As always, I'm grateful for Marilyn Penner, who makes time to beta for me despite her own packed schedule.

Chapter Fourteen

Baker sat at the end of the common room table; cheek resting upon his crossed arms. Kinch had chased him from the radio set with an order to get some sleep. What Kinch had failed to specify was when he expected Baker to comply with that order.

You can order a man to his bed, Baker thought, floating in the netherworld of semi-consciousness. but you can't make him sleep.

Broughton and Maddux had both returned, tired but bearing news. Maddux had reported the patrol had gotten into their transport and driven away without finding Hogan or Newkirk. Broughton had divulged Benson and Tivoli's plans to search the other side of the river, and his own failure to find their comrades. As long as Hogan and Newkirk were still unaccounted for and as long as Benson and Tivoli were still out looking for them, Baker intended to stay awake. Even if he had to prop his eyelids open with toothpicks to do it.

Come on, guys. Be okay. All of you. Be okay. We're waiting for you. And Kinch isn't going to let me get away with using this loophole much longer.

Through sleep-heavy eyes, Baker watched O'Malley make another pass through his limited field of vision. Even half-asleep, he noticed the medic looked a little worse each time he went by.

Baker dragged one hand over his face, then laboriously got to his feet and stepped clear of the table.

"O'Malley." Baker made a face. The croak in his voice would have put a frog to shame. Clearing his throat, he called to the medic again. This time, O'Malley heard him and turned from Parker's bedside to see what Baker wanted.

"You need sleep," Baker pointed out.

"Are you talking to me, or to yourself?" O'Malley laid the folded, damp cloth across Parker's brow. Parker weakly smiled his thanks, brought one hand up to hold the cloth in place.

Baker rubbed his hands over his face. "You. I'm talking about you." He let his hands drop and took a deep breath. "Come on, Ben. You're exhausted. Go to bed for awhile."

O'Malley bowed his head, his hands fiddling with another towel. Baker went to him, rested a hand on his shoulder. The heat coming off the medic surprised him. He tugged O'Malley around. A pair of dull, brown eyes lifted to him, then slid away.

"You're sick," Baker said, voice crisp with alarm.

O'Malley's eyes squeezed shut, his head dipping in acknowledgment. Baker's fatigue vanished completely, concern for his friend spurring him into action. He took the towel from O'Malley's unresisting hands, tossed it on the table, and steered him toward an empty bed. Paxton glanced up from talking with Carter, took a look at O'Malley's gaunt face and jumped to his feet. Baker motioned him closer.

"Take care of him."

Paxton nodded and took O'Malley by the arm. The medic jerked at the contact and looked from Paxton to Baker. His voice was soft with weakness.

"No. No, Baker. I've got to be ready when the colonel and Newkirk get back. They're going to need –"

Baker shook his head, gently took O'Malley's other arm. He nodded to Paxton and the two of them helped the medic to sit upon the bunk.

"You just lie down and let us take care of everything," Baker said, making eye contact with Paxton over O'Malley's bowed head. "We'll let you know when the colonel and Newkirk get back."

"Aye," O'Malley murmured, letting Baker and Paxton get him into the bunk and cover him with blankets. "Aye, you do that. They'll be needing me. Been out all night. Sick. They'll be sick." Baker's alarm soared at how quickly the medic's condition was deteriorating. O'Malley suddenly looked up, grabbed Baker's sleeve and held him fast. "Are they back yet?"

"Not yet," Baker replied softly, gently disentangling O'Malley's fingers from his sleeve. "But soon. Benson and Tivoli are probably bringing them through the tunnels as we speak." He tucked O'Malley's hand under the blankets, flashed a smile that felt stiff as cardboard. "Rest, Ben. They'll be here when you wake up."

O'Malley's breath hissed out in a deep sigh and in the next moment, he was asleep. Baker straightened and turned to face Paxton. Without a word passing between them, they moved away from the bunk and to the table. Paxton made several abortive attempts at speech before finally finding the words he wanted.

"You really believe what you said?"

Baker's gaze roamed the room. Graham, Braveheart and Parker appeared sound asleep. LeBeau was finally resting quietly in Olsen's bunk, while Olsen was sitting up on LeBeau's bunk, feet dangling over the side. Carter was feeling better and was perched on the edge of his bed, hands clasped between his legs. Both men wore identical expressions of worry.

"About the colonel and Newkirk getting back soon?"

"Yeah."

Baker sighed, dropped into a seat at the table again. "I want to."

Paxton slowly sat down opposite him. Carter and Olsen shared glances, then both got up and slowly made their way to the table. Baker glanced over at them and frowned. He retrieved several blankets, draped them about their shoulders. Paxton grabbed up the coffee pot and four cups. The four men sat together, silently sipping coffee and praying for their friends' safe return.

HH HH HH HH HH

Newkirk lay on his belly on a tangle of branches, one arm deep in a hole he had dug in the debris.

He had found a broken crate of supplies on his first try. The problem was, the crate was buried in broken lumber and branches and wedged beneath the biggest, heaviest part of the tree's shattered trunk. He had no idea what the crate had contained, but he hoped it was blankets. A gun and ammunition would be nice, too, food better, and matches even better yet. Whatever he could salvage would be an improvement over what he currently had, which was nothing.

Newkirk braced the toes of his boots against a limb behind him, stretched his body out to its full length and worked his hand between the crate's broken slats. Heartbeat crashing against his ribs, pleading under his breath, he ran his fingertips over what he could reach. He felt the roughness of a woolen blanket at the farthest extent of his reach. Jaw clenched in concentration, sweat and blood running down his face and stinging his eyes, he teased a tiny fold between his first two fingers. Using the same utmost care and exacting precision he would upon a lock, he gently tugged at the fold of material. It slid toward him – then stopped, caught on something. Grimacing in frustration, Newkirk gave the blanket another gentle tug. The material stretched, but would not come free. He tugged again, with the same result. After several more attempts, he reluctantly gave up on the blanket and continued searching the crate's contents.

His fingers dropped lower, brushing over splintered wood and metal. With growing excitement, he swept his hand back, seeking the metal's cool, smooth surface again. Finding it, he closed his eyes and lightly traced its contours, using touch to create a picture in his mind. It was the barrel of one of the guns. He tried coaxing the gun closer, but his fingertips kept slipping off the wet metal.

Cursing, Newkirk scoured sweat and blood out of his eye with his shoulder, slammed his feet against the branch, and shoved his body forward as far as he could. His eyes closed, his teeth bit into his lower lip. His cheek ground against the broken branches and twigs encircling the hole, scoring new scratches in his face. He neither felt the pain nor heard his ragged breaths. His entire focus centered upon getting the gun out of the crate. With it, he had a means of protecting Hogan.

Voices raised in anger echoed through the trees. German voices, barking commands at someone who was either refusing or was unable to respond.

Newkirk's eyes flew open, horror drenching him in ice.

More shouts. A warning.

Newkirk threw himself against the pile of debris, fingers scrabbling for the gun. He let out a muted wail as they bumped against the butt, knocking it out of his reach.

A gunshot cracked in the distance. Birds squawked and flew into the sky. Newkirk rolled to his feet, scrambled over the debris and bolted into the trees.

To be continued.

Thank you for reading!