6. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?

Hogan went to the stove for his fourth cup of coffee. He looked at the rest of his men sleeping in the bunks around him. How much they had to put up with, his team. None of them had asked to be part of the operations, but they had not planned to be POW at Stalag XIII either. As much as Hogan hated the idea, it was hard not to get them involved sometimes when he and his four men were not enough to carry on with their plans. If the operations ended, he, Kinch, Carter, LeBeau and Newkirk were likely to go back home but the rest of these men would remain confined in a prison camp for the rest of the war. That was depressing.

He sat at the table and looked at his watch. The evening at Klink's should be wrapping up and Kinch and Newkirk had not come back yet. He sighed. Somehow, he felt like a father waiting for his children who were coming back after curfew... Definitely, he would never have children.

The door opened abruptly to let Kinch rush in, followed by Newkirk. Both seemed to have been running around the camp, and were all sweaty and breathless. Kinch leaned forward on the table while Newkirk leaned his back against the door to keep it closed. Hogan noticed the lack of color on the corporal's face and feared he would pass out at any minute.

"What's with you two? Looks like you've seen a ghost," Hogan said, taking a sip of his coffee. Some of the men in the bunks flinched at the noise but turned over to go on sleeping.

Kinch shook his head and chuckled. "Pretty close." He took a deep breath and went to the sink for a glass of water. Then, he called Newkirk. "Come here, let's take a look at that hand."

Hogan turned to the door. Newkirk was not moving. His eyes were fixed somewhere else while his hand was clenched on the door handle.

"Newkirk?" Hogan called him.

"C-can't-" he tried to talk but his teeth chattered at every word.

Kinch came closer and grabbed Newkirk's hand. "Let go the door," he told him softly, while pulling gently at his arm.

"N-no! It may-" Newkirk clung to the handle, his back still against the door.

"It won't, I promise." Kinch turned to the colonel. "A little help?"

Hogan came and grabbed Newkirk's arm. "Newkirk, let go the door, now," he commanded him. The corporal's hand loosened its grasp. He allowed the colonel to push him toward the sink and hold his hand under the running water. "What happened to your hand?"

Newkirk was now staring at the water, too distracted to answer.

Kinch shook his head. "Something happened over there, Colonel. I think he's still in shock."

"Blimey, it hurts!" Newkirk spoke suddenly. He tried to yank away his hand but Hogan held it firmly under the water.

"Easy, we're almost done," Hogan said. "Kinch, for the last time. What happened in there? Did you get the book?"

"Well, Colonel. I took the pictures but everything went weird from the start." Kinch wrapped Newkirk's hand in a towel. He and Hogan led the Englishman to the table. "First-"

"Me lock pics broke and the box was red hot and the ghost in that chair-"

"Hey, slow down and breathe." Hogan turned to Kinch. "A ghost?"

The sergeant shrugged. "It looked like one, yes. But I'm sure it was the wind and the bad light. Maybe Klink's coat... I don't know."

Newkirk glared at him. "You told me you heard the noise and the chair moved-!"

"I heard something but it might have been the wind. Those things must have a reasonable explanation. Ghosts don't exist." Kinch sat down. "I'm sorry, Newkirk, I was carried away by the noises in the dark and everything. But you need to understand, sometimes we see what we want to see."

"I don't want to see any ruddy ghosts but there they are!" Newkirk tried to stand up but Hogan stopped him with one hand on his shoulder.

"Keep your voice down, the men are sleeping. Don't take it personally." Hogan smiled. "Just tell me how you got burned."

"The bloody safe box was too hot!" Newkirk yelled. "And there was a real ghost in that office!"

At that moment, Schultz came with Carter and LeBeau. Their happy faces faded. The mood was not too favorable in Barrack 2.

"Ghost? What ghost?" Schultz asked.

"And that's how the movie ends?" Hogan improvised. "Quite an ending."

"What movie?" asked Carter.

"Phantom of the Opera*," Kinch said.

"Movie? I thought you were talking about the disappearances in town." Schultz made an attempt at sitting down but Hogan stopped him.

"Interesting story but it's late. The boys need their beauty sleep or they will be very cranky in the morning."

"But I think this is important." Schultz kept talking while Hogan pushed him to the door. "I think there are vampires in Hammelburg."

"Vampires? Wow." Carter showed real concern.

"Yes, and I saw one today... the shoemaker's son, he had been lost for several days but tonight-"

"I'm dying to hear the rest of it, in the morning, okay?" Hogan held the door and almost closed it on the sergeant's nose.

"One too many," Carter chuckled.

"One bottle too many, bien sûr." LeBeau shook his head.

"Not the only one, apparently," Hogan said with a frown. "Newkirk, were you drinking? How many times must I tell you to leave Klink's liquor in peace?"

"I-" Newkirk opened his mouth and turned to Kinch for some support.

"He didn't touch the bottles,sir," Kinch said.

"A real shame, I must add." Newkirk leaned his cheek on his fist.

Hogan unwrapped Newkirk's hand and shook his head. "Maybe Wilson should take a look at this. Carter?"

The young sergeant did not have time to gasp. "On my way," he said heading for the ladder.

"What happened?" LeBeau sat in front of Newkirk. "That looks-"

"-bad, yes. That's been clearly established already." Newkirk began to feel awkward.

"Did you put your hand on the stove?"

"No, Louie, I still haven't done that," he glared. "Klink's safe was burning up when I touched it."

Hogan and LeBeau turned to look at Kinch, who shrugged. "I don't have an explanation for that."

"I do," Newkirk said.

"If you say you're hexed one more time-"

The trapdoor opening behind him interrupted Hogan's sentence. Wilson came in with his small kit and winced at the look of Newkirk's hand.

"My goodness, Newkirk. Did you put your hand on the stove?"

Hogan laid one hand on Newkirk's shoulder and shook his head. "Do as much as you can, Sergeant and come into my office before you leave. " He signed for Kinch to follow him. "LeBeau, Carter, go to sleep."

()o()o()

"Newkirk's mental state? Are they crazy?"

"Don't play with the words, Kinch. We have a serious problem here." Hogan sat on his bunk. "London is taking the word of that goon and now we're under the microscope. The slightest hint of irregularity in our procedures and we're out of business."

Kinch thought about it for a minute and grinned. "Would they send us home?"

"Would you want to go like this? Taken down by a war criminal?"

Kinch sat at the desk and sighed. "Doesn't sound good when you put it that way. What do you want us to do, then?"

"Show them our best behavior, no monkey business while the observer is here," he said with a shrug. "We'll be better than altar boys."

Wilson knocked and opened the door.

"Speaking of which... What's the verdict?" Hogan asked.

"Second degree burns," Wilson said. "Not that bad, they're very small. A little painful but they'll heal fast."

"What could've caused them?"

"Touching something hot," he grinned. "I can't see another cause... unless..."

"Yes?" Hogan leaned forward.

"Well, I've read about the power of suggestion. I don't know. I've never seen it with my own eyes but, I think it's possible."

"That Newkirk burned his own hands with the power of his mind?"

"Mind over matter," Kinch said. "I've heard that before."

"C'mon, guys, d'you really believe in those things?" Hogan had to smile. "It's too much like tales for the state fair, don't you think?"

"I know it's hard to believe, but when someone is under a lot of pressure his mind can develop defenses against reality." Wilson shrugged. "I've heard you all talking about bad luck and getting hexed. I think that's starting to affect him physically. This could be just a manifestation of other problems. Something that could escalate up to uncontrollable levels if we don't pay enough attention."

"What problems? We're all in the same boat here."

"But Newkirk is just recovering from a life threatening wound," said Wilson. "He was so concerned about the mission and Carter's safety that he did not have time to understand what was actually going on. Maybe he kept his fears to himself for too long and now they're just surfacing."

"He broke a lock pick right before we entered the office. He panicked."

"There you go, he's scared of failing... letting you down, and he's blaming it all on his bad luck," said Wilson with a sigh. "He might be getting over the edge because of a number of coincidences. I can see he's really frightened tonight."

Hogan rubbed his neck and walked to the window. "All right, let's say that we identified the problem, what can we do for him?"

"As I said before: a lot of rest, little physical activity, keep him away from anything that may cause him mental distress."

Hogan shook his head. "Shall we send him to one of those country resorts in Switzerland?"

"Could you? I'll keep him company," Kinch chuckled.

"I'd volunteer too," Wilson smiled. He went to the door. "We'll get your kid back in no time, Colonel. I may give him some sedative, but only if his condition worsens. I don't want to initiate him into something that he might not be able to control in the long run."

Hogan nodded as a way to dismiss Wilson. Then, he rubbed his neck and sighed. "Kinch, how are we with our side job?"

"Oh, yes..." Kinch sighed. "The submarine is ready but the moon has been too bright these days. The agents might not be able to leave the security house on time."

"Oh, boy," Hogan shook his head. "Tell them to hang on till the last minute. After that... well, we'll see."

"On a happier note, the inspector is coming without any delays."

"Don't be sarcastic... Of all the weeks, Newkirk had to choose this one to have a breakdown." Hogan rolled his eyes.

"It's not his fault," Kinch said.

"I know," he nodded. "Not a word about the reasons for the inspection. We'll keep the observer on the safe side of our operations and no one has to know why he is actually here until the last minute. I might brief Carter later, but we leave Newkirk out of it, understood?"

"No problem, sir. We'll get through this," he said with a reassuring smile and left.

Hogan went to his desk and looked for a good book to read. With so much going on at the same time, he was sure he would not fall asleep any time soon.

()o()o()

He sneaked behind the guards, walked down the long hallway and entered the cell. The woman stared at him with hungry eyes.

"You come home late, what delayed you?" asked she, holding his hands in hers. "Oh, my... You are hurt." She took his hand and held it against her cheek.

"I'm fine... Now that I've come here..." He smiled when she smiled. The coldness of her skin soothed the pain of his burns. "When shall I take you out of here?"

"Soon, mon amour. There are some trials you must meet before I am able to leave this place." She looked at him with dark round eyes and giggled when she licked the palm of his hand. "Do not yield, please... or we'll never meet again..." Then, she raised her head to look at him again. Her eyes had turned yellow and her lips parted to show her long fangs. This time, she kissed him on his neck.

If there was pain, he did not feel it. The thrill of being hers was overwhelming. Pleasing her, making her happy. Nothing else mattered but being completely hers...

()o()o()

"Carter, he's gone!"

Carter jumped off his bed and put on his boots. He reached for his coat. He's gone! He's gone! He stopped for a second. "Who's gone where?" he said looking around for the person that had woken him up so abruptly.

"Newkirk is not in his bed," LeBeau whispered from the door. "Hurry, we must find him!"

Carter came out rubbing his eyes. Still groggy and a little upset. He hated it when he could not take his dreams to an end. "Is he walking in his sleep again? Where do you think he can be at this hour? Did you check on the roof? What time is it anyway?"

"Can you say anything else that is not in questions marks?" LeBeau waited for the sentry tower lights to slide by before turning on his flashlight. "It's almost four. I just notice he was not there. And I don't have an idea of where he can be."

"What's wrong with Newkirk?" Carter buttoned up his coat. The early morning air was freezing. "He's gone from one thing to the next-"

"He was very sick after the gunshot. Maybe this is just a consequence of it." LeBeau crouched to look at the darkened corners of the buildings.

"You think he's going crackers?"

"What's that? S'il est toqué? Oui, I think so, a little. Just like you and me, and the colonel and Kinch," said he standing up. "Maybe he's with the dogs. They were barking most of the night. Did you hear them?"

"I suppose, but I was dreaming of the farm again and I have this English shepherd..." Carter chuckled. "My dog is English. I never thought about that."

LeBeau shook his head and walked to the kennels. Schultz was turning the corner when he saw both men walking around. He held his rifle as though it were loaded and followed them.

"Halt!" He yelled in whispers. "Roll call is not until five thirty. Why is everybody out of the barracks?"

"Everybody?" Carter did not even bother raising his hands. "It's only LeBeau and me out here. We're jogging."

"Jogging? In your pajamas? One hour of exercise in the morning is not enough for you?" He shook his head. Then, he lowered his voice a little more. "Aren't you looking for der Englander?"

LeBeau and Carter widened their eyes. "Where is he? Have you seen him?" LeBeau asked.

"Come, but please be very, very quiet." Schultz walked in front of them across the yard. No one said a word when they came around Klink's house. "There," he pointed at a darkened corner under Klink's bedroom window. Newkirk was there, curled up in his nightshirt, and deeply asleep.

Carter sighed and smirked. "Oh, boy. I think he really has a problem."

"Certainement, il est vraiement toqué," LeBeau shook his head.

tbc

Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney (1925) (Gerald Butler hadn't been born yet in 1943)

Your input is greatly appreciated.

Thank you for your enthusiasm. I'm updating steadily so you don't miss the thread ;)