TITLE: A SPOT OF TROUBLE
AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: Strong PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Chapter 7
The four men wove through the trees and brush until they came to the edge of an overgrown yard. The remains of a house sat farthest away from their position at the end of a rutted, long unused drive. Comprised of scorched timbers and collapsed walls, fire had gutted its interior, leaving only a desiccated husk. A rickety old windmill, fan blades rusted in place, stood between the house and the barn. A German staff car sat in moonlit shadows between the barn and the windmill.
The barn itself fared slightly better than the house. The walls and roof were solid, but every window had been broken. On two windows without shutters, weather-faded boards covered the openings. Frail yellow light poured out of every crack in the structure.
"Looks like our luck may be changing." Hogan signaled the small Frenchman to his side. "LeBeau. See if you can get a peek inside. Be careful." He turned to his two remaining men and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Kinch, Newkirk, watch our backs. We don't know how many Germans may be around. I don't want any surprises."
LeBeau's "D'accord, mon Colonél," overlapped the other men's, "Yes, sir."
The little Frenchman slithered through the tall grass until he reached the rocky, barren border that surrounded the ancient structure. After a final long look for German patrols, he rose to his feet, raced across the open ground, and plastered himself in the scant cover of the building's shadow.
He returned less than two minutes later, almost falling into Kinch's arms. Corporal Louis LeBeau whispered in broken, heavily emotional French interspersed with little retching noises. Hogan caught little of it except for a strangled mon Dieu.
"What is it?" Hogan hissed. "What do you see?"
"'e . . . 'e izz in dere." LeBeau's accent always thickened under emotional stress. "Mon Dieu, ses pauvres soutiennent (My God, his poor back). Oh mon Dieu."
"What!"
LeBeau tried three times to speak. No sound emerged. His eyes rolled far back in his head. His skin, even under the paint, lightened several shades. Only Kinch's grip kept him from falling over in a dead faint. LeBeau swallowed several times to make his stomach settle.
Hogan pushed Louis out of the way, crept forward, and peeked over the windowsill to see for himself. He instantly wished he had not. The barn, lit by two glass-chimneyed kerosene lanterns and a single high-powered flashlight, held four people--two non-commissioned soldiers, an officer in an SS captain's uniform, and Sergeant Andrew Carter.
The American prisoner hung from a rafter, as naked as the day he was born. His back from throat to knees was a crisscross of raised welts, ripped skin, and blood. Hogan watched the German officer swing his makeshift whip and open another line of skin. Carter convulsed and moaned but said not one word.
The Colonel caught a glimpse of his young friend's face--swollen lip and jaw, bruised cheeks, and bloody nose. Both eyes were black and half swollen closed; a cut bisected his left eyebrow. Blood poured from his scalp in two places and from his right ear. The scarlet trickles joined other drops in a growing puddle beneath Carter's suspended, slowly rotating body.
Blind rage flamed in the Colonel's eyes. Hogan growled low in his throat. Temper in full flare, he propelled himself toward the barn door.
Kinchloe, Newkirk, and LeBeau grabbed Hogan and dragged him away from the barn. It required their combined strength to pull the outraged officer far enough away for their conversation to pass unheard by the Germans.
"Colonel, no!" Kinch held to Hogan's shoulders. Pinning him face down on the ground was no easy task, even for someone as strong as Kinchloe. "You can't!"
"Let me go. I have to get that boy out of there!"
Newkirk threw himself across Hogan's legs. LeBeau, the smallest man on the team, rode Hogan's back, trying desperately to hold him in place. Hogan thrashed and struggled but could not break their hold. A cry of pain from within the barn spurred his frenzy.
"We'll get him out, guv'nor, but we have to do it right."
"They are right, Colonél 'ogan We will 'ave but one shot at this. It must not fail."
"Sir, we can't just barge in there, guns blazing," Kinch said. "They might kill Carter before they'd risk him being rescued."
For an eternal moment, emotion overruled common sense. Kinch's argument at last broke through the violent haze. He had to rescue Carter without drawing additional danger his way. The burning panic faded.
Kinchloe, LeBeau, and Newkirk slumped, every muscle quivering in relief. The colonel was back with them.
Hogan looked around, searching for anything that might help them. Something fluttered overhead. As he watched, a flight of bats circled the windmill before they vanished through the empty sockets that had once been windows in someone's home. He eyed the clearing sky and three-quarter moon, the windmill, the vehicles, the barn, and back. He turned his watch to read its face in the faint moonlight--0348. Did they have enough time? Possibly.
"Kinch, you and Newkirk get to work on that windmill. Find some way to knock it down, preferably without any loud explosions that might bring additional patrols our way. Drop it on top the car if you can, but I'll take anything we can get. LeBeau, you're with me. As soon as the Krauts come out to investigate the noise, we'll take 'em down."