Yet another intercom jingle sounded, and the nurses, anticipating the Head Doctor's orders, already began grouping around the patients as he began to speak
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The intercom announcement brought Carter out of his funk almost immediately. He hadn't had ice cream in...wow. Over a year. That was a pretty scary thought once Carter focused on it. Some days it felt like he'd been at Stalag 13 a bare month and would be going back at any time, rather than waiting on a war with no definable end or some disaster to send them evacuating the camp and scurrying across the English Channel
( ... )
Carter kept his hand at his head. Two German winters apparently hadn't left him with an immunity to cold.
"And you're English," he pointed out, rubbing his temple. "There was an English guy in my old barracks, Corporal Newkirk. Real nice guy." Well. Relative to their captors, maybe. Newkirk wasn't what one could objectively call a bad person but Carter often wished he'd let up on the insults and cutting remarks, to say nothing of the casual theft Newkirk practiced like a hobby.
"Luft Stalag 13, in Germany." Headache abating, Carter left the hazardous ice cream to one side and finished off his breadstick instead. It was warm and greasy, absolutely delicious against his slightly numbed tongue.
Arthur didn't seem like Newkirk's type, the accent wasn't quite the same and Carter had yet to see any evidence of witty retorts. Fortunately he didn't seem the Colonel Crittendon type either--Carter wasn't sure he could bear being locked up alone with a Crittendon, it was bad enough sharing a prison camp with him.
Carter looked up from his dinner. "Yeah," he said, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. Arthur spoke like he knew what he was talking about, more so than the others he'd met during the day. "Were you in the war?" 'The war', of course, the only war. It was World War Two, he couldn't imagine there being another 'the war'.
It would be so great if there was someone else here who was from his time and place. Then they could commiserate and glee over the future together, and Carter could predict the end of the war to someone for whom it wasn't already old news.
"What year?" Carter asked, sitting up and looking excited. "I'm 1943." It felt funny to identify himself by a year rather than a regiment or an allegiance, but he was getting used to it. It made him feel sort of special, in a way. He'd never time-traveled before, nor had anyone else he'd ever met. The sabotage and intelligence work he'd been doing in Germany, now that was pretty good stuff, but this was beyond phenomenal.
Andrew was boring. Sgt. Carter was okay. 1943 made him sound like a professional man of the future.
Carter laughed, his chocolate stained mouth grinning wide. He'd believed several impossible things before lunch, nothing was going to push it now.
"We're in the future. In 2005." He waved a hand at their room. It wasn't as computer-run or plastic-filled as Popular Science had indicated, but it still had that weird offness to it that showed they weren't in Kansas anymore. "I'm believing it plenty, and what's more impossible than this?"
As if to show off his jadedness, Carter twirled up his pasta and took a casual bite, head tilted back slightly to imitate a sophisticated traveler. He was at least well-prepared for this, and here Mom had told him all his comic books and magazines were mind-rotting junk.
That would...make him over a hundred years old. Wow. Carter chewed his spaghetti and that strange idea with a ponderous expression on his face. Arthur looked about his age, maybe a little younger. Anyone who'd fought in both wars should be old and dead by 2005.
"How'd you pull it off?" he finally asked, mouth-half full. "Did you time travel to the wars or did you have some kind of special serum to make you live that long?" Although if you could time travel, why would you go to the world wars in the first place? Carter was spending it in relative security and luxury, but he was fully aware of how much suffering and dying was going on outside their peaceful little stalag. It was why the operation was so important to him--to all of them.
To Carter it made plenty of sense. If time travel, space soldiers and monsters were possible, that opened the door on pretty much everything.
"That's really neat stuff," he said through another mouthful. "Living through both wars like that. I've only been in one and that one's not even over yet." He paused thoughtfully. "When is the war over, anyway? I never got a chance to ask anyone." It would be a good thing to know once he went back to his own time, the undefinable length of the war was one of the biggest non-Nazi stressors they got. Everyone else could wait until they got relieved or escaped--they'd spent the war doing their best to make sure nobody escaped from Stalag 13 and the only way he'd go home before the war ended was if he blew his own leg off.
And even then they'd probably still keep him around to build bombs and darn socks. Nobody else wanted to do it, for some weird reason.
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"And you're English," he pointed out, rubbing his temple. "There was an English guy in my old barracks, Corporal Newkirk. Real nice guy." Well. Relative to their captors, maybe. Newkirk wasn't what one could objectively call a bad person but Carter often wished he'd let up on the insults and cutting remarks, to say nothing of the casual theft Newkirk practiced like a hobby.
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Arthur didn't seem like Newkirk's type, the accent wasn't quite the same and Carter had yet to see any evidence of witty retorts. Fortunately he didn't seem the Colonel Crittendon type either--Carter wasn't sure he could bear being locked up alone with a Crittendon, it was bad enough sharing a prison camp with him.
Reply
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It would be so great if there was someone else here who was from his time and place. Then they could commiserate and glee over the future together, and Carter could predict the end of the war to someone for whom it wasn't already old news.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
"What year?" Carter asked, sitting up and looking excited. "I'm 1943." It felt funny to identify himself by a year rather than a regiment or an allegiance, but he was getting used to it. It made him feel sort of special, in a way. He'd never time-traveled before, nor had anyone else he'd ever met. The sabotage and intelligence work he'd been doing in Germany, now that was pretty good stuff, but this was beyond phenomenal.
Andrew was boring. Sgt. Carter was okay. 1943 made him sound like a professional man of the future.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
"We're in the future. In 2005." He waved a hand at their room. It wasn't as computer-run or plastic-filled as Popular Science had indicated, but it still had that weird offness to it that showed they weren't in Kansas anymore. "I'm believing it plenty, and what's more impossible than this?"
As if to show off his jadedness, Carter twirled up his pasta and took a casual bite, head tilted back slightly to imitate a sophisticated traveler. He was at least well-prepared for this, and here Mom had told him all his comic books and magazines were mind-rotting junk.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
"How'd you pull it off?" he finally asked, mouth-half full. "Did you time travel to the wars or did you have some kind of special serum to make you live that long?" Although if you could time travel, why would you go to the world wars in the first place? Carter was spending it in relative security and luxury, but he was fully aware of how much suffering and dying was going on outside their peaceful little stalag. It was why the operation was so important to him--to all of them.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
"That's really neat stuff," he said through another mouthful. "Living through both wars like that. I've only been in one and that one's not even over yet." He paused thoughtfully. "When is the war over, anyway? I never got a chance to ask anyone." It would be a good thing to know once he went back to his own time, the undefinable length of the war was one of the biggest non-Nazi stressors they got. Everyone else could wait until they got relieved or escaped--they'd spent the war doing their best to make sure nobody escaped from Stalag 13 and the only way he'd go home before the war ended was if he blew his own leg off.
And even then they'd probably still keep him around to build bombs and darn socks. Nobody else wanted to do it, for some weird reason.
Reply
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