"It appears your Underground contact is not going to make an appearance, Captain," said Faulmann.
Carter gave a start. He hadn't thought about what would happen once Newkirk was safe. Now it suddenly occurred to him that he was in big trouble on his own account.
"You and your men probably frightened him off," he said. It sounded like a logical conclusion. "That, or the prison guards in the woods." He moved away a little, trying to think of a way to get rid of the Gestapo without making them suspicious. The last thing they needed now, with Staller wounded and Weber somewhere about, was for the Germans to start searching the area.
Faulmann flushed at the implied reprimand. "Perhaps we should give up the operation for now," he suggested. Then, as Carter didn't reply, he went on, "I suggest we return to Gestapo headquarters, and consider our next move."
"No, we can't do that." Carter spoke quickly, before he had time to think.
"Why not?" The Gestapo man gazed at him, puzzled.
"Because - because I haven't completed my mission yet," said Carter, grasping for an excuse.
"I was told your mission was to infiltrate and bring down the Underground cell at Düsseldorf," said Faulmann. "You have achieved that. Of course, the opportunity to track down the leader of the Hammelburg organization was a stroke of luck. It would have inflicted a great deal of damage on our enemies, but it seems we have lost our chance."
"Maybe not," Carter replied, seeing a way out and jumping at it. "I might be able to contact them again and set up another meeting."
Faulmann considered the idea, frowning, then shook his head. "I cannot agree with you, Captain. It would be far too dangerous for - "
"Everything we do in this business is dangerous," Carter broke in. "I don't know if it slipped your notice, but we're at war. I know what I'm doing."
"But..."
"It's not up for discussion." Carter had now slipped completely into senior officer mode. It seemed to him that Faulmann was nervous of offending him, which probably meant that Weber's actual rank was considerably higher than a mere captain of the Luftwaffe. That was something he could take advantage of. "You will return to headquarters and await further instructions."
"Very well, Captain," mumbled Faulmann. "But at least will you agree to meet me here again in twenty-four hours? Colonel Eisner is most anxious..."
"Fine." Once again Carter interrupted. He just wanted the guy to go, and by accident he had stumbled onto the right tone and manner. Faulmann hesitated only a moment longer.
"Until then," he said brusquely. "Heil Hitler." He saluted, turned and headed for the Flensheim turnoff, with his escort of SS men.
Carter didn't even return the salute. He was tired, aching and sick to death of the whole business. He watched Faulmann's departure, then retreated to the cover of the trees. He didn't know where Newkirk and Kellet had gone, and right now he didn't care. To be mistaken for Weber, or Lewis, or whoever he really was, after what that guy had done, made him feel sick. He needed to get a grip on himself before he rejoined his comrades.
Kinch, watching from his own sheltered position, felt such an ache in his heart that he instinctively rubbed his chest, as he saw the slump in Carter's shoulders and the stumble in his footsteps. He would have given anything to be able to keep the others away, and give his buddy all the time he needed to pull himself together. But he knew it couldn't be done. The best he could do was divert the other two for a couple of minutes.
"Newkirk, go after those SS creeps, make sure they don't double back," he said. "Then get straight back here. We have to find out what happened to Weber, then get back where we're supposed to be."
"Weber's taken care of," Kellet put in. "Mills is watching him."
"Mills is out here, too?" Newkirk cast up his eyes. "What is this, a family picnic?"
"Newkirk, just get going." Kinch was allowing no distractions. "Kellet, you wait here." He watched Newkirk slip away, then rose and made his own silent way through the woods.
As soon as he spotted Carter, he stopped. Then without a sound, he moved back out of sight. He waited a few seconds before advancing again, this time intentionally making enough noise to warn Carter of his approach. By the time he got there, Carter had himself under control. He'd also drawn his gun.
"Easy, Andrew," said Kinch quickly. "It's only me."
"Kinch?" Carter's voice sounded husky, with a slight catch in it. "What the heck are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question," replied Kinch. "But we better let that wait. Right now we gotta get you guys back to camp, before you're missed. You look all in. Guess you weren't quite ready for a cross-country hike yet, right?"
"Yeah, I guess not," mumbled Carter. "Kinch, we got some problems. Weber..."
"It's okay, Kellet just told us. Mills has him under guard."
"Uh...okay..." Carter's tension eased visibly, but he looked so tired that Kinch wasn't sure he'd make it back to camp.
"Come on," he said, "let's get back to the others." He nodded back towards where Kellet was waiting, and after a moment Carter straightened up, and followed him.
Newkirk arrived back just after them. "All clear," he said. "I don't think our chum was very happy, he kept looking back, but he got in his car and they headed off towards town. You really put one over on him, Carter."
Kinch spoke quickly to cover Carter's silence. "Okay, save the reviews till the show's over. Kellet, where's Mills?"
"He's up there, just over the rise," replied Kellet, gesturing with his rifle. "And Wilson's back down there..."
"Wilson?" Kinch broke in sharply. "For the love of - Who else is here? Or would it be easier to tell me who's still at Stalag 13?"
Kellet flushed. "Nobody else. Just that son of a bitch, Staller, and he's been shot. Wilson's taking care of him."
"What the hell has been going on since this morning? No, don't answer that now," Kinch held up a hand, as Kellet started to speak. "We better get everyone in the same place, then we can work out how to get you guys back to camp. Carter, you come with me. Newkirk, you and Kellet go fetch Mills and Weber."
"Kinch - " As the little group split up, Newkirk lingered for a private word. "Carter looks as sick as a dog, and Mills wasn't too good this morning. If Staller's wounded as well, it's going to be dodgy, getting them home. And then you and me still have to get back to the work detail before we're missed."
"I'm working on it," Kinch replied quietly. "Don't take too long."
He loped off down the slope. Newkirk gazed after him, then sighed, and set off to follow Kellet.
It had taken some time for Weber to come round. When his eyes finally opened, he lay still for some minutes, blinking. Then he tried to sit up.
"Keep still," said Mills. "You took a pretty hard knock, you need to take it easy."
"Nice of you," mumbled Weber indistinctly.
"Nothing like that, pal." Mills shifted a little, trying to ease the dull ache in his shoulder. "I just want to be sure you're in good shape for your trial. Assuming you get one." He checked the clip in the pistol he was holding, which was in fact Weber's own Walther P38. "Can't help thinking it'd be easier to save the trouble and expense."
There was a long silence, before Weber spoke again. "You had better let me loose," he said. "I didn't come here alone."
"No, I guess you didn't. That's not your style, is it?" Mills was still inspecting his weapon, and didn't even glance up.
An even longer pause ensued. Then Weber uttered a soft curse in German. "Carter talked."
"Not a word. And you better do likewise."
Weber's face was flushed, not with shame but with anger. "Look, my back-up team's probably looking for me right now. They're not going to be happy if they find me like this. And they're not the kind of men you want to get the wrong side of."
"Is that right?" Mills pulled back the slide on the P38, and released it. "So maybe the smart move for me is to shoot you right now, and make myself scarce." He paused, contemplating the idea. "I could do that," he finished up, deadpan.
He meant it. Weber didn't dare speak again. But both of them remained tense, listening, and at the first sound Mills snapped into position, ready to fire. Then he relaxed.
"Am I glad to see you," he muttered.
Newkirk dropped to a crouch beside him, inspecting Weber, who stared at the blue RAF uniform in startled disbelief. "Our friend here been misbehaving?"
"Nothing I can't handle." Mills glanced at his prisoner. "He says he's got back-up."
"Not any more, he hasn't," said Newkirk. "But let's not get cocky about it, in case they come back. On your feet, chum." He hauled Weber upright. "Kellet, you'd better help Mills. He doesn't look too steady."
"I can manage," Mills replied shortly, as Kellet rolled his eyes, and uttered a snort of derision.
Newkirk sighed. "Nothing changes with you two, does it? It wasn't a suggestion, Kellet." And after a moment, Kellet, scowling, stomped over to give Mills a hand.
Weber was still gazing at Newkirk's uniform. "I don't understand," he muttered.
"Don't let it worry you, sunshine." Newkirk gave him a shove in the direction of home. "You'll get it, eventually."