Flights of Fiction

30. Hogan is out for a mission, how do the heroes function without him? Trust

Thank you to Xav for taking this awesome writing journey with me. I could not have done without you, Sis!

Hogan had never felt so miserable in his life. It started during the night with a scratchy throat and a cough. Now he knew his temperature was up because of the chills that left him shivering, and all his muscles ached. He tried getting up, but his knees felt like they would buckle if he put any weight on them. Besides, just sitting upright made him queasy. He sat on the side of his cot and put his aching head in his hands. He had to pull himself together if he was going to lead today’s crucial mission.

Kinch knocked on the door. Through the door he said, “Colonel, time for roll call.”

Hogan opened his mouth to answer, only to discover that his voice was practically gone. He wasn’t able to get more than a hoarse whisper out, and that sent him into a coughing fit.

Kinch opened the door slowly and peeked in, “That sounds bad, Colonel. Are you okay?”

Hogan waved a hand. “Just need a minute,” he rasped, then coughed again.

Kinch shook his head. “No, you’ve got the flu, too. Klink is down with it, and so is half the camp, guards included. I was going to tell you they’re doing roll call by head count inside the barracks today. But we’ve got problems, Colonel. You can’t go out when you’re this sick. Not at night especially.”

Hogan frowned. “I gotta go.”

“I can go instead. You stay and rest. I can lead the mission.”

The colonel would have shaken his head, but he was too dizzy. “No.”

“You made me your second, so when are you ever going to trust me to lead?”

“I do trust you, Kinch!” He scowled. “It’s the Germans I don’t trust.”

“Then you should make Andrew your second. At least he can lead openly.” There was a bitter undertone to his voice.

“No.” Hogan knew Andrew, smart as he was, wasn’t ready for that sort of responsibility yet. He would be someday, but he was much too young now. Hogan also had to admit that he wasn’t going anywhere today. “Kinch, you’re the best man for the job. Just be careful. I want you back here safe and sound when it’s done.”

Kinch nodded. “As long as the Germans cooperate, we will be.” He lightened his tone. “We’ll be fine, Colonel.”

Hogan gave a quick nod and then lay back down. “Send Wilson in here,” he croaked. “And Kinch… thank you.”

Kinch waved him off. “Not a problem. Get better.”  He left the room and headed over to the table. “Gather round fellas, we got work to do…”

29. The heroes and prisoners playing a sport of your choice: Hide and Seek

Louis LeBeau was determined that he was going to win at hide and seek this time. He never won. But this time he had a plan. And a secret weapon. He just had to get a little cooperation. He wrapped his secret weapon in a cloth and headed out of the barracks toward the guard tower. The game had already begun, so he made sure he wasn’t seen by anyone.

He knew the guard in the tower and so he stage whispered, “Hey, Otto, it’s me, Louis! I have something for you!”

Otto looked down from his post at the small Frenchman. “What is it?” he answered. He wasn’t sure why Louis was whispering, but he responded in kind.

“I made a strudel all for you. I just need you to do me a quick favor.”

The guard’s forehead wrinkled. The aroma of that strudel was making his stomach rumble. Louis LeBeau’s reputation as an excellent cook had spread among all the guards at camp, but usually it was Schultz who got to enjoy the benefits. One side of his mouth lifted in a smile, but he was still suspicious. “A favor? What sort of favor?” If he let a prisoner escape, he wouldn’t live to enjoy much after that strudel was gone, and no matter how delicious it was, it wasn’t worth that.

“You’ve heard of the game hide and go seek, yes?”

Now Otto grinned. “Ahh, yes. Das Versteckspiel! Meine Brüder und I loved to play it when we were young.”

“Well, we are playing it now, and I want to win. All I need for you to do is to let me come up and join you in the tower until the game is over so I can win.”

Otto nodded. “And for this I get a whole strudel, all for me?”

“Yes. All of it.”

He beckoned. “Come on up, then. Hurry--I can see Carter coming this way.”

Louis scampered up the ladder and into the tower as fast as he could, considering he had to roll under a fence opening to do it. He was sure Otto would keep his mouth shut about that though. In less than a minute he was safely in the guard tower handing Otto his strudel. Otto took the dish, unwrapped it, and inhaled deeply. “Ahhh, smells as good as my mother’s. Thank you, LeBeau!”

As Louis had hoped, no one could find him, and everyone else gathered around by Barracks Two, wondering where he was.

Louis turned to Otto. “Thank you. Enjoy your strudel!” He shinnied down the ladder and hurried to the group by the barracks.

Otto wiped crumbs from his mouth. “Any time!” he called after Louis.

Louis grinned, “Here I am!”

Hogan stared at him. “Where did you hide? We looked all over the place.”

“I have a secret place… I will never tell. And I win.”

Hogan’s forehead wrinkled. “I could order you to tell, ya know.”

“I will lie first.” the corporal said cheekily.

Newkirk chuckled, “‘e’s got ya there Guv. It’s not like ya can exactly put ‘im on KP!”

All the men laughed as they headed back inside the barracks, including the new hide and seek champion, Louis LeBeau.

28. Letters to/from home - The Argument

Thank you Xav!

After the usual chaos caused by mail call had died down, the guys sat around reading their letters. Newkirk had only received one this time. He opened it, read the very short message and rolled his eyes. He leaned out of his bunk and looked up at Carter, who was similarly occupied with his mail. “Oi, mate, lend a fella some paper, will ya?”

“Sure. You been goin’ through a lot of paper lately. Everything okay?”

“Yep.” Newkirk took the paper and scrawled one word on it. “No!” Then he started to fold the paper to put it in an envelope. He didn’t see that Colonel Hogan was watching him from by the stove.

“Awfully short letter, Newkirk,” Hogan commented. He stuffed his letter from home back in the envelope and laid it aside. “Just ‘No!’? What’s that about?”

“Me brother and me are havin’ an argument is all. That’s my answer to ‘im.”

Hogan shook his head as he chuckled. “Well, at least there’s nothing that needs censoring. What’s the argument about, anyway?”

Newkirk sat and thought for a minute, his forehead wrinkled up in thought. Finally he admitted, “I don’t rightly remember Guv. It’s been goin’ on a while. But I do know ‘e started it!”

Now Hogan laughed. “So do you think you’ve had the last word?”

“Nah, ‘e’s stubborn, that one.”

“Runs in the family, does it?” Hogan couldn’t resist ribbing Newkirk a little.

Newkirk grinned, “A bit, I guess. But this argument is costin’ me a fortune in cigarettes, tradin’ for paper. Hope he gives up soon!”

27. Lashing out/built up frustration: Knowing Something

Wilhelm Klink was frustrated. Colonel Hogan had been in and out of his office all day driving him crazy. Of course, that was no different from any other day, except that General Burkhalter had also been there for several hours, berating and belittling him as usual. It was a lot for a man to take. And Klink had finally had enough. As soon as he had kicked Hogan out of his office for the final time that afternoon, he had instructed Hilda to finish up her work and close the office. He had gone out the door, and headed to the Kommandantur early, much to the surprise of the guard at the door of his office. He was sure Hogan was surprised as well, since he knew the men from Barracks Two were likely watching his every move.

Once inside his home, he poured himself a generous tot of Schnapps and sank down into his favorite chair. He brooded for a while, then decided to fix himself a meal. Perhaps that would lighten his mood. He went to the icebox and rummaged around, finally deciding on some leftover schnitzel and noodles. He poured a glass of wine to go with the food and ate it while listening to some classical music. He kept the volume down, because one never knew who was listening in, and so many musical artists were being banned these days it was hard to keep track.

Klink knew he should ready himself for bed, but he was still wound up tight due to his frustration over the day’s events. It was then he remembered something his mother used to do when he was young. Whenever she was angry or upset she would write a letter pouring out all her frustration and hurt onto the paper. She would show it to no one. And then when she was finished, she would burn the paper in the fireplace. She always said she felt much better afterwards. Perhaps the same exercise would work for him.

And so he sat down at his desk and began writing. He wrote quickly and badly…with a number of misspellings. It didn’t matter. No one would judge him. He poured the words from his soul straight onto the paper. He wrote about how he hated Burkhalter’s smarmy smirk, and how he felt like a bug under Hochstetter’s icy glare. How it angered him that he was not quicker on his feet… that he always thought of the proper solutions to problems too late. He knew others thought of him as a simp. How he hated his father for making him so afraid all his childhood! How could he know what a real man was like when he had no good example to follow?

On and on he wrote… for over an hour. He wrote about how he both admired and despised Colonel Hogan for being the great leader he was. He was envious of him and yet wished he were more like him in some ways. Klink had never been admired for anything in his life, and he wanted that so desperately, he clung to the fallacy that he was a great Kommandant. He knew better. He knew that somehow it was Hogan and his men that were running the camp. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t want to know how. But… he knew.

Finally, it was all out on paper. And Wilhelm Klink felt drained and exhausted. He picked up the letter, crumpled it up without reading it, and tossed it into the cheerfully burning fire. After it was nothing but ashes, he banked the fire and went to bed. He slept a dreamless sleep that night.

26. An unexpected friend: On the Trail

Wolfgang Hochstetter was unhappy. That in itself was not unusual. But what was unusual was why he was unhappy. He was sick to death of the war. He wanted nothing more to do with it. No one who knew him would ever call him a coward. He wasn’t. But at heart, though he was tough as nails, he was a peace-loving man. But politics had taken his soul. He had let ideology destroy him…and his family. And he was sick of the whole thing. A dangerous frame of mind for one so highly placed in the SS.

He decided to walk for a while after breakfast, and dismissed his driver and his assistant. They were mystified by his behavior but dared not disobey his orders. He strode through the edge of the town, reading the fear on the faces of the villagers he passed. He was sick of that as well, truth be told. But that was just the way of it. He got to the edge of the forest, and debated walking one of the many trails for a bit. It might look odd, but he was beyond caring. He stepped into the forest and began to relax a little. He even noticed the birdsong and small animals rustling about in the brush.

What he hadn’t expected was to find a young man… an American in uniform, at that, come tripping down the trail and falling at his feet. Instinct took over, and he pulled his gun on the man. “Halt!”

Sgt. Olsen stayed on the ground and put his hands in the air. He kept his head down, though, hoping that Hochstetter wouldn’t recognize him.

Realization hit Hochstetter. “You are a prisoner from the Stalag.” It wasn’t a question. “Who are you?”

Name, rank, and serial number. That’s what Olsen rattled off. He wasn’t obligated to provide anything more.

Hochstetter knew he could have the young man shot for escaping… or taken in for questioning. It was all a game. That’s what hit him. And he was tired of it. And at least for today, he chose not to play. “Get up. Slowly.”

The sergeant obeyed, certain he was about to be shot any minute now. He knew he should’ve been more careful coming along the path back to camp, but he had been out so many times and never caught before, so he’d started taking his safety for granted. Now he stood in front of the Gestapo Major, trying to decide whether it was better to run and get shot in the back or stay standing and take it face on. He decided to go with face on.

“Go. Now.”

Olsen’s forehead wrinkled. “Go? Really?” That was not what he had expected. He half believed he would end up taking a bullet if he did, but the look in Hochstetter’s eyes was clear. He meant it. “All right, sir,” he said. “Thank you, sir.” And then he turned and darted away, not toward camp but down a different path. Even if the major had proved an unexpected friend, he wasn’t going to trust him with all his secrets.

Hochstetter holstered his gun and stood contemplating what he had done. He knew if his superiors ever found out, he would be summarily executed. But…he had no regrets. He turned and walked back toward the village. It was time to get back to work. Peace would have to wait for another day.

25. Tears: The Secret

Peter was shivering. He was also burning up. Andrew wrapped the blanket around him and stroked his hair the way his own mom used to do when he was sick as a little kid. “We’re gonna get you back home, Newkirk,” he murmured. Well… not home, but as close as they had to it these days anyway. He saw the bruise darkening on the side of Newkirk’s face. That one was pretty new, he thought. There were other older bruises there. He’d been in Gestapo hands for at least a few days before the crew was able to get him out. Clearly, they had not been kind. “Damn, Peter. How’d you get yourself into that mess anyhow?” he breathed out.

“Gotta smoke, mate?” Peter’s eyes were glassy, but somehow they were flat and lifeless as well. Interrogations will do that to a man.

“Sure.” Wilson would have his ass for it, but Carter wasn’t about to deny him any comfort he could give. He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and gave one to Peter. Then he offered a light.

Hogan glanced back, trying not to stare as Andrew had to hold the cigarette in order for Peter to take a drag. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hold it himself. Hogan’s gut clenched as he remembered the fact that this whole thing was his fault. Newkirk hadn’t wanted to go on the mission. Hogan had volunteered him to go. And now look at him. Another piece of Hogan’s soul began to tear away.

When they got close to the Stalag and had to ditch the car, Andrew helped Peter out. He kept an arm around him. Kinch got hold of him on the other side, and together they helped him to the stump entrance and guided him down the ladder. Then Andrew ran to fetch Wilson. His friend needed help. He didn’t look at the colonel when he got back with their medic. Part of him blamed Hogan for the shape Peter was in, even though he knew their leader didn’t really have a choice. Someone had to go, and Peter was the best man for the job. It wasn’t Hogan’s fault he got captured. That’s just how it happened sometimes. Still, Andrew was a little resentful. He had volunteered to go. He would rather be the one hurt than see his friend hurting.

Hogan told Wilson to come and report to him in his office when he was done with Newkirk. He headed straight upstairs at that point. Guilt was tearing him apart and he couldn’t let the men see him fall apart. He had a ritual he followed at times like these, when his men were hurt, or sick, that seemed to help some, and he intended to follow it now.

When Hogan reached his quarters, he shut the door and opened his footlocker. He pulled out a bottle of scotch and a shot glass. He then removed a box from the bottom of the locker and opened it. He pulled out a rather tattered old uniform shirt… the one he had been shot down in. It was definitely worse for the wear, not because he had worn it out, but because of his ritual. Hogan first poured a shot of scotch, and then located an untorn spot on the shirt. He raised the glass and made a toast. “To you Newkirk. You gave a piece of your soul to those bastards.” He downed the shot, then ripped a tear in the shirt. “And here’s one more tear in my soul no one gets to see.”

There was a tear for every illness or injury his men had suffered since he had taken command of this operation. None of them were very big, but they were a way for him to vent a little of his guilt and anger. Hogan took a deep breath, and then put the shirt away. He laid the bottle back in its place and shut and locked the footlocker. Wilson would be coming soon to report on Newkirk and he needed to be ready… to be strong and confident. To be the fearless leader. And the shirt with the tears would stay his hidden secret until they all went home one day.

24. "Any volunteers?" “I’ve Got Your Back”

“All right, men,” Hogan said, his solemn gaze moving from one man to the next. “I’ve laid it all out for you. This is a dangerous mission. The man who goes likely won’t make it back. But it’s also crucial. I’d do it myself, but London says no dice. Because of the nature of the mission, I’m not going to choose who takes it. I’ll leave it to you. Do I have any volunteers?”

There was a long silence as the core team sat around stunned. They had been assigned dangerous missions before, but this one was the worst yet. After a few moments Andrew Carter stood up. “I’ll do it, Sir.”

“Blimey.” Newkirk grimaced. “You’re not sendin’ the kid in there alone. If he goes, sir, I’m goin’ with ‘im.”

Carter immediately protested, but Hogan raised a hand to silence both men. “Actually, that might be the best way to handle things. Newkirk, you can act as his backup in case he gets into trouble, but Andrew is still primary on this one.”

“I won’t get into trouble,” Andrew said stubbornly, eying Newkirk. “And I’m not ‘the kid.’”

“I’m still goin’ with ya,” Newkirk growled.

Andrew huffed in frustration. “Fine, but you heard the Colonel. I’m lead on this one.”

“Lead on then.” Newkirk doffed his cap and gave a mock bow. “Let’s get our gear and get going.”

Hogan followed them down to the changing room. “Don’t either of you get careless or cocky on this thing. I want you both back in one piece. Get in, blow the target and get out.”

“Yessir, Colonel,” Carter said as he pulled on a German uniform. “That’s my plan.” He saluted Hogan, then brushed past Peter on the way to the stump exit. He may have to let the corporal go with him, but he didn’t have to like it. As much as he liked Newkirk, sometimes it felt like the Englishman really did think he was nothing more than a kid who was still wet behind the ears. Andrew was determined to prove him wrong today.

Newkirk ignored the slight by Andrew and headed out himself. It wasn’t every day an opportunity to knock off one of old Scramble Brain’s right hand men came along. Peter was determined this assassination was going to go down smoothly and they were going to get out of it alive and get back to the stalag intact and unhurt. With or without Carter’s cooperation.

The job itself went off without a hitch. Andrew got in, set the bomb, and got out just in time. He was diving for cover just as everything went kablooey. What he hadn’t counted on was, Newkirk had been stopped and asked for his identification, and he was delayed getting away. As Andrew watched from his hiding place, shrapnel from the explosion ripped into Newkirk, and the force of the blast threw him several yards away.

“Dammit,” Andrew murmured. He needed to get to his friend, but he couldn’t risk getting out into the open again. Anyone could finger him as the man who set the bomb. Still, he wasn’t about to leave Peter behind. Keeping under cover as best he could, he worked his way around to where Newkirk lay unconscious. He shook his head as he looked the man over. His face and hands were a mess of cuts and bruises. Andrew figured he probably had a head injury, most likely a concussion. As for anything more, he couldn’t be sure, but internal bleeding was a distinct possibility with blast injuries.

Well, they were both wearing German uniforms and carrying impeccable German identification cards. Peter needed help that Andrew couldn’t give him, and carrying him all the way back to the Stalag wasn’t possible. Andrew figured his uniform could certainly manage to get him access to a car. He finally popped up next to Peter and waved an arm. “Medik! Medik!” There was a field hospital not far from Stalag 13, and if Andrew could commandeer an ambulance, he could get them home pretty easily.

A medic ran to help him load Peter onto a stretcher. There was no ambulance available, so they loaded him on the back of a jeep. “Ich kann ihn fahren,” Andrew told the medic, grateful for the ease with which he’d learned German. He was also glad Peter was still out because his German had a decidedly British flavor to it.

The medic was happy to let him go--he had more than enough wounded to tend. With a salute, Andrew drove off down the road. He abandoned the jeep close to the stump exit from the tunnels and lugged Peter the remaining distance. “You can wake up now and bear some of your own weight, pal,” he muttered once they were inside the cover of the forest.

Just as they reached the tunnel, Newkirk opened one eye and grinned goofily, “Yer doin’ a fine job, mate… wot ‘appened?” Before Andrew could answer, Peter was out again.

Andrew deposited Peter in front of Hogan. “Mission accomplished, sir. And next time I wanna go alone. It’s easier if I don’t hafta go haulin’ him outta danger too.”

Two weeks later Peter was back to his surly old self and complaining about pretty much everything. His take on the mission? “Andrew can go by himself. That’s the last time I volunteer for anythin’!”

23. Song Fic: When We Were Young

The old couple sat in the porch swing looking out over the snow. It was quiet on their street this time of year… families traveling for the holidays, others having decided to snowbird and leave before cold weather set in.

He began to hum one of their favorite songs as the snow gently fell. The cold never bothered either of them much. They were both from hardy stock, he a native of the area, she from Germany. He began to sing the song and soon had her on her feet, waltzing her gently around the large covered porch. He changed the name of the woman in the song to hers, which made her smile.

Though he was an old man… in his eighties, his singing voice was still clear and strong. He finished the song, singing the chorus in her ear. She held him close, and they stood still, enjoying the warmth of their embrace.

Finally, he whispered, “Do you miss being young, Hilda?”

And she replied, "No, my darling Andrew. I have loved growing old with you.”

*************

“Oh, they say that I'm feeble with age, Maggie

My steps are much slower than then

My face is a well written page, Maggie

And time all along was the pen

Oh, they say we have outlived our time, Maggie

As dated as songs that we've sung

But to me, you're as fair as you were, Maggie

When you and I were young.”

22. "I know nothing!" The Disappearing Strudel

LeBeau frowned as he looked over the tray of apple strudel he had just prepared. At least… it had been a tray of strudel. Now it was a tray of… nothing. “All right, who is responsible?” He brandished his cook pan like a weapon.

Andrew Carter raised his hands in the air. “I know nothing!”

Louis glared at him. “Who do you think you are, Shultzie?”

Carter grinned. “Nope. But I didn’t see nothing, neither.” He carefully dusted a couple of crumbs from his jacket.

“Then where did those crumbs come from, eh?”

“Oh, those?” Andrew looked down and chuckled nervously. “Felix was sitting there eating his bread a minute ago. Really, LeBeau. Ask Newkirk if you don’t believe me.”

LeBeau scoffed but conceded, “Well, you are usually honest.” He turned to Newkirk. “Do you know what has happened to my strudel?”

“I didn’t touch yer bloody strudel,” Newkirk growled. He was out of sorts courtesy of the nasty weather outside. “Ask Baker. Maybe he knows.”

“Not me,” Baker sang out. “I know nothing about it!”

Andrew grinned sheepishly from where he sat petting Felix. He cast a sideways glance at Newkirk.

Newkirk did nothing but roll his eyes and go back to shuffling his ratty deck of cards.

Meanwhile, Felix started pushing his nose under Andrew’s jacket. Andrew pulled him away. “Stay outta there, little fella!”

Now Louis zeroed back in on Carter. “What is that rodent so interested in under your jacket, Andre’?”

“He’s just cold!” Carter protested. “Can ya blame him?!”

Newkirk started chortling.

Louis was not deterred. “But you pulled him back out… that’s not because he is cold. If he were cold, you would leave him there. What are you hiding?”

Andrew sighed heavily and dropped Felix into his pocket. Then he reached into his jacket for a paper bag containing Louis’ strudel. “Guess I lost the bet, Newkirk. I never can pull off lyin’ ta friends.”

“An’ ya better pay up, mate.”

LeBeau indignantly snatched the bag away from Carter. “And what exactly was the bet then?”

Andrew shrugged. “Newkirk bet me ten cigarettes I couldn’t hide those strudel from you for ten minutes.” He pulled his precious stash of cigarettes from another pocket and tossed the box to the surly Englishman. “That should cover it.”

Louis checked over his pastry and found it basically intact. “Well,” he smiled, “honesty is usually the best policy… though in this case, a bit expensive, no?”

21. Rewrite of a scene of your choice: “Let It Fly” Rewrite of a scene from “Drums Along the Duesseldorf.” Season 3 Episode 30

A/N: This one is written by xavionite and she did a great job on it!

Hogan stood, watching out the window for the truck. It was due anytime. From outside, he could hear the distraction the men had set up getting into full swing. “All right, Carter,” he said, “any second. Get it ready.”

“Yessir, Colonel.” Carter already had a match in hand. He swiped it on the windowsill to light it, then set cloths wrapped around the tip of his arrow ablaze.

“Remember,” Hogan told him. “Lead the truck by about fifteen yards.”

“Got it, Sir.” As Hogan opened up both windows, Carter took aim, fully conscious of Newkirk watching from behind him. He had a feeling Hogan intended to call on Newkirk as backup, but he was serious about what he’d said earlier that day. They didn’t need Newkirk for backup at the Little Bighorn, and Carter didn’t need him now. He could do this.

He focused on the spot where he intended to put the arrow when the right time came, tuning out the sound of the guys yelling outside. And then at last it was there. Time to let the arrow sing. Time to bring honor to his people. He released the bowstring and watched the flaming arrow fly exactly where it was supposed to go. Ah, but when it ignited the truck it was a thing of beauty!

Andrew could have stood there watching, but Hogan hustled him and Newkirk outside for roll call, Newkirk muttering all the way about how he was a descendant of Robin Hood and could have done it just as well. The three men got in line just in time to hear the explosion. Carter knew better than to gloat. He didn’t want to draw suspicion after all--Klink might remember he had been late to roll call. He didn’t need a pat on the back anyway. It was enough to know that he had done his part and done it well.

20. Homesick: Confined to Quarters

Confined to quarters. For a week now. Some illness was spreading like wildfire around camp and the powers that be were trying to nip it in the bud. Carter had spent the day on his bunk. He wasn’t sick. At least not the way many of the prisoners were. No. He was homesick, and Wilson couldn’t offer any medication to help that. He lay there petting Felix, thinking about life back at home and all the things he missed so much. He didn’t even notice when he heaved a heavy sigh.

Newkirk was lying on his bunk, in nearly as much of a funk as Carter. But that sigh was the last straw. “Mate, what is the matter with you? Ya been moonin’ around here like a tomcat what just found out ‘is tomcattin’ days are over!

“I miss home,” Carter said dolefully. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about it. And I’ve read all my letters three times over--wish they’d at least let us have mail call.”

“Well, they would have if the Allies hadn’t cut off the supply route and messed up us getting mail.”

Andrew shrugged. “I s’pose.” He stroked Felix’s head and the mouse squeaked and squirmed. He jumped out of Andrew’s hands, scrambled down the blanket to the floor, and into the mouse hole. “Guess he was homesick too.”

“Why don’cha get some wood and do some carvin’… get your mind off things?”

“I guess.” Andrew got up and grabbed some wood from the woodpile. He peeled the bark off and looked carefully at the wood underneath to see what might be hiding inside. It was how his father taught him when he was just a little boy with his first pocket knife. He closed one eye, held the piece of wood up in the air and turned it sideways. “Yup,” he said, “definitely a bear.” And then he set his knife to whittling that bear’s way out of the log that imprisoned it.

19. Felix: Another Mouse in the House

This is the first chapter of a multi-chapter story that Xav and I are writing. It will be cross-posted on Fan-Fiction . net under xavionite’s account. I hope you enjoy it!

No one knew exactly how it happened. Even Carter couldn't explain it, and he was the one who had managed it. He was working in his lab, mixing chemicals, when something popped and went up in a puff of… well, not smoke, but dust… right into his nose. He blacked out a few seconds later and when he woke up, he found himself nose to nose with his pal Felix, who had been hanging out in the lab with him that afternoon. Yeah… nose to nose… while standing on his two feet. Well, came his first thought on the matter, at least my clothes and shoes shrank with me. Carters were not prone to panic, at least not over things that would work up most people. His second thought was, Hmm… now how do I get out of this one? He put that thought into words, directed at the mouse.

Felix just squeaked. Loudly.

Andrew pressed his hands over his ears. "Lower the volume a bit there, buddy!" He stood back for a moment and studied the situation. He needed to get back upstairs, but it was going to be a difficult feat. Then again… maybe he could hitch a ride at least to the bottom of the ladder. "Whaddya think, Felix?" He stepped up next to the mouse and stroked its fur. "Gonna let me climb on?" He eased his way onto the mouse's back and wrapped his now miniature hands into the animal's fur. "Hmm… I guess you don't work the same as a horse, do ya?" Even so, he gave the mouse a slight kick and it lumbered out of the lab and into the tunnel. "Good job, pal!"

While Andrew was busy figuring out how he would get up the ladder, Felix veered into a mousehole. Soon, Andrew realized that they were heading upwards. The mouse carried him out another hole right next to his bunk. "Ahh, yeah… this is where we met! Guess I'd better find Newkirk."

The other men were all sleeping now. Andrew had been suffering from insomnia and had gone down to the lab in hopes that a bit of experimentation would help him get sleepy. Clearly, things had not gone to plan. He hopped off of Felix's back and crossed the short distance to Newkirk's bunk. "Peter!" he shouted, but he wasn't sure if his friend could hear him. He might just have to do a bit of climbing after all.

When Newkirk didn't respond, Andrew grasped the edge of his blanket, which, thankfully, was hanging down low, and tugged hard. He wasn't able to pull it off, but he was able to climb up it. Then he positioned himself right next to Newkirk's ear. "Peter! Wake up! I've got… um… a little problem!"

Peter heard something next to his ear and opened his eyes. He knew he had to be dreaming because a miniature Carter was standing there and staring at man was shorter than his thumb. He thought about what Carter had just said to him. "Yeah, you do 'ave a problem at that, mate." He was convinced he was dreaming.

"Shut up, Newkirk," the man next to him moaned. "I'm tryin' to sleep here!"

Carter just shrugged. "I know what you're thinking, Peter, but it's not a dream. Something went wrong in my lab. Um, I think you prob'ly oughta wake the colonel for this one."

His nose twitched and his mouth watered. Something smelled delicious. Then he remembered. LeBeau had cooked chicken cordon bleu for dinner. There must be crumbs lying around, making his newly mouse-sized stomach growl.

Newkirk just closed his eyes again. He was still convinced he was dreaming.

Carter finally resorted to pinching his pal's ear until he sat up with a roar. The other men groaned. "Knock it off, Newkirk!"

Andrew jumped up onto Newkirk's hand and gave his thumb a squeeze. Peter picked him up and stared at him. "You… you're serious, ain't ya, mate? I really am awake?"

Carter nodded solemnly.

"What happened to ya?" Even though Peter had dropped his voice to a whisper, there were still complaints. Finally, he'd had enough. "Shut up, ya ruddy blokes! Me mate here's in trouble!"

And that was how the rest of the men found out about Andrew's little problem. Kinch fetched Hogan and the others just stared down at the tiny sergeant in disbelief. He waved up at them as if he weren't particularly worried. Olsen reached to pluck him off Newkirk's hand, but Newkirk shook his head. "No way. Leave 'im be. Don't want 'im gettin' lost or jostled."

LeBeau bent to give Andrew a closer look. "Uh… have you noticed he is growing whiskers? Like… mouse whiskers?"

Carter yawned and stretched. "I'm awful tired. Can't really help figure this one out, either. Just… I was working with a new compound in my lab and suddenly I woke up like this. Think I could get some sleep?"

"I gotta box here that would make a safe bed for him," Baker volunteered. He handed the box over. Soon it had been transformed with blanket remnants into a comfortable little cot for a mouse-sized man. Peter set Carter into it just as Hogan came out to see the situation for himself.

"Hi, Colonel," Andrew said with a yawn.

Hogan just shook his head. "Andrew Carter, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

Andrew didn't answer, so Hogan decided to send for the one most likely to know what was going on. "Olsen, go get Wilson. Newkirk, what the hell happened to Carter?"

Peter looked up at the colonel with an injured air. Was he getting the blame for this?! "Guv, I just woke up an' found 'im 'ere like this! 'E said 'e was workin' wiff some new compound in 'is lab, though."

"In that case," Hogan ordered, "everyone stay out of his lab. We don't need a bunch of us turning into mice."

A murmur of agreement went around the room. "How do ya think he's takin' it so well? If it were me, I'd panic," Baker said.

Wilson came in from the tunnel in time to hear Baker's question. He had already been briefed by an excited Olsen, and so he approached the small box ready to take on the strangest case he'd ever encountered. His brow wrinkled as he took in Carter's current condition. He wanted very much to figure out the answer to this. "If his brain is changing the way his body is, it might not seem as strange to him as it does to us," he suggested.

Kinch spoke up then. "Or it might just be that he's Carter. Nothing much bothers him."

Wilson nodded. "True enough." He bent over the box to look in at the sleeping sergeant, noting the growing whiskers LeBeau had pointed out. He noted something else, too. A small patch of Carter's hair had changed in color and texture. It was starting to look like mouse fur. He straightened up. "He was in the lab when this happened?"

Newkirk nodded. "Workin' wiff a new compound."

Wilson sucked in a deep breath. "Well then, I need to figure out what it was if we're going to help him get back to normal. Permission to access the lab, sir? I can take precautions. Gloves, jumpsuit, bandana over the mouth and nose."

Hogan thought about it. He wasn't happy about the risk, but he knew Wilson was right. They needed to know more. "Okay. But just you. And be careful. Just, try not to spend too much time in there."

"Yessir." Outside, Wilson noticed, the sky was just beginning to lighten. "I suppose it'll have to wait till after roll c—" He stopped short. "What are we going to do about roll call?"

Hogan frowned. "If we say Andrew's sick, Schultz will want to check on him. Same as with the infirmary."

Wilson shrugged. "You know Schultzy. He'll see nothing, say nothing. Probably think he's still asleep and dreaming."

Hogan chuckled. "Yeah. Let's just tell him the truth and let him worry about it."

"Should I bring him to roll call then?" Peter asked.

"No, I don't want Klink to catch sight of him accidentally. Show him afterwards."

"All right, then." Newkirk cast his gaze about for a good hiding place for the box. It was just the right size to slide into the mousehole next to Andrew's bunk. "'E'll be safe there till we get back. Sure hope he won't get up an' wander off, though. We'd never find 'im."

"Box has a lid. Poke some holes so he can breathe, though." Baker handed the lid over and Newkirk put it in place after poking the requisite holes.

"You should tie a string on his leg," LeBeau suggested. "Just in case he changes all the way, so we won't mix him up with all the other mice in the barracks."

Until that moment, the others hadn't really thought about Carter changing all the way into a mouse, indistinguishable from all the other little pests that inhabited their barracks. The thought was sobering. "Good idea," Hogan said. "Though you ought to tie it around his neck. A mouse would chew a string off its leg." He paused for a moment. "Not too tight, all right, Newkirk?"

"Yessir."

It was understood by all that Peter would take charge of caring for his best friend. No one expected, though, that another friend of Andrew's would hover over him. While the men were at roll call, Felix managed to nose the lid off the box. Then he climbed in and snuggled up against Carter. He didn't even run away when Peter pulled the box out of the hole after roll call to make sure Andrew was still there and safe. He just looked up at Andrew's human pal with his beady black eyes as if to say, "He'll be all right. I'll make sure of it."

18. "It's just a scratch.": Okay it was more than just a scratch…

Thanks again Xav!

“Aw, it’s just a scratch.”

That much was true enough. It always amazed Wilson how Carter seemed to come away from an explosion practically unscathed. But this time, it was how loud Carter said those familiar words, followed by a flash of confusion on his face, that tipped Wilson off. He moved around behind the young sergeant. “So, Carter, how did you pull this one off?”

No response. Carter just sat on the cot, swinging his legs.

Wilson put a hand on the lad’s shoulder, leaned in closer, and raised the volume of his voice. “Carter? Can you hear me?”

Carter turned his head and looked at Wilson, slightly startled. “Yeah, sure!”

With a frown, Wilson turned to cut a bandage and grab the iodine. He did need to clean out that scratch. He wasn’t so sure that Carter really had heard him, or if he was just guessing how he should answer. Time would tell.

He moved back around to sit on his chair next to the cot. He coated the long cut on Carter’s forearm with iodine, then covered it with gauze. Then he looked up to meet Carter’s eyes. “I want you to stay in the infirmary.”

Andrew scowled. “It’s just a lousy cut. I’m fine.” His voice was still too loud.

“You can’t hear,” Wilson said. He had a feeling Carter had been reading his lips.

“My ears are just ringing is all. It’ll go away.”

Wilson turned to see Colonel Hogan hovering not far away. He looked back at Andrew and motioned for him to stay where he was, then got up to talk with the colonel. “We’ve got a problem, sir. He can’t hear, or at least he can’t hear much.”

“No way to tell how long it could last, is there?”

“Not with the equipment I have.” Wilson shook his head. “Do you think London would send us what we need?”

Hogan thought about it. “There’s a doctor in Paris who might be able to help him, depending on the problem. I bet we could get him here.”

“All right, then.” Wilson folded his arms over his chest. “Now, I could use your help. Carter insists there’s nothing wrong but some ringing in his ears. I’m concerned he could make things worse if he’s too active, so I’d like him to stay here. Could you make it an official command?”

Hogan shrugged. “No problem.” He moved over beside Carter and looked at him sternly. “Carter, Wilson tells me you’re having trouble hearing and that he wants you to stay here. I’m making that an order. You stay here and do exactly what Wilson says. You understand?

Carter had been watching Hogan intently the entire time he’d been speaking. He waited a moment after he’d finished and then Carter nodded. “Yessir. I’ll stay.”

Later that afternoon, Newkirk wandered into the infirmary. He slid into the empty chair next to Carter’s cot. “Allo, mate,” he said, speaking louder than usual.

“Hi.” Andrew was bored and wanting out. But he was also scared.

Newkirk passed him a cigarette. “Is it true ya can’t hear nothin’?”

Andrew blew a smoke ring, and didn’t react at all when Wilson hollered at them to put their cigarettes out. He simply took another drag.

“I s’pose it is true, then,” Newkirk mumbled. He ignored Wilson and took another drag on his cigarette too. Then he leaned forward in his chair and put a hand on Carter’s arm. “Ya’ll get it back,” he said, once he knew Carter’s eyes were on his mouth. “It’s temporary, it has to be.”

“It better be. I don’t plan on bein’ like this for the rest of my life. The ringing noise is driving me nuts. A feller could go crazy!”

“Well, London’s sendin’ a fancy French doctor. He’ll be here tomorrow.” Peter turned to face Wilson. “The Guv wanted me to pass the word.”

Wilson nodded. “Thank you. Now, Andrew needs some rest. And don’t smoke in here! Go on.”

Newkirk rolled his eyes. He turned back to Carter. “Doc’s kickin’ me out. Says ya need ta rest. S’pose I’d better get goin’, then. I’ll be back later, mate. We can play cards.” He patted Carter on the shoulder and then hurried out, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke in Wilson’s face as he passed by.

The French doctor arrived early the next morning via the stump tunnel, escorted by one of the members of the Underground. Dr. Cormier examined Andrew and performed several tests. Hogan and the others, especially Newkirk were nervous as wet cats the whole time the doctor was with Carter. Finally, the doctor came out of the exam area to talk to them.

He spoke heavily accented English, but was more comfortable speaking French, so LeBeau translated for him. As it turned out, Andrew’s injury would not require surgery. He had damaged his eardrums but they would eventually heal on their own. It was simply a matter of time. Probably six to eight months and he should be hearing normally. He might always have a slight case of tinnitus but it would be very faint.

Newkirk’s forehead wrinkled up and he scowled. “Six to eight months?! Ya can’t fix him quicker?”

The doctor looked at him. “I could, but the operation would be very dangerous. It could cure him completely, or cost him all the hearing he has left, permanently. Is this what you think he would want?”

Uncharacteristically subdued, Newkirk lowered his gaze. “No,” he mumbled. “Sorry, Doc.”

“Do not be sorry. You are showing that you are a true friend, wanting the best for him.”

Newkirk shrugged off the compliment, then turned and stalked from the room to sit with Carter again. He touched his friend’s hand to get his attention, then pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket. “Game of poker, mate?”

Andrew shook his head. The doctor had told him the news, and he was still absorbing it.

“It ain’t fair,” Newkirk said, his eyes on Carter as he shuffled the cards. “I set off the blast before you got far enough away. It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

Carter stared at Newkirk. “No, I tripped over a root. That’s what delayed me getting away. You had nothing to do with it. You did the right thing. I messed up the timing, that’s all. I just have to get used to things being different for now, and it’s gonna take me a while.”

“Maybe they should let you go home.” Peter hated the thought of losing Carter, but he really did want the best for his friend.

“No, I don’t want to leave before everyone else. I want to see the operation through.”

Newkirk nodded. “Course ya do. I’ll help ya however I can, mate. Ya have me word.”

Carter nodded. “You’re a pal.”

When the time came that Carter insisted he was ready to go out on another mission, Newkirk backed him up. “I’ll stick close to him the whole time,” he pledged.

Hogan was hesitant because Dr. Cormier had estimated that Carter had lost about 70% of his hearing in both ears. He knew Carter had no business outside the wire at all. But he also knew Andrew was dying inside. He needed a mission. And so, he relented and allowed the two men to go together on a straightforward information pickup mission. And Hogan sweated bullets the entire time they were gone.

When they got back, Newkirk grinned broadly as he reported to Hogan. “Carter here saved me life, Guv.”

“How did that happen? I  sent you to get some simple information. Did you get it?”

“Aye, we did. And on the way back to camp, we ran into a hunter in the woods. One of the guards from camp… ol’ Blitzy. He recognized us right off.” He glanced at Carter and gestured for him to continue the tale.

Carter grinned. “He tried to capture us but we took off in two different directions, like you taught us to. Then Newkirk…”

Peter looked balefully down at his bloodstained shirt. “Then Blitzy shot me in th’ arm.” He waved Hogan’s concern away. “It’s just a scratch, Guv.” Of course, he knew he’d be ordered to see Wilson about it anyway.

“So again, how did Andrew save your life?”

“He tackled Blitzy and knocked th’ rifle outta his hands before he could get another shot off!” Newkirk shrugged. “We tied ‘im up. ‘E’s down in the tunnels now, waitin’ for orders to go to London. Ain’t too happy about it neither, Guv.”

Hogan nodded. “We’ll get on the horn to London and get him out of here. Good work, boys.”

Newkirk elbowed Andrew good-naturedly. When he spoke again, he made sure his friend was looking at him. “I thought I’d have your back when I went out with you. But turns out you had mine all along. Well done, mate.”

17. Fight: Blows to the Heart

Thanks for the RP Xav!

Andrew Carter sat near the woodstove, whittling away at a piece of wood and whistling to himself. Outside, the weather was below freezing. Inside, it wasn’t much warmer, even with the stove going full blast. But Carter was still whistling, every once in a while taking a break from his whittling to stroke his mouse Felix on the head and feed him some crumbs.

Newkirk sat at the other end of the table, his eyes as stormy as the weather. He hated the cold, and it always affected his mood. Unfortunately, Andrew was the closest target. “What are you, a bloody songbird?”

Andrew stopped whistling for a second and looked up. “Huh?”

“Yer whistlin’s drivin’ me bonkers. Quit it.” He went back to shuffling his cards.

“Oh.” Andrew slumped back in his chair and continued whittling. Soon, though, the whistling started up again. He just couldn’t help it.

To Peter it was like fingernails down a chalkboard. “Knock it off, Carter!”

Startled, Andrew jumped a little. “Er… sorry, Newkirk.” He tossed down his whittling project and pulled Felix out of his pocket. “Who’s a sweet little mousie,” he crooned over the little creature. Sweet-talk to his pet seemed like an acceptable substitute for whistling, so he continued it.

Newkirk’s mood darkened faster than the skies outside. He knew he wasn’t being fair to his best friend, but somehow that just didn’t matter right now. He rolled his eyes. “That’s another thing, you givin’ food to that rodent. Just encourages all the other rats in the barracks to come lookin’ for food. Bloody nuisance is what it is.”

“I don’t give him your food,” Carter said. His voice sounded a bit strained this time, as if his habitual cheerfulness were starting to wear thin. He didn’t look up to meet Peter’s eyes, but just kept stroking Felix’s head and staring into his eyes. “He’s just a grumpy fellow, isn’t he, Felix?”

“Keepin’ a mouse for a pet. Whoever heard of such a thing… brings all the other rats in here out. You need to get rid of it.” Newkirk had no idea why he was pushing Carter so hard, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“No!” Suddenly the cheerful facade was gone. Andrew slid Felix back into his pocket and swung an arm around the room. “I don’t see any rats! The mice are here anyway! I’ve given up enough to be here, Newkirk. My horses, my dogs, my girl! And now you want me to give up Felix? Well, I won’t!” His face was getting red and he glared at Peter. “Friends don’t ask that kind of thing from each other. I guess you aren’t the friend I thought you were.”

Newkirk stared at Andrew for a long moment, suddenly unsure what to say. Finally he glowered at him. “Fine. Sod off then.” And he stormed out of the barracks and out into the rain.

The others had stayed out of the argument, letting it run its course, mostly as they felt it was none of their business, but Kinch realized this could get serious. He looked over at Andrew, who was pale and shaking as he sat back down on his bunk. He walked over and stood by the bunk. “You okay Carter?”

Carter just nodded. He had pulled Felix out again and was holding him up against his chest, petting his back. “Fine,” he finally spit out.

Hogan stepped out, a grim look on his face. It was obvious he had heard the whole thing. “Andrew, my office. I need to talk to you.”

“Yessir,” Carter mumbled. He scurried obediently to Hogan’s office.

“There’s no excuse for the way Newkirk treated you. And I know the cold bothers him more than he lets on, but I may have an explanation for why he jumped on you so hard just now.”

“I’m listening, Sir.” Andrew’s usual lively demeanor was gone, though. He sat slump-shouldered, as if he were carrying the weight of the world. As far as he was concerned, on top of everything else he’d given up, he’d lost his best friend.

“London sent word that there was a bombing in Stepney, They don’t know if it hit Newkirk’s home or not, but it had to be close. He acted like it didn’t mean anything when I told him. I think he’s in shock.”

“Oh… well if he’d have just told me, sir.” Andrew shrugged up a shoulder. “How was I supposed to know? I can only read mouse minds, not human minds.”

“I don’t even think he knows how he feels himself. But that’s no excuse. I just thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Sir. Um… can I go now?” He slid Felix back into his pocket.

“Of course. Dismissed.”

Carter scrambled back out to the main room. He pulled on his coat and scarf and then charged out into the rain. He had a feeling he knew where he would find Newkirk. And indeed, there he was, hiding behind the delousing station. Carter sidled up next to him and put a hand on his arm. “I’m still your mate, I hope. The colonel told me about the bombing in Stepney. Just wanted to let you know, if you want to talk about it, I make a good listener.”

Not all the water dripping down Peter’s face was raindrops. “They ‘ave no way of findin’ out if Mavis is alright. Not now anyroads. Too much confusion. She’s me sister! I’m sorry for what I said in there. All I could think about was the bloody cold. An’ I just got mad at everythin’.”

Andrew nodded. He was quiet for a long moment. “Everyone thinks I’m happy-go-lucky. Sometimes… well… it’s just my way of hiding things. I guess yours is getting mad. Maybe we shouldn’t hide so much.”

Peter shrugged, then realized he was freezing. “Bloody hell, it’s cold out here!” He turned to head back to the barracks.

“Yeah, you got that right.” Andrew followed his best friend. “Hey, Peter,” he called as they approached the door.

“Wot?”

“I’m sorry I blew up at you. I don’t like gettin’ mad at my friends. Makes me angry at myself.”

“Forget about it. We’re fine now.”

Andrew nodded, his cheerful aspect returning. “Good then. Thanks, Newkirk. I’ll… uh… try not to whistle so much.”

As they stepped through the door, drawing protests at the cascade of water they brought with them, Newkirk smirked. “Go ahead and whistle. How many blokes can say they ‘ave a bloody songbird for a best mate?”

Andrew chortled at that. Then he picked up his whittling project. “Here, this is done now.” He handed it to Newkirk. “For you, pal.”

Newkirk admired the intricately carved racoon. He smiled. “Figures you’d give me a masked bandit!”