Vilene made his way to Barracks Two after a quick breakfast in his own barracks. The tall Frenchman was obviously worried about something; it showed in his usually placid demeanour. "Colonel," he declared, "I do not know how I can keep preventing the men from escaping without them thinking that I am a collaborator!" He paced back and forth across the confines of Hogan's small office. Hogan didn't think that he had ever seen the man so worked up before.
"But I know that I cannot let the men escape without risking everything," Vilene continued. He was so upset that he was having difficulty with his English. "After I heard what happened to Carter last night, I had hoped that they would no longer be so eager to go." He waved his hands in the air, searching for the proper English words. "But they seem not to care at all."
"Why don't you have a seat, lieutenant?" Hogan suggested. The incessant pacing was making him dizzy.
Vilene sank down onto Hogan's bunk, only to spring up again the next moment. "Je ne peut pas continuer!" he exploded. "C'est trop difficile. Je n'ai pas les amis parce qu'ils pensent…"
"Whoa," Hogan broke in. "Slow down, André!" His French was fairly good and improving all the time, but he couldn't keep up with this angry flow of words.
"I cannot continue," Vilene repeated, refusing to meet Hogan's eyes. "I am sorry, colonel. But the men have lost their trust in me, even the ones who defended me when I was first labelled as a collaborator."
Hogan sighed. He had figured that it would happen sooner or later. As escape officer, Vilene was in charge of co-ordinating the prisoners' escape attempts. But as an officer of the camp, he was also responsible for keeping Klink's perfect no-escape record intact. When escape attempt after escape attempt had failed, some of the men had immediately branded Vilene as a collaborator.
The label had hurt him. He was a loyal Frenchman and hated the whispers of association with the Frenchmen who had betrayed their country to work with the Germans. But he had withstood the association because of his devotion to duty and his certainty that his work was helping win the war. Still, having friends to stand beside him had helped lessen the blow. But now, after more than a year as escape officer with no successful escapes, even his few remaining friends had started to abandon him.
"There are four men in the cooler who are going to have to be transferred out. I'll see what I can do to get Klink to transfer you out with them,' Hogan offered. "We'll have you back with the Free French again in no time."
"Merci, colonel," Vilene answered, his frantic pacing starting to slow. "I know that I will be leaving you without an escape officer. And the men are more than anxious that ever to get out." As he calmed, his English became more fluid and his calm air began to return.
"It'll be at least a week before a transfer can be arranged; during that time, I'd like you to make a list of possible replacements. It would also be helpful if you could list off some of the ways we can foil various escape plans without appearing too obvious." It would be a helpful list to have handy; Vilene had lasted a year. Hopefully the next escape officer would last longer, but there was no guarantee that the war would end before he too had to be transferred out and replaced.
Vilene nodded, understanding that Hogan's suggestions were actually orders. "Of course, colonel," he responded smoothly. "I'll have both for you by the end of the day."
"You've done good work, André," Hogan assured him as the two men walked toward the door. "Our operation here wouldn't be possible without everything that you've done."
"You flatter me too much, colonel," Vilene replied. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have at least one more escape attempt to foil before I can go anywhere."
It was as though a great weight had been lifted from the Frenchman's shoulders as he walked through Barracks Two and out into the compound. It was such a change from the pent-up frustration that had been so apparent not even ten minutes before. Hogan was struck by the contrast and couldn't help but remember his first meeting with Vilene. The lanky young man had been flying with the Free French and had only been recently shot down. In spite of being behind barbed wire, there had been a certain calm devotion to duty that had immediately impressed Hogan. Over the past year, that easy attitude had slowly eroded away.
Until that moment, as he stood watching Vilene walk away, Hogan had never really noticed the change. It was slightly disconcerting to realize that his men were slowly burning themselves out, even the ones who weren't out blowing things up. One corner of Hogan's mouth twitched up in a wry smile: it appeared that one didn't need to be in combat to suffer from combat fatigue.
Then he sighed, knowing that he could no longer afford to continue ignoring the men at the fringes of the operation. Somehow he'd have to devise a better system. Men would have to be rotated or there would have to be a set of criteria for assessing their fitness to continue working. Hogan was slightly surprised that in the nearly eighteen months of the operation, Vilene had been the first of the command staff to actively request a transfer. But that record surely wouldn't hold for much longer. Other men had to be close to the breaking point, perhaps even his own.
That thought reminded him of the two men that had been injured the night before, not that he had ever really forgotten. Taking his coffee, Hogan wandered over to Carter's side. O'Keefe had been by earlier to check him over and had given Carter permission to get out of bed. The young sergeant had immediately taken up residence on the stool beside MacIntyre's bunk. Hogan drew up another stool so that he could sit beside Carter and keep watch over the still unresponsive RCAF pilot.
"How're you feeling?" Hogan asked, looking seriously at Carter. "Honestly."
"Still a little shaky," Carter admitted. "And my head feels like Kinch's been using it for his boxing practice." He saw the worried look on Hogan's face and quickly added, "But other than that I'm a-okay, sir."
"Sounds like it," Hogan retorted, rolling his eyes. "How's he doing?" he asked, motioning with his cup to the man on the bunk before them.
"Still out like a light," Carter answered. "But I think he's starting to come around. He sort of started moving around while you were in with Lieutenant Vilene. LeBeau went to find O'Keefe. They should be back right away."
As if to confirm Carter's statement, just in case Hogan had had any doubts, MacIntyre shifted uncomfortably on the bunk and the door burst open to admit O'Keefe and LeBeau. Hogan immediately vacated his stool to give the medic enough space to work in the close confines of the barracks.
"Ye couldna have started movin' aroun' while I was here the first time?" O'Keefe asked the unconscious man brightly, irregardless of the fact that he would not get an answer.
Carter had stayed on his stool, sliding it over to let O"Keefe access MacIntyre. Hogan was fairly certain that Carter was dizzier than he admitted to being, and guessed that was probably the reason that he hadn't bounded to his feet. "How is he?" Carter asked nervously, peering nervously at the medic.
"'Tis too early to tell," O'Keefe responded, lifting the blanket to check the bandages. "But it does appear as though he's decided the time is right for awakenin'."
"It's about bloody time," Newkirk called over. He, along with LeBeau and Kinch, were trying to occupy themselves with other things, but it was obvious that they were waiting every bit as eagerly as Carter for any signs of life from MacIntyre. Newkirk was playing cards honestly. LeBeau was neglecting his bouillabaisse. Kinch hadn't turned a page in his book in nearly five minutes.
O'Keefe didn't respond and silence descended over the barracks as people waited to hear what the medic found. O'Keefe murmured something softly, either to himself or to the pilot, then he straightened up, a broad grin on his freckled face. "Well," he drawled slowly, "I think we've got a live one on our hands. I wouldn't recommend askin' him to do anythin' for the next while, but if I 'ad to place a bet, I think he'll be wakin' within the hour."
Carter heaved a clearly audible sigh of relief. He was the only one to indulge in such an overt show, but Hogan could see the other men were permitting themselves small smiles. Everyone was grateful that the night hadn't ended in any more death than was necessary. It had already held far too much bloodshed. There were the German soldiers, and more dear to the prisoners' hearts were the members of MacIntyre's aircrew. Everyone in the barracks knew that no one else had survived; more prisoners would have been brought into the camp if there had been more survivors.
O'Keefe backed away from the bunk, crossing the barracks to take a seat at the table opposite Newkirk. "How about dealin' me in for a hand or two?" he asked. "I may even win, seein' as you're not payin' the least bit of attention to the cards," he noted.
Hogan tuned out Newkirk's grumbling, instead stepping forward to rest a hand on Carter's shoulder. He was proud of the young demolition man, however much he might have to yell at him later for his reckless behaviour. Carter knew better than anyone else the destructive effects of his bombs, and he had still taken off after the pilot. There hadn't even been any guarantees that he had been alive; he had hung motionless beneath his parachute for a long moment, until after Carter had already taken off toward him.
Carter turned to peer up at Hogan. He looked almost confused as to why the colonel was giving him the extra attention. After all, it had been only last week that he had come very close to blowing the entire camp sky high with a bad mix of chemicals. "He's going to be okay, colonel," Carter said softly, as much to himself as to Hogan. "He's really going to be okay."
Hogan looked down at Carter, surveying the purple bruises that had started spreading down the right side of his face. He felt his own scratches pull as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "This time we're all going to be okay," he responded. He knew it wasn't very encouraging, but they all knew that there were no guarantees. There was no promise that could ensure that any of them could survive the next mission. It had to be enough that they were all going to be okay for now.