"Good morning, gentlemen."
The greeting came from Sergeant Schultz as he trundled into Barracks 2, where the inmates had been taking shameless advantage of their state of quarantine. Roll-call had come and gone in the compound outside, but here some of the men were still in bed, and those who were up had been keeping the noise down out of consideration for anyone who was still sleeping.
LeBeau made an indignant hushing noise. "You want to wake everyone up, Schultz? After they were so sick yesterday? You Germans have no consideration."
"Sorry, LeBeau, but you have a visitor." Schultz made no attempt to lower his voice. "The medical officer from Stalag 4 has just reported to the Kommandant's office."
"Schultz, will you turn it up? Some of us are trying to sleep." Newkirk raised his head, and directed a red-eyed glare at the sergeant of the guard.
"Did you say the doctor's here, Schultz?" Colonel Hogan turned away from the stove, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Better late than never. I don't think we've got a patient left for him."
"Newkirk doesn't look so good," observed Schultz, squinting at the Englishman.
"He's always like that in the mornings," replied LeBeau. "Coffee, mon pote?"
Newkirk nodded sleepily, and sat up. "Merci, mon ami," he replied, his distinctly non-Gallic accent even more pronounced than usual.
"If they are all well, then why are they still in bed?" Schultz turned a look of anxious enquiry on Hogan.
"Practising for the next epidemic, Schultz. We haven't had our yearly round of dysentery yet," explained Hogan.
"Please, Colonel Hogan, tell me there is no monkey business going on." The sergeant's voice had begun its usual ascent of register, from bass through baritone to strangulated tenor.
"Oh, come on, Schultz. What could we possibly get up to in quarantine?"
The expression on Schultz's face was eloquent in reply, but he held his tongue, as the door behind him swung open and Kommandant Klink stalked in, followed by a man in the uniform of a Luftwaffe medical officer.
"Achtung!" bellowed Schultz.
Klink stopped just inside the door, casting a look around the barracks. "I'm glad to see you are all so much better," he remarked, before his gaze finally alighted on Newkirk. He suppressed a shudder. "Most of you, anyway."
The prisoners ignored him. He scowled, and cleared his throat. "Doctor Huber from Stalag 4 has kindly made time in his busy schedule to come and assess the condition of your men, Hogan."
Hogan, with a sideways look at the man standing behind the Kommandant, shrugged. "Yesterday would have been better. The worst is already over. I don't think anyone's even got so much as a sniffle today."
"That means nothing," observed the medical officer, in a cool disinterested tone. He was studying Newkirk, who returned the look with one of mild hostility. "Infectious diseases can strike a second or third time. Often after an incubation period, during which the victim appears perfectly healthy. That is the time when the pathogens are most virulent. And contagious. Very contagious."
Klink blanched, and took a step back towards the door, almost colliding with the doctor, who sidestepped neatly out of his way. "I...have some urgent paperwork waiting for me in my office," he stammered. "If you will excuse me, Doctor..." With less of the iron eagle, and more of the startled rabbit about his gait, he removed himself from the barracks. Schultz wavered, a vague sense of duty battling his natural inclination to get out of there. Natural inclination won.
The doctor removed his gloves. "Newkirk, you look like crap," he said frankly.
Newkirk's eyes narrowed into a glower. "Charming. That's your professional opinion, is it, Olsen? Remind me to write a letter of complaint to the medical association."
"Wait till you see his bill," said Hogan. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Much better, Colonel." Newkirk swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, wincing a little as his stiffening muscles protested. "Leg still hurts a bit." He glanced towards the tunnel entrance.
Hogan interpreted the look correctly. "As far as I know, she's still sleeping."
"She did well yesterday, you know. For an amateur, that is," remarked Newkirk, preparing for a cautious descent from his upper bunk. Hogan and Olsen went to his aid, to his visible annoyance.
"We should get that leg looked at," observed Hogan, as Newkirk dropped onto a chair, and leaned forward with his elbows on the table.
"Just don't let him anywhere near it." Newkirk nodded in Olsen's direction. "I know a quack when I see one."
Addison held up a hand. "I know a bit about knee injuries. I used to coach a rugby team in Swansea," Then, at the look he got from those around him: "What? Can't a guy from Idaho go live in Wales?"
"Sure he can, Addison." Hogan waved him forward. "But a rugby team? That's just wrong."
Addison grinned. "Don't knock it. They were some of the best-built women I've ever seen. Better legs than yours, too, Newkirk."
"Thank you very much. I'd have been better off with Olsen," complained Newkirk, but nobody paid any attention.
Hogan turned his head as the tunnel bunk went up and Carter appeared from below. "Colonel, Kinch said to tell you, he just heard from Bruno. Just one word..uh..." His voice died away, and a perplexed furrow creased his brow.
"Maraison," said Hogan.
"Yeah, that was it."
Hogan glanced at Newkirk. The agreed code word; Blackbird had been neutralised. If they were right, and he had been the witness who had told the Gestapo about Elise's companion, then things were looking up. The Gestapo might have a general idea of the suspect's appearance, but without an eyewitness, they would have little chance of picking Newkirk out from the entire population of Stalag 13.
"I'll be right down," Hogan said, and Carter vanished again.
Addison finished his examination, which had been rigorous enough to draw a fierce protest from his victim, and a scowl from LeBeau who was hovering close by. "Nothing serious. If you'd been able to rest it when it first happened, it wouldn't be anything to worry about. Just keep off it for a couple of days, till the inflammation goes down."
"Make that an order, Newkirk," Hogan added. "For the next few days, consider yourself on sick call. Let's not take any chances. You can't be spared long-term."
Newkirk gave him a startled look. Then, as Hogan responded with a slight nod, he flushed, and turned away to hide the smile that broke across his face. LeBeau, his eyes dancing, gave him a nudge. The probation period was over; he was back in the team.
Hogan turned to Olsen. "I think the quarantine's run its course," he remarked. "Give it ten minutes, so it looks as if you've actually examined someone, then go report to Klink that what we have is several cases of food poisoning."
"Not from my cooking." LeBeau was up in arms at once.
"Heaven forbid, LeBeau. No, some of the guys ate in the mess hall the night before last," said Hogan. "They were asking for trouble, it serves them right. We're lucky there were any survivors."
He left Olsen to work out the details for himself, and headed down to the radio room, where Kinch, with Carter as audience, was already transmitting Elise's information to London. Carter had a sleepy, contented look about him. As far as he was concerned, all was well this morning.
Kinch finished the message and looked up. "All received, Colonel. They've asked me to stand by."
"Before they sign off, ask them about Stefan Hochstetter," said Hogan. "Then get in touch with Bruno. We need to get him out, as well as the lady. Is she awake yet?"
"She was still asleep twenty minutes ago," said Carter.
Hogan went along to the sleeping quarters, where he found Elise had woken since Carter had last checked. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, and looked up as he came in. The long sleep had done her good; she seemed to have recovered her self-possession, and showed no sign of the ill temper which had been so evident at the Weinkeller the night before. She still looked tired, but even so, she was a pretty girl. It was surprising that Newkirk had kept his head; maybe he'd grown up a bit since that business with the barmaid.
"I hope you slept well," said Hogan.
She gave him a little smile. "Very well. Your sergeant told me the accommodation was basic, but it's surprisingly comfortable. I'm afraid I wasn't very gracious about it last night." She hesitated, then added, "Your man in town - Corporal...?"
"Newkirk."
"Is he...?"
"He's fine. A little sore, but he'll get over it in a few days."
Elise folded her hands. "He was very good, but he wasn't at all polite. Doesn't he like women?"
It took every scrap of Hogan's self-control to keep from laughing at that. "He's had some unfortunate experiences recently; it soured him a bit," he explained. "Finding out about your family connections probably didn't help."
She looked away. "I won't apologise for it."
"I won't ask you to. But it was a complication he could have done without."
Elise acknowledged the remark with another tiny smile, but didn't answer him.
"There's something I'd like to clarify," Hogan went on. "I got the story from Newkirk last night, but he couldn't tell me everything." She still didn't speak, so he continued. "When he arrived at the hotel, he saw you talking to Hochstetter. What was that conversation about?"
She went scarlet. "Wolfgang had been keeping an eye on me since I arrived in Hammelburg. That night he arrived just as I was coming down to the restaurant. He didn't exactly say why, but he asked if I was meeting anyone, and he seemed very put out when I wouldn't tell him. Something about his mood made me nervous, so I acted as if I thought he was accusing me of...well, of having an affair. I suggested he speak to Stefan about it, and he said it was too late for that. I didn't understand it at the time, but he probably meant..."
After a pause, she changed the subject. "What happens to me now?"
"For the next few days, you stay down here. It may not be five-star, but it's about the safest place in Germany for you right now. When the heat dies down, we'll get you onto our usual escape route. You won't be going alone. Bruno, from the Weinkeller, will make the trip with you."
She lowered her gaze to the floor, then looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Stefan?"
"We're trying to find out, but don't get your hopes up," said Hogan. He waited for a moment, but she didn't answer him.
"Colonel?" Carter was in the entrance. "Kinch has some more news from London." He glanced at Elise, clearly reluctant to give any further details in front of her.
"Okay, Carter, I'm coming." Hogan gave Elise what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "If you need anything, just ask."
Once in the tunnel, and out of her sight, he sent an enquiring look at Carter. "Well?"
"It's her husband," said Carter in a low voice. He didn't need to say any more.
Hogan closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes he hated this job. "Don't tell her yet. Get her something to eat, and see that she eats it. I'll tell her myself, later."
He went back to the radio room, where Kinch was waiting. "Not good news, Colonel," he said. "London confirmed that Captain Stefan Hochstetter, of the Inland-Sicherheitsdienst, has been passing information for some time - reliable information. They've just received word he was arrested in Berlin two days ago, and shot while trying to escape. He didn't survive." He fell silent at the look on Hogan's face.
"Anything else?" asked Hogan after a long pause.
"No further information on that. They've rescheduled the air attack on the communications base at Weizenfeld for tonight, and they'll be targeting the relay towers between there and Hammelburg as well. Early evening."
"Pass that on to Bruno. He'll put the word around the Underground."
Kinch frowned. "With Mistral out of action, and Blackbird closed down, it's not going to be easy for him."
"He'll think of something. He always does," said Hogan. "Damn, we're going to miss him."
Kinch laughed quietly, and went back to work, and Hogan returned to the barracks. Olsen had already gone to report to Klink, and the men were putting the barracks into order in case the Kommandant decided a snap inspection was in order. Newkirk, with an anxious LeBeau in attendance, was getting into uniform. Both of them looked at Hogan as he came out of the tunnel.
"Carter told us," said Newkirk. "Does she know yet, Colonel?"
"Not yet. I'll tell her later."
"Perhaps it might come better from me, sir." Newkirk's voice was unusually serious. "She's my responsibility, after all."
Hogan considered the suggestion, then shook his head. "Not any more. Thanks for the offer, but I'll deal with it. It's not up for discussion," he added, as Newkirk seemed ready to argue the point. "You're off duty today, Newkirk."
He waited till mid-morning before he went back down to speak to Elise; and he found he didn't have to say a word. As he entered the sleeping quarters, she looked up. "Colonel," she began, then her eyes widened as she read the look on his face. She continued to stare at him for some moments, then looked away; tried to speak, but couldn't, and closed her lips tightly together.
"I'm sorry," said Hogan.
"I know. I expected it," she replied. It took an effort, and her voice trembled. "Corporal Newkirk warned me. How did it happen?"
"Shot while trying to escape. I know it's not much comfort, but it would have been quick." He didn't go into the other side of it; a quick death meant no chance of interrogation, no chance they could have broken him. If she realised it herself, she'd understand. If not, then no need to give her the extra grief.
He couldn't tell whether she had thought of it or not. She had taken the news surprisingly well; her distress, though obvious, was controlled. That might change, once the news sank in.
She became aware of his silence, and looked up again. "Thank you, Colonel Hogan," she said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." He was watching her closely.
"Please." She pressed her tightly clasped hands against her lips for a moment. "I don't want to cry in front of strangers," she added; then, with a pathetic attempt at a smile, "It makes me look hideous. Stefan wouldn't want..." Her voice failed, and she turned her face away, breathing deeply in an effort to suppress her feelings.
It was less than twenty-four hours since she had met him; not yet two days since she'd first set eyes on Newkirk. She must be feeling very isolated right now, alone among a whole crowd of men with whom she was completely unacquainted. Hogan could understand her reserve. "Okay. If you need anything, you know where we are." He lingered for a moment, then left her to deal with her grief in her own way.
The day passed quietly. Hogan had anticipated a visit from the Gestapo; Hochstetter was never slow to link any suspicious activities to Stalag 13. But the hours wore on, and the major put in no appearance.
"Well, it's not as if we look forward to seeing him, is it?" observed Newkirk.
"No, but I don't like it. He's not doing what I expect him to," Hogan replied, a trifle petulantly.
"Probably just messing with us." Newkirk, reclining on Carter's bunk, suppressed a yawn. For once, he was taking no part in the poker game which engaged several of the others, while they waited for lights-out.
"Yeah, maybe." Hogan glanced up, his attention diverted. Then he glanced at his watch. "Right on time. And right on target."
The explosion, not too close but near enough to be audible, had caught everyone's attention. "That the raid on Weizenfeld? Didn't think we'd hear it from here," said Carter.
"We wouldn't. They're taking out the relay towers near Hammelburg as well."
Carter giggled. "Just as long as they don't miss this time."
Nobody paid any attention Newkirk's uncharacteristic silence, but Hogan, to all appearances watching the game, kept an eye on him. Newkirk seemed to grow more tense, as the noise of the bombings came closer. It was unusual; like most of the prisoners, he was so accustomed to the air raids which occasionally disturbed their nights as to be scarcely aware of them. Not tonight. As the noise continued, Newkirk got restless. He glanced at the group of men around the table, making sure they were fully occupied, then got up quietly and headed for the tunnel entrance.
He looked over his shoulder again before tackling the ladder, and caught the colonel's eye; went red, and gave a little shrug of embarrassment. Then, with due care for his painful knee, he descended into the tunnel.
"He's not getting scared, is he?" Carter gazed after him, with a troubled expression. "Must have been real bad in Hammelburg."
"Jamais," muttered LeBeau, but he looked worried, too.
Hogan wasn't happy with it, either. If the air raid two nights ago was going to have any lasting effect on Newkirk, his return to the team was likely to be short-lived. They couldn't use a man who might react badly to explosions.
The colonel waited a few minutes, and then went below. As he reached the radio room, Kinch looked up. He didn't speak, just nodded in the direction of the sleeping quarters. Enlightenment dawned; suddenly Hogan understood. He went along the tunnel, and stopped when he heard Newkirk's voice.
"Listen, princess. I know you're frightened, but just listen for a moment. It's miles away. You're safe here, as safe as you could be. They'd never bomb a prisoner of war camp, not even by accident. So nothing's going to happen. Just keep your chin up, sweetheart, and it'll all be over in a little while...okay, you have a little weep, if it makes you feel better. I'll be right here, as long as you want me."
The colonel moved a few steps forward, into the doorway of the sleeping quarters. As he had guessed, Newkirk was cradling the girl in his arms; the shattering experiences of the last two days had finally caught up with her. He held her close, with a tenderness nobody had suspected he was capable of, and continued to talk in a low, gentle voice.
Hogan knew he had no reason to worry. Newkirk would be okay.