Warning: Profanity.
As always, I'm grateful for Marilyn Penner. It would take a whole page to list the reasons why.
Chapter 20
"That's the way it was with us, Teddy. Just a bunch of us, all with different personalities and upbringings, living in a crowded room and making the best we could of it all. What? No, I'm not talking about your bedroom. What's wrong with your room? Oh, now. You each have a nice, soft bed, right? Not filled with musty-smelling straw that fleas and mice like to live in and keep you awake at night. You've got warm duvets. Yes, little mate. And a woobie to cuddle. And you have . . ."
"Why are you lot scratching so? Oh. Power of suggestion, eh? Never mind, Benjamin. Well, stop thinking about it and you'll stop itching. No, I don't see anything crawling on you."
"Now I've lost my train of thought. What were we talking . . . oh, yes. The living conditions in Stalag 13. They weren't good to begin with. Toss in all the stress and worry about missions, add the daily possibility of dying and the like, and . . . well, tempers sometimes got pretty thin. But we got on most of the time and found our fun where we could.There were lots of ways, Teddy.Oh, playing tricks on each other and on the guards. Softball and basketball games. An odd poker game or three. Why sure, Benjamin. 'Go Fish', too. Andrew liked that one real well. Kinch and the guv'nor were partial to chess. Certainly, Teddy. I bet Colonel Hogan would play a game or two with you. All you have to do is ask when he next comes to visit."
"So there were good times to be had, even in a place like Stalag 13. And I'll say this about my mates, too. We might have had our fights, but we never, ever turned a blind eye if one of us was in trouble. Not once. Spot on, Katie. Like families do. Like you and Teddy did for Benjamin with that older bunch."
"We looked out for each other. And same as a family, we fretted and stewed when any of us were away and in trouble. Waiting around was hard, what with not being able to do anything to help. But the worst was the not knowing. What do I mean by that? Not knowing what's happened or could be happening leaves the mind to cook up all sort of bad ideas. Take my word, little mate. Bad ones. Very."
"But let's get back to this mission. Tivoli, Benson, the colonel and I had our share of troubles, and we wanted to get back to camp and our friends soon as we could. But there were still some things that needed working out. That's right, Katie. Like why Colonel Hogan wasn't trying to get off that floor."
HH HH HH HH HH
"Romie," Hogan said softly, staring into the brilliant blue eyes above him. "How long have you been sitting on the floor?"
Newkirk's ears pricked. That question, in that mild tone of voice, had an ulterior motive behind it besides concern for Romie's comfort.
She shrugged, lightly brushed the hair off his forehead. "Do not concern yourself, Robert. My bones are not as brittle as you would believe." A teasing smile blossomed on her face. "And even though I am an old woman, I can still be as spry as one of your lovely, young frauleins. Being your pillow is no hardship at all. We so rarely have the chance to see you."
"Or Peter," Josef added, sharing a fond smile with Newkirk from his rocker. "Kurtgives us as much news as he can of you and your men, Robert. But it is nice to actually see you, even under these circumstances." Josef tapped his pipe against his palm, then dumped the ash from it into an ashtray beside his chair.
"We have missed you," Romie whispered down at Hogan, her eyes suspiciously bright.
Newkirk looked away. Oh, mum.
A weak smile tugged at Hogan's mouth. "I've missed you, too. It's nice being here now."
Newkirk sat up a little straighter on the couch, hearing a clear 'but' in his tone. Hogan reached across the blanket with his good hand, opening it in clear invitation. Romie grasped it in hers. While her attention was diverted, Hogan made eye contact with Newkirk.
A little help, here?
For some reason – and Newkirk had a good idea what that reason was – Hogan wanted Romie and Josef out of the room. Newkirk ducked his head and manufactured a cough behind his hand.
"I'm feeling a might peckish, mum. You wouldn't happen to have something that we could nibble on, would you?" He regretted using subterfuge on a woman he considered a second mother. But the one sure way he knew of to get Romie out of the room was to appeal to her maternal instincts. He had not counted on those same instincts seeing right through his ploy. She looked up at him, her brilliant, blue eyes crinkling with an indulgent smile.
"Peter, if you wish for me to leave the room so that you may talk with Robert, all you have to do is ask."
Newkirk's cheeks went hot with embarrassment. He glanced at Hogan, found that he was not the only one embarrassed at being caught out.
"My fault," Hogan told her, re-directing the gentle admonishment. "He was only doing what I asked."
Josef chuckled. He tucked his pipe away, slapped his hands on his thighs, and rose from the rocker.
"Come, Mother. Let us leave them so that they may talk freely."
"Sorry, sir," Hogan apologized, his brown eyes soft with contrition.
Josef nodded. "Understood."
"Let me help you, Guv'nor." Newkirk stood and offered his hand. Hogan hesitated, then reached out and took it. Newkirk pulled. The color leeched from Hogan's face. He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, startling Romie, who, with Josef's help, had gotten to her feet.
"Down!" Hogan gasped. Newkirk carefully eased him back to the floor, then crouched at his side, uncertain how to proceed.
"Robert?" Romie's voice had gone thin with concern. She knelt at his head, smoothed her hand down his cheek. "Are you —"
"Just a little stiff," Hogan cut in, giving her a tight smile.
Newkirk mentally shook his head at the obvious attempt to allay her fears. He could hear the strain in Hogan's clipped answer. Whatever small sense of relief he had felt upon his CO's awakening flew right out the window. Something was drastically wrong.
As unobtrusively as possible, he worked his fingers beneath the blanket and laid them on Hogan's wrist. A rapid pulse throbbed beneath his fingertips.
The bedroom door opened. Benson's stride faltered as he took in the scene before the fireplace. "What's going on?" He rushed across the room, rounded the end of the couch in several long strides and stared anxiously down at Hogan. "Sir?"
A light sheen of perspiration had appeared on Hogan's forehead. His pupils were dilated, his jaw locked. Newkirk threw a pleading look at Josef, silently begging him to get Romie out of the room - fast. Above all else, he knew Hogan would not want her witness to his agony -- and that was what he was currently enduring.
"Romie," Josef prompted, gently grasping her upper arms and pulling her back to her feet. She darted a helpless glance down at Hogan. Overly bright, brown eyes lifted to her, Hogan's brows quirking ever so slightly. With a sharp shake of her head – which told Newkirk she knew very well what was happening – she put her hand in Josef's and let him escort her into the kitchen.
A shudder rippled through Hogan. His eyes squeezed shut, his lips pulling back in a naked display of pain. Newkirk and Benson exchanged fearful glances.
"Get the doc." Newkirk shifted his weight onto his knees, ignoring the pull of a strained thigh muscle. He rested his hand lightly on Hogan's chest, more to provide comfort than anything else.
"He's stitching Tiv up," Benson protested quietly, taking the position Romie had occupied at Hogan's head. That was not what Newkirk wanted to hear.
"I bloody well don't give a—"
"Leave Kurt . . . be," Hogan gasped, pale and visibly trembling. "I . . . can wait!"
Newkirk bit his lip, torn between following the order and his overwhelming desire to get help. Benson made the choice for him.
With a mouthed, fervent expletive, Benson shot to his feet and turned for the bedroom, only to run right into Kurt. They bounced off each other, Kurt grabbing onto the back of the couch to keep his feet. Hogan's eyes shot open, instantly locked on him.
"Tivoli?"
"Resting." With a touch to Newkirk's shoulder, Kurt asked that he move out of the way. Newkirk did so, gritting his teeth when his body balked at the continuing requests to move. He edged past Hogan's blanketed feet, gratefully sat on the couch. Only then did he notice that Kurt had been watching his every move.
"Is Tivoli —" Hogan's question broke off with another gasp. Tears glimmered on his lashes.
"He is out of danger. For the moment, Robert, you are my main concern." Kurt pulled the blanket down to Hogan's waist, jerked his shirt open. Buttons flew, bouncing off the rug and onto the wood floor. Kurt's hands smoothed over the skin at the top of Hogan's shoulder, searching for injury. His brow furrowed, his blue eyes going distant as he let his fingers 'see' for him. His fingertips trailed along the collarbone, then skimmed back to the ball and socket of Hogan's shoulder and paused. "Is the pain in your shoulder? Your arm?"
"Back sp –" Hogan gasped, went rigid. His head flew back, whacking the braided rug so hard that Newkirk felt the vibration in the soles of his feet. Kurt leaned over Hogan, grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it under his head. A strangled sound rattled from Hogan's throat, followed by harsh, raspy panting. Newkirk's fingers curled, digging fingernails deep into his palms.
"Lordy," Benson breathed, raising his arms to lace his fingers atop his head. Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he looked that way. Romie and Josef stood in the kitchen doorway, their eyes frozen upon their son's attempts to help their surrogate son.
"Ahhh, damnit!" Hogan swore under his breath, grinding his teeth. His knees bent, his torso arching off the floor. Tears trickled into the hair at his temples. His chest and stomach heaved, muscles standing out in stark relief.
"Getting worse," Newkirk muttered, looking on in sympathy.
Kurt's gaze suddenly locked upon Hogan's left side. He touched the ribs there, traced them around to Hogan's back and stopped. In a single move, Kurt jerked back and bent lower, angling for a better look.
Benson dropped his hands, took a hesitant closer. "Did you find something?"
Josef and Romie moved toward them, his arm around her waist.
Kurt looked up at Benson through the blond fringe of his bangs. "Help me roll him over." Benson nodded, glad for the chance to help. Newkirk braced his hands on the couch, started to get up.
"Stay where you are!" Kurt told him. "Benson is help enough. You should avoid undue exertion." He cast a glance over his shoulder, seeking his parents. "Warm, damp towels, bitte." They rushed back to the kitchen. Seconds later, Newkirk heard the sound of running water and a kettle banging onto the woodstove.
Benson pulled in a deep breath. "How do you want to do this, Doc?"
Kurt met his eyes over Hogan's heaving body. "We will turn him toward you. Slowly. But first . . ." He gently raised Hogan's head and removed the pillow, then nodded to Benson. "Ready. Remember. Toward you. On three."
Hogan was only partly turned onto his side when Kurt tugged the shirt's tail up -and froze in place.
"What?" Newkirk cried, unable to see from the couch. He wanted to get up, but Benson was in his way. Another guttural moan rolled from Hogan's open mouth, his face gray with pain and wet with tears.
"Doc?" Benson's voice held a warning note. Eyes still fixed upon Hogan's back, Kurt gave a single, abrupt nod. They finished rolling Hogan onto his stomach, allowing everyone a clear view of his exposed back.
Benson's breath left him in a soft, inarticulate cry. Newkirk could only gulp, horrified at the damage. Tight-lipped, Kurt yanked scissors from his pocket and cut the shirt away.
Black, purple and red bruising extended from just below the top of Hogan's left shoulder nearly to his waist and partially across his spine. A blood-encrusted scrape angled across his ribs, mid-way down his back. Swelling had set in, distorting the normal shape of his ribcage. Newkirk's gaze slowly swung to Hogan's face.
"How'd you bloody stand it?"
"It – " Hogan swallowed thickly. "It wasn't this bad . . . before."
Kurt bent over Hogan's back, gently explored the injured area while Benson and Newkirk watched.
"What did this, Robert?" Kurt asked in a low voice. Hogan's jaw worked, as if he were trying to find the strength to answer.
"Log . . . in the river. Couldn't . . . couldn't get out . . . of the way . . . in . . . " Hogan moaned, pressed his forehead into the rug.
Kurt shook his head. He touched his fingers to Hogan's spine, mapping vertebrae. "Another four or five inches to the right and it would have snapped your back."
Benson rubbed a hand over his eyes, heaved a loud sigh. "What about his ribs? Did they break?"
"By some miracle, no."
"We were due a miracle or two," Newkirk muttered.
Kurt stopped his examination, sat back on his haunches. "The traumatic injury from the blow has caused the muscles to contract. The stiffening – the guarding, if you will, of the injury - is causing the spasms. By applying the warm, wet cloths, I hope to increase blood flow in the muscles. This will help them loosen. A massage will also help, but at first will be almost as painful as the spasms."
"Oh . . . goody," Hogan murmured sarcastically, dragging his good arm toward his head. His hand clutched spasmodically at the rug, his breath coming faster with another spasm. The panting turned to groaning when Kurt gently, but firmly started massaging his back.
"Robert, you are very close to hyperventilating," Kurt told him, working the rigid muscles. "Try to relax."
"Easy . . . for you . . . to say," Hogan huffed, body bathed in clammy sweat. "Newkirk. What about the --- OW!" A flow of breathless cursing followed.
"Sorry," Kurt murmured, pressing his thumbs into a knotted muscle.
Remembering Kurt's order to stay on the couch, Newkirk slapped Benson's arm to get his attention, then hitched his thumb. Benson quickly slid out of the way. Newkirk moved down the couch and leaned forward to make it easier for Hogan to see him.
"If it's the papers you're worrying about, Guv'nor, they're probably well on their way to London by now. I handed them off to Rumplestiltskin while you were still out of it."
Hogan grunted. "Good job. Whuh . . ." his "ow" trailed off into another moan. His lips peeled back again, revealing bloodied teeth. Newkirk leaned closer; saw where Hogan had badly bitten his lip. Benson saw it, too and murmured an "ow" of his own.
Josef returned and under Kurt's direction draped the warm, damp towels across Hogan's back.
"Danke, Vater. We will need to replace these as they cool."
Hogan wiped the tears from his eyes with shaking fingers, looked up at Benson.
"Help them."
"Yes, sir." Benson turned to go, paused, and turned back. "Can't you give him something to take the edge off the pain?"
"He knows . . . " Hogan hissed, eyes clenching tight again. "He knows better than to even suggest it right now."
Kurt snorted, his expression saying clearly what he thought about that. He continued massaging Hogan's shoulder and back, his hands moving in a firm, steady rhythm. Benson watched for a few seconds, then turned on his heel, gathered up Josef with a nod, and headed into the kitchen. Newkirk watched them go. Romie met them at the doorway, looked up at Josef as they directed her back into the kitchen. Their lowered voices drifted back to Newkirk, too low for him to hear their conversation.
"Newkirk?"
Newkirk jerked, startled. "Right here, Guv'nor." Kurt's pointed look kept him on the couch.
"Give --" a particularly forceful push of Kurt's hands brought another moan from Hogan's throat. After several panted breaths, he tried again. "Give me a complete . . . oh, geez . . . a complete . . . run-down of what - OW! . . .happened while I was out."
Quickly and concisely,Newkirk delivered his report, pausing only to answer Hogan's questions or when Josef came in with more towels.
"Good to know LeBeau made it back to camp one way or another. Now it's our turn," Hogan muttered. Newkirk could not have agreed more. The sooner they were back at camp, the sooner he could go to bed and sleep for a week without worrying about rivers, injured officers, or getting shot.
To his eyes, the towels and Kurt's massage appeared to be working. Hogan's sounds of pain were getting fewer, his body becoming more pliable under the doctor's skillful hands. The assessment was confirmed shortly after when Hogan easily turned his head to look over his shoulder at Kurt.
"How soon can Tivoli be moved?"
"As soon as you need him to, sir," Tivoli answered from the bedroom doorway. He let go of the doorjamb, stumbled toward them on weak legs. Benson stuck his head out of the kitchen, saw Tivoli, and rushed to his side. Kurt let out a growl of frustration at seeing the Italian on his feet.
"I've known sheep with better sense!" Benson snarled, snagging Tivoli's good arm and throwing it over his shoulder. Tivoli pulled his head back and squinted at him, full lips curving into a smirk.
"Yap, yap, yap."
Benson's only response to that was a roll of his eyes. Without any further sniping between them, he helped Tivoli over to Josef's rocker. Moving carefully and with Kurt's reluctant help, Hogan finally achieved a sitting position against the couch. His eyes followed Tivoli and Benson, watched while Benson got the Italian settled in the rocker with a pillow and blanket. And then he asked the question uppermost on everyone's mind.
"How's your arm?"
Tivoli wiggled his fingertips, a sly smile stretching across his face. "Still a southpaw, sir."
Benson let out a little cheer, beaming at the good news. Newkirk released the breath he had been holding, happy to see the improvement - happy, for that matter, to see everyone alive, all in one place, awake and talking. Hogan was apparently having similar thoughts while he returned Tivoli's steady regard.
"I'm glad to see you up and about, Tivoli."
Tivoli gave him a thin smile coupled with a very slight tip of his head. "Same here, Colonel."
Hogan chuckled. "Not quite to the 'about' part yet." He gestured to the sunlit window, his voice turning business-like as his gaze moved to include Benson and Newkirk in the conversation. "It's way past time for us to be back at camp. Even with the head counts and quarantines, our absence has probably been discovered by now."
For the next several minutes, Hogan laid out his plan to get everyone back in the quickest way possible. Romie and Josef remained in the kitchen, preparing the food that Newkirk had suggested earlier by way of distraction. Kurt checked Tivoli's dressings and saw to Newkirk's sore head. Newkirk suffered the antiseptic and bandage graciously, content to just sit and listen.
They were finally going home.
To be continued. Thank you for reading!