TITLE: A SPOT OF TROUBLE
AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: Strong PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst
SUMMARY: Hogan and the boys race to save one of their own from torture at the hands of the enemy.
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own. If you haven't yet read their Game Universe stories, run don't walk. They are awesome!
Chapter 3
Except for the occasional skitter of wind-blown leaves and rustling tree branches, the forest around Stalag 13 was silent. Andrew Carter settled his pack more securely between his shoulders and darted to the next area of shadow. This close to the tree stump tunnel entrance, it would be so easy to become careless. A single moment of unguarded attention could unravel two years' worth of covert operations.
Colonel Hogan's words from Carter's first mission briefing stayed in the forefront of his thoughts: You're not safe until you're back in your bunk. He was so very close to being back in Barracks Two, only a half-hour away, but he would not--could not--let himself become careless.
A twig snapped.
Carter dropped to the forest floor. He waited, not daring to move, not even to blow away a moldy leaf that tickled his cheek. He forced himself to breathe slowly--in through the nose, out through the mouth. The urge to hold his breath for that little bit of extra silence threatened to overpower him. Night dew soaked into his clothes.
Movement. There, to the right.
Carter eased forward three inches, enough to poke a viewing hole beneath a small bush. In a raised clearing some twenty feet beyond, silhouetted against the fiery sky and hazy with the night's first wisps of fog, stood a soldier armed with a rifle. The dishpan helmet marked him as German.
Cold dread tickled the American's spine. Carter licked his lips and refused to shiver. He held perfectly still except for a slight head turn to look around. Where one soldier patrolled, there would be others. The stray light that revealed them could easily spotlight his own position. His survival and the secrecy of Papa Bear's operation depended on him spotting the remaining Germans before they saw him.
The soldier in the clearing waved. Carter followed the gesture. At first he saw only shadows and movement that could be trees or shrubs as easily as men. After several seconds, something stirred against the wind. A beam of moonlight broke through the clouds to reflect off metal buckles. He'd pinpointed a second soldier's position. From there, Carter quickly located the third.
All three Germans were behind him, between him and the exploded depot. Their attention centered more on the distant fire and explosions than on their patrol duties. Hard as he looked, he saw no one between him and camp. With just a smidgen of good luck, he could slip away without being spotted.
Carter rose up enough to unbuckle the backpack straps. He hid the pack under the shrub and added a pile of forest mulch to further conceal the cloth. He wanted so badly to unsnap his holster and withdraw the Luger. The feel of the butt in his hand would be a great comfort. Still, escape was more important than confronting an enemy that outnumbered him three-to-one.
"Alarm!"
The cry went up to one side. A fourth German appeared to his left, waving wildly and calling for his companions.
Stealth was no longer an issue--Carter ducked and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. A rifle fired, its round missing by a wide margin. A second shot passed close enough to rip the sleeve of his jacket. A narrow limb ahead of him flew off, cut from its branch by the bullet.
Carter vaulted a downed tree trunk. Bullets struck the far side, throwing fragments of wood and moss into the air. Behind its momentary shelter, he grabbed a deep breath and studied every possible escape route. If he hugged the tree line to his right, he just might make it back to the tunnel entrance in time to escape detection. The American scampered in that direction.
Within ten feet, the ground vanished from beneath him. Carter did his best to control the fall, turning the wild tumble into a tight roll. He hit the bottom of the ravine after only three turns.
Carter unholstered his Luger and thumbed the safety. A quick look around and he was off. He rabbitted down the narrow, winding ravine, the remains of a dry creek bed.
"Halt! Auslieferung oder ich schießen! (Surrender or I will shoot!) "
The American dove for the scant cover of the ravine wall. Draped in weak shadows, cloaked in fog, he looked back to see an enemy soldier leaning over the edge of the gorge, searching for his lost quarry. The German yelled to his companions and brought up his rifle. Even as Carter stared straight down the rifle barrel, his arm snapped up, pure training and reflex. The Luger fired once. The German made a wet, gagging sound, dropped the rifle, clutched his throat, and fell to the ground.
The German's thrashing peaked and waned until, with a final gurgle, he fell deathly still.
Carter shivered in physical shock. I killed him. I killed him. Shake it off, boy. But I killed him. You heard me--shake it off! The colonel's counting on you. Gotta move. Gotta get back to camp. Gotta move.
He couldn't stay in the ravine. The shouting and shooting would draw the remaining members of the patrol and every other German soldier within miles. If they penned him there, it would be like shooting a duck in a pond.
Carter struggled over the rim of the gorge back onto level land. In his frenzied haste, his foot slipped on a patch of dew-moist leaves. Arms windmilled madly as he fought to hold his balance. One of the Germans darted forward and slammed the butt of his rifle against the base of Carter's skull.
The American grunted once and collapsed.