Facing the Shadows
By Adalanta
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of these characters nor am I profiting from this piece of fiction. My sincere, heartfelt thanks go to the wonderful actors who portrayed them and who have provided many hours of great entertainment. Without you, this story would not be possible.
Author's Note: I finished this chapter a little sooner than I thought I would. I'll probably have the next chapter up in a week or so.
Chapter Three – Out of Time
Two weeks later…
The weather outside the barracks was beautiful. In fact, most of the prisoners of Stalag 13 couldn't remember a more perfect day since they had begun their involuntary "stay" at the camp. The sun was shining, occasionally eclipsed by the cotton-like clouds that sprinkled the cerulean sky. A soft breeze blew between the barracks, bringing the crisp, earthen smell of spring. The perfect day, especially in early March in war-torn Germany. The men of the Allied Forces should have been relaxed. Their spirits refreshed. Their hopes renewed.
But they were not.
Today marked the day that Colonel Hogan would return to Barracks 2. Back to his old room, his old friends, his old life.
Perhaps…back to his old self.
Kinch wearily shook his dark head. He knew he was being too hopeful but he could not help himself. He must believe. If the men saw that he still believed, then they would continue to have hope. And without hope they were all lost. And none more so than the Colonel.
As he slowly ambled across the dirt towards the camp's guest quarters, he hoped that Hogan would be better, even just a tad bit. The men wanted – no, needed – their commander back. Morale had sunken lower than a snake slithering through their hidden tunnel. Kinch nodded at the guard posted unnecessarily by the front door. He could feel the man's piteous gaze linger between his shoulder blades as he stepped through the door, and it made him sick. I can just imagine what's going through his mind. 'There goes that crazy black man off to visit his crazy Colonel again.' Kinch didn't know what was worse – knowing what the guard was thinking or almost believing it himself.
As his dark hand turned the bedroom doorknob, he muttered a quick prayer to God that his friend would show some sign of life today. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.
And once again, his prayer was denied.
Colonel Hogan lay unmoving on the soft bed, not even blinking as he entered the room. Kinch felt his shoulders slump, their weight becoming even heavier than before. He vaguely remembered his reassurances to the men. 'Don't worry, he'll come around. Just give him time.' Well, Colonel, we've run out of time.
Sitting in his usual seat positioned next to Hogan's right hand, Kinch searched the Colonel's open eye and shivered. Still unfocused, unseeing. Hogan's entire face was blank. His friend seemed…hollow, empty…like the life had been sucked out of him. Kinch thought back to what Doctor Muller had mentioned to him just yesterday.
"Think of Colonel Hogan as a house, Sgt. Kinchloe. Someone is home, just not answering the door," the doctor said softly, staring at Hogan from across the room. "He is so traumatized – perhaps he cannot even find the door right now."
"Will he ever?" Kinch had swallowed, hating himself for voicing his traitorous thoughts. But it had been so long… "You are sure – absolutely positive – that the blow to his head did not damage his mind in some way?" He had held his breath waiting for the answer.
"I know that you do not trust me completely, Sgt." Muller waved his hand to halt Kinch's protest, then continued. "Yes, I know. I promise, Colonel Hogan's mind is not physically damaged in any way. Physically. Mentally…he has a rough road ahead of him, worse than his physical healing." He finally had looked Kinch straight in the eye, the blue eyes shadowed and sad. "You see, Sgt., I can set a broken leg or stitch a bullet hole. I once even attached a severed hand. But what I cannot do, is mend a shattered spirit or salve a battered soul. That is beyond my ability." He shook his head and looked down at his long fingers, cursing himself inside that he could not do more. "I have told you what to expect from my previous cases. But to be perfectly honest…I do not believe I have seen a case worse than this."
Kinch had opened his mouth to say something – anything – but could not find his voice. The doctor smiled slightly. "The most important thing you can do right now is what you have been doing. Talk to him. Let him know that you are there. Support him. Hopefully, he will come around. He just needs time."
Disheartened from watching over his catatonic friend, Kinch covered his face with his hands. He had run out of time. He'd hoped to see some form of improvement in his friend before he was forced to return him to the barracks, surrounded by inquisitive, though well-meaning, people.
Standing up, he straightened his shoulders and went to tell the guard that the Colonel was ready to be moved.
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That night as Kinch lay in his bunk beneath Carter, he admitted that his fears were right. The men's hope had been nearly destroyed after seeing what shape their commander was in.
The transfer from the guest quarters to Barracks 2 had gone well. The guards carrying the stretcher had been careful, cautious not to jolt their passenger. Kinch was still amazed by the gentleness he had witnessed in the guards' treatment of Hogan. Who would have thought it? Thinking back to that black month without the Colonel, Kinch realized that even the guards seemed to miss him. The old stalag just was not the same without the cheerful Colonel Hogan.
However gentle the guards had been, the move had still hurt the Colonel. Kinch swore he could still hear the painful moans that had escaped Hogan's pinched lips. He had been forced to give him a shot of morphine to ease his agony and allow him to sleep in peace.
The men had stared in shock at the man who had once been their pillar of strength. Colonel Hogan had been the iron man – always strong, heedless of the danger he seemed to thrive upon. After all, Hogan had once been shot in the leg one night at the start of a mission and had still managed to lead the rest of the mission without a whimper of pain. Surely, this moaning, bandaged man could not be the same man! But it was…and the men could no longer deny it.
Kinch rolled over onto his back but could not sleep. Those damned moans kept echoing in his head. I swear I can still hear it, he thought sleepily. Then he blinked, listening hard in the darkness, staring at the closed door joining the Colonel's private room and the main room of the chilly barracks. I'm not imagining it. That's the Colonel!
He had just set his feet on the cold floor when a scream pierced the stillness of the night. Sprinting to the door, he vaguely saw Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau roll out of their bunks, moving right behind him. He burst through the door, flipped on the light, and nearly cried himself at the sight.
Hogan was thrashing in his bed, fighting frantically against the demons of his nightmare. His arms swung wildly through the night air, striking the mattress, the bunk frame, the wall. He had shoved his sweat soaked, shivering body as far against the wall as possible but still pressed backwards. His head moved restlessly on the mattress, a look of horror etched on his glistening face.
But no matter how horrible he looked, the sounds he was making pierced the hearts of the gathering men. Half-formed pleas were torn from his throat, punctuated by sharp cries of agony. The sounds rooted the men in place.
Kinch wanted to help but was frozen in horror. Of all the men present, Carter was the first to break free from the shocked paralysis and run over to the thrashing man. He ducked beneath the flailing arms and touched Hogan's shoulder to try and wake him up.
The plan backfired. Hogan let out another piercing scream as he shuddered and began hyperventilating, chest heaving, ashen face turning bright red from lack of oxygen.
"Newkirk, get the morphine! On the desk!" Kinch shouted. Hogan suddenly began convulsing, his body jerking uncontrollably on the mattress. "Carter, LeBeau, grab him and hold him down! Don't let him fall off!" Newkirk handed him the morphine with a shaking hand. "Okay, hold that arm down. No, not that one! The other one, his left! That's it, hold it steady. Steady. Hold him still or he'll break the needle! C'mon, baby, c'mon. That's it…that's it… there!" Kinch sighed in relief as the contents of the needle were injected into Hogan's body.
Hogan stopped convulsing and began to breathe again, the redness slowly leaving his face. Within a minute or so, he was still except for his head, still moving restlessly on the pillow that LeBeau had placed beneath it. "No…no, please…I don't know…stop…I'm not…no…Kristal…don't go…don't…leave…me…please." Hogan's heartbreaking muttering finally faded away as he fell into a drugged sleep.
For a few seconds, no one could move. They were just too drained. At last, Kinch straightened up from his crouch on the floor beside Hogan. He pulled the thin gray blanket up to the Colonel's chest, then offered a shaky hand to Newkirk, kneeling beside him. Carter slowly began to pick himself up off the floor, but LeBeau remained on the ground. Only then did Kinch realize that the diminutive Frenchman was holding Colonel Hogan's left hand tightly, knuckles stark white. "Mon dieu, my friend," he breathed. "What has happened to you?!"
Kinch walked over and placed a comforting hand on LeBeau's shoulder. "C'mon, LeBeau. Come sit down." He pulled the shaky man to his feet and guided him firmly over to the Colonel's chair at his desk. Newkirk was already sitting on the desk. And Carter…
Kinch looked around for Carter and spotted him standing in the corner furthest from Hogan, face turned away. "Carter," he called softly as he made his way over to the young man. "Carter, are you alright?"
Carter turned around to face the sergeant, who only then noticed the tears silently coursing down his cheeks. Kinch was dumbfounded – he had never seen Carter cry. "Ah-all I did was ta-touch him. L-look what ha-happened! I-I almost k-killed him!" the young man wept, sobs shaking his thin frame.
Kinch put an arm around his shuddering friend, dismayed at the accusations Carter was heaping upon himself. "No, Andrew. It's not your fault. Any of us would have done the same thing if we had gotten there first. Don't worry. No one blames you."
"Damn right. It's those bloody Gestapo that did this to 'im." Newkirk put in menacingly from atop the desk.
"Oui. It was not you, Carter." LeBeau chimed in.
"That's right. Now come over here and calm down. We need to figure out what to do to help the Colonel." Kinch gently led Carter over to the desk next to LeBeau who took out a white handkerchief and handed it to the sniffling sergeant. Kinch heard Carter mutter a thanks to LeBeau as he turned to the door leading from the room.
As he suspected, the commotion had awakened the entire barracks, and the men were nervously standing outside the Colonel's door waiting for news. After reassuring the men that the Colonel was fine (yeah, right) and that it was only a nightmare, he firmly advised them to go back to sleep. When Kinch closed the door again, he swayed slightly on his feet, exhaustion hitting hard.
Newkirk noted the slight movement. "You okay, mate? You seem a bit unsteady there."
"Yeah, Peter, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all." Kinch closed his eyes briefly until the dizziness passed. "Look guys, I think we'd better wait until the morning to decide what to do. It's…" he glanced down at his battered watch. "Three-twenty in the morning. Let's try to get some sleep. In the morning, we'll all have clearer heads. Maybe we'll think of something then."
Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter all nodded in agreement. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, they looked exhausted as well. The three of them headed out of the small room huddled close together. Kinch walked back over to the still figure on the mattress and studied him carefully. Hogan appeared to be truly sleeping without pain. Kinch, shivering slightly in the chill night air, snatched the blanket from the upper bunk and covered the injured man, being sure to tuck him in securely. It certainly wouldn't help things if the Colonel got a cold from being improperly covered at night. That was another complication that he did not need.
He brushed the damp black hair from Hogan's forehead and wiped his face with a corner of the blanket. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Kinch turned to leave the room but stopped just inside the door. "Sleep well, Colonel," he whispered softly. Then he snapped off the light and left.
_____________________________________
"It's been two weeks since 'e came back and 'e still 'asn't said a bloody thing to us. What are we gonna do?"
At Newkirk's passionate outburst, Kinch glanced up from where his folded hands rested atop the wooden table in the main room of the tunnel. The frustrated British corporal abruptly pushed back from the table and began to pace, still unnerved by the Colonel's behavior in the early morning hours.
"Okay, I admit that I was wrong. I'd hoped that Colonel Hogan would bounce back on his own, but that hasn't happened. I never should have left him alone like that. It won't happen again."
"Ya got that right, mate." Newkirk muttered.
LeBeau shot a poisonous look at the pacing Englishman, brown eyes snapping dangerously before turning to the black radioman. "Kinch, why don't we radio London and see if they can't do something. It's worth a try. The Colonel would do the same for us, if we were lying up there like that."
"I know. I'll try, but you know the position we're in. London won't drop anything or anyone for us until they find the leak that caused this whole mess. Look, about forty resistance members are gone, as well as six group leaders, besides the Colonel. How many more can they afford to loose?" he asked, staring down the other three one at a time until they were all forced to look away. "None." He couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice. "And if they did send a person, how would we explain someone new in camp? We can't hide someone here indefinitely, and that's how long it's going to take for the Colonel to get better – indefinitely! Doctor Muller warned me about pushing him too hard, too fast. The Colonel has to do this on his own. He's got to want to come back to us." Sighing deeply, he hunched over, feeling defeated. "C'mon guys, think! The Colonel will have our heads if we mess this up and ruin the operation here."
"London will know what to do." Newkirk, LeBeau, and Kinch started at the soft voice coming from the doorway. Andrew Carter stood leaning against the doorframe. "They'll take care of this."
"What are you doing down here?" Kinch questioned sharply. "You're supposed to be sitting with the Colonel."
"Anderson spelled me. I wondered where you all had gone to, so I figured you'd be down here." He paused for a few seconds, then continued, his soft voice wounded. "Why didn't you tell me about this meeting?" He remained half outside in the hall as if he knew he was unwanted.
Although Kinch could not see his expression, he could clearly see Carter's body, taunt with tension. But before he could answer, LeBeau spoke up. "It is not that we did not want you here, Carter, we just thought you needed a break. I know you had a headache this morning no matter how hard you tried to hide it. Are you feeling better?"
Newkirk laughed. "Blimey, Louis, 'e obviously doesn't. 'E must be delirious if 'e thinks London can fix the Colonel. Carter, that's why we're 'ere – to fix the jams that London gets into. 'Ow are they gonna 'elp us?"
"They'll do something, I know it." Carter finally stepped into the dim light of the main room. He gaze remained locked with Kinch's, his eyes shone with an emotion Kinch could not readily identify. "You've got to try, Kinch." The plea went unvoiced but not unfelt. "Give London a chance."
"All right," he relented. "I'll go contact London and see what they can do. You all go back upstairs. I'll let you know what they say." With that last comment, Kinch stalked out of the room and towards his radio. It was only as he finished up with London that Kinch recognized what emotion he had seen in Carter's eyes. One that he had not seen in a long time.
Faith.
_______________________________________
Four hours later, he reemerged from the tunnel, message in hand, still struggling to understand the message. Calling the others to him in the corner of the barracks, he read slowly, "Situation under control. Be advised. New cubs arriving soon, one special. Keep on lookout. Goldilocks out."
"Blimey, what does that mean?" Newkirk blurted out. The others appeared just as puzzled as he did.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm sure we'll find out."
