Act Four

Scene One

Chapter 2

After dark, Colonel Robert Hogan and Kommandant Wilhelm Klink walked across the compound to the infirmary. Twenty-two men were still housed in the infirmary, weak from lingering cases of pneumonia and dysentery. In the back, screened from the others, was "Private Philip Wagner", real name Binyamin Weiner.

Hogan had seen Binyamin earlier to fill in the details on the fake personnel folder they were creating on him. Afterwards, Hogan had delivered the file to the Kommandant's office. Klink wasn't in, but Hilda had told Hogan what had happened after Klink returned to his office. Klink had made two calls, one to Berlin and the other to Düsseldorf. Hilda wasn't sure what the calls were about, but she had been surprised and impressed. As far as she could tell, Klink hadn't been servile or pushy. And Klink had won his point on both calls, leaving both Hogan and Hilda curious about them.

Binyamin looked at them as they walked over. Klink pulled up a stool and sat. Hogan leaned against the shuttered window, his arms folded.

Binyamin smiled faintly. "Wilhelm, you are looking well," he said in German.

Klink's smile was less steady. "I wish I could say the same about you."

"The past ten years . . . " A brief smile. "Perhaps a penance for my pampered youth." Then he looked at Hogan. "Colonel," he said in English, "forgive me."

"It's okay; I understand German."

"Danke. Nein . . . No," Binyamin said softly. "If I am Philip Wagner, I must practice English."

Hogan nodded curtly.

After an awkward silence, Klink glanced down at his hands, clasped them and looked at Binyamin. "I saw them shoot you in the head. What happened?"

Binyamin closed his eyes for a moment. "That day . . . Do you remember?"

Klink nodded.

Binyamin glanced at Hogan. "You may not know, Colonel, but Jews were not the first people taken by the Nazis. Gypsies were. There was a place outside the city with hundreds. The Nazis were taking them to concentration camps. Wilhelm and others were taking some away. I was there as a . . . I do not know the word . . . Vermittler . . . "

"Go-between," Klink translated; Hogan nodded.

"That day, a group of women and children had been taken out; Wilhelm left a few minutes later. I started to go the other way when I saw the SS. I could have hidden, but they would have found Wilhelm. It had not been enough time for him to leave. I," he shrugged, "let them see me."

Klink winced, but stayed silent.

"I struggled and they were not happy. I was put with six others who were trouble. On the road outside the camp, an SS officer shot each in the head.

"I was riding by on a bicycle when it happened," Klink said quietly. "The SS had stopped traffic so others could see what happened to troublemakers."

"I know," Binyamin said softly. "I saw you. I did not want you to see, but someone would know what happened to me. Your face was the last I saw when the bullet entered my head. I . . . died." A faint smile. "Or so they thought.

"I wake in bodies to be buried. I felt no pain. I heard soldiers talking. I must have moved because I was seen. The officer in charge came over. As he looked at me, my eyes opened and looked into his. A sergeant came over and gave him a paper. He looked at it and shouted. He received the promotion and the place he wanted. I knew he was ready to shoot me. But the new Hauptsturmführer Danziger was very superstitious; many SS are. He was convinced I was, how do I say, good luck?"

Klink nodded.

"Danziger took me to a doctor. The bullet entered my head and left the other side and did no damage to my brain. God kept me alive. Why, I do not know. Danziger has kept me as a servant. Since that time, we have gone to many places. Each was better than the last, and his career was good. But the past months, his sins caught him. I was no longer good luck. I was only a Jew lucky to be alive. Danziger is in charge of moving slave labor from subcamps in Düsseldorf. We were to go to a train station in the east to join others on the way to concentration camps. Or killed. God was with me. I escaped and I ran until I could run no more. Your men found me. And," he smiled, "here I am."

Klink was silent, staring at his hands. Then his head rose. "Why didn't you get a message to me? I could have . . . "

Binyamin was shaking his head. "Nein. You were a new lieutenant colonel. Why should you care about untermenschen(1), a worthless rabbinical student? You would be under suspicion or you would be imprisoned. I would not take the risk."

"There were ways . . . "

"Perhaps now. Then . . . " He shook his head. "You were too important to risk."

Klink winced.

Binyamin smiled. "Even in the camps, there were whispers. You succeeded more than we ever hoped."

"Not enough."

"No one can do everything. You did more than most. At a cost."

"Others paid more."

Binyamin nodded. "And others paid nothing. There is nothing to blame yourself."

Klink shook his head sadly. "You are tired; rest now."

A hesitation. "Wilhelm, I must ask . . . "

"Anything."

"The men with me — "

"I will see what I can do."

Binyamin shook his head. "Nein, their fates are decided. But tomorrow, there will be two trucks with women and children. They also go to concentration camps. Sixty lives are not many, but . . . "

"I will take care of them."

Binyamin smiled. "Danke, Wilhelm."

"Rest, Binyamin." Klink's hand lay lightly on Binyamin's.

Binyamin nodded. "Now, I think I can. Gute Nacht, Wilhelm." With a sigh, his eyes closed.

Klink stood. He and Hogan stepped away from the cot, back near the partially opened supply room door.

"Two trucks," Klink said. "With SS escort."

"A problem," Hogan said "In daylight . . . "

"It will not be daylight. After this morning, I complained. As you Americans put it, I laid it on a bit thick — the effect on the prisoners, the lack of guards, the overcrowded conditions . . . "

Hogan smiled. "Made it sound like there's gonna be a riot."

Klink nodded. "The officer I talked to was most helpful. He assured me there would be no more daylight trips." A pause. "Pity the underground didn't get around to the Adolf Hitler Bridge again. With the bridge gone, there would be no reason for anyone to come this way."

Hogan grinned. "Yeah, a pity."

Klink smiled faintly. "I'll leave it in your capable hands."

"You're all heart, Kommandant."

"I'll try to get you some information later."

Hogan nodded.

"Then, good night, Colonel Hogan."

"Good night, Kommandant."

Klink nodded and left.

Hogan leaned back against the wall, cap pushed down over his eyes, arms folded.

Two trucks. Sixty passengers — and what the hell do we do with them? A problem for later. But right now . . .

Two men in the cabs, maybe a motorcycle escort. Maybe a couple of guards in the backs of the trucks. Ten? But taking them out needed to be bloodless. We'll need more than five men. Twenty would be a good number — men who spoke German or at least understood it. Miller — he could use the field experience. The Mulcahy(2) twins — big, strapping boys, they were pretty good in silent hand- to-hand. Maybe —

Hogan's eyes snapped open; the door beside him was squeaking open. Two men poked their heads around the door and found themselves staring at Hogan.

"How long have you guys been in there?" Hogan demanded.

Morrison gulped. "An hour or so, Colonel."

"An hour? So you heard every word . . . "

Morrison and Bellini nodded.

"Fine," Hogan snapped. "You two just volunteered for the mission."

He jammed the cap on his head and left.

The next twenty-four hours were among the busiest and most hectic of Hogan's stay at Stalag 13. He'd spent a sleepless night deciding who to take and what to do. Klink's only input into his planning was a note delivered by Schultz. Klink had learned that the trucks and their SS escort, possibly a dozen men, including motorcycles, should be reaching the Adolf Hitler Bridge about midnight.

Finally, Hogan knew what he was going to do.

...

There were twenty-seven men in the tunnels, listening. Hogan, his team, their "outside" man, Sergeant Glenn Olsen(3), and their underground contact, Max Fleischer(4), were gathered around the map; the others were scattered around.

"Okay," Hogan said, "we've got two objectives — the bridge and the convoy. The bridge will be the least of our worries. Kinch, Max, you'll take care of the bridge. Max, you'll need about five or six men to plant the charges."

"Not a problem, Colonel."

"Good. Now, it gets tricky. You're gonna blow the bridge either after we all get back across it after stopping the convoy, or one hour after we engage the convoy. We'll get word to you when the convoy is spotted. Kinch," his eyes met the other man's, "I mean exactly one hour. No delays for any reason. If it takes longer than an hour, we're probably in trouble."

Kinch nodded soberly.

"Baker," Hogan continued, "you and a couple of men will be our lookouts. You'll be stationed, here," his finger jabbed the map, "about a mile from our location. Your job is to let us know when the convoy passes you and how many men they've got. After they pass, you'll block the road to prevent any surprises. And to stop anyone who might get by the rest of us. We can't have anyone getting away until we want them to."

"Right, Colonel."

"That leaves the rest of us. Now, here's the delicate part. We don't want any violence — no shooting unless there's no other choice. And we can't have them shooting either. We don't want the women and kids, or us, getting hit. Right?"

The listening men nodded.

"But," asked LeBeau, "how do we get them not to shoot?"

"We ask them?" Carter suggested, attracting a number of disbelieving looks.

Hogan smiled. "Not quite. We give them a stake in not shooting. By making them think that if they do they'll wind up dead. Carter, I want you and your gang of happy saboteurs to put together a couple of dozen mines."

"I don't have enough explosives, Colonel," Carter said. "Not if we have to blow the bridge."

"Not a problem." A wide smile now. "All you need is a couple of real mines that make a lot of noise. The rest can be dummies."

"I get it," Newkirk said with a grin. "We'll blow one up and make 'em think the others will blow as well."

"Right. Well, Carter?"

"That I can do, boy! Uh, sir," Carter agreed. "Make a couple really loud and messy . . . Yessir, no problem."

"Olsen, you're going to be a Wehrmacht lieutenant. Those men not on the bridge or lookout will be part of a work party, Wehrmacht men. Newkirk, that means you need to scrounge up about twenty uniforms, including a lieutenant and a captain."

Newkirk rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The officers, we have. But twenty others . . . "

"They just have to look the part. In the dark."

"I guess we can take bits and pieces from some of the others, like the Luftwaffe ones. I'll get some of the boys to 'elp out. Not a problem, Colonel."

"Okay. Olsen, you're the lieutenant in charge. You'll be there with a nice, conspicuous 'Halt' sign. You're supervising a Wehrmacht detail that's mining the roads."

"Won't that raise suspicion, Colonel?" Olsen asked.

Hogan shook his head. "Roads are being mined by the retreating German armies."

"But there's no war around here," LeBeau said.

"It's a precaution. Ordered by Abwehr. They may not like it, but it's a real enough explanation. The rest of you men," Hogan looked at the others listening in, "will be digging holes along the road with some of the fake mines beside you. Then, Carter, you 'accidentally' set off one of the mines. That should convince them that shooting might be a bit dangerous."

"Are we all going to be armed, Colonel?" Miller asked.

Hogan nodded. "Just in case, yes."

Kinch frowned. "All of us?"

Hogan nodded.

"We don't have enough weapons, Colonel," Kinch said.

"I know."

"I suppose we could take them from Klink's armory," Baker said.

Hogan shook his head. "Nope, there's a better source. Remember those supplies that Hochstetter hid around here last year?"(5)

Most of the men nodded.

"We never did dig them all up. I checked the map we stole from Hochstetter; one of those cases is a cache of weapons, small arms. Olsen, you and Max pick them up on your way back tonight. I'll give you the coordinates before you leave."

"Yes, sir."

"If everything goes as planned, we won't need the guns, other than for show. Remember, we don't want any shooting.

"Kinch, the truck in operating order? Except for the parts we took out."

Kinch grinned. "Yes, sir."

Hogan smiled as well. Their transport — a truck they had liberated months ago from the camp's motor pool — was waiting in a shed in the woods. Of course, it had a few parts missing so it couldn't be driven if someone else stumbled across it.

Hogan looked at the men gathered around him. The Mulcahy twins, Morrison, Bellini, Miller, Wainwright, Martinez, Spinoza, MacKay, Keegan, and the rest. Yeah, they could all handle themselves in a fight if they had to. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, but he wasn't going to bet on it.

"Okay," Hogan said, tossing his pencil on the table. "That's it for now. Everyone back here right after evening roll call. And, fellas, keep a low profile up top. We don't want any unexpected problems. Dismissed."

Hogan drew Olsen and Max apart as the other men started to leave. He gave them the directions to the cache. They nodded and left.

Soon the room was nearly empty. Carter and his explosives team were off in a sheltered room making the mines. Newkirk and LeBeau were going over their supply of German uniforms.

Hogan settled back in his chair, and tipped his hat over his forehead. Now came the hard part — waiting.


1 Untermenschen — subhuman. Nazis considered Jews, Gypsies, Slavs, Poles and others subhuman, fit only for slave labor, otherwise expendable.

2 Mel Hughes: Dress Rehearsal, used with permission

3 "The Informer"

4 The grocer in "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?"

5 "It's Dynamite"