Note for the previous chapter: I'm sure there was some confusion over the character Private Dean Matthews, and I apologize. I introduced him as someone Peter already knew, but then he sounded like he had been in the camp already. Anyway, that's cause I was writing too much, and too quickly, and then I didn't even edit myself. So, I fixed it. You can go back now and it should make more sense. If there's anything else confusing let me know. Hope you're enjoying the story!

Simone Lyon

Chapter Fifteen: Reunion

August 4, 1940

Well, for a long time, there would be no surprises for anyone. Three days after arriving at camp, the new prisoners were divided into working units by barracks. From that day on, it was just the routine that Dean and Everley had described. Work varied from small chores around the camp to improve its conditions to working on farms in the local countryside. For the newcomers it was a shock at first because the work was so constant. But they eventually got over it. They worked every day but Sunday, and that free day was usually spent trying to defeat boredom.

The fight from the beginning was against the summer heat. But after everyone became positively immune to the heat and used to the rations, they were all lean, working men. The next fight was against boredom, and ultimately depression.

They all knew the war still had a ways to go if the UK put up a fight. And after July went by, and August came, just a month in the dullest routine known to man was something that could break you if you didn't fight it. In their recreation hours, they attempted to break it by mingling with other people around the camp. It was then that a revelation was made when the prisoners found just one other thing they were allowed to do: they could go to the fence and talk to the prisoners on the other side.

By all rights, it probably would have sounded incredulously unimportant to anyone on the outside, or even the guards. But it was just something else to do.

As soon as Louis found out they were allowed to talk to the British prisoners he went there the first chance he got. It was Sunday, so it was a free day, which meant they were not confined to barracks. But it was getting on in the day, and dinner was soon. Someone had only just found out they were allowed to talk to those in the British camp. Well, he wasn't the only one who went to the dividing fence. Many prisoners on both sides were eager to talk to someone on the other side. Fortunately, the fence was long and there was enough room that everyone could stand comfortably. Guards patrolled between the fences, but were easily ignored by the prisoners.

Louis had long ago—or so it felt—accepted the fate of his friend Peter. He and Marcel had both come to the conclusion, since there had been no news around the camp of another prisoner, that Haussler had indeed killed Peter. Louis was terribly saddened about it and for those three days that they only rested, he had often thought about the Englishman. They had both known that on arriving at the camp, they would most likely be separated. But Louis admitted to himself that he had not expected Peter to be killed right away. And that was what had saddened him most. Peter had never gotten a chance to even try and survive the camp. He had survived all that time on the journey there, against the odds, had resisted, and it was all for naught even with the camp in sight.

However, when the work came, thoughts of Peter drifted off. He remembered the man, but realized that there was no point dwelling over the death. Louis had come to see in a way that when a man died in war, it was not a tragedy. He told himself that he should have known. He should not have attached himself to another friend who would most likely be killed eventually. It was war, and death came frequently in war. So, Peter was tucked away in Louis' heart with Jean, and his unit. Not really forgotten, but not exactly mourned. Just there, as a reminder of what he was fighting for.

For that Louis did not make much of an outward move to acquaintance himself with anyone else. He stuck close to Marcel throughout the day. They spent every waking moment side by side, just comfortable in knowing there was one other person there who cared about them.

When they learned, on that Sunday, that they were allowed to go talk with the British prisoners, they were both eager to find Stephen and Luke. They hopefully anticipated seeing their long, lost friends healthy. It would be encouraging to know that things were just as well on the British side as it was on the French.

But what Louis did not know, was that as he and Marcel walked the fence, searching for familiar faces, their long lost friends on the other side were doing the same. They all saw people they remembered from the march, and quickly conversed with them, making sure everyone was okay. They also inquired as to the whereabouts of their friends. Finally, Luke, who was always on top of spotting anyone, spotted Marcel through the two sets of barbed wire.

"Marcel! Marcel!"

Luke sped to the fence, practically running into it. Unlike the fences that separated the prisoners from the outside world, there was no line indicating no-man's-land where the prisoners could not go. But if one touched the wire, the guards often ordered them away.

Marcel heard his name called, and turned towards the fence, where he saw Luke bouncing on the balls of his feet on the other side. Marcel waved excitedly, and called for Louis to come. The shorter Frenchman hurried over, just as Stephen and Peter came up on either side of Luke.

"Peter!" cried Louis and Marcel simultaneously.

"What—where—" Louis could not finish his sentence, he was so excited.

"No, wait," said Peter. "Lemme guess…you thought I was dead?"

"Of course we thought you were dead," exclaimed Marcel.

Peter smiled and quickly filled them in on what had really happened. Luke excitedly picked it up to when Major Duerr had saved Peter from being shot by the SS officer. Luke was surprised that none of the French prisoners had heard.

"Well," said Louis. "The communication lines 'ave been down lately."

Peter snorted sarcastically.

"Well, how have ye been," asked Stephen.

"Good enough considering," replied Marcel. "You sound better. The cough all gone?"

"Yea," said Stephen. "Just needed some fresh air I suppose."

"You sure got it 'ere," said Louis. "What kind of work 'ave you all 'ad?"

"We've been workin' inside camp," answered Peter. "On account that our barracks seems to 'ave most o' the sick or injured people in them. Not anymore though. Ole Berg, our guard, 'e says we're gonna go work outside the camp in a few days."

"Yea," said Luke. "I can't wait. Even if we are working, it'll be nice to get out of here for a few ticks. What about you chaps?"

"We work on a farm," answered Marcel.

"I think it's our permanent workplace," said Louis. "We 'ave repaired the barn, farm'ouse and fences. The family still lives there, and they 'elped out some. But the guards do not like the civilians to be around us very much. Anyway, we are supposed to start actually farming there soon."

"Hey," said Luke. "Berg said we were being put on a farm too. Maybe it's the same one!"

"Maybe," said Marcel. "But we walk there every day and we see a lot of other large farms. You could be going anywhere. The Germans want these places farmed so that the crops go to the military."

"So, tis a fat chance we'll end up on the same farm as ye," summarized Stephen.

"Oui, une gras chance," replied Louis.

"That's too bad," said Peter. "That would've been nice."

"There's still a chance we will work on the same farm," said Luke hopefully.

Peter chuckled and threw an arm around the younger man's shoulder. "It's nice to 'ave a shinin' sun like you around to brighten the day, mate, but over there—". He hooked his thumb over his shoulder to the administrative buildings. "—is where the clouds always come from."

"But there still is a chance," said Luke in a determined voice.

Louis smiled. 'Give up, Pierre. I think I will take Luke's side and 'ope for the better."

"It's not that I don't 'ope," straightened out Peter. "It's that I just don't want to get too 'opeful."

"Right," said Stephen. "But I've another question." He looked to Louis and Marcel. "Do either o' ye know anythin' aboot our kommandant? No one on this side has a clue."

Marcel smiled. "We do not exactly know. But I know someone who does."

"Where is 'e," asked Peter. "I'd like to 'ear more about this bloke meself. It's a right mystery, it is. I've never laid eyes on the fellow. It's always the Major."

"I will go get 'im," said Marcel. "I think I know where to find 'im." With a knowing smile, he walked off determinedly.

"You know this guy," asked Stephen of Louis.

"Oui," answered Louis with a shrug. "He sleeps beneath me. Marcel and I are in the same barracks, fortunately. What about you?"

"We managed to get stuck in the same barracks," said Luke. He crossed his arms and shot a look to Peter and Stephen. "I'm beginning to wonder if I made a mistake in bunking with these two."

"Oi," said Peter. "Wot's that supposed to mean? You shouldn't talk, because I've never 'eard someone mumble so much in their sleep!

But Luke chuckled. "Well you and Stephen always seem to move around, and sometimes I wake up thinking I'm in the middle of an earthquake."

"Well, at least you've experienced something more exciting in this camp," said Louis. "My barracks is just full of snoring men."

Marcel then walked back, towing in another Frenchmen. "This is Private Torben Arcenau. 'E was 'ere before us."

"Bonjour," he said to three British soldiers. "Marcel tells me you wanted to know something about our Kommandant."

"Yea," answered Stephen. "Like why we never see him for one. Does he even exist?"

"Oui," replied Torben. "He certainly does. I saw him the first night we came here. Those I came with were the first ones in the camp. He arrived the same day we did, along with the guards and Major Duerr. But he never spoke a word. So, I asked some of the guards about him."

"We ask all the time," said Luke. "But they don't tell us anything."

"Well," explained Torben. "I think the guards like me a little bit because I can speak German and I am from Sträsbourg. Anyway, I can usually get something from them after a bit prodding. So, I asked about the kommandant. They do not really know much, but what they do know is that he is a hero from the Great War. And he was put in combat again when the Nazis blitzed Poland. After that, he tried to resign, because of his age. But apparently the Reich implored him to stay, so he did, taking up this role instead."

"Strange," said Peter curiously. "That doesn't explain anythin'."

"I know," said Torben. "But I've asked many of the guards. They know nothing more than that. Apparently, he rarely speaks with them. He gives his commands through the Major."

"And what about 'im," asked Louis. "'E seems a mystery as well."

"I could tell you even less about the Major," replied Torben. "All I know about him is that he is protective of the Kommandant. He is also honorable and studious. My impression is that he is really not a military man."

"I dunno," said Peter. "I got the impression that 'e could lay anyone out at any moment 'e wanted to. I mean, if 'e felt threatened. A cool customer, 'e is."

Suddenly, a whistle was blown. Berg stomped out into the compound. "Back in the barracke. Abendessen is soon!"

The next voice was cheeky Everley. "Awww, c'mon ole Bergie, we've just been allowed to talk wif the Frogs! Can't we 'ave just a wee bit more time?"

"A wee," asked Berg, sounding confused. "Nein, Engländer. You heard me. Back to the barracke. If not, no Abendessen."

"Abendessen," echoed Everley curiously. "Wot's that?"

"Dinner," barked another guards, one more fluent in English. "Now get in."

Peter, Stephen, and Luke looked forlornly at Marcel and Louis. "Well, till next time, chaps," said Luke. "I guess we'll find out tomorrow as to whether or not we'll be working together."

"Oui," said Louis. Stephen and Luke wandered off after exchanging goodbyes, and Marcel went away with Torben. As Peter turned to go, Louis called out to him. "Keep your 'opes up, Pierre."

Peter smiled and turned back to the fence. "I will," replied Peter grudgingly. "Goodbye. Or au revoir if you'd rather."

Louis laughed, for the first time in a long time, surprising himself. "Spare us mon ami!" But he smiled genuinely. Then, he stepped forward to the fence, and leaned against the barbed wire, slipping his arm through. Ignoring the hard metal pressing against him, he stretched his hand out as far as he could across the narrow space that the guards had patrolled. There were none there at the time, because of the call for dinner. Peter leaned in and did the same. In the middle, their fingertips grazed.

"It is good to see you," said Louis sincerely. "I really thought you were dead."

"I'm glad to see you 'ealthy as well," said Peter with a smile. There was something sad in his eyes as Berg grabbed his shoulder and yanked him away from the fence. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye," whispered Louis. His smile dissipated slowly and sadly. He stepped away from the fence, and went back inside the barracks, to await another potato soup, brown bread, and cabbage dinner.

And yet, he was glad. There seemed to be hope after all.