Emanations of Hate

Chapter 16

The prisoners ward at the hospital was a dingy place. The beds were old, the sheets were worn and the musty smell made Hogan think of his grandfather's basement. The entire atmosphere suggested that it was make-shift, and of little importance to the rest of the hospital. Certainly the attitudes of the staff - vacillating between indifference and outright resentment - were meant to imply that he should be grateful that they were bothering to treat his men at all.

Hogan shifted irritably on his chair; it was uncomfortable enough to keep exhausted man from even dozing. He had had no sleep since the brief nap he had taken just before he had been driven down into the tunnels the previous evening.

After Carter had collapsed, they had raced back to camp, Wilson arguing the whole way. The conscientious medic, his nerves frayed, knew that he was in over his head. The best he could do for the two men was to treat their symptoms, and Carter's symptoms most closely resembled those of hypothermia. While Newkirk was relatively stable, to Wilson, the idea of carrying Carter down through the tunnels and up into the barracks, only to take him to the hospital five minutes later, was not only ridiculous, but exceedingly dangerous. Hogan nearly had a revolt on his hands when Wilson said that Carter's heart might be extremely sensitive, and that any unnecessary motion might cause cold blood to be pumped to it and kill him. Then Lebeau had shouted that there was no way that Colonel Hogan should let Carter and Newkirk anywhere near "those bastard Boshe doctors" and a whole new argument had started up. It was still going strong by the time Olsen stopped the truck and Hogan finally bellowed at them to shut their traps.

At the tunnel entrance they had practically collided with Private Gilmour, who had been nervously chomping at the bit at the head of the evacuation line. Hogan harshly ordered all the men back to their barracks, saying that if they weren't in their bunks within the next five minutes, he would have them all up on the largest collective court-martial in military history. They then carried the stricken men as carefully, yet as quickly, as possible, with Wilson nagging, "Be careful now, don't jostle'em," until Hogan ordered him to get to his own barracks.

"Colonel - "

"WILSON GO! And make sure you get into your bunk before Schultz comes for you!"

"Alright, but move'em slowly. And for God's sake, get'em out of those wet clothes. And put Newkirk on a lower bunk, it'll be easier - "

"Wilson, I'm not going to say it again!" Wilson wisely shut up and put on some speed.

After they had lifted the two men through the barracks entrance, they had placed Newkirk on Carter's bunk, where Kinch and several of the others started pulling the wet German uniform off of him. Carter was taken directly into Hogan's quarters, where Lebeau started to do the same thing for him, gulping a bit involuntarily because Carter's clothes were so saturated with blood that even all of the rain hadn't washed it all away. But upon opening the American's shirt, Lebeau had gasped.

"Colonel, look at this," Lebeau said.

"What the hell?" Carter's chest had been covered with fading yellow-green bruises, which stood out in a starkly ugly way against the unnatural whiteness of his skin. More than that, he was so thin that his ribs were plainly visible. Now that they could see him in a good light, they could see how lean and bony his face looked. For a brief second Hogan puzzled over the matter, but then he noticed the bluish-grey tinge to Carter's complexion and he told Lebeau, "Forget about that for now, just get him warmed up." Nevertheless, he rushed into the main room to check on Newkirk, who luckily - other than being pale, worn out and unconscious at the moment - appeared to be fine.

Now he was here, sitting between two of his men, in a German hospital, waiting for them to wake up and hopefully be able to explain what had happened to them. Through the bars on the small window he watched the rain outside, which had slackened into an all-day downpour. Its constant, steady patter against the glass and the dim, grey daylight were vaguely soothing. It was the first quiet he had had in what had to have been the longest twenty-four hours of his life. That morning, staggering with blind fatigue, he had not been in top form when arguing with Klink. It had been more honest pleading than his usual persuasion and manipulation that had finally convinced the German to order that Carter and Newkirk be taken to the hospital. Backed up by Wilson - who had been just as confused at Carter's bruises and starved condition - the only "angle" he had worked that morning in the Kommandant's office had been to play on Klink's hypochondria. Threats of an unknown epidemic, which might pass to the guards and then to him, practically had Klink driving the truck himself.

The two men's symptoms were confusing and in many ways contradictory, and the doctors were perplexed, or they would have been if they had been more concerned. Wilson fielded most of their questions; in an unusually preoccupied state most of the conversation had gone right past Hogan. The doctors' casual theorizing became mere background noise to his own thoughts. At one point Wilson, after having to repeat a question to him several times, shot him a look that said that the Germans were finding his behaviour strange. After he had finally mumbled an answer, they continued speculating, this time on "weak-willed Americans" who "get distracted over the state of every enlisted man under them" and how this would cost them the war. Hogan's only thought at the time was about their arrogance; they spoke, and even laughed, as if neither he or Wilson were in the room. Does it have to do with being a doctor or being a Nazi? Hogan wondered.

But now ironically, he was asking himself the same question. Have I gotten too close to them? After all that they've been through, will I be able to send them out again? He knew that he had done the right thing in going back to camp first; that he had put the operation and the rest of the men before the welfare of two, but it had been so hard. Almost too hard. And it bothered him that he hadn't considered, or even thought of, any alternatives at the time. Worry had muddled his thinking and clouded his judgement. He asked himself, Did I go back to camp because it was the right thing to do, or because I couldn't think of anything else? But all of his thinking now still hadn't given him any other ideas, and he was forced to concede that going back to camp had been the wisest thing to do from a practical standpoint, it had kept every other man in the camp safe and the operation intact, which had to be his priorities, but…

But he had to admit it to himself, going back hadn't just been hard, it had nearly torn the heart right out of him. And what did that say about his ability to command these men? These men who had become his friends?

He glanced over at Carter and cursed himself. Let's see if they recover first, before you worry about sending them out again.

A nurse came in. She gave Newkirk a perfunctory check and then went to adjust the IV tube in Carter's arm with all of the interest of someone who is thinking more about her shift ending in half an hour than about the sick person in front of her. When Hogan asked how they were doing, she gave him the rote reply that all nurses repeat the world over: you'll have to ask the doctor. Hogan found himself not wanting to know if she was like this with every patient, or if it was just Allied POWs that were beneath her concern.

Things fell silent once again, and Hogan wished that he hadn't sent Wilson back with Langenscheidt. He could have used someone to talk to besides Schultz, who was at this moment sitting outside the door and sleeping nearly as deeply as Carter and Newkirk. Getting up to stretch his legs, he then stopped and leaned back against the window sill to stare down at Carter, who was in the bed closest to him.

Even cleaned up and in the warm, flannel pyjamas that the hospital had given him, Carter still looked chilled and bedraggled and lost somehow. Hogan wondered how much Carter would remember when he woke up, and dreaded finding out.

A murmur and a soft rustling of sheets came from the next bed. Hogan quickly went over to Newkirk's side.

"Peter?"

Newkirk moaned and struggled a bit more.

Hogan paused. He didn't know whether to wake the Englishman or to try and reassure him everything was alright and hope that he went back to sleep. As he watched though, Newkirk continued to grow more restless. Hogan decided to wake him. He shook Peter gently by the shoulder.

"Peter? Peter? Can you hear me? Wake up."

"No…won't let…" Newkirk's voice was slurred and dreamy. Hogan shook him a bit harder.

"Newkirk. Newkirk, it's Colonel Hogan. Wake up!"

Newkirk was quiet for a moment, then he rolled over slightly and the change in his breathing told Hogan that he was awake. "Colonel 'Ogan?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah Peter, it's me," Hogan smiled.

"Why are you shouting? And why's it so bright in 'ere?" Newkirk squinted and brought a hand up to cover his eyes. "It's doing me 'ead in!" he complained.

Hogan frowned. He hadn't been shouting and the room was actually quite dim. "I think maybe you just need a few minutes to adjust to being awake Newkirk," he said, trying to speak more quietly.

"Why? What's been 'appening? Where am I?" he asked drowsily.

"You're in the hospital Newkirk. We brought you here this morning."

"The 'ospital?" He started to become more agitated and tried to sit up. "What's going on?"

"Just lay down Peter. You're going to be fine. Try not to worry."

"No, let me up. Tell me what - " Newkirk demanded, and then suddenly froze. "Carter! Where's Carter?"

"It's okay Peter. See, he's right here."

Newkirk stared at the unconscious Carter. "Is 'e alright?"

"The doctors say he's stable for now."

"But, is it… is it 'im?" Newkirk asked hesitantly, watching Hogan out of the corner of his eye, half expecting his commanding officer wouldn't know what he was talking about.

Hogan sighed. He wanted to say yes, but… "I don't know Peter. He hasn't woken up yet," he finally replied.

Newkirk laid back down and the two men were silent for a long time. Hogan had a million questions, but he wasn't sure if Newkirk was in any state to answer them. After awhile he checked his watch and saw that it was nearly six in the evening.

"Newkirk? Are you still awake?"

"Yes sir."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," the Englishman answered flatly. Hogan examined him closely. After living together for so long he recognized Newkirk's expression. Apparently for Peter this fell under the heading of "Personal Matters", and Hogan knew that it would be useless to expect any substantial answers from him at the moment.

"Alright." Hogan accepted the silence for now. "Look, Schultz and I will be going as soon as the new guard arrives from camp. I don't know if Klink is going to let me come back, but if I can, is there anything you'd like me to bring you?"

"No."

"You sure? Maybe Louie can whip something up for you. I hate leaving you to the mercy of German hospital food." I hate leaving both of you here, period.

"Tell 'im not to bother. I don't feel very 'ungry."

"I expect you to eat, Corporal."

"Yes sir."

"I'm not kidding."

"Yes sir. I think Schultz is waking up."

"Yeah, sounds like Bergman is here to replace him. Are you sure you're feeling okay? Is there anything you'd like me to ask the doctors for?"

"No sir."

Hogan, reluctant to leave, hung around while Bergman and Schultz chatted outside. Newkirk seemed troubled - Hogan hadn't heard so many sirs out of him since they had first met - and he hated to leave either man surrounded by the enemy when they were so obviously in no fit state to defend themselves. But what could he do? He had to hope that the doctors here were more interested in their Hippocratic Oaths than in being diligent Nazis. And after all that he had witnessed the night before, that was a serious question. He prayed that he would not come to wish that he had listened to Lebeau.

"Guv'nor?" Newkirk suddenly asked, breaking Hogan's disturbing train of thought.

"Yes?"

"You know what 'appened to us? I mean, you know what was wrong with us, right?

Hogan came close so that Schultz and Bergman wouldn't overhear. "Yeah Peter, I know."

"Do you believe it?"

"Yes, I believe it." It was amazing to Hogan how easy this was to say, how much his entire view of the world had changed in twenty-four hours.

"Well, that's a load off for a start. I was afraid you'd think I was off me nut." Newkirk tried to smile, but his heart wasn't in it, and Hogan sensed that there was something else coming.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz popped his head in, "Are you ready to go?"

"Could you give us a minute Schultz?" Hogan requested. Schultz, seeing Newkirk awake, nodded. Hogan turned back to face Newkirk.

"What is it Peter?"

"Do you think 'e'll be alright sir? When 'e wakes up, I mean. Do you think 'e'll be 'imself?"

"I'm not sure Peter, but I think so. After all, you seem to be alright."

"But it was different for 'im."

"What do you mean?"

The others cannot suppress you in the same way that I can with this one. He could still hear that voice in his head.

Newkirk was about to answer, when Schultz interrupted again. "I'm sorry Colonel Hogan, but we have to get back. The Kommandant will want to hear our report."

"Schultz, please - "

Newkirk broke in, "It's alright Colonel, I can't explain it anyway. All I know is that Andrew's going to 'ave a 'arder time of it."

"Okay, okay. Look, I'll - "

"Try to be back tomorrow. I know, sir. I'll pinch a nurse for you," Newkirk said, taking a weak stab at humour.

Hogan grimaced. "I wouldn't bother if I were you, Newkirk."


As the next day dragged on, Newkirk realized that, for a wonder, Colonel Hogan must not have been able to talk Klink into letting him come back to visit his men in the hospital. Newkirk therefore passed a lonely and exceedingly tedious day, broken up only by the nurse's one visit first thing in the morning. Feeling very out of sorts - headachey and nauseous mostly - he hadn't bothered to make a play for her, and after she left he understood why the Colonel had said not to bother. She had asked him brief questions as to how he felt, but when he tried to answer, she cut him off saying, "Well, that's to be expected," and left. Might as well be invisible, for all this lot seems to care, he thought.

Still, he would have made more of an effort if he had known that that was all the conversation he was going to have for the day. No doctor came to examine them, and as wretched as he felt, he was more put out by that for Carter's sake than his own. What kind of bleeding place is this? Outside, Sergeant Groener stood alertly at attention. Groener was an alright bloke for a Gerry, he supposed, not a foaming at the mouth, over-zealous Nazi or anything; but he was an older fellow, a veteran of the first war, and too honourable and by the book for Hogan to let him anywhere near their operation, and so Newkirk figured he wouldn't be the type to chat with a prisoner and keep him company.

So that left only the motionless Sergeant lying in the bed beside his.

Who still hadn't stirred. Not once.

Newkirk could not bring himself to look at him. He tried to sleep, but couldn't. Too restless to relax, but too listless for any activity, he tried looking out the window for awhile, but the bars and the overcast sky just depressed him more. Feeling peevish, he was irritated at the others for not ignoring what he had told the Colonel and slipping a few magazines or a deck of cards to Groener to pass along. Or something form Lebeau - that hospital lunch was a right mess. He picked away at a hole in his mattress and listened to the clock's ticking drilling each second into his head until he thought he would go mad. The day finally came to an end when he fell into a heavy and sullen sleep around midnight.


"I do. I do remember."

At first Schultz, who had come on guard duty at the hospital at midnight, thought that he was back at camp. He was dreaming that Sergeant Carter was telling him something. Carter seemed upset.

"I do too remember!" the words insisted again, pulling Schultz out of a light doze. Jerking awake with a snort, he glanced around, confused for a second as to where he was. Remembering finally, he looked at his watch in the faint light of the corridor. It was about twenty minutes to three.

"Stop it! Stop it! I do remember them! I do feel bad!" the voice moaned.

It's Carter! Schultz realized. After a quick look to make sure that frowning night nurse wasn't around, he ducked into the prisoners' room.

"Why are you doing this?" For a moment Schultz thought that Carter was speaking to him, but then he realized that Carter was either dreaming or delirious. Schultz padded over quietly so as not to wake Newkirk, and shook Carter gently.

"What is it Carter?"

"I do remember. Don't want to, but I do!" Schultz wished that he knew what the young man was talking about. Whatever it was, it was obviously disturbing Carter very much.

Carter's body tensed and his breathing grew rapid. "I do! Every time!" he cried out. Eyes still clenched tightly shut, he started writhing desperately on the bed. Schultz did his best to quiet the troubled man, but nothing seemed to help.

"No! I do remember! I'm not like him! I'm not like that!" he protested to no one that Schultz could see, but his voice sounded unsure, as if he didn't quite believe his own words.

"Wake up Carter! Nothing is wrong. You are having a nightmare." Schultz shook him again.

"No! Don't say that! I'm not like him! I'm not a monster! I'm not!"

"What's all the bleedin' racket?" Newkirk demanded.

"It is Carter. He is having a nightmare."

"What?" Newkirk leaped out of bed and was beside his friend in a heartbeat.

"Please Carter, wake up!" Schultz pleaded. There was something about all of this that he didn't like. However, he hesitated to shake the young man any more roughly, even though the doctors had said that Carter had no real physical injury.

"C'mon mate, wake up!"

"No! Stop it! Make it stop! I don't want to see! I don't want to see!" Carter sobbed in his sleep. "Let me go!"

"Sergeant Carter? Can you hear me? Wake up!" Schultz ordered and, against his better judgement, shook him a little more forcefully, but he couldn't rouse him. After a little while though, Carter's cries grew more faint and he once more drifted back into a heavy stupor.


All that he was conscious of was the pain. Muscle spasms racked his body as electrical impulses in his brain criss-crossed and sent out weird glitches. All the bones and joints in his arms and hands throbbed with pain leftover from the power that had coursed through them. His stomach twisted and churned, gnawing its way to his spine. But the worst was his head. A thousand pick axes had cracked and shattered his skull into as many pieces, and now a constant series of sonic explosions were vibrating those pieces mercilessly.

A cool, gentle hand descended onto his forehead. Bleary eyes flickered beneath heavy lids, but he couldn't see who was there. A voice spoke to him. After days of silent darkness the sound was unbearably loud, but the voice was familiar. It went on, trying to soothe him, and the hand brushed his hair back, relaxing him just enough so that he could finally escape the pain for a time.


Hogan and Langenscheidt were surprised to see no guard outside of the prisoners' room the next morning.

"Something must have happened," Hogan said. "Go find a doctor." Langenscheidt ran off, not stopping to consider that he had just taken an order from an enemy officer. Dreading what he might find, Hogan opened the door as gently as possible. Instead what he saw caused a corner of his mouth to quirk upwards.

Schultz and Newkirk were both sitting in chairs on either side of Carter's bed, fast asleep. Aw shucks, looks like I wasn't invited to the Stalag 13 slumber party! Hogan thought. Tiptoeing in as quietly as he could, he still managed to wake one of the sleepers. To his surprise it was Carter who looked up at his entrance.

Pleasure turned to unease however, as Hogan got a better look at his munitions man. Carter was mumbling something unintelligible to himself, and his face was flushed and bathed in an unhealthy sweat. Glassy-eyed, he seemed not to see Hogan, and jerked back in panic when Hogan came near him.

"What precisely is going on here?" a strident voice suddenly demanded from behind him. Startled awake, Schultz and Newkirk nearly fell off their chairs. It was one of the doctors Hogan and Wilson had spoken to the other day. "Sergeant! Why are you not at your post? Why are you sitting in a prisoner's room? Exactly what kind of camp is that fool Klink running when his guards consort with the enemy?"

Carter cried out in the confusion, and started thrashing around wildly. As Newkirk rushed to calm him down, Hogan yelled, "I'd like to know what he's doing in here as well!"

"Guv'nor? Carter was sick last night - " Newkirk began, puzzled by Hogan's apparent anger at Schultz, but Hogan continued on as if he hadn't heard him.

He turned on the gaping Schultz, "What kind of game are you playing? I think it's a damn dirty trick to be spying on a sick man! Hoping to hear escape plans from a man with a fever!" Hogan vented all of the resentment he felt towards the hospital staff at the hapless guard, and hoped that the big man would realize that he was trying to cover for him. From the shocked way he was standing there though, he still hadn't caught on.

Newkirk had, but at the moment he had his hands full with the struggling Carter. "Look, if you lot would all just calm down, it would really be an 'elp." Carter, his gaze darting around frantically, was trying to pull his arms free of Newkirk's grip and was whimpering with fear and confusion. Hogan bent over Carter's bed and firmly, but gently, held him down.

"Andrew, calm down. Everything's alright, everything's fine, no one is going to hurt you," he said. Carter's kicking and squirming slowed down some.

"There's nothing to worry about now mate. 'Ere sir, watch his arm! That tube's near come out," Newkirk warned.

The doctor pushed his way past Hogan and Hogan saw Carter immediately stiffen and lock a terrified gaze on the man. The doctor however, failed to notice. He simply said, "Finally calmed down now I see." Carter laid there paralyzed when the man thrust a thermometer in his mouth and took his temperature. With a dismissive snort the doctor told him, "Your fever's not that high, Sergeant. There's no need for a grown man to make such a fuss, now is there?"

No, unless you're sick and disorientated and frightened and some thoughtless jackass comes barging into your room to yell at a guard, Hogan fumed inwardly. Both he and Newkirk had seen the way Carter had grown even more rigid at the man's touch and was now clutching convulsively at the bed frame.

As the callous German grabbed hold of Carter's arm and readjusted the IV tube, Hogan's stomach took a violent turn and he felt a sudden, overwhelming compulsion to tackle the man to the ground. What the hell? he asked himself, but then it was clear. A man in a white coat. Medical equipment. Damnit, no wonder Carter's so petrified - he's seeing Schuler!

This done, the doctor pulled out a stethoscope out and complacently ordered everyone out of the room so that he could examine his patient. But at the word "examine" Carter screamed, and in one quick movement, rolled over and kicked the doctor right in the chest. The doctor - the wind knocked out of him - landed on his backside, gasping desperately for air. Everyone started yelling. Carter leaped out his bed - the tube in his arm coming free, causing blood to spurt crazily onto the floor - and bolted frantically for the door. But he was as weak as water and his legs folded up underneath him; a stunned Langenscheidt only just managing to catch him before he hit the ground.

The commotion of the next few minutes was in no way resolved by the arrival of two orderlies and a nurse. Carter punched and kicked futilely at Langenscheidt, screaming to be let go while Schultz attempted to help the injured doctor up, only to be obstructed by a plain, middle-aged nurse who did nothing but get in the way as she fussed and fawned over the doctor. The orderlies jerked Carter roughly out of Langenscheidt's grasp when the doctor wheezed out an accusation and pointed at him. Newkirk, furious at this, then attacked the orderlies, demanding they let go of Carter. Hogan, who had been trying to calm everyone down and explain, was now forced to jump into the fray to try to get Newkirk under control before he could be charged with brawling and assault.

Finally, a tall, grey-haired man with patrician features and an imperious air, strode in and bellowed for quiet.

"Dr. Wagner, just what is going on here?" he demanded of his younger colleague, who was still struggling for breath and now also trying to escape the clutches of his dowdy admirer.

"Dr. Koss…" Wagner panted.

"Nevermind Wagner. You and you," he pointed at the orderlies holding Carter, "get that man back in bed. Sedate and restrain him."

"What?" yelled Newkirk, at the same time Hogan said, "Now wait just a damned minute - "

"You! Sergeant! Take these two back to Stalag 13 and see that idiot Klink keeps them there. I'll have no more such disturbances in my hospital. Dr. Wagner, I wish to see you back on your normal rounds." He issued his commands with more authority than any General, and having done so, strode out with all the assurance of God that they would be followed.

"Wait Doctor!" Hogan grabbed the man's arm, "There's no need to restrain - "

"Sergeant, control your prisoners!" Koss ordered Schultz. The big guard quickly pulled Hogan away and dragged him to the far side of the room.

"But there's no need to restrain him!" Hogan shouted.

"Colonel Hooogan puhleeze!" Schultz begged. Hogan stopped, but only because Koss was already gone and the two orderlies had already dragged Carter back onto his bed and attached the leg restraints. Langenscheidt was keeping Newkirk off to one side and away from Carter with his rifle, and Schultz, though reluctant, looked prepared to do the same with Hogan.

"Please Colonel Hogan," Schultz repeated, "It will be much better for Carter if you do not make trouble. If he calms down they will not be so hard on him."

Hogan watched as the orderlies wrestled Carter's arms into restraints and then attended to the wound in his arm where the IV tube had come out. In such a weakened state he was no match for the two thick-shouldered men, but he still twisted and pulled in their grasps, weeping tears of bitter frustration.

"NEWKIRK!" Carter suddenly yelled, startling them. It was the first actual word he had said since he had woken. "Newkirk! Please please let me out! Don't let them get me Peter!" he pleaded.

"Carter, try to calm down!" Hogan ordered. "They just don't want you to hurt yourself, that's all!" That's all like hell, he cursed, but Carter didn't need to hear that.

Carter continued shouting out for Newkirk as if he didn't even know Hogan was there. "PETER PLEASE! THEY'LL GET ME PETER!

"Carter, they're just going to give you something to help you get some rest!" Hogan tried to reason with the terrified man.

"PLEASE PETER! PLEASE LET ME OUT!"

Hogan looked at Newkirk to see how he was taking this. Newkirk was standing there, frozen with horror. He looked like he was in pain. It wasn't until Carter saw the orderly tapping the syringe and screamed, that Newkirk was able to react. Langenscheidt, unable to shoot, tried to grab his arm but he was too late to stop Newkirk from rushing the orderly with the needle. But the other orderly was quicker and knocked the Englishman roughly to the ground. Hogan and Schultz jumped in, and by sheer luck alone, managed to yank Newkirk away before the orderly could really go at it. They kept a hold of him as they heard Carter let out a long, plaintive sob as the first orderly plunged the syringe into his arm.

In a few minutes it was all over. Carter, with fits and twitches, finally succumbed to the sedative and the orderlies took their leave. Schultz went outside to talk with Langenscheidt while Hogan helped a shaken Newkirk to dress.

"Colonel…" Peter couldn't go on. He covered his face with his hand.

Hogan put an arm around his shoulders and drew him close for a moment. "I know Newkirk, I know."