LeBeau chased after the stretcher, catching up with it as Wilson and Carter carried Newkirk into the infirmary.
"Pierre, Pierre — I'm right here," he called as he ran. He dashed into the ward as Wilson and Carter settled Newkirk onto a bed. Wilson swiveled around to face him.
"LeBeau," Wilson said sharply. "Out."
"What?" LeBeau looked stricken. "But Pierre… my friend… I … I…"
"Not now, LeBeau," Wilson said, his voice stern. "Go."
"But I can help. I always help…"
Wilson shook his head and crowded LeBeau as he steered him to the door. "That isn't true, is it? When he collapsed in rollcall, did you help?"
"I … but he was so reckless… and I was so angry." They were at the top of the small staircase that led to the infirmary now.
"I don't have time for this now, LeBeau. Out," Wilson said.
Carter had approached the doorway, and he was looking helpless. "Come on, Wilson, it's Louis," he said quietly. "Just let him…"
"Out," Wilson repeated, looming over LeBeau at the top of the steps. "Go."
"Je t'emmerde, Wilson!" LeBeau shouted. He left in fury, but he didn't want to return to the barracks. He didn't know what to say to Colonel Hogan or anyone else.
LeBeau sank down on a bench beside the mess hall. He was certain anyone who looked at him would see a dark cloud encircling him. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he cradled his head in his hands. LeBeau felt angry and defeated and ashamed all at once. Pierre had once been a puzzle to him, but they soon became uneasy allies and then genuine friends, long before the Americans arrived. They had been through hell together, the only two POWs crazy enough to keep trying to escape during the harsh regime that preceded Klink's arrival. One night, when they had been beaten and thrown in the cooler in a crumpled heap, they promised to look after one another, and from that time on, they did.
"I tried," LeBeau muttered to himself. His thoughts raced: I tried to look after him, but he was selfish and irresponsible. He could have gotten us all killed. He knows he deserved our anger. That's why he simply accepted it in silence. He would have been angry if anyone else had done what he did. He must have known it wouldn't last forever. He must… Then he pressed his palms into his eyes. Maybe he could push the tears back if he just used enough force.
(Two weeks earlier)
While Newkirk languished in the cooler, the men of Barracks 2 spent the entire month repairing their operation. They reconstructed tunnels that had been blown up in the frenzy to cover up Newkirk's revelations to Gretel. They tested and retested an entire network of contacts to detect any weakness. Rebuilding their team was the hardest task. Newkirk's folly had disrupted an operation that depended on leadership, trust, and loyalty, all of which had been severely strained.
After a month of this, they were all exhausted, having spent every day going about the customary lives of POWs and their nights laboring underground. Even Hogan had pitched in with the dirtiest construction jobs, although no one expected it of him as an officer.
Hogan and his command team were grouped around the table in Barracks 2, looking weary, when Schultz breezed in.
"Colonel Hogan," he said. "Newkirk will be out of the cooler tomorrow. The big shot said you should decide if he needs to be assigned to another barracks."
"Newkirk," Hogan grumbled, rubbing his head as if the mere mention of the name gave him pain. "Tell Klink he's coming back in here. Where I can keep an eye on him," he said emphatically.
Schultz departed, and Carter was the first to speak up, bright-eyed as usual.
"Gosh, I'm glad to hear that, Sir. I was really worried that you wouldn't let him back in."
"He's off the team until further notice," Hogan said sternly. "You all know that."
"But he's still our fr…"
Hogan cut him off. "Carter, we have work to do. We can't let sentimentality get in our way. It doesn't matter if he's our friend. This was a serious lapse of judgment and behavior. In any normal unit, he'd be transferred out for violating security and disobeying orders. You know that."
"He's a sucker for a pretty dame," Olsen said.
"It's more than that," Kinch said. "He thinks with his heart, not his head."
"And other parts of his anatomy," Olsen said.
"I don't think that was actually it, Olsen," Kinch said thoughtfully. "He was worried for Gretel. That's why he brought her back. That heart of his will always get him in trouble."
"I don't think he knows how to stay out of trouble," Hogan muttered. "But he knows too much about the operation to exile him to another barracks. He can stay, but we have to freeze him out."
LeBeau took it all in, but said nothing. Hogan's anger still at a boil. Carter, as usual, was the voice of forgiveness, and seemed to want to welcome Newkirk with open arms. Kinch, as usual, was somewhere in between, thinking about what made Newkirk make such a glaring mistake.
LeBeau just knew that he wanted Newkirk to squirm. Until he knew and felt and understood how much damage he had done, he wanted him to live with the consequences of his mistakes. He wanted him to see how badly he had risked not only their lives, but their bond to one another. Once he got the message, then maybe they could talk.
XXX
LeBeau had relived that scene in his mind for the past two weeks, and was reliving it again when the bench shifted underneath him. He looked up and saw Carter beside him. He was trying to smile, but could only grimace instead.
"Hey," Carter said. "For what it's worth, he's talking. Wilson thinks he'll be OK. He looks awful, though, kinda pale and sickly." He went quiet for a minute, then added, "Wilson's just steamed. He'll calm down once Newkirk's a little more stable."
LeBeau shook his head, but he didn't have any words to say. Finally, he said softly, "Trop tard, le mal est fait." Then he saw Carter's confused expression and added, "too late, the damage is done."