Chapter 21

March 30, 1945

Good Friday

From every barracks, men poured out as the staff car entered the compound. The car stopped in front of the office and five weary men got out of it.

"Where is the Kommandant?" Sgt. Hans Schultz demanded as he came down the porch steps.

"With Colonel Hogan," Kinch said.

Schultz was not appeased. "And where is Colonel Hogan?"

Captain John Witton walked over. "I'd like to know as well. You guys look like you could use a hot meal and then some sleep. Let's go to the mess hall. You, too, Schultz."

Clearly unhappy, Schultz followed the men to the mess hall. And soon, there was a procession of men following them.

Lt. Brian Gayles looked at the opening door. To his surprise, a crowd of men was coming early to the mess hall. Hogan's men, he was relieved to see, the four captains, the six lieutenants, all the barracks' leaders, Sgt. Wilson, Private Tiptoe, the men from Hogan's barracks and a few others. Included in the crowd were some of the Germans: Schultz, Langenscheidt, Gruber, the corporals, some of the older Germans, most of the youngest, and few others. But no Hogan and no Klink.

"Morning, Gayles," Captain Witton said. "I know it's before hours, but these guys could use some food." He gestured toward Hogan's men. "And so could we. What's on the breakfast menu?"

Gayles walked over to the men now sitting at the tables. "Oatmeal, scrambled eggs, pork sausages, Southern style biscuits and gravy," he said with enthusiasm.

Hogan's men looked at him, and to his surprise, all, save for Carter, smiled faintly.

"What's the joke?" Gayles asked.

Kinch's smile grew. "When we left, we would have been thrilled. But now . . . " His head shook with mild amusement.

"We have been dining on real eggs, real butter, homemade jam and biscuits, and gourmet meals since we left," LeBeau said, carefully putting a large bag next to his chair leg.

"No offense," Newkirk said.

Gayles and the others looked taken aback.

"Gourmet meals?" Captain Warren asked.

"Afraid so," Baker said with a smile. "But they didn't have those southern style biscuits. I'll take a heap of those with the gravy and sausages."

"Coming right up," said a mollified Gayles. "The rest of you?"

The other men also placed their orders.

"And, Gayles," Witton said as he sat down, "I know it's early for breakfast, but we'd all appreciate it if you started early."

Gayles looked at the crowd of men and signed inwardly. There were over a hundred-and fifty men now in the mess hall. He gestured to Fritz Freitag and the rest of his German staff to get the cups and coffee handed out, while the American staff hurried to fix the food.

It took a few minutes for the food to be placed in front of Hogan's men and the coffee to be handed around. The rest of the men had settled down at adjacent tables with their coffees and were waiting patiently as Hogan's men ate. Walter Red Hand and Paul Hammond took out pens and notebooks. As they were getting settled, the door opened and Hilda, still wearing her overcoat and carrying her purse, walked into the hall.

"Morning, Hilda," Witton said. "Have a seat." He gestured toward a spot next to Red Hand.

"Coffee?" Gayles walked over to her with a cup and a coffeepot.

"Danke." Hilda took off her coat and, following Hammond's and Red Hand's example, took out her notebook and pencil.

"Uh, Hilda," Witton said with a faint smile, "you can take notes, but none of this goes into the official record unless we get permission to include it from the Colonel. These guys," he gestured at the men in the hall, "know this doesn't go beyond the camp."

Hilda glanced at Gruber.

"We know it as well, Fräulein," Gruber said from an adjoining table.

"I will make certain that it goes only to Colonel Hogan's desk."

"Nein, Fräulein," Gruber said. "Not Colonel Hogan. Colonel Klink."

Hilda looked at him. Then she looked at Witton, Witton who nodded far too soberly. "Jawohl, Captain." And I was right, she thought with an inward smile.

"Okay," Witton said, turning to Hogan's men. "We're all settled. So, where's Colonel Hogan and where's the Kommandant? Or do you want to start somewhere else?"

Kinch nodded. "Yeah, we'd better start at the beginning." He took a sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts. "Okay, I guess everyone, or almost everyone knows that the Colonel, I mean Klink, I mean the S. . . " He stopped as Schultz stared at him, a warning in his eyes. "Hell, after this, what do I call him?"

"Better stick with Kommandant," Witton said in a dry voice.

Kinch nodded, and smiled faintly. "Sorry, guys, it's been a weird four days. Okay. That day in the rec hall, the Kommandant picked up a message that was meant for him. One of his, for lack of another word, lieutenants was arrested by the SS. And the Kommandant needed to know what happened to him."

"I'm assuming that lieutenant knew who he was," Captain Mitchell said.

The others nodded.

"And no," Kinch held up a hand, as Langenscheidt opened his mouth, "we wouldn't say more than that."

"Hell," Warren said with a frown, "if he knew who the Kommandant was and he was tortured and . . . "

"Got it in one," Baker said. "And yeah, they were torturing the guy."

"Bloody hell," murmured Warrant Officer Geoffrey Samuelson(1).

"Now none of us knew any of this until we got to Leipzig," Kinch said.

"Leipzig?" from Sgt. Wilson. "That's at the other end of Germany. How did you get there?"

Kinch glanced at Schultz, Schultz who remained quiet. "The Kommandant has a plane, a Junker just barely big enough for us, in a deserted barn on one of the plateaus overlooking the Ruhr."

"The Kommandant has a plane?" said a surprised Langenscheidt. "I thought he did not like to fly."

"Karl," Schultz said softly. "bitte, listen."

"I don't know if he likes to fly or not," Baker said with a chuckle. "But he definitely knows how. That plane was in perfect condition."

"Still is," Townsend said, "from what I could see. We'll have to figure out — "

"We're getting sidetracked," Witton interrupted. "Okay, you flew to Leipzig in what, a couple of hours."

Kinch nodded. "And landed on a large, and I do mean large, estate southwest of the city."

"You still didn't know what the mission was," Captain Martin said.

Kinch shook his head. "No. Neither did the Kommandant until we walked into that room."

"Room?" from Mitchell.

"An underground room," Kinch said. "Part of the basement of the house."

"And Gawd, what a house!" Newkirk shook his head.

"Can we please . . . " Witton began.

"Moving on, Captain," Kinch said. "And this is where it gets really wild . . . I mean, we were used to this area. The five us, Hogan, once in a while some of you guys, and occasionally some of the folks in Hammelburg. But that place . . . The number of people involved . . . " Kinch shook his head. "He said something months ago about how big the organization was. Hell, he even mentioned it a few weeks ago before the bombing runs. But I didn't really believe it. I mean, how could he possibly set up something that big?"

"He had ten years of hard work, Sgt. Kinchloe," said Schultz in a tired, sober voice. "Ten years of planning, building, hiding. And fear, Sergeant. Do not forget that."

Kinch and most of the men nodded. "Yeah, fear."

"You should have seen the place," LeBeau said. "Filled with some thirty or so men and women. When we walked in, everyone was staring at us."

"You mean staring at him," Baker interrupted.

"Yeah." Newkirk's voice was hushed. "Everyone in that room would have died for him. Some of them did, later."

"A woman about his age," Kinch said, "greeted him. There was a man there as well. Both were lieutenants in the organization."

"And they wanted to rescue this other lieutenant?" from Gruber.

Baker nodded. "The three of them disappeared into a back room along with Colonel Hogan. We waited with the others until they came back and told everyone his plan."

"And what was his plan?" Mitchell asked with mock patience.

The five men looked at each other.

Kinch finally spoke. "The Kommandant knew the SS was expecting them to try to rescue this guy; after all, the SS had advertised they had him. He also knew that an all-out attack would be suicide. So," a deep breath, "he came up with this idea to have one man penetrate their security and keep them busy. Later, when the SS thought it was all over, the real attack would come."

"Good plan," Martin said. "Hate to be the one to do it. You could get caught."

"That was part of the plan," Baker said in a sober voice. "To get caught."

The others stared at him.

"And who would be crazy enough to volunteer to do that?" Lieutenant Miller demanded.

"As he said," Kinch said, "the SS was expecting him, they would get him."

Schultz turned white.

"Wait a minute." Witton had trouble understanding it. "You mean, he would go inside SS headquarters, make some trouble and then, deliberately, get caught."

They nodded.

"And the SS would know who they have?!"

"The plan was to get the SS to stop torturing his man," Kinch said. "He has a bad ticker. Too much of that and he would die."

"And the only way to do that was to give them a better prize," Baker said. "And what better prize was there than the Kommandant."

"But," Miller's voice was shaking, "they would," he had to swallow the lump in his throat, "torture him. He had to know that."

"He knew all right," Kinch said. "Every person in that room knew what would happen when they caught him."

"I can't believe that Colonel Hogan accepted that bombshell quietly," Mitchell said.

"He didn't." Newkirk managed a faint smile. "But he didn't have any choice. As the Kommandant said, if anyone had a better idea, he'd listen. But no one did. So it went on as he planned. He left in the middle of the night and got into SS headquarters. He really gave them a run for their money before they caught him."

"But," Witton said, "they did catch him."

The others nodded.

"Yeah," Kinch said. "His people had decided that the SS had to be lulled into thinking that there would be no further attacks. And the only way to do that was to wait. And to keep an eye on SS headquarters to make sure they didn't move him."

"In the meantime, the two lieutenants, mainly the woman, went over the plans for our attack until everyone of us could recite it in our sleep" Baker said. "According to the people there, that was not unusual. Most of their operations were choreographed with enough leeway to allow for unplanned moves if needed."

"Unlike your 'fly by the seat of your pants' plans," Mitchell said dryly.

"Uh, yeah," Newkirk admitted.

"Then came the hard part," LeBeau said. "Just waiting."

"Colonel Hogan doesn't wait very well," Miller said.

"Okay," Martin said. "I still don't believe that Hogan just sat there and waited for how many hours. That isn't the Hogan I know."

Kinch smiled faintly. "You're right. It isn't. And it isn't us either." He shook his head. "We were so naïve!"

"What?" from Warren. "You guys naïve?"

They nodded.

"We assumed it would be like it is here," LeBeau said. "That we could just find their armory, take what we needed, get a car, leave, make some trouble in the city, and disappear. Just like here."

"Well, yeah," Warren said. "I mean you guys did that all the time."

The five men looked at each other and then at the listening men.

Finally, Kinch said, "I'll ask you the same question I asked at the estate — who was in charge of the camp at the time we did all those things?"

"The Kommandant," Warren said. "But what did . . . ? Oh."

"Yeah, oh." Kinch shook his head.

"We made bloody asses of ourselves," Newkirk murmured.

"You got caught leaving," Mitchell said.

"Leaving?" LeBeau said with some heat. "We didn't even get out of the wine cellar!"

"I felt like a bloody fool," Newkirk admitted.

"We all did. The guy, the big guy, locked us up."

Mitchell smiled. "And you got out, right?"

"Not with his SS guy outside the door," Baker said evenly. "A real SS guy with a real machine gun."

"But . . . " Even Langenscheidt had trouble with that. "Were they not on your side?"

"As a very smart and very elegant lady put it, the only side those guys acknowledged was the Kommandant's. And his lieutenants. If they felt we were threatening any of them," Kinch said soberly, "they would just as soon kill us as help us."

"Oh, sweet Lord," Private Ken Tiptoe(2) whispered.

"So you guys were stuck in a wine cellar?" Lester Carr couldn't believe it.

"Well, for a bit," Baker said. "Colonel Hogan went over the man . . . "

"Okay, I'm getting confused with the men and women," Witton said. "Can you please give them a name?"

"Yeah," Kinch said, "it is a bit confusing. The head guy . . . "

"Lion," Newkirk said. "He growled enough at us."

"And Lady," Carter murmured. "She was a real lady."

"Yeah, she was," Kinch agreed in a quiet voice. "Okay, Hogan went over the Lion's head and asked to speak to the Lady alone, and he left with her."

"And he charmed her into letting you guys go free, right?" Warren said with a grin.

"No," Kinch said. "And yes. He tried to charm her all right. He said he failed miserably." He grinned at Hilda's raised brow. "But he was able to convince her to let us go. Sort of."

"Sort of?" from Miller.

Kinch nodded. "She came down to the cellar and asked us if we were willing to do what she needed to be done to help the mission. Of course, we agreed."

"So what did you guys do?" Gayles asked as more food was laid out on the tables. And flushed when everyone looked at him. "Hey, I live here too."

"We all did something different," Kinch said. "Carter made Lord knows how many bombs and explosives."

"Hundreds," Carter murmured.

Even Gruber raised a brow.

"Baker made bogus radio announcements and helped keep tabs on where everyone was and how things were going. LeBeau got a bunch of French prisoners out of a concentration camp and ferreted out a collaborator. Newkirk helped the Lady with a safe she was interested in and then built more bombs. And I was rerouting Lord knows how many phone lines all night long to keep the SS from asking for help when the raid was on, and making fake calls to keep most of the Nazis out of the area. And when the actual raid took place, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter were there."

"You guys were busy," Witton said with a grim smile. "But you haven't mentioned Hogan. Was he leading the raid?"

The five looked at each other.

Kinch took a deep breath. "No, he came up with his own crazy idea. He was already inside the SS annex."

"Probably as a general," Martin grinned, "ordering everyone around."

"As a prisoner," Kinch said to the shock of everyone. "His crazy plan mirrored the Kommandant's. Hogan played a deserter with Soviet plans for an attack on Leipzig to take some of the pressure off the Kommandant."

"So he just walked into the SS building with fake plans," Mitchell said.

Kinch shook his head. "Nothing that simple. The plans were real, given to the Lady by a defecting Russian general. But Hogan didn't walk in there. He was taken by a couple of the Lion's SS men as a prisoner."

"As a prisoner?" Lt. Patterson gaped at them. "He went in as an SS prisoner?"

"Okay," Miller mumbled, "it's official. They are both crazy!"

Kinch failed to smile. "Yeah, they are. But they both read the SS right. The Kommandant ended his lieutenant's torture by giving them the prize they really wanted. And Hogan gave the SS enough of an incentive to stop the Kommandant's interrogation for a while. The downside of all of it was that the SS had tightened up their security, and there were more SS there than originally expected. By the time the SS major got tired of torturing the Kommandant — "

Hilda's pencil stopped moving.

" — the building was locked up tight for the night. And from what I heard later, everything went quiet for a few hours.

"You weren't there?" Red Hand said.

Kinch shook his head. "Like I said, my job was the phone lines, and that took a lot more time than we anticipated."

"We didn't know what Hogan had done until the Lady told us shortly before the raid," Baker said. "We were pretty steamed about it when we heard. But," a shrug, "his plan did work. And he was inside with the means to get out of his cell and anticipate the rescue. Which he did."

"Wait a sec," Mitchell said. "He was there as an SS prisoner, right? How did he get that past the SS?"

"The Lion's men," LeBeau said. "There were at least six SS who worked for him in the building. Two of them took Hogan inside. They made sure he had what he needed to get free and told him what he needed to know. The rest locked up as many of the SS as they could, set a few traps and charges, and kept other SS away from those of us on the raids as best as they could."

"How did you get into the building?" Mitchell asked.

"The Resistance had already dug two entrances from adjacent buildings to the walls of the annex," Carter managed to say. "I blew one side and someone else opened the other side. Then I left and . . . and got ready to destroy the building."

"Some of the Lion's men guided us through that maze of a building," LeBeau said.

"Or tried to," Newkirk admitted. "LeBeau and I got separated from the others and ended up in a different part of the sublevels."

"You got lost!" Wilson said in disbelief.

"No . . . Okay, yeah," Newkirk said with some chagrin. "Like I said, that place was a maze, and by then we had real SS firing at us. We knew where we had to be, so I picked a few locks and ended up inside the utility tunnels, heading toward the cells."

"Which turned out to be good for a couple of civilian prisoners the SS had stuck in the dark to soften them up," LeBeau said. "We were able to free them and get out of the tunnels."

"And plant a few more charges," Newkirk added.

"I assume you found everyone else," Martin said in a dry voice.

"Yeah," Newkirk said. "Turns out we were only separated from the others by a wall. And we didn't even have to search the cells. Somehow, don't ask us how, the Kommandant had already gotten out of the cell and had his friend with him when the other rescuers ran into him. Then more SS guards showed up. And it all turned into a bloody mess."

"It took time," LeBeau said, "to fight our way out of there. The truth is I don't remember too much about it. It was noisy . . . bloody . . . And it all happened so fast. Our original entrance tunnel had been closed off, so the Kommandant split us up. His lieutenant, who wasn't looking too good by then, and one group of rescuers went to the still open tunnel. We heard later that they barely made it out. One of the Lion's SS men saved them by blowing up the tunnel and himself with a grenade after everyone else made it out."

"Oh, dear God," Tiptoe whispered.

"Where was Hogan in all of this?" Witton asked after a brief silence.

"Like we said earlier, the Lion's men had given him the way to escape from his cell," Newkirk said. "He had gotten out of the cell, but he was on a different level from the Kommandant. He'd also found a couple of prisoners that he had to look after so he was moving up the staircase. A couple of the Lion's men took the former prisoners up to the roof where there were more Resistance people firing at the SS in the streets. And told Hogan his way out was the main entrance to the building. That's where we were heading with the Kommandant. Gawd! The main level was a mess. I never saw so many dead bodies, so much blood, before." He shook his head.

"That's where we found Hogan and two of the Lion's men," LeBeau said in a softer voice, remembering. "We managed to get out of the main entrance followed by the SS. Including the major who tortured the Kommandant. As we got into one of the rescue cars, the major killed one of the Lion's men and aimed for the Kommandant. The Kommandant was faster and killed him just as Hogan pulled him into another car."

"As our cars left, there were more SS coming out of the building or firing out of the windows. Thanks to Carter," Newkirk nodded at him, "their cars exploded so they couldn't follow us. And," he looked at Carter who bit his lip, "thanks to him, the SS building collapsed into the street. God knows how many died inside the building and on the street."

"My God," Wilson swore. "What about the rescuers?"

"We told you about the two SS guys," Kinch said. "I heard one of the Lion's men died. The other four SS guys in the building were injured as well as a bunch of other rescuers. But we don't know how many."

"No need to know," Gruber said.

Kinch nodded.

"And civilians," Carter whispered.

Newkirk took a deep breath. "Yeah. Civilians. That SS annex was in a residential area. When the shooting started and the explosions . . . Some got caught in the middle."

"Deaths?" Tiptoe asked in a quiet voice.

Carter stood abruptly and left, the door banging behind him, startling the others.

"One was a little girl," Kinch said in a subdued voice. "Carter saw it happen."

"And later we heard there were other civilian casualties," Baker said in the same tone.

After a moment, it was Langenscheidt who asked, "But everyone else . . . What happened?"

"We met up in a really secluded area," Newkirk said. "The Lion was there, coordinating everything, including the weapons. The lieutenant was being flown out of Germany. A doctor was looking after some of the injured. The Kommandant talked briefly with the Lion and then we and the Kommandant, and some others headed back to the estate where the Lady was waiting."

"And where Baker and I waited," Kinch said with a grimace. "The Kommandant left to get some sleep, maybe see a doctor — we don't know. That's when we found out what had happened to Hogan and the Kommandant, and Hogan found out what we did. Then we all got some sleep."

Mitchell had been mentally calculating the times. "Okay. But why didn't you come back yesterday?"

Kinch sighed. "That's what we were expecting. But the Kommandant had other ideas. To the Colonel's annoyance, he decided to take a little trip back into the city. Of course, the Colonel wasn't about to let him go anywhere alone."

An ironic, "Of course not," from Witton. "But where did they go?"

"The Kommandant's home where his two brothers, their wives, children, and his mother lived," Baker said. "None of them knew who he was until he walked in. Then Kommandant told them they had to leave the city that night."

"Leave? Why?" Warren asked.

It was Gruber who answered. "It was his home town. Many saw him unmasked at the SS building; he was afraid he would be identified."

"And he was," Kinch said quietly.

A sharp, "What do you mean?" from Schultz.

Kinch took a deep breath. "According to Colonel Hogan, while they were getting ready to leave, an SS lieutenant who knew them got into the house and managed to get a gun on the Kommandant before they realized it."

"Mein Gott!" from an ashen Schultz.

Kinch nodded in agreement. "The Colonel said the guy got a real kick out of the situation. Especially after he yanked the Kommandant's sweater off." A deep breath. "The Colonel said his back looked worse than it did before."

"Mein Gott," Gruber whispered, "he was whipped!"

"And he didn't say anything?!" from an incredulous Miller.

Schultz looked ill.

Kinch shook his head. "No, and we couldn't tell."

"Why are you surprised?" Schultz asked, tight emotion in his voice. "How many times in the past has he been hurt and you did not know it?"

After a moment, Martin asked hesitantly, "What happened next?"

A slow smile from Kinch. "The Colonel said the Kommandant didn't even flinch. He just listened as Schmitt continued to rant about what he was going to do. So Schmitt didn't notice Hogan creeping up behind him. Hogan jumped him, got the gun away from Schmitt and the Kommandant was able to knock him out. Then Hogan was given a direct order to leave; he took Schmitt's uniform and car and left. After a while, he ditched the car and the clothes and made his way back to the estate. We found him a few miles away. When we got back to the plane, he told us what had happened."

"That must be when he radioed us and told us to meet him at the airport," Townsend said.

Baker nodded. "The orders were to wait until 0400. And that's exactly how long we waited."

"The Kommandant nearly didn't make it," Kinch said. A lopsided grin. "He told the Colonel he was on a tram having a theological discussion with an SS officer. You should have seen the look on the Colonel's face."

"A little annoyed?" Witton said.

"A lot annoyed."

"So where are the Kommandant and Colonel Hogan now?" Gruber demanded.

"The Colonel made a detour to Doctor Bauer's office," Baker said. "I guess they'll be back later."

"Sounds like you've had a few busy days," Witton said, standing. "Go get some rest."

"Agree with that." Kinch rose and stretched; the other three followed suit.

They headed out of the mess hall, followed by the men who had finished their breakfasts. As expected, there was an impatient crowd waiting to get into the hall for breakfast, though the crowd quieted as they saw Hogan's men. Before they reached the barracks, Hogan drove into the camp, parked in front of the barracks and got out of it.

"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz cried. "The Kommandant . . ."

"He's spending the night with Doctor Bauer," Hogan said curtly as he opened the door to the empty barracks.

A hesitant, "His back?" from Gruber.

"It'll heal. Unless he messes it up again. I need some sleep."

The door slammed behind him.

"I think," Martin said warily, "he's a little upset."

"Upset?" Newkirk grimaced. "He's been mad as hell since we left the estate."

"I think," Witton said, "we'd better stay out of his way until he cools down. We'll," he gestured at the other officers, "give an abbreviated version of events to each mess hall shift. You guys, get some sleep."

There were nods from Hogan's men as they entered the barracks and slowly climbed into their welcoming bunks.

Hilda walked into the empty Kommandant's office. Mechanically, she put her coat on the rack and her purse inside the bottom desk drawer. She reached for the water pitcher. Empty. She picked it up and opened the door behind the desk, the door that led to the Kommandant's quarters. She stepped through the door and walked into the combination living room/dining room, intending to go into the kitchen for ice and water. And she stopped, suddenly hugging the pitcher to her breast as if it were a child.

Hilda turned slowly, looking at the room as if she had never seen it before. There was the front door leading to the porch, the porch where the Kommandant often stood, looking out at the prisoners as they walked or exercised, or watching the road outside the camp. And there was the small hallway leading to the second bedroom and bath. The bedroom . . .

And a scene flashed in her memory . . . A horrifying scene when she went looking for Colonel Hogan and she saw what Randall had done to the Kommandant's back as Doctor Bauer changed the bandages. Hogan had hurried her out of the room and she escaped to the office, trembling uncontrollably.

And now . . .

For weeks, months, years, she had seen the Kommandant Hilda had thought she'd known. A not very smart man, but overall a well-meaning one who worked in his office for hours longer than Hogan had seen, one who read and even burned orders Hogan had never seen, one who managed with no little trouble to himself to pacify his superiors, the Gestapo and the SS as Hogan repeatedly caused trouble in the camp, one who tried to juggle the declining budget and care for the men as prisoners by the hundreds poured into the small camp. The one she had lied to as a bribe-giving American officer had told her to lie. The one she found herself pitying, even defending, as that selfsame American wished him dead in front of the entire camp. And the one who nearly died in that cave-in last December.

That was when she finally had her eyes opened. When Hilda saw glimpses of a man who had been eclipsed by a handsome smooth-talking American. A man who, when a horrific fire threatened not merely the camp but her home in Hammelburg, had emerged to the astonishment of the town, his second officer and the camp. A man who, to her surprise, had actually become a friend of Colonel Hogan, and who, after Randall's attack, had won the respect of the entire camp. More, who was now deferred to by the Allied officers of the camp.

And now she knew why.

Hilda sank onto the sofa, still clutching the pitcher, and broke into tears.

Back in the German barracks . . .

"You all heard what happened!" Gottschalk screamed. "The Kommandant, that so loyal German Kommandant, is a member of the Resistance! Worse, a leader! With the SS after him! I suspected something like that, but now we have proof. He is a TRAITOR! As are Schultz! And Gruber. And Langenscheidt!" He turned to Cpl. Jakob Nagel and the others. "Not even you can deny it any longer!"

The men looked at each other and then at Gottschalk.

"Well?" Gottschalk demanded. "Now, will you admit it?"

There was a long silence, finally broken by the burn-scarred Nagel. "Ja," he said slowly. "The Kommandant is a traitor to the Nazis."

"Finally!" Gottschalk had a triumphant look on his face. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Now, we can plan what to do."

"Ja," Cpl. Oskar Kaufmann said in a low voice. "We have much to think about."

Gottschalk nodded with a smile. "I have much to think about!" And he swept out of the barracks. Half a dozen men followed in his wake.

After a moment and a nod from Nagel, Cpl. Klaus Krieger followed them.

There was silence for long minutes in the barracks. Broken finally by young Emil Reinwald.

"Corporal Nagel," he said to the heavily scarred man in an even voice, "you said the Kommandant is a traitor to the Nazis."

Nagel nodded slowly.

"Is he . . . Is he a traitor to Germany?" was the question.

Nagel looked at the young soldier and at the other one hundred men in the barracks. Then in a strong, unwavering voice he said, "What do you say? What do all of you say?"

To his surprise, the youngest of them all Private Hirschfeld answered him. "Nein, he is not a traitor to Germany."

Nagel walked over to him and placed his burned hands on the boy's shoulders. "Danke, Gustav. If others your age feel the same, then perhaps after all that has happened, there is hope for our poor country." He looked at the dozen or so teenagers in ill-fitting German uniforms. "It will be you, not men my age or older, who will have the burden of proving to the world that not all Germans are Nazis. It will be your generation who will take Germany into the future, a future, we pray, of peace and hope." A faint smile at Hirschfeld. "But that is not yet. For now, we all have duties to perform. Go."

Slowly, the barracks emptied out as the former guards went to the mess hall for their delayed meals or to their assigned tasks.

The rest of the day passed quietly as the men, former prisoners and former guards, went about their work assignments.

After his too short nap, Colonel Robert Hogan, his face in a permanent scowl, swept through the camp's various departments, finding fault with everything he saw.

Capt. Mitchell, Lt. Patterson and the men assigned to security details swept the area around the camp and Hammelburg. For days, radio chatter, both Allied and German, was heavy with troop movements on both sides, and news of towns destroyed by Allied and German soldiers. The unspoken worry was when would those armies find the island of safety around the camp and Hammelburg.

Finally, it was night and most of the men were in their bunks sleeping . . .

James Ivan Kinchloe was trapped in a maze of thin black wires snaking from one end of an impossibly vast room to the other, entangling him in spidery webs as a worried Gustav told him to connect them to an enormous switchboard high above him.

Richard Baker sat in a tiny booth before a small microphone, his voice getting hoarser and hoarser as an unseen someone shouted at him to talk louder.

Louis LeBeau was reciting Shakespeare in a room filled with farm tools made of dough that were multiplying in size and number as a French voice told him that he needed to count them all and put them into a barn-size baking dish.

Peter Newkirk sat in front of a row of bulky black safes with combination locks the size of a soccer ball and a continually multiplying set of numbers on each of them. "One hour, Herr Peter," said a voice. "You have one hour . . ."

Andrew James Carter was gleefully playing with the fuses and wires of his latest invention. A shimmer of blue floated in and settled on one of the wires. He swatted it away. Another glimmer of blue. A swat. Another glimmer. Another . . . The blue melted into the wires, the fuses, the table. Melted into his hands.

Robert Hogan, at the controls of a small plane stuffed with SS uniforms, wove through a gray red-tinged maze, trying to keep the plane on course through a dense rain of gunfire and explosions. "What is your plan now, Papa Bear?" mocked Richard's voice. "What is your plan?"

And in their bunks, six men woke with sweat-soaked blankets, rapid pulses, shallow breathing and uncontrollable trembling. Slowly, gradually, their pulses slowed, their breathing returned to normal, the shaking went away.

But the nightmares and the memories of the past few days remained until the fingers of dawn seeped into their rooms.

1) M. Hughes: Dress Rehearsal and Act Four

2) "Act Four", Laverne Cash: New Beginnings