I posted the first three chapters of this story some time ago. However I then did not update for a long time (sorry) and when I returned to work on it I was dissatisfied by the turn the story had taken. Over the past week I have been rewriting the story so that it fits my ideas better. The first chapter is finished. Chapter two and three are nearly finished but I have to reread them again and make some minor changes. The rest of the story is outlined roughly and still needs work but I hope to finish it soon.
A word of thanks to those who read the earlier version and commented on it. Sorry to them also, because this story is different in lots of ways. Still I hope you will enjoy reading it.
Out of the Blue: A Papa Bear and Murphy´s Law
Chapter 1: And so it begins
It was a morning like many others. The sun greeted the humming of the engines of the returning B-17 bomber squadrons. Another night of air raids was over. Another day had begun.
The airfield near Birmingham was small, located in the countryside, far enough from the city to not really feel its existence. Here the planes reigned. Their humming, roaring and the reflection of the sunlight in their windowglasses dictated daily life on this air-base.
War was ever present and yet was not real. For many young pilots, the war was but a game. They came to this base full of dreams, full of romantic ideas and ideals about flying, freedom and honour.
Today this vision had remained intact. All crews had returned, not without damage to the planes, but without damage to the people. The pilots could rest now, even though the war continued. They had earned their eight-hour reprieve from reality. The airfield now belonged to the ground-crews.
Meanwhile in the small, but still largest office of the air-base, two highly decorated generals were fighting a war of their own.
The first rays of sunlight fell through the only window in the office, right onto general Roger Hendrix silver coloured hair. It made him seem even more impressive than he already was. Thick, still black eyebrows protruded from his forehead. His silvery moustache glittered in the early morning light.
His opponent was general Eric Barton. Younger, but for a soldier already old. He had been removed from active combat duty five years ago, becoming both general and paper-pusher. He greatly respected Hendrix, both for who he was now and who he had been, as his former instructor, when he first joined the AirCorps.
Today was one of the rare occasions that the two had a difference of opinion.
"You can't be sure about this!", General Barton exclaimed as he stared at his colleague in front of him. Only a desk and on it a huge pile of paperwork separated them.
General Hendrix smiled calmly. He knew the short temper of the younger man. Not much was needed to blow up his temper but on the other hand not much was needed to calm him down again. He woudl try for the latter.
"I am very serious actually", he said, his eyes never leaving his colleagues face, "The Germans are overrunning us. Their bombs are destroying our cities. Every night hundreds or thousands of civilians die. I-", he stopped and then corrected himself, "We cannot let them continue. We need detailed information about their bombings. When, where and how. We need a sabotage and intelligence unit behind enemy lines.".
Barton shook his head violently as if trying to deny the truth in the elder mans words. Suddenly the small office seemed too small for the two of them. The walls were closing in on him. He too had a family, but he was responsible for more than his family and that was why he did not give up.
"Sir, you cannot possibly believe that a sabotage and intelligence unit could operate from a POW camp. No man in his right mind would volunteer for such an assignment and with all due respect sir, I refuse to send any of my men to an almost certain death.".
Hendrix got up from his chair. It seemed to sigh with relief as the corpulent generals weight finally left its lanky frame. He walked over to the only window, opening it. Sucking in the fresh air he pondered whether he would say what he was about to say.
He looked down at his body. Once he had taken pride in his muscled, athletic appearance, those days were long gone. WIth old age and the general striped had come an excess of weight and the typical signs of old age. He flew a desk and he would fly one for the rest of the war but he remembered with glee his days as a combat pilot. No assignment had been too risky for him, no physical action too much for his athletic body.
Could he send a man into what very possibly would be that mans death? When he was a young pilot, he would have taken this assignment, he was sure, but he would not have realised the dangers, his mind full of his duty, the honour, the adventure. Maybe he was thinking about this too easily? Maybe he was counting on the ignorance of the man he had chosen instead of his capabilities?
Inwardly he shook his head. The plans had been made, they were good. The man that would carry them out had been carefully selected. All that was left was to propose this plan to him and get permission from Barton, who was responsible for the selected man. There were no problems and there would be none in the future.
Finally he spoke. "I believe that missions are carefully planned and executed with utmost care and under cover in a POW camp, it would be possible." His posture showed that he would accept no denial.
General Barton saw this but could not help shaking his head in disbelief. When the elder general had opened the window, he had seen his thoughtful look. He had seen that the general himself was having doubts.
Barton respected Hendrix, the general had been his superior officer for a long time. Brave, loyal and a good friend, Barton would trust him with his life, but now he doubted his judgement, for the first time, maybe because he silently feared what was coming next.
Hendrix continued: "I have already selected a man for this job. Here is his file. As you see, he falls under your command, that is why I have summoned you here today. I want you to be here when he hears about this assignment, I want you to give him permission to carry it out.". Again the "don´t dare to say no" look from the general.
Barton took the file from Hendrix, but he already knew what it would contain. He and Hendrix thought very much alike. There was only one man crazy enough to pull this stunt, there was only one man who would not think twice, who would accept, because he wanted to fight.
He opened the file and as he had expected there was the picture of a dark-haired, handsome man, grinning broadly at the camera even if he had been told a thousand times to look serious and wipe the grin of his face. Yes, Colonel Robert Hogan would agree, Barton was sure.
This knowledge filled him with dread. He had come to like the cocky Squadron Leader from the 504th. Inspiring great loyalty amongst the men, he was also famous for his daring, his almost insane courage and flying skills already a legend.
However, Barton doubted that Hogan would succeed. He was too reckless, too arrogant. He was not careful enough and although Barton sometimes felt compelled to court martial the man for his insolence, he would not relish sending him to his death. Up in the air, Hogan might be formidable. Down on the ground, in enemy territory, he would get himself shot within ten seconds after opening his mouth.
Barton shook his head. "I can't agree. I just can't, he wouldn't last a minute. How can you even think about this?".
Hendrix looked at him, suddenly looking so very old, so very tired. "I have to think about this, Eric, even if I do not like it. This operation is vital. Dammit, Eric, we're losing the war! We cannot lose this war, don't you understand? Don't you see what is going to become of the world with Hitler in power?".
Barton shrugged. "What do we know? Maybe Hitler is not what everyone wants us to believe him to be?".
Now it was Hendrix´ turn to shake his head in disbelief. "Eric! What are you talking about? Haven't you heard from those few POW´s that escaped back to England? The Geneva Convention is a mere formality, POW´s are tortured, starved. And Hitler not so bad? Our cities are bombed every single night. People are vanishing all over Germany into internment camps. Eric, please, return to reality!".
Barton knew the moment Hendrix started speaking that he should not have said what he said. He knew the moment the words came out of his mouth that he was out of line and above all, wrong.
He put his hand on Hendrix shoulder. "I´m sorry. It was wrong for me to say that. It is just that I don't like this plan, or maybe I like my men too much..."
The tension in the room was unbearable. Barton felt his resistance crumbling. Both men knew what they had to do, but both of them also could not do their job without thinking and especially without caring. Their heart would not be silent and this heart weighed heavily on their minds, every single day the war went on.
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Their thoughtful silence was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. A corporal stuck his head in. "Sirs, Colonel Hogan is here.".
With a soft look at Barton, Hendrix said: "Bring him in, Hawkins, bring him in.".
"Yes, sir!". The corporal vanished. Seconds later, someone knocked at the door again, this time, not very softly. The knock was immediately followed by the appearance of Colonel Robert Hogan.
He flashed the Generals a grin and then threw them an almost perfect salute. "Sirs, Colonel Robert Hogan reporting.".
Both Generals looked at each other, Hendrix´ look was almost pleading. Barton nodded ever so slightly, sending a silent plea to heaven.
Please God, if you do exist, stop all this. Stop this dying, this suffering, stop this war. Stop young men from going into death. Stop me and all others from sending them there and please God, please, I do not want to send any more letters to parent whose only son has died, please.
His face drained of emotion he listened to the conversation between Hendrix and Hogan. The decision had been made and although his feelings did not like it, his mind knew that it was necessary.
Hendrix addressed the Colonel. "Colonel Hogan, we have summoned you here today to present you with a mission, a voluntary mission, a Top Secret mission.".
Hogan stiffened just a bit at the mention of the words "Top Secret". Some of his friends and fellow officers had gone on Top Secret missions and had never returned.
"You know what I mean by Top Secret, I assume.".
Hogan could not resist to throw in a touch of lightness, or was it cynism: "Of course, sir, those are the missions after which you are sent home to your family, in a bag.".
His attempt at lightness failed miserably, he realised, maybe, because it was so true, because all three of them knew how often it was true.
Barton flinched at Hogans words, again doubting his decision, the decision made in the slight nod towards Hendrix. Hogan obviously did not realise when to shut his mouth, a characteristic not well received in Nazi Germany. A characteristic, BArton corrected himself silently, not well received in either army. Hogan had spent many hours on cleaning duty for his insolence.
Hendrix who, once again, saw the look of doubt returning to Bartons face decided to continue, as if no word had been spoken.
"Colonel, you heard about our problems with the Germans, I presume?", at Hogans nod, he continued, "We need information about their bombings, we need information on their troop movements, their defences, we also need someone to sabotage their transport to the front and above all, we need someone to assist allied POW´s to escape.".
Hogan raised his eyebrows in understanding. "A sabotage unit behind enemy lines?".
Hendix nodded, "You could say so. However behind enemy lines will mean from within a POW camp.".
Hogans eyes widened, comprehension suddenly dawning on his face. "You want me to let myself be captured by the Germans? You want me to rot away in a POW camp for the rest of the war! General this is absurd. The Germans will not allow me out of camp whenever I want, will they. They are not so willing to give out dynamite I heard and they do not take sabotage as lightly as you do!".
Barton nodded his silent agreement, but Hendrix continued, as if the Colonel had not spoken at all.
"You will be given the full support of allied headquarters. We will provide you with a team of highly trained commando´s and we will send supply drops, once you have established your operation.".
Hogan almost laughed at the absurdity of this situation. They could not possibly believe that this was ever going to work? Yet somehow he felt compelled to do it. The idea alone, the adventure, it was almost too much to resist.
"When am I to leave?", he asked. The words seemed to come from a different person. Someone else was taking decisions for him. His rational thought tried to stop him, but he would not listen. He would go, he would do it, period.
Hendrix glanced at Barton one last time. When the younger man nodded, he continued. Barton had made his decision Hogan had made his. Now it was time to act. No emotions should hinder this mission now.
"You will leave tomorrow on a bombing raid over Hamburg. You will be shot down and captured. We will give you a radio. Make contact with us when you are in camp.".
Hogan shook his head. "I want no radio, nor do I want my men to come with me on this mission. They cant help being my crew. I will go alone.".
"Alone?", Hendrix asked in amazement.
"Yes, sir, alone. I dont want commandos, I don´t want a radio or anything suspicious. I will see what I can do once I am there.".
Both generals simultaneously nodded.
"Very well, Hogan. Good luck.". They did not need to say more. Hogan saluted, once more flashing them his broad smile, before he turned and left. They heard a motorcycle starting, then quiet. Hogan was gone.
Both of the men stared at the door, wondering whether they should be pleased or sad that the Colonel had so readily agreed. Was there to be another life on their conscience? Had the COlonel even thought before agreeing?
I should retire, Im getting to old for this. I am no longer detached enough to send men to their deaths.
Hendrix thought, not knowing that Barton was thinking the same. A crash startled them from their thoughts. The window had slammed shut.
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The motorcycle skidded into a shrieking halt. Deep in thought, Hogan dismounted and made his way towards his quarters. These quarters had been his home now for almost a year since he had become commander of the 504th in June 1941. He dropped himself onto his bunk and stared at the ceiling.
Now that the immediate excitement of having a new and dangerous mission wore off, he began to realise what consequences this decision could have.
A pang of guilt shot through him as he thought of his parents, his brothers, Connecticut. Would he ever see them again? He remembered his mothers tears, his fathers silent hope that he would be safe, when he had left for England. This next assignment was more. It was not being up in the air and dropping bombs in relative, very relative, safety.
He would be in enemy territory, in a POW camp. Nothing good was said about those camps. Those that returned were never the same. Brutal commandants, a vile sergeant of guard. Torture, pain, tears. Fear ruled those places.
He would be going there out of free will. He might just as well jump out of the window right away.
Was it worth it? Was whatever he could do there before he died worth the pain of his family?
Hogan shook his head. He had made his decision. He would go, he had to. This operation was vital. If the Germans could be sabotaged wherever possible, it could shorten the war for years, how many lives would have been spared?
He got up, strode over to his desk and began to write.
Dear Mum, Dad, Tom and George,
I hope you will never read this, but if you do, know, that I will not return. I am very sorry if you have to read this, I wish I could make it easier. Easiest would be if I could return, but I cannot, now. Maybe you can find comfort in the fact that, because of what I did, what I am now about to do, the war will be shortened, which means that Tom and possibly even George, can return to you sooner.
I will not ask you to forget me, because I know, it will be impossible for you (even if I say so myself). You were never people to forget those you loved. I love you too, all of you, more than you could ever imagine.
I also will not ask you to find comfort in the fact that I died for our country, because that is not what I intended. If I die, it will be for Tom, George, for all those other kids around the world who just want to live, not go to war. You must know, that I took this assignment voluntarily, nobody forced me, I did it all myself. That is what makes me sorry the most. That it is me, who causes you such grief.
It is time to be honest with you. Currently I am plain scared. I do not want to go, but I also have to, because of myself. Mum, there is nothing I want more than to sit outside in the garden with you, eating cookies, laughing about everyday things. Dad, I want to help you repairing all those little things that always seem to break in our house. I want to repair the roof, ride my motorcycle with you on the back seat (I know you loved that, although youd never admit it).
Tom, I am so sad that I will never meet your girlfriend, that I will never see you get married. But, Tom, trust yourself, youll be a great husband and an even greater father, I know. George, wherever you are, I hope you are safe, I hope you get the chance to read this letter, to know that I did not forget you. I hope you have not forgotten us.
You lot were the best family a guy like me could have. Forget all the times I might have said otherwise, when I was angry or just overreacting. I know, I have not been nice to you always, but I guess, no one can always be. I will do everything I can to prevent this letter from ever coming under your eyes, I promise. I love you all so very much.
Rob
He did not reread the letter, but tucked it into an envelope and sealed it. Then he once more returned to his bunk. Another hour and he would be seeing Tim Dawson for a game of chess. Tim was his best friend, the only person to whom he could entrust the letter.
His gaze travelled over the small room. A desk, a small drawer, containing his dress uniform. He would never need it again, he presumed. His flight jacket was hanging over the only chair in the room. His cap was deposited on the desk, just beside the letter, he wished he had never had to write.
He knew every crack in the wall in this place. It was exactly three steps from desk to bunk, two from desk to drawer. He had paced many hours in this room, whenever a mission had gone wrong, whenever he had lost a plane, whenever a man had been lost.
What would the new commander be like? He suddenly wondered. Life would go on after he left this base. This thought was strange. The men would continue their missions, he would be grounded.
Through the small window, he could see some men playing football. It added to the surreality he felt. How could they be playing when his world had changed? How could anyone be playing while there was a war on?
Again he tried to stop thinking. When he did not succeed, he started pacing.
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Tim Dawson surveyed his fellow commander for a few moments. The man looked like a caged tiger the way he was marching up and down his quarters. When Hogan had not turned up at their usual meeting place, Dawson had come to look for him.
He waited patiently, but Hogan did not realise that he was standing in the doorframe, so he unceremoniously dropped his hand onto Hogans shoulder, startling him from his lost-in-thought state.
"Rob?".
"Tim? What are you doing here?".
Dawson smiled. "Its not that I am from a different universe. You merely forgot that we always get together on Wednesday evenings for a game of chess.".
Hogan looked bewildered. "Sorry Tim, I must have forgotten the time,".
Dawson gestured over to Hogans bunk. "Why dont you sit down and tell me what happened, you seem quite shaken up at the moment. In trouble again?".
Hogan shook his head. Then reached for the envelope. "Tim, Im sorry, but I can only tell you that I have been ordered on a Top Secret mission, or more correctly, I accepted it myself. I want to ask you to give this to my parents when it is certain I will not return, you know, like Will, Richie...".
His voice trailed off, but Dawson understood him. Both men had been on Hogans plane before they went on a Top Secret mission and never returned. Dawson himself was at that time still a major, flying with Hogan. Top Secret spelled for him a quick ticket home, in a bag.
Sadness filled him as he realised that he would have to miss his former commander, now colleague, very possibly forever. He took the envelope from Hogan. It was the least he could do.
"Youd better be back soon. Theres fried spam for dinner on Friday.". Lightness was all Dawson could offer Hogan now. He left silently, leaving his friend to his thoughts.
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That night, Hogan could not sleep. Again his gaze swept his room, but they did not see it. He was lost deeply in his thoughts, in his memories of a home that seemed further away than ever. He could as well have lived on the moon or on the edge of the universe, it was out of his reach.
He had heard more than just rumours about POW camps. He had seen the facts. Pictures, reports. But this was not what kept him awake. What kept him awake were the images etched into his mind of the Reichskristallnacht, the Nazis marching through Berlin and, most prominently, the rumours he had heard about death camps, extermination camps.
If this was all true. How could he expect to be taken alive? If Germany had changed like this, what guarantee did he have that he would be alive after they had captured him. And, who could guarantee that he would still be himself?
That, he feared the most. Being alive, but not being himself. Brainwashed, turned into a Nazi. Tortured, giving out secret information to the Gestapo. Who could guarantee, that he was strong enough?
He tossed and turned, but sleep eluded him and with the lack of sleep came the question, whether he would ever sleep peacefully, without fear, again.
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The next morning he left alone. Never before had he flown this plane alone, but he had not wanted to take his crew with him. They were all safely tucked in their beds, they did not know, what would happen today.
There was no one there to share his fears, no one to ease the panic he felt, when the heavy door slammed shut behind him. This period of his life was officially closed now.
He drove the plane onto the runway. "Baby Bear 2, this is Papa Bear, do you copy? Over.".
"Roger, Papa Bear, hear you loud and clear, over.".
"Baby Bear 2, if anything happens, youre in charge, lead them home safely okay? Over.".
"Papa Bear, this is Baby Bear, roger that. Over and out.".
Hogan sighed and turned from the intercom. He speeded up the plane and soon he felt that he was leaving the ground. Pulling the plane up he said a silent goodbye, before he concentrated on the task at hand.
And so it begins. He thought as the coast of Germany came in sight.