"So what's the plan, Colonel? I've heard you're quite the mastermind when it comes to harebrained schemes." Kier said with a mischievous grin as he followed Hogan into his office.
"Thank you… I think," Hogan replied, then he motioned to the bed. "Have a seat, Lieutenant. There are a few things I need to discuss with you concerning your brother's escape."
"Is something the matter, sir?"
Hogan waited until Kier was seated, then he started pacing the floor as he talked. "I just got word from Klink that Hochstetter will be returning here the day after tomorrow. I also had a long discussion with Sergeant Wilson about your brother's condition, and it doesn't look good."
"But sir, I spent the entire night with him and he seemed well enough to me, considering the circumstances. If anyone were to notice anything wrong with him, I would be the first, believe me!"
Hogan stopped and looked Kier straight in the eyes, seeing a hint of worry in the young man's face despite his assurances. "I think you have noticed, Kieran, and you just don't want to admit it. The young man I visited in the cooler this morning is very ill, as well as being injured and emotionally exhausted. His condition has gotten worse since he was first put into the cooler, that much is obvious, and if it's obvious to me, then it's obvious to you. So don't you dare sit there and try to tell me that there's nothing wrong!"
Kier let out a long sigh and looked down at the floor. "You're right, Colonel. It's just that… I need to get him away from here as soon as possible. I fear more for his safety if he stays than if he goes, current condition aside."
"Unfortunately, Wilson and I both disagree with you, Kieran. Your brother is too ill to be traveling anywhere soon, and I will not risk his life by allowing him to leave here until he is fully recovered."
Kier looked up, determination written all across his face. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's not your decision to make."
Hogan's eyes widened, and his voice was cold as he replied, "Begging YOUR pardon, Lieutenant, but I believe it is. Your brother was captured as a prisoner of war, and he has been placed in this camp under my command. Therefore, I have final say over you, over London, even over the Secret Service. And I am not going to back down on this. He'll escape when I say so, and not before."
Kier was glaring at him in defiance. "And if we decide to countermand that order, Sir?"
Hogan was ready to lose his temper, so shocked was he at Kier's insolence. Then, he paused for a moment as he realized what must be going through Kieran's head. He took a deep breath, sat down on the bed, and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder. The young man was literally shaking with anger. "Kieran, listen to me," he said softly, his voice much calmer. "I'm only doing this for Liam's safety. You know as well as I do that he's in bad shape. Sergeant Wilson believes that the cuts on his upper right arm are infected. Dr. Freiling had said it was a possibility, but they hadn't shown any signs of infection while he was under the doctor's care. Since he's been in the cooler, though, an infection seems to have flared up. It's easy enough to take care of with some penicillin, but in order to do that, the doctor would have to come back and take the cast off his arm, which means…"
"That he wouldn't be able to go anywhere until his shoulder's completely healed." Kier finished Hogan's train of thought, reluctant acceptance in his voice. "But what about the Gestapo, sir? If you don't get rid of them, nothing the doctor can do will help."
"Well, of course, getting rid of the Gestapo is our first priority. We have to get Liam out of the cooler and into a doctor's care in order to get him well."
"So how are we going to do it, Colonel?" Kieran's voice was enthusiastic once again. Then, he looked the senior officer in the eyes, remembered the conversation from a few moments ago, and dropped his head. "I'm sorry about the way I spoke to you before, sir," he said softly, his voice contrite. "It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," Hogan replied, a little more sharply than he intended, but when Kier nodded his head slowly, he relented. "I'm worried about him to, Kier. That's why he has to stay, at least for a month or so. Then, he'll be well enough to be transferred, and we'll send him home."
"Don't you mean 'us,' Colonel?"
Hogan looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean, 'us'? You're planning on staying too?"
"Of course I'm staying. Considering prior experience, horrible things always seem to happen when my twin and I split up. I will not make that mistake again. Besides, you wouldn't pass up an extra experienced pair of hands that easily, would you, Colonel?"
Hogan certainly had to agree with Kieran on that one. He would welcome any assistance the Falcons could give him while they were here. "So now the only problem is getting your brother away from the Gestapo and out of the cooler, and soon. I don't want his condition to get any worse, if I can help it, but in order for Klink to release him, Hochstetter has to be done interrogation him, and in order for that to happen, Hochstetter has to return, and that won't be for another two days. And a lot can happen in two days. If only there was some way tog et Dr. Freiling to him without Klink knowing about it…" He trailed off, at a loss.
All of a sudden, Kier's eyes lit up with a flash of inspiration. "How soon could you get the doctor into camp through the tunnels, Colonel? So that he's here, but the other Krauts don't know it?"
"I'd say by tomorrow afternoon, depending on his clinic schedule. Why?"
"Because I've got the perfect plan…"
Two days later, Hogan was supervising another overhaul of Klink's staff car when Hochstetter drove up and stormed into Klink's office. "Right on time," Hogan said, looking at his watch. "Finish up here, men. I'll be in my office."
He met up with Kinch in the barracks and they plugged in the coffee pot just in time.
"Klink! Where is my prisoner?"
"Your prisoner, Major? What prisoner?" There was a pause, and Hogan could just imagine Hochstetter's face turning purple with rage before Klink hastily realized, "Oh! That prisoner! He's still in the cooler, Major, exactly where you left him. Where else would he be?"
"And you are absolutely positive that he is still there? He has not been accidentally 'transferred' or anything? And no one has been to see him, correct?"
"Yes, Major Hochstetter, I am absolutely sure. I had a guard posted, and no one has been to see him… well… no one except for Colonel Hogan and Sergeant Wilson, the prisoner's medic."
"I bet Hochstetter won't appreciate that," Hogan snickered in the ensuing silence. Just then, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter burst in the door. "What'd we miss?" they asked in unison, sounding a little too eager.
"Just Klink sticking his foot in his mouth as usual," Hogan replied before loud shouting from the coffee pot interrupted him. Hochstetter was starting in on a long tirade about exactly what being in "solitary" confinement meant, and how Klink had better become better acquainted with the term, unless, of course, he would rather become well acquainted with the Russian Front. Klink apologized profusely, insisting that it would not happen again. Hochstetter then demanded to see the prisoner, in order to "tie up loose ends."
"Well, that's my cue, men. Let's see if our spy is really as good as he claims to be." Hogan headed out the door and met up with Klink and Hochstetter as they crossed the compound.
"Colonel Klink, sir," he started in with his usual casual salute, "I have some complaints to make regarding the treatment of the prisoner Kincaid, and I was wondering if…"
"Not now, Hogan!" Klink cut him off. "Can't you see we're very busy? " Klink threw up his hands in exasperation and pushed past him.
"What is this man doing here?!" Hochstetter roared as he came face to face with the American colonel. "Klink! Don't your prisoners ever act like prisoners?"
"Well sir, we try, but it is a full-time job, you see, and we all need vacations once in a while," Hogan commented. Then, as if finally noticing that it was Hochstetter he was talking to, he turned back to Klink and asked, "Is he planning to question Lieutenant Kincaid again? Because I demand to be present this time, Kommandant! The Geneva Prisoner of War Convention clearly states…"
"Hogan! This is the Gestapo you are talking about. You do not make demands of the Gestapo!" Klink's face was panicked as he turned to apologize to Major Hochstetter. Hochstetter was staring at the senior POW with an unreadable expression on his face; he suddenly held up a hand to silence Klink's babbling.
"Shut up, Klink! … I believe I can grant you that request, Colonel Hogan. Maybe what you see will give you incentive to cooperate with the Gestapo in the future, ya?"
"Sure, Major, whatever you say," Hogan replied with a wave towards the cooler. "After you, gentlemen."
When the three men reached the cell, Hochstetter turned to Hogan with an evil glint in his eye and warned him, "If you interfere, Colonel, I may decide to interrogate you instead, and I would not have to make any concessions for your physical condition."
Hogan just glared at him until Hochstetter turned away with a snort and motioned for Schultz to open the cell door.
Kincaid was lying on the bed, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. The bruises on his face were slowly fading, but they still stood out on his unnaturally pale complexion. When he heard the door open, he glanced up, startled, and slowly and awkwardly pushed himself into a sitting position with his good left arm. He carefully swung his legs off the bed, trying not to jostle the right one, which was still in a cast. He stared impassively at the three men entering the room.
"G'day to ye, Major, Kommandant, Colonel. To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
Hochstetter stalked over and glared down at him, using every ounce of intimidation he could muster, which was considerable. Much to everyone's surprise, Kincaid didn't so much as blink. "Don't play stupid with me, Lieutenant. You know exactly what I'm here for. I want answers!"
"Answers to what, Major? That crack on the 'ead you gave me dinna do so much for me memory, if ya know what ah mean."
Hochstetter casually backhanded Kincaid across the face, causing Hogan to wince. "Is that enough of a reminder for you, Lieutenant?" he asked as Kincaid turned back, glaring daggers at him. "Now, will you talk?"
"Lieutenant Liam Patrick Kincaid, Royal Air Force, serial number 9274741," Kincaid spat out defiantly, and he didn't flinch as Hochstetter backhanded him across the face again.
"I believe we've been through this already, Lieutenant," Hochstetter said, his voice eerily calm. "I want to know what your mission over Germany really was."
"Exactly wot makes ye think there was anythin' special about mah mission, Major?" Kincaid said darkly as he wiped a trickle of blood from his nose.
"The information you gave General Kreiss was enough to make us suspicious. No one gives out that much obviously misleading information unless he has something to hide. So what was your mission, Lieutenant?"
"Just bombing the 'ell out of your godforsaken country, sir!" Kincaid replied in true military fashion, a sly grin lurking just behind his eyes as he saluted Major Hochstetter. Hogan almost laughed, but the moment was completely lost as Hochstetter hit him again, reflexively, his face dark with rage.
Hochstetter had pulled his arm back to give his prisoner another good one when he stopped and stared at him, puzzled. "I notice a marked change in your attitude, Lieutenant. Why is that?"
Kincaid sat back slowly, his wary glance on Hochstetter's clenched fist. He glanced up briefly at the three men, ignoring the worried look in Hogan's eyes as he replied, "Maybe I decided you don't scare me, Major Hochstetter. I've got nothin' ta hide; the only reason I tol' that general as much as ah did was so he wouldn'a have any reason tae deny me food an' medical attention. I tol' him nothin' he dinna already know, and the fact that he brought the Gestapo in makes me laugh. I truly wonder wot your superiors will think, Major, when they fin' out ye 'ave been wastin' yer time interrogatin' a simple fighter pilot, and a lieutenant at that. Surely there are greater dangers to your 'glorious' Third Reich than one POW in the 'toughest prison camp in Germany,' sir."
Hogan was shocked at Kincaid's sudden brazen attitude, and at the risk he was taking by saying all that to Major Hochstetter. He only hoped that the kid wasn't going to suffer for it. It was definitely entertaining to see someone stand up to Major Hochstetter, though.
Hochstetter, unfortunately, didn't seem to think so. His face was turning redder by the second, and he looked about to explode with anger. Hogan half expected to see smoke come out of his ears at any moment. He reached out and grabbed Kincaid by the collar, causing both the young prisoner and his CO to wince. "I suggest, Lieutenant," he growled, pulling Kincaid's face close to his own, "that you remember you are talking to the Gestapo. I would watch what I say if I were you!"
"Ah'm only… tellin'… the truth," Kincaid gasped out, defiant even through the pain he must be in. Hochstetter released him, shoving him back against the wall as he struggled to breathe again. "There's nothing more… ah can tell ye, Major."
Kincaid's admission of honesty finally seemed to get through to Hochstetter, because Hogan could see the indecision on his face. He glared at the lieutenant for a long moment, watching him catch his breath and obviously wishing that he could interrogate the insolent young man properly. Then, he turned on his heel with a resounding, "Bah!" Hogan and Klink beat a hasty retreat ahead of him as he stormed out of the cell and slammed the door. Then, he turned to the Kommandant and declared in a dangerous voice, "You will leave that man in solitary for at least one more day for insubordination, Klink! What you do with him after that is your business; however, I will be keeping an eye on him, and on you, Klink!"
"Surely you don't believe he will escape, Major? You do recall that there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13!" Klink never passed up an opportunity to toot his own horn, but Hochstetter couldn't have cared less. He simply stared hard at Hogan.
"Yes, and that fact still continues to mystify me," he said suspiciously. "But never mind! Just because there has never been an escape doesn't mean that there will never BE an escape! And if he does escape, Klink, heads will roll! Specifically yours! All the way to the Russian Front!" And with that, Hochstetter stormed out of the cooler, got into his car, and drove away in a cloud of dust and squealing tires.
Klink and Hogan watched him go as they headed back across the compound, and as soon as his car was out of sight, the grimacing smile disappeared from Klink's face and he scowled darkly in the direction Hochstetter's car had gone. "That man is impossible!" he growled. "And I do not understand why he is always so unpleasant. A little civility never hurt anyone!"
"I don't believe the Gestapo have ever heard of the words 'civil' or 'pleasant,' Kommandant," Hogan remarked. Klink looked at him in surprise, as if he had forgotten the Senior POW was there.
"Well, regardless of his manners, he is the Gestapo, and he does have a tendency to keep his word. I'm assigning Lieutenant Kincaid to your barracks, Colonel Hogan, and I will hold you personally responsible if anything happens to him."
Hogan resisted the urge to smile. "Certainly, Kommandant. I'll make sure that he stays put. Are you going to tell him that he's being released tomorrow, or should I?"
"I don't believe I'm going to tell him anything, Hogan, and neither are you. That pilot has brought me nothing but trouble since he arrived here; he brought this upon himself. One more day in the cooler isn't going to kill him."
"No sir, I suppose it won't," Hogan conceded, inwardly relieved that that was the case. "I'll let my men know to expect a new arrival tomorrow."
"You know, Hogan, someday your men will be grateful to have me as kommandant," Klink said as he turned to leave.
"Oh, believe me, sir, we already are," Hogan said sincerely as he flipped Klink a casual salute and headed back to the barracks, grinning all the way.
Hogan dropped down into the tunnel after giving all his men the good news, knowing that there was one person left to whom it would mean a whole lot more.
"Well, your brother actually pulled it off," he called out as he came upon the other Kincaid, who was lying on the cot in the tunnel. Dr. Freiling was there as well, slowly cutting sections of the cast off his upper arm. "I don't know how you two do it, Liam, but he sure fooled me. When I walked in there, I was almost afraid we'd forgotten to switch the two of you. I mean, I realize you look exactly alike, but the casts and the face paint were a brilliant touch."
Liam smiled through a painful grimace. "Just a few tricks o' the trade, sir. We've learned ta take advantage of our identical looks ta the fullest extent possible. Comes in handy in our line of work, ya see. And ah assume that Major Hochstetter and the Kommandant were sufficiently fooled as well?"
"Yes, and Major Hochstetter's gone for the time being. 'You' will be released from the cooler tomorrow, and will be bunking in Barracks 2, so I can 'keep an eye on you.'" At this, Hogan laughed, and Liam looked puzzled. "It seems Hochstetter had you pegged as a likely escapee, and Klink doesn't want to take any chances on his perfect record."
"That isn't goin' ta be a problem when it comes time for us to leave, is it, Colonel?"
Hogan shook his head, still smiling. "Not at all. Chances are Hochstetter will find more pressing business to attend to in a week or so, and transfers are easy enough to get around here. As soon as the doc feels you're well enough, you and your brother can switch places again, and I'll get you out of here as soon as possible after that."
"Sounds… like a plan, Colonel," Liam was interrupted by a fit of coughing that caused him to double over in pain. His condition seemed to have gotten much worse over the past couple days, so Hogan sat down next to him, his face drawn with concern, as the doctor went to get some water and more bandages.
"You alright, Lieutenant?"
Liam nodded, and when he could finally talk again, he said softly, "I wanted ta apologize for nae trusting ye, Colonel Hogan. It was just that… ever'thin seemed so out of place 'ere, an' ah was afraid ye and yer men were all working for the Germans. I'm truly sorry for doubtin' ye, sir."
Hogan nodded understandingly. "There's nothing to apologize for, Liam. Your brother explained everything to me, and I am sorry that the situation here caused you to be so suspicious. I wouldn't worry too much about it. Everything's going to work out just fine in the end."
"Thank you, Colonel." Liam whispered sincerely as his eyes slowly drifted shut.
Hogan sat next to him until Freiling returned, shocked by how extremely ill he looked. He prayed that nothing would go wrong with the penicillin drop from London tonight, because the boy needed the medicine badly, and Dr. Freiling had none to spare. When the doctor came back, the two men discussed Kincaid's condition in hushed voices. Hogan explained about the drop, for which Freiling was extremely grateful, and the doctor promised to stay until the medication was administered and his patient was out of immediate danger. Then, he had one final request to make of the colonel.
"Colonel Hogan, there is something I wish to discuss with you concerning the young man's health. I feel that it would be in his best interests if I were to take him back to my clinic in Hammelburg or to one of the Underground's safehouses until his fever is gone and his arm is completely healed. I realize that this would involve some planning on your part, but it would be better for him to be in a warm, dry, sterile atmosphere, rather than down here in these damp, dirty tunnels."
Hogan agreed with the doctor's position; it would be far better for Liam's recovery if here were to be moved from Stalag 13. "But are you sure you want to take such a risk, Doctor? What if the Gestapo were to search your house and find him? How would you explain an enemy soldier's presence there?"
"He would not have to be an enemy soldier. It is only is uniform that makes him the enemy. With civilian clothes and some forged papers, he could easily be passed off as a civilian worked who was injured in a mine blast. I understand that he speaks fluent German as well, and since you have an exact copy of him here at Stalag 13, no one would think anything of it."
"That sounds reasonable enough. I'll begin making plans to move him out tomorrow night. That way, he can get the penicillin and see his brother before he leaves." He thanked the doctor one last time before heading back up the ladder to let his men in on the change in plans. "I don't know what we'd do without you, Doc. I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for us over this past year. You've been a lifesaver in more ways than one."
I'm only doing my best to repay the great favor you and your men are doing for my country by risking your lives every day, Colonel Hogan. Anything that can be done to end this war a little sooner."
"Amen to that, Doc. I'll be upstairs, so just knock if you need anything. And I'll send Wilson down to help you out after roll-call."
Liam became conscious long before he chose to open his eyes. He said a silent prayer of thanks for the sedatives that Dr. Freiling had insisted on before he was moved. From the feel of his surroundings, the warm air and the soft bedclothes, he assumed that his removal from Stalag 13 had been successful. Now, he was safe, and he might actually have the chance to fully recover from all his injuries before he went out and got hurt again. Kieran had always said he was and accident waiting to happen, and the events of the past month or so had proved that theory in the most unpleasant of ways.
The past three days had been such a blur that Liam hardly knew where to start sorting everything out. Kier's plan to switch places with him had been a stroke of brilliance. It was Kier's style, though; he was always the one who loved to take advantage of their absolutely identical appearances. In this instance, Liam was hardly one to protest his twin's impersonation. He had been worried about Kier getting hurt in his place, but he'd looked none the worse for wear except for a few bruises when he'd been released from the cooler yesterday afternoon.
Kier had been less than happy about Liam's relocation, but Liam had been quick to reassure him that it was all for the best and that he would be perfectly safe. He asked Kier what he should tell the doctor about his scars when the casts came off, and Kier assured him that doctor-patient confidentiality applied to all doctors, and that he should just tell Dr. Freiling the truth. After all, the doctor was a member of the Underground; he would probably understand better than most. Liam was glad for his brother's support, because he could tell from a lack of weight upon his chest that the cast around his arm was gone. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the light.
Dr. Freiling was sitting in a chair next to the bed, managing to look both relieved and concerned at the same time. "It's good to see you awake, Lieutenant. How are you feeling?"
"A wee bit disoriented, sore, an' verra thirsty," Liam croaked out. The doctor reached for a glass of water and propped his head up so he could drink. "Thank ye, sir."
"Are you in any pain?"
"No sir, at least, not anything serious." The doctor, however, still looked worried, so Liam asked, "Is something the matter, doctor?" even though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"Your shoulder seems to be recovering nicely," the doctor said lightly as he pulled back the bedcovers. "The infected cuts should heal with exposure to air and the penicillin, but I had to take the cast off, so you will not be able to move your arm as much until the bone heals completely. I will put a sling on it, as well as do my best to see that you will not need to move it for some time." Then he paused, a look of indecision crossing his face. Taking a deep breath, he asked cautiously, "I was wondering where these other scars came from, Lieutenant? I did not see them before. The ones on your wrists I noticed when I brought you into the house, and then when I took the cast off…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes glanced down at the rather distinct burn scar across Liam's chest. "Who did this to you, son?"
Well, his asking had been inevitable. "Does Colonel Hogan know about…that?" he asked, glancing down to where the doctor was staring.
"No, he had left before I discovered it. You do not want him to know?"
"No sir, ah'd rather no one knew about it. That's why ah do my best to keep it covered at all times. It's not a pleasant scar to live with, you must see that."
"Of course," the doctor nodded. "But who did this to you?"
"The Gestapo. It was several years ago, though, so it has no bearing on mah present condition or situation."
"The Gestapo…" Freiling whispered, his voice full of anger as he stared into space. "And the scars on your wrists?"
"The result of wearing handcuffs and shackles for three months. It's not an experience I'd ever care ta repeat."
Dr. Freiling's eyes were shocked; he slumped down into the chair, his hands heavy on the bedcovers. "Three months? But… why? And you say this happened several years ago, but you are so young! How did all this happen to you?"
"How much did Colonel Hogan tell ye about mah brother an' me?" Liam asked cautiously. The entire incident couldn't really be explained without the knowledge that they were spies, and good ones.
"Well, he did mention that you were spies, in order to explain why your brother was at Stalag 13 and switching places with you, but he did not elaborate any further than that."
"That's enough, ah suppose. Yes, mah brother and I are spies, and professional ones at that. Our first mission, two years ago, was to make contact with the German Underground in Berlin and send back names of contacts to Allied Intelligence. We were posing as German students at the university there, and no one was to ever discover that we were actually two Irish lads from Dublin workin' for the other side. Unfortunately, we were not the only spies interested in the Underground. Mah brother and I were sold out to the Gestapo by one of their agents working undercover, but ah was the only one captured. Fortunately, the Gestapo never learned that ah was a British spy; they thought I was simply another 'misguided' German youth, so they tried to get information out of me for three months before letting me go as an 'example' to anyone who would try to undermine the glorious Third Reich." He glanced around and a small smile escaped him, despite the seriousness of the story he'd just told. "Little did they know that releasing me would just allow the Underground to grow stronger. The way ah see it, it is men like Major Hochstetter an' Major Krieger, the sadistic bastard that did *that* to me, that only strengthen the resolve of many of the German people to fight against their government rather than for it." Then, as if all his remaining energy had gone into that confession, he sank back down on the bed with a sigh and closed his eyes.
"Ja," Freiling said softly, unsure as to whether or not the young man was still awake. "It is our resolve to stop men such as those that keeps the Underground strong." Inwardly, he was still coming to terms with everything Liam had just told him. He reminded the doctor so much of his own son, Hans, who had been killed just over a year ago. Hans had been intense and passionate about everything he did, even as a young boy, and he had had a strong sense of justice that would not be denied. It had been almost a given that Hans would become involved with the Underground, and Freiling was certain that it had been those same traits of character that had driven the Kincaid twins to join their country's Secret Service.
But to go through such an ordeal, and at such a young age! From what Liam had told him, combined with what Colonel Hogan had mentioned about the twins' ages, Freiling deduced that he had been no older than eighteen when the Gestapo had captured him. At one time, he would have wondered what his country was coming to, torturing children for information. That time was past; he had seen exactly what his country was coming to, and that was why he was working so hard to help free his country from Hitler's reign of tyranny.
Liam suddenly opened his eyes again, breaking the doctor from his revere. "Could ye do me a favor, Doc?" he asked quietly.
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Could you cover that scar up for me? Maybe use bandages or somethin'? Mah brother an' I usually use plaster, which is why you didn't see it there before, but it seems to have come off wi' the cast, an' I really don't want anyone else knowing that I got a permanent swastika 'tattoo' like some fanatical Nazi."
"That's perfectly understandable, son. I have to bind up your shoulder anyway, so it shouldn't be too difficult to make it look like part of the sling. Now, I'm going to give you a sedative to help you sleep while I do so. Just relax, and let your body heal itself. It needs the rest now, even if you do not."
Liam nodded agreeably at this and didn't fight the sedative as his eyes drifted shut. Freiling banked the fire and gathered up bandages and medication as he prepared to finish putting a sling on the young pilot's arm. As he worked, he took one last careful examination of the scar on Liam's chest. From the precision and straightness of the lines and angles, a sharp instrument, such as a file or a knife, had been used; probably heated white-hot to achieve the brand-like precision of the burns. It could have been nothing if not extremely painful, and, knowing the Gestapo, it was probably drawn out to the most torturous extent possible. "You have seen much pain in your short life, my young friend," Freiling spoke softly to his sleeping patient as the angry red swastika disappeared under white bandages. "I believe that Germany will owe men like you much when this war is finally over."