Okay, well... this one is pretty grim. And it might just cause Kinch to lose that halo of his...

This is a response in part to another challenge.

Challenge #15: The Less Specific Kinch Challenge - 96 Hubbles

Basically, write a Kinch story. A story where he has to deal with a problem that DOESN'T involve Hogan and the others. Say, for instance, a story about a personal problem or ethical dilemma that he has to go through, or something to do with the operation that he doesn't like or doesn't want to do but doesn't know whether to mention it or not. Or a story about something he once did (pre-war or during) that he now regrets. It could even be story about how he feels about being a prisoner after so long.

In other words, write a story for Kinch that gives him lines other than ones about him taking over for Hogan and how hard Hogan's job is or worrying about Hogan, etc.

Alone in the rec room, Kinch threw another punch and then another. Sweat dripped from his face and stained his shirt. His knuckles were raw and swollen and pain raced up his arm every time he made contact. But he didn't care. The pain was good. He had lost track of how long he had been at the punching bag, brutalizing his bare hands against it, but he wasn't about to let up. He couldn't. He had to keep going until his anger died down. As if it ever would. How could it? Not after what had happened.

He didn't hear the door open but did feel the cold breeze sweep in from outside. Kinchloe ignored it, pouring every ounce of his energy into beating the living daylights out of the bag.

"Kinchloe! Sergeant Kinchloe!" Schultz cried. Kinch heard the sergeant of the guard move closer. With one big wallop, he punched the bag, sending it swinging and then moved out of the way. It hit Schultz and nearly knocked him down.

"Ooof," Schultz puffed as he held himself.

"What do you want Schultz?" Kinch asked as he steadied the bag.

"Sergeant Kinchloe, it is rollcall," Schultz informed him. "You should have been outside five minutes ago. The colonel is very upset."

"Let the bald eagle squawk," Kinch growled. "Won't hurt him to wait."

"Not that colonel," Schultz said. "What is the matter Kinchloe? This is not like you."

"I'm fine," Kinch snapped. "Come on, let's go."

Kinch marched towards the door. The cold air hit him, biting into the sheen of sweat on his skin but it didn't phase him. The anger that burned in his belly was enough to keep him warm. Behind him, Schultz hesitated but then followed after.

"Are you sure there is nothing wrong, Kinchloe?" Schultz asked as he tried to keep up with Kinch as they crossed the compound towards Barracks 2.

"Lay off, Schultz," Kinch warned. As he approached the line-up, he saw Colonel Hogan's disapproving look but ignored it as he fell into place. He felt Carter and Newkirk looking at him and turned to glare at them. "I'm here. Let's get this show on the road."

"Kinch are you-" Carter started but fell quiet when Kinch's eyes darkened. Good. The last thing Kinch needed was to listen to Carter talk nonsense. It could be annoying on the best of days, but with the way he was feeling right now, Carter risked a shattered jaw.

"Thank you, for joining us, Sergeant Kinchloe," Klink sneered from his spot in front of the kommandantur. "Perhaps a week in the cooler will help you learn to be punctual."

Kinch balled his fist but said nothing. He just glowered at the Kommandant, who took a step back.

"That won't be necessary, Kommandant. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," Hogan said.

Klink took another step back, nearly tripping over the stairs. "Y-yes. See to it, Colonel Hogan. Schultz, report."

"All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said with a salute.

"Very well. Prisoner's dismissed." Klink scurried up the stairs and threw a glance over his shoulder at Kinch before shuddering and retreating inside.

"All right, fellas, back inside," Hogan said, shepherding his men into the barracks. "Kinch, my office."

Kinch saw the others exchange looks as he followed Hogan into his office. Hogan waited until Kinch had passed him before shutting the door. Kinch stood at rigid attention, fixing his eyes on the wall. Hogan came round in front of him and studied him for a moment before sighing and sitting on the edge of his desk.

"Okay, Kinch, what's the matter?" Hogan asked. "You've been acting owly since mail call. Did you get bad news from home?"

Kinch's jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he flexed his hands.

"A Dear John?" Hogan pressed. "Is your mom all right? Your brother? Did he… Look, Kinch, I'm just trying to help."

Kinch kept his eyes glued to the wall. Hogan sighed in frustration.

"You know you're awfully close to insubordination here," Hogan said tightly. "Fine, your personal life is your business, but you know as well as anyone that we can't let it interfere with the operation. You took off this morning and we nearly missed a communique from Goldilocks. When you're ready to talk, I'm here, but in the meantime, I expect you to do your job. Understood?" Kinch flicked his eyes over to Hogan and he gave a quick nod. "Good. Oh, and lay off the death glares with Klink. You're going to gie him a nervous breakdown." Hogan managed a small smile which Kinch didn't return.

"Am I dismissed?"

Hogan looked deflated. "Yeah. Get down to the tunnel. We're expecting a message from Olsen sometime tonight."

Kinch wondered if that was true, or if the Colonel was just offering him a chance to escape his hut-mates for a while until he cooled off.

Said hut-mates watched him warily as he stormed to his bunk and opened the trap leading to the tunnels.

"Kinch, if you need to talk, you know we're-"

"Keep quiet, Carter," Newkirk hissed as he elbowed him in the gut.

"Well, gosh, if I got bad news from home, he would want to help me. So don't you think he'd expect us to want to help him? After all we're all in this-"

Carter continued talking, even as Kinch descended the ladder into the tunnels. Carter's words caused a small sting of guilt to niggle at his heart. It was true, he would expect the others to confide in him, to let him help; they deserved the same trust from him. But this was too big. This was too much. And, besides, it wasn't for him to talk about anyway.

Kinch sat at his radio. He put his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead on his knuckles. They stung, making Kinch wince. No doubt his hands would swell even more over the course of the night, and he would be surprised if they were even functional tomorrow. He tapped his knuckles against his forehead before clasping them together as if preparing for prayer. It would be good for him to talk to someone about all this. But there was too much anger in his heart and he wasn't about to seek forgiveness. Not for himself and especially not for him.

Kinch's hand broke apart and he slammed a fist down onto the desk.

"Dammit! Dammit all!" Kinch cried as he jumped up. He paced around wildly, trying to burn off the anger that had once more set fire in his heart. From his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper and unfolded it, skimming the contents. Dina's usually fine penmanship was shaky and smudged, and Kinch could only imagine how many tears had fallen on the paper. As he read, the anger burned hotter until it came to the one passage that turned the anger to unbearable pain.

Please don't tell Johnny. I'm so afraid of what he'll do. And… Oh, Jimmy, I'm so afraid he'll blame me. Maybe he should blame me. I keep thinking that I must have said something. I must have done something to give him the wrong impression.

I wish you were here so much Jimmy. I need you here to make sense of all this for me. I need you to tell me it's not my fault. I need you to tell me that everything is going to be okay and that somehow I'll get through this. I need you to… I just need you to be there like you always are and I know that it's so selfish of me to say that because I know you can't be and it must be driving you insane.

Kinch crumpled the letter back up and shoved it into his pocket. His heart broke that she was dealing with this alone, that he couldn't be there to do anything and everything she needed to make the world right again. But mostly, his heart broke at the thought that she was blaming herself. Blaming herself for what that monster had done to her. She hadn't named him, only said it was one of her cooks who had just been drafted. She didn't want trouble. Didn't want anyone else to know. Just Kinch. Probably because she knew there was no way he could go after the guy.

Well, that was where she was wrong. The only emotion stronger than his anguish was his rage. Kinch was a man who kept a tight rein on his emotions, but this- this was too much for even him to control. For any man to control.

He didn't have a name, but that wasn't going to stop him. He'd find it out. And then he would make everything right. He couldn't be there for Dina, but he'd make damn sure the scumbag who hurt her would get what was coming to him.

He had a name. It had taken a little snooping, mostly in the form of casual questions to his friends who worked at Dina's diner. There was only one cook who had been drafted around that time. And, as luck would have it, he had been shipped out to England. Not that it mattered- he could be halfway around the world in the Pacific and Kinch would've still found him. But this made it so much easier. He found the rest of the information he needed from Goldilocks. And who knew just what to do with it.

"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks."

He was alone in the tunnels. Not unusual, but right now it particularly served his purposes. There was no way Colonel Hogan would let him get away with this. He could never know. No one could ever know.

"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in Goldilocks."

"This is Goldilocks. Go ahead, Papa Bear."

In another stroke of luck, the Goldilocks on the other side was the one he had dubbed Operator 004. They had developed quite a rapport over the last few months, so when he had asked her to keep his inquiries between the two of them she didn't press too hard as to why. Although he sensed she suspected this was less than official business.

"Goldilocks, per our conversation about 36967947. It turns out we need another cub in the den and he's the perfect match. We need him ASAP before hibernation."

"Right," Goldilocks drawled suspiciously. "I've looked into his file, Papa Bear, and I must say that I see nothing extraordinary about him. And, what's more, are you sure that he can even operate in your den? He's… well, he's…"

"I know what he is, Goldilocks. Trust me." He was a monster. But Goldilocks was probably referring to the fact he was black.

"But where do you expect him to go?"

"Let us worry about that, Goldilocks. Please," Kinch added earnestly. He really needed her to go with him on this. "Have the stork deliver our new cub to Drop Point M-15. Let me know when."

"All right, Papa Bear. I'll see what I can do. Stand-by."

Kinch leaned back in his chair and waited. His mind rolled around the rest of his plan. Once again, his conscience reared its head to try to talk him out of it, but he squashed it down with a mallet of anger. No, not anger. Justice. He was going to bring about justice, he told himself firmly.

It took almost two hours before Goldilocks called back.

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear."

"I'm here, Goldilocks."

"Your new cub is set to arrive in three days at zero-three-three-zero. Drop point M-15."

"You're the best, Goldilocks. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Goldilocks replied. "But…"

"But what, Goldilocks?" Kinch asked.

Goldilocks sighed. "I just have a terrible feeling, that's all. Are you sure… it's just…"

"It'll be okay, Goldilocks," Kinch said. "Papa Bear over and out."

With a nod, Kinch set down his microphone and turned to his equipment. He checked his watch. 0200. He couldn't help but smirk. Waking Hochstetter up in the middle of the night was always a bonus.

Kinch patched the telephone through his equipment. It didn't take long to get through to the Hammelburg Gestapo.

"Get me Major Hochstetter. Tell him it's Kinchmeyer. General Kinchmeyer."

Kinch waited in line for roll call. He nervously flexed his hands inside his pockets. Would Klink mention to events of the previous night? It would probably be better if he didn't- Kinch didn't want Hogan to catch wind of it and start asking a lot of uncomfortable questions. But there was something inside him that hoped Klink would. Maybe if Klink bragged about it, it would shift the blame to the Germans and away from Kinch.

Not that the blame needed to be shifted. Kinch had served justice.

Hadn't he?

Yes, he had. And yet he couldn't loosen the weight in his guts.

He didn't have to wait long for the kommandant to emerge from his office, strutting like a peacock.

"Prisoners," Klink said as he gripped his riding crop under his arm and rocked on his heels. "You no doubt heard some gunfire last night and are curious to know what caused it."

"The Russians are marching on Hammelburg, sir?" Hogan replied. "I'll tell the fellas to start packing up."

Klink stomped his foot. "I'll have you know that the Russians are still stalled in Leningrad and it is only a matter of time before the glorious 18th Army crushes their resistance."

"In that case, we'd like to extend our reservation," Hogan quipped. "But if we're going to stay, you've really got to work on your housekeeping. It's been ages since anyone's come in the fluff my pillows."

"And, boy, I could sure use a new bathrobe and some fuzzy slippers," Carter added.

"I'd like to order room service if you please," Newkirk hollered.

"Enough of your tomfoolery! You prisoners will be here for a long time yet. Your army can't even deploy a lone assassin behind enemy lines, never mind launch an assault on the continent," Klink sniped.

"An assassin, sir?" Hogan replied, his ears perking up.

"Yes. Last night, an assassin parachuted down outside of Hammelburg. But our superior intelligence knew he was coming and he was shot out of the sky," Klink explained.

Hogan cocked his head to the side, clearly perplexed. "Do you know who his intended target was?"

Klink raised his nose into the air. "No doubt your army has heard of my no escape record. There is no one else of importance around here." He grinned and wagged his finger. "Ah, but no one can cut the iron eagle's wings. And I will continue to not only run the perfect camp, but also continue to strike fear into the heart of anyone who might get captured if they are so foolish to attack the Fatherland. So forget your ideas of escape. The Iron Eagle is here to stay! DIIIIIIIIII-SMISSED!"

The other prisoners broke up while Hogan's team gathered around. "Oh boy, an assassin," Carter said excitedly. "I wonder who he was really after."

"And who sent him," Hogan added as he crossed his arms and jutted out his bottom lip.

"Too bad we can't ask him, but the way Klink was talking, it sounded like he carked it," Newkirk surmised.

"Yeah, maybe. We better check on that too. If he's still alive, we'll have to spring him. Kinch, get on the horn with the local underground. And contact Olsen, maybe he can dig something up."

"Right," Kinch said. "I'll let you know what I find out."

He already knew there was no point. He had seen the so-called assassin die with his own eyes, torn to shreds in a hail of bullets aimed at his descending parachute. But Kinch would make a show of it anyway. He'd pretend to track down leads until he came to the inevitable dead-end and then let Hogan know that it was probably classified above their pay grade.

Down in the radio room, Kinch placed a few calls. Then he pulled out a notepad and began to write.

Dear Dina,

Dear Dina. Dear…

Kinch dropped his pencil. What on earth was he supposed to write? Dear Dina, I got the guy who hurt you and you'll never have to worry about him again? He couldn't do that; she would ask what happened and, worse, how it happened. There were so many reasons she could never know. Not the least of which was that she would be ashamed of him. There was a reason Dina hadn't wanted her husband to find out. Because she knew he would do something crazy like desert and hunt the man down. Dina would never have stood for it and she would never have forgiven herself for it, either. She had told Kinch because she had needed comfort, not vengeance.

He had already sent a reply to her last letter, filling it with as many comforting words as he could but, at the time, they all felt like empty platitudes to him. What good were words after such a heinous thing? She might not have wanted vengeance, but Kinch did.

Kinch grunted in frustration and picked up his pencil again. He would just steer clear of it altogether. Surely she was craving a sense of normalcy. But as he tried to write, his own actions hung over him, clouding his mind. He couldn't seem to get past 'Dear Dina'. Finally, he set the notepad down. He would come back to it later after he had to digest everything.

As the weeks passed, Kinch tried, again and again, to return to the letter. But each time he did, he found himself hitting the same roadblock. At first, he tried to reinforce the idea that justice had been served, but that facade fell apart quickly. It had been vengeance plain and simple and vengeance was a poor substitute for justice.

But as time went on, Kinch realized it went further than that. He had made himself judge and jury and this had been an execution. No, even that was being too generous to himself. He had to call it like it was: he had murdered a man.

It made Kinch sick as he wrestled with the awful truth. As dust gathered on his unsent letter, he considered confessing the whole thing to Colonel Hogan but knew that would earn him a ticket home and a dishonourable discharge. He couldn't let that happen- they needed him here.

Eventually, Dina stopped writing to him. Kinch's stomach twisted when he considered that she thought he wasn't writing because he saw her differently. That, somehow, she was no longer worthy of his correspondence. He wanted to write to her and reassure her, but, still, his letter sat.

Kinch had let his anger get ahead of his brain. It had left him with nothing but a strained relationship with the woman he loved and a millstone of guilt around his neck. He would spend a lifetime trying to atone, but the die was cast. He knew that no matter how much good he did, no matter how many times he risked his life, and no matter how many lives he saved, he'd never be the same, upright man he had once been.

And until the war was over and the awful truth could be revealed, that would have to be punishment enough.