Story 7

"That's the problem with blowing up all the bridges," Carter said, his voice becoming a giggle. "There's never one around when you need it."

"True enough," Colonel Hogan answered absently. The team was in his office, trying to work out details of a mission, with less than three hours to go. "It doesn't change the fact that we have a package to deliver, no bridge, and not much time. Newkirk will have to swim across," he said firmly.

Everyone looked at the Englishman, who instantly regretted mentioning he aced his swim test.

"Think of it as an opportunity to cool off, Newkirk," Colonel Hogan said. "You've been complaining it's hot out."

Newkirk's mouth was hanging open. "What about Carter?" he finally got out. "They're his ruddy explosives. He should get to deliver that package to his pyro pal on the opposite shore."

"I can't swim, Newkirk. Remember?" Carter had a goofy grin on his face as he said it, like he was weirdly proud of his aquatic shortcomings.

Newkirk spun around. "How did you get to be air crew if you can't bloody swim? Honestly, Carter, the mind boggles. What, what were you going to do if you had to bail out into the Channel, the ruddy dog paddle?"

Carter's held his hands up. "Jeez, Newkirk I was working on it! I learned how to float right before I got shot down!"

Hogan would have fixed any other man with a stern glare and put the fear of God into him. But shame usually worked much better with Newkirk, so Hogan opted for disappointment. "If you don't think you can handle it, I guess I can check around the camp," he said sadly. "Kinch, who else do we have?"

It worked like a charm.

"Oh, bloody hell. Fine. I can swim it, Sir. Getting myself across is no problem." But Newkirk's bravado ebbed quickly. Could he actually swim it? He stood at the water's edge a week earlier as they blew up the bridge. The river was rocky, and the current was strong.

"How wide is the river?" he asked.

"In that valley where it passes between low hills, it's only half a mile," Hogan said. "That would take, what? Five or six minutes?"

"Only half a mile? Blimey, Sir, that'll take at least twenty minutes. It's not like a lap swim at the London Fields Lido. River swimming's difficult."

"Really? How so?"

"It's cold for a start…"

"Not now, it isn't," Hogan said. "We're in the middle of a heat wave."

Kinch tugged at his collar. "You could really cool down," he said encouragingly.

"So could you. You go!" Newkirk made an irritated face, which Kinch reflected right back at him while trying not to laugh.

"If a patrol captures you, they'd bring you back to camp," Hogan said patiently. "Kinch probably wouldn't be so lucky." The men couldn't argue that. "Plus, you're the best swimmer, Newkirk. I've seen your records."

Note to self, Newkirk thought. Never show off in basic training. "But river water's murky," he pleaded. "And the currents are strong and the wind changes everything. It can get choppy."

"Gosh, you sound really knowledgeable, Newkirk," Carter interjected. No wonder Colonel Hogan picked you. Boy, the Colonel really knows who's best for an assignment, and this one sure sounds like you pal."

Newkirk ignored him and continued with his litany. "And, and, and there can be obstacles. Rivers have rocks and debris and vegetation…and fish can bite."

"Bite humans?" Now LeBeau was holding back a smirk, and not very successfully.

"You've obviously never angered an eel," Newkirk muttered. "I nearly lost a toe in the Thames."

He sighed and gave up the fight. "I already said I would bloody go. But, but, but how am I to keep the package from getting wet?" Newkirk brightened inside; surely Hogan hadn't sorted that out.

"Easy. Water wings," Hogan said. "Kinch, show him what we got!"

Kinch ducked out and returned with a colorful object. It was yellow and blue and orange and shaped like wings. Too bad it didn't have any pink, he snickered silently, because that would have gone nicely with Newkirk's blazing cheeks.

"We thought ahead. This is an original Dean's Swimeesy Buoy," Hogan said proudly. "It's the exact model that Lieutenant G. F. Knight of the Royal Flying Corps used to float his food and clothes across the River Ems while escaping Strohen POW camp in Germany in 1917."

"True story," Kinch said. "Check the Internet."

"What the hell is that?" Newkirk yipped.

"The Internet?" Carter put in. "Oh, you'll love it, Newkirk. You type 'POW ESCAPE WATER WINGS' into this thing called a browser… then boom!"

"Not that! That, that, that … thing!" Newkirk said, gesturing at Dean's Swimeesy Buoy.

"It's made with heavy cotton materials and filled with kapok," Hogan said patiently. "After we inflate it, you strap it on, and off you go. It'll work. The original is on display in the Imperial War Museum."

"This sounds exactly like something Crittenden would come up with," Newkirk accused.

Hogan and Kinch both looked down and shifted uncomfortably. Newkirk's heart sank. Oh no.

"Regardless," Hogan finally said. "It'll give you a safety boost, and it'll lift the package over your shoulders to keep it dry."

"They're fairy wings," Newkirk protested.

"It'll be dark. No one will see you."

"I hate you."

"Tell it to your psychiatrist. You're wearing it," Hogan said dismissively. He paused again. "So, what do you think, Newkirk?"

"What do I think?" Newkirk's voice was rising like mercury. "You may have noticed I'm too angry to bleeding stammer. I think it's the daftest thing I've ever heard."

Everyone in the room looked at each other, and then began nodding enthusiastically. Well, except Newkirk.

"Good," said Hogan. "That means it might work."

"Might? MIGHT?" Newkirk was shouting as Kinch dragged him off to be fitted for his water wings.