Now beta-ed, by my wonderful beta Marilyn!

Chapter 37

Hogan jerked awake a few hours later, head full of bloody afterimages and heart racing. Kicking his legs free of the tangled blanket, he threw his legs over the edge of the bunk and gently massaged his temples. A small, rueful grin came and went as his sense of humor kicked in.

You'd think my imagination could come up with something different by now.

He had come to expect the nightmares, which were always a variation of the same theme, only with different places, faces and circumstances. For all their repetitiveness, the images had not lost any of their sickening impact.

The chuckle that escaped him had absolutely nothing to do with humor. He had foolishly half-hoped as he had slid toward sleep that he might be free of the nightmares – for a few nights at least. In his heart, though, he had truly not believed it would happen. Just because they had successfully completed the mission without losing anyone, and just because he had not shot Tivoli, did not mean the nightmares would suddenly stop.

"Colonel?"

Hogan jerked his head up and dropped his hands to his lap, surprised that he had not heard a knock. Kinch stood in the doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand, and at Hogan's beckoning gesture, entered and closed the door. His eyes swept over Hogan from head to foot, taking in the rumpled uniform and booted feet.

Hogan shrugged, smiled a little.

"Didn't see any reason to change for only a few hours of sleep."

"Did you?"

Hogan stared at him, not awake enough yet to follow the line of conversation. Kinch frowned.

"Sleep. Did you get any?"

"Oh. Yeah." Hogan stood, stretched his arms over his head and twisted from side to side. A few twinges popped up here and there, and his bad shoulder sent out a warning throb, but nothing was painful enough to slow him down. He scrubbed his hands over his face, grimaced as whiskers rasped against his palms. He had better shave or Klink would make good his threat about spending time in the cooler. He took a step toward his locker, only to stop when a jaw-cracking yawn took him by surprise. When he opened his eyes again, Kinch held out the cup of coffee.

"Bless you," Hogan breathed, taking the cup. The coffee was hot and strong, just the thing to clear away the last of the cobwebs. He took another drink, studied Kinch closely over the cup's rim, looking for lines of pain about the eyes, stiffness in the way his second held his shoulders. A twitch of Kinch's mustache said he was well aware of what Hogan was doing.

Grinning, Hogan lowered the cup a little. "How's the shoulder?"

"Better." Kinch easily rolled said shoulder, extended his arm forward and then over his head to prove it.

Hogan nodded, happy to see the improvement. He supposed it might be too much to hope that Benson's knee would be doing as well. Making a mental note to check, he quickly drained the cup and set it on his desk.

"How much time until roll call?"

Kinch quickly consulted his watch. "Sixteen minutes."

Plenty of time. Hogan went to his locker, took out his razor and soap and set them on the small shelf next to the locker.

Kinch tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and slouched against the door. "London sent their congratulations on a 'job well done'."

Hogan merely grunted in response to that bit of news. He checked his reflection in the mirror, wrinkled his nose at the dark circles under his eyes. All things considered, he felt fine - more at home in his skin . . . Steadier, his mind whispered . . . for the first time in a very long time. Less like he was trying to keep his balance on a high wire while carrying an anvil on his back.

Deciding his CO had nothing else to say, Kinch proceeded with his morning report. "Marc relayed a message from someone wanting to meet with Papa Bear."

Hogan finished lathering his beard, picked up his straight razor and carefully drew the sharp blade down his cheek, scraping off whiskers. He threw a glance at Kinch as he grabbed a towel and wiped the blade clean.

"This someone have a name?"

"None that Marc passed along."

The razor paused over Hogan's other cheek. He turned his head, looked directly at Kinch. "He didn't give us a name."

Kinch confirmed it with another shake of his head.

Hogan finished with the other cheek, wiped the blade clean again, then quickly took care of the rest of his face. His smooth-skinned reflection looked back at him as he wiped off the leftover spots of lather.

"Anonymous guy passed all the checks?"

"Marc was satisfied. He intends to bring him to the meeting himself if you give the 'go-ahead'."

Hogan put the razor and soap away and tossed the used towel in the hamper beside his locker. "Okay, then. When?"

"Friday. The time and coordinates are on the clipboard by the radio. The location's close enough you can reach it on foot."

Hogan ran a comb through his hair, thinking. Friday was three days from now. Long enough for all his little aches and pains to fade and for the ground to dry out. He nodded to himself, knowing he would be more than ready to go back out by then if nothing came up in the meantime.

"I'll take Newkirk with -- " He interrupted himself when Kinch shook his head. "What?"

"You're to go alone."

"Why?"

"Apparently the information's too sensitive to give to anyone but you, and you, alone." Kinch went quiet for a moment. "It could be a trap. Sure sounds like one."

Hogan waggled his head in agreement. It sure did. But it probably wasn't by virtue of its obviousness. And it certainly was not the first time that he had been asked to go to a rendezvous alone. He put his shaving kit away, pushed his locker door shut and walked to his bunk, head bowed in thought. Marc Zoellner was a trusted agent, a key link in their chain of local people involved in Underground activities. He was also extremely careful in all his dealings with anyone, even those he had worked with before. He would not have relayed the message unless he was completely satisfied the request was legitimate.

On the other hand, Hogan thought. Marc can be fooled just like anyone else.

He considered both sides a few moments longer, made his choice and then turned back to Kinch. "I'll go."

"I'll let Marc know." Kinch pulled his hands from his pockets and folded his arms, gnawed on the inside of his lower lip.

Hogan could guess what was on his mind, and twirled one hand in a 'give it to me' gesture. "Go ahead and ask."

"Have you decided?"

Hogan took his jacket off the top bunk, shook it out and started pulling it on. "Yup."

Whistles sounded outside the barracks, calling the prisoners to morning roll call. Kinch straightened away from the door and moved aside. "So . . ." His voice trailed off as Hogan's grin took on a wicked slant. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Hogan plucked his crush cap from the top bunk and seated it on his head. "Nope."

Schultz's voice sounded on the other side of the door, followed by a succession of muffled thumps as men jumped down from their bunks. Hogan glanced from the door to Kinch, and after a slight hesitation, asked, "Anything from a certain striped feline of the feminine persuasion?"

Kinch's expression softened. "Sorry, sir."

Hogan reached for the door, his good mood gone.

He paused to check the sky as soon as he stepped outside, vaguely aware of Schultz going back into the barracks and Kinch walking on to his place in formation. Dark gray clouds left over from the storm hovered just above the horizon. He was glad to see the rest of the sky was shifting from shades of gray to blue as the sun crept above the trees. A sunny day was just what they needed to dry things out. The prison compound, for one, had been transformed overnight into a sea of mud.

Hogan slogged through the thick slop to his place in line, telling himself to look on the bright side. At least the mud provided a convenient explanation for their muddy boots and Benson's sprained knee.

Stragglers filed out of the barracks and into rank at a slow trickle, exhausted from little sleep, impervious to Schultz's pleas to 'raus'. Some days, Hogan thought, watching Schultz start his count, we have only one speed. Slow.

He frowned as the thought sunk in. His men could use some rest, at least several nights without last minute calls from London, unexpected crisis situations and road detail. He could not do anything about London, but he would do whatever he could to keep Klink's demands in check. There would not be any more road detail for awhile if he had his way.

Roll call was quick, as no one, Klink included, wanted to linger long in the cool, muddy, conditions. Hogan was not unduly surprised when the kommandant made no mention of the destruction wreaked by the Resistance during the night. The tower had been a carefully guarded secret, possibly even from Klink.

As soon as roll call was over, Hogan headed over to Barracks Ten.

He spotted Benson seated on a bench someone had dragged out of the barracks. Tivoli was with him, one foot propped on the end of the bench, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Benson was gesturing up at him, mouth going a mile a minute. Tivoli's lips twisted into a smirk. He shook his head, took a drag on the cigarette and then said something that got a laugh from Benson.

Should have known they'd be together, Hogan thought.

Tivoli saw Hogan coming and straightened, casually removing his foot off the bench. The end of the cigarette bounced as he said something to Benson. Benson's head whipped in Hogan's direction and he started to stand, clearly favoring his injured leg. Tivoli threw his cigarette to the ground, grabbed Benson under the arm and carefully helped him to his feet.

"I'm fine, sir," Benson said before Hogan had even come to a halt. "Sore as Hell, but I'll be good as new in a few days." He patently ignored Tivoli's huff of disbelief.

Hogan nodded down at Benson's bad leg. "Can you put any weight on it?"

Benson's entire face twitched. "How much weight?"

Tivoli bit down on his lower lip, suddenly found something interesting in the sky.

"Sit down, Benson." Hogan leaned his good shoulder against the barracks, and once Benson was sitting again, casually said, "I think it's going to take more than a few days, don't you?"

Benson opened his mouth, closed it, and then nodded. "Yeah."

Hogan chuckled. "Enjoy the time off." His smiled faded as he straightened and turned to Tivoli, jerked a thumb in the direction of Barracks Two. "Come with me."

Benson absently kneaded his sore knee with one hand, his gaze following them until they were out of sight. He did not believe that their CO would send Tivoli packing, but only time would tell.

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"You thought what?"

Tivoli flinched, but quickly recovered. "I've seen it happen before. The guy starts taking more and more risks, just throwing his life out there, glaring death in the eye until it finally takes him up on it, and the guy gets his wish."

Of all the things Hogan had expected Tivoli to say, this was one that had never occurred to him. He'd had some dark days – after bombing raids, after his brother's death, after losing men, and especially after Marta – but none so dark that he had thought of taking that final step to stop the pain.

"I may be a lot of things, Tivoli, but suicidal isn't one of them."

Tivoli's eyes stayed locked on the far wall of Hogan's quarters, his hands at his sides, clenched into fists. His tone was stiff, the voice of a man uncomfortable with the subject and the emotion behind it.

"I didn't think so, either. But I wasn't going to sit around on my butt this time and wait to see if I was wrong."

Hogan's eyes narrowed.

This time.

"Someone you knew pushed the dare too far?"

Tivoli's black eyes flickered to Hogan and away again. "A friend." The clipped tone and tight-lipped expression told Hogan not to push. Not about this. There had been a true undercurrent of pain in the response.

Damnit, Hogan sighed to himself.

"I never really thought you'd do anything." Tivoli's voice was soft, almost apologetic. "But I never thought Lou would either."

"So you ignored my orders and snuck out of camp to protect me from myself. And nearly got yourself killed for it." Hogan moved closer and right into Tivoli's line of sight. "Protecting my life at the expense of your own isn't acceptable."

Tivoli's jaw took on a mulish slant. "Why not? You do the same for us all the time."

"I'm your CO," Hogan snapped. "It's my job. Command structure exists for a reason and choice has no place in it. Ever since you came here, you've bucked my orders and caused trouble every chance you got. I gave you chance after chance after chance. Then you finally started proving you could be a valuable member of our operation, and I thought your days of bucking orders were over." Hogan's voice deepened with anger and disappointment. "But then last night you did it again."

Tivoli's throat flexed as he swallowed, but his ramrod posture never faltered and his eyes stayed front and center.

"No more chances," Hogan growled. "Your grace period is over as of today."

Tivoli's expression underwent several swift changes. Hogan let him sweat; let him think the worst, then delivered his decision in a firm voice.

"When you walk out that door, it'll be with a clean slate. All past sins erased. You saved at least one life last night, Tivoli, even though it was almost at the cost of your own."

Elation and relief flashed in Tivoli's black eyes, and his full lips twitched with the hint of a smile. Hogan quickly brought him back to earth.

"I'm more than happy about the way things turned out last night, but that doesn't mean that I'm okay with the fact that you disobeyed me again. It will be for the last time. If it isn't, I'll have your ticket out of here cut before you can say, 'arrivederci'. And nothing and nobody will get me to change my mind."

Again, Hogan silently added.

The breath seemed to go out of Tivoli. Then his shoulders straightened and his chin rose. "Grazie, Colonnello." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Hold up, there," Hogan ordered, folding his arms.

Tivoli turned back, eyebrows lifted.

A devilish smile stretched across Hogan's face. "We're not done yet."

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The door to Hogan's quarters flew open and Tivoli stormed out, swarthy face flushed with anger. Carter jumped up from the table and moved to intercept him.

"Hey, what –"

Tivoli roughly brushed by, jerked the barracks door open and marched out, slamming the door behind him. Carter stared after him in surprise.

"Well, I guess we know what that means," Olsen said from his cross-legged position on his bunk. He shook his head and rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head. He would miss Tivoli. The Italian was a hardheaded S.O.B., but he had started to become a friend, too. The goon squad would not be the same without him.

O'Malley gazed sadly at the closed barracks' door. "He did it, then."

"Looks like." Newkirk took a deep drag on his cigarette, started slapping cards on the table for another hand of solitaire.

Kinch stared blindly into the distance, fighting disappointment.

"Never thought the day would come that I'd be sad to see Tivoli go," Paxton said to Braveheart.

"The only place he's going is somewhere to cool off."

Heads whipped toward Hogan's quarters. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a studiously blank expression on his face. There was, however, a distinct twinkle in his eyes.

Kinch glanced between Hogan and the barracks door. "He's staying?"

Hogan nodded. Carter and LeBeau exchanged looks, their confusion apparent.

"If you're not shipping him out, then why is he so angry?" LeBeau asked.

Hogan shrugged. "It could have something to do with being restricted to camp for two months and having laundry duty for three."

Smiles and laughter broke out, along with a loud whoop of happiness from Olsen. Kinch and Hogan shared grins from across the room, and then Hogan backed into his quarters and shut the door, leaving them to their celebration.

Just a few to go now. Thank you for reading.