A/N Thank you very much for reading!
Part 2: Crittendon
Colonel Crittendon waited in the antechamber to the commandant's office. He stood at parade rest. Never understanding how Colonel Hogan could tolerate such undisciplined behavior from his men, he had already decided to return to the true established military norm.
He kept his eyes straight forward, even if a beautiful young lady worked in this office. But he had been waiting for a long time. Crittendon cleared his throat. "My dear," he said and glanced to the blond woman, "how long does this normally take?"
She smiled a little. "You may relax. It can take some time. If the commandant didn't want to be disturbed and yet is interrupted he can be -" she searched the right word, "- wordy."
"You speak English well, my lady," Crittendon said and glanced over again. An angel like this in a POW camp was balm for his soul. But a woman shouldn't have to serve in a war.
Forcing his eyes away again - a gentleman did not stare - he remembered the last time he had seen such an angel in such a dark place.
Rodney Crittendon had his eyes closed. In the darkness he still saw it - the no man's land and its gruesome design built out of mortar shells, bomb craters and bodies.
He saw it in more details as it had been on the photograph he had taken. His reconnaissance mission had come too late - too late to change the plan of the offensive and too late for the men that had left the trenches running against German artillery.
He snapped his eyes open and looked at the ceiling. Rodney figured he had total recall - no other explanation could explain it so well why he could remember every detail, every sensation, every sound and smell.
"Flight Lieutenant Crittendon?" the voice of an angel asked.
"Yes?" He turned his head. Doubting his eyes, he rubbed across them. But the image remained. "Who are you?"
"I'm your nurse," the angel answered and smiled. Her voice sounded like a French melody.
Rodney looked around trying to figure out if he was dead. "What does an angel like you do in a war?"
"I volunteered." She stepped up to his bed. "I do my duty just like you do yours. France is my home, and they won't get it."
Rodney nodded, yet still doubting his own eyes. Maybe he was dreaming. "Where am I?" He couldn't remember fallen asleep or even going to bed.
"You are in l'hôpital, a hospital," his angel answer. "I'm Colette."
Restless, he shifted in his bed. There didn't seem anything wrong with him. Yet, he couldn't remember what happened. How did he end up in a hospital?
Colette put her hand on his forearm. "Calm down, lieutenant. You're safe here."
"What happened?" he asked and felt like a broken record, unable to jump to the next groove. He sat up by using his elbows to lift his upper body and looked around. It really was a hospital. Everything was white and smelled like sickness, iodine and alcohol. He looked to his nurse. Even she wore white.
Colette opened her mouth, a dark expression clouded her friendly face, but then she seemed to think about it and closed her mouth again. Her serene and friendly smile returned. "You were hit by enemy fire," she finally explained.
"Jerry got me?" Rodney leaned back on his pillow. His head hurt. With his finger, he inspected the damage, but he could only feel a bandage.
"The doctors say, you are going to be fine."
"How's James? I mean Lieutenant Moore?" He asked about his co-pilot and friend. "You know we went together to college. He is a fine officer and a good airman. Britain can be proud of him." He couldn't explain why he felt the need to tell her all this, but her calm demeanor just loosed his tongue.
"I'm sure and I know that I am proud of him." Again she gave him a bright smile. "You need to sleep. I am going to be here when you wake up again."
Rodney smiled and hoped that his total recall would work again, so he could see her in his dreams and not the killing fields. Closing his eyes, he listened to the surrounding sound. He was almost asleep as he realized that she had never answered his question.
As he had awoken, Colette hadn't been there. Terrified that somebody had killed his angel, Rodney stood up on shaky legs. Nobody bothered or stopped him. Looking around, he found his clean uniform next to his bed.
He walked along the wall, looking in every room trying to spot his angel. What had been her name? Oh, right Colette.
He followed the sound of moaning and sometimes even screams. A small circle of men in white coats stood around a bed and tried to help a screaming man. The further he walked the slower he shuffled along the wall. It was as if he found in every room more poor souls. Some men seemed fine, but they were shaking so badly the whole frame of their bed was making a rattling sound. It followed him down the hallway even as he sped up. He needed to find his angel, or he would get lost in this place.
Rounding another corner, a new room opened up in front of him. As far as he could see, bed after bed was lined against the wall on both sides. Every single bed was occupied. Rodney pushed away from the wall and walked along the beds. He didn't want to return to the screaming.
Some men looked at him, others seemed to look through him. He straightened, remembering that he was an officer - he was leading these men. As he walked by the beds where the blanket fell flat just after the hip where their legs were supposed to be, he had to swallow the raising bile. But the worst were these horrible disfigured faces. Men without a nose or ears, sometimes a whole part of their face was missing.
The beds just didn't end. He had lost a lot of his comrades. If they crashed there wasn't anything they could do for them. Some had returned with broken bones or burns, but most had been either dead on impact or caught by the Huns. But this was beyond his comprehension. So many, so badly.
Finally, he was through the room and out of the hospital. Looking around, he saw the hospital was just an old villa on a small hill. At last, free from the smell of disinfectant and sickness, Rodney took a deep breath and wandered to the top of the hill.
A group of laughing and happy soldiers came from the nearest town, they seemed carefree and relaxed as if the horrors of the war weren't touching them. Glancing to the villa-turned-hospital Rodney hoped for them that it never changed. They went by the hospital and down the hill until he couldn't see or hear their laughter anymore.
Walking the few feet to the top of the hill was a struggle, but he was determined to find out where he was. As he finally arrived at top, he was shaking badly but rewarded by a great view. He took a deep breath. The sun stood in the west and the world seemed almost golden.
A few feet away several men had dug several graves and a priest was just conducting a funeral. It didn't seem right without a family present but at least they were buried with names and their resting place was marked with a cross.
The Commonwealth War Graves Commission had been a blessing, and they were already here in this part of France to keep track of everybody who died.
"Great here, isn't it?"
Rodney jerked away from the voice.
"Please don't tell me that you don't know who I am. I know that your head has been hit but you should remember me," the voice snarled.
"James, my chap, of course I know you." Rodney smiled a little. "I just didn't hear you coming. Where have you been?"
"Around here," he said serenely, his blond hair tousled from the wind. "So what's the damage?"
"As far as I know I'm going to be fine." Rodney straightened with great difficulty and squared his shoulder. The way he held himself was important for the morale of the whole unit. "I have a hard head, nothing can keep me down."
"I didn't mean you, I meant Betsy. Our beautiful Betsy that you crashed," James drawled. It was a familiar voice and yet it sounded off.
"I don't know. I haven't found out yet."
"She was beautiful."
"And loyal," Rodney added. "I guess we shouldn't have taken the detour? I just thought that we could really use this photograph from their machine guns."
"Hey, I got the darn photo. We just crashed after we were hit - that's all." James' famous smirk enlightened his face again. "But I think it's better never to deviate from a mission plan again. From now on - it's orders only for me."
Rodney's shoulders dropped slightly. It had been his mistake. "You're right, James. We shouldn't have departed from the standing order no matter how tempting or necessary the photograph had been. Orders only," he agreed solemnly.
"Rodney," James glanced across his shoulder to him. In the west, the sun went down. "Promise me not to get mad."
"You can't make me mad," Rodney answered and waited for the joke that surely would follow.
"Glad to hear," he paused, "because I didn't make it."
Sharply Rodney looked to his left but there wasn't anybody. He looked around but couldn't spot his friend.
"Lieutenant Crittendon?" He turned around. His angel had returned. Despite his confusion, he couldn't help himself and smiled. "I have been looking for you. Who were you talking to?"
Shivering in the cold air, he shrugged. "James, but I guess I hurt my head more than I thought because I haven't heard him coming or leaving."
Colette reached him and stepped up to him. She put her warm hand on his forearm. Rodney would never admit it but it calmed down his racing heart. "Lieutenant, your friend and co-pilot, Lieutenant James Moore, he didn't," she swallowed and as she finished her sentence her voice was thick with tears. "He didn't make it. The surgeon tried everything but his injuries were too severe."
Rodney ignored his trembling lower lip and turned away. His gaze fell again to the funeral below them. "Is this -" He pointed to the fresh grave.
"No, he has been already buried. I'm sorry."
He looked back to see her crying and only then he realized that tears were streaming down his face. He didn't feel like crying but as he wiped across his face his hand came away wet. Facing west, he watched the last sun rays. Darkness had arrived but before the daylight disappeared completely it bathed the white crosses below him into rows of glowing white. It looked like the markings of a runaway by night from his point.
As the sun had disappeared and the white crosses had stopped glowing, Rodney let himself be led back to the hospital. But he took the image with him and again he found that he had total recall - unable to forget white crosses lined up like a lit up runaway.
The next days he spent in a stupor. He visited the hill again hoping to meet James for a last time to say a proper goodbye, but his friend never showed himself again.
He was drifting and his only comfort was Colette, his angel. Whenever she came to check on him, it brightened his day.
One morning, Colette brought him papers. He had received his new orders. With trembling hands he unfolded the fine British paper. He furrowed his brows and had to blink until he could read the words Colette had brought him. "I'm transferred." He looked up in astonishment. "I'll go home. They need me there."
Colette smiled at him. "That's great news, lieutenant." Her smile dimmed a little. "I hope you find your peace there."
As he was discharged a few hours later, he sought out Colette thanking her. "You, my lady, you have brightened up this place."
"That's my duty," she simply said. "Farewell, Lieutenant Crittendon."
"Farewell, Colette."
Rodney went down the road. Before he took the truck, he needed to say his final goodbye to James. Several new graves had already been excavated and members of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission walked along the lines making notes and photographs.
He read the names but didn't recognize any until he found James Moore. His parents would have already gotten the dreaded telegram. But it was his duty as friend and pilot to visit them in person.
Some graves were decorated with flowers. Rodney pulled off his cap. "James," he said and ignored the looks, "I'll promise you. If there is ever another war, I'll make sure that they plant your favorite flowers along the runway. They won't ever need graves beneath them again. I'll make sure that nobody has to die just to brighten the airstrip." He turned away but looked back once more. "Geraniums, right? That were your favorite flowers?" Without receiving an answer, Rodney nodded to himself. Geraniums would be fine.
As he went back, he ignored the pitiful stares and whispered words: shell shock, damaged, not right in the head. He raised his head and straightened up. He didn't have anything else but his beloved RAF, the military protocol giving him structure and purpose. Rodney Crittendon wouldn't leave his air force and he would never forget.
Crittendon forced his memories back to where they belonged. Out of the corner of his eyes, he tried to take another look, comparing Klink's secretary to his nurse Colette. But she didn't look anything like her at all. After the war he had returned to France but hadn't been able to find her. If he'd close his eyes he could remember her voice, how she had smelled and her face – the face of an angel. His plan may have been denied, but whatever they would say – he had total recall. Even after all these years, he could still see the killing fields and the way the crosses had glowed in the low sun in clear colors and full of details.
The transfer had saved him from madness and given him a new purpose back home. Now it was his turn to help a fellow soldier and take some of his load.
Returning home would help Hogan and reduce his burden like it had helped him. Surely, Colonel Klink could understand that being a veteran himself. Now it was only the small matter of writing the orders, and then Hogan would be free as a bird.
TBC
Thank you for reading! Tomorrow the last part: Wilhelm Klink.
