RAMPS

Chapter 10

April 24, 1945

Barracks 2 staff tent

Camp Lucky Strike

"I thought once we got here we'd get better food," Carter complained as he pushed his dinner around the plate in an attempt to make it appear more palatable. The attempt failed.

"They changed the diet in the mess halls again. Eat it." Wilson pointed at Carter's plate. The medic's plate was almost empty. After all, he had to set a good example.

"The Red Cross used to greet the new guys at the airport with donuts." Olsen looked at Carter's plate. "You going to eat that?" Carter shook his head. Olsen grabbed a piece of bread.

"Someone still has a good appetite." Kinch grinned.

"This is poison." LeBeau muttered a curse as he pushed his plate away. "The colonel's dinner did not look much better."

"We all had it too easy." Wilson dipped his fork into some mashed potatoes. "Especially when you shared your expertise with the rest of us, LeBeau."

"Bah." LeBeau did not realize he imitated their nemesis. No one knew what happened to Hochstetter. Like many, he disappeared before Allies entered the area. "My work was often not appreciated." He glared at Newkirk.

"What you looking at me for, Louis? I ate what you put in front of us."

"Grudgingly. You complained. British palates." LeBeau shook his head. "I hope the rest of the camp did not resent my cooking for our barracks; they did not get the same ingredients."

"To be honest, LeBeau. No one really complained. First of all, it wasn't every night. People who didn't know any better thought you all ate gourmet meals all the time. We always set them straight." This explanation came from Sergeant McMahon, who had joined the crew for dinner after helping them with paperwork. "And once we explained the extra risks you all took, they were fine with it. At least I think they were."

"Well, we definitely ate better when we had to work one of Klink's dinners for visiting bigwigs," Carter explained. "And when we had a chance to go outside."

"I don't remember any altercations centered around the food issue. Colonel Hogan made sure everyone had enough to eat. Especially when he told Klink in no uncertain terms that he knew the guards were stealing our Red Cross packages. At least we weren't starving. Actually, I think I made out the best." Olsen dipped his bread in some bland liquid congealing on his plate. "Frau Schnitzer is a good cook."

"And Heidi?" Kinch poked Olsen.

The Outside Man just smiled.

McMahon raised his eyebrows. The meteorologist got up from his seat, walked outside and cleaned off his plate, dumping what little he had left into the garbage. "We should take these dishes back."

"Agreed," Kinch said. He gave Baker a look; a look not missed by the rest of the men.

"You want us to take your stuff over?" Carter asked them quietly. "While you do more work," he continued. He immediately regretted his innocent suggestion, as the sergeants' demeanor briefly changed. The self-conscious look on their faces disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

Newkirk glared at his friend. "What is wrong with you mate?" he asked him quietly. "Don't 'ave to remind them." Recently, Newkirk sometimes dropped back into a thicker Cockney accent, dropping his 'h's and sometimes making it difficult for strangers to understand him. He chalked this up to stress.

Carter immediately regretted his comment. "I'm sorry, fellas."

"It's okay, Andrew," Baker stated. "I know you got our backs."

Chagrined, Carter tailed behind the group as they left their lodgings and headed over to their designated mess hall. What is wrong with me? Carter shuffled along, kicking himself mentally. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut? The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass his friends and remind them of the injustice they faced every waking moment. Things were uncertain enough at this point. They were all facing change and adaptation. It was obvious while they waited for liberation, and it was more obvious even now. I'm lucky I'm not seen as anything other than a young white man. Many of Carter's relatives weren't so fortunate.

Thankfully, the staff made its way to the mess without any incident.

The line of waiting men spilled out of the building, snaking around the area in an organized and somewhat subdued fashion. Kinch looked approvingly at the group, which despite their unusual circumstances, seemed to be both well-behaved and a bit subdued. Most of the men were either lost in their own thoughts or holding quiet conversations with their friends.

"Still not ready to run a marathon?" Kinch commented to the barracks chiefs standing off to the side. The men-a mix of nationalities-were clearly watching the proceedings, ready to step in and maintain control if necessary.

"Not anytime soon." Rogers, the chief from 12, was one of the supervisors. "We're all still in a bit of a shock. The adrenaline wore off." Rogers, while young, was a student of behavior and a natural leader. One of the men from his barracks handed the sergeant a plate. "Thanks," he answered as he moved aside. He leaned up against the wall and began to eat. "They are getting antsy inside the hangars," he commented. "We don't have the run of this camp like the others do."

"Well, there are sections, actually. But the camp is so large, they do have some space to maneuver," Kinch explained. He frowned. "I'm not sure what we can do. We're under strict quarantine orders. Like they explained when we all got here."

Carter and Wilson offered to take their utensils and dishes back into the mess hall. They were dismayed to see that men were still eating standing up.

Wilson sighed. He spied his assistant, Anderson, walking around, checking on the men and offering some much needed advice.

"Slow down," he heard a frustrated Anderson say to a group wolfing down their food as if they feared it was their last meal. "You'll get sick. Told you all that when the tanks rolled through the gates. You forget?" He shook his head. "Told you all this stuff when you arrived."

"Lots been going on since then," a British corporal responded. "Questioning, paperwork, checkups, more paperwork. Hard to keep straight. Our brains weren't working up to par, you know."

"Malnutrition," said another soldier. "Doctors and nurses told us so."

"Well, you've had more than four days to put some weight back on," Anderson stated. He spotted Wilson and silently pleaded for help.

Wilson was happy to see Anderson looking better. His trusted second came down ill in camp and was quarantined for a while. As the young man spotted him, his eyes betrayed his exasperation. Wilson immediately walked up to the food line and cupped his hands. "Hey," Wilson said in as loud a voice as he could muster. "It's not like you're eating your mom's home cooking! Follow the instructions."

A man at the head of the line, trying very hard not to give the German serving him any verbal grief, answered. "Sorry, sarge. It's a force of habit," he explained.

"Yeah, those last few weeks in camp, we thought we were having our last meal," said another.

"Pass my instructions down the line and around," Wilson ordered. "And obey Anderson and the other people who are here to help you, or there will be hell to pay." He nodded at the small group of officers standing by the condiment table and then walked through the building, having small conversations with those either eating or waiting in line.

A few of the officers were long-time residents of the camp. On occasion, a captured officer ended up in Luft Stalag 13, and hearing about the operation, volunteered to stay behind. Most were newer captives, sent in after the invasion and caught mainly after the Battle of the Bulge. Hogan had anyone causing trouble transferred to an Oflag. Those needing to be sent home for legitimate reasons found their way to an escape route after the transfer was sabotaged.

LeBeau maneuvered his way over to the officers and spoke a few words with Claude Boucher, who was standing with both the chaplain and Captain Warren. The French lieutenant was captured, sent to Klink's camp, and interrogated by Hochstetter, who lied to him about his fiancée's infidelity. In order to save Boucher from himself-so he would not divulge any secrets after feeling hopeless-the heroes brought Suzanne over from Paris, where Klink swallowed Hogan's con hook, line and sinker and married the two during a play.

Warren was recaptured after being betrayed by two German women pretending to handle a stop on the escape route. He mulled over his choices and thought it best not to take any more chances. After all, he told Hogan, you never know when he'd need another pilot. The chaplain, Lieutenant John Waverly, was sent to the camp with Wilson, after both were captured in the African campaign.

Despite arguments from intelligence, all of these remaining officers volunteered to bunk with the enlisted men at Lucky Strike. They refused special treatment, and did their best to keep everyone calm and in check.

The two Frenchmen kept their voices low. "I'm probably going back to London," LeBeau, speaking French, told Boucher.

"That's not fair," Boucher said as the two moved off to the side.

LeBeau shrugged. "That's war. I don't think it will be too long. And it will help my friends if I'm there."

Boucher nodded. "You're a good man, Louis. I want you to be at my real wedding when things settle down. All of you, if possible. Boucher's "wife" was safe. She waited for him in England until Paris was liberated, and then returned to France.

"Guess what I discovered?" Olsen asked the crew after they left the mess area and began walking back to their tent.

"What?" Newkirk lit a cigarette and stared into the distance. The camp was so big, he could only see a small part of the layout.

"A gift shop."

"You're joking." Carter poked him.

"Nope. Each section has one. Found it by accident when I was poking around."

"You were poking around! What if you were caught? We aren't supposed to leave the area." McMahon sighed.

"I'm not getting involved," Wilson chuckled, as he started to walk away.

"Caught? Me?" Olsen started to laugh. "Good one. Unlike some of you, I was never caught." There was silence as the four members of the core team glared at the sergeant. "Or in two armies at the same time."

"Don't remind me," Newkirk replied. He had the distinction of being recruited for the German army.

"I never did see that Betty Gable picture," Carter mumbled as he silently recalled the time he was shuttling back and forth between a German unit and camp.

"Well, Olsen, you're doing better than Colonel Hogan. He keeps getting caught trying to leave the hospital."

Wilson turned. "LeBeau, what did you say?"

"He's right, Wilson," Baker agreed. "I heard it from some of the fellas stuck in there with him. A few were able to get some fresh air. That's when I heard."

Carter broke in. "I heard it from an orderly. He keeps trying to con the nurses." He chuckled. "He even asked General Butler to get him out of there, and he almost got Wembley to help him out."

"Why am I the last one to hear these things? Oh, for crying out loud." Wilson turned and began walking in the direction of the hospital.

Newkirk caught up to the medic and grabbed his arm. "I think the problem is that the guv'nor is afraid he won't be able to speak to the rest of the men. Yeah, I'll bet you that's the real problem."

"Maybe we can do something about that." Wilson resumed walking and then turned around. "You all following me?"

"We're all bored. Remember?" Carter answered.

"I want to see the fight," Baker added.

"He's probably sleeping. It's getting late." Carter looked at his watch. "No it's only 7."

"Using civilian time, already, Carter." Kinch gave him a friendly poke in the arm.

"Never too soon to get into practice," LeBeau answered for the tech sergeant.

"I couldn't really blame the colonel for his actions in camp," Wilson noted. "He was really too sick to know better, I suppose. And he was still in combat mode. But here? I had higher hopes for his behavior. But then again, aside from some minor illnesses, I never had to deal with him in this way before."

"From what I've heard, he was never a problem before he was shot down. Even when he was really hurt," Kinch said. Still nervous about walking around in the open with their unit, he and Baker warily kept an eye out for MP's.

Hogan sat on the edge of his bed and groaned in frustration. He stifled a cough and mused upon his predicament. What he had told the doctor had been correct. He had never been that sick in camp. One bout of the flu, which was relatively minor, and the occasional cold was all that he had suffered. That was it. He and Wilson had a good working relationship. I And despite his behavior, Hogan was used to doctors and accustomed to being poked, prodded and tested. And he was unfortunately familiar with hospitals. Pilots were constantly checked and rechecked. There were frequent health examinations; that was no secret. And he suffered the occasional injury due to bad landings, shrapnel that found their mark, and some burns.

"Do you want to go for a short walk, Colonel Hogan? You don't have to stay in bed all the time, as long as a medical staff member is with you."

Hogan looked up at the nurse. "Yes." He reached for his robe and then changed his mind. "No. Never mind. I'm tired."

"Oh." The nurse looked surprised. "Well then. Let's make you comfortable."

Yeah, he was tired. And as night fell, his symptoms worsened. He admitted to himself that he was still not one hundred percent. Frustrated by not being in control, he closed his book and put it on his nightstand.

It took Wilson and his entourage a good 20 minutes to safely maneuver their way through the crowded section of the base and over to the runways where the medical units were located.

"You think they'll let us all in at once, Wilson?" Carter eyed the guards and orderlies exiting the building and got nervous. "It's late."

"Doubt it. But it's worth a shot."

"You go first." Kinch held open the door for the medic who entered.

There was a nurse seated at a desk by the entrance. "I need to see Colonel Hogan," Wilson told her. The nurse glanced at the seven men standing behind him.

"What is this, Sergeant Wilson? A convention?"

"We're concerned." Wilson lowered his voice. "Heard he's been giving you some problems."

She put down a chart. "So you think you can set him straight?"

"It's worth a shot, Ma'am."

"He said he was tired. But I'll see if he is up for visitors. Although this is a bit unorthodox."

"We are actually here to visit the rest of the men in our unit," Kinch coughed. "We have updates."

The nurse gave in. Everything about these men from that camp was unorthodox. But she knew not to ask questions. "Yes, I'm sure you do, Sergeant Kinchloe. Wait here." The nurse left.

"Colonel? Are you up for visitors? I can send them away if you wish."

"No, don't send them away." Hogan told the nurse as he straightened up. "Send them over."

"Ten minutes," the nurse told the men, who thanked her.

Wilson was the first one to approach the colonel's bed.

"Hi, sir."

Hogan stared at the medic. "You picked up some strays along the way."

"I headed over this way and they followed." Wilson pulled the curtain around the bed.

"It's a bit crowded in here," Hogan said as the men shuffled around to make room for one another. LeBeau perched on the edge of the bed, while Carter created a small space on the nightstand and leaned against it. "Baker. How are you doing?"

"Fine, sir. Busy with paperwork."

"He's been a big help." Kinch added.

"McMahon. I hope this bunch isn't corrupting you."

"We're fine, Colonel." The sergeant and the former MOC smiled. "Besides, I've been too busy to be corrupted. And we're still on for tomorrow for that meeting you wanted?"

"Yes. 0900. Good. Now you obviously all didn't trek over here for the evening to play checkers. What's up?"

Newkirk poked Wilson in the ribs.

"Ahem. I heard you've been attempting to fly the coop." Hogan remained silent, but his crossed arms gave everything away. Wilson noticed the body language and quickly continued. "I know you are frustrated, but you're smart enough to understand what could happen if you don't take it easy and let this run its course."

"I know," Hogan said quietly.

"And this isn't like you. I think there is more going on here besides boredom," Wilson added.

"And you've got us worried," Carter said. "At first it was funny but…"

"Carter. Stop. You're right." Hogan looked at Wilson, as he lowered his arms. "All of you. Go visit the other guys. Wilson. You stay." Wilson nodded and the other men left.

"Pull up a chair, Joe."

"What was that all about?" Newkirk looked at Kinch, as they paused in the aisle. Kinch was as confused as the rest of them. He shook his head.

"I think we may have all been on the same page, including the colonel." Olsen, like the rest of the main team, knew Hogan pretty well. They began slowly moving away from Hogan's area, and began visiting with the other men.

"I have never had my command taken away from me," Hogan told Wilson. "Ever. And it's happened twice in the past two months." Hogan snapped his fingers. "Like that."

"You haven't been removed from command, sir. And the last time, with all due respect, you weren't able to function. You know I had no choice."

"I've lost control," Hogan countered. Over the men, over these proceedings, over everything, over myself." He actually realized he was blinking away tears.

"Permission to speak freely?" Wilson asked.

"Yes. Go ahead. But you don't have to be so formal."

"Shouldn't you be having this discussion with your team? Kinch, maybe?"

"No. Because they'd fawn over me. Maybe not be as candid. We are too close. You." Hogan pointed at the medic. "You can."

"Want to leave it as a medical thing? Or see a psychiatrist?" Wilson asked.

"Sure. But, no to the psychiatrist. They have their hands full with the men liberated from the other camps and marches. Damn. Hang on." Hogan coughed a few moments. "It gets worse at night. Just like my colds when I was a kid. Ironic."

Wilson poured a glass of water. Hogan took a few sips and handed it back. The medic set down the glass and began to talk. "Now I think I understand where you are coming from. You've worked by the seat of your pants, taking orders-sure-but mainly running the show. And now it's like you're back in basic training, being told what to do, where to go, when to do things. We're all in the same boat. It's been quite a shock for everyone, when you think about it. Of course there's no one standing around with machine guns."

"You're not making me feel any better, Wilson."

"But, look! Things are under control, because you were and are great at delegating. Couldn't have pulled off what we did if that wasn't the case. Everyone is pitching in and behaving themselves."

"Well, I'll tell you..." Hogan said. "Sitting around doing nothing is going to kill me."

"No, it's not. You need to be needed. Aha." Wilson stood up. "That's your problem."

"That's not it. I'm desperate."

"No you're not. The nurse told me you admitted you were tired. Colonel. You're usually smart enough to know when to quit. But right now you're being too stubborn for your own good. Wait. Let me rephrase that. I'm not talking about your planning capers and operations. I'm talking about your health."

"You're right. I should have talked with Kinch. He'd be more polite."

"Should I leave?" Wilson asked, although he was secretly pleased at Hogan's irascible behavior. It showed improvement in his condition.

"No. You ever wait for a certain moment, Wilson? And then it goes up in smoke."

"More than once." The medic found a clean cup and poured himself a glass of water. He took a few sips and waited.

"Bingo. Here it is," Hogan stated.

"We all have to be flexible in wartime. At least you're alive." Wilson let out a small smile and then his face became serious. "Honestly, I was afraid we were going to lose you back in March."

"I know." Hogan and Wilson paused in reflection; both men knowing they would be haunted with these memories for a very long time; both knowing they and everyone else under the colonel's last command were very fortunate.

A/N: Boucher was featured in the episode "Reverend Kommandant Klink." Warren's appearance was in the episode, "The Flame Grows Higher." Newkirk ended up in a German uniform for real in "Swing Shift." Carter was in two armies at once in "One Army at a Time."

My OC, Chaplain Waverly', first appeared in my 2009 story, "He Who Saves a Single Life, Saves the Entire World."