The next day, Newkirk continued to watch over his feverish boyfriend while the rest of the barracks' occupants were on a work detail outside of Hammelburg. Hogan only reluctantly accepted Klink's offer since he hated the thought of not being there in case his brother got any worse, but he knew he needed to make contact with the underground. London wanted a factory destroyed and Hogan needed the help of the underground in reconnoitre the surroundings.
Newkirk placed his palm on Jout's forehead and felt his temperature. He sighed, feeling the heat emanating. Wilson had checked Jout's temperature in the morning, which had increased once again. Now it was at 40 degree Celsius or 104-degree Fahrenheit. The whole night, Jout had drifted in and out of consciousness, waking up now and then in a delirium of fever. The only thing Newkirk could do was help him drink and renew the cloth on his forehead and his leg compresses, but it did not seem to help.
A groan took Newkirk out of his thoughts. He looked down at the bunk in front of him and saw how Jout fought to open his eyes. Newkirk began to stroke his cheek and softly said, "Good mornin', luv."
"Peter," Jout croaked out.
"Are ya thirsty?" Newkirk asked.
Jout nodded and therefore, Newkirk tried to sit him up. But with Jout being too exhausted to move any part of his body, Newkirk was unable to hold him upright while reaching around for the cup on the nightstand. He looked down at his boyfriend in his arms, who had closed his eyes again and leant against his shoulder. This gave Newkirk an idea, and he pushed Jout forward while slipping in behind him on the bunk. He pulled Jout between his legs and reclined him on his chest. Now he could hold him with his left arm around his chest and reach for the cup with his right hand. Newkirk helped Jout to drink the whole cup of water, placing it back on the nightstand while continuing to hold Jout close to his chest. Jout turned his head, which lay on Newkirk's right shoulder, to the left, making his lips brush across his boyfriend's neck. Newkirk flinched a bit at feeling the heat against the sensitive skin of his neck, which increased his worry at the same time. Jout was burning up and there was nothing he could.
"I'm sorry," Jout mumbled against Newkirk's neck.
"For what?" Newkirk asked perplexed.
"For snapping at you and Rob," Jout said. "I know you only worry about me, and I had no right to talk to you the way I did. I hope you can forgive me."
Newkirk squeezed Jout in his arms and moved his boyfriend's left hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. "Ya 'ave done nothin' 'at needs me forgiveness."
There was no response, instead he only felt a steady breath against his neck, which made Newkirk look down. He was greeted with the sight of Jout sleeping peacefully against his shoulder. A bittersweet smile found its way on Newkirk's face as he climbed out of the bunk and carefully laid Jout back down. He brushed some of his umber brown hair from his sweaty forehead and took the cloth from the nightstand to make it wet again. Oh, how he hoped that Jout's temperature would decline again.
Early in the afternoon, Hogan and his men watched nervously how Wilson checked Jout's temperature once again. As the medic looked at the thermometer, his face changed into a defeated expression.
Wilson raised is glance and stared at Hogan. "40,3 degree Celsius or 104.5-degree Fahrenheit." He drove with his hands over his face and sighed. "I am at my wit's end! The antibiotics should have worked by now." He knelt down and put the thermometer back in his medical bag.
"You said that the symptoms may be contradicting each other. Could this be the reason why the antibiotics don't work?" Hogan asked.
"It could be, but only if…," Wilson's voice trailed off.
Hogan watched how the medic stopped speaking in the middle of the sentence and stared blankly into space. "Wilson? Something's wrong?"
"Dammit!" Wilson exclaimed as he rushed into a standing position and began to unbutton Jout's pyjama shirt. "Why haven't I thought of it before?"
"What's going on?" Hogan asked while he observed how Wilson threw the shirt open.
The medic began to unwrap the bandage around Jout's stomach while he explained, "I was so focused on thinking that Lieutenant Hogan has pneumonia, that I completely forgot about the possibility of him having an infection." Wilson removed the bandage, revealing a bright red circle around the stitched-up stabbing wound. "That explains it."
"That explains what?" Carter piped up.
"There must have been bacteria on the knife's blade that Major Fuhrmann used to stab Lieutenant Hogan. When the knife entered his body, the bacteria also entered his body. Over the course of the last days, the bacteria have spread in his whole body because of the blood-system. Lieutenant Hogan's high fever, combined with his quickened heart beat and breathing frequency is his body's way of fighting the infection," Wilson announced.
"But now 'at ya know the source, ya can fight it, right?" Newkirk asked, his voice full of hope.
Wilson pressed gently on the stab wound, which elicited a painful groan from Jout. Then he looked back at the Brit and said, "I'm afraid it's not as easy as you might think."
"What's the problem?" Hogan inquired, his tone a mixture of concern and commanding authority.
"If I consider all the symptoms and rule out pneumonia, the only explanation for Lieutenant Hogan's constitution is a sepsis. There's not really a way to treat it; the only thing I can do is to give him penicillin and hope that this will fight the bacteria in his body before it comes to organ failure."
"Then do it," Hogan ordered.
"That's the problem," Wilson said. "I don't have penicillin."
"Hasn't London just sent supplies? Why haven't you added it?"
Wilson rose to his feet. "I did, Colonel. But London has not sent penicillin because it's very hard to get your hands on it and they needed everything on the front."
Suddenly, Jout began to shake, his teeth clattering. Wilson rushed to his knees and asked, "What's the problem, Lieutenant?"
"So…cold," Jout muttered, his eyes pressed shut.
"I need some blankets…and his jacket!" Wilson turned to Hogan and said, "Another sign for a sepsis; the chills."
Hogan directed is gaze at Baker and ordered, "Radio London and tell them we need penicillin. ASAP. If they won't do it, get me."
Baker nodded and quickly left the small room. At the same time, LeBeau and Carter returned with multiple blankets and Jout's jacket. Wilson took the jacket from Carter and gave it to Newkirk, who dressed his boyfriend in it. LeBeau and Carter put the blankets on top of their friend, who was now wrapped in five blankets plus his jacket.
Jout squirmed and murmured, "Get the blankets off me…so warm."
"Lieutenant, you have a really high fever combined with the chills. You need these blankets and the leg compresses. I know it's not a nice feeling, but there is nothing I can do at the moment," Wilson explained to the half-conscious man.
To prove the medic's statement, Jout began to shiver again. "Don't…like it," he whispered.
The door opened again and Baker stepped in. "Colonel Hogan, London refuses to send penicillin. Says the soldiers on the front need it."
"And what are we?" Newkirk yelled. "Good enough to risk our lives to blow up some factories or bridges, but when one of us fights for 'is life because 'e 'as protected this bleedin' operation, we are just some ruddy POWs or what?"
"Don't worry, Peter. I will change their mind," Hogan declared, leaving his quarters with Baker.
"I really 'ope ya do, gov'nor," Newkirk said to no one in particular. He drove lightly across the strained features of his boyfriend's face and whispered, "I really 'ope ya do."
With the help of General Gallagher and a lot of yelling, Hogan was able to convince London to send a plane that carries penicillin. Since Wilson said that Jout would need it immediately to prevent possible organ failure, Carter and LeBeau took the risk and went out in broad daylight. While waiting for the two men to return, Newkirk sat together with Hogan and Wilson in the Colonel's quarters.
Wilson checked the American's temperature for the umpteenth time. "His temperature elevated once more. It's now 40,7 degree Celsius or 105.2-degree Fahrenheit." He turned to Hogan and said, "I really hope Carter and LeBeau come back soon; Lieutenant Hogan needs the penicillin right now or else it will be too late."
Hogan looked down at his watch. "I'm sure they are back every second. They have to be more careful since it's broad daylight."
A groan from the bunk made all three men turn around and they watched how Jout slowly opened his eyes.
Newkirk immediately brushed with his fingers through the other man's hair and said, " 'ey, luv. 'ow are ya feelin'?"
"I'm warm," Jout answered. He pushed the blankets that covered him away, which he instantly regretted because he began to shiver.
Newkirk put the blankets back over his boyfriend. "Ya just 'ave to 'old on a bit longer, luv. Louis and Andrew are back in a tick with the penicillin, and then ya'll feel better."
Jout closed his eyes again and Newkirk thought he went back to sleep. He was proved wrong when he heard Jout softly whispering, "Peter…"
Newkirk bent down and moved his head closer to Jout. "What is it, luv?"
"I love you, Peter; with all my heart. I hope you know that," Jout murmured. "In case this ends badly –"
"Don't start with this," Newkirk cut him off. "Everythin' will turn out perfectly fine. The infection will go away, and then we can concentrate on yer 'and and knee."
"But, Peter…"
"No buts! Ya just 'ave to fight for a little longer, and before ya know it, we'll walk through the compound again, annoyin' the guards," Newkirk softly encouraged while stroking across Jout's cheek with his thumb.
He heard the door open, which made Newkirk avert his gaze from his feverish boyfriend. In stepped Carter and LeBeau, who each held a bag in their hands.
While LeBeau took the bag from Carter and handed them over to Wilson, Carter rambled, "Boy, was that something! Wherever you looked, there were Krauts patrolling the area. And when the plane dropped the box, we already heard shots in the distance!"
"Carter!" Hogan interrupted.
"Sorry, Sir," Carter mumbled.
During the exchange, Wilson had taken out a syringe from one of the bags and filled it with the liquid from the small bottle that was also in the bags. He removed the blankets a bit and grabbed Jout's left arm, pushing the needle into the skin. Wilson pushed down on the syringe, with that giving the American lieutenant the much-needed medicine. Then he removed the syringe and put it back in a small box that he put back into the bag.
Wilson turned to Hogan and said, "I will check on him after roll call. Until then, keep it up with the cloth on his forehead and the leg compresses."
"Ya really think this will make the fever go down?" Newkirk asked.
"It's the only option we have," Wilson declared. "If this fails, Lieutenant Hogan will die."
Shortly after evening roll call, Langenscheidt entered the barracks with Wilson in tow. The medic immediately headed towards Hogan's quarters, while Langenscheidt stayed back and asked, "Ahem…Colonel Hogan?"
"Yes, Langenscheidt?" Hogan replied. His tone was neutral, not particular happy since he wanted to join Wilson in his quarters, but also not really angry because he knew the German corporal intended no harm.
"How is Lieutenant Hogan doing?"
Hogan sighed. "It looks bad, Langenscheidt. Really bad."
Langenscheidt lowered his glance and nervously fidgeted with his hands. He looked around as if checking if there was someone who could overhear their conversation. Then Langenscheidt directed his glance back at the American colonel in front of him and said in a low voice, "I'm sorry for what happened to your brother, Colonel. Please be sure to know that not all Germans think like the Gestapo. There are many out there who hate what has happened to their beloved home country. They…we are simply too afraid to voice it out loud."
Hogan was touched by the young man's remarks. He knew the risk Langenscheidt was taking by voicing this to him; if the wrong person heard their conversation, the corporal would face a firing squad.
"I know that, Langenscheidt." Hogan placed a hand on the other man's shoulder and said, "I'll make sure that the world will learn about them as well as about the bad guys after the war. You can be sure about that."
Langenscheidt flashed him a small smile and quickly turned around. "I'll be waiting for Sergeant Wilson outside the barracks." When he reached the door, he turned around once more and said, "I hope Lieutenant Hogan will be better soon."
"I hope that too, Langenscheidt," Hogan answered as he walked into his quarters.
He arrived just in time to see Wilson removing the thermometer from his younger brother's mouth. The medic looked at it and then at Hogan, a smile forming on his face. "40 degree Celsius or 104-degree Fahrenheit. His temperature is dropping!" Everyone in the small room sighed in relief. Wilson bent down and retrieved another syringe and the small bottle from his bag, preparing another penicillin shot for Jout. "Now, I know it's not much and Lieutenant Hogan is still not over the hump, but we're heading into the right direction."
"Whatever ya say, Wilson. I'm 'appy about every little progress!" Newkirk exclaimed as he happily grabbed the cloth on Jout's forehead. He gave it to Carter, who left the room to make it wet again.
From all the turmoil, Jout slowly woke up and mumbled, "What's all the fuss about?"
"Yer temperature 'as dropped!" Newkirk informed his boyfriend.
A smile circled around his lips and Jout asked, "It has?" When Hogan confirmed it, Jout added, "That's good to hear. Hopefully my body soon decides whether it feels cold or warm. Both at the same time is quite annoying."
This statement made the man chuckle, the first sign of joy in days.
"I'm sure it will, Lieutenant. The penicillin will fight the infection, which will slowly end your chills and then your fever. In a few days, you will be as right as rain again," Wilson illustrated.
Jout nodded and closed his eyes again, sleep once again conquering his body. Everyone except Hogan and Newkirk left the small room, and Hogan walked over to the Brit. He placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I told you, Peter. Hope dies last."
