"Carter, what are you doing?" Kinch asked closing the door to the hut behind him.
"Booby trapping Newkirk's locker," Carter replied with a grin.
"He will be royally pissed," Kinch said with a hint of amusement and his left eyebrow pointing towards the sky.
"For a few minutes and then he'll laugh. He needs to laugh." Carter placed the final touches on the joke.
"This might start a whole chain of practical jokes," Kinch had an amused grin on his face.
"As long as I don't get the blue dye again. That took forever to wear off," Carter said with a thoughtful look then added. "But it made Newkirk laugh for days, so it wouldn't be so bad."*
"You're a good friend Andrew," Kinch said with a warm smile. Wondering whom else would look good with the blue dye. He wouldn't hit Carter with it this time, possibly LeBeau. How would Smitty take to their joking streak? A blue officer would be hilarious.
"They're lovely, thank you," Porscha placed the crystal vase of white and yellow chamomile, and the most beautiful yellow daffodils, her favourite flower on the table. Klink's garden only had half-dead daffodils left in it. Hopefully, the Kommandant wouldn't miss the vase.
"When the chamomile dries, LeBeau makes a wonderful tea from the petals. It's calmed many a nerves," Olsen said pleased she smiled.
"He's your friend Louis that you've spoken of many times?" she asked. Olsen nodded his head yes. "Would it be permissible for us to take a walk?"
"Sure," Olsen said leading her out of her room understanding her pent up energy.
"How big is this place?" She asked as they took the tunnel heading away from the main area. Her eyes wandered across the tunnel where lights ran every so often giving enough light to see the pathway. An electric line ran between the single light bulbs. Arrows pointed in the opposite direction they traveled.
"We've joked about getting a train and turning this place into a subway station. If you stick to the back parts, you can get a good run in down here. Up front, there's too much traffic." He wanted to reach for her hand but was afraid to push too soon.
"The arrows?" she asked pointing towards one.
"How to get out in case of an emergency. Until you've spent enough time down here, you can get lost. As more tunnels and connectors were built, we found men became confused on the way out, so the arrows were added. Don't worry, we won't get lost and someone is usually around who can point you in the correct direction." They continued their slow walk, his heart glad to be with her, but as shredded as hers had to be at the situation.
"You said Louis makes chamomile tea to help others. I'm sure being in a POW camp has to be nerve wracking, plus your extra activities outside the camp. What all do you do besides being a prisoner?"
Olsen took in and let out a deep breath formulating an answer. "Mostly I gather intelligence, troop movements, and such."
"Is that what you're doing in town?"
"Or the excuse I give to get out and come see you as often as possible," he smiled gently at her.
"You've risked your life every time we've been together?" emotions flashed across her face, he could only read concern, worry, and something more. His heart hoped love.
"Every trip I get to be with you makes it worth the risks. I'm careful and my cover identity has held up under scrutiny."
She stopped walking facing him. "The longer the war goes on the…they…become more determined to find traitors and spies."
He caressed the side of her cheek with one finger. "You're worth any peril."
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and walked again. "The other men, what do they do?"
"We have assignments from London, plus anything we can that will shorten the war."
"The sabotage in the area?"
"Sometimes. Not all of it though," he answered.
"I've seen the victims brought into the hospital. Most mere boys, children who shouldn't be in uniform…their bodies torn apart after bombs went off," the memories clearly haunting as she involuntarily shuddered.
"War is ugly. Politicians start war, never getting close to what takes place. Ordinary people hurt in ways no one should. I hate war," his voice conveying the conviction of his words.
"So do I. A few months ago, a factory blew up and a friend of mine's father worked there. He was killed in the explosion. Everyone working there were civilians. Did you have anything to do with that?" She stopped looking him in the eyes.
"I remember they were building cannons**. No, I had nothing to do with the explosion. Wasn't it ruled an accident? Something to do with the gun powder being stored improperly," he said.
"Officially, but there were rumours. Did the other men have anything to do with the explosion?" she deadpanned him.
"I promise you we would only hit a military target. I'm sorry your friend lost her father, it's a tragedy. The one good thing is that a lot of families will get their fathers, sons, and brothers back because those cannons will not be killing people," Olsen said. He hated to lie to her, but if he told her the truth, he would cross a line the colonel couldn't forgive. He heard both Hogan's and LeBeau's voices in his head to protect the unit.
She seemed to accept his answer with a nod of her head. They walked to the end of the corridor turning a corner. "What will happen to that man you kidnapped? What's his name?"
"Patrick Nottington. He will be sent to England where he'll stand trial for murder and treason. He killed his own sister a couple of weeks ago."
"Sounds like a dangerous man. What will happen to him after the trial?" she asked as they came to a ladder leading upstairs.
"Depends on the penalty the courts decide upon if he's found guilty. And he is guilty. Our job was to capture him, retrieve the information, and send him safely back to England," Olsen said leaning against the ladder.
She shook her head digesting the information wondering if trials in England differed from ones in Germany. A question she didn't want to ponder at the moment. "I suppose the ladders are to the surface," she asked and Olsen nodded yes. "Where did you get the wood to line the tunnels? They seem to stretch on endlessly."
"Woodland had to be cleared for the farmers to plant food for the war effort. The military uses prisoners to clear the land. Some of the wood goes to heat the barracks; the rest ends up down here to ensure against cave-ins." Olsen immediately regretted that last word as her eyes enlarged with worry. "We're safe. The engineers built these tunnels to be safe. Early on we had a few issues, but after we could get the wood there's not been a problem."
"Olsen, got a minute?" Mills asked coming out of a room off the corridor.
"Sure. Would you excuse me for a moment?" he said to Porscha as he moved around the corner out of hearing distance.
Porscha peeked into the room Mills came from, she saw a cell with the man from last night in it. "Hallo."
"Fraulein, are you all right? You looked so scared last night," Nottington said with concern in his voice.
"This entire experience has been frightening."
"Guess neither one of us ended up where we thought. Have they hurt you?" his eyes running quickly over her body as if looking for injuries.
"Nein. Are you all right?" she asked with concern in her eyes. She could see a tray with most of the food consumed on the table. A canteen, she could only assume held water lay on the cot.
"I am. What did you do for them to kidnap you? If you don't mind me asking," Patrick's voice was low, and he stood close to the bars.
"Saw something I shouldn't have. What about you?" She wondered if the stories would be the same.
"My crime is that I'm trying to help Germany win the war," he said with a sad smile. "Can you tell me how many people you've seen?"
"Maybe ten or eleven, no more."
"Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Patrick Nottington."
"Porscha Herz."
"Pleased to meet you. At least they're letting you walk around," he pointed the chain attached to his ankles. She followed said chain to the wall where it was secured. Her expression made him reach through the bars and gently squeeze her hand. "It's okay."
"What will they do with us? I want to go home. My family has no idea what's happened. They have to be terrified," her voice trembled slightly. There was something about the Englander that was endearing.
"We'll both get out of here. Perhaps it's best if they don't see us together," he said. She nodded her head and turned to leave. He called out to her softly. "Porscha, don't worry, I won't leave here without you and will do everything I can to get you home safely to your family."
Porscha went back to the ladder leaning against it as Olsen and Mills came around the corner.
"I'm sorry that took so long. Shall we head back?" Olsen asked. She nodded her head yes as she slipped her hand into his hand. If she believed Bryan, she was a traitor to her country. If she helped Patrick, she was a loyal German. Whom did she believe, Bryan or Patrick?
"Newkirk, Nottington may try to make you angry, but don't let him. If he needles you about Smitty and Rita, it's okay to show anger. Can you handle it?" Hogan asked as they walked towards the prisoner's cell.
"Yes, Gov'nor. No need to worry about me," Newkirk responded. He'd handled the dodgy bugger his entire life.
They entered the room; Nottington lay on his back on the cot. His hands behind his head, one leg bent at the knee with the other leg lying across his knee to the extent the chains allowed. His eyes closed and a smile on his face.
"Time to wake up," Newkirk said hitting the bars with his hand, they rattled slightly.
"Didn't hear you come in, was day dreaming about a girl I met," he said sitting up. He much preferred Porscha's company to these two.
"The bird 'as to wait," Newkirk replied taking a stand next to the colonel who stood out of range of the bars in case Nottington grabbed for them.
"Too bad, she's a good lookin' bird," Patrick smirked.
"The decoy plans you were delivering to the Germans. Where are they?" Hogan asked.
"The fake ones, sir?" Patrick asked standing up.
"The ones you were giving them in Berlin," Hogan clarified not wanting to play word games on which plans.
"They're secured. The Germans can't get their hands on them," the prisoner answered.
"I need to get my hands on them. Where can I find them?"
"Not so fast. They're my leverage," he looked amused.
"You bloody bastard, tell the Gov'nor what he wants to know!"
"Why should I? What's 'e done for me?" Pat threw back at Newkirk. He'd never known Newkirk call anyone a Gov'nor in his life. He was unsure what to make of it.
Hogan put a hand on Newkirk's arm to calm him. "If we're on the same side, why do you need leverage?"
"Because, I intend upon carrying out my mission and the Germans will need to get that information. What do the Germans think happened to me?" Nottington asked.
"No idea," Hogan paced in front of the cell.
"I 'ave a question. If you were on a mission for MI5 then why did you kill the Bobbies transporting the information?"
"What you're talkin' about," he said with confusion on his face.
"The MPs transporting the information you stole were murdered," Hogan clarified wondering why Nottington's speech pattern changed when he spoke to Newkirk. Which was real? He'd bet the cockney accent that came out was the true Nottington. A piece of information Hogan would use to his advantage.
"Sir, I knocked them out, but they were alive and breathing when I left. Had to make the spies who were watching me believe the information I had was real. If something happened to them after I left, I'm not aware. Possibly the traitor we discussed earlier is at fault," the Englander said wondering if Hogan had doubts about Smitty yet.
"Where is the information so we can ensure its safety?" Hogan asked once more.
"Not so fast, sir. I'm still a prisoner, and as I'm the only person who has the location I need to be released."
Before Hogan could answer, Smitty walked into the room. Newkirk threw him a glare that should have done serious harm. Smitty swallowed hard before speaking, his eyes diverting downward for a second. Nottington enjoyed seeing the rift between the friends.
"Sir, an honoured guest has arrived," Smitty said looking directly at Hogan not allowing the smirk he had inside for the misdirection to Nottington show.
"I thought I was the honoured guest," Nottington said.
"You wish," Newkirk said sarcastically as he and Hogan followed Smitty out of the area.
"Who's this honoured guest?" Hogan asked once they were out of hearing range.
"Hochstetter and two other Gestapo just came into camp," Smitty replied.
"Great," Hogan ran a hand over his face. "That's all we need today."
*My story A Day at Stalag 13
** Episode Swing Shift