#sicktember2022 #Homesick
Homesick
By
Sierra Sutherwinds
The lake was tinted with the colors of an autumn afternoon. A boat rocked gently, tied up to a small pier while the shades began to chill with the breeze. Carter found the place peaceful enough to lie down on the grass, watching the clouds pass by. They had been walking all day, delivering and picking up messages; and now, there was nothing else to do but wait for another contact.
"We should do missions like this more often," he said, sensing LeBeau sitting beside him.
"What's that in your mouth?"
"Grass straw, here, have one." He pulled one off the ground and handed it to his friend.
"No, merci," LeBeau winced with disgust. "If you're hungry, there is plenty of food in the cabin."
"That's not the point," Carter sighed. "It's all about enjoying the moment; listening to the water, the grasshoppers… Boy, what wouldn't I do with a fishing rod?" He sat up as though looking for something.
"Don't do this to yourself, mon ami. We're still on a mission." LeBeau got up and brushed the grass off his clothes.
"Yeah, it doesn't matter anyway. We're leaving as soon as we get the codebook." Carter looked at the boat in the lake and shrugged. "We're never coming back to this place."
"What is in this place that you can find anywhere else?"
"Do you think about your home, Louie? I mean, really," he said. "At this hour my mom is probably making bread, dad comes for a cup of coffee and they talk about the news from town."
"If it makes you feel better," said Newkirk, joining the conversation as he came closer. "It's midnight back in the colonies. Your parents must be sleeping."
Carter tossed the straw on the ground and walked away.
"See what you did?" LeBeau shook his head.
"What?" Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Here, this is the codebook. One safebox down, two more to go." He rubbed his hands and sneezed.
"À tes souhaits… are you okay?"
"Old dust. That box hasn't seen a duster in ages, I swear." Newkirk headed to the truck. "What's going on with Carter? He looks sulky."
"He's been thinking of home a lot. I don't think he's been sleeping much." LeBeau looked at the young sergeant waiting for them by the truck. "He was talking about his home and you came to open your big mouth."
"Me? How would've I known about that? Is it me fault he's too attached to home? We're soldiers, we've got to be strong." He sneezed again.
"Now you're a soldier? I thought you didn't care about that. It's not Carter's fault that you grew up in l'hospice des orphelins. Carter has a nice family and he misses them too much."
"I didn't grow up in an orphanage. Where did you get-? Nevermind." He stopped and composed himself. "All right, what do you suggest we do with Carter?"
"Besides watching what you say? Well, I think he could use more compassion and friends."
"I'll do my best." He sat in the back seat and sneezed again.
"Bless you. Are you okay?" Carter turned around from his seat behind the wheel.
LeBeau interrupted before Newkirk could answer that. "I think he's sick."
"I am?... Ah, yes, I am," Newkirk frowned at LeBeau's glare.
"Really?" Carter looked at him with concern. "Should we quit the mission? How do you feel?"
"We can't quit the mission, don't be dramatic. I might be a teeny tiny bit sick, but it's fine."
Then again, LeBeau glared at him. "Ça n'en fait rien, Carter. We can take care of Newkirk and go on with the mission at the same time." The Frenchman was satisfied with the plan and he would stick to it.
"Take care of me? I can take care of meself."
"Nonsense, sit back and leave everything to me and LeBeau." Carter took the main road and drove to their next stop.
Oooo
"How do you feel, Newkirk?"
"Right as-" He met LeBeau's eyes and sighed. "I'm doing fine, Carter… thank you."
Carter turned to see LeBeau, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"I think he has a fever," the Frenchman whispered.
The young sergeant nodded and entered the next town. He parked in front of a commercial zone and got out. "Wait here, I'll be right back."
"What is this all about? Why did you tell him I'm sick?"
"Newkirk, look at him. For days, he has been dragging his face on the ground. He hasn't slept… he hasn't even tasted the cookies I made especially for him."
"Those biscuits were awfully good," Newkirk nodded.
"Exactement! And look at him now, he's involved in this trip, feeling useful." LeBeau followed Carter as he walked into a store. "You can thank me later."
"Really? Why not now, while he's so jolly? Can you imagine how he will feel when he finds out it's all a charade? I'm not sick."
"Chaque chose en son temps, s'il te plâit." LeBeau smiled at Carter, who was coming back with a small paper bag.
"Here, have a couple of these." He put two pills on Newkirk's hand.
"What is this?"
"Ah, some sort of aspirin. It will make you feel better."
This was a tricky situation, LeBeau admitted; however, he expected that Newkirk would do the right thing. Searching in his duffel bag, the Frenchman produced a canteen. "Here's water."
"Never mind, I've got me own here." Newkirk gulped down the pills and drank more of his bottle. "Are we all happy now?"
"Oh, yes," Carter gave him a big smile. "Now, we can go back on the mission."
For a few minutes, the trip went quietly. They arrived at their next destination; an old building on a solitary street. The Underground man was waiting for them at the door.
"The safebox is on the first floor, upstairs."
"The first floor is upstairs?" Carter looked at the windows.
"He's Ah-American," Newkirk finished his sentence with a loud yawn. "Don't mind him."
LeBeau entered the building with his friends. The office was the first one in the corridor and he stood at the door, watching the stairs.
"There," Carter pointed at the box and turned to Newkirk, who was rubbing his eyes and yawning again. Carter pulled his sleeve. "Are you okay?"
"Oh, perfectly fine," he said, kneeling in front of the safe box. "I'm so sleepy," he yawned, putting his ear on the door.
"You don't sleep enough, Newkirk," Carter shook his head.
"Look who's talking," he said with another yawn.
"You can talk about that later. Hurry up," said LeBeau. The operation took longer than he expected but after a few minutes, the three of them were back downstairs. "Okay… we're almost done." LeBeau got in the car.
"Yes, soon," Newkirk sighed as he crawled on the back seat.
"Are you okay, Newkirk?" Carter turned on the car.
"He's fine, don't worry. Let him rest while we go to the next town." LeBeau turned to look at the Englishman. He looked fine, snoring, but okay.
The night was passing slowly. It was cold but for a change, it was not raining. LeBeau checked the map to see where they should take a turn.
The last safe box was in a basement. Like in the previous town, a person from the Underground was waiting for them.
"We managed to carry the box here, but we need a safecracker." The man looked around. "Where is he?"
"Right here." Carter realized that Newkirk was still in the car. He and LeBeau pulled him out but they could not make him stand up on his own. "What's with you, Newkirk? Open your eyes."
"Is he drunk?" the Underground man asked.
Newkirk laughed. "I'd wish… where's the bugger, I'll open it in no time."
LeBeau kept him straight as they walked downstairs.
"Bed! Give me a couple of seconds." Newkirk said, diving into a cot by the wall. There were other two underground agents engaged in a poker game. They looked suspiciously as the three men entered the room.
"Carter, what's going on?" LeBeau kept his eyes on Newkirk, who was lying face down, apparently fast asleep.
"I don't know… an allergic reaction to the pills, maybe?" He tilted his head as he looked at Newkirk.
"What did they tell you at the pharmacy?"
"They spoke in German," he shrugged. "The doctor said something that sounded like ah…schlaf…"
"Schläfrig?" Newkirk chuckled, his eyes still closed. "That means sleepy."
"But you're not just sleepy. You're completely drunk." LeBeau gesticulated, as the men behind them kept staring. "Unless…" He turned to Newkirk. "Did you put whiskey in your canteen again?" The response was a loud snore.
"Holy moly, what are we gonna do now?" Carter rubbed his face, hoping for some inspiration. "Hey… didn't Newkirk teach you how to crack a safe?"
"Yes, but, that was some time ago and it didn't look like this one."
"You don't need to be a tea leaf to open that tiny little thing. Use your loaf." Newkirk managed to turn around. "It's like flirting with girls… you just change your approach from bird to bird," he snorted and the underground men nodded, smiling.
"If you can't, I'll try," Carter shrugged with resignation.
"Non, it's my fault. I started this, I'll fix it." LeBeau cracked his knuckles and crouched in front of the box.
Carter sat on the cot, watching the Frenchman work. The underground men went on with their poker game, turning their heads once in a while to see how it was going. Life at war moved too fast; sometimes it was less about planning and more about going with what circumstances put in front of you. How different this was from life at home.
LeBeau faced the box, touched its walls and turned the dial several times. It took him a few minutes to remember how the barrels in the mechanism sounded when he hit the right combination. He finished with a triumphant smile. "Le voilà," he said, grabbing the notebook inside.
"Twenty minutes," Carter nodded with a smirk. "That must be a record of some kind." He took the notebook and put it in his inner pocket.
"We have another bed in the next room if you want to sleep a little before continuing your trip." The leader of the group signed to his men to go upstairs.
"Could we take a moment to rest?" LeBeau asked Carter.
"Sure," Carter shrugged. "One hour… give Newkirk some time to sleep it off."
OOO
Carter lay in a bed in the room next door, staring at the ceiling. "LeBeau? You said it was your fault, what did you mean by that?"
"Oh, well… I don't know. You've been so sad lately that I thought you needed something to put your mind into." LeBeau kept his hat over his eyes.
"Something like what?"
"Newkirk… he was sneezing and I thought he could be sick…"
"He's not sick?"
"I don't know. He was sneezing, it could be a cold or… allergies."
Carter jumped off the bed and turned on the light. "Newkirk is not sick? I could've poisoned him with those pills. LeBeau, what were you thinking?" Carter paced around with his hands on his head. "I don't get you, guys. Why do you keep playing those stupid jokes on me?" He stormed out of the room.
Newkirk was awake, contemplating the safe box. He did not look at the door when Carter came in but acknowledged his presence.
"I should've done this… the box, I should've opened it meself… I'm sorry."
Carter plopped on the bed and sighed deeply. "I gave you the pills."
"But you didn't know… I heard you talking to LeBeau."
"I don't get it. I thought you were my friends. You guys are giving me a headache."
"I'm sorry. You look so sad these days. Have you gotten any good sleep lately?"
He leaned on the wall. "Are you asking me that? We've bunk bed mates, I feel you tossing and turning above my head." He smirked. "I'm sorry I can't be all fun and laughter all the time."
"It's not about that. We care about you. Something's bugging you. May I know what?"
The sergeant shook his head, staring at the safe box. "My dad's birthday was this week… It's the second birthday I have missed in a row." He lowered his eyes. "I just keep thinking how many birthdays we still have together. I'm missing his best years right now. Do you know what that feels like?"
Newkirk nodded and leaned against the wall. "The best birthdays of the old man's or mine were when he was not there. Everything was easier when we were apart." He turned to look at his friend. "Look, I can't tell you how much longer it will take, but this war will end and you'll be heading home in no time. I'm sure you both will have plenty of days to make up for these lost years, all right? It will happen."
Carter nodded with a smile. "You can come and visit me. I'll show you the farm and the lake."
The door opened slowly. "But first, you two need to come to Paris with me," LeBeau stepped in. "We didn't mean to play a joke on you, Carter. I hope you know that we're all your friends and when you're sad we want to help you feel better… I say the same for you, Newkirk."
"We're not the lonely people," Newkirk smiled and patted Carter's shoulder.
"I think we can go home now… you know, home away from home." Carter took the truck keys and walked in front of his friends. "Louie, you'll come to the farm too and I'll show you how to fish with a rod."
"D'accord, but I'll cook something so you don't have to eat grass from the ground."
"Don't you eat frogs in France? Disgusting." Newkirk pulled LeBeau's hat in a playful way.
"What about the fish and chips? Don't they wrap them in old newspapers?" The Frenchman claimed his hat.
Carter laughed, turning to join his friends. "Newspapers? Really?"
"The flavor is in the ink," Newkirk pretended to explain. "I personally prefer The Daily Telegraph."
Carter looked at his friends, playing and joking. Back on the farm, he would have never met a pair of guys like this. Perhaps this time of his life was not as bad as he thought. One day, when back home the awfulness of war would assail him, he would seek refuge in these memories and laugh again.
The End