Hogan and Max made two more stops that evening. The second stop had been at the insistence of Max and Liza's father, and it had taken both men threatening Hogan to make it happen. Max had promised to withdraw his cooperation and the doctor had painted such a grim picture of Hogan's chances for recovery without treatment that in the end the colonel acquiesced.
A strategic retreat, he called it. Hell, if it worked for German military moral...
The hospital was quiet and mostly empty. Max's papers helped to get the underground doctor and Hogan into the building. A personal friend and colleague of the doctor saw Hogan into an occupied room where he could be examined and treated.
The American colonel had changed into civilian clothes, spoke only German and was easily passed off as a local businessman wanting to avoid the attention of the town police. His condition, they claimed, was the result of excess drink and the false bravado that alcohol tended to produce.
While Helen/Liza's father went with his surgeon colleague to discuss treatment, Hogan found himself alone in the room with a very familiar figure. He had been told that the patient was unconscious. The previous visitor had left a few hours before for a hotel room in town, and Hogan was encouraged to speak to the patient if he desired.
It was all part of a new theory of treatment, according to the surgeon.
'Explains why LeBeau and Newkirk were stuck in the hospital all day,' Hogan thought. And what a day it had been. Hogan leaned forward, for a moment forgetting his injuries, and started to prop his head on his hands, his elbows on his thighs. The moment his arms touched the dense bruises the pain sparked and the colonel hissed, quickly straightening again.
"Damn it..." He grunted, waiting for the throbbing to numb again. "I'd warn you never to have kids, Schultz, but I know it's too late for that."
The man in the bed, of course, did not respond. Hogan watched his massive chest rise and fall behind the sheer curtain.
"I'm glad you're still with us. Of all the Krauts I could do without, you're one of the ones I think I'd miss."
Hogan let his mind cast back, netting the thousands of memories that involved the jovial guard. Take the uniform off the man and Schultz was a loving father, a jovial Lothario, an enthusiastic connoisseur and a cheerful asset to any project whose purpose was happiness. Add the uniform back into the mix and you had a loyal NCO...though the object of that loyalty tended to vary. Could it still be called loyalty if that which you were loyal to changed constantly?
'But he's always trying,' Hogan thought. 'Mostly trying Klink's patience...'
'Jolly joker...' Hogan heard Schultz' voice in his head. 'I wouldn't try the Kommandant's patience so much if you boys would not carry on with your monkey business.'
Monkey business. Judging by the communication between Max and Kinch it was their monkey business that had caused Schultz's attack. By pushing the limit of the German guard's endurance Hogan had put his entire operation at risk. In many ways he hadn't had a choice, yet, he wondered, would it have been better or worse if Hogan had been the one on the roadside, and his men the ones in the woods with Helen.
Would they have passed on the information and left it at that? Would they have tried to follow the girl back to the safe house?
"Newkirk? Yes." Hogan said, thinking aloud. "He wouldn't have been able to ignore Liza's charms. Now Kinch...Kinch might have tried to bring the girl back to camp. LeBeau would have been skeptical about the whole thing." The colonel sighed. "Carter would have been lost in thought figuring out how to make a bomb with nothing but leaves and thorn bushes.
And if Hogan had been the one on the roadside with Schultz when the man's heart burst?
"The boys care about ya, Schultz." Hogan said quietly. "LeBeau complains about the strudel, Newkirk complains about everything else, Kinch balks at the slights but...they all care. They're big hearted, whether they want to admit to it or not." Hogan thought about the work they had been doing and the lives that it had affected, some permanently. They were soldiers. "Soldiers take lives. The irony is that the killing is supposed to save lives."
Hogan found himself suddenly proud of his men for saving the life of an enemy soldier.
Max was worried about finding someone he could trust again, and for his faith in humanity. Hogan smiled softly when he realized that his own proof of the endurance of humanity worked and lived with him twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
And the German guard in the bed beside him was included in that number.
"You're a good man, Sergeant." Hogan said, suddenly hit by a molasses-like wave of exhaustion that made his arms feel like lead, and his head thick with mercury.
"Good...man..." A voice responded in between long heavy breaths, the words muffled slightly by the barrier of the oxygen tent.
Hogan's eyes widened to saucers and he stood, pulling the chair with him for support until he was standing over Schultz's bed. The big man's eyes were barely open, but Hogan could see the faintest glimmer of blue.
"Schultz?"
The eyes opened a little more, rolled across the span of the ceiling then settled on the blurred figure beyond the oxygen tent.
"Hogan? What...are you...doing here?"
Reaching over his head Hogan carefully shifted the curtain to the side and rested his hand on the sergeant's shoulder. He didn't know if Schultz knew where he was, or why. He didn't want his presence to cause yet another heart attack, either. His mouth was open and moving even before he'd fully thought through where he was headed, but as he began to speak Hogan could see the slight tension in Schultz's brow relax.
"I'm here to tell you a story, Schultz. It's a good story too. It's got frauleins in it..." Hogan grinned and he saw Schultz's mouth quirk slightly upward. "And adventure, and a brave hero."
"I...like it...already." Schultz said, the effort of speech taxing him.
Hogan patted the man's shoulder gently and said, "You're really gonna like it Schultz, but I'm only going to tell it to you if you promise to lie still and stop talking."
This time Hogan caught the full smile before it disappeared. "That.." the big man said, "I can do."
Hogan grinned, the wave of exhaustion leaving him just as quickly as it had come. "Once upon a time..." He began. "There was a great big kingdom ruled by a lovable and handsome king named Hans..."
As the morning sun rose over the stalag Carter blinked abused and tired eyes, and leaned back from the periscope sight disguised as a sink, his eyes crossing for the umpteenth time. The guard at the door had prevented him from using the usual lookout spot, and the cold morning had frosted the windows on the outside. The tomato can in the water barrel was the only alternative and, needless to say, Carter had never been a bird watcher.
He waited patiently for his eyes to relax then leaned forward again to stare at the same nothing that he'd been staring at all morning long. Only this time there was something to see. The expected staff car with General Burkhalter packed inside had just rolled into camp, followed by a second staff car with Gestapo markings. The other prisoners in the barracks were still asleep, so Carter went himself to the trick bunk and triggered the mechanism.
The sound of the bunk rising should have, on its own, been warning enough to Kinch that something required his attention. Just in case, Carter knelt by the opening, slumping against the supports, and called down to the staff sergeant.
Minutes later when Kinch responded, Carter was already asleep, snoring lightly.
Kinchloe woke Andrew with a shake. "What's up?"
"Burkhalter and Gestapo..." Carter muttered, then tried to force himself awake as the words which otherwise inspired fear in the hearts of men, echoed in his head.
Kinch sighed and climbed the rest of the way out of the hole, waiting for Carter to get back to his feet before closing the entrance. "They got here pretty quick. I was hopin' there'd be time to get breakfast going, at least."
Carter was on his feet but he was beginning to believe that he was dreaming. Kinch's words didn't really match the situation, and Kinch's behavior didn't match anything. The man was way too relaxed for what had been going on in the past twenty-four hours.
Maybe, Carter thought groggily, the staff sergeant was sick. Stumbling forward a few feet Carter reached up and pressed the back of his hand against Kinch's forehead, then rested the same hand on the man's shoulder, concern deeply furrowing his brow. "Kinch...I think you should get some rest."
The tall black man blinked in confusion at his fellow American, coming to the same conclusion about Carter up until he realized the motivation for Andrew's behavior.
A lot had changed in the past few hours, but all of it had taken place in the solitude of the tunnels. None of the other men would have a clue that the situation had taken an unexpected turn for the better.
With a grin Kinch slapped Carter on the shoulder and said, "I'll be alright, Andrew. In fact, we're all gonna be alright, I think. Get the guys up for roll call. I'll see if I can't make something like coffee before we gotta go out there."
