Carter was running. As fast as he could go, his lungs bursting from his chest, and the tiger tank was gaining on him. Something so big and lumbering shouldn't have had that much speed and agility. The row of shark-like teeth and the clawed-talons on the outstretched gun barrels were hardly regulation either, but he didn't find it prudent to slow down and point it out. No, running was best, and Carter felt like he had been doing it for days.
He was exhausted and starving, dying of thirst, and his legs hurt. One, oddly enough, more than the other. In fact, if he really stopped to think about it, it was his right leg that was hurting specifically. Must have been that old bombing injury acting up, Carter told himself.
Wait. Bombing injury?
"It's alright, Andrew. Calm down. I'm back now."
The phrase reached Carter's ears and instantly the tank disappeared. The source of panic and fear left him and Carter relaxed, opening his eyes.
Above him he saw familiar sturdy wooden beams, joining in a V. Insulation made of old newspapers and dried clay, filled the panels of the ceiling between the beams. Carter could make out an old advertisement for a woman's underthings, on a corner of newspaper that escaped the shellacking.
"Kinch?" He asked, able to hide most of the panic in his voice.
"Right here." The voice said again and Sergeant Andrew Carter raised his head up to see Kinch's forehead, then shoulders appear over the lip of the edge of the floor, one hand carrying a small, cast iron pot billowing steam. "You're making enough noise to wake the dead rollin' around up here, what were you doin?"
"Runnin'" Carter explained, a little exasperated. That's all he had been doing since the explosion.
Kinch carefully climbed the rest of the way into the narrow loft and crouched so that he could get to his buddy without beaning himself on the head, a talent that had taken time to develop. "What were you runnin' from this time?"
"It was a tiger tank," Carter explained, working his elbows under him and his back off the thin mattress laid against the floorboards. He was starving, per usual, and vaguely recalled Kinch promising soup for their next meal. "But only this one was really fast, and had shark teeth and claws!"
"Shark teeth, huh?" Once Carter had raised himself up far enough Kinch slid past him, wedging his muscular frame into the space between Carter's back and the wall. Letting Carter lean back against his shoulder Kinch produced a tin, telescoping cup and handed it to the smaller man, then pulled out his own. "When we get back I think we oughta limit how much time you're allowed to spend reading those encyclopedias."
The cups were contraptions that had been handed to Andrew's unit by the US Army the day they were equipped in London, and not a man amongst them had ever thought they would be used. Except for Carter. Carter loved them. He thought the design was ingenious, and happily spent a day collecting and stowing every one of the things that he could get his hands on.
When he was captured by the German Luftwaffe he'd still had three or four secreted away on his person in their collapsed position. After joining the group at Stalag 13 he'd made sure to carry at least two with him on every mission. The other men, Newkirk chief among them, had regularly mocked him for this practice but he'd done his best to ignore them, knowing that some day the silly things would come in handy.
Since Carter's fever broke four days ago the cups had been the most valuable tools he and Kinchloe had.
Taking turns, each man dipped his cup into the steaming pot, licking the outsides to catch the precious drips of broth before slowly consuming what little food was left. The ladies always ate first, something that both sergeants insisted on.
"How far did'ya go today?" Carter asked, after a few moments of appreciative silence.
Behind him Kinch sighed, feeling the first few swallows of soup hit his empty belly. "About fifteen miles before we saw troop movements and decided to turn back."
"SS?"
Kinch nodded as he drank another gulp of broth then said, "Probably still hopin' to catch the rest of us."
"Bad enough they got the colonel."
"Yeah I know…"
"Why do they have to be so greedy? Why can't they just be satisfied and move on?" Carter griped angrily.
After the first servings were gone, meager as they were, both men drank heavily from their canteens, taking on as much water as they could before scraping the pot. There wouldn't be another meal until the following night.
One Bavarian veterinarian had graciously taken in the two American escapees and the seven novices. In a country already suffering from deprivation, taking on nine mouths to feed would have been unthinkable to most, but Dr. Felix Bruninger was the exception.
True to Liesel's word the doctor was compassionate and giving, professing a faith in Christianity, and a life philosophy that allowed him to do no harm to his fellow man. As Carter had said, after first meeting the doctor, "He's a good sorta joe."
He was also, as it turned out, Liesel's uncle. The freckle faced fifteen-year-old who had helped them hide from the Gestapo, had immediately volunteered her Uncle's services when she finally understood what it was that Kinch was requesting.
The long hours and days that followed their arrival on the farm had been nightmarish for all of them, feeling more like a month than a week. Finding food, avoiding patrols, keeping the girls occupied and united despite their fears, and most of all, keeping Carter alive, had meant one unending task after another. Now that they were past it Kinch could hardly believe they'd survived it.
"Found something that might work with that transmitter though. Thought we could take a look at it, maybe go for another walk in a bit." Kinch offered carefully, watching the back of Carter's head, and wincing at the silence that stretched between them.
The injury to Carter's leg had been severe. Less than an hour after the unexpected explosion he had lost a dangerous amount of blood, and the trip to Bruninger's farm had been excruciating for the young NCO. Carried much of the way over Kinchloe's shoulder, Andrew had begged endlessly for Kinch to stop and leave him by the side of the road.
For three days Carter had been immobile and semi-conscious, gripped hard by fever and endless night terrors. In every one of those terrors he was running, desperately trying to get away. He'd kicked his blankets off, and his wound open, more times than Kinch could count.
His first relatively peaceful night was a God send.
"Carter, Dr. Bruninger said the walks will help you heal. The last one wasn't so bad, and I need you on your feet if we're going to get back to the Stalag."
"Why can't we use the truck, like you've been doin'?"
"The two of us drivin' through Germany in a farm truck? That's not going to draw attention?"
Carter was quiet for a bit, playing with the tattered edge of the hole in his pant leg. "Who wants to go back to Stalag 13 anyway?"
"Carter!" Kinch reprimanded, his voice quiet if surprised. "Where else are we gonna go? Home? Become deserters?"
"No…no I meant…well I meant that we should be goin' after Colonel Hogan. Not messin' around with Klink and them."
Kinch sighed and reached his hand up to knock forward the cracked leather cap on Carter's head. When the bill fell forward and smacked into his nose Carter smirked and snorted softly, then gathered his reserves and slowly began to rotate until his back rested against the wall next to Kinch. His leg was painful to move, but not as bad as it had been.
"Even if we can get that radio transmitter working…" Kinch shook his head. "Colonel Hogan said no radio contact except for emergencies before we left. LeBeau and Newkirk have been holdin' down the fort alone now for a week, assumin' Colonel Hogan didn't escape and make it back to them. Who knows what's happened in that time."
Carter watched his fellow sergeant as he trailed off, not willing to think the worst, but also aware of how much more likely the worst was. He ducked his chin to his chest and thought about it for a minute before he said, "Well…we had it pretty bad didn't we?"
Kinch coughed and laughed at the same time, not dignifying the comment with an answer, though Carter caught the edge of a smile.
"And…and we're still here…" Andrew offered, finishing the thought. After a moment Kinch turned his head to look at him, a bewildered smile on his face.
"The always positive Andrew Carter…I don't know what I would'a done without you."
The embarrassed smile creased Carter's face, and he quietly said, "Thanks, Kinch." Causing the bigger man to chuckle.
"You're somethin' else, Carter."
Carter took a breath to respond but was cut off when the bell mounted on the barn door below started to jingle. Part of an alarm system they had hooked up after the first patrol came by the farm to look for escaped prisoners, the bell meant that someone was coming down the long farm lane, and they needed to douse lights and hide in the hay loft, fast.
Carter gritted his teeth and swung his legs back out of the way as Kinch scrambled for the ladder, skirting down it quickly and grabbing the lantern by the door. He'd extinguished the flame and set the lantern high out of sight before the bell stopped ringing.
Finding the ladder again in the darkness was a fun trick that he finally managed after knocking over a pitchfork and upsetting a small hay stack.
Carter had crawled to the end of the loft to punch open the hay elevator doors, letting in a little moonlight and giving them a view of the farmhouse and the pair of headlights approaching the building. "Looks like a troop truck." Carter whispered.
Over the treetops of a small orchard Kinch and Carter could just make out the roof of the machine shop and garage, and the dark, taut canvas of a military vehicle. An armed guard stood near the back of the truck, staring out at the empty fields, and Kinch could see another soldier sitting behind the wheel of the truck.
"Look at the driver, Andrew, he seems kinda squirrely."
"Yeah, nervous." Carter agreed, then spotted an officer striding through the gap between the machine shop and the house. "Oh geeze!" Without explanation Carter snapped the doors shut again and lay still, shushing Kinch loudly when the man questioned his actions.
"Carter…!"
"Kinch!" Carter hissed, his voice squeaking despite his efforts to be as quiet as possible. "That's a general out there!"
"What!?"
"With all kindsa fancy metals, and gold braid. A real, honest to God, general!"
"In a troop truck!?" Kinch demanded, then reached over Carter's form to shove the doors back open again. "I don't see a general."
Carter raised his head just high enough to see over the lip of the door frame, then ducked back down. "Then he musta gone into the house, but I swear, Kinch-"
"Shh, there's Liesel!"
Carter gave Kinch a look of desperate alarm. "She's outta the house?"
"Yeah, comin' across the fields." Kinch said through gritted teeth, suddenly vicious. "With a Kraut."
"A WHAT!?"
"Come on, Andrew. Ready or not, we gotta go." Kinch urged, grabbing what few belongings they had come in with and backing toward the ladder. He vaguely remembered where that pitchfork was, and could probably get the drop on the German soldier before he could get his gun aimed in the right direction.
What he was going to do with Liesel, Kinchloe didn't know, but he tried to hope that she was leading the Kraut into a trap, and not leading the German to their hiding place.
Carter was slowly making his way down the ladder one rung at a time, moving as quietly as he could. Kinch kept his ear on Andrew and his eye on the door, picking a good spot to jump the German from once the door opened.
"Je ne sais pas comment vous remercier, Mademoiselle. Vous avez sauve la vie."
"French?" Kinch couldn't help but mutter. The voice coming through the barn door was familiar, and chatting to Liesel in amiable Parisian French.
Liesel responded easily, "Ils sont de bons hommes. Ce fut un honneur."
Before the Kraut could open the door, Kinch did it for him, staring in wonder and delight at the smallest German corporal he'd ever seen.
LeBeau gave him a look of surprised shock, that became a joyful smile a second later. "Kinchloe! You made it, mon amie!"
"Hey, is that Louie!?" Carter shouted and Kinch grinned and went after Andrew, helping him walk to the door.
"Andrew!" LeBeau said, grinning ear to ear. "We were worried sick about the both of you. You couldn't have found a more obvious place to hide?"
"Next time we'll put up a flag." Kinch said with dry sarcasm. "Was that Newkirk dressed up like a general?"
"Oui, it was his idea. And a long story. We have to get back to the truck and camp, quickly, but I can tell you all about it on the way."
The men moved without needing further encouragement, LeBeau on one side and Kinch on the other, helping Carter over the rough ground.
"What about Colonel Hogan?" Carter asked, grinning. "Is he the one dressed as a guard?"
The look LeBeau gave them caught Kinch off guard, but it slowed Carter down to a halt. "Colonel Hogan's not with ya?" Carter demanded, drawing away from the other two.
"Non, Carter…" LeBeau said, looking apologetically to Kinch. "He was captured by the Gestapo…they…took him to Berlin."
A disbelieving, "What!?" Came from both sergeants at the same time.
"There is a lot I have to tell you, but we have to get back to camp before morning roll call!"
"No way!"
"Carter…" Kinch groaned. There wasn't time for this again.
"What's the point in gettin' ourselves locked up again if Colonel Hogan is out there needing our help!?" Carter snapped back, stubbornly taking an awkward limp back toward the barn.
"Because the underground has pulled together to make this rescue happen. Because without their help there is nothing we can do for Colonel Hogan!" Louis whispered back harshly. "We have to go! Vite!"
Carter didn't like it, but he complied retracing his steps until he could lean on Kinch and LeBeau.
"Took your bloody time about it.." Newkirk muttered anxiously as they passed him. The well dressed Englander ran ahead to tell the others in the back of the truck to make room for three more and they quickly passed Carter over the tailgate. Kinch followed, turning to hold his hand out to Liesel.
The girl stepped back and shook her head. "No, I….Monsiuer…" She said, abruptly addressing herself to LeBeau. "Je vais rester ici. Avec mon oncle. Donner les filles a leurs familes."
LeBeau nodded, and affirmed, "Tres bien, Mademoiselle. Bon chance!" He climbed into the back of the truck just as Newkirk climbed into the front, and a moment later the engine started and the truck began to rumble back toward the road.
"What'd she say?" Kinch demanded over the noise.
"She wished to stay with her uncle." Louis translated, then looked to the group of bleary eyed, blanket wrapped girls trying to get comfortable in the back of the truck. "For them…we are now storks."
"Storks!?"