Chapter Nineteen: From Home, With Love

"Captain Lawrence!" Luke took a few steps to the officer. "What are you doing here?"

Lawrence shut the door, and he, and another officer with him stepped further into the barracks, all eyes on them. The other officer was a Second Lieutenant, and appeared very cool and calm.

"They took out some officers from the Oflag camp and put them here, because apparently things were getting out of hand," he said. "I think your Kommandant believes that with officers, you will at least behave better."

"Depends on wot they mean by behave," commented Everley with a mischievous grin.

"Well, Corporal," said Timon, sitting up quickly. He shot a glance towards Everley and Peter and then walked up to Lawrence. He gave off a smart salute, which Lawrence returned accordingly. "Sir, Sergeant Timon Lloyd reporting, and I would like to report some severe events. These men—" he pointed to Peter and Everley "—threatened me. Corporal Newkirk even had a knife to my throat."

Everyone looked to Peter, and the Cockney met Lawrence's gaze evenly and confidently.

"Well, Corporal," asked Lawrence.

"That's the truth, sir," answered Peter. "I speak for Corporal Blackwell as well, I believe." Everley nodded his approval.

Lawrence nodded, too, and looked to Timon. "How were they provoked?"

Stephen and Luke grinned. Oh, Lawrence knew Peter too well.

"Provoked, sir," asked Timon uncertainly.

"Yes," replied Lawrence without batting an eye. "I do not believe that someone would threaten you unless they were provoked."

"Aye, matay," said Stephen pointedly. "Why don't ye tell him why Peter and Ev threatened ye."

Now, all eyes were expectantly looking at Timon. He found no friendly or helpful faces in the crowd. Looking back at Lawrence, he answered truthfully, "I insulted them and their families."

"An' we'd 'ad enough o' it," put in Everley.

"Ah, so it's been a bit of a feud for some time now," asked Lawrence.

"You could say that," answered Timon sheepishly. Though he appeared cowed—and he was—he still gave an unhappy look to Peter and Everley, who were indeed looking high and mighty.

"Well," said Lawrence. "We will do this: just like on the march, those punished miss some sort of meal. I think, because I know this is a work camp, it will just be that your Red Cross packages are withheld for a week."

"Oh, bloody 'ell," growled Peter. He looked at his last cigarette gloomily. Luke smiled at him triumphantly.

"I guess that's fair enough," said Everley. "But can I 'ear the charges?"

"Ev," said Dean. "You know the charges."

"But 'e didn't say 'em," pointed out Everley. "I've got to 'ear exactly wot it is we're bein' charged of. It's just a 'abit I've gotten into over the years."

The men chuckled.

"Fair enough," echoed Lawrence. "You Corporal Blackwell, and Corporal Newkirk, are being charged with threatening a superior, and a fellow comrade-in-arms." Everley nodded approvingly. Lawrence half-smiled and went on. "And you, Sergeant Lloyd, are being charged with unfairly insulting and provoking your fellow comrades-in-arms." Timon just sighed and nodded. "That good enough for you, Corporal?"

"Sure thing, guv," answered Everley.

"That's sir, Corporal," said Lawrence.

"Right then, sir," replied Everley. He was not angry, but seemed to be having fun with the Captain.

"Wait a minute," said Timon.

"Yes, Sergeant," asked Lawrence, trying not to sound annoyed.

"What about Corporal Newkirk's knife," asked Timon. "I think it's kind of suspicious that he has one."

"Want to explain," said Lawrence, looking to Peter. It was an order, not a question.

"I wasn't searched when I got 'ere," said Peter. "Iffen you remember correctly, I was left on the road by 'Aussler. After I got out o' the infirmary, I was brought straight 'ere. I've still got lock picks an' me pencil sharpener."

"Pencil sharpener," asked Stephen.

"Well, mate," said Peter. "I don't want to go blabberin' on about a knife, do I?" He grinned and went on. "Whenever we 'ave to take showers at the delousin' station, I just 'ide em in 'ere."

"Where is it now," asked Luke.

"I ain't givin' that away," said Peter.

"That might actually be for the better," said Lawrence.

Timon's eyes bugged out. "Are you kidding, sir? He had that knife to my throat!"

"But did he kill you," asked Lawrence. "Obviously not. He has more sense than that, and now you know not to insult anyone. Also, are really certain he would kill you? Jerry would kill him right back." Timon's argumentative expression died off. "Now," said Lawrence again. "I wouldn't want to know where it is, because the less people who know, the better. That way, Jerry will not be finding out so easily if any question should be asked. Sergeant McLean is correct. That knife might be useful later on, when we start cracking down on the escape business."

Everyone looked at one another uncertainly.

"It sounds like you have some plans already Captain," said Luke.

"I do," answered Lawrence. "You see, officers are not made to work, so back at the Oflag camp, we have already been trying out some things, and before I was transferred out of there, we had made some progress in some areas."

"Like what? Tunnels," asked someone.

"Not yet," said Lawrence. "Look, I'll explain later, when we can have a formal meeting about it. The French officers will be doing the same. The best way to do this is to organize it so that we can be escaping at the same time from both sides, so that one side is not affected too much about what goes on, on the other. Make sense?"

"Sort of," said Dean. "Maybe we ought to wait for the meeting though, whenever that will happen."

"Whenever we can get it coordinated," said Lawrence. He looked to the officer on his left, who had thus far been silent. "This is Second Lieutenant William O'Neill. He will be setting up an escape committee, and eventually we'll be able to get something going. He was integral in the one we had going on at the Oflag."

Everyone looked at O'Neill. The guy was much younger than Lawrence, and he gave them all a friendly smile.

"I won't be giving any of you chaps a recruiting speech, because I don't think anyone needs one to try and escape," he said. "But that doesn't mean everyone is included. If you don't participate, you don't get to go, and if you compromise anything or may appear to compromise something in the future, you're off the list too. With lives at stake, we can't take too many unnecessary risks."

"So how do we know priority," asked Dean. "Who gets to go first if we pull it off?"

"We pull for it," answered O'Neill. "However many people we think can go, we pull that many names out of the hat. That way, it's fair and square. You get your name in the hat by helping out and not presenting any sort of problem."

The men exchanged looks, each seeing that this was a fair and square deal here.

"Fine then," said Peter. "Sign me up. No use in waitin' 'round 'ere for someone to break me out."

"Count me in too," said Luke quickly. He looked at Peter. "You promised after all."

Lawrence and O'Neill were pleased when the barracks voiced that they would all help in any way they could. No one's name was really taken down. It was a waste of paper and a good way for the Germans to find out that something was up. So once the two officers were satisfied, they left the barracks, and moved onto the next, no doubt trying to get everyone in on it.

"I wonder wot we're gettin' ourselves intae," said Stephen, watching the two officers from the window.

"As long as it's out," said Peter. He lit his last cigarette. "That is all I want to do: get out o' 'ere."

***** ***** *****

Louis was waiting with bated breath in their roll call line. Everyone was. Even the two officers who had just been transferred seemed to be about to burst with anticipation of what was about to come. There was much reason to be excited today so far. The officers had come, ready to organize escapes, and now, the letters were here.

The prisoners were in line, about to receive their letters, before they were sent back inside for the evening. The Germans had finally gotten them all sorted out, which had seemed to take eternity. The guards began to hand out the letter based on barracks. They gave a stack of letters to one man from each barracks, and when everything was passed out, they were sent back inside.

Unfortunately for Private Torben Arcenau, he had been given the letters for his barracks. As soon as they were inside, he was surrounded by his comrades, all desperately at him for the letters.

"Okay! Okay!" he cried. "Just hold up and you will get your letters!" That quieted everyone down. He sighed and then went off to read the names on the letters. "Moreau, Depaul, Girard, Chevalier, ooh, look mine…um, Boucher, D'Orléans—" Marcel took his quickly and retreated to his bunk, like others had already done. Louis looked back towards Torben hopefully. "—Rousseau, Lafevre, Ponthieux, Simon, Thomas, LeBeau—" Louis snatched his away and climbed up onto his bunk, ripping open the envelope. He tossed it aside, focusing everything on the letters.

There were several; more than he could have hoped for. They were all bound in one envelope, ensuring that he would receive them all. There was one from his grandparents, one from his Mère and Père, his two older sisters, his Oncle Jacque, one letter from a few of his sisters, one letter from Daphne, and lastly, and—the most touching one to him—a letter from Jean's father.

Dear Louis,

First, I should say how all of us--your family and friends--are relieved to have received the news that you were alive. For such a long time, all we were hearing from the north as terrible news. So many men were MIA and for so long as well. It was only yesterday that we all received word about what had become of your unit. Most of them were killed or captured. A small few were able to escape to the British Isles, where they now hope to rejoin the fight. The escape from Dunkerque is an amazing story. We listened to Prime Minister Winston Churchill over the BBC radio, before we were occupied. He told of how it was a miracle that so many men were able to get away. The word was that well over 65, 000 soldiers were able to escape. Unfortunately, many were left behind.

Also with word of your capture, we got word of Jean's death. I am writing you not to question or interrogate you, but just to let you know. I am sure your family has let you know. We know that your regiment was split up, so we have no idea as to whether you knew of Jean's death. If you did not know, I am sorry that you must learn this way. If you were there, I am sorry that you had to witness it. I can remember the two of you together since nearly your birth. It was a friendship I hate to see end this way, just as much as you surely are.

I also want you to know that you are like another son to me. You and Jean were brothers; there is no doubt about that. Though he was my son, and he is gone, you are not, and I plan on cherishing that thought. My wife feels the same, and though she cried with your mother at the news of Jean's death, she cried with relief with your mother at the news of your survival.

Well, the Germans have taken us over, and it was a painful sight, especially when they arrived in Paris. Now, their flags hang over our precious city like an infectious disease. I have only been in there once, with your father when we went to go find you uncle. He was fine, and there was only some minor damage to his restaurant. They made him shut it down for some time, but they say he will be allowed to reopen it eventually. Fortunately, the city was not that heavily damaged, because the German force was so overwhelming, the really just rolled in after the fight was over. Many civilians tried to hold them out, but after a time, preservation took over sacrifice, and they surrendered.

When our town was taken, it was done so peacefully. They only demanded that we give up all weapon, and there were few to give up, and then they hung their flag over out public offices, and now they stand on the corners of the street as if they own them. They are quiet, and we do not engage in conversation with them. Most of them are young, even younger than you. But we remain strong. The Prime Minister Winston Churchill has promised that France will be liberated. Our General de Gaulle is with him in England with our forces who have escaped, and they can only be scheming on how to fight back. But for now, the war is still. It is just Great Britain, and many wonder how long she will stand. They are strong, I will give the British that, and I pray with many others each night that they will hold out. There is even talk that the Americans are beginning to get more involved. Still they do not want to jump into another war either, which shall separate us for a time. I just hope that they do not wait too long.

That is all I can think of to write for now. You do not have to write me back, because I understand that sometimes paper can be scarce and you will most likely rather write to your family. I am not sure if you remember or not, but during the Great War, I was a prisoner of war. It might be different from then, wherever you are, but I will still give you some advice. Keep your friends close, and never push them away. Friends in a place like that is what will keep you alive, or at least wanting to live to see the next day. I was in a camp for two years, and the first three months nearly drove me crazy. It was not until I started paying more attention to the men around me did I actually calm down. That is about all the advice I can give you, because I do not know your exact situation. Just please, do not give up, because you would do harm even here should you die.

With a father's love,

Émeric Août

Louis studied the letter for a long time, feeling the emotion that had been written into it. He had always loved Jean's family as another one, because for so long they had been so close. Still, he was deeply touched and surprised at Émeric's blatant acceptance of what had happened. He did not blame Louis, nor did he mind not getting any news from him. He was only expressing his unconditional love for another son.

The other letters were just as caring and encouraging. Each bore a short story of what had happened when the Germans came, but Louis was relieved that no one had been out rightly killed, as he had seen in Dunkirk. Still, he feared for his family, because each of them implied that they were not going to just back down yet. He wondered to what lengths they would go to do something against le Boche. Though he was proud of them, he would still fear for them and pray that they do nothing foolish.

His family had also sent him two blank pieces of paper, and he was glad because that meant he could write them back. He even had some paper left from when the Red Cross packages had come. He pulled out his pencil, and began writing to his family, assuring them that he was okay. He did not tell them about Dunkirk, or the march, but only said that the camp was routinely boring, but that he was lucky enough to work in the kitchen of a restaurant.

After he finished writing his replies, he thought about what Émeric had told him: Keep your friends close, and never push them away. He suddenly felt guilty about what he had said to Peter earlier. It was obvious that Peter feared for his sister, now that he knew about the Blitz. Louis knew that Peter was better than what he had said, and that he was acting out of sadness and fear. So, Louis became set on finding Peter tomorrow and talking to him. Even if he was on the other side of the wire, he would not want to have him any further away.

So, Louis pulled out his last piece of paper and began writing to Émeric.

Dear Monsieur Émeric,

Thank you for what you wrote because I needed to hear it. I will tell you about Jean's death, because I was there, and I witnessed it. I will you because you and your wife deserve to know. We were headed to Dunkerque, when we came upon Germans in a field. They did not see us for the entire night, but we were so close, we feared moving should they hear us. We were outnumbered by them. We had one other man from our unit with us versus their ten or so. In the morning, they discovered us, and we actually wounded most of them in our retreat. But both Jean and our other comrade were hit, and I out of fear, kept running. Jean had been covering for me, and without that, I would have been killed. When he was shot, I felt all life and bravery leave me. I was so scared, I just turned and ran. I can only ask for your forgiveness in acting so cowardly when Jean was so brave.

I am glad you wrote me, because you comforted me, especially with telling me of what you learned while you were a POW. While I thought over your words, I realized that I told nothing of my friends here to my family. So, I would like to share with you about some of the people I have met since I was captured.

Before I was captured, I paired up with a downed British airman, Peter Newkirk. He is English, and for a time, we did not get along. But we realized how much we had in common with our patriotic sense for our country, and that we would both die for her and our families' freedom. Now, I think it is safe to say that we are really good friends. We are both in this camp, but there is a fence between us. Still, we talk through it whenever we are allowed, and today we got in an argument. By now, you must all know of the Blitz. We learned of it from the guards. Well, Peter is from London, and he worries for the only family he has left: his sister. We got over an argument, because I thought he was giving up on survival. He is worried, though. But I will take your advice, and I will not let him go away.

Peter and I, after being captured formed a close friendship with other men. There is a Frenchman, Marcel D'Orléans and he and I have taken on to each other quickly. We are in the same barracks, and watch out for one another throughout the day. He is from Lyon, so I believe his family is safe from Germans. But he was angry to hear that the Vichy did what they did. We do not fault him, or any soldier from that region for what happened. They are here with us, so they are obviously not collaborators.

The other two men we found were Luke Fairnth and Stephen McLean, obviously British as well. Luke is English, and a light in the dark. He is the youngest of us, and it is obvious to all of us—if not him—that we all want to protect him. Still, he seems to protect more. We try to keep him from physical harm, but without him, we may have emotionally given up. He watches over Peter, even though Peter thinks he is watching over Luke. Peter told me a few days ago that Luke actually kept him from trying a suicide escape attempt, after we learned of the Blitz.

Stephen McLean is Scottish, and the only one out of us that has a family. I am the oldest of all of us, but he acts like it more time. It must come from being a father. He can control all of our tempers with a look that I believe he was born to wear. He is a sheepherder in Scotland, and so sometimes he and I talk farm things, that the others—all city people—have no clue of. On the British side of camp, he keeps an eye on Luke and Peter, who I think at any moment can do the most surprising things. I think, sometimes, that they are connected at the mind, because Luke always knows what Peter is thinking, and Peter can halt unnecessary words that might come out of Luke's mouth with a look of his own. Though he might have learned that from Stephen.

Anyway, I have other friends on the French side of camp, and we all get along. There are some who get on my nerves, because they are always moping around. And then sometimes we all get mad at one another, and that's because we live on top of each other. Still, we never let anything come between us in the end.

Thank you for the encouragement and wisdom you sent me. I do hope you write back, because I know that you could always give me more wisdom in anything I might run across here.

Sincerely,

Louis LeBeau

***** ***** *****

Peter carefully opened the letter from his sister. He was perched up on his bunk, leaned up against the wall, all attention focused on the letter. The barracks was quiet—quieter than it had ever been when they were all inside. Every man was leaving this place, and going back home, with the words on the paper.

For a moment, Peter's eyes just skimmed over the words, enjoying the sight of Mavis's pleasant handwriting. Then, he began to read, quiet slowly, just to let all the words sink in.

Dear Peter,

Thank God that you are alive. I had gotten a letter from the RAF, stating that you were MIA. There was a letter from an officer at the base explaining that some had seen your plane shot down. He said there was a chance that you were alive and making your way to the coast, where you might be able to escape. So, the day when the soldiers who were evacuated came into London, because that was where all the hospitals are, I stayed for hours, looking for you. But there was none. No one knew you or anything. A few days later, I got a package from the officer again. He wrote another letter, explaining his sympathies to me for having lost you. The package held all of your belongings, as well as a copy of the last picture that had been taken of you. It was a picture of you and your crewmates standing outside your plane. You all looked so happy and proud. Truthfully, that picture made me more proud of you than ever.

So, I tried to hope that somehow you had survived. There was a lot of news about prisoners of war being taken by the Germans. I hoped that maybe you were amongst them, or that maybe you were still hiding out, trying to make your escape. Each day, some are able to get across the channel. Still, there came no word for quite some time. And we all began to fear the worst.

Kingsley, in his pub, has dedicated the wall behind the bar to putting up photos of men who have died so far. They are only those who are from around here, and have been to the pub. You will be relieved that you know none of them personally. All of your buddies are safe. Kingsley and his wife are just as worried for you, and have told me to tell you that when you come back, your job will be waiting for you. Your other good friend, Alfie, was finally put in prison. They are letting out younger men in the prisons to go fight. So, they have decided to fill their spots with other such people. He sent me a letter though, instructing to tell you that you to remember everything he taught you about getting out of tight place. Please, don't get yourself killed following that old man's advice. As for Thom Mackey, they have him at the beach heads, preparing a defense should Jerry come from the sea. That is where most of your friends are. I received other letters from men on the base, telling me how sorry they are that you were killed.

Though, I had refused to believe that you were dead, I told Kingsley this, and he also agreed that until there was a body, you were still alive. Actually he did not say that. We were discussing it all at the pub, and some Yank who overheard us told us that. He was some Yank who is joining the RAF because they're too fed up waiting for their own military to act. Since Dunkirk, many have actually come. Most are joining the RAF, but there are a good many that are joining the infantry as well.

So, you can imagine my relief when I finally got a letter explaining that you were captured, but alive. Peter, I was beginning to really think you were dead, and now that I now you are alive, I just beg you to do nothing foolish to get yourself killed. I know you will try to escape, but at least have a good plan, and if you can help it, don't let it backfire. I hope you're not alone there, and that you've found some friends to keep you going. Just try and stay alive, can you do that much for me.

Lastly, don't worry too much about me. I've moved in with Kinglsey and his wife, so I live above the pub. I still go to school, and I got another job with one my friends. I'm a secretary at an office in the afternoons. It pays better than Kingsley, but he doesn't mind. He's been so good to me, and I'm glad you ever met him. On Sundays, I still go to Church, and then I go visit Mum. I know you don't care much for religion and all that, but it can't do you any harm to just pray a little. I mean, you've made it this far, haven't you?

Anyway, please write back. Say something to Kingsley as well, because even though he won't admit it, he misses having you around. Thom was glad to hear that you were alive as well, so you might throw him a few words too. He would be glad. Oh yeah, and is there anything you want me to try and send you? I can make Mum's fruitcake pretty good now. Or maybe some socks or something. I can send your threads and needles, so that you can repair anything. Just name it, and I'll try to send it to you.

Well, come home soon.

Love,

Mavis

Peter smiled as he folded up the letter, thinking of his lovely sister. He knew at heart that Louis was right; she could take care of herself. He could feel her resilient attitude through the letter, and could imagine her standing there in front of him with her hands on her hip—mirroring her mother perfectly—and telling him those exact words.

After thinking for a few minutes, he quickly took out a piece of paper and pencil from the Red Cross packages and began to write.

Dear Mavis,

Why do you always have to be so hard on me? Do you honestly think that I'm going to get myself killed? I'm not a simpleton like you might think. I'm glad to hear that ole Kingsley is being so good to you, and you let him know that as long as my job is still there, I'll be trying to get back to it. Just tell him that I expect back pay. He'll understand. I'm glad you found another job that pays well. Still, you let your boss know that I said you can't work late on weekdays. You have to be home by eight every night during school. As for Alfie, you can let him know that I've not forgotten anything he's said, but that this isn't Scotland Yard I'm trying to get out of. That's a fortress compared to this place. Don't worry, I'll be along soon enough. I'll drop some lines to Thom too, so don't worry about that.

Well, I know things have changed over there now, because we've learned of the Blitz. I don't know what the set up over there is, but whatever is, follow it to the letter. I'm sure I sound like a worrisome old wart, but I won't make it out of here if I learn you're dead. Be careful, and don't be heroic. Get yourself to safety first.

I know you can take care of yourself, and you just go right along getting that secondary school degree and get yourself a right good job. Don't let the war get in the way too much, because that's being resilient. When you can go on with your daily life, even with Jerry breathing down your neck, that's when you're showing them up. And I know you pet, you can give anyone a run for their money when you set your loaf to it. Make me proud. Well, I already am right proud of you. I don't believe that anyone has a greater sister. Even if you are younger, you sure know how to take care of everyone.

And to put you at ease, I'm not alone here. I've the best group of mates any bloke could ask for. I was on the run with this short Frenchman, Louis LeBeau. Funny name innit? We got captured together too. At first we didn't care that much about each other, but now we're what I guess you could call best mates. Just don't tell him that. On the way to the camp, I met some other nice blokes as well. There was another Frenchman, Marcel D'Orléans. The camp is segregated, so the French don't bunk with us. Still, we're allowed to talk to them. On the British side of camp, I usually hang around these two other blokes who I met on the way here. There's Luke Fairnth, who though he's ruddy rich and from Manchester, he's an awfully nice kid. He's only eighteen, but he keeps me sane. And then there's Stephen McLean, a sheepherder from Scotland. He's got a family, which makes him seem wiser than any of us. He is like a father to us, always keeping an eye out for trouble. Well, we all like to think that we're watching out for one another. And in the barracks, I met another chap from East End. He's from Whitechapel. If you ever run across any folks with the name Blackwell, run the name Everley by them. We get along quite well, and it's nice having someone around who actually understands what I'm saying.

Also, it's nice to have someone around who understands my fears from the Blitz. All us British are scared, but the guards haven't made it a secret that London is who being bombed every night so far. So, Mavis, please be safe. Write me as often as you can, because the more letters I get from you, the more comforted I'll be. I can't promise you letters often from me; paper is scarce, and only comes with Red Cross packages, which are a joke mostly.

Oh, and if you do want to send something to me, try the needle and thread. I can do a lot with them here. Another pair of socks would be nice, and if you really want to try and the fruitcake, go ahead. I doubt it'll make it here whole, but the food here isn't worthy of rats, and we don't even get that much.

Thanks for everything sis.

Love,

Peter

***** ***** *****

The following day, the general mood in the camp was far better than it had ever been. The prisoners' spirits had risen with news from home. Work was not as hard that day, nor the next. Their own letters were sent off the same day as the next round of long awaited Red Cross packages arrived. The joke was still kept though; half the packages were missing because of guards, and some appeared to have been broken into. Still, something was better than naught.

Also, the arrival of the officers, and the organization of the ranks into something useful also raised spirits. No one could think of a better way to get back at the Krauts than to escape, or just create a general nuisance of themselves.

We will assume that Louis's letters were in French. (Obviously)