James hoisted up some rolled-up sheets through the hole in the floor. Colonel Hogan had said he didn't need to help, but the kid felt like he owed it the men. This was work they wouldn't have to do if he wasn't here. "Is that the last of it?" Carter asked, wiping his forehead. James looked down the hole and nodded.

James pulled himself up to sit on the floor of the new barrack and asked, "How long do you guys plan on sleeping in here?"

"Just a few nights. Enough so Klink thinks the other men really had pink eye," Hogan explained. "You should be getting back to the other barrack, by the way. Don't need any of the Krauts to spot you."

"Right, sir," James said, sliding onto the ladder. "Tomorrow night, Colonel Hogan, you're sure?"

"Tomorrow night. We wouldn't let you down," Hogan replied, tipping his hat. The boy nodded before descending the ladder. Colonel Hogan closed the panel when the boy dropped to the ground. James followed the torches attached to the dirt walls down to the main room. He took a turn to the ladder attached to the false bunk and knocked twice. The bunk went right up, and James climbed out.

Five men laid in bed, all with pink stuff around their eyes and red stuff on their noses. They were no worse for wear, however, as many were either smoking or reading. James nodded to them as he went to LeBeau at the oven. A sweet, hearty smell wafted from it which caused James' stomach to gurgle.

"Excusez-moi," James said, holding his stomach with one arm.

LeBeau chuckled and looked up at him. "Don't worry, mon ami. That is exactly the sound I want to hear," the Frenchman said, closing the oven to let whatever it was continue to bake.

The boy smiled and sat down at the table. LeBeau was even easier going than Mathieu.

Newkirk pushed open the door with his boot causing everyone to jump. The loud bang brought James back to reality.

"Newkirk," hissed LeBeau, "what are you doing making such a racket?"

"I come bearing gifts," he said, setting down a box with a large red cross on it. "You can guess who it's from." The Brit popped off the lid to reveal an assortment of medicine, food, masks, and warm clothing. James pulled out an especially nice piece of bread and examined it.

"You're not scamming the Red Cross, are you?" James asked as the other men gathered round to have a look in the box.

"Nope. Old Klink must have reported he has five sick men and the Red Cross took it upon themselves to send this as a special delivery."

"They move that fast?" James wondered, setting the bread back in the box. At least one good thing came out of him being here.

LeBeau turned away from his cooking long enough to see if there were any useful ingredients. There was not, so he went back to the oven to watch his bake. "They will do anything to prevent an outbreak," he hummed.

Couldn't blame them there. Germs were against everyone. It could really hinder the war effort and slow it to a crawl. More people, soldiers and civilians, would die.

"What are the masks for?" James asked, pulling one out. It had four strings, two on each side, top and bottom. They looked like surgical mask.

Newkirk grabbed one and started to tie it around his face. "It's so we don't catch what they got. Here," the Brit threw one at LeBeau. The white cloth bounced off the man's red hat. The Frenchman cursed in his native tongue, those words James knew quite well, before bending down and picking it up.

Blue eyes casted a curious glance at Newkirk. The men weren't really sick, so why did they need the mask? He was about to set the mask on the table when Newkirk sprung up and took it from him. "You got to act the part, mate. Schultz will be here any minute," he explained, tying it around the boy's face.

A muffled "Schultz?!" came from the young man's mouth. That blubbering man was going to come here? Surely that meant James needed to hide. He'd go for under a bunk or something. Once Newkirk finished tying the mask, James stood up only to be pushed back down by a surprisingly strong Newkirk. "I-I-I have to hide," the boy said, clenching and unclenching his fist.

"Not before you get acquainted with old Schultzie," Newkirk said, pressing down on his shoulders so the kid stayed in one place.

"He'll turn me in."

"No, he won't. Not with the threat of the Russian front out there and the promise of strudel in here," LeBeau assured him, taking the pastry out of the oven just as there was a knock on the door. "Speaking of the devil."

It felt like a cannon ball thumped inside James' chest. Every beat hurt and produced more and more sweat. The mask felt like silicone over his face. His skin burned. Didn't they know this meant a date with the firing squad?

"Bonjour, Sergeant Schultz," LeBeau greeted, allowing the man access inside the barrack. Schultz squeezed in through the door and looked around the room.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Colonel Hogan said he was quarantining this barrack!"

"He is, but someone has to make sure these men don't get any worse. LeBeau and I volunteered," Newkirk said, taking a seat beside James.

The dancer sat like a statue hoping that if he didn't move, Schultz wouldn't notice him. Even with a mask, being spotted by a German guard guaranteed some form of punishment. As much as James wanted to run and never look back, he had to trust Newkirk and LeBeau.

Schultz looked around the barrack once more before going over to the cooling pastry LeBeau had set on top of the oven. "Is that strudel?" the man asked, pointing to the tin. He took a big whiff which blew his balloonish frame up more. He let out a sigh of pure delight and gave LeBeau a look a toddler gives fresh baked cookies. "Can I have some?"

LeBeau smiled and patted Schultz on the back. "Of course! You're our favorite guard. But only a small piece. Have to save some for our men," the Frenchman hummed, taking out a small butter knife from a drawer. Other than James' pounding heart, all that could be heard was the knife cutting the flaky crust. LeBeau set the thin slice down on a metal plate before bringing it over and setting it down on the table in front of the seat across from James. Schultz clapped his hands and rubbed them together before sitting down to enjoy the German delicacy.

If it wasn't for the slight dent every few minutes in James' surgical mask, you wouldn't be able to tell he breathed. Just a few mere inches of table separated the boy from a Kraut.

Blue eyes scanned every inch of the other's large body. He ate like a pig with a gut to match. The Germans had enough food to get fat but not enough to keep prisoners from starving.

The thought of food made James' stomach growl again and LeBeau cut three more slices. He set one plate down in front of James, one in front of Newkirk, and the other he set in front of the seat beside Schultz. The German guard was practically licking the plate by the time everyone at the table had something. He looked lazily at James and Newkirk for a second before his eyebrows shot into his helmet.

"Wh-Who is that?" he asked, jumping away from the table. James' nails dug into the wood. Ten deep marks signed his name.

LeBeau was quick to catch the fat guard and keep him from running out the door. "He's just visiting, Schultz, you know how it goes," the Corporal said, trying to pull the man back down to sit.

"B-B-But he isn't supposed to be here! I must tell Colonel Klink at once," protested the German. James could already picture it; Schultz would leave and come back with Klink and another guard. Then James would be detained and held until the Captain and Major arrived tomorrow.

He felt his shoulders be gripped tightly by someone and swore it was another guard until a British accent hit his ears, "Aw, you can't do that, mate. How would you explain him to Klink? People sneaking into a prison is almost as bad as people sneaking out."

"Yes, but I must—"

"Y-Y-You can have my strudel," James said, pushing the plate towards the other. His face matched the color of his mask, and his brown hair looked jet black. "I'll be gone b-by tomorrow night. Y-You can ac-act like you never saw me." His voice was barely above a whisper and every muscle looked strained.

Schultz looked at the pastry and back at James. James felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he begged them to stay back until the Kraut left. Seconds felt like hours before the Sergeant grabbed the plate. "Fine. But if I see him again, I will have to report him," Schultz warned the two Corporals. They gave him their word James would be gone by the designated time. With quick goodbyes the man left.

The men stretched and got up from the bed to grab what was left of the strudel. While LeBeau cut each man generous portions, Newkirk helped James into Colonel Hogan's office. The boy's surgical was damp with tears. The Brit shut the door before the dry heaving started.

James ripped the mask off, for it felt like it was suffocating him. He fell on the floor by the bunks. His body curled into its usual position as he hyperventilated into his chest and knees. Newkirk squeezed in next to him, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulder as he did.

His cheek made contact with the soft, woolen fabric of Newkirk's turtleneck and James lost his composure even more. He buried his face in the man's chest and cried. Burning, fat tears stained the uniform along with the feelings of anguish and fear James had been holding onto. Other, darker, more dangerous emotions left his body too. Anger and pure hatred found their place in the folds of Newkirk's uniform. The want to punch and shoot every German he saw evaporated in the other's arms as he realized it wasn't an entire country he feared; it was only the two men that had caused him the most suffering. Two men that would never be in his life after tomorrow.

When all the water left his body, James started to cough. Newkirk patted his back until the fit was over. His body was exhausted. As he quieted, James fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.