It Happened One Christmas
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then I don't own it.
A/N: For 2021 Whumptober #4 "Do you trust me?"
It was a crazy war.
An American and British POW were wandering around German-occupied territory, looking for a French resistance agent. The spy would pass them vital information that they would take back to the camp they were imprisoned in, to send the intel on their secret radio to the Allied forces.
"Carter, will you stow that skipping," The Brit hissed out harshly as he trudged through the deep snow, "How can I be bloody miserable if you look so dang happy."
"Sorry," The younger man took on a kicked puppy look, "It's just a white Christmas."
The Brit sighed. He'd tried to forget about Christmas, being so far from his bombed-out homeland. The war had ruined the spirit of Christmas. He had planned to eat Louis' delicious meal and share a drink until he was drunk enough to sleep. Now, he was up to his knees in snow as it fell around them. The whiteout made it difficult to complete their mission and get back to the relative warmth of their barracks. He felt like a heel diminishing the shining excited look in the Yank's eyes. Andrew probably still believed in ol' Saint Nick.
"I think if we-" Carter began only to be cut off by his companion.
"No."
"Don't you want to hear my idea?"
"I never want to hear your ideas."
"I was just trying to help," Carter mumbled to himself.
Newkirk pretended to not hear him over the rising winds. He didn't need the American's brand of help. The kid was a good agent but clumsy and a little naive. Things sometimes had a tendency of going wrong where Carter was concerned. It all worked out in the end but he wasn't in the mood for setbacks and hijinks when all he wanted was a drink.
They went back to hiking through the growing slush. Carter's movements were more subdued as he took the lead. Newkirk strained his eyes to keep the younger man within sight through the growing storm. All he needed was to lose the American...again. One second Carter was there the next he was gone. Panic filled the Corporal as he ran towards where he last saw the figure of his friend. He almost tripped over the prone form, stopping just in time not to step on him.
"Found him," Carter piped up from his sprawled position on top of their contact.
A lot of awkward movement commenced to get the two men back on their feet after their collision. Carter hissed as he tried to put down his right foot. He'd sprained it in his fall. The Frenchman passed on the information as Newkirk quickly stabilized the other man's foot with strips of cloth from his own shirt. Their contact handed Carter a walking stick with a final warning of a German tank in the area. He disappeared into the surrounding trees like he was never there.
"Gee, I don't even see him," Carter craned his neck around from his prone position.
Newkirk yanked him up, perhaps a little too roughly, "I know." Now they had the snow, the storm, Carter's foot, and a German tank to slow them down. What a Christmas.
They heard shouting in German as guns fired in the night. They crept forward to take in the scene. A group of French resistance fighters were being held prisoner at German gunpoint. A looming tank had its torrent turned towards the group further discouraging escape.
"We can't just leave them," Carter begged. He knew the mission as well as his partner.
"Our mission is to get this intel back," Newkirk wavered. Someone had to make the hard decisions for the greater good.
"But it's Christmas."
"What can we do against a bloody Panzer?"
"I got some explosives in my pack," Carter began digging through his supplies.
The older man sighed, "Of course you do."
"I can rig up a little Christmas present," Cater giggled, "When it's delivered, then BOOM!"
"I don't know, Carter," Newkirk studied the scene again, "Your explosives can get a little out of hand."
"Do you trust me?" Carter looked up at him imploringly.
Newkirk crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Trying to think of something to fix the problem without endangering them or their objective. The Colonel would have thought of something.
"Come on, when have my calculations ever been wrong?"
"Well..."
"That was just one time!" Carter pouted, "We rebuilt the tunnel."
"Yeah, one time where we almost all blew up!"
"It's not my fault they changed the air raid mission last minute."
"It was your job to know the stability of your explosives."
"Well, I didn't see you doing much better on our last job with that dame."
"Hey, that was a legitimate issue that there was no way to know about beforehand."
"So was mine."
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
There was an uncomfortable silence. Carter finished putting the finishing touches on his homemade bomb. Big enough to take out the tank, but small enough to keep the French prisoners out of the blast area.
Newkirk's shoulders dropped in defeat, "So, you're sure this will work?"
"Yes." Carter smiled, "When have I ever led you astray?"
"Well, you did get us lost on the way here…"
"Don't answer that."
They fell into another silence as they slowly made their way towards the back of the tank. The Germans were more concerned about someone coming for their prisoners not going against their armored vehicle. Carter pulled out his assembled explosive and prepared to rig it to the underside of the tank.
Newkirk grabbed the other man's arm and hissed a warning, "If we die, I want it publicly known that it's all your ruddy fault,"
"I'll let you put out an ad in the newspaper," Carter set a delayed detonation before pushing his buddy in front of him into motion, "Now move!"
The tank exploded the quiet night in a fireball of color, the surrounding evergreens lighting up in a golden glow. Shrapnel and ash rained down like tiny shooting stars. The prisoners quickly overcame the dumbstruck enemy soldiers. Taking out the threat, they stole the weapons and disappeared into the night without a word of gratitude.
"You were bloody smashing!" Peter shook his friend with glee.
"Thanks, pal," Carter gave a big, goofy smile before his eyes rolled back into his head.
Newkirk caught the Technical Sergeant before he fell limp onto the snow-covered ground. Besides the badly swollen ankle, a large goose egg grew on the back of the unconscious man's head. He probed it gently and didn't feel any give in the skull. He would have a hell of a headache when he woke up. He was probably hit with a glancing blow from a piece of the exploded tank, not able to get out of the way quickly enough with his bum leg.
The Corporal hefted up his wounded friend and headed back towards camp. His harsh breathing was the only sound heard in the quiet woods as he walked. Carter's dead weight seemed to grow heavier with each step, but he continued. His friend trusted him to get him back for Christmas.
The jingle of bells broke into his concentration, he staggered off the road and to the treeline. An old man, leading a donkey, walked down the road towards them. Newkirk couldn't continue to carry Carter all the way back to camp. He needed help. He carried his friend to a tree and carefully set him down. Taking a deep breath he reviewed his limited French and plastered on what he hoped was a disarming smile.
Peter stepped out on the road with a greeting in French.
"Your French is terrible," The old man laughed, speaking clear English with a thick accent.
"I do better in German," Newkirk baited to see the older man's reaction. The man just laughed again.
"This war is not good for anyone." The man sobered, "You are in need of help, yes?"
The untrusting British soldier stood studying the old man for a moment longer. He silently led him over to his fallen friend. Carter was still out cold.
"This is Gui," The old Frenchman pulled up his donkey close, "Very strong, will carry your friend far."
Carter's eyes cracked open as he was laid across the donkey's back. His wandering eyes settled on Peter with a small smile. He knew that his friend would get him to safety. He glanced at the man helping them in surprise. His mouth formed an 'o' as he stared.
"Santa?" He slurred before he passed out again. A small smile lingered on his mouth.
The old man chuckled as he moved their party out. They walked swiftly through the snow-covered woods. They were soon close to the stump hiding their tunnel entrance. Newkirk stopped the procession thanking the Frenchman and assuring him that he could handle it from there.
"Merry Christmas," The old man chuckled as he led his donkey on his way.
Carter stirred with confused eyes. He searched around him but found no one but his friend. Together, they shakily made their way down the stump. It was Christmas but they still had a mission to complete. Carter needed medical care. Newkirk still needed his drink. They had made it back in mostly one piece with the intel. They even blew up a tank and freed some prisoners. With a little help, it had not been an entirely bad Christmas.
"Merry Christmas, Andrew," Newkirk spoke softly.
It was a crazy war.