"Where are they going now?"
"The one group headed into the second bunkhouse and they haven't come out yet. Another group just went into the smokehouse. That lieutenant is lookin' up this way but I can't see the third group."
"Weren't you watching?" Newkirk muttered, pacing a few limping steps before he went back to the narrow window out which only one of them could see at a time.
"I only have two eyes, Newkirk.." Carter bit out irritated, craning his neck and trying to make the most of the small opening and the trees and buildings that stood in his line of sight. "There's the third group. They're headin' for the house."
Newkirk turned with a huff of frustration, more upset at being helpless than at Carter's descriptions. He paced away again.
"The group from the bunkhouse are comin' out now." Carter said, sounding more like a sportscaster than a lookout. Then his voice changed, rising in pitch. "The lieutenant just pointed them this way."
Newkirk pushed hard off his good leg and covered the short distance to the hatch closing it as quietly as he could before he looked to Carter. "How close are they?"
"Fifty feet maybe." Carter responded, wishing he had a crowbar, or a hammer. Anything heavy enough to use as a weapon.
They both heard a female scream and Newkirk turned so suddenly that his leg twisted and the wound yelled at him for his carelessness. Catching himself against the wall, Newkirk held his breath, staring intently at Carter's face.
The American had gone white at the sound of the woman's voice, searching the grounds for the source, afraid that it had been Hannah. A moment later he realized it was worse. Much worse. "Oh…geez." He said, feeling his stomach drop. "They got the colonel."
Carter didn't want to see anymore, and he backed away from the window, Newkirk quickly taking his place. The scream had come from Ida and she had followed the goons out into the snow, screaming for them to let "der fremde" go. Aldrich Werner was with Ida, holding her back, though it looked more like he was holding her up.
One of the goons dragging the colonel had started calling for his superior officer when Hogan collapsed to his hands and knees, overcome with a coughing spell that left a shock of crimson in the snow. When the goons bent to drag Hogan back to his feet Newkirk could see it wasn't a gag. Blood dripped from the colonel's bottom lip and he was struggling to cough up more.
The leutnant was quick to respond to the calls and sneered at the blood on the ground before he grabbed Hogan's chin and turned his face to the afternoon light.
"Wie heisst du?" He demanded. When the colonel didn't respond he swung an open palm against the colonel's cheek sending a second spray of blood into the snow.
The colonel was struggling to breathe but still conscious, and raised his head up enough to defiantly meet the leutnant's gaze.
"Who is this man?" The leutnant demanded of Werner.
"We don't know. We found him collapsed in the pasture a few days ago. He was ill and wasn't able to tell us who he was. We took him in, and did what we could to return him to health."
"And why would you do this?" The leutnant demanded, stepping back a few feet when the colonel started to cough again.
"Not all of Germany is inhabited by monsters, Leutnant. Some of us still bear compassion toward our fellow human beings." Werner snapped, pulling Ida in closer to him. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably, either a great actress, or out of fear. Newkirk didn't know, and didn't care. The waterworks were making the two goons holding the colonel all the more uncomfortable with the situation.
"This man may be the leader of an underground unit that has been sabotaging the German war effort. Taking German lives. Hiding him is not showing compassion, but an act of treason." The officer snapped, then ordered two more of his men to grab hold of the sagging prisoner.
"You can't move this man!" Werner insisted. "He won't survive a trip anywhere, not even to the road."
"Then you will come with us to ensure that he does survive!"
"Nein!" A voice shouted, drawing every eye in the yard. Newkirk felt his teeth grind together when he spotted Caine, dressed in one of the stolen SS uniforms. He was far too small for it but it looked like LeBeau had tried his hand at some last minute tailoring. Caine had the rifle that Carter had carried into the vineyard, and stood as confidently as a man of his stature could. "This man should remain here by order of Major Hochstetter."
The leutnant, up until that time still unidentified, looked over the small SS man with an arrogant swagger to his step that Newkirk didn't like. "And who am I to believe you are?" he demanded.
"Leutnant Caine Hochstetter. Herr Major's son." Caine said, sounding and looking so much like his father in that moment that there was no way anyone who had ever met Hochstetter could possibly deny it. Newkirk waited, holding his breath, desperate that against all the odds Caine's gambit would work.
His tone less cocky, the SS group leader asked, "Why have I never seen you before, Leutnant Hochstetter? Why would your father not make us aware that you were assigned to this case?"
"If you do not know, then you were not meant to know, Leutnant. You of all people should know better than to question the order of a superior. The major specified that this man should be kept alive for interrogation. If moving him threatens his life then he will stay here. I will guard him, and you may return to Passau to inform Major Hochstetter."
The leutnant considered the offer again, watching Hogan, Werner and Ida in turn before he said, "I will leave some of my own men here. I understand that he is remarkably resourceful when it comes to disappearing."
"Very well. We will await your return." Caine said, a little too quickly, Newkirk thought. The leutnant had begun to turn away but he stopped after Caine spoke, eyeing the smaller man.
"I will send your regards to your father, yah?"
"Yah." Caine said, visibly nervous. "He will be glad to hear from me."
It seemed to take forever for the leutnant and three of his six men to leave. By that time the colonel was shaking so hard he might have been convulsing, and Ida begged that he be taken into the kitchen.
Two of the guards disappeared into the house with Werner and Ida leaving the last to stand awkwardly next to Caine. Caine turned so that his back was to the windmill and eventually the other guard followed suit.
"Come on, Carter." Newkirk whispered, then hustled to the trap door, lifting it again.
Inside the kitchen Miriam and Freidrich were waiting with heavy frying pans in hand. They readily clobbered the guards over the head as soon as they came through the door, iron ringing on steel helmets like great gongs until the SS men were subdued.
While the ladies struggled to dig the colonel out of the pile of bodies, Werner fished for one of the rifles and rushed back out into the yard. The sound of the clanging had drawn the attention of the third SS man, but Caine's idle attitude set him at ease just long enough for Carter to sneak out the door of the windmill. Unfortunately the hinges were old, the door squeaked and the already jumpy guard whirled around only to be caught on the side of the head by Caine's rifle butt.
The third man went down and LeBeau ran out from behind the barn door where he had been waiting with a pitchfork and he, Carter, Caine and Werner dragged the unconscious soldier inside the house, Newkirk limping in their wake as fast as he could.
The women were entirely focused on the colonel for the first few minutes, holding him on his side so that the blood he was coughing up wouldn't choke him. None of them looked hopeful until one particularly violent cough had Miriam Werner staring closely at the smears of red on the white towel.
Even as she pulled the towel away the colonel's coughing fit died and his breathing seemed a little easier. Miriam held the towel up for Ida's inspection then turned to the pale, sweating man on the floor brushing his damp hair back from his forehead, and whispering words of encouragement and congratulations to him.
Another damp cloth was produced and the matron of the house wiped the colonel's face and chest down, smiling in relief. Newkirk, Carter and Caine shifted their focus from Miriam to Ida who had stopped crying and was now staring in wonder at the cloth, one hand over her mouth. It took her a few minutes to realize that she was the focus of attention.
"What is it?" LeBeau urged and Ida tilted the cloth so that they could see the thumbnail-sized piece of shrapnel.
"It must have been in his lung. He's been trying to cough it up all this time." Ida explained, her voice indicating that this was a good thing.
None of the men felt comforted by the news, but the women were delighted and went back to their ministrations with renewed hope.
"What do we do with these men?" Werner asked, turning back to the task of disarming the three SS guards littering the floor.
"Tie 'em up for now, we'll hold them in the windmill." Newkirk said, then asked, "The rest of your people alright?"
"Yes. Hidden and safe. For now." Werner said.
They stayed on high alert the rest of the day, until a snow storm rolled in, dumping at least a foot of the white stuff in two hours. The more the snow fell the more isolated the vineyard would be, a good thing as far as Werner was concerned. Only after night fall did he spread the word that those in hiding could come up for some fresh air. They were fed, as always, in shifts, then urged to bed down for the night in their hiding places just in case.
Grumbles were met with reminders that they were still refugees, and had been able to live happier, freer lives than most, and eventually the majority of the household went to bed.
Carter had agreed to watch the three SS men along with LeBeau for the first few hours of the night, leaving Caine, Werner and Newkirk free to get some sleep, but the Englander wasn't able to rest. Too many doubts were turning in his mind, along with an aching feeling that they were running out of time.
Instead of turning in to his assigned bed Newkirk limped down the hall and knocked lightly on the door of the 'sick' room Hogan had occupied for the past few days. When the door opened he was surprised to come face to face with Miriam Werner, who put a finger to her lips then invited the Englander in.
Hogan was awake, leaning back against a half dozen pillows that propped him up in bed, carefully lifting a shaking mug of broth to his lips and taking slow gulps. The act of feeding himself was a major accomplishment, and an act of trust on the part of Miriam who hurried back to the bedside, reaching her hands out to catch the mug in case the colonel dropped it.
Beside them, laying on her side fast asleep, was Ida. She still held a compress in one hand, and an afghan had been thrown over her legs, as though she had passed out in the middle of her nursing duties.
After a few more sips Hogan let Miriam take the cup from his hands and he clung to the edge of the comforter like it was the dash board on a jeep gone out of control. It took him a few minutes to let go but when he did he gestured for Newkirk to come to the bed.
"F-feel like an old man…" Was Hogan's first comment, his voice a bare whispering rasp. He looked pale and drawn, but a sight better than he had before, and he was able to take deeper and deeper breaths reducing the threat of pneumonia. Hogan swallowed around a painful throat and asked, "Radio?"
"Works, sir." Newkirk nodded, watching as Miriam set the cup of broth on a tray on the bedside table then went to the other side of the bed to rouse Ida. "Carter's contraption did the trick, powered it up. We got a load of static before the Gestapo made their appearance. They didn't find it, sir."
Ida and Miriam quietly left the room, the half-asleep mother-to-be muttering groggily. Both men watched them leave before Hogan nodded to his man, delighted to be able to breathe without a fire in his lungs. "…did me a favor.." He said. Ironically enough the SS jostling had helped his condition, even if it hadn't looked that way.
The half-hearted attempt at smiling from Newkirk caught his attention and Hogan waited for a few seconds then said, "Spit it out, Corporal."
Newkirk twisted his hands around the shaft of the cane, then shifted on the bed and said, "I've been…hoppin' mad at you ever since Gusen, Colonel and I'm-"
Hogan sighed and shook his head, starting to interrupt but Newkirk easily beat him to it. "I'm not about to apologize, Colonel, I had every right."
Surprised, Hogan paused then said, "You did." He waited then, letting the silence stretch until he had a pretty good idea of what Newkirk was hesitating to say, but he had no intention of making it easier on the Englander.
"I want out, Colonel." Newkirk said finally. "A transfer, drum me outta the service, court martial. I don't care how it's done. But I want out. Once this thing is over."
"Fine." Hogan said, the word clipped and weighted.
Newkirk had been prepared to plead his case. Wanted to plead his case. But Hogan wasn't going to give him the chance. It was a matter of betrayal, and Newkirk had crossed the line.
The part of him that wanted to remain sane, healthy and happy told him not to care. The part that had hoped that he might amount to something some day, the part that beamed like a kid at Christmas whenever the colonel gave him praise...that part felt ill.
Pushing himself stiffly to his feet, Newkirk muttered, "Night, Colonel." Then left the room as quietly as possible.