"Mmhmm."
Gerd got quiet and looked away quickly. Dave was about to say something before he continued. "Well, I . . . met some guys at Thuringen Gardens. They keep me up all night."
"Ah, some drinking buddies!" Dave said with a smile. "We could use some more drinking buddies. Invite them over."
Gerd almost dropped his coffee mug. "I . . . I didn't catch their names. Probably won't see them again."
"Hmm, okay," Dave said, setting his mug down and grabbing a spoon. "This is the last of the Lucky Charms, man, enjoy it while you can!"
Gerd finally managed a smile. He picked up his spoon and started on his bowl.
* * *
"This will do nicely!" Pieter said, with a savage grin. He racked the slide on the shotgun.
The three of them were sitting around a small fire on the edge of the refugee camp. Most of the inhabitants had quickly learned to keep their distance from the three men. It was evening, and they had spent the day familiarizing themselves with the tools of the American Army.
"I don't understand what that Simpson man meant when he called this the 'Elmer Fudd Special,' " Hermann said, holding up the large double-barreled shotgun issued to him. Tom Simpson spoke fair German, but during the weapons issuing process, he didn't elaborate on the strange term. Hermann, thinking it was probably the name of the inventor, and wanting to keep a low profile, hadn't asked. "However, it will indeed do nicely."
"Nice," Jan growled, sticking his large finger in the barrel of the weapon issued to him.
"Unfortunately, they are keeping a tight hand on the ammunition," Pieter added. They were not issued ammunition, and were instead given spent shells to practice operating the weapons.
"Only for these shotguns. We have all the powder we need for our pistols." Hermann gestured, with the shotgun, to their wheel locks. The wheel locks were normally a hot commodity, and Hermann had felt fortunate to have just one, prior to Jena. In one violent moment, he and his comrades learned how obsolete the pistols had become. As such, the Americans had no use for them, and Hermann had taken several from other fallen mercenaries.
"Not too tight," Jan said, smacking his fist into his other hand.
"What was that, you lout?" Hermann said impatiently. Hermann made it a point to always act annoyed at everything Jan said or did.
"I think he meant we could get ammunition easily, for the new guns that is," Pieter replied for Jan.
Jan nodded.
"Do you care to tell us how?" Hermann poked Jan with the end of his shotgun.
"There," Jan said, pointing to some of the American houses visible from their fire.
Hermann was about to tear into Jan about how all the Americans have ammunition because they all have weapons, but stopped himself. If Jan thought he could get ammunition from an American home, Hermann was inclined to let him try. Jan had a way of getting things done. If not, Hermann knew he had one less person to split any loot with.
Hermann sat back a moment in thought. He looked at Pieter and considered the plan Pieter brought up at the beer garden. Pieter returned the look, nodded and winked. Hermann smiled, glad that at least one of his smart men was still around. Christopher, unfortunately, did not survive the battle at Jena. Pieter's original plan, slightly modified to allow time for Jan to get ammunition from an American home, would work nicely.
* * *
"No, NO!" screamed the old man.
Gerd hesitated, earning a backhand from Hermann.
"You gutless cur, he's obviously hiding something!" Hermann snarled.
Jan pulled back on the old man's arms tighter and smiled. "Do it."
Gerd tried to postpone the inevitable by reheating the knife over the candle.
"For God's sake, young pup," growled Hermann. He grabbed the hand Gerd was holding the knife with. "The longer you wait, the longer this old bastard suffers."
Hermann guided, by force, Gerd's knife-wielding hand towards the man's stomach. He slowly pressed the knife in. The hot tip sent an acrid smell of burnt hair, skin and blood into the air. Hermann released his grip.
"Pull it out and heat it again," Hermann said, sounding bored.
Gerd pulled the knife out, and stuck it back over the candle, blood sizzling. He felt like he was going to throw up at any moment.
"Please," the old man whispered.
"What?" Jan said, driving his knee into the man's back.
"Please," came another weak whisper.