Chapter 2:
A/N: There is a translation for the German phrases at the end of the chapter. They were all double checked by real German speakers, so hopefully they're more accurate than Bablefish, which gave me the word for category instead of class…
Trying to find Captain Archer had proven more difficult than they had anticipated. While Malcolm could understand why T'Pol spurned Daniels' help, he wondered if she had realized that this time, they wouldn't be able to simply scan for a human bio sign.
Instead, he and Trip had been flying low to the ground for three nights now, using a device they'd found in Daniels' quarters that detected temporal discrepancies. The theory was that the clothes he was wearing would bear a temporal signature that would stand out from its 20th century surroundings. So far, it hadn't panned out.
Glancing over at his companion, he realized that in the last three nights, they'd barely said 10 words to each other. "Trip isn't usually so quiet," he thought with a frown, wondering what was going on inside his friend's mind.
"Do you think this will work?" he asked, trying to get him to talk.
"Maybe," was the only response he got.
"Well, one thing the scans have told us is that we are in the past. At least we know that much."
"Yeah, that's just swell," Trip muttered, carefully navigating the shuttle around a series of mountain peaks.
"If Captain Archer has been sent back here with us, you'd think we would have found him by now."
"Look Mal," Trip said, "could ya just be quiet? I really don't want to talk about stupid time travel anymore."
Surprised, Malcolm looked up from the scanner for a moment. "You seemed more than eager to embrace time travel before, when you thought it meant you had married T'Pol," he pointed out mildly.
"That's just the point!" Trip burst out, ready to tell him off.
A sudden beeping from the unit in Malcolm's hands cut off his outburst. "Where's the signal coming from?" he asked, knowing the sound meant they were close.
"43 degrees, 49 minutes north; 10 degrees, 28 minutes south. It looks like it's somewhere in… Italy," Malcolm said, trying to put the coordinates together in his mind.
"All right, let's land this puppy and make sure it's him. Then we'll have to hightail it out of here, we've only got a few hours left until daylight."
Trip carefully and gently landed the shuttle in a small clearing about halfway up a mountain. Malcolm got out first, taking the scanner with him. "This way," he said, starting down the mountain.
"Does that thing tell ya what time the object is coming from?" Trip asked, wanting to know in advance if it was his captain they had found.
"Not from this far out apparently," Malcolm replied. "But it will eventually, when we're closer. Right now I just now that whatever we've found, it's from the future."
"This future anyway," Trip muttered, climbing over a rotten log that lay directly in their path.
"Yes Commander, now may I recommend we stay silent until we are safely out of the area?" Malcolm suggested tensely, shifting the scanner into one hand and drawing his phase pistol. "I can't imagine that a Nazi installation would be completely without guards."
Trip glanced at him, noticing the way he held the phase pistol, as if he was expecting a Nazi to show up just around the corner. Zipping his lips, he too drew his weapon, and the two men proceeded down the mountainside.
Five minutes later, they were on the outskirts of a hospital camp. Though there were guards, they were minimal, for they were in Nazi occupied territory. Working their way around, they got as close to the hospital tent as they could, noticing that it was more heavily guarded than the rest of the area. Glancing at the scanner one last time, Malcolm nodded and gestured to Trip, indicating that they had what they needed.
Turning around, they both moved back up the mountain, not speaking until they were in the shuttle once more. "You're sure it's the cap'n?" Trip asked then, needing to hear it out loud.
"The scanner was clearly reading a signature from the mid 22nd century. Either Daniels sent two people back in time, or we've found Captain Archer," Malcolm replied.
Trip powered up the engines, not speaking again until they were in the air. In the faint moon glow, they could see the lights from the camp. "I hate just leaving him there," he said then. "Why can't we just fly over the camp, shoot the Nazis, and take Cap'n Archer with us now?" he whined.
"We can't do that Trip, we'd be contaminating our culture."
"Not if we killed them all," Trip suggested, narrowing his eyes slightly.
"Trip!"
"What? They're Nazis, you expect me to have some great sympathy for them? Besides, we don't know what they've done to him."
"Commander, I suggest you take us home directly, before someone becomes aware of an unusual aircraft hovering over their camp, or before T'Pol starts wondering where we are."
"Yes sir!" Trip said sarcastically, saluting before starting back for home.
Completely flabbergasted by his friend's attitude, Malcolm sat still in his seat, almost afraid to do anything. Finally, a few minutes before they reached Enterprise, he ventured forth with an apology. "I am sorry Commander," he said, truly penitent. "I didn't mean to sound like I was giving you an order."
Trip sighed, glancing back at him and then up at the ship. "Ya didn't Mal," he admitted heavily. "I shouldn't have yelled at ya, and I'm sorry. I just hate this so much…I just want to get home, ya know?" he commented, maneuvering the shuttle into the bay.
"I do," Malcolm agreed, knowing that what he really wanted was to know if their mission had truly been successful. He hadn't seen the weapon destroyed with his own eyes, nor had he seen an intact Earth—not in their timeline anyway. Until he saw those things, he would be itching to get home.
"If this all works out," he said, climbing out of the shuttle, "if we manage to save Captain Archer, then we should be able to get back to where we belong," he said, trying to cheer Trip up.
"Somehow, after the last year, I'm not holdin' my breath," Trip muttered, walking over to the comm unit and punching the button. "Trip to T'Pol."
"Go ahead Commander," she allowed.
"We found him."
"Excellent. Meet me in the command center in ten minutes. T'Pol out."
"Well, you heard the lady," Trip said, gesturing toward the door. "We've got a report to give."
Shaking his head, Malcolm followed him down the corridor. "If his attitude doesn't change, he's going to be hurting," he realized, knowing that the bitterness building up inside of him would start gnawing at him, not letting him go until he let it go.
"You are sure you found him?" T'Pol asked the instant they set foot in the room, her voice and facial expression anxious.
"We're sure," Trip assured her, looking at her strangely. "Unless there are two men from the 22nd century being held in Nazi hospital camps, it's him."
"How do you propose we get him back?" she asked Malcolm.
"The camp wasn't guarded very heavily. If I could take one of the Rangers with me, we could infiltrate the camp dressed as soldiers just long enough to sneak him out. It shouldn't be that difficult."
"It would have to be someone who speaks German, or there's no way you'd get past anyone—even if you had the black armband and everything," Trip pointed out.
"I'll take someone with German proficiency," Malcolm promised. "To make it even safer, I'll take a blue-eyed blond. There were dark Germans in the army, but I know I'll stand out. It would be best if I was with someone who looked like the poster child for the Aryan race."
"Agreed," T'Pol said, nodding curtly. "Do it tonight Lieutenant, bring him home."
"Yes ma'am," the two men said in unison, recognizing the dismissal they'd just been given.
As they stepped out into the corridor, they looked at each other, confusion in their eyes. "Did she seem a little…"
"Emotional?" Trip supplied when Malcolm didn't finish.
"Yes."
"Yeah, I'd say so. But ya know, she and the cap'n got to be real good friends after a while, I bet she's missing him just as much as we are."
"True," Malcolm allowed, cocking his head to one side as he considered. "Still, I didn't expect her to be so open with her feelings."
"Yeah well, I've discovered you never know exactly what to expect from T'Pol," Trip said ironically as they moved toward the lift.
"I'm actually going to go find Joe Layne," Malcolm said when Trip got in and gave him an expectant look. "I'll see you later tonight, hopefully with the captain."
"Good luck."
"Thanks," he said, walking away in the direction of the Rangers' training area.
McKenzie walked over to greet him when he walked in. "Is there something I can do for you Lieutenant?" she asked.
"I'd like to borrow one of your people for a mission tonight, if I may," Malcolm replied formally.
"What kind of mission?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow in surprise.
"Saving the captain," he told her curtly.
"You found him?"
"You knew I was looking?"
She smirked, saying, "You'll find there's a lot I know."
"While I'm sure that's true, it still doesn't answer my original question. May I take Sergeant Layne with me tonight?"
"It's fine by me," she said with a shrug. "You'll have to ask him yourself though."
"I can do that," he said stiffly, nodding for her to call Sergeant Layne over.
"Joe, Lieutenant Reed has a proposal for you," she told him, walking away.
"Yes sir?" Joe asked politely, following the senior officer to a corner of the large room.
"T'Pol is sending me down to retrieve the captain tonight," Malcolm told the younger man. "I was thinking that your language abilities would be an asset, if we happen to be spotted."
"I'd be honored to help rescue the captain, but…" Joe hesitated, not sure if he should voice his concern. "What about you sir?" he asked finally, in the end deciding that having all the necessary facts was more important than protocol.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking," Malcolm said slowly.
"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
"Gut genut, um zurecht zu kommen," Malcolm replied modestly.
Joe's mouth dropped slightly in surprise when he heard the flawless, unaccented German come from the British officer. "Wie haben sie das gelernt?" he asked, curious.
Malcolm smirked a little, enjoying the feeling of being able to impress one of the two resident language experts. "Ich habe es studiert."
"Warum?" Joe asked, knowing there had to be more to the story.
"Es gab ein hübsches Mädchen in der deutschen Klasse," Malcolm admitted.
"You took a language just to get a girl's attention?" Joe asked, stifling a laugh.
"You can't be saying you never took any classes to spend time with a girl," Malcolm protested.
"Not a language," Joe said. "I didn't need extra incentive to take those classes. Math and science though, yeah I did."
Malcolm shrugged, saying, "Yes well I was just fine in the sciences, but I hated linguistics. All my favorite arts classes involved pretty girls."
"So?" Joe asked expectantly.
"So what?"
"So what happened with the girl?"
The armory officer grimaced, remembering the end of that part of the story. "She started dating my best friend at semester."
"Then how did you become fluent? You must have stayed with the classes after she rejected you, why?"
Malcolm shrugged slightly. He'd never really thought about it before. "I suppose I'd discovered I liked it," he replied.
"Sollen wir den Kapitän retten?" Joe asked, all his concerns satisfied.
"Ich glaube, das ist eine gute Idee," Malcolm replied. "I'll see you at 19:00 in shuttle bay 2."
"I'll be ready sir," Joe promised, giving a quick salute and returning to his training.
It was dark when Malcolm landed the shuttle on the same hillside he and Trip had started from before. Without a word, he and Joe climbed out of the craft and walked silently toward the camp, tugging slightly at the uncomfortable uniforms as they moved. Compared to the ease of movement Starfleet jumpsuits allowed, the SS uniforms were extremely restricting.
They provided the necessary cover needed to get close to the camp though. The guards they had met and the few soldiers who were still up simply nodded to them, accepting them as their own and with minimal effort, they were soon outside the tent.
Here, they took a deep breath. Malcolm drew his Luger while Joe pulled out his Mauser, both knowing the easy part was over. Getting in might not have been difficult, but neither of them were naïve enough to believe that they would be able to just walk in, pick up the captain, and walk out. Something more was needed.
Giving Joe a quick nod, Malcolm walked along the backside of the tent, the side the faced the woods. He waited until he could hear Joe talking to the nurse just inside the door before he rolled under the wall and pulled himself up inside.
"Entschuldigen," Joe said politely. "Ich glaube, es gibt einige Männer, die Hilfe brauchen."
He managed to affect just enough concern to attract the attention of the nurse and the doctor who had been talking to her. "Was ist los?" the man asked.
"Ich bin nicht, sie bin Beschweren der Magenprobleme sicher," Joe said with a shrug. "Vielleicht war es das Abendessen?" he suggested.
"Kann schon sein, aber ich sollte es trotzdem überprüfen," the doctor decided, grabbing his bag and heading toward the living quarters.
Shaking his head, Malcolm bit back a grin at the other man's sense of humor, present even in the middle of a operation. "I wonder if we could convince him to stay after we get back to our time," he mused, walking past two long rows of beds and piles of blood soaked linens before finally moving around the curtain into the rear of the tent.
Then all thoughts of anything but getting the captain home disappeared. There he was, lying on a cot, covered in blood. Moving quickly, Malcolm reached him in two steps. He grabbed a towel from the table next to him and gently wiped away some of the blood, trying to see how bad the injuries truly were. Breathing a sigh of relief when he realized that most of them were merely superficial cuts, he picked his captain up and quietly returned to his insertion point, making sure he wasn't noticed.
When he got to the wall, he lowered the other man to the floor, slapping a hand over his mouth when he let out a low groan. "Captain," he whispered urgently when he saw his eyes open slightly. "Captain, do you recognize me?"
Some of the tension eased from his body when Jon nodded slowly, his eyes widening. "Good. Sergeant Layne and I are here to rescue you, but I need you to roll out of this tent, under the wall here. Can you do that?" he asked.
Jon nodded again, laying on his back on the cold ground and rolling slightly, stifling the moans from the pain that lanced up his side at the action.
When Malcolm joined him on the other side, he found Joe picking the captain up in a fireman's hold and starting up the hillside at a brisk pace. "It won't take them long to discover that no one is really sick sir," he said in a low voice. "I recommend we get out of here as quickly as possible."
"Agreed," Malcolm said tersely, moving to walk in front of his partner so he could watch for any guards.
The walk back to the shuttle took more time than it had to get down to the camp, since they were walking uphill with a load to carry. The more time went by, the more nervous Malcolm got about reaching safety before they were caught.
They were approximately three fourths of the way there when they heard faint shouts behind them. Joe hurried on toward the shuttle while Malcolm paused momentarily, straining his ears to catch what they were saying.
"Der Gefangene… entgangen… Suchen Sie…" Prisoner… escaped… search... Cursing silently, he quickly caught up with Joe and passed him, moving straight for the shuttle. When Joe got there a few minutes later with the captain, the engines were on and ready to go, and just in time. No sooner had they cleared the trees than three guards burst into the clearing where they had just been, pistols drawn and ready. They fired a few ineffectual shots before realizing the bullets were simply pinging off the hull
"Are we ready to go home?" Malcolm asked tightly, watching as they holstered their weapons and ran back toward the camp, undoubtedly going for reinforcements, perhaps in the Luftwaffe.
"Don't worry about them sir," Joe told him, understanding that Malcolm was more concerned about contamination than any danger World War II era weapons could do to the shuttle. "No one will believe them, they'll think it's just an excuse for losing their quarry."
"I hope so," Malcolm muttered, heading for the atmosphere.
"So, how long do you think he's been down there?" Joe asked, changing the subject.
"We've been here for a week, and he went missing a day prior to that. Assuming everything is equal, I'd guess eight days."
"That explains why some of these cuts are starting to heal," Joe observed.
"Yes, he doesn't look as bad as I expected him to," Malcolm agreed. "I do want Phlox to take a look at that slice in his stomach though."
"Absolutely… but I'm just glad we got him back. I'm ready to go home."
T'Pol was surprised that she had the observation lounge to herself. She didn't know that the few crewmembers who had considered entering had turned around silently when they'd seen her pacing, staring out the windows, waiting for the shuttle to get back, or that they'd let everyone else know to leave her alone. All she knew was that there was a hole in her stomach that did not seem to want to go away.
The sensation she had now was different from how she had felt when she'd learned of the captain's death. Then she had been empty, unable to feel anything. Now she felt like her stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.
There was no way she'd be getting any sleep, and she knew it. Right now, Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Layne were on their way to Earth, hopefully to rescue the captain. If they did not succeed…
Forcefully shoving that thought aside, T'Pol grabbed the items she needed to return and left the lounge for the captain's quarters. Her intent was to put them back in their rightful place, but no sooner had she entered the cabin than the comm sounded. "Reed to T'Pol."
"Go ahead Lieutenant," she said, her heart beating rapidly. Surely they couldn't be back already, not with the captain… something must have happened.
"We've got him Ma'am," he told her, the note of victory clear in his voice. "We'll be in shuttle bay 2 in about 10 minutes, if you'd care to meet us. You might want to have Dr. Phlox there too, he looks pretty badly beaten."
"Very well Lieutenant… good job," she said, her voice cracking a little at the end.
"T'Pol to Dr. Phlox."
"Go ahead T'Pol," Phlox said.
"Doctor, Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Layne are on their way back with the captain. Lieutenant Reed suggested we meet them in the shuttle bay, apparently the captain has sustained several injuries."
"I'll be there when he lands Sub-commander, but may I suggest that you wait for a half hour or so and join us in Sickbay? If the captain is in bad shape, you won't want to see him like that."
Her first instinct was to protest—she wanted to see him, now! Restraining herself, she instead said, "If you feel it would be best, I will see you in Sickbay."
"Thank you T'Pol," Phlox said, ending the connection and leaving for the shuttle bay.
T'Pol looked around the room she was in, not quite believing that its occupant was actually coming home. "Home… Enterprise is his home, and mine," she realized. Here they all lived and worked, and here they had friends who would take care of them when they needed it.
Her task forgotten, she set the book down on the table by the door, exiting the room swiftly, heading for Sickbay. "It's over, it's actually over," she told herself, not quite able to believe it.
She stopped just inside the door to Sickbay, putting her hand up on the frame. This man had been dead to her for over a week, and now she was staring at his face, unable to tear her eyes from him. Somewhere in her mind, she knew her fear that he would disappear if she let him out of her sight was irrational, but she could not help it.
Taking in her emotional state, he smiled gently and said, "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, T'Pol."
"That is apparent sir," she told him, quickly retreating to her dry Vulcan wit.
He chuckled, but underneath the humor lay a deep concern for her. The fact that he had been able to see her thoughts and feelings flashing across her face worried him; it wasn't like T'Pol to be so… vulnerable. He started to open his mouth to question her, but the presence of others precluded it. While he wanted answers, he didn't want to embarrass her by drawing attention to her behavior.
"Captain, I believe you've had quite enough action for one day," Phlox admonished, cutting off anything he might have said. "I'll have to insist all your visitors leave now so you can get some rest."
"When will he be able to take command, Doctor?" T'Pol asked, unwilling to leave just yet.
"Oh, he should be able to do light duties tomorrow. 20th century Earth medicine was primitive, but most of the cuts and abrasions on his body healed quite nicely," Phlox replied. "The wound in his side will take a few weeks to heal though, so he will have to keep from over-exerting himself, as I'm also sure he's quite exhausted from his little adventure."
"I'm not tired," Jon protested, stifling a yawn.
"And my third wife's second husband doesn't run the local bakery," Phlox retorted. "Now really Captain, I must insist that you get some sleep! The crew are all ecstatic to have you back, but you won't do us any good if you end up here with me for the next month. That's what will happen if you refuse to take it easy for a week or so," he said, injecting a mild sedative in the side of his neck.
T'Pol watched as he fell asleep with Porthos curled up by his side. "His dog seems to be happy to have him home," she observed.
"Ah yes, Porthos jumped up there as soon as Lieutenant Reed laid the captain down, and I didn't have the heart to push him off."
"You are sure he will be all right?"
"Absolutely," he assured her. "A bit tired and sore for a few weeks, but then he'll be back to normal."
"Thank you Doctor," she said, finally turning to leave.
"No, thank you," he said, catching her at the door. "If you hadn't had the courage to go after him, we never would have known he was anywhere to be found."
"I was merely doing my duty as the ship's first officer," she informed him. "As our captain, he was ours… ours to fight for."
Phlox watched, surprised, as she left the room after saying those words. What she'd said was true; a captain belonged to his ship and to his crew, especially after a mission such as the one they had just completed. More than most, this crew was bound to each other by common experiences that no one else would ever be able to fully understand.
No, it wasn't the words that had surprised him, it had been her tone. "She was… emotional, but not," he thought. "That slight tremble which has been in her voice for the last month was gone, but the emotions that used to cause it were still there in her eyes. Perhaps she is gaining control of her feelings more quickly than I had anticipated."
For her sake, he hoped it was true. The possibility of never again being the controlled Vulcan had disturbed her greatly, perhaps things would turn out to her advantage after all.
Well enough to get by
How did you become fluent
The usual way, I took classes
There was a pretty girl in the German class.
Why?
Shall we rescue the captain?
I believe that's a good idea.
Excuse me
I think there are some people who need your help
What's wrong?
I am not sure, they are complaining of stomach problems.
Perhaps it was dinner tonight?
Perhaps, but I should go check to be sure.