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Now that the adrenalin was pumping through him, Hogan felt more alert and prepared than he had all day. He should have known it would be this way; it always was on a mission. Determined and single-minded, nothing took priority over what he was about to do. He moved easily through the tunnel and climbed out into the woods beyond. As the cool night air hit his dirtied face, he hardly noticed the stinging in his ankle, and crouched low as he made his way into another bright, moonlit night.



Hogan had almost cried for joy when Kinch announced the change in plans from London. The idea of not having to walk on his injured leg was a real relief. Now, feeling energized and positive, he thought this extra precaution would just slow things up and get in the way. Still, it wasn't for him to second guess Headquarters. And, upon reflection, Hogan contemplated that it wouldn't have been above his men to try to force London to cancel the whole plan, so he should be grateful he was here at all.



Experienced at these operations, Hogan slid quickly and stealthily along, using the available shadows for cover and keeping an extra sharp eye out tonight for places where he could get tripped up in the dense underbrush. The checkpoint was about three miles away from camp, and Hogan felt he could get there almost with his eyes closed. But he was taking no chances tonight.



A few minutes later, Newkirk also came out of the tunnel. He scouted the perimeter to see if there were any signs of Hogan, and when there were none, he started heading quickly toward the rendezvous. He had a longer walk ahead of him. Inside, he knew Le Beau was right; if Hogan knew he was out, Newkirk would be raked over the coals--while they were lit. But they had all agreed that in this case, rules were made to be broken; Hogan couldn't be out alone tonight. Too often, they felt, he put himself in peril to protect them all. Now they had a chance to do something to shield Hogan. And they were going to take it, even if he didn't know about it.



The Englishman kept his eyes peeled; the route he was taking was similar to the one Hogan would be taking, and he had to make sure he wasn't spotted by his superior officer. A snapping twig made him freeze in his tracks and turn toward the sound. He crouched low and held his breath, then breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a rabbit cross his path. ~Blimey, mate, you're on edge tonight. Hey, Bugs, you working for the Krauts?~



As he regained his pace, Newkirk thought about the officer to whom he willingly pledged his loyalty. The confident American had had to work hard to get his trust; Newkirk wasn't the type to just accept someone's authority. But over time, Hogan had proven his worth to Newkirk, by making quiet decisions, maintaining his strength and wits in tricky situations, and by keeping the safety and wellbeing of his men in mind, even when London's orders seemed to disregard them. Newkirk tried to understand Hogan, but he was a hard man to get to know. He knew only bits about Hogan's background; the sometimes outspoken Army Air Force officer was tight-lipped about himself, even though he encouraged his own men to open up when they needed to. ~~Who can you go to, mate?~~ Who did he confide in, when the pressure got to be too much? What made him the leader he was? ~~Someday, gov'nor, I'll know the secret of you.~~



Emerging from his own thoughts, Newkirk saw a shadow move in the distance. He squinted from his place under the cover of a large tree to observe, and slowly made out the outline of Hogan. He had caught up with his superior officer. Newkirk watched quietly as the figure moved from shadow to shadow, and noted grimly that Hogan was more often than not leaning on the trees as he went.



Hogan didn't realise he had an audience as he moved through the woods. As he had progressed towards his destination, his initial adrenalin had worn off, and now he was struggling. Breathing heavily and sweating profusely, he tried to think of how far away he was from Little Red Riding Hood. His usually sharp senses felt dulled next to the sharpness of the pain when he took a step. There was a place just ahead where he could stop for a minute. ~~Just another thirty feet. Come on, Robert, you can make that. You've got another mile to go yet.~~ Hogan focused on the little spot he had used to hide from patrols a dozen times or more--a small patch of scrub that concealed a hollowed-out section of earth bedded with soft grass. A perfect place to collect himself.



--What was that?--Forgetting his discomfort in the light of possible discovery, he quickly backed up to the safety of a cluster of bushes and scanned the horizon. Nothing. Just the cool wind bowing the tops of the trees. He had stopped paying attention, and had left himself open to potential trouble. ~~Damn it, Robert, CONCENTRATE!~~ he ordered himself. But he was finding that harder to do. Summoning up the strength he knew he had to have, Hogan tried to keep his mind on his surroundings and his mission. Keeping low, he willed himself towards the precious hiding place. Disproportionately happy at finding it intact, he let himself tumble into its relative safety. ~~Just for a few minutes,~~ he promised himself.



After a minute or two of simply resting his head on his arms, Hogan tried to take stock. He knew that he had traveled about two-thirds of the way to the checkpoint, and still had about a mile to walk. He had been lucky not to encounter any patrols so far, but he also knew that he was starting to lose the alertness he needed to keep himself out of harm's way. His internal thermostat was completely out of kilter; he was hot, then cold, then burning up again. And every step with his untended ankle was a fresh and exquisite agony. He closed his eyes while the image of that warm farm bed comforted him. The faceless brunette with the soft, clean hair, the smooth skin, the soothing voice...



Hogan shook himself back to reality. THAT wasn't going to happen any time soon. What was next.... ~~Focus, Robert. FOCUS.~~ Get to the checkpoint. Meet Little Red Riding Hood for a lift to the rendezvous. Get the details on the munitions shipment. Blow the whole wad, and then get back to Stalag 13 by dawn. Hogan felt around his waist for the pack of explosives Carter had put together for him, and smiled to himself when he thought of the young Sergeant trying to explain how every little piece of equipment worked. Hogan didn't have the heart to tell Carter he was certainly familiar with the material by now, and let the young man go through his paces. ~~If anything goes wrong, he won't be able to say he should have told me,~~ he thought.



Time to get back to work. Rising slowly, Hogan made sure he had his wits about him as he emerged from the brush. Determined to get back on track, he watched continually as he moved, only pausing to take a break when pain made it hard for him to breathe properly. But even then, the stop was momentary, and he went on.



Newkirk watched as Hogan came out of the well-known hidey-hole. ~~It's getting tough on you, gov'nor,~~ he observed. But he kept himself hidden, and trundled along when he knew he wouldn't be sprung. He soon overtook Hogan, who was stopped again, leaning heavily against a fallen tree, and, swallowing his strong desire to reveal himself to his superior officer, passed him in the darkness, aiming towards the rendezvous point.



Newkirk easily reached the checkpoint before Hogan. Keeping to the shadows, he spied a car reflecting the moonlight. A single occupant was in it. Little Red Riding Hood was a bear of a man, burly and bearded. Newkirk considered making himself known to the contact, but thought the better of it. He waited for a few minutes, then saw Colonel Hogan appear some distance away. Newkirk was dismayed at how weak Hogan appeared, and watched with concern as he saw the unsteady gait with which Hogan approached the car, almost drunken in his movements, and certainly not at all visibly conscious of the critical moment this was--identifying the contact.



Hogan pulled himself across the back of the car as the large man disembarked. Newkirk was biting his tongue, wanting to call out "Wait, Colonel--make sure it's 'im!" but knowing he could not. He couldn't hear the exchange, but breathed an almost audible sigh of relief when the man took Hogan gently by the arm and guided him to the passenger seat. He watched Hogan loll his head back, and could see his chest heaving as he recovered some of the strength he had lost on the journey here. Then the man Newkirk knew only as Little Red Riding Hood got back into the driver's seat, and turned to Hogan.



With the two men talking and everything seeming to be under control, Newkirk decided it was time to move on. After all, Hogan and the contact would be driving; he had to walk. If he didn't get moving, he'd miss everything. So he turned away, relieved that Hogan was in safe hands, and started the hike. ~~Bloody 'ell, what are you doing here?~~ Newkirk asked himself. ~~Babysitting a man who's perfectly capable of looking after 'imself. You're going to hide and watch him doing just fine all night, then catch pneumonia. All for nothing. We worry too much.~~



On he trekked, worrying more than normal about the possibility of patrols in the area. It was quiet. This was good, usually. And tonight it should be excellent. But for some reason it was disquieting to Newkirk that there was no one out working for the Fuhrer, when an important munitions shipment was due and the SS was sure there were spies nearby.



He discovered his concerns were well-founded when he reached the rendezvous; instead of Hansel and Gretel, Newkirk saw SS uniforms, unmistakable even by the light of the moon.



Hogan was heading into a trap.