“He can’t ask you questions,” Bischoff says. “Orders from Berlin. Ho, ho! But I can.” “Shoot,” Shaftoe says. “Tell us more about gold.” “Give me more morphine.” Beck summons the medic again, and the medic gives him the rest of the syringe. Shaftoe’s never felt better. What a fucking deal! He’s getting morphine out of the Germans in exchange for telling them German military secrets.
