Chapter 17

"My God…what did I do?" Hughes mumbled a third time.

Hughes locked his gaze on Newkirk, his eyes boring into the young man he had wrongly persecuted from the minute they first met.

The subject of his gaze frowned as he appeared to connect the dots himself and realized what Hughes was implying.

"You mean that's it? All this time, that's why you 'ated me? Not because where I'm from but because you thought that I…me an' your sister…?" His earlier shock gone, Newkirk huffed and crossed his arms.

Hogan almost smiled at the picture of disgruntled indignation. In his shoes, Hogan would have been furious, but it seemed like Newkirk was more annoyed than anything.

Any lightening of the mood was quickly negated, however, with Hughes' next words. His eyes never leaving his fellow countryman, he said in a choking voice, "I am so sorry, corporal. I am so, so desperately sorry."

Hogan looked at Newkirk for his reaction to the deep, heartfelt apology.

Newkirk rolled his eyes and grimaced. A moment later, he inhaled deeply and then forced his breath out. "What's done is done," he finally said.

Hogan wasn't sure what Newkirk meant…and clearly neither did Hughes, for he said hesitantly, "I know an apology can never be…"

Newkirk stopped him with a raised hand. "I mean it," he said. "Just…don't." He stood abruptly. "Look, I understand, okay? I knew Louise." He turned quickly to Hogan and tensed as if getting ready to run. "Colonel, can I go? I mean, am I dismissed? I just…I want…"

Hogan frowned, remembering why he'd had Newkirk in his office in the first place. That conversation had been entirely derailed. Annoyed that nothing had been resolved, he agreed it was time for Newkirk to exit and said with authority, "Of course. We're not finished with that earlier conversation, but we can talk about it later. You're dismissed."

Newkirk was out the door before Hogan finished.

Hogan waited for the door to close before he took a deep breath and turned to Hughes. "John…" He shook his head. What to say? Hughes had tormented Newkirk, nearly killed him in fact, but even so things didn't seem quite as cut and dry as before.

"I can never hold my head up again," whispered Hughes, obviously gutted. "I was so sure of myself…never questioned what I was doing, certain I had been given this opportunity for a reason. I expect I was, but not for the one I thought. Maybe I was supposed to get to know him and learn that a good man can come from the worst of places. And…and a bad man from the best. Maybe I was supposed to learn tolerance. That I should look after all my men, regardless of who they are, where they're from, or what they've done. Like…like Newkirk looked after Louise. No, I can't face him, Hogan. I can never face any of the men again."

"John…" once again Hogan paused, but this time out of annoyance. Hughes deserved to feel lower than dirt, but he also needed to man up and atone for his behavior, not run from it. "Look, Newkirk himself said it. What's done is done. I'm not going to pretend you don't have a lot of ground to make up, but you've made a start by apologizing, and you owe it to all of the men to not lose your head. They need both of us to get them through this war and the best thing you can for Newkirk is to be the kind of leader they all need."

Hughes shook his head and looked at Hogan entreatingly. "But you don't understand. You don't understand what we did. What I did that day."

Hogan's thoughts flew back to the day Newkirk was released from the cooler. In his mind's eye, he could vividly see the young corporal entering the barracks, stunned, frozen, looking nothing like the rude troublemaker from the cooler. And then the scene in his room a couple days later, when he saw for the first time the signs of the beating Newkirk had suffered. And finally the unforgettable picture of Hughes beating him again. Hogan knew what he needed about all of it.

"John, I'm sure you…"

"My behavior was unconscionable," Hughes said, talking right over Hogan. He stared at his hands as he spoke. "The moment he saw us, waiting for him outside the cooler, he knew he was in trouble. I could tell. He wasn't afraid, though. Not then he wasn't. That came later. He tried to make a break for the barracks, but we were too quick for him. He was usually rather slippery, but I was so pleased his stay in the cooler had weakened him so that he couldn't escape. Wells and Mitchell, well, they dragged him to the showers, fighting all the way to keep him under control. I followed behind…smug. So pleased to see his useless struggles. He still wasn't afraid when they shoved him through the door and he tripped, falling to his hands and knees. He was more angry than anything. Cursing and still trying to get away, but not afraid. But then the men started ripping the filthy rags off of him. He fought like a trapped animal, which of course I thought was fitting. I thought less of him than I did a stray dog. He did all he could to throw the lads off, but they soon had him stripped and pinned face down on the floor. That was when I finally could hear the fear in his voice. He was trying to hide it, but I positively gloated when I heard the first crack as he continued to curse us. He was terrified of what we had planned for him next, and I was glad of it."

"Hughes…" growled Hogan, "You can stop right there. My imagination can fill in the blanks just fine, thank you. I don't need to hear you describe it." Hogan knew where this story was going and he couldn't bear hearing the details. He had always wondered in the back of his mind if they had done something more to Newkirk, but he knew he'd be unable to contain his rage if he heard confirmation of it.

"But I…"

"Can it!"

Hughes paused in his recitation and finally seemed to see Hogan. Saw the fury and disgust on his face and rightly read what caused it. "Oh…oh…no! No, we didn't…well, you know, abuse him. We're not animals!"

"Really?" snapped Hogan, having a hard time tamping down his anger and not sure he believed the man.

"No! No! I mean… yes…yes, I suppose I am. I am an animal for what I did do, but we didn't do anything depraved."

Hogan stared at Hughes for a long moment, evaluating. Then he felt his muscles loosen as he saw the truth in Hughes' face, a trickle of relief oozing through him as he confirmed that Newkirk hadn't suffered worse than a beating. However, his anger was still simmering as Hughes began to speak again.

Hughes ducked his head, flushing in shame. "I felt so triumphant as I saw him on that cold floor, trying to get away but helpless to do so. He was finally where I wanted and I reveled in it." He took a deep breath and again faced Hogan, looking desperate to unburden himself of all he'd done. "I crouched down in front of him and grabbed him by the hair, making him look at me. There was pure hatred in his eyes, but under it all was a deepening panic. I have never ever felt such satisfaction in my life. And to my everlasting shame, it wasn't just his imagination causing him to fear. The men and…and yes, I as well…were taunting him with the deviant things we were going to do."

When Hogan inhaled deeply and started to say something, Hughes countered quickly, "No…as I said we didn't do that. And none of us actually planned to go through with any of it, but words can be a powerful weapon and we knew how to wield them to great effect. I wanted him to be terrified and made sure he was." Hughes swallowed audibly before getting back on track with his confession. "In fact, I never planned to beat him, you know, but lost control of myself. He couldn't have known, of course, but in his shouting and cursing, the corporal said something…something that set me off. He'd been threatening us, naturally, but I didn't care. However at one point he got around to threatening our families. Our parents. Our wives. Our brothers. Our sisters... And I…when he said that all I could think of was what he'd already done to my sweet Louise. All I could see was that filthy, disgusting man laying his hands on her. I didn't have a single conscious thought before I had my belt in my hands and was shoving Wells off so I could beat the loathsome creature senseless."

Hughes stopped his recitation for a long minute while looking like he was gathering strength, then looked at Hogan before continuing, his voice positively self-loathing. "He still tried to get away, but it was useless of course. One of the lads took his arms and the other his legs and held him down while I used my belt on him. As I struck him again and again I was shouting. Releasing my anger with all sorts of vile imprecations—shouting what a disgusting, useless cur he was and that the only way to deal with filth like that was to beat the obedience from him…that animals needed a master to keep them under control. I…I would have killed him, but Wells eventually stopped me. Not because he cared about the corporal, he said, but because we would be punished if he was found dead. I suppose I should be grateful for some small mercy that he was strong enough to pull me away."

Hughes looked down at his hands once again, studying them as if to remember those same hands wielding his belt as a vicious weapon against a helpless man.

"So you see why I can never forgive myself? Every one of those bruises and lashes I put there. Me. To a man who should have been in my care—a man who helped someone dear to me. He beaten nearly to death and all I wanted was to be the executioner." Hughes inhaled shakily. "When I was done the men took care of everything else. They threw him under the shower—cold of course—scrubbed him with those long brushes, shaved his head, made sure none of the wounds were bleeding enough to show, and dressed him in some clothes we'd received from the guards. By then he was a stringless puppet in their hands. Didn't fight. Didn't say anything. I don't know if it was the beating or the cold that finally subdued him, but I was frankly annoyed that we couldn't get any more reaction from him. It was all I could do to stop myself from beating him again. God help me I wanted him to suffer more..."

Hogan turned away from Hughes when the man's words faded. He walked rapidly to his bunk and grabbed the rails hard, needing it to prevent himself from taking a swing. Hughes really hadn't told him anything he couldn't have guessed, but during the recitation Hogan couldn't help but imagine himself in Newkirk's position: weak, helpless, afraid, brutally beaten, then handled as if he were so much trash. What had been going on in his mind? Had he believed in some way he deserved it? What sort of terror had he experienced when he thought the men were going to do something worse than a beating? How had he managed to come through it all and not hate the world?

He abruptly turned around and said to Hughes, "You stay here. Don't leave. Don't talk to anyone. I'm gonna make sure Newkirk's okay. Then when I come back we'll talk."

As Hogan left his room, he realized he hadn't told Hughes the truth. Right now he really didn't want to see Newkirk. Wasn't sure he could control his anger if he did.

Luck was on his side, for when he glanced around the barracks, Hogan realized that a couple of the men were missing, Chapman, and most importantly, Newkirk.

"He went out," announced Kinch, causing Hogan to swing his gaze to the tall man. "Shot out of your room like a bat out of hell, stuck around for a few minutes, then said he was going to get some air. Chapman went after him with his coat."

Kinch's last sentence ended on a questioning note, asking what had happened to his friend this time. Most of the rest of the barracks' residents were also looking at Hogan for answers, but this story wasn't something he was going to share with them. It was a matter for him, as the commander, and as much as he appreciated their concern it simply wasn't their business.

"Thanks, Kinch." Hogan nodded, then looked around with a frown, wanting some air as well. Sometimes a man needed to be alone to think. Just as he decided to go out, though, he stopped, realizing he'd have to go back to his room to get a coat—not worth it to face Hughes. Let him sit in there alone stewing in his own guilt. He deserved it. Instead Hogan decided to just stop thinking about the whole sorry mess for awhile and enjoy the company of the men. He poured himself a cup of coffee and plopped down at the table, willing to give himself a break while he calmed down.

-o-o-o-

It was over an hour later than Chapman and Newkirk returned. An hour during which Hogan received any number of subtle and not-so-subtle attempts from the men to learn what was going on. Hogan rebuffed them all as casually as possible at first, then finally resorted to an outright order to mind their own business. He didn't like to pull the rank card unless it was required, but this was one of those times when he was glad he didn't have to put up with endless questioning if he didn't feel like it.

When Newkirk and Chapman finally did return, Hogan was pleased that Newkirk himself diffused the tension in the room with his own brand of evasiveness and snark.

"Newkirk, you okay?"

"Mon ami, what has happened?"

"Did he do something to ya?"

The object of the verbal barrage stopped in his tracks and shook his head.

"What's with you lot? I go out for a smoke and you turn into a bunch o' nervous ninnies. There's nothing wrong with me."

"But you left so fast."

"You forgot your coat."

"You didn't say anything."

Newkirk walked over to his bunk and took off said coat before grabbing up his pack of cards and sitting down at the table. He briefly locked eyes with Hogan as if confirming that nothing had been said before declaring, "Since when do I need you lot to be lookin' after me? I was 'ot you bunch of gits! You ever been alone with two officers talking at you at the same time? I was sweating by the time I left and wanted to cool off."

The implications of his statement seemed to hit the men at the same time. Concern melted to realization to irritation and the chatter was suddenly silenced.

Carter was the one to finally break it. "You mean you got in trouble? What did you do?"

Newkirk wasn't the only one to roll his eyes at Carter. There were some things you just didn't ask a fellow unless they made it clear they wanted to talk about it.

"What's it to you?" asked Chapman, putting away his own coat, finally speaking up. "A man doesn't need to share every dressing down 'e gets, now does 'e?"

Chapman's question was an even better way to shut down the men. The inhabitants of Barracks 2 knew Newkirk well enough to know that there were times that he deserved a good talking-to. If Newkirk seemed to accept whatever Hogan and Hughes had been saying to him and Chapman wasn't angry on his behalf, they knew they should back off and allow him his privacy.

Hogan also noted Chapman's word choice. He didn't necessarily say Newkirk had been reprimanded, just implied it. Chapman was either very clever with his words, or Newkirk had spun a tale for him as well.

Catching a quick bit of silent communication between Newkirk and Chapman answered that question for Hogan. Yes, Newkirk had told his fellow Cockney the real story, but didn't want to talk about it with the others so Chapman was covering for him. It made Hogan all the more glad he hadn't shared any of it with the others. This was Newkirk's and Hughes' story. It was up to them to reveal any or all of it and Hogan would respect their privacy.

Content with the way Newkirk had dealt with the situation, Hogan decided it was time to see how the other party in this awful misunderstanding was faring.

-o-o-o-

Three days later while standing in formation, Hogan reflected on his conversation with Hughes. It had been, in a word, frustrating. Hughes was sorry. He was a bad human being. He was worthless. He deserved to be horsewhipped. He was worse than a criminal. He was…fill in the blank. Basically he was so full of self-flagellation that Hogan hadn't been able to express his own anger with Hughes' actions since Hughes himself was all too willing to accept any and all blame for what he'd done. Even worse, since that day Hughes had been so eager to make up for things that he'd been following everything Hogan said to the letter. It was nice that Hughes was being cooperative, but there was such a thing as going overboard. Hogan was pretty sure if he'd told the man he had to howl his remorse to the moon every night at midnight, he would have found him sneaking out of the barracks to do just that. It wasn't that Hogan wasn't glad that Hughes was trying to make amends. It was just that he wanted Hughes to take responsibility for his actions like a man and find his own way to atone—not obeying every word Hogan uttered as if doing penance. Hogan wasn't a priest, after all, and he didn't want to be thinking for other men, especially not now when the rest of his plans were starting to come together at a shockingly rapid pace.

Just yesterday, two days after his discussion with Hughes, the tunnel to the outside had finally been completed. Yes, finished. They'd broken through to the surface in the wooded area just outside the camp, and under the cover of darkness the men had all taken turns poking their heads out and experiencing "freedom." They were still looking for a good way to disguise the entrance, but that was just mechanics. It was done. The men could leave the camp if they wanted. The effect of the tunnel on the men had been incredible. Knowing they could leave seemed to give them a sense that they were no longer prisoners—now remaining in the camp was a choice, and staying was something they did because they wanted to fight the war from within Germany, not because the enemy was controlling their every move.

And now with the tunnel finished, they were just waiting for Schnitzer's next visit so they could arrange a meeting with the Underground, discuss getting radio parts delivered, and finally make contact with London. Hogan and his men were working around the clock to get everything in order for their first assignment and the speculation on what that would be was the subject of a hefty betting pool.

Yeah, Hogan breathed in the cold air with satisfaction. Frustration with Hughes aside, things were finally where Hogan wanted them to be. The plans were coming together, the Germans were still completely in the dark, they were just on the cusp of some exciting and potentially war-changing missions, and the men were happy and healthy. Hogan had never thought he could be so content in a POW camp.

-o-o-o-

A/N: Short(ish) chapter getting ready for the finale. Only one to go! Hope everyone is having/had a Happy Thanksgiving!