Thank you for your help, Marilyn!
Chapter 34
Kinch, Benson, Braveheart and Maddux picked themselves off the ground. Shaken, covered from head to toe in filth, they turned and looked back the way they had come. Through the trees, they could see a huge fire burning, could even feel a bit of its heat despite the falling rain.
Smiles passed between them.
They had done it. The tower was gone.
"Thank God," Kinch breathed, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. Benson slapped him on the back, raising tiny geysers of muddy water from the drenched sweater.
Exhultant, Maddux thrust his fists into the air and danced a jig.
Braveheart frowned and turned in place, hands on hips. Kinch straightened quickly, raked the surrounding trees with a hard stare. Maddux quit his one-man party and went stock-still. Benson took a few steps back the way they had come, trying to hear and see through the storm.
They were still a man short.
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Romie peered through the rain, a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. She had been watching the storm with Josef from the porch when an orange light had appeared above the tree line. The glow was fading quickly, disappearing altogether in each flash of lightning.
She looked up at Josef.
"What could it be?"
He shook his head, wondering the same thing. There had been talk – whispers, really, for no one talked openly about much these days – of something being built in the woods. Whether rumor or truth, it was best left to the younger men of the Resistance - like Robert - to find out. And destroy it, if need be.
And perhaps, Josef thought, watching the glow disappear behind the trees, that's exactly what they have done.
He tapped his pipe on the porch railing to empty it of ash, then tucked it into his trouser pocket and dropped an arm about Romie's shoulders. She snuggled against him, wrapping an arm about his waist.
The wind suddenly changed direction, gusting under the eaves and spraying them with fat raindrops. A startled yip sounded near their feet. Mozart backed away from the railing, a sneeze bouncing his front paws off the porch's planked floor. Seeing he had their attention, he wriggle-danced backward toward the house, madly wagging his tail and huffing another sneeze for good measure. Romie bit back a giggle, smoothed her face into a sober expression and looked up at Josef.
"We are being told to get out of the rain."
The sky suddenly lit up again, the flash of lightning so bright Josef and Romie were temporarily blinded. A loud crack of thunder rattled the windows in their frames. Mozart whined and pawed the top of Josef's boot.
Josef rubbed at his eyes. "A very good idea, Mutter."
Another gust of wind-driven rain prickled their faces. Mozart yipped, spun and hit the door hard with both front paws, brown eyes rolling back at them in a pitiful plea. Josef chuckled and shielding Romie from the rain, obligingly opened the door. Mozart lunged inside and raced through the house to the bedroom. Josef and Romie followed at a more sedate pace, content to ride out the storm in the warmth of their bed.
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"Maybe we should go look for him!" Benson yelled into Kinch's ear, trying to be heard over the wind, rain and thunder.
Kinch pulled back, looked him in the eye and forcefully shook his head. They would wait a little longer.
Maddux leaned in close from Kinch's other side. "Let me go!"
Kinch shook his head again, glaring from one to the other.
Braveheart turned toward them, lost his footing and madly pin-wheeled his arms to catch his balance. Kinch and Benson grabbed him by the arms, saving him from a bad fall. They waited until he carefully set his feet, then let go. Braveheart nodded once to show his thanks, whatever he had been about to say forgotten.
Kinch looked around and was surprised to see the lightning reflecting off large puddles. He took a few steps, and was dismayed to feel the soggy ground give way beneath his boots. The soft, humus-rich soil was already waterlogged and quickly turning into a quagmire. Getting back to camp would prove an adventure all its own.
Maddux tensed as a tiny light winked on and off in the darkness to his left. Grinning ear to ear, he shot a hand out, grabbed a handful of Kinch's soaked sleeve and yanked.
Kinch turned, just in time to see the light wink on and off. Keeping his eyes on the spot, he quickly wrestled his flashlight from his jacket pocket, put his thumb to the button and waited for the signal to repeat. Seconds ticked by and then the flashes began again, further to their left.
Two flashes. Long pause. One flash.
Kinch signaled back, four quick flashes. Hogan soon jogged out of the shadows, expression stormier than the weather. He assessed them in a sweeping glance, then curtly motioned them to follow.
We're leaving!
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"Herr Kommandant?"
The question was hesitantly voiced, but Klink flinched anyway. He had forgotten he was not alone. With a last searching look at Barracks Two, he left the window, grabbed his robe from the foot of his bed and slid his feet into his slippers. The room was cold and he felt silly speaking with Schultz while standing about in his nightshirt and bare feet.
"Is something wrong, Herr Kommandant?"
Klink took his time belting and tying the robe, thinking things through. Was something wrong? Or was he letting his imagination get the best of him again? Should he check on Hogan? Or should he go back to bed and give up his suspicions once and for all that Stalag 13 housed a clever saboteur?
Schultz gently scuffed his boot across the floor, hoping the noise would remind Klink – again – of his presence.
"Nothing's wrong," Klink blurted, so suddenly that Schultz rocked back on his heels. Deciding he wanted a stiff drink, Klink shuffled from his bedroom, vaguely aware of a Schultz-sized shadow following. Thunder rolled far beyond the hills, tapering off to a series of deep, tympanic rumbles that vibrated the floor under their feet. Klink opened the liquor cabinet's double doors, eyed the bottles inside and chose one at random. Plucking a glass from the tray resting upon the cabinet, he glanced back at Schultz.
"Nothing, other than I am wide awake in the middle of the night, with a headache and a dummkoff for company."
"Perhaps you would like another dummkoff, instead?" Schultz's lips pursed and his eyes lifted to the ceiling. "I could get Langenscheidt. He is just finishing his check of --"
"That won't be necessary," Klink cut in, sighing heavily. He gave the empty ice bucket a wistful glance, wishing it held ice for his drink. And his head. He waved Schultz toward the door, anxious to bring their conversation to a close.
"Gute Nacht, Schultz!"
Once he was alone, Klink drained the glass in one draught, turned off the lights and returned to his bed.
He would find out in the morning what the Resistance had destroyed this time, and if he still had a Senior P.O.W. or not.
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Hogan glanced over his shoulder, pivoted and hurried back to his men. Benson was sitting on the ground, teeth bared in pain. Crouching beside Kinch, Hogan caught his attention and lifted a palm in a 'what's wrong?' gesture. Maddux answered by stabbing a finger toward Benson's right knee.
Kinch briefly locked eyes with Benson, then clasped the leg above and below the knee and gently tried bending it. Benson jerked backward, biting down hard on his lower lip. Maddux dropped a knee to the muddy ground, and rested a hand on Benson's shoulder. Braveheart stood a few feet away, a palm upon the butt of his gun and his eyes on the surrounding woods, watching for trouble.
Kinch lowered Benson's leg to the ground, sat back on his heels and shook his head. Hogan angled an ear toward him. Kinch cupped his hands about it, so that his voice would not carry far.
"He must have pulled something yanking his boot out of the mud!"
Benson looked up at Hogan, grimacing as another spasm of pain shot through his knee. His 'sorry, sir!' was lost in a crack of thunder, but Hogan easily read his lips. He reached past Maddux and scrubbed his knuckles over Benson's drenched hair, bringing a brief, shaky smile to the injured man's face.
Hogan stood and took a quick look around, his thoughts racing at the danger they were in. The storm showed no signs of weakening, instead seemed determined to throw as much rain, thunder and lightning at them as possible. They were cold and soaked to the skin, exhausted from slogging through mud, sliding down hills, dodging windblown branches and climbing over fallen trees. And then there were the patrols. Bad weather would not keep them from their routes.
He glanced up, squinting his eyes against the rain and silently cursed the miserable conditions. They had survived the mission. Now they had to survive the trip back.
Wincing as another bolt of lightning threw spots across his vision, he reached down and fisted a hand in the shoulder of Kinch's jacket, urging him to his feet. They moved a short distance away, and then Hogan turned and cupped a hand to Kinch's ear.
"I'll go find branches for splints!"
Kinch reversed their positions. "Let me," he yelled back, flinching involuntarily as a cannon-like boom of thunder sounded.
Hogan jerked back a step, his eyes white-ringed with fear. Shaking his head, he mouthed 'NO!', shoved a finger against Kinch's chest, then jabbed it at the ground, mouthing, 'Stay here!' The gestures were repeated to include Braveheart, Benson and Maddux.
The reaction puzzled Kinch. Then the similarities between their present situation and the one that led to Marta's death dawned upon him. He nodded to show he understood and saw relief flood his CO's face. If they stayed put, then Hogan could use his weapon in the woods without fear of shooting one of them by mistake.
Kinch patted Hogan on the shoulder, offering reassurance as best he could, wondering if his CO would ever truly get past killing Marta. Hogan took the rifle from his back and put it into Kinch's hands, then turned and walked away. Kinch went back to the others and knelt beside Benson. He placed the rifle across Benson's legs to keep it out of the mud, and with both hands free again, pantomimed Hogan's intentions and their orders. A mulish expression pinched Maddux's face, but he bobbed his head once to show he would obey. He stayed where he was, his hand still upon Benson's shoulder. Braveheart knelt in the mud behind Benson and gently tugged on his shoulders, urging him to lean back. Benson did not have to be asked twice. He sank back against Braveheart's chest, eyes closing as another throb of pain went through his knee.
Hogan carefully picked his way through the trees, lightning flickering overhead. His eyes burned from the constant barrage of light and every nerve thrummed with tension. Jaw clenched tight, he hunted for branches suitable for bracing Benson's leg and finally located a couple of straight, sturdy ones. Tucking them under his left arm, he turned and retraced his path, anxious to get back to his men.
He was skirting a thick clump of brambles when a rabbit broke cover nearly at his feet, startling him badly. His hand jerked to the butt of his gun, and then he blew out a deep breath, and dropped his hand to his side. Several more deep breaths and muttered curses later, he moved on, keeping a lookout for patrols.
He had his men in sight when a bolt streaked across the sky, illuminating everything in bright light, reflecting off every wet surface.
Horror sluiced down his spine in an icy torrent. Figures were moving amid the trees behind his men, their helmets and rifles glistening in the rain.
TBC soon. Thank you for reading. Please take another moment to review.