Lost in Translation

The British officer jumped away from the wall, standing guarded once again. The German's outburst had startled him into drawing his gun and pointing it at the soldier.

"Are you threatening me, Fascist?!" Eye's wide, Hawethorne was angry and confused. He hadn't understood barely a word of what had been said, yet the German had sounded angry. Anger could lead to the bound soldier possibly trying to insult him.

"You have no right to insult me, you Nazi scum!" Gun still directed at the dirty enemy, Hawethorne assumed a more balanced stance, arms held out in front of him, his aim steady on the forehead of the other man. "And stop moving around like that, don't even think of escaping...." Seeing that his words held little effect on the other man, Hawethorne jerked his gun at the man repeatedly, barking out one of very few German words he knew.

"Nein! Nein!" It sounded odd and strangled coming from his English speaking tongue, but the message was clear enough. "You can at least understand your own tongue, eh....?" The officer gave a dry laugh and leaned against the wall once again, gun slipped easily back into it's holster. It was satisfying to see a German tied and bound. He felt perhaps he should not have felt glee at seeing another human being in pain, but this was war. The man before him was an enemy, a deadly one at that. There had never before been anyone even akin to the Nazi's and the Third Reich. For all the pain and torture they had doled out so willingly, it was almost unfair that this one get off just being tied to a chair.

"You deserve so much worse than this...." Despite his feeling, however, Hawethorne was unable to do anything so cruel. It was one thing to see men be killed or tortured, but to do it by one's own hand... was entirely another.

"You are... lucky" Sighing once again, Hawethorne leaned further into the wall, settling himself. It was going to be a very long day.