As promised . . . Down, bunnies, down!! . . . the next part. Would anyone have a pellet gun handy??
And as always, thank you to Marilyn Penner for the beta!! Mistakes are mine since I've played with this part since she saw it last.
Chapter Fourteen
It took some doing, but Risa finally managed to pry her hand out of Klink's and make her escape. She pedaled away on Herr Ramm's rickety bicycle, wincing as Klink continued to call out parting comments.
When she could finally no longer hear him, Risa stopped to get her breath and calm her dizzied mind. It had been hard to leave Klaus and Hermann without learning what they were doing. If not for Klink's clinging presence, she might have found a way to return to the Barracks and get some answers from them. Except they were no longer there.
Or were they? she wondered, putting a hand to her head.
"They went through a bed?" she asked herself aloud, then looked around in panic, as if the trees would overhear and spread the news. Her hand slowly crept over her mouth and her breath quickened. Every potential situation, every conversation she entered with anyone, now held potential danger. Klaus and Hermann could die if she said the wrong thing to the wrong person. People she had not even met could be affected by her words and actions.
It suddenly, fully, dawned on her the trust that she had been granted.
Her hand clenched and her jaw tightened with sudden anger. She might have to be careful of what she said around other people, but she did not intend to spare words with Klaus and Hermann the next time she saw them. They would hear – at length – her feelings regarding their decision to join the Resistance.
Trembling slightly, she started pedaling for home. There was much to think about.
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Directing his men ahead, Hogan set off to find Klaus and Hermann. He eventually came upon them assisting Parker and Benson to their feet. Noticing his arrival, Klaus and Hermann wisely remained silent. Ignoring them for the moment, Hogan took stock of Parker and Benson's conditions. Both men looked disheveled and a little woozy. Nothing serious, but enough to make his Irish temper flare even hotter.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Benson muttered, still gingerly rocking his jaw where a spectacular bruise was already forming. He didn't meet Hogan's eyes, his attitude one of mild embarrassment. "It wasn't the first time I've been knocked out."
"I'll live." Parker massaged the back of his head.
"Go have O'Malley take a look at you," Hogan ordered, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. "He's in the main tunnel." He waited until they had left, then focused his attention back to Klaus and Hermann.
"Come with me."
He took a few steps then glanced back over his shoulder when he didn't hear them following.
"If this is your idea of cooperation, I'm putting a halt to this deal right now. You can't even follow a simple order. You put everyone, including yourselves, in very real danger. Play fast and loose with your own lives if you want to. But don't youEVER put my men and our operation in jeopardy again."
Hogan flicked his head toward his shoulder, indicating the empty tunnel at his back. "Your little stunt trashed whatever trust you'd built with my men. Right about now, they're probably wondering how you'll react in a real crisis. Based upon this incident with Risa, they'll probably reach the same conclusion I have – you'll put your own interests first."
His conclusion struck home. Klaus' head jerked up as if he had been slapped and a muscle in Hermann's jaw jumped.
"You're right back at square one. You've got to prove yourselves all over again - to them and to me. From this point on, you don't get any more chances."
Hogan turned and headed out again. A moment later, he heard their footsteps behind him.
A crowd had already gathered by the time they reached the tunnel system's central meeting area. Heads turned in their direction and conversation ceased as they entered the room. Hogan folded his arms and waited, giving Klaus and Hermann a chance to feel the sullen mood.
"It seems that Risa's surprise visit got Klaus and Hermann pretty worked up. Understandable, fellas. Would any of you want Klink drooling all over your sister?" Hogan let the comments and smattering of laughter die away. "We talked it over and they've agreed to behave themselves and follow orders from now on." He captured Klaus and Hermann's attention and his voice deepened to a warning growl. "Haven't you?"
They nodded. Despite their capitulation, Hogan was still angry that they had needlessly endangered his men. Letting his anger show, he directed his next comments solely at Klaus and Hermann.
"Risa's quick thinking pulled our bacon out of the fire this time. We might not be so lucky next time. The bottom line is that we know the ins and outs of this place. In most cases, we know what to expect and can usually head things off. It's impossible to think of everything, but if given the chance, we're pretty good at keeping the unexpected to a minimum. So when we tell you to do something, there's always a reason for it. From now on, either follow orders or face the consequences."
"Understood," Klaus replied. "We won't betray your trust again. You have my word."
"All right, then. We have a lot of work to do. Let's get to it."
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Hogan was in his quarters a short time later when Kinch knocked and stuck his head inside the room.
"Colonel?"
The hesitation in Kinch's voice boded bad news. A sigh slipped out before Hogan could stop it.
"What's the problem?"
Kinch stepped inside and shut the door. "It's von Rogner. He's wide awake now."
"Yeah?"
"He wants to see you."
"About?"
Kinch shrugged. "He says he'll only talk with you."
"Probably has a complaint about the sheets being wrinkled."
"Only one way to find out."
"Yeah, yeah." Hogan grabbed his jacket and cap off the bed. "Lead on, MacDuff. Let's see what he wants."
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
"I wish to assist you."
"You want to help," Hogan said slowly.
Von Rogner shifted on the cot, looking uneasy in the civilian clothes he had been given to replace his uniform. "I overheard enough of your earlier conversation to divine your intentions. I am willing to tell you whatever you wish."
"Just like that?"
"Not quite like that," von Rogner countered. "I will help you only if you will help me."
"If I had a buck for every time I heard that," Hogan said with a shake of his head. "What do you want?"
"Passage out of Germany, of course."
"Of course. Silly Me." Hogan looked sidelong at Kinch. " Hitler inspires such loyalty in his countrymen."
"I heard he won 'Mr. Popularity' three times running," Kinch commented blandly, as if discussing the weather. "But it's rumored that the whole thing was rigged."
"This is no joke for me," von Rogner snapped, jerking forward on the cot.
"And this war has been such a barrel of laughs for us," Hogan retorted, folding his arms tight against his chest. "My momma taught me never to buy a pig in a poke. So talk. Give me a sample. What's this meeting all about?"
"We are to be told once we arrive at the bunker."
"Anybody you know attending the meeting?"
Von Rogner shook his head, appearing almost apologetic about denying the information. "No more. Not until you give me your word that you will get me out of Germany."
"You'd trust my word?"
A glimmer of shrewdness stole over von Rogner's face as he glanced from Hogan to Kinch. "You strike me as an honorable man. You both do." He leaned back again with a sigh. "I just want to be left alone and to have some peace. I want a home in the country, far from people. I want a vegetable and herb garden. A few sheep, a milk cow, some ducks, and a horse." He suddenly smiled, held up a finger. "And plenty of time to read!" Hogan' eyebrow went up as the finger suddenly came to bear upon him. "You can make this happen for me."
"What, no glass shoes? Who do you think I am?" Hogan demanded. "Your fairy godfather?"
Kinch suddenly ducked his head, stifled a snort of laughter.
Hogan studied von Rogner, looking for a hint of the man behind some of Germany's more brilliant war plans.
"You sure don't talk like a great military mind."
Von Rogner bristled. "Just because I am good at what I do, does not mean that I enjoy it. You are apparently very good at what you do here, Colonel. Do you enjoy it? Do you not wish for other things? Other places? Kinder times? We do what we must to survive."
"You know," Hogan said in thoughtful voice. "I really don't have to make a deal with you."
"No, you do not," von Rogner conceded. "However, only a fool would turn down my offer." In a harder voice, he asked, "Did your mother raise a fool, Colonel?"
"Leave my mother out of this."
"Do you accept or not, Hogan?"
"I'm starting to think we're running a travel service. All right, Field Marshal. You've booked a trip to freedom. Payment to be made in information with the first installment due now. You and I are going to sit down and put our heads together. Then you're going to help Newkirk prepare Leidel to be you."
Von Rogner raised his hand in a halting gesture. "Before we begin, there is one other request that I wish to put before you, if I may."
"You change your mind about the glass shoes?" Hogan asked, flashing a fake smile.
Von Rogner plucked at the army-issue blanket. "Might I have another of these? It is really quite damp down here."
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Klaus and von Rogner walked side by side across the room, made a simultaneous turn, and walked back. Newkirk pushed his cap back and wearily rubbed his forehead.
"You still haven't got it."
Klaus' cheeks puffed in frustration. Von Rogner's slightly pigeon-toed walk and abbreviated, awkward strides were completely at odds with his own. The fake mustache was also presenting a problem. It got in the way when he talked and felt like a giant, fuzzy worm perched on his lip. When the mission was over, he intended to take it out and either burn it or shoot it. Maybe he would shoot it first – several times - and then burn it. Whatever course of action he decided upon, he would relish it.
He grimaced into the mirror Newkirk had propped against the tunnel wall. The brown dye, hair oil, mustache, and false glasses had physically transformed him into the field marshal. With Newkirk's expert tips and demonstrations and advice from von Rogner, he had quickly picked up voice inflections and mannerisms. Only the walk was giving him trouble. If distracted, he slipped back into his own natural stride and carriage. As Hermann had pointed out early in the practice session, the change was instantly noticeable and would get him killed. The real von Rogner simply didn't have Klaus' athletic grace, confidence and presence.
I can recite a fifty page document from memory word for word weeks later without the slightest trouble. But this?!
Walking slowly back across the room -- making no effort to move like von Rogner -- Klaus flopped onto a bench. Von Rogner followed and hesitantly sat beside him.
Newkirk glanced back and forth between them. "Like a pair of living, breathing bookends," he muttered. "Have no worries, Klaus. You'll get it soon enough. We've been at it steady for awhile. Maybe all you need is a bit of a break. Take a short jaunt. It might help clear the cobwebs. And while you're lollying around, see if Louis is done with Herr Field Marshal's uniform."
He reached over and tapped Hermann's chest, and received a mild look of outrage at the trespass. "It's about time for you to get into your monkey suit, too."
Newkirk looked toward the other side of the room and frowned. Benson sat with his feet propped up on the seat of a chair, dozing. Newkirk picked up a pebble and bounced it off the sole of Benson's boot, startling the man awake.
Newkirk hitched a thumb in Klaus' direction. "Klaus, here, is going to take a walk."
Benson blinked, yawned and stood.
Klaus got up and stretched, lazily rolling his head until his neck popped. He turned to leave, then paused in front of Hermann.
Are you coming?
Hermann shook his head, his hazel eyes urging caution. Klaus merely smiled at his friend's mother hen tendencies and left, Benson tagging along behind.
Ignoring his human shadow, Klaus walked through the tunnels, his eyes as downcast as his spirits. The tunnel lights spotlighted him as he passed by, patterns scuffed into the dirt and an occasional spider chasing across his field of vision. Benson continued shadowing him, every now and then warning him away from an area. Klaus went where directed, Newkirk's order echoing through his mind.
. . . see if Louis is done with Herr Field Marshal's uniform.
Klaus frowned. He wondered what kind of reception he would get from the little Frenchman. That 'shoot them and throw their bodies in the woods' suggestion was hard to forget.
As he neared a corner, his steps slowed and his head jerked up. He barely had time to identify the sound of fast footsteps before someone whipped around the corner and ran right into him. The impact was barely enough to throw him off balance, but the other person started to fall backward. His hands automatically shot out and grabbed hold of arms too fragile to be male. Surprised, he stared at the woman suspended before him.
She was small -- smaller than Risa -- and had a heart-shaped face with delicate features. Soft curls of blonde hair framed her face, accenting large, brown eyes over a pert nose. Surprise, then fear flashed across her face and he let her twist free of his grip. He made no move to stop her as she cautiously backed away.
"Herr Field Marshal! What - "
At least I managed to fool someone! Klaus silently cheered, spreading his arms wide, palms out, in an effort to allay her fear. Rather than reassuring her, the motion sent her even further away. He added a friendly grin, hoping to keep her from bolting completely.
Moving slowly, he peeled the mustache from his lip. "Thank you for boosting my flagging ego."
She stared from the mustache to his now smooth-shaven face. Her eyes widened and she hastily took another step backward.
"I know you. You are Wehrmacht!"
"Klaus Leidel," he stated formally, stuffing the mustache in his pocket and bowing as his father had taught him. Unimpressed, she kept her distance, her large brown eyes still distrustful. Having caught her French accent, he said, "You have me at a disadvantage, ma petite." The endearment earned him another frown.
"Grandmére warned me of men like you, Herr Leidel," she murmured, avoiding the question of her identity. Her eyes passed over him quickly and returned to his face. There was still a fair amount of wariness in her expression, but a generous dose of curiosity had been thrown in with it.
He carefully eased backward, allowing her an even greater cushion of distance. He heard nothing from Benson, and guessed that the other man was farther back in the tunnel, watching.
"What are you doing here?" Her soft voice held a suggestion of threat. Looking closer, he detected the bulk of a gun beneath her sweater.
"Answer me," she demanded. Her hand crept closer to the gun.
"Since you recognized me without the mustache, you know that I do not normally wear this cursed oil in my hair."
Her gaze swept over him again. "You are going to replace von Rogner?"
He nodded.
"That means that you -- "
"Are working with us."
Hogan slid out of the shadows. Benson appeared behind him, wearing a Cheshire grin.
Her gaze bounced back and forth between Klaus and Hogan. "We have much to talk about," she told Hogan in a rather dry tone.
Hogan went to her and Klaus' smile died as Hogan tucked the little blonde against his side, in a gesture both comfortable and possessive. She relaxed into the embrace and her expression as she glanced up at Hogan was easy to identify. Klaus tensed, feeling an unaccustomed bolt of jealousy.
She is in love with him! Klaus fumed. Does every woman he meets fall for him? His eyes narrowed as Hogan flashed a cocky smile at him and started leading her away.
Klaus swayed forward, caught up in watching the gentle motion of her hips as she walked. Only when they had disappeared into the darkness did he realize that he had been left behind. Not wanting to miss what was certain to be an interesting conversation; he stepped smartly to keep up.
From out of sight, Hogan's disembodied voice sharply asked, "Aren't you supposed to be getting your act down?"
Klaus stopped short, a stew of irritation and rebellion boiling within him. He took another step forward and Benson's hand clamped down upon his arm. Klaus glared at the other man, then stared into the darkened tunnel, frustrated.
I gave him my word!
Fighting off the urge to toss Benson and run after her, Klaus called into the darkness, "You didn't tell me your name!" Her voice, faint and with a hint of laughter, drifted back to him.
"C'est vrai."
Klaus remained rooted in place, smiling in spite of his frustration. Taking his arm back from Benson, Klaus asked, "What is her name?"
Benson only gave him a smug grin and said nothing.
Throttling Benson would certainly not be conducive to gaining trust.
"Very well," Klaus snarled. "Then where may I find LeBeau?"
Again, Benson said nothing. Simply pointed toward another tunnel. Klaus huffed in annoyance and after another glance in the direction Hogan had taken, moved on. The vision of the mystery woman's beguiling brown eyes floated in front of him, leading the way.
He eventually arrived at a room set up to be a small tailor shop. LeBeau stood in front of a battered mannequin wearing von Rogner's uniform, busily fussing with a sleeve. Klaus covertly glanced around for weapons and was relieved to see none close at hand.
"Is the uniform ready?"
"Awhmos'," LeBeau mumbled around a mouthful of straight pins. His fingers smoothed over a seam and tucked in some stray threads. "Em nah habbie wih thish slee. Ith na hanging rye. An the soldther ith bunthing."
Brow furrowed in concentration, Klaus slowly mouthed the garbled reply twice. Working out the translation at last, he moved closer and reached for the uniform.
"I'll carry a briefcase in that arm and the braid will adequately disguise the seam."
With deliberate slowness, LeBeau pulled the pins from his mouth and turned toward him. The indignation on his face was so fierce that Klaus almost ran for safety. In his experience, size did not always matter and the French were renowned for their fierce passion - in regard to anything. Unwilling to tempt the French temper further, he casually pulled his hand back and tipped his head toward the other side of the room.
"On second thought, I'll just wait over there."
LeBeau immediately went back to tucking and fussing, mumbling incoherently to himself while he worked.
Klaus suddenly remembered the mustache. Reluctantly, he pulled it from his pocket and patted it into place as best he could without a mirror. An itchy, crawling sensation immediately assaulted his lip and fuzziness returned to the lower edge of his vision. He clenched his fists to keep from ripping the mustache off again. LeBeau mercifully distracted him by stepping back from the uniform and proclaiming it ready.
Klaus started changing and was surprised when the Frenchman stood by to help. The courtesy was completely unexpected coming from someone who had previously wanted to put a bullet between his eyes.
The uniform melded to his body as if made for him. Klaus finished buttoning the collar and marveled at the comfortable fit. "It fits better than my own," he said with a touch of awe, running his hand down the front of the uniform.
LeBeau shrugged and reached up to expertly adjust the shoulder braid. "The material is like food. One grows familiar with it through use, learns what it is capable of, and coaxes the best from it."
He considered that, then shook his head. "Even the plainest of things become elegant when fashioned by a master's hands."
LeBeau's eyes jerked up from the medal he had been re-pinning to the field marshal's uniform. Intense brown eyes searched Klaus', then LeBeau nodded and stepped back.
"You are ready."
Klaus offered his hand. "Merci, bien."
LeBeau glanced down at the hand, then somberly accepted the gesture. "Gut Glück."
To be continued . . . once I've recovered from the bunnies' abuse.