LeBeau wore a satisfied smile as he looked across the yard and saw Schultz's teddy tucked in the sergeant's pocket, but he didn't stop to chat. He took the steps to the office two at a time and yanked open the door.
The sudden appearance of Kinch and Baker set him back hard on his heels, and he barely escaped being knocked flat by jumping out of the way. "Watch where you're—!"
"Sorry, gotta go fix the . . ." Kinch's words faded as he vanished around the corner of the building with Baker behind him.
The short Frenchman scowled at the place where he had seen their backs disappear. "I don't know how they can run like that on a breakfast of leftover potatoes, even if they were made with my secret seasoning."
He entered the outer office to find it empty, but the crack between the door and frame allowed voices to drift out of Hogan's office. LeBeau started over, but the words he heard stopped him short.
" . . . call last night from Franz," Hogan sounded unusually somber.
"He knows something." It was Hilda, speaking barely above a whisper. "If it was good news you would have told me right away."
"I'm sorry, honey. He found records from late '43—"
"Don't." Hilda sounded as though she was crying. "Don't tell me now. I won't be able to stand seeing those people, pretending to be one of them, knowing what . . ."
"If you don't want to go back to town, I'll try and arrange something," Hogan offered.
"No. No escape, not until this is all over." LeBeau's eyebrows shot skyward at her words.
"Actually, I was going to say that you could hide here until the liberation."
"I have to go back to Hamilburg," Hilda insisted. "Frau Uphoff lost her home in a bombing last week and has been staying with me, and Frau Weisner in the apartment next door is elderly and can barely walk. I can't just leave them."
Hogan heaved a sigh. "All right. As long as you know that the moment we get out of here I'm packing you off to the States."
"I know." Her voice broke into a sob. "I wouldn't be able to keep going otherwise."
LeBeau peered through the gap and saw the colonel fold her in a protective embrace. He realized with a jolt that he was eavesdropping on a conversation that he had no right to hear and guiltily tiptoed away to wait on the porch.
"There you are, Kinch!"
The tall sergeant paused in the act of climbing the steps. "You been there long?'
"You should know, you almost knocked me flat," LeBeau grumbled.
Kinch stepped up on the porch, peered in the door, then pulled his head back and shut the door firmly behind him. "Sorry 'bout that. A work detail was pulling down Barracks 12 and a sinkhole opened up where the tunnel used to be. I had to stop the work and set some of the guys to take care of it before any of the Krauts noticed."
"Yes, well, it seems to be a bad morning all round," the Frenchman mumbled under his breath.
"How's that?"
"Today's the day the supply trucks were scheduled to arrive, and all our men around the camp are dressed in their own uniforms. Now I know there's not a lot, but supplies are still supplies. Won't it be a problem if the drivers and guards realize who are the prisoners here?"
Kinch relaxed. "It's okay. Schnitzer's making sure that Underground people are replacing the Krauts."
There was a shout from Mills, perched up in the guard tower nearest to the road, echoed by Arminster in the next tower over, and most of the activity around camp paused to see what was happening.
"There they are now." Kinch pointed to the front gates. "You better go manage your mess hall. I'll call Colonel Hogan."
The driver of the truck was dressed in civilian clothing, and he seemed content to stand and talk with Sergeant Kinchloe and the two 'guards' who had abandoned their patrol of the perimeter wire.
Klink stood in the doorway of Barracks 2 and watched with a scowl on his face. "Schultz, come here," he ordered without turning around. The hefty sergeant pushed himself up from the table and obediently joined him. "Do you see that man? I'm certain that he is Max the greengrocer from town."
Schultz squinted. "I think he looks like the chef from the Ratskeller who makes the bratwurst and sauerkraut dish."
"Do you ever think about anything but food?" Klink demanded, exasperated. "I am telling you, that man is Max who owns the fruit shop."
"If you say so, Herr—Colonel Klink," Schultz agreed, but silently mouthed "bratwurst with sauerkraut" with a wistful expression.
Kinchloe turned away from the truck and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I need volunteers to unload the trucks!" he called across the yard. Corporals Langenscheidt and Adler left their forbidden dice game and started over, followed by Sgt Schmidt.
A sudden inspiration struck Colonel Klink and he pushed Schultz forward. "You cover for me. I have to talk to that driver!"
Mumbling protests, Schultz ambled over to the truck with Klink doing his best to walk hunched over in an effort to hide his progress behind the sergeant's bulk.
"Psst!" he hissed at the driver of the truck, ducking into the shadows while Schultz joined the unloading crew. "Psst! Entschuldigung, bitte!" It took several attempts for the civilian to notice him. "Are you Max the greengrocer from Hamilburg?"
"Ja," Max snapped. "And you are Colonel Klink, ex-Kommandant of Stalag 13."
Klink nodded hastily. "Ja, ja, ja. And you are a loyal German, are you not?"
"What has that to do with anything?" Max asked, suspicion coloring his tone.
"I want to—" Klink looked around to make sure that no one was listening. "—to escape, and I need your help."
"Why should I help you? You are now a prisoner of the Allied forces."
"I can pay," Klink pleaded. "A thousand marks if you have a car waiting on the road tomorrow night. What do you say, eh?"
Whatever the grocer would have replied was cut off by Kinchloe's appearance around the front of the truck. "The supplies are unloaded, Max, and Colonel Hogan is waiting for you in his office," he said politely, and the older man moved away. "Oh, hello Colonel Klink."
"Hello, Sergeant Kinchloe . . ." Klink said nervously. "I was just saying hello to Max, listening to some German words for a change, you know. It can be nice to hear your mother tongue on occasion . . ."
"Sir, you're surrounded by your men. They all speak German," Kinch reminded.
"Oh yes! Of course, well, I . . ."