LeBeau knew by now that struggling against the guard restraining him was fruitless, but even he had to consider it after glancing at the look on Hochstetter's face as he held the syringe in his hand, holding a slightly stronger dose than the corporal had received the previous evening.
"Herr Major, shouldn't we summon the doctor to administer the serum?" Mullenberg offered.
"Silence!" Hochstetter barked. "I know what I am doing; I have supervised the usage of sodium pentothal before!"
Neither Mullenberg nor LeBeau were willing to point out that what Hochstetter held in his hand was not sodium pentothal.
LeBeau looked away as the serum was administered to him. Once again, it lulled him to an unwanted sleep.
"The time for charades is over, Corporal LeBeau," Hochstetter said, triumphantly. "You will now tell me everything, from the beginning."
"I was… born in Èpernay—"
"Not that far back, Dummkopf! I want to know about what happened from when you first arrived at Stalag 13!"
"I met Pierre," LeBeau replied, as though he was stating the obvious.
"Colonel Hogan—I want to know about Colonel Hogan!" Hochstetter snarled. "Tell me—schnell!"
"Oui; Pierre and I met him, also, but much, much later."
Hochstetter gritted his teeth in frustration
"You see, Herr Major, this is exactly the sort of problem I've been facing," said Mullenberg. "You ask him a direct question about Stalag 13, and he will not give a straight answer; he keeps bringing up this 'Pierre' fellow. The serum is experimental; perhaps it is flawed."
"Or perhaps we are not giving this Frenchman enough credit for his mental prowess," Hochstetter said, narrowing his eyes. "If Colonel Hogan is in charge of a covert operation, then it stands to reason his men would be mentally trained in case of an event like this. I do not know how, Mullenberg, but somehow, this chef has been resisting the serum."
"Perhaps he might be more direct if you gave a stronger dose?"
"Don't think that I am not tempted," Hochstetter replied. "But I need him alive until he talks, and I have already given him quite a large dose of serum. This 'Pierre' he keeps mentioning… I have an idea as to who he is. There is that English corporal who was supposed to have been transferred here—Peter Newkirk."
"Isn't he the one who was involved with your spy, Gretel?" Mullenberg asked.
"Ja, he is the one," Hochstetter said. "He is another one of Hogan's inner circle. I imagine he works very closely with this Frenchman." He leaned forward to address LeBeau. "Corporal, tell me more about your friend—Pierre Newkirk, ja?"
"Oui, Pierre," LeBeau slurred. "J'ai foi en lui."
Mullenberg paged through the dictionary before translating, "He says he has faith in him, Herr Major."
"But, of course," Hochstetter said. "You have faith because you work together—for Colonel Hogan, ja?"
"Oui, I work for him," LeBeau said. "I cook for le colonel—whatever he asks me to cook, I cook." He sighed. "Even if I cannot stand it, I still cook it."
Hochstetter growled in frustration. Cooking was against regulations, but it was not an offense that garnered enough reason for Hochstetter to prosecute the corporal.
"Tell me, Corporal," he went on, after regaining some composure. "Are there any other tasks you perform for Colonel Hogan? Does Newkirk perform any tasks, as well?"
"Oui, I grow mushrooms, and I help Pierre with the sewing of torn uniforms."
Hochstetter was about to yell in sheer frustration before an idea came to him.
"So… Corporal Newkirk is a tailor, and you assist him?"
"Oui; we both help maintain the uniforms."
"And… do you also make articles of clothing—such as civilian clothes for escapees, or German uniforms for sabotage and espionage activities?" Hochstetter asked, smirking.
LeBeau did not respond.
"He is trying to resist!" Hochstetter claimed. "That, in itself, is a sign of guilt! I will trap him now; he cannot resist forever! I will get a confession!"
Mullenberg didn't think it would be that simple, but he knew better than to contradict the major.
"What we need is a setting more suitable for interrogation," Hochstetter mused. "I will take him with me to Berlin—make him a guest of our brand of hospitality. His tongue will loosen, and then I can administer another dose of this serum."
"In other words, you would go against my orders, Hochstetter?" a crisp, cold voice asked. "You would openly defy the orders of a general?"
The Germans looked to the door and immediately snapped to attention as Sergeant Carter, alias General von Siedleberg, strode in through the doorway, with Newkirk right behind him. Carter surveyed the room, and then glanced at LeBeau.
"This man…" he said, remaining so calm that Newkirk was certain this had to be one of the best acting jobs of the war. "I am sure I have seen him before; was he residing in one of the barracks at Stalag 13—the one you were conducting your bunk inspections and gardening in, Hochstetter?"
"Ja, he is from Stalag 13," Hochstetter said, gritting his teeth again. He turned to the guard. "Take him back to his barracks."
"Then why, may I ask, is he here at Stalag 6?" Carter asked, glaring dangerously at first Hochstetter, and then Mullenberg, as the guard practically dragged the unconscious corporal out. "Hochstetter, did you not tell Mullenberg here of my dislike of transfers?" Carter now turned his piercing gaze at the colonel. "And you… How do you explain his presence here?"
"I… it was only a temporary transfer, Herr General," Mullenberg said, not realizing that he was addressing the very same American sergeant that he had chided for speaking without permission during his dinner at Stalag 13. "I needed a good chef in order to serve a meal for the major."
Hochstetter gave Mullenberg a glare of his own, silently ordering for him not to drag him any further into this.
"So, you go out seeking cooking staff instead of trying to find the ten fliers who escaped form you!" Carter snapped. "What kind of a prisoner-of-war camp are you running?"
"It shall not happen again, Herr General!" Mullenberg insisted.
"And what authorization did the both of you receive in order to start using a truth serum on that corporal?" Carter went on, slamming his riding crop onto the table.
Cor Blimey, he's like a ruddy Jekyll and Hyde, he is… Newkirk marveled, as he watched Carter at work. It was incredibly satisfying to see Mullenberg cower and Hochstetter back down from the normally mild-mannered American.
"Colonel Backsheider supplied the serum," Hochstetter said, determined to drag himself as far away from this as was feasible.
"I see," Carter said, sitting down at Mullenberg's desk and lacing his fingers together. "I shall have a word with him afterward, but I am not finished with you two yet. Mullenberg, I was very displeased with your imperfect record before I found out about this. Colonel Klink of Stalag 13 may be an utter fool, but his perfect escape record is what saves him from the Russian Front. You, Mullenberg, do not have such a safety net. Ist das klar?"
Mullenberg opened his mouth to speak, but could not. He could only nod.
"I gave you a chance before, though it was against my better judgment," Carter went on. "I am not convinced that you deserve yet another chance, Mullenberg. I shall have to think it over. In the meantime, please tell me that there haven't been any more escapes since that last mass breakout."
"There have been no more, Herr General," Mullenberg managed to stammer. "The eight recaptured men are still in the cooler."
"And that brings me back to you, Hochstetter," the American said, turning his glare back to the major. "Are you continuing your bunk inspections and gardening here, as well? Or were you going to interrogate those eight men without authorization, just as you did with that corporal?"
Hochstetter glared at Carter silently for a moment.
"I was, Herr General, going to interrogate them as per the instructions of my superiors in Berlin," he stated.
"Well, now you will keep out of this as per my instructions," Carter retorted. "I am sure that General Burkhalter will agree with me when I say that this is not a matter for you and your 'superiors in Berlin.' I am in charge of security for all Luft Stalags, Hochstetter; I suggest you let me handle it. You are now dismissed, Major. Return to Berlin and feel free to tell your superiors what I have told you."
Newkirk distinctly saw Hochstetter slip the bottle of serum into his pocket as he moved to go. For one fleeting moment, the Englishman considered trying to nick it from him, but he was more concerned with getting LeBeau out, and didn't want to pull off any move that might ruin things at this point.
"Captain," Carter said. "See to it that Major Hochstetter finds his way out without any hassle."
"At once, Herr General!" Newkirk said, following Hochstetter to make sure that he did not take any detours.
To his immense relief and triumph, the major did not; he got into his staff car and left. It was all Newkirk could do to hold back a cheer. They had gotten the most difficult hurdle out of their way, for the time being. By the time Hochstetter figured out that General von Siedelberg and Captain von Leonhart did not exist, it would all, hopefully, be over.
Considerably more jubilant, Newkirk headed back to the office, where Carter was continuing to make Mullenberg more and more nervous.
"I do not trust Hochstetter to stay away from those fliers," he said. "Nor do I trust you to stop them from escaping again!"
"I… I understand, Herr General," Mullenberg said. "You may take any course of action you see fit."
"Good. Then you will not protest when I take those eight men with me, I assume."
"Not at all, Herr General; they are yours for the taking and for the questioning."
"And I shall be taking the Frenchman, as well," Carter added. "This habit of transferring prisoners of yours, especially for reasons this trivial, must be stopped at once. If I ever hear of you planning another stunt like this…" He trailed off, giving him a very unnerving, quiet chuckle. "The Russian Front will be the best you can hope for."
"I understand clearly, Herr General," Mullenberg said.
"Gut; I have a truck waiting outside. You will come with me to the cooler and help me get the eight men into the cooler." Carter turned to face Newkirk. "Captain, can I trust you to bring the Frenchman?"
As they exchanged glances, they were Carter and Newkirk again for the briefest instant before reverting back to von Siedelberg and von Leonhart.
"You can, Herr General," Newkirk said, grateful that Carter understood how much he wanted to be the one to get LeBeau out.
"Then be quick about it," Carter said. "Come, Mullenberg."
The colonel followed the sergeant-turned-general without question as Newkirk headed to the barracks from the previous day.
The prisoners stood at attention as Newkirk entered the barracks, but the Englishman could care less. He was more concerned with the fact that he could not see LeBeau here.
Hochstetter gave the order to send him here. I took a look in his car; he didn't take Louis with him. Where is he?
"Looking for something, Captain?"
Newkirk turned to face the American major he had clashed with the previous day.
"You again?" the Englishman sneered at Vulsor. "For your information, I am looking for someone; I am looking for the French corporal who resides here."
"I don't see any French corporal, Captain," said Vulsor, calmly, as he and Newkirk both glared daggers at each other. "With all due respect, perhaps you simply have the wrong barracks?"
"Do not play games with me, Major," Newkirk said, finding it ironic that his biggest obstacle in rescuing LeBeau was not an enemy, but an ally. "I have orders from General von Siedelberg to take the corporal and the eight men in the cooler. They are being taken from Stalag 6 immediately."
"If he is here, then you can take him," Vulsor said, calmly. "But I don't see him here, do you?"
Annoyed, Newkirk didn't respond; he crossed to the major's office and quarters, forcing it open as he found that it was locked. His gaze fell upon both of the empty bunks, and then the empty locker.
He slammed the locker door shut in frustration. The American must have hidden LeBeau in one of the other barracks; he, of course, didn't know why Vulsor was going through so much trouble to keep LeBeau hidden.
But where would the American have found the time and opportunity to move the unconscious LeBeau so quickly? One of the guards would have seen such a maneuver and would have reported it. LeBeau had to be here—somewhere so obvious that no one would think to look there…
Outside the office, Major Vulsor sat with folded arms and baited breath. He knew trouble was brewing well before the guard brought the drugged corporal back on Hochstetter's orders. A look outside the barracks had given the American an eyeful of the new staff car and the truck. Putting two and two together, he had set about hiding the unconscious LeBeau, gambling on the hope that this General von Siedelberg, whoever he was, would not leave without the Frenchman, too.
He bit back a smirk as he heard the irate "captain" breaking open his footlocker, and then cursing as he found it empty.
"Are you quite through, Captain?" he asked.
Newkirk clenched his fists, half wondering if he should reveal his true identity to the major for the sake of getting this business over with. But there was always the risk of this man being a plant by the Germans. And that was not a risk that Newkirk was willing to take.
The Englishman slammed the lid of the footlocker shut, arriving at his wit's end. Dare he go through every single footlocker in the barracks?
Cor, Louis, why do you have to be so ruddy simple to hide?
He glanced around the room again, trying to figure out a likely hiding place. It couldn't be too small, he realized; LeBeau was unconscious, after all, and would not be able to make himself fit in excruciatingly small spaces. Of course, LeBeau wouldn't be so willing to do it while conscious, either, thanks to his claustrophobia, but there were several missions when he had, much to his chagrin.
Newkirk stared at the bunks, the bottom of which was still elevated a few feet from the ground. The light bulb went off in his head, and he knelt down. The red scarf in his line of vision was unmistakable.
Louis! he silently exclaimed.
Glancing around to make sure that the American wasn't going to suddenly return, Newkirk began to pull the Frenchman from under the bunk. LeBeau stirred as Newkirk began to pull him out by his shoulders, and he made an effort to try to open his eyes.
"Capitaine…" he mumbled, seeing Newkirk; he was still too much under the serum's influence to recognize him. "I wish to… report a violation… of the Geneva Convention."
"Shh. Wake up, Louis!" Newkirk whispered. Cor, he's out of it, he is; why didn't I bring smelling salts with me? "Louis, come on—it's your ol' mate, Peter!"
But LeBeau just turned his head to the side and mumbled something else.
"Right, up you get…" the Englishman sighed, quietly, as he pulled him out from under the bunk completely. He tried to get LeBeau to stand, but the corporal merely sunk back to the floor. "…or not…"
As much as he wanted to carry him out, Newkirk knew that no enemy general's aide would do such a thing. He would have to drag him out.
The Englishman set himself up to do just that, starting to drag him out as the American major came back in.
"I see you've found him, Captain," Vulsor said, remaining calm.
"Yes, it was really an amazing find," Newkirk replied, sardonically. "The corporal was taking a nap—under the bunks."
"I would give you more credit for your discovery, Captain," the American replied. "However, you made one foolish mistake."
Newkirk was still holding on to LeBeau as Vulsor reached for the gun in the Englishman's own holster; if he had not, he might have been able to stop him. But with his hands full, Newkirk could only glare as the American major pulled the weapon on him.
"I have my own reasons for ensuring that the corporal and the eight men do not leave this camp, unless they are free," he said, quietly. "And you, Captain, are going to be their ticket out of here."
Newkirk stared down the barrel of the gun.
Fate, please tell me that this is some ruddy sort of joke.
No answer came to him.