"What do you mean they aren't there?" Hogan demanded loudly, pacing agitated around the small circle of dust he'd created in the tunnel.
"Max said he camped out at the hospital all night. There were ten patients admitted. Two drunk soldiers from the troops parked in town, four Hitler-Jugend that had been involved in an accident and a group of sick children from an orphanage. No Luftwaffe doctors showed up, and no American prisoners." Kinch repeated the detailed message he'd spent twenty minutes getting out of Max through complicated code.
The store owner wasn't the fastest at the key, and tended to misspell things when he was in a hurry.
"It doesn't make sense. They have to be there. Where else could they have gone?" LeBeau asked from the stool on which he had been forced to perch to keep out of Hogan's path.
"Hitler Youth, Abwher soldiers right there in the hospital. With that much activity in town I can see Wilson shying away from the hospital, but not Olsen." Hogan grumbled. A second later he snapped his fingers. "And I just sent Klink outta camp on their trail."
"He's gonna flip when he doesn't find them in Hammelburg." Kinch remarked exchanging a glance with the Frenchman.
"Let's just hope he panics and comes back here, instead of running to Burkhalter." Hogan started pacing again.
As the group grew quiet the ticking of the wireless set filled the tunnel and Kinch turned to the key, listening and responding with one hand, and jotting down notes with the other.
Leaning over his shoulder, LeBeau translated the chicken scratches. "Hospital clerk reports…Luftwaffe officers…arrived 1900 hours last night. Two unidentified patients. Officers were told there were no rooms…argued….departed 0100 hours."
"No room at the inn so they went looking for a stable." Hogan snapped, hands on his hips and pacing again. "If they left at 0100 hours last night they could be anywhere by now!" He shook his head, feeling the headache that had been lingering at the back of his skull roaring to the front. "Olsen's getting way to comfortable outside of camp." He said then was silent, before he said, "The least they coulda done was phoned in before leaving. Stopped at the Hofbrau, or even come back here!"
The key finally chattered to a halt and Kinch threw the headset down in frustration, crossing his arms, his biceps and shoulder muscles bulging menacingly. "What are those guys thinkin?"
"What was I thinking?" Hogan muttered, shaking his head at himself. He had begun to replay the past forty-eight hours over in his head realizing the gaping mistake that he had made from the beginning.
Kinch and LeBeau had exchanged a disturbed glance. "What are you talking about, Colonel?" Kinch finally asked carefully.
Hogan vaguely waved a hand, as if erasing a chalkboard. Later, he thought. "Kinch, stay on the radio. Anything you hear from anybody, let me know right away."
The staff sergeant didn't respond. He hadn't needed to be told, and Hogan didn't need a confirmation.
It was morning. The sun was rising and Olsen's eyes were burning as he stared at the dead gauges in front of him. "The jack isn't the only thing Klink hasn't had fixed on this stupid truck." He grunted letting the vehicle jolt against the brakes somewhere on a country lane north east of Hammelburg.
The sudden stop and the anger in Olsen's voice woke Wilson, and disturbed Baby Bear, from the rare sleep they had managed in the passenger seat.
While the little girl glanced around, blinking tiredly, Wilson squinted at the non-descript countryside. "What's goin' on? Are we there yet?" A yawn escaped, then he added. "Are we anywhere yet?"
Olsen stared at the gas gauge, the needle still stubbornly pointed at the middle most mark between voll and leer. The engine had been gargling fumes a moment ago, then ground to a halt on the country road, the truck refusing to move another meter.
"Olsen..."
"Weranouttagas."
Wilson hoped he'd heard wrong, but asked for clarification just in case and regretted it instantly. "We ran out of gas!?"
Olsen sneered, set the emergency brake and stepped out of the truck, slamming the door as hard as he could before he stomped to the back to retrieve the gas cans.
"Olsen! What do you think you're…oh no! You are not leaving me here with the truck in the middle of nowhere."
"You have to stay with Carter and Newkirk, and somebody has to go get gas. It's a ten or fifteen mile walk back to the nearest town. Unless you've got a spare motorcycle hidden in your pockets, I'm gonna have to go for a hike."
Baby Bear rounded the back of the truck in a rush, following closely behind Wilson and sticking to his side.
"We should never have left camp." The medic moaned, wishing it could be true. This was so far out of his element, that by cyclical rights he should have been back in his element.
"Carter and Newkirk were hurt. We had to get them to a hospital."
"Then we should have stayed in Hammelburg!"
"Yeah sure, stay in Hammelburg. With troops in town watching everything coming and going." Olsen waited for some response from Wilson, and pressed his point when the medic said nothing. "And they stuck Newkirk and Carter on beds in the hallway."
Wilson made a face, reddening in response to the fit of anger THAT event had inspired.
"Besides Carter recognized those Hitler-Jugend that we ran off the road. It wouldn't have taken long for them to realize who the only two American prisoners in the hospital were."
"They weren't conscious!" Wilson argued in a vain attempt to play Devil's advocate.
"Yet...You said yourself they didn't look too bad off." Olsen countered, the empty cans clanging together. "It wouldn't have taken more than a few hours before they were being walked back out of the hospital, probably right past our guys. They would've recognized either one of them right away given half a chance."
As the argument dwindled Wilson backed a few steps away and glanced toward the stalled truck in time to realize that Baby Bear had already climbed into the back and was playing nurse for Carter and Newkirk.
"You're sure there isn't a closer town up ahead?" Wilson finally offered.
Olsen sighed then gestured toward the cab, "Why don't you grab the map outta the front seat."
As Wilson dashed back to the cab, Olsen lowered the tailgate and stepped up into the truck leaning over the attentive seven-year-old to check on Carter first. Somehow the man managed to sleep despite the constant jouncing of the truck, and was unconscious but breathing steadily. Baby Bear had tucked the blankets tightly around him, bringing the edge of the blanket up just under his chin.
When Baby Bear and Olsen switched patients they found that Newkirk was again awake.
"Hey Peter, welcome back to the world of the living."
Newkirk groaned softly and closed his barely open eyes. "I was hopin' this was a nightmare."
"It is a nightmare. Unfortunately it's also reality. How ya feelin?"
"D'rather not say." Carefully the injured man turned his head and came nose to nose with Baby Bear's concerned pout and he smirked despite the weariness. "Hey, Darlin'"
From there his eyes traveled to the daylight beyond the canvas of the truck, Olsen still in his uniform, and the gas cans lined up on the edge of the truck bay. "Let me see if I can guess…"
Before Newkirk could say anything else Wilson appeared with the map fluttering behind him and the Brit groaned again.
"Is he awake?"
"Yeah, and grumpy. Here let me see that." Swiftly Olsen and Wilson traded places, Wilson immediately checking blood pressure and heart rate before he coaxed Newkirk into rolling on his side.
Before Wilson could roll him back however, Newkirk insisted on being allowed to sit up. "I sleep any longer, you'll need bleedin' Prince Charmin' to wake me up."
Wilson wasn't too pleased with the idea but he helped Newkirk sit up, the corporal still too weak to do it on his own. Peter leaned back against the support of the side of the truck, coughing lightly and bracing his aching rib cage with one hand, while he watched Olsen pour earnestly over the map.
"Lost are we?"
"I know exactly where we are." Olsen said, his voice distracted as he measured distances with his thumbnail.
"And that is?"
"Middle of Germany."
"You can imagine my relief."
"Ten miles, give or take that way…" Olsen said, pointing vaguely to the road ahead. "There's a tiny little dot on the map."
Wilson blinked at the entirely un-reassuring news and sarcastically said, "You want to blow on it, make sure it isn't a speck of dirt or something?"
"If it's a speck of dirt, somebody named it." Olsen returned. "The first car I come across I'll try to flag down but I may be gone a while."
"Wouldn't it be better if we stuck together. We could wait here for a car and-"
Already Olsen was shaking his head no and Wilson bristled. "You know, I get that you like being the lone wolf hero, but it's just possible that this time sticking together is the better plan."
"This time!? What do you mean, this time? We've been together since we left camp, Wilson."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
When Olsen continued to give him a blank look Wilson forced a sigh in a rush and said, "You're the outside man. You spend entire weeks sometimes on the outside, in Hammelburg and God knows where. I get it, you like to be on your own. But I can't do this without you, Olsen. I don't speak the language like you do. I won't be able to talk my way out of anything if somebody stops by the truck and-"
"Maybe you should start learning. How long have you been in Germany anyway?"
"I never intended to have to learn the language. I'm not a spy. I wasn't assigned. I got shot down."
"So did I mate." Olsen countered. "I was in that prison camp long before you or Colonel Hogan. I learned everything I could so that I could escape."
"Cause that's how you survive being a POW, Wilson." Newkirk added, softly.
Olsen nodded. "You learn, you take risks, and you never stop trying. This'll be good for ya." With a smirk the sergeant hopped down and retrieved the empty cans.
"Wait a minute. What's the name of the town?"
"Bad something..." Olsen said, then leaned back toward the map, finding the speck and squinting at the smudged lettering. "Bad Salzungen." Olsen read, then watched amused as Wilson tried to repeat the name.
"Best of luck with that buddy." He said cheerily, slapping Wilson on the back, before he grabbed the empty gas cans and started down the road.
Wilson was about to go after him when he heard the first hard cough coming from his patient. By the time he had found and helped Newkirk drink from a canteen Olsen was already out of sight.
TBC
