May, 1964
Galen, Virginia*
Leticia Newkirk nearly dropped her coffee cup as she sat across the kitchen table from her closest friend. She stared at Hilda, unsure if she had heard her correctly.
"You're what?"
Hilda smiled. "That's exactly what I said to the doctor. And yes, I am. He thinks I may be about three months along. Junior has been giving me no end of grief over it."
"You mean, he's not happy about it?"
"No, he's teasing me. I think he is in shock, just like I was."
Leticia formed her next question carefully. "Are you okay about it? I mean, are you happy?"
Hilda smiled again, a bit sadly. "Yes, I am. But I would be a lot happier if Andrew were here."
Leticia nodded in empathy. "I know what you mean. I haven't heard from Peter at all—not since he called me in London to tell me he was headed for Tokyo." She sighed. "But then, he does things like this all the time. I've gotten used to it. I just hope he finds Andrew soon."
Hilda nodded slightly, tears brimming in her eyes. Leticia sighed, and moved around the table to embrace her best friend. It was funny, actually. The two of them were almost exactly the same age, and both had many things in common that were outside the realm of "normal existence." Their husbands had been friends for more years than they cared to count. They had faced danger together countless times. The women had both emigrated from Germany, and moved to this small suburb in Virginia. And now, they would face whatever came, together. Unwilling to become maudlin, Leticia changed the subject.
"So, how are you doing with babysitting the colonel?" One mark of his closest friends was that most of them rarely referred to the general as anything but "colonel." It was a show of respect for what they had all shared together. He knew it, and treasured it.
Hilda chuckled. "Well, he is back at work. He stayed down for two days, and managed to badger his way out of staying home any longer. I know his not being able to go himself to find Andrew is not helping him at all. He trusts Peter with his life, but hates being on the sidelines. I told him that would change once Peter finds him." A determined spark came into her eye. "And Peter will find him."
Leticia nodded. She gazed sadly at her friend. Neither of them had any illusions…but neither would they ever admit their fears aloud. Peter would find him. There was simply no other alternative.
~HH~
May, 1964
Camp 208, North Vietnam
A short time after pulling on the socks and boots behind the shed, Andrew and the others were herded back inside their prison. It was, as Andrew had known, different than many of the other prisons. This was why they had chosen it. In this camp, unlike many of the others, there were actual buildings, and not just cages. The reason for this was that Charlie had taken over a small deserted village and turned it into a prison. The huts were mostly made of wood, with a few bamboo buildings thrown into the mix.
Of course, the Commander had taken the best building for his office and quarters. It had apparently been some sort of communal building, as it was the largest there, and built of clay bricks. There were about three hundred prisoners being held in the camp, from what Andrew could tell. Not all of them had been paraded outside, and many were still inside when Andrew and the others were pushed into the make-shift barracks. The doors were locked behind them, and he quickly learned that they were unlocked for only two hours per day, and then only under heavy guard.
The barracks were hot and dark, as all the windows had been covered over and nailed shut. As Andrew's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that there were about thirty men staring sullenly back at him. He would have to go it on his own here, as Lt. Fields had been pushed into another barracks across the compound. He turned to the expectant men, and just as he began to speak, he saw a familiar face. The soldier who had given him the boots was sitting quietly on his mat and watching him carefully.
There was something so familiar about him that Andrew was distracted by it. He knew he had never seen the young man before, but there was something…He took a moment to clear his mind, and then looked around at all the men. Again, the sense of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. He shook those thoughts away, and took a deep breath. He was no Hogan, but he was no slouch, either.
In a low voice, he introduced himself as their Senior POW Officer. As he expected, most of them were already aware of his presence and rank, even though they had not yet met him. This spoke well of the prison grapevine, and he hoped to take advantage of it. He would take a few days to get acquainted with the men, and with the prison itself. Then, he would begin carefully casting about for a core team…because Andrew had no intention of wasting the opportunity he had been given. And he was determined to help get as many of these of the men home safely as he could. He spoke very briefly to them, simply telling them to let him know if they had any issues beyond what he had already learned. From the men's expressions, he could tell that he would be busy.
After he had been shown to a sleeping mat in the least objectionable corner of the barracks, his benefactor tapped him lightly on the shoulder. The young man smiled briefly, and said, "Welcome to Hell, major. Don't worry, it's not always this bad…most of the time, it's worse." He chuckled bitterly, his dark eyes flashing. Traces of his accent came through, and that was when it hit Andrew. He knew why he looked so familiar. But, it wasn't possible, was it?
He looked squarely into the young man's eyes. "What is your name, soldier?"
He was met with a challenging glare, but he answered all the same. "I recognized you from a photo my mother carries. She knew you all very, very well. She is the bravest person I ever met. She carried on, even after my father left her behind. And she has never allowed me to hate him for it."
Andrew's mind was reeling with this new information, and he said, even more urgently, "What is your name?"
The copper hair flashed in the dull light as he tossed his head, and stared at Carter. "Sgt. Anton Monet…sir."
~TBC~
*Galen is a fictitious town, located near Washington, D.C.
