Chapter 9 – Atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale
"After a storm comes a calm." - Matthew Henry
"Merci!" called LeBeau as he jumped off the stool. "Did you hear that Pierre? They are back! I must reheat the coffee!" He grabbed Newkirk's empty mug up from the floor and paused to observe his friend's reaction to Goldman's long-awaited message.
Newkirk's sigh of relief ended up as a tremendous yawn and LeBeau chuckled at the sight, pleased that he was so obviously drowsy. It had been a very long, yet very productive night for both of them. The Frenchman felt that an onerous burden had suddenly been lifted from off his shoulders and he hoped that the same held true for his English friend.
Could I see them?
"Why not, mon ami?" smiled LeBeau. "I am sure they wish to see you as well."
Almost as if on cue, there came another knock at the door; LeBeau rushed to open it and Colonel Hogan, Kinch and Carter walked in.
"How's our not so patient, Louis?" asked Kinch.
"He is well, but sleepy," answered LeBeau cheerfully.
Newkirk shook his head in mock irritation as he wrote, Play nice Kinch!
"Look who's talking, our resident expert in slate shattering! I'm going to keep you in mind for the next roofing detail!" said Kinch. He moved over to the bunk and gently tapped Newkirk on the back as the Englishman flipped the slate around for Carter's view.
Care for a few rounds of gin tomorrow Andrew?
"Sure buddy! Uh, I won't need to bring another slate up from the tunnel will I?"
Newkirk rolled his eyes as he showed them all what he had written in reply to Carter's question. You're a twit, Andrew!
The Colonel had been standing back by the door quietly observing his men's interaction and he now moved to sit on the stool beside the bunk. "I just wanted Peter and Louis to know that the Krauts have one less ammo depot tonight."
Carter jumped in, gesticulating wildly as he spoke, "Yeah you should've seen it guys! It was great! KABOOM-BOOM-KABOOM! Scratch one ammo depot in Diebach!"
Colonel Hogan shook his head and chuckled at his munitions expert's enthusiasm. "Never lose your passion, Andrew!"
That's just what we need – a passionate twit!
They all laughed at that, even Carter. A moment of quiet then passed, after which everyone noticed Newkirk unsuccessfully trying to suppress another yawn.
LeBeau moved in to shoo everyone out of the room. "Come mes amis! We have all had a very long, tiring night. Let us get to sleep!"
He returned to make a final check on his English friend and found him already dropping off to sleep. The Frenchman fussed with the blankets, tucking them in more securely around Newkirk. "I hope and pray you sleep well tonight, mon ami," he murmured as he finished. He stood looking at the sleeping Englishman for a moment and then turned the light off before he left.
As LeBeau entered the common room, the Colonel stood at the stove pouring himself a cup of coffee. He gestured to LeBeau and pulled him aside with his arm draped over the Frenchman's shoulder. "Louis, there seems to be something different about Peter that I just can't put my finger on. Is there anything I need to know?"
LeBeau looked his CO directly in the eye as he replied, "No Colonel, there is not. Trust me, Pierre is fine." He looked down and spoke as if to himself, "Yes, he is just fine."
Hogan acquiesced, not quite fully convinced that he had the whole story, yet willing to leave the matter alone. "I'll take your word for it then. Thanks for taking such good care of him while we were gone!"
"Merci, it is a task for which I was born!"
Hogan looked closer at his French Corporal, who appeared to be completely serious. He nodded and moved to sit down at the common table whilst he finished his coffee.
Newkirk had fallen deeply asleep almost instantly and immediately felt himself immersed within another dream; however this time was quite unlike the previous ones. He found himself seated in front of the large picture window of the Red Lion, he and his mates' favorite pub in Houghton. He always felt at home here, since his favorite London pub went by the very same name. He glanced about curiously, wondering why he was here alone, as he never came here alone; he was always here with his mates and the rest of the mob from the base. He caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and there they were, all of them - Jack, Denis, Robert, Johnston and Fred. They were gathered outside, standing on the pavement fronting the window, all of them dressed in full flight gear. He couldn't believe his eyes and rubbed them so hard they actually hurt. As he stared at them in shocked disbelief, each one of them raised a hand in reluctant farewell. They stood together gazing fondly at him for a seemingly eternal moment and then shouldered their kits. They all then turned to leave except for Jack, who lingered a bit behind the others and gave him a wistful smile along with his characteristic 'thumbs up' before he too had to turn away.
He sprang to his feet and pounded his fists against the window as he cried out to them to stop, to come back, to wait for him. Mates…don't go…please…wait for me…wait for me! He shouted himself hoarse but it was to no avail. It was as if they simply could not hear him and they continued to walk on until they disappeared into the swirling mists of the evening river fog. He dropped his forehead in despair against the cold, hard glass of the window as the tears flowed once again. He stood there unmoving for quite some time when he heard the unmistakable rumble of two Bristol Pegasus engines on run-up. He pressed his face closer to the window, desperately searching the fog for any hint of his mates or their plane, yet he saw nothing. He knew every whine and moan of those engines by heart and could tell by the increasing revolutions they were approaching the moment of takeoff and beyond. The roar of the engines grew even louder as their Wimpey, his Wimpey, call sign "F for Freddie", nickname "Mave's Boys", beat up the pub. Good on ya Denis! he thought as the entire building shuddered in response. He strained to listen as the comforting drone gradually and inexorably faded away into the distance until at the last nothing but silence remained. Godspeed and my very best to you, mates…I'll never forget any of you. He remained standing at the window, his face resting against the glass, until his knees finally buckled beneath him and he remembered no more.
A/N – Chapter title translates as "and forever, brother, hail and farewell"; a line from Catullus 101 (Brotherly Tears by Gaius Valerius Catullus, c. 84-c. 54 B.C., translation below by A.Z. Foreman):
Driven through many a nation, out over many an ocean,
I am now here for these last rites of passing,
To offer you, dead brother, the last gifts of the living,
To speak in vain at your unspeaking ash
Since bitter fortune barred me, stole you to a shadow,
Poor brother taken, cruelly taken, from me.
But now to celebrate grief in custom of our fathers
I bring small foods to you who starve below,
Small gifts damp with a brother's tears. Take them and this
Into eternity: hail and farewell.
