VII Lonely are the Brave
The storm was nearer now. The thunder sounded like war. The rain leaked through the tiles of the old roof. Carter barely noticed people coming and going, carrying loads of clothes and other things. His attention was on Newkirk's elaborate breathing.
The fever had given him almost an hour of restless dreams. He covered his ears to the thunder and yelled at the shadows. Carter kept washing his forehead with fresh water. Sometimes, Newkirk seemed to respond and stare at him, but then, his eyes drifted back into the nightmares. Carter was losing what he had left of his positive temper. He talked to his friend but his words did not seem to reach him.
"Please, Newkirk, don't you die on me..." Carter whispered. "Don't you dare to die on me now."
"Go back... go back..." Newkirk rolled his head violently. "Take cover... " Thunder resounded on the walls and he screamed. "Carter!"
Carter grabbed him by the wrists looking some awareness on him. "I'm here. I'm all right... Newkirk?" He kept his voice down.
Sabina came with more water and clean bandages. She sat down with him while Carter cleaned and dressed his friend's wound. He refreshed Newkirk's brow and chest but the fever did not seem to come down.
"He's brave, he'll make it." She smiled as thought that were her only way of telling him that things would be all right. "I have to watch the baby, but I'll be back later."
Carter was too sad to respond. For the first time since he had been captured, he wanted to leave. But it was not like when he had received that Dear John letter * and he had almost begged to be sent back home. Now, he just wanted to disappear. Go away, as far as possible; away from the war, from its injustice, from the upside down world he was living in... He curled up in his chair, hugging his knees and staring at one distant wall.
His mind was just setting into a more peaceful picture when one hand reached him out.
"Andrew..." Newkirk's voice came in a whisper. His blue eyes were half opened but completely aware of his friend sitting next to his bed.
Carter could have cried but he restrained himself. He squeezed Newkirk's hand and tried to smile. "Boy, you got me worried for a moment. Are you back for good?"
Newkirk took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I think so... yes..."
Carter wiped Newkirk's forehead before replacing a wet cloth. He was grateful but deep inside there was still a feeling of despair. He needed to talk about the things that were happening. He wanted Newkirk to come up with the answers; to tell him what to do. But he did not know where to start, his friend was in no condition to solve the simplest problems of the world. The Englishman turned to look at him again. He frowned. Carter grimaced. His face was too readable.
"What's wrong?" Newkirk asked.
"Nothing," he lied. "Go to sleep."
"Carter..."
"Do you want something? Water? I'll bring you some, okay? Sleep." He rushed out.
What an act of cowardice, he thought. Running away from his best friend when he needed him the most. But there was no much more he could do. If he stayed, he would probably tell Newkirk about everything that was happening. That would not help anyone. Newkirk was fighting for his life, he did not need more situations to deal with. That was Carter's job now.
He found Sabina in the hallway. She was dragging an old bag bigger than her. She stopped to brush her bangs off her forehead and smiled. "Newkirk is fine?"
"Yeah, better." He lifted the bag on his shoulder. "Where are you taking this?"
The girl led the way outside where two small trucks were parked. Women and men were loading their belongings while the children played. Carter stared at them. Milena came out with some boxes and nodded at him.
"Is the fever coming down?"
"A little. Are you going anywhere?" Carter asked.
"It's time to leave," she said. "You may stay in the house. It was abandoned when we arrived, I don't think anyone will come soon. There's no electrical power, but there's plenty of water in the well."
"But where are you going?"
"We'll try to cross the Swiss border in a couple of days. We're leaving at midnight. Since we found the man we were looking for, there's nothing else to hold us here."
Carter turned to the house. "Dalibor? You're taking him with you?"
"That's why we came all this way, my friend." Anton came from behind and Carter jumped. The man laughed. "You're a funny young man. Take care. I suppose I have to thank you for getting him for us, or maybe apologize for taking him from you." He laughed some more.
Carter did not say anything. That man scared him too much. He looked at his watch, there was not much time left. Perhaps Newkirk should know about this, or maybe not. He sighed. This was one of those moments that did not come in the manual. Why was he a sergeant? He was supposed to make decisions on his own? He was not a leader. He worked better as a follower...
He went back into the house. Newkirk must be back to sleep... He chuckled, sure, right. Tell the man to do something and he will do the opposite. He entered the laundry room and found an empty bed. He looked around.
"Newkirk!" Carter squinted in the shadows. "What the hell are you doing? Come back to bed, now!"
"If I go back to bed, I won't be able to get up again." Newkirk walked towards him with a clean shirt he had fetched from the laundry room. He shook at every step and his breathing was shallow. "You never came back... Something's going on, isn't it?"
"Newkirk, this is not good. You have no idea of how sick you are."
"I'm fine. This is not me first gunshot, you know?" He stumbled and had to lean on a small table.
"Newkirk, go back to bed, please." Carter found a softer and calmer mood this time.
"Something's going on." Newkirk duplicated the polite tone while trying the shirt on. "What is it? It's the gypsies? Dalibor's still alive?"
"Go back to bed, please."
"Carter." Newkirk tried to raise his voice but he could only gasp. "Tell me what's going on."
"Nothing, everything's okay. Now, go back to bed. Please!"
"I see people moving around. You know what's happening. Why don't you tell me?" The effort he spent on the last question seemed to drain him. He did not fall because Carter had anticipated it. He caught him with one hand on his shoulder.
"Newkirk, please. Why do you do this to yourself? You need to rest. Your wound is serious."
"Sod the wound! Carter," Newkirk grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. "If you don't tell me what the bloody hell is going on, I'll put you in critical condition!"
The sergeant had to step back a little. Newkirk's eyes glowed with the fever. He shook his head. "They're leaving tonight... and they're taking Dalibor with them." Suddenly, he was angry too. He glared and pointed at Newkirk with his finger. "And you never use that tone with me again!"
Newkirk let him go. He was embarrassed for the outburst. "I'm sorry... I- I don't know what came over me..." He straightened up and took a deep breath. He stared at Carter and snorted. "Where did you get those clothes?"
"A present, they don't like German uniforms very much," Carter said.
"Why was it so hard for you to tell me about their leaving?"
Carter went to sit on a chair. He kept his eyes on the floor and shrugged. "That man Dalibor is a monster, Newkirk. He- hurt these people very much and-"
"You thought it would be easier letting them have their revenge than taking him with us."
"You're not surprised? You knew?"
Newkirk leaned against the wall. "No, but it's easy to guess. This sodden war is full of monsters, Carter. And not all of them will be punished. If you look for justice, this might the wrong war for you."
"So? What can we do, then? We're only two against ten men." Carter shook his head. "And the women, I think they know how to shoot too."
"The gov'nor put you in charge because he trusts your good judgement. I'll do whatever you want me to," Newkirk grinned. "But you'll have to give all the explanations, then."
"For every action, there is a reaction." Cater shook his head. "I don't know, Newkirk. I was hoping for you to give me some answers."
"Ask yourself the question: What would Colonel Hogan do?"
"Oh, that's easy... I think." Carter blinked as though the ideas were hurting his brain. "He would take the man... No, he would let them take the man... Right?"
Newkirk rubbed the back of his neck. He was tired and in too much pain to engage long conversations. "Carter, we have to take that man to the airstrip." He sighed. "As much as I'd love to see that ruddy bastard getting what he deserves, we've got to put him in that plane tomorrow. That's what we came all this way for. There are no options."
Carter felt rather relieved because there was a course of action to follow. That was not exactly the answer he was hoping, though. They were on the losing side. "Okay, let's say we do that... How?"
"What time is it?"
"Almost eight. They leave at midnight."
"We need to get out of here as soon as possible." Newkirk ignored the pain and the chills to concentrate on a plan. "What did you see outside?"
"Two trucks. Not too big, loaded with stuff." Carter said. "And the small car they used to bring us here, remember?"
"I was on me way to a concert at the Albert Hall at that time, Andrew. I can't bloody remember a thing." Newkirk almost smiled. "We need to neutralize those trucks. Can you do that?"
"I-I guess-"
"Blimey, Carter. You guess or you can?"
"Yes, yes I can neutralize the trucks... When?"
"Now is a jolly good time."
Carter stood up. "And what are you going to do in the meantime?
"I'll look for our man and I'll meet you outside. Do you know where he is?" Newkirk tried to steady himself with just one hand against the wall. He was suddenly dizzy and almost fell down.
Carter held him on his feet and led him back to the bed. "I'll fix the trucks, and then, we'll both go for the man, okay?" Carter stared at him. "You wait here. Don't move from the bed. Do you hear me?"
Newkirk saluted him with a grin. "Be waiting right here, Serge... Hurry."
Oo-HH-oO
Lorenz was not a tourist town. It was rather industrial. In war times, most of the fabrics and warehouses had been put at the service of the Regimen. This had caused the city to be a regular target for the RAF. The local government asked the Gestapo to set their local headquarters in Lorenz to discourage chaos and protect the factories and other buildings from sabotage. Curfew had also become routine by now.
LeBeau sat in the driver's seat of Klink's rented car absently staring at the darkened streets. The Gestapo had secured the explosion site and made everything look like an accident. LeBeau did not care how or why they had covered it up, his only concern was that Carter and Newkirk would be okay.
Hogan opened the door. "All the casualties in the building have been properly identified. No outsiders whatsoever."
"That's a relief." LeBeau started the engine. "Where to now, Colonel?"
"How's your shoulder?"
"Stiff, but I can drive. And your ankle?"
"Swollen, don't make me run the extra mile," Hogan grinned. "We'll take the road to Freihalleberg. We'll follow our friends' steps and let's hope they didn't get involved in any accident on the road."
"You don't think Newkirk and Carter are involved, do you?"
"I'll leave the odds to Newkirk, he's the gambler. But so far so good," Hogan said. "If it's just a simple car crash without any connection with our friends, we may assume that the mission is still on and we just go back to the Stalag."
"If it is not a simple accident?"
"That's why we carry our music box (1)with us. Just in case something else comes up." Hogan smiled. "I'm confident, LeBeau. I trust my men to overcome any obstacle."
The site of the crash was illuminated but most of the debris had been removed. Hogan and LeBeau got out the car to examine even small particles on the ground. Hogan would have liked to get there sooner when all evidence was still fresh. At night, it was hard just to find where the car had actually crashed. LeBeau walked around with his eyes on the grass and a prayer not to finding anything. Hogan directed his flashlight towards a pile of junk nearby, and he sighed.
"LeBeau, do you recognize that door?"
The car was upside down, windows shattered and bullet holes in several places. The door in question was right in front of them. It had letters scratched over it and covered with cheap paint that the constant rain had began to wash away. The letters formed the words Lafayette!
"La vache! I keyed that door myself last week." LeBeau shook his head. "It's Klink's car."
"What's left of it, at least." Hogan could not be more disappointed. "I knew it was going to be no picnic."
LeBeau looked around for some more evidence of their friend's presence. "There are blood stains everywhere." He could not hide his concern.
"Let's not anticipate anything. There were three casualties here and all were also identified. But I'll call Kinch to put everything on hold until we locate our men."
"Okay, there are tracks of some other vehicle going that way." LeBeau pointed at the open field. "Shall we follow them, sir?"
Hogan nodded. They got in the car and resumed their way.
Oo-HH-oO
Newkirk drank from a bowl of soup under Sabina's watchful eye. The girl had come to see him right after Carter went out. He was ready to leave, but she did not seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere else. He took a sip only to please her.
"You must eat," she said with a resolute grin.
"Not quite hungry, luv." He smiled.
Sabina checked Newkirk's temperature on his cheek and shook her head. "You still have fever, you must eat."
"Later, all right?" Newkirk stood up and groaned. He shuddered in pain and cold.
Sabina ran to the other room and brought back a jacket. "Are you cold, Newkirk?"
"Thanks, lassie. You're so sweet." He put it on and walked to the door.
The girl came after him and pulled his sleeve. "You must go to bed! You're sick."
Newkirk turned to her and gently claimed his arm. "Listen, luv. I need to walk, why don't you go on packing? Seems you've got a lot to take with you."
Sabina held the cup-and-ball toy against her chest. "I hate packing, we're always packing... Can I stay with you?"
Newkirk was too busy keeping himself from passing out to pay attention to the girl following him. He went to the main door to see how Carter was doing. He shook his head to clear his mind. The fever had slowed down but he still had the chills. Suddenly, he spotted some weapons in the kitchen. He turned on his heels and almost tumbled on Sabina.
"Sabina, you must have better things to do." He had to make an effort to stay steady on his feet. He had an idea. "Eh... I need water." Newkirk smiled. "Would you get me one glass, please?"
The girl ran into the kitchen and he followed her. He managed to sneak behind her to examine the arsenal closely. Several weapons of different kinds were spread on the table waiting to be organized and distributed. With all the moving flow they remained unsupervised. Newkirk grabbed two pistols and hid them in his belt under the jacket.
"Newkirk!" Sabina said. The Englander jumped and turned. Completely ignorant of what he had just done, she gave him the glass of water. One small grin from him and the girl giggled.
Carter kept a watchful eye on the people coming and going. Someone had opened the hoods to check that the old engines would endure several miles. Carter walked slowly among this very busy group. No one seemed to pay much attention to what he was doing when he climbed up to see under the hood of the first truck. He had to remember Kinch's lessons on mechanics. The second truck was not difficult either, although one of the boys came closer to see.
"What you doing, Carter?" Johan asked. He had been watching his little brother Emil. A three year-old toddler playing with a teddy bear on a blanket spread on the ground. After a while, he decided that whatever Carter was doing must be more interesting than all the packing.
"Oh, hi, Johan, where's you other brother... Pavel?" Carter leaned casually on the hood of the second truck.
"He's somewhere in the house." Johan shrugged. "What are those things?" He pointed at Carter's hand.
"Nothing, just something I picked up from a pile of junk." He stammered. "I- I collect junk."
"Really? I collect rocks!" Johan's face glowed. "I had a big collection, but it was too heavy to take it with me. Do you want me to show you what I got?"
"Sure, why don't you go and bring it here." Carter smiled. Then, he felt like the lowest creature in the world. He had just lied to a child. He went back to his task of sabotage and finished just when the boy was coming back. The sergeant took time to admire Johan's rock collection and talk a little about nothing in particular.
After several minutes dodging Sabina, Newkirk could finally go outside to meet Carter. The sergeant's guilty look proclaimed that he had done a great job.
"No one saw you?" Newkirk asked.
"They didn't notice me at all. Well, only that kid..." Carter shook his head. "Gosh, I hate deceiving people."
"You do it all the time when impersonating officers, and planting bombs about."
"That's different, I know these people by their names."
Newkirk tried to understand. He had been a deceiver for too many years to care much about faces and much less their names. He had friends but the job was always a priority. He handed Carter one of the guns. Just to see the expression on his face made Newkirk mad. "Not a word, Carter. You don't have to fire it, it's just for intimidation, all right? Now, let's get Dalibor." He turned to the sergeant again. "And don't drop it, or misplace it or throw it away."
TBC
Lonely Are The Brave (1962)
* Request Permission to Escape, season 1 episode 32
(1) portable radio
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