PETER AND ANJA CHAPTER 23: …AND SO TO BED
Sergeant Schultz was getting to be a fixture in the Schnitzer farmhouse, and he was not entirely comfortable with the arrangement.
Schultz had left camp with Colonel Hogan at nine o'clock the previous night, soon after the prisoner Newkirk was discovered missing. The Sergeant wasn't sure why Oberst Klink ever thought it was a good idea to let Colonel Hogan leave camp with him, because every "simple recapture" they'd ever embarked on had turned into an escapade. But for some reason, Klink just waved brusquely and sent them into the night. Hogan, as usual, had a bright idea by the time they'd traveled half a kilometer. For the second day in a row, it involved a detour to Schnitzer's home.
Maybe that should have been a hint, Schultz thought as he sat and sulked in an armchair in Schnitzer's parlor. It was half past two o'clock in the afternoon of March 31, and Hogan had been gone for nearly 18 hours. Schultz had no idea what he was going to tell the Kommandant, assuming he lived that long. His heart raced and clenched every time his mind shifted from the beer and pretzels Mathilde had kindly set beside him to the small matter of his duty as a member of the Luftwaffe and as Sergeant of the Guard at Stalag 13.
As he nibbled on his soft, salty comfort food, Schultz tried not to think. At all. That was really for the best, he decided. An empty mind is a happy mind. Just stay and enjoy this soft chair and the steady supply of food and drink and the pleasure of Mathilde's company, because she is really quite attractive for a lady of 50-plus years, he told himself. And it will all work out in the end. It always does. The prisoners aren't up to anything at all; Newkirk is simply a very naughty boy who gets restless, and who could blame him? Colonel Hogan knows how to handle him, because he knows how to handle everyone. Why get involved?
Schultz was just settling into the comfortable rhythm of seeing, saying, doing and thinking nothing when Schnitzer charged into the parlor, burning with purpose. "Come on, Schultz," he said briskly. "Let's get in your staff car and pick them up. They made it all the way to Würzburg. The stationmaster at the Bahnhof is holding them for us."
The portly guard grumbled a little, but he wasted no time in gathering up his coat and heading for the car. If they hurried, they could be back at Stalag 13 in time for supper.
XXX
Hogan was not entirely comfortable with his arrangement, either, though he reminded himself they were lucky to have the compartment to themselves ever since the train discharged passengers in Frankfurt.
Snuffy was a pleasant companion, but Peter and Anja were not. They were growing more miserable with each passing mile. Now, in addition to slumping on him, sneezing on him, and coughing on him, they were squabbling with one another.
"You've been lying on that bench for an hour," Peter complained to Anja. "Why do you get to stretch out and not me? Colonel Hogan, tell her it's my turn."
Hogan was used to Peter. He'd been around him long enough to know that he regressed each time his fever rose a notch. He must be over 102° by now, Hogan calculated, since he was whining like an eight year old.
"Anja, give Peter a turn to lie down," Hogan said, making a physical effort not to cradle his head in his hand. Peter rose to claim his rightful place on the bench.
But Anja, if anything, was worse than Peter. Yes, it was hard to believe that was possible. But apparently she was belligerent when ill, because she delivered a swift kick to his shin when he tried to sit on the bench.
"Ow! You shrew! Why'd you kick me?" Peter sank back on the bench next to Colonel Hogan, rubbing his leg.
"Be grateful it was your shin," Anja snapped, turning over to sleep.
The dog jumped up on the bench next to Peter. "Good boy, Snuffy," Peter murmured. "You like me, don't you? Well, take my advice and stay away from girls, mate. They'll only confuse you."
"Shut up, you horrid boy," Anja moaned into the seat cushion.
"You shut up," Peter replied.
"Both of you sh… should be very quiet and try to rest." Oh, good save, Hogan thought. "Peter, stretch out here. I'll stand," Hogan said, rising to his feet.
"You don't have to stand," Peter replied.
"It's fine, really," Hogan said.
It was quiet for a moment. Then Peter said softly, "I don't want you to stand. I want you to sit with me."
Hogan groaned inwardly. Oh my God, he thought, his fever must be 103° by now, because Corporal Newkirk, age five, was now on the scene. He sank back on the bench, let Peter rest his head on his thigh, and rubbed his back. Only an hour to Würzburg, if he lived that long.
XXX
How had it come to this? Schultz wondered as he drove along with Schnitzer at his side. Yesterday evening was a blur. One minute, he was sitting in the staff car, minding his business. The next thing he knew, he was in Mathilde's kitchen, enjoying a late night coffee with a slice of her legendary Zwetschgendatschi, a cake that was thick with plums and a buttery crumble on top. He was just writing down the recipe for LeBeau's benefit when it dawned on him that Schnitzer and Colonel Hogan were being very quiet. Mathilde had persuaded him they had just gone to check on the horses and began to pour the brandy. Pretty soon, Schultz was having an animated conversation with the coat rack and feeling no pain.
He remembered the farm hand, Otto Marx, leading him down the hallway to the guest room, with its big, soft bed and fluffy pillows. He slept like a baby that night, and woke to a lovely Bauernfrühstück. He couldn't be unhappy for long when Mathilde was serving up a farmer-worthy breakfast of eggs, potatoes, bacon, ham and tomatoes.
Mathilde was a very fine woman, Schultz decided. But there was something about Oskar that bothered him.
No point mentioning it, though. Who would he tell? What would he possibly say? Sure, he seemed sneaky. But where would Schultz get such delicious Zwetschgendatschi if he didn't stay on Schnitzer's good side?
Suddenly Schultz was jolted out of his thoughts by the grating sound of Schnitzer's voice.
"The Bahnhof is just up ahead, a right turn. There, right there, RIGHT HERE, SCHULTZ!"
Schultz turned sharply, muttering under his breath at Schnitzer for being a bad navigator, then parked his vehicle directly in front of the station and strode in with the Tierarzt to find the stationmaster. There in his office, as promised, with Colonel Hogan, Newkirk, and … and that nice girl, Anja. Schnitzer's niece. What was she doing with them?
Oh, he did not want to know that. Not at all, Schultz decided.
"How's it going, Schultzie?" Hogan greeted him with the breezy assurance of a carefree man. He was on his feet, wearing strange clothes, and having a lively chat with the station master, whom he seemed to know. Newkirk and the girl, meanwhile, were sitting on a bench back-to-back, arms crossed. A dog was on Newkirk's lap.
Schultz consulted his watch and assumed his most fatherly, scolding voice. "Colonel Hogan, it is now half past four, and you have been gone from camp for over 20 hours. What am I going to tell the Kommandant about you?"
"I don't know Schultz. Why don't you tell him we had an appointment with the Belgian royal family? No, better yet. I have these two sick kids, see, and I figured a trip to the seaside would do them some good."
Peter and Anja hacked almost on cue.
"They sound terrible, Colonel Hogan. What did you do to them?"
"I think they're just a crazy pair of worn out kids, Schultz," Hogan said with a shrug. "Come on, let's shuffle off to Buffalo."
"No more trains," Peter moaned.
"No more trains," Hogan said in his most reassuring tone. "He's delirious," he explained to Schultz. He hauled Peter to his feet and wrapped an arm around him as Schnitzer did the same for Anja. They found their way to the car and the three travelers piled into the seat together once again, this time with Anja in the middle. They were hardly a kilometer out of town before the squabbling resumed.
"Why don't I get the window?" Anja grumbled.
"Because you're not about to throw up," Peter answered. "Stop the car, Schultzie."
"Nein, Newkirk, I know your tricks. You will only try to esc… oh." He stopped in the nick of time as a gurgling, wretching sound announced that Newkirk wasn't kidding.
Anja grabbed the back of Peter's shirt as he heaved out the door, then pulled him back in and wiped his mouth off. Hogan reached over with his handkerchief, dabbing the perspiration from Peter's forehead and laying a hand on it.
"He's burning up. Let's not waste any time," Hogan said. "You kids try to rest," he told Peter and Anja.
Five minutes later, Peter and Anja were curled up together, and they whispered to one another as the car drove into twilight.
"What do you think we have?" Peter asked, shaking with chills.
"I thought it was a cold, then bronchitis, but now I'm pretty sure it's influenza, Peter," Anja said, coughing intermittently. "Do you ache all over?" She laid a hand on his forehead.
"Yes," he replied miserably.
"Me too," she said. "Do you really think you'll have to go to the cooler?"
"Yes," Peter said. "I escaped. Klink won't let me off."
Before they arrived Schnitzer's farm, Peter and Anja had thrown caution to the wind and kissed and made up. At this point, with both of them ill, kissing couldn't make anything worse, and for one brief moment it made them both feel just a little bit better.
"Peter, you were wonderful with Hannelore and Joshka," Anja said softly. "You're a good big brother."
"I have little brothers myself," Peter said, yawning. "When you're the youngest, you just want people to treat you as if you can understand things even if you don't know everything. You don't want to be patronized… bevormundet. Believe me, I know how that feels."
Hogan, watching and listening as the little lovebirds huddled together, was struck by one thing: Honesty. Peter wasn't hiding behind a tough exterior around Anja. He was being himself-and he wasn't stuttering at all. She was good for him, no doubt. They were probably good for one another, he thought as he saw Peter running his fingers tenderly through Anja's hair.
XXX
Peter was right about Klink. When they rolled back into camp at seven thirty, Oberst Klink had an earful for him. Peter stood at Colonel Hogan's side in the Kommandantur for a 10-minute lecture about the futility of escape in the face of superior German might and intelligence. Klink had just sentenced him to 15 days in the cooler when Peter felt his knees going out from under him. Grabbing onto Colonel Hogan's arm, he lowered himself to the floor, overwhelmed by body aches and nausea.
Klink didn't miss a beat, continuing his lecture right up to the moment Peter threw up all over Colonel Hogan's shoes. After gloating for a moment about the inconvenience for the senior POW, Klink started getting green about the gills himself. He sent Schultz to organize a cleanup crew and shooed Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk out the door with orders to head directly to the infirmary. But when they got there, the beds were full. It seemed there had been an influenza outbreak overnight.
Hogan dragged the sick Corporal back to Barracks 2. He could quarantine him in his quarters. And he was sure LeBeau and Carter would be glad to see Peter, no matter what condition he was in.
He was right. LeBeau took one look at Peter and, with a nod to Carter, quickly bundled him off to bed, then took his temperature. They spent the next hour plying him with tea while cooling his fevered brow. They wanted to find out everything he'd been up to, but that was going to have to wait, because before roll call at 9 o'clock, Peter was sound asleep.