Thank you to Marilyn Penner for her help and encouragement, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed and stuck with the story so far!
Chapter Twenty-three
Hogan glanced at the clock and went back to getting ready, his men looking on as they had the last time he'd gone out.
"Full moon, guv'nor," Newkirk said from behind him. "Bright as day out there."
Hogan finished tying his boots, then stood and grabbed the black shirt hanging in his locker. Unlike the turtleneck he'd worn that night, the shirt bore not a single bullet hole or bloodstain. Trying not to remember the last time he had done this, he slid his arms into the sleeves and rolled his shoulders to check the fit. There was plenty of room for movement and a small smile briefly slipped out. LeBeau, with his keen eye for detail, had noticed the additional muscle in his shoulders and arms and had tailored the shirt accordingly.
Carter appeared in Hogan's peripheral vision, looking wan. "Gottschalk has the south fence line with Fritz, Seiler's on the east with Langer, Schwab's west with Wolfie and Ostermann's north with Malfus."
Eyes focused on the floor before his locker, Hogan buttoned the shirt and tucked it into his trousers. He didn't anticipate any trouble from the patrolling guards and dogs. Unless something warranted otherwise, the guards usually stuck to their routes and the dogs had been trained not to sound an alarm when they scented him.
"Klink's asleep in his quarters, colonel," LeBeau announced, his demeanor subdued. "All the guards are on station and the camp is quiet."
"The radio's been quiet, too. Baker's monitoring." Kinch fielded Hogan's sharp glance without flinching, feeling no guilt at having Baker cover for him.
Hogan reached into his locker again, hesitated when he saw the gun belt and weapon hanging from a hook at the back. For a moment, he could only stare at it, and then - aware of his men looking on - he completed the motion. Grasping the belt's cool, smooth leather, he pulled it out of the locker. It hung from his hand for the first time in a month, swinging slightly. Slowly, he gripped the gun and slid it free of the holster, laying the belt on the bench. The gun felt heavier than normal, clumsy in his hand. Frowning, he studied it carefully, checking the chamber, safety, sights and grip.
Out of his sight, his men traded glances. Kinch rounded the end of the bench and gestured to the gun in Hogan's hand.
"Is there a problem with how Benson cleaned it, sir?"
Hogan continued to study the gun, eyes tracing its curves and lines. It was definitely his. The gun was spotless, the metal shining, the grip thoroughly wiped of oil to keep it from slipping in his hand. He thumbed the safety on and off several times, the mechanism working smooth as ever.
There was nothing wrong it.
With a mental shake of his head, he tore his gaze from the gun and opened the box of cartridges. He started loading the gun, purposely keeping his mind on the process and nothing else. If his men thought his movements more methodical than before, they didn't remark on it. The silence grated at Hogan's nerves, the demand for them to leave begged to be released.
He had just finished loading the last of the cartridges when he heard someone in the tunnels. Kurt walked into the room, his expression resolute. Hogan automatically checked the time.
Nineteen forty-five. He was early.
Hogan glanced Kurt's way long enough to nod a greeting, then returned his gun to its holster and belted it around his waist. The leather sat too low on his hips, another sign the weight work had changed his physique. He unbuckled the belt, hitched it higher and refastened it, this time moving the buckle one notch inward.
The next few minutes were filled with the men's warm greetings and small talk. Hogan filtered out most of it, occupying himself with double-checking his gun and ammunition again. He tuned back in completely when Kurt mentioned how easy it was to see by the moon's brilliant light.
"All the more reason you should have stayed at home," Hogan murmured, giving him another sideways glance.
Kurt ignored the comment. "I come with news."
LeBeau surged toward him, wearing a hopeful smile. "Of Tiger and DuBois?"
Hogan grabbed his gloves and faced Kurt, as eager as LeBeau to hear the answer.
Kurt shook his head. "I am sorry, no."
Hogan pivoted back to his locker, fingered his gloves without putting them on.
"What's your news, then?" Kinch asked, keeping one eye on Hogan.
"Hochstetter woke this morning." Kurt paused when LeBeau and Newkirk growled out their displeasure. Hogan displayed no reaction whatsoever, preferring to keep his thoughts to himself. "His recovery will be difficult and there is a possibility that he will no longer be fit for field duty."
A smile of pure malice split Newkirk's face. "Now isn't that a pity."
LeBeau raised a fist, grinning ear to ear. "Tiger!"
The room grew quiet, everyone suddenly having nothing to say. Hogan tensed and in the next moment, heard what he had expected and dreaded. The men filed out of the room at Kurt's request, throwing glances over the shoulders. Hogan sat heavily on the bench and stared straight ahead, at the inside of his locker. Kurt stepped over the bench and took a seat beside him.
"So . . ." Kurt sighed. "You are going out."
It was stating the obvious, an attempt to break the tension between them. Hogan's lips quirked and he turned his head, meeting Kurt's eyes directly for the first time.
"All dressed up and ready to go," Hogan quipped. Kurt hummed acknowledgement, raked his eyes over Hogan from head to toe, his gaze faltering only an instant on the gun belt. Hogan felt a prickle of irritation.
"It's a simple assignment, Kurt. There and back."
"Simple," Kurt repeated, nodding. "Do you have far to travel?"
Hogan just looked at him. Kurt shrugged.
"If it is as simple as you say, perhaps we could meet later this evening and I could take you to see Mutter and Vater."
"No."
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Newkirk edged toward the doorway. Kinch reached out, grabbed him by the back of his collar and tugged him away from the tunnel. Newkirk craned his neck to look back at him, offering a sheepish smile.
"Just thought I heard someone, is all."
"And I thought I'd made it clear we'd give Kurt a chance to talk with him in private."
Newkirk looked away. "Did you? Must have missed that part."
Kinch mock-growled, lightly shook him by the collar.
Carter studied the empty tunnel, envisioning Kurt and Hogan. "Do you think he'll finally get through to him this time?"
LeBeau raised his eyes heavenward. "S'il vous plait!"
"Amen to that," Baker seconded, keeping one ear tuned to the radio waves coming through his headset.
Kinch released his hold on Newkirk's collar, but gave him an arch look, warning against further attempts at leaving the room. Newkirk straightened his collar, shoved his hands in his pockets and joined Carter along the wall.
"What if. . ." Carter said softly, still studying the tunnel. "Nothing Kurt says makes a difference? What if the colonel still won't talk and going out tonight doesn't help? What if this is the way he's always going to be now?"
Kinch did not want to contemplate that eventuality and by the looks on the others' faces, neither did they. Kinch went to Carter and lightly rested a hand on his shoulder. "Let's not borrow trouble."
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Kurt could not believe Hogan had denied the suggestion without a moment's thought.
"They wish to see you, Robert. Mutter especially."
"There's not enough time."
Kurt frowned. "You've always made the time before, without fail. She is worried about you and wishes to talk with you."
"Tell her not to worry. I'm doing okay."
"I have told her, Robert, and I am tired of telling her because words won't calm her fears. Only seeing you and speaking with you will accomplish that. As for the 'okay' part, I have my doubts about that claim."
Hogan lurched to his feet and slammed the locker shut, leaving his hand planted against the door. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, his jaw flexed. "I'm dealing with this the best way I know, Kurt."
Kurt stood, too, wanting to be at least close to eye level. "You don't have to 'deal' with it alone."
"It's the only way I know," Hogan repeated slowly, through clenched teeth.
Kurt coughed out a sound that might have been a chuckle. "What is that you've told me? It's never too late to teach an old cat new tricks."
Hogan's mouth twitched, the hard line of his jaw relaxing. "Too late for this old cat." He faced Kurt, his hand sliding off the locker to his side. Sensing the action as a prelude to leaving, Kurt grappled for something to forestall it.
"Robert, I understand how you feel--"
"You know nothing about how I feel," Hogan cut in, voice cracking with fury.
Kurt felt a surge of hope at finally getting a visceral response. He crowded close to Hogan, stared directly into the dark eyes.
"That is where you are wrong," Kurt growled, hands tensing into fists. "Let me tell you a story, Robert."
Hogan's head jerked up. "I don't have time –"
Kurt lashed out, grabbing a fistful of black shirt. The glint in Hogan's eyes warned he was perhaps moments away from getting his head knocked off. Kurt stood his ground, his own anger kindling hotter.
"Yes, you do!" He shoved against Hogan's chest, feeling the muscles beneath his fist coil tighter, on the verge of violence. "This won't take long."
Hogan glared, every bit of his Irish temper on display.
"If I let go, do you promise to not run out of here?"
Seconds passed and then Hogan's head bobbed once. Kurt released his grip and drew in a deep breath. This might be the only chance he had left and it would be hard. Hogan was not the only one who had trouble sharing innermost thoughts and emotions.
Kurt crossed his arms, steeling himself for the pain of reopening old wounds. "You know the circumstances of my brother's death —"
"Philip," Hogan interrupted, impatient. "Yeah."
Kurt hung onto his temper by sheer force of will. "But . . ." his hard stare demanded he be allowed to finish speaking. "You know nothing about my wife's."
Hogan's face went slack with shock. "You were married?"
Kurt frowned, unable to prevent his hurt and confusion from showing. "Is this so hard to believe?"
Hogan's expression softened. "I'm not surprised that someone would marry you, Kurt. I'm surprised because this is the first I've heard of a Mrs. Kurt Metzger. No one, including Romie and Josef, have ever mentioned her, and there's not a single picture of her anywhere in their home. No mementos, no . . . " He swept a hand out to the side before letting it fall. "Anything to even suggest that she ever existed in your life or theirs."
Pain sliced through Kurt's stomach, momentarily robbing him of breath. Perhaps he'd not banished his own demons and let go of the past as completely as he had thought. "I wished it to be so. After Evangeline's death, I could not bear to see her picture or even hear her name. I asked my parents to remove anything that might remind me of her. I understand now how selfish I was to demand such a thing. They had loved her too. Yet, they did as I asked."
Kurt looked away a moment, gathering strength to go on. "Part of why I was so angry with you, was because you'd nearly gotten yourself killed again." He looked back, seeing Hogan's mouth press into a hard line. This was an old topic of discussion between them, one Kurt knew better than to pursue again. "The larger part," he continued in a rush, voice quavering as he dug deeper into his own psyche. "Was because I had placed my anger with myself upon your head."
Hogan's eyebrows flew upward. "Huh?" He checked the time again, frowned, but motioned for Kurt to go on.
Kurt felt a weak smile come and go. A complicated surgical procedure, he could do. Expressing his feelings with any coherence was something else entirely. "I saw me in you, Robert. I felt Evangeline died because I was negligent. I believed --" he grimaced, fighting not to give in to a sudden, massive wave of grief. "that I had killed her."
A shadow passed across Hogan's expression. Kurt sighed, brushed a hand back through his hair. The story had to be told. And maybe, in trying to help Robert, he might also help himself.
"It was January. Evangeline was seven months pregnant and I had just finished medical school. I was the newest doktor at the Krankenhaus and full of passion for my profession." He paused, breath shuddering as the years faded. Hogan remained quiet, his attention unwavering.
"We lived in a small house several kilometers from Mutter and Vater." Another faint smile briefly lightened his face when an image of the house appeared before him. "It was not much, but we loved it as it was all ours. One evening just before sundown, a man came to our door and asked that I go with him to a farm some distance away. His daughter had been trampled by one of their horses and he was afraid to move her."
Kurt licked his lips, his gaze losing focus as he pictured the events of that night. "Evangeline had not felt well that day, but seemed fine when I left. She kissed me good-bye and I told her that I loved her and that I would be home as soon as possible." He returned to the present with a blink, and found Hogan watching him with an unreadable expression.
"It was a long night. The girl had been badly hurt by the horse's hooves. Head injury, broken jaw and ribs, cuts, abrasions . . . I stayed until mid-morning, until she awoke and I felt confident she was out of danger. After telling the parents I would return in a few days to check on her, I left for home."
Hogan seemed to have stopped breathing. They stared at each other a moment and then Kurt turned away, suddenly cold.
"All appeared normal when I returned home. I called for Evangeline, but she didn't answer. I found her on the floor in our bedroom, not far from our bed. I . . . I thought at first that she'd fallen and was unconscious. But the first touch of my hand on her face dispelled that prayer." His voice fell to a whisper. "I remember screaming and pulling her into my arms, rocking and begging, praying and crying until it was night again. It was days before I could say anything above a whisper." He shuddered, drew himself out of that terrible grief with difficulty. "The autopsy showed that an artery had burst and she had hemorrhaged internally. The pain must have been severe, and she must have been so afraid and called out for me. But I was gone and she and our baby died."
Silence. And then he heard Hogan whisper, "I'm sorry."
Kurt pivoted to face him, unashamed of the tears wetting his cheeks. "So you see, Robert. I know exactly how you feel because I lived for years blaming myself for Evangeline and Kara's deaths. If I'd paid more attention to her condition rather than run off into the night, if I'd not been so arrogant to think that nothing would happen to her, if I'd stayed home . . . if, if, if!" He scrubbed a hand across his face, wiping at the tears.
Hogan's hand twitched by his side, then tentatively rose and came to rest upon Kurt's shoulder. His voice was soft with compassion.
"You couldn't have known."
"Nor could you," Kurt replied just as quietly, holding Hogan's gaze. He prayed that the words would truly be heard and accepted. Sorrow washed over him as Hogan's expression grew shuttered once more. Sensing the chance slipping away, Kurt grabbed at Hogan's hand before it could be taken back and gripped it hard.
"Choices, Robert. It is all about choices. And fate and acceptance. And most of all; forgiveness. Karl and Margaret chose to ignore Marta's pleas to search for Mozart. Marta chose to leave her home against their wishes. You chose to shoot rather than be killed. Karl and Margaret must learn to accept their choice and forgive themselves, just as you must accept that you are but a man and not omniscient. Forgive yourself."
Hogan pulled his hand free and stepped back. "I've got to go."
Kurt watched, heart sinking while his friend put more and more distance between them. At the door, Hogan paused just long enough to say over his shoulder, "Be careful going home."
"Think about what I said," Kurt called back. But the doorway was empty, the tunnel silent.
To be continued. Thank you for reading. Please take a moment to review.