Chapter Twenty-Five: Finally

Hochstetter attempted to get his legs free numerous times, only resulting in intense pain that would continue to throb before it drifted away. He was antsy the whole time, his thoughts rolling into one another as he thought about help, Hogan and Bauer. The more he contemplated over the wreck, the more he thought that it was his fault that Bauer was dead. Perhaps he had taken the young man's life. Of course, he had taken other lives as well, but no one that he had this kind of acquaintance with. He never thought he would ever feel at fault about something like this. And he would certainly never admit it, to himself even, because then he would begin to think differently, and that could bring on something he did not want: a change in his feelings for others. The more detached he was, the easier his job. He was a machine, which was a part of a larger machine, and he could not let something humane, like feelings, get in the way. It was hatred that drove him but he did not even know it. He hated Hogan, but thought it was duty that made him go after him. He hated those who got in his way, because they were in the way of the master plan. He was a machine of the master plan, and his job consisted of one thing only: to remove parts that were fouling up the master plan.

However much these things were true, while he sat in that car, with his legs pinned and going terribly numb and cold, Hochstetter was no longer a machine. He was a human, desperate for help, after finding himself in a position where he could identify himself with others. He had heard the word desperate used before, talking about those he hunted, the Allies, and even soldiers in the Nazi army. But he had never felt the word before, not until now. Now, he was realizing things about himself that he had forgotten or never known. He had forgotten what it was like to be lonely, or to be scared. He had forgotten what it was like to wish and hope and pray with every ounce of energy that something or someone would come along, anything, anyone. He had forgotten what it was like to just sit and think for a really long time, and let your thoughts run, and find reason by themselves, leaving your body behind. What it was like to feel almost separated from your body, just floating out there in consciousness and then in your sub-consciousness.

But eventually he fell asleep, or maybe dozed, but there was a point in which he could remember nothing from sitting there in the car; cold and lonely, numb legs and an aching head, desperate and hopeful.

Then, he woke up, and when he regained all of his senses, he realized that he was hearing something. It was the blessed sound of engines. They were the engines of trucks. Immediately, he became excited, and anxiously listened. He assured himself that they were indeed coming his way. He tried to pull out his legs just a little bit, but was not at all surprised that they did not budge. He could only imagine the pain he was going to feel when he finally got out.

Just as the headlights came around the bend, Hochstetter stuck his arm out the window and frantically waved it. The first truck slowed to a halt and Hochstetter sighed with relief and sunk back into the seat. He heard the trucks' engines die. A private jumped off the first truck, and ran to the driver's window, waving his flashlight around in the car. He blanched when he saw who was in the driver's seat.

"Major Hochstetter?"

Hochstetter scowled when he saw that the soldier was none other than a Luftwaffe soldier. The worst kind; in his opinion. "Ja, it is me. Are you blind? And get that flashlight out of my face."

"Nein Herr Major—I mean jawohl—I mean, what happened Herr Major?"

"What happened? You are blind dumpkoff! Can you not see that this is a car accident? Now get those men out of the trucks and get me out of here!"

The private jumped to a salute. "Jawohl, Herr Major!" He ran off back to the trucks, and Hochstetter shook his head, making him groan from the annoying headache he had.

When all of the commotion started, Hochstetter let himself relax some, letting the others do the work. There was another Major from headquarters, and Hochstetter was glad that some Gestapo was involved. If it was up to the Luftwaffe soldiers alone he was sure that he would never get out.

After some pain, confusion, and another half hour, Hochstetter found himself freed from the car. The soldiers had been able to take a part and wedge the dashboard off of Hochstetter's legs at least long enough for some soldiers to pull him out. There was no getting around the pain, and when he was pulled out, he had to grit and grind his teeth to keep from actually crying out. He did not even last while they took him out. He passed out, and then came to as they were putting him into an ambulance brought from Hammelburg. He went out again when they were closing the doors to the ambulance. Then, the ambulance sped off, and Hochstetter was whisked away back to Hammelburg.

Two privates, older men of the Luftwaffe from Stalag 13, went around to the other side of the car and pulled out Captain Bauer's body. They were much older than this person they could regard as a kid. He didn't look much older than twenty-five. The recognized the Captain easily enough, though, being Hochstetter's aide. They shook their heads sadly at the sight of his corpse.

"He's very young," remarked one.

"I wonder how he became such an officer," said the other.

"He must've come from a wealthy family," replied the first.

"Hmm," said the second thoughtfully. "The wealthy are paying their dues."

"But he's still very young," remarked the first. "I guess just not too young to die."

"No one is too young to die," said the other, as they pulled Bauer's body from the wreckage and laid it on the stretcher.

And they took the stretcher with the young Captain over to one of the trucks and laid it there as gently as you would a newborn baby whilst lying him down in his crib his first night home. They placed a coat over him. Then, the soldiers, young, old, or somewhere in the middle where you watch everyone else around you on the other side of the spectrum and remember and wonder, got back into the trucks and went back to little ole Hammelburg, the center of their world, because that was where they were living and dying now.

()()()()()()

There had actually been no talking that night. Well, nothing of any considerable amount. Analiese had brought them all some more food, and mostly ate and watched each other eat, like the people around them were gods or something to awe at. But it was just them, gathered around the bed in the guestroom. The two injured ones sat upon it, smiling and looking around at those who had been able to slip by without physical injury. Whilst the Englishman recovered from a stress fracture in his back, the Colonel recovered from a stress fracture to his head, or mind rather. What gave him his fracture was the constant pressure of facts previously unknown that had struck him so hard and forcefully, he had been reeling on the brink there for awhile. But now he was closer to the center and not the edge, because now he was with his friends, which put the balancing act on a hold, because everything was in perfect balance when he was with them, and they were safe.

For right now, at least. He knew they were not completely out of trouble. They all knew it. They all knew that there were obstacles ahead; plans to come up with, difficult questions to be answered, and above all: people to get rid of. But for now, they were letting these priorities fall to the back of the line, because it was what they thought, their night off. They had been separated, put through the wringer in a number of ways, and were now ready to lay back for a bit, and just relax in the wonderful bliss of knowing that everything is okay. The "for right now, at least" part was pushed away like you pushing something away that was just plain annoying. Stop bothering me right now, I'm enjoying my time.

Now, most of the time was spent in companionable silence. It was just them. Analiese had closed the door some to just a crack, leaving them in private, but able to call if something was needed. Then, they had started to drift off in exhaustion, one by one. First, it was Carter, who had been at an all time high in the beginning, but then crashed only about half an hour after everyone was back. He had been lying on his stomach horizontally across the bed, his head propped up on his elbows. His eyelids had been drooping as he watched everyone around him, and then he had sunk into the oblivion of sleep, his head lying down on the quilt.

Newkirk was next to go. Although he had been anxious and eager to understand exactly what had happened to them all, he had seen that they were all tired and trying to relax, so decided not to pester them about it. He had not uttered another word in fact. The others put in a few words here and there, everyone sounding rather pathetic because no one knew what to say. It was as if they thought it was awkward that they were not talking, and tried to break the silence. But then they all decided, without words, that it was indeed better to let the silence be. After watching Carter give up to staying awake, Newkirk sort of smiled, almost nostalgically. And then, he let himself drift off to sleep.

LeBeau watched that nostalgic smile creep off Newkirk's lips and smiled himself. He also felt nostalgic then, but pushed it aside, like he had always done, because there was no going back. There was only waiting until you were given peace. LeBeau, had—for once—enjoyed being served instead of serving. He could not argue against Analiese's food in any way, and even though he always enjoyed serving others, he enjoyed respite like this at times. He was sure the others were enjoying the respite as well. Even though LeBeau himself had not been injured, the running around, thinking of the others, and worrying constantly had set him on edge. Now, he knew he could let his guard down, just for the night. And he would not let it go to waste. So, he laid his head down on the bed, and closed his eyes, not bothering to fight sleep this time. He was finished with fighting for today.

Kinch looked at Colonel Hogan when LeBeau finally went to sleep. It had never been uncommon for the Colonel and Kinch to be the last ones to bed. Some things would never change. Kinch smiled as he looked over LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk.

"Glad to be back, Colonel," he asked.

"You bet," replied Hogan with conviction. But Kinch could tell he was worried.

"You know it'll be fine," said Kinch.

"Really," asked Hogan. Kinch saw that there was no mask right now on the Colonel's face. He was just tired and worried. He almost sounded like a little kid asking his mom if there would really be presents under the tree the next morning.

"It always is," said Kinch, reassuringly. "We'll get back to camp, heal up, and be back in business in no time."

Hogan looked at him for a moment, trying to make himself believe that statement. There was nagging doubt in him, but there always was when he was worried. He finally sighed, and laid his head back in the chairs he was in. He put his feet up on the bed, and lounged further back. Putting his hands behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling.

"I'll take your word for it, Kinch," he said.

Then, he closed his eyes.

Kinch smiled, and then took everyone else's advice, and closed his eyes too.

Finally, rest was more than welcomed, and they could get it freely.