I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update.
As always, my thanks go out to Marilyn for her help.
Chapter Six
"He wouldn't . . ." Carter breathed into the silence that had fallen over the room.
Kurt's lips thinned. "He did."
Quietly, he told them what little he knew. In the charged silence that followed, he returned to his medical bag, pulled out a packet and handed it to O'Malley.
"He's already had one dose," Kurt told him, scribbling on a piece of paper. Finishing, he shoved the paper into O'Malley's other hand. "The instructions for the other doses. Move him out of this dampness as soon as possible. It's not good for his lungs. Pneumonia would be the final stick to the camel's back."
O'Malley glanced from the crumpled paper to Kurt. "You're not staying?"
Kurt's expression softened. "There is nothing further I can do for the colonel that you cannot do yourself."
"But . . ." O'Malley weakly gestured with the paper to Hogan.
Kurt smiled reassuringly. "He is in good hands." Grasping his bag, he brushed past the other men and headed for the exit.
Kinch quickly instructed O'Malley not to move Hogan until his return, and then went after Kurt. He caught up to him easily.
"Doc."
Kurt's head went up and he stopped but did not turn around. Kinch frowned and glanced around. He would have preferred a more private area of the tunnels to have this conversation.
"Doc?"
Kurt's tense shoulders slumped; he took a deep breath and slowly turned.
"What?"
The harsh tone surprised Kinch. Softly, he asked, "How will your parents explain Marta's death?"
Kurt's hand clenched on the handles of the bag, the pressure bleaching his knuckles white. "Vater will say that he had heard gun shots as he was passing Frau Hinkel's pasture. She is quite elderly and nearly deaf, so she would not have heard the shots. Vater was concerned that someone might have poached her milk cow and went to check on it. It was then that he found Marta's body, her dog and the dead soldiers nearby. He could only guess that the soldiers had been killed in a gun battle of some sort and that Marta must have been killed by a stray shot."
Kinch nodded. The explanation sounded like it would work, but it also presented another concern. "What about the curfew? Won't Marta's parents wonder why Josef was out so late?"
Kurt's shoulders twitched in a listless shrug and his gaze traveled to a point behind Kinch. "Many brave the curfew for various reasons. Marta's parents included."
Kinch shifted, seeking to make direct eye contact. "Your parents . . . how are they holding up?"
Kurt looked away, fighting roiling emotions. "The colonel was in pain, in shock and most likely not thinking clearly. Nevertheless, he placed Mater and Vater in a dangerous position, and accident or not, he killed a child they loved like a granddaughter."
Kinch took a deep breath and carefully asked, "And what was she to you, Doc?"
Kurt's gaze snapped back to him. "She was . . . a child who had her whole life ahead of her." He drew in a shaky breath, his composure hanging by a thread. "And now she is dead."
Because he shot her.
The words hung in the air, unspoken but heard nonetheless.
Kinch felt his fingernails dig into his palms. "He was under fire, or had been. She must have moved. He thought he was still in danger and he reacted. I would have done the same thing. Any one of us would have. I'm sorry, Doc. We all are. But don't forget that it just as easily could have been the colonel who died out there tonight."
Kurt sighed, rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "As it is, his injuries will keep him from attending morning roll call. How will you explain his absence and keep his injuries from Kommandant Klink?"
"I'm still working on that."
Kurt gave him a tight smile. "Then I suggest you work quickly. Dawn is only an hour or so away." As if spurred by the reminder, he turned on his heel and started walking again.
"You're certain he'll be all right?"
"Nothing is certain," Kurt shot back, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed upon the tunnel ahead. "However, I am confident that he will recover from his wounds."
"I hear a 'but'," Kinch sighed.
"His emotional recovery is more uncertain. He is a strong man, as we know. But something like this?" He gave a hard shake of his head and said no more.
They had reached the ladder. Kurt grabbed it, put a foot on the lower-most rung and paused there, eyes forward, index finger lightly tapping the ladder. A few seconds of tapping went by and then sad blue eyes turned in Kinch's direction.
"You understand there is only one way he will truly recover from this."
Kinch nodded. "He needs to talk about what happened." A short, bitter chuckle escaped. "We have a better chance of convincing Klink to tear down the fences and plant geraniums."
Kurt regarded him intently. "Of all of us, you have the best chance of getting him to do it."
Kinch's gaze sharpened. "There's you."
"In this case," Kurt said softly. "I am probably one of the last people he will want to see." He glanced up the ladder, mumbling, "And for the moment, I am not certain that I wish to see him either." He started climbing, giving Kinch no chance to respond.
Kinch watched the lid fall back to cover the entrance, then went up and re-secured the trip wire to their alarm. Once back on the floor, he leaned his shoulder against the ladder and wearily rubbed his gritty eyes.
If only they could wake up from this nightmare.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH
Screams of anguish and horror died to sobs.
Faces, well-loved and kind, twisted with sorrow, dripping silver tears.
Hands, tiny and large – closed into fists, streams of blood pouring from between the clenched fingers.
Angry voices thundered in his ears.
YOU DID THIS! YOU!
HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH
"He's really restless."
Carter's words were the first spoken since they had carried Hogan to the barracks and laid him in his bunk. The room was quiet, lit only by a single lantern on the desk, wick turned high to illuminate the bunk's wounded occupant.
"It is probably the fever." LeBeau tucked the blanket about Hogan's shoulders and brushed a hand across the sweaty brow. Hogan turned his head away, muttering something unintelligible. LeBeau sadly clucked his tongue.
Carter tore his gaze from Hogan's face and looked up at Kinch. "I wish the doc had stayed." Remorse flashed over his face and he glanced behind Kinch, finding O'Malley in the shadows. "I just meant--"
"It's all right, Carter," O'Malley quietly assured him. He wished the same thing. When it came to treating their commanding officer, he wondered if he would ever feel his skills were good enough.
"So why didn't he?" Paxton left the doorway and joined them, walking stiffly from standing in one position for so long. Behind him, the common room was dark, but not one of the men there was sleeping. Worry and Kurt's news had seen to that.
"He was worried about his mum and da. Can't say as I blame him." Newkirk's eyes remained upon Hogan, watching closely – as they all were – for signs he was waking. "It was quite a shock they had tonight. Awful business, this."
Olsen, silent as one of the shadows clinging to the edges of the room, raised his eyes to the ceiling, blinking furiously. He had never met Marta, but he had no trouble imagining how he would feel if a bullet from his gun had ended her life.
"Some birthday," Paxton muttered, watching Hogan's head toss on the pillow.
Kinch suddenly thought back to another time and another vigil at Hogan's bedside. At Kurt's urging, they had spent hours speaking to their CO, coaxing him to wake from a coma. Later, Hogan had revealed bits and pieces of remembered information from their one-sided conversations, as well as one of Newkirk's jokes.
"Change the subject to something more positive," Kinch said, glancing around the room. "He doesn't need the reminders."
"Kinch . . ." Carter warned, slowly sinking to his knees beside the bed. Hogan's movements were intensifying, as if he were fighting something they could not see.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH
Waves of thick crimson poured over his head, driving him to his knees. He gasped for air and swallowed scalding liquid instead. Choking, drowning, he dragged his head up with the last of his strength . . . desperately seeking help from the torrent.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HHH HH HH
"Easy. Easy, Colonel. Take it easy."
Hogan gasped and his eyes shot open. Still locked in the nightmare, he groaned and rolled onto his side, straining to breathe. Gray, blurry objects moved before him as he gasped and gulped for air. Snatches of words floated to him through his confusion.
"Slow breaths, in . . . and out . . . Aye. That's --"
"You made it back -- safe with -- Stalag 13. You made --"
"Don't -- a thing, Guv'nor."
"You're going – okay --"
"Rest, sir. Just rest. That's --"
"-- right here, colonel."
Hogan squeezed his eyes shut, still fighting to separate nightmare from reality. It was hot, his chest was throbbing, his ear felt badly sunburned, and his side ached. The voices were still trying to soothe him, but he wanted none of it. Something was horribly wrong.
There was a touch upon his legs, another on his shoulder, another on his head and he felt himself gently but firmly being turned onto his back. He tried to tell them to stop talking and leave him alone. All that came out was a moan. The voices paused, then began again as the hands pressed him back.
Frustrated, he blocked the voices out and tried to concentrate. Pain and heat beat at him and then memory returned in a rush of images, smells and sounds.
Orion.
The Wehrmacht.
Marta.
The dog's whimpers.
Carrying Marta's body.
Stealing the truck.
Josef's face.
Romie's voice.
Marta's blood on his hands.
I killed her.
The visions whirled and spun, around and around, faster and faster to the sounds of gunfire and screams. The sharp, sickening odor of sheered copper flooded his sinuses, suffocating him. His stomach cramped and rolled. Bile surged into his throat. The voices grew panicked. Hands hurriedly turned and supported him as his stomach emptied. Gasping, exhausted and racked with pain, he sank into the darkness, leaving the voices behind.
TBC . . . Thank you for reading!