Mission Briefing 2022: The Code-Breaking Calamity

Written by bleeze brew

The night was quiet. Above ground, guards and prisoners alike remained huddled in an attempt to drive away the chill air surrounding them. A heavy quiet lay over the camp in the wake of a blizzard. A lantern created a pocket of warm light for Kinch to read by, though he wasn't making much progress. The radio operator was on pins and needles waiting for any sign of contact. It felt like he was looking up from his reading every minute. Thinking of time, Kinch checked his watch again and frowned. The message he was expecting had never come this late before—he'd anticipated it this morning, but that blizzard had interfered with the radio and made transmission impossible. He could only hope that the submarine had circled around instead of having to leave entirely. The expected message might not be for a mission, but in some ways it was even more important.

With another Christmas gone and the war not yet over, the men of Stalag 13 were feeling their position behind enemy lines more than usual. Things were looking up for the Allies as they came into the new year, but that was little consolation to those missing time with their families and sweethearts. Letters, while very fondly read and reread, only counted for so much. Nothing could replace time spent with loved ones in person. Still, the men of Stalag 13 held to their duty to protect those same loved ones. Until the war was over, they were going to stay the course.

That was part of what made London's message so important. The recognition meant a lot, and did a great job of boosting moral besides.

When the Morse code message did come, Kinch had been expecting it for so long that he almost thought he'd imagined it at first. He jotted down the news and the coordinates, unable to keep from smiling.

Kinch was ready to sign off when London sent an additional piece of information. Repeat last message, he requested.

When it came through exactly the same, Kinch shook his head but wrote it down all the same. The guys would definitely be interested in the changes to the Papa Bear Awards this year. He shut down for the night, taking his notes with him to catch what shut eye he could. Things were going to get busy come morning.

"Roll call! Roll call!"

"Pipe down Schultz!"

"Yeah, five more minutes."

"I know I'd appreciate it," Kinch muttered, only half awake. He tugged his hat on and grabbed his jacket nonetheless. The others were delaying sergeant, but there were limits to Schultz's tolerance for their nonsense. Kinch would prefer to stay as warm as possible, thank you very much.

"No, no, no, everybody up," Schultz said, moving through the barracks. "The Big Shot is sure to be in a mood today."

"Is he?" Hogan asked nonchalantly as he left his quarters. He didn't sound surprised.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz said, plaintive. "I am just trying to do my job, Colonel Hogan, please."

"Alright, alright Schultz," Hogan agreed with surprising ease. "Come on, fellas, let's not keep the Iron Eagle waiting."

The men started to file out, still making a show of protesting, and Kinch frowned. Something must have happened with the Kommandant while he was waiting for the message from London to come through. He leaned over to Olsen, who was pulling on his boots. "Something I'm missing?"

He shook his head slightly, jerking a thumb at the line of people filing out the door. "Tell you later."

Well that was ominous. Hopefully whatever had happened wouldn't cause them problems tonight. They had an important pick up to make. The blizzard earlier would keep most soldiers out of the forests, but the snow would be a hindrance all its own.

Hogan tapped his shoulder on the way out, the two of them bringing up the rear. "Kinch, did you get anything?"

He patted his jacket pocket. "Came in late—or early, depending on how you count."

Hogan clapped a hand to his shoulder briefly, his grin lighting up his eyes. "Perfect. You'll give us the run down once this is over."

Roll call proceeded more or less normally, though it was one of the days where Klink chose not to make a speech. It let them all return to their barracks that much quicker, but it made Kinch wonder what he was doing instead.

That would have to wait, though. While the Colonel returned to his quarters for a moment, Carter had taken up a position right at his shoulder, LeBeau and Newkirk just a half step behind him. At his cool glance, none of them budged. "I haven't got anything left of my Red Cross package, if that's what you're waiting for," he told them.

"Gee, Kinch, we were just wondering what the Colonel was talking to you about."

"It is that time of year again, after all."

"What time of year?" he asked.

"You know exactly what we are talking about." LeBeau tapped his elbow. "Kinch, mon ami, good news should be shared."

"That's right," Newkirk agreed. "You know, I think it's your duty to give us good news if you have any. Morale is important to the war effort, after all. Keeps us all going."

"If I have good news."

"Come on, Kinch," Baker piped up. "I can see that bounce in your step. Tell us already!"

Noise in the barracks swelled as the others supported his demand. Kinch sat at the table, unsurprised to find LeBeau setting a cup of steaming ersatz coffee next to him. Given how valuable his information was, he could ask for any number of things and get them, but there was only one thing that interested him at that moment. "Before I say anything, what's going on with Klink?"

No one would meet his gaze. He raised an eyebrow and waited, sipping his coffee.

"That part's bad news," Garlotti admitted, pouring himself a mug.

"For Klink, or for us?"

"Both, if you can believe it," Newkirk said.

"Well, what is it?"

Before one of them could work up the bravery to tell him, the Colonel returned to the main barracks. "Go ahead, Kinch."

He pulled out his notes. Playing twenty questions would have to wait. "London's confirmed it. The PBAs are on. London will be sending them as an air drop tonight."

The barracks cheered.

"Now Carter," Newkirk said, patronizing. "The PBA stands for the Papa Bear Awards. That's when—"

"—We read fanfiction stories completed over the last year and vote on which ones we like best," Carter interrupted. "Jeeze Newkirk, I already know all that."

"You remember that time—?"

"Boy, you make a mistake with some acronyms once—just once—and your buddies never let you forget it."

"Of course not!" Newkirk said. "What are friends for?"

"Pipe down fellas," Hogan interrupted. "I get the feeling that we have some added complications this year."

"You're right, Colonel. We do." Kinch held up his notes. "We've got four more categories this year. It's not just written stories anymore. There's multimedia, for all kinds of different things. Apparently it's big enough to be split into three categories of its own: video, fanart, and something called..." he frowned at the paper "...Memes."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, un 'meme?'"

"I guess we'll find out when it gets here."

"And the other category, Kinch?" Hogan asked.

"Drabbles."

"Drabbles?"

"They're stories of exactly 100 words. We'll be able to nominate more than the usual amount of those, given how many drabbles there are."

"Blimey, how can somebody fit an entire story into a hundred words?"

"If it can be done, our authors can do it," LeBeau declared.

"There's a few more changes to the rules, but nothing as big as those. I'll make sure the barracks chiefs get the details," Kinch said.

"Alright. If that's all, I'm going to need volunteers for the drop tonight," Hogan said.

Nearly the whole barracks started clamouring to go along. "It would be swell if you guys would be as eager to do our actual missions," Hogan called over them. They laughed.

"I'm just sick of being cooped up here, Colonel. We all are," Scotty said, pulling a face. "Nice easy drop like this? It's a good chance to get out."

"And read the stories before anybody else, don't forget that part," Olsen piped up with a grin.

"Hey! That's against the rules."

Hogan nodded. "Olsen, just for that you get to stay behind."

"What?!" he squawked.

"Scotty, you make a fair point," the colonel continued. "You can go. I do still need two men fluent in German to go along, so..." he scanned over those volunteering, a little surprised to see that LeBeau and Kinch weren't among them, conversing quietly in French instead. "I guess it's Carter and Newkirk, since Olsen's out of the running."

"Favouritism!"

"You're the one who confessed to wanting to break the rules."

"I was joking."

"I've got one slot left," Hogan continued, looking over the crowd. "Addison, you don't get out of camp often, do you?"

"In work details, usually, but I've been off rotation," he replied.

"Alright, it's your turn." At the complaining that arose, Hogan waved them off. "Pipe down, we'll switch it out for next time."

Kinch cleared his throat. "Now that we've covered that—Colonel, what's going on with Klink?"

Hogan hesitated, stalling by swirling his own coffee around in his mug. "It's not about Klink, exactly, though I can understand why he'd be testy about it," he hedged.

"What is 'it'? No one wants to tell me what's happened. If it's going to impact the operation—"

"No, no, it's got nothing to do with us." Hogan frowned. "But given our luck, we might have to deal with it anyway."

Kinch folded his arms and waited.

Hogan took a fortifying breath. "Word is, somebody we've had the misfortune of meeting before is in the area."

"Who, Hochstetter?"

"Worse," Newkirk muttered.

"Hey, that's not really fair," Carter said. "He is on our side."

Kinch felt his heart sink. "You're kidding."

Hogan shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Kinch."

"Please tell me it isn't who I think it is."

"Well..."

Deep in the forests of Germany, a determined British soldier strode onward. The chill wind cut through both his uniform and the blanket draped over it. The snow clung to his feet, dragging on him as he put one foot in front of the other.

He had a most important mission to complete—escape!

It was the duty of every officer to escape, to return home to fight once more and to tie up enemy resources in the attempt. This officer was a master at escaping; no matter the odds against him, he would prevail.

Perhaps he hadn't been looking for a hole in that fence, at the bottom of a steep slope. Had that stopped him from taking the opportunity? Certainly not! The blizzard that had arisen immediately after might have made his way more difficult, but it had also covered his tracks. With his superior sense of direction, the blinding snow was little hindrance to him. That was simply his skills at planning at work. Now that the snow had stopped, he made even faster progress. It was a bit chilly, but he powered on. A little snow wasn't enough to keep him down.

When the sound of a plane engine cut through the clear night air, he ducked at first, expecting an attack. He wouldn't put such foul play past the Jerries. But with his keen eyes, he was able to make out its form—an Allied plane. A bomber, to be precise, and one that was leaving behind something bulky, attached to a parachute.

Colonel Rodney Crittendon squinted up at the plane, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "I say, that looks like a supply drop!"

AN: It's that time of year again! The up-to-date rules for nominations and a list of all eligible fanworks can be found at www. papabearawards .com (with spaces removed). Nominations open January 15 and go to February 15. Voting will begin as soon as the nominations are posted and will go to March 15.

If you have questions about the nominating process, or anything else, that aren't answered on the PBA website, feel free to drop them in the 2022 PBA forum thread.