"Where the hell is he?" Hogan asked, looking around in exasperation. Operating on the theory that Crittendon liked Carter best (and certainly Crittendon didn't annoy Carter the way he did everyone else), Hogan had sent Carter back along the route that the team had taken from the fallen tree, while the rest of them dropped off the prisoners and the truck on Bruner's farm.
Hogan had made sure to tell Bruner in Sauer's presence that he would see to it that the four missing S.S. guards would be blamed for the sabotage of the Berlin Express and the Kessling oil refinery that evening, so they had to be watched every minute until the explosion occurred. Bruner had assured him that they could take care of it. Hogan had taken a small vindictive pleasure in watching the trussed Sauer kick against his bonds at hearing that news. He wondered if it might influence Sauer and his comrades to turn against the Reich, knowing that they would be hunted men after this evening, but he doubted it—in Sauer's case, at any rate. The man was too much of a true believer in Nazi ideology. On the other hand, Sauer knew exactly how the system worked. He would know that he wouldn't have a chance if his superiors thought he was a saboteur. Well, Sauer was Bruner's problem now. Hogan had given him what chance he could—and it was more than a war criminal like Sauer deserved.
After leaving Bruner's farm, they had rendezvoused with Carter by the fallen tree where everyone had last seen Crittendon, but Carter reported that the English officer was nowhere to be found. It was, perhaps, too much to expect Crittendon to have stayed in one place waiting, although the others were sure that he hadn't followed them when they had set off to try their last-ditch attempt to stop the truck transporting Hogan to the train station.
"I was bringing up the rear and checked behind us several times, but never saw him," Kinch said with a shrug. "We didn't have the time to wait for him if we were going to catch your truck. I don't know why he didn't come along or where he went."
Hogan grunted with irritation. Time was ticking and they had to get back to Stalag 13 in time for roll call. "All right, let's get back to camp. Maybe we'll trip over him as we go."
But by the time they arrived back near the stalag they had seen no sign of the missing group captain. They approached camp cautiously: exiting and entering camp always had to be undertaken with care during daylight missions. While they didn't have to worry about avoiding search lights, they also didn't have the cover of darkness, and though there were more patrols at night (on the assumption that prisoners were most likely to plan escapes at night), they spotted movement in the woods more easily during the day.
As Hogan scanned the camp from a vantage point, he saw a commotion on the opposite side of camp, with guards running towards it. He didn't know what the distraction was, but he instantly took advantage of it.
"They've pulled the guards from this side of camp. Let's go!" he told the others. The group swiftly made for the emergency tunnel's tree stump exit, and Hogan kept watch as Kinch, then Carter, then LeBeau, and finally Newkirk slipped one by one into the safety of the tunnel before he took his own turn.
Olsen was waiting down below in the main chamber with the radio equipment, and he sighed with relief as the five of them entered. "I'm really happy to see you down here, sir," he said with a broad smile.
Hogan returned it with a grin of his own. "I'm even happier to be here," he said sincerely.
Olsen turned serious. "Just before you guys got here, Davis called down here with a report. He saw through the wire that the guards had captured Group Captain Crittendon on the opposite side of camp from the emergency tunnel entrance. Do you know why he was there?"
"Probably looking for the tunnel entrance," Newkirk answered, his voice laden with sarcasm. "He couldn't find a bell in a belfry."
Hogan nodded; as far as he could tell Crittendon had no sense of direction, so it would be just like him to make that kind of mistake. It was amazing enough that he had found his way back to camp on his own. "You guys get back into uniform, get up above and get seen," he told the rest of the team. It wasn't exactly an alibi for the afternoon hours they had been gone, but the sooner they were clearly placed in camp, the better.
Everyone began shedding their civilian clothes for their uniforms and they were about halfway through the process when Barnes came skittering down the ladder from the barracks above. "Hey Olsen— Oh! Colonel Hogan!" he smiled with relief.
"Something to report?" Hogan asked.
"Yes, sir! The guards just brought Group Captain Crittendon in through the front gate. Kommandant Klink just met him in the compound; he looked really mad, sir. He had Schultz take the Group Captain to the cooler."
Hogan crossed his arms around his stomach, looking down the tunnel entrance in a way that suggested to the others that he wasn't really seeing it as he thought through the implications of this news. Barnes shifted his feet uneasily; the rest of the team finished putting on their uniforms.
"All right," Hogan finally said. "Everyone upstairs—except you, Kinch. I need you to send a coded message to HQ."
"Sure, Colonel," Kinch answered as he finished tying his boots. He moved over to sit at the radio table as LeBeau ascended the ladder, followed by Olsen, Carter, Barnes, and finally Newkirk. "What's the message?"
"Papa Bear to Mama Bear. Request direct conference with Prince Charming at 1800."
Kinch nodded, writing it down and translating it into code. He looked up at his commanding officer a bit dubiously. "We'll all be at roll call then, Colonel."
Hogan nodded. "I can manage the direct transmission." His mouth quirked up. "You know I could handle the Morse key if I had to," he teased lightly.
"Yes sir," Kinch answered, but there was only a hint of his usual warmth in his eyes. He looked at Hogan searchingly, then added, "Do you mind if I ask what you'll be saying to General O'Malley, sir? Is it worth the risk of a direct transmission?"
Hogan put his hand on Kinch's shoulder in his old familiar gesture, hoping that it conveyed reassurance. Of all the bridges he needed to rebuild, he was pretty sure that the one with Kinch was going to be the hardest one to repair. Kinch was right that direct contact carried far more risk of detection than their coded Morse code bursts, and timing the transmission for a point when Kinch couldn't be down there to manage the radio might be suggesting that Hogan didn't trust him in some way to be there for it. But Hogan had decided that personal contact was essential to untangle the snafu, and he wasn't sure how the conversation would go. He wanted to protect his men as much as possible if the interview went badly.
"I have to convince him to let me stay, and if I'm going against orders, I don't want any of you caught in the crossfire," he said seriously. "Crittendon's recapture should make it easier, though. I know I can get Klink to transfer him, which will leave it clear for me to stay here. We can get Crittendon out and back to London—if they want him. With Crittendon compromised, I'm hoping that O'Malley will see I need to stay in command here—if he was the one that signed off on my transfer in the first place. I've gotta get that straightened out. And I need to speak to him personally for that, even if it's risky." He squeezed Kinch's shoulder lightly and felt the taut muscles relax slightly beneath his hand.
"All right, sir." Kinch's smile was mostly in his eyes, but that was a good starting point. He put on his headset and reached over for the knob of the Morse key.
"One last thing, Kinch—what was Crittendon's code name?"
ooOoo
Hogan sat by the radio, watching the time for 1800 and musing over London's use of fairy tale names for its agents. Who was in charge of picking them out? An odd wartime job. He shifted his thoughts forward. If he could resolve the matter with O'Malley quickly, he could get out of the tunnel and onto the road to surrender to the guards and be back in custody before the bombs were set to detonate, at 1930. It was still dicey having been publicly out and unsupervised on the afternoon of the same day of such a big job, but his hand had been forced on that one.
The radio abruptly came live. "Prince Charming to Papa Bear, Prince Charming to Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear." O'Malley's voice, for sure.
Hogan picked up the hand set. "Papa Bear here, Prince Charming. Reynard has been caught by the Big Bad Wolf. Repeat, Reynard has been caught by the Big Bad Wolf."
There was a short pause, then O'Malley inquired, obviously puzzled, "It was planned for Reynard to be caught, Papa Bear."
Hogan shook his head, forgetting that O'Malley couldn't see him. "Reynard is compromised, Prince Charming. Big Bad Wolf won't let him stay in the Bears' Den. I'm requesting permission to remain here at the Den."
The pause was longer this time. "Are you sure, Papa Bear? The Giant had asked for your return."
This was it: once he said this, he was committed. "Very sure, Prince Charming. There's still much work to do. I'm needed here," he said firmly.
"Very well. Very good. I will make the necessary arrangements with the Giant." O'Malley's voice held a definite note of relief, Hogan noted. So he hadn't wanted to pull Hogan out: he had been doing it at the request of the American high command. That still left the question of why they had wanted to withdraw him in the first place, but O'Malley sounded fairly certain he could overcome whatever objections there were.
"Should we retrieve and return Reynard?" Hogan asked.
Apparently O'Malley had accidentally retained his grip on the mic. Hogan overheard a distant curse, followed by a garbled ejaculation that sounded like "you sent who over there?" Then O'Malley's voice came through more clearly. "No, Papa Bear. His retrieval is not necessary. Ensure he is safe, but within Big Bad Wolf's custody."
Hmm, so even the British didn't want Crittendon back. Didn't sound like O'Malley had known exactly who had been chosen as the agent to replace him, either. A curious oversight, but maybe it made the snafu clearer. Maybe there was a second Crittendon in the RAF service? Whatever—Hogan was going to have to leave it in O'Malley's hands to clear up. But not having to return Crittendon to England simplified matters.
"Roger wilco," he answered cheerfully.
"My apologies for the difficulties," O'Malley replied obliquely. "I am very glad you remain where you are, Papa Bear."
"Yes, sir," Hogan smiled.
"Mama Bear, over and out."
"Papa Bear, over and out," Hogan answered. Well, that had gone smoothly. He turned off the radio and then checked his watch. He needed to get out of the tunnel and get captured—again.
He sighed slightly wistfully. Freedom had certainly had its temptations. Sorry, Mom; sorry, Dad. But you taught me to always finish my jobs. He shook himself slightly. He knew where he needed to be now.
He picked up the small cloth bag LeBeau had packed his belongings in, which he had retrieved from the truck before they hid it at Bruner's farm. He stuck the swagger cane inside it so he'd have both his hands free, then he looped it over his shoulder and set off down the tunnel.
ooOoo
Fifteen minutes later he got to the road that led to Stalag 13, at a far enough point that it would be believable that he had come from where he had left the truck, and began hiking toward camp. The afternoon was fading quickly into evening, and he wanted to be picked up before the sun set. Scanning the sun's lowering position in the sky as he walked, he thought that would be no problem; he was on schedule.
He heard the patrol before they saw him, and he slowed his walk so that they would be certain to see him. He was not best pleased, however, to see that it was led by Corporal Hahn as they emerged onto the road. He slowed down further, raised his hands up near his shoulders, and called out in German, "Nicht schieβen!" He didn't need them shooting at him when he was trying to surrender.
"Halt!" Hahn called out before approaching him carefully, suspicion written all over his face, ordering the other two guards to cover the prisoner too. Hogan came to a complete stop, waiting and trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. Hahn looked down the road that Hogan had obviously come from, then back towards camp, clearly puzzled about why Hogan would be returning.
There'll be a lot of that going around, Bub, Hogan thought.
Hahn searched him thoroughly, a process Hogan gritted his teeth through, but finally the guard stepped back, convinced Hogan had nothing on him that was dangerous. He circled back behind Hogan, then shoved him forward with his rifle muzzle with a sharp command to move.
Hogan complied. There was no point in antagonizing Hahn here. After a few steps he got another rifle shove.
"Hände hoch!" Hahn ordered, sounding angrier.
Hogan grimly raised his hands higher, up above his head, continuing to move forwards. It's not that far to camp, he told himself. And indeed, in just a few minutes they came over the final hill in the road that led to the main gate and saw the whole of Stalag 13 laid out before them. The setting sun glinted off the barbed wire and the tin roof of the delousing station.
Home sweet home, Hogan said to himself ironically.
Hahn shouted at the guards inside, who ran to open the gates. As they stood there waiting, Hahn's rifle pushing hard against his spine, Hogan had an idea.
"I'm sorry about your sister," he said in German, quietly, then added, "My girlfriend died in the London Blitz; I know what it means to lose someone you care about to enemy bombing."
Calling Molly his girlfriend was, perhaps, something of an exaggeration: he had dated her perhaps three or four times before she and her sister were killed by a bomb in one of the many night raids on London. But he had deeply regretted the death of that lovely, spritely girl; his anger over her senseless death had certainly fueled his own anti-Nazi feelings at the time.
Hahn said nothing in return. When the gates finally opened, he harshly ordered Hogan inside—but he didn't push him with the rifle muzzle this time.
Maybe one small step forward there. Or maybe not, Hogan thought as he crossed through the gates and entered Stalag 13, a prisoner in its custody once again.
ooOoo
Author's Note: One final chapter coming, on Wednesday.
