Andrew Carter's Excellent Adventure
The adventure began with a very average mission, routine, everyday stuff. Someone had to go into town, rendezvous with Red Riding Hood; get the coordinates of a new ball-bearing factory, and just high-tail it back to camp. The weather was good, there was no unusual activity going on in the area, and reliable sources informed us that Hochstetter was home with a bad stomach flu (gee, I wonder how that happened)? So the local Gestapo thugs were catching up on paperwork. Yup, an everyday, routine, average mission.
Colonel Hogan wanted to go. (After all, it was Red Riding Hood.) However, his plans were thwarted when he was informed that Kommandant Klink desired Colonel Hogan's presence, forthwith. This meant that Klink needed one-on-one officer time. And the colonel really couldn't refuse, could he? Seems something was bugging our old F.I.N.K. (fair, impartial, Nazi, kommandant). Klink didn't seem to have the rapport with his administrative staff that he had with his Senior POW officer, and he often called for a meeting with our colonel, ostensibly to discuss electricity, work details or something of that nature. The meeting would continue long into the night, and Colonel Hogan would come back slightly none-the-worse for the wear, a bit of Schnapps or Cognac on his breath. He would mumble something about a long chess game, complaints about the general staff, and the mysteries of the female gender, and then he would turn in. The colonel's escort (usually Schultz or Langenscheidt) would roll his eyes, and give us a quick and knowing look before ordering us to go back to bed.
Carter (the lucky devil) went in the colonel's place. To be fair, it was his turn, and Newkirk and LeBeau had nothing to complain about. The two grumbled good-naturedly for a bit, but then got down to business, fawning over our young tech sergeant, with the care of two mothers about to send their youngest off to kindergarten for the very first time.
"Guys," he griped. "I'm really, really happy that you care so much about my safety, but I've lost count of how many times…ouch, Newkirk! You pricked me."
"Sorry, mate." Newkirk was fitting Carter for a civilian suit. Carter's go-to suit for these type of missions was no longer in service. It was a perfect fit for the rescued airman we sent back to England last week, and our wardrobe department hadn't had time to replace it yet.
LeBeau was dusting Carter's hair in an attempt to make him appear a bit older. Papers, fake spectacles, and a cane were already on stand-by.
"As I was saying, I've done this at least a hundred times." Carter wasn't as naïve as he seemed. He knew darn well why LeBeau and Newkirk were making such a fuss; they hoped he would chicken out so one of them could go in his place. But he wasn't buying it. Besides, it was his turn, and the colonel expected his men to follow orders. As always, plans were in place should he be delayed-or worse-not return. Not that anyone expected trouble, since this mission promised to be easy as falling off a log.
"Don't worry, fellas. This will be a piece of pie," were Carter's last words before ascending the ladder. No one bothered to correct his phrasing, as that was a lost cause. Once he was gone, men scattered in all directions. LeBeau went up top, while Newkirk returned the make-up and sewing supplies to the storage room. Kinch headed to his area to monitor the radio, and after discussing some sensitive information with the radio man, Olsen went up top as well.
Our evening routine went off without a hitch. Men went to and from the latrine, changed into their sleeping attire, and hopped on their bunks to write letters, or to read. Kinch stayed below—something he always did while someone was out-of-camp. (He'd be back in time for the bed check, and then he would disappear again.) And so we waited…and waited…and waited.
It was Olsen who looked at his watch. "Carter's a bit overdue," he stated as he jumped down from his bunk. "I'll get the dummy."
No one panicked…yet.
The dummy took Carter's place, and everyone went back to what they were doing. Schultz performed a quick bed check. (Everyone, including the dummy, was counted. Colonel Hogan was still with the Kommandant.) Kinch, with nary a look of concern, went back downstairs. "Carter probably got stuck watching the movie," he mentioned before we shut the bunk entrance.
"That's rough," Newkirk stated. "Poor bugger. Imagine having to sit through that garbage." The cinema was frequently used as a rendezvous point, but our contacts normally left right after the newsreels, and our man followed a few minutes later.
After another hour, we were really beginning to worry. Fortunately, Colonel Hogan arrived at that moment. It was obvious he had a headache, which worsened when he noticed Kinch's absence. "Where's Carter?"
"Not back yet, sir," Newkirk replied in a worried voice.
Hogan looked at his watch and performed some rapid calculations in his head. "The movie finished over an hour ago," he said, headache and tedious evening now forgotten. How he knew the movie schedule, was a mystery. But then again, he seemed to know everything. "Walking back takes at the most, one hour, so he should be back by now." Without another word, he opened the bunk entrance. Newkirk and LeBeau, still in their pajamas, followed the colonel down.
"He'll have Kinch make contact with Red," Olsen explained. "There was probably a Gestapo sweep after the movie. Don't worry," he reassured us. "It happens all the time. Carter's been through this before."
That was true. They had all been swept up more than once, and had lived to see another day. We were all up by then. So, Goldman made a large pot of coffee, while Saunders stood at the door, checking for anything suspicious. We talked quietly amongst ourselves, trying not to show each other our nerves. We were shut off from the colonel and most of his main team; the bunk entrance was kept closed. As Olsen made like the colonel and started to pace (one of the reasons he took the colonel's place, on occasion…he was so good at it), the bunk entrance rattled open. LeBeau sprung up and announced, to our relief, that Carter had just arrived.
We all gathered round, and watched as first, Kinch, then Newkirk, came up. They were followed by Carter, who looked like he had been run over by a truck, then Colonel Hogan. Someone closed the entrance as Carter walked over to the table and collapsed into a chair.
"You hurt?" Hogan asked, concern showing on his face.
"No, sir."
"Good. Then tell me what the hell happened!"
"Those aren't the clothes he went off with," Newkirk mumbled. He would be the one to notice.
"I have the information," Carter said sheepishly. "In the cane."
Kinch grabbed the cane and unscrewed the secret compartment on the bottom. He removed a small piece of paper, and then put the cane back together.
"Good." Hogan went over and poured himself a large mug of coffee. He probably assumed this would take a while. "I hope you have a decent explanation."
"We were worried sick," Newkirk added for good measure.
"All right." Carter began drawing circles on the table with his right hand. "It all started out fine. Red, was right where she was supposed to be. In the eighth row, third seat in." He looked up at the colonel. "Can I call her Nancy? It sounds better than Red."
"Sure," the colonel replied. "Go on."
"So I sat down next to her. We exchanged idle conversation before everything started. Just like we rehearsed. Anyway, she passed me the coordinates. I excused myself to go to the men's room, and I hid the paper. So, about twenty minutes later, the newsreel started. I was really hoping we could leave on time, because the movie was that thing about the Olympics, and I really, really didn't want to have to sit through that again."
"Understandable." Hogan took a sip of coffee. "Continue."
There was really no point in hurrying Carter along, or telling him to get to the end. We all knew that, so although everybody's stomachs were in knots by this point, and we were all getting impatient, no one prodded him to move along any quicker. That was the colonel's job, and so far, he still had some patience left.
"Bad luck. A group of SS guys came into the theater. No one was going to get up now. No way. So Nancy and I decided to wait. And then just as the movie started, the projector broke."
"So you left?" Hogan asked.
"No, sir. One of the SS guys told everyone to stay. That they would definitely get to the glorious tribute to the Fatherland even if they had to shoot the projectionist; and besides, there were no refunds."
"Let me guess," Newkirk interrupted. "Someone shot the projectionist."
"How'd you guess?" Carter asked Newkirk in all innocence.
"Call it a hunch."
"And then what happened?" Hogan asked; this time there was a hint of impatience in his tone.
"One of them shot the projectionist. And all heck broke loose."
Normally, Carter would be over excited and in his element. He loved telling stories. But this time, he was clearly exhausted, worn-out, and it seemed, a bit off.
"The theater manager was really angry. It seems the projectionist was a decorated war veteran…from the last war…and trained projectionists are real hard to come by. And to make matters worse, Major Hochstetter is a good friend of the manager. That's what he said."
"Kinch, make a note of that. We need to find another theater to meet in." Hogan said as an aside.
Carter didn't notice, and he kept talking; still in a monotone, but now it appeared that he was on a roll. "So he told the SS…you know, the manager was pretty brave, taking on a squad of SS guys. He told them he was going to call Major Hochstetter right away, and that they had better stay put. He started writing down their names. Sooo. That's when Nancy and I thought we had better scram. We crawled through the aisles, bit-by-bit. It took us forever, but we didn't want to be seen. And finally we made it out to the street. Right in time, too. We went one way, and the Gestapo were coming from the other direction."
"And so you parted ways, and set out for home," LeBeau asked. He then paused. "Non. C'est impossible. You went somewhere else, didn't you? You should have been back a lot sooner."
"Well, I couldn't let Nancy walk home all alone in the dark. It was getting close to curfew, and there are all sorts of bad people out there," Carter said. "Sheesh."
Nancy, known to us all as Red Riding Hood, was an extremely capable member of the Underground, who had been through more dangerous situations then we could even imagine. This fact was lost to our chivalrous technical sergeant, who continued with his saga.
"So we started walking back to Nancy's apartment when I tripped over something. It was someone's wallet…with their papers right inside. So I picked it up."
"Oh, don't tell me you tried to find the owner, Carter." The colonel's headache was clearly returning, as he popped a few aspirin into his mouth and swallowed them with a gulp of coffee.
"Well…" Carter's face fell. He now knew he was in danger of falling into uncharted territory. A good-deed-doer, after all, needed to weigh the pros and cons of doing the good deed. And clearly, trying to return a lost wallet weighed against returning to camp in good time…well, the scales were definitely tipped in favor of returning to camp. Except of course, we all knew where this was going. "You see. I picked it up. And it belonged to someone's grandmother. If someone found my grandmother's papers and wallet, with pictures and money and everything, I'd want them to return it. Or at least try. Wouldn't you?"
A chorus of guilty mumbles ran through the hut, until Newkirk's voice broke through. "No. Carter, are you daft? You shouldn't waste time on that sort of mess. Why didn't you come home straight away?"
"Well, it seemed the right thing to do," Carter replied, as he pouted. "And who knows what would have happened to this person if she lost her papers. German bureaucrats aren't like ours, you know. Ours won't throw you in jail if you ask for a new driver's license."
"Speak for yourself," someone murmured.
"Can it!" The colonel ordered. He patted Carter on the shoulder. "It's too late to change things now. But Carter, you shouldn't have done that. You risked exposing yourself to a civilian."
"Oh, I thought of that, sir. You see, we got the lady's address, and we were just going to leave it outside her door, but we sort of, got caught."
Colonel Hogan looked as if he was about to tear out some of his considerable head-of-hair.
Carter continued, quickly, before he got in more trouble. "Just as we were about to leave it, the lady showed up. "'You've got my wallet and papers!' That's what she said! She was so excited, she began to cry. And then she offered us a reward. So of course, we refused. And then, before you know it, we ended up having tea and cake with her in her house." Carter noticed our looks. Even Saunders, who was still watching the door for signs of guards coming to check on the activity (the small amount of light still on in the hut), glared. "We couldn't really refuse. It wouldn't have been polite," Carter added.
"I'd assume that's when you finished up and came back, except, and I already mentioned this, for the fact that you're not wearing the clothes I put on you!" Newkirk was clearly upset at the loss of his handiwork.
"Oh, Carter. What next?" The colonel grabbed a chair and straddled it, waiting for the punch line which, at this point, seemed far, far, off in the future.
"I ran into a skunk."
"Of course," Hogan said. "That explains the change of clothes."
"Yes, sir!" Carter exclaimed. "But it wasn't at the lady's house. After the tea and cake, we left. I walked Nancy back to her apartment, and I ran into it, well, actually, it sort of ran into me. Well, whatever. It doesn't matter. I got sprayed."
"Nancy, I mean, Red gave you a change of clothes?" Hogan sniffed. "And that's not all, is it?"
Olsen sniffed Carter's hair. "Do I detect a hint of lavender?"
"You lucky dog." Newkirk slapped Carter on the back, and in return, Carter gave him a sheepish grin.
"She threw my clothes in the incinerator while I took a bubble bath. She had some from before the war that she was saving for a special occasion."
"LeBeau, don't you have a recipe for getting rid of skunk odor?"
"Bien sur, mon colonel. I have a recipe for everything. But c'est l'amour. And a bath. Who can blame him?"
"I do. Carter, you should have known better. And I can't believe Red went along with this," Hogan said, now more annoyed than ever.
"I didn't want to stink up the entire hut, sir."
"I'd give him a break, colonel. After all, he did get back." Kinch was always the rational one of the main group, and he could usually calm Colonel Hogan down, not that the colonel lost his temper very often.
But this time, the colonel didn't take the bait. "Okay, Carter. You had a bath, and got clean clothes. But what happened after that? You're a wreck; your clothes are a wreck." Hogan grabbed a lantern and stared at Carter closely for a moment. "Is that blood?" he asked in a slightly panicked and higher tone of voice. Sure enough, blood was on Carter's hands and underneath his fingernails. Streaks of blood also marred his pants and shirt. "Red?"
"She's fine, sir." Carter looked down. "I didn't realize I got blood on my clothes. Sorry to scare ya all like that."
"Where is the blood from? You ran into trouble on the way back and had to shoot someone?" Hogan took another swig of coffee, probably to steady his nerves for the next answer.
"Oh, that's from when I delivered the baby," Carter answered matter-of-factly.
The colonel's swig of coffee shot out from his mouth, barely missing Garth, who was in the line of fire. Now Carter had everyone's undivided attention.
"What did you, say?" Colonel Hogan looked like he was praying that he had suddenly become hard-of-hearing, and that he had completely misheard Carter's words.
No such luck.
"I delivered the baby," Carter repeated.
Newkirk, in shock at this unexpected turn of events, needed to sit down. Unfortunately, he forgot there was no chair under him, and he hit the floor with a thud. "Oh, me bum," he complained. He scrambled to his feet, rubbed his rear, and then looked at Carter in a whole new light.
"You delivered a baby?" Kinch asked.
Hogan shook his head. He then grabbed the bridge of his nose, and squeezed it in an attempt to get rid of the tension. "Carter, what happened?"
"I was about to leave, when Nancy's….I mean Red's neighbor's kids knocked on her door. They were really scared, sir. We had to help them."
"Their mother was the one with the baby?"
"Yes. Her husband is away in the army. She called the doctor, and she was waiting for her sister to get here from the other side of town, but the kids said she told them to get help. So, that's what they did. So, we went down to the apartment, and well…that baby wasn't going to wait for anyone. No, sirree."
"You know how to deliver a baby?" Olsen asked Carter.
"Well, I've never done it before, but we just winged it. I mean, I've seen animals being born, you know. How hard could it be?"
"What kind of question is that? Oh, mon dieu."
Carter ignored LeBeau. "I mean, the poor lady kept screaming. Red was the only one the kids would go to. They didn't know me, and they were scared. So that's why I delivered it. And the mom didn't care. All she said was 'I don't care if you're a Martian. Just get it out!' Except, she yelled it in German, of course."
"Of course," Hogan said.
"This has to be one for the books," Garth commented to Saunders, who had completely forgotten to watch the door.
Hogan looked up. "Get back to the door!" Goldman left his spot by the stove and ran over. "So, this woman now remembers you as the man who delivered her…what did she have, by the way?"
"A boy!" Carter grinned. "It was the most remarkable thing I've ever done. And guess what? She named him after me!"
"You gave her your name?" Hogan demanded in a tone that meant a court-martial could be in the future.
"No," Carter replied in a tone that seemed to indicate he would never, ever, be that stupid. "I gave her a fake name. I was Red's Uncle August from Stuttgart. Once everything got sorted out, I left. Red stayed with Ester. That's the mom's name. I guess the sister was on the way, and so was the doctor." Carter flicked some stray hair off of his forehead. "Boy, am I bushed. Can I get into bed now, sir?"
"Yeah, go ahead, but get that blood off of your hands first." Hogan looked at his watch. "That goes for everyone else. We only have a few hours before roll call. We all need the shut-eye." He watched as Carter went over to the sink to clean up. Shaking his head, Hogan stood up and went into his office, shutting the door behind him.
Carter finished cleaning up. He had one of those goofy grins on his face as he walked over to his bunk. He shut off the lantern he was carrying, and then climbed in, letting out a breath as he settled in. "Night fellas."
"Go to sleep, Carter." That was Newkirk leaning over the bunk. He was quiet, but his accent was unmistakable. "Oh, and tomorrow, when Colonel Hogan is otherwise occupied, you can explain what really happened."
Silence. And then…"What makes you think I made the whole thing up, Newkirk?"
"You can't con a con man, Carter."
"Well, you can believe me or not believe me, Newkirk. Your choice." Carter let out a little chuckle, leaving the rest of us wondering if Carter told the truth and completed a most unusual mission, or if something else had happened, and he left out the more embarrassing details of why he was really late. But whatever the truth was, Colonel Hogan had accepted Carter's version of events, and that was that. And as Newkirk told us later that week, he had managed to sneak in a radio call to Red, who confirmed everything Carter had said. Was Newkirk satisfied? Doubt it. But, word got around, as those things always do, and Carter found himself the recipient of anonymous gifts. We were all a resourceful lot. Even those of us who couldn't get out of camp, had our means of acquiring all sorts of goods. Cigars (pilfered from Klink, of course), homemade rattles, teddy bears, and unbelievably, cloth diapers. (Goodness knows where those were found, but we discovered they made great dust rags.)
Carter took this all with his usual good humor, but eventually, Carter's adventure...the one that began with a very average mission, routine, everyday stuff, was forgotten. You see, other missions and other adventures, always seem to crop up around here. And the biggest, most important mission-staying alive- is the biggest adventure of all.
The End
Was Carter telling the truth? It's for you to decide.