MAY 1945

She hated to do it, but she had no choice. "Newkirk…" Bluebird said softly, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. "Newkirk… wake up…" He groaned quietly and turned his head. "Something's wrong with the car…"

"Huh…?" Finally his eyes opened… well, one of them did; the left was pretty much out of commission. "Where are we…?" he asked, squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Southeast of Düsseldorf… the car just stalled out and I can't get it started again."

"Bloody German engineering…" He started to sit up, but made the serious mistake of leaning on his right elbow to do so. "Oh…!"

She moved quickly to steady him… no question about it, he wasn't kidding. "Careful…"

"Too late for that, darlin'." With his customary gritty determination, he pushed the blanket back. "Ran into a truncheon with those ribs… clumsy of me…"

She should have shot that Kraut sergeant when she'd had the chance, she told herself… and Hochstetter for extra credit. She took his left hand and helped him out of the back seat and to his feet. He took his time standing up straight; he had to really be hurting not to sprint right over to the open hood.

The night was brightly-lit with a full and brilliant moon, but unfortunately it was shining on the raised hood and not on the engine. It didn't take long for him to realize it was a waste of time. "I can't see anything," he told her, "and I can't be sure of fixin' it even if I could see. We'd best clear off from the car." He looked at the surrounding terrain to evaluate their options. "Looks like a barn or somethin' up that hill a ways… let's see if we can lay low in there 'til mornin'."

It wasn't an easy climb for him with his painful ribs, or her with her high boots, but they managed to help one another up the steep grade, each with a blanket from the back seat in hand. It was a chilly night; full moons were like that during that time of year. If they could find a safe place to lie down and rest for a few hours, they could re-evaluate their position at first light.

They used appropriate caution, entering the barn carefully and quietly with her pistol at the ready, but it was deserted. Enough light shone in from the hayloft window that they could actually see pretty well. The wide floorboards were heaped with clean, dry straw in one corner, which was where they headed.

"You ought to pop me one rather than treat me like glass," he told her as she helped him sit down. "Fallin' asleep on you like that… what if you'd needed backup?"

Broken glass was what she was afraid he most closely resembled. "I bet I could have yelled loud enough to wake you up."

He chuckled, then winced and held his right side. "Never mind," he shook his head. "Worth it."

"I saw a pump outside; I'll go see if I can draw some water."

He handed her the pistol. "Take care," he warned. "We could use a darker night if you ask me; I don't like this moon."

The pump was ancient and difficult to operate, but there was a clean bucket and a ladle beside it; after some effort she filled the bucket three-quarters full and proudly hauled her prize the hundred feet or so back to the barn.

There she found Newkirk stubbornly back on his feet… and somehow that didn't surprise her. What he had found on his tour of the barn, however, did. "Good news," he announced, holding up a closed sack with a flap on it. "It may be a bargain hotel, but at least their restaurant hasn't closed for the night."

"You found food?" she asked admiringly… it hadn't even occurred to her to look.

"Your basic bread and cheese, but fresh as a daisy… probably the farmer's breakfast."

"First come first served."

"Exactly what I was thinkin'." He had already spread one of the blankets out for a picnic, and she added the water to the set-up. "In addition to sleep, I'd have to say food and water are what I've missed most over the past couple of days."

That horrible Gestapo hole he'd been trapped in… but if she started thinking about it she was just going to get upset all over again. While he had a long drink from the ladle, she dunked her pocket handkerchief into the bucket of ice-cold water and wrung it out. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Put that on your eye."

"Worth a try… cheers, darlin'."

While he gingerly held the cold cloth to his bruised eye, she took a moment to pull off the tight blonde wig LeBeau had so carefully pinned in place, tossed it aside and fluffed her own hair back into shape with her fingers. It felt good to be out from under that thing; it was too tight and starting to give her a headache.

Newkirk looked on, silently cursing the fact that he didn't have two good eyes to appreciate the sight. Their little Bluebird had certainly changed a lot in the past year and a half. He'd already had a chance to review the various improvements in the areas set off by the form-fitting black jacket that hugged her waist and hips. Where there had once been a boyish figure with fewer curves than the average motorway, there was now a more feminine silhouette with a touch of sleek, soft roundness in all the right places.

Now this… when she'd pulled off the wig he'd been momentarily surprised to see more shining brown hair than the well-remembered pixie cut, and when she bent forward to fluff out the chin-length curls he almost forgot to breathe. When she tossed her head back again, he felt his jaw drop a little in sheer wonderment. The horrors he'd been forced to endure at the hands of the Gestapo were more than being made up for now. Closing his eyes tonight was going to require the equivalent of an Act of Parliament, in spite of how exhausted he was.

For her part, she had absolutely no idea that what she was doing interested him in the slightest. "That's better."

"That's great…" he couldn't help commenting.

"What?"

"Oh…" He caught himself… barely. "What I mean is…" He smiled at her and shook his head in disbelief… because it was true, he still could hardly believe it. "Agent Bluebird, may I ask you… what in the name of Hitler's mustache are you doin' here?"

"Somebody's gotta keep an eye on you guys," she replied gamely. "Look what happened to you."

"Where did you come from? Where've you been?"

"Paris."

"Oh… finally got to Paris, did you? So how'd you end up back here, then?"

"I'll tell you later… you must be starving."

"A bit peckish, yes."

"I hate to tell you this, but LeBeau's keeping two plates of coq au vin warm for us back at camp."

"Just as well we didn't make it home for dinner, then… I still get heartburn listenin' to Maurice Chevalier. Whatever LeBeau puts in those sauces, they should've been droppin' on Berlin all this time… would've been a much shorter war." He gestured toward the blanket. "Table for two, maddamwaselle? I hope it's not too near the door."

"Pas du tout, ça me convient très bien, monsieur."

"And a 'tray bean' to you too, I'm sure."

"You haven't changed a bit," she laughed, taking the seat he indicated.

Well, Newkirk mused… one of them had.

00o00

Carter checked his watch. "It's eleven o'clock."

"I know," LeBeau nodded.

"They should be back by now, shouldn't they?"

"I know that too…" he said, topping off Kinch's coffee.

"Think she ran into trouble?"

"That I don't know."

Hogan exited his office. "It's eleven o'clock… where are they?"

"We covered that already, Colonel," Kinch advised him. "We don't know."

"I should have gone with her."

"And face a court martial?"

Hogan had seriously considered it. Before Bluebird had shown up, he'd been that close to disregarding the order to stay put. He'd put up with a lot of insanity, a lot of outrageous orders from headquarters over the years, but the day they'd as much as told him that at this point in the war Newkirk wasn't worth the steel in his dogtags had nearly been the day he had disobeyed a direct order and headed for Berlin.

Could Bluebird pull this off alone? He didn't want to sell her short, but this was a tall order. She'd had her share of successes in the past, and some of them had carried long odds, just like this mission did. But failure was always a possibility.

MAY 1942

This was a test. Whether it was of her navigational skills or her patience, Bluebird wasn't sure.

"All I'm sayin' is that it's a lot of walking," Carter said for what had to be the tenth time since they'd blown the railroad bridge and fled the area on foot. The five men were in German uniforms; Bluebird was fairly swimming in an oversized black turtleneck sweater and pants that were belted with knotted rope. It had been a long night, and it wasn't over yet.

"Sorry, Carter, but the A-Line hasn't finished putting in the subway between here and the camp," Hogan told him.

"Write your congressman," was Kinch's suggestion.

"It's not that I don't like the woods."

Regents Park was Newkirk's idea of roughing it, and even that wasn't exactly to his liking. Given the choice, he preferred paving stones under his feet. "We're ever so glad you approve."

"Hey, did I ever tell you I was a Boy Scout troop leader back home?"

"I think you did mention it once... I was pretendin' to be asleep at the time. Looks like me luck's run out."

"We go on overnight hikes and everything. My kid brother's in my troop."

"Oh, là là..." LeBeau murmured. "Two Carters."

"Tell me, Carter," Hogan said, "do you generally find that the number of scouts you go into the woods with is the same as the number you come out with?"

"I think I respectfully resent that implication... sir."

"Just asking."

"My troop even earned merit badges for the last overnight we went on before I got drafted."

Kinch, who also felt a certain nostalgic fondness for the pavement in his hometown of Detroit, reached ahead of him and pulled a handful of leaves from the collar of Carter's German uniform. "I'm guessing they weren't in Pathfinding."

"Nope, it was harder than that," Carter said with pride.

"All right..." Newkirk said after a few moments of silence. "I'll do it... Carter, which merit badge did your ruddy troop earn?"

Carter lost a bit of his enthusiasm. "Uh... f... first aid..."

"Right. And the rest of it?"

"They used only what they were able to find in the woods... to… um…"

"Go on."

"… treat my case of poison oak..."

"I thought as much."

"How much further?" LeBeau asked. "My blisters have blisters."

"Check with our navigator," Newkirk advised. "If you see a big sign sayin' 'Welcome to France,' it's a good bet we've overshot."

Bluebird checked the compass again. "We're about twenty minutes out by my estimate, and we're headed due north." Newkirk, directly behind her, had been making sure to complain with every other step, more than likely in an attempt to rattle her. She didn't plan to give him the satisfaction.

"You can also navigate by the stars," Carter put in. "Did you know that?"

"So we should be looking for a sign that says 'Welcome to the Milky Way'?" Kinch inquired.

"With Birdbrain and Carter leadin' the way?" Newkirk chuckled. "Any minute, mate... any minute."

Bluebird let the branch she'd pushed aside snap back and catch him in the face after she passed, gratified by the sudden startled sputter she heard directly behind her. "Oops."

"We could do another bridge tomorrow night," Carter picked up. "I've got enough spare parts to rig at least a small charge." He patted the pocket of his uniform affectionately. To Carter, detonator caps were almost like hamsters.

"I thought we might take tomorrow off," Hogan said. "Stay home, relax... that is, if we ever get home."

Bluebird was just about to take that as a vote of no confidence in her figures... and just about to double-check them to make sure she knew what she was doing... when suddenly they all heard the sound of feet... not their own... in the woods behind them. Hogan signaled for immediate silence so they could listen. Voices... German voices... too close for comfort. Even though they were in German uniforms, they always preferred not to have to confront the enemy, especially in a hard-to-explain place like the middle of a forest in the dark of night with a still-smoldering bridge less than a mile behind them. Now it was a whole new ballgame. Everyone fell silent, everyone put a hand on his sidearm.

Bluebird knew she really could be a liability to them at this point. This was where it got hard… the men all knew each other inside and out, could anticipate each other's thoughts and movements, functioned like a well-oiled machine. She could be a viable part of a team, but she had to know that team and they had to know her. There was no time for discussion or second-guessing. She made eye contact with Colonel Hogan so he'd be aware she was with him… the others didn't need to do that, but she did. She wasn't part of this machine… at least not yet.

All six of them hit the dirt when a burst of machine gun fire ripped up the ground way too close to their feet. "Halt!" a not-to-be-trifled-with voice, also way too close, ordered. They halted… Hogan hadn't told them otherwise. The patrol had them… they weren't just randomly spraying the woods; they saw them clear as day and they had deliberately missed, not accidentally.

"On your feet, all of you!" a different voice ordered. "Throw your weapons to the ground and stand up slowly… keep your hands in the air!"

Bluebird did what she was told… but she knew she would have felt a lot more secure if she'd been closer to the rest of her unit, who were between her and the voices. At least, she felt that way until she heard the next command. "All five of you… turn around slowly!"

Five? There were six of them. Suddenly she realized that those goons didn't see her. They were so focused on Hogan and the others that they hadn't realized that a sixth member of the group, a smaller and better-camoflaged member, had also been caught in their net.

And if they didn't know she was in the net, maybe they wouldn't notice if she got out of it.

She crouched back down to reclaim her revolver, then stood up halfway. Very slowly, hardly daring to shift her weight, she moved one foot in the opposite direction from the patrol, fearing that at any moment another shot would ring out but she wouldn't hear it because she'd be dead where she stood. Nothing. The line of Hogan's men blocked her from sight of the patrol. She took another step. Still nothing… not directed at her anyway; the patrol was demanding identification from the colonel who was trying to buy time with some backtalk. Two more steps, then behind a tree… she was away!

Now to circle back and get the drop on the patrol from behind. After that, she wasn't sure what came next. But she had to hurry; she didn't know how long Hogan could stall.

As for the five Allied POWs who'd just been caught in German uniforms and had visions of firing squads dancing in their heads, the number 'five' struck a chord with them as well. Bluebird made six… where was she? They tried their hardest to scan the surrounding terrain without making it obvious that they were looking for someone… if she had gotten free, they didn't want to give her away and initiate a search. On the other hand… had she been hit by the warning rounds?

And there was more bad news… one of the members of the patrol had found the spare detonator parts in Carter's pocket. "Are you aware, Herr Major…" the head goon asked Hogan, "that not a mile from here, a vital bridge has just been sabotaged?"

"I haven't read the evening paper yet," Hogan countered smoothly. "Delivery is a little spotty this far out in the country. Hard to make it through the woods on a bicycle."

"Your identity papers are false and your man here is carrying American-made explosives."

The papers were good forgeries; he was guessing there, based on what he'd found Carter carrying. Unfortunately, there was also Kinch to explain… and Hogan knew full well he couldn't. Kinch in uniform was sometimes necessary for the sake of sheer numbers, but no one would ever mistake him for a Kraut. One of the other patrol members had already noticed that. They were in deep this time.

Giving Carter a rough jab with the butt of his rifle produced a startled "Hey, watch it!" in perfect American English.

"Ein Amerikaner," the captain nodded knowingly. "You are all American?"

Hogan prayed that neither LeBeau nor Newkirk would take the bait… if they did manage to get out of this alive, this chorus line in jackboots would come looking for them, and they already had a real good description… adding a Frenchman and a Brit to the details would only make them that much easier to find, and Stalag 13 would be the logical place to look. Even Klink would be able to put two and two together and realize who those guys were looking for.

Bluebird was just about where she thought she should be in order to advance on the patrol when she saw something very surprising… there was a Luftwaffe general standing in the clearing listening to everything that was being said up ahead. What was a general doing out there in the middle of the night? Then she decided she didn't care… the next words spoken by the captain ran her blood cold.

"Turn around," he said sharply. "All of you. Now."

"You want to play pin the tail on the donkey?" Hogan goaded him. "It's getting kinda late. And we've got church in the morning."

"Turn around, I say!" She could hear ten unwilling feet shifting in the low brush. "On your knees… hands behind your heads."

That was execution position! No… oh no…

She had no more time to evaluate her options; she stepped up behind the general, pulled the hammer back on her pistol as she aimed it at his head and said "Ein moment, Herr General."

He stopped cold… exactly as she'd hoped. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Order your captain to release those men."

"No."

"Do it." No response. If she shot first, then maybe… "Three, two, one…"

"Kapitän!" A coward, just as she'd been hoping. So many of the so-called upper echelon were. "Release those men!"

Hogan had just grudgingly dropped to his knees, hands behind his neck, and on either side of him LeBeau, Kinch, Newkirk and Carter had followed suit. So this was it. He'd often wondered how it would all end… but getting shot in the back didn't appeal to him in the slightest, and he was wracking his brain trying to come up with some other option… a diversion… anything. If even one of them could get away, it would be better than the entire unit going down.

He risked a glance to his right… Kinch had a look of resignation and stared straight ahead; Carter wasn't bothering to be stoic and instead just looked sincerely frightened. On his left, Newkirk was about fifty percent furious and fifty percent nervous, and LeBeau had his eyes closed and was moving his lips in a silent prayer. "Men…" he began, "I…"

Then the call from the dark forest reached their ears. Someone ordering their release? Who? Why? They all looked at one another in confusion.

The captain was confused as well… maybe even more so. "But sir, these men are obviously spies, and probably sabateurs as well!"

"Try again, Fritz," Bluebird commanded, still with her gun trained on the back of his head. "Fast."

He took a breath and called, louder this time, "You have my order, Kapitäin! Release them! Schnell!"

Hogan and the others heard the most beautiful sound in the world… the sound of rifles being lowered. "Get out of here," the captain said in disgust. "Move!"

They didn't have to be told twice… all five of them were up and running before the captain could change his mind.

Again.

00o00

When they reached the tree stump that concealed the entrance to the tunnel, nobody bothered with the lower half of the ladder; when they got within jumping distance of the floor they just did so to save a couple of seconds and let the next one start down.

When Carter's feet hit the floor he just kept going… he sunk down to a sitting position, his back against the dirt wall. "Jiminy…" he gasped. "I never knew my heart could beat so fast…"

Newkirk dropped down beside him. "Funny… mine's stopped."

Bluebird was next, then LeBeau; he kept his feet, but only by leaning heavily on the radio desk. "Level with me…" Kinch struggled out. "My hair's gone completely gray, right?"

Even the usually calm and collected Hogan realized that his pulse was racing like an overloaded train on a long downhill run. "Everybody all right?"
Various murmurs, gasps and groans all more or less confirmed that they were. "Who was that who gave the captain the order?" Kinch wondered.

"A general…" Bluebird replied, still out of breath from the headlong run through the woods.

"A general?" Hogan asked. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Racing stripes… both pant legs… not Burkhalter… but I think they both shop the same fat-man outlets."

"Why would a general want us let go?" Carter asked.

"Who said it was his idea?"

Hogan couldn't believe his ears for a second. "You mean, you…?"

She nodded. "Yeah…"

"How did you know…"

She shook her head. "I didn't know… the patrol didn't see me so I tried to circle around and get behind them… then I saw the general… then I heard…" Never mind what she'd heard; they all knew perfectly well… she'd heard them ordered to their knees to be shot in the back. "I stuck my gun at his head and told him to let you go… I didn't think he would, but I thought… if I shot first… maybe it would distract the patrol so you could get away."

LeBeau grabbed her hand and kissed it. "What do you want for dinner? Name it… cheeseburgers… hot dogs… anything…"

"Then it was luck…" Newkirk said.

"Newkirk…" Hogan began. "You want to go back out there and try yours again with that patrol?"

"It was luck," Bluebird nodded. "You got that right. I didn't plan any of that."

Newkirk had to admit one thing. "I can't argue with your results."

"I was hoping you couldn't," Hogan said, "although the two of you seem to be able to argue about just about anything else. Now… what's a fat Kraut general doing in the woods this time of night?"

"I have a theory, sir," she spoke up.

"Okay, let's hear it."

"I've heard that some of the generals have stashes… money, jewelry, art… in places like unused ammo dumps. You know, out in the middle of nowhere. They get nervous when there's an advance and they either feel like visiting their stash or moving it. Maybe this guy was checking his account balance."

"Plausible…" Hogan mused. "Where'd you pick up on that?"

"Danzig's group was trying to track some stolen art. They followed up a lead from an informant and found a few smaller pieces but didn't uncover the mother lode."

"Maybe we'll have to take a closer look around that clearing… the real owners might appreciate getting their stuff back, if there is anything hidden out there. Good thinking, Bluebird… and I guess I really don't have to tell you this, but nice work out there tonight. My life insurance company is very grateful."

"Thank you, sir…" she nodded. "I'm just glad everybody's okay."

"One question."

"Sir?"

"Would you have shot that general?"

She nodded slightly. "I've done it before… it's not my first choice."

"Ours either."

"But one life for five… yes sir, I would have shot him."

Not cocky, or boastful, or arrogant… just an honest answer to a tough question. Hogan had to admit, he was beginning to like this young woman. She was turning out to be a better operative than he could have imagined from first impressions.

MAY 1945

"I was going to look you up," Newkirk was saying. "After the war, I mean… you know, just to say hello."

She smiled as she finished the last of her bread and cheese. "You don't have to say that."

"I mean it… really I do." His voice had gotten very soft… she wasn't sure if it was because he was so tired or if he was just treading carefully. "When they reassigned you like that… so fast… I never got a chance to tell you goodbye or anythin'."

"I missed you," she nodded. "I mean… all of you."

"I didn't know how I was going to find you… I realized I didn't even know your name."

That's right… of course he didn't; she'd never told him and there was no other way he could have found it out. "Jenny…" she said, feeling strange to say those few syllables that it felt like a lifetime ago had had something to do with her. "Jenny Kimball."

"That's very pretty."

She didn't know what to say… desperately she grabbed the first topic that presented itself. "Your lip is bleeding again."

He looked annoyed… at himself, not at her. "What I was tryin' to say…"

"It's late…" she put in. "And we're both tired… and we need to be ready to move out at dawn."

"Right…" he nodded with not a hint of enthusiasm. He touched the still-damp handkerchief to his lip. "Well… better turn in, then."

Two blankets, two bivouacs, was what she had envisioned… how had it escaped her that Newkirk would be one step ahead of her there? By the time she had hung the bag back up on its nail, with ten marks to cover what they'd taken, he had arranged one blanket to cover the thickest section of straw and the other one on top. "Likely to get chilly tonight," he offered by way of explanation. "We can't start a fire."

She wasn't too sure about that. Leave Newkirk to make co-ed sleeping arrangements, and this was what you got. No, he hadn't changed… she remembered watching him try similar approaches with the beautiful Underground agents who'd worked with Hogan's team at one point or another. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not so well. Once he'd gotten his face slapped, and LeBeau had chuckled about that for days.

Too bad for him all he had to work with tonight was her. Laughable. Maybe the Gestapo had hit him a little harder than he realized.

She joined him on the blanket and he pulled the second one up to cover them both. The straw wasn't too uncomfortable, but it would take a little getting used to. She reached underneath and tried to build up enough of a bump to use as a pillow.

Newkirk crooked his left arm behind his head and glanced in her direction. "You all right?"

"Mmm hmm," she nodded. "'Night." In fact, she was more than all right. For tonight, a not-so-beautiful Underground agent was getting a turn. The fact that it was by default hardly made any difference to her at all. No, this was just fine.

Newkirk, with the benefit of his nap in the back of the staff car between Berlin and Düsseldorf, was tired but not yet ready for sleep. His mind was working a hundred different angles and concerns… how to fix the car, how to get them both back to Stalag 13 if he couldn't fix the car, what time was the farmer likely to arrive in the morning, how nice the chestnut curls that spilled across the blanket just a few inches away looked in the cool light of the moon… no, scratch that, he wasn't supposed to be thinking about that… were there any patrols on the road that would find the car, had the Allies reached Stalag 13 yet, was that silk he had felt when his hand had brushed the sleeve of her blouse earlier, trained and sensitive fingers that could pick a lock or a pocket with ease?

No… that would only complicate things. He would do nothing to make their already precarious situation any worse. His duty was to protect his partner and get them both back home safe and sound. This wasn't just some dame, this was Bluebird. She had made it perfectly clear to all of them, he didn't know how many times, that she didn't want to be thought of as a girl, but as a colleague, another member of the team. She was also his friend, and he wanted to keep it that way.

She was asleep already; he could tell by her breathing. She would never know… what harm was there? He shifted slightly, just enough to enable him to touch his lips to his sleeping companion's forehead. "Goodnight, Jenny…" he whispered.

He finally dropped off himself about twenty minutes later, but it was without having answered any of the questions he'd been mulling. Well, one… yes, that definitely was silk. Very nice indeed.