Just as Kinch had anticipated, the agent from London was scheduled to parachute in on a night when the team already had another job on.
"He's arriving tomorrow night," he said, discussing the matter in the barracks over a late meal. "LeBeau's out of the picture. Klink wants him to cook dinner for that old university buddy of his."
"I don't mind if I don't," LeBeau grumbled. "Every time he shows up, Klink wants me to make Schweinebraten with cabbage. It's an insult."
"Maybe, but that pal of Klink's is pretty well placed in German intelligence, and he gets very chatty once they hit the third bottle of wine," replied Hogan. "And seeing he's the guy that picked up the last report from the mole in Düsseldorf, we're going to be interested in anything he has to say. So you'll just have to put up with being insulted." He frowned slightly as he considered the problem. "And that convoy with the new artillery cannon prototype is a three-man operation. Two to man the roadblock, and one to see to the charges."
There was a brief silence while he went through the options. Sending Kinch out meant leaving the radio unattended at night, which was never a good idea, and Hogan preferred not to send inexperienced operators out alone for meetings.
"Okay," he said at last. "Let's put Mills on the convoy job, with Newkirk and Carter. That leaves me free to meet this guy from London, and bring him inside. You okay with that, Mills?"
Mills nodded gravely. "As long as Carter and Newkirk are okay."
"Sure, no problem," replied Carter easily. He had complied with Hogan's order about not spending so much time underground, and he seemed a little less tense. But one never knew with Carter. He'd gotten so much into the habit of hiding his true feelings that sometimes he wasn't even sure himself what they were.
"Couldn't be happier, mate," said Newkirk. "And we'll let you off lightly, you can have the easy part - crawling under the trucks with the dynamite."
There was no change in Mills' expression as he replied, quite innocently. "Fine by me. After all, it wouldn't be right to let a man of your age..."
"Oi, watch it. Or I'll hit you with my walking stick." Newkirk wasn't that put out, Mills was scarcely three years younger than him.
It was only recently, since the Jackson incident in fact, that Mills had gotten comfortable enough among the other prisoners to join in the give and take of barracks life. Up until then he'd kept to himself, but the events of those few days had changed all that, at least as far as Hogan and his command team were concerned.* Generally anyone who was in with them was in with the whole barracks. For Mills it wasn't so easy, but in a quiet way he was starting to fit in with some of them, at least.
Hogan joined in the laughter that went round. "Careful, Mills. He's getting cranky in his old age. Kinch, get back to London, let them know we're okay for the rendezvous."
He went into his quarters, and Kinch went below to the radio room, while LeBeau and Carter began clearing the table. "Who's for a game of cards?" said Newkirk, producing the deck that was always somewhere about his person.
"I'll pass," murmured Carter. "It's my turn to do the dishes."
"I thought it was Newkirk's turn," put in LeBeau, stopping halfway to the sink with a load of tin plates.
"Well, I don't mind doing it," said Carter, with a glance at Newkirk. "Sure beats losing the rest of my Red Cross package to him."
About half the men joined in the game of poker, the rest were reading, doing odd repairs to clothing or just talking. A general buzz of low conversation rose and fell, the poker players adding to it between hands. But it was during one of the momentary lulls that a remark not meant to be generally heard drifted across the barracks:
"At least if he's out blowing up convoys, that's one night we all don't have to sleep with one eye open."
The lull extended into an apprehensive silence. Mills didn't bat an eyelid, but his color rose, and his lips tightened. The others in the game exchanged looks, some embarrassed, others slyly amused. LeBeau turned a black look on the speaker, but Newkirk just leaned back in his chair, as relaxed as if the man in question had passed an innocuous remark on the weather.
"Just as a matter of interest, Kellet, old chum," he drawled, "did that come out of your mouth, or your arsehole?"
"Leave it, Newkirk," muttered Mills. "Just leave it." But Kellet, a short, squat bruiser of a man, had already picked up the challenge.
"Just saying what everyone thinks, Newkirk," he replied, although he had also reddened. "Only nobody's game to say it out loud. But it's tough enough being stuck in a shithole like this without having to watch your back every second because there's a queer in the next bunk. If Hogan was any kind of officer, he'd have gotten rid of him months ago. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
"Is that right?" murmured Newkirk. His eyes, half-closed, were suddenly very bright. His right hand still held his cards, but the left, resting on the table, had clenched till the knuckles went white.
"Boy, and people think I'm stupid. You're a real dumb jerk, Kellet. You're about as dumb as they come."
The low murmur that had broken out at Kellet's last remark died away in sheer amazement. Carter usually kept clear of altercations within the barracks, but Kellet had gone too far with that crack.
He knew it, and the mottled flush darkened on his face. "Keep out of it, Carter," he growled.
Before Carter could respond, Mills took over, prompted for once to answer back. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you, Kellet," he said, in a low, even tone. "You're perfectly safe. I draw the line at gutter scum."
It took Kellet a few seconds to take that in, and once he did, he moved fast. Newkirk was even faster, he just managed to head him off before he got to Mills, who had stood up, still holding his ground. But it took another two men to control the enraged Kellet, and he was still trying to get at Mills when Hogan burst out of his quarters.
"What the hell is going on out here?" the colonel demanded, almost as furious as Kellet.
"Nothing important, Colonel," replied Mills, still not moving, regarding his antagonist with narrowed eyes. "Kellet's just exercising his rights under the First Amendment, that's all."
Those standing closest to Hogan would have noticed the tightening of his shoulders. He turned a cold eye on Kellet. "Go to my office, and wait," he said.
Kellet, with a final look at Mills to assure him the matter wasn't finished, jerked his arm away from Newkirk and stomped away to Hogan's private quarters.
Hogan swept a look around the rest of the men. "The rest of you, get this place cleaned up, and then find something quiet to do till lights out."
He drew LeBeau aside, as the others started work. "What did he say?"
"The usual," LeBeau replied, his eyes dark with anger. "Don't make me repeat it, mon colonel. I'd have to wash my mouth out with carbolic afterwards. I think Mills would have let it pass, but Newkirk took it up, and...well, things just went downhill from there."
For a few moments, Hogan didn't speak. He glanced at Mills, who was righting the chairs which had fallen over in the ruckus. "Okay," he said in a low voice. "How long has this been going on, and why haven't I been told?"
"Since Mills first got here. And he wouldn't let anyone say anything. He says he can handle it, and it's only what's to be expected."
"Not under my command it isn't." Hogan turned on his heel, and disappeared into his quarters, to deliver a dressing down he'd never bettered.
Carter hadn't said another word. He went back to the sink, and the rest of the dirty dishes.
"You're not getting all the gravy off that, Carter," observed Newkirk, strolling over. "Maybe I should have done it after all."
"I got it, Newkirk," said Carter crossly, batting away the hand that was trying to take away the dishcloth. "You go and - I dunno, clean the windows or something."
Newkirk loitered, regarding him with a slight frown. "You all right, Andrew?" he said after a moment.
"Sure." Carter didn't look up. "Just that you're always picking on everything. I can do some things right, you know."
Before Newkirk could decide how to answer that, the door of the colonel's quarters opened, and a chastened Kellet emerged. He went straight to Mills.
"Sorry," he mumbled sullenly.
Mills glanced at Hogan, who was standing in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the frame, watching. "Okay," he replied curtly. "Let's say that's an end to it."
"Not yet." Hogan straightened up, and advanced to the middle of the barracks. "I've got something to say, and you all better take notice. You all know this isn't just a POW camp. We have an important job to do, and a very dangerous one. That means we have to depend on each other, and trust each other, absolutely. If you have a problem with that, then you're no use to me. Is that clear?"
"Clear as crystal, Colonel," said Newkirk, as nobody else was willing to answer.
"Good. Because I don't want to see a repeat performance." Hogan let that hang for a moment, his eyes moving round the barracks. "Lights out is in ten minutes," he added.
Accepting that as dismissal, the men went back to straightening up the barracks and preparing for bed, in an atmosphere of silent discomfort. Kinch, coming back up from the tunnel in time for roll call, turned a questioning look towards LeBeau, but it went unanswered.
Carter finished the dishes, and went to his bunk. He didn't seem particularly disturbed by the incident, but he made no attempt to get undressed, just straightened his blanket, smoothed the mattress, and straightened the blanket again. Then he glanced at Hogan, and for a few seconds his customary, slightly dopey expression changed. Hogan nodded slightly in reply.
The guard would be in any minute for the evening head count preceding lights out. It would have to wait till after that. But the disturbance in the barracks had obviously had an effect. Hogan didn't yet know what he was about to hear, but what he did know was that, for the first time since this whole mess had started, Carter wanted to talk.
*A Dark Night, Long Ago