Chapter Two

"Have we got everything?"

"Yes, Carter, for the ever-bleeding last time we have everything." Newkirk rested his hands atop Carter's shoulders and smiled into the worried blue eyes. "Relax, mate. The Guv'nor's going to love it all."

Carter glanced around, taking in their party decorations. The biggest room in their tunnel system was alive with color – from the streamers hanging in gaily arranged twists to the balloons Olsen had had his mother send from Passaic, to Klink's 'borrowed' best linen and china. The kommandant's brightly polished silver candlesticks sat on either side of LeBeau's beautiful, two-layer chocolate cake, generously coated in swirls of chocolate icing and festooned with candles – not enough to accurately depict Hogan's age, but enough to provide a beautiful glow when lit.

Carter looked back at Newkirk and smiled.

"This'll be the best party ever."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

"Why were you out here?" Hogan whispered, barely able to see through tears. His shaking fingers tenderly brushed across her cheek, pushed back the glossy fall of hair and stopped mid-motion. The damning evidence of his marksmanship stood out clearly amongst the silken tresses.

The bullet had entered her temple, leaving a perfectly round, nearly bloodless hole. Hogan buried his wet face in his hands and rocked forward, folding over her, shaking harder with his grief.

Several months ago, he had stopped by the Metzger farmstead on a whim and discovered Romie and Josef were taking care of a little girl while her parents recovered from an illness. A friendly, beautiful, seven year-old prone to contagious fits of giggles, Marta had immediately captured Hogan's heart. He had taught her how to make an origami swan. She had proudly introduced him to her new puppy.

A warm weight settled against his thigh. Marta's little dog, a black and white mongrel with ears too big for its sleek head, looked back at him with liquid, brown eyes and whimpered. He sought to remember its name, but his mind – awash with grief, guilt and shock - refused to provide it.

"Did you run away? Is that why she was out here? Was she looking for you?"

It was the only thing that made sense. Marta had loved the dog, rarely letting it out of her sight during Hogan's visit. She had told him that the puppy was a gift from her father, to replace another that had wandered too far from home one night and never returned.

Hogan gazed down at Marta's still face, seeing it all in his mind. Marta, frantic at being unable to find her beloved pet, had probably begged her parents for permission to search for it. And they, tucking her into bed for the night, promising to search come morning.

"You snuck out," he concluded in a broken whisper. "They probably don't even know you're gone."

Head low to the ground, tail tucked tightly beneath it, the puppy left the comfort of Hogan's leg and slid on its belly toward Marta's body. Whimpering pitifully, it nosed and licked her cheek. Something in Hogan broke at the sight and he threw back his head, loosing a low moan that built and rose above the trees - the sound of a heart breaking and a man in unbearable pain.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HH

Kinch shook his head, unable to hold back a fond smile. Carter was acting like a kid waiting to open presents on Christmas morning. Only this kid got more pleasure from watching others open presents than he did from opening his own.

Rising from his seat at the beautifully decorated table, Kinch threw his arms wide, stretching, then stepped over the bench and ambled over to LeBeau, who was dishing up something that smelled delicious and had a tongue-twister of a name. Kinch reached past him, trying for a taste, and got the back of his knuckles rapped. LeBeau playfully shook the wooden spoon at him, daring him to try again. Giving him a cocky grin, Kinch agilely danced out of range, licking up the tiny bit he had managed to snare with his finger. Chuckling, LeBeau went back to his culinary preparations.

"I hope le colonel has a good appetite when he returns. He hardly touched his lunch today."

"Well, my appetite's just fine," Olsen tossed over his shoulder at them. "And I'll eat anything he doesn't." He frowned down at his cards and threw out two. Parker snatched them up, added them to his own, and then fanned the hand upon the table for everyone to see. Olsen took a look, groaned, and threw his cards down.

"Gin," Parker proclaimed, beaming.

Newkirk leaned in for a closer look. "Bloody hell."

O'Malley – a neutral observer of the game – reached out and tweaked an ace from beneath Newkirk's collar.

"Guess you won't be needing this then."

Newkirk snatched it away with lightning speed, all wide eyes and puzzled innocence. "Don't know how that got there."

"Oh, I have a guess or two," Olsen snorted, resting a forearm on the table and slanting a mock-glare in his direction.

Carter checked his watch and sighed. Kinch walked by, headed to the barracks to check on things there. He squeezed Carter's slumped shoulder in passing.

"He's probably on his way back right now."

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Josef Metzger threw the door open wide and gasped. A wavering, bloody apparition stood on the porch of his home, a small, black-draped body in its arms. A brown lock of hair and two small feet were all that he could make out beneath the black jacket.

"Mein Gott, Robert!" Josef stared from Hogan's bloody ear and neckto the body cradled against his chest. Hogan lowered his head, the agony in his faltering voice painful to hear.

"Please take her home. I'm sorry. . . I didn't want to leave her there, but . . . I don't know where she lives . . . She wasn't . . . wasn't . . . supposed to be there. It was an accident. I didn't mean to . . . to do it . . . Please . . . take her home to her parents. Please." Hogan edged closer, slowly extending his arms.

Josef swallowed convulsively, unshed tears clogging his throat. The man he had come to love like a son was brash, strong, confident; always ready to take on anything. Not this man. This man looked and sounded broken - near collapse.

A small, black and white form slunk out of the shadows and up the porch steps to sit at Hogan's feet. Josef blinked down at the little dog and back to the small body in Hogan's arms. In an instant, the enormity of what must have happened crashed over him and he was unable to contain a cry.

"Marta?"

Hogan's head bowed even further, confirming his worst fears. Josef grasped the doorframe, almost faint with grief – for Marta, her parents, and for the obviously heart-broken man trembling on his porch, unable to look him in the face.

"Josef?" Romie called from the kitchen.

Hogan's head jerked up, panic flaring in his bloodshot eyes. "No! I can't face her! Not after what I've done!"

Concerned, hoping to somehow reassure him, Josef reached out to him, but was immediately shaken off. Before he knew what was happening, Hogan pushed forward, transferring Marta's body to his arms. The jacket slipped and Josef found himself staring down at the little girl's ashen features, peaceful in death. Hogan backed away.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Frozen in place by the broken, heartrending cries, Josef could only watch Hogan leap off the porch and flee into the shadows beyond the house lights' reach. The little dog jumped to its feet and went to the porch's top step, but no farther. Somewhere close by, a motor started and Josef heard a vehicle drive away.

He looked down at the little dog, now standing before him, looking up with eyes that appeared to be weeping.

"Come, Mozart," Josef whispered, then slowly turned and went inside, bearing his sad burden. Only then did he realize the palm of his hand – the one that had touched Hogan -- was heavily coated in blood.

TBC . . . Thank you for reading!

Thank you for your help, Marilyn & Linda!