Colonel Hogan swiftly crossed the small room, his eyes locked on the kid, pulling him into a fierce bear hug. The younger man returned the embrace just as tightly, burying his face momentarily in his father's shoulder. For a long moment they stood that way, and awed silence reigned in the tunnel, till the colonel broke away, though only far enough to be able to look his son up and down, both hands still gripping the young man's shoulders.

"You're all right? Not hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Really," the younger man responded, clearly a bit dazed by the reunion.

Hogan nodded, then visibly marshaled himself to turn and look at the rest of the men crowding the radio room, who were to a man all staring at him, slack-jawed. Slinging his right arm around the younger man's shoulders, he said to his own crew, "Fellas, meet my son, Second Lieutenant Robert Theodore Hogan."

Kinch gathered himself to respond, since obviously everyone else was too shell-shocked to say anything. "We're pleased to meet you, Lieutenant—though the circumstances aren't the best."

"Could've been a lot worse," the younger Hogan managed to answer, which provoked a series of nods from everyone, breaking the tableau that had gripped the other eight men.

"Any crash everyone walks away from is a good one," the colonel replied, rallying enough to drop his grip on his son after one further tight squeeze and turn to the captain that commanded the Marauder crew. "Carter said you got them all? You were flying with a complement of six, not seven?"

The captain nodded. "Our usual configuration for our Lucky Strike. Just as well, given how this mission turned out."

Hogan nodded and offered his hand. "Colonel Robert E. Hogan," he introduced himself.

"Captain Richard Luck, sir," the other officer replied, gripping strongly.

"And damn well named," muttered the short sergeant that had come in with him.

The captain glanced at him with a look composed of equal parts amusement and affection, with a slight dash of irritation. "And the rest of my crew: our bombardier/navigator Lieutenant Smoot; our three gunners, Sergeants Burgin, Toft, and of course Watts, who likes to provide commentary." He eyed the colonel and added with a slightly sardonic tone, "And you appear to know my copilot pretty well, sir."

Colonel Hogan's eyes returned to Lieutenant Hogan, who bit his lip and looked downwards. "Yes, well, I had a big head start on that—but it's been quite a while since we've seen each other."

"Nearly four years," the lieutenant answered as he looked back up at his father.

Kinch frowned. The lieutenant's voice had an unexpected slight edge to it.

The colonel's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't pursue the point. Crossing his arms loosely around his chest, he switched topics. "Time for me to introduce my crew here. You've met Sergeant Carter and Corporal Newkirk," he nodded at each of them, "and Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal LeBeau make up the rest of the core team. You may see some others over the next few days, helping out as we get you ready to head back to England."

Hope broke across most of the faces of the Marauder crew like morning sun coming from behind clouds, followed by a swift hubbub of reaction. "Back to England?!" "We're goin' back home?!"

Their captain, though, raised his eyebrows. "You can get us—all six of us—back to England—all the way through Nazi Germany and across the Channel, sir?" He either couldn't or wasn't even bothering to try to disguise the skepticism in his voice.

"Oh sure, we do it all the time," Carter put in, a smile on his face. "Papers, IDs, civilian clothes, we make everything you need."

"Oui," LeBeau added in support. "Le colonel started our 'travelers' aid society.'"

"I thought you were in a prison camp." Lieutenant Hogan hadn't shifted his gaze from his father.

"Can you think of a better cover for an outfit to help downed fliers and escaped POWs?" the colonel returned, a slight smile on his lips though it didn't travel as far as his eyes. "We'll get the ball rolling tomorrow morning after roll call, interviewing you for the best fit for identification papers and getting measurements for civilian outfits." He glanced around at the Marauder crew. "We've got bunks down here, and LeBeau will see to it you get meals, so you'll be relatively comfortable." He paused for a moment, then added, "You'll all stay down here; no going up top."

Carter and LeBeau looked at him in surprise: it was normal procedure to let airmen staying several days go up one by one and get some fresh air in the compound, since they could blend in easily enough with the rest of the prisoner population. But Kinch and Newkirk nodded slightly when the colonel's eyes swept over the four of them in a firm look that was easily enough understood, so none of them protested the unusual order.

"You fellas are probably all dead tired at the moment," Hogan continued, looking back at their guests. "LeBeau, can you get them some chow, and Carter, help him bring it down. Newkirk will get some blankets organized and show you where you can sleep," he added.

"Oui, colonel. We'll be back . . . in a jiffy," LeBeau responded, looking at Carter with raised eyebrows, who grinned in affirmation. As they climbed up the ladder, Carter could be heard saying, "See, I told you that 'jiffy' would be a useful word to know. . . ."

As Newkirk disappeared into the alcove that served as sleeping quarters for rescued airmen, Hogan looked around at their guests and inquired, "Are any of you hurt at all? We can get our medic down here if you caught any flak on the way down or landed badly."

All six looked each other over, then shook their heads. "Thanks for the offer, but looks like we don't," Captain Luck answered for all of them.

"Livin' up to the team name again," Watts couldn't resist quipping.

Luck ignored him, simply saying, "But some grub and some sleep does sound like a good idea."

LeBeau and Carter clattered back down the ladder just then, carefully handing off a couple of covered pots they were balancing between them. LeBeau then called softly up the ladder, "Ready, Greenberg!" and a loaf of bread wrapped in a handkerchief dropped into his arms followed by a similarly wrapped cheese. Carter had set the pots down on a wood box that served as a rough side table and was pulling out some tin bowls from inside another; LeBeau joined him and soon had bowls of soup with a small ration of bread and cheese sliced for each of the visitors.

Their guests appreciatively dug into the provisions as LeBeau poured cups of ersatz coffee for them and Carter handed them around.

Toft raised his cup to his lips and nearly choked at the first sip. "I thought that was coffee!"

"Ersatz coffee—mostly chicory root this time, I think." LeBeau shrugged. "Be grateful: it's hot and you don't have to worry about it keeping you up. Besides, last month what we got was mostly beet root; the chicory is much better."

Toft looked dubious, an expression echoed by Watts, but after getting a stern glance from Captain Luck, they both swallowed the hot liquid down, trying not to grimace. The others followed suit, though clearly the soup, bread, and cheese went down more easily.

As they were finishing up their food, Newkirk came back from the tunnel alcove usually used as a below-ground barracks when they were processing escapees and air crews. "This way, gents! I've got your beds all set for you 'ere at our four-star 'otel," he said cheerily. "I've turned your covers back but I'm afraid we're out of chocolates to put on your pillows. Also, we're out of pillows. I can't say as you'll 'ave much view, but you don't 'ave to worry about the morning sun waking you."

"Everybody should turn in," Hogan advised as LeBeau and Carter gathered up the remains of the meal. "We'll have quite a lot to do in the morning to start getting all of you ready to go." He looked over at his son and his voice softened. "We'll find some time to get caught up tomorrow, Bobby."

Lieutenant Hogan met his eyes briefly, then glanced away, apparently embarrassed. "Sure, if you have the time," he said with a slight shrug.

The colonel's face tightened slightly, but he answered gently, "There'll be time." He gestured for Newkirk to go ahead and get the visitors settled, then said to Captain Luck, "Let us know if there's anything you and your men need. We'll be back down in the morning with breakfast for you and we'll get started on getting you all ready to ship out."

The captain nodded his understanding and followed his men and Newkirk into the alcove.

Hogan turned to Kinch. "Ready to close up for the night?"

"Sure, Colonel." Kinch began going through the shutting down routine as LeBeau and Carter started up the ladder, carrying the used pots and bowls for cleaning. Once they were up, Newkirk came out from the alcove, and Hogan signaled him to head upstairs as well. The colonel climbed the ladder after him, then Kinch blew out the oil lamps, leaving just the electric lamp near the radio table lit so the men below weren't left in total darkness, and followed the others up the ladder.

Once up top, LeBeau and Carter put the dishes in the sink of the darkened barracks, trying not to clink them together too much. Kinch followed the colonel across the room, hesitating by his own bunk until Hogan waved a silent goodnight and headed into his quarters, closing the door behind him. Newkirk paused by his bunk, Carter nearly bumping into him. Newkirk glanced over at LeBeau, then Kinch, raising his eyebrows, barely visible in the dim light from the open stove door. Kinch shook his head and pointed at their bunks. Whatever conversation they might have about the night's revelation was going to have to wait. LeBeau and Newkirk traded glances again, then Newkirk pulled off his jacket and turtleneck and drew his nightshirt out from under his blanket, shrugging it on while the others stripped down to their long underwear. Finally, they all climbed wearily into their bunks.

But only Kinch, lying on his bunk just outside the colonel's door, could hear the pacing on the other side. It wasn't an unusual sound: Kinch was well accustomed to hearing Colonel Hogan wearing out shoe leather when working out a plan for a mission. But tonight the cadence of his footsteps sounded different—aimless, not driven.

ooOoo