Thank you, Marilyn!
Chapter SixO'Malley stepped back from the bed and slowly straightened, one hand going to the small of his back.
Parker lay in the bunk before him, bathed in sweat and panting with nausea. He curled into himself with a groan, teething grinding in distress. Recognizing the signs, O'Malley grabbed up a bucket and made it back to him in the nick of time. Parker flung off the blanket, eyes wild with panic and lurched over the side of the bed. Fists clenched tight on the mattress' edge, he hung his head over the bucket and vomited. O'Malley rubbed his hand back and forth across Parker's back while the ill man gasped, then vomited again.
"Sorry," O'Malley murmured, feeling helpless. He glanced across the room, making eye contact with Paxton. A look of sympathy flashed across Paxton's face before he went back to wiping the sweat from Carter's neck. O'Malley sighed, grateful that Paxton was feeling well enough to help. Carter and LeBeau had spent nearly every spare moment helping to nurse the ill men. The long hours had taken their toll. Worn down with fatigue, Carter had suddenly taken ill and now LeBeau was missing.
Sorrow seared through O'Malley like a wave of fire. "LeBeau'll be fine," he said fiercely under his breath. "All three of them will be."
Parker fell back onto the bunk and closed his red-rimmed eyes, his body trembling in the nausea's aftermath. O'Malley drew the thin blanket around him again, tucking it in tight to keep out drafts, then retrieved a cup of water. He bent down, lightly tapped Parker's shoulder. Parker cracked his eyes open and looked up with only vague interest. O'Malley lifted the cup into his field of vision.
"Try to drink some water, okay?"
The mere suggestion deepened the greenish tint of Parker's complexion.
O'Malley set the cup in reach, knowing better than to push it for the moment. "I'll check back on you in a little while."
Parker replied with a weak nod, closed his eyes, and rolled onto his side. His arms slowly moved to wrap protectively around his tender stomach.
The bunk concealing the tunnel entrance suddenly rattled up, hitting the frame above with a loud crack of wood on wood. O'Malley jumped and turned to face the tunnel, mentally bracing himself for whatever was coming next. Baker emerged from below, brow deeply furrowed in a scowl. He closed the entrance, then spun, strode to the table and sat. O'Malley shared a quick glance with Paxton, took a deep breath and went to found out what was going on.
Baker obviously heard his approach, but did not look up. He folded his hands upon the table, fingers tightening so hard O'Malley expected to hear bones breaking.
"What's wrong?" O'Malley asked, voice hesitant with dread. He slowly sat down beside Baker and rested his arms on the table.
"What isn't?" Baker seethed through gritted teeth. He sat motionless, staring straight ahead.
"Well," O'Malley said, lowering his head to study his own folded hands. "Schultz came by with some more blankets. He's feeling almost as good as new. The quarantine's been lifted from Barracks Seven, Eight and Eleven, the clinic's starting to empty out and Klink's making sure we have plenty of Red Cross medical supplies. Looks like we may be through the worst."
Baker blinked, the tension in his jaw easing slightly. "That's good. Real good."
O'Malley merely nodded. Baker's dark eyes flickered toward him. A tilt of the head and an expectant look from O'Malley encouraged him to share the source of his anger.
"London," Baker growled. "seems all they're concerned about is getting those coded papers."
"Aye, so you've heard from them."
Baker huffed, eyebrows shooting up. "Oh, yeah. I heard from them. Several times. And they keep asking when they're going to get those papers." He thumped a fist upon the table's top. "Of course, they're important, but so's --"
"Let it go, Baker." Kinch put his legs over the side of the bed and clutched his head in his hands. O'Malley shot up from the table and rushed to his side, worried he was going to topple over. Kinch waved him off.
"I'm okay. Just got dizzy for a second."
"That's your body's way of telling you it needs more rest," O'Malley countered with a telling edge to his voice.
Kinch' face pinched with a frown. "Well, my body can just shut up, because I'm not staying in this bed any longer."
O'Malley was all set to argue when the tunnel entrance opened again. Baker stood, then hurried forward to help when Lyons appeared, LeBeau slung over one shoulder.
"Careful!" O'Malley cried, hands going out in a warning motion. "Watch his head."
Kinch grabbed onto the frame of the bunk above him and used it to haul himself to his feet. He stood, swaying slightly, while O'Malley and Baker helped Lyons with LeBeau.
O'Malley suddenly whirled away from the tunnel, hands in his hair. His gaze raked the room, flitting from bed to bed. "He's got to be in a lower bunk," he muttered.
"Here," Kinch called, pointing down at Olsen's bed. "Olsen won't mind."
O'Malley glared at him, then pointed Lyons – now bearing LeBeau's limp body in his arms – toward Olsen's bed.
Lyons moved forward, Baker edging backward to let him past. LeBeau's head turned from where it had lain against Lyons' chest, his lips moving. O'Malley caught a few words, all in LeBeau's native tongue. To his utter surprise, Lyons bent his head, softly replied – in French.
"What about Colonel Hogan and Newkirk?" Kinch demanded, once LeBeau had been settled in the bed. "Where are they? Are they all right?"
Lyons turned toward him, his eyes locking onto the wall at Kinch's back. "I don't know where they are, Sergeant Kinchloe and I don't know if they're all right, either."
"Explain yourself, Corporal." Kinch's voice gained in strength. Lyons' shoulders pulled back, his chin snapped up, and he braced to full attention. The reaction, so unlike him, caught Kinch by surprise.
"We found Corporal LeBeau in a location that led us to believe that he had been returning to camp for help. The only thing that he told us is that Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk had fallen into the river. When I left the others to bring LeBeau back here, they were getting ready continue their search."
The news coupled with Lyons' continuing respectful attitude – something Kinch had never seen before – rendered him momentarily speechless. He looked beyond Lyons' shoulder to meet Baker's eyes, then back at Lyons.
O'Malley straightened from checking LeBeau. "LeBeau said something to you a minute ago. In French. What was it?"
Lyons gaze slid to O'Malley, a slight sneer twisting his lips as his stance relaxed.
"You like listening to private conversations?"
"Answer him!" Kinch snapped. O'Malley suddenly looked at him in concern, then breathed a sigh of relief. The gray cast was all but gone from Kinch's face and he appeared steadier on his feet.
"Sir!" Lyons rapped out, shoulders going back again. "Corporal LeBeau asked about Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk."
Baker and O'Malley glanced at each other behind Lyon's back. Sir? Baker mouthed, eyebrows elevated to record height. O'Malley shook his head in a small show of amusement and went back to checking on LeBeau.
Curiosity tempered Kinch's expression. "And your answer?"
"I told him that they were busy and would see him later, sir."
Kinch considered that, before his gaze was drawn back to LeBeau. "How's he doing?"
"Damnit," O'Malley muttered, taking up a cup of water. "I thought he was looking frayed around the edges this morning." He put the cup to LeBeau's lips, urging the Frenchman to drink. LeBeau sipped at the water, then turned his head, refusing to take any more. O'Malley sighed and glanced back at Kinch, Baker and Lyons. "He said he was only 'tired'."
Baker shrugged. "May have been true at the time."
"Yeah," O'Malley braced an elbow on the mattress and rested his head in his palm. He stared down at LeBeau, watched the Frenchman twist restlessly beneath the blanket. "But I should have known better."
Kinch sighed. Pulling Baker aside, he asked, voice strained with worry, "Anything from Rumplestiltskin?"
Baker seemed to slump in on himself. "No."
HH HH HH HH HH
"Yes, Teddy, we were best mates back then. Still are to this very day. Why, of course, we had our rough spots, no doubt. But we also had many a grand time together and no better friends on this earth could I ever find. If one of us was in trouble, then we all pulled together to help him out. We still would."
You do so have friends like that, Katie. What do you call these two fine strapping lads, then, eh? None of that eye-rolling Theodore Patrick. Benjamin, you can stopping laughing any time how. It makes no never-mind that you lot are brothers and sister. You're still best mates. I've seen it myself."
"Oh, is that so? Think on this for a moment, then. You remember last month? That was quite a row you three had over that candy bar, wasn't it? Lots of yelling, name-calling, making faces and the like. Umm-hmm. But remember what happened the very next day? That's right, Benjamin. That gang of older kids – Teddy, watch yourself. Where'd you learn a word like that? No. Nevermind. Just don't be saying it anymore."
"Anyway, when that gang took to picking on Benjamin, Teddy, you and Katie came running like the King's own guards. Took a stand, the three of you did, and together, taught those older kids to leave off."
"Ah, now you see. So ends my lesson for the day."
"The lesson has ended, little mate. Not the story. And it's time I get back to the telling of it."
HH HH HH HH HH
Newkirk drifted back to consciousness. Disoriented and feeling slightly ill, he remained still; eyes closed. The ground beneath him was cold and damp, his clothing was wet and his head throbbed with a deep, lancing pain.
Opening his eyes, he gathered himself and rolled onto his side. The pain in his head worsened and he discovered a hot, swollen knot just below his hairline. He mapped the knot's size with his fingertips, then brought them before his eyes. Slowly, he rubbed them together, staring at the smeared blood in dumb amazement. He had no memory of getting hurt.
Hogan's face flashed through his mind. Newkirk gasped, a sense of urgency spurring him on.
After much cursing and groaning, he managed to stand and then paused, wondering where he should go. He turned to the right, putting the river on his left, and followed it downstream. He placed each foot carefully, unwilling to jar his tender head or risk a fall. His hand went back to the knot.
Must be how I got this.
Among the many aches and pains he had accumulated so far, he noticed that his face felt strange. He trailed his fingertips from the knot over his temple and down his cheek to his chin. The entire right side of his face was crusted with blood.
Cor, Peter. You must look a lovely sight.
He kept walking parallel to the river, picking his way carefully past stones, fallen limbs and depressions in the soggy ground. With every step, he looked around. Searching. Hoping.
Where are you, Colonel?
HH HH HH HH HH
Olsen stared across the river's expanse, eyes squinted.
"You see something? Some more clothing?"
Olsen glanced over at Benson, then returned to his study of the far bank. His whisper floated across the distance separating them. "Nah. It's too dark and far away. But I was just--" He broke off suddenly, eyes snapping to Benson again. "Do you think that clothing we found was some of Newkirk or Hogan's?"
"I didn't--"
"Did you see what they were wearing tonight?" Olsen interrupted, speaking more rapidly as his fear grew.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Benson said with forced patience. He paused, dampening the natural urge to raise his voice. "I don't know if it was some of their clothes or not because I didn't see them before they left. The clothes Jones found could have been theirs or someone else's."
"Geez, I hope not," Olsen breathed. "That would mean somebody else fell in."
Benson said nothing for a moment. "What was it you started to say before?"
Olsen swallowed, darted another glance at the opposite bank. "I was just thinking--"
"What?"
The demand, soft as it was, still reached Olsen and Benson. They swung around. The rest of the squad had gathered behind them, Tivoli at point. Scowling, hands on hips, he moved closer. The rest of the men gathered around them to hear their quiet conversation.
"What were you thinking?" Tivoli repeated.
Olsen shrugged. "That Newkirk and the colonel might be on the other side. Maybe we should find a way across and look there, too."
"Rumplestiltskin's people are searching that side," Benson pointed out.
A rude sound of disgust rumbled from Tivoli's throat. Benson made a slicing motion across his own throat, warning him to keep the noise level down.
"You going to trust Fearless Leader's life to them?" Tivoli challenged, black eyes looking feral in the darkness. "They probably took a quick look around, got tired and said, 'Hey, he's not here. Too bad.' And hurried home to their nice, warm – safe - beds."
Olsen and Benson shared a quick look out of the corner of their eyes. Maddux stuffed his hands in his pockets, shifted his weight onto one foot and studied the ground. "Bed's sounding mighty nice right now."
The tense silence that stretched out finally registered upon Maddux. He jerked his head up, took in the glares being directed his way. A touch of defensiveness crept into his whisper. "Just saying it does, that's all."
Tivoli's glare lessened only when he looked back to Benson. "So? What do you say?"
"I guess you've got a point," Benson answered in a tight voice. "But Baker's orders were to search this side."
Tivoli rolled his eyes. "Did he say we couldn't search the other side?"
"No," Benson admitted, lips twitching at the roundabout logic.
"You're forgetting something, Tivoli," Olsen chimed in quietly, taking off his cap and raking a hand through his hair. Benson's gaze swung to him and lingered, taking in the deepening lines of fatigue in his face.
"Like how can we get over there?" Broughton asked rather plaintively with a palms-up gesture. Olsen started to respond, only to stop and look at Tivoli, who was staring toward the river, but also upward. Curious at the odd direction of his gaze, everyone followed Tivoli's line of sight. The tree was old, with several thick limbs extending out over the swift current. The longest didn't quite reach mid-way across.
"Oh, no," Jones whispered, shaking his head. "Not me, Tivoli. No way."
The Italian's black eyes flicked back and forth between the branch and the far bank. His soft voice took on a hard note of determination. "It might work with a long enough rope."
"You want us to do a Tarzan?" Maddux all but squeaked. He stared at Tivoli with eyes round as saucers, then across the water, gauging the distance. "Holy . . ." He breathed, then swallowed hard.
"It won't work," Benson argued, still being careful to keep his voice down. "The river's too wide. You'd have to tie the rope off clear out on the end of the branch. It wouldn't hold anyone's weight that far out. And another thing," he continued, ignoring Tivoli's steadily darkening expression. "The branch is too low to the water. We'd be in the river before we were even half way across."
Tivoli studied the tree, the river and the far bank. "Damn," he said softly, looking back at Benson and offering a weak smile. "I never was any good at geometry."
Benson's head snapped toward the trees to his left. Everyone instantly fell silent and turned in that direction, drawing their weapons. Without looking at them, Benson mouthed, "No guns." Tivoli's brows drew down, his swarthy features hardening. Benson's gaze cut in his direction, the look on his face curbing arguments. The men glanced at each other, then holstered their guns. Tivoli hesitated, eyes narrowed in anger, then grudgingly holstered his own.
Benson silently directed Tivoli and Broughton into the trees behind them, then sent Maddux and Jones circling the patrol from opposite directions.
Once the four men had silently slipped away, Olsen spun and punched Benson in the shoulder, hard enough to rock the bigger man on his feet. Benson grimaced, one hand going to the abused muscles. Olsen glared at him, smacked himself in the chest with his fist and raised his eyebrows. Benson shook his head, grabbed him by the arm and with some effort, pulled him down into a crouch. With a silent but eloquent snarl, Olsen tugged his arm free and settled in to await developments.
HH HH HH HH HH
Newkirk carefully circled a tree in his path, glanced to his left at the river, then ahead. He stumbled to a stop, one hand going to the tree's trunk to hold himself up. The clearing was the same as all the others he had crossed with one exception. It contained a body. Hogan's. Newkirk drew an unsteady breath, heart rate going up to trip-hammer speed.
HH HH HH HH HH
"Well, that moment I saw the guv'nor lying there, stretched out on his side, all still like he was . . . . that was . . . that was bad. We had some close scrapes, all of us at one time or another. A few times some of us got messed up really, really bad. So bad that . . . "
"Ah, little mate. I'm all right, just had something in my eye. That's very thoughtful of you, but I've no need for your handkerchief. You put it back in your pocket. That's right. Tuck it in good so it won't fall out while you're playing."
"Now, where was I? Oh, that's right. Finding the guv'nor."
"It's funny how memory works, isn't it? Get to my age and it doesn't always work at all. But some memories are clear as the very instant they happened. Things get sort of impressed forever. Even some . . . Impressed, Teddy. Like handprints in cement. Too right, Katie. Just like the time your da let you put yours in the new front walk. Those handprints still stand right out, don't they? Well, some memories are like handprints or names written in cement . . . They stay with you forever."
To be continued. Thank you for reading.