Buachaill on Eirne Ch. 1

   “Strike two! That’s one t’ go!”
   Corporal Peter Newkirk cursed loudly and tapped the bat on the makeshift plate, glowering at the man throwing the ball. Jon Boule stared back, his gray eyes steely with concentration. The young man took a step back, then threw the ball as quick as lightning. Newkirk swung the bat, but the ball had already landed in Private Daniels’ glove.
   “Strike three; yer out!” Harrison Gray barked. “Next inning!”
   “Bloody game,” Newkirk muttered.
   Kinch came up to Boule. “Nice pitching, Jon! I can see why you call yourself a baseball star!”
   Boule grinned. “Best pitcher in the county, four years running!”
   Gray reached down and adjusted the home plate, which was a dirty mattress. The bases were also made from old cloth, and the ‘pitcher’s mound’ was a piece of strategically placed wood. The baseball diamond was in the center of the camp, right outside the kommandant’s office. So far, Kinch’s team was ahead, most likely helped by Boule’s presence. Gray was acting as umpire, a job that meant he didn’t need to do any running around and risk agitating his bad back. Plus, his bullhorn voice carried.
   Baseball was one of the most popular activities among the prisoners of Stalag Thirteen. Most of them were Americans, so the sport was a good way to keep the tug of homesickness at a distance, at least for a while. While the English and French prisoners weren’t so good, many of the Americans were, and some excelled, having played the sport for years. Boule had been one of the best players in Montana during his years in high school, and Private Randy Yale from Barracks Seven would’ve made it to the big leagues if he hadn’t joined the U.S. Army Air Corps in 1941.
   Carter got up to bat next, and managed to get to second base in one run. Daniels sent him home with the next hit, and then LeBeau got Daniels out at third. Colonel Hogan did a slide, but he missed home plate by five feet and got tagged out by Olsen. “Slug it a good one!” he called to Boule, who was up next. Boule winked and hefted the bat. Newkirk, who was fielding, groaned. “Oh, bloomin’ ‘eck.”
   The pitcher wound up and let loose. Boule swung the bat, and there was a resounding crack as the bat came into contact with the ball. It flew threw the bright June air and sailed over the camp fence, landing in the bushes by the side of the road. Boule ran home.
   “Safe!” Gray yelled, even though it was obvious.
   “Nice hit, Jon,” Kinch said, scratching the back of his head. “But what’re we gonna do about the ball?”
   “We could ask Schultz to get it,” Boule suggested. “Hey, Schultz!”
   The rotund sergeant of the guard looked up from his apple strudel. “What is it, scarecrow?”
   “I hit another ball over the fence,” Boule said. “Could you go get it? It landed in the bushes over there.” He pointed in the general direction of the spot where the ball had landed.
   Schultz heaved a deep sigh. “Please, scarecrow, you need to be careful! This is the fifth ball I’ve gotten back in two weeks!”
   “So you’ll go get it?” Boule said. Schultz nodded, and Boule grinned. “Thanks, Schultz!”
   Schultz flapped his hand at the American. “Just don’t do it again.”
   “No promises!” Boule called as Schultz walked off. The sergeant walked through the gate and started hunting in the bushes for the baseball. The prisoners watched him.
   “Lemme get this straight,” Gray said. “We only have one ball in th’ whole camp? Since when, and why in Sam Hill?”
   “It’s because of this terror,” Kinch said, indicating Boule. “He hits the ball over the fence a lot, and Schultz can’t find it most of the time.”
   “I had this friend in high school who lost every lunchbox he had,” Carter said. “It was nuts.”
   Gray gave him a look that somehow managed to convey both exasperation and utter disbelief at the same time. “And what does that have to do with th’ price of tea in China?”
   Newkirk stared at the doctor. “Huh?”
   Gray heaved a sigh. “I mean, ‘what’s that got t’ do with anything?’”
Carter shrugged. “I just wanted to share.”
   As they were talking, Schultz continued his hunt. They watched him walk up and down the hill, aided in his search by one of the guard dogs. Olsen scratched his head. “I hope he finds it. The Red Cross packages aren’t due for another two weeks.”
   “Yeah, and we don’t know if we’re gonna get baseballs this time,” Hogan agreed. “Boule, I know you’re really good at this game, but you need to be more careful.”
Boule wilted slightly. “Sorry, guys.”
Kinch ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry about it. At least you didn’t break a window.” He looked pointedly at LeBeau, who responded indignantly: “Hey, we don’t play baseball in France!”
“What do you play in France, anyway?” Olsen asked.
“Boules,” LeBeau replied.
Boule started, staring at the Frenchman. “Excuse me?!”
“Hey, Schultz found the ball!” Carter exclaimed.
   Schultz had indeed found the ball. He extricated himself from the bush that the ball had lodged itself in. As he was crossing the road, however, a truck came around the corner of the road. Schultz managed to dodge it just in time, but he still landed on his rear end. A couple of other guards hauled him to his feet while the sergeant of the guard shook his fist at the truck, which had stopped at the camp gate. After a brief exchange with the gate guards, the truck drove in.
   Langenscheidt trotted up to the driver, who was dressed as a prison guard. He opened the door of the truck, and the driver got out. He then opened the passenger door, and another man stepped out, holding two rather sizeable bags.
   “I wonder ‘oo that is?” Newkirk puzzled. The others wondered, too, but Schultz shooed them back into the barracks. “Everybody back inside the barracks! Schnell! Here, scarecrow. I got the ball. Now, don’t hit it over the fence again!”
   “Thanks, Schultz!” Boule said. “Hey, what’s with the truck?”
   “I don’t know,” Schultz replied huffily. “All I do know is that the driver ought to have his license revoked!”
   “A what?” Boule and Carter said at the same time.
   “I never got one,” Gray said flatly. “I lived in th’ sticks. There were four cars in my hometown when I was growing up. Needless t’ say, my family didn’t own one.”
   “That was a bit scary,” Hogan said, agreeing with Schultz. “I wonder why the guy was in such a hurry. Did you happen to see the passenger?”
   Schultz grunted. “No. I already told you. Now, don’t make any mischief, please.”
   “You got it, Schultz!” Hogan patted Schultz on the back as he walked out the door. The colonel turned to his men, hands on his hips. “Well, guys, I think that we’re about to have company, or a real problem on our hands.”
   Gray snorted. “Ain’t those two one and th’ same?”