Unbeta-ed

[[ ]]denotes spoken German

Chapter Three

Carter was just picking himself off the floor when Hogan and Kinch ran into the room. Newkirk was hunched over the cot, struggling to keep the now awake and fighting man under control.

[[It's all right!]] Carter called out as he rushed back to the cot. [[We won't hurt you!]]

Even with his arms trapped against his sides by Newkirk's unrelenting grip, the man kept trying to strike out. His body bucked and twisted, grunts of pain peppering his incoherent raving. His legs randomly kicked out, rocking Newkirk and sending the blanket billowing to the floor. Kinch jumped forward and using his weight, pinned the flailing legs down. Breathing heavily from the effort of maintaining his hold, Newkirk took a moment to throw a look of disgust in Carter's direction.

"Still think he's on our side?"

The man's head suddenly flew back and with a gasp, he went limp. Wary of a trick, Newkirk and Kinch kept their positions a few moments longer, then cautiously released their grips and eased back.

"He's out again," Newkirk muttered, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

Absently rubbing the side of his face, Carter retrieved his cap from the floor and placed it back on his head. Hogan picked up the blanket the threw it back over the man, tugged it down to cover the stocking feet.

Taking Carter by the chin, Kinch turned his head to the side. One cheekbone bore a reddened scrape. "That's going to hurt."

"He didn't mean to hit me," Carter murmured, pulling back.

Newkirk paused in the act of smoothing his hair into place. "Oh, he bloody well meant to, all right!"

"He's been beaten and tortured and he doesn't know where he is!" Carter fired back with rare exasperation. "Wouldn't you come up fighting?"

Hogan casually put himself between Carter and Newkirk, forcing both men to take a step back. "What's this about torture?"

Carter carefully lifted the man's hand off the blanket and held it out for them to see. "Look." He pointed out the two fingers missing nails. The others gathered closer and Newkirk could not help wincing in sympathy. LeBeau entered the room, leaned toward the cot and took a brief look at the ravaged fingers.

"That could have happened in a fight."

Carter sighed, then went still when the man moaned and restlessly tossed his head. Seconds passed without further response and Carter returned the limp hand to the blanket.

LeBeau started to speak, but Hogan held up his hand, cutting him off. With a nod toward the door, he drew everyone out of the room, past Benson and further down the tunnel.

"Carter said it himself," Hogan told them, lowering his voice. "He doesn't know where he is. Let's keep it that way until we know who we're dealing with here. No names in his presence, and say nothing that might give away our operation." He turned to LeBeau. "Has Baker heard from London?"

"Oui. They are still waiting to hear from a few of their agents, but none of them fit his description anyway. The rest of their agents in this area are accounted for or made their scheduled check-ins."

Hope bloomed on Carter's face. "What about the ones out of this area who might have come into this area for some reason and who might have been on their way back out of the area?"

"I must be tired," Newkirk muttered, grimacing. "I almost followed that."

"How about the Gestapo?" Kinch tossed out. "Any unusual activity?"

LeBeau shrugged. "None has been reported, but who can tell with them?"

"No talk from anyone about beating up one of Hitler's goons?" Newkirk asked, pulling out a cigarette. "Anyone bragging?"

"It's not exactly something I'd want to brag about," Kinch noted. Grimly, he added, "That kind of talk could have terminal consequences."

"As in getting dead as an ever-loving doornail," Newkirk commented, striking a match with a flick of his thumbnail.

A thoughtful expression came over Kinch's face. "If this guy is Gestapo, suppose one of us --"

"Hey, now," Newkirk protested, hurriedly shaking out the match before it could burn his fingers. "Don't include me in this supposing you're doing."

Kinch made a sour face. "Hypothetically speaking; with 'us' being any member of the underground."

Newkirk shook his head, took a long drag of the cigarette. "Wouldn't catch me doing anything so stupid."

"We wouldn't?" Hogan asked, eyebrows raised. "Think about it. In the heat of the moment, aren't any of us capable of doing something we normally wouldn't?"

Kinch slowly nodded. "Given the right circumstances."

"I could." The low, harsh tone of LeBeau's voice momentarily drew everyone's attention to him. He gazed back, stone-faced.

"The same could be said of me," Hogan admitted. "Passion can drive us beyond normal boundaries. Even to something we wouldn't normally dream of doing. Reason can go right out the window. Maybe that's what happened with this guy."

"A mob, you mean?" Newkirk asked.

"Or someone with a whole lot of anger. LeBeau, given enough anger and adrenaline, could take down someone Kinch's size."

LeBeau put up his hands in fighting stance and playfully danced back and forth in front of Kinch, who parried a mock blow, then deftly took him in a headlock. LeBeau laughed from beneath Kinch's arm, slapped at his friend's stomach.

"I feel like Goliath taking on David," Kinch chuckled, barely moving from LeBeau's attempts to get free. Relenting, he let up and LeBeau mock-bowed to him in defeat.

"That wasn't even a fight," Carter suddenly spoke up. "David had God on his side. Goliath never had a chance."

"Well," Hogan said, serious once more. "By the look of this guy, he could have ended up like Goliath if Carter hadn't found him." He looked in the direction of the room. "Better get him tied up while he's still out, Kinch."

"But, Colonel--" Carter protested.

"Standard procedure. You wouldn't have gotten decked if he'd been tied in the first place."

Carter's shoulders sagged and his gaze lowered to the floor. "Yes, sir."

Hogan considered Carter's bowed head, then silently indicated the other men should leave. After they had gone, Hogan gripped the back of Carter's neck, gently squeezed until he looked up.

"If this guy really is Gestapo, Carter, he gets shipped off just like everybody else. There will be no trying to make friends with him. No trying to convince him of the evils of the German empire to bring him over to our side. We treat him just like any other German P.O.W. He goes. As soon as possible. End of story. No arguments."

"But --"

"That's an order, Carter. Be satisfied that you saved his life."

"Yes, sir," Carter agreed softly. His gaze suddenly fastened upon Hogan with unusual intensity. "Would you have let him die, Colonel?"

Hogan gave a soft huff of laughter, crossed his arms. "The question of the day. I really can't give you an answer, Carter. What matters is that you couldn't. And we'll deal with your decision one way or the other. Okay?"

"Okay."

Hogan put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, let's get some sleep." He let out a sigh when Carter's gaze slid back toward the room. "He'll be okay."

"But what if he wakes up again?"

"Benson will be there if he needs anything."

"With all due respect, Colonel? No one around here has been even a little concerned about what he needs."

Hogan studied him a moment, then in a dry tone, asked, "You wouldn't sleep even if I did manage to get you out of here, would you?"

Carter gave him a small grin. "No, sir."

"All right," Hogan said with sudden conviction. "How about I get you some pillows and a blanket, and you promise to try and get some sleep down here. Deal?"

Carter's grin turned full-blown. "Deal."

To be continued. . .