A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the great reviews! I was so excited to see such a great response to this story. Thanks ColHogan and Jake Crepeau, I didn't get to respond to your reviews but hopefully next time I'll be able to, and especially to L J Groundwater for letting me use Joe in this story :)
It's still unbetaed, but if anyone has advice or suggestions for me please let me know since I'm always trying to improve my writing and I don't mind pulling down chapters o make corrections.
Discalimer: They're still not mine, too bad.
Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior Prisoner of War Officer of Luft-Stalag 13, leaned against the corner of Barracks 2 surveying the scene before him and smiled with complete satisfaction. The compound of Stalag 13 hummed with activity as prisoners busied themselves with seemingly innocent tasks around the barracks. The Allied prisoners, now that the war was over for them, set their minds and efforts to the wholesome tasks of gardening, basket weaving, and other harmless arts and crafts as well as the necessary maintenance of the barracks and grounds. However, these activities were only innocent to the idle spectator, to those not admitted to the exclusive Stalag 13 "country club" as Colonel Hogan sometimes put it. To Hogan, the scene displayed a strong effort against the Nazi war effort, another front opening in the heart of the Thousand Year Reich without their captors even realizing it. Gardeners hid dirt from tunnels, maintenance crews built in hidden doors and access panels to barracks and other buildings in camp as well as installing microphones at vital points. He wasn't sure what he would have the basket weavers do, other than acting as a smoke screen for the other clandestine operations, but he was sure that he'd come up with some more eventually. In short, Stalag 13 was receiving an over-haul for escape, an underground railroad for those fleeing the Nazi regime.
Satisfied plans were proceeding smoothly, Hogan turned to head back into Barracks 2, planning on reviewing the ongoing list of items needing attention. The operation was still in its infancy. As of yet, they had only helped downed allied fliers, but Hogan saw a possibility to help anyone seeking a way out, as well as doing active damage to Hitler's 3rd Reich. Though they had helped quite a few fliers and even tried their hand at some minor espionage, there was still much room for improvement. Robert Hogan was determined to get those improvements finished before something big came along. He, for one, wanted to get home alive and he wanted his men home alive as well. For that to happen they needed to be better than good, they needed to be the best.
The officer glanced around the cramp interior of Barracks 2 as he passed to his own room. No one was there but he had no doubt wherever his men where they weren't wasting their time. There was too much work to do to be sitting around the barracks idle and bored. He headed into his office and quarters, careful to keep his eyes off his bunk and his mind away from any thoughts of a short nap, despite a low headache thrumming its way through the back of his skull. A group of escapees from Stalag 6 had passed through last night killing his first chance at a decent night's sleep in a week. Hogan smothered a yawn that suddenly made its appearance, clapping a hand over his mouth. He wasn't the only one up all night trying to get the unexpected arrivals out as quickly as possible, so there wasn't any reason for him to go lying down on the job while his men were still out working, however good the lumpy and thin mattress looked on his bed. Hogan shook his head in annoyance at himself and pulled out a map of their burgeoning tunnel system, careful to keep it out of site from the window.
Over the past couple of months they had managed to carve out an elaborate system of tunnels traversing the entire compound of the camp as well as outside the wire. They had tunnels going to over half the barracks and storage sheds in the compound with plans for even more as the need arose. Now, with the underground bringing in supports and wood to shore up walls they could start digging passages to the rest of the barracks as well as widening out areas for storage.
Hogan was reviewing their progress when a knock came to his door, three slow taps indicating it was one of his men and they were alone.
"Come in," Hogan called as he folded the map and placed it out of site just in case. He glanced up just as Sgt. James Kinchloe came into the room.
"Message from London, Colonel," Kinchloe said as he handed a scrap of blue note paper to Hogan.
Hogan took the paper with a, "Thanks Kinch," and scanned the message before reading it again out loud. "Sending in new member. Arriving within the week. Recognition code: I'm coming down with blue moon fever. Answer: I can help, open your mouth and say AH."
Hogan stared at the note for a moment. "'Blue moon fever'?" he repeated, half to himself, "Sounds like a bad love song. We need a new code writer."
Kinch shrugged smiling at the sometimes ridiculous codes London was always giving to them, "Guess they don't want anyone to say it by accident."
"Well, they don't have to worry about that with the codes they've been sending us," Hogan replied with a smirk, "They give any other details about this new man they're sending in?"
"No sir," Kinch shook his head, "just that and that the time of pick up would be latter this week."
"And what are we supposed to do with him once he gets here?" Hogan shook his head. How were they supposed to smuggle in a new man and come up with an excuse to keep him in camp?
"They said we'd find a use for him," Kinch said with a shrug.
Hogan stifled the urge to mutter under his breath. Things were going too smoothly anyway, he thought to himself, Heaven forbid we should get bored. He turned back to the rest of the note, noticing the second part of the message continued on the bottom of the page. "'Supply drop scheduled week following arrival new member.' Well, I guess new supplies are always a good thing. We'll have to start in on some of those storage areas in the tunnel system so we have a place to put the stuff. Did they at least mention what supplies they were sending us?"
Kinch shook his head, "No sir, They didn't give an exact date for the drop either, it'll probably depend on the weather that week." Kinch watched the commander as he tapped the edge of the scrap of blue paper against one finger. "Why don't you take a nap, sir, you look like you could use it."
Hogan flashed a glance and a smile at his second in command. "I could probably use forty naps," he laughed, putting on a joking smile, "But those'll wait until tonight. Get in touch with the underground, let them know we're going to be expecting someone latter this week. We'll probably need their help canvassing the drop zone so we pick this guy up before any patrols do." He reached over and pulled out the tunnel diagram, refolding it and placing it back in its secure hiding place.
"Right, sir." Kinch threw a quick salute before stepping out of the office.
Hogan turned back to the list he had written out of the next dozen most-important-things needed to be done. It didn't even begin to scratch the surface of the work that lay ahead and it seemed to be growing with every second. With a small shake of his head, he added their newest assignment from London to the top of the priorities. Even if the message was vague there still were some things that could be done to prepare for their new arrival, and for now it would have to do.
********
Wilson had a horrible sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the fall. it started the moment he stepped out of the plane despite the gentle drift of his parachute as the realization hit home that he couldn't simply turn around and climb back into the plane. He was committed, savoring the last few moments in a space at least partially controlled by the allies. The black earth below belonged to Germany and contained all the hostility and danger that he'd come to associate with the distant horizon the bombers flew over in their runs. Only this time it wasn't some distant place across the horizon; it was the ground directly below him where he'd soon be standing.
The dark mass loomed closer with each passing minute and Wilson desperately jerked his thoughts back from the plane quickly continuing on its way over head and on the immediate problem at hand: where was he going to land? He could make out some details about the terrain he was headed for, a patchwork of trees and fields. Squinting in the darkness, there seemed to be a town off to his right but with the lack of visible lights across the landscape he couldn't be sure. Air blew over his face, sharp and cool, whistling in his ears as he drifted closer to the ground. In the distance, he could hear the sporadic pounding of Ack-Ack guns as the bomb group headed back to England having dropped both their eggs and extra cargo in the generally correct areas.
Wilson spared a last look toward the departing formation, watching the occasional flashes of light in the sky and on the ground. He thought he'd only spared a moment but when he turned back to the ground he found the solid darkness quickly approaching with more speed than he'd realized.
"Shit," Wilson cursed under his breath as he braced himself for the hard impact coming a second latter.
The collision jolted through him a his feet hit the ground, his body absorbing the impact like they had trained him. Wilson rolled back to his feet, struggling out of his harness, the momentary panic of seeing the ground so close bringing him back from his reverie. Looking around, he gathered his parachute and thought of the next step with a desperation born from the realization of just how dark and empty and quiet the night was around him. Then came the thought of how quickly that dark, quiet, and empty night could be filled with search lights and soldiers.
First, he had to get to cover, find a place to stash the chute, and stay out of sight of any passing patrols. Wilson looked around, noting the field dotted with haystacks and the forest not too far away. There was no way to tell exactly where he was from the generic setting he'd landed in, though Wilson knew he was somewhere close to the city of Hammelberg. He also knew the Hammelberg underground should have been expecting him and so at that moment they should be closing in on his position to pick him up, that was if things went according to plan. The thought did not give Wilson much reassurance as he recalled the many times thing did not go according to plan during this war, but he pushed it from his mind. "Jump off that bridge when I get to it.." he muttered to himself as he neared the tree line.
The night was dark but enough moonlight filtered through the growing cloud cover that Wilson could still make out the area with surprising detail. He reached the trees and paused just long enough to check behind and see if anyone was watching. As a second thought he jogged back to the nearest haystack, burying it deep in the drying hay. Then, he turned without a backward glance and headed back into the forest. He didn't have a specific direction to go, just away from the field at least to make it more difficult for any soldiers to find him.
A few minutes into Wilson's jog through the forest, the medic found a downed and hollowed out tree. It seemed like as good as any place to hide and wait for his pick-up, so Wilson got down and wedged himself as far into the dried and decaying wood as possible, trying to forget the thought of bugs working their way down his collar and under his clothes.
Now that he was here, in the relative safety of cover, whether real or imagined, Wilson realized he had no idea what he was going to do next. He assumed the resistance would find him and when they did they would have further instructions. If the resistance couldn't find him where he lay hidden he had no idea how to proceed. He could go out and try to find them, but that lead to a greater opportunity for capture by a patrol, an option he didn't even want to think about at the moment.
Still, Wilson reflected, he had no useful information on how to contact the underground if they couldn't find him in the woods. All he had was a series of code phrases to recognize the agent he was going to be working with in the area. Though it wouldn't help him any he silently mouth the two phrases to himself again as a sudden irrational fear that he would forget the simple code and thereby blow everything gripped his stomach. "I'm coming down with blue moon fever. I can help, open your mouth and say AH." He wasn't even supposed to be the one who initially started the code. He was just supposed to respond when someone spoke that first code phrase to him.
"Blue moon fever," Wilson muttered low, under his breath. It sounded like a bad love song. "Open your mouth and say AH," he repeated with even more disgust. As a kid, spy novels always managed to sound so exciting with the need for code names and recognitions, but these just seemed undignified.
Wilson shook his head, pushing back a frustrated sigh. He understood the reasons why they hadn't told anything about the underground or the group he was supposed to eventually meet up with, but his own powerlessness still grated on his nerves especially since at no time on the base had capture seemed this likely. There was nothing left to do but sit back and wait. Wilson hated waiting, a problem since many times in the medical field that was a person could do, sit back and wait to see how a patient progresses, but didn't make it any easier. Even now, a part of him itched to go out and find his pick up and a completely separate part of him said staying put until they found him would be the best course to take.
As the night drew on, Wilson could feel the warmth seeping out of him and into the hollowed out log. It was too mild a night to worry about hypothermia, but the sudden chill did nothing for the increasing discomfort of his position or his restlessness to get moving. He couldn't tell what time it was since he couldn't read his watch in the darkness. It felt like hours had dragged by, but, after reflecting for a moment, Wilson reasoned it might only have been twenty or thirty minutes. Still, from the stiffness settling into his joints and the dampness soaking into his clothes, it felt like hours and often times perception was reality.
The woods around him sounded quiet enough, almost too quiet as the stillness seemed to grow thicker than the deepening darkness that grew in the woods. Unable to stand it anymore and ignoring the voice in the back of his head saying it was a very bad idea, Wilson shifted his position to poke his head out from his sheltered position. If possible, the night seemed almost darker than the shadows inside the log thanks to the clouds that had rolled in blocking out the rest of the filtering moonlight.
Maybe one quick look…Wilson said to himself, still torn by the desire to do something more than just sit and wait and the nagging voice of caution telling him he was about to something very stupid. With only a brief hesitation, he clamped down on any doubts and uncurled himself from his position in the log. Wilson could feel the creaking and popping in his stiff joints as he quickly worked out some of the kinks in his knees. He'd take just one look around the area and then get back in his cover.
Wilson crept from on tree to another, looking for any sign of his pickup. Minutes dragged by and still nothing. Maybe he had moved too far from his drop zone, thought occurred to him as Wilson once again acknowledged the fact that he really didn't know what he was doing in that situation. He turned to head back to the log only to stop short at the rifle barrel pointed at his chest and then the German uniform standing directly behind the gun barrel.
They stood there for a moment, as if neither one knew quite what to do. Then Wilson realized the face behind the gun and the uniform was actually quite young and probably just as scared as he was at the moment. Unfortunately, before he could take any advantage of the fact, the soldier had called his friends and Wilson found himself surrounded by the rest of the patrol. This time he didn't have to look twice at the multiple weapons point at him before he slowly lifted his hands above his head with a muttered curse. So much for his first debut as a spy.
***********
So tell me what you think! I thrive on constructive criticism and poking always makes me write faster :)