Chapter Two - Carter
Sergeant Andrew Carter stood in front of the washtub scrubbing his dirty clothes. He was angry and he was hurt. When he thought about the things Newkirk had said about him, he scrubbed harder.
"Boy!" he exclaimed, dunking a shirt into the washtub. "Some friend he's turned out to be." He pulled the shirt from the water and wrung it tightly. "Incompetent! Hmmph!" He wrung the shirt tighter.
"Be careful, mate," a voice said behind him. "You don't want to ring the green out of the fabric." Newkirk walked around in front of the table where Carter had set up the washtub.
"And what if I do?" Carter replied huffily. "It's my shirt!"
"Carter," Newkirk replied. "Andrew…"
"Go away," Carter ordered. "I have nothing to say to you."
"Andrew, please," Newkirk pleaded. "I just want to say I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what," Carter replied with more than a touch of scorn. "Sorry that I am incompetent, or sorry that I heard you say it?"
Newkirk was silent. He couldn't blame his friend for being angry with him. He hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. "Neither," he said at last. "I'm sorry I said it."
"Like I'm going to believe that," Carter replied angrily as he began scrubbing the shirt again.
"Honest," Newkirk said. "I am sorry. I don't know why I even said it."
"Because it's what you think," Carter retorted. "And you're afraid that I'll mess things up."
Newkirk sighed deeply. "No, that's not the reason," he muttered. "Truth is, I'm nervous about the mission."
"Because you think I'll mess it up," Carter repeated, wringing the water from the shirt.
"No!" Newkirk exclaimed, a bit too loudly. "I wish you would quit saying that!"
"Look, pal," Carter replied sarcastically. "The Colonel wants us to go on this mission, and that's what we'll do. But you've made your thoughts perfectly clear – you'd rather not go with me."
"Andrew!" Newkirk exclaimed. "I didn't mean that!"
"You said it," Carter replied. "So you must mean it. It's one of those unfriendly slips of the tongue."
"You mean Freudian slip," Newkirk corrected.
"Oh, so now I suppose I am dumb, too!" Carter exclaimed.
"Andrew, quit putting words in my mouth!" Newkirk replied. "I didn't say that!"
"Why don't you just go away," Carter pleaded angrily. "I'd like to finish my laundry." Carter put down the clean shirt and picked up another. "Why don't you go back and try to talk the Colonel out of sending me on this mission."
Newkirk sighed and shook his head. "Andrew, I am truly sorry I ever said anything," he said. "I wish I could make you believe it."
Carter stopped and looked at his friend. He could see the pained expression on his face. Maybe he really is sorry he said it, he thought. But why did he even say it in the first place? After all this time working together, I thought we had become friends. A small smile quivered on the edges of Carter's mouth. Maybe I shouldn't be too mad at him. I am pretty clumsy sometimes. "Look, I just want to finish my laundry before we go out tonight," he said at last, pushing the shirt into the wash water and pulling it back out.
Newkirk smiled. "Friends?" he said, sticking his hand out.
Carter smiled back. "Shucks, of course," he replied. As he brought his hand around to return the handshake, the soaking wet shirt flew from his grip and smacked right into Newkirk's face before falling to the ground. Carter stifled a laugh as he said, "Oops, sorry pal."
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Carter sat in the Weingarten across from Gestapo Headquarters in Frankfurt, remembering his exchange with Newkirk. And he was worried about me messing things up, he thought. It was going to be hard enough rescuing Greta before, but now the Gestapo is really going to be hard to fool. Carter went over the mission again as he sipped his beer.
Greta Baumgarten was the wife of Germany's leading physicist, and a very close friend of Magda Goebbels. Recently, she had become disenchanted with Germany's situation and had decided to defect to the Allies, bringing with her the secrets of her husband's work in atomic science. She had somehow made contact with the Underground requesting assistance, and when London heard of this, they were ecstatic. Plans were made for her escape, and all of the contact information was given to Greta. She was to make contact in Frankfurt, while she was accompanying her husband on his trip to one of his secret laboratories. Somehow the Gestapo had found out about her defection and arrested her as a traitor.
When London found out about her capture, they ordered Colonel Hogan to come up with a plan to rescue her. Not only could she compromise the entire Frankfurt Underground if she talked, but London desperately wanted the information about the German atomic research. Carter shuddered when he remembered Colonel Hogan reading the last words of London's transmission … Failure is not an option.
Carter couldn't figure out what went wrong. Everything was working beautifully. Carter was posing as an SS Colonel specializing in infiltrating the German Resistance, sent from Berlin to interrogate the prisoner to try and discover her Underground contacts. Newkirk was supposed to wait for his signal before moving in to help release Greta – but for some reason, Newkirk had decided to try to rescue Greta before Carter could convince the commanding Colonel to allow him to see the prisoner.
And now Newkirk was a prisoner, too.
Carter took a sip of his beer and stared at the top of the table, trying to think of a way to rescue both prisoners. This is another fine mess I find myself in, he thought. And now what do I do? With Newkirk captured, the original plan is ruined. I could go back to camp and tell the Colonel what happened – he'll think up another plan. Carter shook his head slightly. No, it's too far to go. I'd never get there in time. My only hope is to try to think up a plan to get both Greta and Newkirk out of there.
As he lifted his glass again, his gaze came to rest on the barmaid cleaning a table across the room. A sudden thought hit him. Of course! Why didn't I think of that sooner? He put the glass back down on the table and waved her over. "I need to make an important phone call," he told her when she arrived at the table. He gave her one of his lopsided boyish grins. "I'll be back. Could you please save my table for me?"
The barmaid smiled back at him. Carter could see a slight flush of red in her cheeks. "Of course, Colonel," she replied. The red color deepened and she added, "Don't be long."