Ennui
"No, no, no. You have to warm the pot up first." Newkirk shook his head in disgust at the inability of Americans to make a simple pot of tea. "Now, listen and pay attention. I shall go through this one more time. Slowly, so you yahoos can understand it." His pupils moved closer to the British corporal.
Olsen could care less about tea. He was seated at the common room table. The sergeant placed his head on his folded arms, and let out a plaintive sigh.
"What's eating you?" asked LeBeau. The French chef noisily pulled out a chair and took a seat. He glanced over at the stove and observed Newkirk trying to explain the inexplicable to the small group of Yankees. Pot calling the kettle black, LeBeau thought. Someone who thinks mushy vegetables and overcooked beef is a gourmet meal teaching a culinary skill to men who call a hot dog a culinary delight is ironic, indeed.
"What do you think?" replied the American sergeant. He raised his head. "I am so bored; I began counting the pieces of straw poking through everyone's mattress. 638 to be exact, in case you're interested."
"It's the weather." Carter joined his two buddies at the table. "No bombing runs, so no downed fliers to rescue. No sabotage."
"No mad scientists, defectors, or weapon prototypes mysteriously showing up in camp," said LeBeau. "And I heard Burkhalter and Hochstetter took off for the African front, just to get dry."
"No spying on troop movements. Or other spies," added Goldman. "I can't even look out the window for Krauts. No one is out there. When your work is no longer available, life loses meaning."
"Tell me about it," groused one of the other men. "It's not like we have a lot to do anyway," he whimpered.
"No outside work for the Outside Man." Olsen stood up. "It has been crappy weather now for 3 weeks, 6 days, 13 hours and 42 minutes."
The men froze...
Pause: coincidentally, that's about how long our Mid-Atlantic weather has been crappy. We haven't even barbecued yet. Seriously.
"I lost my train of thought there for a second, chaps. Where was I?"
"Milk."
"Ta, Broughton."
The colored sergeant shrugged. He hated tea, but due to lack of anything else to do, he was jotting down Newkirk's instructions.
"Make sure you pour the milk in the cup first, and then the tea. And Bob's your uncle! A real cuppa."
"Cuppa what?" The query came from Saunders, who was over by Hogan's office door. The sergeant was trying to break his own personal record. He was standing on his head.
Newkirk turned. "Cuppa."
"Why don't you say cup of tea! That's what it is. Watch your prepositions."
"Who are you to make fun of me King's English, Saunders?" Newkirk put down the Brown Betty, and walked over. He crouched down. "You always have to bring that up, don't you? Why can't you just let sleeping dogs lie?"
"It was your King's English that screwed up that search for that special code."
Pause for shameless plug for an older story about a Monopoly game.
Saunders, having blanked out for a moment, lost his balance. "Now look what you made me do. I was only 40 seconds away." Both men faced each other and raised their fists.
"Oh, Mon Dieu." LeBeau popped up and inserted himself between the two men. "Stop it! We are all losing the plot here and overreacting. Think of all those poor prisoners in all those other camps. They really have nothing to do. Seriously, couper la poire en deux! Compromise. We all have our own slang, accents and way of speaking. Now I know why the Geneva Convention says nationalities should be separated."
The bunk entrance opened. Kinch climbed up the ladder and entered the common room. Without saying a word, he walked over to the window and looked out. He shook his head and then turned to face the men. Clearing his throat, he got their attention.
"Is that the new report?" asked Garlotti.
"Yes," Kinch replied. "No change; and in fact it's getting worse. We could be looking at no action for weeks. Hey, don't shoot the messenger!" Kinch said as anger and frustration showed on the faces of the men in the room. The radioman looked around. "Where is Colonel Hogan?"
"Not back yet," LeBeau answered as he glanced at his watch. "It's been hours. Klink must have held him for some reason."
"I sure it's the storm." Carter went over to the door and opened it. He quickly shut it. "Wow, fellas. The compound looks like a sea of mud. And it's raining sideways. I'll bet he's having a hot drink with Klink. Discussing officer things, I suppose."
Hogan was stuck. What was supposed to be a short visit to drop off work schedules was now turning out to be an afternoon of sheer boredom playing chess and listening to Klink's stories. When Hogan tried to leave earlier, his boots sank so far into the mud that the guard in the outer office had to come to the colonel's rescue. By the time Hogan was able to extricate himself, he was soaked. Klink insisted Hogan stay and dry off. To add insult to injury, the Kommandant seemed delighted that the senior POW officer was trapped. The Oberst gleefully rubbed his hands together and removed the spare chessboard from the credenza.
The colonel stretched his aching back and rubbed his neck. It was Klink's move, and the Kommandant was gazing intently at the board. "Excuse me, sir." Hoping to see sunshine, Hogan rose from the chair and went over to the window. Unfortunately, the pattern showed no sign of abating. "It's getting worse," he whispered.
The Kommandant looked up. "Did it stop?" he asked. Klink was as depressed and lethargic as the prisoners were. This weather pattern was unusual, even by European standards. It was as if London had imported British weather, rather than bombs. A good thing, he supposed.
"No. It's raining cats and dogs. In fact, it looks like a monsoon." Dejected, Hogan walked back over to the chessboard. Klink had moved a pawn, and Hogan countered with the knight.
"Where was I? Oh, yes. Hogan, I never finished telling you about the time I impressed a group of young ladies with barrel rolls."
Hogan's eyes caught sight of Klink's desktop. If this continues much longer, I could be the first Allied officer to commit Hari Kari by Pickelhaube.
"Blimey, we could be trapped in here with nothing to do til the cows come home."
The rest of the men reacted accordingly, throwing pillows at the frustrated British corporal.
"Perish the thought, Newkirk. Hey guys. We have a problem." Olsen pointed to the back of the hut. "The water has broken through the fourth wall."
Pause. We all had abnormally warm temperatures in the winter. One pesky blizzard, but the snow didn't last long. I knew we would pay. And the temps are on a roller coaster ride. The good news is... no drought. I feel sorry for parents with young children. Although, on our street, the kids don't seem to care. They are out playing in mist. However, I digress.
Kinch was the first one to recover from the mysterious mind burp. "What are you waiting for? Plug that hole before the rats abandon ship."
Meanwhile...
"The way I see it sir, you're caught between the devil and the deep blue sea."
"The what?"
"A rock and a hard place. A dilemma. Two impossible choices that will cause equally bad outcomes. Like choosing between old bubblehead and Stalin. Although, I guess you can say the enemy of my enemy is my friend." The men were now playing gin. Klink, having lost three straight chess matches and now developing a tension headache to rival Hogan's, decided he had enough of chess.
"Hogan!" Klink wagged his finger. "I can have you thrown in the cooler for saying such things about our leader," he warned. "What do you mean no good choice?"
"Well, Frau Linkmeyer is actually a lovely woman, sir. I've met her several times, and once you get to know her, she has a nice personality and is intelligent."
"I don't see the point," Klink whined.
"You'll have to break up with Gretchen. You will no longer be able to run out on the spur of the moment to spend time at the Hofbrau. You most likely will have your quarters frequently used for women stuff. You know. Card games, tea parties, and fundraising meetings. The things well-heeled German women do with their time."
"If I must, I must. General Burkhalter won't send me east if I'm married to his sister."
"General Burkhalter will be your brother-in-law." Hogan leaned in. "Imagine the conversations at those Thanksgiving dinners, or whatever your equivalent is in the Third Reich. Oy. Oh, and not to mention, the fish starts stinking at the head. You do not want to get involved in those politics. Corruption comes from the top and works its way down. No, sir. That's dangerous. You could be caught up in it. Remember the Night of Long Knives?"
Klink gulped. "Oy is right.," he repeated as his hands instinctively went to his throat. "Hogan, promise me you'll think of something to get me out of this mess. When the General comes back from the desert-and he will eventually-this weather can't last forever, you know..."
Pause. I hope not. It's May 23rd, and they are calling for warmer temps and sun later this week.
"What did you say, sir? I couldn't hear you. It was like my brain turned off for a moment."
"Gin." Klink through down his hand and wrote down the points from Hogan's hand. "I said, Hogan, promise me you'll think of something to get me out of this mess. When the General comes back from the desert-and he will eventually-this weather can't last forever, you know.
"Ah, you want me, for the umpteenth time, to stop the arranged marriage between you and our portly general's sister, without making it appear to be your fault!"
"Exactly."
"Well, I don't know. This is getting tiresome. Like a repeat of radio show plots."
"Please," Klink pleaded.
"All right. In exchange for more blankets. Two extra slices of white bread per week for every man in camp. And an extra hour of electricity."
"One-half hour for a month."
"One hour until the weather pattern changes, and then one-half hour for a month after that."
As usual, Klink folded like a cheap camera. "Done."
There was a knock at the door. Hogan got up to answer it and Schultz entered. "I have your dry uniform, Colonel Hogan, and your coat."
"Great. Thanks, Schultz. If you will excuse me Kommandant, I will change. Thanks for the use of your spare jacket and pants."
"You're welcome. Schultz, you are dripping on the floor."
"I am very sorry, Kommandant." Schultz stepped back into the outer office. While Hogan was changing, the phone rang, and Schultz picked up.
"Yes. Yes. I will ask. Please hold." As a smartly dressed Hogan returned to the office, Schultz interrupted a dozing Klink.
"I beg to report, Kommandant, that there is a civilian at the front gate."
"A woman civilian of the female type, Schultz?" Hogan asked hopefully. "I ordered one."
"No. A man. He is a bus driver," Schultz reported. "His bus is completely stuck in mud. He is requesting assistance as he has passengers."
"Passengers of the female persuasion, Schultz?"
"Hogan, will you shut up!" Klink yelled.
"Sorry, Kommandant." Hogan pouted and straightened his crush cap. He looked out the window and saw that his return to the hut promised to be painful.
"I don't know, Colonel Hogan. Maybe. Perhaps. He didn't elaborate. But he seems pretty anxious. They have to get to wherever they are going by dinnertime."
"However this turns out," Olsen said as he stuffed old socks in the holes, "he'll eventually get the woman. He always does." The water went from a flood to a trickle, and then stopped.
"I'm so bored." Garlotti began counting his fingers one by one. "Scientist, several at least. Spies. Cabaret singers."
"French girls, German girls, British girls," added Saunders.
"Underground agents. German, French, British, Dutch." LeBeau sniffed. "More than I, and I'm French."
"One man in drag?" Newkirk said with a touch of snark, as he puffed on a cigarette. "All right," he quickly said as he saw the looks on the men's faces. "I'm only kibitzing with you. Danzig is with a nice bird."
Counting Hogan's conquests did nothing to ease the boredom and melancholy of the men in Barracks 2. Now they were more down-in-the-dumps.
"Hogan, you will gather a work party and help move the bus," Klink ordered.
"Now wait one minute, Kommandant. I'm not helping and neither are any of my men. It's a monsoon out there, and the Geneva Convention says nothing about prisoners digging civilian transports out of mud in such weather. Have your guards do it."
"They all have trench foot," Schultz reminded Klink. "From the dampness."
"You see, remember Hogan, we only have guards in the towers. I've been very trusting."
"Only a fish would bother to escape in this weather," Schultz chuckled.
"All right. I'll get a work party. In the name of Allied and German civilian relations. After all, we will be occupiers eventually."
"Tell the man we will come to his rescue, Schultz," Klink stated. "Take the best truck."
As Schultz spoke to the man, his eyes widened. He put his hand over the receiver. "He is grateful Kommandant, especially since all of his passengers are women. He is returning to tell the passengers the good news."
"Hot dog! I'm out of here, sir." On his way back to the barracks, Hogan ignored the men in the other huts, as usual, never giving them the opportunity to get out of camp.
Goldman was back at his post by the window. "Colonel is coming back. Man, is he having trouble walking. Poor guy." As Hogan got closer, Goldman saw the smile on the colonel's face. "Maybe he got a better weather report."
The door opened, and a soaking wet colonel strode into the room. "Get whatever outerwear you have fellas. We're leaving camp to free a bus stuck in the mud."
Immediately, sounds of protests filled the hut.
"That's an order. Besides the passengers are all women!"
The men got ready in record time.
As the men filed into the back of the truck Schultz had parked next to the hut, the prisoners speculated on the identity of the passengers.
"Bunch of hausfraus with blonde braids and large, well you know." Garlotti motioned with his hands.
"I'll bet they'll need warming up. We can bring them back here and give them blankets. Make sure they are comfy," Carter suggested.
"Maybe they are from a women's chorus." LeBeau tried to brush water off his sweater.
The colonel was riding in the front with Schultz, and as the sergeant pulled up behind the bus, he said, "now Colonel Hogan. Please say there will not be any monkey business. My gun is too wet to shoot."
"Scout's honor, this time, Schultz. It's been too wet for weeks to do anything. Been rather boring, actually. I was ready to chew off my foot the other day."
Schultz chuckled. "You have a point. Even the big shot was bored. Wow, the bus is really mired in that mud." He and Hogan walked to the back of the truck. The men removed some tools, jumped off the back and walked over to the stuck vehicle.
"Tell the women to stay inside for now. It's too awful out here," Hogan said. "We'll see what we can do first before making them get out."
"Right away, Colonel." Schultz, hoping there was another seat on the bus, and anxious to see the passengers, went to the door and tapped. The driver saw him and nodded as he opened the door.
"Have everyone stay inside," Schultz said as he climbed the steps.
"Thank you, Sergeant. That is safer for the sisters."
"It's safer for the ..." Schultz's mouth hung open. "Ich glaub mich knutscht ein Elch," he said to himself. The nuns waved at the sergeant.
"Thank your Kommandant and the prisoners for their assistance," said the Mother Superior in the first seat.
Schultz plopped down in the empty seat across the aisle. "You're welcome."
"Okay, one more heave. Put it in gear," Hogan yelled to the driver." This time the wheels stopped spinning. "Now we're cooking with gas," the colonel said happily. Slowly, the bus backed up and drove away from the mud. Everyone cheered.
"Now let's see who is on this bus, sir." Newkirk was chomping at the bit. The men, not minding the torrential rain, lined up at the door.
"Schultz is coming out." Hogan stepped aside.
"The leader of the group wishes to thank you all." Schultz walked off the bus.
"All part of the service, Schultz." Hogan had visions of personally wrapping a brunette in a blanket and offering her some of Klink's best schnapps.
As the Mother Superior moved within eyesight of the colonel, he was forced to hide his disappointment. The men could also see the nun. They stepped back.
"Well, I'll be," Kinch whispered to Carter.
"I'm forced to admit, I feel I've had a kick in the pants," replied the tech sergeant.
"If it was raining soup, I'd only have a fork." Newkirk stomped off.
"I think it is raining soup," noted Broughton. He left the men and leaned up against the bus.
"For once, someone got the better of all of you, Colonel Hogan." Schultz's belly began to shake with laughter.
Pause. Everyone froze. Even the raindrops hung in midair. I don't take orders from fictional characters. Life imitates art. So see how you like having a non-existent spring with no sun, and days and weeks of rain. Boring, isn't it? Heck, I haven't even been to a flea market. Now, that's angst.
Hogan's body jumped. This time his train of thought pulled into the station. He went up one step. "Glad to help you and your order out Mother Superior. Anytime." He took off his hat and bowed. "I'm sure the Kommandant won't mind if you come to camp and get something warm to drink. Right, Schultz?"
"He won't mind. Driver, follow us in."
"Thank you. That would be most appreciated."
Hogan stepped off the bus. Miraculously, the rain stopped-for the moment-and the air filled with a warm mist. He looked up at the sky. "All right. You made your point. We learned our lesson. A little action is necessary. That's our job. And danger comes with the territory."
Pause. You're welcome. And thank you for your gallantry, Colonel. And remember, be careful what you wish for.
The end.
*translation from German. (I was kissed by a moose) as in, well blow me down, an expression of surprise.