MAY 1945

Bluebird scaled the bunk with reasonable grace and laid down. A thin mattress, no pillow, threadbare blanket… still, it felt great to be here. She'd gotten used to being stashed down in the tunnel with the rest of the secrets during her assignment at Stalag 13; it would have been suicide to allow her to stay topside all night, but tonight there was no one to do a midnight bed-check, no one to mind that she was there. She crossed her arms behind her head, drew up one knee and took a moment to congratulate herself before speaking. "'Night, fellas." She was well aware that anyone who heard those words could tell that she was smiling. Well… so she was.

And so were they.

"Goodnight, Bluebird." Kinch.

"'Night, Bluebird." Carter.

"Bonne nuit, ma belle." LeBeau.

And the one she'd been waiting for. "Night-night, darlin'."

It meant nothing. She knew that. It was one of his words, that was all… she'd heard him say that to countless female Underground agents, to Tiger, to Fraulein Helga… if you weren't a boy and weren't Gertrude Linkmeyer, you qualified as 'darlin'". It was nothing of any significance.

But it sounded so good. And she was back. And the war was over. And her ankle had stopped hurting. And… she was a little drunk. So she let the word echo in her head for a bit. Darlin'. What harm could it do?

That kiss he'd stolen on the tank, Newkirk mused… he shouldn't have. He knew that… but that seldom stopped him. They were friends, after all, and he did want very much to stay that way. She didn't want to be thought of as a girl; she'd made that crystal clear a hundred times during her assignment at Stalag 13. She didn't think of him that way. And she'd been away a long time… for all he knew there was a handsome Underground agent waiting for her back in Paris.

Well… the bloke had better be on the up-and-up. A decent chap. He'd find himself answering to Peter Newkirk otherwise, and no mistake.

Colonel Hogan entered the barracks proper, wearing his customary pajamas and robe. All was right with the world, he told himself with a healthy amount of self-satisfaction… the upper bunk to the right of the door was occupied once again; the bruised but still insouciant corporal who laid claim to it was up there in that incongruous striped nightshirt of his, looking exhausted but happy to be home. Stalag 13 wasn't the Ritz, but it was still a cut above the Gestapo prison he'd spent the last few nights in. At least he could fall asleep here knowing that he wouldn't wake up with a knife at his throat.

And Bluebird… up there in the bunk on the other side of the room, looking like she didn't have a care in the world.

Sometimes it was a funny war.

SEPTEMBER 1943

"All right," Hogan told them. "Everybody knows the plan. Let's move."

The Gestapo cell block was dark, clammy and cold… they could feel it even though their heavy black topcoats. As they worked their way down the corridor, Hogan in the lead as was customary, all four of them stopped in their tracks when somewhere in the distance they heard a woman scream. Before the echo had even faded, Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau completely forgot what it was they were supposed to do and had taken three steps running toward the sound.

"Hold it!" Hogan snapped.

"But sir!" LeBeau protested.

"I said hold it… all of you. Keep your heads and stick to the plan or none of us will make it out of here alive!"

He himself wasn't immune; that scream had sent a cold chill down his back as well. He wasn't prepared to swear it had been Bluebird… but it could have been. He never should have agreed to this, never should have let her assist the Hammelburg cell without asking more questions about who was in charge and what the mission would entail. They were all good people, but they didn't have the organization or the experience; they'd bitten off way more than they could chew and now three of them including Bluebird had been caught and brought to this last-stop-before-eternity. He didn't have any idea what kind of shape she'd be in when they got to her, but one thing was for sure… she'd be the worse for wear.

All the corridors looked alike. They split up and started checking the cells one by one, snapping open each peephole door and looking to see who was inside. Bluebird, Neptune, and Firefly had to be found first… then, if they could, they would come back and free as many of the others as possible.

"Colonel!" Carter called. "I think I've got her!"

Hogan took a quick look through the small hole in the door… yes; it was a woman all right, she had short dark hair and she was tied to a chair. That was about all he could see in the gloom. "Open it," he ordered.

Carter jammed the key into the lock with shaking hands. It went in but didn't turn. "Oh, for pete's sake…" He jiggled it. Still nothing.

"Hurry up, Carter!" Newkirk urged.

"I'm doing the best I can!" he countered.

"Then we'll just ask her to hang on a little longer… I'm sure she won't mind!" LeBeau snapped.

Carter finally felt the key turn. He shoved the heavy door open and all four of them burst into the dimly-lit cell.

It was Bluebird tied to the wooden chair, a black blindfold over her eyes. That was bad enough… but there also was a narrow cord around her throat attached to something up above, pulling her head up. She was breathing… but she wouldn't be for long if she relaxed her head. Her blouse was torn at the sleeves and collar, exposing a vivid grouping of dark bruises on her neck.

Hogan dropped his rifle and hurried to pick her up, lifting her high enough to relieve the pressure of the cord on her throat. Only a half-step behind was Newkirk, climbing up on the now-empty chair to cut the cord far enough away so as not to risk hurting her. He pulled down on it hard, and sliced through the taut filament with one upward stroke. If the man who'd put it there had been handy, the next stroke would have been for him.

She barely had enough in her to turn her head away when she felt herself lifted up by strong arms and held tightly against a chest full of medals. She'd been restrained way too much over the past several days and every time was worse than the time before. "Put me down…" she moaned faintly.

Carter swiftly untied the blindfold. "It's okay… it's us."

She knew that voice… but it couldn't be… it was. There weren't two lopsided grins like that one in the entire universe. She turned her head back again to see who held her, and was relieved to recognize Colonel Hogan behind the thick mustache.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"I'll try…"

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but he set her feet down onto the stone floor carefully. Her knees buckled at first, but on the second try she remembered how they worked and managed to support her own weight. "How bad are you hurt? Any broken bones? Internal injuries?"

She shook her head slowly. "No…" She wasn't about to let go of his arm yet, though… she felt dizzy and still weak in the knees.

"Do you know where Neptune and Firefly are?"

"They…" She swallowed hard. It hurt. "They're dead, sir…"

"Oh, no…" she heard LeBeau's voice behind her.

"Are you sure?" Hogan pressed. "How do you know?"

"The…" She had to say it, and she had to say it without thinking too much or she was going to lose it. "The Gestapo killed them… in front of me…"

A hand rested gently on her shoulder. She pulled back. No… don't do that… don't do that or I won't be able to keep it together…

"I'm sorry…" Newkirk's voice. "Did I hurt you? I didn't realize…"

"Colonel," LeBeau said from the doorway. "Time."

"Right. Okay. Bluebird, one more time, and I need you to be honest: can you walk out of here or can't you?"

She had to stay on her own two feet. If one of them picked her up again she was going to fall apart. She owed it to her team, and she owed it to Firefly and Neptune. None of them had been carried to safety. She wouldn't be either. "Yes, sir…"

00o00

"Okay." Hogan pulled the rear passenger door of the staff car closed. "Let's go, Newkirk, and don't spare the horses."

That wouldn't be a problem; he was more than happy to take off out of there as fast as possible. "Right, sir."

Bluebird couldn't believe she'd made it. She'd come close to faltering a time or two, but she'd always kept her footing and kept moving. When the car began to move, though, she felt overwhelmingly dizzy, and she started to put her hand to her forehead. That would be her last memory of the trip back to camp.

In the back seat, Hogan felt what had been a light weight next to his shoulder suddenly become a more substantial one. "Bluebird?" Her head suddenly falling against him told the story; she was no longer conscious. He pulled off his black leather gloves and quickly checked for a pulse.

"What happened?" Carter asked.

"LeBeau, let's have some light over here."

"She all right?" Newkirk called from the driver's seat as LeBeau passed a flashlight to the back.

"She passed out… maybe not such a bad idea." He couldn't help wincing a bit as he shone the light on the bruises on her throat. Those weren't ligature marks… someone's bare hands had done that to her. Choked her just enough to terrify her and then let up. "Don't stop for any red lights."

00o00

There was no discussion, there was just 'do it'. Looking back on it later they would never quite be able to recall or describe how exactly they had managed to get her from the car through the woods to the tunnel, in through the tree stump and down the ladder. But they did… smoothly, quickly, gently and safely. By the time anybody stopped to think about it, she was lying on the cot in the radio room, and the rest of them were just beginning to power down from red alert to a moderate, steady level of concern. "Kinch, get Wilson down here," Hogan said.

"Will do, Colonel."

"I know I'm naïve…" Carter said quietly, "so you don't have to tell me again… but I just don't understand how anybody could do that kind of thing to a girl… not even the Gestapo."

To his surprise, he got Newkirk's hand on his shoulder instead of cuffing the back of his head. "And this time they did it to our girl, Andrew… they haven't heard the last of this."

They were glad to see Wilson arrive quickly… not so glad to be cleared out of the tunnel while he examined her. They all felt it… when any one of them was in trouble, the others automatically fell into a close orbit until the crisis was past. In hindsight, as they all sat at the table in the barracks, drinking coffee they couldn't even taste, it made perfect sense… she was a girl, after all, and as such she required a bit more privacy than would have been necessary if it had been one of them laid out down there.

When Wilson reappeared they were all on their feet right away. "How is she?" Hogan asked for all of them.

"Still unconscious, but I can't find anything seriously wrong with her. The bruises on her neck will be painful for a few days but there's no deep tissue damage."

"They wanted her plenty scared, but in good enough shape to tell them what they wanted to know…" he said bitterly.

"Lucky thing you got there when you did. She should be all right. Needs to take it easy for a while."

"Not a problem."

"I'd like to try and bring her around… would you mind coming down, sir? She doesn't know me very well… it might go easier on her if there's a familiar face."

"Sir…?" LeBeau asked hopefully.

"Would five familiar faces be out of line?" Kinch asked.

"Could we?" Carter this time.

It appeared that Newkirk wasn't going to bother asking; he was focused on the tunnel entrance and not on the conversation. "What do you think, Sergeant?" Hogan asked.

He nodded. "Ordinarily I'd say it would be best to leave her alone until she had a little time to recover, but in this case it might help if she sees all of you."

They filed down quietly and took up positions within line of sight, but not so close as to be either overbearing or in the way. Wilson gestured to Hogan to come closer. "I think this'll bring her around," he said, removing an ampoule of smelling salts from his bag. "But it won't be very pleasant for her… try and take her mind off the initial shock; talk to her."

Hogan nodded, taking the small bench next to the cot. "Right… understood." For all she knew, she'd be waking up in a room full of goons instead of just about the closest thing to home sweet home.

'Shock' was an apt way to describe the way that horrible-smelling stuff suddenly pierced her consciousness… she moaned softly and turned away, coughing weakly.

"Bluebird," Colonel Hogan said calmly. "It's all right… you're back at camp." The voice was too close, too much too soon, and she didn't realize she was safe yet; she reflexively, blindly, swung an ineffective fist in his general direction. "Hey, whoa… no hitting officers, okay? I'm on your side."

"Colonel…?"

"Everything's fine," he nodded. "Just take it easy. How do you feel?"

"I'm all right…" She actually thought she was… nothing really hurt, except the muscles in her neck. "I'm ready for debriefing, sir."

"Let's wait on that," he suggested.

"But sir, while it's still fresh in my mind…"

As if she'd be likely to forget, Hogan thought grimly. She'd been tortured and she'd seen two of her Underground colleagues murdered by the Gestapo. "We'll talk a little later. Get some rest."

00o00

LeBeau shook his head as he collected the dinner plates from the table. "It's been three days. She's not even eating enough to keep a real bluebird alive."

"Can you blame her?" Kinch asked.

"I even made her favorite… pâtes au fromage."

Carter frowned down at his empty plate. "I thought it was macaroni and cheese."

Hogan got up from the table. "Kinch, let me know as soon as we hear from Mama Bear."

"Will do, Colonel."

Hogan went to the door of his quarters, knocked lightly to indicate that he was entering, and opened the door. To everyone's surprise, he came right back out again. "Where's Bluebird?"

"She's in your office," LeBeau replied. "Isn't she?"

Hogan's mouth set in a firm line. "Find her."

The four of them dropped their forks and went off in four different directions. This was not good. The harder she'd worked to be 'fine' over the past several days since they'd rescued her from the Gestapo had illustrated how 'fine' she wasn't.

It was Newkirk who headed for the tunnel. A few sprints up and down the various branches produced nothing but an annoying cramp in his side. If she'd gone out the emergency exit… well, it would take more than one man to search those woods. In fact, if she'd gone out any exit…

No… there was one he could check. The only dead end. The cooler. At least it would be a place he could say he'd looked. He ran down the connector and accessed the false block that concealed the entrance.

And there she was… sitting on the cold floor with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. He was relieved to have found her, yes… but suddenly realized that LeBeau, or maybe Carter, would probably have a better idea how to handle this situation. He knew a lot about girls, but not when they were crying. He cleared his throat softly to indicate his presence, and was not encouraged when she turned her back to him.

"Go away."

"I, uh…" He eased himself all the way through the opening. "I can't rightly do that, darlin'… Colonel Hogan needs you back in the barracks… he's worried about you."

Had he seen her crying? He must have. Well, she could forget about being taken seriously by him or by any of the others ever again.

The only thing Newkirk could think to do was to crawl over and lay a gentle hand on her back. She showed him what she thought of that by getting to her feet in a big hurry and stalking off to the far corner of the cell. "Don't!"

"All right… but I can't go away; I've got me orders."

And she was just about to tell him where she'd like to see him stuff them. She was sick of the Underground, of this place, of all the danger and death… of Newkirk and of everybody else in this stalag. What was she doing here? She didn't belong here. Colonel Hogan himself had told her that the first day he'd met her… she was worse than useless; she was a full-fledged liability. People near her got killed.

"You want to talk about it?" Newkirk asked.

She shook her head. "No… I want to be debriefed."

"The colonel's waitin' for the proper time, that's all."

"Now is the right time… so I don't have to keep thinking about it." Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it happen all over again… would it stop after she was able to give her report, or was she stuck with it for life? She was tired, and she was cold, and she was at the end of her rope.

And Newkirk, whatever he might think, wasn't helping. "It wasn't your fault."

"If I'd…"

"If you'd what? Not got caught? Sorry, it doesn't work that way." His voice was very quiet and gentle, and she didn't like that either… she would have felt better talking to him if he wasn't trying so hard to be extra-kind. She didn't feel worthy of that, not being the only one of her team still alive. "We've all been there, darlin'."

"You've all been the only one to come back?" she challenged. "I didn't realize that… darlin'." Somehow the only way to deal with his quiet calm was to keep raising her own voice. "You've all seen a man shot in the head six feet in front of you before anybody even asks you any questions? I had no idea that was happening to everybody! You've all seen that much blood?"

Newkirk took the four steps that closed the gap between them and reached to lay his hand on her shoulder. He figured there was a greater than fifty percent chance that there would soon be a roundhouse right aimed just below his left sideburn, any second… he was prepared for it and willing to accept it.

She did turn, but it wasn't to hit him. She burst into sobs and hung onto him for dear life, and he put his arms around her and held her head against his shoulder. I'm sorry…" he whispered. "I'm so sorry… this rotten, filthy war…"

00o00

"Sir," Carter said, climbing over the rail. "Newkirk found her."

"Where?"

"In the cooler."

"The cooler?" Kinch echoed.

"Probably just looking for a place she could be by herself for a while… what kind of shape is she in, Carter?"

"She's…" He felt somehow disloyal to her, saying it, but he had no choice. "She's, um… crying, sir."

"Oh, boy…" Hogan sighed. "Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later."

"Colonel…" Carter spoke up again. "My dog died when I was seven years old…"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Carter, but…"

"What I mean, sir, is… I cried. But I didn't cry like that." He shook his head slowly. "I've never seen anybody cry like that."

LeBeau closed his eyes. "Pauvre petite."

"How's Newkirk handling it?" Hogan asked.

"Newkirk's getting pretty… um… wet, sir."

"Well, we can dry him off later. Let's give 'em a few minutes and see what happens."

It seemed like a lot longer, but it was less than ten minutes later when the trap door opened. Everyone tried very hard not to look. When nobody appeared on the ladder in a few seconds, though, it was impossible not to do a shoulder check.

Then they saw Bluebird coming slowly… very slowly, one step at a time... up the ladder. She was followed closely… very closely, just one step below… by Newkirk, who appeared to be concerned that she might not be able to make it without slipping. "That's it…" he encouraged gently. "Nearly there…" She gained another step, and he moved with her. He signaled with his head to indicate that she would need a hand making it over the rail, and Kinch was first at the hatch.

Would this humiliation ever end, she wondered? She couldn't even make it up the ladder without help; who was ever going to trust her with their lives again? She'd be on her way out of Germany by tomorrow morning, and that was a good thing… before she got any members of this unit killed.

She felt as if she should say something when she finally got topside, but she didn't get a chance… hands, more hands, guided her straight to Colonel Hogan's office. It didn't matter. She was finished as an operative no matter where she was.

Hogan indicated that she should take the chair at his desk. Ideally she would have liked to say that she preferred to stand… but she didn't think she could, for long. So the chair it was. Very Victorian.

What happened next was anything but… a shot glass appeared on the desk in front of her, and someone filled it. And not with hot cocoa topped with a marshmallow. "Do you drink, Bluebird?" Hogan asked.

"Not often, sir."

"It's up to you. Sometimes it helps."

It might at that… maybe she could finally say what was on her mind if she had a little whiskey backing her up. She tried a sip. It burned her tongue. "Thank you, sir."

Under any other circumstances, Hogan might have at least rolled his eyes. No, Bluebird wasn't a drinker, not of whiskey anyway. She'd taken barely enough to wet her lips, and everyone else he'd ever had to do this with had downed the whole shot in one swallow without any prompting. She really was out of her element here… which made it all the more impressive that she was so good at what she had chosen to take on. "Bluebird, this isn't going to be pleasant. But it's necessary."

"Yes, sir."

"I'd like to debrief you now."

Of coursehe would need to know from her what had happened to Firefly and Neptune before he sent her wherever it was she was going. Cutting her loose would come later. "Yes sir."

Behind and around her, Newkirk, Carter, LeBeau and Kinch exchanged impressed glances. This young lady had grit. Kinch took a seat on the lower bunk and took out his pencil and clipboard.

"Why don't you start by giving me the whole story… then after you finish I'll probably have a list of questions for you." Hogan paused. "And I'd rather not stop if we can help it… it's generally better if we can get the whole report in one sitting."

LeBeau and Newkirk shared a worried look… they'd both witnessed these before, and they were rough. Newkirk still had a damp spot on the front of his uniform. The colonel hadn't seen the shape she'd been in down in the cooler; if he had, he wouldn't be thinking she could make it all the way through the report without taking a breather. He almost said something… but then something warned him not to, something either in Colonel Hogan's businesslike demeanor or in Bluebird's steadfast "I understand, sir." All right… he'd be quiet… for now. If the time came to intervene, he would.

00o00

"And that was it… then we showed up."

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

No, it hadn't been easy… but Colonel Hogan had taken control of the process right from the get-go and kept it… and her… on track. She had shed a few more tears, but the tears had been silent and only occasional, not the full-blown opening of the floodgates she'd subjected Newkirk to earlier. She'd made it through the glass of whiskey but refused a second… if he wanted her to keep talking, she knew she couldn't keep pouring that liquid fire down her throat. She focused on the sound of his voice and followed his lead. She trusted him. She would miss him.

"All right… Kinch, when you get that report worked up in a final draft I'll need to review it and so will Bluebird… then we'll submit it to London."

"Right, Colonel." Kinch was also impressed with the way the interrogation had gone. He'd seen worse. "I should have it for you by this evening."

"Fine."

She couldn't stand the suspense any longer. "Colonel?"

"What is it, Bluebird?"

"When… do I leave?"

"Leave for where?"

She wished he wouldn't make it any harder than it had to be. "I know I'm off the team."

"Not until and unless I say you are."

"Colonel, everything that happened…"

"Wasn't your fault. You had some bad breaks. It was nobody's fault. You did everything you were supposed to, up to and including refusing to divulge any information to the Gestapo until we were able to spring you." He was using the same voice he always used, she realized… not a watered-down version just for her, but the voice he always used to speak to his men. "Are you asking to be reassigned?"

"No, sir."

"All right, good. That'd leave us short-handed and I don't want to have to break in a new operative if it's not necessary."

"Colonel…" She had to make sure he understood. "I wasn't very… professional… earlier. Newkirk can tell you…"

Newkirk had already told him plenty, without saying a word, from behind her back… he had the gist of it and that was all he really needed. "Bluebird… we're all under a lot of pressure here, and we deal with it in different ways. Your way might not be my way, but it works for you. I did havea concern that you weren't willing to really handle what happened to you and Firefly and Neptune, that you were just trying to sweep it under the rug and move on. I wouldn't send you on a mission to the mailbox with that kind of attitude. That's why I didn't want to debrief you thirty seconds after we got back to camp like you expected me to. It just doesn't work that way. But no matter what it might look like to you, nobody in this room holds it completely together twenty-four/seven. If I hear from Newkirk or from anybody else that they don't have faith in your ability and they can convince me with hard evidence, we'll need to have another conversation. Newkirk?"

"Sir?"

"Any problem going outside the wire with Bluebird tomorrow night to signal to those aircraft?"

"None, sir."

"Bluebird?"

She shook her head. "None, sir."

"Then maybe you're farther gone than I thought… this man's a menace." He nodded to her. "All right, dismissed."