A/N: This chapter contains some mild language.
Chapter 3
It wasn't long before the door to Hogan's quarters opened, and Sergeant Wilson hurried in, followed closely by LeBeau. As the Frenchman closed the door behind him, Wilson took stock of the situation; glancing first at Hogan, who was tied up and lying on his side on the floor, and then at Newkirk. "What the hell happened?" he asked, noticing the knife sticking out of Newkirk's shoulder.
"We'll explain later," Kinch said, waving the medic over. He moved aside as Wilson walked over and knelt down next to Newkirk.
Wilson flicked his gaze over at Hogan; then lifted his chin, gesturing to him. "What about the colonel; is he hurt, too?"
"Just a right-cross to the jaw," Kinch replied; his expression darkening ever so slightly.
Wilson noticed, and decided not to pursue it for the moment. Instead, he turned his attention back to Newkirk. "Hmm," he murmured while examining him. "Looks like the knife didn't hit anything vital." He reached into his bag that he'd set down next to him and pulled out some clean cloth. "Okay, I'm going to pull the knife out…you want something to bite down on?"
Newkirk shook his head. "Just do it," he uttered.
A slight moan coming from the direction of the door caught their attention.
"LeBeau, maybe you better not watch this," Kinch said, glancing over at the Frenchman, who was looking rather pale. "In fact, why don't you and Carter go check on the colonel."
A flash of anger passed across LeBeau's eyes. "After what he did?"
Carter, who had gotten up when Wilson came over; but, was still hovering near Newkirk, walked over to LeBeau. "Come on, Louis," he said, "I'm sure he didn't mean it. There's gotta be some reason he flipped out like he did."
LeBeau grunted, but he walked over to where Hogan lay, and knelt down next to the unconscious man. Carter circled around the Frenchman; moving up toward the colonel's head before kneeling down on the floor next to LeBeau. The American Sergeant reached over and felt Hogan's pulse; it was strong, but a little fast.
"I think he's okay," Carter directed his response at Wilson.
Wilson gave Carter a short nod; then looked down at Newkirk. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever ruddy be," Newkirk muttered.
Wilson grabbed the handle of the knife, and with one swift motion, yanked it straight out of Newkirk's shoulder. Newkirk moaned, and as the blood began to spurt out of the wound, Wilson pressed the cloth in his hand tight against it. He held it there for a few minutes; then removed the cloth and began to pull Newkirk's shirt up. "We have to get this off you," he said, pushing the material up toward the corporal's head.
Newkirk reached up to grab his shirt, but Kinch stopped him. "Just hold your arms up," he told him as he helped him lean up a little from the floor. Kinch latched onto the bottom of Newkirk's shirt, and gently pulled it over his head. Then he helped his English friend lay back down, noting with concern the look of pain on Newkirk's face.
Fresh blood began to ooze out of the wound, and Wilson immediately pressed another cloth against it. As he kept up the pressure, he glanced over Newkirk's body, and inwardly gasped; in addition to the bruises on his face, he had some on his neck, as well – bruises in the shape of a hand and fingers. He also had a cut across his throat, which, thankfully, appeared to be superficial, and a bruise just below his stomach that was fist-shaped.
"The colonel meant business, didn't he?" Wilson muttered as he lifted the cloth and looked at the stab wound. The bleeding had slowed down, so he reached into his bag and pulled out a few more items. He wiped the area with an antiseptic; then grabbed some sutures. "I have to sew this up," he said, "You sure you don't want something to bite down on?"
Newkirk looked up at Wilson. "What 'ave you got?"
Wilson smiled. He reached into his bag again and grabbed a small, thick bundle of material that had been knotted in several places. "Try this," he said, and as he placed it into Newkirk's open mouth, added, "Made it myself; it's easier on the teeth."
Newkirk bit down while Wilson prepared the suture. As Wilson sewed, he asked, "So, is anyone going to tell me exactly what happened here?"
Just then Hogan let out a groan, and shifted on the floor. His eyes blinked open, and he tried to focus. "What…where am I?" he uttered, "What happened?"
"You tried to kill Newkirk; that's what happened!" LeBeau exclaimed angrily.
"Louis, that's not helping," Carter said quietly.
Hogan looked at LeBeau; his eyes narrowing. "You!" he shouted, "I knew it! You came back to kill me, didn't you?" He started tugging at the rope around his wrists, trying to get his hands free. "Well, I'm not gonna let you!" He rolled onto his back and glared at Carter. "And you! I bet you're here to make me tell you what I know. Well, it won't work; you hear me? I'll never talk!" He continued to struggle with the rope; rolling from side to side, cursing at LeBeau and Carter.
Wilson finished stitching up Newkirk's knife wound, and put something on it to help fight infection. He then covered it with gauze, affixing it to the wound with adhesive tape. By the time Hogan had begun using four-letter words, he was finished. He took the knotted bundle of cloth from Newkirk's mouth and tossed it into his bag.
Newkirk, who'd had his eyes shut tight through most of the stitching, opened them and looked up at Wilson. A few drops slid out from the corners of his eyes; the pain causing them to tear up. "Bloody 'ell," he croaked out; his voice sounding hoarser, "That 'urt worse than the colonel ruddy stabbin' me!" He paused; then asked worriedly, "So, tell me, doc, 'ow's me shoulder?"
Wilson gave Newkirk's forearm a gentle squeeze. "It should heal up fine," he reassured him, "Just try not to move it too much for the next couple of days." He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. After removing two of the pills, he handed them to Newkirk. "Here, take these. They'll help with the pain."
Newkirk took the pills gratefully; quickly popping them into his mouth.
Wilson smiled at him, and put the bottle of aspirin back in his bag. He looked over at Hogan, and his expression changed to worry. "I better go see what I can do for him," he said as he got to his feet, picked up his bag, and walked over to where the colonel was thrashing on the floor. He knelt down next to him; opposite of LeBeau and Carter. "Colonel Hogan," he said loudly, "I need you to calm down right now." He reached over and latched onto Hogan's arm firmly.
Hogan's eyes widened; filled with rage. "No, let me go!" he yelled, attempting to jerk his body away from Wilson, "I'll kill you…" He paused as his gaze swept the room. "All of you!"
"No one's going to hurt you," Wilson stated firmly, "We're trying to help you."
"No! Get your damn hands off me!"
Wilson glanced up at Carter and LeBeau. "Give me a hand, will you?"
Kinch had just finished snagging a blanket off Hogan's bunk and laying it over Newkirk. He heard Wilson's request and went over to help. "What do you need?" he asked the medic.
"I need you to hold him down, so I can check his vitals," Wilson explained.
Kinch nodded. He knelt down next to Wilson and grabbed Hogan's arm, while Carter and LeBeau latched onto the colonel's other arm and held tight. Hogan started to thrash wildly; the words coming out of his mouth so foul they made Carter blush. It was all they could do to keep him semi-still.
Wilson worked quickly, looking for signs that would explain Hogan's current state of mind. After checking him over, he found that Hogan's pulse was rapid; he was breathing heavily and perspiring –although, some of that could be attributed to all the physical exertion – and his pupils appeared dilated. Wilson had a strong suspicion at this point of what the problem was, but there was one last thing he wanted to check before he gave the okay to let Hogan go. He glanced at the three men and said, "Sorry, fellas, but I need you to turn him over."
They all threw Wilson a look of frustration, but after some shifting and manhandling – particularly by Kinch – they managed to get Hogan on his stomach. The colonel renewed his efforts to break free, while shouting a fresh string of expletives and death threats. But his men held him fast and watched Wilson; curious, yet hesitant, to see what the medic had left to examine.
Wilson reached down and grabbed the cuff of one of Hogan's sleeve; then unbuttoned it and pushed it up his arm. He leaned down to get a closer look at his arm; paying special attention to the area in the middle, where the arm bends. Then he did the same with Hogan's other sleeve, once again scrutinizing the inside middle of his arm.
"What are you doing?" asked LeBeau.
"Looking for needle marks," Wilson answered absently. He finished his examination and leaned back. "You can let go now," he said.
The men were more than happy to comply. Carter and LeBeau released their grip on Hogan's arm, while Kinch rolled Hogan onto his side before he let go; trying to make him a little more comfortable.
Hogan was sweating and breathing fast. He stopped struggling once the men had released him, but continued to spout threats and foul language; although, even that was beginning to lessen.
Wilson watched the colonel for a moment; then, one by one, glanced at each of Hogan's men. "I'm pretty sure he's been drugged," he announced.
"Well, that ruddy explains a lot!" Newkirk called out gruffly from across the room.
Kinch nodded slightly, while LeBeau's eyes flew wide. "What? How?" the Frenchman exclaimed.
Carter also looked shocked. "Yeah, how could he be drugged? I mean, we sure don't have any drugs around here, and I don't think the Kommandant keeps stuff like that in his quarters – "
"Hochstetter!" LeBeau blurted out. "I bet it was him! He must have given something to the Colonel when they were in Klink's quarters."
"Or Burkhalter did," Carter suggested.
"Or both of them did," Kinch concluded.
Wilson got up and walked back over to Newkirk. He sat down on the floor next to him and said, "I need you to tell me exactly what the colonel did to you, and how he was acting when he came back from Klink's quarters."
Newkirk's head was pounding, his shoulder was throbbing, his face and gut were sore, and it hurt to swallow; much less talk. But he gripped the blanket that was covering him tightly, and told Wilson everything that had happened; from the time when Hogan returned to the barracks, to when the medic, himself, had shown up. When he was through, his voice had all but disappeared.
"So he'd been drinking…that might explain why the effects of whatever they gave him hit him so hard," Wilson muttered. "And it might also explain how they gave him the drug in the first place, since I didn't find any marks on his arms."
Kinch frowned. "I don't get it. Why they would drug him, and then leave?"
"Maybe they thought it would be fun to let him come back to the barracks, and attack one of us. Filthy Boche!" LeBeau spat angrily.
"Or maybe they didn't want Klink to know," Carter said.
The room grew quiet as each man tried to figure out what Burkhalter and Hochstetter's real intentions were. Finally Wilson spoke up. "Well, we're not going to solve anything tonight. Newkirk, we need to get you to your bunk so you can rest."
"I might 'ave a bit o' trouble, climbin' up there," Newkirk whispered hoarsely.
"Why don't you take my bunk?" Carter offered, "I'll use yours tonight."
Wilson nodded. "That'll work."
"What about the colonel?" LeBeau asked. All eyes went to the man lying on the floor; his hands still tied behind his back.
Hogan glared back, but kept silent. He was beginning to look very tired.
"Can you give him something to knock him out?" Kinch suggested.
Wilson shook his head. "I don't dare. I don't know how it would react with the drug." He thought for a moment. "I think someone should stay here to keep an eye on him. I can do it," he volunteered.
"We can take turns," Kinch said, "I'll relieve you after, say, two hours."
"All right," Wilson replied. He got up and walked over to Hogan. "Here, why don't you help me get him up on the bunk?" He asked, looking at Kinch.
Kinch nodded. He got up and circled around to Hogan's head; then crouched down and slid his hands under the colonel's shoulders. Wilson grabbed Hogan's legs, and together they lifted him up and placed him on the lower bunk. Hogan tried to resist, but it was a weak effort, at best. He did manage to direct a few more choice words at them, however.
Kinch and Wilson made him as comfortable as they could, and covered him with a blanket. Wilson pulled up a chair next to the bunk, and as he took a seat, Kinch walked over to Newkirk. "You're next," he said, grinning down at the Englishman. Then he looked at Carter and waved him over. "Andrew, give me a hand, will ya?"
"Sure thing," Carter responded, stepping quickly over to Newkirk.
"Hey, I just thought of something," LeBeau said, "What are we going to tell the other guys? I mean, about what happened to Newkirk?"
"Well, we'll tell 'em the truth; why wouldn't we?"
LeBeau frowned. "Carter, do you really think it's a good idea for all of the men to know that the colonel tried to kill Newkirk?"
"I think they'll understand, Louis," Kinch interjected, "It's not like the colonel had any control over what he did. If anything, it's going to make the guys hate the Gestapo even more."
LeBeau thought it over for a moment. "Oui, you are right, mon ami. I'm sure they will understand."
Kinch felt a tug on the bottom of his pants. When he looked down, Newkirk said gruffly, "I bloody hate the Gestapo more…especially that twister, Hochstetter!"
Kinch smiled. "Take a number." Newkirk grinned in response. Kinch looked at Carter. "Ready?"
"You bet!" Carter replied. He leaned down at the same time as Kinch, and together they grabbed Newkirk and helped him to his feet.
"Oooh, blimey," Newkirk uttered as his friends brought him to an upright position, "Give me a minute, will you?" His head was pounding like a freight train making its rounds; all that was missing was the whistle.
"Sure, buddy," Carter replied, concerned.
Kinch and Carter waited until Newkirk was ready. Then they guided him out of Hogan's quarters, and led him towards Carter's bunk. LeBeau followed; shutting the door behind him. The card game had dispersed a while ago, and the men looked at them questioningly; having heard some of the shouting coming from the colonel's quarters. After Kinch and Carter got Newkirk situated in Carter's bunk, they turned to the men in the barracks, and Kinch proceeded to tell them what happened. Their reaction was just what he'd expected; understanding for Hogan, and anger at Hochstetter.
When everyone had finally calmed down, Kinch announced that it was time to get some sleep. The men all climbed into their bunks, and soon enough, snoring could be heard permeating throughout the large room. Newkirk was aching everywhere, but he eventually fell into an exhausted sleep; his dreams starting soon after.
"Newkirk, come here."
"Yes, Colonel?"
"You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"
"No, sir, I swear!"
Dark, menacing eyes looking at him; accusing him, threatening him. Suddenly, a hand squeezing his throat…
"I can't breathe!"
"I'm gonna kill you!"
"No! Let me go!"
"Newkirk, mon ami, it's time to wake up."
Newkirk felt a hand on his shoulder, and blinked his eyes open. "Louis, it's you!" he smiled, breathing a sigh of relief.
"Oui, it's me," LeBeau responded, returning his smile. "It's almost time for roll call." His expression changed to concern. "How are you feeling, Pierre?"
"Sore," Newkirk replied, his voice still sounding rough, "And me 'ead's ruddy killin' me."
"I think the colonel has some aspirin in his quarters. I will get you some when I go in there."
"Yeah, Louis, thanks," Newkirk responded. As LeBeau left to wake the others, Newkirk stared after him briefly. Then his gaze wandered to the door to Hogan's quarters, and he couldn't help wondering what was going on in there.
