Meanwhile, Back in the Tunnel
This vignette occurs while Newkirk and LeBeau are bribing Schultz to buy food for the surprise party they intend to give Colonel Hogan in the episode "Hogan, Go Home."
I don't own the television series "Hogan's Heroes"; therefore, I don't own the episode. This said….
Carter stretched out his arm to the ammonia, then pulled it back. Doubling over, he hugged his chest with his trembling hands.
It's happening again. I thought I got over being scared of this long ago; but it's happening again.
Backing slowly away from the volatile chemicals, Carter prayed hard that he would not stumble, knock against something and blow up the tunnel. Gritting his teeth, he inched toward the door, his mind focused on one goal - getting out of the laboratory.
At last, his hand touched the cold metal knob. He gripped and turned it, pushed open the reinforced door.
Clutching the doorframe, Carter scanned the radio room. First the radio table. Then the surrounding area.
Where's Kinch? He's supposed to be on 'stand by'.
He drew in a deep, slow breath and then slowly exhaled. He drew in another breath: deeper, slower.
Calm down, Little Deer. One breath at a time. One step at a time.
He felt dizzy. Panicky. The memory of the explosion in his high school's chemistry laboratory, of his cousin's crushed, mangled arm, pounded in his brain, made him feel queasy.
You're outside the lab now. It's all right. You didn't blow up the tunnel. You didn't blow up the guys like you did Paul.
He uncurled his fingers and lurched over the threshold. Taking another deep, slow breath, he took another forward step, into the radio room.
Thank God Kinch isn't here. I couldn't face him.
The silence and the gloomy shadows seemed to accuse him of leaving his job undone. The Berlin Express would not wait for him. Neither would the guys. They had to set the charges tonight to blow up the train when it passed by tomorrow. He couldn't think of Paul – of his cousin, Angry Rabbit with Thorn in Cottontail – of the accident that crippled him. Everyone was counting on him to make the demolition packs today. Colonel Hogan wanted it done, and he wasn't going to disappoint the Colonel.
No, sir! Even though the Colonel had disappointed him.
I haven't shaken like this since I made my first bomb. But when Colonel Hogan leaves us, what am I going to do? The Colonel's believed in me when no one else has, but what if his replacement doesn't?Groping along the wall from board to board, beam to beam, Carter made his unsteady way to the cot near the radio. He was trespassing on Kinch's domain, but he hoped Kinch would understand. For everyone's safety, he had to put distance between himself and his explosives. Just for a moment. Just to think things through.
Just until I can pull myself together.
Eventually he reached his destination. Gingerly lying down on the cot, he exhaled a heavy sigh, fumbled for the rough woollen blanket, then wrapped it tight around his body and squeezed his eyes shut. He sniffed Kinch's scent in the blanket and pillow. He took a deep, slow breath, then another, willing his fellow sergeant's calm, quiet strength and wisdom to fill his lungs, flow through his heart and blood and diffuse through his sinews and his brain as White Wolf had taught him.
"Take the essence of a warrior into your being and you will feel his brave heart beat within you." Carter prayed that the native ways his grandfather had taught him would work now. Kinch was equal to any situation.
How could the Colonel think of deserting them, even to go home? He would not have deserted the Colonel, even for a million hero's welcomes.
It wasn't really desertion, Carter argued with himself. London ordered Colonel Hogan home. It wasn't like he was leaving on his own.
He repeated to himself what Kinch had said to them all: "The Colonel takes the greatest risks. He has the heaviest responsibilities. It's about time he got some recognition from the brass."
The Colonel deserves all the fuss he'll get. Why shouldn't he be glad he's going home? Why shouldn't he enjoy all we've missed?
But, when I wanted to go home and win back my fiancée, Colonel Hogan himself reminded me what we had pledged ourselves to do: assist downed airmen to escape, assist the local resistance in their efforts, and cause as much trouble for the enemy as we could. He has always said our operation was more important than our lives. How could he turn his back on it? How could he turn his back on us?
Because London ordered him home, he repeated again. Why should he prefer to stay? He'd want to relax, have fun, after all his headaches running things here. After enduring Klink strutting about like a goose and Burkhalter's pompousness and Hochstetter's rants. After always having to think up clever schemes or get us out of the messes I always make. After constantly worrying about us getting caught and killed.
Colonel Hogan deserved to go home to the comfort of clean sheets, hot baths and cold drinks. No one deserved it more.
Carter closed his eyes and dreamily smiled, imagining that hero's welcome. Maybe he'll get a ticker tape parade down Broadway, just like Lindbergh got. All those gorgeous movie stars will be fawning over him on that bond selling tour. What wouldn't I give to have Betty Grable kiss me and say how wonderful I am? Who wouldn't prefer that to Newkirk's snoring and Schultz complaining how much his feet hurt?
The trembling suddenly recommenced. I must calm down. I must not get envious. I must not get angry at the colonel for leaving us here. He deserves it. It's not his fault he's the only one going.
Carter willed his breathing to deepen and slow, concentrating his thoughts on Kinch as his body warmed the radioman's scent out of the blanket.
Maybe Kinch will "sort me out", like Newkirk always says. I'd welcome either one of them scorching me for acting like a dope. Or LeBeau giving me heck in French. Then I'd know that everything would somehow be all right despite Colonel Hogan leaving us.
And they're still with me. We'll still be together after the colonel's gone. He felt the trembling subside a little, as the blanket warmed his body and his body warmed the blanket.
Carter yawned and nuzzled the thin, dirty yellow pillow against his cheek.
He wished he could be as calm and wise as Kinch. He wished he could be like Newkirk too. Newkirk griped a lot; but he did not let things get him down. He just went on to the next scam, the next theft, the next poker game, or the next girl.
"Things are just the way things are," Newkirk always says. "If you can't work things your way, you chalk it up to fate and go on. One time out of seven, something will pay off for you. The trick is to grab your opportunity when you see it."
But Newkirk also said if he had the opportunity to go home, he'd be off like a shot. What if he left next?
He needed Newkirk. Newkirk was his greatest pal, always standing up for him, even when he thought he was stupid. And he needed Colonel Hogan more than he needed Newkirk. Without him, he could not believe he could do anything right.
Carter felt his stomach scrunch up tight. It hurt a hundred times worse than any insult Kinch or Newkirk had ever given him, realizing that the colonel did not care about him.
His mind argued fiercely with his sore heart. The Colonel is the Colonel. Why should he care? Officers are trained not to care. If they did, they couldn't order their men to fight to the death.
And you had to fight to the death to defend freedom. Even Doktor Falke believes it's heroic to give your life for others, even though she's a pacifist. She knows that we can't let the Nazis win after the way they've bullied other people. Like Colonel Hogan keeps telling her, "We can't stop Hitler with flowers or custard pies."
Carter chuckled at the thought of Colonel Hogan overpowering Klink with blossoms and banana cream; then he grew serious. Soldiers and civilians get killed. The colonel can't afford to care about us, in case we get killed, just like we can't refuse to blow up things just because Doktor Falke argues against us taking other people's lives
Carter sighed. I guess I shouldn't have got too close to the colonel; but he's a great guy, for a commanding officer. I'm glad for him. He tried to convince himself of his happiness; but he felt too miserable.
There was something else. Who would take Colonel Hogan's place, and what would he be like?
Right now, the Colonel's telling Group Captain Donovan that he's leaving. He might ask him to take command, at least until London sends the replacement they've picked out. He is the next ranking officer in camp, so it's only logical.
If the group captain took over, he would keep me on because he taught me how to make homemade bombs and he knows I can do my job.
But he told Colonel Hogan right at the start that he preferred to carry out the mundane senior officer chores for him. He said that he did not have the subterfuge or the audacity required to command a guerrilla operation.
Colonel Hogan had doubted that – the group captain had been an Irish terrorist after all – but he always respected his wishes. He'll cajole, but he won't force him to take charge.
Still, Group Captain Donovan will do it. He won't let Colonel Hogan down. They're friends, and friends don't let down friends.
Carter screwed up his face, as the thought occurred to him: the colonel had not chosen one of the other officers in camp, to groom as his second in command of their operation. Doktor Falke said that was because with a staff made up of corporals and sergeants, he could have everything his own way without anyone arguing back. Carter shrugged. Well, not without calling him 'sir' and saying 'with respect'.
One good thing about him going home: he'll straighten things out so that she can go back to Canada without getting shot. He always delivers on his promises, even though he says Doktor Falke is a pain in his backside.
Carter yawned and wrapped the blanket closer. I bet they'll miss their quarrels.
Still, it is true that he's never chosen an officer to staff the operation. Just us four. When he goes, who takes over?
Carter blanched and trembled harder. Among the members of Colonel Hogan's staff, he was the highest in rank.
No. Kinch would take charge of us. That's always been understood. The colonel chose him to be in charge of operations. I outrank him, but I'd mess up big. I can't lead men, and I can't plan missions. Kinch has always straightened us out and directed things when the Colonel's not available.
Group Captain Donovan would front for him to the brass in a heartbeat. He thinks Kinch is a fine leader. London needn't know a sergeant and not an officer was really in command.
But our operation's become vital to the war effort. That means London will send an officer as soon as they can to replace the Colonel. Kinch won't be allowed to be in charge.
Carter shivered. He pulled the blanket tight and stared across the radio table to the dark entrance of the emergency tunnel. Colonel Hogan's always kept me on, despite my snafus. What if his replacement won't keep me on? London will give the new officer full control. Group-Captain Donovan can't order him to keep me. Not without the new officer complaining to London. Then London might check up on the group-captain and find out things it shouldn't about him.
And not too many officers are like Colonel Hogan and listen to enlisted men's opinions. The new officer might disregard all the good the guys would say about me. Besides that, I can't count that Kinch will say good things. He thinks I'm a mediocre soldier.
Carter heard the sounds of someone approaching through the tunnel from Barracks Two.
He swallowed hard. In the crowded confines of a POW camp, each man zealously guarded his few possessions and few feet of personal space. That also was true for the tunnel beneath Stalag Thirteen. Kinch would not enter Carter's lab uninvited. He would demand the same consideration from Carter about the cot.
And Kinch didn't get any sleep last night, receiving that message and sending the Colonel's reply. And London telling him to 'stand by' after that. And what a message! Sacre chat! And the way the Colonel took it! Kinch won't feel amee.. ayme… What does LeBeau call being friendly? Amiable. No, he won't feel amiable to me at all.
"Don't ever push me past my limit. I don't want you to know how angry I can become," Kinch had once warned him. Carter shivered. He knew that the staff sergeant would deflect his ire from his powerful fists to his wasp's tongue whenever it overwhelmed his strict self-control. Kinch had never struck him, but his barbed words would hurt worse than his blows ever could.
Carter watched his comrade wearily trudge to his place, switch on the overhead light, drop on his stool and go thorough the motions of starting up the radio.
He must've seen me. Why doesn't he demand an explanation?
Carter's anxiety skyrocketed. If Kinch didn't notice me, that means he's brooding about the Colonel. He was all right until that message came.
If Kinch was brooding about the colonel, after all he had said to calm them down, then Kinch was hiding his own worry from them. If he was worried, that was cause for great concern. Kinch only got worried about important things.
Kinch had slipped his earphones on, a clear "do not disturb" signal. His eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, but Carter knew from his far away expression that he was not seeing it. Carter hesitated; but, if he did not make his presence known, his colleague would think he was spying on him. That would make things so much worse.
He gave a small cough.
Kinch did not turn his head. He didn't seem to hear him. He's just sitting there, staring at the radio. Carter could see his strained face in profile in the circle of light over the radio table. Man, the way he looks! His eyes are so sad.
I guess he would be, Carter realized, gnawing at his lip. The colonel and he have always been in sync before. They can 'talk' just with a glance. I've seen Colonel Hogan touch Kinch's arm, or lean on his shoulder, as if to recharge himself whenever he needs reassurance. He depends on Kinch a lot. Maybe more than he'd admit. They're like Angry Rabbit and me. There's no one back home that I'm closer to than my cousin Paul.
Just "Acknowledge the message. Get all the details." As if Kinch was nothing to him. Just a servant.
Doesn't the Colonel realise that Kinch has paid hard for supporting him so willingly? Doesn't the Colonel know Kinch has to put up with a lot of garbage from a lot of stupid guys, black and white, to be what they call his 'errand boy'? Just so he could keep on fighting for his freedom? The colonel's never been black, or an Indian, so he can't understand how it hurts when white people think you're less than they are.
What value was giving up his liberty and working hard and long and risking his life for him?
Not even a thank-you. No wonder Kinch looks like Colonel Hogan betrayed him.
Carter watched the staff sergeant pull his string of remembrance from his pocket. He watched him slide the worn fibres between his fingers. He saw him hold the string up close, saw him squint slightly to focus on a knot.
What was Kinch thinking about? Of all the dangers they had undergone? Of all the secrets they had shared? Carter saw him suddenly clench his fist over the string and lean his head in his other hand, covering his face.
Very slowly, very quietly, Carter slipped his hand into his pants pocket, and felt his own string. He had so many knots on his string: of all the times he had been brave or had finally done something right, of all the times the Colonel's brilliant, audacious plans had saved the day. Feeling them and remembering had given him comfort and courage. He needed comfort and courage now.
Carter sighed at the memories of all that the Colonel meant to him, sad that those same memories meant nothing to the Colonel. That he meant nothing to the Colonel. That Kinch meant nothing to the Colonel.
He felt so useless. What help and comfort could he give? Carter the fool. Carter the klutz. Perhaps the best thing, the only thing, he could do for Kinch was to pretend not to see his pain. Kinch kept his strongest feelings locked fast inside himself. He would not want anyone to know what they were.
"Brother of my heart," Carter whispered in the Lakota Sioux language. "Turn your head. Look at me. I want to be your help, and I need you to be mine."
Carter glanced at him, concerned, and hopeful. Perhaps his sigh had disturbed Kinch's reverie. Kinch resented intrusion but he would demand an explanation before he dressed him down. Kinch will listen, even though he's hurting. Even if he's sore at me, he won't leave me stranded. He'll help me sort out how I feel, and tell me what I should do about it.
He has to argue the plans through, to make sure they'll work. He has to make sure there's no slip ups. He's had to pacify the Colonel and protect him, and he's had to mediate between the Colonel and us. He has to see that the right man for every job was where he should be, doing what he should do. He's had to bolster my courage and correct my snafus dozens of times, and he's had to keep Newkirk and LeBeau from letting their tempers get out of hand.
Carter watched his companion subdue his pain and mend his composure. Colonel Hogan should say 'Thanks' to all of us for all we've done. He should say at least 'thanks' to Kinch.
Sergeant Kinchloe adjusted his headphones and tuned his radio dial, struggling to catch Goldilocks' frequency. The radio had been in heavy use throughout the two years of the operation's existence. The calibrations on the dial were no longer in synchronization with the actual wavelengths, and he had not slept since the night before last. And that sleep had been less than three hours long. Rubbing his eyelids with his forefinger and thumb, he forced himself to concentrate on 'standing by'.
He stared across the 'room' at the lamp burning at the entrance to the emergency tunnel. The soft glow seemed to mesmerize him, to soothe his lacerated spirit. The colonel's reaction to the message ordering him home had snuffed out the light within him. His heart felt very dark, very empty, very sore. He needed light desperately.
He forced himself not to be envious of his commanding officer. That was a harder job than waiting the hours for Goldilocks' transmission. Colonel Hogan had been almost nauseatingly gleeful at morning roll call: carolling like the proverbial lark in springtime, slapping men's backs as they formed up, commenting on the blueness of the sky, urging them to agree with him that it was a glorious day.
He could barely keep from grinning wickedly at Kommandant Klink when Schultz gave his report that all Stalag XIII's inmates were present and accounted for. The suspicious glower on Klink's face had been priceless, Kinch admitted with a reluctant little smile, but it was not wise to annoy the Bald Eagle unnecessarily.
Nor was it wise to annoy the other POWs. Corporal Simms and Sergeant Olsen had been awakened far too early for their liking when he and the guys had hovered in front of their bunks next to the colonel's door, debating when and how they should 'break' London's message to the Colonel. They had overheard the entire conversation.
Colonel Hogan's whoop of joy had been too much for Olsen to bear.
"I know your porridge was 'just right' this time, Kinch, but can't you do something to simmer Papa Bear down? The rest of us have to stay in this pesthole," he had demanded.
Simms had shut Olsen up with a scowl. Neither man had said a word to the other POWs, but the seething glares they directed at Colonel Hogan's back clearly expressed their resentful thoughts. If the Colonel was not flying too high to notice, he would have burnt them like toast.
Kinch rubbed his tired eyes and heaved a weary sigh. He had to speak to those two as soon as possible. Olsen looked ready to escape camp out of spite, and Marcus nursed too many grudges in his bosom.
I wish the Colonel would restrain his elation.
He pulled out his string and fingered the knots. He meant what he had said to the guys. Colonel Hogan had the heaviest responsibilities. He took the greatest risks. He more than deserved to go home to a hero's welcome. But so do we, and we're not invited to the party.
Groaning, Kinch shut his eyes and leaned his head in his hand.
He admitted that, if someone had offered him a ride home, with or without the glory, he'd have gone like a shot. Of course the colonel would go. He had no illusions that Hogan would prefer his men and their rat hole to fellow officers and clean sheets and decent rations.
That did not bother him. Hogan always had an egocentric streak. Not like the 'every man for himself' attitude that Newkirk had had when they started this operation, but Hogan saw people either as his servants or his patsies and acted accordingly. It came out of his privileged upbringing – of having generals and senators and judges weighing down his family tree.
He does not mean to be callous. He just thinks 'Whatever benefits Robert E. Hogan benefits everyone.'
I suppose I could learn to accept that. I've been burned before. It's the other guys. To leave them without a word of regret. I don't think LeBeau could sleep nights if he couldn't do a daily good deed for the colonel. This party we're giving is his idea, and he'll fuss to make sure it's perfect. Carter's the same. He beams every time Colonel Hogan commends his bombs or calls him 'Andrew'. Newkirk walks a little straighter whenever the colonel wants his magic fingers on a pocket or a safe.
This will hurt Group Captain Donovan too. He mentored the colonel through those first hard months of adjustment here.
"How am I going to hold them together, Colonel, when you're gone?"
He'd stare blankly at me if I told him what's good for him might be bad for us. I doubt he'd care if I told him why. He'd say, "Don't worry so much, Kinch. Everything will work out fine."
Maybe he'll spare a thought for us once or twice while he's enjoying that hero's welcome.
And Marcus Simms too, who understood better than the others ever could all that his commitment had cost him. Few black men would accept that he was not licking their white C.O.'s boots. Fewer would have stood by him as Simms had done, even though it meant carrying a share of the abuse. He was grateful beyond words for his friendship.
He would do anything to protect those men and the man who commanded them; but right now, he longed to punch Colonel Hogan's jaw. Not for leaving. For not sparing them a thought.
For not sparing me a thought.
He tried not to feel bitter. He repeated to himself what he had said to the guys: The Colonel deserves the hero's welcome. But the bitterness welled up. What a sucker I've been, expecting a little gratitude.A movement and a sniffle arrested his thoughts. He swiveled around on his stool.
Carter felt the strong, heavy hand drop upon his shoulder.
"Why are you on my cot?" The words were soft but curt.
He looked up, frightened. James Kinchloe's mouth was grim and his eyes were cold. "I'm sorry, Kinch. I didn't mean to spy on you. Honest. I didn't."
"Well, you did spy on me. Why didn't you say you were here?" His glare grew colder and harder. "And just why are you here instead of finishing up those demolition packs?"
Carter's earnest eyes begged for his understanding and forgiveness. "I was, but I started shaking. I thought that maybe, if I lay down on the cot for a few minutes, just to sort things out, that I'd calm down. I kept quiet because I could see you were thinking hard, and, well, if I moved, you'd see me and get sore. I was going to wait until you left, and then go back to the lab. Honest, Kinch. I didn't want to intrude on you. I'm sorry I did."
Throwing off the blanket, he started to scramble off the cot.
Kinch forced himself to be tolerant. He sensed his young friend felt hurt and betrayed, full of grief and uncertainty. All the things he felt.
"It's ok. Relax, Little Deer. You did the right thing." He gently pushed the young man back on the cot and wearily settled back on his stool. "I'll catch my own sleep after London's sent 'all the details' the Colonel wants about his going home."
Carter caught the sting in his voice and flushed. He would not accept criticism of Colonel Hogan, even implied, even from Kinch.
But he bit back the retort as he looked at his companion's hurt, weary face. This man was not their calm, quiet, even-tempered, capable Kinch, their font of good sense, their colonel's closest advisor. This was a hurting man, trying to subdue his pain so he could brace up his comrades and carry on the work.
He reminded himself that Kinch did have a right to feel bitter toward Colonel Hogan. Then he heard the radioman sigh.
"I shouldn't have taken out my grouch on you. You did exactly what you should have done: you got out of the lab before you caused an accident, and you found a safe place to pull yourself together." He looked at Carter, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Think we can forgive each other, Andrew?"
Carter looked at him, his sad eyes reproachful. "I won't tell anyone you're sore at the Colonel; but I wish you weren't."
"I wish I wasn't either. I'm sorry that I am."
Carter slowly nodded. "I shouldn't blame you for feeling what I feel. I just wish I didn't feel it too. It really hurts." He looked at Kinch in alarm. "Are we guilty of treason or something?"
Kinch patted his shoulder to reassure him. "I don't think so. Neither you nor I intend to hurt the Colonel, and we're both very sorry we're sore at him."
"You won't tell anyone either, about how I feel, will you?"
"Of course not." Kinch cocked his head slightly. "Now, what are we going to do about your shakes? We've a job to do tonight and we need your bombs." He searched Carter's face; then said gently, "Your cousin Angry Rabbit forgave you his lost arm. He told you he's happy and fulfilled, teaching the kids on the reserve. Believe him. Andrew, there's no better way to live your life than by doing what you're meant to do."
Carter looked back, miserable. "Every time I think about the Colonel leaving us, my hands start shaking. Sacre chat, Kinch! Can't you make him stay?"
Kinch summoned every ounce of his will to subdue the pain stabbing his gut.
"Why should he stay? I'm glad he's getting some recognition at last."
"But we need him here!" Carter burst out. "And, as for hero's welcomes, aren't we entitled to them too?"
"The Colonel was a great pilot," Kinch reminded him. "All those planes he shot down. All those factories and bases he destroyed. The brass is honouring him for that. Not for this." Kinch flicked a hand to the radio and the lab. "No one is supposed to know what we're doing here, remember?"
"But London knows about us. The brass knows about us. What are we, that he gets to go home and we don't?"
Kinch kept his voice calm and patient. "He's Colonel Hogan. He's an officer. We're the tools he uses to get his results."
"It isn't fair," the young man replied. "I'm not a tool. I'm a man."
"Don't sulk, Carter. It's the way things are. The boss always gets the credit, because he is the boss."
He leaned forward, holding Carter's gaze in his. "One thing I can bank on, though. Once he comes down from the clouds, he'll remember that we gave him that hero's welcome – us here, and the crews of his squadrons – by doing our utmost for him. I'd rather be remembered by him for that than be showered with medals from generals who never gave a damn about us."
Carter looked contrite. "I know. I remember what you said upstairs. He's always has to think up the plans. Not that you don't think up good plans too, but…"
Kinch gave him a reluctant smile. "But Colonel Hogan's are brilliant."
"Yeah." Carter nodded, relieved that Kinch was not offended. Kinch was a quick thinker, but he wasn't in Colonel Hogan's class as a strategist. Kinch was better at finding and closing the loopholes in the Colonel's plans than he was at making up his own.
Carter sniffled. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "If he cared about us, he wouldn't want to leave us stranded."
Kinch looked at him with quiet amusement. "Didn't Newkirk say it for all of us? He would have gone 'like a shot'. So would you. So would I. So would LeBeau, except his destination would be to the Resistance in Paris."
Carter looked away.
"Come on, Carter!" Kinch coaxed. "Be glad for the Colonel."
"I am glad. I just wish he'd at least say 'I'll miss you' before he goes."
Kinch emitted a weak laugh. "He'll say it. He may be over the Atlantic when he does, and we'll never hear him, but I know he'll say it. He just doesn't know it yet."
Rising to his feet, he shook out the blanket and draped it over his friend.
"Get some sleep," he growled softly. "You want to be fit for the party we're giving him, and I want to work beside a well rested demolitions specialist. No sense celebrating by blowing up the tunnel. That sort of send off the colonel won't appreciate."
Carter pulled the blanket up to his chin. "I don't think I can sleep."
"Make the effort. Please?"
Carter swallowed hard as he watched his comrade in arms reseat himself on the stool. Kinch looked utterly spent. His eyes seemed to close of their own volition. "Okay. I'll try. It's just that I don't know what I'll do without him." He paused, and then said hesitantly, "I guess this is hard for you too, knowing that he'd leave us."
The black sergeant blinked his eyelids apart. "I can take him leaving us," he said in a low voice. "I can't take remaining here after he's gone."
Carter looked at him in silence. Then, he said, "You knew the Colonel would accept, didn't you?"
Kinch reluctantly nodded.
"Then why didn't you warn me? When I said that the colonel's hero's welcome would turn into a dishonourable discharge? You said nothing."
Kinch slowly examined his hands, struggling to think of the right words to say. He always tried to be encouraging and optimistic, yet honest, with Carter. Carter took things so literally, so unquestioningly. It was hard to take, being looked up to as a source of wisdom.
He did not feel wise. He felt hurt, angry, bitter, disappointed, envious, but not wise. A million emotions clawed at his soul that he must not show in front of his comrades. Especially not in front of Carter. Carter and LeBeau adored Colonel Hogan as slightly less than God Almighty. Newkirk admired the Colonel, but Newkirk was a cynic. Sure, Newkirk had agreed that no one deserved the break more than the Colonel did; but naturally he would ask himself what Carter had just asked aloud: Aren't we entitled to go home too?
Kinch grimaced. Whoever split the atom would cause less havoc in the world than Colonel Hogan's departure would cause among the men left behind in Stalag Thirteen.
All the men longed for home and freedom, but they had submitted to Colonel Hogan's 'no escapes' order. When the men hear he's going home to a hero's welcome, they'll riot, or tear apart the tunnel trying to escape through it. It won't matter to them that London ordered the Colonel home. Whatever they'll do, we'll lose the operation and, more than possibly, our lives. How could London – how could the Colonel – be so blind?
Kinch closed his eyes and softly groaned, imagining the carnage. He would need all the tact in the world to mollify them after the Colonel left, and he didn't have a grain of it.
"Kinch?" Carter's hesitant voice seemed to come from the far side of the moon. Kinch forced open his eyes and studied his friend's anxious, woeful face. Poor guy. It's like his whole world's caved in on him.
He stared down at his own empty hands without seeming to see them. "I hoped I had read him wrong, Andrew," he said slowly. "You guys were so sure he'd refuse, but he had never refused London's orders before." He managed a feeble laugh. "How could he refuse that one?"
Carter slowly nodded. "I wish you had read him wrong."
Kinch dredged up a smile. "The Colonel won't leave without saying goodbye to you. He'll make a point of it."
And I'll make a point of seeing that he does, he resolved grimly, watching Carter's face light up.
"To me? Really? Why do you think that?"
"Because he chose you. He saw something in you the rest of us did not. Even I've got to admit you did not disappoint him. He thinks you're quite a man. So do I, Little Deer."
"Thanks. I – I guess I must do some things ok." Carter smiled back with a shy pride. Then his face clouded. He gazed longingly at his laboratory.
"But what if the new C.O. doesn't think so? What if he doesn't want me on the team? The Colonel's kept me on. I don't know why."
Kinch laughed softly. "I've often pondered that."
Carter started up from the cot, "You just said I was a good man."
Kinch caught him by the shoulders and gently but firmly pushed him back upon the pillow. "Of course you are, when you think before you act." He lifted his eyes in mock resignation to the ways of both Fate and Carter.
Then he made a placating motion. "Don't worry. The colonel will tell his successor how good you are. Coming from a hero like Colonel Hogan, that should be recommendation enough to keep you on."
"Do you think I'm worth keeping?"
"Carter! After what I just said?"
"Well do you?" Carter persisted. "I know you'll tell me straight. You know that I'm stupid. You've said it many times. I've got to know now how I can do better, before the new C.O. comes. Please, Kinch. Tell me what I should know. I don't want to lose my lab."
"Relax. I guarantee you won't lose it," Kinch replied, squeezing Carter's shoulder. "Get a grip on your memory string and count how many times you've blown up something. How many times you've played generals and Gestapo and even old Fruitcake. You not only got away with it but did it brilliantly and made the mission a success."
Kinch's eyes moved and stared sightlessly into the back hole of the emergency tunnel. He muttered, almost in a whisper, "It's more likely you'll stay and I'll go."
Carter grasped Kinch's arm and gaped at him, alarmed. "He'll want you. I know he'll want you. I don't see how anyone wouldn't want you."
Kinch shook his head, his sore heart touched by Carter's forthright words. "Let's face it. What's he going to see when he sees me? I don't blend into the Kraut crowd like you guys do."
"If he doesn't want you, then I'll be glad he won't want me 'cause I won't work for him," Carter said vehemently. "It wouldn't be safe if you're not with us, and I promised my mom I'd come home in one piece the moment the war's over."
Kinch emitted his command growl. "You're in uniform, bub. If an officer wants you, you're his."
"It wouldn't be safe," the young man protested even more vehemently. "Anyone who doesn't make you his right hand man is stupid, and I'm not making bombs for someone stupid. I don't care if it costs us the war. I won't do it."
Looking at Carter's flushed face, Kinch felt a rekindled glow warming his own heart. His stern features relaxed into a smile. "Well, we'll argue about that if and when we have to."
Carter gripped his sleeve harder. "You're good at arguing, and the Colonel listens to you. Couldn't you argue him into staying with us? I remember all you said to me when I asked his permission to go home to win back my fiancée. Isn't this the same?"
Kinch looked embarrassed. "I wasn't in a good mood that day. I wish you'd forget what I said."
"I can't. Maybe you exaggerated; but I know you meant it. Honest, Kinch. I'm trying as hard as I can to make good."
"Shh! I know that. You improve with every mission." Kinch spoke the words lightly, but sincerely. He gently detached Carter's hand and tucked it under the blanket. "You know that I can't insult Colonel Hogan."
"The Colonel will understand why," Carter said shyly. "I understood why."
Kinch intently studied Carter's earnest face. "Do you, Andrew? Do you know the real reason I took out my irritation on you?"
He had received bad news of his own from home at the time Carter received the 'Dear John' letter from his fiancée. The medical report that had labelled him '4-F' had resurfaced. He had made a joke of it – just another bureaucratic bungle – to deflect awkward questions; but Colonel Hogan had suspected that he was covering up. He had evaded the Colonel's probing, and, aside from informing Fraulein Doktor Falke of his suspicions, the Colonel apparently forgot about it.
Doktor Falke had been anxious about him ever since, but she had agreed to keep what she heard through her stethoscope their secret. Disclosures would be for him to make, at the time he saw fit to make them. He knew she suspected that he did not intend to make them; but that was his business, not hers. Colonel Hogan would send him home and recommend he be discharged if he found proof that he was unfit for combat duty. All he had done, all he had borne, would be worthless if he could not see the fight through.
Satisfied that Carter did not suspect, Kinch shook his head. "The Colonel wants to go home, and I'm not going to stop him. There'll be a smile on my puss, even if Newkirk has to carve it on. And you're going to wear that same smile when he leaves, along with everyone else in this camp."
Carter nodded, aware that Kinch would make the man who disobeyed him feel it. "Don't worry. I'll smile till he's gone. I won't let on to him how miserable I really feel. But what about his replacement? Couldn't we get London to appoint Group Captain Donovan? He's here. He's blown things up, and he knows that I can do my job."
"I'm afraid not," Kinch replied. "London doesn't know about the group captain's excellent qualifications, and I'll wring the neck of anyone who even hints at them. No one is going to kill him for his past as long as I'm alive."
Carter shivered at the fire in his companion's dark eyes. "I won't tell," he said hastily. "I swore it to the Colonel. I'll swear it to you. I don't want the group captain hurt."
Kinch laid his hand on Carter's shoulder. "I know you don't, but I know you'll be tempted to let out his secret. You'll think London will allow him to redeem himself by leading us. Believe me. That won't happen."
He shook his head wearily. "Newkirk could tell you better than I can how the English feel about the Irish terrorists. It's the same as Doktor Falke getting upset at us for creating casualties out of the Krauts, only worse, since Marli's all bark and no bite. Donovan may not have told us his whole story. London may have more on him than we know."
"Cross my heart, I won't tell on him," insisted Carter. "But what's going to happen to us if the Colonel goes?"
"Whenthe Colonel goes. We'll survive, together, like we've always done. Just not in the same way."
Kinch looked at Carter. "Let's take it one change at a time, shall we? Let's help LeBeau throw Colonel Hogan the best farewell dinner that money can buy."
Carter smiled tremulously. "Yeah. That's just what we'll do."
The radio started buzzing. Adjusting his headphones over his ears, Kinch picked up his pencil and rapidly took down the message.
Carter hastily rose and leaned over Kinch's broad shoulder, peering down at the squiggles of the radioman's shorthand. He had seen all sorts of handwriting since he was a student of pharmacy, but Kinch's shorthand was unique: a mixture of the Gregg style, courtesy of the U.S. Army Signal Corps, the Pitman style he learned working with RAF radio operators, some medical shorthand and Latin he picked up from his sister Jessica and from Doktor Falke that he used for his own purposes, and some symbols all his own. Carter felt comforted by the very illegibility of the marks. No one, Allied or Axis, would ever decipher Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe's shorthand. And his good friend Kinch was staying, like Newkirk and LeBeau were staying, with him. He need not be frightened of causing another catastrophe.
Kinch put down his pencil, acknowledged receipt of the message to Goldilocks, and signed off.
Carter waited for him to transcribe the message into a legible form. But when Kinch merely stared down at his paper with a perturbed expression, he began to fidget. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
"You know the Colonel must see it first."
"Yeah, but it's about the Colonel's replacement, isn't it? I could tell that from your face and some of the shorthand." Carter squirmed self-consciously beneath the older man's widening eyes. "I learned shorthand at business college. I wanted to own my own drug store someday, so I thought I should learn how stores were run."
"Business school and a pharmacy degree. I can't get your limits." The awe in his companion's voice made Carter blush.
"Shucks, Kinch. I don't know. It just seemed the logical thing to do."
"It was the logical thing to do." Kinch shook his head, his expression still amazed. "Andrew, you're a bright man. Try to show it more often, ok? Stop selling yourself short."
Carter blushed deeper. "I do my best, you know. It just doesn't always work out."
"Keep trying," Kinch encouraged him. "Maybe I'll be reminded more often that you've got something."
Carter ducked his head. "Sure." He looked up. "About the message. Won't you tell me? We have to work for this new officer. What he's like will affect us, and, well…maybe if I knew what he's like, I'd calm down and do a better job. Didn't London give you any hints?"
Kinch looked down at the paper, rubbing his chin meditatively. "All right, but don't let on to Colonel Hogan I told you first. The guy is an RAF group-captain – 'Colonel' to you and me …"
"Like Group Captain Donovan?"
"Don't interrupt. Yeah. Same rank. London didn't say if he was junior or senior to Colonel Hogan, so I don't know if he outranks Donovan. Well, he won't have any problems with our group captain. We know Donovan would rather take care of the 'upstairs routines' than the downstairs ones."
Kinch glanced at his clipboard again. "The new man's a martial arts expert, and he's gone through commando training." He grimaced. "Looks like we'll learn a lot from this guy. None of us took courses in guerrilla warfare."
"We've got lots of experience." Carter looked shyly at his companion. "Well, you said, 'Don't sell yourself short.'"
Kinch gave a deep laugh. "You're right. We've got the experience and we know the terrain. We'll impress our new boss when he comes."
He looked down at the message again, frowning. "I don't know why I have an uneasy feeling about this officer; but I do. Something tells me he's too good to be true."