A/N Written for the SSSWC 2024. Used prompts in bold. Word count: 4,963.
Life's A Journey - Dead End
The stars shone brighter than the nights before, illuminating the valley. Carter, Newkirk and Hogan were hiding in the bushes, watching the structure bridging the valley. It had taken two nights of hard labor to wire the old bridge up. They didn't have enough explosive material, requiring Carter to improve. But in the end, this would be his best performance yet.
"The train's coming," Newkirk whispered from his hiding spot up in a tree.
Eagerly anticipating its arrival, Carter grabbed the bar of the detonator. Hogan stood beside him, keeping an eye on their environment.
"Three." Newkirk started his countdown. "Two."
On one, Carter pressed the handle down. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He didn't dare to take a breath until he heard the explosion. Then he propelled upwards to see it.
Bright lights exploded in the dark night. He grinned. His best work yet. The whole bridge went down taking the train with it.
Newkirk climbed down, cheering loudly. Colonel Hogan also clapped his shoulder. "Good work, Carter. I knew you could do it."
Carter nodded, frowning. The exothermic reaction of the explosive material the ammunition train for the Western Front had carried, should've resulted in a bigger bang.
"Leave the detonator. We all know the bridge didn't just collapsed, and we better get not caught with the equipment for the job," Hogan said. They were in uniform, but that was only a small layer of protection.
They hurried through the night. Now the lack of clouds and the bright moon presented a problem as they became easy targets. They needed to get down in the valley and from there back to camp.
No words were spoken, all focus on their steps and trying to hear if they'd been made. Suddenly Carter lost his footing and tumbled down at little bit.
"Carter?" Newkirk whispered, his worry made his voice louder.
Shaking the shock off, Carter climbed to his feet. "I'm good. Just -" He had tripped over something. Bending down he retrieved a small shoe. It was smeared black and marred. Only little kids could wear something this small.
Hogan eyed him critically. "We need to go."
Carter still held the shoe. Where did it come from? In the middle of an inhospitable forest? The train?
"It's probably a talisman from the conductor." Newkirk seemed to sense his question.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. Nobody brings a child on an ammunition train."
Relieved, Carter dusted off the dirt from his uniform, pocketed the shoe and rushed after the colonel and Newkirk. It was after all his best job yet.
:~:~:~:
Carter climbed down the ladder into the emergency tunnel first. Dank and moldy air greeted him like an old friend. Unexpectedly Kinch waited right next to the entry, his arms crossed. Worry oozed off him.
"Watch it," Newkirk grumbled and Carter scurried out of the way, freeing the space around the ladder.
"What's up?" Hogan jumped down the last steps, his focus on Kinch already.
"Is LeBeau with you?" Kinch asked, slowly relaxing his stance.
"No. Why would he?" Hogan pushed forward and everybody followed him to the radio room. "Kinch?"
"I sent him after you."
Hogan stopped. "Why?"
Without a word, Kinch went to his desk, grabbed a blue paper and handed it to Hogan.
Carter watched as curiosity changed to shock and then devastation.
"What's going on?" Newkirk asked, picking up and throwing away some leafs that clung to his uniform.
Hogan stared at the message in his hand. Then he slowly and methodically folded the paper and threw it away.
"Did somebody die?" Carter asked, trying to lighten up the mood.
Kinch grimaced. "They switched the trains," he explained. "The ammunition train was already through before you left camp."
"But we blew up a train. Right on time," Newkirk insisted.
"It was a train from the East, evacuating women and children from the nearing front." Kinch's monotone voice faltered.
As if filled with lead, Carter felt the shoe in his pocket, pulling him into a dark pitch. He was falling despite standing on his two feet. He still heard voices. The colonel as he asked if the train had been marked. LeBeau, as he arrived, out of breath. Newkirk's darkly muttered reply as he denied any special marks and Kinch's fast finger on the radio, confirming what train they had blown up.
The pitch got darker and for a moment Carter thought somebody had dimmed the light, but it wasn't his eyes playing tricks on him. It was a soul-crushing insight. His hand went limp and the shoe dropped to the ground. It couldn't have made much noise, but everybody looked at him. Carter raised his head, his chest painfully constricted as he spoke the truth.
"I'm a murderer." He had killed fleeing women and children. "I'm a monster."
:~:~:~:
The sun shone brightly as if nothing happened. Like a good soldier Carter had followed the colonel's orders, had gone upstairs and gone to bed, closing his eyes as if he would sleep. Maybe he had slept, maybe not. The bench wasn't comfortable, and the sharp wood dug into his palms as he held onto it to fight the feeling of falling. Endlessly falling.
"Hey," LeBeau said quietly, sitting down next to Carter.
After three unsuccessful attempts to bring Carter something to eat he came empty-handed.
"Hey."
"You know. I thought about it," LeBeau said. "I'd rather die than losing my home to the enemy forever. I'm pretty sure that's a universal feeling."
Carter shrugged. LeBeau carried his heart on his tongue. Everybody knew how much he loved France.
"Maybe they're relieved that they don't have to start again, in a state of oppression."
It took a moment until Carter got it. "You don't know that." His voice was still devoid of any emotion. Would he ever felt something else except pain again? Was there even anything except regret and guilt?
"There's a reason for everything." LeBeau nodded. "I'm sure one day it'll be clear why we got the wrong train."
Carter shook his head and kept silent until LeBeau left him alone again. He heard them whispering.
:~:~:~:
He's taking this too hard.
He'll get over it. It isn't the first time.
This time, colonel, it's different.
:~:~:~:
Carter forced himself to act normal. He had always known that bombs killed people, enemies and friends. They got briefed about friendly fire, about making sure not to lose orientation and bombing Switzerland again because it killed innocent civilians.
Today, day two after the fateful night, he had laundry duty. The rhythmically scrubbing gave his mind something to hold onto. Up and down. Up and down.
Schultz came over, a big bag in his arms.
Oh, right, mail day.
Carter abandoned his work and followed Schultz. The usual chaos filled the room as everybody tried to get his mail. Schultz fled after he gave Carter his letters closing the door to a now almost silent room.
Letters from home, precious words from his family. Eagerly Carter tore the envelope open but as he read the title 'Dear Andrew' he had to stop. They didn't know yet, nobody had told them what kind of monster he'd become. The lovely words turned into accusations. How could he do this to his family? They feared for his safety, and what did he do? He blew up a train full of civilians, people who had already lost everything.
Unshed tears burned in his eyes. He crammed the letter beneath his pillow without finishing. He couldn't. Trying not to disturb his comrades, he left again, returning to his duty. Scrubbing. Up and down. Maybe he could remove the blood on his hands this way.
A German guard stood around, silently watching. Did he know it? Could he see Carter's guilt?
Suddenly the door behind him was torn open. Carter startled as Newkirk stormed out. Rage distorted his features. He looked around, as if he was searching for a target. His eyes landed on the solitary German soldier and he moved forward, his hands balled to fist. "You!"
"Carter! Stop him!" Carter heard Hogan, but his hands were still in the water, and he didn't know who he was supposed to stop.
"You bastards!" Newkirk growled. "He was just a kid!"
"Carter!"
Kinch followed Hogan, rushing after Newkirk who had almost reached the guard. The German raised his gun and Carter did the only thing he still could do - he threw wet clothes in Newkirk's face.
It worked.
Newkirk stopped and Colonel Hogan inserted himself between Newkirk and the German. He talked the guard down, while Kinch held Newkirk back. But the British corporal wasn't done, fury still etched on his skin.
"Petey was just a baby!"
Kinch answered softly. "We're sorry about your nephew but getting yourself killed won't help anybody."
Newkirk breathed hard. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked at Carter. "I'm glad we got the wrong train. They deserve it!"
:~:~:~:
Carter ambled around the compound without a clear destination or thought. Nothing made sense anymore - not Newkirk, not the colonel, not even his own actions.
Maybe he just needed to get back to work. His mother always said, get back into the saddle.
With no other guidance, Carter went down. His steps echoed in the tunnel. The lights created shadows. One of the shadows looked like a little girl. She seemed to dance.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Carter turned away, forcing himself to continue. He walked further, away from dancing shadows.
As Colonel Hogan had asked him to join his operation, he'd called their mission brave and honorable. What was left of that?
He needed to carry on. He had a duty to do. But as he stood in the doorway to his workstation, he stopped. On his workbench stood a single shoe. Small. For a child.
One he had killed.
Carter turned on his heel. None more brave, none more honorable, none more innocent. He was just a murderer.
:~:~:~:
"He's not dealing well."
"I tried to prevent it."
"Even if LeBeau would've reached us in time, we couldn't have stopped it."
:~:~:~:
"Attention!" Schultz' booming voice filled the room, arousing the men in the Barracks.
Carter hadn't slept. Not really, yet his eyes felt gritty. Slowly, he climbed out of his bed. He still wore his uniform, changing into a nightshirt had seemed too difficult.
"Everybody up!" Schultz went around the room kicking every bed frame, shaking it. Langenscheidt, the only other guard stood with wide open eyes near the door.
"Gee, we're already up," Carter said, joining in the protests of the men.
Schultz glared at him. "Attention!"
It was as if somebody had replaced their teddy bear Schultz with a German soldier. He was loud, angry and bellowed his orders.
Colonel Hogan came out of his quarters, prepared and dressed. "What's going on?"
"Inspection!"
In the meantime, the men of the hut were finally all upright and Schultz started to search the room. In comparison to other times, he really went through everything, tearing open lockers, emptying buckets, throwing everything out. Soon the room looked like a storm had hit it.
Carter glanced around, sharing the worried feeling. This wasn't normal.
"Schultz? Can we help you with something?" Hogan asked. "Do you look for something specific?"
For a moment Schultz didn't say anything, confirming their impression of his state of mind. Then he growled, "You have a radio."
"What kind of radio do you want?" Hogan nodded to Kinch. "We got a red one or a small hidden one."
Kinch went to his footlocker presenting Schultz the two options.
Schultz narrowed his eyes, grabbed first the red radio, then the tiny one before throwing both on the table. With a low growl, he went to the door. Langenscheidt jumped to the side allowing Schultz to leave and then followed him.
"What was that?" Newkirk asked, before grabbing the clothes on the floor, putting them back.
"Carter." Hogan pointed to the door.
"You got it, sir." Judging by the reaction, he'd said something unusual but couldn't bring himself to care.
He didn't need to go far to find the German guard. Schultz sat on the nearest bench. Carter slowed down. As Schultz had angrily torn into them, he had seemed like a massive mountain, but now, sitting alone on a bench, he appeared like melting snow heap, getting smaller and smaller.
Carter sat down next to him. The danger had passed.
"My daughter-in-law," Schultz said without any prompt, his voice full of sorrow. "We had sent her east, back to her family, because there weren't any bomb raids.
"But now the Russians advance, and it's too dangerous for a woman with two daughters."
Carter nodded. Hogan had used the Germans' fear of the Russian Front more than once to gain the upper hand.
"We thought it would be safer here. But we hadn't thought about the risks of traveling by train."
Carter felt faint, while his heart started to beat wildly. No, please, no.
"Their train crossed a sabotaged bridge." Schultz sniveled. "They're all died. Who does this? What kind of monster blows up a train full of women and children?"
:~:~:~:
"We got lucky Schultz interpreted his reactions as deeply felt compassion and thanked us."
"He even said we're good people."
"Are we?"
:~:~:~:
Taking a deep breath to quell his anxiety, Carter knocked. His palms were sweaty, but he knew what he had to do.
"Come in."
Carter entered Hogan's quarters and stood at attention.
"Carter?" Hogan looked up, worry on his face about the sudden military precision.
"Colonel Hogan. I want to turn myself in. I need to be charged with a war crime."
Surprised, Hogan stared at Carter. But he knew it was the right thing to do.
:~:~:~:
"Blimey, he said what? You can't possibly do that!"
"Oui, mon colonel. That wouldn't be right. It's not his fault."
:~:~:~:
Carter adjusted his uniform. It wasn't a trial. Colonel Hogan refused to try him. But he agreed to a disciplinary hearing with everybody except the Germans present.
The stone in his stomach had taken permanent residence, never letting up. With a last look in small mirror, Carter snapped to attention. He was ready to face the punishment his deeds deserved.
As he looked around, he realized that everybody was already gathered around the table, waiting on him.
"Technical Sergeant Andrew J. Carter," Hogan said, beginning the proceeding. He stood in front of the table, right next to the stove.
Carter went over there. He didn't know how a hearing was supposed to go, but Colonel Hogan assured him that he would come up with something and everything he said sounded formal. He couldn't follow him, again thinking about the train and what punishment his error deserved.
"Sergeant Carter!"
"Sir?" Carter had stopped listening. Another charge.
"Do you want to answer some question this court has prepared. You don't have to and -"
"No, I'll answer any questions."
"Good." Hogan nodded. "Did you know that the train passing the wired bridge was not an ammunition train but full of refugees?"
Carter took a deep breath. It still hurt. He should've been more careful. "No, but -"
"Thank you," Hogan cut him off. "Did you act on your own or did you follow a lawful order?"
"An order, but -"
Again, Hogan interrupted him holding up a hand. "Sergeant, just answer the question," he said. "Did you have any doubt about the intel or the integrity of the people involved?"
Carter looked around. Kinch sat at the table, his face an unreadable mask. Newkirk stood behind him, his anger simmering beneath the surface. LeBeau stood next him. He seemed to at least understand, where Carter came from. None of them had wanted it. He looked back to Colonel Hogan. "No."
"Sergeant Carter, let's suppose we stop our work here, no more sabotage, no more intelligence gathering, just normal dull POW life." Hogan paused before he asked, "Would this mean Nazi Germany stopped fighting? Would they stop bombing British cities? Or working on attacking American ones? Could we end the fighting by stopping?"
Carter frowned. He hadn't thought about that - just that he was guilty.
"Sergeant?"
"I don't think so," Carter said slowly.
"So, do we have the option of not engaging the enemy? Would this stop their attacks?"
Why didn't the colonel asked if he was responsible? Why didn't he ask why Carter had created an explosion so well it killed all passengers? Why did he ask none of that? Didn't he see what Carter knew?
"Carter?"
"No. Stopping would just give them more opportunity."
Hogan smiled sadly. "No further question."
"But -"
"We all heard the answer of Sergeant Carter. He had no intention and no knowledge that the train was full of civilians. We don't have to option to not engage the enemy, always running the risk to hurt innocent. What's your verdict?"
Carter held his breath.
"Not guilty."
:~:~:~:
"Mom, I feel strange."
"It's all right, darling."
"But I'm dead. Why did I have to die? You promised me we'd go to the zoo before I'll die."
"Shhh. Technical Sergeant Andrew Carter wanted to build a bomb. His best one yet."
:~:~:~:
Carter braced himself before he climbed down in the tunnel. It was as if he descended into the darkness itself, no matter how many lights they had.
He really wanted to believe his friends' verdict. 'Not guilty.' Colonel Hogan had even explained that a charge of a war crime required the element of intention and that killing, even innocents, was part of a normal war.
But the fact remained - his bomb had killed civilians trying to flee the violence.
With every step he took the darkness got more oppressive. In the silence Carter heard laughter of children and then the boom of his bomb. He remembered his cheers and the joy he'd felt. Who celebrated killing other people? What happened to the old Andrew?
Instead of going to his workspace, building a bomb needed for another job, Carter went down the other tunnel, one he had never bothered to enter because it led nowhere.
It was a dead end.
As he stopped in front of the wall of dirt and sloppy braced ceiling, Carter looked around. Since joining Hogan's team he'd always known the path to the end - escaping, helping to escape, doing his duty. But now his life had arrived at a dead end, just like the tunnel.
The light flickered and something reflected the light. Carter crouched. "Sneak bastard," he muttered. He'd never suspected that LeBeau kept his stash of wine here.
He heard it again. Children. Playing and singing. Boom. Silence. Over and over again.
Carter looked around, but he was alone. Opening a bottle, he gulped down the wine, hoping it would quieten the voices. And memories.
:~:~:~:
"Carter? Wake up before the governor sees you like this."
"Newkirk! Is he drunk?"
"Either that, or he likes to sleep on the floor."
"How much did he have? LeBeau?"
"Let me check. Ahmm ..."
"This much? All right, get him to my quarters."
"What about Schultz?"
"Tell him he's sick. The news hit him pretty hard."
:~:~:~:
Carter woke with a start, sitting up. His head hurt as if it was about to explode. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. Slowly, he remembered the cause of his misery. Gripping the think blanket, Carter kept still, waiting for the pain from moving to subside.
He opened his eyes, finding himself in the colonel's quarters.
"LeBeau is pretty angry. Apparently you took some of his best."
Carter jerked. He'd thought he was alone. "Sir."
"In West Point they taught us what to do if one of your men was troubled by the war," Hogan said. "It boils down to getting them out, away from the front line."
Carter swallowed, trying to keep his rebellious stomach in line.
"But here isn't a front line, not in the traditional sense. But if you need it, I can get you away, back to London."
"Would they put me on trial?"
Hogan exhaled forcefully. He grabbed a few books from his table. "What you're searching for you won't find in these books of law." He dropped them on the bunk right besides Carter.
"But I killed these kids. My bomb, my detonator."
"Andrew, you didn't know they switched the trains."
"Negligence." Carter knew all about it. It had been drummed into his head since he's very first accident.
"We're at war. We're handling dangerous … no devices that were meant to kill. And you didn't do anything wrong. The explosion? It wasn't an accident. It did what it meant to do - destroying a bridge."
Carter lowered his head, holding it up with his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "How do I live with this guilt?"
Colonel Hogan pushed the books away and sat down. "Ask me how to fool Klink or how to steal plans, and I'll find a way. But I don't have an answer for this."
"What do I do? I can't build another bomb. I can't live with his guilt. But you tell me that there's no punishment. " Carter squeezed his eyes, preventing the tears from forming.
"As a man and officer, I can tell you only one thing - the answers to your question you won't find in a trial. You won't find them while you distract yourself with alcohol or entertainment." Hogan paused. "I'm sure there are answers out there. I know people who found their peace, but it's a journey every man has to make himself. There are no shortcuts." Then Hogan stood up. "Sleep the alcohol off. Schultz knows you're sick. Tomorrow -" he broke off, sighed and left him alone.
Nothing would look brighter tomorrow.
Carter kept his head buried in his hands and he wished for another bottle of wine.
:~:~:~:
"He's withdrawn."
"The trial didn't help. Like I said."
"We all heard you the first time, corporal. But you also didn't have a better idea, and I don't want to order him to build another bomb."
"The way he's doing right now, he'll refuse, and then we really need a trial."
:~:~:~:
Finally, the sun didn't hurt so much anymore and Carter stood outside again. Newkirk and LeBeau played a game. He didn't know if it was a distraction or real. He missed the dulling of the pain while being drunk but not the aftermath. Alcohol wouldn't be his savior.
"How you're doing?" Kinch's soft-spoken words startled Carter.
"I'm -" Carter broke off. He didn't know how he felt.
"We really need your expertise," Kinch said.
Carter shook his head. "An expert wouldn't kill innocent." He paused, a half-formed idea in his mind. "Would you beat me up? As punishment?"
"If I'd think you'd deserve it."
"Which you don't." Carter deflated.
Kinch answered in the negative. "Mistakes happen, no matter how much we try to prevent them. It's not our intention, but we haven't yet developed the perfect bullet that only hits the guilty."
"Guilty." Carter snorted. "I'm pretty sure that nobody who killed a train full of woman and children goes to heaven, right?"
Kinch's silence was answer enough.
"That only leaves hell. The same place all Nazis go. So why don't I deserve a punishment?" Carter demanded in a loud voice before he lowered it.
"Because there's a difference," Kinch insisted.
"Newkirk wishes them all to hell. So where's the difference?"
"Your conscience. You don't shift blame and say you've been only following orders. You don't ignore your responsibility, and you're willing to pick up the heavy guilt to carry it with you." Kinch put a hand on Carter's shoulder. "We need you. We need people like you, more than ever. Everybody understands Newkirk, but we need more of you."
:~:~:~:
"London asks why we're behind schedule."
"Tell them we got a problem with our bomb making, but we're working on it."
"And what do I tell them if they ask whether we need a new expert?"
:~:~:~:
Carter dusted off the bed and chair. Cleaning Klink's guest quarters was his new job. If he could, he'd do this for the rest of the war. Here, a mistake would likely result in a stay in the cooler, not dead children.
Colonel Klink wanted the guest quarters in perfect order for the sister of General Burkhalter who had announced her visit in the last minute.
He worked fast but still wasn't finished as Klink and Gertrude came in. "As you can see, I've prepared the -"
"Thank you, Wilhelm," she said. "I am tired." Gertrude was dressed completely in black.
"Oh, of course," Klink said. "We leave you alone. Sergeant." Klink pointed to the door.
"Let him finish his duty, or do you want me alone in a room full of spiders?"
Klink jerked. Then he shook his head and left in a hurry.
Carter stood unsure in the middle of the room. "I'm almost finished, ma'am. There were no spiders."
"You do not need to hurry. I do not want to be alone yet, just not with Colonel Klink." She pulled off her gloves. Also black. "I came from a funeral. One of too many."
"I'm sorry, ma'am."
"I did not know who we buried. But my brother needed me there. For the propaganda." She spat the word as if it was something to detest.
"What funeral?"
"A bridge exploded, just as a train full of refugees crossed it."
Carter froze. "How many died?"
"Too many," Gertrude answered. "Their deaths so pointless."
"It's my fault," Carter blurted.
"I know," the woman said.
Carter didn't dare to take a breath, questions running through his mind. Was he about to meet the punishment he deserved? "How?"
"You look like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. My husband was like that. Not like my brother, who dines well and enjoys life, ignoring the war. He's ditching his responsibility. My late husband always felt the guilt for everything the German Army did, and it weighted him down so badly, I almost did not recognize him the last time I saw him. He must have seen terrible things."
"I'm so sorry," Carter repeated. About the train, about the war, about everything.
Gertrude sat down on the sofa, still in her black jacket and hat. "Young man, let me tell you a secret. There are two kinds of people in the world. The dreamers and doers. Some see possibilities wherever they look, others just do the work in front of them. The world needs both. The doers keep it going. But the dreamers, they think of a new world, they have a vision and try to find people to follow it. It's this vision that is the decision factor about good or bad."
"What world do you envision?"
"A peaceful one, where nobody counts the bad deeds of the past. Where you win because you are the best not because you put your enemy down." She smiled, a seldom sight on for her. "Sometimes I dream about a world where it does not matter where you were born, what you believe or if you are a woman or man." Her face fell. "But then I wake up and go to a funeral of children. And if I try to share my thoughts, I only hear 'Stay home, and work in your garden'. The only place a woman is allowed to follow her dreams."
Carter swallowed, a new thought forming in his mind.
"And you?" Gertrude asked. "What kind of world do you dream of?"
:~:~:~:
"Did you see it? He smiled."
"Blimey, he finally cracked. That's it."
:~:~:~:
Carter knew what he had to do. He snorted. He'd known the whole time, or at least since he stood in front of the dead end.
Instead of picking up alcohol, he should've done the more sensible thing - digging. If you hit a dead end, you either turned around – but there was no turning back, the train was gone as were his passengers – or you needed to get through.
Digging a tunnel was never easy, but possible. His new task also wouldn't be easy. Carrying his treasures with him, Carter marched towards his workspace. For a real tunnel you needed shovels and wood. For his digging, he'd needed books, written by people before him who had asked the same questions. Their library wasn't big, but it was a start.
At the door his steps faltered again, but he pushed past and entered. On his workbench there was still the little shoe. Putting his books down, Carter took the delicate shoe in both of his hands and finally allowed the tears to fall.
"I dream of a world, where nobody feels the need to kill and dominate, nobody needs bombs to attack or defend." He sniveled. "I dream of peace for you and me.
"There's a war going on and I can't just stop it. But I can do everything in my power that the world will be a better place."
He put the shoe on his shelf, giving it a prominent place. It was his reminder of his duty. Not only building bombs or taking responsibility for whom it killed but for his duty as a man, as human being – to seek peace.
:~:~:~:
"You won't believe it!"
"LeBeau?"
"Carter, he's working again."
"What?"
"He's in his shop, working."
"Maybe he found his answers."
"No, I don't think so. But he's working on them."
"Knowing Carter, he'll find them eventually."
"He probably will."
"And we? Are we also going to find it?"
"Depends. Are we searching for them or are we just the peanut gallery leaving comments?"
The End
A/N Thank you for reading.