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Chapter 3
"What about Parker?"
"He's getting whiter with each passing hour." O'Malley slouched further into the chair, weariness showing in every line of his body. "I can't let you send him out." He braced an elbow on the chair's arm and propped his head up with his hand.
Baker sighed and put an 'X' next to Parker's name. His list of candidates for a search party was getting all too short. He came to a name and paused, staring at it hard in indecision.
"Tivoli?"
O'Malley's head jerked up and he gave Baker an incredulous gaze. "You're kidding, right?"
The big Italian was one of the few who had not been affected by the illness. But it was hard to get past Tivoli's attitude. From the moment he had arrived at Stalag 13, he had been nothing but trouble. Hogan had tried everything to crack the Italian's hard exterior and find the good man he sensed lurking beneath. So far, nothing had worked, and Tivoli continued to stir up trouble and defy anyone's attempts at true friendship. Like Carter had pointed out once: Tivoli had followers, but no real friends.
"He's not sick," Baker said, still staring at the name. The letters appeared to glow red upon the paper, as if possessed by Tivoli's prickly personality.
O'Malley snorted. "Of course not! No germ would dare take him on!" He paused, then in a rush, said, "You can't trust him!"
Baker raised his head. "If the colonel didn't trust him, he would have transferred his butt out of Stalag 13 in a New York minute." When O'Malley did not refute the observation, Baker nodded to himself and looked back down at his list. Those names without an 'X' seemed to leap out from the page, causing him a moment of surprise. Perhaps O'Malley's comment about germs had some merit after all. Taking a deep breath, he recited the remaining names.
"Lyons, Jones, Benson, Broughton, Maddux, and Tivoli."
Disgust twisted O'Malley's features. "A regular goon squad."
"Benson's in there, too," Baker argued, defending the stocky man. Secretly, he agreed with O'Malley's assessment of the other five men, but they were the healthiest available, and therefore, the best suited for the job.
"When are we leaving?"
Startled, Baker and O'Malley looked toward the door. Olsen hung in the doorway, doing his best to appear as if he had not spent the last twenty-four hours flat on his back. His wan face and dark-ringed eyes spoiled the effect. O'Malley jumped to his feet and rushed to his side.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
"When are we going?" Olsen asked Baker again, while pushing O'Malley away.
Baker gave Olsen a level stare. "Paxton and Graham are in better shape than you are at-"
"Listen," Olsen interrupted. "I've kept my last two meals down, I'm feeling better, and unless you plan on knocking me out and tying me down –"
"Aye, don't tempt me," O'Malley snapped, brogue coming to the fore.
"I'm here and I'm going. You're short on help and there's a lot of ground out there to cover."
Baker said nothing for a moment. He admired Olsen's willingness to help, but wondered if his heart wasn't overriding his common sense.
"You look like the walking dead," Baker observed, stating the obvious.
A glimmer of Olsen's good humor brought a touch of life to his face. "I never said I looked better, just that I felt it."
In response, Baker turned his head and looked at O'Malley. The Irishman rolled his eyes.
"Ah, he'll probably find 'em and get 'em back to camp all on his own," O'Malley sighed, waving a hand in Olsen's direction.
A smile found its way to Baker's lips. He nodded to Olsen, who seemed to have gained a tiny measure of health just from winning O'Malley's capitulation. "Get your stuff. You're going."
HH HH HH HH HH
A short time later, Baker's 'goon squad' slipped out the emergency entrance and into the woods. Tivoli, Maddux, Lyons, Broughton and Jones had accepted the assignment with surprising equanimity. Benson had given Olsen a single, 'are you kidding me?' look, then shrugged and made no more mention – silent or otherwise – of Baker's choices.
With choreographed ease, the squad reformed outside the entrance, quickly and quietly confirmed their plans, then went to work. Like hounds to a scent, they spread out, intent upon their sole purpose of finding and retrieving their comrades.
HH HH HH HH HH
"What's a goon, Benjamin? Well . . . a goon, you see, is someone who's a bit on the rough side. A person of questionable character. Someone with a touch of the bully to him. Teddy, your big brother is not a goon. Yes, yes, I know that, but Cory is not a goon, and I highly doubt he would take kindly to you calling him one. He's bigger than you, Teddy. You keep on like that and he'll thump you."
"I'm just getting to him, Katie. Now, don't you worry. The guv'nor's still around - a grandfather four times over, last I heard. That's right. His hair is as gray as mine, now. But back then, it was black as a chimney sweep's brush and hooo, could he turn the ladies' heads. Still can. A real charmer, me ol' mum would say. Why, just last year . . . "
"Hmmm? Right, then, Teddy. Don't pop your buttons. Back to the story."
HH HH HH HH HH
Left arm hanging limp, Hogan jerked to his knees and started slapping one-handed at the folds of the ruined jacket. His hand landed upon the bulk of the leather pouch and he breathed a long sigh of relief. Flipping the jacket over, he lifted the pouch from his pocket and started working at the seal. It was a difficult task one-handed but he finally managed it. The documents were only slightly damp, the writing smeared, but still legible.
His relief at finding the coded papers relatively unspoiled was short-lived. The papers were safe, but his men were not. LeBeau had been far enough way when the bank caved in that Hogan was certain that he had not ended up in the river. But the Frenchman was still terribly sick and a good distance from Stalag 13. It was unlikely he would make it back without help. And Newkirk . . .
Hogan took a shaky breath and sat back on his haunches. Newkirk. What had happened to the Englishman after the river had separated them? Was he still alive?
You know me, guv'nor, came Newkirk's voice, full of humor. Give me the odds and I'll beat 'em every time.
Until he had reason not to, Hogan would go on the believing that the resourceful man still held a winning hand.
Supporting his useless arm against his side, Hogan got to his feet, took an unsteady step, and then stopped. Should he look upstream or down?
A shiver coursed through him, suddenly drawing his attention to the fact that he was completely wet. For the second time that night, life's strange twists and turns brought a faint grin to his face. He was cold and wet from falling in the Saale River. Again.
Lifting his head, he glanced left, then right. Fifty-fifty.
Keep on beating those odds, Peter, Hogan silently ordered, choosing left and heading upstream.
HH HH HH HH HH
Newkirk woke shivering.
The night had become even more miserable. A cool breeze had sprung up while he had lain unconscious, turning his drenched clothing ice-cold. Grimacing in discomfort, he braced himself for what he just knew was going to be another unpleasant experience.
Got to move your arse, Peter, lad.
Trembling with cold, he worked at convincing his bruised and battered body to move. One limb – one groan at a time, he picked himself off the ground. Swaying on his feet, blinking and squinting into the breeze, he looked around, hoping to see Hogan coming toward him.
The bushes behind him rattled and he swung around, held his breath. A moment passed, then another. Newkirk slowly leaned forward, then jumped back as a plump river otter waddled out. Newkirk froze, the otter sat straight up on its back legs, and for several seconds, the two simply stared at each other. A grin slowly stretched across Newkirk's face.
"Don't suppose you've seen another guy 'bout my height, black hair, wet . . . "
The otter whistled at him, then with a twist and wriggle of its lithe body, dove past him and slid into the river. Newkirk watched it swim away, then clucked his tongue.
"Unfriendly sort."
The distraction was instantly forgotten as another shiver shook him. Clutching his arms about himself, Newkirk started stumbling along the river.
He made certain to stay far from the edge.
HH HH HH HH HH
"Katie, put that shoe back on this minute, or you'll not be hearing the end of this tale. Now, there, young miss. Putting on the one didn't mean you could kick off the other. Both shoes on and keep 'em there, Katherine Elizabeth. It may be warm for October, but not that warm."
"Now . . . Hmm. Teddy, you don't rush a man telling a tale. You get your impatience from your mum, you know that, don't you?"
"You've been mighty quiet over there, Benjamin. You all right then, little mate? Oh, you're waiting to hear about the goons, eh?"
"All right, then. As the guv'nor and I were stumbling about in the dark and poor Louis was trying to hold the last of his stomach down, our mates the goons were doing their level best to find us."
To be continued . . .