.

“Through here Sam!” the familiar raspy voice called out to him. 

Sam looked up towards the sound but still couldn’t see the accustomed hologram to which the voice belonged.  

“Here Sam!” the rasp summoning to him again but this time accompanied by a head as it materialized through the wooden structure, an arm beckoning.  “Come on Sam!”  

Sam gave him a glare that could have melted both of the polar ice-caps.  “Al!”  

Al, immediately upon seeing Sam's scowl, frowned and turned away, and knowing that he was in big trouble, backed off.  “Now Sam!  They’re coming!”  

Sam noticed a broad rickety door and on opening it he saw that it led out of the pavilion and onto a flatish, graveled surface.  Two sides of which were the exterior walls of the two blocks, the third being the rackety pavilion and the fourth, a Black Wall.  

“Where were you Al?” Sam asked between clenched teeth.  

“Come on!” Al raced ahead towards the Wall and disappeared into an alcove behind one of the blocks Sam had no choice but to follow; he felt exposed and vulnerable in this open space.  Once concealed in the alcove the door to the pavilion creaked open.  Nine or ten helmeted Schutzstaffel guards in German uniform baring the SS slashes on their collars marched through; each armed with a pistol and a bayoneted rifle slung over their shoulders.  Sandwiched between them were six very frail and debilitated looking men.  

As the six men were lined up against the wall Sam gasped, grimacing he looked away and felt disgusted, at himself more than anything, for not being in a position to help those wretched individuals.  

“I know what you’re thinking here Sam but you can’t help them and even if you weren’t in the state that you’re in, there’s too many of em.”  

“I know Al, but I feel so damned useless,” Sam whispered towards the Observer.  “I can’t watch this Al.”  

“I know where you’re coming from there Sam, neither can I,” the Observer said turning away and with a press of a button he disappeared.  

“Trust you to take the easy way out Al,” Sam mumbled to his invisible friend.  

The door creaked open again and this time an officer entered the square.  By his demeanor Sam reckoned him to be the camp’s commander, Rudolf Franz Hoeß.  

“Nehmen Sie Ihre Orte bitte Herren, (Take your places please gentlemen,)” he ordered austerely towards the Schutzstaffel but stared straight into the eyes of the lined up men.  

“Ja, Herr Kommandant! (Yes Commander!)” the Schutzstaffel replied all at once as they lined themselves up in a curved array before the wall.  

“Achtung! (Attention!)” Hoeß ordered, slapping a cane against his knee-high leather boot.  

The Schutzstaffel brought up their rifle butts to shoulder level.  

“Feuer! (Fire!)” the commander ordered.  

The shots that rang out came as no surprise to the scientist, he was expecting their barrage but with each one fired and the crack of the cane against Hoeß’s boot, Sam flinched.  His insides wreathing in agony as one by one a sickening cry left their lips as they fell.  

Sam couldn’t watch; it was all that he could stand to even hear it.  He cringed even more when he heard that another dispatch was on its way.  Sam swallowed hard but the lump in his throat wouldn’t go away.  Even as he closed his eyes tightly and covered his ears he could still hear the torturous sound of gunfire and the screams that followed.  How much more could he endure before he gave himself away?  He couldn’t tell.  And by the time the shooting had stopped his nerves were as raw as a freshly dug up potato.  

The Imaging Chamber door opened—but before stepping out Al mumbled.  “Sam... have they... are they done?” 

Sam nodded his head solemnly in response.  

“God Sam—you look like death!” the Observer noted.  

Sam's blank expression didn’t change, he’d heard too much to take in his friend’s return.  

Seeing Sam's disposition, Al knew that he’d have to snap him out of it somehow.  “Sam!  Pull yourself together will you!” he shouted assertively.  “You can’t do anything from here!  You’ve got a assignment to do.  I know it’s not a very pleasant one but it’s gotta be done all the same.”  

“I can’t do this—Al,” Sam mouthed quietly.  “I just can’t… I’m not…”  

“Have you taken that stuff you concocted in that syringe yet today?” Al asked empathizing with his friend.  

Sam gave a single shake of his head.  

“Are you still hurting—stupid—course you are,” Al rebuked himself.  “Then take it, it seems to have done you some good last night.  You were sleeping like a baby when I left.”  

Sam slowly took the syringe from his breast pocket of the jacket lying on the ground beside him and gazed at the cloudy amber fluid it contained.  Tediously he unbuttoned the shirt and eased his arm out, unsheathing the needle he depressed the plunger and a small amount of the elixir squirted from its tip.  

With the point millimeters from his shoulder he hesitated for a split second before penetrating it into his joint, administering the dose slowly and precisely at two different locations.  He repeated similarly with his swollen knee.  

Sam leaned back and breathed in deeply, waiting for the medicine to take effect.  

Al walked out into the square not expecting to see what he saw.  Two men were piling up the fallen bodies onto a cart and some still moaning from their near fatal injuries but it didn’t matter to the two men; soon they too would also be dead.  

Al scuttled back to Sam.  “How you doin’ now pal?” he asked inquisitively.  

“No too bad considering,” the scientist sighed as he struggled to his feet.  

“If you hurry Sam, I think there’s a way of getting you out of here without looking too conspicuous.”  

“And how would that be?” Sam gave his friend a discerning glance.  

“They’ve nearly finished loading up the wagon, now if you walk out with them… I don’t think you’ll be noticed.”  

“With the SS?  Al you’re kidding?”  

“They’re not SS Sam they’re prisoners, trustees.”  

“The kapos, I remember Al.  This could work.  I’m in uniform right?”  

“Just one small problem though.” The Observer rubbed a hand over his weary face.  “Your host, Brigitte, I saw her last night, she’s your problem, she’s only five feet three.  I doubt that uniform you’re wearing even fits you Sam.”  

Sam stood for a second in thought and then glanced around the courtyard.  Raising himself to his full height he strode out towards the wall of the other block, his face stern and trying his hardest to disguise the limp.  He picked up one of the many crutches leaning against it.

“Not much of a disguise I know Al,” he whispered to the curious observer that followed him.  “But at least it may draw their attention away from Brigitte’s height.”

“I hope so Sam.  I sure hope so,” Al muttered to himself as he continued to follow him and the kapos into the wooden pavilion, through the corridors and out of Block 11.

Sam used the crutch effectively, leaning over and diminishing his height respectfully.  He just hoped that it was enough of a ruse to fool most, if not all of the Schutzstaffel.  He listened to the gossip of the two kapos as they walked and learned of the reason for the executions that morning.

The ältesten Feldwebel in charge of their block had been woken during the night after an outbreak of dysentery.  All inmates found with the symptoms were declared unfit for work and shot.  Not because of their illness but because the Block-ältesten Feldwebel’s sleep had been interrupted.

It looked to Sam that morning parade was taking place but he soon discovered that Herr Schtroder was making his daily selections for his experiments.  He held out a brass tipped staff and tapped it upon the shoulders of those selected, mostly young girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen.

Sam saw two other Schutzstaffel as they carried a small girl about the age of eight, with only one leg.  They held her roughly by her arms and the one leg.  Tears streamed down her face as she whispered faintly.  “Herr, es verletzt, es verletzt… (Sir, it hurts, it hurts…)”

They take no notice of her cries and she was tossed onto the wagon, on top of the corpses.  A vivid thought haunted his mind, ‘God; she will burn alive along with them.’

The Observer read the expression on Sam's face and instantly knew what Sam had on his mind.  “I know what you’re thinking Sam!” he said sharply.  “Don’t even attempt it.  You’re in no…” but he didn’t finish.

Sam saw his chance as one of the Schutzstaffel moved away from the others; he slid the rifle strap from the Schutzstaffel’s shoulder and butted him across the head with it, aiming the barrel towards Schtroder with an unsteady hand.  The pain in his shoulder seemed unbearable and it took all of his concentration to keep his aim true.  None of the other Schutzstaffel noticed Sam's movements at first; they were preoccupied with watching the charade.

With a slight turn of his head and keeping Schtroder within his blurry sights, between gritted teeth Sam mumbled softly,  “You said I had to stop him Al and this is the only way I can think of doing it.”

Al jumped in front of his scientist friend, flapping his arms in disarray,  “You’re crazy Sam!  You can’t take them all on!”

“What are Ziggy’s odds that I get out of this?” Sam whispered with a glint of irony in his tone, blinking to keep his vision clear.

Skating his fingers swiftly over the keys of the handlink Al answered.  “Not good Sam—less than ten percent.”

Sam's face darkened.  “Then that’s the chance I’ll take,” he said as he squeezed a trembling finger on the trigger.  As if in slow motion he saw the bullet leave the end of the rifle, slice through the air and explode into the back of Schtroder’s skull.

It wasn’t until the shot was fired that the Schutzstaffel turned to see Sam with the rifle, smoke still whispering from the barrel.  The scientist lowered his aim as his target slumped into a heap on the muddy ground, his blood intermingling with that of so many others.

“Get the hell outta here!  Move it Sam!” Al yelled as he saw Schtroder fall.

“There, it’s done.” Sam turned solemnly to his friend as the Schutzstaffel grappled in getting the rifle out of Sam's grasp.  Yanking his arms backwards Sam grimaced as he felt the joint in his shoulder dislodge itself once more but he did not attempt to fight back, nor did he cry out as the agony tore through his groaning limbs.  He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction and just stared at them defiantly.

“Sam what the hell?  Goddamned it!  You should’ve run!” Even the handlink chirped mournfully in Al's pocket and as he took it out from its concealment he glanced at the display.  “Oh-ho, Sam.  The odds have dropped right down to less than three percent.”

The Schutzstaffel known to Sam as Karl, kicked at Sam's ankles, sending him tumbling to the ground and landing on his badly swollen knee.

“Hang in there Sam—you should be Leaping any time now!” Al yelled to his friend as the rest of the Schutzstaffel joined in, kicking every inch of Sam's submissive body, opening up old wounds and generating fresh ones.

Al watched on helplessly as one boot after another along with rifle butts pummeled into him.  Out of sheer frustration he tried to intervene and then covering his eyes with a trembling hand, waiting for the blue aura that didn’t come, to subdue his friend’s consciousness.

Sam felt the syringe in his breast pocket crack and then a sharp sting as the glass cut into the flesh of his chest.  A warm glow surrounded this new incision as the medicine began to seep through.  Sam's only thought at that moment was a wish: a wish that he wouldn’t overdose.

As his battering began to cessate, Sam looked up with doubled vision to his friend; desperately trying to focus the ‘two’ he was seeing into one.  A swimming sensation took over his senses as the lethal dose of morphine began to surge though his veins, dulling even his thoughts.  “Al—why—aren’t—I—Leaping?” he slurred pitifully.

At his words, another butt crashed into his right temple, reeling him back and bashing his head on the stony ground.  The Schutzstaffel flanking him on all sides, one grabbed him by his right arm and hauled him to a standing position only to be sent down again by a powerful blow to his gut.  Again wrenched to his feet but this time dragged off in the direction of Block 11.

Al followed not wanting his friend to be alone but found that he couldn’t.  “St. John!” he yelled.  “Centre me on Sam!”

He found himself once again in the courtyard between Blocks 10 and 11, and facing the Black Wall.  The wall that was blackened with the blood of the executed.

The beleaguered scientist was heaved in through the rickety door and made to stand with his back to the Wall, but the effects from the morphine wouldn’t let Sam stand and he received another kicking from the traitorous kapos.

Al watched as the Kommandant, Rudolf Hoeß flounced into the courtyard followed by his cronies, a different bunch than the last ones he’d seen earlier.  Again he ordered the Schutzstaffel to take their positions but he wasn’t completely satisfied with his victim being slumped on the ground.

“You should’ve gotten him too Sam!” Al growled as he watched Hoeß’s performance.

"Stehen sie aufwärts! (Stand her up!)” Hoeß ordered.

Immediately the kapos fetched two crutches that remained leaning on the outside wall.  They propped up the scientist by placing a crutch under each armpit, moving him backwards until they could lean him onto the blackened surface of the Wall.  As soon as the kapos moved away Sam's head flopped down and his knees buckled.  He tried to speak but what Al heard was nothing he could comprehend.  Sam was conscious but not in control of his faculties.

Al stood by Sam's side and watched on in silence, he didn’t want to, but felt that he must for his friend’s sake.  There was no way that he was going to leave him now, not to die alone and among these barbaric strangers.

Hoeß nodded and the accumulated Schutzstaffel raised their weapons.  Al moved in front of Sam to block his vision of what stood before him, at least he could do that for his greatest friend in the whole of the universe.

“Achtung! (Attention!)” Hoeß bellowed, again slapping his cane against his leather boot.

The Schutzstaffel aligned their weapons.

A blue white light began to surround Doctor Beckett and Al prayed that Sam would Leap before the Kommandant gave the order to fire.  Al stiffened and waited for the order to be pronounced.

“Feuer! (Fire!)” The Kommandant ordered and the blue flash intensified.

The shooting started.

To Al it seemed to last forever but in all probability only lasted a matter of seconds.

As the holographic images around him began to fade, he saw the blue white light diminish around the form that was once Doctor Beckett.  He saw his mother’s sister—she was unconscious but there was no trace of an injury or a mark on her body.

And then the images fade out completely and Al is left standing in the darkened Imaging Chamber alone and confused.  He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed, Sam had Leaped and his aunt was still alive.  Had Sam taken the bullets or was it by some miraculous intervention by GTFW that they had fired their weapons just as that ‘in-between’ stage had occurred, when neither Sam nor the Leapee were on this earth?  He would never know, not until Ziggy could find Doctor Beckett’s essence in time.

If she ever could…

EPILOGUE

“Art is man’s nature. Nature is God’s art.” Or so my English lit professor kept lecturing us students and nothing that stretched before me led me to any alternative conclusion. Below were the endless rows of ponderosa pines running to the horizon and above was a majestic rocky hillside of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. God had done wonders in this little section of California. Peaks rose above us like some great medieval cathedral, my comrades and I trudged forward over the hard and loose rocky surface where our feet would probably never forgive us. Even though I felt the spirit of nature all around me and my aching feet below me, I kept my personal complaints from my fellow USC students. Needing plant specimens for a joint advanced biology project, the four of us were hiking along the tree line somewhere near the Nevada state line.

“How about taking a break?” asked Valerie Barnes the dark-haired primitive culture student from Yakima, Washington. Without receiving a reply she sat down on the nearest boulder sighing as her backpack dropped to the ground.

Quickly agreeing with her loss of energy, I too joined her along the side of the trail while reaching for my war surplus canteen.

“Ladies! We have to reach the Lookout Point shelter by noon to keep to our schedule,” exclaimed John Ross, the rich, always-in-charge engineering student with the wallet as thick as my personal copy of Peyton Place.

Putting back my canteen I looked cross-eyed at him saying, “Leave her alone, Ross. We’re not all basketball stars. If we keep moving we’ll make it with time to spare.” I said trying to sound positive. Unfortunately this whole outing was my idea and I was more interested in strolling through Huntington Gardens rather than hiking up Mount Ararat.

“Hey, if Valerie and Pamie need a moment, then I say we should let them have it. Let the ladies catch up with us gentlemen,” said Bobby Wentworth who thought he was every girl’s answer to Cary Grant. Being from the wilds of Rhode Island, this Ivy League bookworm probably didn’t mind the extra rest stop any more than Valerie and me. “Even I could use a spot of rest right now. May I sit beside you here, my dear?”

“It’s the wide open spaces, mountain man!” replied Valerie. “Didn’t think the air would be so thin. And that beautiful sun isn’t warming us up one bit.” She removed the scarf that had tied up her hair and wrapped it all completely around her head. “Definitely heading to the beach next time. I’ve had enough of the mountains.”

“Should have left you back at the sorority having a tea party. Miss Debutant doesn’t like the accommodations!” sneered John Ross as he quickly looked away.

“Even Edmund Hillary would have trouble on these loose rocks. I really didn’t think it would be this cold this late in the summer,” I said trying to sound more prepared than I really was. I was expecting early May and not March at 9800 feet above the calm and WARM Pacific waters.

“Look Princess! You can get room service back in that sorority in Frisco. Here it’s every man for himself. And that includes you two Lazy Susans!” snapped Mr. Hot Shot.

A light went off in Valerie’s head as she shot up with fists flying. “You big over-stuffed gorilla! I can take care of myself.”

John grabbed her wrists as Bobby stepped in between them. “Hold on. Easy does it, old chaps. I think this cold has clipped off a bit of our nerves. Maybe General Patton is right and we should be on our way.”

John threw down Valerie’s wrists and just sneered a bit. Her eyes blazed at him while I just stood up hoping this whole thing would be over soon though I still gave Valerie and John about a twenty percent chance of walking down the aisle before the decade was out. Never had I seen someone bring out the fire in her before, though I wouldn’t mind dumping the punch bowl over our un-elected leader’s head either. Valerie picked up her pack with disgust, put it on and took a few steps up the hill and then stopped suddenly. She looked like she was a bit weak in the knees as she groaned slightly and then shook her head.

“Are you coming?” called back John who had marched ahead leaving the three of us behind.

Shaking her head she weakly asked, “What was that you said?” as she frisked herself and looked both up and down the mountain. Then she pulled at her pack straps and looked at the pack behind her mumbling something to herself.

“Valerie, HONEY! I asked if you were coming!” shouted back John, as Bobby looked on concerned. I came up behind her.

“Yes, just a moment I need to get my breath!” she said huffing and puffing.

“You all right, Val?” I asked.

“Yea, fine. Fit as a fiddle!” she said reassuring me while patting my arm. She shook her head again a couple of times.

“But you just had a break a moment ago.” I replied looking funny at my friend

“Yes, and I will be fine in just a minute. All this fresh mountain air!” she said giving me the biggest grin I had ever seen on her. Moments ago she had fists flying. Valerie was not known for quick mood changes.

“We established that a minute ago, Val. Where have you been?” I asked now sounding as worried as I felt.