Chapter Four: More Fun than a Barrel of Monkeys

"I must say, Colonel Hogan, this is a most unusual party."

Considering that Klink could be referring to the dozens of red paper lanterns hung all over camp, the surprisingly competitive mahjong tournament or the fact that LeBeau was dressed in a bright red and gold robe and was seated upon a gold painted chair as he watched the festivities, Hogan asked, "How so, Kommandant?"

"Schultz isn't at the buffet."

Hogan chuckled. He had to admit that Klink had a point. Schultz was definitely acting odd. He had taken up a guard post near the front gates, as far away from the buffet as possible, and had not snuck away once to grab a plate of his own. "I guess he doesn't like Chinese food. Oh, and before I forget, a gift from the boys," Hogan said as he quickly changed the subject and handed Klink a red envelope. "LeBeau says that it's traditional."

"Why you shouldn't have!" Klink was actually blushing as he opened his gift, but his expression quickly changed when he saw what was inside. "American money!"

"You'll need it after we win the war," Hogan teased.

"Humph!"

Hogan couldn't help it, baiting Klink was too easy. Besides, in spite of their temporary alliance, he still needed to keep the German officer off balance. He couldn't afford for him to dwell too long on some of the strange happenings that he had planned for this night.

"Shall we eat, sir?" he suggested.

Klink agreed and the two officers made their way over to the buffet table and filled their plates. Now, Hogan had tried Chinese food before and it was clear that LeBeau had tried to make the dishes look as much like Kong's descriptions as possible, even though their ingredients were clearly German. To an ignorant eye, the dishes all looked foreign enough that one could believe that they were Chinese. Unfortunately, since he knew better, Hogan simply hoped that they tasted better than they looked. But when he brought the first bit of chow mein to his mouth he entered into an immediate battle with his gag reflex. With a strong will, he forced himself to swallow.

"Tastes strange," Klink commented. "Not anything I'd normally eat, but it's not that bad."

Hogan bit his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. Klink's tolerance for LeBeau's Chinese dishes was a New Year's miracle. Unfortunately, that meant that he was going to have to keep eating his meal with a smile on his face.

By the time he choked down a third of his plate, Hogan was starting to feel queasy, his stomach was promising him that he would regret this in the morning. Though, thankfully, none of the other dishes – still awful tasting dishes – were as vomit-inducing as the chow mein. In hindsight, he realized that he should have expected this. Schultz, for all his failings as a prison guard, knew his food. And the guard's refusal to eat should have warned him that the food was far from palatable.

So as Klink watched, Hogan ate another forkful of chow mein. The things he did for his country.


Keeping one eye on his watch and other on the emergency exit, Kinch waited for the Three Little Pigs to arrive. The stump opened right on time and Kinch observed three men climbing down the ladder. As he stepped forward to greet them, he couldn't help but notice that they were younger and in better shape than most of the German civilians with whom he usually interacted. He wondered if they were deserters, but he would never ask.

The man in the lead smiled when he saw Kinch. "Always a pleasure to meet one of Papa's Bears men."

"The same," Kinch replied as he shook the offered hand. "Do I just call you Pig One, Two and Three?"

The men laughed. And the one in middle said, "No, I'm Speck." Pointing to the man who shook Kinch's hand, he added, "He's Wammerl and behind me is Bratwurst."

Bratwurst grinned. "Since we know Papa Bear and Mama Bear and you're too tall to be named Baby Bear, does that mean we should call you Grizzly?"

Kinch stroked his mustache. "You know, I might just have to suggest that to my CO."

After telling the Three Little Pigs to make themselves comfortable in some chairs by the radio, Kinch made his way to the wardrobe room. Carter and Olsen were busy changing into Gestapo uniforms while Kong and Newkirk changed into something much more fun. Or at least Carter thought so. "I don't see why I couldn't be a ninja," he protested as he fastened on his swastika pin.

Kinch smiled. "But you make such a good Nazi."

"You know," Carter said with a wink, "I would be insulted if that wasn't true."

Kinch appreciated his friend's attempt to break the tension and shot him a friendly grin before looking over the two ninjas. Newkirk and Kong were dressed in all black with hoods over their heads with only a slit that showed their eyes. They just needed one more thing for their costumes to be complete. Handing over two weapons, Kinch thoroughly enjoyed watching the gleam in Newkirk's eyes as he pulled a thin curved blade out of its sheath.

"They get swords!" Carter exclaimed.

"Katanas," Kong corrected as he drew his own.

"They're fake," Kinch clarified before anyone got any crazy ideas. "They look real enough but the edge is dull." Glancing at his watch, he ordered, "Places; the dragon dance starts in ten minutes."

Kong slid his katana back in its sheath and slung it over his shoulder so that the weapon lay on his back for an overhand draw. "Ready."

Newkirk, Carter and Olsen also nodded their assent and the latter two headed down the tunnels that led to Klink's quarters while Kinch watched Newkirk lead Kong down the branch that led to Barracks Ten.

Everyone was where they needed to be. It was time for the show to begin.


In spite of all of his earlier misgivings, LeBeau had to admit that he was having a blast. He was the center of his party and it didn't hurt that he was dressed in a red robe and was seated in a golden chair that he thought of as his throne. Someone else was serving the food he had spent the whole day cooking and while he had no idea if the dishes tasted anything like they should, he had made sure that the combination of flavors would be unusual enough to taste foreign.

Knowing that it was getting close to midnight, he kept one eye on the door to Barracks Two, even as he smiled and talked with those who approached to wish him a happy new year. Suddenly, Kinch appeared in the doorway which was his signal to start.

"Xīnnián kuàilè!" LeBeau shouted as he stood up from his chair. "Happy New Year! Thank you all for coming to my party and thank you to Kommandant Klink for letting us celebrate. May you all have a very prosperous Year of the Monkey. Now, while we wait for midnight, please enjoy my favorite New Year's tradition: the dragon dance!"

During the speech, Hogan had settled in behind the drums while Baker took up the cymbals. When the cymbals rang out loud and clear, LeBeau settled back into his chair and watched as the doors to the rec hall opened and the dancers marched out into the compound to the beat of the drums. He had no idea what to expect and was eager to see how the POWs would manipulate the long homemade dragon.

Foster, holding up a ball on a stick, led the nine men holding the dragon in a roundabout route that let the men gathered in the compound get a good view of the dragon. It was clear to LeBeau that they were deliberately taking their time to get into position, buying time for the men in the tunnels to carry out their tasks. Then when Baker hit the cymbals together, the dancers moved to the center of the compound and wrapped the dragon around the ball that was held high. The music, prisoners and guards all grew silent in anticipation. Every eye in the camp – prisoner and guard – was on the dragon.

Then, with another clash of the cymbals and loud drumming, the dance began.


Carter pushed aside the furnace entrance into Klink's quarters ever so slightly so that Olsen and he would not miss the signal to begin. Stepping back, Carter straightened and let himself fall into character. He was Gestapo; he had no care for anyone he deemed lesser than himself, he was efficient and brutal in eliminating threats to the Third Reich. He would be arrogant and sure of his own righteousness. He was in control.

When the cymbals clashed, Olsen sprang into action. He pushed the furnace open all the way and was on the guard standing in front of Klink's bedroom before the man realized he was there. As Carter calmly climbed out of the tunnel, the guard was already on the floor and Olsen was holding an empty syringe in his hand.

Stepping over the unconscious body as if it weren't there, Carter nodded for Olsen to bust open the door. Stepping into the room, Saito started screaming something in Japanese and his aide rose, his hands in fists. "What is the meaning of this?"

"The Major is under arrest," Carter said with a disinterested air.

After translating for his boss, the aide replied, "Arrest! We traveled to Germany in good faith. How can he be under arrest?"

"For plotting against the Führer."

"Preposterous."

Carter cocked his head to side. "You doubt the word of the Gestapo?"

Whatever the aide had been planning to say next, he was stopped as Olsen hit the man in the head with the butt of his gun and the Japanese man dropped to the ground unconscious.

The Japanese Major was shouting, but no one would be able to hear him over the sounds of the party. In a few seconds, it was over as Carter knocked him out with a sedative. Looking at Saito on the ground, Carter let himself break character. "Glad that worked."

"Yeah," Olsen replied. "Help me tie this guy up."

They tied cloth around the Japanese aide's wrists and ankles. They were careful that the bonds weren't too tight. They wanted him to break free, but they couldn't afford for it to happen too early. Then Olsen grabbed Saito's shoulders and Carter lifted the ankles and they carried their prisoner to the tunnels where Kinch and the Three Little Pigs were waiting.


Newkirk had to admit that he liked the feel of a sword on his back, even though it was a fake sword. And while this may have been the craziest of a long list of crazy disguises he had worn while stationed at Stalag Thirteen, it was also quickly becoming one of his favorites. At least he was dressed in proper black, which made sneaking around a lot easier.

As there was no tunnel access to the guest hut, his team had to take more chances. They waited for the dragon to march out before they approached the hut. A young British POW approached them as they reached the door. "The Doctor and one guard are in the bedroom. The second guard is in the front room."

"Thanks," Newkirk whispered. Taking out his lock picks, he carefully unlocked the front door. Then he drew his sword in his right hand and a syringe in his left. At Newkirk's nod, Kong opened the door and the English ninja rushed inside. "Hiyah! Newkirk screamed as he ran at the stunned guard. The man started to draw his gun, but he was too late. The POW plunged the needle into his thigh and the SS man was out in seconds.

One down, one more to go.

Newkirk glanced over at the Lieutenant. He would need his help with the second part. He hoped that the man was up to this. This time he'd have to let the officer go first.

Thankfully, Newkirk heard no sounds of movement in the bedroom. The sounds of the party where providing the needed cover. So once Kong was in position, he pushed open the second door and the Chinese officer ran into the room shouting a string of phrases in Chinese that sounded threatening to the Englishman's ears.

Newkirk was right behind Kong and the guard raised his hands when the ninja held his sword parallel to the shocked guard's throat. The POW first swiped the SS man's gun and then turned his sword around and hit the guard in the temple with the hilt. The guard dropped and Dr. Reiter had retreated into a corner where he pleaded in German for the ninjas to spare his life. Figuring that ninjas wouldn't know German, Newkirk just smiled under his mask as he pulled out another syringe.

Less than a minute later, Reiter was being carried back to the tunnels by the boys in Barracks Ten, the unconscious guard was bound and the two ninjas had disappeared back into the night.


For ten minutes, Hogan didn't worry about the camp, his men or their mission. Instead his whole world was his drums and the piece he needed to play. He began to pick up the tempo as he hit the drum heads harder and harder with his mallets. Baker continually crashed his cymbals as they reached the climax, then they both were silent for two measures before ending the piece with three strong beats.

It was over. Looking up, Hogan was happy to see that the dragon was still in once piece as prisoners and guards clapped and roared their approval.

"Colonel Hogan," Klink gushed, "that was marvelous, simply marvelous. I've never seen anything quite like it before."

"Thank LeBeau. He's the one who taught everyone."

"Oh, I will," Klink said as he ran off.

Glancing down at his watch, Hogan knew that they only had a few minutes to make sure everyone was in place for the next move. Midnight and the New Year were almost here. After making a quick round, Hogan rejoined the Kommandant and LeBeau on the platform. "Attention!" he called out. "Attention!"

The men grew quiet. They were ready.

"It's two minutes to midnight. Let's all welcome in the Year of the Monkey with a bang, shall we?"

All across camp, prisoners pulled out firecrackers and matches. It was hard to tell from this distance, but the American officer thought he saw Schultz cover his ears. "One minute!" Hogan watched the seconds on his watch tick down. "Twenty," he yelled.

The crowd took up the chant," Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…"


Cigarette smoke filled the tunnel as Kong and the Three Little Pigs waited with their bound, gagged and sedated prisoners for the signal that it was safe to leave through the emergency exit. Kong looked over at Kinch who kept one eye on his watch and his hands on a periscope, of all things, wishing that he felt as calm as the POW looked.

Kinch saw him watching and said, "You know, Lieutenant, I should've made a bet on getting you home by the New Year. I would have cleaned up."

"It's not too late. We aren't home yet."

The Sergeant smiled gently. "We haven't lost a plane yet. You'll be fine."

Kong exhaled smoke. He was a soldier. He could do this.

Suddenly, the sounds of little explosions filled the air and didn't stop. Kinch moved fast. He immediately raised the periscope, checked their surroundings and announced that the way was clear. Speck raced up the ladder first, pushed open the door and climbed out onto the ground above. He then reached down to grab the first body-sized bundle that Bratwurst and Wammerl passed up to him. In less than a minute, both prisoners and the last two Pigs were out.

"Happy New Year, Lieutenant," Kinch said as he gestured for the officer to join the others.

Kong nodded, dropped his cigarette and hurried up the ladder. He quickly closed the stump top and followed Wammerl into the woods. But once he was out of range of the spotlights he couldn't resist looking back at Stalag Thirteen. The spotlights weren't moving as their operators' attention was focused elsewhere – and he knew where as he could still hear explosions and see little bursts of light as the firecrackers continued to explode. He couldn't believe it. They had really pulled it off.

This would be a New Year that he would never forget.