Chapter 3 – Red Sky at Morning
"You learn to know a pilot in a storm." - Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Kinch and Carter paused at the radio table on their way to Carter's lab at the far end of the tunnel; Baker glanced up as they stood in front of him.
"Thanks for spelling me on radio duty Richard," said Kinch. "The Colonel's kept me hopping lately on special assignments for London."
"No sweat man, I need the practice. How's Peter doing?"
"Sleeping right now," replied Kinch.
Baker noticed the slate tiles each man carried and pointed at them. "What are those for? What are you guys doing?"
Carter answered, "We're gonna split these slate tiles so we can use them as chalkboards!"
At the puzzled look on Baker's face, Kinch added, "We had to figure out a way for Peter to communicate since Joe told him not to talk for at least the next week." He gestured with the tile. "Say, you don't happen to have an old family remedy for laryngitis, do you? Speak now or forever hold your peace!"
Baker chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry, not that I can think of."
Kinch laughed as well, "If you get any ideas, let me know! C'mon Andrew, let's get these tiles split!"
The insistent burning pain that increased exponentially each time he swallowed finally nagged his brain back to an unwilling consciousness and Newkirk awoke with his tongue pasted to the roof of his mouth. Ugh! How did me mouth get so dry? Even though the room was dark, he could see that there was a cup of what he hoped was water sitting atop the stool beside the bunk. He grabbed it and gulped the tepid liquid down greedily, desperate to rid his mouth of the uncomfortably scratchy sensation of coarse-grained sandpaper.
LeBeau had been checking on Newkirk every few hours throughout the entire day and decided to take one last look-in before lights out. He entered the room silently, then spoke out upon noticing that his English friend had awoken. "Oh Pierre! You are awake!"
"Louis…so…thirsty…," Newkirk whispered painfully as he held out the empty cup in LeBeau's direction.
"Do not speak mon ami! Do you not remember what Joe told you? I will be right back." LeBeau took the cup, left to refill it and then returned to hand it to Newkirk.
"Are you hungry?" asked LeBeau after Newkirk quickly drained the cup. "Would you like some warm soup?"
Newkirk thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He grimaced as he felt the stirrings of a massive headache directly behind his eyes. What the 'ell is wrong with me now?
LeBeau noticed his obvious discomfort and asked, "What is wrong? Remember, do not speak! Show me!"
Newkirk raised his hands to simultaneously massage both temples.
"Ah, I see, you have a headache. I will bring you some aspirin with your soup, oui?"
Newkirk nodded again, slowly this time, trying not to aggravate the steadily increasing throbbing of his head as he continued to massage his temples. He closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them when he heard someone walk into the room.
"How are you feeling Peter?" Kinch gestured for whoever was behind him to come on into the Colonel's quarters. Carter stepped into the room and smiled at his English friend as Kinch continued speaking. "Louis said you have a headache."
Newkirk dipped his head once, then closed his eyes again as he continued to massage his temples.
"He's warming up some soup and sent us ahead with the aspirin. Here you go." Kinch handed the tablets to Newkirk, then turned to Carter. "Andrew, do you have the water?"
"Right here Kinch!" Carter handed a mug to Kinch, who in turn handed it off to Newkirk. The Englishman downed the aspirin in one gulp then finished the rest of the water off. He nodded his thanks as he handed the empty mug back to Kinch.
"Okay buddy. Hope that helps. Louis will be back in shortly with the soup. We'll see you in the morning." Kinch headed out, followed by Carter.
"Yeah, we'll see you in the morning Peter. It's almost time for lights out."
Newkirk raised his hand in a half-hearted wave to acknowledge their departure. Bloody Nora! I feel awful! He desperately hoped that the aspirin would kick in soon, as the headache was becoming nearly unbearable. His stomach growled loudly and he wondered where on earth LeBeau had gotten off to.
The wait only seemed longer due to his ever-growing hunger atop the pounding headache. LeBeau soon bustled into the room with a bowl of soup. "Here you are, Pierre! It is not too terribly hot, so you should be able to drink it."
"Ta…," grunted Newkirk.
LeBeau rolled his eyes in frustration. "Pierre, how many times must I tell you? DO NOT SPEAK!"
Newkirk busied himself with the soup and ignored his French friend. He welcomed the warm broth's soothing effect on his throat yet was surprised to find himself feeling slightly nauseated when he finished. He chalked it up to the fact that his stomach had been completely empty as he settled back into the bunk.
"Do you need anything else mon ami?" asked LeBeau as he took the empty bowl from Newkirk's hands.
Newkirk shook his head slightly and buried his face into the pillow, hoping against hope not to have to endure another sleepless night due to this headache.
"We will be checking on you throughout the night so do not worry." LeBeau gently patted his English friend on the back. "Try to get some more sleep. Good night."
Just before roll call the next morning, Carter opened the door a bare crack to scope out the compound; he shut it quickly then hurried to get dressed. "Uh oh," he murmured.
"What is wrong André?"
"The sky is orange and red!"
"And?"
Kinch answered LeBeau's query. "You've never heard that old weather saying? You know, 'Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight?'"
"Oh oui! Rouge le soir, bel espoir, Rouge le matin, de la pluie en chemin."
Kinch shouldered himself into his jacket as he replied, "Right, so you know that a red sky at night usually means fine, clear weather and a red sky in morning usually means rain or bad weather is coming."
"Mon Dieu! So on top of everything else, we will all have to stay inside the barracks?" He startled and turned as the Colonel laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Let's hope not Louis!" Hogan looked at each of his men and said, "Fellas, I suggest we all get down on our knees and pray that won't be the case because I think we'll all be at each other's throats before it's all over!"
Schultz came in the door, obviously taking pains to be as quiet as possible. "Roll call boys!" he whisper-shouted. He gestured to the Colonel and handed him a small box. "Colonel Hogan, here is the chalk I promised to get from my nephew Wolfie."
"Thanks Schultz, you're a life saver!"
"As long as you make sure that the Engländer stays put! Now I must check to see that he is still in your quarters Colonel. I am sorry, but the Kommandant insists."
"I understand Schultz," replied the Colonel as he led the German guard across the common room to his quarters. "But try to keep as quiet as possible, he's still asleep."
Schultz nodded and very gently opened the door. He stuck his head in to see that Newkirk was indeed in the bottom bunk and asleep. He backed up, closing the door softly as he did so.
"Satisfied, Schultz?" asked the Colonel.
Schultz nodded happily and headed back towards the barracks door. "Come along boys, please? I would like to finish roll call before it begins to rain!"
"Rain?" groaned LeBeau.
"I told you!" said Carter.
"C'mon fellas, let's get it over with!" The Colonel helped Schultz herd the men outside. "Be prepared for some heavy duty prayers when we get back inside!"
The last thing he remembered was a tremendous explosion followed by nothing. He was jerked back to consciousness by blood-red flashes of light followed by ear-splitting concussions which blasted scorching hot air into his face followed by the slap of icy-frigid cold air. His throat seized up and he began choking as he frantically sucked in the caustic air, which was heavily laden with the pungent yet sickly sweet detritus of spent cordite. The frighteningly opposing sensations overwhelmed him as he tumbled arse over teakettle into the pitch black void. Thankfully he fell fairly quickly, leaving the deadly terror of the ack-ack far above. He finally recovered his senses enough to desperately fumble for and pull his ripcord. He prayed that he hadn't delayed too long and braced himself for a grievously shattering end. The bone rattling jolt of the harness as it snapped tautly against his chest made him scream out loud in agony; he'd obviously done some serious damage to his ribs.
He bolted awake, disoriented and nauseated from the memory of the heart-stopping free fall. Completely confused as to where he was, he vaguely remembered waking up bruised and battered in the Dulag's spartan infirmary with his ribs so tightly bound he could barely breathe. He looked about fearfully, desperately trying to remember where he was.
Oh, right, the Colonel's quarters! He swiped both hands at the perspiration dripping down his face. Cor, I 'aven't dreamt about being shot down in ages!
His confusion unexpectedly segued into anger as he remembered why he was here in Colonel Hogan's bunk instead of his own out in the common room with the rest of his mates. He collapsed back onto the pillow with a groan and then sat back up immediately as a huge clap of thunder shook the entire building.
The door opened and LeBeau tentatively poked his head in. He withdrew for a moment and then walked on in, followed by Carter, Kinch and Colonel Hogan.
The Frenchman noticed immediately that his English friend was out of sorts. He set the tray he carried onto the stool beside the bunk and leaned down to ask, "What is wrong Pierre?"
Newkirk shook his head slowly, unwilling to share the real reason behind his confusion. He pointed up to the ceiling, hoping that his friends would jump to the conclusion he wanted them to.
"You mean that clap of thunder woke you up?" asked Carter.
Newkirk nodded in relief and then tried to change the subject by gesturing at the tray LeBeau had brought in.
"Ah yes! I have brought you breakfast, some hot tea and porridge."
Newkirk shook his head and grunted, "W-want..."
Carter stepped forward before LeBeau exploded in irritation at Newkirk's continued efforts to speak. "Hang on Louis. Here Peter, use this." He handed his friend a square of slate, a stick of chalk and a handkerchief.
Newkirk frowned as he took the items from Carter and looked up at him in puzzlement.
"It's a chalkboard Peter! Now you can write instead of trying to talk!"
The Englishman looked at each of his friends in turn before taking the chalk in hand and bending over the slate. He held it up for them to see when he finished.
Thanks mates!
"You're welcome buddy!" said Carter. "Although it was actually Kinch's idea."
Newkirk gave a 'thumbs up' to Kinch, who chuckled as he returned the gesture.
LeBeau, relieved at Newkirk's acceptance of the chalkboard, picked up the tray and set it in the Englishman's lap. "Come mon ami! You must eat to keep up your strength!"
Newkirk surveyed the contents of the tray and quickly erased the slate with the handkerchief. When he finished writing, he flipped the slate over so that LeBeau could read it. If it were possible for a chalked message scrawled onto a broken piece of slate to appear plaintive, this one certainly did.
Coffee? Please?
LeBeau shook his head as he spoke. "I do not know Pierre. The tea might be better for your throat right now."
Newkirk erased and wrote again. Please Louis?
Colonel Hogan decided to take pity on his RAF Corporal and stepped in to intercede on his behalf. "It's okay Louis. Go ahead and let him have just one cup of coffee each morning. We can't take everything away from him, can we?"
A cautious sigh of relief preceded the chalked reply, Thanks sir!
"You're welcome Peter."
LeBeau acquiesced with a sigh of his own. "Very well Pierre! Eat your breakfast and I will bring you some coffee!"
Newkirk nodded and took a cautious sip of the warm tea before dipping into the porridge. LeBeau shooed everyone else ahead of him as he made his way out of the room. He stuck his head back inside to say, "I will make a fresh pot of coffee for you mon ami!"
Satisfied with the prospect of a fresh cup of coffee, Newkirk fell to his breakfast ravenously. He didn't understand why on earth he was so hungry and impatiently waited for LeBeau to return with the coffee so he could ask for another portion.
