18: Tickle in the Throat
Despite it only being mid-September, Stalag 13 was gripped in a bitterly cold spell. Already drafty buildings were made draftier by the rage of Old Man Winter, who seemed to have been roused early from his months of slumber. The prisoners huddled together tightly during roll call, as did the guards when they were standing outside their own barracks to receive orders for the day.
"Do you mind giving me some space?" Corporal Fleischer growled at Kielholz.
"Sorry. Body heat seems to be the only thing we have left now," Kielholz said, rubbing his hands together and shivering.
"Oh, really? Aren't you the same knucklehead who said I have a heart of ice?"
"I didn't mean literally."
"Go cuddle with Langenscheidt and leave me alone." Fleischer suddenly broke off coughing, burying his face in his elbow as he did.
"Are you alright?" Kielholz asked.
"I'm fine. Just woke up with a bit of a tickle in my throat, that's all. Mind your business."
"If you say so." Kielholz looked at Langenscheidt hopping up and down and rubbing his arms next to him. "It's a good thing I don't gamble, because I would have bet that you would be the one to get sick today."
"I am not sick!" Fleischer growled.
Kielholz highly doubted that, and gave Fleischer a suspicious look.
Within a few hours, Sergeant Schultz reported that Fleischer was in the infirmary, as Kielholz predicted.
"Should we do something nice for him?" Langenscheidt asked.
"When has Fleischer done anything nice for us?" Kielholz asked.
"It's the thought that counts. Besides, maybe he will be nicer if we try being nice to him, instead of picking on him all the time."
"Did you get hit on the head today, Karl?"
"No. I am just saying, I know Fleischer can be difficult, but he just wants everything by the book."
Kielholz rolled his eyes. "I will pay Fleischer a visit. Just one. That's all he's getting. No tea, no soup, nothing."
"Can you at least try to be pleasant?"
"But I don't want to be pleasant."
"Can you be pleasant for me?" Langenscheidt gave Kielholz an exaggerated pleading look.
Kielholz huffed. "Fine." He playfully slapped Langenscheidt's helmet.
The two made their way to the infirmary. It turned out Fleischer wasn't the only one coughing and sniffling. Prisoners and guards alike were laid up with similar symptoms.
"Why does the prettiest season also have to be the one where everyone gets sick?" Kielholz grumbled.
Langenscheidt shrugged, then followed Kielholz over to where Fleischer was sitting up in bed, looking much grumpier than he usually did. The grouchy corporal glared at them. "Why are you two here? If you aren't sick, you're supposed to be doing your own duties."
"We came to…" Kielholz trailed off, realizing they had the poorest excuse imaginable to be there.
"Wish you well." Langenscheidt looked at Kielholz, who nodded. "Yes. We came to wish you well."
"Really? You two are softer than butter on a hot day."
Kielholz felt a lightbulb turn on in his head. "Perhaps there is something we can do to help, and get you back on duty faster."
A look of concern appeared on Langenscheidt's face. "Erich, what are you thinking?"
"I have a good idea. I'll be back." Kielholz turned and ran out of the infirmary.
Langenscheidt gave Fleischer a sheepish grin. "Uh, I-I'm sure he's not planning anything terrible."
"For your sake, I hope he isn't."
"You know he means well."
"He's an absolute disgrace, Langenscheidt. He can't follow orders. He's easily distracted. He can't seem to function alone or at least without you around. He should have been dismissed entirely after he was injured."
"I hate to be this way, Fleischer, but that really isn't fair to Erich. He's still able to—"
Every head in the infirmary turned when the doors burst open, and in walked Kielholz holding a big jar of vapor rub—and wearing a gas mask.
Langenscheidt paled. "Oh, I should have known."
"Kielholz, what are you doing?" Sergeant Wilson asked, looking concerned.
"What is this about?" Fleischer glared at Langenscheidt.
"Well… back when I was recovering from pneumonia, someone recommended vapor rub to help me sleep better. Kielholz hates the smell, but understands it works, so…" Langenscheidt watched Kielholz approach.
"Open your shirt, Fleischer," Kielholz said, voice muffled by the gas mask.
"No! Put that away! I'll have you thrown in the cooler for this!"
"Hold open his shirt, Karl."
Now it was Langenscheidt's turn to glare at Kielholz. "No! If he doesn't want it, don't do it!" He was about to push Kielholz away from Fleischer when a large figure began walking over from the corner of his vision.
"Corporal Kielholz!" Schultz bellowed. "Step away from Fleischer at once!"
Kielholz stepped back, a little stunned to see Schultz looking angry.
Schultz wasn't angry for long, once he saw Kielholz obeying. He gave an annoyed sigh, and said, "What are you doing?"
"I was going to help Fleischer get better with a little bit of this vapor rub, Sergeant," Kielholz replied.
"Does he want you doing that?"
"Well, no—"
"Then put it and the gas mask away, and get back on patrol."
Kielholz sighed, and began walking away. "Yes, Sergeant."
Langenscheidt turned away to cough into his elbow. Kielholz stopped dead in his tracks, and slowly turned to face him.
Fleischer grabbed Langenscheidt's arm. "Run! Run while you still can!"
