Emanations of Hate
Chapter 5
The next morning's roll call was a slow and sloppy affair. The men could barely drag themselves out of bed, and they weren't exactly standing at attention as they listened to Klink droning on about the Third Reich's latest triumphs. Even Klink, lost in the recital of the favourite party line of Germany's inevitable defeat over the Allies, noticed the poor posture of his prisoners. This lead to a lecture on how the master race was naturally physically and mentally superior. Most days Kinch spent this time wondering if Klink knew how unconvincing he sounded; if he realized that the prisoners and probably even the guards could tell that the camp Kommandant didn't truly believe in what he was saying. But today Kinch just prayed for a minor disaster to hit and end it all, simply in order to get away. C'mon, just one little earthquake. One teensy tiny little tremor to shut him up - I've got to get some sleep!
Finally giving up even the pretence of listening, he started looking around. Everyone was sagging and dejected. Most of them had bags under their eyes. Kinch saw Baker reach over to steady a swaying Lebeau. He could feel his own lids drooping and felt worn out just trying to keep his head up. What is going on? Why are we all so tired?
If he hadn't been so exhausted he might have noticed that not everyone was tired. Beside him and in front of him, Carter and Newkirk were standing perfectly at attention.
Thankfully, there was no work detail that day. Grumbling and too wiped out to be grateful, the men of Barracks 2 filed back inside and almost to a man climbed back into their bunks. Hogan didn't even try to stop them.
"You guys have a party last night and didn't think to invite your commanding officer?" he teased.
"I wish sir," Kinch moaned. "I don't know what's going on. Must be getting old or something."
Hogan laughed and sat down at the table with a cup of coffee. "More likely it was Foster's ghosts giving you all nightmares."
Some unpleasant sensation twigged at the back of Kinch's mind.
Olsen snorted. "Foster's ghosts. That'll be the day."
"Don't give me that Matt. I heard you thrashing about last night," Foster retorted. "Look now, you're just as tired as the rest of us. Admit it."
"Hunnh," Olsen replied, none too articulately, and rolled over on his bunk and closed his eyes.
"Maybe he's right," Baker said thoughtfully.
"About ghosts?" Lebeau asked. Foster sat up hopefully.
"No, I mean the Colonel," Baker went on, not noticing Foster look at him dolefully and then lay back down. "About having nightmares last night. I don't actually remember having any but yet…I don't know, it's somehow familiar in a way." He shrugged, unable to explain it any further.
"I know what you mean Dave," Kinch agreed. Some of the others nodded. "It'd be weird though, all of us having nightmares at the same time like that."
"Well, whatever it is, you guys take it easy for a couple of hours," Colonel Hogan said, getting up. "After that we have to start taking advantage of the day off and get to work on a few things." From the response he got, Hogan suspected only his rank and his men's loyalty to him was keeping them from committing some major act of violence.
Or most of them. Hogan stopped when he spotted a preoccupied Carter sitting quietly, seemingly paying no attention to the conversation around him.
"Tired Carter?"
"No sir."
"That's good. I wanted to talk to you about what you found out the other night." Seeing the men relaxing, he gestured for Carter to follow him into his room. Once inside he had the younger man sit down.
"So do you think you can do it?"
"I believe so sir. But it will be more difficult than I thought."
Opening his mouth, he was about to ask Carter to explain, when he stopped, embarrassed. He found he couldn't remember what he was going to say. Trying to think, he suddenly couldn't even remember what they had been talking about.
"I sorry Carter, I've forgotten what I wanted to say."
"That's quite alright sir. I'm sure it will come to you." Carter looked at him evenly, unsurprised by Hogan's predicament.
Hogan peered at his tech sergeant for a second. It was as if, almost subliminally, he had noticed something wrong with the younger man, but then he went completely blank. Shaking his head, he finally managed to ask, "Is there anything we can do to help?"
"I don't believe so, but I will let you know if I think of anything." He sat without moving, waiting for Hogan.
"Alright Carter. That's fine," Hogan said with effort. "You keep working on it."
"Yes sir. I'll keep working on it. In the lab," Carter emphasized.
"Yes. In the lab," Hogan repeated. "Maybe you'll even need to go out of camp again," he heard himself saying.
"Quite possibly. I trust I have your permission."
"Of course Carter," Hogan answered, but his voice was hesitant and unsure. Carter stared at him for a moment, his face set with concentration. It cleared at the same time that Hogan stepped back, confused.
"That will do very nicely I think. I'd best be back to work then."
"Yes," Hogan, now feeling a bit more normal, said and then dismissed him. As Carter closed the door behind him, Hogan was startled to find that he must have been speaking to Carter and yet couldn't recall a single thing about the conversation.
Must be getting old myself, he told himself ruefully, and then forgot all about it.
Outside, Carter raised a hand to his nose. The other men, mostly dozing, didn't see him. Coolly peering at his hand, he saw two tiny drops of blood. He sighed.
Damn. I'll need to have the others work on Hogan, he thought to himself.
