Author's Notes: Italics are written words, consider them the same as spoken conversation
Liam's crawl back to consciousness was painful, slow, and especially difficult once he was coherent enough to remember exactly what had happened to him. He almost didn't want to open his eyes; he had no idea where he had ended up, or if he was among enemies or friends. A great weight was lifted from his shoulders, though, when his eyes finally opened and focused on a man in a US Army Air Corps uniform, colonel's insignia on the collar. Wherever he was, he was among allies.
The man grinned down at him, looking very relieved. Then, he opened his mouth, as if he were saying something, but no words came out. Liam stared at him blankly, wondering what was wrong with the man's voice. The colonel stopped, looking concerned, then spoke again, but still no sound came out.
Confusion flitted across Liam's face, and he started to say, "What did you say?" but stopped when he couldn't hear any sound coming out of his own mouth. The colonel looked surprised, then turned away as if he were speaking to someone else in the room.
Liam slowly thought back to what had happened, and he started to panic as he remembered the aftermath of the explosion. He was deaf? He was deaf! What was he supposed to do now? Where was he? What was going to happen to him?
The colonel turned back around, and he must have seen the panic in Liam's eyes, because he pulled up a chair, sat down next to him, and took hold of his hand. His face was calm and reassuring, and the physical contact calmed Liam down significantly. He was among friends. There was nothing to be afraid of. He was safe.
An older man in civilian clothes came into view a moment later. The stethoscope hanging around his neck and the bag he carried made it pretty clear that he was a doctor. Now Liam was really curious as to where he was. He didn't remember getting out of Germany, and yet he was in the company of Allied soldiers and civilian medical personnel. Something just wasn't clicking. The doctor was saying something to him, but Liam could only stare blankly at him and shake his head. Then, the doctor pulled some instruments out of his bag and leaned down to peer into his ears. He nodded his head several times, took a few notes, then stepped out of view for a second, handing a pencil and paper over to the colonel.
Can you hear at all?, the colonel wrote down, holding the paper up for him to see.
Liam shook his head, then winced as a sharp pain went through his neck. The colonel said something to the doctor, then wrote again. I'm going to help you sit up; however, it's going to hurt, so be ready, OK?
Liam nodded to indicate that he was ready, and then gripped the colonel's hand tightly as he was lifted up, sending pain through his entire body. His back felt like it was on fire, as did his ribs, and for the first time he noticed that he had a rather large and unwieldy cast covering his upper body and most of his right arm. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, then let out a sigh of relief as he stopped moving and was set in a more comfortable position, sitting up. Everything still hurt, but it would fade with time.
That better?
He gave the colonel a skeptical look, but nodded again; then he motioned for the pencil and paper in the other man's hand. He held the pencil out and Liam automatically took in his left hand, then he set the paper in his lap. Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, serial #9274741. Where am I?
LuftStalag 13, a POW camp outside of Hammelburg, Germany. The guards found you outside the wire early yesterday morning, almost dead. Do you remember how you got here?
Liam's heart sank at the news that he was still a prisoner. From his surroundings, he could have sworn he was safe back home! But he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised, considering that he hadn't expected to really escape in his condition anyway. But… Stalag 13! The one camp he had prayed not to be placed in. Oh well. He'd try to enjoy the challenge of escaping from here once he was well again. Remembering the colonel's question, he explained briefly. I was being taken to Stalag 7. There was bombing on the road, and I was thrown from the truck just before it exploded. Woke up seriously injured, deaf, had to find shelter. Remembered lights up the road, must have been here. Nothing after that.
The colonel relayed some information to the doctor, then he looked back at Liam and nodded understandingly. Don't worry; we'll take good care of you here. By the way, I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW Officer. The doctor is Dr. Freiling, from Hammelburg. He'll look out for you until you've recovered. He says to tell you that your deafness is probably temporary, if it was simply the result of an explosion. Noticing how exhausted he looked, the colonel added, Better get some rest. I'll have some food brought in. There will be time for details later, OK?
Liam simply nodded his assent, never realizing that a simple conversation could be so exhausting. He smiled wanly at the colonel, Colonel Hogan, he said his name was, and whispered his thanks. Then, he let himself sink into the soft pillows behind his head and closed his eyes, eternally grateful for dreamless, painless sleep in a comfortable bed, even if it was in a prison camp.
Colonel Hogan was a bit surprised at this unexpected turn of events. The young pilot, Lieutenant Kincaid (an Irish name if he had ever heard one), hadn't been an escaping prisoner, but rather a lucky survivor. Hogan wondered with a brief tinge of guilt if there had been any other prisoners in the truck that didn't survive. Kincaid's escape itself had to have been nothing short of miraculous, and Hogan suddenly realized that he hadn't even said how he happened to get out of the truck before it exploded. Just another question to ask later, when he was up to talking again. Or writing, as it were. Hogan could only pray that his deafness was temporary.
He didn't even remember the entire business with the Falcons until he was opening the barracks door, and his forgetfulness didn't have time to sink in as he was bombarded on all sides by questions about the new arrival.
The next morning, Liam woke up completely rested and feeling much better. That is, until he remembered where he was. Still, it didn't seem so bad yet. The bed was comfortable, the food he had eaten last night was the best he'd tasted since he'd landed in this country, and he couldn't help but notice that the room he was in was very nicely furnished. He was actually having a hard time believing this was a prison camp. Where were the guards, the Kommandant, or any of the other prisoners, for that matter? The only so-called 'prisoner' he'd seen was Colonel Hogan, and he didn't look or act much like one. Additionally, the only German he'd seen was the doctor, and he was a civilian. Nothing really seemed to fit.
He turned his head and saw the doctor, asleep in an armchair by the fireplace across the room. Glancing the other way, he noticed another man sitting in a chair next to the door. He was wearing a sergeant's uniform, American, and he was gazing at Liam with a very puzzled look on his face. He blinked when he suddenly noticed the younger man's eyes on him, then got up and pulled the chair next to the bed.
Good morning, Lieutenant. I'm Sergeant Wilson, camp field medic. How are you feeling?
Much better, thanks. You and the doc did a much better job than the bumbling idiot I had for a doctor before.
I've been meaning to ask you about that. How did all this happen to you?
Long story. The previous injuries, including my broken ankle, happened when my plane was shot down about two weeks ago. The Germans fixed me up most of the way, but they left my ankle untreated so I couldn't escape. Then, when I was being transported to Stalag 7 several days ago, the truck was bombed. I was thrown out, but got caught in the explosion, I guess. I don't really remember much of what happened.
Wilson was about to reply when the door behind him opened, and in walked Colonel Hogan, followed by a short man in a beret and a tall, imposing German officer wearing a monocle and carrying a riding crop. Colonel Hogan smiled and nodded good morning to the two men, then turned and started talking to the German officer, a colonel as well, as the other man came forward with a tray of food. Liam's mouth started watering at the sight of it.
Wilson passed Liam a short note. This is Corporal Louis LeBeau, our resident gourmet chef. You wanna sit up and have some breakfast?
Liam nodded as vigorously as he was able, and as soon as he was sitting up with the tray in his lap, he scribbled a note to LeBeau. Ainsi c'était vous qui a fait le dîner? Il était délicieux, merci beaucoup.(Translation: So it was you who made dinner? It was delicious, thank you very much.)
LeBeau read the note, surprised, then replied, Vous écrivez le français? Pouvez-vous le parler également? (Translation: You write French? Can you speak it also?)
Liam nodded, then dug into breakfast with a hearty appetite. He never thought food could taste this good. He was almost through when he felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Colonel Hogan standing there, the German colonel looking impatiently over his shoulder.
Lieutenant Kincaid, this is the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Klink. He has given you permission to stay in the guest quarters until you are fully recovered, and the doctor will be available until you no longer need him. Liam looked at the note, slightly puzzled.
The guest quarters? Why the guest quarters?
Because that's where you are right now. Where did you think you were, the barracks? I only wish!
No sir, I was hoping that I wasn't at a prison camp at all. This has me a little confused.
That's OK. There will be time for explanations later. Right now, the doctor wants to check your injuries, so I'll come back in a few hours. Keep resting; it seems to do you a world of good.
Thank you sir, I'll consider it an order.
As Liam lay there being examined by the doctor, he let him mind drift. This really was an odd prison camp. Decent food, a civilian doctor, medical patients in the guest quarters, which he assumed were set aside for visiting German officials, and a rather pompous Kommandant who managed to look official and overbearing but was more friendly with the prisoners, especially Colonel Hogan, than seemed natural. This place was too good to be true. Or was that just what they wanted him to think? Maybe this was all a German ploy to get him to slip up and tell them something better kept to himself. Maybe this would all change once he recovered and they could start interrogating him properly.
One thing was for sure, he concluded as the doctor finished his examination and left him alone with his thoughts. He couldn't run the risk of letting anyone know anything about him. He couldn't technically trust anyone, not yet. Maybe not ever. This whole place just seemed too humane to be for real, and he wasn't about to take any chances.
The next few days passed rather uneventfully, though Liam's health was improving rapidly. He was able to sit up and, with assistance, even get out of bed, though he wasn't walking just yet. He spent most of his time sleeping, or having conversations with the colonel or Sergeant Wilson. Conversation on paper took time, but Liam was fast developing an easy shorthand with the two men, which made things easier.
His conversations with Colonel Hogan did nothing to allay his suspicions about the ulterior motives of this place, though, and as a result he was extremely vague and non-responsive when Hogan asked him questions about himself, his mission, or his past. Liam got the feeling that it was starting to tick the Colonel off, but he remained strong in his decision nevertheless. Hogan seemed like a friendly, honest, trustworthy man, but things, and people, are not always what they seem to be. So Liam remained evasive and promised to himself that he would apologize sincerely to Colonel Hogan if and when he turned out to be trustworthy in Liam's estimation.
It was hard being so evasive, though, and all these suspicions were beginning to wear on Liam's mind and spirits as well. His lack of movement wasn't helping matters any, so it was a great occasion indeed when Dr. Freiling came in one morning followed by Sergeant Wilson with a wheelchair. It's from his clinic in Hammelburg, Wilson explained. The doc thinks you have too much time on your hands. You need to move around, go outside, get some fresh air!
The thought of being able to get out of this suffocating room was intoxicating. For the first time in a long while, Liam smiled brightly and asked Wilson to thank the doctor profusely. Then, looking down at the state of his clothing, he asked, You don't suppose they have any extra uniforms lying about, do you?
Wilson replied by tossing a set of uniforms down on the bed. The shirts have been modified to accommodate that cast of yours, and you should be able to put them on yourself, if you think you're up to it. Then, he helped Liam into the wheelchair and sent him in the direction of the washroom. Just holler if you need any help.
Washing up and putting on new clothes was just as hard as Liam supposed it would be the first time, but he guessed he was lucky that he was left-handed and that it was his collarbone that was broken, so he at least had limited use of his right hand. He washed up as best he could, pulled out some important items, including the engagement ring and his rosary, from secret pockets in his old clothes, and got dressed in the well-fitting, nicely tailored new uniform. It even had an airman's scarf and cap to go with it. Once he was done, and feeling better than he had in weeks, he wheeled himself one-handed back into his room, a smile on his face.
It was an uncharacteristically beautiful September day, and Hogan was content to just relax outside for once. No missions to worry about, unless he counted this business with the Falcons. London had radioed in last night to give them some more information. Now he had call signs and codes to identify the missing Falcon with, and they also told him about a certain tattoo on the man's shoulder in the shape of a bird of prey with its wings spread in the Allied "V" for Victory. They had also said that they were planning on sending the other Falcon into Germany within a week or so if his brother wasn't located, and that it would be the job of Papa Bear to rendezvous with him and give him a place to stay until they could find a starting place to search. Some information was just too top secret to be sent over the radio, Hogan supposed, but it was a relatively simple mission compared to some of their recent exploits.
A shadow fell across his face, and Hogan opened his eyes to glance upward. It was Sergeant Wilson. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you'd like to know that Kincaid is up and about. Dr. Freiling brought him a wheelchair until his leg is healed enough to walk on, and he stated in no uncertain terms that the kid should get fresh air and sunlight."
"Oh really?" Hogan was pleased at the doctor's concern. He had been worried about Kincaid being cooped up in that room for so long, so this truly was good news. "Well, I guess I'll just have to give him the grand tour, won't I?" With that, he hopped to his feet and headed off towards the guest quarters.
When Hogan walked into the guest quarters, he saw Kincaid sitting at the open window, looking out on the bustling camp. He was dressed in the new uniform that Newkirk and Carter had made up for him, complete with a jacket, cap, scarf, and proper insignia. He finally looked like a soldier again, and he seemed much more at ease with his situation. Hogan walked up behind him and gently touched him on the shoulder.
He felt Kincaid jump a bit at the touch, but guessed that was only natural. He probably wasn't used to someone entering a room without him hearing them. He looked behind him to see who it was, then turned around slowly, using his left hand to steer the chair, and saluted his new Commanding Officer.
Hogan smiled and saluted back, then pulled up a chair of his own and got out the ever-present pencil and paper. You clean up nicely, Lieutenant. I almost didn't recognize you! Kincaid still looked extremely pale and thin, his curly, jet-black hair making him look paler still, but his emerald-green eyes held a sparkle of life that hadn't been present before, and he was smiling slightly. Yes, Hogan concluded, he was definitely feeling better.
Thank you, sir. It feels wonderful to be up and about. He turned back to the window for a moment, a sad, wistful look in his eyes. It will be nicer when I can get up and walk around, though.
Hogan understood completely. Kincaid was a pilot, as were many of the men here at Stalag 13; freedom was in their blood. Being confined to a prison camp was bad enough; restriction of movement would make any man go stir-crazy. You want to take the grand tour? The doc prescribed sunshine and fresh air, and I can't think of a better way to get it.
Kincaid's eyes lit up at the prospect. Oh, yes please! He wheeled himself to the door, which Hogan opened for him, then the colonel took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed Liam through the sitting room, out the door, and into the sunlight.
Liam had almost forgotten how good fresh air and sunshine felt. As Colonel Hogan showed him around camp, pointing out the barracks, mess hall, rec building, and kommandant's office, they were joined by several other men whom Liam recognized from his past few days in camp. They had all come in or been around the guest quarters with Colonel Hogan at one time or another, and they had the same demeanor around the German officers that he did. This made Liam a little suspicious of them, but they seemed really friendly.
Hogan formally introduced them all this time. Liam recognized the Frenchman, LeBeau, as the man who'd brought him his meals. The mischievous-looking man in the RAF uniform was Corporal Peter Newkirk, the black American officer was Sergeant James "Kinch" Kinchloe, and the young, friendly-looking American in the funny hat was Sergeant Andrew Carter. They all seemed to be close friends and compatriots of Colonel Hogan's; Hogan informed Liam that they all bunked in Barracks 2, where he had his senior officer's quarters, and also confided that there was an extra bunk reserved for him as soon as he was well enough to join them. Liam thanked him for the privilege of bunking with the commanding officer and his 'senior staff,' as Hogan referred to them. However, he thought it was odd that he would receive such attention from the Senior POW Officer or his men.
In spite of his concerns, he passed a pleasant afternoon with the companionable group of men. Once the tour of the camp was over (there wasn't much to see), the six men passed the afternoon sitting on the porch of the guest quarters, enjoying the warm sun and passing notes back and forth to Liam like boys in grade school again. They made him feel welcome, despite their surroundings, and Liam basked in the feeling of friendship and normality again, if only for a little while.
For all their questions, though, he didn't give them any real information either. He hated being so evasive with such open-seeming men, but he wasn't about to take any chances. In his tour of the camp, he had the strange suspicion that something bigger was going on here. What it was, he wasn't sure, but his instincts told him to play his hand close to his vest until he truly was out of harm's way.
Once he was back in his room under the care of Sergeant Wilson, he asked the medic about the odd atmosphere he sensed around camp. Colonel Hogan and the men close to him seem so open and sort of friendly with the guards. Why is that? It just doesn't seem natural.
There's no need to worry, Kincaid. The colonel seems friendly with the Germans in order to keep them friendly with him and the other men in camp. The less animosity they can hold towards the prisoners, the better. The colonel knows exactly what he's doing. He's turned the entire atmosphere of this camp around since he's been here. Then Wilson smiled as he noticed the skepticism on Liam's face. There's nothing to worry about, Lieutenant! Colonel Hogan's a good man. He's not trying to trick you, and he's certainly not going to let anything happen to you. It's his influence that kept you alive, you know. He convinced the Kommandant to bring you in here and get a doctor and all. He cares about every man that comes through this camp. So stop being so suspicious!
The sincerity of Wilson's statement eased Liam's suspicions somewhat, so he conceded. I guess I should have seen that. It's just that with everything that's happened… I'm still a little worried, you know? If the Gestapo find out that I'm still alive, I don't think even Colonel Hogan can protect me from what they will do. The thought made him shudder. He didn't want to see a member of the Gestapo ever again, if he could avoid it. Seeing him and his men being friendly with German soldiers… it's a little disconcerting.
Wilson nodded understandingly and helped Liam settle back down in bed for dinner and a good night's sleep. I can see how it would be, but you have nothing to worry about, I promise. Now get some sleep. It's been a long day considering your condition, and I'm sure you're exhausted. We'll have you up and about in no time, but until then, you need your rest.
Thanks, Wilson. For everything. And he meant it, sincerely. He trusted Wilson implicitly, over anyone else in this camp.
It's been my pleasure, Kincaid. Now sleep! I'll be back to check on you in the morning.
Goodnight. And he settled back to sleep and dream of home.
In the days following Kincaid's first excursion outside, Hogan and his men had less than no luck locating the Falcon, but on the bright side, their new arrival seemed to be recovering quicker than expected. The stitches were taken out of his forehead, back, left shoulder, and the portions of his right arm that weren't covered in a cast. He was even able to get up and walk around after a day or so, with the help of some metal crutches that clasped around his forearms so he didn't have to place any of his weight on his injured shoulder. Dr. Freiling hadn't approved of his walking so soon, but Klink was itching to send his new prisoner to the barracks before General Burkhaulter found out that he was using the guest quarters as an infirmary, and Liam was adamant about being able to stand on his own two feet before he took up permanent residence here at Stalag 13.
The most amazing recovery, though, was to his hearing. One morning, Newkirk came into the guest quarters with breakfast and allowed the door to slam behind him. Liam had been sitting at the window, his back to the door, and when it slammed he turned around to see what the noise was. Since that morning, his range of hearing had been improving steadily. He had been able to hear whistles, bells, doors slamming, and loud voices within a day, and by the day he was ready to move into the barracks, he could hear himself and others talking in normal voices.
Dr. Freiling had taken his leave of camp the day before, pronouncing Liam of sound mind and body, for the most part, and telling him that he had been a model patient. Liam hadn't had much chance to talk to the doctor during his recovery because Freiling didn't write English and Liam didn't want to give away the fact that he could read and write German, but he genuinely liked the fatherly man and thanked him from the bottom of his heart for taking time away from his fellow countrymen and his practice to save the life of a POW.
"Bitte schoen, Lieutenant, you are welcome. It was both my duty and my pleasure. Now remember: Do not exert yourself too much and be sure to report to Sergeant Wilson on a regular basis. I will be back in several weeks to remove that cast from your arm."
"From my body, you mean, Herr Doktor," Liam laughed, as the cast wrapped around most of his chest and upper body in order to keep his shoulder immobile. "Don't worry, I will follow your instructions to the letter. Thank you again."
The doctor kindly tipped his hat, wished Liam good health, and left with an "Auf Weidersen."
The next day, the day he was to move into the barracks, Liam was sitting in his room with Newkirk, enjoying a morning cup of coffee, courtesy of the men in Barracks 2, and talking about their respective home cities of London and Dublin. With Liam's hearing almost fully recovered, conversation was easy and enjoyable, but it was Newkirk who turned towards the door when he heard the thud of booted feet in the next room. Liam noticed his glance and asked, "What is it?"
At that instant, the door banged open, startling Liam enough that he dropped his coffee cup, which fell to the floor and broke with a *crash* in the ensuing silence. Standing in the doorway next to Colonel Klink was a short, dark-haired, nasty-looking man dressed in the uniform of a Gestapo major and accompanied by two burly-looking guards.
The major stalked forward, glaring at the two men. Then, he pointed a finger at Newkirk and barked, "You! Get out!" Newkirk cast a worried look between Liam and the major, but at Liam's panicked nod and Klink's pleading gestures, he beat a hasty retreat. He would, however, never forget the look of pure terror in the younger man's eyes as the Gestapo major, a man that Colonel Hogan knew well, rounded on Kincaid before the door closed behind him.
Once Newkirk had left the room, the major turned on the hapless prisoner who was doing his best to stand his ground, despite the panic in his eyes. "So, you are Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, Serial Number 9274741?" Liam nodded slowly, his heart racing. "I am Major Hochstetter, Gestapo. We have heard much about you from General Kreiss, Lieutenant. You will come with us."