Explanations:
This is an expanded version of the story I submitted in November, 2001. [Reposted August 2003] When I read Patti and Marg's story "Game Preserver" and noticed that their tale occurred the evening before the last part of my own, I daydreamed that the men had told it to my Doktor Falke when she visited them. She was charmed by it; but asked them "What happened to the toys that Schultz made before his factory was taken over?" I asked Patti that question. She and Marg permitted me to find an answer.
I hope they will take kindly to what I've written, as I hope the reader will as well. Praise and constructive criticism are welcome, if not always appreciated.
While searching my imagination for a narrative, I also came up with an 'Interlude'. Not wishing to toss it aside, it's here too, with a few explanatory words at its end. They break the flow of the story, but they must be in there.
I decided to keep the title "Family Matters" since the expansion also concerns a family matter.
Disclaimers:
Those characters who appeared in the television series "Hogan's Heroes" are not mine, they belong to Bing Crosby Productions and whoever owns that now. Although I have taken some licence with some aspects of their characters and histories, I hope I have been faithful to them. At least I've been faithful to them as I think they were.
Those who did not appear in either the television series, in Patti and Marg's story "Game Preserver", or in real life are entirely my creation and entirely fictional.
Family Matters Chapter 1: 'A marriage is announced…'
Late November, 1943.
"I wish the guys would stop taking their own sweet time coming back." Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe sighed as he turned over another page of his book. He didn't mind being left behind to watch over the tunnel system – at least, he would never admit to anyone but himself that he did mind – but he wanted to get at least two consecutive hours sleep just once during this war.
Yawning, he put down his book, rose from his cot and stretched as much of his six foot two inch frame as he could without hitting the 'ceiling' of the tunnel.
As he patted his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, Kinchloe felt a wad of paper. Pulling it out, his lips curved in a smile. With all the preparations for tonight's mission, he had forgotten to read the letter he had received this morning. He peered at the lettering and his smile broadened. It was from Jessie.
"Just in time, Sis. I was beginning to feel sorry for myself again," he said silently to her. Opening the envelope, he drew out the letter.
"Only three pages this time. And not as heavily censored as the last one." He remembered Newkirk's wager: whoever had the most deletions in his letter from home would receive a genuine autographed picture of Hitler. Well, Newkirk didn't say that the autograph was genuine, just the picture. And it did make a nice dartboard.
Kinch touched the picture almost affectionately. It, and the darts, had relieved a lot of his frustration about staying behind because he didn't 'look German'. His black skin disqualified him from participating in certain missions. He didn't like that, but what could he do about it? He had learned from hard experience to make the best life he could with what he had. And it's been a pretty fair life so far, he thought.
He had the best sister in the world waiting for him back home. What other lively, intelligent young woman would've put up with her big brother bossing her about since she was twelve?
Yeah, she spoke her mind. "Why won't you let me do this or that? Why won't you let me stay out late with my friends? Why are you so overprotective, James? Who do you think you are, running my life?" He'd just reply, "I'm your older brother, Jess and you're all I've got." She'd calm right down, kiss his cheek and say, "All right. This time. For you. But stop treating me like a child. I may resent it."
Dear Jessie. For all her brains and spunk, she still didn't know how horrible the world was. James Kinchloe prayed she'd never know all the things he had done to keep a roof over their heads since their mother's death.
He and Jess had had a fine mother, and a fine grandmother. No matter how hard Mamma worked, she still found time and strength to listen to their chatter, tell them stories and help them work through their problems. Grandmamma made sure they knew both cleanliness and godliness intimately. She, and therefore they, seemed to be constantly on their knees, either praying or scrubbing. She had refused to slacken her standards. "You're from good stock, you two. Hold your heads high, master yourselves and use your minds to do the Lord good service."
"I haven't been godly, Grandmamma; but I know godliness when I've seen it, thanks to you." Sergeant Kinchloe looked around the cold, gloomy tunnel. "Never have I needed your lessons and inspiration more than here and now."
He sat down on the stool behind his radio. Instinctively, he ran his eyes over the apparatus to assure himself that it was still in working order, as he had done every night for over two years. Then, he began to read the letter:
"Dearest Jamie:
"I miss you very much and wish we were together again. I don't understand why you have not escaped by now. You were never a man who let other men bind you and keep you in a cage. But I know you have a good reason for all that you do or don't do, so I won't worry about you – at least, not much. Just stay healthy and come home as soon as you can.
"Right now I have an even greater reason to wish you back with me. Tom is going overseas [censored]. You remember I told you about Tom Harris?"
In every letter for the last six months, James Kinchloe thought. Something tells me I'm not going to like reading further.
"We're going to be married during his Christmas furlough. I love him, Jamie. He's the one man I want to marry, since I can't marry you. You'll like him. I know you will.
"I know you'll fret. You think no man's good enough for me. You'll say, "Does she really know this man or has infatuation blinded her." Brothers are like that, and you are the best of brothers. My strong protector. My big brother James. My dear brother James, who has always looked out for me, even when I said I could take care of myself.
"Please understand, Jamie. I love him. I'll always be your sister, and you are dearer to me than my life, but I'm not a little girl anymore.
"I'm sorry if this makes you sad. You've always taken my worries on your shoulders along with your own. It wasn't fair. You should've let me carry my share. I am being brave now, and I'm older (hopefully wiser); but I miss you. We've always been together and looked out for each other, especially after Mamma died. When you went overseas, every room seemed empty without you, until Tom came into my life. He couldn't fill every space; but when he goes, it will be even emptier.
Remember how you'd make me do my homework the moment we cleared supper from the table? There you were, dead tired after working so hard, washing up the dishes and making me recite equations or irregular verbs. You wouldn't even let me go out Friday nights until I had my homework done to your satisfaction. I thought you were such a killjoy. But it meant that I got the scholarship, and the degree we worked so hard for. When I held that parchment, I just wanted to put it in your hands. I'll never forget it belongs to us both. I know you sacrificed your dreams after Mamma died, so that I could have a good education. You worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads. Jamie, whatever I am or become, I owe to you.
You haven't lost any of my love. My heart's grown twice as big – to hold both you and Tom.
Stay safe, and come home to me soon, Jamie. Please.
Your Jessie.
Kinchloe crumpled the letter between his hands. He knew it had to happen. It was inevitable that Jessie would love another man and marry him. But he did not know this man. He was not there to vet him. He, whose job involved assessing every prisoner coming into Stalag Thirteen for the sake of the operation, could not assess Lieutenant Tom Harris for something just as vital to him – his sister's happiness.
He moaned against the pain crushing his chest. He was not there to approve Jessie's choice. And he was not there to walk her down the aisle and resign her to him.
James Ivan Kinchloe thought of his father, long dead in the trenches in France. He had just turned six years old when he became the only 'man' of the house. Jessie had been little more than a baby. She didn't remember being lifted high in their father's arms. He did. He remembered his father's laughing eyes and the way he held her. He remembered his charge to him, "Watch over your sister until I get back from the war."
Naturally, his mother and grandmother were the ones who watched over them. But he had watched over Jessie. When both ladies – they were 'ladies' to him, not 'women' – when they died, he and his sister were left with a little more money than they had debts. He had left high school to earn their living and to keep them together; giving up his dreams of a scholarship so that Jessie could attain the best place she could get in the world.
He didn't regret that overmuch. Jessie was the genius in the family. He had worked her hard at her books, perhaps to satisfy his residual regrets about his lost dreams, but they had grown very close and very dear to each other after their mother's death. They understood each other so well, that, when they heard the news of Kristallnacht – the wide scale looting and destruction of Jewish shops and synagogues in Germany in 1938 – all Jessie had said to him was, "Whatever you decide to do, Jamie, I'll back you all the way."
He had not made the decision lightly. He knew what their father's death had cost their mother and grandmother. He knew too well what it had cost him and his sister. He did not want Jessie to bear another devastating burden because of him. He worked out more strenuously than ever, organized their finances, taught her how to budget, prepared them both in every way so he could serve with few regrets when the time came. When it did, he went overseas with his sister's kisses on his face and her love in his heart.
When he was shot down and brought here to Stalag Thirteen, his first thought had been relief to be alive for her sake as much as for his own.
When Colonel Hogan broached his scheme of creating a rescue and sabotage operation within the prisoner of war camp, James Kinchloe had thought long about accepting the assignment. If he did, he would not return home until either the war or the assignment was over. It was quite possible he would not return at all. Was it worth putting Jessie through the long separation? Was it worth putting her through the ignominy of hearing her beloved brother referred to as a coward or worse? She could not know why he did not escape. Would she too think the worst of him? Was it worth putting her through the sort of grief their mother had borne should he be killed?
He decided that his involvement in the colonel's operation was worth all that. Had he therefore failed his father's charge to him? Had he failed Jessie by not returning home to protect her? Had he lost the dearest person in his life because of his commitment to serve his country?
***
"Kinch?"
Sergeant Kinchloe looked up from his letter. Carter stood on the other side of the radio table, twisting his cap between his hands.
"When did you get back?"
"Five minutes ago. Colonel Hogan and the guys are changing clothes. The colonel said I shouldn't disturb you while you were reading your letter; but I saw the look on your face and wondered if you were all right. Are you?"
Kinchloe managed a weak smile. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Carter looked sceptical. "Are you sure?"
A blaze of anger inflamed him. "Yeah. I'm sure. Just because you once saved my life, Carter, don't think you own it."
The young man's eyes widened. His face went white. "I – I'm sorry, Kinch."
He turned to leave, but the older man grasped his arm.
"No. No. I'm sorry, Carter. I'm the one out of line."
Carter's eyes widened further, until they appeared round as saucers. Kinch seldom apologized. He seldom had to. And to me yet!
"How did the mission go?" Sergeant Kinchloe asked, wearily passing his hand over his eyes.
"It went o.k."
For once, Carter did not elaborate. Usually, given the least encouragement, he would natter on and on with a detailed technical description of the explosion, of his choice of explosives and his method of rigging the charges. Now, he just stood silent, studying his comrade-in-arms.
Kinchloe did not look up at him but sat at the radio table, his head bowed in his hands.
"Kinch?"
"I don't want to discuss it, Carter. Please. Leave me be."
Carter lowered his eyes. "Sure. Whatever you want. Do – do you want me to get the Colonel?"
The black sergeant shook his head. "No." He looked up, into Carter's eyes. "Do me a favour? Don't mention this to him, or to the other guys."
"What-whatever you want. Is there…?"
Kinch looked up, into Carter's concerned blue eyes. "No. Nothing. But – thanks all the same, Andrew."
+++
"Kinch," Colonel Hogan clapped his radioman on the shoulder. "How about getting your revenge in another chess match? Your losing streak is due to end."
Sergeant Kinchloe looked up from his clasped hands. "Is that a request or an order, sir?"
The colonel's smile faded. "It's a request, Kinch. Never an order." He looked down at the bowed figure seated at the mess table. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Colonel."
"My door's always open."
"I know that, sir; but I'm fine. I just don't feel I could challenge you tonight."
Hogan exhaled. "O.K. Suit yourself. You will tell me when you are ready?"
"You'll be the first to know, sir."
Carter looked up from his crossword puzzle. He stared anxiously at Kinch. Then, with a determined expression, he rose to his feet. "Colonel, could I see you privately?"
Kinchloe gave his fellow sergeant a sharp look. Carter flushed and ducked his head.
The interchange did not pass unnoticed by their commanding officer. He motioned Carter inside his office and shut the door.
"O.k., Carter. What happened between you and Kinch?"
Carter squirmed. "I promised Kinch I wouldn't tell."
Hogan crossed his arms. "But you want to tell." He paused. "Out with it, Carter! When he lets me win for two weeks straight, something's very wrong. What did you do to him?"
"Nothing, Colonel!" Carter insisted. "All I know is that he hasn't been the same man since he got a letter from his sister."
The colonel rubbed his chin. "Family troubles?"
"I don't know what's in the letter. No one does. He hasn't opened up to anyone. Not to Marcus Simms. Not even to LeBeau."
"If he hasn't confided in his closest friends, then something is wrong."
"He just sits there with that sad look on his face. Like he's shrunk inside himself. I want to help him. He's helped me solve my problems lots of times; but I don't know what to do. I'm too stupid."
"You've tried to talk to him?"
"Well, if he won't talk to you – and he really respects you, Colonel – why would he talk to me? I – I thought maybe…" The young man hesitated.
"Maybe…?"
"Maybe he'd talk to Doktor Falke. Colonel, I know she's out of bounds and you hate her; but – but she and Kinch always got along well."
His commanding officer grimaced, and then heaved a sigh.
"Carter, I don't hate Marlena Falke. She's out of bounds because I don't want her caught in any traps Hochstetter's laid out for us. She's got some stupid, naïve opinions about war and what we do here. I don't like being called a warmonger; but she's a brave woman and I know she's helped us several times."
"Then will you let us visit her? Or let her visit us? Just once? If you can't get Kinch to open up, maybe she can. She's a woman, sir. Maybe she'd understand whatever it was Kinch's sister wrote him and help him through it."
Carter watched expectantly while Colonel Hogan thought his question over.
"No. It's too much of a risk. Hochstetter's been buzzing around here too often and I want Marlena to stay alive." He blew out his breath. "I want all of us to stay alive." He looked down and slowly rolled a pencil across his desk with his forefinger. "And yet Kinch's worry has been affecting his work. It's been affecting our morale as well, seeing him like this." He tsked. "I don't know, Carter. Kinch is a very intelligent man. Maybe he can work through his troubles on his own."
"Yes, sir." Carter sounded unconvinced.
Both men sat in silent thought. A sudden clang and a metallic clatter aroused them, followed by shouts and a torrent of imprecations delivered by their chef, Corporal LeBeau, in rapid French.
Hogan and Carter rushed to open the door. The colonel got there first.
Carter peered over his shoulder and gaped. A steaming puddle of stew oozed from a spilled saucepan across the wooden floor of their barracks; but what astounded him was the sight of LeBeau screaming abuse at Kinch – screaming at Kinch of all people! Those two men were as close to each other as he was to Newkirk. And Kinch was shouting back just as savagely.
Newkirk looked at them open-mouthed from across the room. Colonel Hogan caught the English airman's eye. He motioned him into his office with a jerk of his head.
"I didn't do a thing to either of them this time, Guv'nor."
"I know you didn't, Newkirk. What set them off?"
"LeBeau said something to Kinch I didn't catch. I wasn't really listening. Then Kinch said something. Then LeBeau said something and Kinch replied, "I wish people would mind their own business and leave me alone." The LeBeau got all excited and knocked the pan off the stove. I can't believe it, Colonel! I don't know what they're saying to each other; but… I just can't believe my eyes and ears!"
Colonel Hogan looked at Carter. Carter looked back hopefully. The colonel heaved a sigh. "Get into civilian clothes. Bring Doktor Falke in through the emergency tunnel."
He turned to Newkirk. "Get into the tunnel through Wilson's trap in Barracks Five. Kinch won't be going down there while he's still quarrelling with LeBeau. Use the switchboard to call the doctor. Tell her 'Herr Loewen' is ill and 'Herr Weiss' is on his way to fetch her. Use a fake voice. She'll know who's calling when you mention those names."
"What are you going to tell LeBeau and Kinch when they see Carter's missing?" asked Newkirk.
"I won't need to because they won't ask. Right now, they're full of spleen. Later, they'll feel too miserable. Just put the call through and get back here before Kinch goes downstairs to cool off."
"Right, sir. On my way." Newkirk hurried out the door, with Carter right behind him.
Colonel Hogan leaned against the upright of his bunk and looked out the half opened door. LeBeau's and Kinchloe's barrack mates stood around them, listening to their quarrel in stunned disbelief.
He rubbed his chin, deeply disturbed. This was not like his calm, self-controlled radioman. Sure, Kinch had withdrawn inside himself at times. Sure, he occasionally made a sarcastic remark to Carter when the young airman was being particularly dunderheaded; but never before had he lashed out as venomously as he just did to LeBeau.
Hogan heaved another sigh. What he had told Carter was true. He did not hate Marlena Falke, but she was disconcerting, argumentative, stubborn and he despised her pacifist convictions. He endured her in his tunnel only because she had become something like an older sister to Carter and because he had promised Kinch they would protect her. She had repaid them by doing as much for their operation as her conscience permitted her to do. If she could restore his sergeant's equilibrium, he would own up to owing her the greater debt and he would willingly pay it.
+++
Kinch looked up from his clipboard as Carter poked his head through the entrance from the emergency tunnel. Raising his forefinger, the radioman jotted down the conclusion of the message he just received and transmitted his acknowledgement of it.
"Where have you been?" he mildly inquired as he removed his headphones.
Carter heaved a great sigh of relief. That quarrel with LeBeau must've released a lot of pent up bitterness, he thought. Kinch could shrivel a man with his caustic tongue. All along the way back, Carter had dreaded hearing the words his colleague might use when venting his rage on him.
"I brought something for you."
"Not another rabbit!" Kinch exclaimed, referring to the time when Newkirk and Carter had released a hare in the tunnel as a joke. The scare he got when the animal jumped on the radio table had nearly stopped his heart. Worse, Herr Hare's hind foot got caught between the wireless key and the sounding board. In its effort to escape, the frantic animal tore the key from the board and severely damaged the radio. It had taken the entire night to fix it. The only benefit he had received from their prank was that Colonel Hogan made those two clowns do all his household chores for six weeks.
Carter laughed. "No. Not a rabbit. Something better." He carefully unfastened his jacket. Kinchloe looked at him, a little alarmed. What sort of little creature had his colleague brought into the tunnel this time? A bird? A snake?
The younger sergeant drew out a large, red apple. "I stopped in at Doktor Falke's and she gave us each one, as a Christmas gift. She was saving them for us and she said she wouldn't feel very charitable to us later on, the next time we blew up people, so she thought we should enjoy them now."
"Kind of her," Kinch said drily. "I thought she was out of bounds to us."
"She is." Carter handed over the apple. "I ate mine. This one's yours. She said 'Assure Sergeant Kinchloe it's not poisoned.' I guess it isn't. I'm still here."
"You certainly are." Kinchloe took a bite, then he scrutinized the apple. "It tastes like a MacIntosh," he said in surprise. "Where did Doktor Falke get a Mac apple in Germany?"
"From a MacIntosh apple tree, Herr Kinchloewen." Doktor Marlena Falke stood framed in the doorway of the radio room. "The trees are still here, despite the war. They're called something else now – Fuehrer Baumen or some such nonsense. Like Herr Weiss tells me they call wieners 'Liberty sausages' in America," she said, nodding to Carter.
"Doktor Fledermaus! Welcome!" Kinch rose and came over to her. He took both her hands in his as he bent down to kiss her cheek. "I thought after that self satisfied jackass's hints about us, the Colonel placed you out of bounds for your own safety."
" 'Unsung heroes in a German prisoner of war camp'." Doktor Falke quoted the headline of war correspondent Walter Hobson's article. "I thought it was your operation's safety that concerned your colonel, not mine."
"The 'Merry Major' Hochstetter has been sniffing around here like a demented hound. You can't blame Colonel Hogan worrying that he'll sniff out your true nationality and your connection to us."
"No, I can't blame him for that. I don't want the Gestapo to find out I'm a Canadian." Doktor Falke grimaced. "Or was a Canadian. Back home, they still think I'm a traitor."
"We're working on that, Doktor. Don't worry about it," Sergeant Kinchloe gently chided.
"Your colonel does not care for pacifists, gentlemen."
"He cares for one, Doktor Falke. You've been a good friend to us this past year," He squeezed her hands. "So, I repeat: why are you here?"
"Herr Weiss – I'm sorry Andrew. I keep getting your personae mixed up when you're not in uniform. – Sergeant Carter fetched me. He said that you were unwell and that your colonel approved my visit."
"Car-ter!" Kinch growled.
"Well, you've been shutting yourself away down here. You won't say more than two words to any of us – not even to the colonel – and London's been complaining through the underground that you keep asking them to repeat transmissions."
Doktor Falke raised her eyebrows. "You? Absent minded? That is bad."
"So I suggested to Colonel Hogan that maybe talking to a woman might cheer you up. You and Doktor Falke get along so well."
"And he agreed?" Kinchloe sounded sceptical. His colonel and the Mennonite physician seldom got along. They could not agree on the time, let alone the war.
Carter nodded.
"That is bad." Kinch gave him a weak smile, and the message he had transcribed. "O.k. Carter. You win. I'll unburden myself and let Doktor Falke prescribe for me, but only if you go upstairs and don't listen in."
"Sure. Anything for tranquility." He waved the sheet of paper at them and scampered away.
Kinch shook his head. "That boy! 'Anything for tranquility'. I didn't know he knew the word."
Doktor Falke smiled. The sergeant escorted her to his stool. She seated herself and arranged her skirt over her knee. "So, Herr Kinchloewen?"
"One moment, Doktor." Kinchloe held up his hand for silence. "My colonel's quite a man; but he is manipulative. Especially with us." He pulled a switch. The electric light above their heads went out. In the dim light of the kerosene lamps, Doktor Falke saw the sergeant take a pair of wire cutters and snip a wire running up the central support beam of the radio room. "This line runs to his office. We used it once when we kidnapped a field marshal and I never got around to disconnecting it."
"Sergeant Kinchloe, you spoke about him before you shut off the power."
"I know. I wanted him to hear that part of my confession. You see, I knew Colonel Hogan before we were shot down. I admire him; but I'm under no illusions about his character."
"I never thought I'd hear you say that."
"Don't get me wrong, milady. You haven't converted me. My opinions still agree with his.
"Understood. Now, why was I sent for?"
Kinchloe paused, to gather his thoughts and suppress his emotions. The dim light made it a little less difficult – an ideal light for confidences or evasions. He sat on the cot. Marlena leaned toward him. Taking his right hand, she held it between her palms. He stiffened, but he did not pull back.
"My sister is getting married Christmas week."
"And you are here."
"And I am here."
"And you have not told your colonel."
"And I don't intend to. Everyone's fussing over me as it is. Bringing you into this." He heaved a sigh. "Doktor, I'm committed for the duration. I don't like deserting my sister. I don't like lying to her. We've been all in all to each other for years. I don't like not knowing anything about the man she says she loves. If my work here was done and I could escape to her this minute, I would. But the work's not done and I won't leave until it is."
"Even if you cannot concentrate on it?"
"I will. It just takes more time." He closed his eyes, and repeated, "It just takes more time."
"Grief does take time to pass, dear mein Herr," Doktor Falke said gently. "But you must let yourself grieve a very long time, and you cannot. Your work lies in the way."
She put her hand to his cheek to stop his protest. "I don't speak against what you do. Not at this time. But your jealousy, your concern for your sister and your sense of duty tear you apart inside. You are jealous of your sister's betrothed. Come, come, Sergeant Kinchloe. Admit it, dear mein Herr. You fear he has usurped your place as the first man in her heart."
Kinch sighed. "If she loves him, then it's his right."
"'If she loves him.' Listen to your own words. She does love him. She will marry him. For better, for worse, nothing will be the same between you and your sister again. That's why you are full of grief – so full that you groan in agony. And like the wounded lion of the story, Herr Kinchloewen, you lash out at your friends who seek to pull the thorn from your paw. Perhaps you want to lash out at your sister too?"
"Doktor," Kinch growled. "Don't say such a thing to me again."
"I've known you for almost a year, mein Herr. I know that you are a very wise, clear-sighted man. Lash out at me too, if you must; but turn your clear eyes upon yourself. Let there be no pretence between your mind and your heart."
She waited in silence, her heart full of sympathy for him. She could not like the work he did; but she greatly admired the man. She admired his strong, compassionate courage as much as she admired his keen intellect. To her, he was indeed 'ein Loewen' – a Lion – one with a loyal, loving heart behind those piercing, steady brown eyes.
Then the hand she held suddenly tightened its grip around hers. "Jessie!" Kinchloe groaned; his eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, Jessie, why!"
"Mein liebe Freund." She pressed his hand between hers. "Dear, dear mein Herr."
Kinch looked up at her, his face creased in agony. "I knew she would marry someday, Doktor; but I wanted to know the man. I wanted to approve of him, so that it would be easier to give her up." He shook his head. "No, not to give her up. To share her with him. Doktor, she's all I have left."
He pulled his hand from Doktor Falke's and covered his face. The doctor moved beside him on the cot. She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to her, rocking him. He circled his arms around her waist and wept into the hollow of her throat.
"It's all right, dear mein Herr. It's all right. Cry out your heart, Herr Kinchloewen. There's no one here but me, and I will never tell." She gently laughed. "I'll even swear to it, if you like."
Kinch managed a weak smile. "You told me when we first met that Mennonites don't swear oaths."
"Because God would require us to keep them. 'Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' But I would keep that oath, mein Herr. I would not be taking His name in vain."
Kinch relaxed against her and closed his eyes.
"Vielen Danke, meine Freundin; but your word is sufficient. I will not put you at risk of divine retribution."
"Danke und bitte sehr, mein liebe Freund." She rocked him gently in her arms. "Herr Kinchloewen, do you trust your sister?"
"Of course I do."
"With your life, yes. But with her life?"
Kinch looked up at her. "I get the message. I should trust my sister's choice, sight unseen."
"A hard thing for you to do, I know. Your life here depends on your dis-trust of men."
"Not just here. I learned distrust at an early age. But what if she chose the wrong man?"
"Do you hope she chose the wrong man so that she'll love you best? Herr Kinchloewen, be the generous man you are. Do not sabotage your sister's life by turning her away from her husband."
"Doktor, she was all I had to love."
"Was she, mein Herr? You still have her. She is still your sister. And you have friends here – very good friends. I envy you them. My sister died stillborn. My friends, if I still have any, are at least an ocean and a battlefront away. It is almost 1944 and I have not heard from them since 1939."
"LeBeau and I – we held quite a slanging match. Insults at ten paces and in two languages. I doubt he'll forgive the things I said."
"Not forgive the man who watched over him day and night when he lay injured? He forgives you already, or he will when he has calmed himself. Your friendship is too strong to break over a few heated words."
She looked steadily at him. "You will forgive Andrew, will you not? He told me he broke his word to you when he told your colonel why he thought you were not yourself. You good opinion means the world to him; but your peace of mind means even more. Andrew is very dear to me, Herr Kinchloewen. Please forgive him."
"I have already, long before you came in. After I ranted at LeBeau, I realized that I was close to losing it completely. Carter's a good man. A wise man in some respects. A far better friend than I deserve."
"I do envy you your friends."
Kinch enclosed her hands in his. "They're also your friends. I'm also your friend. Why envy me?"
"Because I cannot be with you. You see your friends every day. I've seen neither you nor them since Major Hochstetter read that man's article and started looking your way. I think of you here and I miss all of you very much. ["And I'm afraid for all of you," she silently added. "So very much afraid."]
"I even miss your colonel, even though he despises me," Doktor Falke continued. "I know he'll be glad when he can finally discharge his promise and ship me to London free and clear." Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "I guess that is why I do miss him. Despite what I've called him, he insists on keeping his promise."
"He misses you too and so do we. He's too smug and conceited when you're not around to needle him." Then, more seriously, Kinch said, "Colonel Hogan does miss you. He thinks one or two of your misguided notions are not so misguided."
"Really? Which ones?" She smiled but she thought, Talking about his colonel would distract him from pondering and brooding for a while. We'll try that out. Maybe when he comes back to his sad thoughts, they will not have such power over him.
"The one about acting out your faith. Doktor, I've seen lots of people going around caring only about what happens to themselves. They plod through life like a milk horse wearing blinkers. They see just enough of the road they're on. They don't want to see what they pass along the way.
"Sometimes when I think of 'conchies', or when the colonel says what he thinks of 'conchies', I see that milk horse. Too much of a coward to turn his head because if he did, he'd see people suffering. If he saw, he'd have to get involved and he doesn't want to.
"But you're different. You came here on your own before the war and you got involved with helping free people. Now you're stuck here, but you still try to help in your own way. You're not just mouthing words, Doktor. That's what impresses the colonel. It's what impressed me."
Doktor Falke shook her head. "I'm not different, mein Herr. I wish I could wear the blinkers. I'd like to forget and pretend I don't see what I see. Before the war began, and before you and Sergeant Carter brought Corporal LeBeau into my surgery, I tried to shut my eyes and pretend.
"But my conscience kept bothering me. God gave me gifts and so I'm responsible to Him how I use them. I've studied how to heal people. I've acquired skills. I'm not allowed to forget and pretend."
She sighed. "I'm not a saint, Sergeant Kinchloe. I'm driven to do what I do."
Kinch nodded. "I'm driven too. I've lived thorough things that would scare you or any decent person. I don't want them to happen to other people. That's why I have to fight the guys doing the tormenting."
"The colonel's driven too," he continued. "What we do is not all fun and games to him. I don't know all that drives him; but he's driven to win the war and he's driven to get you home and get you the right to be heard in an unbiased court of law."
"I am grateful to him for that." She put her right hand over his. "And I am grateful to you for holding him to it."
Sergeant Kinchloe leaned his head against the base of her throat and closed his eyes. "Getting back to my selfishness toward my sister, what do you prescribe for it, Doktor Fledermaus?"
Doktor Falke smiled at his teasing nickname for her. 'Doktor Fledermaus.' 'Doctor Bat.' She had seen few theatrical performances. Her religion frowned upon play going, especially if the play was frivolous. But that operetta was her favourite. She had seen it as a young medical student in Toronto. Its lilting music and its silliness had captivated her as well as the similarity of her name with that of the title character. And now I have another reason to like it, she thought, curling her hand around Sergeant Kinchloe's right thumb.
They remained linked in silent thought for several minutes.
"Is Corporal Newkirk's sister married, mein Herr?"
"I don't know. Newkirk doesn't like to speak much of home. If he talks about it, he has to think about it. If he thinks about it…." His voice died away.
"He has to think of the air raids. Of his sister caught in an air raid." Marlena finished.
"Yeah." Kinch sighed. "I think his sister is married. You think I should talk to him? That maybe he felt the way I feel now when his Mavis broke the news to him?"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I guess I don't want to admit I'm hurting. Stupid, isn't it? It's so obvious that I am."
"Will you do it then?"
"I wish I could; but I'm too afraid to let down my guard. Newkirk and I…. He's a great guy; but he has this idiotic notion that we're competitors. 'Anything you can do, I can do better.' Particularly when it comes to impressing Colonel Hogan."
"Are you?"
"No. There is no 'second officer' on our team, Doktor. I do certain jobs and he does certain jobs. One of mine just happens to be operations manager."
"As you say. You knew your colonel 'from before', therefore he knew you 'from before'. He'd naturally lean upon the man he's trusted longer. But confiding in Corporal Newkirk would – 'give him an edge' – over you?"
"Right. I guess I'm still too wary of giving anyone who considers me his adversary an advantage over me."
"Well then, I guess the only physic I can offer is that you write to your sister, telling her that you love her and that you wish her and her betrothed every happiness. I know it is bitter medicine in your state of mind; but you have to resolve the matter somehow. Either you accept him gracefully or you make your sister choose between the two men she loves. You would make her very unhappy, and you might be the man she gives up."
Kinchloe grimaced. "It is bitter; but you're right. I can't afford to harbour animosity toward a man because Jessie loves him. Not when it affects my job. But Doktor Fledermaus, my heart hurts so bad."
Marlena touched his cheek. "May the good God ease it, then. My prayers will be for you."
He reached up and took her hand in his. "Thank you. You are the best of physicians, and the best of friends."
"Oh, I share the latter honour with the men above our heads." Marlena smiled. "If you cannot confide in them, at least bask in their affection for you. It may ease your heartache a little, Herr Kinchloewen."
"I'll think it over." He looked at his watch and sighed. "I suppose you must get back to your cottage before daybreak and I better tell the colonel his radioman hasn't lost all his marbles." Kinch reluctantly rose and threw the switch. The light above the radio table re-lit. He helped Doktor Falke to her feet and they walked arm in arm through the tunnel to Barracks Two.
"Doktor Fledermaus, when will you call me 'Kinch' again?"
"When you cease to be a soldier, Sergeant Kinchloe. I see your colonel at the shaft to your barracks." Standing on tiptoe, she brushed his cheek with her lips. "Go write your letter, dear mein Herr, and let me deal with him."
The sergeant held her close and kissed her cheek in return. "The best and dearest of physicians. Thank you." Saluting his colonel, he turned on his heel and walked back to the radio room.
Colonel Hogan gazed at him, a slight smile hovering on his lips. His step is a little lighter and his head's held a little higher. Kinch begins to look a little like his old self.
"Fraulein Doktor, I wanted to speak to him. Why did you send him away?"
She ignored his question. "Colonel, I should return home. Sergeant Carter hinted that tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us."
"Hinted, Doktor Falke? He didn't give you our entire itinerary?"
"No. Just a warning to expect casualties. I should get some sleep, so that my mind will be alert to prepare for them." She paused. "Colonel Hogan, may Corporal Newkirk escort me home?"
The colonel turned to her in surprise. "Newkirk? Not Carter?"
"Corporal Newkirk, please. It's important that it be him."
"Has it got something to do with Kinch?"
Doktor Falke did not speak.
"Doktor, I do care about Kinch."
"Do you respect his right to privacy?"
Colonel Hogan glared at her. She faced him back with a look that said, "Prove to me that you care that much about him."
To her surprise, he backed down. "Very well. Newkirk it is. And I won't pry any secrets out of him that you or Kinch want kept."
"Thank you, Colonel Hogan," she replied with only a trace of mockery in her voice.
He gave her a trace of a smile in return. "I'd walk you home myself, only Klink's scheduled a bed check later tonight. He gets cranky if he has to lose his beauty sleep looking for me."
"I thought he got cranky when he could not play hide and seek with you. Doesn't he long to trip you up in your tricks?"
Colonel Hogan chuckled. "Doktor, I used to think you were a starched and sober spinster. No humour at all. That tiny streak of dry wit becomes you." He grew serious. "I know you won't believe me, but I am sorry about what we put you through."
"I'm sorry about what you put others through. You're right, Colonel. I don't believe you."
"I'm still sorry, Doktor. I am a manipulator, and you shouldn't trust me; but I am grateful to you for all you've done for us, particularly for Kinch.
"Sergeant Kinchloe is under strain. He exaggerated. Please, Colonel. Don't hold a grudge against him."
Hogan smiled down at her. "I don't. Kinch is on the mark now as always. I love to manipulate men. It's my trade and I'm very good at it. I'm glad Kinch is wary of me. If he blinded himself to my faults, we'd be dead long ago. It's because he is wary of me that we're still alive and active.
"Not long ago I met a woman much like you, Doktor Falke. A scientist. We were teamed up together – or, rather, London made her the one in charge of that particular assignment."
"That must've hurt your pride."
"It did. She might've hurt it to the point where it would cost us the mission we shared. However, my loyal and constant pain in the backside, Fraulein Doktor Marlena Falke, had got to my pride before her. You showed me how petulant I can be when I realize the lady has a fine brain and knows how to use it. Learning from you, I learned to respect her. The mission was a success, and I owe you my thanks." He crooked an eyebrow at her. "If it's any consolation to you, our mutual friend in the radio room seemed quite delighted when she deflated my hot air balloon."
"Yeah, I thought you'd be pleased by that," he added, seeing her suddenly grin. He ruffled her hair. "Watch out, Doktor Pacifist. Your halo's slipping."
The doctor shook her head. "Colonel Hogan, why is it that I can't really hate you?"
"Same reason I can't really hate you. We're both human beings."
+++
"She won't tell you what's wrong with him; but we both know she's not good at subterfuge. Any little pearls that drop from her lips, you pick up."
"And deliver to you, sir?"
"I promised that I wouldn't pry. But, if you offer them to me voluntarily…"
Newkirk grinned. "You are a sly fox, sir."
Colonel Hogan shook his head. "I'm a manipulator. Right now, I'm disgusted with myself for being one. Kinch is entitled to his own secrets."
"It's for his own good, sir. We can't let him go on like this."
"And the operation can't function if we do. Get back here as soon as you safely can. I may have a job for you and Marcus Simms to do later."
+++
"Well, Doktor, when are you going to tell me what you kept me out of me bed to hear?" Peter Newkirk grumbled to himself as he walked beside her through the woods.
They had been walking together in silence for some distance, hand in hand like a pair of young lovers to fool any passing patrol. Of course, they had to show their identification papers at the checkpoints. Most of the checkpoint guards knew Doktor Falke from meeting her on her rounds, so they checked them through with only a cursory glance at the papers. Newkirk kept his hand close to his Luger, just in case. He and his forgery crew were remarkable, but no one was perfect and there was too much at stake.
"Corporal –."
" 'Pieter', Liebchen. Remember?"
"Pieter. Enshuldigun und danke." Doktor Falke licked her upper lip, nervous. "Pieter, is your sister married?"
Newkirk frowned. "Widowed."
"Oh. I am sorry."
"It's all right, angel. Does it affect what you wanted from me?"
"Maybe. I'm asking you to do something personal. If you don't want to…"
"It's for Kinch, isn't it? Then, of course I want to do it. Just tell me what it is."
Doktor Falke hung her head. "If you're grieving for your sister's loss …"
"Don't worry about that. Wes was with the B.E.F. in Belgium when the Krauts blitzed through in 1940. You know that poem, 'In Flanders' fields the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row…?'"
"Every schoolchild in Canada recites it every November 11th."
"Is that so? Well, that's where Wes is buried. Same location. Same enemy. Different war. It really hurt Mav, what with the baby and mum and granny and keeping the home fires burning for me, but she's a game girl. Always was."
Newkirk turned to Doktor Falke. "How does it help Kinch? No. I know you promised him not to tell. I mean, where do Mavis and I come in?"
"When Mavis accepted Wes, how did you feel?"
"Like hell, if you'll pardon me saying it. Like bloody hell. Wes was my mate, but that didn't make it easier. My sister – a woman all grown up. I never saw her that way before. Leaving home, even though she was only going a few blocks away. Breaking apart the family."
Newkirk looked at Doktor Falke. "So that's what's wrong with him."
"Could you – would you say something like that – in casual conversation where…?"
"Where he could overhear it?" Newkirk squeezed her hand. "Consider it done, angel."
+++
"Colonel, I thought about those pearls. Do you really have to have them?"
"That all depends on my hunch, Newkirk." Colonel Hogan handed the corporal a slip of paper. "If I'm right, I want you to send this to London tomorrow night."
Newkirk read the note. He looked at his commanding officer in astonishment. "How do you do it, sir? The mind reading. I could certainly use it in my music hall act."
"Never mind about that."
"Not that I'd be alive to do my act if Kinch catches me at his radio. Besides, Colonel, isn't tomorrow the night we destroy the Mannheim Bridge again?"
"It is. Kinch will see you leave with us; but Olsen is going to take your place."
Colonel Hogan opened a secret compartment beneath his bunk and drew out a box of pills. He placed two pills in Newkirk's palm. "Chloral hydrate. 'Mickey Finns'. LeBeau's going to prepare a very salty snack for Kinch. Use your sleight of hand to get these in whatever he drinks."
"Colonel!"
"You said it yourself. Kinch is as possessive about his radio as Carter is about his chemicals. We have to black out the sixth sense that puts him on the spot whenever anyone ventures near it. I hope someday we recruit someone he'll trust with his equipment, but we haven't yet."
Newkirk looked doubtfully at the pellets. "Well, at least he'll get a good night's sleep, although he'll have quite a headache when he wakes up."
"I trust you and Simms will make it look as if the sleep was natural."
"Simms agreed to this?" Newkirk couldn't believe it. The laconic Marcus Simms was a good soldier; but he was also James Ivan Kinchloe's friend and, like him, a man of colour. His first loyalty might lie with Kinch, rather than with his colonel.
"You think I'd bring him in if he didn't?"
"Evasion, sir."
"Yeah, it was. Good catch, Newkirk. Simms agreed. After that ruckus with LeBeau, he's worried sick about Kinch, just like the rest of us are."
+++
Newkirk stood flattened against the wall of the emergency tunnel, watching Marcus Simms. The lithe, black corporal had stationed himself just outside the door to the radio room, where he could see but not been seen by the man seated behind the wireless receiver. Simms moved his head slightly, his body suddenly alert.
Newkirk checked his watch again. Five minutes before Goldilocks is scheduled to transmit. If Kinch doesn't pass out before then, there'll be hell to pay. Simms had signalled five minutes ago that he had drunk the water. It can't be more than a few seconds now; but then Kinch had had long practice in enduring fatigue for the sake of the operation.
He felt despicable for deceiving and knocking out his friend and colleague. I'm a rat, that's what I am and so is Simms. But the guv'nor wants it done this way and we've agreed to do what he says. Well, at least we're not doing Kinch any real harm. But if I were him and he were me, I'd never forgive him.
He looked up and saw Marcus Simms dart through the doorway. He rushed out from his hiding place and into the radio room.
Simms was holding Kinchloe's limp body in his wiry arms. The sergeant's head lolled back against the corporal's shoulder.
Newkirk felt the pulse in his colleague's neck and touched his closed eyelids. "Out like a light," he murmured, gently removing the headphones and laying them on the table. "I'm sorry, Kinch. I really am. Please understand. I didn't want to do it like this."
"I caught him just as he started to slump," Marcus Simms said. "Come on. Help me get him on the cot."
Taking him by the knees as Simms gathered his torso against his chest, Newkirk helped lift the unconscious man and carry him to the cot beside the radio. Simms turned him on his side and adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Newkirk covered him with the rough woollen blanket. As Newkirk began to tuck the blanket behind his back, both men heard the sharp, staccato bleeps of the incoming signal.
"Better do what you're here for," Simms said as Newkirk hesitated.
Newkirk nodded. He donned the headphones, toggled the switches to 'Transmit' and tapped: 'Papa Bear to Goldilocks. Come in. Over.'
His hand curled around his sleeping friend's shoulder, Marcus Simms impassively watched Newkirk take down the nightly message from London. After a few minutes, he looked down at the unconscious man and slowly smiled. "My poor bro. You're so worn out. Sleep well. Let us worry about you, instead of you worrying about us."
Newkirk finished jotting down the final instruction. With one hand, he unfolded Colonel Hogan's message, while with the other, he toggled to 'Transmit' and began tapping.
Simms looked in fascination at the spark dancing beneath Newkirk's fingers. He wondered what this message was that he and Newkirk had to drug their friend insensible in order to transmit. He laid his hand briefly in Kinch's hair as a sort of benediction. Then he got up and stood behind the R.A.F. corporal.
Simms looked over Newkirk's shoulder and read the message he was tapping. He glanced over at his friend's motionless body.
"We had to put him out for that??"
"Colonel Hogan wanted it done that way, so that's the way we have to do it. Kinch would've known right off what it was there for if it had been listed on the manifest.
"Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Message acknowledged. Item to be in next drop. Requesting china tea service next?"
Goldilocks thinks she's quite a cut up, Newkirk thought sourly.
"Already own. Wedgwood. Gift of H.M. Q. E. Papa Bear out." Shutting off the power, he looked with pity at the man lying on the cot.
"They wanted to know if we wanted a tea service to go along with it," Newkirk said to Marcus Simms. "I don't envy Kinch if that's what he has to deal with, every time the colonel wants something unusual."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them we already had one. A gift from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth no less."
"Nice lady, for a queen."
"My mum and sister Mavis saw her once. One time after the East End was bombed during the Blitz. She and the King came and looked over the place. Mavis was ever so thrilled."
Newkirk thought about Mavis. She really was a game girl – taking care of Mum and Granny and raising a child while the bombs came down around her. He never told her how much he loved her. How proud he felt to have such a brave sister. About time he mentioned it to her.
He thought of the look on Kinch's face when he told the guys in the barracks about how Mavis's engagement to Wes affected him. He looked at the message he had just sent to London.
"Uncanny how the colonel always knows; but he always does," he said to Marcus Simms.