[Tuesday
03 NOV 1942//094500hrs local]
LuftStalag
13, Outside Barracks 2
****
"But I don't want to be assigned to
Barracks Two!" Hogan protested. "It gets entirely too much sun in the
morning. And I like to sleep in late."
"All prisoners must be up before
0530 for morning roll call!" Schultz yelled, and then paused. "But
Col. Hogan, I have you down for Barracks Six. You are not assigned to--"
"Hey! Now that's more like
it!" Hogan interrupted. "Barracks Six, it is! Just don't assign me to
Barracks Two."
"Wait a minute! Wait a
minute!" Shultz yelled suspiciously, waving his arms for quiet. "Why
is Barracks Six so important to you? You are not already planning an escape
tunnel are you?"
"No!" Hogan denied
vehemently. "I protest such an unwarranted accusation, Sergeant. It's just
that 'Six' is my lucky number, you know, and--"
"--And it is the closest barracks
to the wire!" Schultz ended triumphantly. He shook his finger at Hogan,
making a tsking noise. "Col. Hogan, if you or any of the other prisoners
should try to escape, it could mean the Russian Front for me! Therefore, I
hereby assign you to Barracks Number Two!"
Hogan dropped his eyes and shuffled his
feet. After a moment, he looked up at the fat sergeant's wary eyes and smiled
as if chagrinned.
"You caught me, Schultz. I guess I
should've known better than to try to go one-on-one with such a devious
mind." He shook his head, and glancing over at Kinchloe as if for support,
added, "I can see now that nothing will ever escape your attention, eh,
Schultz?"
"That is correct, Col.
Hogan!" Schultz agreed, punctuating his remark with an emphatic nod.
"I see everything!"
"And I suppose that now you're
going to assign Sgt. Kinchloe here to Barracks Two as well because of his
reputation."
"Reputation--?" Schultz asked
puzzled.
"Oh, come on!" Hogan replied.
"You don't fool me, Sergeant. You know as well as I do that Sgt. Kinchloe
is known as 'the Tunnel Rat'!"
Kinchloe rolled his eyes at this. Oh, brother!
"The tunnel rat?" Schultz
echoed. "But why--? Ah, so! Because he likes to dig tunnels! Jahwohl! Ich verstehen, Sie! Trying to
dig a tunnel from Barracks Two would be impossible! It is one hundred and fifty
meters to the outside fence."
"Really?" Hogan asked.
"That far?"
"Ja!"
"And of course, the outside fence
is electrified, so we'd never be able to cut through it, right?"
"Ja!" Schultz said, nodding sagely. At Schultz's answer, Hogan
felt a deep disappointment come over him. Kinch
was right! The fence is electrified.
"Was ist? Electrified--? Nein,
nein, Col. Hogan," Schultz said hurriedly, shaking his head. "The
fence is not electrified. We do not generate enough power for that. The Allied
bombers keep destroying our power plants." He sighed. "I do not
understand why we cannot all be friends. War is not a nice thing."
"You're absolutely right,
Schultz," Hogan agreed, his expression completely friendly and open.
"I'd like to be your friend, Schultz."
"Ach! That is nice to hear, Col.
Hogan," Schultz said smiling warmly. Doing a double take, his eyes narrowed
suspiciously. "Why do you ask about the fence? You would not try to cut
through it? That would be too dangerous!" He leaned in. "The tower
guards are not very nice fellows."
"Well, you Germans sure know how
to build a prison camp," Hogan said. He sighed deeply, crossing his arms
in defeat. "I hate to admit it, but you guys have us beaten there,
Schultz. You're right. Trying to escape through the wire would be tantamount to
suicide."
Schultz nodded emphatically.
"While a tunnel to the outside fence
from Barracks Two would be 'impossible' as you say," Hogan continued.
"Don't you agree, Sgt. Kinchloe?"
"Indeed, sir. Impossible."
"There, you see, Schultz? The
Tunnel Rat has spoken. It's impossible. Thanks for the advice, Schultz. You're
a real pal."
Schultz smiled brightly at Hogan's
words. Waving, Hogan and Kinchloe turned and started moving away, only to stop.
"Oh, and don't worry," Hogan
said. "We'll just keep this little conversation between ourselves. We
wouldn't want the Kommandant to think that you might be fraternizing with the
enemy, would we?"
Schultz nodded vigorously, smiling. As
the POWs moved away, his smile was suddenly replaced with a wide-eyed
expression. "Fraternizing with the enemy?" He stared after Hogan,
trying to recall their conversation. What had they talked about, exactly?
Tunnels and fences! A cold fear and thoughts of the Russian Front consumed him.
"I know nothing!" he
muttered.
Once out of earshot, Hogan murmured,
"So, how soon do you think we can start digging?"
****
At 1130 while Hogan met with the
Kommandant, Kinchloe was busily interviewing prisoners for any special skills.
He already knew some of Newkirk's special talents, and that LeBeau had fought
with the French Resistance. The diminutive Frenchman was an expert in both
small arms and small unit tactics.
Furthermore, Kinchloe happily
discovered that Carter was a chemist and an explosives expert. However, instead
of being assigned to an Ordnance unit, he'd been a crewmember onboard a B-17.
Typical
Army efficiency, he glowered. Still, a
perfect addition to the 'Escape Committee.'
As he went through the enlisted men, he
found an eagerness in almost everyone to be included in whatever plans Hogan
was cooking up. The ones who showed a definite lack of enthusiasm to rock the
boat, Kinchloe dutifully marked off his list and made a mental note to pass off
to the Colonel.
He'd seen Hogan turn around some of the
most reluctant recruits before. If anyone could stir them into a sudden bout of
patriotism, it would be the colonel.
Kinchloe shook his head bemusedly. And
of course, each man will believe that volunteering was entirely his own idea.
Grinning, he again reviewed the prisoner roster. He was determined to have a
complete report ready for the Colonel when he returned.
He thought about his initial
awkwardness in interviewing NCOs who were senior in grade. However, Hogan had
appointed him his acting Command Sergeant Major; therefore, Kinchloe's words
carried the authority of Hogan's silver eagles.
"But, Colonel, I'm only a Staff Sergeant. What if some of the more senior noncoms complain?"
"Tell
'em to write a letter to their Congressman! There's a war on, Sergeant!"
To his relief, no one questioned
Hogan's decision. And so, for better or for worse, Kinchloe found himself in
charge.
"Swell," he muttered. Placing
chin in hand, he wondered how Hogan was faring with Klink.
****
"Well, Col. Hogan," Klink
spoke smugly, taking a sip from his wine. "What do you think of your new
home? You know, of course, that the war is over for you."
Hogan smiled slightly, feeling ill at
ease across the table from Klink. He'd returned the radio operator's manual
without anyone having missed it. The accumulated dust on the bookshelf told him
that the manual was rarely, if ever, used.
He thought of the beautiful Fraulein
Helga on the other side of the door. They'd greeted each other with knowing
smiles, but neither had dared to pick up where they'd left off earlier.
Besides, Hogan told himself, fraternizing with the enemy was strictly business
on his part.
While it was pleasant that the enemy
had such nice curves, he couldn't allow himself to get carried away. Still, she
might prove an asset if 'handled' properly. Picking at his food, he felt a
slight twinge of guilt at this thought.
Realizing that the Kommandant was
awaiting an answer, he glanced up from under hooded eyes. Klink's idea of a
'light lunch' was enough food to feed the prisoners for a week. Remembering the
meager breakfast he'd forced down his throat just a few hours before, Hogan
felt himself seething.
To hide his increasingly black mood, he
took a sip of wine, replacing the glass on the table with slow, deliberate
movements. Forcing an expression of joviality, Hogan looked up, a bright,
vacuous smile firmly in place.
"Well, sir, the compound isn't
much, yet, but my men and I are already making plans on how to beautify it--you
know, vegetable gardens, flowers, that sort of thing."
"You are?" Klink looked
surprised.
"You said it yourself. The war's
over for us. We knew it the minute we found out that we were being transferred
to Stalag 13. I mean, even back in England, we've all heard of Stalag
13--!"
"You have--? I-I mean, of course,
you have!"
"Absolutely!" Hogan
insisted. "D'you know what you're known as back home? The 'Scourge of the
Eighth Air Force'!"
"I am--? I-I mean--"
"Well, it's true! You're a legend
among all the crews!" Hogan leaned in closer. Spotting a humidor on a
nearby accent table, he casually reached over and took out a cigar. Sniffing it
with practiced ease, he searched his pockets for a match. Not finding one, he
glanced at Klink, who automatically offered him a light.
Taking several puffs, Hogan finally
settled down to a luxurious smoke. Havana
Golds! His favorite. He sighed with pleasure.
"Y-you were saying something about
me being a legend--?" Klink prompted.
"Of course, you are, sir! Why, who
hasn't heard of Stalag 13? The toughest POW camp in all of Germany--and of its
tough as nails camp Kommandant?"
Pausing to take a couple of puffs,
Hogan gauged the effect his words were having on the 'Scourge of the Eighth Air
Force.' If it were possible, the man seemed to have grown two feet.
As if to confirm Hogan's observation,
Klink stood to his full height, his riding crop tucked neatly under his arm.
Strutting around the table, he walked over to the window and looked out on the
compound. Hogan took the moment to open the humidor and grab a few more cigars.
"It is to be expected, Col.
Hogan," Klink said, turning suddenly. Shoving the cigars in his bomber
jacket, Hogan nodded enthusiastically.
"Oh, absolutely," he agreed,
standing and joining Klink by the window.
"After all, a man of my
professionalism, ironclad discipline--"
"But fair, sir! The word on the
outside is that you are extremely fair with the Allied prisoners!"
"It is--?"
"Of course, sir! A man of your
obvious integrity, an enemy amongst enemies, why you can afford to be
magnanimous."
"Yes, certainly. You are correct,
Col. Hogan. I have always aspired to be completely fair and impartial with the
prisoners."
"Oh, and you have succeeded, sir.
That's why--" Hogan stopped, as if reluctant to continue.
"That's why 'what'?" Klink
asked. He felt his heart start racing. "Col. Hogan, please, you may speak
freely in front of me."
Yeah,
I'll just bet! Hogan thought darkly. He quickly turned his back, taking a
long puff on the cigar in order to hide the sudden anger that had inexplicably
flared. Cooling down, he turned again and gave Klink his best puppy dog eyes,
the same look that always seemed to get him a little further with the English
girls.
"Well, sir..." he stopped.
"Go on, Col. Hogan," Klink
urged. "What do you wish to say?"
"I feel like such heel, sir."
Hogan looked dejectedly down at his feet, the picture of a broken man.
"Of course, Colonel, if you don't
feel that you can speak to me--"
"But," Hogan interrupted
quickly before Klink talked him out of a 'confession,' "you've been so
fair with us since our arrival--welcomed us, provided us with that delicious
breakfast--I almost couldn't taste the sawdust in the bread, honest!" Out
of the corner of his eye, he saw Klink stiffen and tighten his grip on this
riding crop. "I feel that I must report an escape attempt planned for
tonight."
"An escape attempt--?!" Klink
was instantly furious. "Col. Hogan, I've already warned you that no one
has ever escaped--!" he stopped. "But why are you telling me
this?"
"Are you kidding, Kommandant?
After that little demonstration you gave us with the machine guns? I'm doing it
for my men's own good. We're flyboys, not commandos. What do we know about
ground tactics?" He glared for a long moment at Klink. Finally, dropping
his eyes, he admitted softly, "I just don't want to see any of my men get
hurt!"
"I see. I see," Klink said,
nodding rapidly. "You are reporting your own men because you know that
they do not stand a chance."
"Of course, sir. Wouldn't
you?" Hogan's shoulders slumped in dejection. "The fellas are gonna
hate me now."
Klink placed his hand on Hogan's
shoulder in a show of camaraderie. "Col. Hogan, I assure you that you have
done the right thing. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to
prevent anyone from getting hurt."
"You will?" Hogan's eyes lit
up with gratitude. He took Klink's hand in his own, shaking it vigorously.
"Thank you, sir. You know, I had you pegged all wrong. I-I can see now
that y-you're like a father figure to us, sir."
He ducked his head, the picture of a
man overcome with emotion. Hating himself for what he was about to do, Hogan
hugged Klink closely, taking the Kommandant by surprise. Unable to look him in
the eyes, Hogan walked towards the door, half-spun round, and flicked off a
casual salute.
Klink returned it automatically. After
the door closed behind the American officer, it dawned on him that--just
perhaps--Colonel Hogan had just thumbed his nose at him.
Impossible! he
thought. The man is totally cowed by my
power and authority. Still...what if? Klink's face darkened into a scowl,
his left hand forming an ineffectual fist.
As Hogan stepped outside into the
bright, autumn sunshine, he, too, scowled darkly in self-disgust over hugging
Klink. Crossing the compound in his long, ground-eating gait, he muttered,
"I wonder if they closed the de-lousing station?"
****
"Okay, Kinch. What do we
have?" Hogan spoke without preamble, startling Kinchloe who'd been
interviewing Carter.
"Well, sir--"
"Is there someplace we can talk
privately?" Hogan interrupted.
"Yes, sir. This way."
Kinchloe immediately led the senior officer to a closed door inside the
barracks. "The Presidential Suite, sir," he said expansively, a wave
of his arm taking in the drab, dingy quarters.
Hogan looked around, his amused
expression never leaving him. "What I would call 'Early Depressing,'"
he quipped. "My quarters, I assume?"
"Yes, sir. I worked it out with
Schultz that as the senior ranking POW--a full colonel, no less--that you were
entitled to private quarters--"
"Private quarters?!" Hogan
asked, surprised. "Kinch, there's no need for that. I can share with another--"
"Wouldn't hear of it,
Colonel!" Kinchloe interrupted. "Look sir...you made me your Acting
CSM, right?"
Hogan nodded.
"Well, begging the Colonel's
pardon, but this is what we NCOs call 'Sergeants' Business.' As your A/CSM one of my jobs is to take
care of my boss--that means you, sir." At Hogan's look of protest,
Kinchloe held up his hand. "Sorry, sir. But that's just the way it is.
Accept it. Please." At Hogan's uncertain look, he repeated, "Please?"
An amused twinkle flashed across
Hogan's eyes. "Well, Sergeant Kinchloe. Who am I to stand in the way of
'Sergeants' Business'?" He held his hand out to Kinchloe, and the two men
shook solemnly. Standing in the middle of the seedy quarters, Hogan allowed
himself a moment of silent relief.
It's
not much, he mused, but it's
home. Better yet, it was private--something for which he knew he'd always
be in debt to Kinchloe. Command was hard enough on a man, without his having to
stay in character 24 hours a day. This way, he'd be allowed a few precious moments
to himself each day in order to unwind--to let the mask drop.
Turning back to Kinchloe, he got down
to business.
"So, what do you have for
me?"
****
Three quarters of an hour later, Hogan
had a better picture of the soldiers under his command. There was a broad
spectrum of talent amongst the prisoners, which would prove highly useful for
any future escape plans.
However, until he took care of the
mission he'd inherited from the Underground, any escapes would be put on hold.
"But why, sir?" Kinchloe
asked. "Isn't it better that we start planning the escape operation now?
This way we can take advantage of whatever opportunities avail
themselves."
Hogan held his hand up to stop
Kinchloe's argument.
"Sorry, Kinch. But we need to
focus our entire energies to contacting the local Underground and getting this
information to them. And fast." At Kinchloe's questioning look, he
explained, "The information is time sensitive. From what I can gather,
it's dependent on the next new moon--and if memory serves, that should occur on
the eighth of the month."
"Which is five days from
now," Kinchloe added.
"Exactly." Hogan stood and
paced in the cramped quarters. Six paces in one direction, six paces back.
Kinchloe could see the tension in Hogan's shoulders in how he executed a
precise about face at each end of the room and at the exact length of each step
taken.
Moreover, he could almost hear his
C.O.'s mind as it worked through the problem. Hogan's reputation as a brilliant
squadron commander was well deserved. Kinchloe knew of his C.O.'s more than
fifty successful bombing missions--more than any other pilot in the Wing.
Kinchloe had firsthand experience in
observing the veteran pilot's almost supernatural ability to think on his feet,
having flown almost twenty missions with him. On more than one occasion,
Kinchloe had had a front row seat when a mission had gone bad: too many
Messerschmitts, anti-aircraft fire, lost crews. Yet, Hogan somehow always
managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat and save what might have been a
scrapped sortie.
Other Squadron Commanders might have
been excellent at their jobs--even superior. But when compared to Hogan's
elegant virtuosity, a maestro conducting his Squadron Operations like a
symphonic orchestra, drawing the best possible performance from each player,
there could be no comparison. Everyone else was a mere apprentice.
"So what's the plan,
Colonel?" he finally asked.
Hogan stopped pacing, and leaning with
an elbow on the top bunk, he faced Kinchloe.
"We need a diversion to get you
into Klink's office and the radio."
"That would be some diversion,
Colonel. I've never even seen the radio. And while the manual gave me a general
idea of its operation, it's gonna take me a few minutes to get used to it. Not
to mention that I'll need several minutes to send and receive a
transmission." He gave Hogan an ironic look. "Colonel, we don't need
a diversion, we need the Marines to conduct an amphibious landing."
"How long do you suppose you'll
need?" Hogan asked seriously.
"I'm not sure, sir. If I could
take a look at it ahead of time--you know to become familiar to its design--I
could have a better idea."
Hogan shook his head. "Too risky.
Klink might have the imagination of a dead flashlight battery, but he's not
completely stupid. He might catch on that we're interested in his radio."
Kinchloe nodded in reluctant agreement.
"So, where does that leave us?"
Hogan grinned. "I sort of finked
to Klink that there's going to be an escape tonight." At Kinchloe's look
of respect, he ducked his head. "I know. Sometimes, I scare even myself.
Anyway, I need a couple of volunteers to fake an escape attempt. While the
Krauts are busy conducting a camp-wide search, you, my friend, will be able to
sneak into Klink's office and send a message to the 531st Group--to Gen.
Duncan."
"Gen. Duncan?" Kinchloe
asked, surprised.
"Do you know any other Commanding
General who'll know who we are?" Hogan asked. "More importantly, do
you know anyone else who'll believe that we're who we say we
are?"
Kinchloe shook his head. "You've
got a point."
"Okay, so, we need a couple of
guys who can think fast, can find a place to hide that'll keep the Krauts
occupied for--how long do you need?"
"An hour?" Kinchloe asked
hopefully.
"Half an hour," Hogan
said without pause. Kinchloe rolled his eyes and nodded in acceptance.
"Who do you recommend?"
"That new kid, Carter. He's eager,
intelligent--I think he's a good man."
Hogan looked at the list Kinchloe had
drawn up about potential 'Escape Committee' members. "Hmmm...Carter, eh?
Chemist, explosives expert. Flew ball turret gunner on a B-17. Sounds like a
guy we can use." Hogan nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, who else?"
"Olsen?" Kinchloe asked
reluctantly.
Hogan looked surprised. "I thought
you didn't have a high opinion of our Private Olsen?"
It was Kinchloe's turn to pace.
"You have to understand, sir. Ever since Olsen was assigned to the
'Goldilocks' crew, he did nothing but slack off on the ground. A real
Sergeant's Headache!" He waved his arms for added emphasis.
"Whenever there was a dirty detail
to get done, there was never any sign of Olsen. The guy could just make himself
disappear--sometimes for hours at a time! A couple of times, I almost took him
behind the Quonset hut and throttled him."
Kinchloe shrugged his shoulders and
shook his head. "But in the air--we couldn't ask for a better gunner. Or a
better soldier. He had something like three kills and one assist--and he'd only
flown three missions with us."
Hogan nodded. He knew of Olsen's record
both on the ground and in the air. Reaching a decision, he nodded.
"Olsen it is, Kinch," he
agreed. Smiling, he added, "Bring in our two 'volunteers,' Sergeant, so's
I can let 'em know what they've just 'volunteered' for."
Grinning, Kinchloe saluted and left. As
soon as his senior NCO was gone, Hogan's smile disappeared.
Just
what the Hell am I doing?
****
End of Part 4