I'll Be Seeing You Chapter 2

By Mistress V

Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.

Kinch paid the barkeep and took a bottle of scotch and glasses over to a corner table. He poured out two shots and handed one to his friend.

Hogan downed the drink in one gulp, then gave his glass back for a refill.

The bar was smoky and dark, filled with locals who knew a good place. "String of Pearls", a perennial favorite with returning vets, played from a well stocked jukebox in the corner. The clientele was a mix of races and sexes, in a nondescript Detroit neighborhood where Kinch lived with his elderly auntie, Betty.

Kinch let the good liquor burn down his gullet before he finally spoke to his fellow vet and good friend.

"So are you sure she's the one for you? And not that you're in love with the lady because you can't have her?" His tone was soft, concerned. "Remember what they told us all in bootcamp, marry in haste, repent at leisure."

When Hogan called to say he'd like to drop by for a brief weekend visit before flying out on a mission to New Mexico, Kinch raised an eyebrow. Something in his former commanding officer's voice said that there was a problem. And, he surmised correctly, it likely had to do with a woman.

Hogan nodded morosely, his fingers tracing patterns on the dark wood tabletop. He downed another shot, then finally spoke.

"I'm sure, but it's not just that."

He fished for his wallet, the same one he'd carried all through the war, and drew out an old photo that he'd shared with his men countless times. It was taken at the state fair when Robert Hogan was perhaps four years old. He was seated on a pinto pony, a borrowed cowboy hat perched on his head, with an old Indian standing stoically as he held the lead rope. His mother was next to him, smiling with her son at the camera.

Kinch smiled too. "Cowboy Bob," he laughed.

"Then explain this," Hogan said, his voice rough from liquor and cigarettes.

Another black and white snapshot joined the first. A somber, dark haired lad astride a pony, with a blonde haired woman, his mother to be sure, standing next to him. Apart from the backdrop and the accessories, it might have been the same boy. Kinch's eyes widened as he turned the photo over.

"Robert's first riding lesson, aged four," the script read.

Kinch whistled. "Damn, man," he said.

"I'll drink to that." Hogan's voice slurred, his eyes boring into the pictures before him. "Peggy saw my photo dozens of times when we were together. This has to be her way of saying he's mine. Why else would she have sent it?"

"Maybe she wants you to ask," Kinch replied, topping up both their glasses. It was going to be a long night. "Are you going to?"

"I don't know," Hogan muttered. "She has her life, so do I. Why this, why now?"

"She's free, Bob. Maybe free to love you again. But are you ready to love her back…and be a father? Give up one life for another? That's a pretty tall order, my friend."

The jukebox changed songs. Billie Holiday's sultry version of "I'll Be Seeing You," seemed to transport the bar back to another time and place. Hogan was silent as he listened, oblivious to the surroundings. After a long moment, he answered.

"If I don't try, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering. And I've found that's pretty empty stuff." Hogan raised his glass. "To taking a chance."

"Prosit," Kinch responded. "To chances."

vvvvvvvvvv

Hogan joined his mission to an unnamed installation in New Mexico on Monday morning. Once he arrived, he was ushered into a windowless office where he was greeted by a group of males, some from the various services, others dressed in conservative black suits.

"This is top secret, Hogan," General Martoff stated as he pushed a file, labeled "Eyes Only" across the table.

Hogan scanned the papers and frowned slightly. The name was known to him.

"We tried to get Professor Haller out of Germany twice," he stated. "And failed, both times. Peenemunde was just too far away for our forces. He's back in the East now, where he's from, why this mission?"

"He's indicated to our contacts that he's ready to leave, whatever the cost. Apparently his maters, the Russians, have some powerful new ideas they expanded upon from Hitler and he's anxious to get this information to the Allies as soon as possible."

"Where do I fit into this?" Hogan asked, debating the risk involved versus the excitement garnered.

"They've stationed him somewhere near Berlin, that we know. But until there's a possibility of his defection, we can't act. Sources say it could come at any time and we need to be prepared. The ramifications and benefits to our project here would be …well….a tremendous gain to the work in progress." Martoff met Hogan's eyes. "You know the contacts and can work them. Will you help us?"

"Only if after this mission, I can settle into running the office in England," Hogan responded. "I'm getting too old to do this kind of thing, might be a liability. Why not have me train a new generation for you? The playing field's changed, let them get into the game."

"Agreed," General Martoff said with a smile as he poured pout shots of brandy for everyone. "I was hoping you'd say that. One last ride for glory, eh?"

Hogan spent a few hours at the local trading post before catching his plane back to Virginia. He wanted to get something special for Peggy, something in addition to the gift basket of provisions he'd bring from the base for everyone. After he found the perfect gift, he noticed a storybook of Western tales and thought about her son, the son that might be his too. He added it to his purchase and headed off to find his driver.

vvvvvvvvvv

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur for Hogan. Barely enough time to pack, read dossiers and send a brief message to Newkirk and Lord James Crafton that he would soon be in England.

He took special care with his garments, at least the non civilian ones. A major shopping expedition was order, and no PX crap this time, no, he went off to Washington's finest stores, something he almost never did. For the first time since he could remember, Hogan actually bought himself new boxer shorts and t-shirts--good quality ones--and splashed out on a brand new pair of loafers, the kind he'd worn in Connecticut, without socks, since he was a kid. He carefully packed his new garments next to his least worn out khakis and white shirt, then threw in his old navy blazer and a tie. For some reason, he told himself, he wanted to look good for Peggy, whatever the outcome. In his heart, he knew they'd be meeting.

Eventually, Colonel Robert Hogan boarded his transport to England with many question still unanswered.