The sentries on the main gate this morning had only recently joined the Stalag 13 guard contingent, but already they knew the changing of the guards, scheduled for nine o'clock, was always delayed; nobody was ever in a hurry to come on duty. So the approach of their relief, only four minutes after the hour, was a pleasant surprise. Reimann, anxious to get to the mess hall, paid little attention to their two replacements, but Berg took a second look; one of the new shift was unusually short.
"I have not seen you before," said Berg, a doubtful pucker creasing his forehead.
The little man shrugged. "I haven't seen you, either. Hans, have you seen this man before?"
"I don't think so," replied his companion, peering at Berg with a frown of concentration. "Are you sure he's one of us?"
The short one gave it some thought. "I guess he must be. Who else would he be, one of the prisoners? On guard duty? I don't think so." He finished with a chuckle, which Berg echoed uneasily.
"You have a very unusual accent," he commented.
"Where I come from, everyone talks like this." The little man exchanged a glance with his partner. "You know, you could be on to something, Hans. He sure doesn't know much, for a guard. Maybe one of us should check with Sergeant Schultz."
The hint was all it took. Berg, still new enough to be intimidated by the sergeant of the guard, disclaimed hurriedly. "I assure you, I didn't mean anything. And the sergeant has gone out to check on the construction of the drainage channel, so why bother him now?" He gave a nervous smile, and hurried off after Reimann.
"See, Addison?" said LeBeau under his breath. "I told you it would be okay."
"Yeah, I guess you were right," Addison conceded. "But what about the guys in the towers? They ain't so wet behind the ears as those two. What happens if they recognise us?"
"They won't," replied LeBeau, serenely confident. "That's the beauty of having Schultz on our team for once. He posted Ziegler, who will already be asleep, and Wittenberg, who's practically blind. At this distance he couldn't tell Goering from Ginger Rogers."
"Well, just say one of them does just happen to notice..."
"That's simple." LeBeau's response was completely matter-of-fact. "We get shot."
Addison sighed. "Oh, great. And there was me worrying over nothing."
Schultz was not, in fact, checking on Joliffe's construction project; instead, he stood behind a hastily-erected barrier, a little way along the road to Hammelburg, and he was far from happy about it.
"Why did I agree to do this? Oh, if the Kommandant finds out, it will be worth my life," he moaned. "Just thinking about it makes me feel dizzy."
"So don't think about it, Schultz," said Carter easily. "Because if you get so dizzy you pass out, I'm not going to try to get you back up, no, sirree. A guy could hurt himself trying to lift that kind of weight without help."
The roadblock had been set up past the first bend in the road, out of sight of Stalag 13, but with a clear line of sight to the hillside above, where Joliffe and his gang were working. Carter waved to them, and received a wave from Joliffe in reply.
"Carter, please, don't attract attention." Schultz modulated into a low-pitched whine. "Prison guards don't wave at the prisoners. It is against the rules."
"Well, gee, Schultz, I'm just trying to be friendly. You know what my mom always says? She says it doesn't cost a cent to be nice to people."
"Maybe it doesn't, where you come from," Schultz replied, strong disapproval evident in every syllable. "Here, it can get you into a lot of trouble."
He glanced at his companion, then looked again. Carter's misadventure on the Bernsdorf road had left him with a couple of souvenirs, and although the bruises below his eyes had already faded to yellow, they were still barely visible in the pale watery morning light; just visible enough to set off a nebulosity of questions in Schultz's mind, although he finally fixed on something else. "What happened to your nose?"
"Oh, that?" Carter ran one finger along from bridge to tip. "Well, it was just an accident, Schultz. You know how we were out driving the other night...?"
Schultz cut him off. "Don't tell me."
He turned away, and gazed down the road, taking refuge, as always, in the frail shelter of his own ignorance. Carter suppressed a chuckle, looking at the big German with something akin to affection. No matter what disasters befell them, no matter how desperate the situation, there was one constant they could always count on. Regardless of what he might have seen or heard, Schultz always knew nothing.
"Of course, General Burkhalter, we're always ready to receive visitors," babbled Klink into the telephone receiver. "It's just that at the moment..."
The sentence faltered into silence at the rebuke he received: "Klink, this is not a request. Field Marshal von Kremmer will be paying a brief inspection call this morning. Whether you are ready or not is immaterial."
"Yes, General Burkhalter." Klink's response was so meek, the man at the other end of the phone line could hardly contain himself.
After a moment he continued, but there was a distinct quiver in his voice. "Now, as I'm sure even you will understand, this visit is not official. The Field Marshal is travelling incognito, he is most anxious for his present whereabouts to remain confidential." He sighed faintly. "I have assured him of your discretion. Please, for once, do not let me down, Klink."
"You can rely on me, General," said Klink. "However, I should probably mention that I have another visitor at present, a Colonel Jäger..."
"Is that so, Klink? I wonder why this is the first I've heard of it. Jäger...I know that name." Clearly he knew nothing good of the man. "SS, I believe. From what I have been told, he will certainly not want his own presence in your area to become generally known. I think we can safely assume he will not mention the matter to anyone outside Stalag 13. And neither will you, Klink. Not even to me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, General Burkhalter," mumbled Klink; then, with a feeble attempt at a rally, "And may I just say..."
But a click on the line indicated the conversation was over. It didn't occur to the Kommandant to question whether the acerbic voice in his ear had in fact belonged to Burkhalter. Nor did he suspect for a moment that the call had originated, not in the general's office in Hammelburg, but directly below Barracks 2.
"Kinch, I'm not sure I approve," remarked Hogan, who had listened in on the call with silent amusement. "You're starting to enjoy that way too much."
Kinch grinned. "Why should Burkhalter have all the fun?"
"Well, he is a general. I guess pushing Klink around is one of the perks." Hogan returned the grin, and headed off to the barracks.
Jäger's car stood outside the Kommandant's office, waiting for him. Hogan had anticipated it, but it didn't suit him for Jäger to leave just yet; he wanted to make sure the SS colonel was headed directly away from the coast, putting plenty of distance between him and his quarry.
A few of the prisoners were carrying out a long-overdue litter patrol, armed with trash bags and long-handled spikes. Brodkin performed the task meticulously, taking apparent pleasure in spiking each item as close as possible to the centre, and inspecting his catches in a manner suggesting he had plans to enter them in a competition. He made a sharp contrast to Newkirk, who, with a lackadaisical air and a cigarette dangling from his lips, seemed bent on demonstrating what was meant by the term "half-arsed". While those two worked back and forth across the parade ground, Walters made his way around behind Jäger's car, under the suspicious eye of the SS driver.
Newkirk came to a stop a short distance from the front of the car, yawned, and scratched his ribs with his free hand. He took the cigarette end out of his mouth, stared at it as if wondering where the rest of it had gone, then flicked it to the ground and moved off again.
"Oh, for crying out loud, Newkirk." Brodkin's voice echoed across the yard. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What?" Newkirk gazed at him, eyes wide with wounded innocence; but Brodkin barrelled on regardless.
"Here's the rest of us trying to keep the place tidy, and you just don't give a damn. How'd you like it if some of our guys went dumping litter all over Hyde Park?"
"From what I hear, mate, that's about all you Yanks do, in between chasing women," Newkirk snapped back. "And since when did it matter what kind of a state this rat hole is in?"
The argument escalated rapidly, attracting attention not only from the nearest guards, but also from Jäger's men. Walters turned a startled look on his fellow prisoners, then gazed wide-eyed at the Krauts. Seeing they were all momentarily distracted, he moved a little closer to the staff car, just close enough to bring him within spiking distance of the rear tyre. Then he retreated again, just as Hogan came striding across from the barracks to break up the dispute.
"Okay, you two, that's enough," he barked. Both men turned to him, breaking into heated protests, which he cut across ruthlessly. "I don't want to hear it. Come to attention, both of you. That's better." He regarded the pair with stern disapproval. "I don't know whether it slipped your notice, but you're in the army, and that kind of behaviour is not tolerated. Understood?"
"But, Colonel - " Newkirk started.
"No." Hogan held up one finger.
"But - "
"No."
A moment of silence ensued.
"He started it," muttered Brodkin.
"Well, of all the - "
"Quiet!" It wasn't often Hogan had to raise his voice to his men, but when he did, they obeyed. He allowed them a few seconds to realise just how unacceptable their conduct was, before he continued. "Now, get back to work. And I don't want to hear one more word from either of you. Remember, we're guests in this country, and if we don't make a good impression, they won't invite us back."
He glanced at Walters, who was now pottering innocently around the far end of the building, too far from the car to be blamed for the damage he'd just done to it. Then, with a final reproving glower at the erstwhile combatants, Hogan retreated to the barracks, where he settled at the window, observing as Jäger, with Klink in attendance, came out of the office. The two officers paused on the steps, while one of Jäger's men hastened to open the car door in readiness.
As Jäger got in, Walters edged forward, hesitantly, holding up a hand like a schoolboy trying to get the teacher's attention. Klink waved him away, but Walters persisted, pointing towards the rear wheel. The Kommandant looked, then abruptly gestured to the driver to stop.
Hogan kept watching, ready to intervene if Jäger showed any signs of suspicion as to the cause of the puncture. But although he did glare at Walters, and at the other prisoners loitering nearby, the look spoke more of annoyance than of mistrust. He issued a curt order to his driver, and returned to the office with Klink, leaving his men to change the wheel, under the unwanted supervision of Newkirk and his accomplices.
Assured that the SS men were gainfully occupied for now, Hogan turned his attention to the main gate. LeBeau and Addison were in position; and although Carter and Schultz were out of sight, they should be ready by now, as well. The tension in Hogan's shoulders relaxed slightly, as he turned to his right-hand man.
"You know something, Kinch?" he said. "I'm beginning to think this might just work."