LOTR RPF AU - WWII Chapter 9
Dec. 23rd, 2006 09:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kitsune_writesAuthor: Fox
Title: Running With the Shadows
Rating: This part hard R for language, violence etc.
Pairing: various
WARNING - HEAVY angst
Disclaimer: This story is not to be taken as factual even though there are factual elements to it - it is a fictionalized account and it did not happen. The characterizations are not the real people who's names and images I've used in my story - they are false and should not be taken to indicate any sort of agreement with what I've written. I am not making any money from this, only using my (admittedly) overactive imagination.
A/N: Artistic license is my friend. I've tried to be as accurate as possible but sometimes I tweak history to help myself out. ;-)
Many thanks to Julianne and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aire_blair for the lovely and lightning quick betas. ::hugs:: While this has been betaed, I am a compulsive tinkerer and any and all mistakes are mine.
Fabulous icon courtesy of the lovelysandelwood.
Previous chapters here.
This part immediately following chapter 8.
Orlando met Bean at the door, reaching down for Dominic’s hand, but still looking around somewhat wildly for a moment before he took a deep breath and calmed himself.
“He’s been shot, Orli, so take care, yeah?” Bean said, supporting Dom as much as he could from behind as he helped him up the stairs.
Monaghan was brought into the plane and sat down along the wall toward the back of the plane. As Orlando turned to head back toward the door, Dom caught sight of the blood dripping from a wound on the other man’s arm. How many of us are injured, he wondered.
Orlando’s loud, “Oh thank God” brought relief to everyone. It wasn’t very long before Urban and Bloom had manhandled Boyd onto the plane. It was clear he was injured badly, and the initial relief was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Boyd was set just inside the door and Bloom closed and latched the door while Bean gave Wenham the word to go.
*********
Billy stayed just as they laid him. The pain was overwhelming, the smallest motions burning through him like a red-hot poker. He leaned against the wall, his chin against his chest, breathing shallow and ragged.
“All right, Billy-my-lad?” Bean’s anxious voice rumbled.
“I don’t think I am,” Billy said, his voice slightly surprised in an overly calm way.
“Don’t say that, Billy,” Orlando snapped as he gently pulled back the blood-soaked jacket, trying to see exactly where Boyd had been hit.
“Saw this, y’know,” Billy said to Bean. “In the ashes.”
“I know. You said it would be fine,” Bean replied, voice breaking on the final word.
“Sorry, mate. Had to get you back inside somehow, eh? The Brigadier was waiting.”
Bean looked absolutely gutted.
Billy's glazed eyes moved from Bean to Bloom, whose shocked face told him that he wouldn’t make it to England, probably wouldn’t make it out of Germany. “M’ not afraid to die, lads,” he said, quietly yet with certainty.
“Billy…” Karl’s voice shook with suppressed emotion.
“Three ampoules of morphine should do the trick, Orli,” Boyd cut in.
Bloom shook his head. “I can’t…”
Billy rolled his head slightly so he could meet Orlando’s eyes. “You’d do it for Serkis but not for me?” he said with the faintest of half-smiles on his lips.
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Consider this a direct order, Orlando. Three ampoules.”
“Oh God, Bill,” Orlando’s voice hitched, then broke.
“It’s been a Hell of a ride, lads,” Billy said, pride and affection as clear as the pain in his voice. “You see this through now. For me, eh?”
Each of his men leaned and touched their foreheads to his. Bean, the last of the Glasgow boys, kissed Bill’s forehead as well before pushing back onto his heels. He cupped Boyd’s face, lifting his head. “I’ll tell Maggie and Gerry personally.”
“Thank you,” Billy said, his eyes closing on a fresh wave of pain. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “Orli?”
*********
Orlando’s eyes closed on his own pain as he reached for a morphine ampoule and fitted it for dispensing. As much as he wanted Bill to fight for as long as he could, he couldn’t deny the request (order) Boyd had made. With a minimum three-hour flight to anywhere with the level of medical assistance that Bill needed, there wasn’t much of a choice. He administered the dose, watched as Billy’s pupils became pinpricks and listened to his harsh breathing settle a bit. He fitted the next ampoule but couldn’t seem to make himself depress the syringe. His hand hovered over Bill’s arm, trembling with the weight of what he had to do next.
“S’alright,” Bill slurred, patting clumsily at Orlando’s arm. “S’alright, Orli.”
Orlando administered the dose. Billy’s eyes slid shut and the tightness around his mouth eased. He looked almost peaceful, really. Orlando dropped his head, trying to get himself under control. He still had one more to go before he could throw himself into a ball and mourn the loss of not only the best leader he had had the privilege to serve under, but also one of his best mates. He took several deep breaths and then dropped his hands. He didn’t know if he could do it, he really didn’t. Bean reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder. Orlando nodded and reached for the last ampoule.
*********
Dom saw Bloom pick up another ampoule of morphine. He’d seen two administered already – surely Bloom was aware that three would almost certainly kill the diminutive Boyd.
“Hansel, go up there and tell them to stop! They’re going to kill him!”
Hans-Peter looked at the group of men in the front of the plane. They were all squatting or standing with their heads down. Bloom hadn’t even loaded the ampoule yet. “I think they are very much aware of that fact, Dom,” he said quietly.
Dom tried to stand but his leg would not support him and he crashed back down with a pained grunt.
“What are you doing?” Hans-Peter demanded.
“Get me up there,” Dom gritted out through his clenched jaw.
“Dom…”
“Just do it, Hans-Peter. If you don’t help me I will crawl up there screaming in pain the entire way, I swear I will!”
Hans-Peter didn’t say anything else, only leaned down and pulled Dom to his feet. He took as much of the weight as he could off of Dom’s leg and they started for the front of the plane. They reached the circle of men just as Orlando had positioned the vial for injection.
“Stop,” Dom commanded sharply.
Bloom looked up. “He won’t make it to England, Monaghan,” he said calmly. If Dom hadn’t been looking down into Bloom’s haunted face, he would’ve thought Bloom had no problem with killing his commanding officer with a morphine overdose.
“There’s nothing to be done for him except what he asked for—what he ordered, Dominic,” Bean added.
“Could he make it an hour, do you think?” Hans-Peter asked thoughtfully.
“What’s an hour from here?” Bean demanded. “We don’t have anyone so close who could help.”
“This would not be one of your people,” Hans-Peter replied calmly.
“Who?” Dom asked, his voice hitching on a pained gasp as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. He knew the pain was getting to him, he should’ve been able to come up with a name by himself.
“Mortensen,” Hans-Peter supplied.
Dom nodded and then looked down at the team. “Viggo Mortensen - Danish national, high-ranking Nazi Party member. He can certainly get us whatever medical help we may need.”
“He’s a Nazi,” Karl spat.
“So am I,” Dom snapped, running out of patience and almost breathless with pain. “He knows both Hans-Peter and I, knows what we were about. He can arrange for help. Is that going to be enough for you or are you just going to give up even though there may be a chance to save Major Boyd?”
Dom met every man’s eyes after he issued the challenge. He knew that none of them wanted to let Boyd die but they had accepted the futility of the situation and it had to actually sink in that there was now another option.
“If Viggo can’t help,” Hans-Peter spoke into the tense silence, “you can administer the third dose on the ground. You’ll still have followed orders, just not…exactly. I assume you lot can live with that?”
Bean sighed. “Talk to Wenham. With Boyd and Serkis down, he’s in charge of the mission. Besides, if he won’t fly there, it doesn’t matter whether we follow orders to the letter or not.”
“Help me get in there,” Dom said, his voice harsh with pain.
Hans-Peter practically carried his friend to the cockpit. He leant Dom against the wall as he opened the door, then he helped Dom in and settled him into the co-pilot’s seat.
“Who the hell are you?” Wenham demanded.
“Dominic Monaghan, assimilated grade of Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army. I am assuming command of this mission as of now, is that understood?”
“What? Major Boyd—“
“He is unconscious. My assimilated grade outranks you, Commander, so I’ll have to ask that you follow my orders. You may fight me if you so wish but there are at least six wounded men on this plane, three critically. We need to divert from the flight plan to get help fast enough to save them.”
“Divert to where?” Wenham challenged. “We’re in bloody German airspace, Monaghan. They already know we’re here, they’re just trying to find out exactly where so they can shoot us down. Where do you suggest we go, eh?”
“Zurich.”
“You want me to fly over one of the most heavily guarded borders in the area and into Switzerland.”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Wenham said with a shrug.
“We need to get word to Viggo that we’re coming,” Hans-Peter pointed out. “The doctors must be there by the time we land or—“
“We can use the radio to transmit a message to London,’ Dom interjected. “They can get it wherever it needs to go. Hansel, make up something Mortensen will understand that won’t give up our intentions or position to whoever intercepts the message. We may not be able to do anything about interception, but let’s not give them a beacon to hone in on.”
They hit another patch of turbulence and Dom hissed in pain. Wenham glanced down and saw the bloody mess that had been Monaghan’s calf. “Holy shit!”
“Wenham,” Monaghan said shakily, “I am ordering you to fly, no questions asked, to any coordinates given to you by Hans-Peter. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hans-Peter handed Dom a piece of paper, which he read quickly. He looked up at his friend, a weak smile on his face. “Imagine if we were actually fighting for Germany, Hansel.”
“They might have stood a chance to win then,” von Heuber agreed, a small smile on his own face.
Wenham relaxed back in his seat, his body language no longer tense or challenging.
“You’re with us now,” Dom said to the pilot.
“Yes.”
“Good. That will make everything smoother,” Dom said approvingly as he handed Wenham the paper. “Send this to MI5. Begin transmission with, ‘Yangtze river crew reunited. Please relay the following to General U.S. Grant.’ Then send the body of the message exactly as written down here. End with ‘Urgent. Chopsticks broken. Bernie.’ That should do the trick.”
“What frequency is this?” Wenham asked as he glanced at the paper to get the message down.
“It’s the frequency I’ve been using to betray one of my countries to the other for the past several years,” Dom said, sighing heavily.
Wenham had nothing to say to that, simply nodded and sent the message over the radio. "That didn't take long," he said, surprised when the radio crackled back to life less than two minutes later.
“Grant thanks you for passing on that message. He’ll speak to his friend and will let you know availability. See you soon, you monumental git.”
Dom managed a weak smile. “Love you too, Matty,” he slurred, blood loss and pain finally catching up with him. He slowly slumped sideways in his seat.
*********
Hans-Peter set Dom upright, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Once he had his friend settled as best he could, he pulled down the jump seat and strapped himself in.
“What’s your name then?” Wenham asked.
“Hans-Peter von Heuber.”
“Well, Hans-Peter von Heuber, I’m David Wenham.”
Hans-Peter offered a small smile. “Under other circumstances I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, David, however…” he shrugged elegantly.
“Too true, mate,” Wenham said, nodding. “Things being as they are, I just thought we should at least know each other’s names.”
“If you’re going to die with someone, do you mean?”
Dave met Hans-Peter’s gaze steadily. “Yes, that is what I mean. I’m going to set a new course for Zurich but there is a possibility we won’t even make it there.”
“Well, if we’re going to be shot down anyway, we may as well go trying something heroic.”
“Absolutely,” Dave said, chuckling as he turned the plane in a general northwestern direction. “So what’s the injury report?”
“Monaghan, Boyd and the captain gravely injured, everyone else ambulatory.”
Wenham nodded, looking at Dom’s slumped form. “He doesn’t look like much, does he?” he said, as if to himself.
“I suppose he doesn’t,” Hans-Peter replied softly. “He would be the first to say that he wasn’t worth all of this, you know.”
The radio crackled back to life and a soft, flat American voice read out a series of seemingly random numbers three times. Hans-Peter sighed in relief.
“That was Viggo. He’s expecting us and will have medical staff waiting at the airport.”
“Wait, did you just say at the airport? He gave you the coordinates for Kloten?” Wenham repeated incredulously.
Hans-Peter looked down at the sheet of paper he’d copied the numbers down onto and less than a minute later he nodded. “That is exactly what he did.”
“Did he also give you something we could tell the Swiss authorities when they ask us why we are violating their airspace?”
“He said it would be all taken care of by the time we arrive. They will have our flight plan registered and we will be allowed to land with no issue.”
Wenham raised an eyebrow as he set the coordinates and made a tight turn to their new course. “Who is this Viggo and how does he have the power to smooth this over?”
“He’s…well, let’s just say that he is highly valued as a man who can get things done and leave it at that, shall we?”
The cockpit door opened and Bean stuck his head in. “We’ve turned?” Bean’s brow furrowed as he saw Monaghan, obviously unconscious, in the co-pilot’s chair. “What’s the plan, sir?”
“We are going to Zurich to get help from some bloke called Viggo. Whoever is still alive afterwards will return to England at which point I’ll either be forcibly retired or sent to Canada where I will teach new pilots how to fly Lancasters for the duration of the war,” Wenham said cheerfully.
“Sir…”
“Listen up, Sergeant Bean. That man back there? He saved my brother and a hell of a lot of others besides. I think, given those circumstances, that I can try to do this for him. Now kindly go back and make sure he survives until we touch down in Zurich.”
Bean was overcome. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob before nodding and retreating back to the cabin.
After the door was shut behind Bean, Wenham turned back to von Heuber. “So what’s your story, mate?”
A self-deprecating smirk twisted a corner of Hans-Peter’s mouth. “I was an Allied spy working with Dom. I was inadvertently exposed and he brought me out with him.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Our families have been allies and friends for generations. Dom and I learnt to walk together.”
Dave whistled.
“Yes,” Hans-Peter said quietly, a lot of emotion packed into the single word.
Dave checked the fuel level and then noticeably increased the speed.
1 May 1942 Zurich, Switzerland 297 km NW of Marburg
Wenham sighed heavily as he taxied the plane toward the cargo terminal of the Zurich-Kloten airport. True to his word, Mortensen had arranged for the C-47 to enter Swiss airspace with no questions asked. Wenham was caught between desperately wanting to know how that was possible and not wanting anything to do with it. As they got closer to the building, he saw a group of people outside the open doors of a cargo hold. There were three stretchers standing by and ambulances to the side of the runway.
They had sent a “follow me” jeep out to lead him in and now there was a man on the tarmac giving him semaphore messages as to exactly where to park the plane. He moved into position and shut the engines down straight away, not wanting to keep the medical personnel waiting any longer than absolutely necessary.
Hans-Peter was unstrapped and working on getting Monaghan out of his straps. Dom was ashen and pale and Hans-Peter’s hands shook as he tried to get his friend loose.
Dave put a hand on von Heuber’s shoulder. “I’ll get him. Go on out to the cabin and make sure someone gets up here.”
*********
Hans-Peter opened the door to controlled chaos in the cabin. Medical personnel were everywhere, talking loudly to be heard over everything else as they triaged their patients. One group already had Boyd mostly down the stairs although it was slow going. One of the ambulances had pulled right up to the bottom of the stairs and as the medical crew finally got Boyd to the bottom, they immediately loaded him onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle. It had started driving even before the doors were all the way shut behind the medics.
Hans-Peter reached for the nearest medic. “We’ve got one more in the cockpit who is terribly injured.”
The doctor nodded and grabbed another medic and Hans-Peter moved out of the way so they could get Dom. There was nowhere he could go that wasn’t in someone’s way so he simply descended the stairs and stood to the side of the plane.
“Hans-Peter,” came that soft, flat American voice.
“Viggo,” Hans-Peter said, turning to shake Mortensen’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
At that moment, another ambulance pulled up close to the stairs and Dom was carried carefully down the stairs and loaded in. Mortensen frowned. “What the fuck happened, Hans-Peter?”
“To sum up, Dominic was turned in by my father and was being hunted by the SD. MI5 sent in a crew to pick him up. We all got into a firefight as we were trying to leave and now here we are in Zurich.”
Viggo’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Dominic Monaghan is not about to be taken out by any damn Nazi, Hansel.”
Hans-Peter tried to return the smile but his was a weak, wobbly imitation. “So I’ve tried telling myself, Vig.”
Viggo reached over and squeezed Hans-Peter’s shoulder. “What else have we got in there?” he asked, gesturing toward the plane.
“One more injured badly and at least two more ambulatory. It was a mess.”
Serkis was being brought down as the last ambulance pulled up to the stairs. He was loaded in as Wenham, Bean, Bloom and Urban slowly climbed down under their own power. Bloom and Urban got into the ambulance with Serkis and it pulled away quickly.
Wenham and Bean walked slowly over to von Heuber and Mortensen.
“Viggo Mortensen,” he introduced himself and shook both men’s hands as they offered their names in return.
Bean studied Mortensen. This was not a man to take lightly and he could definitely appreciate that.
Viggo smiled. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
*********
Bill hurt. He blinked open his eyes and saw the white walls, smelled the medicinal stench and knew he most certainly was not dead. “I’m going to kill them all,” he mumbled under his breath.
This is a work in progress so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Feedback will be treasured.
Title: Running With the Shadows
Rating: This part hard R for language, violence etc.
Pairing: various
WARNING - HEAVY angst
Disclaimer: This story is not to be taken as factual even though there are factual elements to it - it is a fictionalized account and it did not happen. The characterizations are not the real people who's names and images I've used in my story - they are false and should not be taken to indicate any sort of agreement with what I've written. I am not making any money from this, only using my (admittedly) overactive imagination.
A/N: Artistic license is my friend. I've tried to be as accurate as possible but sometimes I tweak history to help myself out. ;-)
Many thanks to Julianne and
aire_blair for the lovely and lightning quick betas. ::hugs:: While this has been betaed, I am a compulsive tinkerer and any and all mistakes are mine.Fabulous icon courtesy of the lovely
sandelwood.Previous chapters here.
This part immediately following chapter 8.
Orlando met Bean at the door, reaching down for Dominic’s hand, but still looking around somewhat wildly for a moment before he took a deep breath and calmed himself.
“He’s been shot, Orli, so take care, yeah?” Bean said, supporting Dom as much as he could from behind as he helped him up the stairs.
Monaghan was brought into the plane and sat down along the wall toward the back of the plane. As Orlando turned to head back toward the door, Dom caught sight of the blood dripping from a wound on the other man’s arm. How many of us are injured, he wondered.
Orlando’s loud, “Oh thank God” brought relief to everyone. It wasn’t very long before Urban and Bloom had manhandled Boyd onto the plane. It was clear he was injured badly, and the initial relief was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. Boyd was set just inside the door and Bloom closed and latched the door while Bean gave Wenham the word to go.
Billy stayed just as they laid him. The pain was overwhelming, the smallest motions burning through him like a red-hot poker. He leaned against the wall, his chin against his chest, breathing shallow and ragged.
“All right, Billy-my-lad?” Bean’s anxious voice rumbled.
“I don’t think I am,” Billy said, his voice slightly surprised in an overly calm way.
“Don’t say that, Billy,” Orlando snapped as he gently pulled back the blood-soaked jacket, trying to see exactly where Boyd had been hit.
“Saw this, y’know,” Billy said to Bean. “In the ashes.”
“I know. You said it would be fine,” Bean replied, voice breaking on the final word.
“Sorry, mate. Had to get you back inside somehow, eh? The Brigadier was waiting.”
Bean looked absolutely gutted.
Billy's glazed eyes moved from Bean to Bloom, whose shocked face told him that he wouldn’t make it to England, probably wouldn’t make it out of Germany. “M’ not afraid to die, lads,” he said, quietly yet with certainty.
“Billy…” Karl’s voice shook with suppressed emotion.
“Three ampoules of morphine should do the trick, Orli,” Boyd cut in.
Bloom shook his head. “I can’t…”
Billy rolled his head slightly so he could meet Orlando’s eyes. “You’d do it for Serkis but not for me?” he said with the faintest of half-smiles on his lips.
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Consider this a direct order, Orlando. Three ampoules.”
“Oh God, Bill,” Orlando’s voice hitched, then broke.
“It’s been a Hell of a ride, lads,” Billy said, pride and affection as clear as the pain in his voice. “You see this through now. For me, eh?”
Each of his men leaned and touched their foreheads to his. Bean, the last of the Glasgow boys, kissed Bill’s forehead as well before pushing back onto his heels. He cupped Boyd’s face, lifting his head. “I’ll tell Maggie and Gerry personally.”
“Thank you,” Billy said, his eyes closing on a fresh wave of pain. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “Orli?”
Orlando’s eyes closed on his own pain as he reached for a morphine ampoule and fitted it for dispensing. As much as he wanted Bill to fight for as long as he could, he couldn’t deny the request (order) Boyd had made. With a minimum three-hour flight to anywhere with the level of medical assistance that Bill needed, there wasn’t much of a choice. He administered the dose, watched as Billy’s pupils became pinpricks and listened to his harsh breathing settle a bit. He fitted the next ampoule but couldn’t seem to make himself depress the syringe. His hand hovered over Bill’s arm, trembling with the weight of what he had to do next.
“S’alright,” Bill slurred, patting clumsily at Orlando’s arm. “S’alright, Orli.”
Orlando administered the dose. Billy’s eyes slid shut and the tightness around his mouth eased. He looked almost peaceful, really. Orlando dropped his head, trying to get himself under control. He still had one more to go before he could throw himself into a ball and mourn the loss of not only the best leader he had had the privilege to serve under, but also one of his best mates. He took several deep breaths and then dropped his hands. He didn’t know if he could do it, he really didn’t. Bean reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder. Orlando nodded and reached for the last ampoule.
Dom saw Bloom pick up another ampoule of morphine. He’d seen two administered already – surely Bloom was aware that three would almost certainly kill the diminutive Boyd.
“Hansel, go up there and tell them to stop! They’re going to kill him!”
Hans-Peter looked at the group of men in the front of the plane. They were all squatting or standing with their heads down. Bloom hadn’t even loaded the ampoule yet. “I think they are very much aware of that fact, Dom,” he said quietly.
Dom tried to stand but his leg would not support him and he crashed back down with a pained grunt.
“What are you doing?” Hans-Peter demanded.
“Get me up there,” Dom gritted out through his clenched jaw.
“Dom…”
“Just do it, Hans-Peter. If you don’t help me I will crawl up there screaming in pain the entire way, I swear I will!”
Hans-Peter didn’t say anything else, only leaned down and pulled Dom to his feet. He took as much of the weight as he could off of Dom’s leg and they started for the front of the plane. They reached the circle of men just as Orlando had positioned the vial for injection.
“Stop,” Dom commanded sharply.
Bloom looked up. “He won’t make it to England, Monaghan,” he said calmly. If Dom hadn’t been looking down into Bloom’s haunted face, he would’ve thought Bloom had no problem with killing his commanding officer with a morphine overdose.
“There’s nothing to be done for him except what he asked for—what he ordered, Dominic,” Bean added.
“Could he make it an hour, do you think?” Hans-Peter asked thoughtfully.
“What’s an hour from here?” Bean demanded. “We don’t have anyone so close who could help.”
“This would not be one of your people,” Hans-Peter replied calmly.
“Who?” Dom asked, his voice hitching on a pained gasp as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. He knew the pain was getting to him, he should’ve been able to come up with a name by himself.
“Mortensen,” Hans-Peter supplied.
Dom nodded and then looked down at the team. “Viggo Mortensen - Danish national, high-ranking Nazi Party member. He can certainly get us whatever medical help we may need.”
“He’s a Nazi,” Karl spat.
“So am I,” Dom snapped, running out of patience and almost breathless with pain. “He knows both Hans-Peter and I, knows what we were about. He can arrange for help. Is that going to be enough for you or are you just going to give up even though there may be a chance to save Major Boyd?”
Dom met every man’s eyes after he issued the challenge. He knew that none of them wanted to let Boyd die but they had accepted the futility of the situation and it had to actually sink in that there was now another option.
“If Viggo can’t help,” Hans-Peter spoke into the tense silence, “you can administer the third dose on the ground. You’ll still have followed orders, just not…exactly. I assume you lot can live with that?”
Bean sighed. “Talk to Wenham. With Boyd and Serkis down, he’s in charge of the mission. Besides, if he won’t fly there, it doesn’t matter whether we follow orders to the letter or not.”
“Help me get in there,” Dom said, his voice harsh with pain.
Hans-Peter practically carried his friend to the cockpit. He leant Dom against the wall as he opened the door, then he helped Dom in and settled him into the co-pilot’s seat.
“Who the hell are you?” Wenham demanded.
“Dominic Monaghan, assimilated grade of Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army. I am assuming command of this mission as of now, is that understood?”
“What? Major Boyd—“
“He is unconscious. My assimilated grade outranks you, Commander, so I’ll have to ask that you follow my orders. You may fight me if you so wish but there are at least six wounded men on this plane, three critically. We need to divert from the flight plan to get help fast enough to save them.”
“Divert to where?” Wenham challenged. “We’re in bloody German airspace, Monaghan. They already know we’re here, they’re just trying to find out exactly where so they can shoot us down. Where do you suggest we go, eh?”
“Zurich.”
“You want me to fly over one of the most heavily guarded borders in the area and into Switzerland.”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Wenham said with a shrug.
“We need to get word to Viggo that we’re coming,” Hans-Peter pointed out. “The doctors must be there by the time we land or—“
“We can use the radio to transmit a message to London,’ Dom interjected. “They can get it wherever it needs to go. Hansel, make up something Mortensen will understand that won’t give up our intentions or position to whoever intercepts the message. We may not be able to do anything about interception, but let’s not give them a beacon to hone in on.”
They hit another patch of turbulence and Dom hissed in pain. Wenham glanced down and saw the bloody mess that had been Monaghan’s calf. “Holy shit!”
“Wenham,” Monaghan said shakily, “I am ordering you to fly, no questions asked, to any coordinates given to you by Hans-Peter. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hans-Peter handed Dom a piece of paper, which he read quickly. He looked up at his friend, a weak smile on his face. “Imagine if we were actually fighting for Germany, Hansel.”
“They might have stood a chance to win then,” von Heuber agreed, a small smile on his own face.
Wenham relaxed back in his seat, his body language no longer tense or challenging.
“You’re with us now,” Dom said to the pilot.
“Yes.”
“Good. That will make everything smoother,” Dom said approvingly as he handed Wenham the paper. “Send this to MI5. Begin transmission with, ‘Yangtze river crew reunited. Please relay the following to General U.S. Grant.’ Then send the body of the message exactly as written down here. End with ‘Urgent. Chopsticks broken. Bernie.’ That should do the trick.”
“What frequency is this?” Wenham asked as he glanced at the paper to get the message down.
“It’s the frequency I’ve been using to betray one of my countries to the other for the past several years,” Dom said, sighing heavily.
Wenham had nothing to say to that, simply nodded and sent the message over the radio. "That didn't take long," he said, surprised when the radio crackled back to life less than two minutes later.
“Grant thanks you for passing on that message. He’ll speak to his friend and will let you know availability. See you soon, you monumental git.”
Dom managed a weak smile. “Love you too, Matty,” he slurred, blood loss and pain finally catching up with him. He slowly slumped sideways in his seat.
Hans-Peter set Dom upright, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Once he had his friend settled as best he could, he pulled down the jump seat and strapped himself in.
“What’s your name then?” Wenham asked.
“Hans-Peter von Heuber.”
“Well, Hans-Peter von Heuber, I’m David Wenham.”
Hans-Peter offered a small smile. “Under other circumstances I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, David, however…” he shrugged elegantly.
“Too true, mate,” Wenham said, nodding. “Things being as they are, I just thought we should at least know each other’s names.”
“If you’re going to die with someone, do you mean?”
Dave met Hans-Peter’s gaze steadily. “Yes, that is what I mean. I’m going to set a new course for Zurich but there is a possibility we won’t even make it there.”
“Well, if we’re going to be shot down anyway, we may as well go trying something heroic.”
“Absolutely,” Dave said, chuckling as he turned the plane in a general northwestern direction. “So what’s the injury report?”
“Monaghan, Boyd and the captain gravely injured, everyone else ambulatory.”
Wenham nodded, looking at Dom’s slumped form. “He doesn’t look like much, does he?” he said, as if to himself.
“I suppose he doesn’t,” Hans-Peter replied softly. “He would be the first to say that he wasn’t worth all of this, you know.”
The radio crackled back to life and a soft, flat American voice read out a series of seemingly random numbers three times. Hans-Peter sighed in relief.
“That was Viggo. He’s expecting us and will have medical staff waiting at the airport.”
“Wait, did you just say at the airport? He gave you the coordinates for Kloten?” Wenham repeated incredulously.
Hans-Peter looked down at the sheet of paper he’d copied the numbers down onto and less than a minute later he nodded. “That is exactly what he did.”
“Did he also give you something we could tell the Swiss authorities when they ask us why we are violating their airspace?”
“He said it would be all taken care of by the time we arrive. They will have our flight plan registered and we will be allowed to land with no issue.”
Wenham raised an eyebrow as he set the coordinates and made a tight turn to their new course. “Who is this Viggo and how does he have the power to smooth this over?”
“He’s…well, let’s just say that he is highly valued as a man who can get things done and leave it at that, shall we?”
The cockpit door opened and Bean stuck his head in. “We’ve turned?” Bean’s brow furrowed as he saw Monaghan, obviously unconscious, in the co-pilot’s chair. “What’s the plan, sir?”
“We are going to Zurich to get help from some bloke called Viggo. Whoever is still alive afterwards will return to England at which point I’ll either be forcibly retired or sent to Canada where I will teach new pilots how to fly Lancasters for the duration of the war,” Wenham said cheerfully.
“Sir…”
“Listen up, Sergeant Bean. That man back there? He saved my brother and a hell of a lot of others besides. I think, given those circumstances, that I can try to do this for him. Now kindly go back and make sure he survives until we touch down in Zurich.”
Bean was overcome. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob before nodding and retreating back to the cabin.
After the door was shut behind Bean, Wenham turned back to von Heuber. “So what’s your story, mate?”
A self-deprecating smirk twisted a corner of Hans-Peter’s mouth. “I was an Allied spy working with Dom. I was inadvertently exposed and he brought me out with him.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Our families have been allies and friends for generations. Dom and I learnt to walk together.”
Dave whistled.
“Yes,” Hans-Peter said quietly, a lot of emotion packed into the single word.
Dave checked the fuel level and then noticeably increased the speed.
Wenham sighed heavily as he taxied the plane toward the cargo terminal of the Zurich-Kloten airport. True to his word, Mortensen had arranged for the C-47 to enter Swiss airspace with no questions asked. Wenham was caught between desperately wanting to know how that was possible and not wanting anything to do with it. As they got closer to the building, he saw a group of people outside the open doors of a cargo hold. There were three stretchers standing by and ambulances to the side of the runway.
They had sent a “follow me” jeep out to lead him in and now there was a man on the tarmac giving him semaphore messages as to exactly where to park the plane. He moved into position and shut the engines down straight away, not wanting to keep the medical personnel waiting any longer than absolutely necessary.
Hans-Peter was unstrapped and working on getting Monaghan out of his straps. Dom was ashen and pale and Hans-Peter’s hands shook as he tried to get his friend loose.
Dave put a hand on von Heuber’s shoulder. “I’ll get him. Go on out to the cabin and make sure someone gets up here.”
Hans-Peter opened the door to controlled chaos in the cabin. Medical personnel were everywhere, talking loudly to be heard over everything else as they triaged their patients. One group already had Boyd mostly down the stairs although it was slow going. One of the ambulances had pulled right up to the bottom of the stairs and as the medical crew finally got Boyd to the bottom, they immediately loaded him onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle. It had started driving even before the doors were all the way shut behind the medics.
Hans-Peter reached for the nearest medic. “We’ve got one more in the cockpit who is terribly injured.”
The doctor nodded and grabbed another medic and Hans-Peter moved out of the way so they could get Dom. There was nowhere he could go that wasn’t in someone’s way so he simply descended the stairs and stood to the side of the plane.
“Hans-Peter,” came that soft, flat American voice.
“Viggo,” Hans-Peter said, turning to shake Mortensen’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for this.”
At that moment, another ambulance pulled up close to the stairs and Dom was carried carefully down the stairs and loaded in. Mortensen frowned. “What the fuck happened, Hans-Peter?”
“To sum up, Dominic was turned in by my father and was being hunted by the SD. MI5 sent in a crew to pick him up. We all got into a firefight as we were trying to leave and now here we are in Zurich.”
Viggo’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Dominic Monaghan is not about to be taken out by any damn Nazi, Hansel.”
Hans-Peter tried to return the smile but his was a weak, wobbly imitation. “So I’ve tried telling myself, Vig.”
Viggo reached over and squeezed Hans-Peter’s shoulder. “What else have we got in there?” he asked, gesturing toward the plane.
“One more injured badly and at least two more ambulatory. It was a mess.”
Serkis was being brought down as the last ambulance pulled up to the stairs. He was loaded in as Wenham, Bean, Bloom and Urban slowly climbed down under their own power. Bloom and Urban got into the ambulance with Serkis and it pulled away quickly.
Wenham and Bean walked slowly over to von Heuber and Mortensen.
“Viggo Mortensen,” he introduced himself and shook both men’s hands as they offered their names in return.
Bean studied Mortensen. This was not a man to take lightly and he could definitely appreciate that.
Viggo smiled. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
Bill hurt. He blinked open his eyes and saw the white walls, smelled the medicinal stench and knew he most certainly was not dead. “I’m going to kill them all,” he mumbled under his breath.
This is a work in progress so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Feedback will be treasured.
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-25 09:21 pm (UTC)I LOVE VIGGO. Just needed to be said. Perfect place for him to fit in, too. You had me worried, by the way. I honestly thought, for a while, that we were going to lose Boyd. I'm so glad we didn't...
no subject
Date: 2006-12-26 05:05 am (UTC)YAYE for Viggo! I tried to work him in before and he did not want to play so I'm glad he decided to help me out at this point. ;-)
I really did try to kill him but I just couldn't do it. Didn't feel right, if you know what I mean. I don't think I'm ever going to try it again either. What a pointless excercise. I mean, it's Bill and I just love him too damn much. heh.
Thank you for letting me know what you enjoyed, it always means so much!