8 - Uncomfortably Numb

For the next two days, Newkirk and Carter were both strangely quiet and introverted. They barely spoke to anyone, were reluctant to play cards, and without Lebeau there to cook or coax them to eat, they just nibbled at their rations. Olson and Carlotti both try to get them involved in friendly banter, but they wouldn't bite.

On the afternoon of the second day, Kinch tried to play gin with Newkirk to cheer him up, but Newkirk froze when it was his turn to deal. "What's wrong?"

Newkirk mumbled something about there being dried blood under his nails.

Kinch shifted uncomfortably, darting glances at the other guys. "Um, do you know… is it yours?"

Newkirk put the cards down again, glaring at a spot on the floor. "Could be mine. I was tryin' ta stop me side from bleedin' too much when we were gettin' ta the truck... Might be Carter's, from when I tried ta bandage 'is leg. Might be from one of the guards I shot. I took their grenades after they fell, an' there mighta been some blood on 'em. Or... "

"Or?" Kinch raised his eyebrows. He didn't particularly want to hear the gory details, but he figured that maybe if Newkirk actually talked about the mission, at least a little, it might stop weighting so heavily on him.

"Or it... it might be hers," Newkirk finished in a sad whisper.

Kinch just shook his head. He had nothing to say to that.

Newkirk got up from the table. "Sorry, mate. Not really in the mood for gin right now, unless its in a glass." He headed to the sink and started scrubbing his hands furiously, using a small cloth to clean under his nails. Kinch expected him to finish in a minute or so, but the corporal kept at it for nearly half an hour in what seemed like a fair imitation of Lady Macbeth.

That evening at roll call, Newkirk mouthed off to Klink, asking the Kommandant if he was planning to keep the men standing around for another of his dull speeches. Klink was visibly surprised, but he recovered his usual swaggering attitude in no time, sentencing the English corporal to twenty four hours in the cooler to teach him to mind his tongue.

Newkirk just rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Kommandant. You really think after two years in this bleedin' dump that another day in solitary will make a bit 'o difference ta me?"

Kinch was standing in Hogan's regular spot, and he shot Newkirk a confused look. "What the hell are you doin'?" he muttered.

Newkirk glanced at him, but didn't answer.

Luckily, Klink was too busy waving his riding crop to notice and reprimand the sergeant for talking in the ranks.

"Oh, so twenty four hours in the Cooler doesn't mean anything to you, eh? Very well. Maybe two days in solitary will be more memorable. Schmidt, take Corporal Newkirk to the Cooler!"

The guard stepped forward and clicked his heels. "Jawohl, herr kommandant!" He grabbed Newkirk by the arm and marched him toward the cells.

Klink wobbled his head slightly and shook his finger at the assembled prisoners, glaring from behind his monocle. "And let that be a lesson to the rest of you! Disssmissed!" He spun on his heel and the men dispersed, filing back into the barracks.

A few of the men clustered around Carter, helping to hide his limp from view as they moved indoors. Kinch was the last man inside, and he closed the barracks door behind himself, shaking his head. "What's going on with him?"

Carter sat down on his bunk, gingerly put his leg up, and took out a dog-eared paperback which had been making the rounds. At least Carter seemed to be doing a bit better. He was still limping around, but his glumness had mostly disappeared. He was almost back to his normal cheerful self, but every so often he saw or heard something that would bring the storm clouds back, and then he would just lie down on his bunk and turn his back to the rest of the barracks, shutting out the sounds of the other prisoners talking and carousing. Kinch mused that his fellow sergeant might feel a bit better if he could go down below and work with some explosives, but Wilson had forbade him from using the tunnels until his injury was mostly healed. Olson had even suggested that if Carter really wanted to be left alone, he could always used Colonel Hogan's office. After all, nobody was going to be in it until Hogan got back from France, and that wouldn't be for at least another days, but Carter said that he didn't feel right about doing that. Kinch could hardly blame him. Their CO didn't stand on ceremony, preferring to be more informal with his men than most officers they had met; but his quarters still belonged to the boss, and none of the men under his command wanted to take that liberty.

Kinch sat down opposite his fellow sergeant. "Hey, Andrew, you didn't seem too surprised by that little stunt Newkirk pulled out in formation. You know something I don't?"

Carter shrugged, but didn't look up from the book. "After what happened, what we saw… I know you guys all want to help, but tryin' to cheer us up isn't really gonna work, y'know? And everyone bein' worried about us doesn't do any good, either. Maybe he thought that getting sent to the cooler was the only way to get some peace and quiet. I know I'm getting pretty sick of listening to guys who just don't know how bad it was, trying to tell us that everything's gonna be okay. Heck, I don't blame him for wanting to have some time alone."

Kinch was at a loss. He didn't know how to deal with Newkirk and Carter's attitudes. He missed Hogan, and was convinced that the colonel would know what to do or say to cheer the guys up. He decided to go down into the tunnels to monitor the radio. Much as he hated leaving his friends to stew in their own juices, he didn't know how to help them. At least manning the radio was a job he knew backwards and forwards.

He'd been sitting at their wireless setup for a little while when a message came in. Hogan and LeBeau sent word that they would be back from their mission in two days. LeBeau's friend had done the impossible: he painted a picture-perfect copy of Manet's masterpiece in less than a day. However, they had to let the oil paint dry for two whole days and nights before it could be brought back to Germany. As far as Kinch was concerned, it wasn't a minute too soon. With Hogan out of camp, he was the de facto leader of the sabotage squad. He wasn't the highest ranking POW in camp - that distinction belonged to Lieutenant Kaminsky in Barracks 5 - but as Hogan's second, all the men who were in on the operation turned to Kinch as their leader with Hogan gone.

Kinch opened the bunk-bed entrance and called up, asking Baker to cover the radio while he went to check on Newkirk. Fortunately, they had tunnel entrances to each of the cells in the cooler, so it was easy enough to look in on anyone in solitary. On his way, he grabbed one of the blankets which they kept down below for the transient prisoners and downed fliers who they helped escape from Germany. Once he was at the cooler tunnel, he tapped on each cell entrance in turn, not knowing which one Newkirk had been locked up in and hoping that the Englishman wouldn't ignore him. He was disappointed but not all that surprised when there was no reply.

"Newkirk, buddy, it's me, Kinch." He sighed when there was no answer, not really knowing what to say. "Look, I'm not gonna ask why you landed yourself in here, but we all know how cold it gets in there at night, so I brought you an extra blanket."

He paused, waiting, but there was still no reply. Kinch shook his head, resting his arm on the tunnel wall. He really didn't know how Hogan did this kind of thing. Being second in command was totally different from being the man in charge, having to make the tough decisions and deal with the fallout. The Englishman was cynical and overprotective of his comrades at the best of times, more often than not being the one who fussed and fretted about their safety when they were late coming back from a job, and Kinch had no idea how this loss was hitting him. When Newkirk wasn't shooting his mouth off, he was a pretty hard guy to read. Newkirk had been more torn up than anyone at the thought of that little girl being in Gestapo custody, he clearly felt lousy for not being able to save her, and Kinch just had no clue what to say. If Carter was right, there was really nothing he could say which would make a damn bit of difference. All he could do was let his buddy know that he was willing to help however he could.

"Peter… I get it if you want time alone, and I'm not gonna force you to talk if you don't want to. I'll just leave the blanket here, on the other side of the wall. If there's anything else you need, just let me know, okay?"

Kinch waited for almost a full minute before turning to head back towards their radio setup. He'd gotten a few steps away when the tunnel entrance scraped open, and he turned around in time to see a blue-uniformed arm reach through and grab the blanket. It was shortly followed by Newkirk poking his head through the tunnel entrance and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the dimness

"Kinch? You still there, mate?"

The sergeant grinned and sprinted back to the entrance. "I'm here. Something you need?"

Newkirk nodded, chewing his lip nervously. "Yeah. Could ya bring me a pencil, some paper and an envelope?"

Kinch was curious, but he didn't want to pry and risk his friend shutting him out again. "Sure thing, I'll grab some right away."

"Thanks, mate." Newkirk smiled, but the expression quickly faded. "And, maybe keep your ear to the ground, see if the goons traced our attack back 'ere. See if the underground can find out how much the goons know about what happened?"

Kinch gave him a reassuring nod. "Of course. I'll call around. It's been over a day, though, so if they suspected a link, I'm pretty sure Hochstetter would have come storming in here by now." He wasn't sure if Newkirk believed that. Heck, he wasn't sure if he believed it, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Well, maybe some good news might help. "Oh, just so you know, the colonel and Lebeau accomplished their mission, and they'll be back in about three days."

Newkirk scowled. "Ain't that nice. They spend two more bleedin' days in Paris, an' I'm locked in this ruddy 'ole."

Kinch bit his tongue until the urge to remind Newkirk that he'd landed himself in the cooler had passed. "Well, you're not stuck so much. You can duck into the tunnels whenever you like."

Newkirk gave a tired shrug. "S'pose so. Not the same though, is it?" He stared at the floor for a few moments before looking back at Kinch. "You'll bring me that paper?"

The sergeant smiled, thinking of something that usually coaxed a grin out of the corporal. He slipped into his best English accent and nodded. "Right away, old chap."

Newkirk gave a snort of surprised laughter and shook his head, ducking back into his cell and pulling the hatch mostly closed behind himself. He left the entrance open just enough to reach through and grab the writing materials, but near enough to being closed that a passing guard wouldn't notice it from the cell door.

Well, at least Newkirk was talking to him, Kinch thought, jamming his hands into his pockets as he walked up the tunnel. That was a start.