ANOTHER YEAR CLOSER

Friday, 31 December 1943

"It's tough to make predictions, especially about the future." – Yogi Berra

Although New Year's Eve proved to be just another night to carry out a mission, the team had been greatly relieved by the Kommandant's decision to forego roll call and substitute an inside the barracks head count instead. It gave them a rare chance to complete the night's sabotage assignment much earlier than usual and they looked forward to being able to return with time to spare to enjoy a late meal followed by a full night's sleep.

After accomplishing the night's labors, the men clambered down the ladder entrance to the emergency tunnel and headed to the main tunnel junction. As usual, Kinch stood guard at the radio table, monitoring German radio traffic for any hint of possible trouble during the operation.

"Kinch, me old mate!" hailed Newkirk. "Steady as usual I see." He moved to the dressing room just off the radio room and quickly began shedding his night gear. "What's the good word?"

"The good word is that you guys are all back safe! First one of you to get back into your uniform, get topsides and go tell the Colonel. He wanted to be informed as soon as you guys got back."

"Gosh was he that worried about us?" wondered Carter as he washed the grease off his face.

"I will tell the Colonel, Kinch," called an already dressed LeBeau as he hurried past on his way back to the barracks. "I must go put the finishing touches on our Saint-Sylvestre dinner!"

"Well just make sure there's somethin' edible will ya?" yelled Newkirk from the dressing room.

Kinch chuckled and shook his head as LeBeau rolled his eyes in irritation. The Frenchman leaned in to whisper, "I will not dignify that with an answer! I am preparing a feast for you all! You will see!"

"You don't have to convince me Louis!" said Kinch. LeBeau nodded his reply as he left to climb back up to the barracks.

A few minutes later, Newkirk and then Carter came into the radio room. "Wot? Where'd the little Frenchman go? I didn't 'ear anythin' in reply to me request."

"Louis decided to take the high ground Peter," laughed Kinch. "He said the proof of the pudding will be in the eating."

Newkirk snorted in response. "Yeah well that's what I'm afraid of!"

Carter nudged his English friend. "Why do you always have to give Louis such a hard time Peter? He always fixes something good for us!"

"Andrew that is a matter of opinion." He shook his finger in Carter's face as he spoke. "Yours, not mine!"

Newkirk then turned back to Kinch, who was listening intently to the radio through the headphones.

"What's goin' on Kinch?"

Kinch shook his head slightly, then removed the headphones. "Not a whole lot. Just Goebbels' end of the year message."

"Put it on, I could use a laugh."

Kinch shrugged and flipped the audio switch. The speakers came to life as the high-pitched voice of the Third Reich's Propaganda master filled the air.

The three men listened for a few minutes before something Goebbels said piqued Newkirk's interest. He leaned in to hiss, "What does 'e mean the English will 'ave to get used to the horrors of war again?"

"It's just a bunch of bull, you know that Peter," said Carter. Newkirk didn't reply.

Kinch noticed the Englishman's expression darken further as Goebbels droned on and on about exacting vengeance on Britain with new weapons of destruction. He decided that the broadcast wasn't worth putting Newkirk into a bad frame of mind and reached over to flip the audio off.

Newkirk shook his head in disgust. "Thanks Kinch. I'm sorry I asked for that...that rubbish!" He looked in the radioman's eyes and nodded slightly in genuine relief.

Kinch nodded back as he searched the frequencies. "Let me see what else is out there tonight."

Carter glanced at his English friend and tried to help him calm down. "Don't worry about what he said, Peter. Mavis will be all right."

"I 'ope so Andrew. I don't know what I'd do if anythin' 'appened to me Mave."

"Well just don't dwell on it. Everything will be okay."

Newkirk just shook his head. Carter looked over to Kinch, who suddenly flipped the audio switch back on. Newkirk cocked his head to the side as the stentorian voice of a famous radio commentator described the scene of New Year's celebrations which were just beginning to take place in London.

"Thousands of persons representing many nations are gathering in the darkness of the blacked-out streets of London's West End, eager to welcome in 1944. The hope that this New Year will bring an Allied victory seems to be the keynote of the celebrations. The people began to assemble at 2100 hours, all laughing, cheering and singing. The crowds seem to be greater and more cheerful than last year. Servicemen from almost all the Allied nations are everywhere and the spirit of revelry is running high."

"Blimey, wish I was there," murmured Newkirk wistfully.

The commentator continued, "Someone just shouted, 'It's an Allied celebration!' There are answering shouts of 'And it won't be long before the Allied victory!" The hope here is that 1944 will bring victory in Europe and that the next New Year's Eve will be celebrated triumphantly after that Allied victory. We will now turn our microphones over to broadcast to you the sounds of this happy, raucous crowd."

The joyous hubbub of the boisterous crowd filled the air and Newkirk unexpectedly found himself genuinely homesick, if only for the briefest of moments. He sighed and Kinch reached over to kill the audio a second time.

"Sorry Peter. We just can't win tonight, can we?"

Newkirk shook his head with a rueful smile. "Nah it's alright Kinch. Can't 'elp feelin' a bit down in the dumps sometimes, bein' stuck 'ere whilst so much is goin' on all over the world."

"How do you mean?" asked Carter.

"Well it's just that I…I sometimes wonder if we're really makin' a difference 'ere."

"Of course we are!" replied Carter. As if to confirm his statement, the tunnel suddenly shook with the concussion of a nearby explosion.

Kinch laughed and shook his head. "Boy Andrew, you sure have perfect timing!"

Carted nodded vigorously. "See Peter? That's one munitions train that won't be arriving in France! When the invasion comes, it won't be long before we'll be liberated."

Newkirk shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly before he said, "Maybe so mate, but I've been 'ere since January 1941! That's near on to three years!"

Kinch nodded somberly but Carter was undeterred; he threw an arm around his English friend's shoulders.

"Look at it this way Peter. You're another year closer to getting home!"

Newkirk stared at Carter, then laughed quietly to himself. "I swear Andrew! You've bloody done it again!"

"What?"

"Turned a sow's ear into a silk purse!"

Carter still looked perplexed as Kinch chuckled at his confusion. The radioman then got up from the table and gestured to the other two to follow him up the ladder to the barracks.

"C'mon guys! Louis wanted us to eat before midnight!"

All three climbed up into the barracks to find the common table laden with a veritable feast.

"Bonne Année mes amis!" called LeBeau as he bustled about, putting the final touches on the meal. "André, please go tell the Colonel we are ready to eat."

Carter did so and Colonel Hogan came in to survey the fruits of his French Corporal's labor approvingly.

"Louis, how did you manage to get the ingredients for such a...a feast?" he asked. LeBeau had not been able to secure the traditional oysters but he had foie gras and champagne to start the meal. He had also been able to somehow get a handsome piece of beef for their main course, accompanied by Pommes Anna, cheese and bread.

"I bartered with Schultzie to 'borrow' from the Kommandant's larder. Believe me, mon Colonel, I will more than pay for it in strudel! Please mes amis, please sit down!" He gestured to his friends and stood watching as they sat down. He then sighed, "I only wish I had had the ingredients for a galette des rois."

At the sight of all the food, Newkirk regretted his earlier insult to his French friend. He craned his head up to whisper to LeBeau, "Tell ya what Louie, make me a list and I'll see if I can nick it for ya."

"Merci Pierre!" whispered LeBeau as he sat down beside his English friend.

So all the men gathered together to observe the coming of yet another year, albeit another year of imprisonment. As they tucked into their repast, each one hoped this year would be the last one spent in Stalag 13.

A/N - The commentator's dialogue was based upon the account given in an article in "The West Australian" (published in Perth, WA from 1879 to 1954), issue of Monday, 3 January 1944.