Chapter 11

After Carter had left with Schultz, Kinch began to pace back and forth. In many ways when he did that, it reminded Newkirk and LeBeau of their commander when he would pace while his mind was working.

"What are you thinking, mon ami?" asked LeBeau after awhile.

"Plenty," Kinch replied. "Newkirk, you can fill Carter in when he gets back. Schultz said he was positive his rifle was unloaded when he went on duty as usual. And I believe him."

"Oui, so do I."

"You can add me name to the list, mate," Newkirk added.

"Second, he said something about leaning his rifle against the barracks to help one of the guards with something, and then grabbed his rifle and walked away. And Dietrich just happened to be relaxing outside that same barracks. That must have been when he did it."

"When he did what?" asked Newkirk, puzzled.

"Don't you see. Schultz said Dietrich was sitting on the bench on a break when he leaned his rifle against the wall. When Schultz took his rifle and walked away, he said his rifle didn't feel right."

"You think Dietrich switched rifles with Schultz when he wasn't lookin'?" asked Newkirk.

"That's exactly what I think. There's no other way to explain how Schultz's rifle was loaded. Unless Schultz is lying, and I don't think he is."

LeBeau mulled it over. "Okay. I can agree with that. But it still leaves us with the rifle shot that injured Colonel Hogan. If Schultzie's shot didn't hit the Colonel, then where did it go?"

The trio looked at each other. Finally, Kinch sat on the edge of the table. "I say first chance we have, we search outside this barracks; have some of the other guys in the barracks search as well. If that shot went wide, there's a possibility it could be lodged somewhere close by. If we could find it, it could prove there was more than one shot fired when Colonel Hogan was hit."

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Newkirk getting to his feet. "Let's start searchin'."

"Wait a minute," Kinch said checking his watch. "What's taking Carter so long to get back here? He was quicker getting Schultz here. And with Dietrich wandering around the compound, it concerns me."

"Want me to go look for 'im, Kinch?" the Englander asked.

"Yeah. But be careful. If there's trouble, come and get the rest of us. I don't want you playing hero with Dietrich. Understand?"

"Completely." Newkirk raced to the barracks door, opened it and disappeared outside.

Carter was innocently making his way back in the direction of barracks two when his arm was suddenly roughly seized and he was spun around to come face-to-face with Sergeant Dietrich. Carter swallowed hard as the man's angry face glared at him.

"So, you thought I didn't see you bring that fat slob to your barracks and then back to his quarters, hmmm?" He brought his face dangerously close to Carter's. "Well I did!"

Carter's eyes darted around frantically, hoping to catch the eye of somebody. "I, I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, looking at Dietrich. "We just wanted to visit with Schultzie. Y'know what I mean? A final visit between old friends so to speak." He smiled weakly sensing he was in trouble.

Dietrich smiled that sickening cunning smile of his. "You're lying to me, sergeant. I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you a lesson. You will come with me…to barracks seven." He proceeded to drag a frightened Carter away.

Newkirk had been very quick with his searching without success. He had a nagging feeling that Carter was in trouble. But where could he be? Think, Newkirk, think! If you were Dietrich, where would you take someone where you could be alone with them? Where… Newkirk suddenly snapped his fingers. He turned and ran as fast as he could in the direction of barracks seven, knowing it was empty and the perfect place.

Dietrich slammed shut the door to barracks seven after roughly shoving Carter inside so hard, the young American fell sprawling on the floor. As Dietrich approached him, Carter crawled away backward, his eyes never straying from the German's face. He watched Dietrich remove his topcoat and toss it on the table. He then unbuckled his belt and held it in his hand menacingly, the buckle end swinging back and forth. Carter's eyes never left that buckle. Dietrich kept advancing.

Carter suddenly found himself up against a corner wall with nowhere to go. He let out a deep breath, bracing himself for what he did not know.

"Now, one last time, sergeant," the German sneered. "Why did you bring Schultz to your barracks? Perhaps to plot against me? Was that it?"

"I told you. We just wanted a farewell visit with Schultz. Before he got sent to the Russian front. That's all."

"LIAR!" Dietrich shouted. "I see I shall have to beat the information out of you. And if you still won't talk, I'll have to show you what I did to Corporal Sanger." Dietrich drew back his arm preparing to swing the buckle end of the belt while Carter covered his face as he curled up in a protective ball.

Suddenly Dietrich felt his wrist seized from behind. Glancing around, he saw Newkirk tightly gripping his wrist. "Englander, you will pay for this!"

"Carter! Run!" Newkirk shouted. "Get the hell out of here and get help! Carter!"

The young sergeant looked up to see his best friend struggling with the more powerfully built sergeant. "Newkirk, I…"

"Carter, get the bloody hell out of here! Now! Get help!" Newkirk shouted again as the two men wrestled over the belt. Carter didn't have to be told again. Bolting to his feet, he scampered out the barracks door to get help.

Newkirk and Dietrich continued to struggle until Dietrich suddenly gripped Newkirk by the throat and squeezed. The Englander began to stagger from not being able to breathe and fell to his knees. "Bloody bastard!" he muttered as his hands loosened their grip. Dietrich roughly threw Newkirk onto the floor where he lay, clutching his throat and coughing, trying to get air back in his lungs again. Dietrich stood over him. With a smirk, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small rubber club. He slapped it hard in his open palm.

"You swine never learn it seems," he muttered as he raised the club over his head and then brought it down with lighting speed again, and again, and again. There wasn't an inch of Newkirk's body that went untouched. Blood sprayed everywhere and covered Dietrich's hands and the club itself. And yet he kept swinging until Newkirk lay completely still, his body practically bathed in blood. Then with a smirk, he grabbed one of the blankets from a nearby bunk, wiped his hands clean of blood and tossed it aside. Then casually pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped the bloody club in it, grab his topcoat, and calmly walked out the door, closing it behind him.

It was a few short minutes later that Newkirk felt hands touching him gently. He moaned at every movement as he was carefully eased onto his back. And he heard voices although he couldn't distinguish who was saying what.

"Is he gonna be all right, Joe?" asked a familiar voice. That sounds like Carter.

"An…Andrew?" Newkirk murmured weakly. "Is…is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, buddy. I'm right here. And I'm not leaving your side. You just relax and let Wilson take care of you. You're gonna be fine. Good as new." Carter's eyes looked imploringly at the medic hoping he hadn't just lied to his best friend.

The medic didn't respond, but glanced back at Carter and mouthed 'I don't know,' to him as he kept working on Newkirk. "Talk to him, Carter. It might help take his mind off the pain."

Carter gently but tightly gripped Newkirk's bloody hand in his. "Hey, buddy. I'm right here with you. So's Kinch and LeBeau. Wilson's gonna fix you up good as new. Geez, Newkirk, why'd you have to challenge that big creep? You shoulda just distracted his attention from me and I could've gotten away and so could you. I'll never forgive myself if you're hurt bad."

Newkirk, trying to smile, winced instead. "Stub…born man. Blimey. I…hurt…all…over."

LeBeau, paling, looked like he was about to faint. Wilson glanced at him. "LeBeau, go to the infirmary and bring back a stretcher. We have to get Newkirk to the infirmary as-soon-as-possible. Now go!"

The Frenchman shakily got to his feet and managed to leave the barracks, grateful to be out of there.

"How is he, Joe?" asked a deeply worried Kinch.

"Hard to tell without a thorough examination. He's got numerous cuts and bruises, any other injuries I can't say until I examine him thoroughly and I can't do that here. His pupils respond to light well. I hope LeBeau gets here soon with that stretcher." Wilson held up a hand and two fingers in front of Newkirk's face. "Newkirk, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," was the reply.

Wilson grinned. "At least we know he can count." He then held up a single finger. "Okay, Newkirk, follow my finger." He moved the finger from left to right and right to left; then up and down with the Englander never taking his eyes off of it. "Good, Newkirk. Very good." Everybody looked up when the door opened and LeBeau returned with the stretcher. He laid it on the floor and opened it, locking it in the open position. Wilson looked at Carter. "Carter, grab his shoulders while I grab his feet. On the count of three slide him onto the stretcher. Ready? One, two, three." The two men carefully slid the injured Englander onto the stretcher trying hard not to cause him any additional pain. Newkirk moaned anyway from the movement. "Okay, Carter, help me get him to the infirmary. LeBeau, bring my bag."

Together, Carter and Wilson picked up and carried the stretcher out of barracks seven and towards the infirmary with LeBeau close behind them holding Wilson's bag. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears at his friend's condition and at all the blood which had been splattered inside. He silently hoped that the Englander would pull through and recover. Oh how LeBeau wished Colonel Hogan was here. Not that he lacked faith in Kinch; far from it. He just had a different feeling when the Colonel was around for some reason, and he couldn't explain it. But he knew Kinch didn't take it personally because he felt, at times, the same way. He then murmured a string of French obscenities directed at Sergeant Dietrich.

Reaching the infirmary, Wilson and Carter placed the stretcher on one of the beds and carefully eased it from under Newkirk. Fortunately by this time, the Englander had passed out from the pain. Wilson took his bag from LeBeau and looked at the Frenchman. "Louie, I suggest you go back to the barracks. Carter, I'm gonna need your help so I can give him a thorough examination." Glancing up, the medic noticed a pale LeBeau hesitant to leave. "I'll let you know as soon as I do, Louie. I promise." Nodding and sighing at the same time, LeBeau hurried out of the infirmary

Wilson began cleaning and examining Newkirk's head and face. "Doesn't appear to be any signs of an injury. He also felt Newkirk's skull gently and felt no lumps of any kind, nor found any blood. "Carter, help me get him undressed, and be careful with his injured ribs."

An hour later, Wilson, with Carter's help, had cleaned the blood from Newkirk's body and the medic had made a thorough examination. Another thirty minutes went by before Newkirk's injuries had all been treated.

"How is he, Joe?" asked a frightened Carter. "Will he be all right?"

"It looked a lot worse than it was," Wilson explained. "Seems like Dietrich didn't plan on killing him but just messing him up badly. He doesn't have a concussion thankfully, but he does have numerous cuts and bruises. He's fortunate he wasn't beaten to death. But he does have three cracked and one broken rib, and his right wrist is fractured; probably from protecting his head from the repeated blows. He'll have to remain still for a few days and give those bones a chance to heal. He should be all right if he gives himself time to recover."

Carter sat in a chair slowly beside the bed, watching his friend's barely audible breathing. In fact, if it hadn't been for the faint rise and fall of Newkirk's chest, Carter would've thought the Englander was dead. He reached out and gently gripped Newkirk's hand.

"I'm right here, buddy, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna stay right here until you open your eyes and look at me."

Sighing tiredly, Wilson patter Carter's shoulder. "Andrew, it's probably going to be several hours before Newkirk wakes up. Why don't you go back to the barracks. I promise I'll let you know the minute he wakes up."

"I appreciate it, but if you don't mind, I'd rather wait here. I want my face to be the first one Newkirk sees when he wakes up. Besides, I owe him. I promise I won't get in the way."

Smiling, Wilson didn't have the heart to refuse the young sergeant, knowing the closeness between the two. "All right, Carter, you can stay. I have to go to barracks two and let them know Newkirk's condition, and then report to the Kommandant. Although what I'm going to tell him I have no idea. He didn't believe anything Kinch and I said when we tried telling him about Dietrich shooting the Colonel and killing Corporal Sanger."

"If the Kommandant doesn't believe us, then what are we gonna do?"

"I have no idea, Carter. That was Colonel Hogan's area of expertise; only for now, it's Kinch's. Hopefully, he can come up with something before Dietrich kills somebody else."