RAMPS

chapter 8

April 10, 1945

Luft Stalag 13

Hogan's appearance in the compound eight days earlier did everyone a world of good. Morale improved-both for the prisoners and the guards. The Germans knew the end was in sight, but they were frightened at the prospect of an uncertain future. Most of the guards respected Hogan, and they relied on the colonel and his men to keep everyone safe. Horrific rumors were circulating throughout town-as well as their barracks-and many of them feared retribution once the Allies arrived. They knew an untold amount of people were fleeing the east. Even POW camps were being emptied in advance of the Russians, and the roads heading west were swarming with refugees, escaped prisoners, those on forced marches and those who miraculously managed to survive hell on earth. Most of the guards came from the Hamelburg area, but there were a few with relatives in Berlin and the eastern part of the country, and they were terrified.

Neither Klink, nor Schultz, nor the other few officers remaining on staff had much to say that could assuage their fears. The guards began gauging their own prospects by trying to analyze the behavior of the prisoners' command staff. A few deserted, but most assumed the camp was safe from bombings and attacks, and they stayed put.

Corporal Langenscheidt was one of these guards. Like Schultz, he knew a lot more than nothing. He and Schultz had an unspoken agreement. They did not speculate nor discuss any of the funny and unusual goings-on in the camp and the area. Survival so close to the obvious end of their mutual nightmare was paramount. When Hogan took ill, Langenscheidt's state of mind deteriorated. And when Hogan walked around the camp with Sergeant Olsen earlier that month, Langenscheidt's mood lifted. He felt they were on an emotional roller-coaster. The health of the inhabitants fluctuated with the weather and the nearby fighting. One day you could be up, and a few days later, you were back in bed. He noticed Hogan and many of the other prisoners were in this category. The guards were not immune, and many were on sick call. Fortunately, Langenscheidt felt very hungry, but he was not ill.

He spied the medic, Sergeant Wilson, heading over to the low-numbered barracks. He called out and the American turned and offered the corporal a grin.

"How are you, Sergeant?" Langenscheidt asked. "You look tired."

"Very busy. Lots of running around." Wilson stifled a yawn and asked the quiet corporal the same.

Langenscheidt shrugged. "I'm on extra duty as we have more on sick call. But, we're managing." A large boom shook the camp. Wilson's cap went flying and Langenscheidt helpfully bent down and picked it up.

"Thanks." Wilson plopped it back on his head.

"How is Colonel Hogan today?"

"Heading over there right now to check. Some days are better than others," Wilson replied. He touched the guard's shoulder. "Things will be okay, son."

Langenscheidt offered the medic a shy smile. "Tell the colonel I asked after him, then."

Wilson nodded and headed for the barracks. He had recently put Hogan back on limited duty but steadfastly refused to allow him in the tunnel system. Hogan joined him outside and they spent some time enjoying the air and keeping a close eye on the other prisoners.

It truly felt like spring. Outside the fencing, flowers poked out through the brush, while birds chirped and native mammals rustled around the woods. The scene belied the carnage taking place throughout the country, and if you ignored the sounds of artillery, a person could mentally place themselves in another world. A world without fighting, surrounded by loved ones and the sounds of laughter.

"I need to get on the radio," Hogan argued.

"The last thing you need is to be down there with the dust, moisture and cold. So, unless we all need to get out of here, the answer is no. Not if you want to feel like you did last week."

Hogan looked up at the sky and sighed. He stifled a cough and then removed his cap. After running his fingers through his hair, he gave Wilson a look of complete aggravation.

"Here, sit here. Don't push it." Wilson pointed to a bench. Hogan took a seat and watched as Wilson plopped himself next to his patient.

Hogan took another look at the medic.

"You've lost weight," he commented.

"Everyone has." Wilson took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

"You're getting sick," Hogan said. "That was a statement, not a question," he added.

"Pass your messages on to Kinch and Baker, and then they'll pass them on, and so on and so on. No tunnel."

"You're changing the subject, Sergeant." Hogan turned his head and looked straight at the medic. "So, how sick are you?"

"I don't know. Honest. Just run down, I think."

Hogan remained quiet as he looked out at the compound. The few walks he had taken around the camp, he thought, had helped. His staff had informed him that there had been no reports of bad behavior over the last few days. Prisoners were spending more time inside their barracks, despite the nice weather, but Wilson explained that was to be expected. Lack of food and illness had slowed everyone down. It seemed to Hogan that if the camp was shot on film, it would be running on slow motion. Men were also complaining about forgetfulness and lack of clarity, another side effect of the stress. "You've been spending most of your time in the infirmary, for what? About, six weeks now."

"I live there," Wilson stated. "But you're right. I haven't spent any time in the mess. I haven't gotten any exercise for a while. It could be about six weeks, give or take. I think. What day is it?"

Hogan was shocked. "April 10th. You don't know?"

"I forgot. I wrote that on the reports this morning."

"How's Fiske and Anderson?" Hogan asked.

"Anderson came back earlier this week. Fiske seems immune to everything."

"Glassman and Tate?"

"Both are doing better."

"That's good to hear." Hogan stood up. "Let's go to the infirmary. You're going to tell Anderson and Fiske you're moving into my barracks. You'll stay in my office so you can have some privacy."

"What? Sir, that's unnecessary."

"That's an order, Sergeant. You're off duty for the next 36 hours."

"With all due respect, Colonel, you can't be serious."

"What goes around, comes around, Wilson." At this point, Hogan had no idea he would end up back in the hospital. For what it was worth, Wilson got some much-needed rest and fought off a major illness.

Camp Lucky Strike

April 24, 1945

afternoon

Hogan smiled at the memory of sending Wilson to bed. Damn pillows. He hated being propped up, although he knew if he moved the support, there would be hell to pay. He hated being pushed around by the doctors and nurses, not that he minded the nurses. Most of all, he hated being sick. "Can't get comfortable," he muttered. He tried leaning to one side. Then the other. That didn't work. And he was getting sore. And he was tired from not sleeping. Except for the first night when he had crashed, he was waking constantly. Hogan sulked for a moment, closed his eyes and then came to a realization that he was acting like an inappropriate role model. I should demote myself.

He perked up as he heard many of the patients rustling about and talking. The news worked its way up to his end of the unit; like a game of telephone, although this time, the message wasn't distorted as it made its way around the ward.

"Glassman is being released, Colonel Hogan." This came from the man in the bed directly across from him.

Hogan sat up and turned his head in the direction of the conversation. He smiled and sat up as he heard the congratulations and well wishes coming from the rest of the patients within earshot.

A short while later, Glassman-who was still dressed in hospital garb-showed up at Hogan's bedside. The colonel had propped himself up as best as he could. He smiled as he saw the young sergeant approach.

"Colonel Hogan?"

"Good to see you, Glassman. What's up?"

"Am I disturbing you, sir?"

"No. I'm just trying to figure out a way to get comfortable sleeping sitting up. Again. Sit."

"Been there," Glassman sat down. "I'm being released, sir. Just waiting for paperwork and and some clothes."

Hogan's face lit up. "So I've heard. That's great news, and earlier than I expected."

"Me, too. I never got a chance to properly thank you, sir." The sergeant said formally.

"Thank me for what?"

"I know what almost happened. Back at camp, I mean. And I remember. Not everything, but that one day you were there for hours, they said. I know, because you threatened to drum me out."

"Drum you out?" Hogan asked, confused. "Oh!" he chuckled. "The Yankees."

Glassman grinned. "Seriously. Sergeant Wilson told me you sat with me for hours that day." Glassman's face turned serious. "And then you got sick."

"Stop right there," Hogan ordered. "No one is guilty of getting anyone else sick. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Hogan reached over to his end table and picked up a glass. He took a sip of water and put the glass back down. "Tell me. How long were you in the camp?" Hogan asked.

"Just over a year," Glassman replied.

"Did we ever use you for anything? Diversions, that sort of thing?"

"Once. I helped dig out a cave-in."

Hogan nodded. "Not too exciting. So life was pretty boring for you."

"Well…"

"Be honest." Hogan prodded. "I'd like to know."

"Most of the time. But there was the feeling. We all talked about it. The guys in the barracks did, I mean. It was kind of like being on a roller coaster. Where you're terrified, and getting this rush at the same time. Yeah, that's it."

"That's an interesting analogy. I can understand that. Oh, well look who's here. It's about time."

Glassman turned around and spied LeBeau heading their way.

"You've got more company, sir. Thanks for the talk. And try putting some pillows under your knees. Can I..."

"Go," Hogan stated.

Glassman gave LeBeau a small wave. He stood up and met LeBeau in the center of the ward.

LeBeau paused for a moment and shared a few words with Glassman, who headed back to his end of the unit. LeBeau then started speaking in French.

"Oh, mon dieu. I'm sorry," he apologized. "I've tried five times to get in to see you. First, you were sleeping." He began counting on his fingers. "Then the nurse said you were occupied. Then I got in, and then I got called away by a general. Then the doctor was with you; then you were sleeping. Yes, that's it. Here I am! Oh," LeBeau threw up his hands as a light snore escaped.

"Would you believe that? Why me?" LeBeau muttered as he stomped away.

Sure enough, Hogan had listened to Glassman and put a folded up pillow under his knees.

"Something wrong, Corporal?" A nurse stopped LeBeau a few beds away.

"No. Yes." He decided to stay. Why not? Considering it took this long to make it back into the building.

"I've tried to visit with Colonel Hogan many times, and every time something gets in the way. And now he's awake one moment and then..." LeBeau snored.

The nurse held back a laugh. "You're from his staff, aren't you?"

"Oui. He asked to see me."

"It's normal for patients to sleep a lot, especially in small bursts. Don't worry. He has made tremendous progress since he came in."

"In just three days!" LeBeau exclaimed, amazed. "I guess he needed to be tied down, figuratively," LeBeau smiled.

"Yes; and some care you didn't have at the camp. But you are most likely correct." The nurse was patient and she looked at LeBeau with the expectation that he would continue to get everything off his chest. She was correct.

"He did push himself too hard," LeBeau said. "Of course, he did that the entire time he was in the camp. A lot of responsibility. But, the last few weeks was horrible. First he got sick, then got better, and then got sick again. Oh, he was so sick…"

Two days after Wilson had grounded Hogan; the colonel's fever spiked and could not be brought down. The healthiest residents of the barracks, ignoring the danger of catching the infection, took turns nursing Hogan around the clock: helping him to cough up phlegm, cooling his forehead, and encouraging him to eat. Private Hammond, one of the camp's first aid assistants, was monitoring Hogan's vital signs and reporting back to the infirmary, where Wilson and his team were up to their neck in sick patients and out of beds.

"At one point, for a short time, he didn't know where he was. And, Lieutenant, the worst part…I couldn't go in there."

"You were sick as well?"

LeBeau nodded. "I got hit with the stomach problems. So did Andrew. Sergeant Carter. He was on the staff as well."

"I've met him," the nurse recalled. "Chatty."

"That's him! We stood outside the colonel's door."

"You two, away from the door and get into bed." Wilson, who had come by to check on the barracks, pointed. "You keeping food down?"

"Two days now, Wilson." Carter climbed up into his bunk.

"LeBeau?" Wilson approached the corporal who just looked up at the medic and shrugged.

"Wilson. I need to tell you something," LeBeau whispered. "The colonel is not doing well. If something happens, Carter and I…He needs to know we're here. Please."

"Are you keeping your food down?"

"Today, Wilson. Today's the first day." Louis sunk down on his bunk. "I'm being honest."

"Carter was allowed in. He…"

"You had to wait another day?" The nurse interrupted LeBeau.

"One whole day. It was one of the longest days of my life." The corporal's eyes teared up at the memory.

"Obviously, he hung in there."

"Well at that point, we didn't know. But the medic called us in that next day, and I had to stand at the door."

"Like I said, there's nothing I can do." Wilson wrapped up his stethoscope. "I've got the same problem in the infirmary. It's up to them. Even in the states, before we had penicillin, it's the same. The only thing in everyone's favor is that we were all reasonably healthy before this hit."

"What are the odds, Wilson?" LeBeau asked.

Wilson said quietly, "I don't like to place bets." He placed his hand on LeBeau's shoulder, gave the corporal a squeeze and left the hut.

March 27, 1945

Luft Stalag 13

Listless, feverish, and in pain with every breath, Hogan came to the sudden realization that there was a good chance he was going to die. The epiphany hit him in a rare moment of lucidity. He had no idea what time it was or what day it was, and there was a distant memory of him thinking he was actually back in England…Yes, that was it….At the moment, the room was empty. The voices coming from the common room appeared distant. If memory served him correctly, there were other men in the barracks who were sick. Miller, Garth, LeBeau and Carter.

Over two years of espionage and a freaking germ was going to kill him at the ripe old age of 39. Ironic, Hogan said to himself. It was almost laughable. But, he wasn't laughing. That would send him into a fit of coughing. He tried hard to remember if his affairs were in order. Yes, they all had wills. On file somewhere. At the base. No, that wasn't it. Letters to his family. The men knew where they were. Hogan tried to think. The operation, the camp… Despite how close the allies were, there was still danger. He had to get the men in here.

"Hey." Hogan attempted to speak, but his words came out in a croak. His second attempt worked and sent six men, including Wilson, flying into the room. Seeing Kinch, Hogan asked if someone was manning the radio. He was assured that the radio was being manned around the clock.

"We have to talk. Where's LeBeau?" he asked Wilson who had most of the men to wait by the door.

"Over there." Wilson pointed. "I don't want him in here yet, sir. But he's getting better," he quickly added, as he walked over to the bed.

"I may not make it." Hogan quickly squelched Wilson's reaction. "Stop. Listen. I think we've got weeks."

They're within ….miles."

"I know, Wilson. But that doesn't mean we're out of the woods. The Germans are getting desperate. Before I got sick, I heard there's a chance they may come in and try to evacuate the camp. March everyone out, or sanitize it. We're small. They could get away with it."

"Klink wouldn't allow that," Wilson argued, the other men backing up his assertion.

"Klink and the guards could end up in front of the execution squads if they don't obey orders," Hogan retorted. "Whatever happens, we can't allow it. And what's the story with Gestapo HQ in Hammelburg?"

"Still operating, sir. Hochstetter's movements are being tracked as much as possible," Kinch answered.

Hogan nodded. "Any sign, any at all. It's too late to order a full-scale evacuation. We'll run into German troops. But get out as many as you can. And if Klink decides to fight for the camp," he said weakly.

"We can take him, Colonel," Carter piped up. "I've got tricks up my sleeve."

"I know, Carter." Hogan, now exhausted, closed his eyes for a moment. He heard Wilson usher everyone of the room. "Wilson?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"They all know exactly what to do if something happens to me."

"I know." Wilson, a lump forming in his throat, picked up a wet, cool, cloth and placed it on Hogan's forehead. "One thing I have to say about you is that you are a good planner."

"Thanks. But we're so close…different problems."

"You'll make it," Wilson assured him. "Everyone will. I'm a good judge of character."

"So, he was making last minute arrangements?"

"We were afraid of what would happen to the camp. The Kommandant, Lieutenant. He was…" Louis thought for a moment. "He had a bit of humanity still left inside of him. But, he was not able to stand up to the SS or the Gestapo. We saw that multiple times. And definitely not if they had brought in personnel, and not without Colonel Hogan's help." He left it at that.

The nurse realized there was more to the story, but she didn't press it. The medical staff was informed before the men from 13 arrived that there was an unusual circumstance surrounding their captivity and they were not to ask any questions of their patients. The details, she realized, were on a need to know basis. She couldn't even venture a guess as to what made this group special. Except that they were in better shape than other patients. She surmised that they were fortunate to have decent captors and for some reason, a better supply of rations.

"There's always uncertainty in war," she stated.

"Oui, c'est la guerre."

"LeBeau? I thought I heard French."

LeBeau turned and smiled. "I'm sorry, did we wake you, Colonel?"

"No." Hogan shifted on the bed.

LeBeau hadn't seen an awake Hogan since the day they had arrived, and to his satisfaction, he noticed color was coming back into the colonel's face. "He looks much better," he told the nurse, as he moved towards Hogan's bed.

Yes, LeBeau recalled. That day back at camp-he remembered it was March 27th-changed everything. It all depended on each sick individual. Who lived and who died. And at that point, nothing was certain.

A/N: In the episode "Swing Shift," where Newkirk almost ended up as a guard, Klink went down to the local recruitment center to get more guards.

As I have mentioned previously, I do not have medical training; nor have I ever had pneumonia (thankfully-my one bout of bronchitis back in the early 90's was bad enough). I'm doing the best I can with the medical conditions, etc. But if there are any errors or misconceptions, please let me know and I will correct the text.

Thank you for the reviews. Please remember to check your private messages.