O'Malley laid the bloody forceps and probe on a clean cloth beside Hogan's hip, braced his hands on the table and hung his head. Sweat beaded his face and a fine tremor of fatigue had set into his hands. He lifted his head, his expression bleaker than Kinch had ever seen it.

"I'm just doing more damage." O'Malley rested his hand upon the crown of Hogan's head, exhaustion and fear roughening his voice. "The bullet's deep, the wound's swollen, and infection's already set in from all this." He pointed down at the bits of black material and other foreign matter he had pulled from the wound.

A commotion erupted outside the room and Kinch whirled toward the doorway. Tivoli, Jones, Maddux, and Broughton plowed through the men in the tunnels and burst through the doorway. Tivoli approached Kinch head-on, a fiery mix of concern and anger smoldering in his black eyes.

"We just heard. How'd he get shot up?"

Jones leaned to one side, trying to see past Tivoli. "Will he be all right?"

Maddux, square jaw thrust forward at a bulldog angle, rammed past his burlier friends. Anger and the need for retribution boiled in the gray-green eyes that glared up at Kinch.

"Who screwed up?"

Uttering a low growl of frustration, O'Malley shoved away from the table and rounded on Tivoli and Maddux. The move left them a clear view of Hogan and their eyes flew wide. O'Malley shifted sideways to block their view again, jabbing a finger at the tunnel behind them.

"Out with you."

Anger flashed over Tivoli's swarthy face like lightning over black skies. Moving with a speed that took even Kinch by surprise, he slipped by and went for O'Malley. Ducking and dodging between Kinch and Jones, Maddux rushed to back Tivoli. LeBeau, Olsen and Newkirk lunged away from the wall to protect O'Malley while Carter quickly got between them all and Hogan, protecting him from any inadvertant jostling.

"Stop it!"

The bellow stopped everyone in their tracks. Kinch shouldered them all out of the way and took a stand with Carter before the table. Frustrated by their actions and worried sick for Hogan, Kinch stared at them all. "Stop it," he repeated with much less volume. "This is no time to tear each other apart, no matter how useless we feel. The colonel needs us to work together now more than ever."

Tivoli's eyes drifted shut and he relaxed his shoulders with visible effort. "I'm sorry," he said quietly to O'Malley. "The sarge is right. I hate feeling useless."

"Aye." O'Malley offered a nod of apology. "And I'll be asking your forgiveness as well. He is your CO, too."

Maddux glanced away, his breath coming out in a huff. "Yeah, me, too."

Kinch turned to O'Malley. "Ben –"

"He needs better than me, Kinch," O'Malley cut in, rubbing the back of a shaking hand across his forehead.

"We've got someone here who might be able to help," Baker announced from the doorway and turned to one side, allowing whoever it was passage into the room. Kurt emerged from the other men and slowly walked into the room and stopped before Kinch. The utter sadness and pain in his eyes sent a shiver of unease down Kinch's back. Kurt's friendship with Hogan had grown solid and strong since their first meeting. Yet now, with Hogan lying seriously injured, Kurt had yet to even glance in his direction.

"Once the bullet has been removed," Kurt said in a toneless voice. "we must talk."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH

Pain – agony – molten and searing – took his breath. Adrift in a violent, red sea, he strained to breathe, to find something to catch onto and pull himself out.

A tiny hand appeared over his head, fingers open in invitation. He reached up, out of the thick, clinging, vast waves of blood, and took hold of the little fingers - only to have them disappear in his grasp.

He fell back, letting the fiery waves close over his head and take him down.

HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH

The bullet struck the metal basin, the sound loud enough to reach the men waiting in the tunnel. A muted cheer went up, grins of relief and soft reassurances passing back and forth among them. Inside the room, there were no cheers, nor words of congratulations. O'Malley and Kurt continued working over Hogan's chest in silence, their heads bent close together. He remained deeply unconscious, fever-sweat glistening on his face and matting his hair to his forehead.

Newkirk softly cleared his throat and tucked his hands under his arms in another change of position. He longed for a cigarette to calm his nerves, but could not bring himself to leave the room even for a moment. He, along with everyone close enough to see, could tell that the bullet's removal had not eased O'Malley and Kurt's concern. The crisis was not over. Not by a ruddy long shot. Newkirk sighed softly, shifted again, trying yet another position. He really needed that cigarette.

Carter focused on the slight rise and fall of Hogan's chest, still unable to grasp that their CO was lying on the table that a short time before had held his birthday cake. The two surviving balloons still hung from one of the beams, surreal reminders of what was supposed to have been a joyous occasion. Now . . . Hogan looked as if he had been laid out for his funeral. Feeling the burn of tears, Carter resolutely kept his eyes focused upon the slight movement of Hogan's chest.

LeBeau continued his prayers, conjuring visions of Hogan healthy, active and happy to block out the ugly reality before him. The chocolate cake's sweet fragrance was gone as if it had never been - overpowered by the strong odor of blood. The cake itself had been dropped in the rush to clear the room and trampled into the dirt by running feet. The loss did not bother him in the least. Some losses weren't losses at all. Other losses . . . LeBeau blinked, swiped moisture from his cheek and continued his prayers.

Kinch tilted his head back and replayed another conversation - Hogan's laughing voice sobering to a murmur. Confidences spoken late at night. Fears, hopes, dreams. Experiences shared, challenges met and overcome together, heated arguments and passing differences of opinion. They all passed through his mind – the moments between them – building blocks of a treasured friendship. This would be just another experience they would share later - another challenge overcome with a happy ending. Not the end itself. Closing his eyes, Kinch bowed his head over his folded arms and replayed another conversation.

"Kinch? Hey, Kinch?"

The soft calls finally got through and Kinch looked up. Benson and Lyons were hovering in the doorway, obviously anxious to speak with him. With a quick glance toward the table, Kinch joined them in the tunnel.

"Did you find Orion?"

"Boy, did we, sir." Lyons slumped against the tunnel wall and pulled his black knit cap from his head.

Benson nodded. "He's dead. Along with three Wehrmacht. Looks like there was a helluva shoot-out, Kinch. And there's something else."

He pulled Hogan's gun from the belt at his back, flipped it and offered it to Kinch, butt first. Kinch took it, his eyes tracing its familiar lines.

"Where did you find it?"

Benson shook his head. "This is where it gets weird. Be easiest to tell you why if I lay it out the way I think it happened."

"All right," Kinch agreed, trusting Benson's tracking experience.

"It looks like Orion died first."

"How do you figure that?"

"Because he was shot in the back," Lyons cut in, disgust dripping from his voice.

Benson nodded. "That and the location of the body. Like maybe the Krauts followed him and got the drop on them both. The --"

Kinch held up a hand, glanced over his shoulder at the activity in the room, saw nothing had changed, and motioned for Benson to continue.

"I think the colonel shot the Krauts as they came at him." Benson's lips pressed into a tight smile. "He took 'em out, Kinch. All three."

"But not before they got in their own shots," Kinch added grimly, images of Hogan taking fire going through his mind. He glanced down at the gun again, rubbed his thumb over the polished grip. "So how did he lose his gun?"

Benson hesitated. "I don't think he did."

Kinch's eyebrows flew upward. "What?"

Beckoning to him, Benson stooped and with a finger drew a 'x' in the dirt at their feet. "Orion was here."

Lyons added another three 'x's' and glanced up. "And these are the Krauts."

Benson put another 'x' in the dirt. "This is where the colonel ended up. He checked Orion and then he went over here." He traced a straight line in the dirt to a point slightly to one side of Hogan's 'x', added another 'x' and circled it. "And this is where I found his gun and signs of another body - a small one. Whoever it was . . . is gone now."

Kinch frowned, unable to follow where Benson was leading. Lyons glanced between them, then back to the drawing and sighed.

Looking directly into Kinch's puzzled eyes, Benson said quietly, "The colonel's the most careful guy I know with a weapon - even more than me - and you know how I am about safety and always knowing where my gun is at all times, no matter what." He paused, still holding Kinch's gaze. "You ask me? I think shooting that fourth person shook him so badly he either forgot his gun or left it there deliberately."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH

You missed one, Rob. Losing your touch, brother.

We'll see about that. Get behind me, Chris, where I know you're safe. Don't move from there until I'm done and the safety's back on. Got it?

Yeah, yeah. That can's gonna get away if you don't hurry.

Very funny.

With a sharp 'crack', the bullet sped straight and true, sending the tin target spinning high into the air.

His hand reached for the pierced can. The moment his fingers contacted the metal, it shifted and distorted, forming a little girl's face with gore pouring from an empty eye socket.

His youngest brother's screams echoed in his ears . . .

WHAT DID YOU DO?

HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH

Kinch re-entered the make-shift surgery, his head swimming from his conversation with Benson and Lyons. Putting it aside for the moment, he waited impatiently with the others while O'Malley and Kurt washed their crimson-stained hands in a basin of water. Kurt finished first and toweling his hands, faced them. The haunted look in the blue eyes struck Kinch like a slap. LeBeau moaned and wobbled on his feet, Newkirk and Carter moving quickly to hold him up. Tears filled Carter's eyes. Newkirk jerked his chin up and stared straight ahead, as if bracing for a blow.

"What the--" Tivoli muttered from the doorway. His gaze jerked from Kurt to O'Malley, his voice rising. "It can't be that bad!"

Kurt went still, surprise, confusion, and finally understanding passing over his face. O'Malley, reaching the same understanding at the very same moment, rushed to reassure them.

"He's not dying," he yelped, extending a hand toward them.

There was a collective sigh of relief and tension seemed to drain from the crowd of men. Kinch did not share their relief. Kurt had not added his own reassurances. One by one, the others seemed to realize the same thing and the tension level climbed again. With a sigh and small shake of his head, Kurt handed off the towel to O'Malley and braced his hands on his hips. Kinch tensed, sensing he was not going to like whatever the doctor had to say.

"What is it, Doc?" Olsen asked, unable to wait.

Kurt's gaze passed over them, finally settling upon Kinch again. "May we speak in private?"

Kinch blinked. After a moment's thought, he asked, "About Colonel Hogan's condition?"

A muscle in Kurt's jaw jumped. He chose his words carefully. "His condition . . . and recovery . . . may . . . be affected by what I wish to speak with you about, yes."

"Then say whatever you need to." Kinch made a vague gesture, indicating everyone present. "They have a right to hear, too."

Kurt nodded with obvious reluctance. "Very well."

"Get on with it, then," Newkirk snapped, on edge from worry and the lack of a cigarette. Murmurs of agreement went up from the crowd in the tunnel. LeBeau's hand closed about Newkirk's forearm, offering both comfort and restraint.

"Forgive me," Kurt sighed, putting a hand to his eyes. "This is very hard."

Carter sent a quick, scared glance in Hogan's direction. "Doc. . ."

The plea cut through Kurt's distress. "I can only tell you what I little I know."

"Pieces of a bloody puzzle," Newkirk said under his breath. Kurt heard him, nonetheless, and gave him a sharp glance. His words were even sharper.

"You have no idea."

A low-throated growl issued from between Tivoli's clenched teeth and he slammed a white-knuckled fist against the doorframe, startling the men around him. "Say it, damnit!"

"A child . . . a little girl . . . died tonight. By the colonel's hand."

HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH

Here. Like this.

Giggles floated around him; little fingers grasp and follow his own as they construct intricate folds of paper.

Like this?

More giggles, blending with laughter from older, loving souls.

There you go. You did it.

The graceful, pure white swan in their hands writhed and shrieked, crumbled to dust and fell through their fingers. Laughing green eyes turned milky white; giggles gave way to a child's voice, shrill with betrayal.

YOU DID IT!

TBC . . . Thank you for reading!

Thank you for your help, Marilyn!