"Freddie?"
"Mmm?"
" 'ow long we been 'ere?"
" 'bout a week."
Newkirk shifted position on his cot, resting on his left side. It was nearly midnight, and the room was pitch-black. He stared hard in the direction of Freddie's voice, but he couldn't see him. "Oh. . ."
"Maybe more."
Two resounding thuds sounded from Newkirk as he picked up his boots and hurled them at the wall with awkward left-handed throws. "Oh blimey - it's no ruddy good!" he said loudly. "I'm never goin'ta get ta sleep! I've been awake this whole flippin' time, since it got dark, and just - it's too quiet! And too loud! Me ears are ringin' like there's no tomorrow! I just can't sleep!"
Freddie sighed, and replied with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. "Mate - neither am I." Angry outbursts from Newkirk were common and Freddie just ignored them for the most part. He was used to them.
"I mean - it's loony! We've been in 'ere a bleedin' Age, and NO-ONE -" His voice raised angrily, not caring if anyone else heard him, "NO-ONE has even come by except ta deliver the bloody poor excuse for a what they call a meal!"
That statement was partially true. For the previous week, the only human contact they'd had was with a sullen German guard who would open the door only as far as was required to push two small tin plates through and then slam it shut again. A medic had come by, earlier on, to splint Newkirk's arm, and then not returned. The combination of isolation, mixed with a feeling of fear and apprehension had caused tempers to fray multiple times during the long hours, usually leading to Newkirk flaking out from overexertion not long after. He was still recovering from the effects and injuries of the crash.
" Ya know what? I bleedin' well 'ope they can 'ear me!" he shouted, stomping over to the door to retrieve his boots.
"Peter, jus' lie down. You'll get into more trouble than it's worth." cautioned his pragmatic cellmate.
Newkirk managed to find one shoe, but the other skillfully evaded his groping hands. Huffing in frustration, he slumped back down on his bed, rubbing his hand over his face.
"Isn't there anythin' alive in this forsaken place?" he mumbled, breaking into a cold sweat of total exhaustion. As usual, the short burst of anger had worn him out. But it had achieved one thing. He dozed off into a restless sleep. Despite the nightmares that would occur, it was better than nothing.
Freddie felt sorry that he couldn't help Newkirk's mounting anxiety. He was much more laid back, and accepting. Besides, he knew something - something he could not tell even his best friend. And even though it might not save their lives, in the long run many more people would be helped. It could even change the course of the War.
And that gave him hope.
xxxHHxxx
Colonel Kurstein was a very tall man. Tough-muscled and strong, he was feared even by the guards of Stalag 13, and he knew it. Every morning before dawn he would enter the compound and hunt down any POW who was bold enough to be outside the Barracks or any foolish guard who was not at their post. Woe betide any man he found lapsing into negligence. After that, they were never heard from again. Rumour had it that they did not even reach the Russian Front.
He had his ways of dealing with new prisoners. Leave them in the darkest, most confined cell, and then after several days, or even weeks, alone with their worst fears as their only companions, it was child's play to convince most them to tell him anything they knew. It pleased him much more when they came in pairs. That gave him so much more of a hold over them, as it was simple to gain information from a man who is watching his friend being 'persuaded' to talk.
"Strecker!"
As the pale fingers of dawn crept over the sky, Kurstein called for the Sergeant of the Guard, Strecker. Strecker had worked with Kurstein for many years, and had a sort of mutual respect for each other's devious minds, acknowledging the fact both men were near equals in terms of scheming and sadism. Only Kurstein's superior strength and force of character stood between their ranking.
Sergeant Strecker appeared before him promptly. "Ja, Herr Kommandant?"
"You know those two Englanders that we - picked up?" Kurstein asked, face void of emotion.
A twisted grin spread across Strecker's face. "Ja, Colonel."
Only Kurstein's eyes smiled, glinting like ice-harded steel. "I think it is time we paid them a visit."
xxxHHxxx
"Alright, Everyone! I want you t . . ."
Then Schultz saw the five men, and a badly battered Newkirk. If he had looked shocked before when he accidentally smashed Klink's lamp, his expression now topped all previous ones.
"Wh - w - what - you - What happened to him?" he squeaked, stammering and not even noticing Wilson, who shouldn't have even been in Barracks Two. "Colonel Hogan, please! What is going on? Is he alright?"
Hogan looked up briefly, and his stern face scared the guard immensely. "Schultz, please make it quick. What do you want?"
Schultz gaped at the Englishman's head injury. "What happened?"
"Do you really want to know?"
Forgetting completely and utterly about the work detail he was supposed to call, he took several steps backwards. "N-n-n-o! I see Nothing! I don't want to see anything!" The tubby guard beat a hasty retreat, mind spinning. Hogan paused, thinking. "LeBeau, go find out what he wanted from us - it might help us work out an excuse for Klink."
"Oui, mon colonel." LeBeau hurried after Schultz, calling to him. "Hey, Schultzie?"
"Ja?"
"What did you want us for?"
"The Kommandant wanted a prisoner work detail to clean up the VIP quarters. But it's okay, I'll get someone else." he leaned closer to the Frenchman, and continued in a low voice. "Please LeBeau, is Newkirk going to be alright?"
LeBeau furiously blinked back unshed tears. "Yeah, Schultzie. Thank you." Then he turned and walked away so the guard wouldn't see his deep worry.
Schultz walked on, still somewhat bewildered but relieved. Even thought he was supposed to be on the opposing side to the Allies, he cared about those young men, and had turned his back on their little 'operations' more times than he could count. Deep in his heart, he could hardly blame them and he knew that it was probably for the best.
Back in the Barracks, Wilson was reluctant to stitch up either wound without giving Newkirk an injection of penicillin, because he did not want to risk infection. Hogan sent Carter off to prepare his room for Newkirk when they moved him, and Kinch down to the radio to organize an air-drop from London. Everyone's face fell as he returned within a minute.
Hogan couldn't believe how wrong everything was going now. "No-go, Kinch?"
Holding up a handful of wiring, the sergeant merely shook his head his head darkly.
Exasperated, the colonel replied. "Make a list. Carter and LeBeau will go out tonight for the parts. Wilson, just do what you can."
Everything seemed a blur of sound, movement, and light to Newkirk, lying semiconscious on the bunk. Sharp fiery pains stabbed his forehead again and again. His leg, firmly bandaged, was throbbing mercilessly, and he felt hot - so hot. Eyes closed tightly, he weakly pushed the blanket off. Someone placed a towel under his head as Wilson prepared to clean the dirt from the awful gash.
"Here, put this over his eyes so the water doesn't get in them. Buddy? This is gonna hurt a bit, but I have to."
Newkirk didn't register what that meant until he felt something warm being poured over his forehead. Inhaling sharply, he struggled to pull away as the salty water seeped into the wound, and the natural healing properties began trying to repair some of the damage. It stung like crazy. Body tensed up instinctively, his hands fisted tightly and he cried out, involuntarily pushing away the nearest object. Someone held his arm still, and he felt a cloth touch the edge of the wound - sending his already dizzy head pounding in agony so much that he passed out almost immediately. Carter, who was holding the Englishman, became alarmed when he felt the tension flood out of Newkirk's body and suddenly go limp.
"Hey, Wilson?" Carter yelped. "Newkirk just -"
"It's okay, Andrew." said the medic, without looking away from his task. "He probably lost consciousness from the pain. It'll be easier for me to finish my job now."
Carter gave a worried glance down at his friend's white face, which was in stark contrast to the muddy smudges from the dirt and salt water. "He - he's awfully pale. . ." he half whispered, trying to brush dust off the dark RAF uniform.
Hogan bit his lip, frowning. "He lost a lot of blood, Carter."
LeBeau paled slightly at that and turned back to guarding the door quickly. Nobody had noticed him return from questioning Schultz.
Wilson dipped his cloth back into the water, dampening it again. "That's why, when you wake him, you'll make him drink lots of water. Put salt in it - and sugar. It will help his body replace the blood."
After several minutes more of cleaning the wound, he carefully stitched it up. When a bandage was wrapped around his head, Wilson gave the men a summary of what they should do for the next 24 hours.
". . . get him to drink plenty of water. Wake him every half hour, and make sure he knows who he is. Ask him a few questions, then let him sleep again. From how he acted in the tunnel -"
"Disorientated, hallucinating even." Hogan put in, for Carter's benefit.
"I wonder who 'Freddie' is?" Carter puzzled, staring thoughtfully at the Colonel. "Do you know anyone called -"
Wilson cut him off. "Don't mention that name to him, unless he asks. If he does - well, I don't know. I'm no psychiatrist. Just tell that he's safe, so is his pal, and to rest."
"Colonel?" Kinch stood on the ladder, holding a piece of paper. "This is all I need for the radio repairs. Now we have only one more problem. Roll-Call will happen." he said calmly. "And we're gonna need a pretty decent cover story."
TBC
Well, I'm so glad that chapter glitch is fixed now! It had me worried for a bit! I've started cross-posting the chapters on AO3 and Wattpad, just in case anything else happens here.
I'm really enjoying writing this story, and I'm working on a better summary for the book - the current one isn't so great LOL
Much gratitude to mrspencil and la-hija-de-Dios (love those names, btw ;) for leaving Reviews!
Anyway, that's it from me for now! Over and Out!