Early in the afternoon, Schultz paid a call on Barracks 2. "How is LeBeau?" he asked in a loud whisper.
"Bloody noisy," replied Newkirk. LeBeau had just come to the end of another bout. The invalid glared at him, but wasn't game to risk speaking.
Schultz looked around cautiously before he went on. "We had boiled cabbage in the sergeants' mess last night," he said.
"You have my sympathy, Schultz." Newkirk leaned back against his bunk. "But what's it got to do with us?"
With a slightly embarrassed air, Schultz produced a bottle from his pocket. "I got the cook to save some of the cooking water. It's very good for curing a cough."
"So says your granny, I suppose."
"No, my aunt Hildegard. She drank cabbage water every day, and she never had any chest trouble. And she lived to be ninety-seven."
"After ninety-seven years of cabbage water, she was probably glad to go," observed Kinch.
Hogan considered the suggestion. He was getting worried; the cough was wearing LeBeau out. "Well, it can't hurt. LeBeau, you better give it a try," he said.
LeBeau took the bottle from Schultz's hand, and smelled the contents cautiously. His expression modified from apprehension to aversion. "How many hours did they boil it for?" he croaked.
"How many hours are they supposed to boil it for?" asked Schultz, genuinely puzzled.
"Come on, LeBeau," added Newkirk. "Down the hatch."
LeBeau took a deep breath, closed his eyes, screwed up his nose and downed the contents of the bottle. A hush descended on the barracks, as everyone waited for the reaction.
"You know, that's not so bad," said LeBeau. He sounded surprised.
"You shouldn't have drunk it all at once," said Schultz reprovingly. "Now you won't have anything for when the cough comes back."
He shook his head, and went slowly out of the barracks, almost colliding with Carter in the doorway. A bit of mutual dodging ensued, as each of them tried to get round the other. Then, inevitably, Carter gave way to Schultz's larger bulk.
"And just where have you been for the last hour, Carter?" demanded Newkirk. "Thought you just went to see a man about..."
"That was ages ago," said Carter. "I've been talking to Wilson. Hey, how's LeBeau doing?"
"Seems better. Well, he did." Kinch amended the statement, as LeBeau broke out again.
"Well, I got something that'll fix it for sure. I'm not going to tell you what's in it. But it never fails. Colonel, can I borrow your office?"
He was in there for some time. Newkirk, curious, followed him, only to emerge shaking with laughter and refusing to speak.
Presently Carter came back out, armed with a tin mug and a preoccupied manner. "Now, you have to get it down really quickly," he warned, "so you don't taste it. Just toss it right down."
LeBeau contemplated the latest remedy with deep suspicion, as Carter hovered anxiously. Then the patient braced himself, and swallowed the dose in one gulp.
It was bad, all right. It took him ten seconds to start breathing again, and when he did, it was with a low, shuddering moan of pure disgust.
"Well, I warned you, you wouldn't like it," remarked Carter.
"Carter, what the hell was in that?" demanded Hogan, as LeBeau continued to utter the most extraordinary sounds.
"Nothing really bad - Newkirk, stop laughing, it's not funny - just some garlic, and honey, and black pepper, and mustard, and a little bit of horseradish. That's all." Then, at the look he received from Hogan, he added, "Well, there was some castor oil as well. I got that from Wilson. See, the oil helps to..."
"Carter!" hissed LeBeau, who had finally returned to a state of coherence. "Are you trying to poison me?"
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. Well, okay, maybe it is that bad," admitted Carter, as he thought about it. "Quit it, guys."
Newkirk was by now almost convulsed with mirth, and Kinch wasn't far behind him.
"You could have at least used Dijon mustard," LeBeau added furiously.
"Well, I had to use what I could get. What's the difference, anyhow?"
LeBeau fixed him with a glare that promised vengeance would not be long delayed. "Americans! You're worse than the English."
"Okay, fine," said Carter petulantly. "But it worked, didn't it?"
LeBeau, brought up short, was obliged to admit that, yes, it appeared to have worked; and he retired to his bunk to catch up on some of the sleep he'd missed out on during the last few nights.
Half an hour later, he stirred uneasily, and sat up.
"You okay, Louis?" said Kinch, regarding him with concern. He had good reason; LeBeau had gone very pale, and there was a shine of perspiration on his brow.
"I think so," he murmured uncertainly, descending from the bunk. "Un peu malade, c'est tout."
"Boy, LeBeau, you look awful," said Carter. "Do you feel sick?"
"No, not sick…I…Oh, merde." And LeBeau made a hasty exit, and was not seen again for some time. The dose of castor oil, on top of the cabbage water, had produced an unwelcome, but inevitable, side effect.
After that, Hogan laid down the law: "No more home remedies. I don't think LeBeau can take it."
And when it became clear Carter's preparation had been no more successful than any of the others, the colonel looked very serious indeed.
"If he's no better tomorrow, I'll speak to Klink about getting him to a doctor," he said to Kinch. "In the meantime, he better sleep in my quarters tonight, so he doesn't disturb the others. We'll be late back, anyway, so I'll take his bunk. Tell Newkirk to keep an eye on him."
He and Carter left camp just after lights out, and Kinch descended to the radio room. Newkirk had been absent from the barracks for fifteen minutes or so; he returned just as LeBeau retired to Hogan's quarters, and went after him.
"Feeling better, old son?" he asked.
LeBeau's only reply was a sullen, red-eyed glower. Newkirk wasn't at all discouraged. "Well, we can fix that." He closed the door, and from inside his jacket produced a couple of bottles. "Just been in Klink's quarters. Schnapps - the good stuff, of course. You just take it with hot water, and you'll be right as rain."
"Newkirk, are you crazy? What happens when he misses it?"
"He'll never know, old son. We'll just top the bottles up with some of that rotgut they've been making in Barracks 9, and put them back, and he'll be none the wiser."
He crept out into the barracks, and returned with a mug of hot water, to which he added a good splash of liquor. A second mug received liquor only. "I don't need any hot water," he explained. "That's the medicinal part. Cheers."
"You know, I'm starting to feel better," said LeBeau, after the third dose. "I think this might be working."
"See? You just have to trust your old pal Peter." Newkirk was mellowing; he'd kept pace with the patient. "Another one, just to be on the safe side?"
"Oui. But never mind the hot water this time."
Hogan and Carter returned a couple of hours later. "Any news?" the colonel asked, as they reached the radio room.
"Nothing happening, Colonel," replied Kinch. "I'm just about to hit the sack."
"How's LeBeau?"
"Don't know. I haven't been up top all night."
All was quiet in the barracks when they ascended. LeBeau's bunk was empty, as expected, but Hogan had not anticipated Newkirk's absence. He turned an enquiring gaze on Kinch, who spread his hands.
"He didn't say anything to me," he whispered.
"Maybe he's in with LeBeau. You don't think he's worse, do you?" Carter sounded worried.
Before Hogan could reply, a faint sound was heard from within his quarters; it sounded like laughter, but was too stifled for them to tell who it was. Hogan strode to the door and opened it.
"Uh-oh. We're in trouble." Newkirk's voice was unsteady, and his consonants even more wayward than usual.
"No. You're in trouble." LeBeau could hardly speak for giggling. "I'm still convales...convalally...voncal...I'm still sick," he wound up, as the longer word eluded him. "You were right," he added. "That was the good stuff." That remark appeared to please him; he started singing it, and Newkirk joined it.
"And just what is going on here?" demanded Hogan.
"Shhhhh!" Newkirk held a finger to his lips, then beckoned shakily. He looked around, then leaned forward in a confidential manner, to his own immediate peril.
"Between you and me, I think LeBeau might have over-medicated," he whispered in Hogan's ear. "But don't tell the colonel."
"I won't," replied Hogan grimly.
Came the morning, and LeBeau's cough had apparently been laid to rest at last. The hangover, however, showed signs of laying him up for the entire day. Newkirk was in no better shape.
"If that was the good stuff, the bad stuff must be lethal," remarked Kinch. "Do you think they'll make it to roll-call?"
"They'd better," said Hogan, regarding the sufferers with displeasure.
Silence fell across the barracks at the tone of his voice. Carter was the first to break it.
"You know, guys," he said, "I know a really good hangover cure..."