This is a sequel to Escape Attempt 49 set a few months later. I would highly recommend that if you haven't read Escape Attempt 49 that you read that first as otherwise it will be difficult to understand what's going on as there is no recap.
"…The plane is falling out of the sky like a blazing comet, but somehow the pilot still appears to be maintaining control despite heavy flak damage. In fact, he would appear to be crash-landing right near…" the American was cut off as the burning plane roared past him only a few feet away from where he was standing and into the woods.
"Awesome, totally awesome." His friend added, staring at the direction of the accident, "Totally, awesome." Like a moth to the flames of the burning plane the private stumbled through the woods to the site of the plane, smoke billowing from the fuselage, though fortunately the fire had not reached the fuel tanks. The pilot had been thrown clear and was lying limp on the ground a few feet away.
"This is Chuck Charles reporting live from the sight of the crash." Private Charles continued taking a closer look at the plane. You'd never guess he'd been a reporter before he'd joined the army, "The plane in question appears to be a Messerschmitt…"
"Hey, we should probably get that dude outa there just in case that fuel tank blows." Private Dode pointed to the pilot still lying unconscious on the ground. He just wanted an excuse to get closer to the plane.
"This is Chuck Charles and I am now rescuing an enemy pilot," Chuck reported, grabbing one of the unconscious man's arms, Dode taking the other. "And he's not very light." He added with a groan as they dragged the pilot further back into the woods away from the plane.
"Hey, dude, look at that thing he's got instead of an eye." Dode spoke noticing the contraption of red glass and steel that covered one of the pilot's eyes and a good portion of his face. Curiosity getting the better of him, as usual, he extended a not at all tentative hand and gave the mechanism a poke. No sooner had his finger touched the metal there was a mechanical whirring sound and the eyepiece lit up a kind of ominous red. Chuck Charles took a step back and when Dode didn't do the same pulled him back too. The other eye opened and the pilot sat up, the eyepiece moving slightly like it was adjusting itself.
"The Zoo, where is it?" He demanded. The two looked at each other.
"This is Chuck Charles, and I have no idea what he's talking about."
"You said it, Chuck." Dode concurred. The pilot glared at the two of them.
"Where am I, then?" He demanded.
"New Hoboken Camp." Dode replied, "'s a POW camp."
"Ah, good." The pilot replied. Chuck Charles looked a bit confused, then shrugged.
"Well, it certainly makes our job easier… Breaking news: Luftwaffe pilot with freakish eye is glad to be…"
"My eye is not freakish, it's a marvel of science." Blowhole cut him off sharply, "And you are talking to Dr Blowhole, not just some pilot, perhaps you have heard of me?"
"Can't say I have." Dode replied. Blowhole scowled. "Still, it's nice that you're thinkin' of us and all…"
"When I said this was good I was referring to the fact that I must be close to the Zoo." Blowhole growled. "And Smith."
"No zoos in this part of the country."
"Yes, but I'm in England so I must be close," Blowhole countered, "You're never too far from anything in England, the island's too small."
"Now wait a minute, England isn't…" Dode protested, but Blowhole had already moved on. He stumbled to his feet, wincing as his left leg, which was covered in blood, took some of his weight.
"Hey, that leg doesn't look all that good." Dode commented. He'd considered unslinging his gun from his shoulder and pointing it more in the direction of the pilot, but with all his talk about zoos and that leg it didn't look like he was going anywhere. "Y' want Chuck to…"
"Shut up, I'm a doctor, I know how bad it is." Blowhole snapped, consulting his compass then taking a pained step towards the woods.
"…This is Chuck Charles and the enemy pilot with the freakish eye who is on the verge of bleeding out controversially refuses medical treatment…"
"Stop narrating, I can't hear myself think!" Blowhole took another step forward wincing painfully and only barely staying up right by briefly grabbing a tree.
"Uh, I know you're feelin' kinda grouchy today, but just sayin', the coast's the other way." Dode commented trying to keep a straight face whilst marvelling at the fact someone had finally gotten Chuck Charles to – even briefly – stop reporting.
"Do you think I would have crashed here if I wanted to be in France?" Chuck Charles and Dode looked at each other for the third time.
"Are you sure you don't want…?"
"I'm fine." Blowhole snapped and this was immediately followed by the thump of his unconscious body hitting the ground.
"He does sound like a very stubborn character from the way you describe it." The doctor commented, examining his new patient.
"Stubborn's waterin' it down, doc." Dode's replied, "Why does he keep muttering about zoos..."
"Perhaps it was some past childhood trauma…?" Suddenly, much to the surprise of the doctor, Dode and Chuck Charles, Blowhole suddenly sprung from the bed, a desperate, flailing sweep of his arm catching the doctor in the side and shoving him back. His human eye was more than slightly wild and his mechanical one unfocused as he stumbled out of the camp hospital into the centre of the camp. For a second he paused, then identified the gates. He forced his wounded leg into action ignoring as several stitches broke and the bandage began to rapidly stain red with blood. Several prisoners and guards looked at him in astonishment and one or two attempted to stop him but ultimately failed as he set himself on a collision course with the fence.
"Halt, immediately, or we'll shoot!" One of the sentries barked but Blowhole kept advancing.
"Don't shoot!" the doctor yelled from the steps of the hospital.
"Yeah, he's a little cranky but he's perfectly harmless." Dode shouted.
"He's not entirely in his right mind." The doctor concurred.
"This is Chuck Charles, and the enemy pilot with the freakish eye now known to be infamous Dr Blowhole continues to advance, seemingly oblivious of the guards' rifles, further reinforcing the doctor's opinion of Dr Blowhole's sanity." But Blowhole's movements were beginning to slow.
"Smith!" He yelled, grabbing the gates, seemingly surprised when they didn't just open for him, "I want you out here immediately! I want to see Smith; bring Corporal Smith out here or I'll see you shot!" But soon enough his eyes lost focus and he collapsed in the mud once again.
Slowly Blowhole opened one eye, then another. He noted that this time he was handcuffed to a chair. He barely remembered what had happened since the crash: he simply remembered that there had been a crash after which two particularly annoying idiots had thrown he, Dr Blowhole, one of the most feared and infamous POW camp commandants, into a prisoner of war camp. Actually, he did remember a fair bit. There was someone standing in front of him now, a vague fuzzy shape that was starting to get a bit closer. Click! Suddenly the world flooded with blinding white light.
"Doctor Blowhole, the man who managed to keep Skipper in one place for a whole year." A British accented voice spoke, "You're a long way from home."
"Who are you?" Blowhole demanded at the light.
"Agent Nigel." Nigel replied, keeping it simple and cutting the titles and ranks, "I think you've met my nephew, Private, or Pierre?" There was a darker note to the last sentence that warned Blowhole Nigel already had a very strong opinion of him which wasn't going to work in his favour.
"I knew that wasn't that boy's real uniform." Blowhole muttered.
"Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?" Nigel continued, "What on earth are you doing ranting about zoos?"
"Oh, I wasn't ranting and you know that, well, not all the time," Blowhole countered, "I think I'm at the zoo now, aren't I? Penguin's English base of operations. You are aware Skipper talks in his sleep?" Nigel was tempted to ask what Blowhole was doing watching Skipper sleep, but decided it was off topic, "And I want to see Skipper immediately and I want him to tell me where Corporal Smith is."
"You're not in command here, Dr Blowhole." Nigel countered, "And anyway, Skipper isn't here... we haven't heard from him in a while." It was clear Nigel hadn't meant to say that part aloud, but something was worrying him, "Now what are you doing here? There are ways of making you tell us, and though I do dislike the messy methods, sometimes they are…"
"It's a personal matter." Blowhole interupted, "I've come here because I want a divorce and to file a breach of promise suit, of sorts – well, that should get his attention."
"You aren't married."
"They're birthday presents for my sister." Blowhole corrected, "Surely its grounds for divorce when a husband forces his wife to aid in the capture and torture of old friends?" The bright light switched off and when Blowhole's eyes adjusted he could see an aristocratic looking man in his early forties looking down on him from where he was perched on the corner of the desk behind the light.
"Well, I'm afraid those are things your sister will have to deal with herself and she'll need a lawyer, not a spy." Nigel replied, "But I'm interested to know what you wanted with Dr Kowalski?"
"I don't want Dr Kowalski, I don't want another doctor, I want Corporal Smith!" Blowhole snapped.
"Smith is Kowalski."
"Oh," Blowhole paused, "I always did detect a bit of the scientist in him."
"'A bit of the scientist in him'," A more than familiar voice near the back of the room spoke, "You are talking about one of the most prominent physicists in the world." A comment like that could only be one person.
"Ah, Sm… Kowalski," Blowhole's mechanical eye (his other one was still adjusting from the light) focused on the man near the back of the room, a tall, slightly skinny man wearing a lab coat that looked like he'd spilled half the chemicals known to man on it, "Thank you, Nigel, that will be all. Kowalski, you promised to marry my sister and I'm going to see that you keep that promise."
"I'd love to marry her," Kowalski replied sadly, "But I can't find her…"
"Well I can," Blowhole corrected, "I think Nigel here can arrange to have us parachuted back into continental Europe, you can finish off that husband of hers –"
"Wait, he isn't dead?"
"Of course not, so this time do it properly – then drop me off at my camp and go marry her and we should all be happy." Nigel's look made it clear this was not going to happen.