Chapter 5

Dear Dad,

A quick note to tell you I'm still okay.

I'm going over to the rec hall today with the guys from one of the barracks. Nothing else has changed. Still cold, but the sleet stopped.

This letter would go out. Because what else could he say? I'm playing spy? The guys here are nuts? London is on the phone?

Will keep you posted.

Hawkeye

Hawkeye met the guys from Barracks 2 over in the rec hall. Hogan was absent, but the rest of the men were there. A few worked on a jigsaw puzzle. A few were over by the small library and two were by the records. A handmade ping pong table was over in the corner, while others worked at a never-ending game of Monopoly. Hawkeye sat with a few of Hogan's staff and chatted. Barracks 4 was also sharing the space, and one of the men, a tall Canadian, and Newkirk performed impressions.

"Your Churchill is top-notch." Hawkeye told Newkirk.

"Thanks. Has come in handy." He whispered in the doctor's ear. "Wait until you hear Carter's Hitler."

Hawkeye's mouth hung open. "Seriously?"

"He's the best actor in the bunch," Baker, another colored sergeant, and Kinch's relief said. "What's your talent?" he asked.

Hawkeye sat back and thought for a moment. "Well, I can somewhat carry a tune. Wait. I know." He grabbed the wrist of the closest person next to him, a startled LeBeau. "Either he's dead or my watch has stopped," he said in a perfect imitation of Groucho Marx. "Duck soup," he added.

The room broke out in laughter and applause.

"You're fitting in!" Olsen said with a smile.

Hawkeye was, indeed, fitting in. So far, he saw no sign of operations or any other danger. It was too cold for men to spend much time outdoors, although he encouraged Hogan to order all men to get some time in fresh air every day, as long as it was safe. A foot inspection of every man in camp took some time, but went well. But, Hawkeye was most surprised by his changing attitude towards his captors.

He was not a resident of Stalag 5 long enough to work on relationship building with Germans.

In fact, he came in contact with very few. And most of those he tried to hide away somewhere in his subconscious; in particular, the guards and administrative staff who took special glee in forcing prisoners to stand outside in the cold for hours on end made his blood boil.

He was too busy caring for the sick in the infirmary, and staff took a headcount inside. Hawkeye did realize that some of the lower ranking guards, many of whom were very young, old and malnourished, also suffered from the mistreatment of the officers.

Luft Stalag 13 had the same staff makeup when guards were concerned. He noticed the young, the old, the lame, and the few healthier specimens. Most kept to themselves the vast majority of the time, marching, manning the searchlights, checking barracks. He noticed some had cordial conversations with prisoners, and without fail, they showed Colonel Hogan deference and respect.

Sergeant Schultz, however, was another matter all together.

It became clear not long after the great reveal that some guards suspected something was going on. And Schultz, he was told, knew a great deal more. One morning, Newkirk and LeBeau went over to the infirmary to deliver some much needed supplies Olsen had scrounged up in town. While there, they regaled Hawkeye with stories about the portly sergeant and his mantra of "I know nothing." A line sure to be remembered and repeated for years. He laughed at Newkirk's spot on imitation of Schultz.

"So you basically bribe him?" Hawkeye asked.

"Oui. With food," LeBeau replied. "Have you seen his stomach? Of course, it's smaller than it used to be. But, at least he can spare some fat."

"What was his favorite?" Hawkeye asked as he stored away the precious sulfa.

"Apple strudel. But, he'd look away for a simple candy bar." Newkirk stood by the sink, drinking a cup of horrid coffee. Wilson was out of tea. "I'll give him credit. He's not a bad man. Was a social democrat and a hero in the last war."

"He sees nothing, says nothing." LeBeau smiled. "And, he owned a toy factory before the war."

"That's interesting." Hawkeye could see it. He witnessed some of Schultz's odd behavior one day when two men were doing something over by one of the areas of the fence, which was jury-rigged to move up and down. Schultz said nothing, did a quick turn and walked away.

"A lot of these guards just want to be home with their families. Just like all of us," Newkirk elaborated. "Any bad ones were sent elsewhere."

Hawkeye realized he didn't want to know what happened to those guards and other persons who ran afoul of Hogan and his team.

"By the way, we're scheduled for a drop tonight."

Hawkeye knew Olsen was their main outside operative. He often stayed with the vet, who, to Hawk's surprise, was with the underground and trained the dogs to listen to the prisoners.

So far, no fliers or escapees had come in. "What's in the drop?" he asked, hoping it would be medicine.

"They said medical supplies. They've told us one thing before, and we've gotten something else. Nothing is certain until we open the crates. We've had aborted landings at the last minute."

"Good luck," Hawkeye said. What else could he possibly say? He was still not used to this situation and not entirely comfortable. He wondered if this feeling was normal and if it would pass.

The aid station was not there. It was destroyed by a bomb, or so he thought. Where were the rest of the guys? Hawkeye ran everywhere and couldn't find anyone. The patients were all dead.

The only thing left was his bathrobe, and it was stained with blood.

Next thing he knew, he and every Allied man in sight were lined up against the wall. Klink stood off to the side, wearing his monocle and picklehaub, holding his crop.

"You are all spies! We could have just waited for one army to win. But, no. You had to go behind my back. Fire!"

Hawkeye shot up in bed. He was shaking and sweating. Another nightmare. Would they ever end? He took some deep breaths to lower his heart rate. Fortunately, he noticed his two patients and Wilson were still asleep.

Tonight was the night. He looked at his watch. He didn't know what time Hogan's operatives would head out through the tunnels to meet the plane. Knowing there was no way he could fall back asleep, he poured a glass of water and drank. Grabbing the book he borrowed from the prison library, he began to read.

He heard nothing the rest of the night. No news is good news, he thought.

It was mid-morning, past roll call and breakfast, when LeBeau walked in and told him the mission was a success. The supplies, which to Hogan's relief included a bit of penicillin, would be kept down below.

The doctor needed some air, so despite the cold, he went outside and plopped down on the closest bench.

Schultz walked over. "My feet," the sergeant whined. He propped his rifle up against the wall. He pointed to the bench. "Do you mind if I sit?"

"Nope." Hawkeye shifted over.

"The big shot has me walking and walking," Schultz complained. "I'm too old for this."

"We're all too old for this," Hawkeye replied.

"Ach. You're just a boy. Not much older than my first." Schultz sighed. "He's in the army." He shook his head.

"I'm sorry," Hawkeye said. "I mean it."

"Not your fault. A parent always worries."

Hawkeye's eyes teared up. "Yes. I haven't heard from my dad."

"Mail is taking a very long time now. You look very tired. Dark circles."

Hawkeye shrugged.

"Nightmares? Tell me about your family," Schultz said.

"It's just the two of us." Hawkeye looked at the older man, who was not much older than his father. "We have relatives elsewhere and some on my mom's side, but not near where we live. I've always wanted to be a doctor, like my dad." He wiped his eyes. "Used to help him out. Going on house calls. Didn't matter who you were. Rich or poor. What color skin you had or what religion you followed. He treats everyone the same."

"Like Colonel Hogan."

"Yeah. Like Colonel Hogan. Anyway, sometimes families paid us in food. The Depression, you know."

"I know." Schultz patted Hawkeye's hand. "The Depression and the inflation was very bad. Very bad." He stared into space for a moment."But I still managed to stay above the water. Did you know I owned a toy factory?"

Hawkeye nodded.

"I like making people smile," Schultz said wistfully. "Like your father, and you…You help people. Toys help people. I'm sure your father is very proud of you."

Hawkeye nodded again. "I know he didn't want me to volunteer for the medical corps." Hawkeye briefly wondered why he was telling Schultz these things, but he continued. "It was the best way to help without hurting anyone. But you know, he didn't argue. He just accepted that I had to do what I had to do."

"He's a wise man," Schultz replied.

"Yes." Hawkeye leaned back against the wall. For some reason, he felt a bit better. "Tell me about your family, Schultz."

It was not long after his conversation with Schultz that Hawkeye decided to attempt a dangerous mission of his own.

In Maine, he and his friends were casual drinkers. But he discovered he liked the taste of liquor back in college and continuing through medical school. He didn't feel he needed it for himself, nor for sterilization of equipment, which wasn't exactly safe, unless he was desperate. No, he decided that making a still would help the other POWs. Or at least that is how he justified the plan. As the senior medical officer, morale was his business. He doubted the chaplain, the other officer dealing with the emotional needs of the men, would go along. He had a moment where he briefly wondered if this was a good idea, and quickly put it out of his mind. What can possibly be the consequences? he thought. I'm already in jail. Why not bring joy to these men? Goodness knows, as the weather grew colder and food supplies dwindled, they all needed a pick-me-up. It was his infirmary, and Hawkeye, who often never thought about consequences, went full-steam ahead.

He already had the chemical knowledge, and enough supplies stored in the cabinets lining the walls of the infirmary, some of which he scrounged up from various parts of the camp. Others were borrowed by the camp's resident expert on thievery, Newkirk, who was happy to help after Hawkeye told him the supplies were needed in the infirmary. He knew Carter had useful items in his lab, but Hawkeye wouldn't venture down below unless it was a dire emergency, or he saw the signal that the gig was up, and the Gestapo was on its way. A niggling thought in the back of his brain warned him not to let Wilson see what he was up to.

One afternoon, while Wilson was at the rec hall watching a movie, and his patients recovered in their huts, Hawkeye took a moment to look at his handiwork. The still was almost ready. He figured another few days and he would be able to start the chemical process. He was so engrossed in his project that he didn't hear the door open.

"Hey, Doc, aren't you going to watch the picture?"

Hawkeye was so startled he dropped a glass container, which shattered on the hard floor.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to startle you." Newkirk came in further, his intuition telling him something was off. After all, who was most experienced at doing something they shouldn't be doing?

He stood staring at a contraption that Hawkeye could not hide behind his tall, thin frame.

"Oi. What's this?"

For once Hawkeye was speechless.

"Medical equipment? Isn't that the aluminum I pinched for you?"

"Um. Well." Hawkeye, sensing the gig was up, stepped aside.

"That's a still." Newkirk walked around the desk, admiring the handiwork. "So, this still would be used for medicinal purposes?" asked a wary Newkirk. "Like sterilizing equipment?" He sat down on a cot and reached for his cigarettes, quickly changing his mind. This new bloke had opinions about smoking the Brit didn't share. It was dangerous, Hawkeye told him. Find another hobby. The cheek!

Hawkeye chuckled and then shook his head. "We could use it for sterilization in a crunch, but that's taking a huge chance. That's normally not too safe. We're okay on that front anyway. I'm thinking other uses."

"What other uses could there possibly be for…Oh, I get where you're heading. So, the other kind of medicinal purposes. I see. Well, I reckon the colonies across the pond are still smarting from prohibition." Newkirk gave Hawkeye a grin.

"That's beside the point. It's for the men in the camp. They need something uplifting. Something to look forward to."

"Alcohol."

"Precisely."

This kid is too smart for his own good. Newkirk stood and walked back over to where Hawkeye waited. He crossed his arms and Hawkeye crossed his. It now appeared to be a stand-off, but Hawkeye didn't expect his bubble to burst.

"Look mate. I appreciate your damn the torpedoes full speed ahead attitude. Ask permission later and all that."

"You know Farragut?" An astonished Hawkeye asked.

"Hey, I can read," an insulted Newkirk replied. "Saw it in a book at our library in the East End. What I was saying is, you can't just go ahead and do something that can get you and a lot of us in trouble, like that." Newkirk snapped his fingers.

A deflated Hawkeye plopped down on the cot. "I'm surprised hearing that from you." He knew a bit about his new friend's history, past and present.

"Did you put a lookout at the door?"

"No."

"Did you check the guard rotation and the timing?"

"No."

"Did you stop and think what would happen if Wilson found out?"

"Yes. I locked it in my cabinet, and I knew he was going to the movies."

Newkirk sat down next to the doctor and put his arm around his shoulder. "Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin." He shook his head. "You've got a lot to learn about clandestine operations."

"I suppose."

"Well, Hawkeye. Let me be your guide. First, it's a good thing the guv'nor didn't found out. He'd have your guts for garters. Did I tell you we've got a barracks making wine? Well, they did at one time. Things are a bit scarce if you haven't noticed," Newkirk replied. "I've pinched stuff from Klink's stash. Can't do that anymore. He's low on supplies and anything missing at this point would be noticed. Same with the gourmet food he got from France and the black market."

Hawkeye crossed his arms and sighed.

Newkirk had his crutches, his cynical nature and his smokes. So, he was the last person to say anything to anyone who wanted to drink. Was there something else to Hawkeye's quest? "I'm willing to take some for the team, Hawk. But this idea is not going to work. You're too open here."

"You're right."

"Of course I'm right. C'mon mate. Let's rehearse our skit for the talent show."

"What talent show?" Hawkeye asked. He recalled offering to sing when Carter mentioned it earlier in his captivity, before he knew what was what, but so far, he'd seen nothing further.

"The one we'll eventually have to have. It's always good to be prepared."

Hawkeye recalled Carter's feint, but thought nothing of it. He looked at his work. "Can't we?"

"No."

"What about?"

"Absolutely not."

"You can't blame a guy for trying."

Newkirk laughed. He scratched his head. "Tell you what. Let me have Carter in here. He can take it down below. I'm sure he can make use of it. Or, I can talk to Colonel Hogan and let him know you were jury-rigging a sterilization unit, just in case, and see what he says."

"Fair enough."

The men shook on the deal, and after Hawkeye locked away his incomplete invention, they worked on their skit, and Carter was happy to have the still for his lab.

A/N: I'm the last person to write about a still. But, I asked my husband, a retired civil engineer, and he informed me that the sterilization in a homemade still probably would not be as safe as you would think. So I went with his advice.

More than one person suggested using a still in my story, because it's such a big part of Hawkeye's character (and later reliance on alcohol-sadly) and the decor of the "Swamp" in MASH.