Chapter 21-The Truth's In The Woods

Kinch, Carter, LeBeau and Newkirk were outside the barracks and had watched Guthrie slam the door of the Kommandantur. He paused long enough on the porch to give the men watching him a look of total hatred before stomping off the porch and storming in the direction of the guest cottage.

Kinch, who was leaning against the barracks with one leg bent with his foot on the wall and arms folded, allowed a smirk to appear. "I'd say our favorite Kraut seems a bit upset."

Newkirk was leaning against the wall with legs crossed at the ankles and puffing on a cigarette. "Too ruddy bad he wasn't ordered to leave camp," he said. "At least that would've kept him away from the Colonel."

Carter and LeBeau were both seated on the bench. Carter looked up at the radioman. "So what happens now?" he asked.

"I suspect Guthrie isn't going to give up that easily which means all of us better stay alert," Kinch said. "In fact, he could become more dangerous than before." He stood and motioned for the others to follow. "C'mon, we should let the Colonel know what happened." The men followed the radioman to the infirmary where they found Wilson seated beside Hogan's bed and the Colonel sitting in the bed slightly elevated with pillows. Both men looked over hearing the door open.

"How's the patient?" asked Kinch with a grin.

"Trying to convince a certain person I'm well enough to leave here," Hogan said, his voice still a bit scratchy. "But this certain person is being very difficult." His eyes were focused on an amused Wilson the entire time.

"The Colonel's a bit cranky today," Wilson chuckled.

"Then I'd say the Gov'nor's definitely feelin' better," Newkirk replied with both hands stuck in his pants pockets.

Wilson got up from his seat and moved away. "You can visit for a few minutes," he said. "The Colonel still needs his rest. If he behaves and there are no problems, I should be able to discharge him in another two days. But even then he'll have to take it easy." He saw Hogan roll his eyes in frustration. "Try not to let him use his voice too much if possible."

Kinch sat on the edge of Hogan's bed while Newkirk sat in the chair; LeBeau and Carter sat side-by-side on the bed next to the Colonel's. "We have news," said Kinch.

"What's happened?" asked Hogan, concerned.

"General Burkhalter came into camp and ordered if Guthrie wants to question you or any other prisoners Klink and or a guard must be present at all times," LeBeau explained.

"But unfortunately he didn't order him to leave Stalag 13," added Carter unhappily. "He sure looked mad when we saw him leave Klink's office."

"Oui, mon Colonel. Maybe now we can retrieve the journal and get it and von Herwarth out of Germany with no trouble."

Hogan, having mulled over everything he had heard, let out a deep breath. "On the contrary, LeBeau, it'll just make Guthrie more dangerous than before."

"How do you mean, sir?" asked Newkirk with a tilt of his head.

"Look at it this way," Hogan began. "If Guthrie is Gestapo and it appears he is no matter what he says, the Gestapo doesn't give up that easily just because they were ordered not to get creative with their questioning. My guess, he'll find other ways to do his Gestapo act without it being obvious, especially if Klink isn't present at the interrogations. There are ways they can physically abuse a person and not leave a mark on them." For a moment Hogan's mind flashed back to one of the times he spent with the Gestapo after an act of sabotage. He began coughing. Newkirk quickly poured a glass of water and handed it to Hogan who drank all of it before handing the glass back to the Englander.

"You all right, sir?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan nodded. "Give me a minute," he uttered. Finally, after a few minutes, he continued. "We have to keep him occupied. Kinch, contact the underground. We need to send Guthrie on a wild goose chase. I don't care where you send him just somewhere so he'll be gone for a few hours. Also, the moment he leaves the guest quarters, I want you and Newkirk to plant that bug where he won't find it no matter how hard he looks."

Kinch feigned hurt feelings. "Colonel, don't I always do a good job?" He saw Hogan grin at him.

"What about von Herwarth, Colonel?" asked LeBeau.

Hogan sighed. "We don't dare try to move him or retrieve that journal right now. We need to know more about Guthrie and if, by chance, he's not Gestapo or this Captain Rochet, exactly who he is and who he's working for." He spotted Wilson heading in his direction and groaned. "Here comes the mother hen."

Wilson smirked. "That's enough, fellas. The Colonel needs his rest. You can visit again later."

Hogan, staring at the medic, rolled his eyes. "Y'know something, Joe. I could have sworn I left my mother back home when I joined the Army." The men chuckled as they watched the medic fuss over their commanding officer.

Wilson grinned. "I promised her I'd take care of you while you were here," he lied. "Besides, in the infirmary, I outrank you."

Hogan glared at him and mumbled something unintelligible.

"C'mon, guys," Kinch motioned to the others. "Let's go and let these two argue alone. We'll come by later, sir," the radioman promised as he and the others left the infirmary restraining themselves from laughing until they were outside the infirmary. They knew a sure sign their commanding officer was recovering was when he was pestering Wilson to let him out of the infirmary.

Guthrie slammed the door of his quarters so loud the entire room shook. How dare that overweight tub of lard order me around! "Who does he think he is?" he muttered snatching a glass off the table and staring at it. Then, in a fit of rage, he threw the glass against the wall where it shattered into dozens of pieces. He sat down on the sofa and picked up the phone. But then just as quickly hung up. There was no need to speak with his superior until he had calmed down. Besides, he first had to think about his next move and then contact his superior. He began pacing back and forth thinking when there was a knock on his door. He approached the door and opened it, surprised to see who it was standing on the doorstep.

"What are you doing here, fool?" he snapped. "I told you never to come here unless I summon you." He held the door open allowing the man to enter. "You might as well come in before somebody sees you." He closed the door after the man had walked inside and faced him. "Why are you here?"

The man nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "You said you were just going to make him a little sick and then give him the antidote. You never said anything about trying to actually kill him."

Guthrie glared at the man. "And how was I suppose to know he would have that severe a reaction to the bee venom? All his file said was he was allergic to it. Besides, I was about to give him the epinephrine when I heard voices, so I left him lying there knowing he would be found. He was a short time later."

"I saw General Burkhalter come into camp," the man said. "What did he say to you?"

Guthrie smirked. "He is graciously allowing me to remain in Stalag 13 while I search for von Herwarth and his journal. But he has also informed me that while I am permitted to question Colonel Hogan and the other prisoners, I am not to torture any of them under any circumstances and either that stupid Kommandant and or a guard must be present at all times."

Listening, the man shrugged his shoulders. "That's it then. It's over."

Guthrie folded his arms. "It's far from over, my friend. I believe Colonel Hogan is the key to finding von Herwarth, his wife, and the journal. They disappeared in the area of this camp and there is no reason for someone to come to a prisoner-of-war camp unless they were expecting to find help from someone. And from what I read in Major Hochstetter's files, Colonel Hogan is at the center of all the strange goings-on in this area."

The man swallowed nervously as he prepared to ask the next question. "Major, is this all necessary over a woman?" He cringed when he saw the look of contempt he got from Guthrie.

"That woman as you put it is my wife and she belongs to me! And I will get her back and teach her a lesson she will never forget!"

The man began to walk around nervously wringing his hands. "Major, if anyone should ever find out I was the one who informed you about Colonel Hogan planning to lure you out of your quarters that night, my life won't be worth anything."

"Nobody is going to find out as long as you stop acting like you're acting right now, and do what I tell you to do."

The man massaged his forehead with his fingers. "I'm sorry I ever told you anything. I can get in serious trouble if…"

Guthrie let out a deep breath and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I want you to listen to me and listen carefully. First, nobody is going to find out; not if we're careful. Second, continue acting as you normally do and nobody will suspect. You just keep your eyes and ears open and report anything suspicious to me. Do that and we will both reap many benefits from this." He draped an arm around the man's shoulders and faked a smile.

"What benefits, Major?" he asked looking at the German.

"Wouldn't you be proud to help expose Colonel Hogan for the enemy he is in addition to capturing the von Herwarths and recovering something he has in his possession?" Secretly, Guthrie figured he would have to get rid of this person as soon as possible. Keeping him alive was too risky.

Hogan smiled to himself as sleep was rapidly coming over him. He was so glad he had Kinch taking over for him while he was laid up. All his men had grown up during this war, but Kinch had grown up the most. In fact, he had become the leader Hogan always knew he could be; he was a natural. Whatever fate had brought Kinch to Stalag 13 and especially barracks two, Hogan would be forever grateful. As sleep overtook him, Hogan's mind drifted back to another young man who faced the same disadvantages as Kinch and remembered the last time they had met.

Hogan having graduated high school was enjoying his summer vacation before beginning his freshman year at West Point. He had decided to travel back to Washington, D.C. and visit some old friends and relatives. He walked the streets he use to walk when he was younger before finally standing outside the house he and his family use to reside in. He stared at the structure recalling the many fond memories he and his family shared in the house. He then looked around the streets and noticed a lot of the homes had 'FOR SALE' signs on them or simply looked abandoned. Sighing, he continued walking until he soon found himself across the street from the park he loved so much as a child. Crossing the street he went inside the park. Even the park had changed in the years he had been gone. Or perhaps things were exactly the same but he just remembered them differently; he wasn't sure which. He continued walking through the park until he found his favorite tree where he recalled spending many a weekend sitting under with and without his father while growing up. He stepped closer when a negro teenager stepped out from the other side of the tree and stared at him curiously, sizing him up and down.

Hogan paused, but not for the same reason. There was something familiar about the young man wearing faded and worn blue jeans and a white shirt with dirty sneakers. Then he looked into his eyes.

"Jonathan?" he asked, surprised at his appearance.

The teen came closer, his eyes never straying from the young white teenager dressed in brown paints, a beige shirt and brown shoes. "Robert? Robert Hogan?" he asked.

"Yes. How are you? I didn't expect to see you here."

Jonathan smiled weakly and shrugged. "I hang out here daily. I skipped school today; thinking about dropping out altogether. Haven't seen you here in a long while."

The two sat down under the tree. Hogan sighed. "I just graduated high school, and in September I'm entering West Point Military Academy. I want to be a pilot like my father." He studied Jonathan's face. "Why did you skip school today and are considering dropping out?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Can't cut it. Besides, nobody cares anyway whether I go or not. Anyway, the way things are, I won't amount to much anyway so what's the point?"

Hogan shook his head as his eyes darkened. "Don't hand me that crap. You can be anything you want to be but you first have to have an education. And don't hand me that bull about because you being a negro there's no point in trying because nobody cares and you won't amount to much."

"Why are you getting so angry about it anyway? Your life is all planned. Your father is in the military."

"That doesn't mean I don't have to work hard for what I want. Just because my father's a military officer may open a few doors for me, but I still have to work for everything. Besides, I hate to see you throw your life away because you feel you won't amount to much. Jonathan, what does your father do for a living if you don't mind me asking?"

"He's a street sweeper. It was the only job he could get. Of course being a negro didn't help either."

"Did he finish high school?" Jonathan's silence gave Hogan his answer. "Don't you think your father would want something more for his son?"

Jonathan shrugged noncommittally. "I guess so."

"You guess so? You know so. I know things are hard enough for you as it is because of your skin color. I've seen it everywhere. Don't make it even harder on yourself by not getting as much education as you can."

Hogan could tell Jonathan was mulling over what he had said. He looked sideways at Hogan.

"West Point, huh?"

Hogan smiled. "Yeah. My father graduated from there as well. He commanded a bomber squadron and that's what I want to be; a pilot. Maybe even command a squadron like he did."

"I looked for you a couple of times but never saw you again after that day you recovered my football. Where've you been?"

"My family and I moved back to Cleveland, Ohio after my father returned from the war. Since graduation from high school, I decided to visit some friends and relatives here. The rest of the summer I'll spend with my family before West Point. I mean, once I walk through those doors of the Point, I belong to the Army and won't have a lot of free time anymore." He checked his watch. "In fact, I have to get going. I promised some friends I'd met them for lunch." Both teens got to their feet. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Why is it so important to you that I finish high school, Robert?"

"It's important that you give yourself every possible opportunity and not make things tougher on yourself than they already are is all I'm saying. But don't do it for me. Do it because an education will benefit you in the long run."

Jonathan smiled. "I'll think about what you said. I promise. Man, it's good to see you again. I think I was eleven when we met. When you recovered my football for me back then you became my hero." He noticed a slight tinge of crimson appear on Hogan's cheeks. "I told my parents about you and what you did and they were appreciative before they warned me about straying too far from our part of the park."

Hogan put his hands on his narrow hips. "I hate this my part and your part of the park; it should be our park. It belongs to everybody."

Jonathan smirked. "You're one of a small handful who think that. But you're the only one I know who actually says it out loud." He held out his hand and Hogan gripped it tightly and shook it. "It was really great seeing you again. And I promise you I'll think about what you said."

"That's all I ask," Hogan replied.

Hogan shifted his position in bed and smiled despite being asleep. He recalled while in West Point receiving a letter from Jonathan telling him he had graduated from high school and wanted to go into the army and could Hogan perhaps speak to a recruiter for him. Hogan made a phone call as did his father, and before long, he had received another letter from Jonathan that he was in the army and thanked him for his advice and encouragement. He never heard from Jonathan again after that.

The two underground agents followed the teenager as he led them to the location he had found what he wanted to show them.

"How much further, Gustav?" asked one of the men.

"Not much further. Just a few more yards."

"How did you find him?" asked the other man, Garth, curious.

"It was by accident. I was exploring with my younger brother in the area, and he ran on ahead of me and suddenly tripped over what we both thought was a rock. But when we got a closer look, well, you'll see." Gustav stepped over a downed log outside an abandoned shed and pointed. Both Garth and his companion bent down close to get a good look.

"That looks like a human hand or what's left of one," said Garth. "Any idea who it might be?" He looked up at the teen.

"No idea. I didn't want to touch anything before I showed someone."

Garth began to move dirt with his hands. "Help me, Karl." Together, both men began digging until finally, after awhile the right arm and head of the man were visible. The face had been badly beaten making the man nearly unrecognizable, but there was no mistaking the bullet hole in the back of the skull; yet something told Garth he should know this person despite the amount of decomposition. But there was clearly a scar on the inside of his right forearm that ran from his wrist to his elbow.

"My God!" Garth exclaimed.

"What is it?" asked Karl. "You know this man?"

"Yes, I worked with him once not too long ago. Help me cover him back up and then we must quickly get to a radio and warn Papa Bear."