4

Hogan shook his head, waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps to fade away. "Right, now, is there anything else I need to know before I see you all back at the enchanted castle?"

Newkirk squeezed Nightingale's shoulder, since she seemed to have passed out. "'Ey, anythin' else you didn't tell us?"

She stirred, creased her eyebrows and looked thoughtful before shaking her head. "Umm, no."

Hogannodded to his men, turning to follow Kinch. "Great. I'll see you-"

She fidgeted nervously, reluctant to say this next part, but knowing that she had to. "Except that the film isn't on me." She flinched, anticipating the colonel's next outburst.

"Not on you."

He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look at her.

"What do you mean it's not on you?"

He stalked over to her and crouched down, not wanting to shout and advertise their location. Instead, his voice was almost playful but with barely concealed rage underneath the mirth. "You said you kept it with you. Where the heck is it?"

She shrank away from Hogan a little, moving closer to Newkirk. Her shoulders slumped, and she sagged against his arm.

Newkirk gave her a little shake, trying to rouse her, but she didn't respond. He gave a tired sigh and shifted his hold on her, trying to make sure that she wouldn't slip out of his grasp. "It's no good, guv'nor. She's out cold."

Carteraimed his flashlight at them, worry creasing his normally cheerful face. "Boy, I guess she really is hurt."

Newkirk glanced down at what she was wearing and frowned. A brown jacket covered her plain blouse, falling short of her green skirt's hemline. With any luck, she might have put it in one of her jacket pockets and simply remembered wrong.

"Sorry, luv." Newkirk apologized to her slumped form, despite the fruitlessness of the gesture. Hogan supposed that his British corporal didn't feel right about frisking an unconscious lady, and Hogan didn't blame him for his qualms. The corporal passed his hands lightly over the jacket, looking for a pocket with any kind of bulge in it. All of her pockets were empty.

He shook his head, squinting up at Hogan in the dimness. "It musta been in 'er saddle bag, guv, but when 'er horse got spooked it ran off."

"Taking the film with it." Hogan buried his face in his hands, scowling and shaking his head. "That's great. That is great!"

The longer they stayed out of camp, the more likely they'd be caught and shot by a patrol. Or worse. If they were interrogated, someone might slip up and give away important information about their operation or the underground before they were executed. Hogan consoled himself with the thought that most of the patrols would have been pulled to the east to investigate the destruction of the bridge, and not many would be in the north, where the supply depot was, but he still worried about the safety of his men. Carrying out their missions and winning the war were important, but the last thing Hogan wanted was to lose anyone. They'd become a close-knit, if unusual, family since they'd all been captured, and he'd be damned if he lost a single one of them because of some dame. Besides which, they couldn't just leave the film cannister lying around in the woods. If it was found and traced back to her, it might put members of the Hammelburg Underground at risk. Worse yet, they were taking her back to the camp. If by some chance it was found and it led the German authorities to Stalag 13, which was probably where Hocstetter would be sniffing around in a few days for clues about the sabotage, their whole operation would be blown wide open. No. They couldn't leave any breadcrumbs for the Krauts.

He pushed himself up from the ground, squinting at Carter. "Andrew, you grew up on a farm, right?"

"Yes sir. But we only had a couple horses-"

Hogan waved a hand, cutting him off. "Yeah, yeah. Look, find this horse, get the film and get madam back to camp."

Carter nodded. "Right, sir. See you back there."

Hogan smirked, patting Carter's shoulder. "Yeah, if we don't get shot." He shook his head and set off after Kinch at a quick pace, muttering to himself. "I need a vacation…"

"Right, Andrew, let's get 'er up." Newkirk paused, craning his neck to look at her thoughtfully. As far as he could tell, she was still out cold. "Think she can walk?"

"'M not sure," she mumbled and squeezed her eyes tightly shut before attempting to move.

Carter shook his head. "It'd be faster if we carried her, even if she can walk."

Newkirk stopped her from trying to sit with a gentle hand on her arm. "'E's right. You watch out for trouble, Carter, and I'll take care of the lady."

He was about to scoop her into his arms when her eyes went wide in alarm. "You have to find my horse!"

"Sorry, luv, but I'm more worried about gettin' you back to our 'ome sweet 'ome in one piece, like the colonel said to."

Carter shook his head again. "The colonel also said to find the film."

Newkirk rolled his eyes dramatically. "'Ow important can it be, Andrew? More important than-"

He looked down to see Nightingale grasping his arm. Despite her injuries, she managed to have a firm grip, proving how urgent she was to convince him. "Important enough for me to risk my life getting it to you." She looked worried but determined that they not leave without the film.

Newkirk sighed, flexing his hands nervously. He nodded to Carter. "All right, but be quick about it. Meantime, luv, let's try to keep you warm." He took off his jacket, draping it over her and carefully gathering her into his arms. He knew that his thin jacket wouldn't do much good, but combined with some of his body heat, it might keep her from freezing.

Carter shrugged off his fleece-lined bomber jacket and handed it over. "Here, mine's warmer."

He seemed concerned when he saw the blood on Newkirk's hands, momentarily stopping what he was doing, but after a headshake and a sharp look from Newkirk, he didn't ask about the blood and was quick to get back on task.

"D'you know where the horse might have gone?"

Nightingale frowned, trying to think as Newkirk covered her with the second jacket. The sudden warmth of his body against her back, as well as the jackets draped over her, and the feeling of relief at having made contact with members of the underground, were all combining to make her very drowsy.

"She was nearby until the explosion off to the east, I'm not sure where she went after that. Her name's Frieda."

Carter nodded and started heading west, figuring that the frightened animal would have run away from the blast. "Here, Frieda. Here girl. Nice Frieda..." He walked off into the woods, softly calling the mare's name, trying to coax her out of hiding.

"So," Newkirk cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. He'd always been something of a ladies' man, so why would one girl make him flustered? He was surprised that none of his usual chat-up lines were coming to mind, and had to think hard before coming up with something to say.

"'Ow long 'ave you lived in Germany, luv? Your English's too good for you to be a native."

She closed her eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer, and turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on Newkirk's chest. "A few years. Since '34."

Nightingale shivered, so Newkirk adjusted Carter's jacket over her, whistling low. "That's more'n a few years, luv. Why'd you come 'ere, of all places?"

"Family issues. It's a long story." She shifted against him, letting her head rest more heavily on his chest. Nightingale twisted to one side, wanting to avoid putting any pressure on the back of her head, and ended up with her cheek pressed just below Newkirk's shoulder.

A cold wind whipping through the trees convinced him to put his hands under Carter's jacket. "Sorry, luv. Just tryin' to warm me 'ands up." He paused mid-motion while rubbing his palms together. "'Old on. 'Family issues'?" Newkirk chuckled. "Don't tell me you're part Kraut?"

"No." She smiled drowsily, eyes still closed. "I married one."

Newkirk stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like it had a mind of his own. A little while later, when Carter came back with the horse, Newkirk still hadn't managed to say anything to Nightingale.

"Shh, easy Frieda. See, it's alright." Carter stopped a few feet away and looped the reins around a low branch. He petted the mare's nose soothingly. "See, your person is okay. How're you guys do-" His voice died when he saw how cozy Newkirk and Nightingale were.

"Holy cow! Never mind how, what are you doin'?"

Newkirk rolled his eyes, keeping his voice low. He wasn't sure if Nightingale had fallen asleep or passed out, but in either case he didn't want to wake her. "Ease off, Carter. I'm just keepin' me 'ands warm with your jacket. No cause for a fuss. You find it alright?"

Carter nodded, holding up the canister and shifting from one foot to the other, shivering. "Yeah, right where you thought it'd be. Geez, it's cold out here! Hand me back my jacket, will ya?"

Newkirk shot him a scorching look. "An' let 'er freeze? Not a chance, mate. I'm cold, too, but we can make it back to camp all right. It's not more'n two miles, an' we'll be movin' along quick."

Carter smiled disarmingly. "Oh, heck, I didn't mean for her to be cold, but- " he stepped over to the saddle and loosened a bundle. "We can wrap her in this."

Carter walked over to Newkirk and the woman, clumsily trying to unroll the bundle. It started to unfurl and he caught the end, stopping it from trailing on the ground.

"See, it's a blanket."

Newkirk smiled. It never failed to amaze him how happy Carter could get over something as basic as a blanket, but his amusement faded when Nightingale didn't open her eyes. Carter and Newkirk retrieved their jackets and hastily put them back on before carefully wrapping the blanket around her. Newkirk got to his feet with some help from Carter, and they set off for camp, hoping the rest of Hogan's crew wouldn't run into any trouble.