LeBeau's panic was immediate and obvious. "You can't be serious, mon colonel! I cannot build this bomb by myself! That was not the agreement!"

Hogan shrugged. "I get it, but Louis, look at it this way. What choice do you have?"

Although he was worried about Carter, Newkirk couldn't help it. He grinned at LeBeau, "Well, mate, just pretend you're baking a big soufflé. That ought to 'elp!"

LeBeau cocked an eyebrow at his friend and stepped over to the table. "I suppose you are right, Pierre. But if this soufflé explodes, I want no complaints. Do not say I did not warn you!" Mumbling in French, he began assembling the outer components of the bomb, alternately cursing and praying for his friend lying in the infirmary.

~HH~

Wilson was becoming deeply concerned about his patient. Carter had still not fully regained consciousness since they had brought him to the infirmary. He had roused somewhat, but seemed disoriented. He could not seem to place where he was or what had happened. His vision was exactly the same as it had been before—vague shadows, nothing more. He could only pray it was just the aftereffects of the concussion sorting themselves out. If it was anything more serious…well, Joe was very capable, but he was not a neurosurgeon.

In a way, it wasn't fair, Joe mused. He was still so mad at the kid, he could cheerfully shake him…but he was in no shape for it right now. And so, as always, Joe put a tight lid on his emotions, and went back to going over Carter's extensive medical file. The sheer size of it made him chuckle for a moment. If Joe hadn't already believed in miracles, this kid would definitely have done it for him. He must have run through a dozen guardian angels by now.

~HH~

Louis LeBeau was no longer muttering about anything. He had been working steadily now for several hours on assembling the wiring of the bomb. He had gained a new respect for his American friend. Andre' made it all look so easy, and yet Louis felt as if he were back working as un commis at Maxim's in Paris…confident and somehow incompetent at the same time. He had always under the eagle eye of his chef de partie, as he had been a junior cook reporting to his senior chef. It had been at Maxim's that he had learned to function under pressure, a skill he was still perfecting.

Several nerve-wracking hours later, LeBeau had finally finished assembling the bomb, and was ready to begin the actual detonator. It was early morning, so Hogan called a halt to the procedure, since it would soon be time for roll call. They placed Carter's box over the table-top, and everyone made their way into their bunks, although they would be one man short for the morning count. Hogan, as always, had already come up with a plan to explain Carter's absence. He had sent Olsen over to the Infirmary with a message for Wilson an hour before roll call. Wilson had in turn assured Hogan that Carter was resting and he was keeping an eye on him.

When the familiar shouts of "Raus, raus!" sounded a short time later, the men began their normal round of grousing. Schultz smacked Newkirk on the shoulder, which was also a part of the routine. The big guard suddenly noticed the empty bunk below his, and frowned. "Was is los?" He asked in alarm. "Where is Carter?"

Hogan moved quickly to his side. "Nothing to be alarmed about, Schultz. Carter just had a bad dream last night and fell out of bed. I had Wilson look at him, and he took him back to the infirmary, just to be safe. You can check with Wilson if you want."

The guard frowned. "That poor boy. I will check on him after roll call."

He was so distracted, he never even noticed the box covering most of the table. "Hurry up, now. Let's go, all of you." The men all hurried to obey, not wanting to give Schultz any reason to look around the barracks any more than necessary.

~HH~

Once roll call was over, the men returned to the barracks with a minimum of fuss, and LeBeau returned to work immediately. Hogan had decided to relieve Louis of his normal duties, as chef and Dieter ended up fixing breakfast. He treated his barracks mates to Swedish pancakes, and much to LeBeau's consternation, wound up making a triple batch, which were immediate inhaled by the hungry men. The one thing Dieter truly regretted was that he was not able to serve them with the traditional lingonberry sauce, but the men enjoyed them all the same. Even LeBeau, at Hogan's insistence took a few minutes to eat, and grudgingly admitted that, while they were not Crepes Suzettes, they were tolerable.

After breakfast, most of the men found other places to be. Whether out of nervousness over the next part of LeBeau's task, or because it was a decent day outside, was arguable. The ones who stayed nearby were the core team, which was not surprising, and Olsen and Foster. The bunkmates were close friends, who spent most of the time Olsen was in camp together. Foster had taken some pre-med courses in college and therefore occasionally acted as Wilson's assistant when the need arose. Now, the two lounged on Foster's bunk, Olsen quietly strumming his guitar, his back propped against the wall. Foster was knitting another in the endless pairs of socks he and Carter supplied to the men.

Gingerly, Louis bent to the task of assembling the remote detonator. He had only a basic idea, from Carter's previous instructions, of what he was doing. He knew what not to do, and as he worked, it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps much of Andrew's genius with explosives was simply knowing what not to do…

As he reached the final stages, he supposed he would know very quickly, (and very briefly) if he did it wrong. He wondered if his guardian angel would be as protective as Carter's seemed to be…but then, he was not particularly religious, so he supposed he should not count on that chance.

Hogan stepped over to him as Louis stopped to stretch a moment. "How's it going?"

"It is nearly finished. How well I have done?" He shrugged, his tired eyes sad. "That remains to be seen. I only wish Andrew could have built it, mon colonel."

Hogan nodded. "I know, Louis."

~HH~

At that moment, they all heard the trapdoor beneath the sink open. Foster and Olsen moved the sink, and Joe Wilson pulled himself up into the room. He was smiling.

Hogan moved over to him quickly.

"Joe?"

The medic held up a cautionary hand.

"He's better. The dizziness and disorientation he was experiencing seem to be diminishing. The headache is easing up. I'm gonna keep a very close eye on him this time, no matter what he says. He is not getting out of there any time soon, even if I have to chain him down."

Newkirk spoke up. "What about his eyes?"

"Still shadowy, I'm afraid. But remember, it hasn't been that long. I still expect he will make a full recovery…. In fact, this incident may actually be a sign that things are starting to change. We'll just have to wait and see."

~TBC~