Lily of the Lamplight

Chapter 2

Gilbert sat on the hard, bare bed, rubbing his swollen jaw and staring impatiently at the locked door. The night had passed fairly quickly, thanks to a quiet room and a near concussion. Strangely enough, locked in this provisional cell with a battered face, an aching back, and a death sentence, Gilbert had slept better than he had in months. But now the cold Russian sun filtered lazily through the wood-barred window, reality started to set in, and Gilbert sat waiting to be thrown into a prison truck and sent to his final posting. He almost laughed. Four years. Four years he'd survived the war in Europe. Four goddamn years of killing Brits, killing Russians; of avoiding bullets and dodging bayonets; of pissing off every superior officer who came his way. Four bloody, tiring, sickening years Gilbert had survived; and one damned hour after meeting that prissy Austrian, he was sentenced to a prison unit.

Gilbert normally wouldn't have given a shit about some soldiers staring and gossiping about a new recruit. Hell, if he were bored he probably would have joined them. Whether fortunately or unfortunately however, it was hard to forget a face like that, and Gilbert immediately recognised the beautiful Austrian sitting alone and wary in the mess hall. He had no idea what a rich, upper class musician could have done to end up in a German base on the front lines, but Gilbert felt immediately furious about it. After everything Elizaveta had done to protect this fool, after the man had been lucky enough to hide his Jewish heritage and avoid a work camp, he'd gone and gotten himself sent to the Russian Front. Gilbert was pretty damn sure Eliza had not given this man her name and fled to Switzerland so he could die at the hands of the Russians.

Gilbert sighed wearily, tapped his foot on the ground, and peered around the window bars to see how high the sun was in the sky. It was no use. Dark grey clouds obscured most of the light overhead. Impatience and boredom ate at his mind where perhaps fear and anxiety belonged. But he'd been in worse situations than this, and fear had long ago given way to indifferent acceptance. He could only imagine how Roderich was handling it in the cell next door, however. He almost felt glad at the thought. All right, sure, the Austrian hadn't asked for those filthy, gutless bastards to attack him, but he had been stupid enough to wander off alone on the base. Gilbert could see that protecting this little prince, even for Eliza's sake, was going to test every ounce of patience that he just didn't have.

Gilbert's sigh turned to a growl. "Hurry up, you lazy bastards," he muttered. When the hell would the guards come to handcuff them and... Gilbert blinked in sudden realisation. Handcuffs... He quickly dug around in his front pocket, past a small bag of supplemental candy rations and the last packet of coffee he'd been saving, until his fingers closed around the tiny metal pin he always carried. He tucked the pin into his sleeve, smiled smugly to himself, and silently thanked Francis for the one useful thing the depraved Frenchman had ever taught him.

.

"Right, time to go, Héderváry." Roderich's head snapped up at the words, and the cold dread he had spent the night suppressing fell like a rock in his stomach. He swallowed dryly, his head swimming. He started to nod, but instead held his head high as he got to his feet, praying his legs would not give way beneath him. The military guard marched across the small cell, grabbed Roderich's wrists roughly, and snapped the cold metal handcuffs around them. Roderich focused on breathing deeply and keeping the fear from his eyes. I am better than them. They will not see me afraid. I am better than them. Roderich repeated the words in his head like a mantra as the guard grasped his arm and led him from the cell.

Roderich did not know where he was going. He had no idea what was happening, no idea what to expect. He had barely slept; the entire restless night spent replaying the colonel's words in his head... They'll be heading on to the prison unit stationed at the next village... The charge is perpetration of illicit activity... Congratulations, Beilschmidt. You're now a walking dead man. And still, none of it made sense. Roderich did not even know what a prison unit was. He had thought he was in the most awful place on earth; but apparently, there was somewhere worse.