Act Four
Scene Two
Chapter 2
In London, Hogan's message was passed to Brigadier General Cameron Forbes(1) who grinned as he read it. So, that idiot Klink decided to give up. He'd bet Hogan was happy about that.
The message went to Forbes's superior, Major General J. J. Gaines. Stalag 13. He grunted in acknowledgement. He was under orders to route messages he received about that particular stalag to a certain high-level office.
The message reached that office.
"So, he decided to do it after all," said the sober looking man in a three-star general's uniform.
"Once he made sure the camp was safe, he probably figured it was time to let go," said his aide, a harried captain. "
"I suppose. I wonder if he'll stay," Lieutenant General Edward Edmondson said in a distracted voice. "Oh well, I guess he'll let us know soon enough."
"What do we do about the camp, sir?" Captain Elliot Mason asked. "Keep Hogan and his men in charge?"
Edmondson smiled. "I don't think Hogan knows much about running a camp or a town. His skills lie in other directions."
"True, sir. But he'd have help."
"What if he decides to leave and takes Hogan with him? Not to mention that camp is smack dab in the middle of Model's 300,000-man army group. Hogan's a flyer, not admin or staff." He swiveled his chair around to face a map of Germany. "No. Have G-1 appoint an administrator for the camp and the area. Let Gaines know. And make sure they route the name up to me, will you? Sometimes, G-1 forgets to let me know what's going on."
Mason grinned. "Yes, sir."
Still smiling, he left to make the call.
...
General Gaines grunted as he hung up the telephone and glanced at his watch. Late again. Well, couldn't be helped. He picked up the phone.
"Get me G-1, Acker . . . Yes, I know what time it is," he said irritably. "There's bound to be someone there. Let them do some work for a change instead of sleeping . . . Yes, I'll hold."
Captain Martin Ricks was talking quietly on the telephone in the otherwise empty office.
"Look, Frank, you've got to lay low. And tell the others as well . . . I know you think it's a big joke," he said with some anger. "But I've seen the complaints . . . Yeah, I lifted them . . . No, you're not, damnit! . . . Okay, sorry, Frank. But I don't think it'll blow over. Not this time . . . Look, Frank . . . Okay, okay . . . Yeah . . . Talk to you later."
He hung up the phone. "Not if I can help it," he muttered beneath his breath. What a mess he'd gotten himself into. If anyone ever found out . . .
The telephone rang. For a moment, he was tempted not to answer it. But he was already in deep with the CO.
"Personnel," he said. "Captain Ricks here . . . General Gaines. A pleasure, sir. What can I do for you?" he said in his most obliging voice. "An administrator and staff? May I ask for what, sir? . . . A POW camp in the middle of Germany?" he managed to choke out. "That's highly unusual, sir . . . Yes, sir, I understand, sir." He didn't, but whatever the brass wanted . . .
Then it hit him, and he smiled. "I think I have just the man you want, sir. Colonel Francis Randall. He was in charge of a similar area in North Africa and also did a stint in France . . . Yes, sir. Very experienced . . . Yes, sir, I'll get the paperwork together and have it in your office tomorrow morning . . . Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He hung up with a smile still on his face. Yeah, that'll work. It'll get Frank out of England, away from any nosy investigators. And it'll get him out of my hair. Who knows, maybe the krauts'll get efficient and invade the area. A dead Frank Randall would be good for me too.
...
Hogan, to the annoyance of his men, talked to the captains alone.
"Then we're agreed?" Hogan asked them.
"Agreed, sir," Witton said. "Since Klink's men know how to run the camp, we keep them in place under our supervision."
Martin nodded. "Seems to be the most practical thing to do."
Hogan straightened up. "Okay, gentlemen, if there are no more questions, I'll say good night."
"Good nights" echoed from the men as they left the room.
Witton was the last. "For someone who just had the camp handed to him, you don't look too happy, Colonel."
A wry smile. "Odd, isn't it. I'd been looking forward to this since the day I got here. Now . . . " He shrugged.
"It had to come, Colonel. Everyone knew it."
"Yeah. I guess part of it is I don't know what London's going to do."
Hogan found out the next day. And he couldn't say he was happy about it. He sighed as he signed off the radio.
"I don't believe they're doing that," Baker said quietly.
Hogan shrugged. "What do we know about running a camp? They have to give the guys in admin something to do. Well, get everyone down here. Might as well tell them the good news."
...
"Klink's surrendering?" Newkirk said incredulously.
"Yup," Hogan said. "Tomorrow morning at nine."
Kinch grinned. "That's the best news I've heard in years."
"It sure is," Carter said enthusiastically. "That means it's almost over, doesn't it?"
"Well, for us," Hogan said dryly. "For the rest of the war, there's still a way to go."
"And the town is surrendering as well?" LeBeau asked.
"Right after Klink does."
"That's the good news, sir," Kinch said. "So what's the bad news?"
"The bad news," Hogan said, "is that London is sending an administrator for the area and the camp."
"You'll still be in charge, right, sir?" Newkirk said.
Hogan shook his head. "I'm afraid not."
"They can't do that!" Carter exclaimed. "This is our camp; we should be in charge."
"Well, they're doing it," Hogan said. "And they've got a point. What do we know about running a camp? And a town?"
"We could learn," LeBeau said.
Hogan shook his head. "It's too late for that. He'll be here on the tenth. Colonel Francis Randall and his staff."
...
Colonel Francis Randall saluted General J. J. Gaines smartly.
Too smartly, thoughtGaines. Just a bit too smartly. And how do you fault a man for that?
"Have a seat, Randall," Gaines said, not at all sure he approved of the officer G-1 assigned to the post. Randall's security clearance was a lot lower than he'd expected, which meant that Hogan would have to decide what to tell Randall about his operation.
"Thank you, sir," Randall said. He took off his cap and sat down, the cap balancing on his knee.
Gaines picked up a folder and gave it to Randall. "I understand you've been wanting to get out of England, Randall. Well, you've got your chance."
"Sir?" Randall took the folder and opened it.
Gaines sat down and leaned back in his chair. "There's a Luftwaffe POW camp that's surrendering to its senior POW officer. To give it its proper name, Stalag Luft 13 is surrendering. It's one of the smallest camps the Germans have, east of Düsseldorf."
"Düsseldorf?" Randall's brows lifted. "I didn't know we'd taken Düsseldorf."
"We haven't. And probably won't for awhile; Model's Army Group B is all around it."
"But — ?"
Gaines raised a hand. "I don't know why the camp's surrendering, Randall. But it is. Along with the town nearest the camp." A frosty smile. "I suppose they can see what's coming and decided to spare themselves the trouble of being fought over. Not that there's much to fight over. The town was nearly destroyed by a fire not that long ago. At any rate, the camp and the town are surrendering. And that's where you come in."
"Me, sir?"
Gaines nodded. "We want you to assemble a staff capable of sustaining the camp for several months. The airfield nearest the camp is a mess thanks to Underground activity so we can't get a plane in or out. And that's assuming we'd want to try, given its location. Which means those men will be stuck there for some time. You'll be taken there with three C-47's and a fighter escort. You and your staff will parachute in, along with a couple of jeeps and tons of supplies, mainly food and clothing.
"Stalag 13 has some twenty-five hundred men. A dozen officers with a Colonel Robert Hogan as the senior POW. The rest are noncoms and enlisted men. It's a mixed nationality camp, with men from nearly all the Allied nations in there, primarily airmen. Since it is behind the lines, we need you to secure the area for us. That means getting those men, a good many of whom have been there for years, into some sort of fighting shape."
"Fighting shape, sir?"
Gaines smiled thinly. "We're not thinking of having those men go on the offensive and we don't anticipate any threats to the area. The natural terrain around it is rugged with limited road and bridge access. And just over a week ago, the last western access and the roads to the east were destroyed or blocked. So it's completely isolated from the Germans and us. But it would be nice to have an area we can count on if we needed it. A kind of back door inside Model's army."
"I'll make certain they get into shape, General."
Gaines nodded.
"I do have a question, sir. The senior POW is a colonel?"
Gaines nodded again. "Technically, he's senior to you. But you'll be the one in charge. Everything you need to know," everything we're going to tell you, "is in that folder. Hogan's a good man, a bit of a maverick. And a survivor. He can fill in the blanks for you, Randall. And help with the town. He's made quite a few contacts with the locals; the area's been a hotbed of Resistance activity over the past three years."
"I see," Randall said.
"Well, that's it, Randall. You'll have room for twenty-eight men on one of the C-47's.(2) You have a free hand in picking the men, as long as someone higher up doesn't want the same fellow. The catch is you'll be leaving on the tenth at 0400."
Randall frowned. "That's not much time, sir."
"No, it's not."
"Then I'd better get to it, sir." Randall stood. A smart salute. "Thank you."
Gaines saluted as well. "Don't thank me, Randall," he muttered as Randall left. "It wasn't my idea."
Then again, maybe he was just being a pessimist. Randall did have the necessary experience. And there wasn't time to go looking for someone else. Oh well, once Hogan filled him in on what had been going on there, Randall will probably loosen up a bit.
...
Randall was reading the folder as he walked out of the building.
A stocky major joined him. "Anything good, Frank?"
A feral grin. "We hit pay dirt, Jimmy. I just got handed a POW camp and town right smack dab in the middle of Germany."
"Huh?"
"A gold mine, Jimmy."
"A POW camp? What kind of a gold mine is that?"
"You're forgetting the town."
"Look, Frank — "
"They gave me my own ticket, Jimmy. An isolated area. No brass looking over my shoulder or able to drop in unexpectedly. No inspectors sticking their noses where they don't belong. And tons of supplies to take into the area."
That shut Jimmy up. "Which means — "
"Which means I make the rules. How many of the old gang can we get in the next twenty-four hours, Jimmy?"
"Maybe fifteen."
"Then get going, Jimmy. This is the one we've been waiting for."
...
As news of the capture of Cologne by Hodges' First Army circulated throughout the camp, the guards, one by one, talked to Klink and Gruber. Succinctly, Klink told them he was surrendering the camp to Hogan the next day and each man could choose whether he wanted to stay or not. Those men who wanted to leave could do so at eight o'clock on the morning of the seventh. Klink would give them orders to go to any part of Germany they wished.
After the last man left, Klink stood and walked to the window. His eyes swept the compound. Not counting Gruber, Schultz and Langenscheidt, there were one hundred and thirty-one guards in the camp and two thousand five hundred and thirty-four prisoners. He'd spent nearly five years of his life in this camp. In many respects, the best years of his life and definitely the worst years of his life. Now, it would soon be over. And his life would be turned upside down. Shortly, he would be the prisoner.
But he didn't have to be. He could leave.
Leave and do what? If he left, it wouldn't be as Wilhelm Klink, Luftwaffe colonel. He would not take the risk of venturing away from the area as himself. No, if he left, he would leave as the Stage. A man without a past or a future. And his present would be filled with hiding from the Gestapo and SS, living in the open or in primitive conditions, moving constantly, trying to evade the armies battling around him.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was almost fifty years old, next month in fact. And tired. A tired Stage was no good to anyone, especially himself. If he were not so tired, he might consider leaving. But not now. The war was nearly over. He could direct his operations as he always had via the radio. Hogan wouldn't object.
He was tired. Otherwise, he would have remembered that Hogan might not remain in charge.
1 Forbes was a colonel in "Easy Come, Easy Go".
2 Planes during the 1940's were small. The unarmed C-47, commercially known as the DC-3, carried a maximum of 28 passengers, less if used as an ambulance. When used as a glider with the engines removed, it held up to 40. The C-46 could hold up to 50. No plane, civilian or military, carried more. Still flying today, the plane was used in every major campaign of the war to deliver supplies and troops.