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Thanks, Netrat, for help with translations!
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Desperate for a drink of water, Hogan ran his tongue along his dry lips again and swallowed hard. He had been on the run for the better part of three hours, and his body was aching for rest, but he didn't dare stop. Trudging through the woods, he wiped a sleeve across his brow and scanned the area again. No patrols. No vehicles. No running water. Through the trees he could see the sun completing its descent beyond the hills. Schnitzer usually went to Stalag 13 at the end of the day; he should be coming along the road soon. Zigzagging across the terrain, always looking around him for signs of pursuit, Hogan was sure he had missed Schnitzer on his way toward the camp; he was hoping he wasn't too late to meet the veterinarian on his way back. Still, he considered, the other prisoners would have informed Schnitzer of Hogan's situation, and the old man would surely be on the lookout for him.
The pulling pain in his shoulder peaked suddenly, stopping Hogan in his tracks. The escape, while successful, had aggravated old wounds that he had nearly succeeded in forgetting, at least while he was awake; unfortunately, his dreams—nightmares, really—always refreshed his memory. Alone, he could permit himself to groan aloud as he massaged the sore area under his rib cage. Then he tried to flex his shoulder muscles, but he could feel a stiffening and a sharp, hot throbbing that told him a massage and compress would be well received. In your dreams, he said to himself, cradling his now weak, almost useless arm desperately.
Hogan looked around for a place where he could pause but remain hidden. Spying a downed tree from where he could still see the road, he lowered himself onto the trunk and sagged wearily. Stalag 13 was beginning to look good: four walls and a roof; food; water; companionship. I must be delirious, he thought. His mind drifted to the men who had helped him get out. I won't let you down, fellas. I'll make you proud.
Sudden noises nearby drove Hogan firmly into reality, and he swiftly and silently took cover in some shrubbery that backed onto a large tree near the road. There was Schnitzer's truck. Hogan found himself smiling at the sight of the rickety vehicle, and made to reveal himself when another sound brought an abrupt halt to his plan.
"Halt! Stoppen Sie diesen Träger!" Two German soldiers suddenly emerged from the other side of the road. One put his hand out to stop the truck while the other approached the driver. Hogan drew back, a cold sweat all at once drenching him. How had he not seen them before? Were there others?
"Was ist das Ziel Ihrer Reise?" Hogan strained to hear what the old man was being asked. The German he had learned when he was assigned to the RAF helped him make some sense of it-—apparently the soldiers wanted to know where Schnitzer was headed. He couldn't hear the answer, just the next order: "Oeffnen Sie den Wagen." Open the truck.
Hogan watched tensely as Schnitzer got out of his vehicle and went to the back doors. "Ich kuemmere mich um die Wachhunde im Stalag 13," Schnitzer explained, as dogs unseen to Hogan started barking and jumping, visibly rocking the truck.
You sure do look after those dogs, Hogan thought. Nicely enough so they don't attack the prisoners. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the German soldier back away from the vehicle and indicate that opening the truck was no longer necessary.
The soldiers watched Schnitzer get back into his truck and then they gestured for him to continue up the road. Hogan watched in disbelief as Schnitzer disappeared from sight. You can't! he thought desperately. What about my ride out of here? A new fear gripped Hogan as he realized that the appearance of the two German soldiers had now changed his plans dramatically. Schnitzer was gone, and Hogan knew he wouldn't blame the man if he didn't double back to find him. All he could do now was wait until the Germans moved on, then continue following the Hammelburg road on his own, and maybe catch Schnitzer tomorrow. If Hogan managed to survive the night with no contacts, with no water, and with almost no hope.
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"No contact with Schnitzer any more," Le Beau said, still angry.
"That means Colonel Hogan's out there alone. No one but us knows he's there," Newkirk declared.
"And if he encounters the wrong kind of civilian-—" Kinch began.
"He'll be back faster than you can say 'Jack Rabbit,'" Newkirk finished.
"If they do not beat him to death first," Le Beau said, shuddering at the memory of some of the stories he had been told. German civilians could be worse to Allied soldiers than the military.
"So what can we do?" Newkirk asked, hoping the only answer he could think of was wrong.
It wasn't. "Nothing," Kinch said regretfully. "All we can do is keep our fingers crossed. And that hardly seems like enough."
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Hogan stood up and very carefully stretched his cramped muscles, trying not to antagonize his wildly aching shoulder or his throbbing abdomen. More uncertain than he could remember in a long time, he had stayed crouched under the cover of those bushes for more than an hour, watching as the patrol stopped every vehicle and demanded, "Ihre Papiere, bitte." Eventually the pair of Germans disappeared into the woods across the road, and Hogan felt safe enough to move.
So thirsty. Got to get water. Driven first by fear, Hogan nonetheless knew that one of the keys to survival was water, and so he reluctantly continued following the road toward Hammelburg. Now with no light, Hogan was forced to travel more closely to the clearing than he preferred. He shivered slightly. With the sun had gone the warmth of the day, and he pulled his jacket closer around his body, and turned up the collar around his neck. Please let Schnitzer come back.
Another forty-five minutes of walking and Hogan was nearly exhausted. Without food or water and not as fully recovered as he had thought, the trek was playing on him, and he desperately wanted to stop. But he refused to give in to his body's demands, and moved along. A short time later he was rewarded for his persistence; a large hole in the dirt road was holding water from a recent rainfall. Taking a quick look around him, Hogan came out into the open and gratefully, almost joyously, threw some of the water on his face. He rubbed it onto his neck, and then after only a moment's consideration, cupped some in his hands and drank greedily. The relief to his parched throat acted like a tonic for his mood, and Hogan resumed his journey with an almost giddy cheerfulness. If only he could find a place to safely wait out the night, he thought, he might almost be able to make it.
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The signs on the buildings were of course all in German, and yet Hogan found himself cursing them as he arrived at a small village further along the road. A little cluster of houses, a building that Hogan surmised was a pub, and a couple of other businesses were sitting neatly before him, fronting onto a quaint and deserted road. It was much later now, and Hogan's eagerness after the respite of the water had now abandoned him. He had resigned himself to the idea that Schnitzer was obviously not coming back; it was too dangerous with the patrols on the road to take a chance on being caught with an escaped prisoner. Every sound, real or imagined, had startled him, and his nerves were now so on edge that he fleetingly wondered if he was starting to lose his grasp on reality.
Observing the area from the woods, Hogan debated coming out into the open. He wanted to think that he could depend on the innate goodness in people to help him—but a reality check reminded him that these people were Germans, the enemy. And he had heard enough about how civilians were sometimes quite eager to abuse Allied soldiers if caught—sometimes nearly to the point of death—before they turned the poor soul in to the German military authorities. Hogan winced as his injuries flared up momentarily, protesting the long ordeal and the lack of rest. Maybe if you're already nearly there they'll take pity on you instead?
His eyes scanned the area for a safe place to move to. He spied an alley between the pub and the house beside it and decided to take a chance. Continually scanning the area around him, Hogan ran stealthily to the edge of the first structure, then stopped in the shadows and looked around. So far satisfied that he was undetected, he crouched down low, ignoring his body's objections, and crept swiftly to the alleyway. Pausing to regroup, he took in his surroundings and wiped his sweat-drenched face. Light came from further down the alley behind the buildings. He edged his way toward the light, and was surprised to see a dog pen there, holding at least half a dozen German shepherds.
Hogan ducked back quickly, grateful the animals had apparently not yet spotted him. But the discovery triggered another idea in his mind, and he continued to investigate his surroundings. Looking a bit further afield, Hogan's suspicions were confirmed when he saw Schnitzer's truck parked past the pens. He worked his way back up the alley to the front of the building, and tried to look through a window without being seen. Light came from within the house, but Hogan could see no one inside. He strained to listen, and could hear faintly what sounded like a piano, and a young, female voice, followed by a deeper, older voice.
Hogan debated whether to take a chance on knocking at the door. On the one hand, if this were Schnitzer's home, surely Hogan would be welcomed. On the other, if he was wrong, or Schnitzer was with someone who was unaware of his Underground activities, he could be putting the old man in danger. Hogan leaned back against the building and closed his eyes. He was tired of arguing with himself, he was tired of this escape, and he was just plain bone-tired, period. He finally decided that the safest plan of action would be to wait at Schnitzer's truck until the morning, and present himself to the man when he came out to look after the dogs. With that in mind, Hogan moved stealthily back towards the rear of the building.
This will be tricky, Hogan thought, noting that he would have to pass the dog pen to get to the relative safety of the truck. Hogan worked out the path least likely to attract the animals' attention, and started. He was about ten feet from the back of the vehicle when a light suddenly came on in the yard. Hogan dove for cover and rolled under the carriage of the truck, hoping that he had not been spotted. The dogs went wild for a moment but were quickly quieted by a familiar voice. Schnitzer, Hogan realized.
"Wer ist es?" came a voice.
Damn, he'd been seen. Hogan stayed quiet, gasping at the pain the sudden collision with the ground had delivered to his shoulder and his torso. He tried to keep his breathing silent, sure that even that noise would be heard across the yard. But it was getting harder; Hogan was starting to feel light-headed from fatigue, fear, and discomfort, and he was hot, so hot, though inside he was actually shivering with the strain. He gave in and awkwardly unzipped his jacket. How long had it been since he left the camp?
"Zeigen Sie sich. Ich kann die Hunde loslassen!"
Hogan caught the gist of the demand—come out or the dogs will find you. He had no doubt that was true. And so he decided that since he was going to reveal himself to the veterinarian anyway, there was no point in antagonizing him, so he crawled out from underneath the truck and stood, swaying slightly, in the semi-darkness. "Herr Schnitzer," Hogan began. Damn, he hurt just about everywhere. Could they speed this along?
"Was ist los? Wer sind Sie?" The voice was suspicious, hesitant.
"I'm Colonel Hogan, Herr Schnitzer. A prisoner from Stalag 13. The men told you to look for me, but you must have been surprised by the patrols tonight." Please. Please, we're so close to a place to sit down….
Schnitzer came out further into the yard. "Stalag 13?" he repeated.
"Yes, mein Herr. We've met before at camp." Hogan's eyes darted around the yard. We shouldn't be talking out here in the open….
Schnitzer advanced even more. Hogan wasn't sure how to take the man's response. His shoulder was hurting more now than it had since he left the camp, and a new dizziness was making it hard to see Schnitzer clearly in the dim light.
The older man came to stand face to face with Hogan, and studied the American's face closely. Nodding, he looked Hogan up and down, and raised an eyebrow when his eyes reached Hogan's torso. "Sie sind verletzt?"
Hogan looked down and was surprised to see blood seeping through his shirt. He nodded numbly, and finally succumbed to his weakness, falling into Schnitzer's arms and the comfort of oblivion.