Chapter 2
He could feel their eyes on him, hard, unbelieving, calculating. He walked tall, carrying himself almost as stiffly as a German would. He had an image to maintain, after all; he would not disgrace his uniform. And for this day of days, he had been allowed to wear the uniform of his own country, even though the decorations he'd earned were British ones. It was as a Colonel of the United States Army Air Corps that he stood before his victorious enemies today: his judges, and no doubt soon-to-be executioners.
It had taken them four days to go over the evidence, and his neatly typed confession---all 153 pages of it, single-spaced. Throughout, the audience in the gallery couldn't seem to believe that the infamous PAPA BEAR had actually been captured alive and now stood trial before them.
Hogan had to give his defense officer credit: The man had tried, but, in the face of that confession… There could be little doubt as to the truth of it. All events had been checked against known acts of sabotage and had agreed precisely. The incidents of espionage had been harder to verify, but those, too, had been ultimately confirmed. There could be little doubt about the court's findings.
«Colonel Hogan, you will rise, » the bailiff announced.
He took a deep breath and complied, standing as close to attention as his manacled wrists would allow. Here it comes, he thought, fighting to hide all emotion as he waited.
«This military Tribunal has heard all the presented Evidence, Colonel. How do you plead? »
Five men, generals of the highest rank, sat glaring at him with cold eyes. He was surprised to see that General Mannheim was not one of them, but, then again, he'd been the one who'd caught him. Wouldn't have been fair…
«Guilty as charged, sir,» he responded in fluent German, his accent perfect. These were the first words he'd spoken since refusing the services of an interpreter at the start of the first day of hearings.
«Colonel,» one of the generals protested, surprised by this response. «You will not get a lighter Sentence…»
«I understand, Herr General,» Hogan answered respectfully. «I can plead nothing else, for this is the Truth. I have done, and did order my Men to do, all that I have been accused of doing. Those were my Orders, and I obeyed them to the best of my Ability. I must admit to them, for I am under Oath here and will not be forsworn. »
«I see,» the general said, and a wintry smile crossed his face momentarily. «At least no one can accuse you of trying to delay these Proceedings with useless Protestations of Innocence.» A small ripple of laughter passed down the bench, but it died quickly.
Hogan grinned, too, but lost his expression again as he once more braced himself to hear the worst. His attention was caught briefly by the dust motes drifting in a beam of light that came through the courtroom's large windows, the last of the afternoon sun. This might be, he realized in sorrow, the last time he would ever see the sun. A quiet rustling of papers drew his eyes back to the men sitting in judgment over him.
The commander of the court looked up with a sigh, meeting the eyes of this brash young American colonel. Such a waste, he thought as he did his duty. «This Court finds you guilty of all Charges laid, Colonel Hogan, » he announced gravely. «Therefore, you will be executed in three Days' Time. Normally in a Case like this, you would face a Hangman, but you have not only cooperated in full, but also have proven yourself to be an honorable Adversary. I am sure that there are some who might dispute that last Sentiment; however, that is the unanimous Opinion of this Court. In light of that Fact, we have decided that a Firing Squad is a more fitting End.
«Does the Prisoner have any Questions for this Court?»
«Ja, Herr General,» Hogan managed to keep his voice even as he asked, «Could you please ensure that my Men not be allowed to watch?»
«I believe that such a reasonable Request can be granted, Colonel,» came the surprised reply. «There being no further Questions…Very well. Remove the Prisoner; this Court is adjourned.»
Hogan watched as the five generals withdrew into a room behind their seats, then turned to accompany his guard. No need to cause any problems now, he thought, ready to go where directed. To his great surprise, he saw General Mannheim speak briefly to the captain in charge of the prisoner's escort, who nodded once, then came to attention and saluted. Without even a glance at Hogan, the general passed through that doorway to join the other five in what was, no doubt, the judges' chambers.
Hogan had no chance to ponder further, however, for he was being urged back into the room where he'd waited during breaks in the trial. What now? he wondered, too tired by it all to contemplate anything seriously. Numb, he sat where he was told and drifted off into a doze.
--x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x--
General Mannheim knocked once, then passed into the judges' lounge. «Generals, might I have a few Moments of your Time?» he requested, carefully respectful. He was a young upstart compared to these men, he knew; not only one of the youngest generals in military intelligence, the Abwehr, but the youngest general ever to be appointed to the office of Inspector General. Among his duties would be the disposition of prisoners; no time to start like the present, he thought, although he was carefully considering what he wished to say here.
«Ah, Sebastian, come in,» General Siegfried Wertzer called out cheerfully. «You did excellent Work with Hogan's Case. I congratulate you on your Correlations of Data; that must have been a Nightmare of a Job. »
«Ja; however did you manage to tame him so quickly?» This question came from a man unknown to Mannheim, but the younger man could sense no hostility in the inquiry.
«I made a Deal with him,» he admitted with a smile, enjoying the shocked looks on his listeners' faces. «We had all the Facts needed to hang him and his Men, but there were many Gaps in our Information. I am sure that you will have noticed that only Colonel Hogan---PAPA BEAR himself---was brought to Trial?
«In exchange for a full Confession from the Colonel and his inner Circle, my Office issued Pardons to all of his Men. At the time I offered the Deal, I had intended to include his Sabotage Crew for Trials, but he gave such a truthful initial Confession, I felt that something more was due. No Doubt you find that an odd Concept.» Mannheim paused, carefully watching the faces of his superiors, in experience if not in rank.
«Ja, something was due,» General Walter Knaub agreed. «I have seen the Packets containing the Confessions of a number of his Men, as well as some from the Underground. Those would be considered full; what Hogan delivered was…incredible.»
«'Incredible' describes Colonel Hogan himself most thoroughly,» Mannheim stated in a confident voice. «Also, 'Genius' would fit, both as a Tactician and as a Strategist. In fact, I feel that it would be a Crime to throw that Genius away, to destroy that Mind.
«Generals, with your Permission, I would like to have that Man.»
Shocked silence greeted that statement; then all at once:
«He is rightly called the most dangerous Man in Germany…»
«Are you out of your Mind?!»
«Do you realize the Damage that Man can do?»
«How do you plan to control him, Sebastian?»
That question silenced all the others, as they paused to hear their young comrade's answer.
«Allow me a bit of digression, Generals, if you would,» Mannheim cautiously replied. «As you are all aware, Germany is faced with a number of very difficult, sensitive Problems, diverse in Nature, but all due to the War:
«First, we have severe Damage from extensive Sabotage, especially from the early Days of the War, before Hitler and his Cohorts were removed from Power. There is also the Damage from subsequent Bombings by the Allies.
«Second, we have a Manpower shortage, both here and in the annexed Countries, due to Battle Losses. In Addition, and despite this, we must garrison our new Possessions.
«Thirdly, we are left with several thousand American-born Prisoners of War, who have no Country to be returned to. The British don't want them; they have enough Problems with the native-born men coming back to their Homes. The Americans refuse to accept them, claiming them to be 'War Criminals' because they stayed here to fight us instead of obeying their President's Summons to return back in '39.
«I have been assigned to deal with some of these Problems. It has been brought to my Attention that, by combining these Problems, we can also solve them. All those American POWs represent an extensive Labor Pool, if utilized wisely. They can be used to repair battle Damage to Europe's Infrastructure: Roads, Communication Networks, Railroads, etc., without worrying about the Geneva Accords any longer, since they have been declared to be Criminals by their own Government. They can also be used to replace lost Farm Labor, both here in Germany and in our new Possessions. Most of those men are very honorable---odd as that sounds, since they have no cultural History of Aristocracy to base it on or develop it from. If they give Parole, they will be safe enough in these Types of Jobs.
«Thus, they will not be sitting idle, using up Resources needed by productive Citizens; they will be repairing Damage they helped cause, and they will not need to be guarded as closely, freeing up more Military Personnel.» He paused to study his audience before hitting them with the clinching argument: «High Command has approved this much of the Plan already.»
Heads that had been nodding thoughtfully went suddenly motionless; then General Wertzer laughed. «Well played, Lad,» he chortled at the man he'd watched grow up, the youngest son of his best friend in Gymnasium. «So, you hope to use this Colonel Hogan---how?»
«I'm not fully sure,» Mannheim confessed ruefully. «As a private Pilot, perhaps. I will need to be traveling all over Europe in the course of my Duties, and this would free up at least one Man; perhaps two, if I pick out another. I feel that I will be able to trust his Word, once he gives his Parole. You heard him in Court today.»
«Ja, we heard him. And if he runs, you will never find him again, so good is his German.»
«Walter, that need not be so great a Problem,» General Fritz Mueller spoke for the first time. «The SS worried over that early in the War, when they were rounding up the Juden. They solved the Problem by tattooing an Identity Number on their Arms, where it could be easily seen. While these Americans will no doubt protest, they will probably submit if it is made a Condition of their Release and Employment.»
«Many of them will accept it,» Mannheim concurred. «They are sick of sitting in POW Camps. Outside Employment can be made to sound very attractive to them. Already there are some out on work Details, although these are at one of the Heer Bases. They had been very badly treated by their former Kommandant.»
«That will do well enough for most, but I am not convinced that it would work with Hogan.» Mueller had a stubborn look on his face now. «Besides, he has a Date with a Firing Squad.»
«He will stand by his Word, once he gives his Loyalty,» Mannheim insisted. «I have had much time to study him, much time to learn him so I could catch him. There is too much Potential in him to waste in a Hail of Lead. Better to keep him alive, even if it is for a Lifetime of Servitude. Too much has been wasted in this War to be able to throw away so much Talent that we could use to our Benefit. »
«I still have Doubts. Convince me. Show me Hogan's Loyalty, and I will agree to this. Otherwise, he will die in three Days as we have said.»
«Jawohl, Herr General. Let me have him brought in, and I will show you.»
--x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x--
"Hogan, raus. You are sent for."
He became aware of his guard's hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Sent for? He couldn't make any sense of this. He struggled to his feet, surprised when his guards helped him up and steadied him when he wavered momentarily. While no one had roughed him up any during the month in which he'd waited for his trial, none had shown much consideration, either. What was going on here?
Still, he was on his feet and moving as his guards directed. Out the door to the hallway, yes, but they turned him away from where he knew the holding cells to be. Try as he might, he just couldn't seem to get his brain into gear.
Someone placed a small glass of amber liquid into his hands. "Drink some of this, Hogan," he was told. Too numb to think clearly, conditioned now to obedience, he did as directed, emptying the glass in one gulp, gasping as liquid fire ran down his throat. He looked up in shock to see Mannheim, his nemesis, gazing at him in concern.
"Better?" the German inquired as he watched the American's eyes clear and focus.
"That's a deadly weapon, General," Hogan gasped in response, still catching his breath. Then he held out the glass hopefully. When it was refilled, he sipped it carefully, not wanting to err through drunkenness. «What can I do for you?» he asked, his skin crawling uncomfortably with six high-ranking Germans all studying him so intently.
«There are several Questions that I find I neglected to ask you earlier, Hogan,» Mannheim explained, his expression saying nothing. «Perhaps you would care to answer them for us?»
«Sure, be glad to, » Hogan responded, puzzled. «Don't think I left out anything, though.»
«No; this is---Information---beyond your actual Unit here in Germany. Who did you get your Orders from, Hogan?» Mannheim thought he knew his man well---the men who'd worked with him, yes, Hogan had given up those names, but they'd been compromised already. The Underground people? They already had amnesties, and even then he'd only given code names. One could pretend that he'd not known their actual names. But his controlling officer?
«I told you that, General,» Hogan tried to laugh this off, although he could feel an edge of fear start to grow in his gut. «I got our Orders from GOLDILOCKS in London, usually via a Sub in the North Sea, Code Name MAMA BEAR.»
«What was his---or was it 'her,' Hogan? What was GOLDILOCKS' Name?»
How was he going to distract this German, Hogan wondered, mind finally coming to full alertness. He couldn't turn Wimbley in; there were Germans in London now, and they'd execute the old man for giving those orders, just like they were going to shoot him in three days…No, don't dwell on that. Think, Hogan! he ordered himself, wishing that he could pace here, the way he'd done to think at Stalag 13. «Well, you see, General, there were several Voices,» he tried to obfuscate. «All Girls; they sounded lovely. Never knew any of their Names, though I wished I did, lots of Nights.»
«Oh, very good, very good indeed, Hogan,» Mannheim laughed. «No one could say you did not answer the Question as it was asked, although we all know you are actually avoiding answering. So. Who initiated your Orders---no; you would not know from how high those Orders came, would you? Ah. Who was the next Link in the Chain of Command above you, Colonel---and the one above that, if you know?»
He felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. This Kraut was good---very, very good. He'd learned how Hogan thought, how he would worm his way out of corners. Now he was trapped. Taking a deep breath, Hogan straightened to attention once more. «I'm sorry, General, but, with all due Respect, I cannot answer that Question.»
«Cannot, or will not?» one of the other Germans in the room asked, his eyes bright with interest.
«Herr General, it all comes down to the same Thing,» Hogan responded, wondering now why no one seemed to be getting mad at him for withholding information.
«Very well,» Mannheim interjected, growing more thoughtful. «Your Operation was very complex, very well considered. Who was responsible for setting it up in the first Place?»
«I was, sir.» What was he getting at now, Hogan wondered as he carefully watched his interrogators.
«Colonel, you were just a Pilot, or so we were led to believe. One who went to England, to fly against us. How, I wonder, could someone like that set up such a complete Espionage Unit, such as you had? Tell me, Colonel Hogan, just what was it you did before the War?»
He nearly laughed. They couldn't kill him twice, could they? He was already a dead man. «I can't answer that Question, sir.»
«Ah. Now who are you protecting, I wonder? And how can you justify protecting a Government that threw you, and so many others, away like so much Refuse? You did work for your Government, didn't you, Colonel Hogan. Doing what? Is that where you learned your German, so you could spy on us?»
Two glasses of schnapps on an empty stomach, lack of sleep, and emotional shock caused him to slip. That was the only excuse he could come up with, later, for what he said next. «I never spied on Germany.» He knew he'd blown it the moment the words left his lips. He should have said "I was never a spy," or something more like that.
Mannheim just sat back, smiling in satisfaction. «We make Progress now, Colonel,» he purred in contentment. «If not on Germany, then who?» He paused, then added, «We could still exchange that Firing Squad for a Rope, Colonel.»
He felt rebellious, but they could only kill him once. «Russia,» he answered, not caring what they thought of that. He waited for the explosion of protests, or anger, or whatever, which never came. He looked around at these powerful men, who seemed to view him with even greater interest than before.
«And do you speak Russian, also, Colonel Hogan?» the oldest of the group asked, his curiosity piqued. «Ah, but, of course you do, don't you? You would be a poor Spy, else. How could you know what Information would be useful, otherwise?»
«For which Government did you spy, Hogan? Why did you leave them? Or did you leave them?» Mannheim took over the questioning again.
Uh-oh, this was getting bad, Hogan realized. They may have promised him a lead breakfast in three days, but nothing said those intervening days had to be quiet, or painless. «It was the States, and yes, I quit before going to England,» he admitted, wondering if they'd believe him. «The Commies were, and are, a Danger, but Hitler was a more immediate Problem. My government wasn't going to get involved, even though I told them that, so I quit my Job with Intelligence, as you thought, and went to London to fight. And before you ask, no, I did not get shot down on purpose, and no, they did not ask me to set up an Organization here. I just saw an Opportunity and took it. Made the most of the Situation at Stalag 13. Contacted London through the Underground---look, I've already told you all that. »
«So who did you get your Orders from?»
«Sorry, General; you'll just have to shoot me, or hang me, or whatever you decide to do. I won't tell you that.» Hogan knew that he did not sound sorry in the least; he sounded as stubborn as a bulldog, which was just the way he wanted it.
But to his utter amazement, Mannheim just turned to the others and laughed. «And that's why I want him,» he said to General Mueller, who nodded thoughtfully.
«Ja, I see that. No one could be hurt by his admitting to spying on Russia, but his former Controller in London could be taken. And Hogan may indeed be useful, for his Knowledge of the Communists, if nothing else,» Mueller conceded.
«I still fear you will have Trouble holding him securely, Sebastian. He could easily slip away from you. Look what he did to Klink, even with that brute Hochstetter breathing down his Neck half the time.» General Wertzer was very concerned, for, if Hogan ran, it would do irreparable damage to young Mannheim's reputation. The young sprout didn't look concerned in the least, though.
Hogan felt rather like a Ping-Pong ball, bouncing from one German to the next. Mannheim wanted him for something? Did that mean that he didn't intend to have him shot? It sounded that way, but surely they couldn't mean that!
Mannheim turned to face him then, as stiff and formal as Hogan had ever seen him. «I require your Parole, Hogan. Unconditional, irrevocable. You will obey me in all Things. You will never attempt to run or undermine any of my Efforts. You will never betray me to another. You will, before these Witnesses, make yourself mine. Do you understand what I am asking of you?»
«Umm, ja, Herr General,» Hogan said slowly. «I understand what you're requiring, but there's a Problem. I still will not betray my former, as you put it, Controllers.»
«Barring that one Thing, then, Hogan. What say you?»
«I'd like to know what you mean to have me doing, General. I'm already in the Frying Pan; I don't want to find myself jumping straight into the Fire.» He always joked when things were tightest; just couldn't help himself, he guessed. But this Kraut already knew that about him and smiled, just barely, at his attempted levity.
«Good, you are getting back to Normal---for you, that is. As for what I intend for you---you are a Pilot, a Bomber Pilot, although I believe you've also flown Fighters. I will require you to fly me wherever I need to go, in my personal Plane. A modified Heinkel Bomber should not be too different from what you already know. You will do whatever other Tasks you are set---I know you are versatile---and, perhaps, I will use you against Russia someday. I am not so foolish as to try to use you against the United States; you have my Word on that.
«You understand that Steps will be taken to contain you; we have not yet decided what Steps, but you will be expected to submit, with no right to object on your Part. This does not impugn your Honor, but only answers our Necessity. Is this understood?»
Take a deep breath, Hogan. Keep the hope down to reasonable levels. Nothing says he won't shoot you later. …Yeah, but that's later, isn't it? his thoughts answered themselves. «Any idea what sort of 'Steps' you're contemplating, sir? Just out of curiosity?» he heard his own voice asking.
Mannheim looked at him, thoughtful. Probably….yes, he decided. «You already have a Number assigned to you as a POW. This will be tattooed, so you will not be able to 'change your Spots' so easily. Just a Precaution, you understand.»
«Make it harder to go Undercover into Russia,» Hogan returned, not so terribly unhappy. Not good, but he supposed it could be worse. «Where were you thinking of putting it, anyway? On an Arm, like the SS did to the Jews they locked up and slaughtered? »
«How do you know about that?!» General Knaub demanded, but it was Wertzer, not Hogan, who replied.
«Oh, come now, Walter,» he chided gently. «With his Reputation, he's probably---yes, I remember reading it in his Confession. He's been to Dachau, seen what went on there, and that just Months before Hitler and the SS were removed, and it was shut down. I doubt there was very much that went on in Germany that he didn't know something about. Add to that the Fact that there were a few Escapes from the Concentration Camps---who were never recaptured---and you have to know that the Word got out.»
«Oh, I suppose you're correct,» Knaub acknowledged, though he still didn't look very happy at the thought.
Mannheim looked thoughtful as he returned to the earlier conversation. «Yes, that could be a Problem. Well, that Location should serve for the rest. I'll have to think about yours a bit, but, and I am deadly serious here, Hogan: You will not get even a taste of Freedom without that Tattoo somewhere on your Person.»
«Jawohl, Herr General,» Hogan responded as the German paused for breath. «I understand you completely. And you're right when you imply that I have little Choice here. So:
"I give you my parole, General, in all particulars mentioned---and probably a few that you haven't thought of. I've got nowhere else to go, and a firing squad is no choice at all." Hogan paused once more for a breath, then gave a lopsided grin. «Do you think I can go back to my Cell now, sir? Falling over is becoming a better Idea all the Time.»
«Sebastian, you'll either kill him in a Month, or you'll have the perfect Aide,» Wertzer dryly remarked.
«Kill him? Nein, Herr General,» Mannheim laughed at his father's oldest friend. «I will come to value his sense of Humor even more than I do now. You will see: when he is better rested, he will be more careful of his Mouth. Already he is more cautious than he ever was with Klink, or Burkhalter, if half of what I've heard is true. Most was just an Act, to put them off Guard and to hide what he was doing, but there is no need for that now---is there, Hogan?» He looked deeply into the American's dark eyes and saw reluctant agreement there. Satisfied at last, he called for the guards and had his newest…possession?...taken away to his cell for food and rest.
--x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x--
«Where do you think you're taking that, Corporal?» the harsh growl penetrated Hogan's dream, causing him to awaken in his dimly lit cell. A pity, he thought, still half-asleep. He'd felt warm for the first time since…his eyes popped open in surprise. He hadn't dreamed about being warm, he was warm! Feeling around his cot in the half-light, he found that someone had draped an extra blanket over him sometime after he'd fallen asleep.
«To the American in Cell 29, Feldwebel,» someone answered, sounding confused at the interruption of his errand.
«Nein; he'll be dead in three Days. No need to waste good Food on defeated Trash. Leave that Tray here, and see to the rest of your Duties.»
«But, Feldwebel…»
«Do as I say, or you'll find yourself on Report!» the ugly voice threatened.
Suddenly, Hogan realized that it was most likely his dinner that was about to be stolen. «Do as he says, Corporal, and you'll probably find yourself heading East along with him,» Hogan called out in his best German-officer voice.
«Be silent, Schweinhund!»
Oh, yeah, Hogan thought with an inner chuckle. That roused his temper good and proper. Now he'll probably---yep, there are the keys.
The cell door crashed open, flooding him with light. The sergeant was every bit as ugly-looking as his voice had led Hogan to expect. He headed towards his intended victim, pulling a sap from his belt.
But the American didn't cringe away as the feldwebel had expected; he just sat there, grinning!
«Corporal,» Hogan called out, «the Minute he lays a Hand on me, you go and call General Mannheim and tell him, or his Aide, what's going on. Then you go get some MP's and arrest this Jerk. You'll regret it if you don't.»
«German Soldiers don't take Orders from Prisoners!» the sergeant snarled as he swung the sap.
Hogan just grinned and took it on his left forearm. Out in the hallway, he could see the young corporal hesitate a moment, then bolt back towards the guardroom. Smart lad, Hogan thought as he carefully avoided the worst of this latest beating.
It wasn't long before the sound of running jackboots came pounding down the hallway. Three MP's burst into the cell, beating the shocked sergeant away from his victim with their rifle butts. Hogan stayed very still on his cot, not wanting to get shot by accident now. But one of the MP's was turning to him.
"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked, very respectfully. "The general vill be here shortly. Do you need a Doktor?"
«No, thank you, Feldwebel. He didn't have Time to do too much Damage. Thank you for your rapid Response.» He grinned, weakly now, at the man who checked him over for injuries anyway. The guard-sergeant who'd beaten him stared in dumb amazement at the rifles aimed at him so threateningly. Somehow, Hogan decided, that made the pain worth it; then, Ah, Act 2 begins, he thought, for he now heard angry-sounding footsteps coming down the hallway.
«Feldwebel, » Hogan asked quietly, «what Time is it?»
«Nineteen hundred Hours, or a bit after,» the man answered. «Why?»
«Dinnertime, say, for a General?»
«Ja, most definitely,» the MP replied, with a belated grin as he realized what Hogan was getting at. He fell silent as General Mannheim strode into the cell, the young corporal at his heels.
He just stood there, hands on his hips, glaring at all around him, finally settling his gaze on Hogan where he lay on his cot. «Hogan,» he fumed, fighting not to laugh as he realized what had probably happened here. «Can I not even have you fed without you getting yourself into Trouble? My Dinner will be cold by now. Were you not satisfied with the Meal I sent you, that you must ruin mine also?»
The sergeant, Hogan saw, was now quite pale as he realized that he'd missed some important information somehow. The young corporal was looking relieved, as he realized that his general wasn't angry with him, and probably wasn't really mad at this prisoner, either. But the feldwebel would be in Really Big Trouble, and very soon.
«I'm sorry, mein General,» Hogan said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. «I couldn't tell you what I thought about the Dinner you sent for me, since the feldwebel over there decided that I didn't deserve it. Something about I was gonna be Dead in three Days anyway, and not to waste good Food on me. What was for Dinner, anyway?»
«He lies!» the sergeant tried to claim, but the corporal was no fool.
«He does not,» that young man said in a calm, even voice. «He even warned what would happen once you heard, Herr General. He said that I should send for you.»
«And then he calmly sat there and took a Beating, knowing he would be avenged, no doubt,» Mannheim dryly finished. Oh, yes, he could easily picture the whole thing. «Hogan, what am I going to do with you? Your Sentence hasn't even been commuted for four Hours, and already you give me Grief.» He shook his head in mock sorrow, then grinned back at his man. «Are you well enough to walk, Hogan? It is obvious that I cannot leave you here, if I wish to eat. I suppose that you will just have to come with me. Full Dress in the Mess, if you would. The British Uniform, please; you will cause less of a Stir that way.
«Guards. Throw that Man,» here he indicated the blustering sergeant, «into a Cell. See that he is sent to the Eastern Front as soon as possible---as far north as possible. I do not appreciate having any of my Men mistreated.
«A Commendation for the Corporal.»
He was sore, and starting to stiffen, but Hogan managed to get himself dressed without having to accept any help. Dinner, no matter how good, was never quite as satisfying when served in a cell.
--x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x--
«It is Official,» Mannheim remarked quietly as the two men sat with after-dinner cognac and cigars, two days later. «The Numbers will be tattooed on all the former American POWs. They will not be allowed out of their Internment Camps without it. The 'preferred' location is to be the inside of the right Forearm, but variation will be allowed at the discretion of their...controlling Individual. You will not be an exception to this; it is Law now.»
«You worked fast, General,» Hogan muttered softly, trying to disguise his displeasure at this news. He had hoped---but, really, what else could they do with him? He should be grateful they didn't tattoo it across his Forehead, or someplace equally obvious.
«Natürlich,» Mannheim chuckled back, preferring not to comment on Hogan's reaction to the news. «One must, when dealing with you, Colonel - although I really shouldn't be calling you that any longer. Officially, you are no longer Military Personnel, at least not in the normal Sense. You haven't been since you were signed out to my Custody. What would you prefer?»
«I get a Choice? No, sorry, General,» Hogan quickly amended. «I know it's not your Fault - well, in a way, it is, but you're doing the best you can by me. I'll get my Temper under control. My biggest Fault, you know. My Temper.» He paused a moment, but the German officer just nodded in acceptance of the apology and waved for him to continue.
All things considered, Hogan was being very meek and tolerant, more so than he'd ever been while under Klink's command. «So, what would you prefer? Hogan? Robert? Just for your information,» Mannheim then interrupted himself, «it has been decided that your official Status is to be known as 'Bondsman,' since I hold your Bond---that is, your Parole.»
«That just for me, or does it go for all the rest, too?»
«All who are signed out of a Camp on either permanent or temporary Work Forces are to be known thus. You, Hogan, are permanent; should I die before you, you will go to the Custody of a specially designated Heir, not just to my Family.»
«Oh, great.» He fell silent again as he wrestled his temper back under control once more. He sighed and turned a jaundiced eye on the man who apparently would control the rest of his life. «I guess it sounds better than, say, 'Slave,'» he grumbled, his anger barely in check.
«Hmmm. You should consider it as being more like a Serf. Such cannot be sold, you see; once they've been permanently assigned, they can only be returned to an Internment Camp should their Placing not work out. You, however, would simply have your original Sentence carried out.
«I am hoping that you will eventually become the equivalent of a valued family Retainer. Surely you were in England long enough to learn the Concept?»
«Yeah, » Hogan sighed again, then looked down. «I wasn't keen on it then, either. Not the way I was raised, y'know?»
«You will cope, I am sure. Now then, must I repeat myself? I will choose a Name for you if you do not, and then you will be stuck, I warn you.» Mannheim let his voice take on a teasing edge.
«Anything but that,» Hogan responded, finally letting his anger go. «Better be 'Hogan' in Public. If you want something more informal in Private, then I'd prefer 'Rob', not 'Bob' or 'Robert.' And never 'Robert Edward.' That was my Dad's you're-in-big-trouble Name for me. Besides, I suspect we've a more important Issue to decide, right?»
«Ja,» the confirmation sounded almost regretful. «In Public, you do well as you have been addressing me; you know our Customs well. I'm sure you heard what General Wertzer called me. My Name is actually Friedrich Sebastian, but that was my Father's Name, also, and he is 'Friedrich' to his Friends.»
«So, you're Sebastian,» Hogan nodded, chuckling at the distinction, the same one often used in the States. «Unless your Dad was mad at you; then it was the whole Thing, right?»
«You do have a fine grasp on the Situation,» came the laughing reply.
«How about 'Ian' in Private?» Hogan offered suddenly. «It might be best to have a kind of Code, for recognition, or warning against Trouble or Coercion.»
«If you use something else, I should suspect a Trap of some kind?»
«Yeah...uh, yes sir,» Hogan quickly corrected himself, not sure if such informality was a good idea this soon.
«Relax, Rob,» the general murmured, obviously trying out the new label for the American. It fit, he decided, smiling to himself. «While it is true that one unpleasant Subject must now be discussed, there is no need to be overly formal. Just see that your Temper remains calm, and we can deal with this repugnant Topic like two civilized Gentleman. Which, I am certain, we both are.»
«Yes, sir,» Hogan responded automatically to the implied order in the manner which had been long drilled into him, then shrugged with a grimace. «Sorry, sir; 'Ian' just doesn't feel right at the Moment. Maybe once we've gotten the Shouting out of the way...» He trailed off with a shrug.
«There will be no Shouting, because there is no need for it.» The German leaned back further in his chair, taking an appreciative sip of the fine French cognac that his older brother, a field marshal, had had sent to him. «You know that this will be done, so that Issue need not be discussed at all. I agree that, due to possible future Need, your Forearm is not a good Choice of Placement. I have no Doubts that you've given thought to this Matter, against the Chance that you could not dissuade me.»
«If I need to go Undercover, Herr General,» Hogan spoke with dogged stubbornness, «a Tattoo such as that anywhere could mean my Death. You can't foresee what Situations might arise, necessitating the removal of Clothing...»
Mannheim's roar of laughter cut him off. «Oh, ja, that is an excellent Argument, considering your Reputation with the Ladies. In your Case, I am certain that you will do your best to ensure that Clothing will be removed anytime a Female is involved.» He laughed even harder at the glare Hogan shot at him, breaking into a coughing spell. Only Rob's quick grab saved the delicate crystal glass from falling to the floor and shattering.
«Waste of good Cognac,» the American groused, although, in truth, the glass had been nearly empty. He looked over at the older man and grimaced. «Oh, stop laughing at me, willya? I had to at least try that Approach. It better be somewhere on my Back then. Less likely to be seen in a darkened Room...»
«Bedroom, you mean,» Mannheim choked out between gasps for breath, but he was calming down at last. «You are right-Handed, ja? Then I believe we will place it behind your left Shoulder. If it is seen, you can always blame us for it and claim to have escaped from one of our Camps. It will be very awkward for you, though, should a Guard ask to check it against your Papers.»
Hogan shrugged. «I'll just get very good at stripping out of my Shirt. It'll be cold in the Winter, but it'll work.»
«Hmmm.» Mannheim sat silent for several moments, trying to think his way around that inconvenience. He had retrieved his glass from his companion; now he held it out toward Hogan in a wordless appeal for a refill. His eye followed of its own volition as the American crossed the room to the sideboard, to the crystal decanter. He watched as the stopper was pulled and the amber liquid poured out, momentarily highlighting his family's coat of arms etched into the side of the fine crystal.
His coat of arms.
«That's it!» he cried, sitting up straight and coming to his feet in one smooth motion. His briefcase, where was it? Ah, yes, over by the writing desk, natürlich. A moment's search, the removal of a piece of stationery; then, «Rob, how do you feel about a second Tattoo? Artwork, this Time.»
«What did you have in Mind?» Hogan half expected to find Mannheim drawing something, but instead a sheet of paper was being held out towards him. He looked down to see a colored imprint of a coat of arms. His gaze snapped up in sudden comprehension. «Yours? Where? More importantly, how?»
«In a Circle instead of a Shield, like a Badge or Medallion. To go on the back of, oh, perhaps your left Arm.»
«With a Band going around the Arm, like a Bracelet, » Hogan completed the thought, his eyes actually lighting up as he worked out the picture in his mind.
«Chain Links, yes, I believe that would be appropriate,» Mannheim nodded in approval. «I do not believe that anyone outside Germany will draw the Connection to me. No Guard of mine would mistake it, though.»
«Heck, put it on my Uniform Sleeve, too. That way I won't get harassed by the Guards down around my Cell anymore, either.»
Mannheim stopped suddenly, looking Hogan over from head to toe. He was still in British RAF dress blues, from dinner in the mess, complete with his old rank tabs. «Yes, your Uniforms,» he finally drawled out. «We will have to do something about those, too, once we return to Camp. Which, by the way, we will do, once you wear your Number. Tomorrow Morning, I think; I have much Work to do there, also, which was put on hold while I...acquired you, shall we say. I hope you enjoy Paperwork, Rob, for we three shall find ourselves deeply buried in it, once we return.»
«Three?»
«Ja: You, me, and poor Leutnant Weber. Misery does like Company, after all. And there will be more than enough to go around for all of us, for quite some Time to come. Then you may fly again.»
It was strange, Hogan thought, how that thought brightened the night and made everything else worth suffering through.
To fly again.
A/N: While the show and other POW movies did not make this apparent, it was common practice of the Germans during WW II to send enlisted men out on work details. This was in accordance with the provisions of the Geneva Convention, to wit: Enlisted men could be required to work, so long as it did not support the German war effort. Many of these men did not even stay at their "main Stalags," but lived at or near their job sites. In this AU, British and Commonwealth troops were not routinely used that way until this point in history.