Thank you, Marilyn! And thank you, dear readers, for your reviews!

Chapter 25

The sound of gunfire ricocheted through the trees, the echoes bouncing, throwing all sense of its location to hell and back. Hogan rapidly swiveled his head, trying to pinpoint it anyway, trying to hear over the roaring in his ears and the sound of his heart slamming against his ribs. His hand hovered directly over the gun at his hip, fingers open and curled. Sweat slicked his face like cold mist.

Another booming salvo went off in the distance, the tight pattern of fire speaking of desperation. Hogan snapped his head back to his right, zeroing in on the sound and identifying it. Shotgun. His mind raced. Hammelburg lay in the opposite direction. Stalag 13 was straight ahead and slightly to the left. Nothing but farm ground directly to his right, scattered homesteads, and a few of the Underground's hiding places.

Small weapon fire answered. Multiple weapons. Hard to make out how many.

The shotgun went off again, two rapid shots, immediately answered by rapid fire from the handguns.

Hogan licked his lips, picturing the exchange. His stomach roiled. Who was in trouble?

His eyes narrowed and he thought hard, trying to remember if he had ever seen a shotgun at the Metzger's. As far as he knew, Josef had only the pistol Tiger had secured for him and a single old hunting rifle.

As quickly as it started, the gunfire stopped. The last echoes faded to nothing. The forest fell silent.

Hogan's hand stayed over his gun, every muscle so tense he could have been mistaken for one of the statues in Hammelburg's square.

The moon was nearly level with the forest canopy when he finally moved, cold, exhausted and worried, for camp.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Kinch was on the way to beating himself at what felt like the fiftieth game of tic-tac-toe that night, when he heard something in the tunnel. He waited, pencil poised above the paper, and ear cocked toward the doorway. The sound grew louder and he nodded to himself. Someone was coming. He bent his head over the paper again and placed an 'x' in the right-hand upper corner of the scrawled grid. Whoever was coming, they were obviously not Hogan. Their CO had a well-known habit of being ghost-quiet, training and an Irish-born streak of mischief keeping him sharp at sneaking up on people. These footsteps betrayed a complete lack of grace and energy.

Plodding, Kinch thought; marking an 'o' in the grid's center column, bottom row. Like his grandfather's plow horse would do heading out of the barn for a day of working in the fields.

Hogan trudged into the room, head down, jacket hanging open and gloves tightly gripped in one hand. Surprised, Kinch dropped his pencil, never noticing it roll off the table and fall to the floor. Hogan shot a glance in his direction and continued his trek to the lockers. Kinch took a few seconds to consider his CO's silence, locked down expression and tense jaw. They all warned attempts at conversation would be a very bad idea. But then, no one had ever accused Kinch of being short on courage.

"Everything go all right?"

Hogan slid the pouch's strap from his shoulder and held it out at arm's length. Kinch's brow arched at the lack of a verbal response. After a moment's hesitation, he left his seat and moved close enough to accept the hand-off. Hogan jerked the locker's door open, threw his gloves inside and started stripping off his jacket. His head remained low, his shoulders slumped. A cauldron of acid started simmering in Kinch's belly. He had expected a night of freedom to help Hogan, not make him look worse. Throwing all caution to the wind, Kinch asked an even blunter question.

"Are you all right?"

Hogan's hands stilled in the act of unbuckling his gun belt and his eyes fixed upon the floor. Kinch held his breath, not wanting even that tiny sound to possibly mask a response. He need not have concerned himself, since none came. He waited until Hogan had removed the belt, carefully unloaded the gun, and returned both to the locker before he spoke again.

"Colonel--" Weight bumped Kinch's leg. He looked down in surprise at the pouch still in his hand. The precious spare parts for the radio could be mere lumps of coal for all he cared at the moment. Depositing the pouch on the table, he decided it was time to push hard against boundaries he had long respected.

"Talk to me, Colonel. What happened? Where have you been all this time?"

Hogan sat heavily on the bench and for a few seconds, said nothing. Then he tossed a look over his shoulder at Kinch, as though debating whether or not to say anything. Shoulders heaving on a sigh, he swiveled on the bench, straddling it. He stayed hunched over; as if he had suffered a blow he had yet to recover from.

"I froze, Kinch." Quietly, gaze hovering somewhere off to Kinch's left, he explained about picking up the spare parts and making the decision to stay out rather than return immediately to camp. A little life returned to his tone when he apologized for staying out too long. Then his voice grew distant, his expression immobile, and he described his reaction to hearing the gunfire.

Kinch folded his arms and mulled that over, then made a small motion with his shoulders - a sort of half-shrug - and said, "I'd be surprised if you reacted any other way, this being your first time out after what you went through."

Hogan's eyes went hard as glacial ice and his voice roughened to a growl. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. I froze. Like some wet-behind-the-ears recruit who'd never been in combat. I stood there like an idiot and did absolutely nothing, while somebody, maybe Tiger, DuBois or possibly even my men, fought for their lives. Don't you get it? I couldn't even bring myself to draw my weapon! I just stood there and waited for it to be over!" Breathing hard, eyes almost wild, he added, "After tonight, I don't trust myself to cover anyone's back!"

Kinch locked eyes with him. "Well, I do. In any situation."

Hogan stared at Kinch as if he had just sprouted another head, horns and a set of wings besides. "I refuse to risk someone's life on the off-chance that I might be okay next time."

Kinch pressed his lips tightly together, thinking fast. "Colonel, why do you think you froze?"

A flash of self-loathing twisted Hogan's mouth. "I've lost my nerve!"

"No," Kinch flung back, vehement. "You froze because you still haven't come to grips with what happened with Orion and Marta. You haven't forgiven yourself for making a mistake and killing Marta, and until you do, then maybe you're right after all. Maybe it is best you not go out on any missions."

Hogan stood and walked out of the room. Kinch let him go, dropped his chin to his chest and blew out a sigh. Running a four-minute mile had never left him so exhausted.

Grabbing the pouch from the table, he set off for the radio room to stow the spare parts before roll call.

Neither he nor Hogan were aware that their conversation had been overheard.

TBC. Thank you for reading!