Chapter Four
Hogan rolled over, muttered furiously into the darkness. His treacherous mind would let him get to the very edge of sleep, only to jerk him back with thoughts of Carter sleeping in a chair in the tunnel. Throwing off the blanket, Hogan left the warmth of his bed, got dressed and walked into the other room.
His men's breathing and assorted sleep sounds lent a peaceful atmosphere to the barracks. He paused for a moment, savoring the knowledge that on this night, every one of his men was safe. His hand touched the shirt over his chest, automatically searching out the crucifix that hung on a separate chain from his dog tags. The crucifix was the only piece of a rosary that had been destroyed beyond repair, dumped into a waste can during a moment of rage and overwhelming grief. Scant months ago, something had sent him digging into the bottom of his foot locker for the crucifix. He found it where he had banished it, buried deep beneath clothing and other personal affects. The first sight of it had caught him by surprise. The crucifix should have been dull from tarnish and disuse. Instead, it gleamed in the lamplight and as he held it higher, appeared to wink at him. He had sat on the floor beside his open footlocker long into the night, staring at the crucifix, lost in thought.
"Can't sleep?"
The whispered question had come from his left, in Kinch's distinctive voice.
"Nope."
"Going to check on him?"
"Yup. Go back to sleep."
"Can't go back to a place I haven't been yet."
"I hear you, buddy."
Padding across the room on the balls of his feet, Hogan quietly opened the bunk entrance and went below.
Benson was still on watch outside of the German's room, seated to one side of the doorway. Upon seeing Hogan, the look of boredom on his face changed to surprise and he jumped to his feet. Hogan hurriedly silenced him with a shushing gesture and peeked into the room holding the Gestapo officer. Carter was sound asleep in a chair beside the cot. His feet were sprawled out in front of him, his head was tilted back and soft, gurgling snores came from his open mouth. The pillow that Hogan had given him earlier lay crumpled on the floor beside the chair, having obviously fallen there.
"Ooh, that's going to hurt," Benson whispered as he peered past Hogan's shoulder.
"Ooh, yeah," Hogan whispered back, unconsciously rubbing his own neck in sympathy. He turned away from the scene. "I'll be right back," he told Benson, still keeping his voice down.
When he returned, he held two blankets. He spread one; let it drift to rest upon the blanket already covering Carter's spare frame. Carter snuffled, gave a brief, rumbling snort, and went back to snoring. Hogan shared a grin with Benson, then went to the cot. The German's sleep was an uneasy one, his bound hands twitching restlessly beneath his blanket. Hogan spread the other blanket upon him, performing the act as gently as he had with Carter. Satisfied that both men would be warmer now, Hogan went back into the tunnel.
"You all right?" he asked Benson. Before the other man could speak, Hogan put a finger to his own lips, reminding Benson to keep his voice down.
"Yes, sir. It's just a little boring." Benson considered a moment, then said, "A lot boring, actually."
Hogan patted him on the shoulder. "How about some of LeBeau's cookies to help ease the tedium?"
"Schultz didn't get them all?"
"Nope. It pays to have a secret stash."
Benson's eyebrows went up. "Where could you have a secret stash around here?"
Hogan smiled. "If I told you, it wouldn't be secret."
After plundering his stash, Hogan gave Benson the cookies, wished him good night, and returned to his bed.
HH HH HH HH
"Hey!" hissed a voice into Carter's ear, startling him awake.
He bolted to his feet and came eye to eye with Benson. The other man pointed urgently to his watch, then to the ceiling and mouthed, Roll call!
Carter nodded and immediately grabbed his neck, letting out a soft, "Ouch!" After working the painful kink out, he scrubbed his hands over his face, wincing at the thick feeling in his head. Sleeping in the tunnel always clogged his sinuses for days afterward. At least the numbness in his backside would fade in a few minutes – he hoped. Yawning, he stepped over the blankets puddled at his feet and shuffled to the cot. The German was still unconscious, head lolled to one side, face still swollen and painful looking. Carter put the back of his hand to the bruised forehead and was dismayed to find a fever.
A loud smacking sound made him jump and spin toward the door. Benson's open hand was poised inches from the tunnel brace, ready to slap it again. His thunderous expression and exaggerated 'hurry-up' gesture emphasized time was short.
Carter quickly checked the ropes binding the German, then dashed into the tunnel.
HH HH HH HH
"Nice of you to join us," Newkirk grumbled as Carter fell into rank beside him. At the end of the first rank, Hogan glanced Carter's way, said 'Good morning' by way of a wide smile. A sudden yawn interrupted Carter's answering smile, but he was still able to wave, and at the yawn's end, smiled back.
Ignoring the usual chatter, catcalls, and tomfoolery that accompanied roll calls, Carter let his thoughts return to the injured German - his responsibility. At least, that was the way he felt. Since he had brought the German into their midst, he would take care of him until there was no longer the need.
It's only right, Carter thought, yawning so wide and for so long that his eyes watered.
Following roll call, everyone gathered in the barracks and LeBeau started serving breakfast. Carter stared at the double-portion on his plate. It was much more than he usually ate and he looked up at LeBeau in confusion.
"I have no extra plates," LeBeau explained with a shrug. As he moved past Carter with another plate, he softly said, "Take whatever you don't want to the Boche."
A grin spread across Carter's face. Working with the same precision he used in making bombs, he divided the food into separate, equal portions, then tucked into his with gusto. LeBeau sat down to his own plate, affection softening his gaze as he watched Carter.
"Who's up next for guard duty?" Hogan asked, taking a bite of his meal.
Kinch consulted his notebook, drew his finger down the list until he reached a name. "Perkins."
"All right. Have him take over from Benson." He looked the length of the table at Carter. "Anything new to report?"
Carter hurriedly swallowed his mouthful, wiped his lips. "No, sir. I'd feel a lot better if he'd wake up again."
Hogan smiled. "He will when he's ready."
"Be nice if he'd get around to being ready soon," Newkirk grumbled, stabbing at his food. "Might get some answers then."
Kinch slowly shook his head. "Don't count on it. You know how talkative Gestapo aren't."
Carter's head jerked up. "We still don't --"
"-- know if he's bloody Gestapo," Newkirk finished heavily. He put his elbow upon the table, raised that hand in the air. "Let's take a vote, eh? Who here believes we are ruddy well coddling Gestapo? Who believes that we wouldn't even be having this conversation if we had just left the bugger to die like we should have?"
The silence that dropped over the room was thick with tension and disapproval. Carter suddenly stood.
"If you'll excuse me," he said softly, eyes downcast. "He might be awake now. He should have this before it gets cold." With that, he picked up the half-full plate of food and went below.
Roughly a dozen pairs of fixed upon Newkirk, the silence turning accusatory.
"Why did you do that?" LeBeau hissed, standing up from the table with a jerk. Newkirk's mouth fell open in surprise, then his eyes narrowed and he stabbed a finger in LeBeau's direction.
"You don't want that Kraut here anymore than I do! Or was that some other short Frenchman that just last night was saying Carter should have left that Kraut to die?"
LeBeau tossed his metal plate into the washtub, sending water splashing onto the floor. "I still think he should not be here, but now that he is, we should support Carter."
"Andrew's the most compassionate guy I've ever met," Olsen added from his bunk. "Asking him to ignore somebody in trouble is like asking the sun not to shine."
Kinch nodded. "He did what he thought was right. Whether we would have made the same decision is beside the point. He's our friend. And friends," Kinch said, emphasizing the latter word by tapping his finger upon the table's top. "stand by each other."
Newkirk's gaze flicked to the end of the table, seeking out his C.O.'s opinion. Hogan met his eyes squarely for a long moment, then got up from the table, walked into his quarters and closed the door.
"Oh, bloody hell," Newkirk sighed, staring at the closed tunnel entrance.
To be continued. . .