Hogan made himself comfortable on a bench, and gazed innocently at the two young Wehrmacht guards assigned to stop him from running off. "So. Two of you? That makes me feel loved." The guards stared blankly back at the colonel. "Ahem. Okaaay. Can you tell me where we're going?" His query was answered with silence. Hogan repeated the question in German.
"We were given strict orders not to speak with you," said one of the guards. "Besides, only the drivers know."
"Great. Just great." Hogan leaned his head back and closed his eyes, all the while paying close attention to turns and directions. They began to head south.
It took Boswell and Garrett twelve hours to reach their safe house. Not only did neither of them win their friendly wager, but they were tired, hungry, stiff and ornery. In addition, they had to deal with several close calls, namely Allied bombers, who were inconveniently attacking sites nearby, and chose to ignore the Red Cross painted on their trucks. They pulled up outside the barn, opened the doors, and as they had prearranged, hid the truck inside. They then walked over to the house, and knocked.
"Yes, what do you want?" The farmer who answered the door, asked the two agents.
"We were told you rented rooms to boarders from Switzerland," Boswell answered.
"No," the farmer replied. "Only to loyal Germans. Unless you're willing to pay…"
"We only have Swiss money." Boswell removed his wallet. The farmer glanced at the leather, which had a conspicuous stain near the fold.
"Come in. Johann Merkel," he said.
"Call us, Rolf and Friedrich." Boswell held out his hand.
"Come in."
Boswell and Garrett followed Merkel inside the small stone house. There were no signs of any other inhabitants, as they followed the farmer down a hall and into a kitchen.
"So, Rolf and Friedrich, what brings you this far southwest?" Merkel poured some tea, and passed over a plate of bread.
"We're stopping a prisoner swap," Garrett explained as he took a bite.
Johann raised his eyebrows. "Now, why would you need to do that? No don't tell me. How?"
"Not a clue, really," Garrett joked. "Were about one day ahead. They're due around here ten hours from now. Coming from a camp near Dusseldorf. The swap is at the border crossing near Konstanz." (1)
Johann got up and pulled a map out of a drawer. "They all have to come down this way. The other routes are damaged. There are five checkpoints between here and there." He circled areas on the map.
"Well, the first thing we need to figure out is this," Boswell said. "We can ambush the truck, and take it from there, and try to stop this thing of the border."
"Plus," Garrett reminded him, "We need to get the general."
"The general?" Merkel raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah. It's a twofer, "Boswell grumbled. "Might as well recapture the general while we're at it."
"And make the Germans look responsible," Garrett added as he wolfed down another piece of bread. "Don't forget that."
"You're nuts." Merkel rose, walked over to the counter and cut more bread. He placed several slices on a plate and put it back in front of his hungry guests. "I suppose you'll need help." Anticipating the answer, he poured himself a large glass of wine.
"We weren't asking for it," Boswell replied, "but if you're offering…" At that exact moment, an air raid siren could be heard in the distance.
"Don't worry," Merkel reassured the two agents. "They won't bomb here. Or at least they shouldn't. They're going after the rail lines. Unless somehow they go off course." He grinned at his guests and took a large drink of wine. More sirens went off and the drone of aircraft could now be heard.
"I'll, uh, take a refill of that, if you don't mind." Garrett held out his glass.
"I'll second that," his partner said.
"That's why we didn't take the train down here," Boswell said seriously a few moments later. He had to speak louder to be heard over the racket. His host didn't seem perturbed, and after a few more glasses of wine, neither did Boswell or Garrett. "And that's probably why they didn't use the train to bring Hogan down."
"Trains carrying Allied POW's have been hit a lot." Merkel shook his head. "The Germans have been taking them all over the place. Marching them here. Transporting them there. Not good. I wonder why they didn't use a plane?"
"There's almost no Luftwaffe left, and they need what's available for defense, I suppose." Garrett turned to Merkel. "How many men do you have?"
Frustrated by their inability to help the colonel surreptitiously find out where he was being taken, his men sulked and plotted, notified the rest of the camp, and moved Captain Mitchell into Hogan's office.
Coincidentally, the same day Hogan was removed from camp, the radio detector trucks in the perimeter and town disappeared. At 1:02 that afternoon, the men were notified by Schnitzer. At 1:04, they were on the radio.
Most of the barrack's residents surrounded Kinch as he sent London the bad news. "Stop crowding around me," he complained as he waited for a reply.
"Give him some air, "Mitchell ordered and the men stepped aside. A few moments later, a long message came through.
Kinch took more than a few agonizing moments to decode it, grinned, and handed it to Mitchell.
"You're smiling," Carter noted as he gave LeBeau a poke. "What is it?"
"Hang on," their new C.O. said. He quickly glanced at the paper. "Good news! Colonel Hogan is being swapped."
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, why didn't Klink tell him that? The guv'nor is probably wondering if he's going to end up someplace worse!"
Mitchell shrugged. "Newkirk, I have no clue. I don't know how Klink thinks."
"He can think?"
The men, now more relaxed, broke out in laughter.
"So that's it then." Olsen said. "He'll be gone, but safe."
"No. Not totally. There's more to this. The swap is being stopped." If Mitchell was surprised or distressed, he didn't show it. In the short time he had been in Stalag 13, nothing surprised him.
Now the rest of the men were confused.
"Now that we have the radio again, they'll be in contract. They didn't go into details, but said, they want Colonel Hogan back, and the general as well; if it's possible. More to follow."
"He's being swapped for a general," Carter exclaimed. "Whoa!"
"Impressive," LeBeau nodded.
"Ego boost," someone else said.
"Now what?" Kinch looked at Mitchell.
"Well, that's your department. Stand by and wait. He looked at his watch. "I have to meet with Klink soon. We'll continue to run the camp like the colonel ordered. Don't forget about the the guys waiting for the sub."
Captain Mitchell chided himself for not remembering his gloves, as he walked across the compound. "Geez, it's freezing," he complained to himself. Stalag 13 was actually a Stalag Luft, and although the majority of the camp consisted of non-coms and enlisted men, there were officers scattered throughout the barracks. After a major had been transferred out after a brief stay, Mitchell had become the second highest ranking officer, a job he took quite seriously. He had been in the camp now for just over a year. After he was shot down, Hogan and his men were able to switch his plane's top secret directional finder with a phony version. Amazed at the ingenuity of the operation, Mitchell offered his services to Hogan, who denied his request. But, he was tapped to help run the actual camp, and handle POW matters in case something happened to the colonel. After some time in solitary, and questioning by officers brought in from an interrogation center, Mitchell was released into the prison population, where he found to his astonishment a camp that was not segregated by nationality, and where officers shared barracks with enlisted personnel. He quickly learned that Hogan, not Klink, really ran the camp, and that every prisoner was in constant danger.
Mitchell was, of course, now relieved that Hogan's life did not appear to be at risk. As he headed into Klink's outer office, however, something occurred to him. "Oh, shit," he muttered. But his concern would have to wait.
"Excuse me, Captain." Fraulein Hilda looked like she had been crying.
"I'm sorry, Fraulein." Mitchell gulped.
"You can go right in, Captain."
Mitchell opened the door. "Reporting as ordered, sir." He saluted.
"Captain Mitchell. Please have a seat." Klink pointed to a chair.
Mitchell removed his cap and sat down.
"You are now the acting Senior POW officer in this camp, Captain. Have you moved into Barracks Two?"
"Yes, sir. We're packing Colonel Hogan's personal belongings, sir. Um. Where will they be sent?" He asked innocently.
"That is not your concern right now," Klink snapped back.
That irked Mitchell. Obviously, Klink didn't know that they knew what he knew, but… "With all due respect, Kommandant, Colonel Hogan's welfare is our concern. You see, he was well-respected, and a good commanding officer. The men…their morale is not too good at the moment."
Klink looked down at his desk and glanced at Mitchell's prisoner record. He felt for the man, but he still recalled General Burkhalter's stern warning.
"Colonel Hogan is not in any danger," he tried to reassure the captain. "When he gets to where he is going, I will inform you."
Hoping that Hogan had been told, and for some reason, didn't want his men to know, Mitchell pressed Klink.
"So he knows here he is heading, sir?"
"No," Klink answered, giving Mitchell a guilty look.
Crap, Mitchell thought.
The same thought that had occurred to Mitchell as he was heading into Klink's office, had also occurred to the men in Barracks two, at about the same time. In fact, it was Newkirk who broke the revelry that had broken out when they heard of the prisoner swap.
"We could have a slight problem," he announced.
"Whatcha talking about?" Carter asked.
"Well, what do you think the guv'nor would do if he didn't know where he was being sent, or if he figured he was going to another camp; or someplace worse?"
"He'd try to get off that truck," Olsen pointed out.
"Hey, with two guards, two drivers, handcuffs and a K on his jacket! Come on," Kinch argued. "Even he's not that good."
"Let's just suppose he could get out of the cuffs," Newkirk countered.
"Well, that would increase his odds. But," LeBeau pointed out, "How would he do that?"
"I slipped him a lock pick," Newkirk explained. "Just before he left the barracks."
Everyone glared at the corporal.
"I thought I was doing him a favor."
"You did the right thing, Newkirk," Kinch said just loud enough for everyone to hear. "You didn't know. I just hope those guards are on the ball."
(1) Because it practically lies within Switzerland, directly adjacent to the Swiss border, Konstanz was not bombed by the Allied Forces during World War II. The city left all its lights on at night, and thus fooled the bombers into thinking it was actually Switzerland. Wikipedia