Reluctantly, consciousness crept back into Hitch's prone form. His eyes squinted in pain, and cautiously opened. It was so quiet, so black, he almost wondered if he had opened his eyes after all.
A terrific weight pinned him to the floor. Even without trying, Hitch knew he wasn't moving for a while.
He lay face down in the dirt, lodged firmly under a heavy beam that was pressing on his back, and crushing his right side. To his horror, he realized he couldn't even draw a full breath, his lungs were constricted by the pressure.
A few more inches, a few more pounds of pressure, and he would have been dead.
Hitch suddenly wanted to be sick.
Feeling himself slipping into a panic, Hitch forced his mind to focus on his breathing. Concentrating on the simple act of in and out, in and out, making sure he had enough air.
When he could think straight again, he began to take stock of himself. His arms ached with bruises from falling rocks, and his left knee felt sore, probably from when he hit the ground. A film of dirt lined his mouth, grating on his teeth. Beyond that, and the imminent threat of being crushed to death, he was fine.
He even found his glasses lying a foot or so away, where they'd been knocked off his face. Fat lot of good they did him in the pitch blackness of the cave, but it was comforting to know they were there, and safe.
His eyes adjusted slowly, but there wasn't much to see. He guessed from shapes what was rubble, and where the crates of munitions had been spared...then he heard it,
…tic…tic…tic…
A hard knot formed in the pit of Hitch's stomach, and he felt his skin go cold.
He wasn't the only thing alive in the sealed cave.
On the other side of the collapsed entrance, the other Rats had brought spades and picks. Moffitt, using Tully as a crutch, hobbled through the tunnel, counting the number of remaining tunnel braces as they passed.
He turned to Troy, squinting through his goggles, and enunciated through the scarf covering his face,
"These beams were placed at 5 foot intervals. There are still three standing, the last one is completely buried."
Under his protective gear, Troy's face was unreadable, but his tone was crystal clear.
"So he's buried in a full five feet of dirt and rock." He said steelily.
"If we're assuming that he's alive." Moffitt put bluntly.
"You were the closest when the door collapsed, you said he was alive." Tully pointed out.
Moffitt nodded grimly.
"When I saw him. But my estimate doesn't include however much of the cave collapsed on the inside. It's very possible he was crushed, or bludgeoned to death." His terrible words hung in the air. "Are we still going in Troy?"
"I've got to, Jack."
Tully hefted a spade,
"Then what're we standing around here for, let's get to it."
"It should be narrowest at the top, best start there. And work fast, we're not sure how much air is in there," Moffitt called over his shoulder. He was leaning heavily on the wall, shuffling toward the daylight.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to drive around to the other side of the hill and see if the ground has weakened. If we can get in that way, it might save some time."
"You can't walk-"
"Then I'll hobble," the Brit quipped impatiently. "Really Troy, I'm no use around here."
"Then take a walkie-talkie and keep in touch. Tully, help him to the jeep and bring back the other walkie-talkie."
Troy could tell, Tully was getting fed up with the delays. But he obeyed his sergeant, and took Moffitt's arm around his neck.
In a few minutes, Tully returned with the hand radio. Troy had already started digging, and the tight space was already choked with fine dirt.
Wordlessly, he took up a shovel and to joined his sergeant.
"Sarge,"
Troy didn't slow down.
"Yeah, Tully?" He grunted through his scarf.
"Do you... do you think Doc could be right?"
"About Hitch being killed in the cave-in?"
"I tried not to think about it, but what if he's right?"
"Have a little faith, Tully," Troy tried to brush off their shared fear, "That kid's got more lives than a cat."
He added, much more quietly, "I just hope he hasn't run out."
He didn't know if Tully heard, but they both began shoveling faster.
Hitch stared aimlessly into the blackness that enveloped him.
...tic...tic…tic…
That sound. That terrible sound. Ticking down his last moments with painful precision.
If his teammates were smart, they'd be far, far away by now.
His first hope told him, the timer would run down, that it would die before the explosives went off. But the longer he waited, the more his hope dwindled.
...tic…tic...tic…The cold, impartial click of his death approaching.
Hitch didn't even have the bitter comfort of being unaware when the axe would fall. In less than 30 minutes, enough ammunition to relaunch the battle of the bulge would go up in flames, and take him with it.
He smirked in the dark,
"Some fireworks."
…tic…tic…tic…
He laughed out loud, a harsh, biting laugh. How many condemned men had the luxury of setting the time for their own execution?
His laugh broke off into a fit of coughing when he inhaled too much dirt.
…tic…tic…tic…
Hitch ran a hand through his dusty hair, he was sure he'd go crazy, before the explosion finished him off.
"The Germans wish they had such great torture methods."