Chapter 11 Breaking Through

"Colonel, we're through!" Newkirk called down the tunnel.

Kestrel, Lebeau, and Carter cleared away the rest of the debris while Newkirk and Baker slotted new supports into place to prop up the roof. Hogan quickly joined them and pitched in to move the last of the splintered wood and rubble. It had been a satisfactory day so far. He had got one over Klink and von Stalhein, he had been able to talk to the heads of all 20 barracks and arrange an around the clock watch for strangers, and now they had access to the cooler again.

"Good work everyone," he said, "And it's only 1300."

"Kestrel worked like a maniac, sir," Newkirk said, whacking the last support into place.

Kestrel straightened, putting her hands in the small of her back and pushing her spine back into place. "It's been a while since I've worked like this," she said, "How do we get into the cooler?"

"Come with me," Hogan said and lead the way past the now cleared blockage under the prison block. The floor was still slick with damp from the floods, and a line on the wall showed that at one point the water had been ankle deep.

"The cooler is above us," he said to her. There were a number of ladders leading off the tunnel and rising to the building above. "There are two layers of cells, upper and lower. We need to find out which one Hebblethwaite is in and if there is a guard on his cell," he said quietly. "Stay here."

Hogan climbed the first ladder, a short one which led to a passage behind the lower cells. He paused and listened for a moment at one of the gaps in the masonry. Not a sound. Slowly he pushed the block out of the way and slithered through the gap into the lower guard post. The stove had not been lit and none of the lights were on. The air was damp and chilly and there was a distinct scent of stale air and mould. The place had a neglected feeling and Hogan was fairly sure that no one had been down here since the storm. To make sure that there were no prisoners confined in the miserable cells, Hogan tip toed from one to the next, peering through the inspection hatches into each of the cramped 8 by 10 foot cells. No one, thank heaven.

Hogan slipped back down into the tunnel. Kestrel was still waiting for him. "He's not in any of the lower cells," he reported. "We'll have to be more careful with the upper layer, there are more guards there. You take that ladder, there's a spy hole built into the air vent cover, take a look around then come back down and report."

Kestrel nodded and quickly climbed the ladder. Hogan scaled another ladder and, as quietly as he could, made his way to another spy hole. Between the two of them they could see the entire corridor. Peering through the carefully disguised spy hole Hogan examined the corridor.

"Damn."

There was a guard sitting outside one of the cells. Hogan looked again and saw the guards head was down. A quiet snore echoed down the corridor. He chuckled softly and slid back down the ladder. A moment later Kestrel joined him.

"There's a guard," Kestrel said.

"Yeah, and he's asleep."

"It won't take much to wake him up," she said.

"Or to put him asleep again," Hogan said with an evil grin. "He's not one of ours, so he won't recognise one of my men dressed up in a kraut uniform bringing him a nice cup of coffee with a good dose of Mickey Finn in it."

"Colonel Hogan, you are truly evil," Kestrel said.

"One does one's best."

15 minutes later Newkirk slipped in through one of the trap doors and straightened his uniform before rounding the corner with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. In a German uniform and with a bit of make-up to hide the developing bruise around his eye, he looked every inch the Nazi soldier. As Hogan and Kestrel watched from the hidden entrance, the guard on duty quickly woke from his doze and jumped to his feet.

"Guten tag," Newkirk said, "Möchten Sie einen Kaffee?"

"Danke, danke," the guard said, taking the steaming cup and sipping it appreciatively. "Ach, it is cold down here. This is just what I needed."

"Ja, cold. It must get boring, guarding just one prisoner," Newkirk observed.

The faint rattling of chain on stone reached the ears of the hidden listeners and Kestrel's face lost all expression.

"There is only one at the moment," the guard said conspiratorially, "But soon there will be another."

"Oh ja?" Newkirk asked, "You are expecting a visitor?"

"Ja, an English spy, some time tonight or tomorrow. Those English pigs think that they can just waltz into our beloved Germany and take what they want?" the guard snarled, "We will show them, we are no easy target. The spy will be caught, and he will suffer."

"Like this one?" Newkirk asked, looking dispassionately at the prisoner through the bars of the cell.

"This one?" the guard scoffed, "This one is nothing, a mere boy, but he gives us practise for what we will do to every enemy of the Third Reich."

The two of them laughed heartily, and then Newkirk left him to his coffee. Kestrel and Hogan met him in the tunnel as he divested himself of his guard's top coat and jacket. Kestrel was pacing a short path back and forth in her agitation.

"He'll be sound asleep in, oh, five minutes," Newkirk said. "I put enough sleeping pills in his coffee to knock out an elephant."

"How's Hebblethwaite?" Hogan asked.

"Not good, guv," Newkirk reported, his face perfectly serious for once. "He's chained to the window bars and it looks like they've worked him over pretty good."

"I need to speak to him," Kestrel stated firmly.

"Give the guard five minutes," Hogan said, "And then we can go in."

Newkirk placed his hand over Kestrel's as she went to climb the ladder again. "He's alive, miss," he said, "That's a good start. Don't worry, we'll get him out."

"Thanks corporal," Kestrel said. She climbed up the ladder and curled up in the nook to wait until the guard fell asleep.

"How bad is he?" Hogan quietly asked Newkirk.

"He's been tortured, Colonel," Newkirk replied just as softly, "They've been pretty rough on him, so he's not going dancing any time. Even if we can get him out, I don't think he'll be in any condition to take the escape route."

Hogan nodded. "Thanks, we'll deal with the next problem when we get to it. I'm going in with Kestrel. Wait down here for us."

"Will do, guv."

Hogan climbed the ladder one more time and joined Kestrel.

"He's fallen asleep, Colonel," she reported.

"Excellent, can you reach that catch there?"

Kestrel undid the catch Hogan indicated and he swung the whole panel outwards.

"Very clever," she whispered then ducked out and into the corridor. Hogan was close behind her as she ran, light footed, to the cell.

"Oh, God, Ginger!" she cried softly and grasped the bars, pulling desperately at the door.

Hogan frisked the sleeping guard for the key and unlocked the cell door. Kestrel pushed her way past him and into the small cell to kneel beside the figure seated on the floor against the back wall and gathered him carefully into her arms. The injured pilot was shackled at the wrists and a chain ran from his bonds to the bars of the narrow window above with just enough slack for him to sit with his arms above his head. He wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

"Clare?" the red haired prisoner whispered in disbelief as he opened his eyes and looked upon the one who held him so tenderly.

His face as badly bruised and swollen, blood from a cut above his right eye stained the side of his face. His uniform jacket and shirt were open, the buttons ripped off his shirt, revealing extensive bruising and contusions on his torso. Hogan swallowed his instinctive sympathetic pain as he quickly examined the young man for terminal injuries. He had wrenched joints and possibly cracked ribs, but it didn't look like any of his multiple injuries were life threatening.

"I'm here, Ginger," Kestrel said quietly, tears dripping down her face. She looked over his injuries quickly and her face darkened. "That bastard, I'll kill him."

"I've had worse," he said with a weak smile, "My Da could teach these Nazis a thing or two about how to hurt a person. What are you doing here? How did you find me?" His eyes darted to Hogan and around the cell, taking in the sleeping guard and the open door in one sweeping glance. His eyes lingered on the open door for just a moment before returning to Kestrel's face.

"When you didn't show up at the rendezvous point I put word out through the underground network. I found you fairly quickly," Kestrel told him. "Then when you were moved here I got in touch with Colonel Hogan and, well, here I am."

"Von Stalhein- he's set a trap, for Biggles, he keeps on boasting about it," Hebblethwaite said and tried to sit up straighter in front of an officer. At the movement he winced and coughed painfully.

"I'll get some water," Hogan said and took the guards now empty cup to the sink near the entrance. He rinsed out the cup and re-filled it, taking it back to the cell where Kestrel was speaking softly to Hebblethwaite, her face expressionless but her eyes filled with sympathetic pain. Hogan passed the cup over to her and she held it to the young pilot's lips. He drank gratefully.

"You must be Colonel Hogan," Hebblethwaite said, he tried to salute but was hampered by his bonds.

"I am, Kestrel's filled me in on the situation, Hebblethwaite," Hogan said. "Don't worry; we'll get you out some how."

"I don't care about that," Hebblethwaite said, "The important thing is stopping von Stalhein from getting his hands on Biggles. Colonel Hogan, you have to stop him from coming, if he does von Stalhein will kill him."

"I know, we're going to make sure that doesn't happen, and get you out of here too. Have you said anything to von Stalhein about Kestrel here?"

"No, he still doesn't know what my mission was. Clare, he knows nothing about you."

"Does he know about the operation here?" Kestrel asked.

"No. There's an underground operation here?"

"The less you know the better," Hogan said grimly. The pallor of the young man's face, the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of pain and stress were ample demonstration of his waning strength. If von Stalhein continued to torture him, Hogan couldn't be sure how much longer he would be able to hold out, even knowing that there were people fighting for him. It pained him to think that he would have to leave the man here, locked in a dismal cell and at the mercy of a sadist, but they had no choice.

"We have the advantage, von Stalhein won't know what hit him and we'll be able to hear him throw a fit all the way from London," Kestrel said. She leaned down and kissed him tenderly. "I'm sorry, Ginger, this wasn't supposed to happen."

"I knew the risks when I asked for a secondment to the 138th," he said, "I just didn't quite expect it to turn out this way."

"Neither did I," Kestrel said. "We'll get Biggles, and we'll get you out. We'll all be on our way back to England by weeks end and you'll be back in the air giving hell to the Nazis in a month."

"Biggles will never let me out on my own again after this. Your family, did you get them out?" Hebblethwaite asked.

"Some of them. Those who still live and are free are now safe," Kestrel told him. "But the rest… They're gone."

"I'm sorry, Clare."

"There's nothing that can be done about it now," she said with deep sorrow. "The underground units are established, and I got all five of my targets out of the country. Mission a complete success, apart from the last bit."

"Kestrel, we have to go before another guard comes," Hogan said, mentally filing away the new information. Kestrel had family in Germany? Just who was this woman?

"Go on," Hebblethwaite urged her. "Get going, I'll be fine."

"I'll be back for you," Kestrel promised him and they parted with a final kiss.

Their eyes were fixed on each other as Hogan closed and locked the cell door.

"Hold in there, soldier," Hogan said in parting.

"Yes, sir," Hebblethwaite responded. "Look after her. She's strong, but…."

Hogan nodded and pulled Kestrel away, back towards the tunnel entrance. She snapped herself out of the reverie and ducked back into the tunnel and down the ladder as Hogan closed and latched the hatch.

She was pacing back and forth when he finally joined her.

"Clare?" he asked.

"That's my real name," she said, "Before you ask, my main mission in Germany was to help establish and train new underground units and to find and help a number of key figures to defect."

"You have family in Germany?"

"Had," Kestrel corrected him. "Those who have survived this long are now safely in England, those who aren't are dead or as good as dead. I don't want to talk about it."

Hogan nodded and dropped the matter. Kestrel's pain was evident in her voice. "Come on, there's not much we can do now until tonight. You need a good stiff drink and some rest."

"The stiff drink will be welcome, but I don't know if I will be able to sleep."

Despite her words Kestrel did sleep, with the help of a left over sleeping pill Hogan slipped into her shot of home-distilled whiskey. She swallowed it in one go, gasped a little, then a few moments later was sound asleep.

"It's not nice to drug your guests, Colonel," Newkirk said mildly as he helped arrange her on the cot in the alcove.

"She won't be of much use to us if she doesn't get some rest," Hogan replied, pulling the blanket over her shoulder, "Nor will you. Go upstairs and get some sleep, I'll need you tonight to get the new radio."

The crew headed back to the barracks to get some much needed rest. Many of the prisoners were already dozing or asleep, making the most of the enforced idleness now that the tunnel to the cooler was once again in operation.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Newkirk asked as he levered himself up onto his bunk, "I mean I know she's strong and tough, but it can't be easy, knowing there's nothing she can do."

Hogan sighed and rubbed at his stiff neck. "It depends on what happens tonight," he said. "If Hebblethwaite dies she will blame herself and probably us, and then I have no idea what she's likely to do."

"Are you considering a snatch and run?" Kinch asked.

"Only as the last option," Hogan replied. "I'm not going to sit back and let von Stalhein kill him. I'd rather it was done outside the camp, but if we have to…"

"Can't we use a dodge?" Newkirk asked, "You know, come in as SS or something with orders to turn him over, get him out of camp that way?"

"I don't think so," Hogan said. "Von Stalhein doesn't seem the type to let an order like that deter him, after all, why would anyone else be interested in the fate of a single pilot, especially one who hasn't been entered into the POW register. He could vanish and no one would be any the wiser."

"We're stuck all right," Kinch said sadly.

"So is Hebblethwaite," Carter added.

"Now let's not get defeatist," Hogan said, "We still have an ace or two up our sleeves. The new radio is due tonight, all we have to do is hook it up and we're ready to fly again."

"Yeah, but it's the waiting that's the hard part," Newkirk said.


Authors note: like many things about HH, the configuration of the cooler seems to change season to season, so I just made it up to suit the story.