Into the Woods
Written by Tuttle4077 and Wind-in-the-Sage
Tuttle4077
We left the hotel right after our dinner. My cover story ruled out lingering to talk, and I really didn't want to see what constituted dessert in world war era Germany. I was once told that in England they made strawberry jam out of turnips and sawdust, so I could only imagine that Germany had to get even more inventive with its sweets.
The streets were even quieter now which made me breathe a little easier. But, at the same time, it made me nervous. There was no crowd to disappear into if there was trouble. And wasn't there a curfew? I didn't know, so I put my trust in Newkirk to get us safely to Olsen's. He set a leisurely pace, his arm linked in mine, probably to divert suspicion from anyone bothering to pay attention to us. I wished we could walk faster because I wanted nothing more than to be safe at Olsen's house, but at the same time, I was tired; I probably couldn't have gone faster even if I wanted to.
It was colder now; I could see my breath and there was a faint halo around the streetlights. I huddled deeper into my coat and tried not to shiver. It kept me quiet for a few minutes, but, as usual, I had a hard time staying silent. Olsen's house was on the edge of the town and once we had left the more populated, busy area, I cleared my throat.
"It's a nice little town," I whispered, still cautious even though there was no one around to overhear us. "It looks like it belongs in a storybook or a fairytale. I bet it's really pretty when there's a fresh layer of snow- not that I want it to snow. In fact, I hope I never get to see it in snow because I really want to go home. It's a real shame I have to be here now and under these circumstances," I said with a sigh. I had always wanted to visit Europe- as it was, both times had been during WWII which didn't leave much room for sightseeing.
"It is nice," Newkirk said after a moment. "Thought about coming back here myself after the war."
"You would leave London?" I asked incredulously.
Newkirk shrugged. "Not much there for me. Might be nice to start over with a clean slate somewhere no one knows me. Course, the way Andrew tells it, you can't run from your past, so no point in bothering."
"Ah, what does Carter know," I said, flippantly waving away the thought. "I'm all for the idea of starting over. Why not? You can be like Jean Valjean: a thief who starts over and makes good with his life. Of course, his past does catch up to him, but that's fiction. The real trick is keeping your old self from catching up with you. I mean, there's only so long you can pretend to be someone else. You actually have to put in effort to change the kind of person you are. And, I think, the fundamentals never change. So, I guess the point is, you can run from your past, but you can't run from yourself, even if, in the long run, you can change yourself through lots of hard work. But it's easier to work on yourself and becoming a new person when you don't have a lot of people who know your past trying to keep you in your place."
Newkirk had a look that was a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Blimey, but you do like to talk."
"Yes, but I never actually say anything, do I?" I replied with a self-deprecating grin. "Eh, I think I just like the sound of my own voice. But, back on point, I've always thought you should move to Newfoundland after the war. Newkirk the Newfie. It has a nice ring to it."
"Not on your life," Newkirk said. "Ah, finally, just up there."
I vaguely recognized Olsen's house as we approached. Finally. My toes were freezing. Newkirk hurried up the steps and fished a set of keys from his pocket, fitting one in the lock and opening the door.
"Hah!"
I gasped and took a step back in surprise as Newkirk fell like a ton of bricks onto the floor. What was going on?
I looked from Newkrik sprawled in the doorway up to a man who was nervously babbling about something before he bolted and ran away. Stunned, I locked eyes with another woman who looked panicked before she too turned and fled.
Wait. What?!
It took a second for my brain to put the puzzle pieces together. That was Crittendon, apparently practicing his "killer judo". And the woman? That had to be Wind.
Crittendon! That yutz!
I stepped over Newkirk and into the house. Kneeling beside him, I shook him vigorously. "Newkirk! Newkirk, wake up!" I cried. "Newkirk!"
Aw geez. Nothing. He was out cold. Still alive though. And that left me with a choice. Did I stay with him? Or run after Wind and Crittendon?
I didn't have time to hesitate. Without another thought, I bolted through the house and out the back, looking about frantically, hoping to catch a glimpse of the two fugitives.
I didn't see them, but I took off towards the woods, putting myself in their shoes and guessing that's where they had gone. I had to hurry. Hurry, hurry. The sooner I caught them, the sooner we could get back to the house where it was safe.
I ran as fast as I could, trying to catch up with them, praying that I was heading in the right direction. For all I knew, I was getting myself lost and that would cause even more trouble. If I took a moment to stop and look around, to listen, maybe I could figure out if they were nearby, but I was too panicked to think straight.
"Ha! Stand back, my dear, and leave it to me!"
Suddenly someone, Crittendon, jumped out and grabbed my arm. He whirled me around and pulled me tightly against him, his hand still like a vice on my arm. He clamped his free hand over my mouth before I could say anything- actually, it took me a second to realize who it was, so he was really just muffling my scream.
Did Crittendon know who, or at least what, I was? Did he know the whole situation? Or did he think I was a random German citizen about to turn him in. My eyes widened with terror at the thought that he would just break my neck before bothering to find out.
"Crittendon, wait! Stop!"
Wind-in-the-Sage
The gig was up. I'd used English. Might as well jump in.
I jumped on Crittendon, tugging at his arms. If she wasn't friendly, she might be grateful, and anyway, it's rude to let your friend (used loosely) strangle a woman. "Get off of her!" I shouted quietly. It broke his focus and he looked at me in astonishment.
"She could give us up!" he protested.
"Not here she couldn't." She-whoever she was-gave me a miserable look. "And she might be on our side! Now let go!" I was suddenly impressed by the unfortunate feeling of scolding a dog to drop the shoe he'd found. Luckily, this wasn't a mean-spirited dog.
The red-haired woman gasped when Crittendon finally let go of her, and took a few moments to catch her breath.
As soon as she could speak, she looked at me. "Are you Wind?"
I didn't answer immediately, still trying to keep straight the different sides of the real war, the different sides of Hogan's Heroes/the current situation, and the different sides of this time travel mystery. I still had a healthy level of, if not distrust (Can't help it. I'm Midwestern.), uncertainty. She tried again while Crittendon pouted alertly beside her.
"Wind in the Sage? I'm Tuttle."
Okay. English. Two pen names. Olsen. All good. "You're one of the authors," I said, hoping for some final confirmation.
She nodded, finally catching her breath and standing more comfortably. That was strange, though. I'd thought the authors were in camp. "Why did-"
Crittendon's "Authors?" caused me to pause and explain to him.
"She's on our side. Olsen brought her." This looked like it satisfied Crittendon, even if it didn't bring him out of his pout. Or his-maybe it was my imagination?-look of suspicion at this mention of authors, which certainly had to be a code word pertaining to the top secret mission my clothes were necessary for and which Hogan was certainly at the bottom of with his no-good lack of a soldier's honor.
But now it was Tuttle's turn to look confused. "Olsen didn't bring me."
"Then who was that?"
Tuttle rubbed her forehead and sighed. "It was Newkirk. He and I had to go into town anyway, so we were going to bring you back in. Of course no one told you."
"What?" I could've sworn it was Olsen. And gosh, that's a bit of information I would have liked to know. But it supposedly would have worked out fine if not for Crittendon.
"Newkirk?" said nuisance chimed in. "You don't happen to mean that English chap from Stalag 13?" I could sense his disapproval already. Before I could stop Tuttle, she tried to clear things up.
"Yes, Newkirk," she said, pursing her lips with equal disapproval of Crittendon. "But even if it wasn't, even if it was Olsen, why on earth would you karate chop him the second he walked through the door? What in the freakin-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. "Look, whatever. Let's just get back to Olsen's. Newkirk will fix you up with some new clothes and then we can be on our merry way to Stalag 13."
"Oh no, my dear lady. We will not be doing that. We have just prepared to escape on our own. No need for Hogan's men and their codswallop. And-" He drew himself up nobly and addressed Tuttle. "I will take you too."
"But-!" we both said.
Crittendon held up a hand. "I would rather not have women getting involved with violations of an international treaty, but as her sister is at Stalag 13 I have agreed to take her there. Then I shall get you all safely to England and resume my command."
"Your sister?" Tuttle repeated.
"Um. Well I think so. She went missing this morning or-" I caught myself, glancing at Crittendon. "Yeah. I assumed since I ended up here she must have too. Her name's Nora. Or Daily Nightly, I guess, is her pen name."
Tuttle frowned. "I don't... maybe she showed up while I was gone," she said hesitantly.
"You didn't see her?"
Tuttle shook her head.
Maybe she wasn't here yet. Or wasn't coming at all. That would be ideal. I couldn't say that out loud, of course. She was my current reason to keep from going back to England. My brows furrowed. There was a chance, either way. I decided to take this as a comfort.
Tuttle4077
"Come, come my dears, we must hurry. Jerry could sneak up on us at any moment while we're lollygagging about."
I made a fist and glared at Crittendon. There was no way I was going to let this walking disaster lead me anywhere. Frankly, I was surprised Wind would. Was she crazy? "The safest thing for us to do is to go to Olsen's and let Newkirk take us back to Stalag 13," I said tightly, trying very hard to control my temper.
"I think she's right, Colonel," Wind said. "Going to Stalag 13 is going to get us tangled up with Hogan anyway. So if we just wait-"
"And if the Gestapo should catch us with Corporal Newkirk? And they are able to ascertain from him everything going on at Stalag 13? They will question us too- none too lightly, I may add. If we go, just us, they will have no reason to question us any further than necessary." He eyed Wind. "Of course, they may be quite interested in your unusual attire. I've been meaning to ask-"
Well, he had a point. But it occurred to me in that moment that maybe Crittendon wasn't fully aware of the situation- possibly on purpose. I decided it was best to keep him in the dark as well as we could.
"Look, Colonel," I said as calmly as possible. It wouldn't do to fly off the handle with a man like this. I needed to appeal to his ego. You catch more flies with honey, after all. "I appreciate the point you are trying to make. But I'm pregnant which means I'm exhausted. I really need to sleep before we go trekking through the woods. So with or without you, I am going back to Olsen's. But, I would feel so much safer if you would escort me there. Then, if you want, you can leave right away. Or, you can stick around and we can leave together after I have a nap."
Crittendon was somewhat taken aback. "You're... that fiend! I knew Hogan was a slipshod commander, but to allow one of his men-"
"No! No, no, no," I interrupted, waving my hands frantically. "Not... no. I'm quite happily married. And besides, I just got here a few weeks ago."
Crittendon wasn't pacified. He raised his hand and shook his finger in the air. "But to allow a woman in your delicate condition to go gallivanting around behind enemy lines is the height of irresponsibility and when I see Hogan next, I shall give him a piece of my mind! The very i-"
"Colonel!" Wind hissed loudly, grabbing noncommittally toward his upraised arm. "Can we please discuss this at Olsen's?! Tuttle said she was tired! Are you going to keep her outside just to rant about Hogan?"
That mollified him. Crittendon cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. "You're quite right. Forgive me. Let's go back." He held out his arm for me and I grudgingly took it. "Now, if we head in that direction," Crittendon said, pointing ahead of him. "Or, rather... that direction," he said, swiveling around, pulling me with him. I tried to loosen my arm from his, but couldn't.
"Maybe we should look at the map," Wind suggested earnestly.
Crittendon tapped his temple. "No worries, have it up here. Now, if I can just find a spot in the trees, I can use the stars to deduce-"
"Did you bring the map?" Wind asked.
"I burned it, of course. Can't let it fall into Jerry's hands. But, believe me, I memorized it."
Wind looked dumbfounded, as if the sheer scale of his, well, Crittendon-ness had broken her brain.
"I'm pretty sure it's that way," I said, pointing back towards where I thought I had come from. We weren't that far into the woods, so I probably wasn't that turned about.
Crittendon licked his finger and held it up. "Yes, I believe you are right. Off we go."
That didn't instill a lot of confidence in my suggestion (I was reminded of that episode with the unexploded bomb and Hogan picked the black wire after Klink suggested the white), but we headed in that direction anyway.
Within minutes we could see the lights from town peeking through the trees and I let out a sigh of relief. We were heading in the right direction. We would be back at Olsen's house any moment and then Newkirk could deal with Crittendon. Of course, Crittendon was a colonel and in the show, Newkirk followed his orders, even though he knew they were ludicrous.
Eh. Maybe Newkirk would just knock him out before he could issue any orders to follow. Then we'd shanghai him back to Stalag 13.
We turned the corner and stopped dead. Down the street, two men were standing on Olsen's doorstep, talking with Newkirk, who was rubbing the back of his head. From the way they were dressed, I could only assume they were the Gestapo. I remembered that Olsen had been quite chummy with the local Gestapo agents, so maybe they were paying him a social call and had found Newkirk passed out.
Whatever the reason, it wouldn't be good for them to spot us. Carefully we backed up round the corner.
CRASH.
I winced and looked behind me. Wind looked back, horrified, an overturned garbage can still rolling slightly on the ground. She must have knocked it over.
Someone shouted down the street. The Gestapo?
We all shared a panicked look. Then, Crittendon stood tall and nodded. "Stay here. I'll lead them away," he whispered urgently. Then, without waiting for us to protest (not that we were about to), he bolted out into the street. "Hey! Hey, you lot! You'll never catch me!" And then off he ran into the alley across the way.
There was another shout in German, followed by the crack of a gunshot. I jumped in surprise and gasped. Wind grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground and together we crouched in the shadows, watching as one Gestapo man followed Crittendon in hot pursuit.
There was still one Gestapo agent unaccounted for. Was he coming around the corner to see if there was anyone else? Was he heading in the other direction to cut Crittendon off?
Tentatively, I peeked around the corner to find out.
My heart dropped into my stomach when I saw the other agent strong arm Newkirk and pull him down the stairs. Newkirk struggled for a moment, but quickly stopped resisting and obediently let the Gestapo lead him away.
"Newkirk!" I whispered in alarm. "They've got Newkirk!"
Wind peeked out to see for herself. "We need to get outta here."
"Do you think they'll come back to Olsen's?" I asked.
"They might, to search the place. I don't think we should risk it."
I bit my lip. I was sure Olsen had a hidden room somewhere in his house, but I couldn't remember where. What if they thought Crittendon and Newkirk were in cahoots and had done something to Olsen and came back to search for him?
"I don't think I can find my way back to Stalag 13 through the woods," I said. "And we can't just take the road like I did with Newkirk."
"I was studying the map earlier," Wind said slowly. "I think I can get us there."
Despite the situation, I couldn't help but be amused. "Memorized it, did you?"
Wind evaded eye contact, apparently not sure how to react to humor in this situation. "No, but I got a good look at it, and I have a pretty good sense of direction. I think I can get us there."
I hesitated, weighing the options in my head. The balance tipped in favour of staying at Olsen's. There were a thousand and one things that could go wrong if we started hiking through the woods in the dark when the Gestapo knew there was an English prisoner running loose.
And I hadn't been lying when I told Crittendon I was exhausted. The second trimester of pregnancy wasn't as bad as the first, but I was still building a human being. That was a lot of work in its own right.
Maybe, maybe the Gestapo would come back to Olsen's and do a search, but I was sure we could find that hidden room before they arrived if they did at all. And it seemed unlikely in my estimation.
I was about to tell Wind my thoughts on the matter- and if she disagreed, I would pull rank or something- but before I could, Wind gasped. "I left my binoculars back there!"
"Binoculars?" I repeated.
"And my philosophy journal! It references books that haven't been written yet!"
Binoculars and a philosophy journal? Just what had Wind been doing before she was dropped into this mess? "Does it have any dates?"
"I don't think so... But it's all in English and it doesn't make any sense in context."
"Okay, cool. So we'll go back to Olsen's," I said, relieved that there wasn't going to be any argument over that point. "You get your stuff together. I'm pretty sure Olsen mentioned a hidden room in his place, so I'll look for that and we can hide out until he comes to get us."
"Okay," Wind said, motioning for me to lead the way.
I looked up and down the street before slipping around the corner. We stuck to the shadows and hurried down the street. We scrambled up the steps to Olsen's house and rushed through the still open door. I closed it behind us and locked it.
"Okay, get your stuff and then keep an eye out the window. I'll go snoop around." Wind nodded and disappeared into the kitchen while I went up the stairs. "Now, if I had a secret room..." I poked my head into a few rooms until I found a small study with walls lined with bookshelves. "This is where I'd put the entrance."
Maybe it was clichéd, but I would not have been surprised if one of the bookshelves opened. I just had to find the right book. I scanned the shelves, unsure of what I was looking for. I remembered that Olsen's codename came from A Tale of Two Cities, but all the book titles were in German. Of course it wouldn't have been that easy. I gingerly pulled at a few books without success. For all I knew, I was barking up the wrong tree.
"Tuttle!"
At Wind's cry, I abandoned my quest and raced out of the room and down the stairs. Wind met me at the bottom.
"Quick!" she said. No further explanation was needed for at that moment, someone was pounding on the door, shouting in German. It would only take a minute before they became more forceful and broke down the door.
Without another word, we rushed out the back door. We didn't stop running until we reached the forest.
