Thank you so much to those who have reviewed!
As always, I can't thank my talented beta-reader, Marilyn Penner, enough for her help. She gives every chapter a thorough examination and makes it so much better with her suggestions and insight. Any grammatical mistakes or other errors are due solely to my messing with the chapter after she's seen it.
Chapter 27
Hogan dragged his sweat-soaked t-shirt over his head, growled in disgust when the material clung to his face like a wet sheet. Freeing himself from its unwelcome embrace, he wadded the sour-smelling garment into a ball and flung it into the basket at the foot of his bunk. Hours of work had left a layer of sweat and grime behind. Frowning at the sticky, itchy feeling – not to mention the smell – he shuffled to his locker for a towel to wipe off the worst of it. He paused in his tracks when a huge yawn burst forth, bringing tears to his eyes and popping his jaw. When it finally ended, he stood a moment longer, listening. On the other side of his door, the other members of the work crew were fielding good-natured ribbing about their dirty state.
A smile teased the corners of his mouth. He had to admit, Klink had done him a favor by ordering him to accompany the crew. At first, he had done no more than trade desultory conversation with Schultz and Langenscheidt alongside the road, while his men cut back brush and filled potholes. It was not long, however, before he had tossed Schultz his cap and jacket and taken up a shovel. For awhile, nothing but the work and his men's chatter and laughter had occupied his thoughts. All things considered, it was better than sitting around brooding.
It had also provided an opportunity to reassure his men that he was fully recovered. Though judging by the looks they had kept throwing his way, they had not been as reassured as he would have liked.
He did not need a mirror to confirm how bad he looked. Lack of sleep, along with stress, guilt, and a dose of depression tended to have that affect. Shaving was the only way he could improve his outward appearance, other than by trying to get some sleep.
And a shower, he thought, wrinking his nose. He lobbed the soiled towel into the basket and double-checked his watch. There was just enough time before supper for a shower and to attempt the nap he had missed earlier. Weighing the two, he decided sleep was more important at the moment. He was in his quarters – alone – and he could put up with the smell for the time it took to fall asleep. If there wasn't enough time after the nap . . . his men would understand. After all, they were men and they lived in a crowded barracks in a German P.O.W. camp. They had put up with worse and for much longer.
He eyed his bunk, uneasily wondered if he could get through the nap without another nightmare.
Just thinking about sleep conjured another yawn. Throwing his arms overhead and tilting his face toward the ceiling, he stretched and twisted in place, restless despite the fatigue. The crucifix, dog tags and talisman slid across his bare chest, jostled by the movement. He frowned at the tangled mélange of wood and metal, surprised that he had forgotten all about Braveheart's gift.
Funny, he thought, working to separate them, how quickly I got used to its weight.
He let the dog tags fall from his grasp, leaving the eagle and crucifix resting side by side upon his palm. The tips of the carving's talons just touched the silver cross, as if about to grasp it.
Hogan continued to study them while he slowly walked to his bunk. When his knees bumped the mattress, he turned, edged backward and sat. Lifting the carving from his palm, he rubbed one backswept wing with his thumb. The wood was smooth except for the eyes and a few cuts in the wings, body and tail that gave the impression of feathers. Rather than carve the bird soaring in flight or at rest, Braveheart had chosen to show its more menacing side. It was an impressive image, with its beak parted as if to rend, eyes fixed ahead and talons splayed and thrust forward as if fending off an enemy or sighting prey.
Protector.
Predator.
Forcing back sadness, Hogan reminded himself that an eagle symbolized other things, such as freedom and a fierce, independent spirit. A scripture also came to mind, but he doubted Braveheart had considered it while deciding upon an image for the talisman. (1)
Sighing, he returned the carving to his palm, noting with interest that it settled into the exact position as before. Talons to cross. A image came to him of an eagle swooping out of the sky, its eyes fixed upon the solid branch it had chosen to land upon. The vision was so clear and strong, he could almost feel the wind on his face.
Hogan blinked and both the image and sensation vanished. He focused on the talisman and crucifix again, his mouth curling into a faint smile.
Maybe biblical references had been on Braveheart's mind after all.
Yawning, Hogan decided the only thing he cared about at the moment was sleep. Dropping both talisman and crucifix, he lifted his legs onto the mattress, lay back and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the muted sound of his men's voices, the eagle and crucifix nestled together over his heart, rising and falling with each breath.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Kinch glided sideways on the balls of his feet and feinted with his left, maneuvering his opponent like a chess piece. Countering the move, the other man tracked him with a hard gaze, gloved hands up and protecting his face. A steady stream of comments flew over their heads, layer upon layer of voices, calling out advice, providing encouragement for both. Neither paid the slightest attention to any of it. In here, it was just the two of them.
Breathing easy, floating on adrenaline, Kinch rolled his shoulders and tapped his gloves together, bouncing in place for the sheer pleasure of it. His opponent's eyes narrowed and the full lips twitched with a fleeting smile. Kinch threw a jab meant only to direct, then shot out a gloved fist meant to do much more. Jerking his head out of range, his opponent answered with a pistoned jab that never came close to its mark. Whistles and cheers went up from Kinch's corner.
Bobbing and pivoting, Kinch waited patiently for an opening, that sweet glimpse of opportunity. Another feint with the right, a double-jab with the left and there it was. His right whipped out, the powerhouse punch connecting solidly with his opponent's chin. The other man's head snapped to the side and the hard stare disintegrated into dazed, rapid blinking. Yells and hoots went up from the spectators, the noise bouncing off the rec hall's rafters.
Off-balance and woozy, Kinch's opponent threw a roundhouse left that had no chance of landing. Kinch danced to the side, expecting him to shake off the blow and easily counter the move. Instead, his opponent made a wobble-legged, flat-footed turn, still dazed. Frowning, Kinch stepped back and spread his arms wide.
"That's enough."
Tivoli gave his head a hard shake to clear the cobwebs. Swelling and a livid bruise distorted one cheekbone and a sluggishly bleeding cut bisected an eyebrow. He swiped at the blood with the back of his glove and glared at Kinch. "Not yet, it's not." He moved forward, only slightly steadier on his feet. Maddux called encouragement from his corner, while Newkirk, Carter and LeBeau prodded Kinch on with yells of their own.
Kinch held his ground and pointed a gloved hand at the Italian. "Stand down, Tivoli ."
Tivoli stopped short, frustration and anger curling his lips into a silent snarl. Maddux pulled himself onto the ring's apron and leaned over the top rope, clearly thinking of going further. Knowing Maddux's temper and that his mouth frequently ran away with itself, Benson caught Jones' attention and flashed a signal, hoping to head off trouble. Jones reached up from the floor and grabbed Maddux by the belt, staying his progress. Stopped but not contained, Maddux called out.
"Whassamatta, Kinch? Afraid he was getting ready to take you?"
Newkirk jumped onto the apron near Kinch's corner. "That'd be the day, you little rug mop!"
Jones choked, guffawed and forgot all about holding onto Maddux. Rolling his eyes, Benson left his position near the wall and waded through the crowd to take his place.
Red-faced, Maddux lowered his head like a bull sighting a target and glared daggers at Newkirk from across the ring. "What'd you call me?"
Kinch and Tivoli, their hands hanging at their sides, traded exasperated looks.
"Rug mop, I think," Carter supplied helpfully, gazing at Newkirk in surprise. "That's a new one."
Newkirk shrugged with an air of false humility. "Just came to me."
LeBeau frowned. "What does it mean?"
Maddux snapped his gaping jaw closed and grabbed the rope with both hands. "Why you," he sputtered, hoisting himself higher. "You . . ."
"Cock-eyed Cockney?" Broughton stage whispered from the floor, aiming a wink through the ropes at Newkirk. Sputtered laughter erupted from Jones as he collapsed onto a nearby chair. Benson threw a long-suffering look heavenward.
"Stop egging him on, will you?" Benson saw the battle-light in Maddux's eyes and shoved the last few men aside. He covered the remaining distance at a jog, hooked a hand in the back of Maddux's belt and held on tight.
Seeing Benson had Maddux literally in hand, Kinch turned to LeBeau for help in taking off his gloves. Left with only a view of his back, Tivoli muttered something in Italian, marched to his corner and thrust his gloved hands out. Startled and thinking he was about to get smacked, Maddux shrank backward with a squawk of surprise. Tivoli stared at him with hooded eyes, waited for the light to go on.
"The gloves," Broughton told Maddux, sotto voce, expression studiously blank.
"I knew that, ya big goof!" Ignoring Tivoli's baleful stare, Maddux quickly went to work on the gloves' laces, fumbling in his haste. Satisfied trouble had been averted, Benson released Maddux's belt.
"Thanks for the help, Jonesie," Benson mock-growled with a shove to Jones' shoulder.
Jones threw a weak salute and still chuckling, gasped, "Welcome. Any time. Count on me." Fresh laughter bubbled from him when he suddenly found his cap yanked over his eyes.
Mopping sweat from his face, Kinch glanced over his shoulder at Tivoli . They were usually evenly matched. But from the moment they had stepped into the ring today, it had been obvious that only one of them had been concentrating on the fight. Tivoli's face bore evidence of Kinch's punches, while Kinch had come away without a mark.
Once they were both gloveless, Kinch grabbed a towel from Carter and pitched it across the ring. Tivoli snatched it from the air, slung it about his neck, then slipped through the ropes, jumped to the floor and headed straight for the door without a backward look. His snarled warning stopped Maddux, Broughton and Jones from following. Benson started after him, but Kinch caught him by the arm and shook his head. After a few words with Newkirk, Carter and Lebeau, Kinch went after Tivoli. He caught up to him near the camp's well and was not surprised when the Italian whirled to face him.
"Why'd you call it?"
"Your head wasn't in the ring." Kinch wondered again why Tivoli had showed up at Barracks Two and suggested the session in the first place. "I'm not sure it was even in the building." Ignoring Tivoli 's snort, he walked over to the well and propped a hip on one of its walls. Tivoli turned his head away, muttered something Kinch did not hear.
"What was that?"
"I said," Tivoli snapped, head whipping toward him. "That I wasn't counting on an audience."
Kinch quirked an eyebrow. The comment surprised him almost as much as Tivoli 's unusual lack of skill in the ring. An audience was practically guaranteed whenever anyone caught wind they were sparring. The crowd had been smaller this time, but only because their fight had not been at their usual day and time.
"An audience has never bothered you before."
Tivoli dabbed at the cut eyebrow with a corner of his towel. "It did today."
Kinch figured Tivoli would eventually work up to an explanation. Content to wait for it, he folded his arms and leaned back, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air after the rec hall's mustiness. Tivoli glanced his way, huffed, shook his head and slowly walked over to take a seat beside him. The wood wall creaked under their combined weight, but held firm. Kinch raised his eyes to the sky, watched a low hanging cloud shift and change shape until it vaguely resembled a barn. He cocked his head and squinted up at it. More like a hangar.
Tivoli chewed on a thumbnail and fidgeted with the towel around his neck. Kinch gave him a sideways glance then went back to cloud watching. Spitting a piece of nail, Tivoli cleared his throat and stared with fixed intensity across the compound. His voice was casual.
"So when do you figure we'll get a new CO?"
Kinch's head whipped toward him. "What?"
Tivoli stared back, stone-faced. "Come on, Sarge. The colonel's going to leave."
Kinch gave him a narrow-eyed look. "And why's that?"
"Kind of obvious considering last night," Tivoli shot back, still returning Kinch's stare.
In a flash, Kinch put two and two together and did not like the answer. His voice went cold and hard. "Spill it, Tivoli."
Tivoli sighed, passed a hand over his face. "I was in the tunnels this morning." He shrugged, stared down at a smear of blood on his fingers. "I overheard what he said."
"I ordered everyone to go back to their barracks and stay there," Kinch growled, disappointed and angry. "You not only ignored that order, you eavesdropped."
"Kind of hard not to, the way you both raised your voices," Tivoli snapped, looking up.
Questions flew through his mind, like what Tivoli had been doing down there at that time. But they all paled in comparison to one.
"Have you talked about this with anyone?"
"No!" Tivoli shot to his feet and paced back and forth, agitated. The towel slipped from his neck and fluttered to the ground, unnoticed by either man. "He'll leave, Sarge, mark my words. How could he stay? He can't not go out on missions and he sure can't avoid using his gun and headquarters will probably send us either a gung-ho idiot or a spineless one to replace him and he'll end up getting us all killed and—"
"Keep your voice down!" Kinch glanced around, took a deep breath and stayed Tivoli with a piercing glare. "He's not leaving."
Tivoli balled his hands on his hips. "He tell you that?"
Making no effort to hide his anger, Kinch merely stared at him. Tivoli threw his hands into the air.
"Got it. None of my business." A shrewd gleam appeared in his eyes. "But do you think he's thought about leaving?"
The question had merit. Kinch did not want to think Hogan would consider leaving, but at this point, he could not honestly say their CO had not entertained the idea. Regardless, the subject was not up for discussion, especially outside where they might be overheard.
"We're not discussing this."
"Sarge –"
Kinch stood, shoulders drawing back straight. Tivoli's expression went blank and he unconsciously mirrored the stance.
"Keep your concerns and speculation to yourself."
A flicker of hurt passed over Tivoli's swarthy face. "You know I will, Sarge."
Kinch nodded. After a moment of hesitation, he reached out and gripped Tivoli by the nape. "He'll get through this, Tivoli."
Tivoli searched his eyes, jerked a short nod and walked away. Kinch sighed. Noticing the towel, he bent down and picked it up, then started back to Barracks Two at a slow walk. He could only pray that whatever Hogan had planned for tonight would settle everything.
For everyone.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
"Dismissed!" Klink shouted, releasing the prisoners from evening roll call.
Hogan turned for the barracks only to hear his name called in a repeat of that morning. Sighing, he took comfort in knowing that he was only hours away from darkness and another night of freedom. Changing direction with barely a break in stride, he sauntered up to Klink.
"Yes, sir?" Hogan smoothed a palm over his cheek, feigning concern. "My five o'clock shadow too dark?"
Klink tucked his chin, huffed in exasperation. "If I thought it was, you would be on your way to the cooler this very minute, Hogan." His frown smoothed out, his demeanor turning diffident. "I was wondering if you would care to join me in my quarters for chess this evening."
The offer took Hogan completely by surprise. So much so, in fact, that he was momentarily left speechless.
"Thanks, but I'm not feeling too well." He shrugged. "Guess I overdid it today."
Klink's gaze turned piercing. "Yes. Schultz said that you worked alongside your men. While admirable, Hogan, it wasn't necessary. I specified you supervise and nothing more."
"It was the right thing to do," Hogan countered.
"Not if it has left you unwell," Klink snapped. Taken aback, Hogan studied him.
"Why do you care how I feel?"
Klink blustered a moment, then explained with studied nonchalance, "It isn't because I actually care about how you feel, Hogan. Illnesses and injuries reflect poorly on my quarterly reports."
Hogan nodded slowly. "Ah. My mistake."
"Yes," Klink sniffed. The silence that fell between them stretched. Deciding he had better things to do than to stand around and watch Klink breathe, Hogan tossed off a salute.
"Good night, Kommandant. See you tomorrow."
"I'd better!" Klink yelled to Hogan's retreating back.
HH HH HH HH HH HH HH
Hogan looked from man to man. "Locate the tower - if there is one - and then get back here. Don't take chances and don't engage the enemy unless you're left with no choice."
Kinch finished tying his boots and stood, giving his team a confident smile. Like them, he was armed and completely clothed in black. "Everybody remember who they're paired with?" Receiving nods and murmurs of affirmation, he turned to Hogan. "Anything else, sir?"
A smirk tempered Hogan's stern expression. "Glad you asked." His gaze swept over the group and the smirk vanished. "Keep your mind on your assignment. That's your only concern. Not where I'm going or what I'm doing." His eyebrow arched, his tone took on a hard edge of command. "Got it?"
A chorus of 'got its' went up, though some were reluctantly delivered. Hogan's expression softened.
"This is something I have to do alone, fellas."
"Understood, sir," Carter said quietly.
The other men echoed him, though their faces hid none of their concern. Kinch and Hogan shared a quick glance, then Kinch nodded and turning his attention back to the other men, gestured toward the doorway.
"Let's get on with it."
Hogan thrust out a hand and the group stayed their move toward the door. "Be careful," he told them, dropping his hand to his side.
The team filed out of the room with Kinch in the lead, leaving Hogan alone with LeBeau and O'Malley. He clapped a hand to LeBeau's shoulder, looked from one man to the other. "Keep the home fires burning."
LeBeau smiled. "Bon chance, colonel."
"Aye," O'Malley said, nodding. "We'll be waiting for you, sir."
A smile came and went on Hogan's face. "Relax, you two. I'll be back before you know it." Aware time was getting away from him, he headed for the emergency exit at a fast walk, with only his thoughts for company.
Which, for tonight, was just the way he wanted it.
(1) The scripture Hogan refers to is:
"But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." - Isaiah 40:31
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To be continued.