The deepening twilight made Kinch's search a lot harder. He wove his way between the trees close to the path, every sense alert for any sign that Weber had left the trail. He couldn't risk using his flashlight, because it would give away his own location, and although he hadn't checked, some instinct warned him that Weber had taken Dieter's gun. But Kinch had one advantage. He knew his way around the woods, perhaps not as well as the other members of Hogan's team, but well enough to be sure of his way. Weber, unfamiliar with the area, risked losing his way if he strayed, which in his state of physical exhaustion was a strong possibility. If he did, he could find himself in real trouble, given the swampy ground hereabouts.
At every sound, Kinch paused, trying to assess whether the rustling amongst the undergrowth, or the splash from one of the deep pools of water, was Weber, or just some bird or animal of the forest, going about its business. It seemed to him that the woods had never been so full of activity as they were tonight. That didn't help.
He was just starting to wonder whether he'd somehow missed his quarry, when he heard what he'd been listening for. It was faint, and muffled by the thickness of the trees which lay between, but it was definitely human, a startled cry of distress.
Damn it! thought Kinch. He's well off the trail.
He hesitated briefly, weighing up the urgency of catching up with Weber before he got away against the real danger of getting himself lost, or bogged. But there was no choice. Weber already knew too much about their operation. Kinch straightened up, and started away from the path.
Of necessity now he had to use the flashlight, with a handkerchief wrapped around it to reduce the beam to a faint glow. The ground was soft and slippery with moss at first, but soon he was ankle deep in cold water, and he had to test every step.
A splash from somewhere close by brought him to a halt. He turned off the light, and moved to one side, but almost overbalanced as his foot stuck in the mud, then came loose with a faint noise of suction and a ripple of the water's surface. As he tried to regain his balance, his other foot slid out from under him.
And just at that moment, a pistol shot rang out.
Cecilie had gone to sleep in the back of the staff car, leaning against Carter's shoulder. He didn't seem at ease with the arrangement, but he shook his head when Hogan offered to take her instead.
Hammond was at the wheel, with LeBeau sitting beside him. The rest of Hogan's men had gone in the truck with Kurt to meet with the fugitives from Düsseldorf, and then to collect Newkirk's team and their prisoners from the Schmeckhausen road. But Hogan had come on ahead. He wanted to get Carter back to camp as quickly as possible.
"Mon colonel, how are you going to break it to Schultz that the truck isn't coming back?" asked LeBeau, breaking the silence.
Hogan smiled. "I'll think of something," he replied.
LeBeau and Hammond exchanged sly grins. They both knew what that meant. Schultz might want answers about the truck, but he wouldn't ask more than once.
Carter hadn't said a word, all the way from town. Hogan had left him to himself, but he kept a close watch on his explosives expert, relieved at what he was seeing. Carter was obviously weary, but his nervous tension had eased. He'd done well today, and he knew it.
"You okay, Carter?" murmured Hogan, as the rendezvous point came into sight.
"Uh-huh." Carter moved a little, carefully so as not to disturb Cecilie.
The car came to a stop at the edge of the road. Hogan took a good look around before he got out. There was no sign of Kinch's team yet, but they probably weren't far away.
He turned back to the car. "LeBeau, you and Carter better start back," he said. "Get him home, and into his own uniform, but don't let him fall asleep yet. Remember, Schultz thinks you two escaped, we have to set him straight before we can call it a night."
"Oui, colonel," replied LeBeau, as he stepped out onto the grass at the edge of the road.
Carter was trying to get out without waking Cecilie, but as soon as he moved, she raised her head, blinking, a confused murmur on her lips.
"Easy, Cecilie," said Hogan, leaning in to lift her from Carter's shoulder. "We're at the rendezvous point."
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "Is he...are your people here?"
"Not yet." Hogan nodded to Carter, who slid out of the car. "They should get here pretty soon, but we'll have a wait before the truck gets here, and then you've got a day's drive to the coast. Weber's going to be with you. Can you handle that?"
Cecilie sighed. "What choice do I have?" She glanced out at Carter. "You and your men risked your lives for me. If I cannot put my own feelings aside until we reach England, then all you have done is for nothing."
"That's the spirit," Hogan said. "Anyway, we owed you, for the work you've done. Now..."
He broke off abruptly, and turned his head, aware without looking that LeBeau and Hammond also had tensed at the sound of a gunshot, from deep in the woods.
"Something's gone wrong," muttered Carter.
Hogan had already drawn his gun. "LeBeau, Carter, you stay here. Don't move from this spot. Hammond, with me."
The shot seemed to have come from somewhere in the woods, considerably to the south of the trail, but close to the road which led back to Hammelburg. If so, the road would be the quickest way to get there. Hogan set off, fast, with Hammond close behind him.
It might have nothing to do with Kinch's team, but it wasn't likely anyone else would be hanging around this waterlogged stretch of the woods, unless the guards from Stalag 13 had decided to run a patrol up this way. But only one shot had been fired. The goons would have sprayed the entire woods with lead.
Either way, Carter was right. Something had gone wrong.
A quarter of a mile along the road, Hogan stopped, listening. Then he nodded to Hammond, and pointed towards the forest, with a gesture to indicate Hammond should make his way around to get behind whoever was in there. As Hammond disappeared into the darkness, Hogan moved in, circling round in the other direction.
The ground was soft and slippery under his feet, and by instinct he kept close to the trees, where the massive spread of roots gave him a foothold. He advanced slowly, aware that anyone, friend or foe, might be hidden in the dense, heavy dimness.
Three or four minutes passed, then a couple more, with no sign of anyone.
Then came a shout, from somewhere ahead: "Stop there! I've got you covered!" It sounded like Hammond. Hogan abandoned caution, and plunged forward.
Something moved among the trees, darting from shadow to shadow. Hogan skidded to a halt, and drew back against the nearest tree trunk. "Hold it, or I'll open fire," he called.
"Colonel Hogan? Is that you?"
"Kinch!" Hogan lowered his gun, and moved forward, as Kinch appeared, stumbling a little, his left hand pressed against his right shoulder. "What's going on? Are you hurt?"
"Just a scratch," Kinch panted. "Sorry, Colonel, Weber's escaped."
"How? No, never mind that now." Hogan dismissed the query as soon as he'd asked it. He'd be demanding answers later, but for now he had other concerns. "Where are the rest of your team?"
"Back towards camp, about a half mile," replied Kinch. He rested his uninjured shoulder against the tree Hogan had been hiding behind. "Davis got a bad concussion, so I told Wilson to stay with him and Staller."
"What about Dieter?" said Hogan.
"Uh, yeah. Dieter's dead, Colonel." Kinch's voice sounded strained, but that could have been the discomfort of the flesh wound in his shoulder.
Hogan swore softly. "Have you got any idea where Weber is?"
"I lost sight of him, but I'm pretty sure he doubled back this way."
They both tensed, sensing movement from a few feet away. But it was Hammond who appeared. "Nothing, Colonel," he said. "You want to go further?"
"No," said Hogan. "We could lose hours trying to find him in these woods. If Kinch is right, he's headed back the way we just came. We'd better head back that way, and try to pick up his trail."
"And if we don't, Colonel?" asked Kinch.
"In that case, we get everyone back to camp, as fast as possible," replied Hogan grimly. "If Weber's going to bring the Gestapo down on us, we have to be ready for them."
"Calm down, Carter," said LeBeau. "Whatever has happened, we will deal with it."
"What if we can't?" Carter was walking back and forth in restless agitation. "What if something's happened? Maybe he got hold of a gun. Maybe he shot someone. You don't know the guy, LeBeau. There's nothing he'd stick at."
"You mean Weber? Or Staller?"
"Yeah, Staller, too. Either of 'em."
"André..."
LeBeau didn't finish the sentence. He turned his head, searching the forest, then moved back towards the car, signing to Carter and Cecilie to take cover. He'd drawn his gun without even thinking about it, and as soon as he was behind the car he lined up, covering the trail from Stalag 13. Carter, at the other end of the car, had done the same.
Ten seconds passed. Fifteen. Then two men came into sight. LeBeau tensed, but relaxed almost at once. "Wilson! Qu'est-ce qui se passe?"
"English, LeBeau," replied the medic irritably. He lowered Staller to the ground, close to the rear wheel of the car. "But if you're asking what's going on, well, it ain't good news. You, stay right there," he added, pointing a finger at Staller.
"Where's Kinch?" Carter had emerged from behind the car, still holding his pistol. "Didn't you stay together?"
"There was some trouble," said Wilson.
Carter's eyes turned at once to Staller. "What did you do?"
Staller shook his head, but it was Wilson who replied: "It wasn't him, Carter. Dieter and Davis had charge of Weber, they got ahead of us. Somehow, Weber got loose. Kinch went after him. Where's Colonel Hogan?"
"There was a gunshot, a few minutes ago," said LeBeau. "He went to check it out."
"Yeah, I heard it," snapped Wilson. "But I was stuck with our friend here, so I couldn't do anything about it."
Carter gave an unintelligible exclamation and turned away, and Wilson frowned. "What's with him?" he asked LeBeau, in a low voice.
LeBeau held out his hands. "No idea. What about him?" He jerked his head towards Staller.
"His wound opened up again, but he insisted on coming along. Short of shooting him, I couldn't stop him," growled Wilson, his expression suggesting that he was reconsidering that alternative.
Carter heard the murmur of their voices, but he paid no attention. All he was aware of was the sick feeling in his gut, and the trembling of his hands. He took a couple of deep breaths, and turned around. Staller was watching him, but as he met Carter's eye, he looked away, towards the trees. For a moment, Carter had to fight an urge to have it out with the guy, right then and there, and make him admit he'd been in it with Weber all along. He tightened his grip on the gun, and turned his back on the major.
A few seconds later, Staller gave a shout, and launched himself forward, tackling Carter around the knees and bringing him down. LeBeau swore in French, and started forward, then threw himself down, as the passenger-side window of the car shattered.
Carter, for once almost beside himself with fury, had kicked free of Staller's grip. He heard a warning cry from LeBeau as he started scrambling to his feet. He ducked, just as Staller pushed himself up from the ground. Then a second shot rang out, and Staller dropped again, without making a sound.
LeBeau, from underneath the car, sent a couple of shots into the darkness. Carter had dropped his weapon, and had no idea where it was. He crouched low, trying to see where the gunman was hiding.
A movement in the undergrowth drew LeBeau's fire, and Carter, without stopping to think, took a flying leap over the prostrate Staller, and hurled himself at the shadowy figure. The impact carried both men further into the woods, their impetus halted only when they cannoned into a tree trunk.
The gunman broke free. "Carter, you son of a bitch!" he hissed.
Before he could rally, Carter went for him again, fighting by pure instinct. The two men grappled for a few seconds, then Weber managed to get an arm free. He slewed round, pushed Carter back against the tree, and grabbed him by the throat.
Carter couldn't breathe. He tried to break Weber's grip, without success, then reached out, blind in the darkness, trying to find his enemy's face.
He heard LeBeau, shouting somewhere in the distance, almost drowned out by the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, and he tried to call out. Louis? Louis, help me! But he couldn't get the words past that relentless pressure. His heart felt like it was about to burst.
"Let him go."
He didn't recognize the voice at first, he was too overwhelmed by his physical distress. But he knew at once he was safe, even before the tight band around his throat suddenly released. He fell, with his back against the tree, dragging in lungfuls of air. As his eyesight cleared, he realized that the gloom of night had been dispelled by flashlight. He blinked, and looked around, until he found his rescuer.
And Hogan met his gaze, and smiled. "Okay, Carter," he said. "We've got him. It's over."