Newkirk slicked his dark hair back with some water before adjusting the hat on his head into military regulation. The mirror reflected a ghoulish, black figure. The only color was the red swastika on his arm. Just seeing the uniform him want to puke.
"Ready?" James asked, knocking on the bathroom door. Newkirk called back that he was and opened the thin, wooden door. James stood on the other side, helped by their contact, Rik.
Rik was an older man that had fought on the side of the Allies during the Great War. He was more than happy to do anything against the Germans.
"Is the truck set?" Newkirk asked, exiting the bathroom. Rik nodded and lead the two down the hall and out a back door. The Brit had parked the truck behind the house and tried to wedge it between the house and a shed. It wasn't the best-done job, but a tarp hid what Newkirk's driving skills couldn't.
Newkirk pulled the tarp off and let it fall to the snow. He pulled out the keys and unlocked the back, revealing different sized boxes and crates.
"Are they all empty?" James asked, gripping the side of the truck and pulling himself up. Newkirk climbed in beside him and pulled two boxes off the top of a long crate.
"Some are, some aren't. Our friend Rik has same sticky fingers around German military supplies," the Brit joked. He slid the lid off the long crate and pointed at it. "In," he ordered.
James looked at him a moment before complying. He ambled over to the crate and lowered himself in. Once inside, James looked more like a corpse in a coffin than a person in a crate. The Brit leaned down and grabbed a blanket for the other and placed it over him. Next, he handed the kid a gun.
"What's this for?" James asked, clumsily taking the gun. He kept his fingers far from the trigger.
"In case things don't go according to plan," Newkirk replied, grabbing the lid. "The ride is only two hours long, but that's plenty of time for those ruddy Krauts to catch us if they really want. If they do, the gun is to shoot them when they start tearing open the crate."
James set the gun down beside him. Newkirk saw the butt of it peak out from under the blanket. The Brit then placed the lid over the crate and said, "I'll knock on the lid three times so ya know it's me. Just sit tight for a few more hours." With that, Newkirk stacked the boxes back on top of the crate before jumping out and shutting the doors.
The soldier and the interpreter then walked to the front of the truck and squeezed in the cab. Newkirk started the engine before pulling out and starting down the road. Rik pulled out a map and flashlight to give the other directions.
"You know the back roads, right?" Newkirk asked, adjusting one of the mirrors.
"Ja, of course," the other said, placing the flashlight over the map. "How do you think I've survived in Germany this long?"
After a few miles of driving on the smooth and quiet main road, Rik instructed Newkirk to make a turn off onto a dirt road branching into the forest. The going was slow; even more so because the man was trying to not jostle James too much. Though with every mile flipping on the odometer Newkirk wanted to put the pedal to the metal.
There was always this rush near the end of the mission. Dragging it out meant there were more times for mistakes. More time for the Krauts to catch wind or the Gestapo to catch up. Even Colonel Hogan experienced that final rush of adrenaline. Though what made him a Colonel was the fact he still acted levelheaded under those moments.
Newkirk tried to channel that now as he drove. The road had some harsh bumps and sharp turns. And he was pretty sure the crate James was in said "Handle with Care".
About an hour into the drive, Rik told Newkirk to turn back onto the main road. They were a few miles from the Dutch-German border. Newkirk slowed the truck to a crawl as he cracked his knuckles and neck. Now was the moment of truth.
The truck crept towards the border checkpoint. The only thing the duo could see was the sentry booth, for a lamp illuminated the area around it. The guard inside stirred when he heard the roar of the truck. He stood at attention and waited for Newkirk to pull up. The Brit stalled the car and rolled down the window to talk to the guard.
"What is your business here?" the guard asked, peering inside the car.
"I have orders from the head of the Gestapo to deliver cargo in the Netherlands," Newkirk replied.
The guard shined his light into the cab of the truck and pointed it at Rik. The guard said something in Dutch which Rik responded to in kind. They exchanged a few more words before the guard asked for Newkirk's papers.
The Brit rolled his eyes and pretended to rummage through his various pockets as he said, "A Gestapo officer should not have to do this…" He cursed a few times before slamming his palm on the dashboard. Rik and the guard jumped at the sudden outburst. "I can't find the papers," he explained, hunching over the wheel.
The guard looked to Rik and asked something in Dutch. Rik replied solemnly. The guard stood up straighter and said that Newkirk could go ahead. The sentry went back to his booth and lifted up the gate. Newkirk drove through slowly and didn't speed up until they were well out of sight of the border check.
A grin spread across Newkirk's face, making him look like the Cheshire Cat. "What did you tell that bloke?" Newkirk asked once they turned off the main road.
"That you knew how to get in contact with any superior officer," Rik said, pulling out another map. This one showed the Netherlands before it had been captured by Germany.
They rode in relative silence. The only thing said above the roar of the engine were the directions that Rik shouted out. Another hour went by as they passed a wooden sign that said, "Welkom in Willemstad".