The man-Luger still didn't know his name, or had forgotten it- stepped back but kept his eyes affixed on Luger's. "Maintain this stubborn silence and we have no use for you," he said, "in which case we will either be forced to attempt to make you talk or, if that proves to be too tedious, we will simply eliminate you. In any case, you will die within seven days.

Speak to us as a soldier and as a man, and we will treat you like one and spare your life."

Luger closed his eyes, trying to block out the gamut of emotions running through him. Luger knew the guy was playing with his mind, trying to get him to take that first step . . . One word, Dave, and you won't be able to back away. One word leads to another, then a few more, then eventually idle chat, then substantive chat. Remember your POW training. Remember your country, your crew members, remember the Old Dog...

"I order you to answer me, Lieutenant!" the man shouted. Luger jumped at the sudden sound, and he sought to refocus his eyes on his captor. "I show you respect because you are a soldier and a professional-do me the same courtesy. Tell me your date of birth, a simple request, and I'll see to it that your sentence is delayed for a month. Refuse me, and I will throw you to the wolves that wait outside. They do not see you as an officer and as an aviator-they see you as a tough piece of meat that must be tenderized Speak, for your own damned good, you fool. If I walk out that door unhappy, your days will be numbered. .

Luger's pulse was racing, his breathing labored. He tried to block out what this sonofabitch was saying, but his mind . . . was cloudy. His neurons weren't firing at their usual speed.

They must have drugged him. Had, in fact, probably kept him pumped with drugs during his recovery. He swallowed hard, trying to focus, trying to think of his options, if any. But his thinking was muddled, fatigued.

His captor's patience ran out. "To hell with you, Luger," the man said in a low, murderous tone. "Why should I show you any respect? You invaded my country. You attacked my people, you destroyed my land, you violated my rights," he hissed, his visage turning darker and darker. "Yet here you lie, in a clean, warm hospital bed, receiving care from a physician that could otherwise be caring for a Soviet citizen. You deserve none of this, do you hear me? None of this!"

The man found a set of hospital shears on a nearby table-Dave did not realize the incongruity of those shears being so handy-and began slicing away at the bandages covering Luger's right leg. "You don't deserve these bandages . .. this dressing .. ." He exposed Luger's right leg. "My God, look at this! They have given you an artificial kneecap!