As always, I'm grateful to Marilyn Penner. It would take a whole page to list the reasons why.
Chapter 21
"Yes, Katie, it was a grand feeling to know we'd soon be back with our friends. Remember how you felt when the day arrived that you could come home from camp? You couldn't wait, could you? Don't listen to Teddy, poppet. He was just as glad to see you home as the rest of us. And right on cue . . . another of Teddy's famous eye rolls! It's good that you can laugh at yourself, mate. Too many folk can't."
"We were happy to be going home that day, but Kurt wasn't. Because he thought Tivoli and Colonel Hogan were pushing themselves too hard too soon, little mate. They were both in bad shape, still. Tiv was weak, tiltin' and wobblin' all over the place, trying to act like he wasn't, and there was Benson growling and snapping enough for both himself and Kurt. Benson wasn't mad so much as worried, Teddy. Well, yes, it may seem a funny way of showing it, but take my word - he was worried for his friend. Worried for the guv'nor, too. But then Colonel Hogan hadn't had a bullet in his back just some hours before."
"Right, Katie. The colonel hadn't been able to move much. But Kurt had seen to his ribs and back. He'd wrapped them all up good and tight with bandaging and -- The wrapping was around just his ribs and back, little mate. Not his face or his arms and legs. They didn't need wrapping, Benjamin. No, he didn't look at all like one of those mummies you saw at the museum. Not that much wrapping, by far. Kurt wrapped just enough to support and protect the colonel's sore ribs and back. You can say that again. It probably did hurt like the very dickens having that wrapping on, but not as much as before Kurt coaxed those muscles into loosening a bit. I've never seen the guv'nor in so much pain that he couldn't keep it all in real quiet like. I don't mind telling you - it scared me good. Benson, too."
"Anyroad. The doc got us all mobile enough to -- mobile, Benjamin. Go ahead and tell him, Teddy. Spot on. Able to move. I couldn't have said it any better."
"So the doc got us ready to travel, grumbling all the while. How'd we get home? Well, sit back a little while longer and I'll tell you."
HH HH HH HH HH
"All set Colonel." Benson jumped out of Schnitzer's truck, rocking it on its springs. "It'll be crowded, but I think we can –" a series of sneezes interrupted him, doubling him over at the waist. "Sorry, sir," Benson wheezed, straightening and wiping his watering eyes with his sleeve. Sniffling, he gestured over their heads at the loft, piled high with drifts of straw. "Dust allergies."
Hogan vaguely acknowledged him with a nod. His attention was partially turned inward, upon the muscles in his back. They were slowly seizing up again, making it harder to maintain a straight, normal stance even with Kurt's wrappings. At least his left arm was no longer completely useless - just nearly so. Wiggling his fingers and moving his hand was about all he could manage for the moment. According to Kurt, many, many hours of physical therapy lay in his future. It would not be the first time he had needed it for a shoulder injury, but hopefully, it would be the last.
The small side door to the barn swung open with a squeal. Josef entered at a fast walk, a large, yellow cat trotting along at his heels. Throwing a desultory glance at Schnitzer's truck, parked just inside the barn's double doors, Josef joined Benson and Hogan. The cat rubbed around and between their legs, then stationed itself at Josef's feet, purring loudly, one white-tipped paw occasionally kneading the dirt floor.
"It is done, Robert. Tiger will relay your message to your men and let them know that you are coming and will need help." With a mischievous sparkle in his eye, Josef added, "Her message to you was that she would visit with you later, once you are feeling better."
The flush that sprang to Hogan's cheeks had nothing to do with a fever. He cleared his throat, ignoring Benson's broad smile.
"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry we have to rush out of here, but the sooner we leave, the safer you'll be, and the less we'll have to explain away back at camp."
Schnitzer walked into view from the front of the truck, dusting off his hands on his rumpled jacket. "Everything is in readiness, Colonel."
"We're just about ready, too." Hogan shook the elderly man's hand, grateful that he had remained to see them home. "Thanks for all you've done for us, Schnitzer. You've made getting back to camp a heck of a lot easier on us. After last night, we need easy."
"I am most happy to be of help." Schnitzer offered him a wink and bright smile. "I had a very nice nap while I waited."
A sharp pain shot through Hogan's back. He tightened his lips, managing to turn a wince into a faint grin. "You deserved it. Last night had to be hard on you, too. Dodging patrols is never fun."
"Amen," Benson murmured fervently, rubbing at his eyes. Hogan sighed to himself. His men had been through hell and back. All he wanted was to get them home safely. Then, and only then, would he see to his own rest.
Josef's face suddenly twisted in pain. Looking down, he found his leg being used as a scratching post. He gave the cat a fond, if slightly exasperated smile, bent down and scooped it off the ground. With its lanky, yellow body cradled upon one forearm, he gently scrubbed the top of its head with his knuckles. Its green eyes closed in bliss, its purr deepening to a throaty roar. Hogan peered closely at the small, furry face, unable to believe what he was seeing.
"Is that cat smiling?"
"He is, yes." Josef chucked the cat under the chin, setting off a renewed round of purring.
Benson laughed, a little of the strain dropping from his face. "He sounds like the engine in a Martin Marauder."
With a last, loving rub down the center of the cat's head, Josef set it on its feet. "Go on now, Oskar, before you accidentally get stepped on." As if understanding his words to the letter, the cat glanced between Hogan and Benson, uttered a soft, 'y-a-a-a-h-h-h', and trotted away, bent tail swinging behind it.
Benson stared after it, surprise written all over his face. "Yah?" He turned his head, met Hogan's amused eyes. "All the cats I've ever heard just say 'meow'."
The side door opened again. Newkirk and Tivoli slowly limped inside, Kurt and Romie right behind them. Kurt's gaze was locked upon Tivoli's back, but his head was cocked attentively toward his mother. Romie was talking quietly yet with great intensity, the emotion on her face unmistakable. She was worried and Hogan had little doubt as to the cause. Studying his men, he was pretty worried, himself.
Newkirk looked as if he were half asleep, moving on will power alone. Kurt's bandage stood out like a white flag beneath his dark hair. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice was little more than a croak, and he was favoring his right leg. Tivoli sounded better than Newkirk, but looked even worse - like he had been dragged behind a horse over five miles of rough road. A sling exactly like the one Hogan wore had been rigged to hold and protect his left arm. Dark-rimmed eyes stared out of a pale face, beneath a forehead creased with pain that he kept insisting was 'not bad'.
Somewhere along the way, the Italian's attitude had undergone a change that Hogan found welcome, yet puzzling. Belligerent and barely obedient to Hogan's or anyone else's orders, Tivoli had spent the better part of his first month at Stalag 13 in the cooler. Now, though, still wary and edgy, he no longer seemed eager to provoke confrontations. Hogan watched while Benson steered Tivoli into Schnitzer's truck, the two of them trading good-natured insults and comments along the way.
How about that.
Whatever Benson had done to get through to Tivoli had apparently worked. And Hogan could not have been happier about it. After months of trying to do the same, he had nearly run out of ideas. He had sensed the Italian held a grudging respect for him, yet for whatever reason, kept bucking his authority. Until today, anyway.
Hogan sighed. He was no psychiatrist. But at least the hours of PT would allow him the time to possibly work out some answers to the Italian conundrum.
Newkirk limped to the back of the truck, planted one foot on the bumper, hesitated, and looked back at Hogan. He sent the Englishman on his way with a reassuring smile, letting him know that he was all right – functional, at least. Newkirk plainly did not believe it, but he nodded and climbed into the truck anyway.
Hogan's smile faded when he glanced over at Kurt, Josef and Romie, hovering in the background. His second family, one he had not asked for but would not trade for anything. With a nod, he signaled Kurt to approach, separating the doctor from his parents so that they could talk in private. Kurt settled before him, anxious blue eyes doing a quick, professional scan of Hogan's condition.
"You are very good at walking the knife's edge of exhaustion," Kurt commented in a thoughtful voice.
Hogan started to shrug, but quickly checked the movement. No use aggravating already strained muscles. "My men are exhausted. I, on the other hand, have been out for most of the time, flat on my back or getting carried around." He made no mention of the vague moments of semi-consciousness, when an overwhelming sense that his men were in trouble had pulled at him, driving him to act – to do something. Snatches of angry voices, gunshots and shouts all tumbled together in his mind. Only one thing stood out with painful clarity: he had done nothing to help them.
"You believe you failed them somehow." Kurt's tone was softer, wary, as if he were aware that he was the one now treading a thin line.
"Yes," Hogan answered, clipping the word, uncomfortable, as always, when his insightful friend saw too much. Sensing Kurt was about to say more, he shook his head, cutting him off. This was neither the place, nor the time for this discussion. Kurt sighed, his gaze briefly lowering to their feet. As if sensing his sadness, the cat had reappeared to offer its own form of comfort. It sat down in front of Kurt and blinked up at him, a series of soft 'yahs' issuing from its mouth.
"I am all right, Oskar," Kurt murmured, kneeling and stroking the cat's cheek. With a stroke down its back, he sent it on its way. It bounded over to Josef and Romie, ready to comfort them as well.
"Thanks," Hogan said, gripping the top of Kurt's shoulder. His friend's gaze lifted, his blue eyes bored into Hogan's.
"How will you get down that ladder with only one arm?" Kurt nodded in the direction of the truck. "How will Tivoli?"
"I'm sure we'll have some help."
Kurt glanced away, lips pressing tightly together. His voice grew even softer, strained. "You used up another of your nine lives on this mission, Robert. "
Hogan hesitated, then tightened his grip and tugged Kurt forward into an awkward, one-armed hug. "I know. But thanks to my men and my friends, I'm still around to enjoy the rest of them." Releasing him, Hogan went to Josef and Romie and gave his good-byes. They peppered him with parental admonishments, and in Romie's case, tearful kisses. Hogan reluctantly pried himself from their embraces, gave the cat in Josef's arms a quick head rub, and turned to Schnitzer. The elderly man had been waiting patiently beside his truck, a soft smile upon his face.
"Ready when you are," Hogan told him. "Let's go home."
HH HH HH HH HH
Kinch lowered himself into a seat at the common room table, acutely aware of O'Malley watching. The medic's green-tinged complexion did not hide his ire at seeing Kinch still up and walking around. Baker was not happy about it either, but none of his arguments had convinced Kinch to lie down.
Paxton left Parker's bed side, grabbed up a couple of tin cups and ladled broth into them from a pot on the wood stove. He set one cup on the table before Kinch, handed off the other to Baker and then went back to helping Graham change soiled bedding. Kinch waited until his back was turned, then slid the cup away with a slow, backward sweep of his hand. O'Malley's harrumph of displeasure was heard but completely ignored.
"We need some kind of diversion," Kinch thought aloud, remembering Tiger's message. "Something to keep the guards from seeing them."
"Yeah," Baker agreed, slowly nodding down at the contents of his cup. Putting it to his lips, he took a tentative slurp, grimaced, and quickly deposited the cup on the table.
"They're coming in hurt and exhausted," Kinch continued, wearily propping his chin in one hand.
"Moving like turtles, then," Olsen murmured. He was still comfortably seated cross-legged on Braveheart's bunk, his cup of broth cooling at his knee.
"Like three-legged turtles." Parker gulped down the dregs of his weak broth, stuck his tongue out in silent comment of the taste.
"Loud, three-legged turtles," LeBeau amended softly from Olsen's bunk, his heavy-lidded eyes staring into space as if picturing his friends' return. At the sound of his voice, Paxton dropped an armful of sheets into the communal basket and went to see if the Frenchman had finished his broth. Finding the cup still full and LeBeau deaf to his urges to drink it, he gave up and went back to tidying up the barracks.
Baker sighed. "Both Tivoli and the colonel will have trouble climbing down the ladder. They'll need help."
Kinch looked up, made eye contact with Baker. "They're on their way by now. We've got to come up with an idea fast."
Carter snapped his fingers. "How about –"
The bunk over the entrance shot up, the bunk's frame ladder dropping into the tunnel. A brief, 'what the heck?' look passed between Kinch and Baker. Standing, Kinch joined him near the end of the table and they – along with everyone else in the room – waited to see who appeared. Voices raised in irritation rose out of the tunnel below.
"I told you –"
"Maddux! Get your lazy butt up the ladder so the rest of us can go up!"
"Shaddup! I'm moving, already!"
Baker and Kinch stared in consternation as first Maddux, then Jones, Broughton and Lyons poured out of the tunnel and into Barracks Two. Like a bunch of rowdy, overgrown puppies, Baker's 'goons' gathered in front of the bunk entrance, ignoring the wide-eyed looks and muttering that had gone up at their appearance.
Kinch's gaze swept over the four men. "What's this about?"
"Whatever it is that you got going, we want to help. Sir," Lyons answered first.
Maddux squared his shoulders. "Got that right."
"We're tired of standing around twiddling our thumbs," Broughton said, aiming his words at Baker, rather than Kinch. "It don't take no rocket scientist to figure that Tivoli and the rest of them will need help getting back into camp."
Jones nodded. "So, here we are. Ready and willing." He peered past Baker and Kinch, his serious expression melting into a broad smile. "Hey, Olsen!"
Smiling back at him, Olsen returned the enthusiastic greeting with a lazy wave. Carter's narrowed eyes swung back and forth between the two men, taking note of the friendly exchange. His weren't the only eyes watching them with keen interest.
Kinch studied them. "All right. You can help. You're still about the healthiest guys we've got."
"How about letting the dogs loose?" Broughton suggested, once Kinch had explained the problem. "Those clowns will have their hands full rounding them back up."
"Then I shall help, also," LeBeau said with firm conviction. He struggled into a sitting position on the edge of his bunk. "The dogs listen to me best."
Baker shook his head. "No way."
"Stay there," Kinch ordered LeBeau. "We're not using the dogs."
Jones' bushy eyebrows rose with a sudden thought. "We could make them think we're trying to escape. You know – act like we're cutting the wires or something."
"Stupid plan!" Maddux yelped, rounding on Jones and punching him in the shoulder. "Geez, Jonesie! Get us shot, will ya?"
"Could you hold it down to a roar?" O'Malley groaned, clutching his head in hands.
"I could sneak outside," Carter called to Kinch. "And draw the guards to the other side of camp by throwing some firecrackers into the bushes like we did that –"
Kinch slowly waved his arm in the air and the cacophony of voices faded. He smothered a cough, then pointed a finger at Jones, keeping his words to minimum. "Get the phonograph out of the rec hall." He turned to Maddux next. "You think you can get Klink's records without getting caught?"
"Oh, yeah," Maddux said, drawing the words out with cocky confidence.
"What do you need the records and phonograph for?" Carter asked; looking slightly deflated that his idea had not been chosen.
"What's up your sleeve?" Baker asked, perplexed.
The corners of Kinch's mouth turned up in a faint smile. "A way to make the Krauts stand still for as long as we need them to, that's what." He turned back to the goon squad, gestured to the entrance behind them. "Today, fellas?" They turned with surprising speed, and in a moment were long gone except for their fading voices. With a tired shake of his head, Kinch moved to follow. Carter watched him step onto the ladder.
"How can I help?"
"Don't let me catch you down here," Kinch warned, steadying himself with one hand on the bunk frame. As expected, O'Malley had something to say about that.
"And why should he listen to you, when you're setting such a shining example of going back down there?" O'Malley sat, wavering on the edge of a bunk. Black-rimmed eyes glared balefully across the room at Kinch. "I heard that cough, don't think I didn't."
You would, Kinch sighed to himself. He avoided looking up at Baker, knowing his friend wanted him to rest as badly as O'Malley did.
"I can't just sit here," Carter complained, fisting his hand in the blanket.
"He's right." Olsen dropped to the floor from Braveheart's bunk and marched across the room to take a stand beside Baker. "Like Baker said. They'll need help climbing down. Well, I volunteer."
He set his feet and crossed his arms, daring Kinch to order him back to bed. Around the room behind him, others abandoned their bunks – Carter and LeBeau the first among them - and gathered at his back. Kinch stared up at the ring of determined faces and gave in.
"All right," he sighed, beckoning them on. "Come on." He climbed down into the tunnel, their cheers wafting over his head.
Author's Note:
Oskar the cat is lovingly based upon our own beloved cat, Banana. He was dumped on our farm eight years ago and quickly made a home for himself in our hearts. His gentle, patient and clownish nature endeared him to all who ever met him and he ruled over our farm until this summer when we tearfully laid him to rest. The hole that he left behind in our lives still hurts, but we will forever cherish the memories and love that he gave us. Even now, months after his passing, I still expect him to bounce out of the barn to greet me with a smile and loud 'YAH!' when I return home from work.
Thank you for reading. The next chapter will be the last!