The dough made a squelching noise as Lebeau strangled it.
He had had it. Yes, he'd volunteered to stay in this God-forsaken place. Yes, he was doing this for France. But he was sick and tired of bowing to the filthy Bosche. The little things he did to undermine them weren't always enough to eliminate the feeling of despair that roiled in his gut every time he thought of his beautiful Paris, occupied. And right now, stuck making a strudel for Schultz, who was still a fat, filthy Bosche regardless of his kindness, Lebeau was done with the whole affair.
Throwing down the strudel dough, he turned around, searching for someone to argue with. Fortunately for anyone who wanted to avoid the Frenchman's fiery temper, the barracks was empty.
And then the bunk bed squeaked its way open and Kinch sprang up out of the tunnel.
"Got a message for the Colonel," he said, waving a piece of blue paper. "You seen him?"
"No, I have not," Lebeau said. "And I am grateful. For if he showed up, it would be guaranteed some hare-brained scheme had come with him. And if there were such a scheme…"
He let out some uncomplimentary words in French, before cutting himself off abruptly. He hated the Germans, not Colonel Hogan, but the feelings had gotten tangled in the barbed wire. The anger roiling in his gut was replaced with guilt instead.
And then he remembered Kinchloe spoke French. He looked up at Kinch, trying to judge from his expression whether he intended to say anything about the insults. The sergeant was fiercely loyal to the colonel. Of course, so was Lebeau, but no one was quite as loyal to the Colonel as Kinch. It probably had to do with the fact that Hogan actually acknowledged Kinch's worth, which was more than any other officer had ever done.
"I am sorry." Lebou said softly. "I...I did not mean…"
Kinch just smiled a little. "I get it, Louie," he said. "It's been a long war."
Lebou sighed in relief. "Yes. I meant no disrespect to Colonel Hogan, I just…"
"You needed to blow off some steam. Better way of coping than running out and tackling a guard."
Lebeau nodded. That sounded like something Pierre would do.
Kinch sighed, and slapped the bunk shut. "Mais insulter le colonel n'est probablement pas la meilleure façon de lutter contre la fièvre de la cabine. Allons-y. Quand j'en ai marre des Allemands, je vais dans la salle de jeux et je frappe quelque chose."
French. The words were all the wrong accent, but they were French all the same. And for just a moment, as the two men headed out of the Barracks, leaving strudel and messages behind, Lebeau felt at home.
A/N: I don't speak French, so I tried to use some translator apps that probably butchered it terribly. Does anyone have recommendations for how to write fanfiction with characters speaking other languages while doing it respectfully of the language?
Translation: But insulting the colonel probably isn't the best way to fight cabin fever. Let's go. When I'm fed up with the Germans, I go to the rec hall and hit something.