Newkirk sat back from the coffee pot radio, lips narrowed in grim determination, punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. "If they hurt Carter, I'll kill 'em," he growled.
Hogan remained silent, but his brow wrinkled. He had a feeling that whatever the renowned scientist from whatever institute would do to study Carter would almost certainly hurt him, and most likely finish him. They had to rescue him from Burkhalter's clutches before the scientist could do anything with him.
It would be difficult, though. The general was not likely to let that lockbox out of his sight until he was ready to pass it into the scientist's hands. Hogan had half a mind to storm into Klink's office and remind him that the Geneva Convention did not allow scientific experimentation on POWs. But who would believe any of this? All that the rest of the world would see was an experiment done on a mouse. Besides, if he stormed in, it would be as much as confessing that they were listening in on the conversation, and he couldn't take that risk.
"All right, men," he finally said. "This is perhaps the most important mission we've had to date. Not only is our friend Carter in danger, but the outcome of the war is at stake. Kinch, we need to let Wilson know what's happened. Go tell him, but don't go into the lab. Just stand outside. Tell him I want a report within the hour." His gaze moved from one man to the next before settling on Newkirk and LeBeau. "You two, you're going to steal that lockbox and get Andrew back to the barracks. Hopefully Wilson has made some headway down in the lab." He rubbed his hands together. It was good to have a mission. Things had been a little too quiet lately. "All right, men. Get moving! I'm going to stay here and listen for any further developments from Burkhalter."
•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•
It would, perhaps, be of interest to the reader at this juncture to learn something of what Andrew himself was feeling. While his physical transformation was not yet complete, in his mind he was now thoroughly mouse and blissfully unaware that anything strange had happened to him. He was, however, an unusually intelligent mouse with a solid understanding of human speech, whether it be in German or in English, and a very non-mousy understanding of world affairs. And so he realized what Burkhalter wanted to do with him, and he did not like it one bit!
When the General's hand reached in to probe his furry back, Andrew therefore twisted around and sank his teeth into the man's thumb. The General pulled his hand away with a yelp and quickly shut the lid of the lockbox. He had not punched any holes in it, so it was a good thing the box was not airtight. Felix and Andrew both had an adequate supply of oxygen.
Andrew yawned. His body knew it was day outside, even here in the darkness of the lockbox. Time for sleep. He curled up on the blanket scraps that smelled like his friend Newkirk, yawned, and drifted off. Felix had already done the same.
•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•
"The verdammte rodent drew blood!" Burkhalter complained as he waved his injured hand in the air. "Get me iodine! Get me a doctor!" He sank into the chair behind Klink's desk. "How do I know this isn't how it happened to him?" He pulled off his hat and gestured to his head, all in a panic. "Do you see any sign of a change, Klink? Is it happening to me too?"
Klink looked him over carefully and shook his head. "I don't see anything unusual," he said after a slight hesitation.
The pause was enough to set Burkhalter wailing.
Klink began to pace the room in a panic. "Really, General, I saw nothing to worry about! Here… let me get you something to drink!" He retrieved a bottle of Schnapps from a cabinet and poured Burkhalter a glass.
The General downed it in one gulp. At last, he began to calm down.
Neither, of course, was aware of the laughter at their expense in Barracks 2, where Hogan was still listening in. Once he had gotten over the belly-laugh, he sat back in his chair and nodded. "Well done, Carter," he murmured approvingly.
•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•
Louis rubbed his hands together. "All right, Newkirk. How will we get our André back?"
Newkirk shrugged. "Easy, mate. We wait until Klinky and Burkhalter are outta the Kommandatur and go steal him back."
But Louis shook his head. "Do you really think he will leave the lockbox there? I think he will keep it close to him."
"All right, then. It's still a cinch," Newkirk crowed. "Ya just knock 'em out when you cook their supper this evening. I'll steal the cage then."
"Yes, this is perfect. I will mix a sedative into their soup and they will never know what hit them." Louis was exultant for a moment, then he slumped. "Ahh, but I am not serving their supper."
Peter's brow furrowed. "Why not? You always do when Burkhalter comes to camp."
"I know!" Louis threw up his hands. "Hilda told me yesterday he was bringing his own chef this time. He wanted something more… elevated than he thought a lowly POW could manage."
"Then we will have to make the chef sick, how about that?"
Louis nodded at Peter's solution. "All right, then. This is where we will begin. And I have just the thing." He hurried over to his storage cupboards and rummaged through them. When he returned to Peter, he held out his hand to reveal several mushrooms. "Michaels brought them to me a week ago. He thought they might be good for eating, but I told him they were poisonous. Not so much that they would kill a man, but enough to make him extremely sick for several days. I don't know why I kept them… but now I'm glad I did."
"I know why," Newkirk grinned. "You've a bit of larceny in your ol' romantic heart, Louis." He took the mushrooms and admired them. They actually looked quite appetizing. He handed them back. "Now we just gotta figure a way to get the ruddy bloke to eat these things and Bob's yer uncle, a sick chef!"
Louis straightened up proudly. "I will make him a mushroom soup he will never forget. Tell him I am an aspiring chef and would appreciate his expert appraisal. He will eat every bite!"
"Then you better scarper it outta there before 'e passes out."
"Of course!" Louis grinned. "He won't pass out. He'll just spend the next three days in the latrine." His brow wrinkled for a moment as realization sunk in. "I see what you mean. We can't let him tell anyone that I was responsible. Perhaps some sedative would be better for him too."
Newkirk nodded. "Good thinkin', mate. You come up with the soup. I'll steal the box."
"Very well." And Louis got busy preparing a delicious french onion soup. In the end, he included only the sedative. He delivered the concoction to the kitchen early in the afternoon.
The chef was haughty, but Louis was able to appeal to his ego with a string of compliments. At last, he convinced the fellow to eat his soup. The concoction was marvelous, and the man drained his bowl to the last drop. Then, with a delighted smile on his face, he raised a hand and pronounced it "Delic —" And with that, he slumped unconscious to the ground.
By arrangement, Baker and Olsen soon arrived to cart the chef away at the bottom of a laundry bin. They carried him down into the tunnels, where he would sleep off the sedative in a matter of hours. After that, the men would get him rip-roaring drunk and leave him just outside the gate.
It wasn't long before the summons came. Louis was to prepare the meal for Klink and Burkhalter after all. He set to work in the kitchen immediately, confident that Peter knew exactly what he needed to do.
Hilda had been tasked with helping him serve. Louis wondered whether she was aware of what had happened to Andrew. If she was, she said nothing about it. She did, however, mention that they were to cook for three instead of two and that General Burkhalter had been strangely protective of a certain lockbox all afternoon. "And when Herr Doktor Bockstein arrived, he made sure to cuff it to his wrist so no one could take it from him! I wonder what could be inside."
Peter, who was present under the guise of helping Louis with his preparations, listened silently as he peeled a potato. Somehow the scientist had slipped into camp under the prisoners' radar. Well, the sedative in the soup would knock him flat as well.
Just before serving time, Louis stirred the sedative into the potato cheese soup Burkhalter had demanded. Peter closed his eyes as he inhaled. "Ahh, if I didn't know better, I'd eat a big bowlful meself. Well done, Louis!"
Hilda and Peter served the dishes to the three men. Both the general and Klink dug eagerly into their soup, but Bockstein wrinkled his nose. "Potatoes?" he said disdainfully. "Take it away. I cannot eat this."
When both Burkhalter and Klink dozed off over their unfinished soup bowls, Bockstein's eyes went wide. "Poison!" he shouted. "They have been poisoned! Guards! Guards!" He glared at Peter, then pulled out a pistol and aimed it at him. "Don't you dare move." Then he gestured to Hilda. "Get the cook out here," he demanded. "Now!"