MAY 1945
"The time we had twenty-two guys down in the tunnel, the detection truck was outside so we couldn't use the radio, and we almost had a mutiny on our hands downstairs. That was the worst one," Kinch said.
"That wasn't the worst one," LeBeau countered, topping off Kinch's glass of champagne. "I vote for the time we had to blow up three bridges in one night. I should have put in for ten cents a mile."
"No contest," Carter shook his head as he carefully balanced one cork on top of another on the tabletop. "The time I had to dive in the well for that code book. I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers for two days after that... boy, I can tell you somethin' about cold."
This was, in a way, even better than the liberation itself had been. They had just a few more days at Stalag 13, to shut down the tunnel system and clean up a few loose ends, before they all moved on. It was strange how attached they were to the barracks; they had the run of the place and could have been having their victory party in Klink's private quarters, but somehow they'd ended up here, at the same old rough-hewn table and pot-bellied stove, to sit and share their memories. For Bluebird it was the first time she had heard about many of these exploits, but some were fond memories for her as well.
"I'll tell you what the worst one was for me," she put in, definitely feeling the effects of the excellent French champagne they had 'liberated' from Klink's personal stock. "Remember when the three girl singers were taken prisoner and moved into Barracks 3?"
LeBeau reacted in the positive immediately; Newkirk took a sip of champagne and not-so-convincingly said "Slipped me mind."
"Your mind can be pretty slippery," Hogan chuckled.
"The colonel needed three women to take their place," Bluebird went on, "so he chose himself, Newkirk and LeBeau… so what was I, chopped liver?"
"Now I remember," Newkirk nodded. "You're right, that was a sticky one for me as well. I look all washed-out as a redhead."
"I had my reasons," Hogan countered. "You were young, inexperienced…"
"Female", she laughed. "You had a girl ready and waiting to take that undercover mission, and you sent LeBeau instead… a Frenchman who gets five o'clock shadow by ten-thirty in the morning made a better girl than I would have?"
"That's cold, Colonel," Kinch chuckled. "I'm on her side with that one."
"And while you guys were gone, Kinch and Carter and I processed a half-dozen airmen through the escape route, even with three men down," she finished proudly.
"Yeah… she sure worked like mad on that one. Had to stop her from going out the tunnel and yelling into the woods calling for more airmen," Kinch laughed. "She was pretty hot under the collar as I recall."
"Okay, okay, I apologize," Hogan gave in goodnaturedly. "I take it back; you're a very convincing female."
He'd second that, Newkirk thought to himself... he was glad it had been her and not LeBeau in that barn.
"In my own defense," Hogan went on, "I didn't ask for a female operative and I wasn't exactly equipped to handle one."
"How did I make things hard?" she asked. "I never asked for any special treatment."
"Are you kidding? For one thing, I had to watch my language in front of you."
"I've never heard you swear, Colonel," Carter put in. "I mean, Newkirk's our expert there… only all the bad words are in English so we don't understand what they mean." He thought about that for a moment. "No… wait…"
"We'll ask him to translate for you," LeBeau chuckled.
"No, I'm serious," Hogan insisted, holding his glass for Louis to refill. "There were three words I used to use all the time that I had to stop using in front of Bluebird, and it was really inconvenient."
"Which words?" Kinch asked, genuinely curious.
Hogan ticked them off on his fingers. "Newkirk's… not… here." Everyone laughed, and she felt the color creeping back into her cheeks. "Right," he said to Newkirk, "you can laugh… you're never there when I say it."
"He's right, it's not a pretty picture," Kinch confirmed.
LeBeau grabbed himself by the front of his own sweater. "Give me a Gestapo uniform, Klink's car, papers, a blonde wig and a gun, and five minutes ago is not fast enough!"
"That how it went, was it?" Newkirk asked Bluebird with a wink.
"Not exactly… I brought my own gun."
"If I didn't remember to say 'thanks' in so many words before, I'm sayin' it now." She felt his arm gently circle her waist and give her a squeeze… and then it stayed there.
"Same thing when we joined the swing shift at that cannon factory," Hogan continued. "One little tiny hitch… Newkirk getting inducted into the German army… and she went all to pieces when we came home without you."
"That one might not have been so bad… I would've been drawin' from two paymasters," Newkirk mused.
"Next time we won't bother breaking you out."
But there wouldn't be a next time. The war was over. They could hardly say they were disappointed… and yet, it was going to be very strange to move on. Nobody had anything to say for the next minute or two… each of them was searching his or her own thoughts.
And Newkirk's hand was still on Bluebird's hip. So for once she decided to throw caution to the winds. It was easy for her to hold a gun on a man… she had more confidence and far more experience in that than she did in making any other kind of move, and the thought of making a fool of herself was never far from her mind, but this was a special night. Maybe… just maybe…
Her right arm slowly and gently curled around Newkirk's waist. She was careful; she knew he was still sore on that side no matter how many times he tried to brush it off as an unimportant concern.
Maybe a little too careful… he didn't seem to notice at first, then after a bit he looked down. It was just about to make her 'Ten Dumbest Things I Have Ever Attempted' list when he realized what was going on and gave her a smile… one of those to-die-for smiles that came as much from his eyes as from his lips.
LeBeau finally broke the silence. "Anyone for more crêpes Suzette?"
He had plenty of takers, and he got up from the table and went over to the stove. From that angle he could see Newkirk and Bluebird, each with one arm encircling the other's waist, which was out of the line of sight of anyone else at the table. He grinned behind their backs and gave a silent, attention-drawing wave to Hogan, Carter and Kinch… when they all looked, he performed a quick pantomime as to what was going on back there.
And that, Hogan thought to himself, was another reason to keep women out of Luft Stalags! Camaraderie was one thing, but when it got past that point it was totally outside what a military unit could handle. That was when things got fouled up. That was when…
He smiled and shook his head. So what? He knew how he'd feel if that bench Newkirk was occupying was empty right now… even worse than he'd felt every time he'd seen that empty top bunk to the right of the door over the last few days. He had his entire crew safe and whole tonight, and that meant more to him than anything else in his life ever had.
At the table, the topic had changed. "A flaming arrow?" Bluebird laughed.
"Courtesy of Little Deer Who Goes Swift and Sure Through Forest," Kinch nodded towards Carter.
"I missed…" Carter admitted with downcast eyes.
"That was twice he almost skewered the colonel," Newkirk said. "You're a ruddy menace, Andrew."
"So it didn't work?" she asked, disappointed.
"It didn't work until Newkirk grabbed it, pulled it out of the wall before it set the barracks on fire, and sent it right out through my office window, through the fence and smack into the truck full of jet fuel," Hogan finished. "With about six inches to spare… great shooting, Robin Hood."
"Thirty seconds later," LeBeau picked up, "we're outside for roll call and Klink is going on about the illustrious German war effort and their new experimental jet fuel… alors, here comes the truck, completely in flames, riding past the front gate… c'était magnifique!"
"Another fifty feet, and BOOM!" Newkirk laughed, gesturing. "Truck flambé, pieces of it all over the place."
"And Klink standing there looking like he'd swallowed his monocle," Kinch wrapped it up.
"I actually think he had," Hogan chuckled. "I gotta tell you; when I hand-picked you guys I knew you were all good, but I did have my doubts… I knew it wouldn't be easy to assemble a team like this one. Kinch, I was sure about… but as for the rest of you clowns, I had some serious thinking to do before I decided to sign you on."
Kinch certainly looked pleased. "Thanks, Colonel."
"Dependable, rock-solid, superior radio and tactical skills… what's not to like?"
"I'd congratulate you, Kinch," LeBeau said, "but I'm afraid he's not through with us yet."
"If you want to know, I'll tell you," Hogan said agreeably.
"Okay…" He closed his eyes a bit theatrically. "I can take it…"
"LeBeau… and I hope this won't come as too much of a shock to you… you've been known to get a bit emotional from time to time. I had to weigh that tendency against your skills and decide whether or not it was worth the risk to the rest of the team."
LeBeau rocked his head from side to side. "Oh, if that's all…"
"You stole a priceless painting…"
"For France!" he bristled. "That fat animal Goering didn't deserve to look upon it, the filthy Boche!"
"I rest my case." The others laughed… and then LeBeau had to as well. "Carter?"
"Um… yeah… okay…" Carter's tower of corks toppled, and he cringed as if he were expecting a dentist to start drilling. "How bad is it, sir…?"
"Carter, my boy, you have a one-track mind… which sometimes jumps that track. You're the best explosives and demolition man east of the Rhine, and maybe west of it as well… when you remember to set the timer. You can cook up a charge that'll annihilate absolutely anything… when you remember the name of the facility, where it is, and how to find the way back to camp."
"I'd say that's about the size of it, boy… uh, sir."
"Newkirk?"
He waved him ahead. "Be my guest, sir."
"Newkirk, the phrase 'loose cannon' was invented just for you. When I first reviewed your dossier I couldn't find any indication at all of any scruples whatsoever. Plenty of talent, all unfocused. Plenty of energy, all undisciplined. I needed the best all-around swindler I could get my hands on, and that was you, but I wasn't sure you had it in you to dedicate yourself to the good of the unit. You were the hardest one for me to decide on, and the one I figured would be most likely to louse us up. If I'd seen that start to happen, I would have had you transferred so fast you wouldn't have known what hit you."
"Taking a sexy Gestapo informant on a guided tour of our operation didn't qualify?" Kinch asked.
"Almost."
"I can't argue with that, sir," Newkirk admitted.
"I think I can save some time," Bluebird told the colonel. "I already know what was wrong with me."
"Actually I don't think you do. I'll admit I thought headquarters was out of their ever-loving minds sending you here in the first place, but that wasn't what concerned me the most. You had a serious chip on your shoulder and you were trying way too hard… beyond your abilities… to be something you weren't yet. The only cure for inexperience is experience, and you were impatient. Cutting your hair and swearing off lipstick wasn't going to make you one of the boys. You had to give it some time and find your niche. You did… but you did it the hard way and you wouldn't listen when I tried to tell you that. Think that's a fair assessment?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir…" she admitted.
"I know I didn't make it easy for you at first."
"It made me try harder."
"You never stop trying."
"I learned that from an officer I used to know… great guy; you'd like him."
"Well, I don't know about that… would that be the same grandstanding show-off who taught you to walk into Gestapo headquarters with nothing but a handgun and start ordering people around?"
"You do know him," she smiled.
"Uh huh. And when he gets home they're either gonna give him a medal or a swift kick in the backside."
Kinch stood up and raised his glass. "To Colonel Hogan."
Everyone followed suit. "To Colonel Hogan."
"Thanks for a fun war," Carter added.
"You're welcome, Carter."
He was going to miss this, Hogan knew. Right now, with everything that was going on, he hadn't really had time to think about what it was going to be like to wake up somewhere and not have these four men right in the next room. After all these years it was almost unthinkable that it was finally all over. The end of the war, he couldn't be more pleased about.
But his time working with the men in this room… that, he was going to miss.
A lot.
JUNE 1943
Whoever had thought of putting a wall safe in full public view behind a bar, Hogan would like to have congratulated him. And then slugged him. Getting those negatives out of the safe in plain sight of the fifty-some-odd soldiers in the basement cabaret was impossible. Which was, of course, why his team had been assigned to pull it off. The impossible was their specialty. Sometimes it just took a little longer.
He wiped the bar down for about the fiftieth time. It didn't need it; the patrons were all at the tables, but the repetitive motion helped him think. He'd tended bar for a few months back in Cleveland, and he'd liked that job a lot better… there'd been lots more girls. This crowd looked like a five-year basic training class reunion; not a stocking seam in sight. So what was their next logical move?
"How's it going, sir?" Newkirk whispered from his hiding place crouched behind the bar.
"It's not," Hogan replied out of the corner of his mouth. "LeBeau's doing his best but the crowd's just not interested enough… people still keep looking around." On the small stage at the back of the room, LeBeau had run through just about every entertaining musical number he had in his repertoire, and there had been hearty applause from the soldiers but it wasn't good enough.
Then Hogan's eyes found Bluebird, huddled behind a crate of wine bottles. He brightened and snapped his fingers. "That's it… Bluebird, come with me."
The dressing room just off the main salon was full of racks of sequined costumes in all the colors of the rainbow… plus one colonel with a bright idea; she didn't know what it was yet, but she was afraid he was just about to tell her. "Sir…?" she asked warily, already beginning to worry that she knew what he was thinking.
"Find something that looks good, put it on, and come back outside. That's an order." He had to add the last part; he knew she was close to balking.
"Colonel Hogan…!"
"I don't like it either, Bluebird, if it helps… but Newkirk needs at least four minutes of complete cover to work that safe and LeBeau isn't quite pretty enough for this crowd." He grabbed a gown off a nearby rack; it was emerald green and sparkled like a firecracker. "What about this?"
They both saw the fatal flaw in that suggestion when they got a good look at the bodice. "There's room for me and LeBeau in that, sir!"
"Find something," he told her again. "Make it snappy."
That was not going to be easy, she sighed as he closed the door behind him… she didn't have anything close to a showgirl figure, and those dresses were all sized with two things in mind. Two things she didn't have. But duty was duty… she plunged into a closet and started rummaging.
Several minutes later, she reappeared, dressed as close to the nines as she could get… she figured she was about a four and a half, maybe a five if eyesight were fading a little after too much schnapps. She had also made speedy but liberal use of the makeup table, and done what she could with her close-cropped hair. She tapped Hogan on the shoulder and tried to read his face when he got his first look at the result.
He arched an eyebrow, nodded… then looked a little less than enthusiastic. "Is that the best you could do?"
"Sir, those costumes are fitted for…"
"Yeah, yeah, okay… you look pretty good, I guess." He stepped back to take in the whole picture.
She had kind of an Edith Piaf look going for her… a stretchy boatneck top in basic black, a very short black skirt, fishnet stockings, and black spiked heels… those had tissue paper in the toes to keep them on her feet. Eye shadow, mascara and rouge helped, as did the peacock-colored silk scarf she'd tied around her hips.
"Don't you dare laugh," she warned Newkirk.
"Wasn't even considerin' it," he shook his head, eyeing her up and down. "You actually look a bit of all right, there."
"That's what I'm talking about," Hogan told her. "We need more than that… we need some…" He reached over and tried pulling the elastic neckline of her top down to expose her left shoulder. Gauging Newkirk's reaction… an approving smile… he nodded. "We need to appeal to their baser instincts here, Bluebird. You read me?"
Their inner lech, he meant… and lucky them; Newkirk was a pretty good barometer. He was only smiling because he knew how much she hated this, and if he kept it up he was asking for a crack in the chin. "Sir…"
"Think Picadilly Circus," Newkirk suggested.
"Think Times Square," Hogan encouraged.
She knew what they wanted… with an exasperated sigh she pulled the blouse down to bare her right shoulder as well. "I haven't been there… how's Lisbon Street on a Saturday night when the pool halls are closing?" she snapped.
"Close enough," Hogan nodded. "See if you can… um…" He indicated what he was looking for with his hands about six inches from her waist; her jaw dropped in shock but he nodded firmly. Great… just great… fuming, she folded the bottom of the sweater under itself and started to tuck it up all the way around, exposing a hint of her bare midriff. "That's it," the colonel nodded, smiling.
"That's it, all right; that's as far as I go!"
"That should be all we need… okay, get up there and sing. LeBeau can accompany you; he's done plenty of cabaret."
"Sing what?" she hissed. "I only know two German songs and one of them is Stille Nacht! Is Newkirk gonna need until Christmas to crack that safe?"
"Let's hope not… what else do you know?"
"Lili Marleen… oh,and Der Führer's Face; you think these guys want to hear that one?"
"Then sing Lili Marleen, and slow… or even twice… but get up there and do whatever you have to do to hold their attention up on that stage. If even one of those guys spots Newkirk at that safe we can forget about collecting our back pay… and everything else."
The applause when she took the stage was more than polite, but less than enthusiastic. Not enough schnapps. She whispered to LeBeau what Hogan's plan consisted of, and he looked concerned but took a seat at the piano.
Trying to remember the lyrics, get the pronunciation right, stay on key, and keep an eye on her audience at the same time was daunting. She noticed one soldier starting to lose eye contact before the end of the first verse, and she did the first thing that came to mind… she sat down and crossed her legs. The young man's eyes snapped right back to her. Good… well, not really; she found it all pretty disgusting… but Newkirk was up there working the safe, his stethoscope firmly against the door so he could hear the tumblers, doing his best to hurry it along. She had a job to do, she was the only one who could do it, and she had to do her duty. All they could do was leer.
The next one she thought might be losing interest was lured back with a slowly uncoiling leg that rested its foot on the edge of the piano… that move got LeBeau's attention as well, and he hit a couple of extra notes on the next chord.
Hurry up, Newkirk…
At the front of the room, Hogan was thinking the exact same thing… but if there was one thing he'd learned about safecracking from looking over Lightfingers Newkirk's shoulder all these years, it was that it took as long as it took and no less. Trying to rush him would be a mistake. He watched the audience with one eye, hoping to keep himself between their line of sight and the safe just in case, and kept shooting anxious glances over his shoulder with the other. Finally, he heard a decisive click and then the words he was waiting for.
"That's got it, sir." Newkirk pulled the safe open, Hogan reached in and grabbed the packet of negatives, and the door was closed and locked again in a flash. "That was a sticky one, I don't mind tellin' you; those tumblers were…"
"Save it for your memoirs," Hogan cut him off. "We need to get LeBeau and Bluebird out of there."
"Right, sir." He took the stethoscope out of his ears and went to put it back in his pocket, turning around. "How's she managin', then, with…"
Bluebird was just finishing up, and according to Colonel Hogan's instructions she was singing the torch song as slowly as she possibly could. Every eye in the place was on her… except LeBeau's, which were closed so he could concentrate on his piano playing. She was sitting on a straight-backed chair, in the spotlight, one foot on the piano… how was that position even possible in a short skirt? Her left hand was trailing the scarf that she had at some point untied from her waist. She was…
"Beautiful…" Newkirk heard himself saying, astonished.
"I'm sure you're referring to her skill and resourcefulness under pressure," Hogan told him. "And I'm sure that if you're not, she's gonna have your head on a plate."
Bluebird risked one more shoulder check, disguising it as a sultry gaze into the distance… well, if Newkirk was finished, back underneath the bar was the place for him, not standing there staring at her.
"Newkirk!" Hogan hissed.
"You go on ahead, sir…" he said absently. "We'll catch up…"
The colonel gave his shoulder an insistent shove. "Let's go!"
