Facing the Shadows
By Adalanta
Disclaimer: All of the familiar characters in this story belong to whoever owns the rights to Hogan's Heroes. That, of course, is not me. Too bad - I could certainly use the money.
Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for staying with me. I know this story is taking forever to finish, but I promise that it will get done. I really appreciate all of the reviews that have been left. Whenever I get writer's block or get discouraged, I get online and take a look at them. They've helped immensely! All comments are welcome, whether on the review board or as personal email to adalanta14@yahoo.com.
Oh, and ColREHogan - I did received your kind note a while back (quite a while, actually) *whacks herself upside the head*, and I'm very sorry not to have replied. I hope you like this chapter as well.
Chapter Eight – What Else Can Go Wrong?
"…he's the one."
Sergeant Andrew Carter finished, standing in the middle of Colonel Hogan's private quarters, nervously shuffling his boots, waiting for some sort of response. About ten minutes earlier, he'd pulled aside Newkirk and LeBeau and asked them to meet him here - finally. Kinch would already be inside the room, watching over the Colonel, so the meeting had been easy to arrange, unlike before.
It had been three days since Lieutenant O'Shea had nearly frozen to death and since Carter's own revelation about Captain Wilson. He had intended to discuss his idea later that morning with the others, but the Kommandant had had other plans. Snow removal and road repair had delayed any possible meeting until today. Now, as the seconds ticked by, he began to wonder what everyone else was thinking. He didn't have to wait long.
"Carter, 'ave you gone round the bend?!" Newkirk exclaimed loudly from his perch atop Hogan's desk, breaking the silence. "That's bloody crazy!"
LeBeau scooted back his chair, walked around the table to Carter, and placed the back of his hand against the young sergeant's forehead.
Carter jerked away reflexively. "What are you doin', Louis?"
"I am checking to see if you are feverish. Perhaps, you have not yet recovered from your excursion that night in the blizzard?" The diminutive Frenchman gazed up at him, his dark eyes full of concern and tried to replace his hand.
He took a few steps back, out of LeBeau's reach. "C'mon, you guys! I'm serious!"
"No, you're crazy," added Newkirk. "Normally, there's a difference, but in your case, I think they're just about the same."
Carter danced out of the way as LeBeau came at him again, arm outstretched. I'd better convince them really fast if I want to avoid being stuck in bed with another one of Louis's grandmother's recipes – I mean, remedies. Glancing over at Kinch who was sitting silently next the Colonel, he met and held his gaze. The tall, black sergeant seemed to be deep in thought, only vaguely aware of the antics of the rest of the group. Well, at least Kinch is taking me seriously, he thought.
"Think about it, Kinch!" he pleaded. "London said they'd send us help, and not long after that, Captain Wilson arrived. That can't be just a coincidence!"
"If what you say is true, mate," began the British corporal, "Why didn't 'e say somethin' already? 'E's been 'ere five days. Surely, 'e coulda told us by now."
"I don't know," he shrugged. "Maybe…maybe London didn't tell him who to contact, and he's just being careful. Kinch?" He looked over at Kinch hopefully.
The tech sergeant shook his head. "No, I doubt that. I'm sure they would have briefed him on Colonel Hogan's condition. And if they did that, then they surely would have informed him about the rest of us." He smiled, though Carter could see that it was thin and stretched. "It's a good idea, Carter, but I don't – "
"You didn't see how he handled Lieutenant O'Shea last night! He knew just what to do, how to talk to him – everything!" He burst out, barely noticing the shocked looks he was receiving for cutting off Kinchloe. "We can trust him. I know he can keep a secret – he wouldn't even tell – " The young man stopped abruptly, horrified that he had nearly broken his own promise to Wilson to keep O'Shea's secret. "I'm telling you, Kinch. Captain Wilson is the one we've been waiting for!"
The words ended in a near shout, echoing loudly about the small, enclosed room. His eyes widened in shock; he'd never yelled at Kinch before. For that matter, he'd never really yelled at anyone in his underground unit – ever. The tense silence stretched on and on as Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau stood frozen in place, waiting to see how Kinch would react. Out of the corner of his eye, Carter saw Newkirk and LeBeau look at each other, then at himself, and lastly at Kinch.
Carter cringed inwardly. Kinchloe was usually reserved and relaxed. Though he had a fiery temper, it took a lot to bring him to the boiling point. Carter couldn't help but wonder if his words would ignite the blaze. He's been under so much pressure lately, with Colonel Hogan and the problems with the Underground. I can't believe I said that. What a stupid thing to do!
Finally, Kinch sighed heavily, and, much to Carter's amazement (and relief), nodded in agreement. "All right, Carter. I'll radio London and see if I can confirm it."
"But what about the order for radio silence?" asked LeBeau worriedly.
"This is an emergency, LeBeau. If Wilson really is the man London sent us…" He glanced at the still, pale figure sleeping on the bunk beside him and then turned back to the others, a weary look etched onto his face. "Listen, I don't know how much longer he can last. He's barely eating or drinking anymore. He's wasting away, and there's nothing we can do about it." Carter's heart plummeted at the frustration and helplessness that laced Kinch's low voice. "We can't afford to wait any longer."
He slowly stood, "Louis, can you stay here and watch the Colonel until I get back?"
"Of course, mon ami." The corporal nodded quickly. "I will not take my eyes off of him for a second."
"Thanks." Appearing reassured, he cracked the door open to make sure no one was in sight and then slipped out.
Carter watched as Kinch made his way over to the bunk in the corner, tapped it twice firmly, and then disappeared into the tunnel below. Closing his eyes briefly, the young sergeant uttered a quick prayer that he was right – that Captain Wilson would be able to help Colonel Hogan.
*************************
Kinch sat in his chair in the tunnel, staring at the radio before him with empty eyes. He was confused, so filled with emotions that he felt like he was on overload, not really sure what he felt and what he should feel. Sitting there, he tried in vain to sort out his feelings and untangle the mess within himself. Worry, fear, anger, doubt, and hope were just a few that he could name. The rest…who knows, he thought.
Blinking, he came out of his reverie and gazed around the tunnel like he was seeing it for the first time. It's been a while since I've been down here. I…I've missed it. He shook his head, scoffing at the thought. Oh, you must be crazy. But as hard as he tried to deny it, he knew it was the truth. From the first moment I stepped foot down here, I've felt at ease. This is my job, my responsibility…my home.
His eyes scanned the room – the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. They finally settled on the wall to his left, covered completely with flat boards to keep the dirt from coming loose and the wall from collapsing. His sharp gaze spotted the familiar one-inch gap in the boards not far from the floor, and, searching the ground, he found the tiny mound of dirt that had escaped its confines.
Right now I feel like I'm the dirt trapped behind those boards, searching for a way out. Maybe Carter is right. Maybe Captain Wilson is that gap between the boards. He tried to find some measure of comfort in the thought, but he was too tired, physically and emotionally. Every day, he looked into the face of his friend, searching for some sign, some hint that he was recovering and would be back to normal. And every day, he lost a bit more hope, until he felt empty, like a well that had gone dry.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the damp, earthy smell of the tunnel into his lungs. The smell filled his body and gave his anxiety-ridden soul a measure of peace. He sat there a bit, just breathing in and out. After a few minutes, he reached out with his right hand, eyes still closed, and touched the radio, his long, nimble fingers gliding over the machine with care, an almost loving caress. The cool metal slid beneath his fingers, a comforting, familiar presence, like an old friend.
Gradually opening his eyes, he brought himself back to the present and the reason he was down here - to contact London and either confirm or deny that Captain Wilson was the one they had sent to help Colonel Hogan. He placed his hand on the radio, ready to flip the switch that would bring it to life, but instead of turning it on…he froze.
Clenching his teeth, he tried to force himself to start the radio. What's wrong with me? He wondered, staring at the rebellious hand in shock. I need to do this - the Colonel's life depends on it. Why can't I move? Slowly, the truth began to form in his mind
He was afraid.
Afraid to hear that Wilson was not the one they'd been waiting anxiously for. Afraid to learn that London had failed in its attempt to help them. Afraid to have what little hope left in him be destroyed. Afraid to shatter completely the trust and faith of the three men waiting for him upstairs who meant the world to him.
Fear was a powerful inhibitor.
The fear paralyzed him, taking over most of the control he had over his own body.
Kinch closed his eyes once again and concentrated on the image of his best friend lying upstairs in his bunk, trying to convince his subconscious that he needed to contact his superiors. It was a grueling task, but inch-by-inch he regained control. By the time he had conquered his fear (or at least contained it) and opened his eyes, he was damp with sweat and trembling. Still touching the radio, he placed his finger on the power switch, flipped it…
The radio before him partially exploded, sending intense flames and small pieces of metal into his hand.
He tumbled over backwards in the chair, clutching his injured hand to his chest, staring at the smoldering wreck in horror. For a long moment, all he could do was stare, unable to believe what had just happened. Then, the pain hit him, along with reality, and he moaned loudly.
"Damn it!" he groaned, cradling his burned and bleeding right hand with his left. "Not now…please, not now." He let his head fall back, resting it on the cold dirt floor, overwhelmed with pain and hopelessness.
It's all my fault. The radio was my responsibility. His eyes fluttered shut, and he moaned again weakly. Now we can't even contact London. It's all my fault, he repeated over and over in his mind, unaware that he was mumbling it aloud at the same time.
"Kinch? Kinch, are you okay?" Carter's worried voice sounded farther down in the tunnel near the entrance. "Kinch! Where are you?"
"Blimey! Somethin' musta shorted out the electricity down 'ere. 'Ere, Andrew, you better take a torch."
"A what?"
"A torch - a flashlight. 'Urry up! Kinch might be 'urt."
Hurried footsteps sounded in the tunnel, quickly coming his way. Suddenly, a voice was shouting, "Kinch!" A hand touched his face, another checking his chest.
"Thank God, 'e's still breathin'!" Newkirk's voice came from his right. "Damn, take a look at 'is hand! We better get 'im upstairs fast and get that checked out. Kinch? Kinch, can you hear me?"
Before he could answer, someone took hold of his right arm and tried to move it. He cried out as a wave of pain engulfed his hand at the movement, weakly pushing away the person who held the arm.
"Easy, Kinch, easy! We're just tryin' to 'elp you 'ere! I'm sorry if we 'urt ya, but you gotta be moved. Carter, take his other arm."
Kinch felt himself being lifted to his feet and moaned loudly in pain, but allowed himself to be led down the tunnel. He only opened his eyes when they reached the tunnel entrance. The climb up was pure torture, but before he knew it, he was out of the tunnel and in the middle of Barracks Two, lying on Newkirk's bunk. He blinked. Carter and Newkirk were leaning over him, staring at his hand, a look of dismay on their faces. If he hadn't been in so much pain, he would have laughed. Man, it must be pretty bad for them to look that worried. He swallowed, finally looking down at his injured hand.
It was worse than he'd thought. His middle three fingers had been badly burned and were missing several layers of skin; the skin that remained was blackened and seemed ready to flake off at the slightest touch. His thumb and pinky had emerged relatively unscathed, although the same could not be said for his palm. The intense pain radiating from that area forced him to turn it sideways to inspect the damage. He hissed at the movement but followed through. His palm was a mess - covered in thick, red blood, several pieces of metal still imbedded in the tender flesh. He blanched at the thought of someone pulling them out and turned his eyes away.
"Newkirk?" LeBeau's concerned voice called out from the end of the barracks, nearly causing him to jump in alarm. "Is Kinch all right?"
Kinch looked up at Newkirk and met his blue eyes, shaking his head slightly side to side. The British corporal nodded knowingly, obviously remembering the Frenchman's squeemishness at the sight of blood. "Carter, I need you to get me some bandages and a shot of morphine from the Colonel's quarters. Tell Louis what 'appened. But don't take too long. I'll need your 'elp with this."
Carter gulped and hurried off to do his task. Newkirk looked back down at Kinch. "You know they've gotta come out, mate. We gotta get you fixed up." He bit his lower lip, his face filled with compassion. "It's gonna 'urt like 'ell, so I'll give you a shot and make sure you're out before we do anythin'. I've gotta go get a few things before Carter gets back. Just close your eyes and try to relax."
As soon as Newkirk moved away from his side, Kinch let his eyes slide shut, too exhausted to keep them open a moment longer. He drifted in and out of consciousness, waiting for the procedure to begin. He heard Carter return and speak to Newkirk but could not understand the words. Finally, he felt the prick of a needle in his upper arm, and the slight sting of the morphine as it entered his body. The world around him faded away.
*************************
"Ummm, Kinch? I don't think you should be up quite yet."
Kinch glared up at Carter but otherwise ignored what he had to say as he climbed shakily to his feet, his uninjured left hand grasping the wooden bunkframe tightly to steady himself. He glanced down momentarily at his right hand, swathed in bandages; the morphine had nearly worn off, and what was previously only a dull ache was rapidly becoming a sharp, stabbing pain.
"Carter's right, Kinch. You should be restin'," added Newkirk, leaning against a nearby bunk.
"I've rested enough." Kinch brushed past Carter and moved towards the tunnel's secret entrance, only to have Newkirk step in his way. His eyes narrowed with anger. "Move, Newkirk. I've got work to do." The corporal did not budge. "What are you doing?" he asked sharply.
"I'm keepin' you from 'urtin' yourself more." Newkirk said resolutely, standing firm. "I'm not lettin' ya go down into the tunnel." His rigid expression softened slightly as he continued. "There's nothin' you can do, mate. The radio's dead."
No! He cried inside, clenching his jaw to keep the word from escaping his tight lips. "I can fix it. You know I can. Now, get out of the way."
Newkirk shook his head. "No, you can't, not this time. Some of the radio is melted, as well as blown. I pulled seven chunks out of your 'and alone, not to mention all of the pieces I picked out of the tunnel wall."
"I have spare parts. I can fix it," he insisted, refusing to believe the radio was beyond repair. I have to fix it. I've got to radio London about Captain Wilson – now!
"Spare parts won't be enough, Kinch. We need a whole new radio. Nothin' you do can resurrect the old one." Newkirk sighed. "I'm sorry, Kinch." He laid a hand on the tall sergeant's shoulder.
Kinch felt his legs start to crumble beneath him and collapsed onto the bunk he had just left. "No," he moaned, "not now." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall of the barracks. Why? he asked himself. Why can't we get a break? Why can't something go right for a change? "Oh, god. What else can go wrong?" he groaned.
At that exact moment, a terrified scream sounded from the other end of the barracks, making the hair literally stand up on the back of Kinch's neck. Carter helped Kinch as he struggled to his feet and they rushed towards the Colonel's quarters right behind Newkirk.
Newkirk flung open the door, allowing Kinch to see what was going on inside the room. He moaned again, this time from what he saw. LeBeau stood next to the lower bunk, leaning over, trying to restrain the thrashing man beneath him. Eyes wide with fear, the small corporal twisted around for a second, somehow having heard the door bang open against the wall over the cries and moans coming from the Colonel.
"He was quiet until just a moment ago! I do not know what happened, but I can not get him to calm down!" The Frenchman shouted desperately before turning back to the writhing figure on the bunk. He cautiously grasped Hogan's flailing right arm by the wrist, being careful not to touch the bandages covering the horrible burn on his forearm. Hogan screamed again at the touch and jerked away, fighting frantically to free himself from the perceived threat.
"Carter, go help LeBeau, but be careful!" Kinch ordered, shaking his arm loose from Carter's grip. At the same time, he turned to Newkirk. "Newkirk, I need you to give him the morphine. I can't…" He gestured helplessly towards his own bandaged right hand. "There's no way I can give him the shot with my hand like this. You have to do it."
Newkirk glanced at Kinch, fear evident in his wide blue eyes. "I - I don't know if I can - " he began to stutter.
Kinchloe stepped closer to the corporal, trying to ignore the painful sounds coming from just a few feet away. "Yes, you can, Peter. You can do this. After all, you just gave me a shot a couple of hours ago, right? This isn't all that different. You just have to work a little more," he said reassuringly, keeping his voice low, tinged with faith and conviction.
Swallowing, Newkirk nodded and quickly moved towards the Colonel's desk to get the syringe and vial of morphine. Kinch watched him, confident that he could perform the task he'd ordered. The tall sergeant stepped forward to join his men at Hogan's side…
Suddenly, a voice came out of nowhere. "What do you think you are doing?! Stop that at once!"
Kinch whirled around towards the voice and froze, stunned to see Lieutenant O'Shea standing in the open doorway, his young face filled with fury and his green eyes wide with anger.
