Before the Englander threw a punch Hogan barked, "Alright, Newkirk, hold it!"
A feral smirk broke on the Brit's face and he gave a mock salute before he backed off a few feet and said, "Right, sir. Shall we go to our proper corners then, sir?"
Hogan ignored the sarcasm and said, "You've been ready to blow since Gusen. I can't take a man on a job that I can't rely on."
"In that case, sir, I shall take my leave." Newkirk quipped angrily then turned to walk away.
"Get back here, Corporal."
Despite himself Newkirk felt his legs grind to a halt and he stood with his shoulders stiffening.
"We're gonna settle this here and now. All out fight, no holds barred, end all. If you win by a knock out, you're free to go. We'll leave you with a uniform and a weapon, some cash and food and you're on your own."
Surprised, Newkirk turned and faced the colonel, certain he knew the answer even as he asked, "And if you should win?"
"You stay. You follow my plan and every order to the letter, and leave Hochstetter and his family alone."
Peter touched his fingers to his swelling lip again, glancing at the blood that was beginning to dry, considering the precipice that he was standing on and suddenly afraid to make the leap.
If he won he'd be out, one part of him argued. He'd be free of this worrying about his chums business, and he'd have only himself to worry about. All the birds he could handle. He'd be rolling in dough in no time, and he could disappear into Switzerland until the war ended. It was hopeful and idealistic and absolute rubbish.
Before he could respond he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and watched as LeBeau and Carter rounded the corner of the windmill, looking frantic up until they realized that Hogan and Newkirk were both still standing.
Hogan had been in the process of pulling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, playing nonchalance when all he could think was how idiotic it had been to let his anger take over and punch Newkirk in the first place. He wasn't entirely sure he could win a fight against the street wise Englander.
All he knew was that he couldn't do the job, any job, without Newkirk as part of the team.
Peter could feel the panic and the anger building up again. The same panic that had pushed him to shoot at the German major. It stemmed from the ache in his leg and boiled to the top of his head and before he had even formally agreed Newkirk was jerking his own jacket off and tossing his cap to Carter.
"Alright, Colonel, you've got yourself a deal." Newkirk said. He took two steps then swung from the right, high and wide. A simple lob that any man could duck. Hogan recognized it as a feint a second too late and took a solid hit to the stomach, getting his fists under his chin in time to take some of the impact out of the upper cut that followed.
The blow threw him back non-the-less and Hogan hit the ground, stunned, his arms windmilling behind him.
Newkirk stepped back a pace, waiting as the colonel shook his head and got back to his feet. He smirked in response to the surprised look that Hogan gave him, and waited as the colonel stepped back into the circle, telegraphing a few feints before stepping back again.
He'd been trained at some point in his life, Newkirk thought, probably joined a boxing team in his NCO days. It showed in the colonel's form, but it had been a long time.
The next exchange of punches ended with Newkirk's upper lip swelling and bloody, and the colonel once more shaking his head, bells starting to ring in his ears.
Both men were breathing heavily by then, puffs of air crystallizing in the cold. The ground beneath them slowly churning into a slushy mud making it harder and harder to stay upright.
When Hogan stepped again into the box with intent, Newkirk couldn't read where the next punch was coming from. The Brit struck out blindly anyway with a left-right combination that knocked the colonel to the ground, then paced back confused.
Hogan took a little longer to get up, swaying with his back to his opponent before he turned and put his fists up again. When Newkirk chose to hang back and wait for him to recover, the colonel egged him on, beckoning him closer with a weak smirk on his face.
He was asking for punishment and Newkirk gave it to him, reluctantly this time, paying more attention to the body than the face until the colonel went down in the slush, bent double at the waist.
Newkirk's arms were starting to burn, his lungs demanding more oxygen than was available. He was tiring out and the colonel was red faced and gasping on the ground. But he was still conscious, and Hogan had declared the fight would only end by a knock out.
One last punch was all it would take to put the colonel out. One punch and Newkirk could be done with this war, with money in his pocket. One punch and Newkirk would never be able to look at his own face in a mirror again. Newkirk couldn't bring himself to do it.
Against the desire of every man watching Hogan spent a few more seconds on the ground then started working his way up to his knees. There weren't any structures handy so Hogan grabbed hold of Newkirk's arm and used his own opponent as a support, dragging himself to his feet.
Newkirk braced the man while Hogan was regaining his balance, ready to concede the fight but the colonel stepped back an appropriate couple of feet and raised his fists, nodding for Newkirk to continue.
"Colonel…" Newkirk protested.
"Come on, come on…" Hogan wheezed, his tongue suddenly swollen in his mouth and his throat dry. He was forced to maintain a wide stance to keep from falling over, and couldn't have thrown a punch if he wanted to.
Newkirk shook his head once more then dropped his fists. "You're done in, Colonel."
"No I'm not, Newkirk. Come on and fight."
"Colonel-"
"Fight!"
For a second Hogan thought he would do it. Newkirk's face had solidified into a mask, his fist had clenched and he'd drawn his arm back with just enough force to launch the straight punch that would knock the colonel out for good.
Hogan waited, swaying. His diaphragm had begun to seize up, like a massive charlie-horse that made it impossibly painful just to breathe.
But the Englander dropped his fists, his arms like lead, and stepped in in time to catch the colonel before he swayed too far, guiding the man to the sturdy side wall of the windmill, where Hogan leaned gratefully with one hand against the mill and the other arm wrapped around his chest.
Turning so that his back was against the structure Hogan slid down until his legs were supported by the concrete base of the mill and tried to catch his breath, fingers delicately probing his battered rib cage.
Carter and LeBeau quietly took seats flanking the colonel and after a moment Newkirk sat as well, groaning as he let his throbbing head come to rest in his hands.
A minute later he got it. His head came up, eyes unfocused in the distance, lips slightly pursed as the pieces came together in his mind. "You bloody, scheming, devious, manipulative..." With each adjective Newkirk drew the attention of one of his mates until all three were staring at him, waiting for the point. "You ruddy lost on purpose."
Carter's brows furrowed and his head bounced back and forth between Newkirk and Hogan, before he scratched his head in thought.
LeBeau's face broke into a grin as he studied the colonel's face, watching as the officer leaned back against the windmill with a soft grimace and a sigh.
A brief smile came to his face before he said, "I didn't lose."
The truck and the repaired staff car were ready to pull away from the farm around dusk. The loading hadn't taken long, but the realization that some of the civilians going with the POWs were leaving for good, possibly destined for England or even America, meant a flood of ever lengthening goodbyes and panicked packing of items that in the end remained at the Werner vineyard. The food, the guns and the uniforms were packed in the center of the oversized troop truck that Hochstetter had brought.
The radio was removed from the top of the windmill and it, and the ice cream churn, ended up in the boot of the staff car. Newkirk, Carter and Hogan donned SS officer uniforms. Newkirk and Carter would drive the truck, and Hogan and Hochstetter would ride in the back of the staff car. LeBeau and Caine were dressed as privates. Caine was assigned as a 'guard' in the back of the troop truck and LeBeau was to drive the car.
"And our destination, Colonel?" Newkirk asked staring at the map spread over the hood of the black sedan. Hogan pointed to a spot marked on the map just north of Linz, Austria. "The farm, north of Gusen. If we get separated we can rendezvous there. We'll have to get a look at the camp before we make anymore decisions, so the farm will be a good place to rest up. There won't be any stops between here and there folks..." Hogan said, lifting his voice so that the civilians in the back of the truck could hear him.
"We're all making sacrifices starting now. If you have a medical emergency, speak to one of your guards but remember, play your part at all times. We never know who may challenge us or why." Hogan looked to his men, and received nods of understanding. This wasn't old hat necessarily but they looked confident, if mildly terrified. "Alright, good luck."
The group broke up and the caravan started forward, the staff car in the lead with the troop truck hanging back a few car lengths. The snow was deep and difficult to get through until they reached the main road that would take them south to Passau. Hogan couldn't relax until they had made it across the border, and it took everything in his power not to ride facing backwards.
The fight with Newkirk had left him with a pounding headache, and bruised torso, and he could only hope the Englander was just as uncomfortable, even if Hogan had been the one to start it. The injuries were visible however, and might require some explanation. A hundred other things could go wrong, in addition to that little hiccup and he was on edge.
Hochstetter seemed just as jumpy up until he took in a breath and turned, prepared to ask Hogan a question.
"Don't ask me about the details Hochstetter, because I don't know yet." Hogan interrupted, and Hochstetter settled back.
The city of Passau loomed ahead, the evening rush hour once more slowing traffic. It felt like his first trip to Gusen all over again, only this time Hogan was in a different uniform and had no intention of trying to make a break for it.
The truck went across the border first using the passes that Hochstetter had brought to get Hogan and his men out of Germany. They would have to come up with more for the return trip, but Hogan already had a fledgling plan for that. Once it had passed through the manually operated gates the truck pulled to the side of the road and the guard turned his attention to the staff car.
Hogan was wearing a hauptmann's uniform, and immediately deferred the guard's questions to the major, stepping out of the vehicle and mumbling something about checking on the truck. Hochstetter was nervous but he acknowledged Hogan off-hand, before starting a brief conversation with the guard while the man looked over their papers.
The guard at the gate didn't challenge Hogan in any way, and the colonel stepped up on the tailgate of the truck briefly to ask if everyone was ok, before moving around to the driver's side.
"Any problems?"
"None, sir." Came Newkirk's response, Carter echoing the same quietly.
"We shouldn't have any more stops between here and the farm. Once we're through Linz I want to stop, crank up the radio and see if we can't reach Herr Limler before we get there. Give him some idea that we're coming."
"Right, sir." Newkirk acknowledged, watching the traffic coming in the opposite direction, and the still stalled staff car at the gate.
Hogan stepped down, looking back to the gate, then stepped back up again when Newkirk said, "Oh, sir."
"Yeah, Newkirk?"
"Somebody hit you?" The Brit asked, smirking and making a vague motion towards the colonel's battered face. Hogan barely acknowledged the jibe with a smirk.
"Funny, Newkirk." He said, stepping down and heading back for the staff car as it finally rolled through the gate. "Very funny."
The rest of the trip went smoothly. Night had fallen early at around 1715, and the vehicles were ignored as they passed through town after town. Hogan found himself almost drifting off a few times, and even caught LeBeau nodding at the wheel. By the time they stopped it was nearly 1900. The going had been slow with lesser traveled roads clogged with snow, but they pulled off the road a mile from the farm and Carter, LeBeau and a stiff Hogan popped the boot of the staff car and cranked the radio to life.
The farmer had a radio, but used it sparingly and hadn't divulged any special call sign or code name to Hogan while they'd been associated. A standard call out didn't raise any response and after five minutes of trying Hogan shook his head and Carter let the generator grind to a halt. For a few minutes he stood thinking, consulting his watch.
"Alright...Carter get Newkirk and Caine back here. We've got a lot to do tonight."
"How are we going to contact that farmer?" Le Beau asked.
"Who's the least German looking person we have?" Hogan asked, then looked steadily at the small Frenchman.
LeBeau thought for a moment, taking in a breath to respond before he realized that Hogan hadn't looked anywhere else but at him after he'd asked the question. Louie groaned, then quietly said, "I volunteer?"