Author's notes: Here is where the significance of the fic title finally begins to come into play. I'm not trying to imply any sort of supernatural/telepathic thing going on; rather, I believe that after knowing each other for so long and being in situations where they would not be able to talk, LeBeau and Newkirk would be pretty fluent in nonverbal communication.
Newkirk put on a look of disapproval as he entered Mullenberg's office. Major Vulsor cast Newkirk a disapproving look of his own; his disguise was convincing enough to fool the American, who slipped out to his barracks.
"General von Siedelberg will not be pleased to hear of how you have been running things," Newkirk said, in German. The less he spoke in English, the better it would be. "Did you have authorization to interrogate prisoners in such a manner?"
"Of course I did," Mullenberg lied, but speaking as though he felt insulted. "Do you think I would dare to do so otherwise?"
Newkirk didn't answer, picking up the small bottle of serum from the table, trying to read the indecipherable list of ingredients. Though he remained outwardly calm, his blood boiled as he thought of LeBeau having information pried out of him like this. Considering that what he had to let slip would mean the deaths of all of them, it was all Newkirk could do to stop himself from going against Hogan's orders and sneaking the Frenchman out. Even if it could be considered extenuating circumstances, Hogan's fury would know no bounds if Newkirk went against his orders yet again.
Blimey, what now? I'm dead if I get Louis out, and dead if that ruddy drug makes him talk. But more than that, Louis is dead, too.
He would have to get back to Hogan and tell him what was going on; the sad fact of the matter was that he could not handle this on his own, in spite of however much he wanted to believe he could. He would find some way to ruin it, just as he had managed to ruin everything else.
Mullenberg suddenly pulled the bottle of serum from Newkirk's hand, bringing him to reality. The Englishman quickly picked up where he had left off.
"There seems to be quite a bit of funny business going on around here," Newkirk said. "Even more so than Stalag 13. I think the general himself might like to take a look here; he hasn't forgotten your embarrassing mass escape."
"There is no need to get the general involved, surely. And we have taken extra precautions to ensure that there are no more escapes; we have combed the entire compound for tunnels and have doubled the guard at the wire."
"A good start," Newkirk replied. "But pardon my impudence, Colonel, when I say that it is not up to me; the general must be satisfied. By your permission, Colonel, I would like to continue with my inspection."
"Please, go right ahead; you can inspect every in of this camp. After you are finished, I do hope that you can join me for lunch; I have a most marvelous chef."
"And do you think he will be as good a chef after being drugged?" Newkirk asked, sounding a lot colder than he had intended. "Ah, forgive me, Colonel; it is not my place to question your decisions. Hopefully, the general will approve."
He saluted Mullenberg, who returned the salute. Newkirk was pleased to see that the colonel was in a state of discomfiture. He had successfully stirred him up, as Hogan had ordered.
Newkirk decided that he could best pull this off by making surprise inspections on a few of the barracks, and then seeing LeBeau in the kitchen. Hopefully, no one would be there, but he could easily slip the weapon to LeBeau without anyone realizing it.
Among the barracks that Newkirk visited was the one where LeBeau stayed. He nearly dropped his cover for a moment when he saw the familiar sight of LeBeau's red scarf draped over one of the bunks.
He took a step towards it, but then he paused as a voice behind him cleared his throat.
Newkirk turned to see the American major he had seen earlier in Mullenberg's office glaring at him.
"May I help you, Captain?" Vulsor asked.
"Ja, you can tell your men to store their personal effects neatly," Newkirk retorted, indicating the scarf. "I would expect that you would maintain some level of discipline while you were here!"
Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to continue his "inspection," aware of the American's eyes piercing into him.
You're lucky I'm really on your side, Newkirk mentally sneered. He began to wish that his rank was higher; he would be able better intimidate everyone as a colonel, rather than a captain. Cor, I'm waiting for the day they'll let me go as a general…
As he made his round, only half of his mind was focus on taking down notes. The other half of him was trying to figure out what to say to Hogan.
He supposed he should be lucky that Hogan was, the only commanding officer he had ever been allowed to question the actions of and argue with. His old squadron leader in the RAF would have disciplined him for even suggesting that he had the wrong idea.
"Is everything in order, Captain?" one of the guards asked, pulling Newkirk from his reverie.
"I am afraid not," Newkirk responded. "There seems to be a man unaccounted for in one of the barracks."
"That would be the French corporal, Captain; he is preparing the lunch you shall soon partake in."
"If you please, I shall inspect the kitchen to make sure he is there."
"I assure you, Captain, he has a guard watching him. Colonel Mullenberg has ordered that no one enter the kitchen."
"Colonel Mullenberg has given me full access to the anywhere I wish to inspect!" Newkirk retorted.
Without waiting for a reply, he headed through a direct entrance into Mullenberg's personal quarters. His nose guided him to the kitchen, where the guard in the kitchen saluted him. Newkirk half-heartedly returned the salute as he noticed LeBeau standing over the cooking food, still woozy from the aftereffects of the serum.
"Sie sind Corporal LeBeau?" Newkirk asked, pretending to check the roster.
LeBeau, who had been so much out of it that he hadn't even noticed Newkirk's entrance, froze at the sound of his friend's voice. The Frenchman turned, his bleary eyes looking Newkirk up and down for a split second. He then proceeded to blink a few times to make sure that what he was seeing wasn't a hallucination induced by the serum.
"Are you Corporal LeBeau? Answer, schnell!"
"Oui, Capitaine," LeBeau answered. His voice was still slightly slurred, something which disgusted the Englishman. They had to get him out of here!
"Well, then, it seems as though all are present," said Newkirk. "General von Siedelberg will be pleased to see that something is going right here." He pretended to survey LeBeau. "Not much of a specimen, though, is he?"
He slapped LeBeau on the arm, making it look a lot harsher than it really was.
"Stand at attention when I address you!" he barked. He then gently thumped him on the chest. "Chest out, stomach in!"
"Oui, Capitaine!"
"Keep your feet together, and look straight ahead!" Newkirk went on, continuing to gently—but convincingly—push him around. There was a method to this madness; he had successfully transferred the gun Hogan had given him to LeBeau's pocket.
LeBeau did not react; being medicated from the serum's aftereffects helped somewhat. But he was aware of the exchange, and was wondering why Newkirk had come when Hogan had said it would have been too risky for one of them to infiltrate Stalag 6 like this.
Pierre, what are you doing? Can you get me out—and the others, as well? he silently transmitted. He marveled at the fact that someone had come; he had been praying for help, and lo, Newkirk had arrived.
"There," said Newkirk, after LeBeau as standing at attention. "Now you look more like a soldier, though that apron still makes you look like a scullery maid!"
His vibes were broadcasting another signal altogether.
Just hang on for a little longer, Louis. I don't know how, but I'm going to get you out of this ruddy place. I promised that I would, and when Peter Newkirk makes a promise, he doesn't break it.
"What is going on here?" Mullenberg asked, coming in. "I heard the shouting. Is everything in order?"
"You entrust a prisoner to cook your meals, Herr Oberst?" Newkirk asked, speaking in English on the pretext of talking so that LeBeau could understand.
"As you can see for yourself, he is under constant observation. Furthermore, he tastes the food in the presence of a guard or myself."
"It is still a highly irregular policy," Newkirk said.
Mullenberg was about to say that it was the same chef who had been cooking for Klink, but decided against it, recalling Hochstetter's words about von Siedelberg's dislike of transfers.
"I assure you, Capitaine, you shall find my bouillabaisse quite delectable—and not the least bit poisonous," LeBeau said, with a smirk on his face.
Newkirk had to force himself not to wince. That ruddy fish stew again? Cor Blimey, I can't escape from it!
LeBeau sent him another silent message.
I'll make it up to you, Pierre; when I see you after the war, I will make you a Yorkshire pudding, even if it the very thought makes me ill.
"Corporal, how long do you expect lunch to take?" Mullenberg asked.
"Another twenty minutes, Colonel," LeBeau replied.
"Good; we shall wait at the table and talk. Come, Captain," he said, leading Newkirk out.
The Englishman gave LeBeau a calculating glare as he exited; at least, that's what it seemed like to the others. In reality, it was a promise to see him later.
Newkirk was able to stomach the bouillabaisse for once; perhaps it was the work of his nerves.
"A most flavorful dish," he commented, as LeBeau brought out bread for him and Mullenberg. Well, I never said if the ruddy flavor was a good one.
LeBeau knew his friend's cryptic words all too well.
"You flatter me, Capitaine." I know you are swallowing your pride along with the bouillabaisse.
"Entschuldigung, Herr Kommandant," said the secretary, entering the room.
"Yes, yes? What is it? I am busy!"
"Major Hochstetter asked me to relay a message to you," she said, handing him what Hochstetter had dictated to her.
"I see…" Mullenberg murmured. "He is returning here tomorrow, after he ties up some loose ends on another case."
"What?" Newkirk asked, without thinking, as LeBeau paled. The Englishman picked up his poise in an instant, pulling out his notepad and pen. "Do you mean to tell me that the major has you under investigation?"
"Of course not!" Mullenberg retorted, indignantly. "He is coming to interrogate the eight men in the cooler!"
Newkirk responded with a grunt, putting the notepad away. For an instant, LeBeau caught his eye to send yet another silent message.
Wonderful recovery, mon ami. Now, get me out of here!
Newkirk's heart sunk as he read the desperation in LeBeau's eyes.
Hogan says I have to go back alone and report to him. He said I couldn't get you out until it was time. I've royally ruined things, Louis; Hogan doesn't trust me anymore. You don't know how much of a relief it is that you still do.
The despair in Newkirk's eyes was hidden, but not beyond LeBeau's sight. Newkirk could not get him out at the present moment, even though he clearly wanted to.
What am I to do? They will likely increase the dosage of the serum once you have gone. What if I talk? With Hochstetter coming tomorrow, Mullenberg will want to hand over any information he can get from me!
"I still say that there is some very strange business going on here," Newkirk said, glancing back at the colonel. "Save some time on your schedule tomorrow for meeting with the general, as well."
Mullenberg paled. "You mean…?"
"I am saying nothing; the decision is up to the general." And the Guv'nor, too.
He rose to his feet.
"Must you go now, Captain?" the colonel asked.
Yes, must you? LeBeau mentally echoed.
"Yes, I think General von Siedelberg should hear about Hochstetter poking his nose around again; he already has a low opinion of him due to his recent antics at Stalag 13," Newkirk replied. "But, as I said, I cannot speak for the general. We shall have to wait and see what he says."
It was an unspoken promise to return for his friend—a promise LeBeau understood. The Frenchman glanced at the floor for a moment. Only a miracle could get him and the other eight men out safely now, but between Newkirk and Major Vulsor, perhaps there would be one. But that all depended on Newkirk returning in time.
"By your leave, Herr Oberst," said Newkirk, saluting him.
Mullenberg returned the salute, and then proceeded to massage his forehead as the Englishman left.
"Pour me some wine, Corporal," he said, holding up his glass. "And do not think that I am finished with you yet; after lunch, your questioning will continue."
Newkirk heard this as he retreated, but knew he was powerless to do anything about it. Hoping that, somehow, LeBeau would be able to hold out until he returned, Newkirk headed back to the staff car and drove back towards Stalag 13 as quickly as the red tape would allow.
LeBeau was not as lucky, of course. There was enough lunch left over to provide a full dinner for Mullenberg; the colonel instructed the corporal to keep the food warm and then report, once again, to his office for questioning later that afternoon.
This time, Mullenberg was armed with a tape recorder, a German-to-French dictionary, and a stronger dosage of serum; Vulsor was absent, this time. LeBeau stared at the tape recorder, wondering how on earth he could get out of this. There was a slim chance that Newkirk could return in time to purloin the tape before Mullenberg had a chance to turn over to Hochstetter. For a second, LeBeau contemplated using the gun, but the idea fell apart as he realized that the guards outnumbered him, and would shoot before he even had a chance to do so.
The guards went through the process of retraining LeBeau in the chair while the doctor administered the serum. The corporal slipped into the drug-induced unconsciousness for a second time that day.
"Now, then, Corporal," said Mullenberg. "There is an underground organization at Stalag 13, isn't there? They help people escape, do they not? Who is involved in getting these people out?"
"Getting out…?" LeBeau repeated. He let out a derisive chuckle. "No one ever escapes from Stalag 13… Jour après jour, we hear the same thing…"
"But people come in, and then they escape, do they not?" Mullenberg prodded.
"J'ai toujours voulu rentrer à la maison …" He trailed off, a wistful smile forming on his face. "Mon Paris…"
"Yes, yes?" Mullenberg asked.
"Herr Kommandant, he was only saying about how he longed to escape and return to Paris," a guard said, thumbing through the dictionary.
"In the past tense?" Mullenberg asked, intrigued. "Interesting, Corporal… But why would you wish to stay in Stalag 13? Were you part of an underground organization? What made you stay?"
"Mes amis," LeBeau responded, immediately. "Je ne pouvais pas abandonner mes amis! Jamais!"
"Never abandon your friends?" Mullenberg scoffed, after receiving the translation. "You told me only the other day that you were a loner! See how the truth finally emerges! And what makes these friends so important? What do you do? Tell me!"
"Il n'a plus d'importance," LeBeau replied, despondently. "Je ne suis plus avec eux."
"But it does matter, Corporal," Mullenberg said. "It matters very much to me!"
But LeBeau was in another world altogether.
"Je voudrais que Pierre pourrait être ici," he mumbled. "Je sais qu'il a de bonnes raisons pour ce qu'il a fait, mais il serait tellement plus supportable avec lui ici."
"Again with this Pierre?" Mullenberg asked, grabbing the dictionary from the guard and looking up the key words. "You wish for him to be here? He had good reasons for what he did? What did he have reasons for? What did he do?"
LeBeau chuckled, and answered, in English, "I really do not know where to begin."
Mullenberg growled in frustration. Even though the stronger dose of serum was making LeBeau far more talkative than before, they were still so very far from where he wanted to be.
Newkirk had thrown off the Captain's uniform as soon as he had reached the tunnels. Hastily pulling on his RAF uniform, he raced back up to the barracks, where the others were just finishing up dinner.
"Newkirk!" Olsen exclaimed, being the first to notice him.
Carter looked in the Englishman's direction, his eyes revealing the barrage of questions he had for his friend, as well as what seemed to be hot news. Before he could even get to a single one of them, however, Hogan entered the room from his office, silently demanding the corporal's report.
The colonel frowned upon seeing the solemn expression on Newkirk's face. And then worry set in; the pain in Newkirk's eyes was greater than before he had left.
"Dead…?" Hogan asked, assuming the worst. There would have been no reason for Mullenberg to have LeBeau killed, unless an escape attempt had gone horribly wrong, or, as Newkirk had feared, Hochstetter had recognized him. And the latter was all too likely.
"Not yet, Sir," Newkirk responded, quietly. "But unless we do something immediately, 'e might very well be—and we'll be next."
