Boots

Newkirk shifted in line, trying to keep warm. The mud squelched under his boots as he moved. If he stayed still, he risked the mud freezing and holding him prisoner.

Blimey, but how long could Klink go on nattering? Their fearless Kommandant, bundled up in his warm overcoat, stood under the awning of the Kommandantur, out of the torrent of sleet that pelted the prisoners. The sleet soaked through Newkirk's coat and he shrunk down deeper into it. He cast a glance over to Colonel Hogan who, in his light leather jacket, looked ready to snap Klink in half if he didn't stop talking.

"Bloody freezing," Newkirk muttered to LeBeau. LeBeau grumbled in agreement as he jumped in place. From the look on his face, Newkirk wondered if LeBeau would charge Klink before Colonel Hogan had a chance. As for him, he just wanted to retreat to the relative warmth of the barracks. For the last week, he had neither rest nor relaxation. London had kept them hopping and Newkirk could count the number of hours of sleep he had had on one hand. Hogan had promised a few days' rest, but Newkirk didn't trust London to handle their own problems long enough to make that possible.

"DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSS-MISSED!" Klink finally announced.

Despite their relief, the men in line grumbled and groaned as they trudged back into the barracks.

"Any wood for the stove?" Newkirk asked.

"A little," LeBeau replied. He picked up their basket of wood and studied it for a moment before taking out two small pieces and throwing them into the stove. Newkirk moved closer to the stove and rubbed his hands in front of it.

Hogan sat on the edge of the bench, leaning towards the stove. Carter grabbed the blanket off his bunk and put it over Hogan's shoulders. "Here, Colonel."

"Thanks, Carter."

"No problem, Colonel. Boy, I sure am glad I have my sheepskin jacket to keep me a little warm. If I only had my old leather jacket, I would be toast. Or, I guess not toast because toast is hot. I'd be… I guess I'd be an ice-cream sandwich."

"Just call me Colonel Ice-cream sandwich," Hogan sighed. "God, I'm glad we don't have anything to do for a few days." Hogan covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes before dragging his hands down his cheeks.

"I'll make you some cocoa, Colonel," LeBeau offered.

"I'll take coffee, myself," Newkirk said. "Pass me a cup, LeBeau." LeBeau grabbed a mug and tossed it to Newkirk before filling a kettle with water at the sink. Newkirk grabbed the ever-present coffee pot from the stove and filled his cup before setting it back. He was just about to take a sip when someone shoved him, nearly sending him right into the stove. Coffee spilled over the side of his cup.

"Sorry." It was Kinch, who stumbled past him, having just come inside the barracks.

Newkirk arched an eyebrow. It wasn't like Kinch to be so careless. And why had it taken so long to get inside?

"No worries, mate," he said slowly. He shared a glance with Colonel Hogan who looked over his shoulder and traced Kinch's movements as the sergeant trudged to his bunk.

"Kinch?" Hogan asked.

Kinch dropped into his bunk. Then, with a hiss, he pulled boots off and, after a moment's hesitation, peeled off his socks. Newkirk also hissed at the sight.

Immediately, Hogan stood, letting his blanket fall onto the bench, and went over to Kinch. He knelt down in front of him. "Let me see that foot, Kinch," Hogan ordered, leaving no room for argument. Kinch held up his foot and Hogan grabbed his ankle. He inspected it for a moment and then set it down.

"All right. Everyone out of their boots," Hogan said gruffly. "Take off your socks. Hang 'em up and let's get our boots by the stove."

"But my feet feel just fi–" Carter started, but Hogan cut him off.

"Foot care's no joke, Carter," Hogan said firmly. "We've been running around for a week in the rain and mud without even a minute to breathe, let alone take our boots off. It's a wonder we all don't have trench foot!"

"He's right," Newkirk said as he sat on the bench and obediently took his boots off. "My uncle lost a foot in the great war because of it. I don't fancy going home with a peg leg."

"Okay, okay. Gee, you'd think we're in the infantry or something." Carter sat on his bunk and started to untie his laces. He finally pulled off his boot. "Woof. What a smell."

Eventually, everyone in Barracks Two was barefooted. Hogan and LeBeau conducted inspections. Kinch's feet were the worst– not dangerously bad, but definitely in need of a rest. Two others had feet in poor conditions. It seemed they had avoided a catastrophe, but no one in the barracks complained for a chance to dry out their toes.

Most of the exhausted men soon fell asleep, relishing their well-earned rest. But the peace didn't last long.

"Looks like Hochstetter's car just pulled in, in front of Klink's office," Goldman reported from his post at the door.

Newkirk sighed and drained the rest of his coffee. "I'll let the colonel know." He stood with a groan and went to Hogan's office, where the officer had retired a few minutes earlier. He knocked on the door and opened it.

He found Hogan already snoring away in his bunk. Newkirk hated to wake him, but if Hochstetter was in camp, Hogan needed to know. "Guv?"

Hogan snorted awake. "Hmm?"

"Hochstetter just pulled into camp," Newkirk reported.

Hogan groaned and rubbed his face. "Yeah. All right. Hook up the coffee pot, will you?"

"Righto." Newkirk pulled the coffee pot from its spot and put it on Hogan's desk. He plugged it in just in time for Hochstetter's voice to fill the air.

"Klink! What do you know about the sabotage in this area?" Hochstetter growled.

"N-n-nothing, Major Hochstetter!"

"I know Hogan is behind it!"

Hogan, who was now standing beside Newkirk, rolled his eyes over to the corporal, who shrugged. "Blimey, I wish London gave us as much credit as Hochstetter did. I'd be a colonel myself by now."

Hogan grinned and clapped him on the shoulder before they turned their attention back to the pot.

"Bah! You're useless!" Hochstetter continued. "I will question him myself!" They heard Klink's door slam shut. Hogan pulled the cord for the coffee pot and then grabbed his hat off the desk.

"All right, let's go," he said, motioning Newkirk to go ahead. The two made their way back to the main room. A few moments later, the door burst open. Hochstetter marched in, looking ready to kill, Klink and Schultz timidly following him.

"Aha! Hogan I–"

Suddenly, Hochstetter turned pale and, without any more warning, dropped to the floor in a heap.

"Mein Gott!" Klink cried.

"Donnerwetter!" Schultz echoed.

Newkirk looked from the passed out Gestapo man to Klink and Schultz who were backing out of the barracks and into the rain, their noses covered.

"Schultz," Klink shrieked. "Grab the Major and let's get out of here! Quick!"

"You want me to go in there again?!" Schultz cried.

"SCHULTZ!"

Schultz saluted and stretched into the barracks, caught hold of Hochstetter's foot, and dragged him away. The door slammed shut behind them.

All the residents of Barracks Two, now awake, shared confused looks.

"Ummmm…" Carter said, finally breaking the silence. "I know you'll all think this is a dumb question but… what just happened?"

Newkirk looked to Hogan for some sort of explanation, but the colonel looked just as astonished as everyone else. Then Newkirk saw all the boots lying in a circle around the stove and grinned.

"Ah. I think the major was a victim of a gas attack," he surmised. He picked up Carter's boot and tossed it to him. "You thought your boot smelled bad? Imagine adding 30 more!"

"Not to mention all our smelly feet are out in the open," Kinch said, holding up his foot.

Carter smelled his boot and turned green. He dropped into his bunk. "Oh geez. It's a wonder we all haven't fainted! We all must be nose blind!"

"Well, that'll keep Hochstetter off our backs for a while," Hogan said.

"Three cheers for trench foot," LeBeau said.

Newkirk grabbed his empty mug and held it up. "Here's to trench foot, stinky feet, and smelly boots! Now let's get some sleep!"