[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0130hrs local]
Main Entrance, St. Johanniskirche
****
Mother Bernadette rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Most amusing,
Col. Hogan. But what if he'd understood Latin?"
"Well, it's not like I said anything vulgar."
"No, you just gave him a warning," she said.
"A warning?" Margarethe asked. "What kind of warning? What
did you say, Colonel?" she asked suspiciously. When he didn't answer right
away, she turned to Bernadette. "What did he say, Mother?"
"Vulpem pilum mutat, non mores," Bernadette repeated.
"A fox may change its hair, not its tricks." At Margarethe's blank
expression, she added, "People may outwardly change their appearance, but
on the inside--"
"--but on the inside, they have not changed their intentions,"
Margarethe finished. She glared at the priestly accoutrements that Hogan was
wearing. "And speaking of a fox with new fur..."
As they spoke, Hogan felt a sudden dizzy spell. Bringing his hand up to
his forehead, he closed his eyes, fighting against the wave of nausea. He'd
been running on pure adrenaline through the Gestapo's visit, afraid of blacking
out at any given moment. He leaned heavily against the door, waiting for the
touch of wooziness to pass.
"Col. Hogan!" Margarethe rushed to his side. "You should
be in bed! Look at you! You're as pale as a ghost!"
Hogan grinned weakly. "Well...this is the place for it, isn't it?
Ghosts, I mean?"
"Col. Hogan, perhaps Margarethe is correct," Bernadette said.
"You are in no condition to travel."
"Now, don't you start going soft on me, too, Mother
Bernadette," Hogan joked. "Nice Mother Superiors
just aren't allowed in the job description. Why it could tear apart the very
foundation of the Church."
"Never mind the Church," Bernadette growled. "You need to
rest."
"Sorry, ladies," Hogan said, shaking his head. He appeared
exhausted. "But slacking off isn't in my job
description."
"How far must you go?" Margarethe asked, her voice tinged with
concern. She stood so close to him that he could see a faint sprinkling of
freckles across the bridge of her nose. For some reason, that made his stomach
flip-flop.
"I'm sorry, Sister," he said softly. "But the less you
know, the better it is for you."
"But I already know too much, Colonel. You might as well trust me
with the rest." Her gray eyes, dark with worry, held his for an eternity.
He felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe. He fought a sudden urge to
run his fingers lightly across her face. Can it, Colonel! Remember who and
what she is--a nun! A wave of vertigo
washed over him again, and inadvertently, he leaned into her for support.
He felt her put her arms around him, but he struggled against her.
Shaking his head, he gathered his strength to push her away. "No! Sister
Margarethe...I appreciate all you and Mother Bernadette have done for me, but I
have to go--Now!"
Margarethe stared at him. She looked hurt, but he couldn't be sure.
Besides, he didn't want to know. He was acting like a complete jerk and he knew
it. These brave women had risked their lives for him, and this was how he was
repaying them--with an unconscionable show of ingratitude.
And worse, with the strongest desire he'd felt for a woman in a long
while.
"Sister...please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"
Margarethe shook her head and held her hands up in a staying motion.
"That is quite all right, Colonel," she said, her voice neutral.
"I understand. You must do your duty."
He nodded mutely, unable to think of anything else to say.
"Margarethe," Bernadette said quietly. "The Colonel might
have need of his weapon wherever he is going. Perhaps you should retrieve it
from the Sacristy." Margarethe nodded and left. "You must forgive
Sister Margarethe, Col. Hogan. She is young and at times impetuous, but her
heart is always in the right place."
Keeping his eyes downcast, Hogan nodded solemnly. "Thank you again,
Mother Bernadette," he said softly. "I wish there were some way of
repaying you--"
"--There is!" Margarethe interrupted. She had just returned
with his weapon. "You can let me drive you to wherever you need to
go."
"Out of the question!" Hogan snapped.
"At least part of the way, Colonel," she amended.
"Please?" At the emphatic shake of his head, she threw up her arms in
exasperation.
"If you are not the most stubborn, most mule-headed man that I have
ever had the displeasure of meeting!"
She walked huffily up to him, and jabbed him in the chest with the muzzle of
his Luger. "Here! Take your infernal gun! I hope you choke on it!"
Hogan quickly grabbed her wrist and pointed the pistol away from him, while
simultaneously removing it from her hand.
"Margarethe--!" Bernadette gasped.
"Are you crazy?" Hogan protested, his voice
uncharacteristically going up an octave. "The darn thing's loaded and the
safety's off! You could've killed me!"
"Oh, what a loss that would have been to the war effort!" she
returned sarcastically.
"Well...I don't about the war effort," he grumbled. "But
it sure as heck wouldn't have done me any good!"
She made a sour face at him. "What difference is there between me
accidentally shooting you, and you deliberately walking out there--alone--in your
condition? You'd soon be dead for either reason." She glared at him.
"Well!?"
Hogan opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
"I will tell you...There would be no
difference!" Raising her chin in anger, she looked down her nose at him,
crossed her arms and turned her back. "Of all the ungrateful, pigheaded,
idiotic--"
"Okay, okay!" Hogan said, annoyed. "I get the
picture!" He glanced at Bernadette, who shrugged gamely.
"She does have a mind of her own," she told him.
Hogan nodded. Jamming the pistol inside the waistband of his trousers, he
walked up behind Margarethe and placed his hands on her shoulders. At his
touch, she instantly stiffened, and Hogan immediately jerked his hands away, as
if burned.
"I'm sorry, Sister," he apologized. "I didn't mean any
disrespect. I--" She spun around suddenly, and before he knew it, she was
facing him less than a hand's width separating them. He stopped, struggling for
words. It didn't help that her proximity made him even more aware of her
perfume and of her.
He held her eyes, again feeling as if time were standing still. He didn't
know how it happened, but she was suddenly in his arms, his lips inches apart
from hers--
--Realizing what he was doing, Hogan released her, taking an involuntary
step backward.
"Sister--! I--!" He shook his head in disbelief over what he'd
almost done. Margarethe took a step towards him.
"But--?"
"War or no war. There's no excuse for my behavior," he said,
unable to look at her. "Please, forgive me." He turned to go.
"Mother Bernadette, please don't judge all Allied soldiers by my
reprehensible actions."
"Col. Hogan, I
don't understand--?" Bernadette began, but Hogan cut her off.
"I'd best
go," he said. Both women were looking at him with strange expressions.
"Auf Weidersehen," he added and turned towards the corridor
that led to the side entrance through which he'd entered.
"Wait!
Colonel!" Margarethe called. Sighing, Hogan stopped in his tracks. Didn't
she know what she was doing to him? Couldn't she see how he felt? How could she
be so blind?
Well, of course,
she is, you idiot! He
chastised. She's married to the Church. She probably doesn't even know
you're alive!
Oh yeah...? She's
a woman, isn't she? Even a nun would notice if a man had just tried to
kiss her!
"Col.
Hogan...please," she said quickly, afraid of being interrupted. "I
know that I've said some very terrible things to you tonight. But please don't
let that cloud your judgment. You have lost a great deal of blood. Look at you.
You are still weak. If you try to travel on foot, you might not make it.
Please. Let me help."
Hogan looked at her
for a long time. Again, it seemed as if he'd forgotten the very fundamentals of
breathing. His face felt flushed, his knees weak. He didn't know if it was from
the wound in his shoulder, or the one in his heart.
Knowing he should
refrain from doing so, he tentatively raised his hand and tenderly cupped her
chin. Losing himself in her gaze, he finally nodded.
"You win,
Sister," he murmured. Grinning self-deprecatingly, he added, "I'm not
sure if I could've made it as far as the door anyway."
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0215hrs local]
Bayern Forest outside Kitzingen, Germany
****
"Thanks for the lift, Sister, but this is as far as you go,"
Hogan muttered. "I'll make if from here."
"Of course you will, Colonel," she said agreeably. As she
spoke, she climbed out of the caretaker's dilapidated truck and hurried over to
the passenger side. Opening the door, she was not surprised when Hogan fell
over sideways into her waiting her arms.
She shook her head in exasperation. "Are all Allied officers as
stubborn and pigheaded as you?" she muttered.
"No. I'm afraid the colonel is in a class all by himself." Margarethe
whirled at the sound of the voice. "Hands up, lady. Fingers spread--now!
Before I shoot first and ask questions later!"
Margarethe instantly did as told. "Please! If you are his friend,
Col. Hogan is hurt."
"Hurt?" another voice asked.
"Blimey, why didn't you say so?" Immediately, two figures
dressed entirely in black emerged from behind the tree line. One quickly
hurried past her to the cab of the truck. The other one--Margarethe saw that he
was a Black man--unwaveringly kept his weapon pointed straight at her.
"How is he, Newkirk?" he asked.
"He will be all right," Margarethe said. "He was wounded
in the shoulder and he's lost a great deal of blood, but--"
"Kinch, you are not going to believe this!"
"What?" Kinchloe hissed, worried. "What is it?"
"He's dressed as a-a priest!"
"A what?"
"You heard me! He's dressed as a ruddy priest! Colonel, are you all
right? Colonel? Kinch, he's out cold. We should get him back to camp
A.S.A.P."
Kinchloe nodded, and then walked threateningly up to Margarethe.
"Okay, lady, let's hear it. What happened to the colonel?" He
casually kept the semi-automatic weapon pointed at her. "Talk!"
"Kinch--! Newkirk--!" Hogan's weak voice broke in.
"Newkirk! Cover her!"
Newkirk nodded, and jerking his head at her, indicated that she move over
several feet.
Kinchloe hurried up to Hogan, the worry in his voice obvious. He helped
Hogan to a sitting position. "Colonel, what happened?"
"The Underground leaders were arrested by the Gestapo. I managed to
get away, but got a bullet in me. The Sister, here, and her Mother Superior
bandaged me up."
"Sister--?" Newkirk asked.
"Sister Margarethe," Hogan said introducing her. "Long
story. Just my luck, huh? I get shot up, and a couple of nuns intercede on my
behalf. Guess being an altar boy when I was ten has finally begun to pay
off."
"Nuns?" Margarethe murmured to herself. "Then that is
why--?"
"The Gestapo arrested all four?" Newkirk asked. "Blimey!
That's bad, Colonel. It could set back our operations by several months."
Kinchloe nodded in agreement.
"Your operations?" Margarethe asked, seething. "Is that
all you are worried about? What about those poor souls in the hands of
those--"
"Sister!" Hogan broke in. He reached for her hand. "I
promise. We're going to do everything in our power to free them."
She studied him for a long moment. Finally, satisfied at his sincerity,
she nodded. "I believe you." She reached up and gently caressed his
cheek, her fingers feather soft. Hogan felt his insides churn, warring between
self-loathing and an intense desire for her.
He looked away quickly, unable to meet her eyes any longer. "Kinch!
Give me a hand out of here."
Bending down to do as requested, Kinchloe addressed Newkirk, "Bring
the truck around, so's the colonel doesn't have to walk too far." Newkirk
nodded and hurried to do as told. When Kinchloe had Hogan out of the vehicle,
Margarethe moved in to help support the wounded officer from the other side.
"Col. Hogan?" she said.
"Hmmm...?" Hogan sounded disoriented. Margarethe could tell
that he would soon reach his limit. She addressed Kinchloe instead,
"Sergeant?"
"Yeah?"
"Kinchloe, is it?"
Kinchloe nodded, "Yeah? What can I do for you, Sister?"
"Well, for one thing, you can help me put this man to bed. He is
close to collapse. I tried to get him to rest earlier, but he was insistent on
coming here. Now he wishes to storm Gestapo Headquarters and free your four
friends."
"And your problem is--?"
"Sergeant, surely you can see the foolishness of all this. Col.
Hogan is much too weak to attempt anything so dangerous."
"And you know this because--?"
"--Because I am a trained nurse, Sergeant. And I know when a patient
is close to collapse."
"Nurse?" Kinchloe echoed. "I thought you were a nun?"
Margarethe opened her mouth to reply, but she was beat to the punch by Hogan.
"Some nuns are nurses, too, Kinch," Hogan murmured. "And
teachers...and angels..." he added, eyes closed. He leaned heavily on
Margarethe, resting his head on her shoulder. "...smell nice, too..."
Kinchloe was taken aback. Hogan's words and actions were that of a man
slipping into delirium.
"I guess you're right, ma'am," he said apologetically, trying
to take Hogan's weight off her. "We do need to get the colonel back to
base."
Obviously struggling under Hogan's mass, Margarethe smiled tolerantly.
"That is quite all right, Sergeant," she said softly. "I do not
mind. In fact, I am beginning to grow quite used to your colonel using me as a
headrest." At Kinchloe's surprised expression, she chuckled in secret
amusement.
"Kinch!" Newkirk came running up. "The bloody truck won't
start." He glanced at Margarethe. "Beggin' your pardon, Sister."
Kinchloe sighed. They'd had problems with the motorpool vehicle when they
left Stalag 13. Its breaking down was not unexpected. "Swell!"
"Sergeant?" Margarethe began, pointing at the church
caretaker's truck. "Perhaps I might be of help...?"
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0300hrs local]
****
"I have been inside the Rathaus," Margarethe said. "Before
the war, it served as the district courthouse. As I recall, it has a holding
cell in the sub-basement for those who were about to face the local
magistrate." Her expression took on a faraway look.
"My parents used to bring me here for the Wurzburg Annual Winefest.
See the ornate fountain out front?"
Kinchloe nodded.
"On special occasions, the Buergermeisters would pump wine from it
in celebration. It was a time for singing, picnics, family and friends."
She smiled in remembrance.
"My best friend, Katrina and I once discovered a tunnel that ran
from behind the maintenance building to the River Mainz. It was little more
than a culvert for rain runoff, but to a child it was a grand adventure."
She sighed.
"Those were happier times. Now, all we have left to remind us of
those days is on the building's outer facade. You can still make out the image
of a green tree, which symbolizes justice."
"Justice! What a laugh!" Kinchloe snorted. "The Gestapo
and justice don't exactly go together."
"Yes...the days of justice in my homeland are long gone. But perhaps
some day..." she murmured.
"Some day, they'll return," Hogan said. He'd been sitting
between Kinchloe and Margarethe, his head propped against her shoulder. He sat
up slowly, groaning softly. "You have to believe that, Sister."
Margarethe smiled at him in gratitude. "By the way, what are you doing
here?" he asked, glaring at her.
He heard a sharp intake of breath from her, and cringing waited for the
expected explosion. Before Margarethe could respond, Kinchloe came to her
defense, and inadvertently to Hogan's rescue.
"Sir, it's my fault. Our truck wouldn't start. I had Newkirk dump it
into a steep ravine to hide it. The Sister here--"
"--The Sister here," Margarethe huffed, "offered the use
of our church caretaker's truck. Not that it would make much difference to you, Colonel!"
Hogan opened his mouth to retort, but once again, Kinchloe spoke first,
this time bringing the conversation back to the mission. "Sir...I don't
see how we'll be able to go in and take them out. It's too dangerous. The place
is crawling with Krauts." He glanced at Margarethe. "Umm...no
offense, ma'am." Margarethe's eyes crinkled in amusement.
Hogan nodded, tiredly. "You're right, Kinch. We're not exactly set
up to storm Gestapo Headquarters."
"So, what will you do?" Margarethe asked. Hogan leaned his head
until it was against the backrest. Eyes half-closed, he grinned slightly.
"Well...if we can't go in and get them out, then we'll just have to
let the Gestapo bring them to us."
"Oh, bloody charming, Kinch," Newkirk muttered under his
breath. He'd been listening intently from the rear. "The guv'nor's out of
his bloomin' head. Must be suffering from a severe case of loss of blood."
"Can it, Newkirk!" Hogan's eyes snapped opened. He flashed the
RAF Corporal a look that made his lucidness all too clear. "Or you'll be suffering from
a severe kick in the pants."
"As I was sayin', sir," Newkirk said soothingly. "I
believe that this could possibly be your most brilliant plan yet! Whatever it
is!"
Hogan rolled his eyes but didn't take the bait. "Kinch, if I
remember my map of the area, there's a river crossing less than a klick to our
west."
"Yes!" Margarethe said excitedly. "This street leads directly
to the Alte Mainbrucke. It is the sole crossing of the River Mainz for
several kilometers, or klicks, as you say, since the Allied bombs
took out the other bridges in the city."
Hogan grinned. "If I recall, the closest crossings are further south
near Ochsenfurt and north near Hammelburg." At Margarethe's nod, he
brought his hand thoughtfully to his chin. "I'm beginning to like this
plan more and more." He turned to Kinchloe. "Did you transfer your
wiretapping equipment from the other truck?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Newkirk, you remember Carter's instructions?"
"On how to properly wire a bridge?" Newkirk asked, insulted.
"Of course, I do, sir! Anything Carter can do, I can do--!"
"Then let's get to work."
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0346hrs local]
****
Hogan studied the picturesque, cobblestone bridge through his field
glasses. Despite the icy temperatures, he felt flushed and had to blink a few
times to clear his blurring vision. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he turned
back to the job at hand.
There'll be plenty of time to crawl into your bunk later, Colonel! he groused to
himself. Or, at least, into a hole somewhere.
They were parked a hundred meters from the river's edge in the shadow of
a beautiful schloss, which sat atop a steep, vine-covered hill.
The bridge was little more than a footbridge. It had been barely wide
enough for their small, weather-beaten truck to make it across. Yet, because it
was the only bridge in the area, the local authorities had been forced to open
it to vehicular traffic.
"If they fall for it," Hogan muttered, "they'll have to
come through there. Newkirk, you know what to do."
"Right-o, sir!" Newkirk said, and took off.
"Kinch? Ready?" Hogan called softly, looking up. Kinchloe waved
from the top of the telephone pole. He had his headsets on and was busy cutting
and splicing wire.
"Do you really believe this will work?" Margarethe asked.
"It seems so--reckless!"
Hogan shrugged, eyes unreadable in the shadows. "There's always some
element of risk in any military operation. We're all volunteers here, and we
all know the score." Realizing that he was still wearing Father
Schumacher's ornate crucifix, he took it off and handed it to her.
"Here. Before I forget." Hogan took her hand, and solemnly
placed the beautiful religious icon in her open palm. Gently, he enclosed her
hand with both of his. "Keep it safe. Just in case."
"Thank you," Margarethe said gratefully. Glancing up to where
Kinchloe was working intently, she shook her head. "I don't understand,
Colonel. What exactly are you and your men doing here in the middle of Germany?
Are you OSS? Escaped prisoners of war?"
"We're blowing up a bridge," Hogan said lightly. "What's
there to understand?" While he talked, he kept his field glasses trained
on Newkirk. At last, the Englishman waved, the signal that he was done.
"Kinch!" Hogan called. "Now!"
Kinchloe nodded, and head down, went to work. A few minutes later, he
grinned at Hogan and gave him a thumbs up. From the ground, Hogan could hear
his senior NCO's side of the conversation. It didn't take too much imagination
to figure out what was being said on the other side.
"~This is Major Kinchmacher from Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin.
With whom am I speaking?~" Kinchloe paused to listen. "~Ah, very
well, Major Tischler. We understand that you have taken into custody four
members of the German Underground?~" He paused.
"~That is good work! Congratulations. Col. Feldcamp requests that
they be immediately transported to Berlin for interrogation!~" He paused.
"~What? I do not care about your incompetent
methods of interrogation! Col. Feldcamp is on Herr Himmler's personal staff and
is in charge of all interrogations of captured members of the Underground!
Major Tischler, unless you wish to find yourself on the other end of one of
Col. Feldcamp's special sessions, then I suggest you--~"
He stopped, listening. Suddenly, his face lit into a grin.
"~Yes...tonight! Right now, in fact. If you leave now, you should be
in Berlin by eight this morning!~" He paused again. "Yes, yes, yes.
Heil Hitler!~"
Disconnecting, he nodded down at Hogan and flashed him an 'Okay' sign. As
soon as he was back on the ground, Newkirk joined them, and they hurried to
take up their positions.
****
End of Part 2
Continued in Part 3
