I actually wrote this chapter in 2012, and it sat there until this summer. (Thank you, Book for running the write-a-thon)
I would like to thank my write-a-thon team, Book 'em again and SunshineOfThe60s, for your feedback and encouragement. Without your hard work, this story would still be languishing on my hard drive.
Thank you Book 'em for proofreading the story, once I had my final draft.
Thank you Six of Twelve for giving my first draft a quick once-over, and for letting me know I was on the right track...
and thank you Sierra Sutherwind, for offering to look at the story. Your contributions were invaluable!
Chapter One
January 1945
Klink's luck was with him that evening at Stalag 5. He had reluctantly agreed to travel to the large stalag several hours inside Germany, in order to meet with a group of his colleagues to discuss future plans. A large number of Allied soldiers had been captured during the German offensive in the Ardennes, and the prisons in the Western part of the country were quickly becoming overwhelmed. Trainloads of men were being shuffled all over Germany, and the cars holding the prisoners were in danger of being bombed and strafed by their own planes. Others were being marched east to other camps, and both prisoners and guards were dying along the way.
Klink gulped down the rest of his schnapps, instinctively smacking his lips as the last bit of liquid slid down his throat. The Kommandant's tongue was a bit looser than normal.
"This is not a humane way to treat the prisoners or the guards," he said, as he and three others sat down to play bridge.
"What do you care about humane treatment, Klink?" Kommandant Hauptmann of Oflag 4B glared suspiciously at the Luftwaffe officer. "You had better watch what you are saying, Wilhelm. Walls have ears," he warned.
"That's where you army men and the Luftwaffe differ, Hans." Kommandant Franz Kobel of Stalag 5 had swallowed a bit more than Klink, and his tongue had loosened as well. Fortunately, all four men were on reasonably good terms, and none of them were rabid Nazis. "This room is swept every day. It's clean. And the Luftwaffe has respect for fellow fliers. And their Air…Air…Air force and RAF treat our prisoners well…or so I have heard."
"Of course, if it's between us and them, it's us. And if we get orders from the Führer, or the SS, I will obey." Klink, now wary, pedaled back.
"Of course," Kobel agreed. The other two nodded as Kobel dealt the first hand. And, as luck would have it, Klink and his partner slaughtered Kobel's and his partner.
Klink was positively gleeful and was rubbing his hands in anticipation of his winnings. During the last meeting, he had lost, and reluctantly sent over a large case of wine and caviar. However, given the food shortages, Kobel was straining to come up with an appropriate "donation." Hauptmann agreed on an IOU, but Klink, who was still tipsy, insisted on returning with something tangible.
"I could send you over some of our prisoners," Kobel offered. "We are bursting at the seams."
"As are we," Klink answered. "I suppose I could take some. I will have the prisoners build some more huts. They are so cowed; they will work for almost nothing."
"And yet, they do not attempt to escape," Hauptmann said, rolling his eyes. Klink's record was well-known, and he never failed to remind the others of it whenever they met.
"Attempt…yes. Succeed, no." Klink rubbed his eyes, and thought for a moment. "Aha. I will take some extra prisoners, but only if you give me something else. Something we have needed for a very long time."
Several days after Klink's triumphant win at bridge, he summoned Colonel Hogan to his office. Immediately, Hogan knew something was up, for Klink was positively glowing. He looked so pleased with himself that Hogan wondered if the Kommandant had been spending time with a female companion. He doubted it, but sometimes, miracles did occur.
"Colonel Hogan. How nice for you to come. Please sit down." Klink motioned to the office chair.
"It's not like I had any choice, sir." Hogan pulled out the chair, sat and looked at Klink expectantly. Here it comes. We're not getting any, and now he's either going to gloat, give me a play-by-play of his evening, or ask for advice.
"That's right! You don't have a choice. Never mind. I called you here because I have something for you."
"A three day pass to town? That's awfully kind of you, sir. I can leave this afternoon."
Klink stared at the American. "No." He placed his elbows on the table, clasped hands and leaned forward. "You will thank me when I tell you. Remember when I was away at Stalag 5 several days ago?"
"Yes," Hogan replied.
"Do you recall how good a bridge player I am?"
"Not really."
Klink laughed. "I beat Kommandant Kurtz and his partner. And he had no caviar and wine to pay me off. So, he offered me extra prisoners."
Hogan nearly sputtered. "We're overloaded now."
"And the lumber to build more huts. Your men can start on it this afternoon."
"And I'm supposed to thank you for this?" Hogan started to rise out of his chair.
"Wait. There's more! I found you a doctor. He is coming with the rest of the prisoners this afternoon. No more trips into town to see one. Didn't I say you would thank me?"
"Thank you, sir," Hogan muttered. He stood up. "Does that mean we will be getting more medical supplies?
"No." Klink, not noticing Hogan's lack of enthusiasm, bounced up out of his chair. "Have a work detail ready to help with the huts. Dissssmissed!"
"I would rather have to give him another pep talk about women," Hogan complained a few minutes later, as he described his meeting to the men in his barracks.
Olsen hopped down from his bunk and warmed his hands by the stove. "But why, sir? You and Wilson always said that a doctor on site would make you feel more comfortable, and that we've been lucky we haven't had any fatalities."
"I think, Olsen, the idea of Klink winning at bridge is the problem." Kinch laughed and a moment later, everyone joined in.
"Close, Kinch. Klink is a terrible bridge player. I know. I've been forced to have him as a partner. That's one strike against him. The other one is why would a camp give up a doctor? Carter, you're our resident expert on Stalag 5. What do you think?"
"They had quite a large medical staff while I was there, and maybe they captured some more medical personnel last month."
"Well, this still smells fishy," Hogan said. "There's a good bet this doctor is a plant, so we have to be extra careful. Kinch, any news on the radio?"
"No, sir. We still have to wait for Oskar to try and track down parts. And the weather is too iffy for a drop."
"All right. All the new prisoners will have to be vetted. Someone go tell Wilson to come over. The rest of you spread out and notify all barracks' chiefs. Oh, and Kinch? Get a work party assembled. We need to build three huts. Have the tunnel engineers pick the best spots."
Several hours later, a group of trucks arrived with the new prisoners. Since it would be a while before the huts would be ready, they were all moved into the rec hall; the only exception was the doctor. Klink told Hogan the doctor would stay in the infirmary with Wilson.
Hogan's staff began processing the new prisoners, while he waited in Klink's office to meet the new officer, an army lieutenant captured when the Germans overran a forward first aid station. The door to the office opened, revealing Schultz and a young tall man with jet black hair. He was thin and slightly hunched over, as if he was compensating for his height. Although obviously fatigued, his eyes took in the tableau in front of him, perhaps forming an on the spot opinion of the Kommandant and the American colonel waiting to greet him. He offered an extremely sloppy salute, which both Hogan and Klink overlooked.
Schultz saluted. "He has been to the delousing station, Kommandant."
Klink spoke first. "Good, Schultz. Doctor Pierce. Welcome to the toughest prison camp in all of Germany. This is a Luftwaffe camp, but medical personnel can be sent anywhere. For you the war is over!" he exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, of course you already heard that at Stalag 5, didn't you? Never mind," Klink said, not waiting for an answer. "You are lucky. There will be no escapes, but prisoners who behave themselves will be treated humanely. Isn't that correct, Colonel Hogan?"
Hogan was busy trying to form an opinion about the new officer. He didn't look Aryan; but then, the Germans would try not to be so obvious.
"Hogan?"
"Oh, yes." He turned and faced the doctor. "Stay out of trouble, and don't go near the fences. Name, rank and serial number only. You have papers? Oh, and what's your name?"
"Benjamin Pierce." The doctor removed his eyes from the two older men, and looked down. "Papers," he stated as he began checking through his pockets. "Voilà!" he said as he found the envelope, which he handed to Hogan, who in turn, handed it to Klink.
"I assume you'll want Schultz to escort him over to the infirmary. I have a lot of work to do." The men were listening in and Hogan was hoping they would be able to eavesdrop on a private conversation between Pierce and Klink. Perhaps he'd find out quickly if the doctor was, as he suspected, a plant.
"So do I, Hogan. You can take him over. His papers are in order. Please give them to FräuleinHilda before you leave." Klink sat down and began work on his paperwork, a sign to Hogan that the conversation was over.
"Yes, sir. Follow me, Lieutenant." Hogan noticed the young man catching Hilda's eye, as they left the office. She in turn gazed back, a bit too long for Hogan's taste. The colonel handed the doctor's papers to the secretary. Without missing a beat, she handed over forms for the new prisoner to fill out. Smiling, she told Hogan, "Have the other new prisoners' forms brought over as soon as possible. It's taking a while to get the new information to the Red Cross."
"I'll see to it. I take it you two have met?" Hogan added.
"Actually, I was over at the quartermaster's office when he arrived. You are the new doctor?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Pierce. Benjamin Franklin Pierce. Actually, everyone calls me Hawkeye." He offered the secretary a weary smile.
"Time to go, Lieutenant." Hogan gently guided Hawkeye to the door. As they stepped onto the compound, Hogan turned towards the doctor and raised his eyebrows. "Hawkeye? Interesting. From the 'Last of the Mohicans?'"
"Yes, sir. It's my father's favorite book."
Hogan escorted Hawkeye to the infirmary and left the young doctor in the care of the medic. Wilson and his assistant, Anderson,who was not on duty at the moment, were under strict orders to keep their eye on the new arrival, while other men had been given the task of following Pierce around the camp, unobtrusively, of course. There were several patients in the infirmary, all suffering from respiratory infections.
"Where are you from, sir?" Wilson asked, as he offered the doctor a seat. The medic noticed the deer in the headlights look, which he had seen multiple times in his career. He pointed to a cot. "That's yours. Got it set up as soon as we knew you were coming. My assistant, Anderson, bunks in a hut."
Hawkeye cringed at the formality. The medic had quite a few years on him, and probably had a lot more experience patching up injured soldiers. Not one to pull rank, he said. "Call me Hawkeye."
"All right," Wilson said. "But just between the two of us. Not in front of the Colonel, and definitely not in front of the krauts. I'm from Buffalo. Where are you from?"
"Crabapple Cove, Maine."
"Um. Never heard of it."
"It's a small town. My dad is a family doctor. You know, Wilson, I thought I could handle just about anything Mother Nature could throw at me, but the cold up here." Hawkeye shivered.
"It's been a bad winter and…" Wilson hit his forehead. "I'm sorry, where are my manners." He walked over to the stove near the medical staff's living quarters and poured the doctor a mug of coffee.
"Thanks." Hawkeye took a sip and sputtered it out. "What the hell is this?" He wiped his mouth.
"The best we got. Why? Was the food better at Stalag 5?"
"I wouldn't know. I barely got any." Hawkeye stood up, picked up his bag, threw it on his cot and began removing its meager contents while Wilson watched.
"One stethoscope. One can of spam. Underwear. And my lucky bathrobe." He threw the contents down. "The rest got blown to bits." Hawkeye shrugged.
Wilson picked up the robe. "Medical Department issue. Haven't seen one of these for a while." The medic stroked the material for a moment. He quickly noticed the MD USA embroiled in the pocket. "You really think a piece of clothing is lucky?" he asked.
"Well, it's useful. Kept me a bit warmer after we were captured. And, it's just comfortable." Hawkeye said. "So, are you going to show me the ropes?" Hawkeye used humor and his mouth to hide fear, stress and anxiety. This habit became more frequent and noticeable when he went into the field. He took a deep breath, grabbed some paper and a pen to take notes, and paid attention to the medic.
Wilson showed Hawkeye where to put away his things. After he went over procedures, and their meager supplies, the two examined their patients. Hawkeye took his time with each man; after a quick once-over, he spoke with every prisoner, jotting down information in a small notebook.
"Where you from, Doc?" asked the American sergeant over in bed one.
"Stalag 5," Pierce answered. "Just got here."
"No, I meant your hometown."
"Crabapple Cove, Maine. If you blink, you'll miss it." Hawkeye listened to the man's chest. "Not too bad," he told Wilson.
"No, it was worse when he came in a few days ago."
"Next." Hawkeye walked over to bed two. "How are you feeling?"
"Been better, been worse. Maine? Expect this cold isn't too bad for you, then?"
"Actually, it's not too bad," Hawkeye lied. It was everything actually. The bitter cold, the fear, the shooting. If there was no war, the cold wouldn't matter as much. "You're from?"
"Liverpool," the corporal announced. He coughed for a moment and waited patiently while Hawkeye finished his examination.
"Still hear some rattling there," he told Wilson.
"He was the last one in," Wilson replied. "Probably the last one out as well. We had four here last week. But they're back in their huts. We can get patients dismissed from roll call if necessary. Colonel Hogan would have to take care of asking Klink. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. A barracks guard will come and check in here."
"Good." Pierce was a bit surprised, but glad to know that the Kommandant seemed a bit humane. After Pierce finished up and spoke a bit more with the patients, he and Wilson sat around a small desk and chatted.
"They look better than I expected. Some color in their cheeks, and their eyes aren't sunken in."
"I'm glad to hear it. Must have been rough where you came from."
Hawkeye nodded but didn't elaborate.
"So, tell me about yourself," Wilson asked. "You look a bit young to be out of medical school. 26?"
"I'm 25. I graduated high school early," Hawkeye replied. "Same with college. And they let us leave med school and join up after three years." He glanced at the forms Wilson put in front of him.
"So, what did you do up in Maine?"
Hawkeye looked wistful. "Been helping my dad all my life. Just the two of us."
Wilson noticed pain in the young man's eyes. He didn't press. "What happened? I mean, how were you captured?"
Hawkeye stood up, walked over to his cot, and put on his robe. He then returned to the desk. Letting out a big sigh, he told his story.
"I just finished training, was sent over to England, and then to a forward aid station. You know how the Germans broke through?"
Wilson nodded. "The Kommandant was happy to tell us all the sordid details."
"It was horrible." Hawkeye looked down at this lap. "Baptism under fire is a real thing."
"I know." Wilson patted the doctor's arm. "I have to go check on some patients in their huts, and report back to the Colonel. I'll bring him the forms. Take a break."
"Our new guests had no previous contact with Pierce," Hogan informed Wilson a short while later. "They were all either in solitary, or had been assigned to a barracks when they got transferred."
"And they never heard of Crabapple Cove?" Wilson asked. He quickly told Hogan the name of the doctor's college and medical school.
"No. Most of them were from the southwest. I've got men checking with men from New England." Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip and grimaced. "You know, we had it too good here for too long. Where was I? So what do your guts tell you?"
"So far he seems to know his stuff," Wilson answered. "We did rounds together. Of course we're only treating basic respiratory infections. But then again, they wouldn't send in an untrained spy. However, he looks terrified, although he won't admit it.
"He was captured at an aid station that was overrun. The Germans destroyed the station and took some patients and medical personnel prisoner. He's the only one from the aid station who ended up at Stalag 5. I told Pierce to sack out. He was dead on his feet. So, sir. What does your gut tell you?"
"He could be legit, but we can't take risks. Without the radio parts we can't ask London. Untilthen, we can only hope the new doctor slips up."
"Colonel, I wouldn't underestimate this kid," Wilson said. "There'sa certain cockiness about him. One way or another, he's going to notice things are a bit off around here."
A/N: The bathrobes were issued by the Medical Dept in WW2. There's a lot of speculation as to the actual color. Trapper could be seen wearing one in the very first episode of M*A*S*H. Another reason to believe Hawkeye when he said Korea was his second war in a later "Mail Call" episode.
The winter of 44-45 was one of the coldest on record.
Carter escaped from Stalag 5, as shown in the pilot episode. His stay at that camp was also mentioned in other episodes.