Hogan drummed his fingers on the radio table as the call concluded. He checked his watch. It was 5 PM, and someone was going to have to give some very bad news to Newkirk.
Someone, of course, was him.
Hogan looked up at Kinch, whose dark brown eyes had grown distant and sad.
"This isn't going to be easy," Kinch said softly, shaking his head.
"No," Hogan said. He stood up, crossed his arms, and began to pace in the small radio room. "Damn it, Kinch. I'm not sure where to start."
"You'll start at the beginning, Sir," Kinch replied. "It's the only way."
Almost in unison, they both expelled their breath sharply. Damn. Damn.
"When will you speak with him, Sir?" Kinch asked.
"Soon," Hogan answered. "Let him eat supper first and we'll get everyone through rollcall. Then I'll bring him into my room. He needs to sleep in there tonight anyway, and it will give him some privacy in case he … um, well, needs it." He stopped and studied Kinch again. "How do you think he'll react? What do we need to be ready for?"
"It's always hard to say with Newkirk, Colonel," Kinch said. "I think Wilson should be on standby. Do you want me there, Sir?"
"I need to speak with him alone. But I want you nearby, and LeBeau and Carter, too," Hogan said. "He relies on all of you."
XXX
As LeBeau dished out the stew, Peter knew something was up. He could feel a change in the air, in the cautious way Carter and Kinch were watching him, the solicitous way Hogan sat beside him, the gentle way LeBeau urged him to eat up.
"Did you sssspeak with London about Mavis, Sir?" Peter asked Hogan as he fanned his hand over his hot dish. "You said yesterday we mmight be able to speak with her and find out 'ow Laura is doing, and the baby. Are they w-working on it?"
Hogan pressed a hand into the small of Peter's back. "Yes, they're working on it. As soon as they have something organized, you'll be the first to know," he said kindly. His hand shifted higher and he rubbed Peter's back.
Peter nodded, and then looked directly at Hogan with a pleading look. "You and Kinch were down there an awfully long time today," he said. "When Carter came up…"
"Oh, you were here when Carter came up?" Kinch asked. He looked sharply at Carter. "Well, then I'm sure Carter told you it was nothing to worry …"
"Yes! 'E said it was about my brothers and it was urgent!" Peter said. "What did you find out?"
That wasn't what Kinch wanted to hear. Didn't Carter grasp the need for discretion? He would have to speak with him later.
"We did get an update on your brothers, Newkirk," Hogan said. "You'll be pleased to know they've both been placed in custody pending an investigation."
"What are they investigating, Sir?" Peter looked confused. "And J-J-J-J-J," he began. "Oh, you know, the second one, 'e's in North Africa! Are you telling me they've detained 'im there? They got word to 'is unit and arrested 'im?"
"London takes threatening letters very seriously, Newkirk," Hogan said. "We'll talk more after rolllcall, all right? I'll tell you … I'll tell you everything I know," he said.
Peter reluctantly accepted that he wasn't getting any further updates right now. He sighed, rested his chin in his hand, and swirled his spoon in his soup. He tasted it, then sampled a few more bites, then laid the spoon down by his bowl.
"Pierre?" LeBeau said.
"Yes, Louis?" Peter replied without even looking up.
"Take your elbow off the table. And eat, mon pote," LeBeau said softly.
Peter's gaze met Louis' and lingered there. He could feel the caring in that look, and wanted to respond in kind. He straightened up, smiled weakly and tried again. As the team ate in silence, Peter managed a few more bites before pushing away the bowl, less than half-eaten.
"Sorry, Louis," Peter said. "It's delicious, it really is. I'm just not 'ungry." He stood up and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, then retrieved his great coat and yanked it on. "I'll be outside. I need a smoke," he said to no one in particular.
Four worried pairs of eyes followed him to the door.
XXX
Rollcall was blessedly brief, and at 7:45 PM the men were filing back into the barracks. They would have more than an hour to relax, play cards, read, and write letters home before lights out.
As Hogan watched over the men settling down at the table, he had to remind himself to breathe. Give him 15 minutes to relax, he thought as he watched Peter smiling broadly while dealing out a poker hand. Hogan made up his mind to take it slow. He settled at the table and declared, "Deal me in."
Peter was plainly delighted by the Colonel's presence in the game. The Gov was the second-best bluffer in the camp, and playing against him made the game more interesting. But after just two rounds, it was clear to Peter that something was different. He could see the Colonel's heart was not in it. And as he looked around the room, he saw anxious looks etched into other faces. Carter couldn't hide it if he tried. LeBeau looked ready to cry. Kinch's usual reserve had given way to obvious strain.
Peter laid his hand down. "Is anyone going to tell mmmme what the bloody 'ell is going on?" he demanded.
Hogan nodded and pulled Peter up by the arm. "Yes, in my office. Come on."
XXX
Sitting quietly at the table or on their bunks, the men of Barracks 2 heard a voice from within the Colonel's office rising to crescendo.
"No. No. NO. NO. NO! NO! NO!" Peter was shouting. Then the words ceased and a keening howl took their place.
At a nod from Kinch, Carter was on his way through the tunnels to tell Wilson he was needed. LeBeau was edging toward the door to the Colonel's office, with Kinch on his heels. He turned the knob and let them in.
Peter was collapsed on his knees at the edge of the bunk, as Colonel Hogan crouched down in front of him. His face was buried in his hands as breathed sharply. "It can't be. It can't be," he was repeated. "Oh, God, Laura."
"Shh. Shh," Hogan said. "Come up here. Sit beside me. There's more I need to explain to you."
"I hope they 'ang them!"he said. "M-Mmmmy fucking brothers should both 'ang for what they did to that girl. My ol' man should 'ang too! 'E egged them on!"
Kinch gulped. He realized that Hogan was only halfway through his news. He helped Hogan lift Peter off the floor, and he settled him on the bunk, sitting next to the Colonel. Then he knelt in front of Peter, took his hand, and looked at Colonel Hogan.
The Colonel nodded at Kinch. "Tell him," Hogan said, his voice shaking as he kept an arm wrapped around Peter.
"Peter, your father is gone too," Kinch said. "He died in prison."
"No," Peter said. "No, no, Kinch. That can't be right. You have it wrong." He grabbed Kinch by the shoulders and shook them. "Why would you tell me that? It can't be right!"
Still kneeling, Kinch put his hands over Peter's and gently removed them from his shoulders. Gripping his wrists, he squeezed hard. "Peter, I am so sorry. Both Laura and your father are gone."
Peter pulled at his dog tags and clutched the gold cross that was nestled among them. "She gave me this," he said, starting to rock. "She gave me this when I left for France, and she gave me a son, and I loved 'er for so long," he choked out.
"But my old man – 'e never gave me nothin'! Nothin' but my worthless life and a load of bruises! Why did I love 'im anyway? Why did I ever care?" he sobbed, holding his chest and rocking in place as a torrent of tears washed his face. "My 'eart 'urts so much. I want to die."
Rocking forward, Peter stumbled to the floor and into Kinch's arms. "Nobody else is dying, Peter," Kinch said softly. "Now come here."
He cradled Peter in his arms and let him cry, then helped Hogan lift him up onto the bunk. As they laid Peter down, he curled onto his side and made himself small, sobbing helplessly. Hogan sat at the head of the bunk and stroked his head without a word. Kinch made himself a seat at Peter's side and rubbed his back until the sobs gave way to gasps and the gasps gave way to hiccups.
By now, Carter had returned with Wilson, who stood by quietly taking in the scene. He pulled Louis aside and sent him out of the room to gather a few things. Then he rested a hand on Kinch's shoulder and took his place at Peter's side.
"Hey," Wilson said softly. He pulled up Peter's shirt as he stuck his stethoscope in his ear, warming the end in his hand. "This might be a little cold," he said. "I'm just going to listen to your heart."
"His heart rate is pretty fast," Wilson murmured to Hogan. "And he's wheezing a little." He coaxed Peter into a sitting position to check his breathing. "Nothing too far from normal, but we'll keep an eye on it. Just making sure his body can handle a sedative."
"Peter," Wilson said softly, removing his pullover before laying him back down, "I'm going to give you something to help you sleep. All right?"
Peter nodded slowly. His breath was still hitching, his face red, his eyes pink and puffy.
"All right, then," Wilson said. "We're going to get you undressed first. Let's get these boots and socks off…. That's it… Thanks, Carter… uh-uh. And now your trousers. That's right. Slide them off. OK. LeBeau has your nightshirt, but before you put that on, let's take care of this medicine."
Wilson tied a tourniquet around Peter's forearm and patted the vein, then turned the task over to Kinch so he could draw up the syringe. Flicking it a few times, he filled it expertly, then took over from Kinch. Wilson check the vein, swabbed it with alcohol, then slid in the needle. In moments, Peter's eyes were heavy and he was drowsing. He would be asleep in minutes
Wilson stood back at LeBeau and Kinch pulled Peter's nightshirt into place, then watched as Hogan leaned in to tuck the blankets around the sleepy Corporal. "He should sleep for four to six hours," Wilson said. "Maybe eight if we're lucky. Hard night," he said.
"Hard night," Hogan echoed. "Good thing he's tough."
XXX
The dream that had tormented Peter in his sleep for so long found him again that night as the sedative started to lose its edge.
They were chasing him and he was running as fast as his little legs could carry him. Was he five? Six? He was small and his brothers were so big and so angry. Down the street he ran, and into the house. Mavis! They're after me again! Where was Mavis? Out at the shops? Emily, Ellie and Lilly must be with her. Frantically, his eyes searched for a safe place. Down to the coal cellar? No, up. Up to the bedroom where Mummy slept before the doctor shook his head sadly and sent her away.
Into the wardrobe, behind her skirts and dresses, where the fragrance of life still lingered. Not the antiseptic smell of her sickroom. No, this was a sweet smell, just like Mummy. He pushed his way in and huddled in a corner, clutching her dress, thumb in mouth. Just be quiet. Don't move a muscle. They won't touch you if they can't find you.
But oh, he needed to go pee-pee so badly. He wasn't a baby anymore. He went to school every day and hardly ever wet himself at night. He could wait, couldn't he? And he tried, he really did. But then he heard them shouting for him downstairs, and heard their footsteps storming up the steps toward him and he was so scared. He just let go without even thinking.
They must have seen the puddle dripping there because they flung open the wardrobe doors. Michael with his freckles and red hair and gap teeth. Jamie just the same, only smaller and with nicer teeth. Michael with his fists. Jamie with his probing fingers and spoon handles. They dragged him out of the closet, kicked him, wrestled him onto the bed, and went at him.
His hand went to his mouth. He was stinging where Michael slapped him. Blood everywhere. His little front teeth were hanging loose. His nose was bleeding. His wet shorts were off, balled up and tossed in a corner. His little sister's dress was pulled over his head.
It was a blur, how Michael smashed him and Jamie groped him. How they both pissed on him, and then Michael did that other thing where the white stuff oozed out on him. Peter cried out for Mavis. And when she finally found him, he just laid there, desperate for her. The words wouldn't come. He just wanted to stay in her arms. And he did, for days, until he finally found his feet and his voice again and remembered he was a big boy, not a baby. He tried to tell Mavis everything he could remember, but now the words and the names got stuck. Mmmmmm. J-j-j-j-j.
Colonel Hogan was over him, shaking him awake. "Peter, it's OK. It's a dream. A bad dream. But you're OK. Wake up, talk to me. Mavis isn't here, but you can talk to her soon, OK? Oh, God, you're wet."
Peter could feel the warmth again, a spreading sensation that made him just want to lie in bed, belly down. "When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold." What was that? Oh, he read that in a book, and it was right. Because now it was cold, and he wanted to cry again. He thought he might be crying but he couldn't be sure. His head was in a daze and he wasn't sure what was real.
Hogan had qutl shaking him, and was rubbing a circle in his back. "You had a nightmare and you had an accident. It's OK. I've got you, Peter. But we need to get you changed."
"It's not a nightmare," Peter said, face down and through tears. "It's a mmmmemory. It's d-different, because it really 'appened."
XXX
Peter is remembering the first page of "Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,"