Hogan walked swiftly across the compound to Klink's office, still feeling his arms hanging leadenly by his side. They were aching now, along with his back, but he knew that it would be worse later, when the muscles had fully seized. But that was the least of his concern. His own physical discomfort was nothing serious. However, he did have two men whose physical injuries could be potentially fatal. They needed to be seen by a doctor and Klink was the only one who could arrange that, unfortunately.
He walked up the steps and right into Klink's office, not even stopping to glance at the pretty blonde secretary. "Colonel Hogan," Klink declared in outrage. "I would remind you that this office is not merely a revolving door and if you wish to see me without an appointment, you must first clear it with Fraulein Helga."
"You need to get a doctor in here," Hogan declared firmly. "O'Keefe'll do the best that he can, but Carter got hit on the head with a falling branch and there's not really much of anything that he can do, even if he knew how. The other man has a chunk of something lodged in his shoulder that we don't have the means to take out, not to mention that he hasn't woken since we found him."
"Colonel Hogan, need I mention that you are a prisoner here and not in a position to make demands?" Klink asserted, surprisingly determinedly. "Not to mention that you are facing punishment along with three of your men for attempted escape. How am I to know that this head injury of Carter's is not merely a diversion to avoid time in the cooler?" He stood, pacing out from behind his desk. His eyes once again caught sight of the blood that had seeped into Hogan's uniform and his manner lost some of his arrogance.
Hogan wasn't quite sure what he could say to answer that. "Under the terms of the Geneva Convention," he began. He was interrupted by an altogether too urgent-sounding knock at the kommandant's door.
"What is it?" Klink asked irritably.
"Beggin' your pardon," O'Keefe's brogue said from the other side of the door.
"O'Keefe," Hogan said, hurrying over to the door and letting the medic in, "what is it?"
Klink appeared to be ready to make some comment about whose camp it was when he saw that O'Keefe's uniform was also darkened with frighteningly large bloodstains. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking for all the world like an overgrown, balding fish. Then he abruptly inquired, "Is it your opinion that these men must see a doctor?"
"Yes, sir," O'Keefe answered firmly. "I believe that Sergeant Carter has sustained a severe concussion and is furthermore in danger of acute dehydration. And the other man, Squadron Leader MacIntyre, has injuries that I can't even begin to treat in the infirmary."
"Fraulein Helga," Klink bellowed out the open door, "connect me to the hospital in Hammelburg right away."
Not even a minute later, Klink was explaining the situation to one of the staff physicians at the hospital. O'Keefe stepped over to stand beside Hogan. "Carter passed out not long after you left," he whispered. "I hope that someone shows up soon because I can't do much more than bandage up the surface wounds; we're really not equipped for much of anything else." He sounded apologetic that he couldn't do more to help his fellow prisoners and friends.
"Don't worry, O'Keefe," Hogan said, trying to reassure the younger man when he himself wasn't overly reassured. "I know that you've done the best that you can." Then he dropped his voice another few notches and waited until Klink was again speaking to the man on the other end of the line. "Is Sullivan ready and waiting?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, darting a glance at the kommandant. Luckily he was still absorbed in the conversation. "You want I should signal on the way back past?"
Hogan nodded curtly as Klink hung up the phone. "A doctor from the hospital will be leaving presently. He agrees with your assessment of the situation, Flying Officer, and seems to feel the same urgency that you have communicated. Now, if you will return to your patients, I still require further words with Colonel Hogan."
"With all due respect," O'Keefe answered, cutting off any reply Hogan might have made, "I'd feel a good sight better if I could ensure that the colonel is himself uninjured." He made a point of looking directly at the blood on Hogan's uniform and hands. The stare wasn't lost on Klink.
The kommandant hesitated for a moment. Then he grudgingly responded, "Of course, Flying Officer." Even he couldn't deny that Hogan was covered in a conspicuous amount of blood. "Colonel Hogan, you are to permit the doctor to examine you as well, when he arrives. The punishment for you and your men will be dealt out after you have been seen. And, in the case of Sergeant Carter, after he has made a sufficient recovery."
"Thank you, Colonel," Hogan answered gratefully. He knew that he was unharmed and he was pretty sure that O'Keefe knew that too, but he would be allowed to be with his men and the punishment could wait until after he had rested enough to be able to wrangle a less severe one out of Klink. He also appreciated the fact that Carter would be allowed to recover before he was punished. It was a small gesture, but it was more than the kommandants of most camps would be willing to give.
The two Allied officers hurried out of the office, leaving Klink standing half in front of and half behind his desk, staring out the door after them. As the two officers rushed across to Barracks Two, O'Keefe pursed his lips and began to whistle a song loudly, but not so loudly that it would attract overmuch attention. His tune faded down after a second, but continued. The rear window of one of the barracks opened and another officer slipped out, darting in the shadows toward Barracks Two.
The men of Barracks Two were waiting for him and the window there opened as soon as he was close enough to be pulled in. Then O'Keefe's whistled melody switched to a jaunty Irish jig. Hogan twisted his neck, careful to make it appear that he was merely trying to ease a kink out of it. He even raised one of his protesting arms to massage the tense muscles. The guards hadn't seen anything. At least something was going right today.
Inside the barracks Hogan was relieved to find Kinch and LeBeau were lightly sponging the encrusted blood off of the man O'Keefe had identified as a squadron leader. Newkirk was performing the same ministration for the unconscious Carter.
"Klink's called for a doctor," Hogan announced to the room at large. "He should be here soon; O'Keefe did a good job of convincing them that it was serious." He didn't bother to mention the fact that he had been able to do a good job convincing them because it likely was rather serious. It wasn't a very uplifting thought and most of them were probably thinking it on their own. They didn't need to have it brought up to remind them.
Hogan wandered over to the bunk that Carter had been laid gently out on, stopping to rest a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. His hand made a few soothing motions against the knotted muscle. Newkirk looked up at him, seemingly unaware of the blood that was smeared all over his own uniform and face. "I couldn't keep 'im awake, guv'nor," he said sadly. "I tried."
"It's okay, Newkirk," Hogan answered. "Baker," he continued, "would you take over from Newkirk." Newkirk looked up at him, protests rising on his lips "We've both been ordered by the kommandant to be looked over by O'Keefe here."
O'Keefe nodded vigorously. "Be careful," Newkirk told Baker, surrendering his rag. "The whole side of his face is bruising."
"Don't worry, Newkirk," the quiet black man said. "I'll be gentle." And he made a swipe over the lanky sergeant's face that even a mother would have had trouble finding fault with.
Newkirk reluctantly followed Hogan into his office. "You want ta talk to Sullivan while I give Newkirk the once over?" O'Keefe asked, gesturing to the other man in the room, the one who had darted between the barracks. Hogan nodded briskly, sinking down onto the chair while motioning for Newkirk to take the bunk. Newkirk sank down onto the lumpy mattress, glad that the ordeal was finally almost over. All that remained was for the doctor to arrive and assure them that all would be well.
"God, Rob," Sullivan drawled, slightly disapprovingly, "what kind of trouble did you cause?" He caught sight of the warning look on Hogan's face and fell silent. Although the two officers got along better now, neither one had quite forgotten the tensions that had existed between them when Hogan first arrived in the camp.
"It wasn't a bomber's moon, sir," Newkirk piped up during the period of silence that followed the question. "But they bombed anyway. One crashed. Carter ran to save the other guy but they got caught in the explosion from the bridge."
"So at least our boys got that," Sullivan sighed.
"We got that," Hogan said stiffly. "What's this I hear about an inspector from Berlin?"
Sullivan shrugged. "Special envoy from the Luftwaffe High Command with regards to prison camps so far as we can find out. He's here to watch the way that Klink runs the camp. Colditz had an escape last month and that's the special camp. They want to know how Klink manages to keep us all here."
Hogan nodded. It made sense that Klink was this worked up over an escape attempt if he was being examined as a model for perfection. Luckily his humanity still managed to win out. "Did the last set of new prisoners get vetted?" Hogan asked, glancing over to see how the examination of Newkirk was going.
"Two kids right out of high school, a mechanic, an English teacher, and an electrician," Sullivan reported. "And, according to Lieutenant Vilene, four who are bound and determined to escape at all costs. But you're lucky in the fact that they're still serving sentences in the cooler from the last camp and Klink hasn't had the guts to intervene. We're already working on reasons to transfer those four."
"Good," Hogan replied, passing a hand over his eyes. He really was exhausted. Then he glanced at his watch. How much longer before the doctor arrived?
"It'll be at least another five minutes," Sullivan said, correctly interpreting the gesture. "They'll be fine, Hogan. I don't like admitting it, but the Kraut quacks around here are the best that I've encountered. And they honestly seem to want to help people." It was a not so veiled reference to some of the other German doctors that they had all encountered during their introduction to the German POW system.
"You're right," Hogan sighed. Perhaps this airman had landed in a good spot after all. From the cursory glance he had had at the exposed wounds, it appeared that the majority of the wounds had been caused by bailing out, not by the explosion itself. At least here he could be guaranteed proper medical treatment.