His words hung in the air like floating feathers. However, they hit the ground like a bowling ball. James jumped from his seat, lines creasing all over his face. "You can't be serious," he said.
"I wish I wasn't. I didn't think Klink would call the Gestapo, and I couldn't stop him. Now we have to get pass them too," Hogan sighed.
James sank back down to his seat, his face the same color as the snow falling outside. "This is just great," he said, rubbing at his temples. "At this rate I won't be leaving here until the war is over." And maybe not even then, depending on who wins.
"Don't despair now. Klink doesn't even know what you look like," Newkirk pointed out, hoping to keep the kid in good spirits. "He doesn't, does he?"
"No. All he has is a basic description which works in our favor," Colonel Hogan replied. "What doesn't is the tightened security. The area around here will be crawling with Krauts. Taking the emergency tunnel may even be too dangerous."
"I'm still gonna get out of here, right, Colonel?" James asked.
The man nodded. "Yes. Even if we have to start playing this by ear. We'll start moving as soon as we can get Newkirk into solitary."
"Already covered, Colonel. LeBeau and I have been practicing a good tussle," Newkirk chimed.
"Good. We'll wait until tomorrow. Klink's already had enough excitement for today. In the meantime, let's get things ready to move back into barrack two." Everyone nodded and the room shifted into action. Men packed things in footlockers and bundled up bedding. Newkirk tapped James on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the bed he had been sleeping in.
The boy stood and went to help Newkirk roll up his bedding. Most men piled their pillow and blanket in the middle so when they pulled off the mattress cover all they had to do was tie it up like a hobo bag. The Brit did this as well and as he lifted the mattress, James grabbed the cover and pulled it up. Then he carefully wrapped the sheet over the pillow and blanket to make a kind of sack.
"Colonel Hogan is pretty bold to start moving back in as soon as Klaus and Marx are gone," James commented as he carried the sack over to the fake sink. Newkirk set it down on its side to reveal the tunnel underneath.
"Not really, mate. Pink eye only last a week or two," Newkirk said, climbing down the ladder. He waited at the bottom with his arms outstretched. James dropped the bundle into the other's hands before going down the ladder.
The two men walked down the gas-lit hall in silence. James noticed all the familiar cracks and chunks of dirt. After living in here for three days, you come to know the tunnels quite well.
They made it to the ladder leading up to barrack two. James climbed up first before lending Newkirk a hand. Along with being stuck in the tunnel system for three days, he started to work up his muscle again by doing light stretches.
Newkirk set his bundle on top of his bunk and unrolled the sack. He lifted the mattress, allowing James room to stuff the edges of the cover under it. With that, Newkirk pushed his pillow to the side closest to the door and smoothed out the blanket. Other men came in through the door and tunnel trying to get the room unquarantined.
"Wanna do a dress rehearsal?" Newkirk asked, pulling the boy out of the way of a soldier carrying a footlocker.
"Sure," he said, weaving his way through the bodies. The door to the back room had been hidden by a large cabinet which held heavy winter coats and boats. Newkirk pushed it to the side using his shoulder before opening the door.
The Brit opened a chest with the completed outfit inside. He laid it out on the table for the other and set the boots on the floor. "I'll wait outside for ya to get changed," he said. James heard the door open and close before he turned around to start putting on the new clothes.
James ran his hand down the jacket and hummed softly. The clothes were so boringly German. Nothing loose or comfy like the clothes he wore in France and America. And everything looked so itchy.
He shrugged off his over-sized coat and let it fall to the floor. At least now he would have clothes that fit him. The ones he wore now were worn clothes from the soldiers. It hung off his thin frame like a child playing dress up. He unbuttoned the shirt and set it down on the stool. His eye caught the corner of the number burned into his skin and he grimaced.
After the war, his muscle would come back and the memories of the prison camp would fade. The image of the faces before him would get cloudy and morph together until they were unrecognizable. But the scar on his arm would never go away. Fade, maybe, if he was lucky, but never would it go back to the soft surface it once was. An unwanted conversation starter like the garish rug in his living room forever reminding him of this time in his life.
James tore his eyes away from the mark and picked up the inner most shirt to start tugging on. Another part of German fashion was that it had more layers than a Victorian dress. He pulled a tank top up over his head and adjusted the straps. It was a little snug which was odd. After months of wearing shirts that fit like dresses, something being snug was unheard of.
A stained, cracked mirror was propped up in a corner of the small room, so James turned to look at himself in it. The last time he had a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he looked younger than in his senior pictures. Now when he looked in the mirror, his cheeks puffed out again framed by a decent jaw. His shoulders also no longer looked like knobby joints but proper hinges. His arms were still on the small side, but they weren't sticks anymore. A little more tid-bits of extra weight clung to his waist and legs.
A small victory the image was, but James felt like he was glowing. Now he didn't look like some malnourished child. Not exactly the standard Airman either, but he had to start somewhere. Recovery was recovery. And in England he'd continue it and start working on dancing again.
When he was done admiring himself in the mirror, James continued putting on his outfit. Everything fit snuggly which didn't bother James too much for he knew the reason. Once he was done, he called Newkirk back in with his arms akimbo to his sides. "Well? What do ya think?" the boy asked, leaning his weight onto one side.
Newkirk pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest. His critical eyes scanned every inch of thread before he snapped his fingers and exited the room. A couple seconds later he returned with white guaze and started wrapping it around James' head. "Sorry chap but without this we can't get you out of Germany," Newkirk explained.
The room became darker and darker with each new layer until James could barely make out basic shapes. "I'm supposed to escape Germany like this?" the boy questioned, feeling a little light on his feet. Not being able to see really messed with one's balance.
"Do you got a better idea?" Newkirk asked, tying off the bandages. "I'll be by your side every step of the way. Just until we get to the sub." James felt something slip into his coat pocket and shuffled his hand around that area. "I placed your ID card, passport, and discharge papers in there. Fresh from Carter's office. We'll be crossing through the Netherlands to get to the sub, but things will be easier there. Getting out of Germany is the hardest part."
"Won't it be suspicious? A German soldier leaving Germany right after he's been wounded?"
"We'll just tell them there's some fancy doctor in Netherlands or a sweet dame waiting just across the border." The suggestion earned a snort from James. Sure, a dame. That would be the day.
"Now how do I look?" James asked.
"Like a ruddy Kraut," Newkirk joked, patting him on the shoulder. The Brit then started to carefully unwrap the gauze to reuse for when they actually left.
Once James could see clearly again, he slowly started peeling off the layers of German clothing. He placed the wool coat neatly on the table and started to unhook the suspenders. Why did Germans make such complicated outfits?
"What are you gonna do with that trench coat?" Newkirk asked, putting the clothes back in a footlocker.
James looked down and picked it up. It had holes along the collar and stains in various places. The edges had frayed, and two buttons were missing. The tag on the inside had the name Mathieu sewed on it. "I'm holding onto it for someone," James explained, setting it down on the table to be put on again. "They would be mad if I got rid of it."
