Daily speaking practices with Colonel Hogan began as a chore, but gradually Newkirk began to look forward to them. The more time he spent one-on-one with the Colonel, the easier it became to speak with him smoothly and naturally. He read aloud to the Colonel, drilling on difficult sounds until they became second nature, and practiced conversation.
"German," once an impossible word for Newkirk to say, now flowed easily. "General," "just," "job" and "join" were smaller stumbling blocks. Names were still hard, but now Hogan understood that, and they'd worked out a subtle system of signals and shortcuts so that Hogan could prompt him through rough patches. They worked on introductions until they got easier.
There were also setbacks along the way. As Newkirk began to tame his J's, M's and S's, F's suddenly became more difficult. Colonel Hogan consulted Dr. Maywood in London, who said it wasn't unusual to backslide in one area while improving in others. Enjoy the success and give the rest time, she advised; he's going in the right direction.
Then one late night Newkirk returned from a mission with Olsen, Kinch and Carter and struggled to recount what he had seen. He had stood guard while the others implanted recording devices in a room where a big meeting was planned. They'd have to return in 24 hours to collect the recordings.
He was wiping the blacking off his face as the Colonel stood at his elbow waiting for his portion of the scouting report.
"I was keeping watch outside the Hauserhof, Sir, while Olsen and Kinch and Carter were wiring the conference room. Well, suddenly there were Kraut staff cars everywhere. I counted ffff, ffff, ffff…" He scrubbed a hand over his face, then resumed his efforts – "Fff, fff, fff…"
"It's a number?" Carter asked.
"Of course it's a bleeding number! I said I c-c-counted! It was fffff, fffff, fffff…"
"A big number? Like forty?" Carter was only trying to help.
"No! Now, w-will you let me ffff-ffff-fff-ffff?" Newkirk snapped.
"I think he means ffffinish," Olsen said. His impatience with Newkirk's speech defect was legendary in the barracks. He'd once spent 10 minutes listening to Newkirk try to pronounce "German General Staff," and he'd never recovered from the trauma.
"Oh, yeah, finish! That's definitely the word he's going for! Sure, Peter, go ahead and finish. Sorry I interrupted," Carter said amiably.
By now, however, Newkirk and Olsen were in full-combat mode, shouting over him.
"Shut up, Olsen! I'm trying to give my report!"
"Oh, for crying out loud, Newkirk, just write it down if you can't say it. You CAN write, can't you? Or is that a problem too?"
"I can SAY it if you'll just let me ffffff…"
"The word is FINISH, you moron!"
"You're the mmmmm… mmmm…. St-stupid git."
"Oh my God. I am NOT having this conversation with you. Learn to talk!"
"Go fffuck yourself!"
"How come you can say that?" Olsen said, throwing his hands up. "You can't say anything else that starts with F, but you can tell me to fuck myself?!"
Hogan watched, slack-jawed, before he could gather himself to intervene. He laid a hand on Olsen's shoulder.
"Olsen, get changed and go check in with Kinch," he softly. "Tell him I sent you to, um, review the document destruction protocols. We need to keep drilling on these procedures, and it's your turn in the rotation next week."
Olsen shrugged and left, knowing full well that Hogan had just given him some sort of code to pass along to Kinch. And he had. It meant, "He's bothering Newkirk and I need him out of my hair, so keep him busy."
Hogan turned to Newkirk and shook his head, feeling a bit bewildered by what had just happened. "OK, over here, Newkirk," he said, wrapping an arm around the younger man's shoulder. "Let's start that again, shall we? You said you counted something outside the Hauserhof Hotel. What was it?"
"German staff cars," Newkirk said.
"OK, good boy. Uh-huh. And can you tell me how many?"
"Ffff. Fffff. Fuuuuuuh. Oh, bloody bloody hell." He held up seven fingers and pushed his hands toward Hogan twice. "Twice seven, Sir!"
"Fourteen," Hogan said simply.
"Yes, Sir. Fourteen German staff cars, all queued up outside the Hauserhof. One or two mid-ranking officers coming out of each one."
"Hey, Newkirk, you said fourteen perfectly that time!" Carter said in an encouraging tone. "Good job!"
"Because the Colonel said it ffff… ffff… fff… Oh, blimey, before I did," Newkirk explained with a sigh. "I can repeat it. Anyway, the odd thing, Sir, is that several of the officers were pfff, pffff, pffff…" He stopped and regrouped. "You know, Heerespfarrer, Heereshilfspfarrer."
"Chaplains. Pfarrer."
"Yes, Pf-Pfarrer. I counted f-f-f-fffff." Newkirk shook his head and held up his left hand, five fingers outstretched. "And three medical officers. Out of twenty-ffffive officers in all the cars."
"Five Pfarrer. Huh. Twenty-five officers, and a third of them are chaplains and docs? It's a safe bet they're not holding a revival meeting, so I'd guess they're planning something."
"Yes, Sir. Well, we've got the conf… ffff… ffference room wired now. Maybe we'll fff… fff… fff… ahhh, pick something up."
"Good work, Corporal," Hogan said. "Go on up, get some rest." Newkirk smiled as Hogan patted him on the back, and then headed up the ladder. The stress of giving his report seemed to have evaporated. Carter was about to follow Newkirk when Hogan's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Carter, I need you for a minute longer," Hogan said seriously. He waited until the bunk bed clattered into place above and he heard Newkirk's feet land on the floor, followed by a cheerful greeting to LeBeau. He smiled. Newkirk didn't seem too fazed. Only the word came out fffffazed in his mind, which made Hogan frown immediately.
"Did something go wrong out there?"
"No, Sir, the mission went according to plan," Carter replied.
"No problems between Newkirk and Olsen?" Hogan pushed.
"Not until we got back here," Carter said with a sigh. "You know what Olsen's like sometimes, Sir. He loses his patience when Newkirk starts to stutter a lot."
"True. And he's stuttering a lot right now," Hogan said.
"Yes, Sir, Colonel. It's funny, it only seems to be on the letter F. He said it's driving him crazy, but it happens like this sometimes. He gets one part of his stutter under control and then another part starts to go a little haywire." Carter studied Hogan's expression carefully. "You're worried about him, Sir."
"I have to be" Hogan replied. "I need him to be able to give me a report without a lot of rigamarole."
"Well, he knows there's a problem with that F-sound and he's working on it, Sir. He told me he was practicing every time he gets five minutes alone, which is mainly when he goes to the latrine. Actually, he said six, because that's way easier for him to say right now. SO I went with him a couple times today, Sir, you know, just to give him some words to say. Today it was 'flip, flap, flop,' and he was knocking it out of the ballpark, Sir," Carter replied. "Then he came up with one of his own: 'Fickle finger of fate.' I don't know what it means, but he sure laughed at that one. We did 'flower, feather, finger, future...' then 'flute, fate, fluke, flight, fruit, freight.' He's actually pretty good at tongue-twisters when he stops stuttering."
He slowed down his Carteresque stream-of-conscience. "He had really good observations on the mission, too, Sir. He had all his facts down about what he saw and about the officers' insignia and stuff," Carter said. "It's just he had a hard time saying it." He paused in a most un-Carterlike manner. "But there's something else I noticed. Usually when I ask him a question, it helps him along. But this time it really seemed to embarrass him and slow him down."
"Hmm. Why do you think that was?" Hogan asked.
Carter hesitated, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his field jacket. "I don't like to say, Sir."
"Would it help Newkirk if you told me?"
Carter looked up to meet Hogan's eyes. Yes, he realized, it would help. And more than anything, he wanted to help Peter through what was obviously a tough struggle.
"Peter doesn't trust Olsen the way he trusts the rest of us," Carter said. "He doesn't feel … comfortable. He's always expecting Olsen to jump on him for saying something wrong. He's embarrassed speaking in front of him."
Hogan nodded thoughtfully as Carter continued. "You really think he's embarrassed?"
"I know it for sure, Sir. He told me," Carter said. "Newkirk's come a long way with our little team, Sir. But to the rest of the camp, he's still the guy with the really bad stutter. They don't understand it and they get exasperated with him, and that makes him worried about saying anything in front of them. I don't know if you've seen him out there when guys he doesn't know talk to him and expect an answer, but he's a different guy. He gets real shy, like he's not sure what to say, and he stutters gets real bad."
Hogan realized he hadn't seen that part of Newkirk-and hadn't seen him quite that flustered in a long time.
"Carter, my boy, I think you're onto something," Hogan said. "We've got to help him build his confidence so he can trust the whole team, not just the four of us."
"I'll do anything I can to help Peter, Sir. He's my buddy, and I want to make things better for him," Carter said earnestly.
Hogan smiled broadly and gave Carter a pat on the chest. "You're a good man, Carter," he said. "And a very, very good friend. Now go on up. And Carter?
"Yes, Sir?"
"Try this one," Hogan said:
A flea and a fly flew up in a flue.
Said the flea, 'Let us fly!'
Said the fly, 'Let us flee!'
So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
"Oh, that's good one," Carter said. "And shucks-thank you, Sir."