"Carter, no!" Newkirk said very softly.
Carter didn't look at him. His eyes didn't move from Jackson, and the only hint of how scared he was at what he had just proposed was the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"I don't think so," said Jackson, after a pause. "You're about the last man I'd trust, Carter."
"Then I guess we all go together," replied Carter. He glanced at Newkirk, and bit his lip. "Please. Let them go. I'll get you out of here, if you just let them go."
Jackson blinked, as the sweat from his forehead reached his eyes. He shifted his grip on Mills, who was showing signs of recovery. "Okay. Tell me how you're going to do it. If it sounds good, I'll think about it."
"There's going to be two explosions," said Carter quickly. "I reckon this building should stand the first, but not the second. If we get round behind the building - outside the fence - we should be okay when the first one goes off. That'll distract the guards, maybe enough so we can make a run for it. After the second blast, we'll be able to get away in the confusion."
There was silence for several seconds.
"Carter, have you gone completely round the bend?"
"Of all the cockamamie ideas, that takes the cake!"
The exclamations came simultaneously from Newkirk and Jackson. They broke off, glaring at each other.
"Well, if anyone's got a better idea, I'd like to hear it," said Carter. "Only you better think real fast, because somebody has to go and tell the colonel and the other guys to get out of here, before that first blast."
"You'll never get out, Carter," Newkirk persisted. "The fence is electrified. Even if you get past that, you've got fifty yards of open ground to get across, all of it covered by spotlights."
"The first blast should knock out the power," Carter shot back. "The generator's right in here. If the first one doesn't do it, the second will."
Another brief silence ensued. Once again, Newkirk was the first to speak. "All right, Carter. Perhaps you're right, it might work. But if you think I'm letting you... I'll stay. You take Mills back to the truck, and I'll take care of this." He shot a hostile look at Jackson.
For a few moments, Carter wavered. The idea of getting out of it, getting away from Jackson, nearly overwhelmed him. It would mean leaving Newkirk, but assuming the plan worked, surely Newkirk could deal with...
"No." The reply came out before he'd finished thinking, in a voice so steady that he was astonished at himself. "I made the demolition packs, I know how they'll work. It's my job."
"Okay." Jackson cut across Newkirk's attempt to argue the point. "Newkirk can leave. But I'm keeping this one, for insurance." He prodded at Mills with the pistol. "Anything goes wrong, he's done for."
"He'll slow us down," said Carter. "Better let him go."
"That's the deal, Carter. Take it or leave it."
"And what happens once you get out?" Newkirk growled. "Carter, as soon as he doesn't need you..."
"Oh, I'll still need him." Jackson's eyes turned to Carter. "I'll need help getting out of Germany. I know you got contacts. You take me to them, then once I'm well on the way... "
"It doesn't work like that," Newkirk cut in. "You need documents, money, clothes - "
Jackson shot a suspicious look at him. "I thought they'd supply all that."
"That's our part of the operation," said Newkirk. "All the Underground does is see you on your way."
"Newkirk." The interruption came in a hoarse, painful whisper from Mills. "What time is it?"
It brought the discussion to an immediate halt. Newkirk stared at him for a moment, then looked quickly at his watch. "Eight minutes to one," he replied curtly. "How long...?"
"Twelve minutes."
"Shit!" muttered Jackson.
For a bare few seconds, his eyes met Newkirk's in a shared moment of consternation.
"Newkirk, there's no time," Carter spoke very low. "There's four men out there. LeBeau and Colonel Hogan are out there. Someone's got to make sure they get clear."
Newkirk paused, thinking quickly. "Right. We'll do it your way, Carter. But you're going to have to talk to the colonel, about getting this toe-rag everything he needs." The contempt in his voice cut like a razor blade.
"Tell Hogan to wait for us somewhere on the road," said Jackson. "Alone."
"I don't think so, Jackson," began Newkirk, but he changed tack abruptly, as Mills stiffened again, choking. "Alright, alright, no need for that. I'll pass on your message. But if you hurt either of them..."
"I can wait," murmured Jackson, glancing at Carter again.
Newkirk's whole face seemed to tighten. "If I were you, chum - and thank God I'm not - I'd watch myself. Because if anything happens - "
"Newkirk, just get going," Carter broke in suddenly. "For crying out loud, why do you always have to argue about everything? I can handle this. Get out of here."
He still hadn't taken his eyes off Jackson, nor lowered his gun. Newkirk stood immobile for a few heartbeats, then with an incoherent, almost inaudible mutter of frustration, he swung round and headed for the door.
Although he knew he couldn't afford to lose any more time, he would have given anything to be able to delay his return to the truck. He could hardly believe he was doing this, walking away and leaving Carter behind.
LeBeau was pacing back and forth beside the truck, and as Newkirk reached the gate, he saw Hogan, accompanied by Major Kehler, coming back from the major's office. The colonel's bearing was a perfect demonstration of bored civility, but Newkirk didn't make the mistake of thinking Hogan wasn't fully alert.
He slipped through the gate and made his way quickly across to LeBeau.
"Where are they?" whispered the Frenchman out of the corner of his mouth. Newkirk just shook his head. It was bad enough that he was going to have to tell Hogan, let alone having to break it to LeBeau.
"Thank you for your time, Major," Hogan was saying as he came within earshot. "You will receive a full report in due course. In triplicate."
"Thank you, Herr Standartenführer," stammered Kehler.
Hogan glanced at Newkirk and LeBeau. His expression didn't change, but as he moved in closer, Newkirk recognized the gleam in his eyes.
"Alles in Ordnung?" he asked softly.
"Not much Ordnung about it, sir," replied Newkirk. He glanced sideways at Kehler, standing just out of earshot, before he went on. "He's got Mills and Carter in there."
Beside him, he felt LeBeau twitch. "And you left them?"
"Didn't have a choice. He's got Mills at gunpoint, he's half-throttled him already. Carter says he can get them out. Colonel, we've got..." He checked his watch again, surreptitiously: "...eight minutes."
"Can he do it?" murmured Hogan.
"I think so. He told us how, but he wouldn't let me..." Newkirk broke off.
"What about Hughes and Vincent?"
"They're in the truck," replied LeBeau. He had only looked at Newkirk for a second, but the look in his eyes made it clear, there would be more said when time allowed.
"It was Vincent slowed us down," Newkirk added. "If I hadn't had to go looking for him, I wouldn't have had to leave Mills, and..."
"Okay," interrupted Hogan. Then, after a pause: "Okay. We're going to have to run with it. Anyone else tries to stay behind, the Krauts get suspicious, the mission's screwed and nobody gets out." His eyes were dark with anger, and Newkirk looked away. "LeBeau, you take the motorcycle," Hogan went on. "Newkirk, the truck. You can tell me the rest later."
LeBeau, after a last furious glance at Newkirk, turned on his heel and stomped off towards the cycle and sidecar.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," murmured Newkirk, as he got behind the wheel of the truck. "I let you down on this one."
"Later, Newkirk," replied Hogan tersely. "Just drive."
Newkirk pressed the starter. The motor coughed, turned over, but didn't fire. He tried again, with the same result.
"Oh, brilliant. Wait till I see that motor pool sergeant," Newkirk muttered. He pulled the choke fully out, pumped the accelerator, and tried a third time. For a moment, it seemed likely to fail again, but then with a grumbling rattle the motor caught. He didn't give it time to change its mind, but put it straight into gear, with a grunt as the gearstick resisted yet again
It was crazy, he knew, but for just a moment, Hogan had half-hoped the motor wouldn't start. It would have given him an excuse. The rational part of him knew this was the way it had to be, but right now the rational part was the smallest voice in his head. The only one he wanted to listen to, and the one he had to ignore, was the one telling him to go back, take care of Jackson as he'd wanted to from the start, and get Carter and Mills out of there.
Right now he couldn't see any way for this to end well.