***
As the words came out of Carter's mouth, he knew that he was saying too much. Shultz may have been one of the "good" krauts, but that didn't mean that Carter could trust him enough to tell him about the bug in Klink's office or about the mission. But he was. He couldn't stop himself. It was as if a dam had broken loose in Carter's mind.
It was hard to tell if Shultz was even listening to him at all. Shultz was huffing with exertion and his cheeks were red. After their collision, the German had started half carrying him and half walking him to . . . Well, Carter wasn't quite sure where they were going. He would have asked, but he was too busy talking about things that he shouldn't be talking about.
". . . Then this guy appears out of nowhere, I think he was Al. Anyway, he doesn't actually come out of nowhere. There was this blue rectangle that he stepped out of. And he was wearing fuchsia."
"Fuchsia." Shultz grunted. It seemed as though Shultz was listening after all.
Carter shook his head and looked up at the puffing German with a lopsided smile. "After Sam and Al started arguing, I split. Then I ran into you."
Shultz spared him a glance before looking forward again.
"You don't believe me."
Shultz stopped and looked Carter in the eyes. Then, sounding more serious than Carter had ever heard him, he asked, "Do you really want me to believe you?"
Considering it for a moment, Carter looked down. "I guess not."
Shultz nodded solemnly and started walking again.
"Where are we going, Shultz?"
"We are going to the barracks. You have obviously spent too much time in this cold air, yes?"
Carter smiled, feeling just a little less shaky than before. "Yeah, I guess I have."
***
After depositing Carter at the Barracks and leaving him in the care of his fellow prisoners, Shultz made his way through the compound. He was troubled and he couldn't keep his mind still.
Despite his occasional- alright, more than occasional- bumbling Shultz was not stupid. He was sometimes insensible, at times irresponsible, and once in awhile he was gullible. But not stupid. He had sense enough to know that the prisoners of Stalag 13 weren't your normal prisoners. He wasn't completely certain what they were up to most of the time, but he did know that they were always up to something.
Not that he ever let on. He knew what would happen if he relayed his suspicions to the Gestapo and they proved right. He knew and he had no desire to be responsible for it. Besides, with the Gestapo, it was much safer to play the fool in general. They kept an eye on smart men. Smart men were dangerous. But stupid men? They were to be tolerated as long as they were Aryan. At least, until the war was won.
Shultz knew this from his many trips to the tavern. Gestapo men liked to drink as much as anyone else and liquor always loosened tongues. The things that he heard them say made him shiver inside. He didn't like to think about it. And ever since this war had started, he didn't like thinking in general.
But now he was thinking again.
There were three possibilities. Carter finally broke under the pressure of a prisoners life. Carter was trying to fool or confuse him for some reason. Or, Carter was telling the truth. There were obvious problems with all three possibilities.
The possibility that Carter was crazy didn't seem right. Despite what he had said, he had sounded like himself. But then, Carter had always seemed a little . . . off. Even the other prisoners seemed to think so.
The possibility that Carter was trying to fool or confuse him also wasn't right. Yes, Shultz was confused, but what would Carter gain from it? The story was too outlandish to trick someone into believing it; too unrealistic to spread suspicion or make a rumor. What good would it do for anyone to have Shultz question the sanity of the prisoners?
Then there was the possibility that Carter was telling the truth . . .
Shultz shook his head. That thought in itself was crazy. Obviously he had been hanging around the prisoners too much- their monkey shines were starting to rub off on him. That must be it.
Feeling a little better, he walked up to the Commandant's office. The Big Shot always expected him to be within shouting distance and it was best that he wasn't disappointed. In any event, it would help Shultz to keep his mind from thinking so much.
He stopped when he saw a long staff car drive through the gates. Moving as fast as he could without looking like he was hurrying, he went to the gates to greet whomever had come to see the Big Shot this time.
***
As the driver drove to the rickety gates of the compound, she felt her lips curve up into a sneer of disgust. The place brought a new meaning to the word boonies. She looked to her companion. "Are you sure this is the place?"
Her companion smiled in something close to pleasure. "Positive."
***
Sam was not always right. His intuition was not failsafe, nor was it fool proof. He knew that. Still, was it really asking too much for Al to trust him on something? For once?
"No."
"Al-"
"No!"
"Al-"
"NO!"
"Al, would you just listen to me for one second!"
Al glared and threw up his hands in frustrated disgust. "Fine, talk." He turned away and spoke in his typical Sam-I'm-Not-Very-Happy-With-You-Right-Now voice. "Just don't think that you'll change my mind."
Sam felt the sigh come out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Al, all I want you to do is find out who he is."
"But he can see me, Sam."
Sam seemed to recall having this problem before. "Can't you just change your frequency or something?"
"That won't help if he's crazy or retarded."
"Well," Sam said, he voice tinged with both sarcasm and frustration. "We won't know that until you find out who he is."
Al's glare darkened. "Fine, I'll go." Hastily jabbing the handlink with more force than seemed necessary, Al disappeared.
Sam closed his eyes. He hated when Al did that. Al was his best friend- his only friend for the last . . . how many years?, but sometimes, Al would just act so unreasonable and stubborn. Sam's frustration usually won over his common sense and Al would be mopey for most of the leap. As if he didn't have enough problems with this leap already.
Sam slouched in the desk chair, feeling more tired than he really was. He found himself looking at the drink he had poured earlier and found himself wanting it. He wondered for a moment whether the host was actually to blame for this want or not. Grabbing the glass, he decided that he really did not give a damn.
He had lifted the glass up to his lips and was in the process of taking a sip when there was a knock on the door. It startled him so badly that the liquor in his mouth went down his windpipe and the liquor in the glass ended up on the front of his uniform. Choking, he managed a gasping "Come in".
Within a few moments Sam had recovered himself. He looked up to see the fat sergeant and a man he did not recognize in a Gestapo uniform. The Sergeant made a hasty salute. "This is General Boes, Herr Commandant."
General Boes was not young. His neck was sagging with age and he had many deep set wrinkles around his milky blue eyes. While his face was set in a oddly blank expression, Sam could tell that this was a man who smiled a lot. At least, he had many "laugh lines" marking his face.
"Welcome to Stalag 13." Sam stood and saluted. Luckily, he had been able to stop himself from offering his hand for a handshake instead. "I wasn't expecting you so early."
The general regarded Sam with an almost undefinable, but definitely calculating, expression in his eyes. "What you were expecting is irrelevant, Klink." His voice was strangely mocking and the slight smile on his face seemed very much out of place.
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Sam searched for something to say. Finally finding it, he tried to make his voice as casual as possible and his smile look genuine. "I'm sure that you are tired after your long trip." Realizing that he had failed on both the voice and the smile, he pressed on, turning his attention to Shultz. "Why don't you show General Boes to the guest quarters?"
Shultz looked a little surprised. "Guest quarters?"
Sam felt his face scrunch up into a slightly pleading, but mostly desperate expression.
The light dawned in the sergeant's eyes and he saluted. "Yes, Herr Commandant!"
As they left, Sam couldn't help but feel a shudder. His intuition wasn't always right, but he did trust it. And right now, it was telling him that General Boes was dangerous.
***
Newkirk's game wasn't going well. He wasn't sure if Lebeau noticed or not, and at the moment, he didn't really care. He was worried. He glanced at Carter. He looked a little better than he had when Shultz had brought him in.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to his cards. At least, he tried to. While he had never actually said it, he did care about the kid. He reminded Newkirk of the little brother he never had. The kid got on his nerves every now and then, but he did like him. If something happened to him, he didn't know what he'd do.
"Why are you here?"
Newkirk looked at Carter oddly. "Well, it's not because of the weather, I can tell you that."
Carter shook his head. "I wasn't talking to you."
Newkirk was dimly aware of Lebeau slowly putting down his cards. "Then who are you talking to?" Lebeau asked.
Carter stared at them as if they had gone insane. "Can't you see him?" When they didn't answer, he continued, voice incredulous. "How can you not? He's wearing fuchsia!"
"Non. I don't see anything."
Carter turned away from them to stare some place near the foot of the table that they sat at. "Why can't they see you?" He nodded in understanding before turning to face them again.. "He says that you don't have the right kind of brain waves."
"Really?" Newkirk tilted his head towards the Colonel's room.
Lebeau nodded and quickly left, hopefully, to go fetch the Colonel- maybe he'd know what to do.
"My Name? I'm Andrew Carter . . . Yes, I can still see you."
Newkirk was now more than worried. Carter was talking to someone who wasn't there. First Klink and now Carter. Was this some sort of disease? Was it catching? "Who are you talking to, mate?"
"His name is Al."
***
Walking through the compound, she couldn't stop herself from smiling. At last, she thought to herself, an easy one.
***
