Chapter Three
"The icing is drying out."
Elbows on the table, head propped in his hands, LeBeau gazed forlornly at the chocolate cake and unlit candles.
A loud pop startled everyone.
"There goes another one," Olsen sighed, stooping to pick up the tattered remnants of a balloon. That was three out of five. Balloons were harder to get than the sweet, French chocolate LeBeau had used to make Hogan's cake, and to Olsen's thinking, more important for a proper party. He fingered the bits of color, unaccountably sadder than the broken balloons merited.
"He's late," Carter said quietly, unnecessarily. "Well, later than I expected he would be." He stared down at the tablecloth's white weave, unable to look at the cake and other party decorations any longer. The celebration that had taken months of planning held little importance now. His only concern was for Hogan's safe return.
Benson stuck his head into the room, his smile immediately dying.
"Hey, where's the colonel?"
"Question of the night," Newkirk sighed, restlessly drumming his fingers on the table. The knife and spoon near his hand jangled softly against each other, disturbed by the vibration.
Kinch stood, driven to action by the haunting vision of empty brown eyes. Before he could speak, a 'ding' rang through the room from the bell rigged to the emergency entrance. Carter jumped to his feet, beaming with happiness.
"There he is!"
Everyone rushed to their places around the room, readying themselves to greet Hogan with a loud, 'Happy Birthday!' when he appeared in the doorway. Several minutes passed without any sign of him and their smiles faded. Newkirk traded worried glances with LeBeau, both knowing that Hogan had to pass through the room to reach his locker and uniform.
"Where is he, then?"
Kinch strode for the tunnel beyond. "Something's wrong."
The farther down the tunnel he went the faster Kinch moved until he was running. He just knew Hogan was in trouble. He did not hear the pounding footsteps behind him as he plunged onward through the narrow passages until he rounded the last corner to the emergency exit – and felt his heartbeat stutter.
Hogan lay crumpled on his side at the foot of the ladder. Kinch lunged forward, covering the remaining distance in several strides and knelt beside him. His hand flew to the blood-caked neck, searching for a pulse.
Carter knelt near him, as close as the cramped space allowed. O'Malley shoved past, both men asking the same question simultaneously.
"Is he alive?"
"Yeah," Kinch breathed, rejoicing in the faint vibration. His heart screamed at him to get Hogan off the ground, to turn him, to do something. His head cautioned movement until they knew the full nature of Hogan's condition.
Newkirk ran his eyes over Hogan, then glanced at the ladder, turning explanations over in his mind.
"Did he fall?"
"No way I'm believing that," Olsen protested from amidst the crowd. He had once witnessed Hogan run across a narrow plank between the roofs of two buildings with barely a hitch in balance.
Kinch did not believe it either, but was too distracted by the faint tear tracks on Hogan's cheeks to answer. The oil camouflage was nearly gone, as if Hogan had been rubbing at his face.
"Where's the blood on his neck coming from?" O'Malley asked, unable to see clearly from his position.
Pulling his attention from the disturbing sight, Kinch lightly brushed at the damp, ruffled hair at Hogan's temple, searching for the source. Gasps sounded as a gory mess was revealed.
"His head?" Carter asked fearfully.
"Ear." Kinch grimaced down at the seared flesh.
"Better his ear than his head," Newkirk murmured.
Olsen slowly nodded, whispering, "Amen to that."
"Kinch," O'Malley warned, motioning to the dark stain slowly spreading in the dirt beneath Hogan. "Let's get him on his back so I can see where this is coming from." He shifted, took hold of Hogan's shoulders to support them during the turn and glanced up at Kinch. "Okay, now. Slow and easy."
Kinch gently rested his hand on his CO's side, then quickly withdrew it again. Blood glistened upon his palm. Déjà vu swept over him in a disorienting, sickening wave. O'Malley reached over and pulled on the black sweater, revealing the ragged furrow in Hogan's side.
"Deux fois?" LeBeau gasped, concern for Hogan giving him the strength to stand strong before the sight of blood.
"And counting," Kinch added, wiping his palm on his thigh.
"Come on then," O'Malley said, reaching again for Hogan's shoulders. Once they had him on his back, O'Malley quickly found the other wound.
"Here it is. Aye, it's bad. We dare not carry him back without something under him. The bullet could shift."
Newkirk leaned toward them. "How about a board, then?"
Kinch glanced up sharply, jaw setting. "Find one. O'Malley, go get your bag and meet us back in the room. LeBeau, clear the table and have someone take Klink's stuff back before it's missed. Parker, you're topside. Take over for Paxton. He's been on watch all night. Benson, get Lyons and see if you can find Orion or at least find out what happened out there. The rendezvous coordinates are on the clipboard in the radio room. And be careful! Don't take any chances. The first sign of trouble get back here."
There was some quick shifting in the tight space as the men left to carry out Kinch's orders and Newkirk returned with one of the boards kept around for emergency bracing. Working quickly, he helped Kinch maneuver the board into position and carefully roll Hogan onto it. Kinch went to Hogan's feet, grasped the board and looked up at Newkirk.
"Take that end. I've got this one. Carter, keep the colonel's hands and arms crossed on his stomach. Don't let them fall off to the side. The rest of you give us a clear path."
Slowly, gently, they bore Hogan toward the room meant for his birthday celebration.
The tunnel back was clear, as ordered. But men packed the intersecting tunnels, showing their support and respect for Hogan – as well as their need to be near him. They waited silently while the procession passed, then fell in behind it.
Kinch, Newkirk, Carter and Hogan reached the room only moments before O'Malley returned, bearing his medical bag. He surged toward them, barking orders.
"Get his gun belt off! Somebody bring that other table over here and a basin of water . . . And bring all the clean cloths you can lay your hands on!"
Newkirk, Kinch and Carter lowered Hogan upon the table and O'Malley cut away his sweater, revealing the bullet hole several inches below his right collarbone, still sluggishly oozing blood. The flesh around the wound was bruised and swollen, already raging hot. Muttering a Gaelic oath, O'Malley slid his hand under Hogan's shoulder and muttered another when he did not find an exit wound. Quickly circling the table, he carefully checked the wound in Hogan's side and glanced up at the others with a tight smile.
"Got lucky, here, lads. It's just a deep graze."
"Lucky," Olsen echoed sarcastically, hugging the wall in the hope that Kinch would not order him from the room.
O'Malley looked up with a sharp expression. "Anyone who can't give me room and quiet leaves now."
"Sounds just like someone else we know," Newkirk muttered, shifting on his feet.
Kinch locked eyes with O'Malley and motioned impatiently to Hogan. "Get that thing out of him."
"Aye," O'Malley nodded. "That I will."
TBC . . . Thank you for reading!
Thank you for your help, Marilyn & Linda!