Hogan kept a close eye on Carter in the days that followed. It seemed as if he had adapted fairly well to the new order of things, and resigned himself to being only involved in sabotage operations. There was plenty to keep him occupied there. In fact, he spent so much of his free time in the underground bomb-making workshop over the next two weeks that it turned into a standing joke. Newkirk greeted him at dinner one evening with a puzzled look. "I know you from somewhere, don't I? Don't tell me - you were in Gone with the Wind, right? Or was it King Kong?"
"Very funny, Newkirk." Carter hunched his shoulders, scowling.
"Don't pay any attention to him," said LeBeau. "He's just playing games with you...uh...what was your name again?"
The other prisoners joined in the laughter, and even Carter smiled after a few moments. But he didn't say anything, and he disappeared below ground again as soon as he'd eaten.
"He's not talking much just lately, is he?" said Newkirk, once he'd gone. "Seems unnatural, somehow."
Kinch, heading down to the radio room, paused on his way down the ladder. "Just because you have to hear your own voice every minute, Newkirk, doesn't mean everyone else is the same. Carter's got a lot of work to do right now, it's probably on his mind."
"He's working too hard," put in LeBeau, as the tunnel entrance closed.
"You're right, LeBeau. It can't be good for him, you know, always being underground," remarked Newkirk. "He's starting to look right peaky, if you ask me. He needs to come outside a bit, get some fresh air and sunshine. It'll do him the world of good."
"Carter's fine," replied Hogan shortly.
"Begging your pardon, Colonel, but I don't think he is." Newkirk sat on the edge of the table in the middle of the barracks, and lit a cigarette. "It's not that I think work's a bad thing. You know what I say, anything in moderation, but there are limits, and I think Carter's getting pretty close to them. He's had his nose to the grindstone for weeks. Maybe it's time to ease up on him a bit."
There was a look of dissatisfaction on his face, which found a reflection in LeBeau's. Hogan bit back the retort that rose to his lips. Newkirk's argument had merit, which made it all the more annoying. Carter was pushing himself too hard, but it wasn't at Hogan's bidding. There was no need for it, even though the operation was increasing in activity as the war progressed. Right now immersing himself in work was just Carter's way of coping, and it seemed to be working. He'd been out on a handful of missions with the others, and no problems had arisen. In fact, he seemed rather more on the ball than usual, as if he felt he had something to prove.
Still, if the other guys were starting to ask questions, it was time to do something. They weren't stupid, these men of Hogan's, and sooner or later some of them were going to start making conjectures. In all justice, Carter should have no reason to feel ashamed of what he'd been through. But justice was in short supply in this situation, and that burden of shame still rested on him. If his fellow inmates started putting the pieces together, he was the one who'd end up suffering for it.
"Look, if it makes you all feel better, I'll tell him to take it easy for a few days," said Hogan at last. "And Newkirk - don't sit on the table, you're gonna break it one of these days. It's no wonder we can't have nice stuff."
He descended to the tunnel. Arriving at floor level, he found Kinch already in radio communication with headquarters in London. It was excuse enough to postpone the other matter for a few minutes.
The message was fairly lengthy, and Kinch's pencil flew over the paper as he transcribed. From the tightening of his lips and the set of his brow, he didn't like the content. He finished, transmitted an acknowledgement, tore off the page and handed it to Hogan.
"They don't want much, do they?" he said.
Hogan read through the communication with no change of expression. "Well, we might have known they'd want us to take a hand in this one. We're already involved, we're the ones that intercepted the message from the informer."
"Yeah, I guess so. But if they think we can get to Düsseldorf..."
"It may not come to that. All they want is to try and tip off the Underground that they've got a security problem, and get their inside man out of there, in case the Krauts' informant exposes the whole operation. And they're sending one of their own guys over to deal with it. We'll just be providing support."
He handed the message back to Kinch. "Tell 'em to let us know the details. And see if they can send him over some night when we're not already doing something. We don't want him turning up with nobody available to bring him in."
"The appointment calendar's pretty full, Colonel," Kinch pointed out. "We're doubling up some nights anyway. But I'll see what I can do."
Hogan went on towards the workshop, but Carter wasn't there. It took a few minutes to find him, in the small but well-equipped laboratory which had been set up for him in one of the side tunnels. He wasn't working, but was sitting on a low stool, elbows on the workbench, reading. He looked up as Hogan came in.
"Hi, Colonel," he said. "Were you looking for me? You got something for me to do?"
"Yeah, Carter, and it's top priority." Hogan pulled up another seat, and sat down next to Carter. "What's that, your old pharmacy handbook? I thought you gave up on that."
"Found it when I was tidying up down here." Carter went red as he closed the book and pushed it aside. "It's just something to keep me busy, I guess."
"You still planning to take the exam when you get home?"
There was no immediate reply. Carter looked away for a moment, fidgeting a little. Newkirk was right, he did look below par, although it was hard to define in what way. After a bit, he changed the subject. "What's the job, Colonel?"
"Oh, it's an easy one. You're to go up to the barracks, challenge someone to a game of draughts, play till lights out, and then get some sleep. I mean it, Carter," he went on, as Carter started to voice an objection. "You've been overdoing it the last couple of weeks, you need a break. And I'm the one getting the blame." He was pretty sure that argument would carry weight. "Not that I mind being seen as the bad guy, if it's in a worthwhile cause, but I don't think allowing you to work yourself into a breakdown comes under that classification."
Carter shifted uneasily. "Who's been saying anything about a breakdown?" he said, putting a scornful emphasis on the word. "What do you think, I can't handle the work, Colonel? Just because I slipped up one time, is no reason I have to be sidelined, is it?"
"Carter, it's not a question of that," said Hogan, startled at the vehemence of Carter's response. "You've been pretty much on your toes since then. The problem is the hours you're putting in. You know how it is, we all need our share of rest time. You keep this up, you're going to wear yourself out."
"I'm fine, Colonel. I get plenty of rest time." Carter read the skepticism on the colonel's face, and went on hurriedly. "I just spend it down here."
"Well, from now on you can spend it up there." Hogan spoke lightly, but there was a gleam in his eye, and a slight smile on his lips. For a few moments, Carter just looked at him, as if trying to assess how serious the orders were. Then he sighed, pushed himself up and headed off towards the ladder, and the barracks above.
Hogan remained where he was, his eyes on the little blue handbook Carter had left behind. He hoped it was an indicator. Carter had once mentioned his intention to study pharmacy, once he got back to the States.* If he still had such plans, it had to be a good sign. But just now he'd avoided the question. And there had been something in his eyes, when Hogan ordered him back to the barracks, something a few steps beyond trepidation in the direction of outright fear. And that opened up a whole new area of concern for Hogan.
Carter had never really talked about what had happened to him. But from the very little he'd said, Hogan knew that he'd arrived at Stalag 13 accompanied by a sense of deep, irrational terror. Apparently he'd gotten over it without help, and he had never shown any sign of being scared of company, even after Jackson's brief but eventful stint in camp. Now something really had him spooked.
What was he so frightened of? And what the hell could have happened to set it off? Only Carter knew the answer, and from the look of it, he was preparing to deal with it on his own, as he had before.
Unless it posed a threat to the operation, Hogan had no right to interfere. Neither as Carter's commanding officer, nor as a friend. But as he left the lab, he knew that consideration carried little weight with him.
They'd almost lost Carter once over this business. It wasn't going to happen again. Not if Hogan could help it.
*The Scientist