"You're hovering again, Langenscheidt," Colonel Hogan said, smiling slightly at the nervous, almost twitchy German Obergefreiter lingering indecisively in the doorway to the small store. "Don't worry! We're not going to escape on your watch," the American gently reassured the man who was (nominally) their guard.
Karl swallowed; one could rarely be certain of anything around the infernally clever American. He glanced over at LeBeau, who was inspecting tomatoes with a delicate hand and conferring with the store-keep.
"I am not worried that you will escape, herr Colonel," Karl replied honestly, his tension not easing. Hogan and the Franzose might have been allowed to go shopping (under guard, of course) to buy the perfect ingredients for the gourmet dinner for the visiting general, but they would never turn down the free opportunity to conduct other "business" on the side while they were in town.
Hogan and his men would never escape from Stalag 13. They would only leave for good on the day that the Allied tanks rolled up to the front gate. Of this, if nothing else, Karl was absolutely certain. The far greater threat would be that the Gestapo caught them red-handed on one of their little escapades outside of camp. And it would not be long after that when the Gestapo looked to the guards who were supposed to be keeping watch on their alleged prisoners.
"Good to know, but it might be better for your health if you'd relax. All that stress can't be good for you. Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out," Colonel Hogan said, infuriatingly cheerful.
Karl hated going on these sorts of trips with him.
"Herr Colonel, it is getting late-" he groaned as the colonel grinned; the man was far too at ease for ein Amerikaner in the heart of Germany.
"All right, all right!" Hogan acquiesced, throwing up his hands. "Hey, LeBeau, pick up the pace, would you? Our genial guard here is getting nervous."
The little Frenchman glanced over his shoulder at them, all but rolling his eyes with a haughty air.
"One cannot rush the selection of the perfect ingredients, mon Colonel," he snobbishly replied, holding up one of the tomatoes demonstratively.
"LeBeau!"
"Okay, okay," the French corporal grumbled. After a moment, he put both tomatoes in his bag.
"Hey, where is my money?" the shop-keep complained waspishly in rather irritated German. "Someone has to pay for this!"
"You're up, Langenscheidt!" Colonel Hogan genially clapped the corporal on the shoulder. Karl fumbled with the money given to him for the errand; no doubt Hogan could have easily paid for the purchases himself - he and his men never seemed short on funds. Then again, maybe they didn't want to offend a contact by paying for his merchandise with counterfeit currency. Just as Karl handed over the cash, a siren went off, nearly startling him out of his own skin. The shopkeeper grabbed at the money before it fell to the floor, quickly stuffing it in his pocket.
"Air raid!" Hogan frowned in annoyance, as if his own bombers were inconveniencing his plans. "They're probably after the secret munitions works outside of town."
LeBeau sighed, equally put out. "The thanks we get for good work."
Karl, unlike the two POWs, was not nearly so sanguine about the situation. "We must get to the bomb shelter!" he urged them, not without reason. He could already hear the distant pounding of the anti-aircraft batteries.
"It is safe downstairs," the shop-keeper informed them, disappearing behind a curtain. Karl found himself propelled towards the concealed shelter by Hogan, almost flattening LeBeau in the process.
"Hey, watch the tomatoes!" the Frenchman complained as Hogan hustled them downstairs.
They made it down none too soon; the ground shook beneath them as dust rained down on them from above.
"Their navigator should be fired," Hogan griped amiably.
"It is easy for you to make jokes, herr Colonel," the shop-keeper retorted as another bomb rattled their shelter. "It is not your town being flattened by these bombs!"
Quite frankly, Karl agreed with the shop-keeper.