The torture sessions began early under Scheffler, when the recruits were roused at 5 am. During the morning they pushed, lifted, climbed, grappled, punched and kicked themselves to exhaustion before going on to weapons training. In the mid-afternoon they marched out into the cold with their backpacks and supplies. The route was different each time, but always lasted into the night. At the end, random recruits would be selected and ordered to stand on guard duty for the rest of the night.
It was a high-stakes game. If a recruit failed to see out the day, they were permitted to return to the dorms, but they would receive a mark against their name in Scheffler’s black book. Three strikes and it was time to go home. Frederich was advised after his time in the hole that he had received two strikes for his outburst, and was lucky not to have been kicked out. For once he agreed with Scheffler. It should have been the end of him. Scheffler had hesitated, then had thrown him in the hole. Stranger still, Scheffler had released him without him raising the white flag. Piotr also had two strikes from two separate occasions, including the one which led to Scheffler kicking him down the mountain. The three strike rule did not apply to those who fell asleep while on guard duty; they were dismissed immediately. As a result, recruits were expelled regularly with no ride back. The exiled were forced to march over the mountains and through the snow to get to the low lands. Lucky for Scheffler there was a steady flow of new recruits eager to take their place.
They were four hours into the march when Frederich saw the mountain peak ahead. It was well below ten degrees at the top and the cold was beginning to burn. Piotr was now hesitating between each step and had his head bowed. Frederich pressed on the pedal and overtook him, elbowing him lightly on the arm as he passed.
“What’s wrong tiger, want daddy to carry you?” said Frederich, condescendingly pouting his lips.
Piotr lifted his head and narrowed his eyes.
“Oh,” he huffed, struggling to catch his breath. “The way… The way Scheffler carried you out of the hole?” he said as he picked up the pace, bringing him in line with Frederich. Frederich chuckled.
“Low blow,” he said.
Piotr chuckled also, his cheeks flushed red, and the two of them marched in unison until they reached the peak, which gave a panoramic view of the Alps. Some of the recruits had paused to take in the sight. Cloud cover and mist weaved their way between the landscape and over the mountains. Laughter and a majestic view, thought Frederich. Soak it up while it lasts.
“Waste time enjoying the view and I’ll snatch your eyes out!” yelled Scheffler from the front.
"Let’s pick it up!” added Otto upon his arrival.
The recruits reluctantly dragged themselves across the peak. As Frederich turned, he saw Scheffler and Otto looking down the mountain and discussing something. He followed their gaze and noticed a body lying on the snow. He moved closer to listen to the conversation.
“What do you want to do?” asked Otto.
“That's his third strike. Leave him,” said Scheffler and walked off. As he looked up, he noticed Frederich staring at him.
“That’s a sight you can enjoy,” said Scheffler, motioning with his head toward the fallen recruit. “It’s going to be you soon,” he added with wide, predatory eyes, then spat toward Frederich as he passed.
Frederich shifted out of the way and turned around. The fallen recruit was still not moving, and Frederich could not bring himself to leave. No one gets left behind; Kraas preached that mantra obsessively. Frederich understood. It meant everything having Kraas around during training. Kraas was a soldier who had committed to facing death along with harsh, inhuman conditions. During the worst of it, in moments of utter exhaustion, despair and terror, a soldier could have no doubt that his team would stick by him. Loyalty to each other was the glue which kept a unit together. Frederich had to remind himself that loyalty meant nothing in Scheffler’s world. It was each man for himself.
“Abel!” came Scheffler’s voice roaring from a distance.
Frederich gritted his teeth while shaking his head, then turned and caught up with the unit with a sick feeling in his stomach. Piotr was at the back of the line waiting for him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Piotr when he noticed Frederich’s expression.
“I’m going to break Scheffler’s face,” said Frederich. “One way or another.”
“I hope someone does,” said Piotr quietly.
They continued the rest of the march in silence, and the movement helped Frederich shake off his anger. Deep stomach breathing and the cold helped him regain his focus.
They made it back to the facility hours after nightfall. It had been an especially long march, and the recruits all had empty stares. The guards at the front opened the gate leading through the barbed-wire fence and the platoon stumbled in through the mountain opening on their way to bed.
“You two, guard duty,” said Scheffler, pointing at Frederich and Piotr.
“Damn,” whispered Piotr.
Frederich’s shoulders dropped.
As the platoon disappeared inside, the two previous guards retired from their towers and Frederich and Piotr prepared to take over their positions, which were always filled by the recruits. Frederich assumed this
