Author's note: Well, I received an overwhelming response to include the scene I had deleted from the main fic, and I was incredibly proud of the said scene, so I gave in to temptation and made it part of this chapter. I was originally going to keep the supernatural elements separate from the main fic, but… I'm going to go ahead, be daring, and post the whole thing on here. To those who aren't fans of the supernatural, I apologize in advance.
The basic concept of the Soul Room isn't mine; it and the Egyptian character (and his low opinions of friendship) are borrowed from another one of my fandoms. However, I came up with the layout of Newkirk's Soul Room, and what the items inside were, along with their significance. Ma'at and Ammit, mentioned in this chapter, are two ancient Egyptian deities; Ma'at was the winged goddess of Righteousness, and Ammit was a creature who ate the souls of the wicked.
The Egyptian scanned the eyes of the men. He sensed deception in a lot of their souls as he walked down the line. But it was to be expected, of course—they were captured soldiers, and would likely be planning secrets of how to fight back. Let them fight, he decided; they were fighting for a good cause, unlike this Hochstetter. It sickened him to turn to Hochstetter for help in retrieving the lost item. The Egyptian had sensed the evil in the major's heart immediately—an evil that was eclipsed only by the evil of those Hochstetter blindly served.
If I fed their souls to Ammit the Devourer as they deserved, poor Ammit would fall ill.
The man felt tainted, having gone to Hochstetter for help. But it was his duty to retrieve the items at any cost. Ma'at would surely understand, he hoped, as he continued inspecting the soldiers. She would also hopefully understand why he had been forced to infiltrate the wretched smuggling ring, as well.
He was distracted as his gaze fell on Newkirk. Ah, yes—here was the thief from last night, without a doubt!
But I must make sure; I shall use heka to look into his mind—his Soul Room. Then I can prepare what judgment I can pass on him.
Time did indeed seem to stop as the man used the ancient heka to unlock the true room of Newkirk's soul. The Egyptian looked around the room, which was fashioned into a small London nightclub—a Union Jack was hanging over a stage, upon which was a table full of simple magic tricks. A large, framed photograph of a younger, brown-haired girl was on the wall. The streets of London were visible outside the many windows in the room.
The windows are a sign of how much he longs for his freedom, the man realized.
He began to walk around the Soul Room, taking note of the lighting differed in the different areas of the room.
The light represents his joys and happiness; the dark represents his fears and regrets. The stage is lit, as is the English flag; he takes great joy in performing and holds an admirable pride in his country and his king. This young lady's photograph is also lit; judging by her features, she must be related to him, and he cares for her deeply.
The Egyptian turned away from the picture of Mavis and proceeded to a darkened corner of the room. He was surprised to find stacks of money, jewelry, and the three missing Egyptian artifacts on a table. Also, there was a picture of Gretel.
Intriguing… the thief carries the weight of his ill-gotten gains on his soul; he is not proud of his loot. And the woman in this picture must have caused him to do something he regretted.
There was another object near the table of loot—a picture of an older woman. A dim light illuminated it.
Ah, I see. He lost his mother and regrets that he wasn't able to help her. Her loss weighs on his soul, as well. He knows that she would not approve of his thievery; that appears to be one of the reasons why he takes no pride in it.
He turned away from this corner, and an odd object by the far wall of the Soul Room caught the man's attention. It seemed highly out-of-place in a London nightclub.
This… this is one of the bunk beds from his prison barracks, he realized. And it is illuminated by the light! But why would a man who loves his country and yearns for his freedom take joy in a bunk bed from his prison barracks?
As he approached the bunk bed, he received his answer—the bottom bunk rose up, revealing the trapdoor and tunnel. The tunnel, too, was brightly illuminated; the Egyptian could see the radio room, the racks of disguises, and all of the other goodies down there. Also visible were more framed photographs.
He risks his life to serve his country and king from his prison, the man realized, visibly impressed. Perhaps there is more to this man than I first suspected, but it still does not excuse his crimes against Ma'at.
The man now took a closer look at the photographs in the tunnel—photographs of some of the men he had just seen in the barracks. This meant nothing to him; the thief clearly held these people close to him, but in the man's opinion, friendship was just an expression of a person's weakness. He had expect that a soldier, of all people, should know that one can only depend on oneself, but this thief-turned-soldier was either naïve or a fool to place his trust in others.
The Egyptian walked away from the tunnel and proceeded to the last, darkened corner of the Soul Room. Of all of the dark areas of the Soul Room, this corner was the darkest.
His deepest fears will be hidden in this corner of the room, he said to himself. Let me see what they are…
The corner seemed to go on forever—a sign of how deeply the Englishman buried his fears. But, at last, the man's hand found a photograph—a photograph that would represent the fear he so desperately wished to conceal.
The photograph's contents had not been what the Egyptian expected. The photograph appeared to be of a funeral parlor. On one side of the photograph was a civilian's coffin; the lid was open, revealing the ashen face of the young woman from the other photograph. On the other side of this photograph, a line of closed, military coffins were present, all but one of them draped with an American flag. The last one, shorter than the others, was draped with a French flag.
The man understood the thief's fear of losing the girl; she was family. But he could not fathom why the thief feared losing his comrades just as much when he had only known them for a few years.
He fears the deaths of his comrades more than his own? Does he not realize that friendship is nothing but an illusion for the weak? Does he truly believe that his concern for them is returned? The fool! His wanton concern for his barracks-mates will be his undoing, mark my words…
He placed the photograph back into the shadows and withdrew from the Soul Room, once again glaring into the corporal's eyes. He was none the wiser, unaware that the man had found out everything about him.
He suspected nothing; Newkirk still stood there, waiting for the ax to fall.
"Well?" Hochstetter prompted. "Do you recognize any of the men?"
The Egyptian shut his eyes for a moment, determining what to do. He did not wish to let Hochstetter succeed, either. He opened his eyes, and exchanged a brief glance with the member of the smuggling ring.
"No, Herr Major, I do not. Shall we take a look in the other barracks?"
"No," Hochstetter scowled, disappointed. "If they aren't in these barracks, they will not be in any of the other ones." He glared at Hogan, who once again responded with a cool glance that gave the impression that nothing could faze him.
"I told you, Major Hochstetter, no one ever escapes from Stalag 13," Klink grinned, pleased that the major had been proven wrong once again. "I knew right from the beginning that it couldn't be one of my prisoners—"
"Klink, shut up," the major sneered. "If you want something worthwhile to do, instruct these men to help clear the snow off of the Hammelburg Road; traffic is finding it difficult to move with the sudden snowfall."
The Egyptian's eyes narrowed, intrigued.
"Rest assured, I will have a work detail attend to the matter at once," Klink insisted. He, along with the entire barracks, braced themselves against the cold as Hochstetter opened the door to exit, the two men following behind him.
"Kommandant, I hope you don't intend to force us to clear the Hammelburg Road," Hogan said, his eyes narrowing. "I don't have to remind you about the Geneva Convention's rules of how prisoners of war aren't required to perform manual labor. And with weather like this—"
"I know the rules, Hogan," Klink said, annoyed. "I intend to reward the brave individuals who volunteer with an extra blanket each."
"And a hot meal," Hogan insisted.
"Fine, fine—a hot meal, as well…"
"And a hot water bottle, too."
"Hogan!"
"Sorry, Men; I tried…"
"Herr Kommandant, since I will be guarding the men, do I get a hot meal, too?" Schultz inquired.
"Oh, shut up…"
The promise of extra blankets and hot food seemed to convince some of the men that a little bit of shoveling snow might be worth it. A relieved Newkirk was among the volunteers; perhaps a little bit of time out in the cold would neutralize the sweat pouring down his back. And with Newkirk volunteering, Carter and LeBeau did, also; there were ten volunteers in total.
"Have the volunteers ready in fifteen minutes," Klink instructed. He and Schultz headed out into the cold.
It was only after they had left that Newkirk collapsed onto Carter's bunk.
"Cor," he whispered. "I thought I was done in that time."
"He sure gave you the eye," Carter said, with a shake of his head.
"The eye? Blimey, I thought 'e was staring right into me!" Newkirk sighed.
"We got lucky this time," said Hogan. "But what puzzles me is who they were; Hochstetter treated them as civilians. Why would they be dodging Germans last night and then report to them today?"
LeBeau and Carter both glanced at Newkirk, silently exchanging glances with him.
"All right, what's going on?" Hogan asked.
"And what's the deal with that book you were so keen on hiding?" Kinch added.
"There ain't any chance of me getting away with it any further," Newkirk realized. "Sir, I don't think they came 'ere to turn us in; there was… something in the book, as it were. I reckon they were desperate to get it back."
"I'm probably going to regret asking this, but what was it they wanted?" Hogan asked.
"Well, Sir, maybe you'd better see for yourself," the Englishman responded, opening the trapdoor.
The cashbox was dug up and opened once they were underground; Hogan took one look before speaking his mind.
"Newkirk, are you completely insane?"
"In me own defense, Sir, I 'ad no idea what was in that book when I took it…"
"I don't believe this," Kinch murmured. "I see it, but I don't believe it."
"Just how long were you planning to keep this secret?" Baker asked.
"Until I couldn't 'old out any longer," Newkirk admitted. "I reckon I should've expected that those blokes would want to recover something like this, but I never expected that they'd trace it 'ere to Stalag 13." He shrugged his shoulders. "What should I do, Sir?"
"You're going to get rid of those artifacts right away," Hogan said. "Schultz and Langenscheidt are probably going to be the only guards out there with ten men on a day like this. LeBeau, I want you, Carter, and Olsen to distract them long enough for Newkirk to bury those things by the side of the road; keep track of where they are. I'll contact the Underground and have them recover the artifacts tonight; they'll be on their way to a safe house, where they'll be stored until the end of the war."
"Easy come, easy go," Newkirk sighed. "I really don't think I would've kept them; Louis and Andrew were beginning to make sense."
"Just get that gold out of here," Hogan said, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"Better put them in here," said Carter, handing Newkirk a small sack to keep them in.
"Right-o," the Englishman responded. He placed the sack full of artifacts in one of the deep pockets of his RAF-issue overcoat. "We'd better get going; old Schultzie will be waiting."
Hogan sat down on one of the benches in the tunnels as Newkirk led Carter, LeBeau, and Olsen out, suppressing a sigh. There may never have been an escape at Stalag 13, but there certainly had never been a dull day, either.
Hogan's prediction of Schultz and Langenscheidt being the only guards willing to go out in the cold had been correct. The two guards kept their eyes on the men as they began to clear the snow off of the road.
"We've got a problem," Carter said, looking around. "Every spot looks the same; how are we supposed to keep track of the place where we hide those things?"
"I'll draw a ruddy 'X' over it with me shovel," Newkirk countered, tossing a few shovelfuls of snow off of the road.
"Very funny; you know we cannot return to camp with them," LeBeau said, rolling his eyes. He flinched as the wind kicked up, blowing more snow from the ground.
"Yeah, the colonel would be furious," Olsen agreed. "Maybe we could use a tree as a landmark."
"Yeah, but they all look the same," Carter said, glancing around. "They're all covered with snow! I think we'd be better off having someone…" He trailed off as Schultz ambled towards them. "Here he comes. Langenscheidt is watching the others; we may as well bury the stuff here and put a few rocks nearby."
The others nodded, pretending to act nonchalant as Schultz approached them.
"I don't suppose that after this is all over, you can spare me some of your coffee?" the big man pleaded. "Please? I cannot remember the last time I had to be in this kind of weather."
"Listen to 'im," Newkirk said, with a mock shake of his head. "Schultzie's supposed to be one of the toughest guards at Stalag 13, and 'e can't even take a little cold…"
"A little cold? Newkirk, the weather report says that this is one of the worst cold spells we have had in years."
"You know, Schultz, if anyone should be complaining about the cold, it's Louis," Carter said. "You've got all that blubber to keep you warm. But just look at poor Louis; he's skinny as a rail and small enough to get stuck in even the smallest snowdrift! Do you see him complaining?"
"That's right; I have not complained!" LeBeau said, as Newkirk began to back away ever so casually and started to dig the small hole by the side of the road. "And just look at my poor hands!"
The Frenchman pulled his gloves off and held his hands out to Schultz.
"Careful!" Carter said, as Schultz moved to examine them. "You don't want his fingers to fall off!"
"Oh, no!" Schultz agreed. "Without his fingers, he cannot cook!"
"Are they all there?" LeBeau asked, turning his face away. "Oh, I am afraid to look!"
"Gee, it's hard to tell with all the snow blowing around," said Carter. "Olsen, what do you think?"
"Hmm…" the dark-haired sergeant said. "Well, I think they're all there… for now."
"For now?" LeBeau echoed, in mock-horror.
"Yeah. I'm not a medic like Wilson, of course, so what do I know?" Olsen asked. "Maybe they'll be fine if you put those gloves back on."
"Ja, ja—put your gloves back on," said Schultz. "Here, I will help you…"
LeBeau had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as Schultz slid the gloves back on his hands.
"Maybe LeBeau should have another pair of gloves on, just in case," Carter said. "You know, you can't be too careful when you're dealing with frostbite. My mom always said—"
"Ja, maybe you can wear my gloves over yours," Schultz said, cutting him off. He started to remove his own gloves. "Would you also like to borrow one of my extra overcoats?"
"Oh, it is best if I don't," LeBeau said, pretending to give it some thought.
"Yeah," Carter agreed. "Poor little Louis might get lost for a week in one of your overcoats, Schultz."
"We couldn't have that; Colonel Hogan would be furious!" Olsen added.
Newkirk, in the meantime, had come close to completing the hole. Neither he, the others, nor Schultz noticed the small truck driving towards them, near the other end of the detail, where Langenscheidt was standing. The truck was fashioned much like Schnitzer's dog truck—two metal doors in the back of the truck were closed by a bolt.
The truck paused several yards away from the work detail. The sound caused Langenscheidt to turn, and he was surprised to see the same two men that Hochstetter had brought with him earlier.
"Guten Morgen," he said, puzzled, as the men got out of the truck and walked towards him. "Can I help you?"
"You can, Chum," the gruff one replied, his accent now English again. Without warning, he seized the rifle from the stunned corporal.
Langenscheidt cried out as the Egyptian man pressed his fingers on his neck, seeking his pressure points. The corporal dropped to the ground like a stone within seconds, unconscious.
"Was? Was?" Schultz exclaimed, distracted by Langenscheidt's cry. He gasped, seeing the gruff man pointing the corporal's rifle at him.
"All of you, get down on the ground and put your hands over your heads," the man ordered. "You, Sergeant—drop your weapon!"
"It-It isn't even loaded!" the big man stammered, but he obeyed anyway, getting down on the ground. The prisoners followed suit, not even sure of what to make of this.
"No one move," the man ordered. He turned to the Egyptian man and gave him a silent nod.
The man's feet made hardly any sound as he walked across the snowy road, glaring down at the cowering prisoners. One or two shuddered involuntarily from a mixture of fear and the cold. He arrived where Newkirk was lying; the shovel he had been using was still beside him.
His expression unchanging, the man bent down, placing his fingers on Newkirk's neck in the same way he had done to Langenscheidt. The Englishman was unconscious before he could even utter a sound. The Egyptian man took him, artifacts and all, and dragged him towards the smuggler. He silently nodded, assuring him that the corporal did indeed have the treasures on his person.
"You men stay like that for the next five minutes," the gruff smuggler ordered Schultz and the prisoners.
"Ja-Ja," Schultz stammered. "We-we will not move for five minutes!"
The man did not reply, taking Langenscheidt's rifle with him as he helped the Egyptian drag the unconscious corporal away.
LeBeau, however, was not about to listen to the men. He was the first one to dare to take a look around once he heard the truck pull away, and he immediately noticed his missing companion.
"They took Pierre!" he whispered, quietly.
Only Carter heard him, and the sergeant lifted his head in horror, a brief look around confirming the Frenchman's words.
