Stranger
His bunkmate is rude—even for l'Anglais. Not to mention obnoxious, untrustworthy, and, from what small fraction of his speech is comprehensible, argumentative. LeBeau hasn't caught his name. He's pretty sure he doesn't care.
The new POW's a piece of work. Takes offense at a glance, like he thinks he's so much better than everyone else. Can't translate the French, but the expression and tone of voice are clear enough. Newkirk shrugs. Temper like that, he'll get himself killed in a week, and that's his lookout.
…If anyone had told them how their opinions would change, they'd only have laughed.
*.*.*.*.*
Nostalgia
It's the little things that bring it all back. Ten, twenty, fifty years after the guns fall silent and the gates swing open, tiny, insidious reminders remain, lurking, ready to strike at any time.
It can be anything. Fairy tales, of course. Cold showers. The scent of stale sauerkraut that clung to the mess hall. Worse, the scent of baking apples no longer means Mom's pie; it means watching longingly as Schultz wolfs down enough strudel to feed the whole barracks.
A generation of children grows up knowing that their fathers can't bear concrete basements... and never quite understanding why.
*.*.*.*.*
Love
A card game that goes your way when you're feeling lousy. A silent hand on your shoulder when you're feeling alone. Silly in-jokes. As close an approximation of mom's chicken soup as LeBeau can contrive in the inevitable winter flus. Neat darns—unasked for— when your only socks tear. Seemingly artless, rambling stories from Carter that make you laugh when you'd nearly forgotten how. Angry scolding (not concealing deep concern,) when you're late returning from a mission. Knowing someone has your back. Knowing you have theirs.
There's a word for that. They don't use it aloud. They don't need to.
*.*.*.*.*
Conditional
If. We hang everything on two letters, and it's a slim reed at best.
If we can get there and back without being spotted. If the Colonel can come up with a plan. If the tunnel doesn't collapse. If the Germans are fooled. If we can get the plans, the prototype, the defector. If we can keep each other alive. If Newkirk's as good as he thinks. If the radio stays functional. If nobody talks. If Carter's explosives don't misbehave. If we can hold out just a little longer.
If we win the war. If.
…But what if we don't?
*.*.*.*.*
Wired
"The nitro's connected to the—blast cap! The blast cap's connected to the—timer! The timer's connected to my—wristwatch! Unspool the old fuse cord," Carter chanted under his breath as he worked. It wasn't as easy as the song made it sound, after all. It was going to take a bit longer than he'd expected. Needed another verse. "The bomb is connected to the—big bridge! The bridge is connected to the—munitions train! The train's connected to…"
He stopped singing. He didn't like remembering what—or, rather, who—was connected to the train. But his fingers never faltered.
*.*.*.*.*
Author's note: This is the official halfway point of the list of prompts I found on the net. Here and there, like 'Stranger,' they contradict other things I've written, or each other; sorry about that. None of them are particularly connected to anything.