Half an hour later, Newkirk stopped them. At first, Kinchloe thought the Englishman was just calling a break. Fifteen minutes ago, the pain in his thigh had become too much to walk on his own, and Newkirk had been supporting him. For the first while, Newkirk had told him a fantastic story about an operation in a prisoner of war camp, headed by a Colonel Hogan, that shipped escaped prisoners and downed fliers to London. When Kinchloe had inquired further, he had neatly skipped around the details, but that could have been that they were getting too tired to speak much. Or they needed to be quiet, for now Newkirk was whispering in his ear. "We're gettin' close. Can you see anythin' yet?"

Kinchloe blinked and waved a hand in front of his face, testing carefully. "No," he whispered back, disappointed.

Newkirk made a less-than-encouraging noise, and then continued. "Well, 'ere's the plan. To get into the tunnel, we'll 'ave to avoid the searchlight. The tunnel entrance is a fake stump that opens up. We can run up and hide behind that, and I'll open it up and send you down once the light 'as passed. You get to the bottom of the ladder and take one step back so I can come down after ya on the next pass. Got that?"

"I think. Can you see the searchlights now?"

"Yeah, mate."

Kinchloe sighed. "I really am blind."

"Don't worry about that just now," Newkirk said with a hand on his shoulder. "You still have time to recover it. We don't 'ave time 'owever, to wait around twiddling our thumbs 'ere anymore. You ready?"

"Ready," Kinchloe said, a little chastised.

Newkirk seemed to think nothing of it. "A'right." He shifted beside the American and gripped his arm, ready to steer him quickly and forcefully if need be.

"Wait." Kinchloe had thought of something. "What if it doesn't work?"

"Easy. We surrender, the Germans catch us, and the Colonel talks us out of it."

That was their back up plan? Getting caught? He made it sound almost like a good thing.

"'Course, we don't want to. It'll be 'ard to explain me outfit."

"What?"

"Now!"

All thought was erased from Kinchoe's mind as the pain in his leg flared up and branches whipped by his face and bad arm. It was all he could do to keep quiet and keep up. He managed not to stumble, and then he was being dragged down and pushed against something. It must be the stump. He felt breath on his ear. "Pull your leg in. The other one! Now stay still."

Kinchloe was breathing quickly, praying they wouldn't be seen as he tried to stay as still as possible. He tried to be ready, as he had no idea himself when the light would pass next. He paid close attention to the hand still on his arm, and the one that had slipped around his shoulder, ready to move him. He almost jumped when he felt a sudden increase in pressure, but realized it was just Newkirk pushing himself up to get a look over the stump. "Now, mate!"

Newkirk pulled Kinchloe up and pushed him around the stump. Kinchloe heard hinges faintly, and then Newkirk was lifting his leg, trying to place his foot on the ladder. "Over the top, 'ere. Grab the first rung." Once he found his balance and three points on the ladder, he was able to allow muscle memory to get him down. He heard the faint sound of the lid closing above him, then focused on getting down the ladder one-handed.

With a few close calls and what would result in some sore muscles to add to the wrenched ones tomorrow, he finally felt earth replace wood under his foot. He took a deep breath and got onto firm ground, taking a generous step back to give Newkirk room when he came down. He didn't turn left or right. He daren't even raise his arms from his sides. As far as he knew, the tunnel out of here could be down by his feet, and from what he knew about tunnels out of prison camps, it probably was. The blindness still got on his nerves. The world didn't even exist beyond his fingertips save for the cold, damp scent of soil and rock. And...oil?

And then he heard a voice, American, coupled with soft footsteps, coming from some distance away. It startled him, and then it was talking so fast, he couldn't get a word in.

"Olsen's already out, we're just waiting for LeBeau to make it back before we get Minsk's catch out there. Roll call's soon. I want you upstairs for a serious distraction if LeBeau doesn't make it in on... time..."

Kinchloe did his best to turn to the voice and give the appearance of looking at him. This man sounded used to giving orders. An officer? "Sergeant Kinchloe, US Army Air Force," he introduced himself.

"Where's Newkirk?"

Kinchloe pointed up just as the sound of barking echoed down. The distant sound of yelling in German and the much closer sounds of "Kamerad!" grated on Kinchloe's nerves. Those were the sounds he had been dreading since he first heard they were doing a bombing run deep into Germany. What calmed him was the sound of the American's voice and its lack of hysteria. He sounded more... annoyed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"He was going to follow me down."

"And it sounds like Bruno caught him. Come with me."

Was Bruno one of the guards? Just the name sounded cruel. And then the slight movement of air that rushed to fill the American's previous position caught Kinchloe's attention. "Wait! I can't see."

"It's brighter up here. Hurry," said the voice ahead of him.

"No, I lost my vision when I bailed."

"What?" The man cursed softly, letting Kinchloe know that he did in fact understand, before the footsteps came back. A hand on his wrist was suddenly guiding him down a long, tall passage, and he gave over his navigation to trust, hoping he wouldn't have to crawl or get slammed into any walls like Newkirk might do.

"Wait, what about Newkirk?"

"I'll handle it. He'll be fine. The question is whether LeBeau will be. Wilson, back to barracks. Minsk, I need you up now. Newkirk's been caught. We're using these two to cover."

"Kinchloe!" called a familiar voice in surprise.

He smiled. "Durant, is that you?"

"I don't look that bad, do I?"

"Niceties later," said the American, back to commanding. There was a complicated, squeaky, wooden sound. "Everyone up. Now."

"I don't know if I can manage another ladder," Kinchloe announced, not knowing whom he was addressing.

"That's right, his arm's injured," came the Russian voice of earlier. It was strange to hear it again in such a different context only half an hour later.

"Then help him. I need the numbers," said the American from slightly above him. The ladder creaked under use as Kinchloe counted two sets of feet climb it. Then warm hands were placing his hands on the rungs and he began his ascent. He heard voices above saying something about guards and dogs and bed. Oh, a bed sounded so good right now. He made it up two steps before Minsk had to push him from behind. A moment later, he felt someone grabbing for his shoulder from above.

"C'mon," urged Durant. Kinchloe allowed himself to be pulled up till he was gripping something vertical.

"Foot up," came Minsk's voice from below. Kinchloe lifted his foot, and, finding it hard to balance with no idea where the ground was, had to be caught by Durant and dragged over top of a low, horizontal bar before he felt anything beneath his feet.

"Hoffman?" That was the American again.

"Guards coming," reported Hoffman.

"Get them in the bunks," he ordered someone. "And Bricklin, take Olsen's bunk. His arm is injured."

"Yes, sir," replied another voice.

He was definitely an officer. Again, the squeaking wood noise. Then Kinchloe was steered through a room, presumably a barracks, and told to lay down as the American was asking the first man, "What about Newkirk?"

"Nothing serious."

"Any sign of LeBeau?"

"No."

"Alright, good work."

Kinchloe was put in a warm bed, turned on his side—luckily the right one—and had a blanket draped over him. He heard a slight clamor as footsteps and rustling blankets told him everyone was getting into their bunks. Then suddenly, everything inside was quiet and all that could be heard was a moment of the muffled caterwaul outside before a door opened and let in the noise and cold air. Loud German voices made him freeze.

In other circumstances, he might have questioned if he really had just been smuggled into a prisoner of war camp, but the shouts of "Raus! Line up!" left no doubt in his mind. The shock of the last hour and the fear of what was to come was beginning to blur his mind, so he never caught how the barracks was empty of guards a minute later without ever hearing anyone line up. He just remembered a sleepy, protesting, convincing American voice, displeased German voices, and even more barking outside. Then, there were footsteps, the door opening to the wind, and more yelling, before the barracks was suddenly quiet. Moments later, Hoffman's voice brought him back.

"Clear."

There was a shuffling in the barracks. Obviously, no one was asleep. "What's happening, Hoffman?" asked a British voice. Apparently, Hoffman was the lookout. Kinchloe hadn't even heard him sneak back to the door.

"The kommandant is scolding Newkirk. The Colonel's talking to him. Guards are getting the dogs in order."

He didn't have anything more to say, and there were some murmurs in the barracks, but then Kinchloe heard someone land on the wooden floor and his blanket was being pulled off. "Are you alright?" asked Durant.

"Yeah, how are our new fliers?" asked a voice above him.

"Fine," Kinchloe said. "I just... lost my vision. It should be temporary."

Durant's reply was cut short by Hoffman. "They're headed into the kommandantur." A moment later, the dogs broke out in another frenzy of barking.

"What's that?" Kinchloe asked, trying to get some idea of the safety of their current position. Hoffman answered him.

"That would be the diversion. Good old LeBeau."

"What? Are they okay?"

"Yeah they'll be fine. Maybe some cooler time. Hogan usually doesn't let it go beyond that."

He got affirmations all around the barracks at that. They listened a little longer in silence to the barking and shouting.

"Are you sure?" Kinchloe asked.

"Yeah."

After a moment, Durant spoke quietly to him. "So what happened? All I could do was get out of the nose and to the bombay once I saw we were headed down."

"I tried to get in contact with London, but couldn't. Then I heard someone over the short wave asking who was being shot down. I think it was the man that just got caught outside. I told him where we were, and then bailed out with Johnson. I don't know where he went, though. I passed out halfway to the ground. But he told me Banner was gone. That's why we had such trouble. Our tail was gone."

"Banner," he whispered. He was silent for a moment, out of respect. Then he asked, "Are you okay at least? Besides that head wound?"

"Yeah. I can't see, and I think my arm's broken, but otherwise, yeah. You?"

"Perfectly fine." He didn't sound overly happy at the thought, but Kinchloe was glad.

In the lull, through the alarming sounds outside and the small conversation in the barracks, Kinchloe heard another noise. "Wait. Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked both Durant and Hoffman.

"Listen."

The knocking didn't get any louder, but the barracks quieted. "Let him in," someone said. Two whacks and the squeaky noise announced what Kinchloe now assumed was the tunnel being opened. He heard a muffled stream of words in yet another accent before the tunnel was closed again without anyone coming up.

"That'd be LeBeau."

There was a very quiet cheer throughout the barracks. Kinchloe guessed being quiet was something one got good at in this sort of place.

"The Colonel's checking the window," said Hoffman. "Who's going out for a smoke?"

A smoke? thought Kinchloe.

"I will," came a new voice.

"Thanks, Cochran," said someone else.

"Someone got a light?" he asked.

Several people complied, and then the door opened and closed again.

A few seconds later, Hoffman announced, "He got the message. And luck is with us tonight."

Kinchloe only had a moment to think what a misnomer that seemed to him before the door opened. He heard high fives and congratulations. Apparently no one had seen Cochran outside of the barracks. Someone shushed them immediately. It was Minsk.

"Shh. All we have to do is keep the guards from checking in here. No more noise. Everyone to bed."

There was a murmur of reluctant agreement all around. As people got back into their bunks, Kinchloe heard Minsk, much closer.

"As soon as LeBeau gets up here, you're going down." He felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. What was your name again?"

"Kinchloe."

"Right. Kinchloe, we'll get Wilson to see you once things have quieted down. Durant, you're standing in for Olsen up here."

"Why can't I go down too?" he protested. "Wouldn't it be easier to hide me if I were out of sight?"

"Our barracks guard looks at numbers, not faces. And it's easier to smuggle food for one person out of the mess hall than two."

The tunnel opened again.

"That's your cue," said Minsk. "Hey, Hoffman. Is it clear?"

"Yeah. The Colonel must be having trouble getting Newkirk out. But you better be quick, before they decide to really check the barracks."

"That won't be a problem," said a French accent. "I let a mouse loose by the dogs. A few of them got out. They won't be checking the barracks until roll call."

"Good. Let's get you up," said Minsk, helping Kinchloe to stand.

Through the lightheadedness, Kinchloe asked, "Another ladder?"

"Yes. But not so fast this time," Minsk reassured him. It didn't help much. The conversation continued as Kinchloe was ushered across the room and back down the ladder.

"Is this our three hundredth escapee?" the Frenchman asked.

"Three hundred and first," corrected Minsk. "Sergeant Kinchloe."

"Nice to meet you. I'm LeBeau." Kinchloe got the vague sense he was holding out his hand. Minsk came to his rescue.

"He can't see. Must have hit his head. Help me get him down the ladder?"

"Oui." Then he addressed Kinchloe again. "I'm sorry about that, mon ami. Hopefully you'll be able to see soon."

"Hopefully. I'm sorry about your Englishman."

"What Englishman? Newkirk?"

"He got caught outside the wire bringing him in," Minsk informed LeBeau. "Colonel's trying to get him out of it now."

"That's what all the fuss was," LeBeau said to himself.

"I'm sorry," Kinchloe apologized. He didn't know what the punishment might be, but his imagination was not furnishing him with many pleasant options.

"Don't be. That—" Kinchloe's French didn't have much, but it didn't need much to know that was not a compliment. "—brought it on himself. I'm only sorry we couldn't find more of your crew."

"Did you bring anyone in?" asked Minsk.

LeBeau must have shaken his head. "Couldn't find a one."

Kinchloe let out a sigh that could possibly be attributed to his finally reaching the ground at the bottom of the ladder.

"I'll get him set up," LeBeau offered. "You go back up."

"Alright, but be quick," Minsk's voice cautioned.

The tunnel entrance closed again, and Kinchloe felt a hand take his elbow and another press into his back to guide him. The hands were so low, though. How short was this man? Kinchloe tactfully decided not to mention it.

"How big was your crew?" LeBeau asked as he had Kinchloe sit on something that felt like a cot.

"Ten. We were in a B-17."

"Ten? And we only found two of you? That's a new low. Did you see how many bailed out?"

"I only saw two people bail out before me."

"Hmmm. We will keep an eye out for the others. Here. Let me wash that forehead off."

That was all the warning Kinchloe had before a shockingly cold washcloth was dabbed against his face. He jerked involuntarily.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It's cold."

"Ah, sorry. We may have plumbing down here, but no water heater. I'll be careful."

Kinchloe wasn't sure if that was a joke, but didn't mention it. The washcloth returned, and he was more ready for it. LeBeau finished his job quickly, and the cool water felt good on the cut. Kinchloe closed his eyes and waited. "Now you'll have to wait here. It may be awhile, especially if Klink makes a speech at roll call. He probably will after Newkirk got caught. We'll get Wilson down right afterwards, though. And don't worry about anyone in the tunnels. If they are down here, you can trust them."

"Okay."

"You don't say much, do you?"

Kinchloe thought that was a funny question. "Not usually."

"Most people ask all sorts of questions coming in here. You should have more since you can't see, but you don't."

"I'm still curious."

"Well we can't tell you everything—we are trying to keep this a secret—but I can fill you in more later so you know what's going on."

"Thanks."

"LeBeau!" Minsk hissed.

Kinchloe thought he just caught a murmured "worrywart" before LeBeau bid him goodbye and the ladder closed one more time. Then it was silent.

It was very silent. Since this was a dirt, not a rock tunnel, there was no sound of water dripping. No echoes. He wasn't even sure he could hear anything in the barracks above. It could also be that it was quiet up there, of course. Kinchloe determined how big the cot was, and gently laid down. Then he carefully felt out where the breaks were while he thought of what all had happened.

He was under a prisoner of war camp because he'd been shot down in Germany and the prisoners called him on a radio and came out to find him. They found Durant too, but no one else, and Durant was upstairs replacing one of the prisoners who was presumably out. His escort had been caught outside the wire by one Bruno. He hoped he was okay. He liked the Englishman, even if he wasn't the most gentle when it came to navigating the woods. If he was from London, that would make sense. He was probably better in a cityscape. And this mysterious Colonel Hogan, whom he thought he may have met, was trying to get Newkirk out of punishment. Now he was waiting in a spacious escape tunnel for Wilson, whom he assumed to be a medic. And Newkirk had said they would be getting him home. He hoped that was true.

The cot felt wonderful, and he drifted between worrying for his crew and Newkirk, wondering if he would be able to see again, and sleeping.

A/N: And unfortunately, that's the last we'll see of Newkirk for some time. Hope everyone (every American) had a good Thanksgiving!