Facing the Shadows
by Adalanta
Summary: One of Hogan's Heroes is taken away for questioning by the Gestapo and returns vastly changed. Now the rest of the group must help him overcome the lasting effects of his torture.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. No disrespect is meant towards the characters or the actors who portrayed them.
Author's Note: The idea for this story has been in my mind for quite some time, but with my busy schedule, it has taken quite a while to get going. Whenever one of the Heroes was taken away during the show, he returned with little or no apparent damage. I always wondered what would happen if one of the group members returned physically and emotionally injured. This is will be a multi-chapter story. All feedback is appreciated. Email me at Adalanta14@yahoo.com or just take a second to let me know what you think with the review form here at fanfiction.net.
Chapter 1 – The Return
Through a blanket of freezing rain in the hours before dawn, the military truck passed between the barbed wire gates of Stalag 13. Driving slowly, it pulled to a stop in front of the Kommandant's office. The passenger's side door opened, and out stepped a figure dressed completely in black from head to toe. The only bit of color on him was the red armband emblazoned with a black swastika that encircled his upper left bicep.
The figure in black stepped purposefully to the door of the building, refusing to acknowledge the saluting corporal who hurriedly opened the door for the officer. The corporal breathed a sigh of relief when the man disappeared inside.
A young blond woman looked up as the heavy wooden door opened and blew in both rain and an unknown man. The man marched up to her desk and said emotionlessly, "Captain Schmidt to see Colonel Klink."
Hilda blinked at his abruptness and only then recognized the man's rain flecked uniform. Standing up abruptly, she replied, "Yes, Captain. Let me tell him you are here. Just one moment, please." Hilda moved swiftly from her desk and opened the door to Klink's office before she even finished knocking. Moments later she returned to the relative security of her desk, message delivered.
A second later, a tall, balding man rushed out of his office, nervously putting his monocle up to his eye. "Captain Schmidt, I can't tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to Stalag 13. The SS is always welcome here." He cleared his throat loudly. "How can I be of assistance? You do know that Stalag 13 is the only escape-proof prison in Germany. I have yet to loose a prisoner in all my-"
"I am well aware of your record, Colonel." Schmidt interrupted coldly. "As is my superior, Major Hochstetter. I am here on his orders."
"Major Hochstetter?" Klink's voice jumped an octave higher.
"Yes. I have something for you in my truck. I was ordered to deliver it only to you. Major Hochstetter thought you would know how to handle it. Come with me."
Klink barely had time to grab his cape as the Captain turned on his heel and walked back outside, Klink hurrying to catch up from behind. A blast of cold nearly took his breath away, and his monocle became quickly spotted with raindrops. He took it away from his eye, grumbling about the wretched weather and how the Captain was acting. I get no respect and I outrank him! Klink stood shivering ankle deep in mud, watching the Captain move around to the back of the truck. Schmidt lifted the flap and said something to the men inside.
Immediately, another SS trooper jumped out of the back, but instead of coming over to Klink and presenting him with a file as he suspected, the trooper turned back towards the truck to help a second man with something. For a minute, Klink could not identify what they were doing. It looked as if they were dragging out a rolled up rug. Now why would Hochstetter give me a new rug? I never thought that he liked me. Then, a moment later, Klink stood frozen in horror. It was not a rug.
It was a man.
The man appeared to be unconscious; at least, he was not struggling. The two troopers dragged the man towards the Kommandant, his feet dragging in the mud leaving two twin furrows in the ground that quickly filled up with water. The man wore only a long-sleeve tattered khaki shirt and brown pants. Without a uniform jacket, it was impossible to identify which nation's Air Force he belonged to. The man's dark head lolled from side to side as he was moved. Yes, definitely unconscious. I wonder who this man is and why Hochstetter brought him here, Klink thought as the three men approached with Schmidt in the lead.
Reaching Klink's side, the Gestapo Captain turned and gave the drenched prisoner a smile that sent shivers up and down Klink's spine. He recognized that smile. It was the smile of a cat that has caught a mouse and played with it until it stops amusing him. Schmidt gave a snort of laughter as he gave his attention back to Klink. "Major Hochstetter wants you to have him, although I do not know why. After what he's gone through, he is less than useless. I truly doubt that he will last the week out. If it was up to me, I would have executed him." Schmidt shook his head. "Still, I have my orders. The prisoner is yours, Kommandant. Do with him what you will. He is no longer my concern."
Klink understood the implication of those words. I could have this man shot and the Captain would not care. In fact, I believe that he would be pleased. He nodded his head, hiding his emotions from both his face and his voice. "I understand, Captain. I will take care of him."
"Very well." Schmidt went to leave but stopped. "I need to give you his papers. One moment." The black-clad man moved quickly back to the truck cab and removed a file. On his way back to Klink, a third man jumped out of the back of the truck and squelched over to the Captain carrying a bundle of cloth. He asked something to his commander to which the Captain replied, "Throw it over there next to him. Why did you even bother to bring it? He won't need it." Turning to the two men still holding the limp prisoner under his arms, he barked, "Put him down!" The guards roughly dropped the man sideways in the mud beside the bundle of cloth, which Klink now saw to be an American pilot's leather jacket and hat. He still could not see who the man was – the man's back was towards him.
"Kommandant Klink, the prisoner is all yours. Heil Hitler!" With a last salute, the Captain handed him the file and strode away, his three soldiers trailing behind him. Klink did not move until the truck was back outside the gate. He gave a sigh and turned to look at the man lying in the middle of the compound. "Whatever have you done to earn this treatment?" he muttered in puzzlement.
Even though he was a thoroughly German officer, Klink immensely disliked the Gestapo and their method of "acquiring" information from prisoners. Not long ago, he had lost a prisoner of his own to the Gestapo and was told that he would never return. He still missed the man. Even though they were enemies, he had come to respect him. And besides, the camp just was not the same without the American around. He shook his head sadly and walked back to his door, anxiously to get away from the frigid rain.
His pretty secretary glanced up as Klink entered his office. "Hilda, call Sgt. Schultz and have him take the prisoner outside to Barrack 2. They have a couple extra bunks."
"Right away, Kommandant." As Klink walked slowly to his office, he heard her on the phone carrying out his instructions. Once inside his office, he tossed the file on the desk and moved over to the table nearby to pour himself a glass of wine. He grimaced at the tart taste as he glared at the red liquid. Ah, well. It is the best I can do right now with the war on. He sat behind his desk once more. After drying his spotted monocle off, he picked up his glass and opened the file to learn about the unfortunate prisoner.
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A moment later, Hilda heard something that sounded suspiciously like glass shattering coming from the Kommandant's office.
The office door slammed open and Klink came running out of it, pale to the lips. "Kommandant?" Hilda asked, concerned, as the man rushed outside into the driving rain. He did not even stop to answer.
As Klink ran down the steps, he saw from the corner of his eye Sgt. Schultz hurrying across the compound from the guardhouse. Heedless of the spectacle he was making, he fell to his knees behind the prisoner's back and reached a trembling hand to touch the man's shoulder and turn him over. As the man turned, Klink both prayed that it was really the man in the file and dreaded it. As the man rolled limply onto his back, Klink let out a terrified gasp.
"Colonel Hogan!"
Just then Schultz reached his side, panting loudly. He stared at the scene before him. There on his knees in the mud was Colonel Klink holding a muddy, unconscious Colonel Hogan. "Colonel Hogan? Sir, what is this?!"
"Hurry, Schultz! Help me get him inside out of this wretched weather!"
Together, they carefully picked up the silent man and carried him to Klink's office. Bursting once more through the door, they completely ignored Hilda's startled gasp and hurried into the Kommandant's office to place Hogan on the cot in the corner. Once their burden was settled, Klink shouted for his secretary. "Fraulein Hilda, call my doctor immediately! Tell him it is an emergency and he must come AT ONCE! Hurry!"
Turning back to Hogan, Klink stared down at the unconscious man who had not even uttered a moan despite all he had gone through. For a terrifying second, he was not even sure that Hogan was still breathing. Finally, he saw that the chest was moving slightly up and down. But not like a normal healthy man's should.
Grabbing the wet towel that he didn't even remember asking Schultz to get, he began wiping off the mud and the jet-black hair that obscured Hogan's face. Then he finally took a good look at the prisoner and had to bite his lip from crying out.
Numerous cuts and bruises marred Hogan's ashen, scruffy face. The left side of his face was a mess. A long welt slashed across the entire side, starting at the jaw, over the eye, and ending above the hairline. His entire cheek had been laid open and had yet to scab over. The stripe was raised up and oozed liquid. It was so inflamed that the redness spread over that half of his face. His left eye was also completely swollen shut. It must have happened not long ago. Klink clenched his jaw as a wave of anger flashed through him. Whoever did this to him wanted to scar him permanently. If he lives…Klink refused to follow through with that thought.
Laying the damp towel over the scarred side of Hogan's face, Klink glanced at Schultz before continuing the disheartening inspection. The big man's eyes were suspiciously damp as he stood unnaturally silent nearby. "Schultz, help me get his shirt off. We need to get him out of these soaked clothes before he catches pneumonia."
Schultz cleared his throat before replying, "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."
The two men unbuttoned the remains of Hogan's shirt and eased it open. The damage there was heartrending. Bruises covered his entire torso, which looked decided odd shaped. "Kommandant, I…I think his ribs are broken. Should we be moving him?" Schultz whispered.
"We have already moved once, not to mention his being dropped onto the ground by the Gestapo who brought him. He does not appear to be bleeding at the mouth, so I do not think his lungs are punctured. Perhaps, he is lucky in that regard." Klink sighed loudly. "We need to get him warm. We will have to chance it, but we must be very cautious."
Schultz gently held Hogan up as Klink pulled first one arm and then the other out of the khaki shirt. Klink tossed the sodden mess beside the door just before it opened, and Hilda hesitantly poked her head through. "Doctor Muller is on his way, sir." She paused. "Sir, who is that? What has happened?"
Klink suddenly remembered that Hogan had been a friend of Hilda's. It would not help them if Hilda became distraught from seeing Hogan like this. Klink decided instantly not to tell her who it was. "Fraulein Hilda, go to our guest quarters and see that they are prepared. Let us know the minute the doctor arrives."
"Yes, sir." Hilda still looked upset but turned to follow his instructions regardless.
Klink sighed loudly once the door was closed. Then he returned to the task at hand.
He glanced at Hogan's right arm and could not stop from uttering a harsh curse. A long burn covered the arm from a few inches above the wrist to the elbow. The skin was blood red with several blisters in the middle of the burn. The wrist itself was scratched raw. Klink checked Hogan's left wrist, only to find the same damage there.
Tugging carefully, Schultz managed to pull off Hogan's soaked, muddy pants. His legs were a little better than the rest of his body, except for his left knee. It was grotesquely swollen and appeared disjointed. The black and blue flesh surrounding the knee was stretched tightly. Klink stood up and moved to look from a different angle from the foot of the cot. Yes, something is definitely wrong. His leg is angled strangely. Is it just the knee or is the leg broken also? Klink shook his head. His question would be answered as soon as the doctor arrived. It would not be soon enough, in his opinion.
"Schultz, grab some blankets. I don't care from where. Just get them quickly." Klink moved around to kneel beside Hogan's head. He was extremely concerned about the man. Why had he not woken up yet?
As he gingerly smoothed Hogan's hair back, he felt his hand become wet. Not really thinking about it (after all, Hogan had just been out in the pouring rain), he went to wipe the wetness from his hand but stopped abruptly. Red liquid stained his hand. Klink frowned, moved closer to Hogan's head, and cautiously felt again. This time he found it. On the left side of his head, the same side as the welt, was a large bloody lump, hidden almost completely by his dark hair. The Kommandant did not really have to think about how this mark got there. Someone had obviously pistol whipped Hogan recently. Extremely hard, too. He pulled a bandage from his desk drawer, wadded it up, and attached it as best he could to stop the bleeding.
Schultz returned with an armload of blankets that were quickly piled on the still figure lying on the cot. Once this was done, Klink turned to Schultz wearily. "We've done all we can. Now we must wait for the doctor." Klink prayed that the doctor would arrive soon. Hogan's skin had felt cold and clammy to the touch, and he feared shock had set in. Where is that verdamnt doctor?
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Klink paced nervously in the guest quarter's living room, glancing every few steps over at the closed door of the bedroom where Dr. Muller was examining Colonel Hogan. Still. There had been no word from the doctor for over an hour on Hogan's condition, just requests for certain medical supplies that were held at the camp infirmary. Each time the door opened, Klink held his breath, hoping that the infernal waiting would be over. Each time he was disappointed. And each time, the doctor's face had been more solemn and worried than the time before.
The last time the doctor had poked his head out, he had asked Klink for someone to assist him with a few medical procedures that were needed. Klink had hesitated, almost volunteering himself, but then remembered how queasy his stomach had felt just looking at Hogan and knew that he would never make it through the operation. Klink had sent in an older sergeant who had already been in battle on the western front, figuring that he would be the heartiest of his men. But the soldier had yet to leave the room, which Klink did not think was a good sign.
As if on cue, the door to the bedroom creaked open and the sergeant walked stiffly out, gray-faced, and blood covered, then bolted for the bathroom like a horse from the starting gate. Klink barely heard the door slam before the sound of retching began. Klink had to fight his own body's gag reflex at the liquidy sound behind him by taking deep breaths and focusing his entire attention on the bedroom door once more.
Again, the door opened, complaining the whole time. I must have someone oil those hinges, he thought absently. Doctor Muller stepped out, his white apron covered in blood as well, concentrating wholly on wiping his red stained hands on a damp cloth. It seemed like an eternity before the doctor finally glanced up and met Klink's eyes with a cold stare that seemed to peer into Klink's soul.
"I never thought you to be a cruel man, Kommandant Klink. It appears that I was sorely mistaken."
Blinking in shock, it took a few seconds before Klink understood the meaning of those harsh words and their implication. "Doctor, surely you don't believe that I would do something like this to my prisoners?!" he blustered.
"No, not you personally. But you obviously allowed your men to have a field day with that man. You can not ask me to believe that what happened to the American was an accident, Colonel! I do not know what valuable information he could possibly have had here in the middle of a POW camp, but I hope it was worth it! For your own soul's sake. How can you live with yourself?!" The rage in the doctor's eyes was awesome to behold.
"Doctor, I swear to you, I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!"
"No?"
"NO! Hogan was brought here by the Gestapo minutes before I alerted you. He was removed from this camp about a month ago by orders from Berlin. If I could have prevented his removal, I would have but my hands were tied." Klink gave a harsh laugh. "Even I, a Colonel in the German Army, can do nothing against the Gestapo. They are too powerful." He paused for a moment to swallow his disgust at his ineffectiveness. In a softer voice, laced heavily with concern, "How is Colonel Hogan, Doctor Muller?"
The doctor sighed deeply and the rage left his bright eyes. "If I can keep infection from setting in, he might live. It is too soon to tell. The damage…" Silence settled over the two men lost in thought.
"I do not know what will happen, Colonel, but I know that I have done all that I can right now for him."
Klink hated to ask, but he needed to know the truth. "What…what injuries has he sustained? I saw some of them, but I am not a doctor. I cannot have seen them all. I need to know, doctor, to tell his fellow prisoners when they ask. As soon as they find out Colonel Hogan is here, they will be beating down the door to get to him! I will need to tell them how he is…to prepare them," he finished in a mere whisper.
"Very well, Kommandant. I will give you the complete list. I have taped the mark on his face. I almost stitched it, but no matter how fine my stitches are they would have left obvious marks. I believe that his face will heal fine eventually, perhaps with a thin scar, but I am not sure. If the tape does not seem to be working, I will be forced to stitch it. I am concerned more about his left eye. It is so swollen I cannot tell the extent of the damage inflicted. If he had his eye open when he was struck, it may have been damaged and impair his vision." Muller sighed deeply, then shrugged his shoulders. "Like I said, I do not know and probably will not know until the Colonel is awake and can tell me how his vision is.
"I was forced to make an incision on the left side of the Colonel's torso to repair the damage done to his rib cage. He had four broken ribs and three cracked." Here the doctor stopped and grimly smiled. "It is a miracle that his lungs were not punctured by the broken ribs. He would not have had a chance then. Regardless, I corrected his ribs and believe they will mend with time – a lot of time. He will be in serious pain just trying to breathe. I believe we shall have to keep him sedated for quite a while.
"His wrists are not that bad, just painfully raw. I covered them with an ointment that should speed the healing and wrapped them lightly. The burn on his right arm…that is going to be a problem. He has third degree burns in the middle of it, which is quite serious. There is not much I can do with it for now except wash it, spread some more ointment on it, and lay a light bandage over it. I am sure he will have a scar there for life. Burns are so much harder to treat than other wounds. The treatment is almost as painful as when it was actually burned in the first place. They are also easily infected.
"His left knee was out of joint and the thigh bone was broken directly above the kneecap. I had to pop the knee back into place, set the bone, and then immobilize the entire leg. He will not be walking for a while, few weeks at least. Walking – that in itself is a problem. Normally for an injury such as this, the patient can use crutches to get around fairly well. In Hogan's case, with his damaged ribs and burned arm, it is unlikely he will be able to use crutches. I must think on what I can do for him.
"The Colonel's final injury was that large bump on his head. I assume you are the one who bandaged it, ja? You did a fine job, Colonel. The blow must have been tremendous for it caused a concussion. That is why he did not wake up when he was moved." Klink had a horribly vivid image of Hogan screaming in pain as Klink and Schultz picked him up off the ground. Perhaps it was better for him to have taken that blow to the head and be unconscious through it all instead of screaming in pain anytime someone touches him. There is hardly an inch on his body that has not been injured. Klink grimaced at his thoughts.
"To top off the rest of his injuries, Colonel Hogan is suffering from starvation, exposure, and shock, although I have stabilized him and believe he is almost over the shock. It was good that you called me when you did. Shock can kill a man as surely as a gunshot."
The doctor paused for a second, hesitating, indecisive about his next words. "Kommandant Klink, does Colonel Hogan have anyone in camp that he is friends with, that he trusts explicitly?"
"Colonel Hogan was quite popular with all the prisoners, doctor." Klink saw before him Hogan's grinning face, brown eyes shining with laughter at his men's antics. "However, there are a few ones that he was always seen with. Why do you ask?" he wondered aloud.
"Kommandant, Colonel Hogan has been through an extremely terrifying ordeal. I have worked on a few cases such as the Colonel's before – people who have been tortured by the Gestapo. They were severely traumatized by those events. They were never the same again." Doctor Muller nodded his head towards the bedroom door. "Colonel Hogan will never be as he was before. I am almost positive about that. However, if he has friends that will stand beside him to help him and comfort him, then he may regain some semblance of his former self."
Klink refused to believe it. "You do not know Colonel Hogan, doctor. If any man can make it through this, he can. He is one of the strongest men I have ever met."
"Even Hercules failed, Kommandant." Smiling, the doctor shook his head tiredly. "Still, I have been wrong before. Maybe I am wrong in this, ja? I pray so. Either way, Colonel Hogan is going to have a long road ahead before he is well."
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Kommandant Klink stared out of his office window at the driving rain and the dark figure dressed in olive drabs hurry towards his office building. After much thought on the doctor's words, he had finally decided on the man that Colonel Hogan seemed to be most comfortable with. Although Klink did not know the man personally, Schultz had assured him that he was both loyal and calm, a necessary combination of attributes that would be needed for Colonel Hogan. The other guards he had questioned had agreed with his head Sergeant. Klink hoped that he was making the right decision.
Klink called for the man to come in as soon as he heard the knock.
"Sergeant Kinchloe, reporting as ordered, Kommandant."
Soft brown eyes stared at the Kommandant from a dark colored face beneath a mass of rain-flecked black hair. Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe, United States Air Force, had been a prisoner at Stalag 13 for nearly as long as Colonel Hogan had, arriving only a few days after him. Strangely enough, the gregarious Hogan had quickly befriended the tall silent black man; they were often to be seen leaning against the wooden planks that comprised Barracks 2, talking quietly to each other.
Klink knew that Hogan's removal by the Gestapo had weighed heavily on Kinchloe, more so than the rest of the prisoners, though his depression was nearly matched by the rest of the Hogan Quintet: the Frenchman LeBeau, the Englishman Newkirk, and the other American, young Carter. These five prisoners were nearly inseparable from all he had seen and heard despite their differences.
That is enough woolgathering, Wilhelm! Pay attention! Kinchloe was still standing at attention in front of Klink's desk. Klink gestured toward a nearby chair and said quietly, "Have a seat, Sgt. Kinchloe."
Kinch looking curiously at his Kommandant but sat down as he was ordered. "All right, sir."
Klink cleared his throat nervously, unsure how to continue this difficult discussion. How do I tell someone that my own countrymen have tortured his friend, and that, right now, that friend is hovering somewhere between life and death? The pause stretched on longer than he would have liked and began to unnerve Kinch.
"Kommandant, if you don't mind my asking, is something wrong?" Kinch inquired quietly.
Klink's head snapped up from his clenched hands in astonishment. The American sergeant had unknowingly used the exact same words that Colonel Hogan himself had used. "Yes, something is very wrong, sergeant." He paused for a second to think about how to broach the subject. "I have discovered some news about Colonel Hogan that is quite…alarming."
Kinch's face turned into an emotionless mask, only his eyes betrayed his fear and anxiety. "Sir, is the Colonel dead?" he practically whispered.
"No. Not dead. But in very serious condition right now. It is unknown whether he will survive."
"I…appreciate you letting us know, Colonel. How did you find out?"
"Colonel Hogan was dropped off back here early this morning." Klink closed his eyes for the inevitable emotional outburst.
"WHAT?! Where is he? Why isn't he back in the barracks with the rest of the men?"
That wasn't so bad. Thank goodness I called Kinchloe in here instead of LeBeau or Newkirk. They would go on forever! "Right now, Hogan is in staying in the guest quarters. He is seriously wounded, Sergeant, and cannot be moved."
"Colonel Klink, what's wrong with him? I must know. Please." Klink could not help looking into Kinchloe's deep eyes and seeing the anguish within. He's thinking it's worse not to know than to be told for sure. That is not true in this case. Here, the injuries are worse than imaginable. "Very well, Sergeant, but be forewarned – it is a long and brutal list.
"Among various cuts and bruises, Colonel Hogan has a dislocated knee, broken leg, four broken ribs, three cracked ribs, a burn on his arm, a concussion, and a…damaged face. Add to that starvation, exposure, and shock, and you have just about everything."
Kinch barely heard Klink's last sentence. His mind was fixed on what Klink had said about the Colonel's face. "What do you mean by a 'damaged face,' Colonel?" he asked, anger filling his voice for the first time.
"Colonel Hogan appears to have been struck by a cane or whip of some sort. It cut his left cheek open from chin to hairline. The doctor is unsure whether Hogan's eye sight has been damaged." Klink looked on with pity as the man before him swallowed convulsively. It was a full minute before he could speak again.
"Colonel Klink, can I see him? I have to tell the other guys first, but I would like to sit with him if I could. I know that he would do the same for me."
"The doctor has suggested that you meet with him whenever you go to see Hogan. He needs to discuss his condition with you, explain things a little more. Doctor Muller had to run to his office in town to pick up a few supplies that we did not have here. He should return within the hour. You can see Hogan then. That is all."
Klink watched with sorrowful eyes as Kinchloe turned to leave his office, shoulders stooped. He had considered informing the sergeant about Hogan's mental state, but could not find it in himself to deliver the additional blow after everything that had been said. He was sure that Muller would explain the situation.
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Kinch eased slowly into the darkened room, feeling the comforting presence of the doctor right behind him. Although the he had already told the tech sergeant he needed to check up on his patient, Kinch was not altogether sure whether he was there more for himself or Colonel Hogan. From his disturbing talk with the doctor, Muller appeared to be a competent individual, more than qualified to handle his friend's case. Plus, the fact that the doctor seemed to actually care whether the Colonel survived was an overwhelming bonus. Kinch would never forget the discussion that had preceded this first visit with Hogan. Those words would haunt him for quite some time.
As Kinch neared the occupied bed and the only source of light in the entire room, a single lamp, his friend's injuries became more obvious. Kinch was so shocked that he could not contain a faint cry of horror at the sight of his commander lying upon the bed, motionless and covered in bandages.
Sitting in the chair strategically positioned close to the Colonel's right hand, he studied the preternaturally still man with sharp brown eyes, comparing him to the man that had been taken away by the Gestapo almost a month ago. He could still remember the look of intensity in Hogan's eyes – Keep up the operation. Don't give up! That was before Major Hochstetter had barged in with his goons and… His mind shied away from the helpless feeling that painful memory evoked.
The black sergeant felt his heart contract as he contemplated his wounded friend. Hogan appeared gaunt and tremendously pale beneath the heavy beard that covered the right side of his face. Dark blue circles underlined his eyes, blending in seamlessly with the numerous purple and black bruises. His face was etched with new lines of agony and exhaustion. As a whole, he seemed to have aged at least ten years.
Turning his attention to the rest of the Colonel, he quickly noticed the same thing. Beneath the terrible wounds, Hogan appeared starved, his natural leanness trimmed away to gauntness. And that IV solution isn't going to help him put on any weight either.
Leaning his tall frame back against the uncomfortable, straight-backed, wooded chair, Kinch did the only thing he could at the moment. He waited. Waited for the Colonel to open his eyes. Waited to reassure his friend that he was safe back among his own kind, away from the Gestapo. And so he sat in the dim light and waited uneasily for that time.
