Monday
1400
Andrew Carter sat on the bench behind the delousing station. He was not in the mood to see anyone, and no one usually came out here. He smoked in silence for a while and contemplated his problem. He did not consider himself a childish person. He was young, in fact, younger than most of the men in camp even realized. He was not a child but sometimes a guy had to take drastic measures. And so, Andrew ground out his cigarette and put his plan into action.
1515
Some of the men were taking advantage of their recreation hour by shooting hoops. Others were sitting around relaxing and chatting about nothing in particular. Newkirk and Carter were sitting on the bench outside Barracks Two, smoking quietly. Newkirk was riffling his cards expertly through his fingers trying to entice Andrew into a game. Peter raised his eyebrows when Carter silently shook his head, stood, and went back into the barracks. Peter frowned and looked quizzically at Kinch. "What was that about, d'ya think?"
Kinch shrugged. "Who knows? I'm sure he's okay."
Newkirk wasn't so sure, but decided to let it go as Olsen dropped down onto the bench beside him. "Deal me in, Newkirk!" His mate's odd behavior was soon forgotten as more men joined the poker game and the basketball game heated up. All too soon, the guards ended the game and the men filed back inside the barracks. There was no hard and fast rule that said they had to remain inside, but organized games such as volleyball or baseball were restricted to specific recreation periods.
1600-Lights Out
Once inside, they scattered to their various activities. Carter was sitting on his bunk knitting an RAF blue sock. He had a pile of socks next to him, and several balls of wool. Each month he would switch colors and knit socks in khaki green or RAF blue. His mother and cousins kept him supplied with wool. He worked diligently, because socks were always needed. He and Foster supplemented the few pairs supplied by the Red Cross, which were often confiscated by the Germans before they ever saw them. It gave him something to do when he wasn't busy in his lab, and helped pass the time during slow periods.
Newkirk laid out a gin game, and he, Kinch and Fitz settled down to a game. Although Carter would normally get into the game, he stayed quiet and continued his knitting. LeBeau kept himself busy fixing dinner, and Hogan spent the time working on reports in his quarters.
Dinner time, normally a boisterous affair, was quiet, though no one could quite put their finger on the reason. Afterwards, Kinch headed down to check on Baker, who was taking a shift on the radio. Newkirk and LeBeau were also in the tunnel workshop doing some mending of the many uniforms in their inventory. Carter was in his lab, puttering about as he often did. He had been wanting to reorganize things for some time, so he took the opportunity to work on cleaning things up a bit.
Soon, all the men headed up for evening roll call, and even Klink noticed that the men were not as disruptive as usual. They were more cooperative, and only tried half-heartedly to ruin Schultz's attempts at counting the men. Klink needled Hogan a bit about the situation, and this got the American officer's attention. Something had been bothering him all afternoon, but he just wasn't sure what it was. He also knew it was going to bug him, sort of like a sore tooth.
~HH~
Tuesday
0600
Everyone was grousing as usual as they were dressing for roll call. Hogan came out and quietly observed his men. Newkirk was complaining to Schultz as he pulled on his boots and lit his first cigarette of the day. LeBeau was already getting coffee ready, as he had been up for an hour, as was his custom. The rest of the men were up and about. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and he shrugged off his uneasiness.
0800-1230
Carter had been implementing his plan for hours now, and no one had said anything yet. He knew Col. Hogan had noticed something was off, but he hadn't figured it out. He thought about ending it, just going back to the way things had been, but he really was tired of people telling him to shut up. And so, he remained silent, even through the interminable roll call.
Usually, roll call was where he was at his best; taunting the Germans and picking on Schultz. Especially in the mornings. Carter had always been a morning person, and he was used to farm life, so getting up early had never bothered him at all. He usually stayed in bed until time to get up, just because it was slightly warmer that way. Few of his close friends realized that he woke up every morning at 0430. It was an ingrained habit…something he had done every morning since he was a kid.
Afterwards, during breakfast, he had maintained his silence, and let the others do all the talking. He listened to the chatter, and eventually, he got tired of just sitting. He headed down to his lab, to continued organizing it. A bit bitterly, he realized no one cared a bit about anything he had to say. When it came time for lunch, he elected to stay down in the lab, instead.
1230
The men had assembled for lunch. They didn't always get a mid-day meal, but because their Red Cross packages had been delivered that morning, LeBeau had fixed something of a feast, using the pooled resources from the packages. By mutual agreement, all food items were put into the pantry, and shared by all the men in Barracks Two. Items such as chocolate, cigarettes and sundries were kept by the individual men. LeBeau was in charge of the pantry, and it was he who realized that he was one package short from the usual count.
He looked over to Carter's bunk, and saw his unopened package still sitting there. This was strange, because Carter had been low on cigarettes, and had mentioned hoping the packages were on time for once. And Klink had them delivered during roll call…so Andre' had to have seen it. However, LeBeau was not one to pry, so he simply made a mental note to talk to him when he got the chance. He turned back to the stew he was preparing, and promptly forgot all about Carter. He never said anything, even when Carter didn't show up for lunch. If a man was hungry, he would come to eat. If not, that was not LeBeau's problem.
1430
Newkirk was sitting at the table as usual, playing solitaire. He was aggravated about something, but what made it worse was that he had no idea what. He scowled at his cards, and picked them up. He had lost three games in a row. His concentration was completely off. He muttered, "What the hell is wrong?"
Olsen, sitting on the other side of the table from him, looked up from his book. "What's the matter, Newkirk?"
Peter rubbed his chin. "No idea, but something is off. I don't like it."
Olsen sat up straighter and peered at him intently. "What, you mean, like something happening with the Jerries, or something?"
Newkirk shook his head. "No, not that. It's something else…"
Quietly, from his bunk, Thomas Foster spoke up.
"I know what it is."
The others were startled to even hear him speak, because he was generally very quiet. Foster was also one of the most observant men in the barracks. He would watch everything, and see much more than anyone realized. He had been wondering how long it would take before the others really noticed.
Colonel Hogan had stepped into the room just in time to hear Foster's statement. He looked at the ginger-haired sergeant. "What what is?"
Foster smiled slightly. "Has anyone else been feeling like something is wrong today?"
The men all looked at each other in surprise, when many of them said they had.
Foster looked carefully at each of them, and then said, "Have any of you noticed how quiet it's been?"
There were nods of agreement, and some looks of confusion.
Thomas continued. "Think about it. It will come to you." He then reached for his jacket, and left the barracks.
Sudden understanding dawned onto Taffy Matthews. He was furious with himself. As camp chaplain, he should have seen it; realized that one of the men was hurting. And he had missed it.
He looked at the others. "Where is Carter?"
Everyone looked around, a bit startled by the question. Carter was always around…except that he wasn't.
Taffy exchanged a quick look with Hogan. And suddenly, it all made sense. Hogan nodded, and sighed. "Well, Padre, do I go find him, or do you?"
The question caused further confusion, until Newkirk spoke up, guilt roughening his voice. "I told him to shut up yesterday, at least twice. Got tired of his natterin'."
LeBeau looked at the others. "I did, as well. He kept asking me questions about Paris while I was trying to concentrate on a new recipe."
Kinch even nodded. "Me, too. I kicked him out of the radio room. It was quiet, but I was trying to read, and he got on my nerves."
Hogan smirked slightly. So that was it…the thing that had been bothering him; all of them apparently. And he was just as guilty as the others. "I guess the final straw must have been when he knocked on my door yesterday afternoon…I yelled at him because he came in chattering about something. I got sick of it and told him to shut up and go play in traffic. I was only kidding, but still…it was a rotten thing to say. He already feels like a kid around here."
Kinch nodded. "He is no kid, but we sure made him feel that way."
Olsen grimaced, remembering his own treatment of Carter the day before. He had simply turned his back on him and walked away. "And now, he's giving us what we wanted…the silent treatment."
Hogan nodded ruefully. "So, like I said, Taffy, you, or me?"
Taffy considered for a moment. "You should go. Regardless, he respects you. He may be angry, but you may have the best chance of reaching him."
"Anybody know where he went?"
Newkirk spoke up. "Probably his lab. He got a new shipment of chemicals from the black market a few days ago…Schnitzer brought it in, remember? He was planning to reorganize things." He paused. "Maybe I should go talk to him. He usually listens to me."
The sound of the tunnel bunk springing up startled them all. Carter was standing at the top of the ladder, and had heard Newkirk's comment. He knew it was time.
He stepped into the room, and silently poured himself a cup of coffee. He sat down at the table, and swiped one of Newkirk's cigarettes and lit it.
Evenly he spoke, looking across the table at his best friend. "You're right, Newkirk. I do listen to you…all the time. I listen to your fears and your complaints and your pessimism. I listen…and it hurts when I can't help you." He turned to the others, who were now all staring at him. "I listen to all of you. And I know how you feel. So I talk. A lot. Mostly about silly things, or my memories of home, or whatever. But I talk, so that you won't feel so lost and scared. Because that's how I feel, every day. It's just that yesterday, I realized it wasn't helping…wasn't doing any good. You wanted me to shut up, so…" He shrugged and crushed out the cigarette. "I'm sorry."
He started to stand, and Hogan gently pushed him back down. His voice was raspy, and thick with emotion. "No, Andrew, we're sorry. This place would be hell without you. We—I—need your enthusiasm, your light. This place would be so dark without you. Please, don't stop talking."
The others nodded, and Carter looked around in amazement. They meant it. They did care. Sheepishly, he nodded, and everyone in the room relaxed and sighed in relief.
As LeBeau began to put together the evening meal, he threw a glance at Carter. "But, mon ami, perhaps a little less chatter so very early in the morning?"
Carter grinned. "I'll try, Louis. No guarantees, though."
And Foster, who had come back inside during the conversation, smiled. He hung up his jacket and sat back on his bunk. They had, indeed, gotten it…and all was right within Barracks Two.
~The End~