[pshrynk]

Harv awakened slowly and hoped that he'd been dreaming, or, failing that, hallucinating. He tried moving his arms. Nothing. So far, not too different than a typical Sunday morning. Legs, nothing. A little more concerning. Eyes -- the eyes could definitley funtion and fluttered open. He found that he could lift his head and immediately regretted that he could. At least this time, there was not an upside down vision of Vivaldi staring him in the face.

What he saw, however, was not a great deal better. And the noise was horrendous. That had to do, he supposed with the fact that he was tied to a mill stone which was slowly grinding it's way toward what had to be described as a farking big grinding stone. And he was tied down. Quite securely. Damned Nazi henchmen! Why couldn't he have fallen in with the "Oh just loop some twine around his feet, I'm sure that will hold him," crowd?

Above the din of the mill stone, he could hear Biggles complaining.

"You bloody pikers! This is inhumane! First I'm going to have to watch that stone flatten Wallbanger, and then I'm going to have to wait until it turns around to me! Be merciful and just shoot me!"

Harv was left to ponder why Biggles hadn't said "us."

"You will be quiet, Herr Colonel!" said a voice from out of Harv's sight. He imagined a monacle and fencing scar.

"We must get going, Major!" said Frau Miyatake. "We have work to do!"

Von Schlepwig answered in German. Harv was thankful for the time he'd spent in a German POW camp in the Great War at that moment. "I don't wish to discuss this openly in front of these two. If we are to get the fishermen to plant the mines, we need to be at the coast by midnight."

Frau Miyatake answered in French. Harv was gald once again that he'd been a part of the Lafayette Escadrille. "But we must also see to the American woman."

Von Schlepwig switched to Italian. Good old Luigi, the town barber back in Wonomowoc, Wisconsin! "Is there a plan for how we are going to get past the gaurds surrounding her?"

Frau Miyatake switched to Swahili. Damn!

As they continued their discussion, Harv tried again to get out of his bonds. He heard a door slam and the voices were gone. With nothing else to do, he started to calculate how long he had before he had to start watchin his future family prospects get ground into hamburger. About an hour. He didn't know what process called for a mill stone to grind this slowly, but he was at least somewhat thankful.