Newkirk sat slouched on the bench in front of the barracks, his back at an angle with his head laying against the building, his legs spread wide in front, and his hands clasped lightly behind his head. The men playing a game of soccer in front of the building, but Schultz doubted the Englander even saw the movement. He continued to study the blue clad corporal before walking over and sitting down beside him.
"Newkirk?" Schultz said after a moment of not being noticed.
Newkirk was startled as he sat up straight. "Blimey, where did you come from? You could give a man a heart attack sneaking up on 'im."
"I sat down a few minutes ago. You didn't notice," Schultz said gently.
Newkirk sighed, shrugging his shoulders, "Sorry."
"What's going on with you? You've been sad for days," concern shown on the large sergeant's face.
"Nothin'."
"Newkirk," Schultz said with a knowing look. "I can tell when a man is in pain. Tell Schultzie, what's wrong."
"Do you remember the RAF transit prisoners who came through last week?"
"Ja. Do you miss them?"
"Nah, but I knew one. We grew up together. He gave me some bad news about someone we grew up with," Newkirk said trying to keep his voice even.
"Oh, I'm sorry. It's hard to lose a friend. Was he shot down?"
"Was a bird. Liked her a lot."
"That's terrible. Many innocent people are being hurt by the bombs. Sooner the war is over, the better," Schultz put a comforting hand on Newkirk's arm.
"Thanks. It wasn't a bomb, but the war killed her."
"You're not considering doing anything dumb like trying to escape to go to her funeral, are you?" Schultz raised his eyebrow.
"No, that was a while back. Nothing I can do for her now," Newkirk lowered his head blinking his eyes to keep the moisture away.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"I'd just like to be alone for a while. I'm not planning an escape. Promise. Just remembering the times we had together," Newkirk managed a weak smile.
"Okay. If you decide you want company, I'm around," Schultz said standing up and walking away feeling sad for the Englander he considered a friend.
"Whatcha doing?" Carter asked coming out of the barracks, closing the door behind him a moment later. He took a seat next to his best friend, having overheard Schultz's conversation.
"Nothin," Newkirk said melancholically shifting slight for Carter to sit on the bench.
Carter studied his friend who kept staring unseeing into the compound. After several quiet moments, he asked. "Tell me a story about you and Rita."
"Why?"
"I want to hear more about her," Carter said trying to sound causal. If Newkirk suspected his true motives his mate would shut down, but Newkirk needed to work through his grief. Talking about his girl was a good start.
Newkirk shifted for a moment, "I remember the day the war started."
"You look beautiful," Peter kissed Rita on the cheek as she met him down the street from her home. "Is that new?" He eyed the red dress that defined her curves in ways he admired. The dress had buttons lining down the front, and he thought how much fun unbuttoning the dress would be as he followed the skirt down to show her legs.
"Yes, I've been working on it all summer to get it right to wear for fall. Not as quick a seamstress as my grandma, although she helped me with it," Rita smiled the smile that drove Newkirk out of his mind. "Do you really like it?"
"I do," Peter suggestively wagged his eyebrows.
"If war comes, this may be the last new thing I have for a while," she said with a hint of anxiety in her eyes.
"Doubt the war would last long," Peter said shrugging his shoulders.
"You mean Germany will do to England what it did to Czechoslovakia?" she asked with suspicious and fearful eyes.
"Nah, we'd wipe them out of the land and this time hoist the Union Jack over Germany within a few months," Peter said then added in a comic tone. "If Germany has a Stone of Scone like the Scots, then King George will be sittin' on it before the end of the year." Rita laughed heartily at his antics, which made Peter's grin wider. He accomplished his goal.
"What's so funny?" Pat asked joining the pair.
"Nothin'," Rita said then to Peter asked. "I promised Pat he could tag-a-long, is that okay?"
"Sure," Peter said wishing the lad would get lost. It would be harder to accomplish his goal with the little brother hanging around.
"Good. Let's go," Rita took hold of both boys' arms as they walked down the street towards the market place, a carefree smile on her face with her favourite boys at her side.
Their first stop was tossing darts at a Rusty's Pub. Peter scored bull eyes constantly while Pat kept trying but never scored high enough for bragging rights. Peter gave him some money and sent him to get drinks as he and Rita wandered outside with Peter's arm draped across Rita's shoulders. The sun was shining, a nice change in the weather making today perfect, as Peter fingered the small box in his jacket pocket. He smiled anticipating her reaction when he presented it to her. Now to find the right spot.
A crowd gathered around a shop, so the couple made their way over hearing Prime Minister Chamberlain's voice on the wireless. Everyone was silent hanging on to each word. Rita held Peter's hand so tight, she was cutting off the circulation.
"What's going on?" Pat asked handing the drinks over. Rita shushed him not taking her drink.
Her eyes met Peter's both enlarged with worry. War. They were at war. Peter reached over pulling her tightly to himself. A lump in his own throat. He'd thought Hitler would back down, and they'd never see war in his lifetime. Not after the Great War, the war to end all wars, which his grandfather gave his life for King and Country. Now England found herself at war with the same bloody Germans again? He'd listened to all the broadcast about Germany taking over countries. But how anyone in their right mind believed they could take on the countries that had whooped their arse in the Great War boggled the mind. Was Hitler insane? Did he think France and Britain would back down? Rita trembled in his arms, he kissed the top of her head whispering it would be all right.
Rita held onto Peter. War. War had come. She'd feared since Germany began acting up this day would come and it terrified her. Sure her grandparents generation had beaten the German's down, but could they do it again with all the modern advances in warfare? In the Great War, everyone fought on horseback, or in great trenches until the tanks rolled out in the later days of the war. She'd spent a lot of time listening to her grandfather's stories of the war. She'd seen the toll haunted memories sometimes took on him. Her grandfather was the same age as Peter when he entered the army. Peter would have to go fight. Would he survive? Many wouldn't. Her grandfather lost good friends during the last war. Thoughts of losing Peter made her tremble. If he came back, would he be the same boy she loved?
Pat sat the drinks on a counter looking around at the shocked, confused, and frightened faces in the crowd. A grin on his face. War, jolly good fun. After all, didn't King Edward like that Hitler fellow? What he'd heard about him, the man seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. Too bad King Edward stepped down to marry his wife.* Pat wondered why the King didn't simply keep Wallis Simpson as a mistress. Lots of kings had mistresses and giving up that much power for a woman was stupid in the young teen's eyes. The speed Hitler had used to take over countries meant that England wouldn't stand a chance against the enemy forces, giving Pat an opportunity to meet Hitler. Or he'd make one somehow, the thought caused his grin to grow.
The radio announcer kept giving out information about what would come in the near future. Some people listened, other cried silently, still others wept loudly. All fools in Pat's mind. He watched Peter holding his sister. Peter was okay because he kept Rita busy and would give him money to scamper off. When she was with her boyfriend, she wasn't poking her nose into his business. He managed nicely when she was occupied elsewhere. His eyes darted in their direction once more. Maybe he could sneak out in the confusion.
"Pat," his sister's shaking voice said as she reached over pulling him close to her. "Don't be afraid. It will be okay."
"I'm not afraid," he tried to wrangle free from her grip. "Let go. I want to go check on mum and pops."
She placed both hands on his shoulders trying to smile through her tears. "Good idea. Go straight home and don't stop to talk to anyone. Tell mum, I'll be home later. Will you be all right walking home alone?"
"I'm nearly fifteen not five years old," annoyance clear in his voice. Rita smiled letting go of him watching until he was out of sight.
Peter put his arm around her, "He'll be all right." He'd be shocked if the kid went home before nightfall. They stayed at the wireless listening with the others. A few minutes later, the air-raid sirens wailed. A sense of urgency filled the streets as people moved into the air-raid shelters. Peter guided Rita towards a quiet area in the back. He'd scoped the local shelters out in recent weeks.
"Wish I hadn't let Pat go home alone. Mum tried to get him on a train, but he's too old or most likely from too poor a family," Rita fretted settling into his arms.
"I'm sure he's safe in your mum's arms in another shelter," Peter said not believing a word he said.
A loud bang caused both teens to jump. "Is that what a bomb will sound like?" Rita asked trembling.
"I'm sure it'll be louder," Peter said nuzzling the side of her neck.
"Don't. Please."
"We need to keep our minds occupied while waiting. Keeps us calm," he tried again.
"I'm too scared," she pulled back fright filled eyes peering deep into his. "What do you think it will be like?"
Peter hated fear in those green eyes, it made him feel helpless. "I don't know."
"You'll be called up to fight."
"I'm joining the services tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Wanna get in on the ground floor before all the good spots are gone," he said with a chuckle trying to calm her. He couldn't stand to see her so scared and had to help stop the madness. He'd singlehandedly save England from the war to never see fear in those perfect green eyes again. The ring in his pocket stayed hidden from sight.
"Why didn't you ask her to marry you right then?" Carter asked.
"Cause I was convinced the war wouldn't last long. And if I didn't come back, it wouldn't have been fair to Rita to be a young widow," Newkirk shrugged his shoulders.
"I understand. Nearly asked Mary Jane to marry me before I left, but didn't for similar reasons. Glad I didn't now," Carter said shaking his head in understanding. "What happened to the ring?"
"Asked Mavis to keep it for me. Suppose she's still got it. I'm going to take a walk," Newkirk said leaving Carter sitting on the bench. Dusk was approaching and Newkirk would be herded back to the hut by the guards soon. Carter allowed him have his privacy to get his emotions under control.
* en dot Wikipedia dot org/wiki/Edward_VIII