4. The taste of fears

Hogan sat at one end of the table while Wilson worked on Newkirk at the other end. Carter, LeBeau and Kinch waited around sitting on the bunks. Newkirk twitched on his seat and groaned every time the medic rubbed his wrist with alcohol.

"Don't move," Wilson said. "And don't bite the thermometer, please."

Newkirk rolled his eyes impatiently and mumbled something through his teeth.

"I told him he was pushing himself too soon." Carter shook his head.

"He's not eating enough," LeBeau said.

Newkirk could not stand any more of that and snatched the thermometer out of his mouth. "Stop talking as if I wasn't here."

Wilson took the thermometer, read it and shook it. "No fever, no infection." He shrugged. "I think we can rule out blood poisoning."

"So? What is it then?" Hogan asked.

"Scratches, a little deep and round but not life threatening."

"Sergeant, everything falls off his hands and he stumbles on his own feet. There must be something wrong with him."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Temperature and blood pressure are perfectly normal. He hasn't had fever in more than a week and the gunshot is completely healed." Wilson began to pick up his equipment. "He's a little pale, though. Maybe the loss of blood gave him anaemia."

"Still in the same room, mates," Newkirk said. "I'm perfectly fine."

"You can't take two steps forward without falling down." Kinch said. "Not to mention that you woke up on the roof this morning."

"Oh, yeah," Hogan frowned and leaned on the table. "The sleepwalking. Do you remember at least what you were dreaming about?"

Newkirk smiled and shrugged. "Well... I'm walking through the forest and see a castle. I hear this bird singing-"

"He means a girl," Carter explained to Wilson.

"The old crone at the grocery store?" LeBeau asked

"Stop interrupting," Hogan said.

"Oh, no, she isn't nothing like that woman... I can see the face of this one. She's really pretty with a killer dress and lips to die for and-"

"Newkirk, only relevant details, please." Hogan rubbed his neck. "Does she say anything? This is not the first time you dream about girls, is it?"

"Well, no... She sings lullabies. Sort of out of tune but-" He shrugged.

"A woman singing lullabies?" Carter asked. "Maybe you're dreaming about your mom."

"Oh, no, Carter. This woman is definitely not me mother." Newkirk grinned. "She's locked in a basement. I come and open the locks," he remembered with a smile.

"And you rescue her?" Wilson got interested all of a sudden.

"No, she has a spell on her. She can't abandon her cell."

"So, what do you do?" Carter asked.

"We play cards." Newkirk smiled as he remembered. "And dance..."

"Does she have a name?" Kinch asked.

Newkirk squinted. "Josephine Delacroix... she's French."

"French? Did she sing Pauvre Soldat Revient de Guerre? Because that was the song you were singing the other night." LeBeau stared at him attentively. "Does she call you by your name?"

"She calls me Enchanter of Delusion."

"What kind of a name is that? Sounds like some magician at my hometown fair." Carter chuckled.

"Dreaming about women and playing cards. So much like you, Newkirk." Kinch shook his head and clapped Newkirk's shoulder. "Perhaps you're just longing for a good game of poker or something."

"On my humble opinion, Newkirk needs to rest more, take it very slowly on physical activities and put his mind on practical chores." Wilson walked to the trapdoor under Kinch's bunk and turned one last time. "And please, stop talking about hexes and curses before all of you catch it too."

"Well, you heard the medic, Newkirk. No more activities for you today." Hogan stood up.

"You can catch up with your knitting work," Kinch said.

"You can help me to fold down the clothes. If you drop something, at least, it won't break." Carter smiled.

"And stay away from the kitchen area." LeBeau grinned

"Colonel," Newkirk gritted his teeth.

"Lay off, guys. We can't make a case of this. There's work to do."

"Oh, right," Carter said. "The dinner is tonight, what are we going to do with Newkirk? I don't think he should carry trays of glasses and dishes."

"Oh, no," LeBeau stepped forward. "I won't trust him with my crêpes and hors d'oeuvres!"

"By unanimity, you'll have the night off, Newkirk," Hogan smiled to see Newkirk actually satisfied with his decision.

"I'm afraid, I'll have to vote against that, sir," Kinch sighed. "The courier that came this morning brought the new code book from Berlin to every Stalag in this area. Now it is in Klink's safe box."

Hogan began to pace the room. "How about that? Just when I thought that our evening at Klink's would be a real waste of time." He turned to Newkirk. "Corporal, I'm afraid your leave has been canceled."

"The shortest I've ever had, sir," he sighed.

"But, Colonel. Newkirk is not up to anything right now," LeBeau said bringing one mug to the table. "Drink this, s'il te plaît," he said to Newkirk.

Newkirk barely raised his cup but managed to have a sip before it slipped through his fingers. Fortunately, it did not fall and break. He shook his head and tried to smile. "I'm with LeBeau, Gov'nor. I don't think it's such a good idea for me to come along."

The colonel looked at his men one by one. He was not used to seeing them so insecure and concerned about a routine operation. He tried the optimistic approach. If that did not work, he still had the fatherly pep talk. "He has to come too," Hogan shrugged. "What's the point of having a safe box all alone if we can't take advantage of it? Right Corporal?"

Newkirk stared at everybody and smirked. "I suppose," he shrugged.

Hogan frowned. Throughout the years, Newkirk had made a habit of opposing every plan before stepping forward and committing himself to it. But hesitation had never been an issue with him. Some talking about bad luck isolated incidents here and there seemed to be undermining his everlasting self confidence.

"Enough about that. Kinch radio the submarine to stay put to pick up those kittens, I mean, agents in three days. The rest of you, business as usual... please." He was heading for his office when someone knocked on the door. Everybody went silent as they stared at each other. "Are we expecting visitors?" Hogan said before opening.

"Schultz! You're knocking on the doors now?" Carter chuckled as the sergeant came politely in.

"I'm just ready for my afternoon in town and I don't want to risk finding anything fishy around here before I leave." He came in all shiny and new. "I come to take LeBeau to the kitchen."

The French corporal sighed and picked up his things. "You'd better have everything ready, I'm not in the mood for improvisations."

"Lucky for me, I won't be here to assist you. Colonel Klink assigned Langenschiedt." Schultz grinned with satisfaction. He turned to the door but could not help staring at Newkirk's arm."What happened to your wrist?"

"Oh, this?" The Englishman grinned. "Some king-size mosquito bit me. Look like fangs, don't they?"

"Looks like fangs," Schultz laughed. He shook his head and went to the door. "King-size mosquitoes, at this time of the year. The things that you hear in a prison camp."

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Let's just get done with this day, I'm getting a headache." He turned to Newkirk. "Go into my office and sleep as much as you need it. We've done this before. I know you've been out of action for a while but it's about time to come back. We know you can do it," he finished with a reassuring smile that neither he nor Newkirk bought at all.

He waited for the English corporal to close the door behind him before turning to Kinch. "Stay with him at all times. We'll be at the party entertaining our guests. I'll make sure that Newkirk gets enough time to work."

"He'll do fine." Carter smiled condescendingly.

Hogan caught his intentions and rolled his eyes. Of all the parties held at Klink's, this promised to be everything but boring.

()o()o()

Schultz took the jar of beer and went to sit at one table by the window. The wind was just a breeze, the sun was nice, birds were chirping and the leaves were beginning to fall. He could not have chosen a better afternoon to come for a drink. Annie, the barmaid, put some complimentary pretzels on his table and smiled at him.

"Danke, Schätzchen*," the sergeant took a sip.

"Hans, mein Freund, how are you?" Ambros Bachmeir, the bartender came to sit with him.

"Ambros! How's everything going?" Schultz laughed.

"All is well, so far," the man said. "Can't complain."

"The business looks good today, eh?"

"It's early. They all will go away before the night falls." Ambros leaned forward. "Bad things are happening lately."

Schultz, who did not miss a chance for gossip, leaned forward too. "What do you mean by bad? Gestapo?"

"I wish," he chuckled. "People have been attacked in the streets. Two deaths last week, the shoemaker's son disappeared two days ago... And two cows they found this morning near Stalag XIII, they had signs," he whispered.

"What kind of signs?" Schultz whispered too.

A sudden wind slammed open the front door and a man wrapped in a dark cape came in. He was not too tall but his sole presence made every head turn towards him. He walked to the bar and swirled his cape off his shoulders. Schultz noticed smoke coming out of the man's clothes. But he did not mind; after a couple of beers, he did not trust his eyes very much.

The man sat down, took off his hat and put it on the bar. His short dark hair contrasted with the paleness of his skin. Annie came to wipe his side of the table. He took off his sunglasses and smiled. She smiled back, as usual and asked the customary question.

"What would it be?" She looked at him and her eyes got locked in his. The intense blue penetrated her mind and there was no one else in the room for her.

The stranger smiled with his eyes and his lips. He tilted his head. "Beer will be nice, luv."

He spoke English, but it seemed completely normal under that allure. Annie turned and came back with the drink within seconds. It was as if there were nothing else to do in the world but serving this man.

Schultz turned to Ambrose to make a joke about that but his friend's puzzled look discouraged him.

"What is it, Ambrose? It looks like you've seen a ghost."

"Not a ghost, Hans," he said crossing his chest with his right hand. "Not a ghost."

The stranger took Annie's hands in his. One bolt of electricity hit her arms but it felt fine. She smiled.

"Listen, luv, I'm new in this town. Is it safe walking outside at night?"

Annie leaned on the bar to speak. Schultz could not hear any more of the conversation. The two of them looked like lovers whispering in each other's ears and giggling. One hour later, right after sunset, she asked for the evening free and left escorted by the stranger.

It did not take more than twenty minutes for everybody else to pay and go home. Schultz could sense something wicked in the air. Some kind of general fear tantamount to that before a RAF raid. He followed his friend as he finished putting things away.

"Ambrose? What is it? Why is everybody so jumpy?"

Ambrose stopped for a moment to look at him. "Moonless night. Evil is on the loose, Hans. Beware, someone is going to die tonight." He turned to look around. "The bodies they found had not a drop of blood in them." He touched his own neck. "There were two small punctures in their necks. Bites, Hans. Fang bites."

Schultz swallowed and rubbed his neck. "Are you sure? Those are just old wives' tells."

"Tell it to the shoemaker's son when you see him. But don't get close, he might bite you too." Ambrose pushed him to the door. "Go back to the camp, don't pick up anyone standing on the road." He locked the door behind Schultz.

()o()o()

Newkirk sat up, startled by something. His heart beat fast and it took him some seconds to regain control of his breathing. The day had gone and the small room was in darkness. Newkirk chuckled; it had been ages since the days he was afraid of the dark.

He was still on the bunk, putting his boots on when he caught a glow with the corner of his eyes. It seemed to come from the window but he could not look directly at it. A cold breeze hit his face and the glow began to float towards him.

Now, it seemed like blue steam taking the shape of a hand. It touched his cheek and vaporized. He felt ice-cold air caressing his skin and it was not until then when Newkirk felt fear forming inside of him. He wanted to scream but no sound came out of his mouth.

He heard a feminine voice moaning in his ear but there was nothing sweet in it. The noise grew louder and it began to hurt. Newkirk covered his ears and shut his eyes. He wanted to scream but his could not make any sound. He was paralysed with horror.

Next thing he felt was a hand lying on his shoulder. He jumped off the bed and fell down to the floor.

tbc

*Thank you, dear (if the translator is accurate, that is ;) )

Thanks again for the reviews. I hope the story is appealing to your taste. It's going to be longer than I expected at first because is a complicated plot that needs time to settle down. :)

See you very soon...