This chapter is an unedited mess, but my life is also unexpectedly messy right now, so it's the best I can do! If anyone notices problems with firearm use in this chapter, please let me know. Most books and websites about them assume (wrongly, in my case) at least a little knowledge to build on.
Chapter Eleven:
A Shock in the Dark
Hogan had to hand it to Vogt. He had found good help at very short notice. The young lieutenant standing next to Hochstetter at the night watchman's door had been gradually shifting until he was blocking the porch light and casting a shadow across the back of Hochstetter's car. He seemed to be making a few abortive attempts to move their conversation into the little hut, but it hadn't worked so far.
"Come on," Hogan whispered. "Give me the signal. I need to know if the trunk is unlocked."
As if he had heard him, the young man on the porch pulled a flashlight from his pocket and began fiddling with it, tapping it against his leg and rolling it from hand to hand. Hochstetter turned to give him what was probably a reprimand, and the lieutenant contritely tucked his hands behind his back where Hogan could clearly see them. A couple seconds later the flashlight gave three quick blinks.
It was time to roll.
The dirt courtyard was no larger than the space between their barracks and Klink's office back at Stalag 13, but suddenly it seemed longer than a football field. Hogan readjusted his black woolen cap and wiped his hands on the thighs of his pants.
He double checked that Hochstetter was still busy talking to the watchman.
Then he slowly climbed out of the ditch.
The mumble of their voices carried across to him faintly. Hogan took a few cautious steps forward, relieved that there was no reaction from the three figures outlined in the porch light.
Hogan had to cross a beam of light before he could reach the long stretching shadow of the car.
One step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
He was back in the dark.
"I don't care about your excellent work record!"
Hochstetter's voice sounded very loud now, making Hogan all the more aware of how very close and exposed he was.
"An enemy of the state escaped to England a few months ago, and the last place he was seen was this warehouse. What do you have to say about that?"
"I don't know, sir. Maybe he was going to steal a boat," the night watchman said. "But he wouldn't of got past me. You can talk to my superior, sir. I've got an excellent eye sight too. I don't let nobody past my-"
"Argh! I do not care!"
Otto kept close watch on Hochstetter's body language. You could often control the way a person moved by getting in their personal space bubble. Whenever the Major looked like he was going to shift so more of the car would be visible his peripheral vision Otto would lean towards him a bit and Hochstetter would back away without even noticing. Once he gave Otto a small frown, but he didn't clue into what was happening.
Hogan rushed forward till he had his back pressed flat against the car. He took another breath and crawled down towards the trunk. Reaching up a hand, he could feel the gap. The trunk was open.
"You could have never taken a sick day in your life and I still wouldn't care! I want to know everything you know about the confounded Underground resistance."
Hogan eased open the trunk and peered inside. Herr Metzger blinked up at him. The Colonel pressed one finger to his lips, and Metzger accepted a hand from Hogan and climbed out of the trunk with stiff movements and wobbly legs.
"Fine. We're done here."
"Major Hochstetter!" A young voice called out and Hogan shoved Metzger down behind the car, throwing himself after as the trunk of the car erupted into fully-lit view.
When Hogan pressed himself up against the car he could feel the vibrations as Major Hochstetter yanked the passenger door open. "This has been a waste of time. We're leaving."
Hogan scrambled to retrieve his pistol, wondering if Hochstetter could possibly miss them when the car pulled away and left them exposed. For that matter, he didn't particularly want Vogt's man to walk around the car and see them either. It was one thing to have him help them in a single case, it was another thing for an untried soldier to meet Papa Bear face to face.
"Hey!" Hochstetter gave a yelp of anger.
Somehow the young lieutenant had managed to trip himself down the porch steps so that when he reached out he took Hochstetter down to the ground with him. The night watchman hurried down the steps to help with the mess and calm the swearing Major, and Hogan took the opportunity to grab Metzger by the sleeve and dash across the courtyard.
He didn't stop until they were safely in the shadow of the ditch.
"I need to tell you-" Metzger plucked at Hogan's sleeve.
"Shhhh." Hogan hissed. He beckoned the German to follow him, planning to take full advantage of the continued distraction across the courtyard.
They managed to creep the length of the ditch to the boathouse on the edge of the yard before Metzger dug his feet in and insisted on stopping. He held up a finger for a moment's pause and then knelt down to feel about in the dirt.
Hogan glanced across the yard, noting that Hochstetter was back on his feet, hauling his subordinate around to the driver's side and shoving him into the seat before leaving to say another few words to the night's watchman. They had barely made it out of sight undiscovered. Thank goodness Vogt's man was a quick thinker.
He looked back down to see that Herr Metzger had scratched something into the dirt with a stick. It was too dark to read properly, but Hogan nodded, pointing first at his watch, and then tapping the flashlight on his belt. He would read the message when it was safe to use light.
He helped Metzger quietly tread the rest of the way through the dark boathouse and down the ladder where one of the night watchman's confederates was waiting to row Metzger out to the submarine. With luck, they would still make that night's tide.
Metzger shook his hand earnestly, and then Hogan melted back into the dark.
Colonel Hogan took his time creeping back to the ditch, and then knelt in the darkness, waiting till Hochstetter's car pulled away, and the taillights were completely out of sight. It was a close call, and his heart was still pounding a little faster than it ought to.
Finally all was quiet.
Hogan let out a deep breath and walked over to the spot where he and Metzger had crouched minutes before. He fished a flashlight from his pocket and used it to rove over the ground until he found the words that Metzger had carved into the dirt.
He wasn't prone to swearing, but Hogan let an expletive roll of his tongue.
Three words. Three words that maybe held the key to saving their friend, if only they made an ounce of sense.
Otto is Newkirk.
0 0 0
The stumbling trick seemed to have done the job. There was no sign of Herr Metzger when Major Hochstetter dragged Otto around the end of the car. In fact the trunk was now fully closed, so Otto knew he had gotten away. He let Hochstetter shove him into the front seat, and then watched as the man stomped back up the porch steps.
The closed doors and windows of the car lent an artificial air of silence and loneliness to the moment.
Otto leaned forward until his head was resting in his hands on the dashboard.
"I'm just so tired," he said softly.
Je sais. I know.
"I think I miss you."
Bon. I would hope you miss me, my friend.
Otto gave a small broken-hearted smile. "I don't know if I can do this much longer."
That I do not believe. You can out-stubborn any man I know.
"But I feel like I'm going crazy."
Otto could almost see the expressive hands flopping back and forth in the air with the reply.
Crazy is a relative term. Anyone who isn't a little bit crazy is no fun at all.
He gulped back a sob. "I can't do this anymore. I don't want to remember. I don't want to know what I've lost. I don't want to lose everything all over again."
On the verge of hyperventilating, Otto gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white as he fought to get his breathing back under control. Maybe he needed to just give up on the memories. Was it worth it trying to regain whatever life he had had? Hochstetter wanted him here. He could turn his back on whatever his old life had been and start something new - use his skills for the Third Reich. He'd shown himself to be valuable enough that they wouldn't care what his past was. If he came clean with Hochstetter about the weird parts of his appearance: the fake moustache and the padding in his jacket. If he told him about dreaming in English and his memories of a friend that spoke some other language –French? Maybe Hochstetter would help. Maybe he would feel better.
The passenger door opened, and Hochstetter climbed in. He looked angry. But then, he usually looked angry.
"That was a colossal waste of my time. That man is a complete and total idiot! I can't believe one of our men reported him of suspicious activity. He's no more resistance material than… than you are!" He scowled at Otto. "Next time watch your feet before you break your neck falling down stairs somewhere. You're no use to me dead."
"Yes sir."
Hochstetter settled himself more firmly into his seat. "What are you waiting for? We're heading back to headquarters now. I need to pick up my briefcase before I head home."
Otto started the car and pulled out onto the road. He was glad to get some distance between them and whoever it was he'd helped.
A deeper frown pulled Hochstetter's brows together. "Where did you sleep last night?"
"Oh." Otto kept his eyes on the road. "On a cot, in one of the holding cells."
"Hm."
"If I had a way to get there, I think the Einsteins, the family that found me, I think they wouldn't mind putting me up for the night."
Hochstetter nodded, still frowning. "Fine. You can take this staff car. I need you to do an errand for me tomorrow morning on your way to headquarters. There should be a package arriving on the early train for me. It's the files finally coming in on all the soldiers who requested unit transfers. I told you we would figure out who you are by process of elimination: who asked to transfer units and didn't arrive for duty elsewhere. They've narrowed it down to four men and crossed referenced the names with the dog tags of the rest of your patrol-mates. So you should find a file with your name, picture, and all your life info in the package. Call me from the station as soon as you pick it up. The package should be on the eight o'clock train."
Otto concentrated on the dark road ahead of them, trying to ignore the moisture gathering in his eyes. "Yes, sir. Do I need any orders to show?"
"No. I already phoned the station to say you'd pick them up. What's that on the road?"
The car slowed as Otto peered out the front windshield, trying to see what had caught the car's lights. They were into the outskirts of Hammelburg now, although all the buildings on either side of the road were businesses, closed and empty for the night. It appeared that several empty garbage bins had been knocked into the road, and they were blocking their path.
"Why haven't those been cleared up?" Hochstetter grumbled. "We could have driven right into them."
Otto stopped the staff car and put it in park. The tall buildings on either side made him nervous. This would be a perfect place to stage an ambush of some sort. It was exactly the sort of place he, himself, would choose. "Major, I don't know if you should-"
But Hochstetter was already out of the car, barreling around the front to move the offending garbage bins.
Slowly, Otto opened the driver's door and climbed down. They had stopped almost exactly under the street lights, and the glare was making it difficult to see their surroundings. He shaded his eyes with one hand and looked across the hood of the car, up to the roofs of the buildings above Hochstetter. He searched for anything out of place. Was that a flash of light reflected of gunmetal?
0 0 0
When his elbows had gone numb LeBeau had given up position and started pacing the edge of the roof. There was no one to see him, and from his spot on the second story roof he could see far up the road.
He knew from Vogt that Hochstetter would take this route to and from the warehouse at the docks, but now he had begun to worry that there had been some mistake. Perhaps the rescue had been called off, or Vogt's inside man hadn't been able to change the Major's schedule so they would visit the docks after dark. Or maybe Hochstetter had Newkirk locked up back at the Gestapo Headquarters and was staying there to interrogate him instead. Maybe the sadique Bosch was hurting him right now. Maybe Newkirk had been tortured these last four days and he had been waiting the whole time for them to rescue him, for LeBeau to come and get him out, just as he had promised he would. Maybe Newkirk didn't even believe they were coming for him anymore…
A beam of light cut through the darkness ahead and severed LeBeau's careening string of thoughts. It was a car, not a truck. LeBeau scurried back to his rifle and dropped to his belly. Nobody who wasn't on official business was out at this time of night, so it was almost definitely Major Hochstetter.
He shuffled in place until he felt comfortable. It wasn't a skill he had used much for their operations, but LeBeau was a very good shot. He had a cousin who had been a big game hunter once. The old Mauser that Herr Wolfe had been using as a hunting rifle was familiar under his hands.
The car pulled up under the street lights and stopped. It was definitely a Gestapo staff car. The passenger door opened and a short, barrel-chested officer jumped out.
LeBeau cocked the rifle and gently eased the safety to the side with his thumb. He settled a little lower into position and stared down the sight. Down below the German officer had stopped at one of the garbage cans and was having difficulty dragging it off the road. LeBeau had purposefully filled one of them with water so it would be too heavy to move easily, and would afford him a couple minutes of a stationary target before Hochstetter figured out how to get off the lid and empty it.
He would aim for the thick flesh of Hochstetter's outer arm.
LeBeau shook his head to dislodge any thoughts of blood or gore. He was doing this for Newkirk. He had to do this to save his friend. It was Newkirk's last chance.
Hochstetter strained backwards as he pulled at the can and LeBeau could now see his face clearly down the site of the rifle.
It was definitely him.
He lined up the shot, squeezing with one finger to take up the slack on the trigger.
Everything was narrowing down to Hochstetter, and the small circle of visibility at the end of his site. He never even heard the car door open, or the younger man step down on the other side of the car. The streets had been empty before, and LeBeau wasn't watching for the keen green eyes that cut across the darkness and picked out the reflection of light off the barrel of his Mauser.
He drew in a deep breath, failing to see the flurry of dark uniform as the young officer skidded over the hood of the staff car and reached out to grab his superior officer. All LeBeau saw was a flash of brown instead of black as he pulled the trigger and then sat back in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened to his target.
Down below Hochstetter was still standing, knocked out of his gun-site as a different officer staggered in place, searching fruitlessly for a grip on reality before he dropped to the pavement in a limp pile.
