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What's in a Name
Chapter 29
An Eagle in Your Cage
The title of this chapter is taken from the episode, "Hogan Gives a Birthday Party."
Author's note: Stronger and more disgusting language in a scene in this chapter would have been more authentic. (You can all probably guess what kind of words). I can't write that way, even if I blocked out some of the letters. Therefore, what Colonel Hogan is reacting to in the scene is obviously much worse than my interpretation.
General Burkhalter let out a small grin as he hung up his phone. He walked over to his credenza and poured himself a sherry. After draining the glass, he opened the door to the outer office and asked his aide to place a call. After several moments, the person was on the line.
"I hear congratulations are in order, General. I was informed that your group shot down that thorn in your side."
"Thank you," replied the newly promoted Luftwaffe officer. "It was not a surprise, mind you. I have been working on this for quite some time, as you know. But, it feels good. Very good. And it was simpler than I anticipated." Biedenbender leaned back in his chair. He felt unusually relaxed considering the tension experienced several days prior. He likened it to a balloon being blown up over a long period of time, only to finally burst, releasing all the pent up air. In his case, it was adrenalin and pressure.
"Well, I have some good news for you," Burkhalter said. "I just received word that Colonel Hogan and his crew have been captured. It took several days, but they are now in our hands. In fact, they are on their way to the interrogation center."
Biedenbender stood up. "That's marvelous! I did not know if they survived. I strongly doubt our people will get anything out of the colonel." He nodded his head. "No, I am sure of it. Watch where he is assigned. That man is a devil."
"He will likely be sent to an officer's camp. His days of causing any trouble are over," Burkhalter stated.
Causing trouble was the first thing on Hogan's mind. While he did not want to tempt fate and be shot, he had no intention of rolling over and meekly accepting his fate. He hoped to create just enough havoc so that he did not feel helpless. Facing his new predicament one step at a time, Hogan set out a series of goals. His first, to survive the interrogation center, was complete. After ten days of intensive interrogation, the Germans gave up on getting anywhere with the colonel and transferred him to the transit area of the complex, where along with other airmen, he waited for an assignment to a prison camp.
After speaking with the small Allied staff, he discovered his crew was transferred out before he was released from interrogation. The conditions at the transit camp were bearable and the permanent Allied personnel did a fine job of caring for the temporary inmates. Hogan needed fresh air and to regain his strength, and so he spent a great deal of time walking around the compound. As he regained his health, he closely observed the men for signs of stress, fear, illness and anger. All these emotions could lead to a confrontation, which could lead to someone being killed. He felt it was his duty to keep these men safe and to boost their morale. He also kept an eye out for collaboration or infiltration by German spies. His ability to speak fluent German helped him in this regard, and he steered prisoners away from suspected plants.
Hogan knew of one officer camp, Stalag 3, that was run by the Luftwaffe. It was quite a distance away. Escaping was the first thing on his mind, and it would be easier to get back to England if he did not have an entire country to cross. While in solitary confinement at the Dulag, the colonel had plenty of time to think, and he recalled a briefing from the year before. In his mind, he could picture a sector of Germany south of Dusseldorf. A resistance cell operated in this area, and a small Luftwaffe-run prison camp was located close to the nearby town of Hamelburg. He was aware that enlisted camps often housed a sprinkling of officers, and so his second goal was to manipulate a transfer to this camp. Either en route, or once there, he would somehow attempt an escape. Speculation about their future was a common topic amongst the new prisoners, and when he was sure guards were listening, Hogan began to mention the Hamelburg camp in his conversations. It was a place he wished to avoid, he would say, as he heard rumors of a tough staff, and a long string of unsuccessful escapes. The truth of what he was saying did not concern him.
On his third day in the transit camp, Hogan's intuition sensed something was amiss. He came across an unusual scene behind the latrines. A small crowd of American airmen had gathered, and the guards, instead of breaking up the group, were watching the Americans with some amusement. To his chagrin, he could hear heckling and abusive language. (see author's note at top of chapter)
As he pushed some men aside, others moved away as they spotted the colonel's arrival. Several nodded in appreciation, murmuring to others that the officer would have something to say about the new arrivals. Hogan could not believe his eyes. Three colored men were the target of the abuse. Each time they tried to maneuver their way around the crowd, they were blocked. Instead of lashing out in return, the three, heads held high, stood calmly in front of the rest of the American airmen. The colonel, now the highest-ranking American officer in the camp, did not even pause a second to question how these three men had been taken prisoner. Instead, he turned and faced the crowd. Seeing the look on the colonel's face, several men stepped back.
He glared at the guards, and then at the Americans in front of him. "So, you are all doing Goebbels' job for him?" His voice was icy; his body ramrod straight.
"No, sir," one of the airman replied quietly.
One airman, a lieutenant, stepped forward. "We were just conducting our own investigation, sir. Trying to find out where these new prisoners came from. Seems unlikely they were shot down." He then mumbled a derogatory term.
Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan spied the three, led by the oldest looking man in the group, slowly walking away from the crowd. Several of the hecklers started doing the same, but Hogan's voice stopped them in their tracks. "None of you are dismissed."
Hogan stepped closer to the lieutenant, and stopped several inches from the officer's face. "If I hear about or see another display like this one, there will be hell to pay. Is that clear?"
The men responded with a few half-hearted affirmations.
Hogan stepped back. "You all disgust me. Now get out of my sight."
His stomach now in knots, Hogan returned to his barracks. Legs crossed and hands clasped behind his head, he lay on his bunk for over an hour, stewing over another all too familiar display of American racism. The country's obsession-he disagreed with the internment of Japanese-Americans as well-would, in the long run, hinder the war effort. He knew that keeping up a segregated military was wasting vital resources and manpower. The problem, he also realized, was while some of the higher-ups in the military and government were willing to desegregate the military, many in the nation were not. It was a terrible conundrum, and he had memories of frequent heated discussions in both in the states and in England, a few culminating in loss of friendship, and perhaps issues with his career.
Finally, once he calmed down, he admitted he was wondering how the three colored men got captured and decided to seek out them out. It did not take long to spot them. They were alone, seated on the ground next to a building. As Hogan headed in that direction, another airman approached the three. Hogan stopped. However, there was no altercation. The man, he looked to be in his mid-twenties, said something to the three, and then laughed. The three grinned, and one pointed to the ground. The white prisoner gave a quick look around the area and sat down. The conversation then continued, the white man using a stick to write in the dirt.
Hogan strolled over to the group. One of the colored men, he seemed to be the youngest of the three, looked up at that moment, and scrambled to his feet. The rest followed. One quickly moved the dirt around, covering up the writing.
"At ease." Hogan wrapped his arms around himself, and looked down at the ground. He recognized the white sergeant from an earlier brief encounter in the compound. "Olsen, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
The sergeant showed no fear. Hogan expected the sergeant to automatically say something in defense of his position, for he had been caught socializing with outcasts. The young man's confident demeanor intrigued him. Despite the present predicament and uncertain future, Olsen's eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor. He reminded Hogan of a racehorse in its stall, primed for an upcoming contest, ready at any moment to take off running. In contrast, the three other men were quiet and reserved; the one he took to be the eldest and natural leader of the group exhibited a calm and self-assured bearing. Hogan nodded, and let out a small smile. "And you three are?"
The group leader spoke first. "Sergeant James Kinchloe, sir."
"Richard Baker, sir."
"Garth Broughton, sir."
"You're probably wondering how we ended up here," Kinchloe stated.
"That would be correct," Hogan replied.
Olsen let out a quick chuckle.
"It's a long story." Kinchloe grinned. "Would you like to sit down?" He pointed to the ground.
Hogan shrugged and grabbed a place next to the wall. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees and waited. Once everyone was situated, he nodded at Kinchloe. "Go on."
"We're assigned to communications. Fixing electronics, regular maintenance. We were in a unit that was sent out to temporary assignments. We had to work on a plane that was really bad; but the pilot, Captain Paris, wanted it fixed as fast as possible. Once the other systems were taken care of, the three of us went to work on the communication systems. He thought it would be a good idea to go on a test run before putting it back in service, and he invited us along.
"Rather than his own crew?" Hogan asked.
"Oh, it's not what you think, sir." This came from Baker. "We've done some test runs before for a couple of officers. Except this time, we didn't come back."
"We had some trouble over the channel. Right near the coast," Kinchloe explained. "We didn't go out far, but it was far enough. We had to ditch. We radioed for help, but unfortunately, a German sub found us first."
Hogan nodded. "Rotten luck. Where's Paris?"
"He got sent to a camp right before you got here," Kinchloe said. "We were just released from interrogation."
"Olsen, are you from the same group as Paris?"
"Not exactly, sir. If you'll excuse me for a second, Colonel." Not waiting to be dismissed, Olsen popped up like a jack in the box, and waved to another prisoner. He hurried over to him, and after a short conversation, the other man followed.
"Colonel Hogan, this is Sergeant Roy Goldman."
The sergeant's salute was returned. He nodded at Kinchloe and his crew, then at Hogan's invitation took a seat. The six now sat in a semi-circle, Hogan, Kinchloe and Broughton using the building as a backrest, while the other three sat opposite.
Hogan looked over at the area of dirt Olsen had used as a canvas. There were no guards within earshot, but he still kept his voice down. "What were you writing?" he asked Olsen directly.
"German."
"He was helping me with some spelling," Kinchloe added.
"Kinch speaks it fluently," Broughton noted proudly.
"Not as good as Olsen." Kinch grabbed hold of a stick and began drawing circles in the dirt.
Hogan was not ready to reveal his skill with the language. However, he was curious about Olsen. "Where did you learn German?" he asked the sergeant directly.
"My mother and her family," was his terse response.
Hogan sensed he hit a nerve and decided to forgo any more interrogation at this point.
"If you don't mind me asking, Colonel. What exactly is going on near that Luftwaffe camp you keep talking about? Seems that's the place you want to be, although hopefully the Krauts think the opposite and take the bait." Kinchloe put down the stick and looked at Hogan expectantly; he appeared to have every confidence that Hogan would confide in the group and explain his plan.
Hogan's jaw dropped. Am I too obvious? He was doing a lot of second-guessing of himself lately; despite his adjustment and set of goals, he admitted his confidence was off. Being shot down would affect anyone's mental strength. Or perhaps this sergeant was very observant.
"Luft Stalag 13, is closer to the Western border. Escaping is a whole lot easier if you don't have to cross an entire country."
"And if you have help," Olsen added.
Five pairs of eyes turned and stared at the sergeant.
"I heard something when I was with the RAF. I couldn't become a pilot, but I stayed with them until we entered the war. We never personally met, Colonel, but I knew what you looked like. That's why I vouched for you here."
"My captain heard a rumor that there were civilians in that sector helping airmen escape," Goldman said. "It sounds crazy."
"I heard it in a briefing." Hogan decided to explain his plan. "You're right, Kinchloe. I am trying to manipulate the Krauts into sending me there. That's why I've been mentioning the camp. I doubt they'd be that stupid, but it's worth a shot."
"I'd like a shot at ending up there. Getting out of here as soon as possible is probably in my best interest." Goldman sounded lighthearted, but everyone could sense his fear under the surface.
The rest of the noncoms muttered their agreement.
Hogan got to his feet. "Well, feel free to express your concerns about the toughest prison camp in all of Germany." He wiped the dirt off his pants.
As the group dispersed, Olsen hurried to catch up to the colonel before Hogan disappeared into his barracks. "I know that area. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, but my mother is from here, and we lived in Dusseldorf until I was sixteen. That camp is near Hamelburg. I spent a lot time around there when I was a kid."
"How good are your acting skills?" Hogan asked, concluding that if he was lucky enough to be transferred to Luft Stalag 13, he wanted these five men to go with him. Although he realized there was very little chance of Kinchloe, Broughton and Baker escaping, he wanted to give them every opportunity, no matter how slim. He was also concerned about Goldman's future treatment. Meanwhile, Olsen's background and familiarity was a plus. He had no reason to suspect the sergeant of lying, but he also had a nagging suspicion that the airman was hiding something.
"As good as your German, sir."
This man is going to give me an ulcer. Hogan grabbed Olsen's arm, and in a manner that meant business, he pulled the sergeant back towards an area devoid of other prisoners or guards. Waste was dumped here, and the smell was very unpleasant, but it was secluded. "Who are you?"
"I was a gunner in the 918th. But before then, I was with the RAF. I joined around the same time you did, Colonel." Olsen spoke quietly in German. "Let's just say that between postings, I had some intelligence training."
The colonel replied in English. "I see. You need to work on your military deportment, Olsen." Hogan suspected that Olsen's deficiency in this area was why he was still a sergeant.
"Yes, sir." The two began walking back towards the compound. "You think we can pull this off? I already heard some of the guards mention that prison camp."
"The key is to keep at it, but without going overboard." As they got within range of some guards, Hogan poked Olsen in the arm. "So, Sergeant, in answer to your question, I don't know how they decide who goes where."* He lowered his voice. "I did hear that some camps are better than others. There is one near Dusseldorf that has a bad reputation."
"I'll start praying, Colonel," Olsen commented as he and Hogan parted ways. Meanwhile, the other four men, and several other prisoners who caught on, continued the ruse.
Hogan, in particular, would have been surprised to learn that the transit camp administration did not fall for his machinations or acting.
The Germans frankly did not pay much attention to the rumors making their way through the transit area. What they did pay attention to was the ongoing drama supplied by the arrival of three colored prisoners and the outward display of American racism. They noted the colonel's outrage, as well as who consorted with the colored sergeants. These three men were already assigned to the small Hamelburg camp, since the German bureaucracy did not have issues sending them to a site near the border. After all, where would they go? In addition, the Kommandant's boasting annoyed other prison camp bureaucrats and they thought gleefully of his shock as he welcomed those three undesirables.
In a fit of half rage/half amusement, an administrator assigned the high-ranking American officer and those who seemed closest to him to the same Stalag.
"If they are so comfortable consorting with Untermenschen, they can go spend the rest of the war with them, as far as I'm concerned." He handed the orders to his aide.
"But what about Colonel Hogan?" the aide wondered. "Won't his presence inflate Klink's ego even more? This will be the first officer at the camp. And he has quite a reputation."
"Yes, Colonel Hogan is aggravating. They can annoy each other," was his superior's reply. "Or the colonel will formally request a transfer to an officer's camp. It will be up to the general in charge of that sector to deal with him."
The transfer of the prisoners to Luft Stalag 13 took place several days later. Hogan was the only officer in the group. In addition to Olsen, Goldman, Kinchloe, Broughton and Baker, four other Americans were put on the truck. On the way, they picked up several other trucks and formed a small convoy. The Americans spent a long and anxious day traveling, stopping only a few times near wooded areas. The group had no idea as to where they were headed, and their escorts were tight-lipped. Escaping from the convoy was not an option.
It was not until Olsen began recognizing the area that the group dared to think that Hogan's plan had worked. The trucks pulled into the camp, and guards began unloading the prisoners and their belongings. As the men lined up beside the trucks, they nervously glanced at one another. There were no signs designating the camp number from this angle, but Hogan could see that the facility was small. The door to the camp office opened, and a very large guard, a young British sergeant, and the man Hogan assumed was the camp Kommandant, headed over to the formation. The men all noticed the posture and demeaner of the German officer. He was slightly hunched over, and carrying a crop of some sort under his arm. As he got closer, a monocle was visible.
Hogan stepped several strides in front of the formation, and saluted. His salute was returned. The Kommandant, an oberst, began to speak.
"I am Kommandant Klink. Welcome to Luft Stalag 13." He paused. "For all of you, your war is over."
I hope you like my explanation as to how Kinch and the other black airmen got captured this early in the war. I decided not to go into details regarding Hogan's bombing run, etc. The actual historical dates don't really work. (for American or joint raids over Hamburg) So, here we have to leave history behind and just remember this is fiction.
Notes: sources: wikipedia, also: The Long Road: Trials and Tribulations of Airmen Prisoners from Stalag Luft VII (Bankau) to Berlin , June 1944 - May 1945 by Oliver Clutton-Brock, Raymond Crompton.
some prisoners were sent directly from interrogation to a prison camp, bypassing the transit center. There is a large article on Wikipedia that describes the Dulag Luft, the transit camp, the staff, etc. Check it out; it is very detailed and interesting. Stalag Luft 3 is the camp from the "Great Escape." The transit camp had an actual escape committee and according to sources, the Brits initiated the first mass escape. (all were recaptured).
The 918th is the fictitious bombardment group in the TV series Twelve o'clock High. (and probably the movie as well)
Garth Broughton is the 3rd black airman often seen in background shots and in the barracks. Various sources and wikis give this name as a possibility. (from mail calls, etc.) although it can't be verified. Roy Goldman has had several lines and is frequently seen. That is the actor's name, and when he was on MASH, he used his real name as the name of the character. I don't know if his name was ever mentioned in HH. But a lot of us have used Goldman in stories.
*Walde Oberst Ernst was the head of the Luftwaffe's pow organization. He had full responsibility for staffing and administration. So far, after all these years, I have been unable to find definitive information as to how men were assigned to what camps. Rotation, space, where they were captured?
Untermenschen is the term the Nazis used to indicate someone racially or socially inferior. Literally undesirable or underperson.
