Newkirk froze, too stunned to even protest, and without thinking, Carter broke from the cover of the trees, and stumbled forward. The soldiers, startled, spun round, turning their rifles away from Newkirk towards the new arrival.
"Halt." The order stopped them in their tracks. For a couple of seconds nobody moved. Then the Gestapo man came forward.
"Captain Weber?" he asked in German.
Carter stared at him, mystified. What the heck was the guy talking about?
"My name is Faulmann," the man went on. "I was sent to follow you to the Underground hideout, as you requested. I know we were told to keep out of sight, but we heard gunfire in the woods, we were concerned something had gone wrong."
"Uh..." Carter made a desperate attempt to pull himself together. "Uh, I heard it, too. But..."
"Are you all right, Captain?" said Faulmann. "You are Captain Weber, am I right?"
"Yes," replied Carter, as he belatedly came to grips with Faulmann's error. "Yes, that's who I am. Captain Weber."
Faulmann smiled, saluted, then held out his hand.
"I have heard a great deal about you, and the work you've been doing for the Fatherland," he said. "It's an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Captain. Colonel Eisner is looking forward to meeting you as well, he is expected to arrive from Berlin at any time."
Carter, increasingly muddled, tried at once to return both salute and handshake. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Newkirk staring at him, too bewildered to make any attempt to take advantage of the diversion. Just as well, maybe. Any wrong move on his part could be fatal. It was going to be up to Carter to try to get them both out of this.
"What is going on here?" he asked in clipped tones.
Faulmann flicked a glance at Newkirk. "We thought this might have been your Underground contact. But he claims to be an escaped prisoner from the Luftstalag not far from here."
"And you were going to shoot him? Have you any idea how much trouble that could cause?" Somehow Carter managed to keep the panic out of his voice. The result was a close approximation of stern disapproval, and Faulmann went red.
"What kind of trouble? I don't understand," he said.
Why ask me, pal? I got no idea, thought Carter. But he had to come up with something. "Well...well, because I'm supposed to be meeting some Underground people here," he replied, grasping at the only fact he knew. "Those people are really suspicious. If you shoot this man, they're going to know you were here. And that could blow my cover wide open. You've probably done enough damage, by not staying out of sight."
Faulmann's expression darkened. "I did what I thought was my duty, Captain," he said. "So what would you have us do with the man? Take him back to headquarters with us?"
That suggestion, though better than his original intention, was not particularly desirable. Carter bit his lip, regarding Newkirk with a frown. "Return him to the Stalag," he said at last.
"But won't that be just as much of a risk to your cover? If he talks - "
"Even if he did," Carter interrupted, "who's he going to tell? It's a prison camp, the story won't get beyond the barbed wire."
Faulmann shook his head slowly. "I don't like it," he said. "Our orders are to keep you in sight, Captain, not to provide a taxi service for stray enemy prisoners. If it were possible to hand him over to the Stalag without compromising our own operation, then naturally it would be the best solution. But under the circumstances it will be much easier to dispose of him."
His argument made terrifying sense. Carter had the feeling the situation was slipping out of his grasp, as he tried to think of a way to counter the man's logic, and he teetered on the edge of desperation as nothing came to him.
Had he known it, help was at hand. Wilson hadn't been the only one to remember Newkirk would soon be at the rendezvous point. The thought had also occurred to Mills, as he and Kellet secured their unconscious prisoner, using Mills' suspenders, as they hadn't thought to bring any rope, to tie his wrists behind his back.
Mills was in a lot of pain, now that the rush of adrenalin had worn off, and his head spun as he straightened up. He closed his eyes for a moment, but the dizziness lingered. "One of us better get to the Flensheim road," he said. "Newkirk's probably there by now, he'll have no idea what's been happening."
Kellet gave a final jerk to the knot, and looked up. "You look like you're about to pass out, pretty boy," he observed. "Guess I better go."
"You don't know the way."
"Main road's just down that way," said Kellet with a jerk of his thumb. "The Flensheim road's got to be back towards Stalag 13, right? I'll find it. Can you handle this guy if he wakes up?"
"Sure." Mills dropped to the ground beside Weber. He didn't say any more, but he drew his gun and rested it on one knee.
Kellet looked at him curiously, then shouldered his rifle and set off towards the road.
He wasn't sure how he'd managed to get himself mixed up in this. When he'd first been shot down and captured, the one good thing was that he'd be able to sit out the rest of the war in relative safety. At least, so he'd thought, before the Krauts had dumped him in what turned out to be a hotbed of covert Allied activity. Even so, he'd managed to steer clear of all that, until now.
One thing, anyway, the worst must be over, now they had Weber under control. Even though they still had to get back to camp - and that wasn't going to be easy - at least they wouldn't have to worry about being shot at.
He made his way carefully down the slope, keeping the weight off his injured leg as much as possible, although he had to admit to himself, it wasn't nearly as bad as he had been making out. He was half-sorry now that he'd given Carter such a hard time over it, especially since it had turned out the explosion hadn't been Carter's fault after all.
The road came into sight, and he turned to the right, keeping within the cover of the trees. It meant nobody could see him coming, but neither could he see what was going on until he was practically there. As a result, he came within a few feet of landing right in the middle of it.
He came to an abrupt halt at the sound of voices, very close by. He recognized Carter's, sharp and angry, speaking German. The other voice was unfamiliar. Kellet vacillated, considered retreating, then crept forward a few steps.
One look was enough to tell him the shit had well and truly hit the fan. He backed away, then turned to make a quick escape. But he got no further than five steps before he was tackled, swiftly and silently. His startled cry was silenced by a hand clamped across his mouth, and his assailant pinned him to the ground before he could move. He jerked, twisted and managed to turn his head just enough to see who had him. It was almost the last person he would have expected to see right now.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Kinch whispered, releasing him.
"Getting the hell out, as fast as I can," Kellet hissed back. "You seen what's going on down there?"
"Seen and heard. We gotta stop 'em, or Newkirk's dead."
"Hey, count me out, pal," growled Kellet. "I didn't ask to be dragged out here, I'm not about to..."
"Kellet, for once in your life - " Kinch broke off, controlling himself with an effort. "Look, I'm stymied, there's nothing I can do, but you're in Luftwaffe uniform. You look just like one of our own guards. The Krauts have already accepted Newkirk's an escaped prisoner, they just can't be bothered taking him back to camp. All you gotta do is march down there, say you're from Stalag 13 and take him off their hands. Any idiot can do it." Then as Kellet didn't answer, he gritted his teeth and added, "Please, Kellet. I'm begging you, don't let them kill him."
For a moment he was afraid it wasn't enough. Then Kellet straightened up, muttered something about Kinch's ancestry which was best ignored, and strode down towards the meeting place.
He emerged from the trees and stopped in his tracks, as two of the SS men turned towards him, the third keeping his eyes and gun pointed at Newkirk. Kellet blanched, almost panicked, then snapped into a Nazi salute, with an overly loud "Heil Hitler!"
Faulmann returned the salute. "Who are you?" he demanded curtly.
Kellet, with an effort, mustered his wits, and tried to frame an answer in German. He was surprised at how easily it came. Obviously he'd picked some up without realizing it. He also managed to remember somehow what rank he was meant to be. "Sergeant Schmidt, Luftstalag 13," he barked. "Uh...this man is one of our prisoners. We...we...he absconded from..."
"From the work detail on the road," Faulmann interrupted. "He already admitted so much. You should be more vigilant. He has interrupted a critical Gestapo operation."
"Jawohl, mein Herr," Kellet replied. "Uh...with your permission, I will take charge of him at once, and return him to the Stalag."
"Not so fast." Faulmann held up a hand, and turned to Carter. "I'm still not certain we should take the risk. It seems to me..."
"It seems to me that you just want to shoot the Engländer, regardless of consequences," Carter interrupted. He had himself well in hand, now that he had backup, such as it was. "With respect, sir, this is my operation. I say we take advantage of this man's arrival, and let him take the prisoner back to the Luftstalag for suitable punishment."
Unwittingly he'd adopted the manner and tone which characterized his standard German officer performance, and it had the usual effect. Faulmann resisted briefly, then his eyes fell under Carter's stern gaze. "If you insist, Captain Weber," he muttered. "But allow me to say, it is a little imprudent, having only one man guarding him."
"There are more of us, in the woods," Kellet said quickly. "And I know this man. He won't give me any trouble. You - Engländer - raus."
He turned his rifle towards Newkirk, who had picked up his cue and was looking sullen and cowed. A sharp gesture accompanied the order, and Newkirk, with a final glance at Carter, moved slowly in the direction indicated. Faulmann's eyes followed them, but Carter, determined to arouse no suspicion, had already turned his back.
"Kellet, what are you fucking well playing at?" As soon as they were out of sight, Newkirk turned on his rescuer, furious.
"Don't start at me, buddy. Kinch told me to get you out, I got you out. But don't thank me for sticking my neck out," Kellet snapped back under his breath.
"Kinch told you?" Newkirk stared at him, staggered. "Kinch is here as well?"
"No need to tell the whole of Germany, Newkirk." Kinch's voice came from behind them.
Newkirk held up his hands. "Sorry. But what's going on? Did you send Carter down there?" His voice sharpened with sudden anxiety.
"Nothing to do with me, I'm just as confused as you," Kinch replied softly. "Ask Kellet, once we've gotten Carter out of there. Don't waste time on it now."
"All right," whispered Newkirk, taking a deep breath. "How are we getting Carter out?"
Kinch shook his head helplessly. "Right now, Newkirk, I haven't got a clue."