On the other side of the bridge the city of Passau disappeared. The few traces of car travel that they had seen turned into vague boot tracks and absolute blackness that Carter could barely navigate. With no idea where countryside began and the road ended Andrew wasn't willing to go much faster than ten miles an hour, and it was just as well.
If he'd been going any faster the colonel would have been roadkill. As it was Carter couldn't stop the car at all when Hogan ran in front of the dim light of the headlamps. He steered for the middle of the road and let the vehicle coast to a stop even as Newkirk rolled down his window and climbed halfway out of the car to yell for the colonel's attention.
The minute he recognized Newkirk's voice Hogan put on the brakes and tried to turn around. He slipped in the snow instead, and went down. For a moment or two Newkirk was tickled at the total lack of grace the America showed in snow. Then he realized that Hogan wasn't getting back up again and ducked back into the car.
"We gotta help him." He said simply, and braced himself for the cold and the pain that leaving the car was going to bring him.
When they got to the colonel he was laying on his side, looking bewildered. One of his hands was buried under his right arm. When Carter moved it the colonel's hand and bomber jacket were slick with blood.
"Come on, sir, we're already late for the mornin' train." Newkirk muttered getting under one arm. Carter grabbed the colonel's belt and supported the majority of the officer's weight, dragging him to his feet. Halfway to the car Hogan seemed to revive a little and managed to climb on his own into the backseat where Caine threw a blanket around his shoulders. He and LeBeau had rearranged so that there would be room for him.
Newkirk, looking more pale than before, got into the car heavily favoring his leg, then turned in the seat to look in the back. "He's wounded, Caine. Under his right arm."
Even as Carter pulled the vehicle off the road most of the men were completely focused on Hogan. Leaning against the door frame, his hand putting pressure on the wound under his right arm, their commander looked exhausted.
"This snow's gettin' worse." Carter said, his face tight with concentration and worry.
Shifting carefully in the seat Newkirk took up the map and the flashlight again and studied where he imagined them to be, finally picking up the road they must have taken to get out of Passau. What he saw didn't give him any hope.
"We're in the bloody middle of nowhere." He said, settling the map against his thighs. They rode in silence for a few moments before Caine leaned forward.
"What road are we on?"
Newkirk handed the map and flashlight into the back and reached a hand over the seat to point to the dim yellow line marked on the paper.
"Keep going north. In…ten kilometers there should be a crossroad. Take a right."
Carter spared a brief glance toward Newkirk before refocusing on the road.
"There's nothin' but farms out here." Newkirk said cautiously.
"Dah. Farms, and vineyards. A friend, from school. His family owns a vineyard in this area."
"F-forgive me for saying so, Private." Hogan began, shivering badly in his corner of the back seat. "But any friend of yours living in Germany…m-may not be a friend of ours."
Caine smirked. "This friend will be. When his girlfriend and her family were ordered from Berlin he offered to house them on his farm. He was the first of my schoolmates to become part of the underground. Most of the vineyards around here have housed refugees from the Nazi-state in the past ten years."
"How do you know they haven't been found out by the Gestapo?" LeBeau asked.
Caine's smirk waned and he shrugged. "I don't know. But…what choice do we have?"
In the snow, at a steady but slow crawl Carter managed to get the vehicle to the vineyard in an hour and a half. Long before they reached it Hogan had passed out. With Newkirk's help Caine did what he could to find the wound. A piece of shrapnel had lodged itself into the colonel's side, just under his right armpit. Keeping it in was preferable to removing it and having the officer bleed out in the car.
Caine wedged what remained of the bandages from their stolen first aid kit over the wound and covered the colonel with most of the blankets.
After passing under the sign that marked the start of the vineyard proper, Carter managed to get the car halfway down the mile long dirt drive before he lost control. The car lurched into a drainage ditch and tilted precariously, but didn't flip. With painful slowness the five prisoners extracted themselves and their meager supplies from the car then considered how they would approach the house.
It was five thirty in the morning, late enough Caine said for the master of the vineyard to be awake. Along with the wine, the farm was a working dairy and the master, his school mate's father, and most of the workers were usually up and out in the barn by five at the latest.
"LeBeau can't walk, the colonel's had it, and I'm not gonna last much longer." Newkirk said, "We got one chance at this. You know these people..."
Caine understood what he meant. Those actively in the underground were suspicious of everyone, even old friends. If they were still actively involved, having a known prisoner of war show up at their door would be inviting trouble for those they were hiding. Worse still, if the friend showed up with two men in Gestapo uniform, their deaths might be short and swift.
On the other hand, if they had been discovered in the time that Caine had been away, the two Gestapo men might be welcomed with open arms, and Newkirk and Carter might be able to flim-flam warm beds, and medical care.
"I will take Carter. If there is shooting…"
"We're all dead, mate." Newkirk finished, then gave Carter the once over, straightening his helmet unnecessarily. With a nod he sent the two down the lane then sat down on the blanket they'd laid over the snow, collecting the unconscious colonel's torso into his arms and doing his best to keep the man warm with his own body heat.
Carter and Caine jogged through the snow. It wasn't as deep as it had been in Passau, but still a considerable amount and still falling. The road began to curve passing a large stone building that Caine recognized as the distillery. Another building to their left, smaller and made of brick was the smoke house. A long barrack like building behind that served as quarters for most of the workers.
A second newer building stood behind it.
"Probably a second dormitory for the farmhands. Herr Werner does good business."
Lined by trees the road continued to curve until they could see the giant barn. Behind it was a fenced in pasture and to the left was the farmhouse, a sprawling building that still managed to look quaint despite its size. Above the massive shadow of buildings, barely illuminated in the pre-dawn light Carter could see the outline of a windmill.
"K-kinda reminds me of home." He said, unable to stop the grin on his face. "Except…ya know, home is flatter."
Caine shared a brief, amused smile with the Sergeant before he nodded to the barn, and the man who stood just inside the door staring at them.
"Master Werner." Caine said, quietly. "You should probably point your gun at me."
Carter flashed Caine a surprised look that also betrayed the sudden fear racing through his chest. Caine raised his hands slightly in front of him and nodded encouragement to the sergeant before he started toward the barn.
"Was ist das?" The tall thin man standing in the small biped door to the barn seemed to exude absolute confidence and surety, even when he didn't know what was going on. Dressed in woolen pants, a checkered homemade coat and a leather kepi-style cap that he kept pulled down low over his ears, he looked to be the very image of the rural farmer.
The last thing Carter expected to see was the luger in the man's hand. He had just begun to answer his question, explaining that he caught Caine while he was trying to escape, but the sight of the gun stilled his tongue. The fact that he had a rifle in his hands didn't occur to him until after Caine had jogged forward a few steps shouting that Master Werner shouldn't shoot.
"Please Herr Werner, you must recognize me. I was a school friend of your son, Hadrien. I helped him get Ida and her family out of Berlin."
Werner squinted, keeping his gun up, but he stepped away from the protection of the barn door and finally asked, "Hochstetter?"
"Dah-agh, Yah. Wolfgang Hochstetter."
"But…but you are in a Russian uniform? And who is this man?"
"He…" Caine hesitated, wanting to trust his instinct, but recent events concerning his father had made that a foolish idea. He looked back to Carter who jumped, thought for a moment then stepped forward.
"Sie papabar wissen?"
For a tense moment, as the morning birds began to shake off the snow and fill the day with song, Werner studied the two men under his gun.
The SS man was armed, but had made no effort to cover him with the rifle, and Caine seemed perfectly friendly with him. The Gestapo man's German accent was dreadful and he looked miserable and desperate.
Papa Bear was a name often whispered far and wide along the underground communication routes but this far into the country Werner and his group had never hoped of meeting with, or even relying on the famous underground leader.
The moment Caine saw acceptance on Werner's face he began to speak. "This man, and three others half a mile down the road are with Papa Bear. They have escaped Gestapo custody and are badly wounded. We need your help. Papa Bear needs your help."
"Please…" Carter added, following the word with a sigh of relief when Herr Werner let the gun barrel drop.
"Thank you, Herr Werner. Thank you." Caine breathed out, and a moment later regretted it as Werner crushed him in a hug.
"We worried for your life, 'Olf." Werner said, using the nickname that Caine had not heard in ages.
Ten minutes later Carter, Caine, Werner and two other workers rode in a large open-bed sleigh drawn by four draft horses, quickly covering the half-mile back to the car.
They found the three men barely conscious, already covered in an inch of snow. As they transferred the wounded men to the sleigh Carter excitedly told them the brief tale of their encounter with Werner.
Another twenty minutes later they were inside the main kitchen of the farm house, settled near the roaring open fireplace with hot mugs of tea in hand.
A beautiful woman with wildly curly brunette hair, dark brown eyes, and a very pregnant belly quickly applied herself to the care of the colonel, advising two teenage girls to get this or prepare that, and gently pulling layers of soaked clothing away from the wound with careful fingers.
Her ministrations paused only when she saw Caine for the first time and rose to embrace him, kissing his cheeks, unable to hold back tears. At the questioning glances from the other men, Caine explained, "This is Ida. Hadrien's girlfr-"
"Eh…wife." Ida corrected him, smiling as she pulled at a chain around her neck, flashing a simple gold band before she tucked it back under her shirt.
Caine beamed brilliantly and announced, "Wife. She and her family live and work here, under Herr Werner's protection."
"And these men, 'Olf. We have not had an introduction." Master Aldrich Werner chided, accepting his own cup of tea from the rosy-cheeked matron of the house.
"This is Corporal Peter Newkirk of the RAF, Sergeant Andrew Carter of the American Army Air Force, Corporal Louie LeBeau of the French Air For-"
"Free French Air Force." Louie corrected eagerly.
"Free French Air Force, and Colonel Robert Hogan, better known to all of us as Papa Bear."
Werner gave a slight bow to the barely conscious colonel laid out on a cot near the fire, then nodded to each of the men in turn and said, "Colonel Hogan, you and your men are welcome in our home. We will do everything in our power to protect you. And we are eternally grateful that you have returned 'Olf to our fold."
With a barely perceptible nod, Hogan mumbled, "S'nothin'." Then went back to studying the quiet and beautiful woman tending to him.
Once Ida had the colonel's care in hand, she directed the girls to look after the other men. It was then that they discovered that Newkirk's wound had been seeping into his boot for the past few hours. His foot had swollen in that time too and they were forced to cut the boot off, revealing a pant leg soaked in blood.
Louie took one look and passed out, prompting a mild panic among the ladies until Newkirk and Carter explained the Frenchman's peculiarity.
The men received expert care, warm food and were assigned beds in the house until they were fully recovered, but for that first day they insisted on staying together in the kitchen.
Foot propped on a pillow on the hearth, Newkirk was drowsing and nearly asleep when he heard LeBeau clear his throat. For a moment he ignored the sound, figuring the Frenchman was just making himself comfortable on the pad he occupied on the floor. The second time he heard the sound Newkirk lifted his head and pried his eyes open.
Louie was looking at him and fidgeting.
Sighing, Newkirk said, "What d'you want Louie?"
"Back at the inn," LeBeau began, pondering the question before he asked, "Would you really have abandoned the colonel?"
Newkirk thought about it, resisting the urge to give Louie the answer he was looking for, and asking himself what he really thought. He looked down at the man asleep on the cot beside him, still too pale for his liking, but resting peacefully. Could he have left their CO stranded in the middle of nowhere?
With Louie there to pester him, and Carter with his facetious and undying faith in the colonel, and Caine treating the man like a surrogate father, he didn't have a choice. But if he'd been on his own, could he have done it?
Newkirk shifted on the chair and resettled his leg on the cushion then pulled the blanket to his chin and said, "Nah, Louie. Not in a million years."
The snow had slowed everything to a grinding halt. Anything south of Weimar had been buried in three feet of snow and the temperatures dipped to the teens during the day, and lower at night, making movement of any kind impossible.
Hochstetter was stuck in Linz for four days, but resolved to content himself that his men had left with the prisoners well in advance of the storm, and should have easily arrived in Berlin before the snow got too bad.
The first phone call he was able to make four days after Hogan and his men were sent to Berlin, went straight through to Gestapo headquarters in the capital city. He immediately asked to speak to the Leutnant that he had placed in charge of the prisoner convoy, but was told that the man was not available.
"Very well, I will arrive in Berlin within the next two days to begin interrogating the prisoners. I assume that the two injured men were taken to hospital and are being looked after?"
The line went dead, or so Hochstetter thought at first, listening to absolute silence. Then he heard the feldwebel on the other end take a breath. "Herr Major…what prisoners?"
Trilogy (surprise!) will continue in the yet to be titled final installment.