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THE PAPA BEAR AWARDS 2014
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The Mission Briefing:
Murphy's Law on Steroids
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"Hello there, chaps. Can I speak with Papa Bear himself, please?"
Kinch wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that voice on the radio, but he knew his duty. "Yes, sir. One moment, please." He pulled off the headphones and jumped up the ladder.
"Colonel," he began as soon as his head appeared over the side of the bunk. "London wants to talk to you." Better not mention that...
"Right." The Colonel put down his cards and followed Kinch down into the tunnel. He picked up the microphone, Kinch switched to the speakers, and Hogan spoke professionally, "Papa Bear here. Go ahead, Mama Bear."
"Hello there, old boy! Everything alright out there?"
Hogan thought he couldn't believe his ears, and glanced at Kinch with his eyebrows raised.
But Kinch merely shrugged.
"Yes, we're fine. But... is this really you, Mama Bear?"
"Of course it is me! How do you like my new job? Jolly good show, eh?"
Hogan groaned. "Alright, what do you want."
"Well, we've got a mighty hot package coming your way. It's scheduled to be dropped at... let me see... Y 23 on Thursday, the seventh of January, 11 p.m. That's tonight," he added helpfully.
Kinch shook his head. "The seventh was Tuesday. It's the ninth today."
"Mama Bear, are you sure it's the seventh?" an already exasperated Hogan inquired. "It's already the ninth today, you know."
"It is?" They heard some rustling – Crittendon was probably turning to look at the calendar. Or at his watch. Or whatever. The bumbling fool... "My, you are right! That Wembley chap really needs to work on his handwriting though. But yes, I suppose it could say 'Tuesday' there instead of 'Thursday'. Oh. Well, then the package is already there. You can just go and pick it up."
"Alright. Let's hope it's still there." Hogan already felt a headache coming on. "Are you sure it's Y 23 then?"
"Let me see... Well, it's definitely a Y. Though it may be a G. Or a J – that's difficult to tell. And the 2 might be a 7 perhaps, and the 3 could also be an 8. Or a 9. Yes – I think that covers it all."
Hogan closed his eyes. "More than enough, yes. Let's hope the Jerries didn't find that package first. What's in it, if I may ask?"
"Of course you may. It's the stuff for the Papa Bear Awards – stories, instructions and all!"
"What?! You mean that stuff is lying out there, for anyone to find? Mama Bear, has it perhaps escaped your notice that our operation is supposed to be classified? Top secret?"
"Of course not, good man. Now you just go out there and pick up the package, and all will be right as rain. Mama Bear over and out."
Hogan slammed down the microphone. "Swell. Just swell!"
"So what do we do?" Kinch asked. "Do you want to risk going out during the day to try and retrieve that package?"
Hogan shook his head. "Too dangerous. Besides, we don't even know exactly where to look."
"But leaving it out there is dangerous, too," Kinch pointed out. "Although I think we may assume that Hochstetter hasn't found it. If he had, he would be here by now."
"Exactly." Hogan frowned in thought. "Kinch, get on the radio. Get all the Hamelburg Underground units you can reach, and tell them to go and look for that package. And tell them that if they find it, they have to hide it, and let us know. Then we'll pick it up after dark."
That afternoon, the woods in the area around the Y section on the map were crawling with people. It wasn't even a good day for a stroll in the woods – it was dark, and gloomy. But they were there, searching for some kind of package – not knowing that the package had long been found...
As usual during the night, two of the dogs went on patrol outside the wire without a guard on leash. That Tuesday night, it had been the turn of Wolfgang and Friedrich to roam the woods outside Stalag 13, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.
"Listen. A plane." Friedrich stopped and pricked his ears, and Wolfgang followed his example.
"It's only one plane. And not a plane with bombs. Those sound heavier," Wolfgang deduced.
"Maybe it's one of those planes that brings Colonel Hogan his food?"
"Perhaps." Wolfgang set off towards the nearest clearing to determine the location of the plane. For if the plane was going to drop something, that meant Colonel Hogan or one of the others of his pack were outside the wire. They'd better keep an eye on them.
"There. They've thrown something out." Friedrich had excellent night vision, and noticed the dark parachute floating down against the dark night sky.
"Then Colonel Hogan cannot be far." Wolfgang sniffed the air. And again.
"I don't smell him," Friedrich said, looking around. "Perhaps they're on the lee side of the wind."
"Let's go and look."
They trotted over in the direction where the parachute would be coming down. But there was no scent of Colonel Hogan, or any other human from his pack.
A dull thump in the sand marked the landing of the package on the parachute nearby. But of Colonel Hogan no scent. They combed out the woods, scanned the entire area, but all they smelled were the scents of the wood and its creatures. No human in scent.
"Maybe we should have a look at that package," Friedrich suggested.
Wolfgang agreed, and together they went back to the sandy patch where the package had come down. It still lay there, out in the open.
They smelled it on all sides. "It smells like the good humans," Wolfgang decided.
"But there is no food in there." Friedrich sounded a bit disappointed.
"And no stuff to blow things up either." Wolfgang frowned. "I think it's just paper."
"Paper?"
"Yes. Remember around this time last year, in the beginning of the winter, there was a drop of lots of stories on paper? Maybe this is the same. Stories."
"Yes. And we won!" Friedrich was still immensely proud. "Do you think there'll be new stories about us in this package?" He tried to open the lid of the crate, but unfortunately, neither his paws nor his teeth were designed for such a task.
"Maybe we should just take the package back to camp. Before someone else finds it," Wolfgang thought.
"How? By rolling it over and over and over?"
"Hm." Wolfgang studied the situation. "You're right, that'd be way too conspicuous. Let's just bury it, like a bone. And then we can show the Colonel where it is as soon as he shows up."
Friedrich agreed, and for a while, the two dogs dug into the sandy ground of the clearing.
"There. That should do." They pushed the crate into the hole, filled it up again, and pulled a large pine branch from the woods to lay on top of it, to hide the obvious signs of something being buried here.
"Now let's get back to camp. I think it's close to roll call – we better not be missed."
The following day however was awfully busy – and so the first ones to learn of the package were the dogs tuned into the evening's twilight barking.
"I'll try and take Schnitzer out to the woods tomorrow," Blümchen barked from the vet's farm. "We should be able to find it."
Schnitzer had been unwilling to go out further than the chestnut tree in the rain that morning, but for some reason, in the afternoon he suddenly wanted to go to the woods himself. Happily, Blümchen danced around him. "Yes, to the woods! We need to go to the woods!"
Unfortunately, Schnitzer insisted on staying on her leash, but Blümchen knew where to go. She easily picked up Wolfgang's and Friedrich's scent, and the buried package was just as easily found.
She pulled at the branch, and Schnitzer helped, too. Yes, it was easy to tell that a dog or two had buried something there. She quickly started digging, but Schnitzer pulled her back.
"What are you doing? We're not digging for bones – we're supposed to look for a package!"
Blümchen barked. "But there is a package here! Just let me dig it up!" She started digging again, and this time, Schnitzer let her. Maybe because within a dig or two, something flat and made of wood came in sight.
"Steady, girl. What have you got there?" Schnitzer knelt down next to her, and tried to help her clear the sand away from the package. There was some material and ropes as well.
"Okay, that's it. Good girl!" Schnitzer complimented her. "I guess Wolfgang found it then on his forays outside the camp, didn't he?"
Blümchen barked her confirmation.
"Right. Then let's close this up again. It's better if Colonel Hogan picks it up himself tonight. Dig, girl!"
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Hogan groaned that night, shovelling another handful of sand away from the marked place. "And all for a bunch of stories?!"
"If you do it like this, it's easier." Carter bent down and started digging like a dog.
But Newkirk pushed him aside. "Who taught you that – Hasenpfeffer?"
"No, the dogs in the kennel actually." Carter kept at it. By now he was the only one who was still digging.
"How deep did those dogs bury that thing anyway?" Kinch asked.
"Maybe we've got the wrong spot," LeBeau helpfully pointed out.
"No, this is what Schnitzer said. Under a large loose pine branch in a sandy clearing at approximately Y 24." Hogan scanned their surroundings for possible danger.
"At least Crittendon got the coordinates right – more or less," was Kinch's opinion.
"There!" Carter cried, and was immediately silenced by Newkirk.
But they all saw it – a piece of dark material was sticking up out of the sand now. Suddenly, everyone pitched in again, and soon they were able to lift not only the parachute, but also the crate attached to it out of the hole.
"There we go. A whole crate full of stories again!" Newkirk dusted off the top and wanted to crack open the lid already.
But the Colonel stopped him. "We take it back to camp first. There we can see what's inside."
And his word was law, so obediently, they all trudged back to camp, taking turns in carrying their pretty heavy treasure.
But upon entering the tunnels...
"Watch it!" LeBeau suddenly called as he was about to climb in after Newkirk.
Too late.
Before Newkirk realized what he had to watch out for, the crate that had slipped from LeBeau's hands already knocked him out.
As LeBeau jumped down the ladder and called for a glass of water to try and revive Newkirk, Kinch and Carter set out to collect all the papers that had scattered from the broken crate.
"You've got to say one thing though," Carter pointed out. "Newkirk really has a hard head!"
"Yeah." Kinch grinned and held up one of the papers in his hand. "Welcome to the Papa Bear Awards!"
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Note: the title Murphy's Law on Steroids comes from Snooky, who used the expression in a recent email exchange. Too good to pass up! I have no idea yet where the story is going, so we'll see what Mr. Murphy throws at the guys...
And of course the characters of the dogs certainly are not mine - that credit goes to both Snooky and Sgt. Moffitt!
