A few minutes later, LeBeau entered carrying a kettle and two mugs. He set them down on Hogan's table before going over to help Newkirk. The Brit slowly stood before picking the kid up bridal style and placing him on the bottom bunk of Hogan's bed. The Corporal sighed as he wiped his shirt where James had cried.
"The kid's a ruddy mess," Newkirk said, pouring himself some tea. "If he sees one Kraut out there, he'll blow his cover."
LeBeau fixed himself a cup and hummed. "We shouldn't judge him so hard. It sounds like those officers are as bad as the Gestapo."
"We can't be soft on him like he's a new born fawn either. I hate seeing the bloke like this, but we can't do anything if it's all in his head." Newkirk jabbed at his temples. "And I won't be the one looking like a ruddy queer in front of everyone," the Brit muttered, taking a sip of tea.
The Frenchman gave Newkirk a look crossed between amusement and shock. "So that's what you think of him?" LeBeau asked.
"I can't say it hasn't ran through me mind. Especially when he goes on sobbing."
"Mon ami, he is an artist. I have many friends like him back in Paris. They are sensitive but beautifully skilled." A smile came across the short man's face. Maybe that was why the two got so well. James was like getting a visit from one of his old buddies back home.
Newkirk shook his head and pulled out a cigarette. He struck a match to light it before taking a short drag. "Back home that kind of information was kept secret. If me old man heard I let some sod cry on me, I wouldn't have a bed to return to."
"You think Colonel Hogan or the other men think the same way?" LeBeau inquired.
The Brit didn't answer. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke. Grey clouds of ash danced in the air before being disintegrated by the light. "I don't know, LeBeau, and I don't really want to find out. 'Cause even after the kid is gone, we have to stay here until the war ends. And I'd rather it be as peaceful as possible." Newkirk tapped his ash onto the floor and inhaled the tobacco once more. The scent that filled his lungs had such a calming effect on him.
"You British and the Americans are so…tight about love and romance," LeBeau mused, swirling the tea around in his cup. "In France, love is free. And no one cares as long as everyone is happy. It also isn't uncommon to try things out."
That earned a belly laugh from Newkirk. The Corporal shook his head and wiped his eyes of tears. If there was even a rumor two blokes fancied each other, they were ostracized for years. "So are ya telling me you've been with a man?" Newkirk asked, a rascal smile spread across his face.
The Frenchman shrugged. "I don't kiss and tell. But I can say I prefer girls," he replied.
Newkirk shook his head even more and felt the smile fade. LeBeau was not one to lie about something like this. While other men would spin tall tales of nights with beautiful women, LeBeau only ever hinted at the same few stories. "You're not serious, mate?" the British Corporal pressed. "You shagged with a man?"
LeBeau sipped the rest of his tea and shrugged again. "I told you, I don't kiss and tell. But I can assure you, it did not go quite that far." With his cup empty, LeBeau took the kettle and poured himself another. He finished that off in one big gulp before setting the empty cup upside down on the table. "When you're down, put the cups and kettle back in the cupboard. I'm going to bed now. Bonne nuit, mon ami." The Frenchman left, shutting the door softly behind him.
The Brit was left alone in his stupor, quite shocked over the whole ordeal. He'd never guess LeBeau once had a thing with another man. Well, thinking about it, Newkirk understood that wasn't really something you wanted to get out in a camp full of army men.
His gaze shifted to James, who curled up like a baby on the bunk. Was he afraid of the men here as well as the Germans? Newkirk knew he'd be terrified of such an…affliction if he was in a prison camp.
Thoughts from last night slowly came back to him. How James had helped him with the sewing and how downtrodden the boy had been. Also, the mention of being unable to sleep. This was probably one of the better sleeps the boy had had in a long time. And it just had to be induced by a severe panic attack. Newkirk cursed himself for thinking it was a good idea without briefing James beforehand. This wasn't the place for shock therapy.
Newkirk grabbed the better blanket from the top bunk and placed it over James'. There was no way the kid could handle the small amount Krauts he'd have to deal with to make it to the sub. Not alone at least.
"I must be losing my bloody head," Newkirk muttered, grabbing the kettle and cups. Tomorrow morning he'd talk to Hogan about it.
