Work Text:
"I need a volunteer."
When Colonel Hogan made the announcement, everyone in Barracks 2 suddenly became very interested in their activities. Newkirk hid his face behind his cards; LeBeau started muttering about his sauce and how he needed to find the right balance of salt; Carter became more animated while explaining the finer points of bomb making to Goldman who, in turn, began nodding vigorously whereas before he was trying desperately to tune Carter out.
As for Kinch, he didn't so much as flinch. He was busy jotting down notes—in code, of course—for the latest Louise P. Cargan novel. But it didn't matter; he could be picking lint out from between his toes and he was confident that Hogan wouldn't 'voluntell' him for anything.
"Everyone's busy, huh?" Hogan said as he crossed his arms and tilted his head.
Newkirk opened his mouth, ostensibly to make a snotty remark, but quickly shut it again. Kinch smirked. Maybe he had finally learned that Hogan considered the first person to acknowledge him as a volunteer.
"Kinch, what about you?"
Kinch's pencil paused over his notepad. "Me, sir?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"You could probably use some fresh air, right?"
"Uh, sure. What's the assignment?" Kinch rarely went outside the wire on solo missions.
Hogan held up the blue sheet of paper Kinch had given him earlier, containing a coded message from Olsen. "Olsen has to stay in town for a few more days, so he dropped a package off with Father Joseph for safe-keeping," Hogan explained. "I need someone to pick it up."
Kinch pursed his lips. Father Joseph was a newer contact in the underground. He had spent a decade running an orphanage in Morocco. Upon meeting with them for the first time, he had been very enthusiastic in telling Kinch how much he admired 'his people' and culture. Kinch had tried to tell him he was an American through and through, with no ties to Morocco, or even Africa as a whole, but Father Joseph had ignored him. It wasn't the worst sort of interaction to have with someone, especially in the heart of Germany, and Father Joseph's heart was clearly in the right place, but it rankled Kinch all the same.
"I will go, mon colonel," LeBeau said as he set down his spoon and wiped his hands on his apron.
"Nah, it's all right, LeBeau," Kinch said as he set down his notepad. "I'll go. I really could use some exercise." He could put up with Father Joseph's condescension if it meant a chance to do something outside the wire for once. He couldn't very well complain about being cooped up in the tunnels if he shot down his limited opportunities when they came.
"Good," Hogan said.
"Wouldn't mind if you came back with some sacramental wine, mate," Newkirk said, finally looking up from his cards.
"I'll see what I can do," Kinch said. With a grunt, he got out of his bunk and stretched. Then he opened up the trap. "I'll be back."
The late summer air was tinged with the smell of wheat and pine. Kinch made his way through the dark forest, his presence noted by chirping crickets which grew silent as he passed before continuing their melody. Kinch stuck to the shadows, occasionally pausing against trees to listen for sounds that were out of place.
He had to admit, for all its dangers, he liked the spy game. Lurking through the trees, senses elevated, he felt alive. It sure beat working for the phone company. Like the rest of the guys, he had a nagging feeling that it would all catch up to them someday, but, for now, their work behind enemy lines was thrilling.
The forest thinned out and Kinch could see lights cutting through not too far away—spots of blue, red, and yellow from the stained glass windows of the church. Kinch made his way to the forest edge and pressed against a tree, scanning the area for any obvious dangers. When he was sure the coast was clear, he darted out of the trees and made his way to the church. He climbed the steps and paused, straining to hear if anything was happening on the other side of the big oak doors. Nothing, though the doors were so thick that might not mean anything.
Kinch grabbed the heavy wrought iron ring handle and pulled. The door groaned open wide enough for Kinch to slip in.
The chapel was lit with candles, but it was empty. Kinch crept further into the room. "Father Joseph?" he called in a harsh whisper. "Father Joseph?"
"Here."
Kinch looked over his shoulder to the confession box. Father Joseph was sitting on a chair, shoulders slumped, hands pressed together while hanging down between his knees. He looked defeated, like a man who had lost everything.
"Are you all right?" Kinch asked.
Father Joseph let out a sigh that sounded like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. "James," he said quietly, using Kinch's given name as he often did with the team, "if God doesn't see fit to return now, I don't know if He ever will."
"What do you mean?" Kinch asked.
Father Joseph put a hand over his face and looked down. "Demons are real, my son. They walk among us with their polished boots and bright eyes. And, God help me, in the moment it counted, I feared death more than eternal damnation." With a sigh, he wiped his face and stood. "Never mind. I suppose you want to package Jerrik left."
"I do."
"Come with me then," Father Joseph said, leaving the booth and beckoning Kinch to follow him. "And be quick. He'll be back soon."
"Who? Jerrik?"
Father Joseph cast a glance at the confessional. "No." Then he climbed up a few steps to the altar and rummaged around before pulling out a small bundle, tied up with paper and string. "Radio parts, I think," he said as he came down the steps and handed the package to Kinch. "Although I suppose that friend of yours, Peter, wants—"
Father Joseph was cut off by the sound of engines rumbling from outside the church. The Father turned white. "He's back already." He looked around and then pushed Kinch, herding him to the side of the chapel. He threw open a door and shoved Kinch in. "Hide in the wardrobe."
Kinch didn't need to be told twice. He darted into the wardrobe, hiding behind the black cassocks hanging within. "Stay quiet," Father Joseph said before closing the wardrobe, leaving Kinch in darkness. He heard Father Joseph close the sacristy door behind him.
Kinch held his breath, hand going to his pistol, listening for anything that might give him reason to use it.
It didn't take long.
Kinch heard someone yelling, his voice becoming angrier and angrier. And then, suddenly, he heard a gunshot.
Every instinct told Kinch to burst out of the wardrobe and enter the chapel, ready for a fight. But that might just get him killed—or worse. He didn't know what was going on out there, but he needed to keep his head.
An idea hit him. One that was ridiculous. Insane. But it might just work.
"Father Joseph? Father Joseph, are you all right?"
Kinch stepped into the chapel. The sight before him stopped him cold. A dozen men in SS uniforms, along with civilians, including children, crowded into the chapel. Father Joseph knelt before the altar, head down, holding his hands up in surrender. One of the SS men, the captain whose arrival Father Joseph must have feared, had his pistol pressed against Father Joseph's head. A bullet hole smoldered in the floor.
The captain looked at Kinch and then back at Father Joseph. "What the hell is this?"
Father Joseph carefully looked up, the pistol still pressed against him. His eyes widening. "I—I—"
"Gentlemen, please, I do not know what goes on here, but this is a house of God," Kinch said as he took a tentative step forward, the stiff clerical collar feeling like a noose around his neck.
"Explain, Father," the SS captain barked.
"I—"
"You must forgive Father Joseph," Kinch said meekly, doing his best to inject what he imagined was a Moroccan accent into his otherwise perfect German words. "He is having a difficult night. My name is Father Caleb. I have recently come from Switzerland to join my friend here in Germany," Kinch said, gesturing to Father Joseph.
Father Joseph's mouth hung open for a moment, but then he nodded. "Yes," he said slowly. "He… was one of my orphans in Morocco. He's a fine young man, although a bit foolish." Kinch let the rebuke hit him without reacting. Yes, coming out of his hiding place was foolish, but it was obvious Father Joseph was in a bind.
"And you came here?" the captain skeptically.
"Of course," Kinch said with a nod. "When your armies make your return to North Africa, I will be able to tell my people about your hospitality. They'll be more inclined to help you, I think. Now," Kinch said with a little more confidence, "is there something I can help you gentlemen with?"
"How amusing," the captain said as he holstered his rifle. "It almost looks civilized wearing that." He gestured to the cassock Kinch wore. "This fool refuses to marry me."
"I never should have offered you absolution to begin with, Oscar," Father Joseph said quietly. "I thought there was still a glimmer of that altar boy I once knew. But I can't continue with the charade that you are worthy of anything—"
The captain pulled out his pistol again. "I warned you, old man."
"Wait." Kinch quickly stepped forward, putting a hand on Father Joseph's shoulder. "I think that Father Joseph is just confused." Kinch didn't know why Father Joseph had picked now, of all times, to start a fight with the SS, but if he wasn't careful, they were both going to get killed. "It's been a very tiring day, what with my arrival."
Father Joseph glared up at Kinch. "I can't, in good conscience—"
Kinch tightened his grip on Father Joseph's shoulder. "You're forgetting all the good you still need to do, Father Joseph." The most important of which was helping the underground in their work. Although, after this exchange, that might be impossible going forward. Father Joseph was now marked by the SS. That had to come with extra scrutiny.
"I am leaving for Arnhem in the morning," the SS captain said impatiently. "I don't have time to find another priest!"
"I wonder why you bother with the sacrament at all, considering—" Father Joseph started, but Kinch interrupted him.
"I can marry you," he said firmly, looking the SS captain in the eye.
"You?" the captain snorted in amusement. "An Untermensch?" He said the word as if he was doing Kinch a favour by forgoing something less vile.
"We are all equal in the sight of God," Kinch said evenly.
"My son—Father Caleb—" Father Joseph started.
"Quiet." The SS captain peered at Kinch, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. "Very well." He holstered his pistol again. "It might make for an amusing anecdote one day. But this conversation isn't done, Father Joseph."
"Unfortunately," Kinch continued, "I do not know the words in German or Latin, only my native tongue. You don't mind?"
The SS captain scoffed. "You don't know Latin?"
"His people are a cheerful sort, but not bright," Father Joseph said with a tone that suggested he wasn't just spinning an explanation, but genuinely believed it.
"Fine." The SS captain turned and nodded to a civilian woman, who made her way over to the organ. Then he approached the group of children who were watching nearby, eyes on Kinch with a mixture of awe and fear. He knelt in front of one boy, dressed in a stiffly starched suit, and grabbed his hands. "Go get your mother. Tell her we're ready. And hold tightly to the rings!"
The little boy nodded, his blond curls flopping. "Yes, Papa." The boy hurried off and the captain straightened.
"Papa?" Kinch repeated.
The captain hummed. "Yes, of course. My bride has given me many sons," he said, gesturing to the children, several of whom were boys. "More, anyway, than my late wife and any of the other Lebensborn girls. Once we're married, we'll have more, God willing. Now, Father Caleb, if you will." The SS captain gestured for him to take his spot. "Father Joseph." Father Joseph stood and brushed off his knees before standing beside Kinch.
"I'm sorry for this," Father Joseph said quietly as he leaned closer to Kinch. "But I couldn't—"
"Save it for later," Kinch muttered back. "If we get out of here alive." Right now, their survival wasn't a guarantee.
The organ began to play, the great pipes pressing out music that filled the room. Kinch, once again, tugged on his collar.
The truth was, he had no idea what a Catholic wedding ceremony entailed. But, on the other hand, he was positive the SS captain had no idea what Moroccan was supposed to sound like. He'd wing it and put together something convincing.
The chapel doors opened and a woman in a simple white dress walked in, following her son, who proudly led the way. All eyes turned to her, but Kinch slid his gaze to the SS captain. He wondered about the man whose confession had shocked Father Joseph so thoroughly—enough that, after he had recovered, the old priest had risked his life in refusing to marry him. He wondered about the hypocrisy of an SS man holding to religion, despite the SS's disdain for it, when every action, from probable murder to having children out of wedlock, defied every principle of Christianity. Or, at least, the Christianity Kinch had been taught in his own Baptist church back in Detroit. He had no idea what sort of twisted ideas the Nazis had infected every church in Germany with.
Father Joseph had called this man a demon, but when his bride approached, his face lit up with genuine affection as he reached out to take her hand. It was unsettling.
Kinch shook off his discomfort as the organ stopped playing.
He had no idea what came out of his mouth. Gibberish he invented on the fly. He threw in a few pops and whistles for good measure. It was honestly ridiculous, but it was only equal to what this man deserved. Occasionally, Father Joseph would nudge him and motion for him to make the Sign of the Cross, ostensibly to keep up appearances. When Kinch figured he had spoken enough, he switched to German, calling for the rings and then, finally, allowing the couple to kiss.
The crowd cheered.
"Most unusual," the captain said over his shoulder. "I won't forget." Then, he turned to his bride and smiled. "Come, my dear. Dinner awaits."
The bride and groom walked arm and arm down the aisle, with the crowd following. The captain stopped at the end and pulled one of his men aside. The soldier nodded and motioned for another to join him. They stood off to the side while the party left the chapel.
Father Joseph and Kinch stood at the front of the chapel, waiting for them to clear. Kinch warily eyed the two soldiers; he had a bad feeling about them. His mind went to the comforting weight of his gun in his pocket.
The crowd cleared out and, through the open door, Kinch saw cars drive away. Then, the two soldiers closed the chapel doors and turned to Kinch and Father Joseph.
They were quick.
Three gunshots rang out and, when the smoke cleared, Kinch was the only one left standing, the bullet meant for him having whizzed past his ear.
Kinch dropped to his knees beside Father Joseph, who lay on the floor, blood pouring soaking his chest. The old priest's mouth flapped and he pressed out a breathy, "Forgive me."
Kinch wasn't sure if he was talking to him or someone unseen, but he grabbed Father Joseph's hands. He couldn't tell him he was going to be all right, but he had to say something. But, before he could get any words out, he heard the sound of death escape Father Joseph's throat. Kinch closed the old man's eyes and stood.
He walked to the doors, his steps echoing off the stone walls. He paused at the bodies of the two SS soldiers and looked over his shoulder at the Crucifix hanging above the altar.
"No disrespect, but like Father Joseph said: if not now, when?"
He didn't receive an answer as he turned and left the church.
Kinch wasn't sure how he was supposed to explain all this to Colonel Hogan. But he did know it would be a while before he volunteered for another assignment.