Thank you, Marilyn!

Chapter Two

Hogan almost managed to avoid it.

The shattered tree struck him in the back, directly over his left shoulder blade. One of the branches snared his jacket, yanking him sideways and then dragging him under. The tree continued riding the current downstream, only marginally slowed by the added weight.

Beneath the surface, Hogan jerked and twisted, straining to get free. The jacket rode up his back, pulling his arms up and over his head and restricting his movements even more. His lungs were burning with the ever-increasing need to breathe. Close to full-blown panic, he jack-knifed his body, planted his feet against the underside of the tree and shoved with all his might. His jacket slipped up his arms and off. Later, he wondered how he kept his wits long enough to keep hold of the jacket. With it still tangled in the branch, he gave two quick kicks, shot to the surface, then immediately hugged the tree with his free arm and greedily sucked in air.

Marginally recovered, he pulled the knife from his boot, ducked underwater and started hacking and sawing at the branch. It stubbornly refused to release its hold. He shot to the surface, gulped in a breath, and dove beneath the waves again. After a few more seconds of work with the knife, he stuck it back in his boot, then took the branch in hand and snapped it in two. With his slightly torn jacket now free, he shot to the surface and struck out for land, swimming as best as he could. Between the strong current, the debris, and his weakening left arm, the trip was maddeningly slow.

When his feet finally hit bottom, Hogan gasped out a prayer of thanks, then crawled out of the river and onto the bank, still dragging the jacket with him. His strength ran out at the top of the bank. Groaning in pain, he rolled onto his right side and stared up at the sky. The irony brought a weak chuckle to his lips.

The rain had stopped.

HH HH HH HH HH

"Katie? Katie, its all right, sweet. The guv'nor didn't drown. Okay, now? Right. Could I have my hand back? Ta, ever so much."

"Let me see. Where'd I leave off? Well, about that time . . . hang on. Me leg's gone to sleep. Look out, Teddy. I need some room, here. Bluh . . . ahem.Arthritis, is what it is, Benjamin. Give me a sec."

"All right, then. I'm set."

"Now, about that time . . . "

HH HH HH HH HH

LeBeau let out a cry of despair as he lost his balance and fell sideways. The dizziness had worsened, and was with him constantly now. Even lying completely still, his head whirled with sickening intensity. He clutched at the ground, searching for an anchor against the sensation.

His friends . . . LeBeau pounded a fist into the mud beside his head. His friends were in trouble. He had to get back to camp!

Moving as slowly as possible to avoid exacerbating the dizziness, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. The precaution had not helped. Head spinning, stomach churning, he dropped his head back to the ground and squeezed his eyes shut.

Even if he managed to stand, nothing was recognizable. His equilibrium and sense of direction were completely gone. Trees, bushes, stars, ground – all blended together in a spinning, nauseating, gray, white and black mass.

LeBeau pressed his forehead into the cool mud. He was in no condition to help anyone. Not even himself.

HH HH HH HH HH

Baker turned from the tunnel entrance and stopped, struck yet again by the difference. Barracks Two felt wrong. Drained, somehow. Even now, in the deepest part of the night, an undercurrent of energy was usually present in the barracks. As if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the next mission - or the next crisis.

This night, the air was filled with the sounds and smells of sickness. In the semi-darkness, Benjamin O'Malley was drifting wraith-like from bed to bed, checking on each man. He paused at Andrew Carter's bedside and Baker took a step in that direction, eager to see if his friend's condition had improved. His heart sank as the pool of light from O'Malley's oil lamp shone onto Carter's face.

Even in the weak light, Baker could see Carter's cheeks were still flushed. O'Malley gave an abbreviated shake of his head and setting the lamp on the floor, started sponging the clammy sweat from Carter's face. The young sergeant's head rolled back and forth on his pillow, his lips moving in sibilant fever dreams.

Baker turned away and with great reluctance, headed toward the bunk where Kinchloe lay sleeping. Kinch's fever had finally broken that morning, but he was still weak as a newborn and every bit as shaky. If not for the urgent radio call, Baker would not have dreamed of disturbing his rest.

"Kinch," Baker called softly, kneeling beside the bunk. The sleeping man failed to react and Baker rested a hand upon his arm. "Kinch. Come on, wake up."

"What are you doing?" O'Malley whispered from across the room. "Leave him alone. He needs to rest!"

Baker's mouth briefly tightened. "Don't you think I know that?"

"What's the matter?" Kinch's question came out slurred, as if the very act of speaking took all of his strength. His dark eyes were glassy, his complexion gray.

"Sorry, Kinch." Baker ignored O'Malley's disapproval and helped Kinch sit up. "But the colonel, Newkirk and LeBeau didn't make it to the rendezvous."

Kinch's complexion went even grayer. "They didn't make it?"

Baker shook his head and gestured toward the tunnel entrance. "I just got the call. Rumplestiltskin said the courier waited as long as he could and they never showed up. He finally had to leave."

Kinch's eyes fell closed and he slumped sideways against the wall. Baker and O'Malley shared a look of concern. Kinch was a strong man. Seeing him so weak was more than a little disconcerting.

"Have Rumplestiltskin's people start backtracking . . . " Kinch paused to take a breath, drawing another look of concern from both Baker and O'Malley. "Have them backtrack from the rendezvous coordinates . . . to where they would have crossed the river. And . . ."

"Have some of our guys do the same on this side," Baker cut in, uncomfortable witnessing Kinch labor to speak.

"You got it," Kinch whispered, lifting heavy-lidded eyes.

Baker and O'Malley started to rise, but Baker paused when Kinch took him by the arm.

"Find them, Baker," Kinch wheezed, doing his best to tighten his grip. Baker nodded, patted Kinch's hand.

"We will." Baker gently placed Kinch's hand beneath the blankets and then got to his feet. He hurried toward the entrance, hoping that he could carry through on the assurance.

To be continued . . .

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