That evening, Durant left. Minsk came down with him to say goodbye to Kinchloe just before roll call. Kinchloe was busy tapping out coordinates with his finger when he heard the ladder. He waited for someone to speak.

Durant's voice came from the approximate location of the ladder. "Hey, Kinchloe."

"Hey."

The footsteps stopped in front of him.

"You feeling okay?"

"Better."

"Good." He exhaled. "Looks like I'm headed out."

"Right. And I'll be following soon."

"If you get your sight back."

"Yep."

"I'll be praying for you."

Kinchloe nodded. "Thanks, Durant. Hey, if you can get a letter through once you're back?" he asked.

Minsk, not-very-subtlely listening, caught him quickly. "Hey. No loose talk. Nothing about this operation at all. Be as vague as you have to. This is top secret."

By now they were both used to his over-cautious attitude, though he did have justification for it. "Alright, serzhant," reassured Durant.

"Good. I'm going upstairs. Be up in two minutes." It was difficult to hear his footsteps on the packed dirt floor.

"I'll tell your mama," Durant said.

"Do you know my address?" asked Kinchloe.

"'Course. I've seen you writing letters."

That's right. He had a head for numbers. That's why he was their navigator. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. I'll see you soon, okay? Hopefully in London before we get reassigned."

"Yeah." Kinchloe paused, thinking. With their plane and half their crew out of action, they probably would be reassigned, and he didn't know where that would put him or the rest of the crew. But that was assuming they made it out of Germany. "Don't— don't get caught."

"No intention. Don't worry about me. You've got enough here to worry about. If I don't see you sooner, I'll visit your place after the war, okay?"

"Alright."

"Godspeed, Kinchloe. Pleasure flying with you." Durant shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder.

"Godspeed."

Soon, the silent dark grew boring. He tried to listen for a sign of what was happening above, but nothing filtered down to the tunnels very well. It was like the world didn't exist. He couldn't see it. He couldn't hear it. He didn't have to be bothered by it. He settled into a familiar, if not quite as comfortable as usual, haziness. Usually this fog only happened in his head. Now it was around him.

~~HH~~

It wasn't long before lights out came, and with it, three people from the barracks. Or at least three voices he could identify. Hogan, LeBeau, and Minsk were down here, in some order.

"How are you doing, sergeant?" the colonel asked him.

"Fine, sir."

He heard LeBeau in the background. "Our blacks don't need to be tailored!"

"But that thread could get caught!" Minsk argued.

"Good," replied Hogan, ignoring the other two. "We're making a search. I'm afraid it's the last one. If we don't find your crewmember tonight, we'll just have to assume the worst. Wish us luck."

Kinchloe understood the need to save energy and resources, though it made him feel sick to his stomach, which likely caused his next words to come out rather sarcastically. "All the luck I've got," he said.

"Hm. Sounds like Newkirk," LeBeau mused.

"Let's get going. We don't have too much time for the space we're covering," Minsk reminded.

"We're going, we're going," complained LeBeau lightly.

In another minute, they had left down the passage.

Kinchloe lay down and stretched his leg slightly, judging how much better it had gotten. It was surprisingly well, as if his body were making up for its lack in the eye-healing department by stepping it up in the muscle-healing department. He sighed quietly and eventually fell asleep.

~~HH~~

Later that night—he wasn't sure how long it had been—Kinchloe woke to the sound of voices. He rolled himself up so he was sitting on his cot, just as the voices reached him.

"Guess who we found!"

He was a little unprepared to guess, and in any case, it came out too fast for him to have to guess.

"Hey, Kinchloe." It was Johnson, voice rough but glad. Thank the Lord, they found him.

"Johnson! Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just hungry. And scared out of my wits." The prisoners, though Kinch hardly felt that term was applicable, were busy doing he-wasn't-sure-what around him, but it sounded as if they had a lot more down here than a radio. He felt a weight drop onto the cot next to him. "Are you alright? And what are you doing here? What is this place doing here?"

"Well," Kinchloe smiled. "It is a long story."

"I've got all the time these people will give me. I guess they want me out as soon as possible. What a welcome, huh?"

"They got Durant out quick—you just missed him—but they've been having trouble getting rid of me."

"Oui," LeBeau said. "We would have gotten him out yesterday if we could. We need to get everyone we can back on the right side of the enemy lines. Here's some water."

Kinchloe heard sloshing as Johnson took a drink and returned the container, thanking LeBeau.

"So why haven't you gotten out of this miraculous little hole?"

"The big problem's my sight. I lost it when I bailed. Their medic says it should be back soon, and then I'll be—"

"Wait— You can't see?" Kinchloe shook his head. "I'm sorry about that."

"Not much use for it in this hole anyway, right?"

"Right... It'll come back?"

"That's the idea."

"Well good luck. I'm glad to see you're okay. Mostly." He paused, and Kinchloe could feel the apprehension. His volume dropped, and he hesitantly asked, "Who else...?"

Kinchloe tallied in his head. "So... we're all accounted for now. Banner was before we went down. Durant and I, and now you, were picked up by this operation. Some other spies found Bailey. He's okay. He's heading back to London now. The rest of them were captured. I don't know if they were hurt." He left unsaid whether they might have been hurt before or after their capture.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably as they had a sort of informal moment of silence, or perhaps it was just letting the truth sink in. Kinchloe heard the squeak of the ladder and someone ascending it. Johnson's voice was weary when he spoke again.

"Half isn't too bad for being shot down over Germany."

Kinchloe hummed in agreement. "Thanks for helping me bail."

"Yeah," Johnson said absently. It wasn't anything very special. Just the sort of thing you did for your crewmates.

They ran out of things to say just as Minsk came over. It sounded like he was the last one down here. "Time to get you up top. We're one man short if we get a bed check."

"Bed check? I'm going to be in the barracks?"

Kinchloe put his hand approximately on Johnson's knee. "They've got it. Don't worry."

"...Okay. If you say so."

"Come on," urged Minsk. "You're sleeping upstairs. Hopefully you'll look a little less tired when roll call comes around."

Johnson, who was getting off the cot sat back down in surprise. "Roll call? Are you sure, Kinchloe?"

He nodded toward Johnson's voice. "It worked yesterday."

"And for the last several months," Minsk added. "Are you coming or not?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I'm coming." He hesitated, then got off the bed. "I'm coming."

"Good. We'll brief you in the morning. We'll be up before the guards."

"Yeah, okay. Hey, see you, Kinchloe. Looks like I've got the first class accomodations."

"Looks like it."

"Goodnight." The ladder creaked.

"Goodnight."

"Do you need anything right now?" Minsk asked.

"Oh." Minsk was talking to him. "No. But thanks."

"Sure."

Kinchloe listened to them climb the ladder and then heard the ladder hit the ceiling. Or the floor, really. He listened to the quiet for a moment, and smelled the now-comforting scent of heavy earth around him.

Johnson was here. He was found, he was okay, and he was leaving. Things moved fast around here. He might have to pick up the pace to keep up.