James averted his gaze from Newkirk's eyes. He could tell what was grabbing the soldier's attention. And why wouldn't it? It wasn't every day you saw a person branded like cattle. Not to mention the tell-tale triangle sewn onto his shirt. Somewhere deep inside him he knew they would find out, but he wanted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.
"Are you done gawking?" he asked, still unable to look at the other. "Take the measurements."
Newkirk stumbled into action with his measuring tape. James listlessly held up his arms as the man worked. The brand screamed from the side of his arm in thick, black numbers. The boy noticed Newkirk made every attempt to avoid looking at it. "Are you going to tell Colonel Hogan about it?" he asked as the other took his leg measurements.
"Well, I, I don't think that's something to hide from him," Newkirk said as he started to wrap the tape around the other's waist. James felt the slight tightening around his midsection as the soldier got the measurement. The Brit shook his head and wrote down a number barely in the double digits. "They really weren't feeding you blokes were they?" James didn't answer and simply reached down to pick up his coat from the floor. He pulled it on and yanked at the collar.
James turned to walk out to the main room of the barracks when Newkirk piped up once again, "How old are you, mate?"
"I'm 21," James replied, leaning on the doorframe. "Why?" he turned around to face the other.
Newkirk glanced down at his notepad with the measurements on them. "Those numbers suit a teenager better than they do you," he replied. "You know what those Krauts were doing to ya is bloody wrong. It's against the Geneva Convention it is. Those blokes should be shot."
James hung his head; wisp of brown hair fell into his eyes. "Who could we have reported them to? Other Germans? We were practically the scum of the earth to them."
"Just for being civilians of the wrong nationality? Rubbish."
Blue eyes flecked up to stare at the Brit's face yet again. He used the word "civilian". Surely he saw the pink triangle? Did he see and just not know what it meant? Or was he being polite to save the boy some dignity? Heart in his throat, James lifted up a part of his coat to show the pink triangle. While Newkirk winced away, James asked, "Do you know what this means?" He pointed to the pink fabric sewn onto his shirt.
The other glanced back at the boy and saw where he was pointing. He puckered his lips before replying, "Merit badge?"
The boy internally felt his knees buckle.
He shook his head and put his coat flap down. "No. It's a signal of prisoners that didn't go easy. Let's anyone know we're 'trouble makers'. Whatever that means," he lied. While he had expected the soldiers to have some inkling what the pink triangle meant, a more wistful part of him thought of the lie beforehand.
Newkirk cracked a slight smirk. "Put up a fight, eh? Well, you certainly aren't a chicken. Most blokes don't try to run from the German army without a full proof plan." The comment made James smile as well. At least he wasn't looked down upon here. There was some respect in running through the German winter barefoot.
The soldier gripped James' arm to help him walk back to the main room. Before they left, however, Newkirk promised not to tell Hogan about his arm or the patch on his shirt. James thanked the man. The less who knew he'd been branded like cattle the better.
Newkirk set the boy down at the table. LeBeau stood at the door keeping watch while Carter leaned against the wall next to a set of bunks. "How's your feet holding up?" the Sergeant asked.
"They're….okay," James sighed.
"Well, I'm no doctor, but I'm sure once they heel, well, you'll be able to run circles around this camp!"
The boy grimaced at the thought of running. He was sick of the sport. Instead he thought about what he really wanted to do: dance. "Think…Think I'll be able to dance again?" he risked. Man may not be a doctor, but if he was in charge of bandaging him, then he must know something.
Carter raised an eyebrow. "Dance? Like the Charleston?" James looked down at the table. Initials had been etched in with a pen knife along with dates. "What did I say?" Carter asked, his tone clueless.
Newkirk gave the Sergeant a look before squeezing the boy's shoulders. "Don't let him get to you. He only ran a drug store. He ain't no proper doctor."
Carter cried out in protest just as one of the bunk beds rustled. James looked up in time to see the bottom bunk's frame slide up into the top's. From below Colonel Hogan and Kinch popped out. A few seconds later, the bottom bunk slid back into position. The boy couldn't take his eyes off it. He knew the others were sleuths at getting people out, but he didn't know the barracks were rigged.
Hogan stepped in front of the boy which stopped his gawking. The man had that smirk on his face from this morning. Must be his resting face. "Good news, kid. London got back to us and said they'd be able to transport you in a few days' time. We just have to get some stuff planned on our end," the Colonel explained.
If the bed had left James flabbergasted, he was absolutely gob smacked now. "L-London? The London? As in the city of London?" James asked.
"By way of submarine, of course, but a stepping stone to London," the Colonel replied.
James could hardly believe his ears. After so much work and fear, it was almost over. Stepping out of Germany would have been fine enough for him. He stood to properly thank Colonel Hogan, but LeBeau quickly turned to the group and said, "Schultz is coming!"
In his half-stance, Newkirk pushed the young man towards Carter who proceeded to push James onto a bed. Hogan and Kinch leaned against it to hide the boy from the prying eyes of the Sergeant as he entered the barracks calling out in German.
Hearing the sharpness of the German tongue made James' heart shift into second gear. Though his vision was obscured, he could still make out the tell-tale uniform and an extra-large gut under it.
Of course. No wonder he hardly got feed. Their rations probably went to the likes of this "Schultz".
"What's up, Schultz?" Hogan asked casually.
"Colonel Klink would like to see you," the man, Schultz, said.
"What for?" Hogan questioned.
"I do not know."
"Sure ya do, Schultzie. Come on, you can tell us. Ain't we mates?" came a British voice, obviously Newkirk's.
"Nein! I know nothing, nothing!" the man insisted.
There was a brief argument before Hogan quieted the men down. "Tell the Commandant I'll be there in a minute," he said.
There was an exchange of goodbyes before the air came back into the room. Hogan and Kinch stepped away from the bed and helped James sit up. "Sorry for being so rough," Hogan apologized, dusting off the man's shoulder. "It's just easier if he really does see nothing."
"I-It's no problem," James said as he clenched his fist to keep his hands from shaking. Not five seconds ago he had been laying just a few feet away from a German guard. A German prison guard.
"What do you think Klink wants to discuss with you, sir?" Carter asked.
Hogan shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll try to make it quick. Newkirk, have you taken his measurements?" Newkirk nodded with a quick "yes, sir". "Good. Start making civilian clothes. Carter, tell the boys we need new documents forged and more money printed. Kinch and LeBeau, make sure this one doesn't get caught." Each man gave a "yes, Colonel" before heading off to their respective task. Colonel Hogan nodded and adjusted his hat before leaving.
LeBeau sat down beside James and took the boy's trembling hand in his. "You really shouldn't be so scared of Schultz. We pay him off with forged money and information he doesn't want to hear."
James squeezed LeBeau's hand and sighed out deeply. "Even a paid off German guard is still a German guard."
