Chapter One: The Allies

"'Allo!"

René Artois, owner of the Café René, jumped and dropped a pile of rolled up posters to the ground. Standing in the middle of his café – where the plethora of Germans milling around in the town square could see them through the window – were the two British airmen! By some minor miracle, they were at least dressed in civilian clothing, but that was of little comfort to René. For if the Germans figured out that he was still hiding them, he would be arrested and shot – again!

"What are you doing here? You can't be here!" he yelled while running to the windows and pulling the curtains shut.

"We're hungry," the taller one said. But, because the words were in English, René didn't understand a single word. One would think that, considering the length of time that the two men had been hiding in France, they would have bothered to learn at least a word or two of French.

Slowing down his speech, he said, "You must go to the cellar!" Then pulling his apron up so it covered his face, he added, "Hide. You must go and hide."

The airmen looked at each other in confusion so René gave up, grabbed each one by an arm and forcibly shoved them in the direction of the cellar. That they understood. As soon as they disappeared, he wandered over to the bar and poured himself a glass of cognac. What he would give to be rid of those British idiots! They had been hiding in his café for far too long. But every time the Résistance came up with a plan to get them back England, it failed – spectacularly.

Finishing his drink, he bent down to pick up the dropped posters from the floor when a voice called out from the stairs. "Let me help you with that."

René looked up to see his petite waitress approaching him. "Thank you, Mimi."

She unrolled one of the posters and asked, "Do you really think this billiard tournament plan will work?"

Taking a poster for himself, he tacked it on his front window. "I wish I knew. But Michelle has promised that someone is coming who will help us send the airmen back to England. We will disguise them as billiard players and then, after the tournament, they can leave town without anyone giving them a second glance."

The waitress nodded and then jumped in a failed attempt to hang another poster.

Moving quickly, René took the poster from her and ordered, "Get a chair."

Mimi grinned and soon was standing on top of the chair with her arms outstretched. "René, come hold me in your arms. Press your body against my body."

His blood grew hot at the thought of that lithe little body pressed against his. But as tempting as Mimi's invitation was, he already had an appointment and it was one he did not want to miss. "No, not now, you are needed in the kitchen. Madame Edith is making pot-au-feu and you remember what happened the last time?"

Mimi shuddered as she stepped off of the chair. "How could I forget? We were all spitting up slivers of bones the rest of the night."

"Go. I doubt the Germans will be as forgiving if it happens again."

After Mimi disappeared into the kitchen, he quickly checked to see that no one was around and then disappeared into the back room. There, he was greeted by the beautiful sight of his other waitress, Yvette, looking at him with unmistakable desire in her eyes.

"René!" she growled as she flung herself into his arms and they both writhed with pleasure.

There was nothing better than the feel of her warm, firm body pressed against his. But all too soon their perfect moment was ruined by his wife's screams. "René! What are you doing with that serving girl in your arms?"

Jumping back, René forced himself to think of an excuse – any excuse. Sometimes it was nice to be married to an extremely gullible woman. "You stupid woman! Can't you see that this poor girl is distraught over the thought of all the seedy characters a billiard table in our café will attract?"

Right on cue, Yvette immediately began to tremble with fear. Edith's face softened as she looked upon the waitress with sympathy. "Oh, I am sorry. You're trembling. You may go upstairs and lay down for a few minutes."

"Thank you, Madam Edith," Yvette said, before hurrying from the room.

Edith turned back to husband. "I'm sorry, René. It is just with all this stress, I thought the worst of you. Could you not hold me in your arms so that we might forget our troubles for awhile?"

René forced himself not to grimace. Any attraction he had once felt for his wife had disappeared years ago. "Not now, Edith. There is still a lot of work to do before we open tonight."

Edith sighed. "I know, but why can it not be between us like it was before? Back when we were young and the fires of our love burned every night."

"Well, for one, the village thinks that I'm dead and that I'm my own identical twin brother. It would cause quite a scandal."

"René!"

He cringed. Had his wife finally figured things out? If he grabbed the painting, he might be able to make it to the Spanish border, escape this war and live off the proceeds. However, his panic subsided when he noticed that his wife was pointing at the window. Unfortunately, it shot back up again when he saw who was standing there.

The local leader of French Résistance, Michelle Dubois, had arrived and that meant trouble. All too frequently, her schemes required him to be in the thick of things, risking his neck. But he couldn't refuse her. She would have him branded a collaborator and then she would shoot him. He lived a dangerous life.

After coming through the window, Michelle gestured for him and his wife to huddle close. "Now listen very carefully, I will say this only once. A man named Papa Bear will arrive in Nouvion tonight. He and his men will stay in your café as guests until their mission is complete."

"What?" René exclaimed. "Are you mad? I can't hide any more people in my café. If you haven't noticed, I'm already hiding two British airmen and a forger for you. This is too much."

"You will not need to hide them. They will come in disguise and stay as guests in your upstairs rooms."

"But Yvette and Mimi need those rooms to entertain the Germans. I run a business not a charity."

Michelle shrugged. "If you don't want the assistance of a man whose operations have helped hundreds of downed airmen escape to England then I will find someone else to help."

That got René's attention. If this Papa Bear was the man that Michelle had promised him would come then he couldn't refuse. Not if it meant that he would finally be rid of those British idiots. "This Papa Bear, he will return the airmen back to England?"

"I'm certain of it."

"Good," Edith said. "They have been stuck here for far too long. They are needed back in the air. We'll do this for France."

Smiling slightly, Michelle said, "Now Papa Bear will identify himself by saying: I would like to taste some of your local Munster cheese."

René was shocked. "What sort of code it that? Munster cheese is produced in the east!"

"A good one. No one else will be looking for Munster cheese on the coast. Now you will reply: I am all out of Munster, but I can offer you some of our specially made Roquefort."

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes. None of these codes ever made sense. Any man who knew anything about French cheeses would be able to tell that they were speaking nonsense. But there was no point in complaining further; Michelle was one of the most stubborn women he had ever met.

Hopefully this Papa Bear would be easier to work with.

Colonel Robert E. Hogan of the United States Army Air Forces, also known as Papa Bear, was enjoying the drive through the German countryside. While Stalag Thirteen was his station, it was nice to get out once in a while, especially when the 'enemy' volunteered to be his chauffer.

"Turn left at the next intersection," Kinch called out from the back, a map in his lap.

Schultz frowned from the driver's seat. "But that isn't the way to the Kaiser Road."

Hogan smirked; poor Schultz had been under the impression that he was taking a work party out to fix some potholes. He was soon going to find out just how mistaken he was. "We aren't going to the Kaiser Road."

"We aren't?"

"No, we're going to France." LeBeau leaned forward and placed his hands on the guard's shoulders. "Imagine beautiful women, good food, wine..." There was no mistaking the excitement in the POW's voice as he talked about his homeland.

"France!" Schultz cried as he slammed on the brakes.

The men jerked in their seats as the truck came to a sudden halt. Newkirk said, "Schultzie, you're blocking the road!"

"Yeah, we could get in a wreck and we wouldn't want that," Carter added.

Schultz, however, refused to budge. "We aren't going to France. I'm turning this truck around and we're going straight back to camp."

Hogan held back a chuckle. Schultz looked so cute when he tried to order around the prisoners. "Schultz, did or did not Kommandant Klink order you to get us out of his hair?"

"He did. And he also said that he needed a work party to fix the roads."

"But that only keeps us away from camp for a couple of hours. Klink would much prefer that we disappeared for a couple of days," Carter reasoned.

"Days!" Schultz whimpered as he pleaded, "Colonel Hogan, we cannot leave camp for a couple of days.

"I don't see why you are so concerned, you're just following orders."

"Orders! The Kommandant didn't literally mean for me to get you out of his hair."

"We know that," Newkirk quipped. "Klink doesn't have any hair for us to be in!"

"I can't let you escape."

"Escape?" LeBeau asked. "Who said anything about escape? Just think of this as a leave. We're tired of Klink. Klink is tired of us. We stay away for a couple of days and when we come back everything will be better than ever."

Schultz groaned and closed his eyes in what appeared to be silent prayer.

Ever the practical one of the group, Kinch said, "Sir, since we're stopped, now might be a good time to change."

Schultz opened his eyes as a new panic set in. "Colonel Hogan, I'm just a sergeant. I cannot impersonate an officer. Not again."

Hogan grinned. "No worries; you don't need to change. You and Newkirk will be sergeants."

Schultz looked over his shoulder at the Englishman with surprise. "But Newkirk is a corporal."

Newkirk grinned as he pulled on the German uniform. "In the RAF, I'm a corporal. In the German army, I'm a sergeant."

"You can't just give yourself a promotion."

"Why not?" Carter asked. "I'm going to be a major."

Schultz snorted at the American. "If you are a major then Kinchloe is a general."

"Sorry, Schultz," Kinch said, "not today. LeBeau and I are going to be French peasants."

"Not today…" The German guard shuddered as he realized that meant that the colored POW had masqueraded as a German general before.

Fully dressed as Lieutenant Hoganbecker, Hogan assumed his German officer persona. "Sergeant," he barked, "vacate this seat immediately."

Without thinking, Schultz saluted his superior officer and slid down from the seat before realizing that the lieutenant was really one of his prisoners. By then, the guard knew that he had lost. They were going to France and there was nothing that he could do to stop them. So when the truck started up again, he tentatively asked from his new seat in the back, "Do I want to know where we are going?"

"Nowhere in particular," Hogan replied as he drove west. "Just a small French village called Nouvion."