Chapter 7

Late that night, Hogan and Kinch snuck the now working radio into the tunnel and began to set up the equipment. They and several other prisoners were down there for hours. Hogan finally called it an evening and sent everyone back up for a rest. They emerged in another barracks, where the first tunnel was begun months before Hogan's arrival, and then carefully snuck across the compound and back to Barracks two. It was now close to 2:00 AM and the barracks was quiet. Kinch had just begun to doze off, when Olsen began muttering in his sleep. His mumbling became worse and Kinch climbed out of his bunk to check on him. Olsen began to cry out, this time in German.

"He's one of us. Stop! Please!"

Kinch, shocked, stopped by Olsen's bunk and listened. Olsen's pleas were now getting louder and the racket began to awaken the rest of the barracks. "Go get Colonel Hogan," Kinch asked one of the other men.

The interrogator handed the family pictures back to Olsen with a promise of more questioning to come. After he was placed back into his cell, the sergeant crawled onto his cot and stared at the wall for several minutes. He then sat up, reached into his pocket and emptied its contents. Finding what he was looking for, he hesitated, but then made a decision. He struck the match, and held it for a moment, gazing hypnotically at the flame. He then burned every single one of the pictures and letters that he carried with him on all of his flights over Germany. Now numb over what he had done, he crawled back onto the cot and wept silently until he fell asleep.

"Where are your pictures? And letters, Sergeant?" The interrogator held back his anger over what he assumed the sergeant had done.

"They're gone. I burned them." Olsen glared at the interrogator, a spark of defiance showing in his eyes.

"Now, do you think that was wise, Sergeant?" The German officer spoke to Olsen as if he were a child. "We had ample opportunity to examine them." Olsen tensed. "Now you have nothing to take with you to a stalag, or are you abandoning them?"

"No. I didn't want your paws on them," Olsen shouted.

"Watch your temper, Sergeant!" The interrogator screamed. "You abandoned them, didn't you, when you signed up with the RAF? Just like your country." The interrogator lowered his voice and began speaking in German. "What is your country, Sergeant? It was Germany, wasn't it? You went to school here, with German children, didn't you? Your mother was born here. She has family here. Wait. Some of them may be fighting for the Fuhrer. Is that possible? You, fighting against your brothers! Quite an irony don't you think? Just like the American civil war." He stopped, then got up and stood directly over his prisoner. Olsen's hands were clenched so tightly around the arms of the chair, his knuckles were turning white. The officer put his hand on the sergeant's head and turned it towards him. "We can make life easier for you, Sergeant. Perhaps arrange a family reunion, if you agree to what the English would call a new arrangement?" Olsen closed his eyes and began reciting his name, rank and serial number. Frustrated, but not surprised, the interrogator dragged the sergeant out of his chair and told a guard to take the prisoner back to his cell.

"I'm sorry." Olsen was now crying in his sleep. "I burnt them. I'm sorry."

"Olsen! Olsen!" Kinch began to try to wake the sergeant.

"I'm not a murderer! You're the murderers!"

"Olsen." He gently shook the sergeant again. This time Olsen stopped and looked up in bewilderment. Hogan had now come over and some of the other men sympathetically gathered around.

"I got it. Go back to sleep," Hogan ordered. "Sergeant, help me get him into my office. Olsen, come on. Come on."

Kinch and Hogan gently led him into the office and sat him down on Hogan's lower bunk. Olsen, who appeared to be in shock, was trembling. He rolled into a fetal position and then became unresponsive. "I knew it was only a matter of time," Hogan said to Kinch. "He's been holding it in."

"Sir," Kinch whispered. "He speaks fluent German." Kinch sat beside the sergeant and began talking to him softly while stroking his back.

Hogan backed away for a moment, went into the common room and opened the door to the outside. Calling for a guard, he asked him to fetch the medic from his barracks and bring him over. He then returned to his office. Kinch was still quietly talking to the sergeant and looked up.

"I sent a guard to get Wilson," Hogan said. He was a bit unsure of what to do next, but was confident that he and Kinch weren't doing any harm.

The two men waited several minutes for the medic to arrive. Kinch continued to talk to Olsen while Hogan, now feeling totally helpless, stood by. Men suffering from battle fatigue back at the base had been whisked away to the hospital and cared for by the medical staff; sometimes not too successfully, Hogan had heard. He often visited injured men under his command, some of whom had later died. Those visits still haunted him. Now, there was no hospital or psychiatrist and no discharge. This was it. And he had to handle it one way or another. One thing he did realize was that soldiers were often reluctant to discuss what was bothering them. They were deathly afraid of being labeled a loon, a coward, a basket case or other disparaging names. As long as he was C.O., he would not allow that to happen. He had seen what men had been through in the air and when captured. A thought then crossed his mind and he went over to the bed.

Kinch moved aside as Hogan approached. The colonel sat down on the edge, leaned over and began to talk so softly that only he and Olsen were able to hear what was being said. At least he hoped Olsen could hear. At that moment, Wilson, carrying his medical bag, entered the room. Kinch approached the medic and explained what had occurred.

"Something happened to trigger this episode," Wilson surmised. "The colonel told me this morning he was eating a bit better and talking some more."

Kinch thought about what had happened during the day. "It may have been the mail call. He's been talking, but not about, you know…."

It was now Kinch that held back while Wilson approached the bunk. Hogan looked up at the medic and shook his head. Olsen was still curled up in a fetal position and was just staring blankly ahead. His trembling had ceased, but an occasional tear slid slowly down his cheek. The medic knew there was nothing he could do at this point. "Has he tried to hurt himself?" He asked.

Both Hogan and Kinch shook their heads.

"He knows you two better than me. Colonel, keep talking to him. He's awake. Kinch, it might be better if they were alone. Colonel, I'll be right outside."

The two sergeants left the office, closing the door softly behind them and sat down around the table. Most the men in the barracks were still awake and gathered around. LeBeau gave up on going back to sleep and put on a pot of coffee.

"I'll have to report this," Wilson said. "Damn."

"Why?" Kinch asked.

"The guard that got me will have it written down in his log."

"What could the Kommandant do? It's none of 'is business." Newkirk had also left his bunk and was now in the process of getting dressed.

"Has this happened before?" Kinch asked. "In camp, I mean."

"Not to this extent." Wilson took the mug of coffee LeBeau handed to him. "Thanks. And not since I've been here."

"Filthy Boche." LeBeau grumbled.

"You got that right," Kinch agreed.

Hogan began speaking with Olsen, again getting no reaction. Remembering what Kinch had discovered, he changed his tactics, and began talking in German.

"It's not a usual practice for the Germans to keep an enlisted man at the Dulag interrogation center for as long as you were there," he said casually. "Most of them are sent to the next stop, say in about four days. We officers, the pilots, well that's another story." He paused. Olsen's eyes shifted slightly towards the voice. Encouraged, Hogan took a breath and continued. "I got here a month after being shot down. I didn't see or speak to another Allied soldier for over three weeks." Hogan had not spoken about this to anyone. He was having difficulty getting it out, but he plodded on. "It was a living hell. First I was treated like some kind of a celebrity, you know? Look who we captured! A commander. I was paraded around like a prize poodle. That was bad, but then there was the next part. When I didn't cooperate…" Hogan's hands were now sweating and he could feel his heart beating faster. "First they told me my crew was dead, all of them. And then they switched and told me some of them were alive. They had the names. I had no clue. They threatened them…They threatened to tell the Red Cross I was killed, then leak my capture to the German press, so my parents would think I was dead, then read about the truth in the papers. By then, I didn't even realize how ridiculous that was. Our papers wouldn't have printed it and my parents had definitely canceled the daily delivery of Goebbel's Gazette." Had Olsen let out a small laugh? Hogan thought so. The sergeant appeared to be listening. Hogan was sure of it. He took another deep breath and kept going. "I was starving. Well, you know what they fed you. Pulled out all hours for questioning. Didn't sleep. Didn't know whether it was day or night. Back then," Hogan said, "They would get physical. They tried to prepare us, you know, in training, but the training's not much good when you know that in a few hours you would be popping down to the local pub for a beer, or going to an officer's club the next evening. But…" Hogan was surprised to see his hands shaking. "I survived. They were mad, boy, were they mad. Sent me here as punishment, I think."

"Did you find them, sir?" Olsen had rolled over and shifted onto his back.

"What?" Hogan had lost himself there for a moment.

"Your crew. Did you find them?"

It took a moment for Hogan to realize Olsen had spoken. Taking a moment to wipe the few tears falling down his cheek, he then answered, "No, no, I didn't. They weren't at the transit center when I got there. By then, the survivors had been sent on to another prison camp. I eventually found out I lost half of my crew." He stopped.

"I'm sorry, sir." Olsen spoke softly.

Hogan hoped the time was right. "Olsen, can you tell me what happened?"

The sergeant looked away.

"Nothing you can tell me will shock me… And it stays between you and me if that's what you want." Hogan waited patiently and finally Olsen spoke.

"Sir, I screwed up."

"Okay," Hogan said. "How?"

"I let them know I spoke German and then…" Olsen began to cry.

Hogan waited a moment for the sergeant to settle down, and then said, "Okay, Olsen, start at the beginning."