Chapter II - Captured

To the casual observer, the four men wearing backpacks looked like a group of travelers, trying to find a place to rest for the night. No one would suspect they snuck out of a nearby prison camp and hitched a ride with a friend. Now they stood in front of a small, brightly-lit building.

"Well there it is, gents, the Blackwood Tavern," Newkirk said, a note of triumph in his voice.

"Not much to look at, is there?" LeBeau commented.

"Who cares what it looks like," Carter said, rubbing his hands together. "Let's get in before we turn into ice cubes." The three men started for the the door when suddenly, someone behind them politely coughed.

"Uh, guys? I have a confession to make," Sam said, his cheeks turning redder than they were. "I've...never actually been in one of these places before."

"Never?" LeBeau sounded like he was going to laugh.

"Yeah, that's right," Sam said, looking slightly down at the Frenchman. "Why, you've got a problem with that?"

"Just asking," LeBeau said quietly, his tone apologetic.

"In case you two forgot," Newkirk said to them, "we have an appointment to keep." With that, he opened the door and he, Carter, and LeBeau went inside. Sam took a deep breath and followed suit.

The Blackwood matched his expectations: men and women having quiet conversations, occasional plumes of smoke, and music coming from a unseen radio. Thankfully, no one in uniform--especially anyone who would recognize them--was in sight. The small group made their way to the back of the room, as instructed, and found a table large enough to accommodate them. As they started to sit, Newkirk said, "I'm going to get me a beer. Anyone else want one?"

"Sounds good," Carter said, taking off his hat and scratching his head.

"I'm not thirsty," LeBeau told him.

"Just water for me," Sam said. While Newkirk went to the bar to get the drinks, Sam said, "I tried beer once. Made me sick to my stomach." The Englishman soon returned with two mugs of the local brew and a tall glass of cold water. As the three of them sipped their drinks, LeBeau said, "Heads up. I think our contacts are here." Sam and the others looked toward the door--

And his heart skipped a beat. Next to the youngish-looking man who entered was a young woman. She wasn't overly attractive: she had little makeup on, and her front teeth protruded a little. But she had nice, reddish-brown hair and ice-blue eyes that seemed to sparkle...

"Guten Abend," the man said as they approached the table. "Mind if we sit down?"

"Please," Newkirk said. The newcomers took chairs from an vacant table and sat down in them.

"It's quite dark out tonight, don't you agree?" the man asked. A moment later, he lowered his voice and said, "They say the darkness is spreading."

Sam felt himself stiffen. The first part of the recognition signal. Let's hope we don't foul up, he thought.

"The darkness can't spread where there's light," Newkirk said, his voice equally quiet.

"And with light, there is hope," the woman said.

"For the future," LeBeau said.

"A good future," Carter added.

"For all," Sam said, relieved that he didn't make a mistake.

The strangers seemed to relax. "You are from Stalag 13?" the man asked.

The group nodded. "Call me Peter," Newkirk said. "This is Louis, Andrew, and Sam."

"Joseph Kaufman. This is my sister, Sarah." The men smiled and said hello, but Sam's smile was the widest.

Sarah. Pretty name...

What's wrong with you? he asked himself. Snap out of it! He shook his head and tried to focus on the conversation.

"We heard your group got captured," LeBeau said. "How did it happen?"

Joseph and Sarah were silent for a few moments. Then with a deep sigh, Joseph said, "We were betrayed. A few days ago, we invited a man to join us. We didn't know he was a spy."

"He accepted, and two days later," Sarah said, "the Gestapo attacked our base. My brother and I escaped with a friend of ours."

"Where's your friend now?" Carter asked.

Sarah swallowed. "He didn't make it. He was too badly injured."

Sam clenched his fists and heard LeBeau mutter something under his breath. Another life lost, thanks to this stupid war.

"You will help us, won't you?" Joseph asked.

"Of course we will," Sam told him.

"Do you know where your friends are now?" Newkirk asked Joseph.

"A detainment and storage facility," the man replied, "not too far from here. We can show you the way."

"Perfect," Newkirk said. "Let's go then." Everyone at the table started to rise--

"You're sitting at our table."

The group looked up. Standing before them were four surly-looking men. The one that spoke was tall, barrel-chested, and sported a thick black beard. "Excuse me?" Newkirk said, trying to sound German.

"This is our table," the man said. "We don't like other people sitting at it."

"We were just leaving," LeBeau said, scowling.

"Oh. They were just leaving," the bearded man sneered to his friends. They all chuckled.

"Well, they can leave," another man said, indicating the men. "But I think the fraulein should stay and keep us company." He put his hands on Sarah's shoulders, making her squirm.

"Get away from her!" boomed a deep, commanding voice.

The tavern became very quiet as everyone looked to see where the voice had come from.

It had come from Sam, who was standing up, his eyes blazing. "What?" the man said in disbelief.

"You heard me," Sam said, his voice tight. "Get away from her. Now." While his brain was screaming at him to stop what he was doing, Sam watched as the man who touched Sarah walked over and shoved him, nearly making him trip.

"You didn't have to do that," Sam said through clenched teeth.

"I like doing that. I love doing that."

"Really. Well, then, love this!" This was Sam's elbow jabbing into the man's stomach. As the man doubled over in pain, Sam used his fists to strike the back of the man's neck. The man landed hard on the floor and started moaning.

"Get him!" the bearded man shouted. As he and his two remaining friends started toward Sam, Newkirk punched the man in the face, making him crash into an empty table. Gasps and screams erupted from the onlookers.

Two down, two to go, Sam thought. Looking around rapidly, he saw a broom leaning against a wall. He lunged for it, and used the handle to jab one of his attackers in the chest. Sam spun around and did the same to his other opponent. Both men went down hard.

After a few moments of groaning the four men, bruised and bloodied, got to their feet and staggered out of the tavern. The patrons watched them leave, glad that the fight was over.

"I think we've worn out our welcome," Joseph said after seeing the angry look on the bartender's face.

"I think you're right," replied Newkirk. "Let's leave. Nice and slow." The five men and one woman left the table and walked out the door.

"Remind me never to get you angry," Carter murmured to Sam.

"Oh, that wasn't angry," Sam said casually, "that was just annoyed. If I was angry...well, let's just say it isn't pretty." He smiled and said nothing more.

Carter gulped. He suddenly felt much colder.

And people say I'm strange.

It was a beautiful night, despite the cold. The moon was a slim crescent, crickets were chirping, the stars twinkling in their familiar patterns. If Sam had time, he would have enjoyed lying down on the grass and looking for the Big Dipper, Andromeda, or even the rare shooting star.

But he had no time for such things now. Being the fastest member of the group, he was elected to do the reconnaissance of the building where the Red Hawks were being held. Now he was racing back to his friends, wearing the contents of his now discarded backpack: a tight-fitting black outfit and homemade camouflage paint. Gripped tightly in his right hand was a small-caliber hangun. In a few moments, he reached the spot where the group was hiding and squatted down with them. "Well?" Newkirk whispered.

"It's pretty small," Sam reported. "And there's something that looks like a shed in the back."

"That's the storage area," Joseph explained. "The Germans keep a lot of supplies there: food, ammunition, even gasoline."

"Hmm. If that blew up, it might make a nice diversion," Carter said.

Newkirk glared at him. "You and your diversions," he grumbled.

"Isn't anyone worried the guards might see us?" Sarah asked. "I mean, we are very close to the buliding." That was true. If they made a loud enough sound, the soldiers would find them for sure.

"If we stay low and quiet, they won't find us," Sam told her.

"Shh!" LeBeau said to them. Turning to Newkirk, he asked, "You think we've seen enough?"

The Englishman nodded. "Let's go." Crouching, the group started to make their way back into the woods. Suddenly, there was a sharp snapping sound. A fallen branch had cracked under Sam's boot. Everyone tensed up, praying no one had heard it. When nothing happened, they exhaled and kept moving.

That's when everything went wrong.

Sarah tripped over a rock, causing her to cry out in surprise. Then there were shouts from the direction of the jail and alarms began ringing.

"Run!" Newkirk shouted. The group dashed madly into the forest. "Split up," he yelled. "Meet back at camp!" Sam grabbed Sarah's arm and both fled. Within moments, they lost sight of the others.

To Sam, it was like his worst nightmare--being chased by monsters--had come to life. Except now, the monsters wore human faces and carried guns. As they ran, Sam heard the distant crack of a rifle being fired. A second later, the crack was closer. Much closer. Sarah screamed.

"Are you hit?!" he shouted.

"I don't think so," she replied. They kept running.

Hoping to buy them more time, Sam skidded to a stop, turned to face where the shots had come from, and pointed his weapon. He squeezed off a few rounds and then continued running. Breathing hard, both he and Sarah jumped over a fallen log, wove in and out of the trees--

Without warning, the ground disappeared. Sam and Sarah tumbled down a small but steep hill.

Sam groaned, his head spinning. He sat up and saw Sarah lying a few feet away from him. "Sarah?" he called as he came closer to her. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said weakly. "That was some fall."

Sam smiled with relief. In what little light there was, she appeared to have only a few bruises and scratches. His relief, however, was short-lived when he realized something.

The gun. Where was the gun?

Before he could search for it, several of the soldiers that were chasing him and Sarah came down the hill. In moments, they were hauled to their feet.

A tall, imposing figure--the commander, Sam guessed--stood in front of him. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" he asked.

"Nein," Sam replied. He only knew a few words, and that was one of them.

The man was silent was for a moment. "You two are under arrest," he said in heavily accented English, "for trespassing and for firing on soldiers of the Third Reich."

As Sam and Sarah were being led away, he swore to himself that if he got out of this alive, he'd start trusting his instincts more.

He knew something like this was going to happen. He just knew it.