Kinch arrived back in the radio room, carrying two packs and a suitcase. He set them down on the ground at Hogan's feet.
"Any troubles?" Hogan asked. It was always a risk to go outside the wire, but even more so to collect an airdrop. Though their drop zone was quite remote, there was always a chance that an over-eager patrol would see the courier plane and decide to investigate.
Kinch made a face. "Well…"
"Well what?" Hogan asked. "And where's Newkirk?"
"He's bringing in our guest," Kinch replied.
From his seat at the radio, LeBeau groaned and rolled his eyes. "I knew it was an author. They are always so slow."
"It's not an author," Kinch said warily. "That might have been an improvement."
Hogan quirked an eyebrow. "All right, I'll bite- who is it?"
Kinch didn't have a chance to answer. A flash of light and a little pop came from the tunnel. LeBeau instantly jumped out of his seat and Carter, who had been leaning against the wall near the ladder, suddenly straightened.
"I'm telling you, this is great! Fantastic!" a voice said from down the hall. Hogan had to assume it belonged to their guest.
Sure enough, Newkirk came into view, loaded down with a heavy duffelbag and a suitcase. A man in a snazzy suit and fedora followed him, holding nothing more than a camera. He snapped a picture as soon as he came into the radio room. He popped out the flashbulb and quickly screwed in another.
"Who's this, a reporter?" Hogan asked Kinch.
"No…"
The guest looked up and flashed a wide, somewhat plastic smile at Hogan. He looked somewhat familiar, but Hogan couldn't quite put his finger on how he knew him.
"And you must be the man himself: Colonel Hogan!" the guest said. He strode up to Hogan and put out his hand. Hogan shook it.
"It must be," he replied, unamused and sizing up the man suspiciously. "And you are?"
The man looked offended. Then he laughed loudly. Hogan wasn't sure which was more fake- the man's smile or his laugh. "What a joker. This guy," the man said, jerking his thumb at Hogan. "Of course I am the Bryan Buckles: world famous Hollywood movie producer." He breathed on his fingernails and then rubbed them on his chest before inspecting them.
"Bryan Buckles?!" Carter repeated.
"Certainly," Buckles replied, bobbing his head a little from side to side as he flashed another cheesy smile. "Producer of the greatest movies Hollywood has ever seen: Weep Wilderness, Reptilicas, The Monster of Hollow Mountain, The Land That Time Didn't Remember. Oh, and I suppose you might know my less famous cousin, Byron Buckles," he added with a disinterested wave of his hand.
"Blimey," Newkirk muttered under his breath.
Hogan scrunched his nose as if he had just smelled something foul. "All right, so what are you doing here?" The last thing he needed was to make nice with another Hollywood type. Byron Buckles, the movie actor, had been insufferable enough.
"It's simple. I'm always on the look out for another great movie idea. I heard about your little operation here and used my contacts to make a trip here for research purposes," Buckles explained.
Hogan frowned. "There's no way anyone at HQ would approve this."
"Oh please," Buckles said dismissively. "I'm from Hollywood. What we want, we get. It's a matter of influence, Hogan old boy. Besides, you should feel honoured. I'm going to make you a star. Well, not you personally, of course. We'll cast someone suitable in your role."
"But the operation here is classified," Carter objected. "Isn't it."
Again, Buckles waved his hand dismissively. "We'll change the names, the location."
"But-" LeBeau started.
"I have full approval, so there's no use arguing. Now," Buckles clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Before I left, someone told me that you are hosting some sort of story competition?"
Hogan exchanged a wary look with Kinch. "Yeah," Kinch replied. "The Papa Bear Awards. See, there are some authors who write stories about us and then we vote on which ones we like the best."
"And those are them?" Buckles ask, pointing the the pack on the floor.
"Yes sir. We think that's all of them," Kinch said. "London says they're might be some changes. The authors have until January 25th to find any discrepencies and then the list will be finalized. London will drop any extra stories or send word about any that need to be dropped this year."
"Excellent. So you'll all pick the best scripts-"
"Stories," Newkirk corrected.
"Same thing. You'll pick all the best scripts and then I'll take them with me to Hollywood. Why, I'll have a team on it in no time to adapt them to the silver screen," Buckles said.
"Would you like to read and vote on them too, Mr. Buckles?" Carter asked. "Nominations aren't due until February 15."
"Oh, oh no," Buckles laughed. "Me read a script? That's what interns are for, my good man. They're young, they know what the rabble wants. And, best of all, you don't even have to pay them! The experience is enough!"
"And I thought I was a crook," Newkirk mumbled.
"Now, while I'm here I'll need my own quarters. Goose down pillows and comforter. Oh, and I absolutely require three soft boiled eggs in the morning, toast with grape jelly, three strips of bacon. And of course a bowl of M&Ms. But just the green ones."
"Now hold it, Buckles," Hogan protested. "You do know there's a war going on, don't you?"
Buckles blinked. "Why yes. And you do know that it's Hollywood that's selling all the war bonds to fund it? Of course you do. Now, someone get my bags and take me to my room. I need my rest if I am going to make the greatest picture of all time!" Without waiting for anyone to follow his orders, Buckles marched off down one of the tunnels.
Hogan looked up and sighed. "Why couldn't they have sent DeMille?"
