Time passes so slowly, it almost seems to be going backwards. Alone in the tunnel, I try to wait patiently. By the time I'm checking my watch every minute to see if it's time for the guys to return, I know I'm ready to lose it. I even try pacing – it seems to work for the Colonel, but it's not something I've ever mastered. I give up after the third time crossing the floor to return to the cot.
I wonder what Kinch does to keep himself occupied while waiting for teams to return, but I realize he's got a lot more available for him to do. He could do maintenance checks on the radio for one, or go upstairs for another. Neither of which I could do. I didn't even have anything to read to help pass the time.
The tension is getting to me and so is the late hour. Finally I lie down on Kinch's cot and try to settle for awhile. Hopefully I could pass some time by catching a nap but as I lay there staring at the dirt ceiling, I know I'm too keyed up to sleep. My vivid imagination wanders into all sorts of scenarios, each one worse than the last. Had the bridge been blown already? Did my hare-brained scheme work or did they have to resort to matches after all? Was the team out there attempting to get back to camp, narrowly avoiding patrols in their grief as they valiantly tried to return while carrying the fallen body of their intrepid leader?
I giggle at the last overly dramatic description, glad there is no one here to hear me. Apparently I've been away from writing too long. In the end I doze a little, with one ear open as all moms seem able to do when their child is sick or late for curfew.
Scuffling and the occasional thud from the locker area eventually rouse me and I realize they're back and changing into their uniforms. My first thought is to dash in and find out what happened but I come to my senses before embarrassing myself in front of a half-naked team of saboteurs. Instead I sit up on the cot, waiting for them to come through on their way to the ladder to Barracks 2.
Carter is the first one through the adjoining doorway on the way to his lab, his hands carrying the satchels which went out heavily laden with dynamite but are now empty and hanging limply. I feel a little relief as Carter was the one who was going to light the fuse and he made it back safely. Unless the Colonel did override him…
"Well?" I demand, rising from the cot, eager for news. My fingers twist with worry as I try to read the expression on his face.
Carter turns to face me. His face splits open in a huge grin and his eyes sparkle in the low light. "It worked!" he crows triumphantly. "Oh you should have seen it! The guys got the sticks attached to the bridge and then I set the fuse just like we practiced. Everyone got away to a safe distance and then ker-pow! The first bundle went off like clockwork. Then the next and the next and bam-blast-kablooie! The whole bridge collapsed. It was beautiful!" He actually paused to catch a breath before continuing, "And even better than that, everyone made it back - especially the Colonel!"
"Yes!" I cry, pumping my fist in my enthusiasm. Relief pours through my entire body and I'm awash in a tingling sensation from my head to my toes. I know the grin on my face is as intense as Carter's. Before I realize what's happening, he's rushed forward and given me a huge hug as we laugh away the tension of the day.
"Thank you," he says suddenly, pulling away. I can tell he's a bit embarrassed over his emotional display as his cheeks tint a rosy hue. "Without your idea, I don't know what we would have done tonight."
"Don't think about it," I reply solemnly. "I'm just glad it worked and that I thought of it in time." I take a deep breath and let it out. I'm still grinning but it's toned down somewhat. "You'd better get that stuff put away and get some sleep."
"Yeah," he agrees and then retreats to his lab. I hear the odd 'ka-blam' drift over his shoulder as he goes and I have to chuckle at his antics, so like the Larry Hovis Carter. I turn around to return to the cot and see Kinch, Newkirk and LeBeau standing in the doorway, staring.
"Congratulations," I say, not sure how to take their gawking. Finally they come into the room.
"This was your idea?" demands Newkirk.
I think I pale. I certainly feel as if the flush from Carter's excitement has fled and my heart pounds a little harder in my chest. Newkirk has gone out of his way to ignore and avoid me while I've been here. He's a little harsher and rougher around the edges than Richard Dawson's portrayal, hardened by life and the back streets of London. I've watched him play with his 'pencil sharpener' all week during briefings and he's very skilled in handling the knife, much more so than was ever revealed on the show. I know why he is always the one Hogan takes to watch his back when going into a dicey situation. Newkirk's intense gaze makes me feel as if I've done something horribly wrong despite the results turning out so right. He is not a man to cross or to meet in a dark alley.
"Yes," I reply hesitantly. I might as well own up to it; Carter's let the cat out of the bag anyway and I know they heard his every word.
Newkirk marches over in front of me, his face unreadable. He thrusts his hand out and I flinch. "You're a bit of alright then, duck," he says. Cautiously I take his hand and he shakes it firmly. We both sort of smile and then he's gone, headed towards the barrack ladder. Guess I made some brownie points after all.
As I watch him go, LeBeau comes over next with a flurry of French and a peck on each cheek. I manage to catch a formidable and a magnifique but most of my French I left in the classroom, despite it being one of my official national languages. Kinch had quickly sent the news to London by the time Newkirk and LeBeau are through thanking me. He gives me a smile and a clasp on the arm as he passes, almost as if he's afraid to touch me, then he is on his way to his bunk too with LeBeau in tow.
The whirlwind has settled. From being alone here all night to a few short chaotic moments of their return to being alone again. Carter waves as he passes through to the ladder, calling "Good night" as he goes and yet one person is still missing. Carter had assured me he'd come back safe but where was Colonel Hogan?
Thinking perhaps he'd gone topside via another tunnel exit, I pick up the discarded blanket from the earthen floor, shake it out and fold it. I look up to find Colonel Hogan standing in the doorway watching me.
"Colonel," I say, placing the blanket on Kinch's cot and turn to greet him. He looks unsure of himself, which is very un-Hogan-like. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as if the movement will help him make up his mind. Apparently he reaches a decision as he pivots silently and strides away, disappearing into the labyrinth of tunnels.
Disappointment washes over me. Somehow I thought he might at least acknowledge me after saving his life. Silly I suppose but I've always thrived on praise. He didn't seem angry, and yet… With a sigh I turn back towards the cot to straighten the pillow.
Thunk. Thud. Thud. Clink.
I spin around to find Colonel Hogan pouring generous shots of the Pusser's Rum I brought into two tin cups he'd clunked down on the central table. My eyes widen in surprise – he hadn't abandoned me after all.
"I assume you drink this stuff?" he asks, handing me a mug.
"I've had one or two in my day, not necessarily with the best results," I reply with a rueful smile, remembering the time I attempted to unlace my army boots by sticking my feet straight up in the air after I fell off the bed while under the influence. "We sometimes get paid the old fashioned way, especially after a performance at a Navy hall. Those Vets know how to party." I frown, thinking about what I said. "Or at least you will know how to party once the war is over." Time travel is certainly confusing on the tenses.
Hogan chuckles. I'm sure he's had one or two too many at the 'O' club in his day too. He clinks our cups together and offers a quiet salute before tossing it back. I follow suit, but only down half what he's poured me. Feeling the burn, I suppress the urge to gasp and sputter – it's been a while since I've had the potent stuff. Hogan refills his and offers to top mine up. I decline, knowing how quickly this stuff goes to my head. I'm already feeling it.
There's a companionable silence for a while as we nurse our drinks. I stare into the dark amber liquid as I swirl it in the bottom of my mug. Another thud as Hogan slaps his empty cup down on the table. I quickly down the remainder of mine and do the same. He nods at me and heads towards the ladder to the barracks. He pauses at the edge of the room and looks back.
"Thanks," he says, tapping his thumb in an irregular beat on his leg. He looks like he could say more, but Commanding Officers don't gush gratitude.
"You're welcome," I offer in return. "Glad it worked."
"Me too," he replies with a half grin. "Good night."
"Good night, Colonel," I respond softly to his retreating back.
I head over to my assigned sleeping quarters, lie down on the cot and cover myself with the blanket. Just as I'm about to fall asleep, a thought suddenly crosses my mind which causes my forehead to crease with worry. Had I affected the timeline by saving the Colonel's life tonight? Was this why the series ended abruptly? But they had done a D-Day episode, so maybe not...or maybe the show's writers invented the episode and it wasn't based on fact?
The rum thrumming through my system is making my thoughts swirl and the room spin. I'm second-guessing and confusing myself all at the same time. Eventually I come to the conclusion that what's done is done and there's no way in hell I'm going to change the outcome. Or maybe it was supposed to turn out like this all along. Damn temporal paradoxes. Sleep is good.