Insert the usual disclaimers here. I don't own any of these characters except Wilkins and Blair, and I don't particularly mind if either of them follows someone else home. Just be sure to feed them.
The events in the prologue take place immediately after Episode 33, "Hogan Gives a Birthday Party".
Until recently, General Rudolf Biedenbender had never paid particular attention to just how uncomfortable the interior of a modified Heinkel 111 bomber was if you were anywhere other than the cockpit. Rank had its privileges, and even though his promotion had ended his combat flying, nothing could keep him out of at least the right seat. More accurately, very little could. Unfortunately, one of the things which could do so was the unpleasant combination of his hands being tied behind his back with his own silk pilot's scarf and the pistol in the hand of the man at the navigator's station, one Lieutenant Hardy of the US Army Air Force. Instead of sitting at the controls Biedenbender was leaning against the fuselage just forward of the bomb racks, feeling the wind whistling through a gap around the bomb bay doors and being quietly miserable. The vibration was rattling his teeth loose. The metal decking was hard, but he refused to give his captor the satisfaction of seeing him squirm around trying to find a more comfortable position than the one they had left him in. The dull ache in his shoulders, wrenched when Colonel Hogan's men captured him, led him to suspect that there was no such thing as a comfortable position anyway as long as his hands were tied. The noise of the twin Jumo engines was deafening. And last but far from least, he was slowly freezing.
Worst of all was the knowledge that he had failed. For the first time, he had failed to anticipate Hogan's next move. Hogan had given him a decoy plan, easy to see through -- inviting him to dinner in the prisoners' barracks -- and a more subtle, elaborate one -- something that would require him to remain at Stalag 13 in the company of the insufferable Colonel Klink for an additional day. What Biedenbender had not anticipated was the real plan, the third one, hidden behind the other two. He had studied Hogan, but Hogan had been learning as well. Rudy, you have lost your edge. He needed no more proof than his stiff, shivering body, the throbbing of his shoulders, and the whole miserable ride into enemy territory.
"Almost home, Herr General," the man in the navigation seat shouted to him over the roar of the engines. "We'll be wheels-down in about ten minutes."
The American wasn't even gloating. Somehow that bothered the general. Lieutenant Hardy had been nothing but polite to him, if you didn't count keeping a loaded gun trained on him as rudeness. So had Lieutenant Karras, the man now in the cockpit, when the two had traded places for a while. Calm professionalism in the people around him had been in short supply since the day when the Führer himself had personally awarded him the Swords to his Knight's Cross, a promotion, and a desk job. What has become of the Luftwaffe? What has become of me? He felt the steep descent starting and with it, the end of everything that mattered. Flying. Strategy. Freedom.
As if Lieutenant Karras was one of his own pilots, Biedenbender mentally evaluated the American's landing procedures. Flaps too soon. Gear down too late. Throttle back now, dammit! Bounce. Bounce. Biedenbender winced. What is this amateur doing to my airplane? The plane settled down on the runway and became a terrestrial creature once again. No, not an amateur, he reminded himself. A skilled pilot who has never flown an HE 111 before. Could I do better with one of theirs? And it is not mine anymore. Lieutenant Hardy, the man with the gun, was smiling with relief. Any landing you can walk away from is a good one. The plane came to a stop and the engines shut down. Wherever they were going, they had arrived.
"You just sit there and relax, Herr General," Lieutenant Karras said as he came out of the cockpit. "We have to take this kinda slow. There are some rather paranoid people around us right now, and I'd rather not get shot by my own guys because they think I'm a Kraut. So we do things however they want." Karras began peeling off the Luftwaffe flight suit as he spoke.
"And for me, since I actually am a 'Kraut'?" Biedenbender got some measure of satisfaction at seeing Karras wince slightly when he used the term.
"You do the same thing: whatever they want. They know you're on board, so there should be someone out there to meet you."
Hardy passed the pistol to Karras and shed his Luftwaffe flying gear as well while looking out the small window near his position.
"Looks like they're ready for us," he said. "On your feet, Herr General. We don't want to keep our welcoming committee waiting."
Biedenbender tried to stand, but his legs were stiff from the hours of immobility and cold. The dull ache in his shoulders flared to agonizing new life as he lurched forward and added two bruised knees to his collection. He shook off Hardy's assistance, got his legs under him, and stood. A new ache brought itself to his attention, a dull throbbing in the middle of his back. That must have been from the Englander kneeling on him during his capture. A muffled thump from outside indicated rolling stairs being brought up to the plane. It would not be long now. It bothered Biedenbender that his Knight's Cross was hanging askew. Why does it matter? They will take it from me soon. He did not consider himself a vain man, but now, facing the ruins of his career, possibly the end of his life, he suddenly disliked the idea of stepping out of the plane with his uniform untidy. Unexpectedly, Hardy recognized his concern.
"Hold still a moment, General," Hardy said. He tugged the wrinkles out of Biedenbender's uniform tunic, dusted off his back, straightened his decorations, and settled his cap squarely on his head. "At least one of us ought to look regulation," he added with a grin. Biedenbender nodded silent thanks.
Lieutenant Karras opened the door and went through it, slowly. "You're next," Hardy said, and Biedenbender, feeling emotionally numb, complied. Hardy brought up the rear. As they went down the stairs and stepped onto the tarmac, the roar of engines came from behind them. Biedenbender snapped his head up to see two Spitfires make a low pass over the airfield and waggle their wings in a flyer's salute before streaking off into the dawn sky.
"Our escort," Hardy explained.
Another vehicle pulled up and A USAAF captain leaped out before it came to a stop.
"Doug! Who'd you steal those captain's bars from?" Karras shouted at the newcomer. "You owe us a round at King's!" In an instant the three grinning American flyers were pounding each other's backs and trading mock insults in a happy reunion. With most of the other Allied personnel in tow they headed off the field. Biedenbender silently watched them go. Just like my old squadron. A happy homecoming for them.
"General, sir?" a voice spoke quietly but firmly from behind his left shoulder. Biedenbender turned to see two military police behind him, two more with weapons out near a jeep parked a dozen meters away. All four positioned to avoid each other's line of fire. The one who had spoken offered a crisp salute, which Biedenbender acknowledged with a nod.
"I'm Sergeant Blair, this is Corporal Wilkins. We'll be taking care of you, sir."
"Just a polite way to say guarding me," he replied bitterly.
"Yes, sir."
"I am at your orders, Sergeant."Get this over with.
"If you could please turn around, sir," the MP said. Biedenbender complied. He felt the MP tugging at the scarf tying his hands.
"You'll be a little more comfortable once we get you into proper handcuffs, sir." Blair worked at the knots. "Man, whoever tied this thing sure wanted it to stay tied. Ah, there we go." A final tug and the silk fell away. Biedenbender had a moment to flex his wrists, work some of the kinks out of his shoulders. "Now just let me get these on you, sir."As if I am going to fight four of them. The touch of the cold steel on his wrists shattered the last of his hopes and illusions. Three hours ago I was a decorated Luftwaffe general. Now I am a prisoner of the Allies. The other one moved in and efficiently frisked Biedenbender, pocketing his identity papers. He endured the search stoically. A bitter taste of humiliation filled his mouth. This is my life now.
"I wonder whose scarf?" Blair asked Wilkins.
"Mine, Sergeant," Biedenbender said, surprising himself.
Blair shook the scarf and tried to snap out some of the wrinkles. "It's kind of a mess, sir. Do you want to wear it anyway?" The general nodded and bent so the MP could put the scarf in its place.
"Danke."
"Time to go, sir," Blair said, taking Biedenbender's elbow and guiding him toward a waiting jeep. Numbly, the general settled into the passenger seat. As the jeep pulled away and headed for the cluster of Quonset huts and field operations buildings, he took one last look at the Heinkel silhouetted alone against the sky. Now I am to be the eagle in a cage.
