Hello again! Here's my latest fanfic- I thought Victor deserved one --
especially for all he's been through . Hope you enjoy! The ending might
qualify as a bit of spec, but it's only the last sentence or two, and it's
just from Victor's perspective.

Jonathan Arnold
A Remember WENN Fanfiction
by Susan L. Minnick

"Comstock. You are to, above all, assimilate as a Nazi. If you are found out
for what you really are, then we will deny any knowledge of you, and you will
die a merciless, painful death. Do you understand your mission and
instructions?"

"Yes.", the tall man replied calmly. He had done what he wanted, and needed
to do- if he died now at least she would know.................

"Victor, Victor I don't understand- anything." His mind flashed back to what
seemed like years beforehand, a better time, and place. Although it was only
a few minutes past that he had said goodbye, he felt as if it was merely a
dream. Finally he had a chance to explain, to tell her not to worry, that he
was indeed alive; that he would come back to her; if he could.

He woke from his thoughts and put his attention to the matters at hand. The
training he had gone through after getting out of the hospital had been, for
the most part, physical rehabilitation. Now he was to take the train to
Washington for mental preparation before boarding the plane that would take
him to his destiny.

Victor sat silent in the day coach, observing his surroundings. A small child
was drawing in a notebook and humming a song to herself. Her mother was
reading "Good Housekeeping", from what he could pick out it was an article on
the latest kitchen items. Yawning, he looked at his watch and realized he
hadn't slept since the day before. Leaning back in his chair he stretched his
legs out and was received with a shout from the seat in front of him.

"Ow! Hey, giant, there are other people on this train too!", the man yelled
from the red leather seat, pointing at the floor below where Victor's feet had
pushed his out of the way.

"Sorry.", Victor replied, and pulled himself back up into a sitting position.
*How am I going to lie down in this place?*, he asked himself. His mind
drifted back to the Green Room.....

"You're six foot five, that's going to be a tall order!", Betty replied to his
question.

Victor laughed and leaned back, drifting off to sleep and dreams about his
love.

****************

"Ahnold- may I sveak to you a minute?", a thick German accent requested from
behind the control room door. It had been two weeks since he had returned,
and he still couldn't get accustomed to the shrill tone of the Nazi officers.

"Aw'll be right there!", he replied, making sure to add the Texas accent he'd
come to know and loath. If there was one thing he hated the most, it was
communicating like an uneducated Neanderthal; no class, and no style.

After checking the controls and adjusting some of the bakelite knobs, he
exited the room to find two German soldiers blocking the hall. "Come vis
us.", they said sternly. Victor knew this wasn't going to be good.

The two soldiers took him down the hall to a small, dark room. Throwing him
inside, they shut the door and, with a loud "click", locked him in. "Wa-
ait!", he screamed in utter desperation, "What's going on!!!!!!", he shouted,
pounding on the invisible door.
After a few minutes he recalled his training; it was useless trying to
protest. The calls for help would mean nothing to these people. There could
be only one reason why they did this- they had found him out.

Sitting on the floor, Victor let the darkness envelop him as he concentrated
on what to do next. Recalling the week he spent in Washington, he knew to
keep his mind on other things and not let the darkness scare him. *They even
use the dark as torture.*, he thought in disgust.

This was only the beginning; he knew that. The Nazis might leave him in here
for up to a week; no food, no bathroom, no contact, and no light. As for an
escape plan, it wasn't worth it- they'd have guards at the door and windows,
if there were any. He felt around in his pocket and pulled out the sandwich
he had bought for lunch. Leaning against the wall he unwrapped the sandwich
and proceeded to ration what would be his only meal for the next week or so.
After taking a bite he wrapped it up and put it back in his pocket.
*Keep your mind busy.*, he thought.

"Busy. Betty was always busy.", he smiled to himself. "Betty."

******

"Comshtock! Ve know who you are, and ve are very displeased!", the German
Kommandant screamed at the weary man lying face-down on the cold linoleum
floor. Crack! He could feel the horsewhip beat against his spine for what
must have been the fiftieth time and pulled his hands into tight fists.

"Don't try to fight back, Heir Comshtock! A man in your weakened state could
not dare to beat zese men!", he motioned to the ten soldiers around him.
"Now; vill you vork vis us, or vill you have to be DESTROYED?", the Kommandant
asked, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

"I'll......", he mustered up the words, "I'll work .... with you.", he replied,
every fiber of his being sinking down to the depths of despair. *Why did I
just say that?*, he questioned himself. The only reason he could provide was
the name he cherished, the name that kept him alive through the two weeks in
that room, that pit of darkness. "Betty."

Several weeks of torture, unimaginable to the human mind, was imposed upon the
civilian broadcaster. Once, when in London, he had gone into Madame Tussaud's
Wax Museum on his day off. After viewing the three floors of Kings and Queens
he descended to the basement and viewed the spectacle of human horror; the
"Crimes of the World" display. In it wax figures of historical martyrs were
burned, twisted, hung, stabbed, sliced, shot, beaten and bruised. Their faces
hung limp, their eyelids drooped, their mouths opened in silent screams; their
eyes were pierced with the terrifying feeling of gut wrenching pain. What
Victor felt was far worse.

Finally, given a Nazi uniform and title of Lieutenant, he was sent out to the
streets of Berlin on his first test runs- to see if he could be trusted. He
did what he was told, the thought burned into his mind that if he didn't, it
would only be another month of pain; bruises and breaks to be healed. After
three missions in Berlin he was sent to London, to gather information there
for the German High Command. He used his connections at the BBC to get
German's air time. What they would do with it, he didn't know; it wasn't his
job to know.

Soon he became accustomed to life as a Nazi; when he walked the streets with
his uniform people would stop and greet him, children would give him flowers,
young women would show coy smiles.

"Comshtock! You are to go to America now, and vork for us there!", the
Kommandant ordered.

*America?*, he thought. *Where is America?* Obligingly he went; following
orders as usual. He was placed on a plane with five other soldiers and given
instructions on what to do.

"And vhen you reach the Green Room of zis radio station, you are to do vhat?"

"Shoot whomever says the password."

"Gud. And vhat is zis password?"

"Buy Barley Futures."

"Gud. Very gud. You have learned vell, Comshtock."

Victor simply turned and looked out the window. Below him was land, dotted
with houses and trees; if he looked close enough he could see the brown and
blonde heads of people running through the streets.

"Ve vill be in Pittsburgh soon. And vhat radio station vill ve be attending?"

"WENN.", he replied. The station name jerked a faint memory. *WENN*, he
thought. The German he had been taught in the pat months flew through his
mind as he considered the station call letters that had been posed to him.

"What does WENN mean in German?", he asked in the broken dialect he had become
used to over the past months.

"If.", was the Kommandant's stern reply.

*If.*, Victor thought. *If I wasn't on this plane right now I would be in
Berlin. If I wasn't in Berlin I would be out on a mission. If I wasn't on a
mission I would be punished.*

*Punished.* His mind traveled back to the weeks of pain, torture, and
inhumane anguish that his bones reminded him of on a daily basis. What had
gotten him through it? What was the memory, the vision, the goal that had
kept him alive through beatings that had broken his ribs but not his soul?

*Betty.*, the name came traveling out of the dark chasm that pervaded the
portals of his mind. *Darkness.* Suddenly the vision came of a tall, slender
woman nieve with youth yet mature beyond her Indiana upbringing. Dark curls
surrounded a pale cream face with two almond eyes that could express over a
thousand thoughts and ideas-- the same thoughts and ideas he once held dear at
a radio station he once called home.

"Does life repeat itself? Does everything happen in a circle, a chain?", he
asked outloud.

The German soldier next to him bewildered by the English Victor spoke, reacted
with trained ignorance and slapped him across the face.

Victor fell to the floor and immediately thought of Betty. *I'm going home.*,
he thought. *WENN is home.*

The plane touched down at McConnel Airport and Victor looked out the window
across the Allegheny to the skyline he called home, suddenly recalling the
last time he left.

*Full circle. I'm home.*

Four Hours Later -- the Green Room of WENN

~Snap~, the trigger was pulled and a bullet flew in the air. All Victor heard
was the pound of metal against metal. Suddenly the weeks of brainwashing were
over. A fuse burnt out in his brain, and the light bulb shown bright behind
his eyes, revealing images that he thought had been lost forever.

"Betty, do you have the scripts prepared for "Sam Dane"?"

The shaken brunette stared at him in shock.

Alright, that's one of my semi- speculations. Hope you enjoyed, and comments
are always welcome!

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