[Wednesday 04 NOV
1942//1925hrs local]
Reisert
Buchladen, Hammelburg, Germany
****
When
the truck stopped, Hogan lay perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. He
heard low voices from outside, speaking in hurried whispers. Try as he might,
he couldn't make out what they were saying. Feeling the blood pounding in his
ears, he was about to remove the canvas cover, when Schnitzer called him.
"Colonel,"
he hissed, opening the door. "We are here!"
Immediately,
Hogan threw off the cover and moved towards the door, taking in a deep gulp of
fresh air. Nodding in relief, he reassured Schnitzer that he'd be all right.
"Just
as soon as I've sucked in all the oxygen within a 100 kilometer radius,"
he gasped. "This place smells like a dog kennel."
"~We
must hurry!~" A woman's voice urged from the front of the
vehicle. Instantly, Hogan's ears and spirits perked up. He quickly vaulted from
the rear end.
"Ja,
ja!" Schnitzer said soothingly. "We are hurrying."
Hogan
moved around the truck and stopped, seeing a figure silhouetted in the dark.
Spotting him, the woman quickly approached him. When she was a few feet from
him, Hogan was finally able to discern her features.
Stunning! He thought, but couldn't take the time to
admire her as she was urging him to follow her.
"This
way! Quickly!" she insisted. Hogan and Schnitzer rushed after her. She led
them down a short flight of stairs and through a door into a small room.
Locking the door behind her, she hurriedly walked around the room, checking
curtains to ensure they were completely drawn. Reassured, she struck a match
and lit a small oil lamp, setting it on a table in the center of the room.
At
Hogan's questioning look, she shrugged. "The war rationing...the power is
turned off after dark. It does not matter. The Allied bombers have knocked out
the power plant so many times, we are used to having to make do."
Hogan
nodded, feeling guilty. Changing the subject, he decided to get down to
business.
"I've
been studying the problem, Frau--?"
"Fraulein
Reisert," she corrected, and then added, "Greta."
"Greta,"
Hogan repeated, enjoying how the soft light from the oil lamp cast shadows and
warm highlights on her blonde hair. Momentarily, he realized he was staring at
her, and clearing his throat looked away quickly.
"Fraulein
Reisert," she said pointedly.
"I
stand corrected, Fraulein," he replied. "As I was
saying, I've been studying the problem. Do you have a map of the area?"
Greta
nodded and hurried to a shadowy recess in the room. Hogan followed her with his
eyes, distracted by her lithe figure. Giving himself a mental headshake, he
determinedly tried to keep his mind focused on his mission--and studiously
avoided staring at her shapely legs.
Interestedly,
he watched as she removed a brick from the fireplace, reached in and pulled out
a large piece of folded paper. Instantly, he was next to her, unfolding the
map.
"Perfect!"
he exclaimed, hurrying to the table and spreading it out. "How up to date
is it?" he asked.
Schnitzer
shrugged. "Jurgen brought it to us several months ago after a trip to Karlstadt.
He updated the roads leading north of here." He shrugged, shaking his
head. "He meant to update the roads and trails south to Wurzburg, and east
to Aschaffenburg, but did not have opportunity. And now..." He sat down
sadly.
Hogan
glanced at Greta. She too sat down and reached across the table, clasping her
hands around Schnitzer's. Looking up at Hogan, she explained, "Our
friends--the ones from whom you took the notebook--they were returning from
England, where they'd just received training." She looked away bitterly.
"They
were to be the vanguard for the much vaunted 'Secret Army' your OSS is in the
process of organizing in preparation for the European invasion."
Hogan
shook his head. "I'm not sure I understand."
"Jurgen,
Konrad, Lorenz, Wilfred, Tibalt, and--" She turned away quickly, covering
her eyes. Impatiently, she wiped at them, blinking rapidly. "--and
Dagmar...They were to recruit and train others. But now--" She shrugged,
shaking her head.
In
sudden anger, she slammed her hand on the table, causing both Hogan and
Schnitzer to jump, startled.
"It's
all so useless!" she cried. "The invasion is never
going to happen!" Pushing her chair back suddenly, she leaped to her feet,
and angrily faced Hogan. "The Allies will never take back Europe from that
madman! And my poor Dagmar--!" Turning her back to him, she
covered her eyes momentarily. Taking a deep, ragged breath, she shrugged.
"She is gone now--and for what? For nothing!"
Confused,
Hogan glanced at Schnitzer, who was looking at Greta with profound sadness.
"Dagmar was her younger sister," he said.
"She's
dead," Greta intoned lifelessly. "For nothing...nothing."
Hogan
walked up behind her, and hesitantly, placed his hands on her shoulders and
slowly ran them down her arms, coming to rest on her small waist. Her back
still to him, Greta instinctively leaned into him, the top of her head barely
coming to his chin. Slowly, Hogan wrapped her in his arms, caressing her cheek with
his, inhaling her soft scent.
For
a long moment, he held her closely without speaking, for once unable to think
of anything to say. What could he say? Words alone wouldn't bring any comfort,
he knew. He'd lost six men over Hamburg, and try as he might, he couldn't erase
their faces from his head.
Their
easygoing smiles haunted him, their death screams seared into his psyche. He
knew that he wouldn't rest until he'd done something to at last put them to
rest.
"Greta,
listen to me," he said softly. "Your sister and your friends did not
die for nothing--" She shook her head, struggling to free herself
from his grasp. "--No! Listen!" he insisted. "This
information they gave their lives for--It's up to us to carry it
through. You know what will happen if the Nazis successfully complete their
heavy water experiments, don't you? Don't you?"
Sobbing,
she nodded.
"Then
we have to stop them. This shipment is on its way to Bremerhaven from a secret
location in Norway. Allied submarines are on the lookout for it, but we don't
have any information on the ship that's carrying it. All we know is that it
will be leaving Bremerhaven by train, and that it's scheduled to pass through
this area by the next new moon--"
Greta
gasped. "That's only a few days from now--"
"Four,
to be exact," Hogan said. "November 8th."
"That's
Sunday," Schnitzer said.
"But
it's too soon!" Greta insisted. "We don't have anyone here trained
for such a mission. That's what Jurgen and his men were supposed to do--train
new recruits. We have no weapons...no explosives--"
"What?"
Hogan asked, startled. "I was led to believe that you'd be providing us
with all the necessary men and materiel--"
"But
how can we?" Schnitzer asked. "We are not fighters. We know nothing
of sabotage. We are shopkeepers, farmers, old men--too old and sick for the
Third Reich to impress into service."
Hogan
stared at the two of them. "Just what do you do in the
Underground?"
"I
care for the dogs at LuftStalag 13," Schnitzer said, shrugging. "Of
course, I've trained them to disobey the German guards and only pretend to
attack prisoners." He smiled warmly. "My German shepherds can
recognize over twenty different Allied army uniforms."
"How--?"
Hogan began.
"Oskar
and I and several others have helped Allied flyers escape. We have a network of
safe houses from here to the sea, where they can get picked up and taken home
by sub. We provide them with clothes and new identities. Naturally, we keep
their uniforms."
"Naturally,"
Hogan said sardonically.
"Yes,
and that is how I train the dogs to recognize Allied soldiers. I dress up in
the uniform and--"
"--And
they learn to trust anyone who's wearing one," Hogan finished. Schnitzer nodded
proudly. "Fantastic," Hogan murmured.
"Colonel,
we do what we can," Greta said. "But we are not soldiers. Every
Allied flyer we help endangers each of us. I tried to talk Dagmar out of going
to England for her clandestine training. 'It is crazy!' I told her. But she
insisted. And now--"
Hogan
laid a hand on her shoulder, and with the other tipped her head up to meet his
eyes.
"I
promise, your sister's sacrifice won't be in vain." Her eyes--Blue,
he noted--smiled gratefully up at him.
"But,
Col. Hogan," Schnitzer interrupted. "How can you? As we said, we have
no men or materiel to supply you with. How will you be able to carry out such a
dangerous mission?"
"Herr
Schnitzer," Hogan said, a twinkle flitting across his eyes, "don't
you know that we can't let a few bad breaks stop us?" Crossing his arms in
his usual manner, he asked, "Tell me, Fraulein Reisert. Are there any
other military units in the area?"
At
her nod, Hogan smiled boyishly. Noticing a set of dimples, Greta's stomach
suddenly fluttered. She had to concentrate to hear the rest of his words.
"Can
you get me a case of wine and a coupla pounds of cheese?"
She
nodded, question marks in her eyes. "Well, yes...but why?"
"Why?
Because I'm planning a little party, of course," he said, his dark eyes
dancing. "All war and no play makes Robert a very dull a boy."
"Col.
Hogan, somehow I don't believe that 'dull' is a word that would ever describe
you," she said, her tone sardonic. "Just what exactly are you up
to?"
"I
have a plan..."
****
[Wednesday 04 NOV
1942//2230hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
"Blimey!
It's bloomin' daft, that's what it is!" Newkirk exclaimed.
"Beggin' the Colonel's pardon--but you've gone round the bend...sir!"
"Put
a lid on it, Corporal!" Kinchloe said sharply.
"No!"
Hogan held up his hand, forestalling Kinchloe. "No, Kinch...Newkirk's
right."
"He
is?" Kinchloe asked.
"I
am?" Newkirk echoed.
Hogan
nodded. "It is crazy."
"It
is?" Newkirk asked in a small voice.
"Of
course!" Hogan said shrugging. "I mean, we're prisoners of war!
London must be out of their collective minds to expect us to do anything this
crazy."
"Sir?"
Kinchloe spoke quietly. Hogan gave a sharp shake of his head.
"No,
Newkirk is right, Kinch. And the sooner we tell London that we can't destroy
this shipment of heavy water because it's too dangerous, the sooner we can
begin to sit out the rest of this war." He started heading back to his
quarters. "Of course, we won't have long to wait for the war to
end--"
"What
do you mean, sir?" Carter asked.
"Oui,
mon Colonel," LeBeau said, looking a bit confused by the sudden turn
of events. "I do not understand."
Hogan
gave a short laugh, and turned to face the others. "What's there to
understand?" he asked, his dark eyes boring into them. "If the Nazis
successfully complete their heavy water experiments and develop the atomic bomb
before our side does, then you can bet it'll shorten the war by
several months...maybe even years!" He paused and smiled suddenly, but the
light did not dispel the shadows in his eyes.
"Of
course, the outcome will be in their favor. And Hitler's 'Thousand Year
Reich' will also be a reality." He glared at his men for a moment
longer, and then unexpectedly, smiled again.
"But
what do we care? After all, we're POWs. Like Klink said...The
war's over for us." He turned on his heel. "Good night, gentlemen.
It's been a long day...If I were you, I'd practice saying 'Heil Hitler'!"
He
was about to open the door leading to his quarters, when he was set upon by
more than a dozen men.
"Wait,
sir!"
"We're
with you!"
"Just
tell us what you want us to do!"
"Who
said anything about wanting to sit out the ruddy war, anyway?" Newkirk
called out. "We can't let those bleedin' commandos have all
the fun, now. Can we?"
Hogan
turned and faced them, a real smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Okay, then." He glanced over at Kinchloe. "We've got a lot of
work to do, Kinch. And not a whole lotta of time to get it done in."
****
[Wednesday 04 NOV
1942//2250hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #6
****
"Start
digging tonight? Is he crazy?"
"We're
all crazy, Sergeant! We joined the Air Corps, didn't we?"
"What
are we supposed to use for tools?"
"You're
a sergeant, aren't you?"
"Yeah?
So?"
"Handle
it! You've been given a mission: Dig! We need it completed by
Saturday night at the latest. And don't forget--straight down for thirty feet
to avoid sound detectors. Then you only have a measly fifty meters horizontal.
If I were you, I'd get started, Sergeant."
"But
it's after hours!"
"Tell
it to the Chaplain!"
****
[Wednesday 04 NOV
1942//2250hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #3
****
"He
wants us to give a what? To who?"
"You
heard me, mon ami. A wine tasting party for the Bosche."
"Anything
else?"
"Oui!
We need you to get us six German uniforms, with weapons and ammo."
"He's
crazy! And you're crazy, too!"
"Vrai,
mon ami! But we live in a crazy world."
"Okay,
okay! But don't expect any miracles!"
"Non!
No miracles. Just--"
"Just
what?"
"Just
that you must ensure the equipment will not be missed. At least, not right
away."
"Swell."
****
[Wednesday 04 NOV
1942//2250hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
"The
truck will be waiting along this draw--" Hogan pointed at a spot on the
map, a ravine 500 meters due west of the camp. They were squeezed into his
quarters, gathered around his tiny field table. "--tomorrow night and
every night thereafter...LeBeau, Carter, you'll recon the target and the
surrounding area. Carter, I'll want your best professional opinion on how much
and what type of explosives we'll need."
"Yes,
sir," Carter said seriously.
"LeBeau,
your job is to update the map--I need to know all the roads, trails, and
streams leading into it. Plus any military checkpoints that we'll need to
avoid."
"Oui,"
LeBeau nodded.
"I
also need you to draft as detailed a sketch of the bridge as you can. I want to
know its weak spots--the best locations to place the charges." He paused,
gazing solemnly at the two men. "I don't have to tell you that everything
depends on you two, do I?"
"No,
sir!" "Non!" They said simultaneously. Lebeau gave Hogan
an uncertain look.
"What
is it, Lebeau?" Hogan asked.
"Mon
Colonel...How are we to get out of the camp without getting ourselves
killed or captured?"
Hogan
grinned, stealing an amused glance at Kinchloe. "Sorry, LeBeau, but I've
been told in no uncertain terms that that's 'Sergeant's Business.' And I've
learned from long experience that when Sgt. Kinchloe here tells me to butt out,
I'd best do just that."
"But--"
Lebeau started.
"What's
the matter, Louis?" Kinchloe asked, scowling. "Don't you trust
me?"
"Bien
sur! I trust you, Kinch," LeBeau reassured him. "It is the Bosche
I worry about. I do not think they will allow us to just walk out."
Kinchloe
grinned. "Don't worry, LeBeau. You'll have your exit point by tomorrow
night. Right, Olsen?"
"Right,
Sarge!"
LeBeau
muttered something in his own language under his breath.
"Where
are we going to get the explosives, Colonel?" Carter asked. "Is the
Underground providing them?"
Hogan
cast a slightly guilty look at them and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid
that we were invited to a party, and the host forgot to get the party
favors."
"B.Y.O.B.,
Colonel?" Kinchloe asked. "Bring your own bombs?"
Hogan
nodded.
"Oh,
bloody charming," Newkirk muttered.
"So,
what are we going to do for explosives, sir?" Carter asked.
"There's
a Kraut engineer battalion located here," Hogan explained.
"I figure on a little shopping trip after we get Carter's
report."
The
others went suddenly still. Newkirk spoke slowly. "You mean, you want us
to break out of here, then break into there? Raid
their ammo dump, and then blow up the bridge?"
Hogan
nodded and winked. "You know, Newkirk...You're a lot brighter than you
look. Pretty soon you'll be bucking for sergeant."
"Sir,
do you think that's wise?" Kinchloe asked. "I mean, if we blow the
raid at the ammo dump, it'll throw a monkey wrench into the whole deal."
Before
answering, Hogan took out a cigarette, and striking a match, took his time to
light it. He moved away from his men, needing a few feet of space to think. He
stood off by himself for a few moments, smoking quietly. In deep thought, he
blew out a long stream of smoke, his expression troubled.
"I'll
be completely honest with you gentlemen," he said quietly. "This is
the weakest point in the plan. But what other choice do we have? Stalag 13 is a
prisoner of war camp. While we may pick up small arms and ammo here, it isn't
authorized heavy explosives. The engineer battalion is. And they
have exactly the kind of explosives needed to blow up a bridge."
"Yeah,
boy! They sure do!" Carter broke in, excitedly. "I have a buddy in an
Engineer unit back in England! Did you know that they not only build
bridges, they also blow them up? Anyway, his unit had all the latest stuff!
Like plastic explosives--! Boy, slap a few of those on a bridge's joints and ~phoom!~
Bye-bye bridge!"
"Carter--"
Newkirk interrupted, annoyed.
Carter
ignored him, adding excitedly, "I spent a couple days leave with my pal.
He let me play with some of the stuff--!"
"Carter--!"
"I
even helped him make some! Pretty potent, too--" His eyes grew animated,
almost maniacal. "--real humdingers that went ka-bloom!"
He included sound effects and arm gestures to prove his point.
The
others just stared at him without speaking. Slowly, Carter seemed to return to
reality, and was soon blushing. Newkirk rolled his eyes.
"Carter,
I don't think even the Colonel here--" he jerked his head in
Hogan's direction. "--would ever trust you to manufacture
explosives--"
"Thanks
for the vote of confidence," Hogan said sarcastically. About to turn back
to his map, a sudden idea overtook him. He snapped his fingers. "That's
it! Carter, with the right materials and supplies, d'you think you
could actually make your own explosives?"
"Well,
sure, sir! I studied chemistry in college...In fact, I was even
kinda famous 'round campus," he added blushing shyly.
"Famous?"
LeBeau prompted.
"Well,
I kinda blew up the physics lab," he said, embarrassed. "Four years
in a row."
"Blimey!
That does it, Carter! Now I know the Colonel will never--!"
"--Carter,
I want you to give us a list of everything you need," Hogan interrupted.
"I'll see what we can up with."
"You
got it, boy! Um, I mean, y-yes, sir!"
"But,
Colonel--!" Newkirk protested.
"Would
you rather raid the Kraut Engineer Battalion?" Hogan asked.
Newkirk
dropped his chin into his hand. "Oh, this is just double
bloody charming."
Hogan
nodded curtly, and then turned back to the map, his attention already
completely focused on the mission planning.
"Colonel?"
Newkirk asked.
"Hmmmm...?"
"Is
it too late to request a transfer?"
"That
depends," Hogan said without looking up. "How are you at
forgery?"
Newkirk
looked around at the others a bit uncomfortably. Pulling at his collar, he grinned
uncertainly. "Blimey, Colonel! Forgery? I swear...that one
time in London...the Bobbies had the wrong man. Honest! My character is being
maligned by persons unknown--!"
"Can
it, Newkirk," Hogan interrupted, tracing a possible route on the map for the
transport train. He and Kinchloe conferred for a couple of minutes in low
tones. Afterwards, Hogan picked up the conversation where he'd left off.
"I
don't care about the how or the wherefores," he said, finally looking up
and locking gazes with the RAF corporal. "I need someone who can forge
some documents--and fast. Can you handle it?"
"What
do you need me to do, sir?"
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0345hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #6
****
"How
far down, Mac?" Hogan asked.
"We're
almost ready to start going horizontal, sir," Sgt. MacPherson said. He
looked exhausted, his face and hands muddy from digging. "Just a couple more feet to go."
"Your
men have done a great job, sergeant," Hogan said quietly.
"Thank
you, sir. Sir? What about the dirt--?"
Hogan's
eyes narrowed. He looked up at Kinchloe.
"Barracks
five is responsible," Kinchloe said. He turned to MacPherson. "Hasn't
Barclay come by to see you?" At MacPherson's shake of the head, Hogan's
expression darkened.
"Well,
Sgt. Kinchloe," he said with forced lightness. "What do you say we
pay a visit to the boys in Barracks five?"
"Begging
the Colonel's pardon," Kinchloe said. "But I think that Mac and I
should handle this, sir." At Hogan's angry look, MacPherson stood up and
moved next to Kinchloe.
"Kinch
is right, sir. We can handle it."
Hogan
looked at one, then the other.
"'Sergeant's
business'?" he asked.
"'Sergeant's
business.'"
****
End of Part 7