[Monday
02 NOV 1942//1430hrs local]
****
With the additional prisoners that had
joined them at the Dusseldorf station, the boxcar was tightly packed. The
prisoners just barely had enough room to sit, squeezed in shoulder to shoulder.
Like a
can of sardines, Hogan grumbled. He sniffed, his nose curling once more at
the rancid odor. Make that spoiled sardines!
Standing, leaning against the slats
overlooking the companion train that had pulled into the station earlier, he studied
the straw-filled boxcar that was directly across from him. Catching a glimpse
of what looked like wooden boxes underneath the straw cover, Hogan immediately
knew what the train was transporting.
A sudden idea took shape. He grinned
slightly, shaking his head.
He couldn't. Could he?
Taking out a cigarette from his last
pack, he offered one to Kinchloe. Hogan rarely smoked cigarettes, preferring
cigars, But beggars can't be choosers,
he added philosophically.
"Gotta match, Kinch?" he
asked. The sergeant shook his head regretfully. Instantly, there was a lit
match held under Hogan's nose. He took it gratefully, lighting his cigarette.
Mindful of the straw-covered floor, he carefully put it out. Taking Kinchloe's
cigarette, he lit it with his own.
Inhaling deeply, Hogan blew out a long
stream of smoke. Then, an impish look overtaking his features, he reached
across the narrow slats to the waiting boxcar across from him. As the troop
train started moving, Hogan grabbed a handful of straw from the other boxcar
and casually set it on fire.
Whistling The White Cliffs of Dover, Hogan then carefully tossed the burning
straw back onto the straw-filled boxcar. He repeated his actions a few more
times. Kinchloe, watching curiously from the sidelines, read the markings on
the opposite train.
"Sir!" he hissed,
eyes wide. "That's a munitions train!"
Hogan raised a single eyebrow, his eyes
alight with amusement. Really? Without
skipping a beat, he began to sing softly. Grabbing a handful of straw, he lit
it and tossed it back.
"There'll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow,
just you wait and see--"
Quickly catching on, Kinchloe mirrored
his C.O.'s actions, adding his own mellow baritone to the sentimental song.
"There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after
Tomorrow,
when the world is free--"
"Blimey, you're both bloomin'
daft!" Newkirk yelled, as he, too, realized what the senior POW was up to.
Instantly, he joined them. "Wish I'd thought of it!"
"The
shepherd will tend his sheep
And
the valley will bloom again--"
Soon, all the prisoners were in on the
'game.' A very dangerous game, Hogan knew, for the fire was building steadily,
and he could even now feel the heat it was radiating.
"And
Johnny will go to sleep
In his
own little room again."
Despite the suddenly high morale in the
boxcar, Hogan felt an inordinate desire to get out and push in order to make
their train move faster.
"There'll
be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover,
Tomorrow,
just you wait and see..."
As the POW train steadily gained
momentum, and to Hogan's relief finally pulled safely out of the station, he
could see that the munitions train was clearly ablaze, the fire dangerously out
of control. German soldiers were running back and forth in a state of panic, a
fire brigade hastily forming to put out the flames.
When their train took a curve, the
prisoners were treated to the sight and sound of the munitions train suddenly
going up in a spectacular explosion. The shockwave from the ensuing blast shook
the troop train, throwing the POWs to the floor.
Laughing and cheering, the Allied
prisoners shook hands and pounded each other on the back, congratulating each
other for striking another blow against the Fatherland.
Hogan stood back, his arms casually crossed.
Looks like my kids have suddenly become
men. Thinking of the contents of the small notebook in his pocket, he knew
that all of their lives were going to depend on it.
****
[Tuesday
03 NOV 1942//0400hrs local]
LuftStalag
13, near Hammelburg, Germany
****
"Raus! Raus!"
The truck's tailgate dropped and the
canvas cover was pulled aside. The POWs got up slowly, grumbling under their
breath. They'd traveled all day and most of the night by train, only to be
herded onto a convoy of trucks and forced to travel several more miles. They
were tired and hungry, their nerves frayed from the constant shock-tactics of
the German guards.
Hogan was the last man off the truck.
Vaulting easily from the tailgate, he took a moment to assess his new 'home.'
Ignoring the corpulent German sergeant who was screaming in his ear, he took in
his surroundings, noting the guard towers with 30mm machine guns, barbed wire
fence, searchlights, long rows of low, gray nondescript buildings. He was
already formulating plans on how to break out.
"Schnell! Schnell! Appell!"
Once again, the POWs were being pushed, shoved, and unceremoniously herded like
cattle into a ragged line. When someone pressed a rifle barrel into his back
urging him along, Hogan decided he'd had just about enough. Grabbing the
barrel, he easily disarmed the startled sergeant-of-the-guard.
"All right! All
right!" Hogan shouted. "I heard you the first time. You don't
have to yell!"
The German sergeant blinked in shock at
the American colonel's impertinence. Finding himself facing a very angry and
armed prisoner of war, he openly cowered in naked fear. Round eyes bulging and
enormous jowls quivering, he was reduced to a mere stutter. Slowly, he raised
his hands and pleaded for mercy.
"Es tut mir leid, Herr Oberst! Please, do not shoot. I have a wife
and five children--"
"Oh, for heaven's sake,"
Hogan muttered, shoving the rifle back into the sergeant's shaking hands.
"Here! Before one of us gets killed."
Realizing that he was no longer in
danger, the sergeant opened his mouth but couldn't utter a sound. Rolling his
eyes, Hogan beat him to it.
"Company! Fall in! On the double!
Sgt. Kinchloe, get these clowns in formation!"
Kinchloe instantly took charge. He
quickly organized the junior NCOs into a semblance of a chain of command, and
before the Germans knew what was happening, the Allied POWs were standing in
parade formation.
Hogan marched crisply to where Kinchloe
stood at attention, in front of the assembled troops.
"Sir!" Kinchloe barked,
saluting smartly. "The company is formed. All present and accounted
for."
"Very well, Sergeant!" Hogan
replied, returning the salute. Kinchloe made a right face and moved quickly to
his own place in line. As soon as the senior noncom faced forward, Hogan
executed an about face, and standing at attention, waited.
He didn't have long to wait.
The door leading to a building clearly
marked Kommandantur slammed open. A
bright beam of light sliced through the shadows enshrouding the front porch. A
tall, slender silhouette stepped into the open doorway, pausing dramatically
for effect. The figure was clearly outlined in the light, his features in
shadows. He was wearing the German standard, high-peaked cap, a long flowing
overcoat, and carried what looked like a riding crop.
Oh,
brother! Hogan sneered. The senior Allied prisoner closely studied
the figure as he descended the porch steps. And
I just bet you're returning the favor, he added. He took note of the
arrogant swagger, the exaggerated movements--All designed for our benefit. To strike fear in our hearts.
Hogan remained military straight, his
outer bearing showing nothing of his inner thoughts. The camp Kommandant came
to a halt directly in front of him, squinting through his monocle. Neither man
spoke, nor exchanged military courtesies.
The Stalag held its collective breath
as the two officers took in the other's measure.
Finally, the Kommandant whirled round
and stamped in the direction of the porch steps. Climbing the stairs, he faced
the assembly from his elevated position. Taking one last haughty look at the
new prisoners, he opened his mouth, and to Hogan's utter amusement, called out
in a high, shrill voice--"Report!"
The large sergeant still shaky from his
near-death experience waddled to the head of the formation, carrying an
official-looking clipboard. He was nervously counting on his fingers, lost in
thought.
"Schultz! Dumkopf! Report! Mach
schnell!"
Hogan grinned in spite of himself. Oh, this just keeps getting better.
"Jahwohl, Herr Kommandant!"
the sergeant reported, saluting. "All Allied prisoners present and
accounted for!" He added helpfully, "The Luftwaffe
sergeant-of-the-guard in Dusseldorf reported that we were to expect three
hundred new prisoners, and I count three hundred!"
"Are you sure?" Hogan asked,
feigning shock. "I counted three hundred and ten!" He called over his
shoulder. "Isn't that right, Sgt. Kinchloe? Didn't we count
three-ten?"
"Yes, sir. Three-ten!
Definitely!"
"I guess you've lost a few lambs,
Schultzie!" Newkirk called out.
"Nein! Nein!" Schultz
denied. "Dusseldorf reported three hundred. I count three hundred."
He concentrated on the clipboard he held in hand, his eyes squinting as he
tried to read in the dark. Hogan sidled up to him, and pinching the sergeant's
own flashlight from his web belt, thoughtfully beamed a light on the list.
"Danke," Shultz said
distractedly.
"Here, let me!" Hogan
offered, taking the clipboard. Nodding thoughtfully, he handed Schultz the
flashlight, who considerately held it for him. "Hmmm...Just as I
thought...Winken, Blinken, and Nod are missing from the roster. So are Rodgers
and Hammerstein, Gilbert and Sullivan--!"
"What about Huey, Louie, and
Dewey?" an unknown voice from the prisoner formation called out. The POWs
broke up in loud guffaws.
"Enough!" the shrill
voice of the Kommandant cut through the laughter. Hogan pretended to be
startled as the clipboard was yanked from his hands. The Kommandant stood
toe-to-toe with him, glaring at him through his monocle. "Your little joke
has gone far enough--" He glanced at the POW roster. "--Col.
Hogan!"
Keeping a straight face, Hogan gave the
German colonel a hurt look. "I was only trying to help, sir!" he
protested.
"Get back in formation,
Colonel," the German officer ordered. Smirking, Hogan did as told.
Glancing over his shoulder at Kinchloe, Hogan winked. The men behind him
snickered. Annoyed, the Kommandant leaned over and hissed in Schultz's ear.
"Dumkopf!"
"But, Kommandant Klink,"
Schultz chastised gently. "Col. Hogan was only trying to help--"
"Shut up!" Klink
shouted in exasperation.
"Hey, there, Fritzy," a voice
called out of the dark. Newkirk, Hogan recognized immediately. "No need to
take it out on poor ol' Schultzie. 'E's only tryin' to do his job!"
Klink whirled on the assembled
prisoners of war. Instantly, they were standing at rigid attention, eyes front.
Unable to spot the heckler, Klink stomped towards Hogan, again standing
toe-to-toe with the senior POW.
Two
can play this game, Hogan thought darkly. He suddenly leaned forward until he
was almost nose-to-nose with the Kommandant.
Klink immediately jerked back,
startled. The POWs snickered at his sudden discomfiture. Straightening to his
full height, Klink attempted to regain some of his lost dignity.
"Col. Hogan, I warn you," he
growled, waving his finger under Hogan's nose. "There has never been a
successful escape from Stalag 13! It will be your responsibility to
see to it that your men know that. One false move,
and--" Klink made a slashing motion across his throat.
He held his hand out to a waiting
German soldier. Quickly, the soldier placed a bullhorn in Klink's hand. Turning
to the guard towers, he shouted, "Fire!"
Instantly, the night rang with the
sharp, staccato bursts of 30mm automatic weapons. Hogan's stomach dropped as he
saw a stream of miniature geysers shooting upwards along the entire perimeter
of the barbed wire fence as the large caliber bullets impacted with the hard
ground.
"This will be the only warning you
receive," Klink yelled. "Observe the No Man's Land sign posts. They
are situated ten feet inside the barbed wire. This is a free fire, shoot-to-kill
zone. Any prisoner caught in this area will be shot--without warning!"
Angry, Hogan snapped, "Kommandant!
I protest! You can't fire on a POW without fair warning--!"
"This is your
warning!" Klink responded. "It will do you well to remember it."
His announcement was met with angry
muttering from the POWs.
"Sgt. Schultz! See to it that the
prisoners are properly processed through the de-lousing station--" The
POWs' grumbling rose in volume when they heard this, but Klink ignored them.
"--and assigned quarters. Carry on, Sergeant!"
The guards immediately began to line up
the unwilling POWs to go through the de-lousing station.
Klink was about to return to his
quarters, when he stopped. Instead, he stamped over to Hogan.
"Col. Hogan, I wish to see you in
my office at 1130 hours--for a light lunch."
"Thank you, sir, but I prefer to
eat with my men."
"Colonel, perhaps I did not make
myself clear...that was not a request. It was a direct order."
Curious, Hogan asked, "May I ask
why, sir?"
"Certainly, Col. Hogan,"
Klink said, amiably. "You are the only officer here who is equal in rank
to myself. Let us just say that I wish for us to become better acquainted."
Smiling, he repeated the time and walked back to the office in what Hogan would
soon come to recognize as Klink's personal goose-step.
His arms crossed in his own familiar
pose, Hogan stood thoughtfully staring at Klink's back as he retreated through
the doorway.
As soon as Klink was gone, Kinchloe
appeared next to Hogan. "What was that all about d'you suppose?"
Hogan shook his head. "Not really
sure. If no one's ever escaped from this place, then he can't be as dumb as he
looks." He heard a loud crash from inside the Kommandant's office. This
was followed by a series of German expletives, all apparently aimed at the fat
sergeant. Hogan raised a single eyebrow. "Then again--?"
"Dumkopf!"
"Es tut mir leid, Herr Kommandant--!" Shaking their heads, the
Americans translated, "I am sorry--!"
"~You are supposed to be
processing the prisoners, Schultz! Not in here feeding your fat face! Get out!
Before I have you transferred to the Russian Front~!"
The front door opened and the nervous
sergeant slowly backed out of the office. Turning, he made a face--relief,
fear, acceptance--and painfully climbed down the two steps to the hard-packed
ground below. Catching sight of Hogan, he rolled his eyes, gave a heartfelt
sigh, and moved on.
Single eyebrow raised, Hogan exchanged
a mildly surprised look with Kinchloe. On impulse, he jogged to the
Kommandant's building, and ignoring the stairs, lightly stepped onto the porch.
He was about to turn the knob and enter the building, when two guards (who
looked like they knew which end of their weapons to use) blocked his way.
Kinchloe held his breath.
"Hey, come on, fellas," Hogan
protested, the very soul of innocence. "The Kommandant said
he wanted to see me!" In about
another six hours, he added, but you
don't need to know that.
Taking his cue, Kinchloe ran up to
Hogan, never taking his eyes off the Germans. "That's right!" he
chimed in. "I definitely heard the Kommandant tell the Colonel here that
he wanted to see him."
The sentries exchanged uneasy looks. The
entire time they'd been stationed at Stalag 13, they'd never met a POW who
actually spoke to them on equal terms. Most of the POWs had a defeated look in
their eyes, and rarely raised them even when addressed.
"You wouldn't want me to file a
formal complaint with Col. Klink, would you?" Hogan asked, his voice silky
smooth. The guards instantly snapped to attention and allowed him to pass.
Kinchloe stayed outside, his heart
racing at his C.O.'s audacity. But then, Col. Hogan wasn't known for letting
the odds stand in his way of accomplishing the impossible.
"Col. Hogan, what are you doing here?" Klink shouted.
"You're supposed to be going through the de-lousing station!"
"Sir, I protest!
By act of Congress, I'm an officer and a gentleman. I don't need
de-lousing!"
"Be that as it may, regulations
clearly state that--"
"--Regulations clearly state that
as the senior prisoner of war, I will be afforded all the rights and privileges
due my rank," Hogan replied crisply. "So. No 'de-lousing'!"
A feminine voice quietly interrupted.
"Herr Kommandant? General
Burkhalter is on the line for you." Even from outside, Kinchloe felt his
blood suddenly race. A woman in camp?
"What? General Burkhalter?"
Klink's nervousness clearly carried. "This early in the morning? Thank
you, Fraulein Helga. Col. Hogan, whatever you have to say will have to wait
until our meeting at 1130. Diss-missed!"
Hogan's reply wasn't loud enough for
Kinchloe to catch. In fact, several minutes of silence followed his dismissal.
Just as Kinchloe made up his mind to walk inside and find out what had happened
to his Colonel, the door opened and the highly decorated bomber pilot stepped
out, his back to Kinchloe.
Clutching his hat casually behind his
back, Hogan faced the inside, exuding charm. Waving at whoever was on the other
side of door, he closed it, and spinning on his heel, he spread his arms out
wide.
Crossing the front porch in the
breaking dawn, Hogan leaned against one of the posts. He donned his hat and
tipped it far back on his head, a single lock of jet-black hair escaping and
fluttering in the cool morning breeze. Gazing out at the deep German forest
that surrounded the compound, he suddenly smiled.
He
looks like the cat that ate the canary, Kinchloe thought. Eyes narrowing, he
studied a suspicious discoloration on Hogan's cheek. Lipstick? No way! In the middle of Germany? In a POW camp?
Hogan glanced at his senior noncom and
gave him a small grin. "Kinch," he said, breathing in deeply,
"this is turning out to be a beautiful war!"
Uh-oh,
Kinchloe groaned. I know that look.
Kinchloe knew that as a war hero,
bachelor, and dashing pilot, Col. Hogan had never lacked for feminine
companionship. This never interfered with his professionalism on the job, but
it won him a bit of a reputation with the ladies.
Whenever a new secretary or nurse
reported to the compound, the men would often take bets on how long before she
would fall victim to their Commanding Officer's considerable charms. The
fastest ten bucks Kinchloe ever won took about thirty seconds from initial bet
to payment.
And now it appeared that even in a POW
camp, the Colonel hadn't lost his touch.
Jumping off the porch with a jaunty
step, Hogan automatically placed his arm around Kinchloe's shoulder.
"Let's take a walk,
Sergeant."
"A walk, sir?"
"A walk."
Shrugging Kinchloe followed, matching
his C.O.'s long, ambling stride.
****
Hogan led them on a circuitous path
that seemed little more than aimless wandering. They'd been strolling here and
there for the better part of an hour, when they stopped before the dog kennel.
Kinchloe loved dogs. He'd even had a
German shepherd when he was a kid. He hated to see what he knew were wonderful,
playful animals turned into man-killers. Unexpectedly, Hogan whistled softly at
the growling dogs, and to Kinchloe's amazement, two of the German shepherds
whimpered in response and stood on their haunches, begging.
Mouth agape, Kinchloe stared at his
C.O.
"How'd you--?" he asked, but
stopped when he saw his own shock mirrored on Hogan's face. Recovering quickly,
Hogan jerked his head, indicating that they move on.
"Dogs and kids love me, but this
is ridiculous," Hogan muttered. As they hurried away, Kinchloe stole a
glance over his shoulder towards the dog kennel and was surprised to see the
same two dogs following them with sad, wistful eyes.
Next, they sauntered over to where
there were warning signs posted along the fence perimeter. As they strolled,
they made sure to stay well outside of the low barbed wire that clearly marked
No Man's Land. Kinchloe could almost feel the crosshairs on his back.
"Man, oh, man," he said in a
low voice. "I don't like the looks of that."
'That'
was
the veritable maze of anti-personnel barricades that ran the length of the No
Man's Land free-fire zone.
"Piece o' cake, Kinch," Hogan
said reassuringly. Kinchloe gave him a skeptical sideways glance.
"Begging the Colonel's pardon,
but--" Kinchloe paused. "Sir, look at this place. You'd have to be
crazy to try an escape through here. First you'd have to cut through the rolls
of concertina wire on the top of the fence, as well as, the anti-personnel
obstacles that run down the center."
He didn't have to point out the
sharp-eyed guards, who even now were coldly tracking them with their machine
gun sights.
Hogan glared at the seemingly
impenetrable barricades. "Lousy, Krauts," he sighed. "They seem
to think of everything."
"And that's not all,
Colonel," Kinchloe insisted. "Even if you make it past all that, you
still have to contend with a possibly electrified fence--that's probably
alarmed." He waved his arms for emphasis. "It would be like storming
the Siegfried Line!"
"Possibly electrified,"
Hogan repeated. "Probably alarmed. We don't know for
sure."
"Care to be the one who tests
it?" Kinchloe asked.
Hogan made a sour face. "Funny
guy," he muttered. He stood, arms crossed for a moment longer, not
speaking. Grinning suddenly, he turned to Kinchloe and slapped him on the
shoulder, surprising him. "Like I said--piece o' cake! Come on, Sergeant.
Let's see what other 'homey' touches the Krauts have in store for us."
Feeling a headache coming on, Kinchloe
shrugged and followed his Commanding Officer, who led him towards one of the
barracks, number 2. Stopping at the far end, Hogan leaned against the building,
hands in his pockets.
"Kinch, I know we just got here.
But we don't have a lot of time. It's absolutely imperative we make contact
with the local Underground."
At Kinchloe's look, Hogan added
quietly, "Those men at the Dusseldorf train station? They were carrying
vital information--information that needs to get to the Underground."
"But how, Colonel?" Kinchloe
asked.
"Radio," Hogan said easily.
"We don't have a radio!"
"No, but Klink does," Hogan
said smugly. "In his office." Before Kinchloe could respond, Hogan
nodded at two guards that were approaching.
As the guards passed by, Kinchloe and
Hogan were arguing animatedly about the merits of the Boston Red Sox versus the
Detroit Tigers. Kinchloe was busy pointing out that the Sox continuously got
rid of their best players--"Don't remind me!" Hogan groaned--when
the guards moved on, out of earshot.
"Sir, even if the Kommandant does
have a radio in his office, how are we supposed to gain access to it? He's not
going to just let us walk in and use it."
Hogan shrugged a bit defensively.
"Okay, so I haven't ironed out all the details yet. Come on, do I have to
think of everything around here? You're the radioman...Think
of something!"
Kinchloe sighed, covering his eyes. The
headache that had been threatening all day hit him with full force. Before he
could think of a respectful reply to his Commanding Officer, Hogan punched him
on the arm and gave him an impish half-smile.
"Don't worry, Kinch," he said
with a quiet reassurance he didn't feel. "We'll think of something. We
always do."
Pointing at the twin guard towers and
the rest of compound with his chin, Hogan indicated that he wanted them to get
a lay of their surroundings. Biting back the questions that were urgently
fighting to be asked, Kinchloe did as his C.O. wanted.
As they studied their new home, Hogan
continued his explanation. "Those people sacrificed themselves for this
information, Kinch. The least we can do is complete their mission."
Kinchloe didn't answer for a moment. He
thought about what he wanted to say, how he'd follow Hogan to Hell and Back,
how he'd be willing to make any sacrifice to prove his loyalty to his
Commanding Officer. But facts were facts. And what the Colonel was proposing
was just plain crazy.
"Begging the Colonel's
pardon," he said tentatively. "But it'd be suicide! We're POWs,
remember? In the toughest POW camp in all of Germany. From where I'm standing,
I can't see any way out of here that doesn't spell death."
As if to prove his point, the camp suddenly
exploded with a long, machine gun burst. Hogan and Kinchloe--and the rest of
the prisoners--exploded into action. Hogan sprinted towards the perimeter, a
cold hand clutching his heart.
He saw Newkirk and LeBeau, just outside
of the No Man's Land, waving their arms at the tower guards.
"Kamerad! Kamerad!"
they yelled. Furious, Hogan ran up to them, but was blocked by the guards.
"Was ist denn los? What
is going on here?" Klink yelled as he hurried up.
"That's what I'm trying to find
out!" Hogan snapped. He pointed at the guards that were blocking him.
"But Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum here won't let me through!"
Klink waved at the guards to allow
Hogan to pass. Straightening his shoulders, Hogan walked towards the two Allied
prisoners in slow measured steps.
"Sir, we were only--!"
"You're at attention soldier!"
Newkirk and LeBeau's startled glances
disappeared instantly. As one, they snapped to attention until they were ramrod
straight, eyes front.
"Just what did you clowns think
you were doing?" Hogan asked, his voice deceptively low. "Were you
deliberately trying to get yourselves killed?"
"Sorry, Colonel," Newkirk
said, chastised. "We were testin' the waters, so to speak."
"Oui, mon colonel," LeBeau chimed in. At Hogan's withering
glare, both men seemed to shrink just a bit. Hovering like a cobra about to
attack, Hogan walked up to Newkirk until he was almost nose-to-nose with him.
"Testing the waters, you
say?" At Newkirk's emphatic nod, Hogan finally let loose. "The next
time you try to pull such a stupid, boneheaded stunt like this, I'll shoot you
myself! Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Oui, mon colonel!"
Hogan whirled and addressed the rest of
the prisoners. "That goes for all of you! The last thing I want to
do is write a letter to some mother, stating, 'Dear Mrs. Smith, I'm sorry to
inform you that your son is dead because he's an idiot!'" He glared at the mass of
prisoners. "Now break it up!"
The POWs instantly began moving away,
trying to place as much distance as possible between themselves and their angry
leader.
Klink stared at Hogan open-mouthed.
None of his own men ever listened to him with such rapt awe. Aware that the
prisoners were hurrying off in small groups, he jumped in, "Yes! Yes! All
prisoners return to the processing stations! Diss-misssed!"
But by now there was no one left,
except Hogan, Kinchloe, and the two chagrinned Allied corporals.
Giving his men one last contemptuous
glare, Hogan turned to Klink. "Sorry about that, Kommandant," he
apologized, shrugging. "But you know how kids are--They have to discover
things out for themselves. You know, learn from experience."
"Indeed," Klink said, rocking
on his heels. "Perhaps, ten days in the cooler will drive the point across
that no one ever escapes from Stalag 13!"
"Ten days!" Hogan protested.
"Come on, Kommandant. It's only their first day here. I think they've
learned their lesson. And I give you my word, as an officer and a gentlemen,
that neither of these men will pull a stunt like this again."
The two prisoners' faces registered
surprise at this, but quickly squelched it and smiled innocently at Klink,
nodding vigorously for added emphasis.
Klink wavered momentarily, then smiled
brightly. "Col. Hogan, I accept your word. However, just to be on the safe
side I believe that one night in the cooler will teach these men that the rules
are absolute in this camp. Take them away!"
Newkirk and LeBeau were led away by two
no-nonsense guards. Nodding curtly, Klink spun on his heel and returned to his
office.
Hogan and Kinchloe exchanged mutually
disgusted looks.
"That's. Just. Swell!"
Hogan muttered. He turned on his heel and stomped back to Barracks Two.
"Take a memo, sergeant. From here on, all escape attempts will go through
the Escape Committee."
"But we don't have an Escape
Committee," Kinchloe pointed out.
"We do now, and you're in
charge," Hogan shot back in a voice that would brook no argument.
"But--!"
"Got other plans for the Duration,
Sergeant?"
Kinchloe sighed. "Okay, but I'd
like your permission to recruit Newkirk and LeBeau." Since they got me into this, he fumed.
"My permission?" Hogan asked.
"I insist on it!"
They both leaned against the far corner
of Barracks Two, neither talking for a long moment, enjoying the companionable
silence. From where they stood, they had an unobstructed view of almost the
entire Stalag--the Kommandant's quarters, front gate, rec hall, mess,
de-lousing station and the guards' quarters. It also afforded an excellent view
of the East and West guard towers.
"Sir, I just don't see how we can
beat any of the obstacles the Jerries've tossed our way. Maybe Klink is right.
Maybe the war is over for us."
"You could be right, Kinch,"
Hogan admitted pensively. And then, chin jutting in a manner familiar to all
who'd served under him, he added, "But we can't let a few bad breaks stop
us."
Bad
breaks? Kinchloe wondered. What
would the Colonel consider impossible odds?
"POWs or no," Hogan
continued, "first and foremost we're soldiers. And our job is to complete
the mission. If we're faced with problems, then we need to find solutions to
those problems. No matter the circumstances, our duty is to ensure that the
mission gets carried out."
Kinchloe sighed. It was obvious that
the Colonel's mind was already made up. Somehow they were going to get this
information to the Underground. Even if it killed them. Ours not to reason why, Ours but to do or die, he paraphrased.
He decided to take one last stab at
reasoning with his Colonel. "Sir, even if Klink does have a radio in his
office, there's no guarantee that I'll be able to operate it. I'm not familiar
with all the latest German models and besides--"
Hogan jabbed him in the arm and jerked
his head. This way, his eyes said.
Kinchloe followed. Now what?
He didn't have long to find out. Simply
by turning the corner, they no longer had a clear view of the guard towers.
More specifically, the guard towers no longer had a clear view of them.
Hogan gave him a triumphant look and
hurried him down the narrow alley between the barracks. Kinchloe closed his
eyes momentarily, groaning mentally. Didn't the guy ever let up? So much for the war being over for us.
"While I was in Klink's office, I
caught a glimpse of a map of the compound," Hogan explained. "It
doesn't take an Intelligence officer to spot such an obvious blind spot."
He grinned. "Just a certain pompous, monocled camp Kommandant."
Shrugging, he added, "It seemed
too good to be true, so I wanted to see for myself." Looking around to
make sure that there were no guards nearby, he reached into his jacket and
pulled out a small manual. Grinning slightly, he handed it to Kinchloe.
Kinchloe's eyes widened. It was a radio
operator's manual for a German short-wave model Marconi-248! He stared at
Hogan.
"How--?"
"Let's just say, that while the
King Rat was away, talking on the phone, his little Frauline Mouse was willing
to 'play.' The manual was in a bookshelf in the outer office--terrible security
precautions, I know," he tsked. "The man should be reprimanded
severely."
Rounding the corner between the
barracks and the de-lousing station, Hogan added, "You'll have a few hours
to commit it to memory. I'd like to return it when I have my little 'light
lunch' with him at 1130. Think that'll be enough time to get the rudiments
down?"
Kinchloe nodded, lost in thought as he
flipped through the pages. "More than enough, Colonel." Putting it
away safely in his jacket, he suddenly grinned. "It's good to know that
when it comes to romance, sir, women are the same everywhere."
Hogan had the grace to blush.
"War is Hell, Sergeant," he
snapped. "Okay, I've seen enough for now. Let's take a look at the other
inmates."
The rest of the morning was taken up
with meeting the newcomers, as well as questioning the old-timers. They also
had to contend with Sgt. Schultz's efforts to assign the prisoners to their
barracks.
****
End of Part 3