Chapter Ten; Andrea's story

Stalag 13, 1943

It was midnight, the guards were as dozy as they were ever going to get. Relaxed in the last half hour of their patrol. Hogan's men were asleep up top. Raising the trap door slowly, the figure climbed out. Secured it back down before gliding through the forest. Not daring to take one look back.

None of the gang particularly wanted to get up for roll call as Schultz blustered through the barracks. For some reason they all felt subdued, going about the chore with no banter or smart comments. Colonel Hogan himself denied the friendly Sergeant the usual morning jibe.

Klink stood their amazed at the sullen prisoners. For once they looked how he'd imagined prisoners would: downcast, broken and lifeless. He didn't have the heart to pull out the paper in his pocket containing the latest from the war they were no longer a part of. Instead he promptly ordered Schultz to dismiss them, hoping Hogan would, or could, do something to improve the moral of his men.

"I'm going to check in with London, Colonel. See if they got Lieutenant Ritchie and the papers home safely." Kinch said breaking the silence and heading straight down.

"I'll go with you; Andrea would want to know if he's alright." Newkirk stated, putting aside his jacket.

"Don't be too long down there though. Klink will be asking questions soon if we keep missing the volley ball games." Hogan warned.

Nodding his acknowledgement, he followed Kinch down below. Splitting up, the Corporal headed off to the room solely occupied by the only other RAF member now Ritchie had left while the Sergeant headed to his post in the communications room.

Both cots were made immaculately, Newkirk noted as he cast his eyes around the room. Then he noticed the folded clothes and silver metal disregarded in a neat pile on one of the cots. Cursing as he ran out.

"Kinch! 'Ave you seen..." He began before taking in his mate's grave expression. "What is it?" Newkirk quickly rephrased.

"It was here on the switch board. It's addressed to you." Kinch answered numbly, picking up an envelope. A list of possible scenarios stemming from the radio call yesterday ran through his mind, each ending badly.

As Peter took it from Kinch's outstretched hand his own thoughts were ones of betrayal and bitterness. A small part of him was aware of the American's departure, but the rest was only thinking of the letter as he pried it open.

(The Goodbye)

I can't believe it came to this Pete, but you'd have stopped me otherwise. Don't deny it brother I know you to well. When you read this I am now out of your reach so please be reasonable and stay where you are needed most. I'd rather you leave me than have you abandon the men who are your family.

The truth is hard, life has taught me that much, if you want to know what has happened since you were shot down I have left it written for you. I beg you to read it only if you have to and none of it can go past your team mates if you want them to know. No one else, especially our Mum, sisters or London.

I'm doing this for my crew. I hope you can at least understand that I have to do this.

I'm sorry and I'll miss you always, Andrea.

(Herstory Letter (sorry couldn't resist from 'history') )

I guess you did decide to find out, I want you to give this to your Colonel once you've read it. If anyone can help you make sense of this messed up fracture in my life, he can.

I told you that I retrained after you were shot down; you know that basic was just that, Basic Training. The only reason I was permitted to go through it was that I had consented to a trial where it was entirely possible that I could be shot down and turned over to the Gestapo, SS or Abwehr. The brass in charge of me insisted that I undergo 'proper' training as they saw me as a security risk and thought I'd spill their big bad secrets because I was soft. That's when I began the espionage side of things.

It's your average day's work, but that was what we trained for: codes, manipulation, interrogating, intelligence, languages, communications and the odd extra tutorial. Maybe you'll understand this more, but the interrogation was a necessary requirement for any field work.

I can't be her again, your memory of Andrea, for you or anyone else.

It began with me being taken from one of the training courses. A hood being thrown over my head, chloroform soaked rag being steadily applied as I was tackled to the ground.

When I came to the iron chaining me to the chair told me more than the rough German spat at me ever could. The Officer's accent was killing our King's language; I was tempted to ask him to switch to German to make him stop. He repeatedly asked for my base location, number of personal and some other stupid stuff about the allied high command structure. I told him where he could put it then gave my name, rank and serial number.

Another guy came; he asked me the same questions. Again I refused to answer. I have no idea of how long this went on for. Every ten minutes there was someone asking me. I tried to sleep, but all attempts ended with water being thrown over me or a sharp slap to the face. Both were effective and the days became a blur.

Then I remember a young soldier coming in and unlocking my restraints. He never said a word. Free, I put him in a choke hold. He begged me to stop, his accent a hundred percent Scottish. Sleep deprived his cry didn't register with me then. His weight went dead under me and I ran. Where I didn't know or care. I just ran. Needless to say I was caught, cuffed and thrown in a cell.

I was almost glad of that, I'd been left alone long enough to sleep. Then the first Officer came back and dragged me to a chair. The room was extremely dark. Pushing me down, I was again asked for information. This time was different; he had a whip in hand and was seeing red. My first refusal earned me ten lashes. The smart ass comment after, got me another ten. Its touch burned hotter than any fire. It carried on for what must have been hours. The skin on my back torn well and truly, open by the repeated contact. I passed out before he got what he wanted.

Awake, I was left to a different man who reverted to psychological torture. He told me what he'd do to you, Mum, to anyone I cared for if I didn't answer. It killed me, but I retorted 'See if I care, you bastard.' He went on to describe all the pleasure he could have toying with me and wasn't talking about my mind. All it did was make me sick. I honestly don't remember much about the days after him, the cuts were beginning to get infected and the men from then on only beat me by hand.

Next full day I remember was in Hospital. There I learnt that it had been staged; an act. I would have felt better if I hadn't known that fact. Those men who put me through it had worn our uniform, had my trust, support and loyalty. They lost all of that trust by nearly killing me. There where the murmurs, the rumours of a young private being killed in a training exercise two weeks earlier. A crushed windpipe. Between that, the nightmares and the sideways glances of fear; I knew he was the kid who had freed me. Look how well I replayed him. For months, years after I couldn't let a uniformed soldier touch me without having a mild panic attack.

After three months of rest and some physiotherapy, Arc Flight was formed. It took a while but we adjusted to each other and were pretty much inseparable. You'd like them, my crew. They watched out for me. Kept my secrets and respected my distance. Johnson helped a lot. He's an American so I found no problem with his uniform, so he did help a lot. Combine him with Ritchie, Williams and Best, there you have the four men who brought some tiny part of me back.

These guys gave up more than I can repay. I've been reassigned here. Without me Arc Flight wouldn't have a purpose and would be disbanded. I've got debts I can never repay, memories and scars I can't erase. I can't escape, not anymore. I've given up on running. This is my last stand. I love you Peter, but let me go.

His Sergeant had left him with a note and a guilty look. The Colonel just couldn't comprehend why Andy had up and left. With so little to go on, it was impossible to single out her reasoning. Unfolding the paper there lines were scrawled out in front of him;

Thank you for everything, Peter couldn't have a better CO.

Reassignment begins today.

I'll get in touch when I can, Blau-rosa (Blue-rose)

The shuffling outside grew louder as heavy footsteps drifted closer to his door.

"Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant wants you in his office right now; if not sooner!" Schultz bellowed, making his normal amount of common sense.

'Just can't catch a break,' Hogan thought as he pulled on his cap, exiting the office. "Coming Schultz," Glancing back at his small corporal he smiled grimly, "LeBeau, go check on Newkirk and Kinch for me."

THE END?

AN: Again big thanks to all followers, readers and reviewers and anyone who Favorited my story. I'm still unsure as to what you guys make of this as a whole but I'm more than willing to make a sequel to this if you guys just ask, otherwise I will divert my attention elsewhere. Any feedback or future ideas welcomed and appreciated.

Merry Christmas and Happy reading,

Seth