Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 4

London:

"There you are, Mason," General Edmondson said. "Have a good dinner?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Thank you," Mason said mechanically. "Uh, sir."

"Yes?" Edmondson opened a file.

"Sir, I had dinner with a friend of mine from CI."

"Criminal Investigations? You seem to have friends all over, Mason."

"Yes, sir. Well, sir, we ran into a couple of guys . . . That is . . ."

"Mason, is there a point to this?"

"Yes, sir." Mason took a deep breath. "Sir, Colonel Randall, the one going to Stalag 13. Seems there are rumors circulating about him in CI."

"Rumors? Like what?"

"Misconduct, sir. They weren't very specific."

"CI does more than misconduct, Mason. They're after bigger fish. There was nothing in his file?"

"No, sir. Seems that the paperwork's disappeared."

"More likely buried on someone's desk. Or it never existed."

"Sir, they said it's happened before. Accusations were made and then nothing."

"Nothing — as in they didn't find anything?"

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. No proof, no witnesses, nothing."

Edmondson frowned.

"Maybe we should keep Randall here, sir. Until they can check him out more thoroughly."

Edmondson glanced at the clock. "He's due to leave in five hours, Mason."

"I know, sir."

"Too late to do anything about him now."

"But — "

"The camp needs the supplies they're taking, Mason. I know they're in much better shape than any other POW camp. But if we want to use that area and those men, they need the supplies, and they need training."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't look so glum, Mason. We're not going to drop it. Let Randall go. If he does have something to hide, well, let him think he got away with it. He might get careless if he thinks he's safe. Easier to hang him that way. And we'll keep digging here."

"Sir, if the rumors true — "

"If they are, can you think of any men better able to handle the problem?"

"I guess not, sir." Mason was still less than happy. "Do we tell Hogan about him?"

"Tell him what? Rumors? While we're at it, we can tell Hogan about the rumors that have circulated about him — cooperating with the enemy and making treasonous comments over German radio, among others."

"But those were done as part of his operation."

"And how many people know that? Randall doesn't know about the camp? Security clearance not high enough?"

"No, sir."

"So, as far as he's concerned, there is nothing unusual about Stalag 13. That'll work. If there is a problem with him, the less he knows the better."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't worry, Mason," Edmondson said in a cajoling voice. "Get on CI's back and have them check Randall with a fine-tooth comb, including all the rumors. If there is something on him, we'll know exactly where to find him. And we'll get some use out of him too. Look on the bright side. What could he possibly do in the middle of Germany, surrounded by Panzers, with both Papa Bear and the Stage looking over his shoulder?"

...

March 10, 1945, the orderly formations were back, both former guards and former prisoners. By now, everyone knew that Colonel Francis Randall and twenty-seven other men were coming to the camp, administering not only the camp but the town as well. Roughly one hundred square kilometers of town, camp and environs would be under their control.

No one knew what to expect. London had given them very little information on Randall. About the only thing Hogan knew for certain was that Randall was a few years older than he, some years Hogan's junior in rank, and had spent most of his career behind a desk. "A desk jockey," Newkirk had said derisively. And despite the fact that Hogan technically outranked him, Randall would be the commanding officer.

Randall and his men were only minutes away. While the planes carrying Randall, his men and supplies were also carrying a couple of jeeps, no other transports could be flown in. Therefore, Hogan had sent the camp's trucks to the airfield. He had debated going as well but decided against it. This was the command he was turning over to Randall, so this was where he was going to meet Randall. In hindsight, that turned out to be one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made — the driver of one of the trucks was Sergeant Virgil Yeager.

...

Hogan's men and the junior officers were at the foot of the stairs; the captains were on the porch along with Gruber, Klink and Hogan. Hilda, very nervous, was waiting in the office. Hogan had decided against having the townspeople at this meeting; Randall could decide when and where to meet with them later.

Finally, the jeeps and trucks were at the open gate; the men sprang to attention.

The lead jeep stopped before the building with the "Kommandantur" sign still on it. The driver got out and saluted as the other man in the jeep also got out.

The men in the camp saluted as well, Germans as well as former prisoners.

The man, a couple of inches shorter than Hogan, with an average build and dark features, walked slowly to the stairs. He glanced around before going up the stairs to where the officers were waiting. As he did, other men climbed out of the vehicles to look around at the camp.

Randall walked over to Hogan, returning his salute.

"Colonel Randall," Hogan said, dropping the salute, "I'm Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior officer in the camp."

"Hogan." Randall's voice was cool, as was his touch when he shook Hogan's hand.

"And these are Captain Witton, Captain Martin, Captain Mitchell and Captain Warren," Hogan introduced.

Randall nodded at the men. "This is Major Matthews," he gestured at the stocky officer who came up beside him. "The others you'll meet as we go along."

"Yes, sir," Hogan said and then turned to the man beside him. "This is Colonel Wilhelm Klink, the former kommandant of Stalag 13."

Klink saluted Randall; the salute was not returned. Instead, Randall eyed the tall German like a carnivore examining its prey.

"I haven't seen many high-ranking krauts, Kommandant," Randall said softly, slurring the last word. "Are you a prime example of the 'Master Race'?"

Klink, his eyes flitting over Randall's face, didn't answer.

"Not very polite, Kommandant." Hogan found himself thinking of the way Hochstetter used to say the word. "And it's not smart to annoy the new boss. Or maybe you don't speak English."

"My apologies, Colonel," Klink said. "I didn't realize you expected an answer."

"I always want answers when I ask a question, Klink. I'm a very curious man. And I have a great many questions to ask you."

Randall's eyes swung to a nervous Gruber and a worried Schultz, and past them to the assembled Germans. He dismissed them with a glance, his eyes going back to Klink.

"Not much, are they? Or you."

"Colonel, Kommandant Klink is entitled — " Hogan began.

"He's entitled to nothing. He's just a kraut who didn't have the sense to disappear when he had the chance. Matthews!"

Matthews saluted. "Sir!"

"Have a detail take the krauts, including those two," indicating Gruber and Schultz, "to one of the buildings. Lock them up."

"Wait a min — " Hogan started.

Klink cut across his objection. "Colonel, I am responsible for my men. I take complete responsibility for their actions while they were under my command."

"Very noble, Klink. Are you equally willing to accept their punishment as well?"

"Yes," was the calm answer, his eyes still on Randall.

Randall smiled mockingly. "Matthews, escort Klink to the cooler. No one is to see him without my express permission. Especially," he added with relish, "Colonel Hogan."

The order startled Hogan; it also generated a few uneasy looks among the other officers and his men.

Klink glanced at Hogan's surprised expression and smiled faintly. Then he walked down the stairs, Matthews at his side.

There was an odd silence as Klink led the way to the cooler. The door shut behind him with a muffled clang.

"Crowley!" Randall shouted.

A captain hurried over and saluted. "Yes, sir!"

"You escort the krauts to the barracks," Randall ordered. "Then post a guard. No one in or out without permission."

"Yes, sir!"

Another salute and Crowley walked down the stairs, gesturing to a couple of men.

Gruber and Schultz followed him. Silently, they and the former guards marched to Schultz's barracks. The door closed behind the men.

Randall turned to Hogan. "I'll need a building for my men. I want one cleared out within the hour. I'll take over the kraut's quarters, of course. And I want to talk to you and the captains now."

Hogan found his voice. A tight, "Yes, sir. Lt. Miller, if you please."

"Yes, sir," Miller said.

Randall smiled at Hogan; despite its surface pleasantness, Hogan decided he didn't like the smile. "Snyder, you go with the lieutenant. You know what we want."

"Yes, sir," said a wiry corporal.

Randall opened the door to the office. Matthews hurried over from the cooler as Randall walked inside.

"Well, hello." Randall grinned at a very skittish Hilda who stood behind her desk. "And who do we have here?"

"This is Hilda Drescher," Hogan said, walking closer to the plainly frightened girl. "She's the camp secretary and knows everything there is to know about the place. She could be a great help."

"Yes, I'll bet," Randall murmured, his eyes slowly undressing her.

Hilda instinctively took a step closer to Hogan.

Randall grinned at her uneasiness and glanced around the office. Then he walked to the inner office and opened the door. A look around.

"It'll do for now. Gentlemen," he looked at the officers coming in, "we've got some work to do."

Randall listened, Hogan had to give him that, as he and the other officers explained the situation at the camp. As Hogan half-expected, the desk officer was not too pleased to hear that the Germans were still running the camp. The moment they finished talking, Randall announced the changes in personnel. His men would take over the running of the camp nearly to the last detail. The others would help wherever Randall needed them, which, at the moment, seemed to be nowhere. The camp would be run like any other military installation but with stricter discipline, stricter rules and a very strict curfew. The town would be off-limits to the former prisoners, but not, Hogan noted, to Randall's men. The former prisoners, as Randall put it, would have to get used to being in the military again. As for the former guards, they would remain confined to the barracks.

"Just a minute, sir," Hogan objected. "Under the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention," he noted the irony, "they are allowed exercise and recreation."

"They'll be granted that when they show they are entitled to it," Randall said coolly. "Perhaps you've forgotten which side you're on, Colonel." There was a thinly disguised slur in his voice.

Hogan kept his temper. "I think, sir, you should explain that."

Randall smiled. "I'd be happy to, Colonel Hogan." Randall stood and faced him with a sneer. "I've read the file on this camp, and I had a very interesting conversation on the way over here with one of the truck drivers. I hear there hasn't been a single successful escape in all the time you've been here. Not one! It seems from your concern about the krauts and the bastard," Hogan stiffened, "who was in charge that you led a privileged life here. Well, Hogan, the free ride is over. It's time that you and this pathetic group got back in the war and remembered who and what you're supposed to be fighting. But you haven't fought, have you? You've just sat on your tail and let that," an obscenity, "walk all over you while others did the fighting for you!"

Hogan stiffened under the verbal assault; it was obvious that Randall hadn't been given the real story of the camp. Part of him wondered why; part of him was furious. But he had to take it for now.

Randall fell silent and sat down, his eyes still on Hogan. "I think I've learned enough for now, gentlemen." His voice was mocking. "You're dismissed. You might as well warn everyone that there are going to be some drastic changes here."

The five men saluted; the captains filed out slowly.

At the door, Hogan turned, his voice low, "Colonel, how long will you keep Klink in the cooler?"

Randall didn't bother looking at him. "He might have some useful information. I'll personally interrogate him. As for how long, Hogan . . . " Randall's eyes lifted to his. "Until he rots, Hogan. Until he rots."

Hogan didn't say a word and left the office.

And stopped suddenly. Sergeant Virgil Yeager was waiting in the outer office.

"What are you doing here, Yeager?"

"Me?" Yeager grinned at him. "Well, now, sir." Hogan stiffened at his tone. "You see, sir, the Colonel and I have a little business to transact."

Hogan's face darkened. "I don't think so, Yeager. Get out of . . . "

"There you are, Sergeant," Randall said from the door. "I've been expecting you." Randall went back inside.

Yeager tossed off a mocking salute. "Like I said, sir, me and the Colonel have got business." He grinned and swaggered into the office, leaving Hogan staring at the closing door.

...

Hogan walked into an uproar when he reached his barracks. The captains and other officers were there.

Lt. Miller was giving them an earful. "When I got to 79 that damned Corporal Snyder stopped me. Said that one was off-limits."

Martin stared at him. "Off-limits?"

"Seems Yeager told Randall it was full of guys just eager to do what he wants, unlike the rest of us."

"Quiet!" Hogan ordered over the outrage that arose.

"It's worse than that," came a quiet voice from the door.

Hogan turned to see Private Ken Tiptoe looking at him with unusual gravity. "What is it?"

"I was listening to Yeager a few minutes ago. Seems he offered his services and those of the men in 79 to Colonel Randall. He pretty much told the men that if they cooperated, they'd be — well, he called it living on easy street. A bit disturbing the way it sounded."

"A lot disturbing," Mitchell said.

"Are the men in 79 taking Yeager up on it?" Hogan asked, ignoring the uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

"I think I can convince a couple of them not to. But I think most of them will," Tiptoe said. "Colonel, most of them aren't troublemakers, not really. They're bored, restless. Some of them have legitimate gripes against the Germans who captured them. For the most part, they want what we all want — decent food, clothing and the like."

"Your training's showing, Reverend," Witton said without a hint of a smile. "We all want that, and hopefully we'll all get it. But Yeager's talking about something a lot more than that. He wants to be in charge. Make that he wants to be pals with the guy who is in charge."

"A normal enough reaction," Tiptoe began.

"Yeah," Hogan said evenly. "As long as it doesn't come at the expense of the rest of the men. If Yeager and his pals start getting privileges that are denied to the rest of the camp, especially the men who have been here a hell of a lot longer than he has, there's going to be trouble."

"What do we do, Colonel?" Warren asked.

"We do what we're told. Colonel Randall is in charge, like it or not. He's made it clear he expects to run this place like a regular army camp. Given that we're smack dab in the middle of the Fifth Panzer Army, that's not a bad thing. We said the same thing when Klink surrendered the camp. So, like we did when we first got here, we get the feel of things, see what's going on. And I don't want anyone undermining his authority." He turned to the non-officers. "Pass the word. Everyone behave. If you've got a beef with Randall or his men, keep your mouth shut; don't give them an excuse to jump on you. And bring your complaints to one of us." He gestured at the other officers. "Everyone got that?"

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Okay, that's it. Nothing's going to happen today, so mingle and get the word out."

"Right, sir."

The men began leaving the barracks.

Witton stayed behind as the others left.

"Something on your mind, Captain?" Hogan asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Witton shook his head. "Nothing specific. Except . . . I wonder why London didn't tell him about your operation."

"I've been asking myself the same question," Hogan admitted.

"Will you ask London, sir?"

"I've thought about it. But, like I said to the men, let's get a feel of things first. Maybe Randall's just having a bad day. I've been known to have a few myself."

Witton smiled faintly. "Maybe. I'll go mingle. Might learn something about our new commanding officer."

Hogan nodded as Witton left.

New commanding officer. The last time someone else had been in that position was when Klink decided to bring Crittendon into the camp.(1) A major disaster from the moment he arrived. One day I'm going to have to ask Klink why he did it. Did I really get on his nerves that much or was there another reason? Hogan shook his head. "There are many things we've never talked about," Klink had said. Crittendon was one of them, though hardly the most interesting topic. And with Klink in the cooler, they sure weren't going to talk about anything.

But he had a few things to talk about with Randall. And Klink was one of them.

Go slow, Robert. Go slow. Don't oversell it. Randall's not the enemy; he's not Hochstetter or Burkhalter. He's one of the good guys. I'll just have to show him that Klink's one of the good guys too. Hell, I've done all but sell the Brooklyn Bridge to some of the bad guys. Proving to Randall that Klink and the other Germans here are good guys shouldn't be hard. A few days should do it.

So why did he have so much trouble believing himself?


1 "Flight of the Valkyrie"