[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0356hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
outside Barracks #5
****
A
muffled crash coming from Barracks Five caught the guard's attention. Instantly
alert for trouble, he ran towards the building, all the while looking around
for the Corporal of the Guard. Reaching the door, he paused immediately
outside, listening.
The
place was still as a graveyard. After a moment's hesitation, the guard
continued on his rounds.
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0357hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #5
****
Kinchloe
slowly removed his hand from Barclay's mouth. MacPherson, meanwhile, gave the
reluctant sergeant's arm one more twist.
"Do
you copy, Barclay?" Kinchloe hissed in his ear. "Are you going to
play ball, or do we have to send you another message?"
Swallowing,
Barclay shook his head in weak defiance. "You have no right!" he
managed. "I'm a POW. The regulations state that--"
"The
regulations state that you are still a soldier in the US
Army," Kinchloe said disgustedly. "You were given a mission,
sergeant, and you failed to follow orders. Back home, we'd let the officers
court martial you. But here, we do things differently. Don't we, Mac?"
"You
bet, Kinch. The last thing we need is to worry the Colonel. He has enough
things on his mind."
"Yeah,
Mac. We Sergeants know how to handle little things like these, don't we?"
"Sure
do. You want me to hold him for you, while you work him over, and then you hold
him for me?"
"Hey,
guys!" Barclay exclaimed nervously. "Y-you can't! It's against
regulations! I-I could get you in a lot of trouble, you know!"
"You
know he's right, Kinch?" MacPherson said seriously. "Think we should
just kill him?"
"What?!"
Barclay's voice went up an octave. "Come on, guys. This isn't funny any
more."
"Nah,"
Kinchloe answered, ignoring Barclay. "Too messy. But I know a couple of
NCOs over in Barracks Eight that can make it look like an accident."
"No
wait! I've got it!" MacPherson interrupted. "We can arrange it so's
the guards shoot him while trying to escape."
"Y-you're
crazy!" Barclay barely spoke above a whisper. "You can't do
that! It'd be the same as murder!"
"Actually,
Barclay, we can do it!" Kinchloe said, his voice low and
threatening. "And even the Colonel would never be able to figure out the
truth. But I have another option for you. One where you get to walk away...What
do you say? Interested?"
Barclay
eagerly nodded, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead.
"Baker!"
Kinchloe called softly. Immediately, the door leading outside opened, and the
young Black sergeant sneaked in. He leaned against the door, listening, holding
his hand up for quiet. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and turned,
his expression relieved. At Kinchloe's questioning look, he swallowed.
"Goon,"
Baker said succinctly. He'd only managed to avoid the patrolling guards.
"Sgt.
Baker," Kinchloe said. "Sgt. Barclay here isn't feeling very well--he
seems to be suffering from a stomach problem. He's asked if you would take over
his position as NCO in charge of Barracks Five."
Baker
stared at Barclay, his expression unreadable. Glancing at the rest of the
prisoners who were standing, looking uncertain, he nodded slowly. "And
what about the rest of you?" he asked. "Are your stomachs up to it?
Or are you too sick to act like soldiers"
His
questions were met by low mutterings and grumbling. Finally, a huge airman who
was built like a linebacker stepped forward. "You just tell us what needs
doing, Sarge," he said. "We'll take care of it."
"Yeah!"
"We'll
show you!"
Kinchloe
glared at Barclay. "Do you have any problems with that, Sergeant?"
Barclay gave a weak shake of the head.
"Good."
Kinchloe smiled grimly. "Baker? Mac here will show you 'what needs
doing.'"
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0530hrs local]
LuftStalag 13, Barracks
#2
****
"Raus!
Raus! Appell!"
The
guards repeated the early morning wakeup call several times, storming the
barracks to rouse the deeply slumbering prisoners.
"Up,
up, up! Everybody up!" shouted Schultz.
"Out, out, out! Everybody out for morning roll call!"
Groaning
like old men, the soldiers slowly began to stumble out of their bunks. In a
couple of cases where a POW just couldn't be awakened, Schultz walked up to the
foot of his bunk and pointed at him. The other guards immediately came up to the
sides of the bunk and tipped the soldier out of bed. In one instance, the
soldier still didn't wake up.
"Was
ist los?" Schultz asked, clearly perplexed.
Yawning
and bleary eyed, Hogan stepped out of his quarters. He looked rumpled, as if
he'd slept in his clothes, which indeed he had.
"What's
up, Schultz?" Hogan asked. "Got an early war today?"
Schultz
let out a short, sarcastic snort. "Jolly joker! Col. Hogan, this barracks
is late for morning roll call. We will all be put on report for
this!"
"All
right, Schultz, I gotcha!" Hogan said, yawning sleepily. "Okay, you
guys--everybody out! Before we get placed on report."
"Jahwohl!"
one of the guards said. "Or it will be the cooler for you! And half
rations for the entire barracks!"
"The
cooler..." Newkirk mumbled. "They let you sleep in the cooler, don't
they?"
"Newkirk--"
Hogan said warningly.
"I
know, I know--" Newkirk said nodding. "Outside!"
It
was a very bedraggled looking bunch of POWs that finally formed outside for
morning roll call. The entire camp, which unknown to the Germans had worked
late into the wee hours of the morning, was over ten minutes late.
Fuming,
Klink stomped up and down the sloppy rows and columns of prisoners. His
critical eye spotted several men who were literally asleep standing up, propped
up by a buddy. Everyone was yawning and having trouble keeping his eyes open.
Finally,
Klink stopped in front of Hogan. As he did so, he stared at the American flyer.
Hogan stood casually, completely relaxed, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of
his bomber jacket (a habit that the highly proper Kommandant Klink thoroughly
disapproved of).
Additionally,
Hogan had his hat pulled down low over his eyes, which in Klink's view provided
a poor role model for the rest of the camp. As the senior POW, it was Hogan's
responsibility to set the example for the entire camp--a duty at which he was
obviously failing.
"Col.
Hogan, look at you! You are a disgrace! You are in sore need of a shave...Your
uniform looks like an unmade bed, and you are having as much trouble staying
awake as your men. What have you to say for yourself?"
As
he spoke, Klink waggled his forefinger under Hogan's nose, venting his
frustration. About to start again on Hogan, a light suddenly dawned over the
Kommandant's features.
"You
are up to something, Col. Hogan! I can tell...You cannot hide
anything from the 'Scourge of the Eighth Air Force'! You and your men look like
you haven't slept in 24 hours, because you are planning an escape! Isn't that
so?"
He
leaned in closer. "I warn you. Any escape attempts will be dealt with
severely. Do you understand me, Colonel?" Waiting for Hogan's reply, he
was surprised when he didn't receive any.
"Col.
Hogan?" Klink squinted at the senior POW through his monocle. After a few
seconds, he thought he heard a sound coming from Hogan. Was ist los!? Klink
stared, puzzled. "Col. Hogan?"
At
this moment, Klink finally understood what the sound was coming from the man
standing before him. Colonel Robert E. Hogan, highly decorated air combat
veteran, was sound asleep on his feet and snoring in the early morning breeze.
"Ho-gaaannn!"
Klink shouted. Hogan jerked awake. Blinking blearily, he focused on Klink, the
fog in his mind slowly dissipating.
"Ummm...Good
morning, Kommandant!" he said, rubbing the back of his head. "What
time is it?"
"Six
o'clock," Klink said, automatically checking his watch.
"Six?!"
Hogan exclaimed, surprised. "Kinch!
"Here,
sir!"
"Uh,
Kommandant...are we done here?" Hogan asked, a bit impatiently. Klink
threw his hands up.
"Yes,
Colonel Hogan. We're done now. I am sorry that your sleep was interrupted this
morning. Thank you for so graciously joining us for roll call."
Hogan
nodded, Klink's sarcasm lost on him. He was gesturing furtively at Kinchloe to
meet him in the barracks. Kinchloe caught his eye and nodded.
Hogan
turned to Klink, smiling. "Oh, no problem, Kommandant. I love our little
morning get togethers. Makes me feel like we're all one, big happy family.
Sorry, gotta go. We're having a soccer match, and I'm one of the line
judges."
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0730hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Kommandant's Office
****
"They
are up to something..." Klink muttered, watching the lively soccer game
being played in the main compound. The sound of a high whistle caught his
attention. Hogan stood hands on hips, leaning down until he was nose to nose
with the French corporal--LeBeau, Klink recalled.
The
small Frenchman was yelling at the top of his lungs in his own language and
gesticulating at another soldier, a young American sergeant, who was also
gesturing excitedly.
"Colonel!
He can't talk to me like that! I'm a sergeant!" he
protested.
"LeBeau,
I calls them the way I sees them!" Hogan shouted, turning away.
"Carter blocked you fair and square!"
"Yeah!
So there!" Carter taunted. LeBeau came up to him, shouting a long string
of French epithets. It was obvious to Klink that while Carter apparently didn't
understand the language, he understood the gist.
"Oh,
yeah?" Carter yelled. "Well, boy! That goes double
for me--whatever you said!"
"LeBeau!
Carter!" Hogan broke in. "If you continue this un-sportsmanlike
conduct, I'll have you both booted from the game!" Klink
shook his head. Too soft! he thought, disapprovingly. I wonder how he
ever made Colonel?
By
now, they had a small audience. The rest of the prisoners were shouting taunts
and encouragement to keep the two antagonists going.
"Tu
es completement idiot!" LeBeau shouted. "In case you don't
understand French, that means you're a complete idiot!"
"You're
not gonna take that are you, Carter--?" Newkirk shouted.
Ignoring
the spectators, Carter placed his hand on LeBeau's chest and shoved. "Oh,
yeah? Well, you're...short! And just in case you don't understand
English--that means that I'm taller!"
"Are
you going to let a Yank talk to you like that, Louis?"
Enraged
by the insult, LeBeau came at Carter, kicking mud in his wake. Stepping between
the two combatants, Hogan got a full volley on his trousers.
Everybody
froze.
His
eyes traveling from his now mud-splattered trouser legs to the quarrelsome duo,
Hogan exploded. "That does it! You're both out
of here! Hit the showers!"
The
Frenchman muttered something that Klink didn't catch, but which the American
officer did. "That's it, soldier! You're both
confined to quarters! I want to see you both in my office! At
attention! Now!"
Both
men snapped to attention and saluted. Executing a left face, they quick marched
into the barracks. Watching from his office, Klink shook his head in quiet
disapproval. In the German army, the men would have been shot for
insubordination, or sent to the Russian Front, he thought. A sudden idea
coming to him, he grabbed his hat and overcoat and headed outside.
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0745hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Exercise Compound
****
"Heads
up, people," Hogan muttered. "Old Blood Guts took the bait. Newkirk,
be ready." Newkirk nodded. Hogan raised his voice. "And that goes for
all of you! I don't care if you are POWs! You'll conduct yourselves
in a sportsmanlike manner, or your team will forfeit!"
"Col.
Hogan!" Klink shouted. "A word please."
Hogan
turned, a feigned look of surprise on his features. Shrugging, he tossed the
soccer ball and whistle to Kinchloe. "Sgt. Kinchloe, take over!"
"Yes,
sir!" Kinchloe said, catching the ball. Placing the whistle in his mouth,
he blew it. "Okay, you meatheads! Let's play ball!"
"Um,
Kinch?" Olsen called. "That's baseball. We're playing soccer."
Kinchloe
scowled.
"What's
the difference?" he asked. "It's a got a ball, doesn't it?
Here!" He tossed the ball to Olsen, who caught it, shrugging. Soon, the
two teams squared off against each other once more.
Meanwhile,
Hogan was casually leading Klink away from the game. "What did you wish to
talk to me about, Kommandant?"
As
he and Klink turned a corner, Hogan glanced back to the crowd of men gathered
watching the game and just managed to catch sight of Newkirk ducking around the
Kommandant's building. Dampening the flitting look of triumph that lit his
features, he turned back to Klink giving him his undivided attention...
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0815hrs local]
LuftStalag 13
****
"So, you see, Col. Hogan," Klink was saying, "an officer
just cannot allow this type of public insubordination. It is very bad for
morale." As he spoke, Klink animatedly gestured with his hands, completely
caught up in the topic.
"I
get you, Kommandant," Hogan said, seriously. "You mean that I
should've just requested that you form a firing squad and had my men
shot." He placed his hand on his chin as if deep in thought. "Now,
why didn't I think of that?"
"No,
no, Col. Hogan!" Klink said, shaking his head. "Of course, you
wouldn't want to have your men shot on the first offense. However, continued
insubordination--"
"But,
just think of it, Kommandant!" Hogan interrupted. "They could be the
examples. If the others saw how we deal with conduct unbecoming, then there'd
be no problems in the future." He glanced at Klink with a look of
admiration.
"Boy,
you Germans sure know how to keep discipline! No wonder, you're running out of
men. What the Allies don't kill or capture, you guys shoot. Brilliant!" He
looked as if an idea suddenly struck him.
"But
what will you do for men when you start the next war?"
Klink
looked like he'd had an attack of apoplexy and was about to respond, when they
were both startled by a sudden loud crash that resounded through the entire
compound.
"What
the--?" "Was ist--?" Hogan and Klink spoke
simultaneously. Instantly, both men were hurrying in the direction of the
sound. POWs, guards and dogs were all running in the same direction.
Soon
the guards were holding back the prisoners, shouting threats, their rifles at
port arms, forming an impenetrable line. The dogs were growling and snapping at
the prisoners, leaping on soldiers who broke through the line and knocking them
backwards. Hogan could swear he saw a few of the dogs licking the faces of the
POWs whom they'd stopped.
"Was
ist denn los?" shouted Klink. He and Hogan came up to the section of
fence between guard towers four and five. A supply truck had crashed through
the section of fence and was turned over on its side. "Sgt. Schultz! Report!"
Schultz
came from around the truck.
"Schultz,
is the driver okay?" Hogan asked worriedly. No one was supposed to get
hurt! he fumed. He watched as several men carefully pulled the luckless
driver from the truck's cab. A stretcher team broke through the mob of POWs and
guards.
"Ja,
he hit his head and is unconscious, but I believe that he will be all right. We
are transporting him to the camp infirmary."
"Schultz,
what happened?" Klink asked. Schultz shook his head.
"I
am not sure, Herr Kommandant. Private Frohlich was going to town for supplies.
When he started the truck, it just seemed to take off."
"Sounds
like a stuck gas pedal," Hogan said. "Hold on a sec. A couple of my
guys are pretty good mechanics. Olsen! Foster!" The two were there immediately.
"Check the truck. See what could've happened."
"Col.
Hogan, please!" Klink interrupted. "I appreciate the offer, but I
assure you that we have perfectly good mechanics here."
"Oh,
of course, Kommandant!" Hogan reassured him. "I just feel really bad
about this."
"Why
should you feel bad, Col. Hogan?" Klink asked curiously, then added
suspiciously. "Your men didn't have anything to do with this, did
they?"
"Kommandant!"
Hogan protested, shocked. "I protest! We're POWs--not criminals! I was
just offering to help. Come on, fellas. If he's gonna be this way--"
"No,
wait, Col. Hogan!" Klink interrupted.
"Gee...try
to do a nice thing, and this is the attitude you get," Hogan grumbled.
"Well, I know where we're not wanted--"
"Col.
Hogan--" Klink said, trying to break in.
"I
was even gonna offer to fix the fence, but you can just forget the whole
deal--"
"Col.
Hogan!" Klink yelled, frustrated. Hogan stopped, his expression surprised.
"Col. Hogan," Klink said a bit calmer. "I apologize for my
earlier suspicions. It's just that...well, we are on opposite sides of the war,
after all."
"Well,
Kommandant, we might be enemies, but that doesn't mean we can't be civil with
one another," Hogan said petulantly. He crossed his arms in childish
pique, exuding attitude.
"You
are, of course, correct," Klink said. "And just to show you that I
can admit being wrong, I insist that your men inspect the vehicle and fix the
fence."
"Oh,
yeah? Gee...you're all heart, Klink. Thanks, but no thanks! I wouldn't have my
men fix your fence if this was the last Stalag on Earth!" With that he
spun on his heel and began to stalk away.
"Ho-gaaannn!"
Klink shouted. "I order you to fix the fence!"
Hogan
froze in his tracks. He turned slowly, and glared at Klink, eyes narrowed.
"What did you say?" he asked dangerously.
"I
said, that I order you to have this fence fixed. Or else--!"
"Or
else, what?"
"Or
else...thirty days in the cooler!"
"You
wouldn't dare..."
"Try
me!"
The
two colonels glared at each for a long moment. Hogan looked like he was about
to say something irreversible, when Kinchloe stepped in.
"Begging
the Colonel's pardon!" he said. "But Olsen and Foster have just
volunteered to fix the fence, sir. And I have at least another ten men to lend
assistance as needed."
Hogan's
dark eyes held Klink's a moment longer. Finally, his cold expression softened
into a slight smile. "Okay, Kommandant," he said quietly. "You
win this round. My men will fix the fence. But I'm lodging a formal
protest."
"Your
protest is noted and rejected, Col. Hogan!" Klink snapped. "Carry
on!" he added, saluting. Hogan touched two fingers to his hat by way of
returning the salute. Klink turned on his heel and stomped back to his office.
"Newkirk?"
Hogan muttered.
"Back
in the barracks," Kinchloe reported. Hogan nodded.
"Like
the man said, Sergeant. Carry on."
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//0845hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
"Did
you have any trouble?" Hogan asked. Newkirk looked insulted.
"There
ain't a safe around that can withstand the loving touch of 'light-fingered'
Peter Newkirk, sir!" he proclaimed. "Those travel vouchers never
stood a chance against my considerable skill. Why before the war, in addition
to being much in the demand for the London stage for my brilliant magic act, I
was also wanted--"
"--by
Scotland Yard?" interrupted LeBeau. Newkirk gave him a sour look.
"Never
mind," Hogan groused. "How long before you have the documents drawn
up?"
"By
1800 hours tonight, sir," Newkirk said confidently.
Hogan
nodded. "Good, carry on." With that Newkirk got up to leave Hogan's
office. As he was about to open the door leading to the common area, Hogan's
voice stopped him. "And Newkirk?"
"Yes,
Colonel?" He gave Hogan a curious look.
"Good
work, Corporal."
Newkirk's
face underwent several changes, reflecting his warring emotions. Finally, it
settled on a pleased smile. He nodded, a bit self-consciously and hurried out
to get started on the forged documents straight away.
Hogan
turned to LeBeau and Carter.
"Kinch,
Olsen, and several other guys are working on the fence. They tell me that
they'll be done long before lights out tonight. In case they don't, we need to
draw up a contingency plan..."
Three
quarters of an hour later, he looked at his two men. "Okay, do you
understand the plan?" he asked. At their solemn nods, he smiled warmly.
"Okay. I want you two to get as much sleep as you can. Your mission
tonight is critical, and I don't want it to fail simply because you were too
exhausted to carry it out."
"Yes,
sir," Carter said.
"Oui,
Colonel."
"Before
you go...Carter, the list of materials you requested. Are you sure that's all
you'll need...? A hydrometer, an enameled steel container, potassium chloride,
and a gallon of common household bleach?"
"Yes,
sir," Carter said, nodding eagerly. "Homemade explosives are a lot
easier to manufacture than you might think." He shrugged.
"What
do you need bleach for?" Hogan asked curiously.
"Oh,
bleach contains small amounts of potassium chlorate, which is extremely
volatile! It's been used for ages in grenades, land mines, and other explosive
munitions." He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Just
think...Your typical American housewife on wash day holds the potential for
blowing up every bridge in Germany." He grinned excitedly at Hogan.
"Makes you think, doesn't it, sir?"
Hogan
stared at Carter for a long moment. "I'm beginning to worry about you,
Carter. Okay, I'll see what I can do. The one problem is this
'hydrometer.'"
Carter
shrugged. "If you can't get one, sir, I can still extract the potassium
chlorate, but I won't be able to measure it accurately. It could make the stuff
even more unstable."
"As
I was saying, one hydrometer coming up," Hogan said smoothly, flashing a
grin. LeBeau smiled back, amused by C.O.'s easy-going style. Carter gave them
both a blank look, completely having missed the joke.
"What
about fuses, wires, detonators, timing devices?" Hogan asked. Carter
shrugged.
"Oh,
we won't need timing devices if we're there to set off the charges," he
pointed out. Hogan nodded in agreement and was about to say 'Good night' when
Carter continued. "As for the rest, I think there's plenty of stuff lying
around that I can use." Hogan was about to nod again, when Carter's
expression became speculative. "Except maybe the wire..." he mused.
"Wire...right,"
Hogan muttered, adding 'wire' to his list.
"Oh,
and detonators," Carter added. "I sure could use some of those!"
Hogan
and LeBeau exchanged a look. LeBeau rolled his eyes, while Hogan closed his and
shook his head. He dutifully added 'detonators' to his list.
"Anything
else?" he asked sardonically.
"Umm...?
Fuses?" Carter asked.
"You
tell me," Hogan said. "You need fuses? I'll add fuses."
"Well,
maybe a couple," Carter admitted.
"A
'couple' as in 'two'?" Hogan pressed. Carter made a face.
"A
'couple' as in 'a whole lot'? Sir?" Carter asked tentatively.
Hogan
sighed. "A 'couple' as in 'a whole lot,'" Hogan repeated, scribbling
quickly. "Looks like Newkirk will get his raid of the ammo dump, after
all," he muttered. "Okay, Carter. Anything else?"
Carter
shook his head. "No, sir."
"Are
you sure?" Hogan spoke slowly, spacing each word evenly.
Carter
nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir."
Pinning
him with his best glare, Hogan studied the young sergeant for a long moment. At
last he nodded.
"Okay...In
that case--!" Hogan slapped both men on the shoulders and started them
towards the door. "Since, I've confined you to quarters, Klink shouldn't
suspect anything when you're not seen the rest of the day. If there're no
questions, I want you both to hit the sack."
"Yes,
sir!"
"Oui,
mon Colonel!"
Long
after the two men had left his quarters, Hogan sat at his worktable, poring
over the map and his Operations plan. His men all had their individual
assignments and were working round the clock to complete them. Suddenly feeling
the walls closing in on him, he decided to conduct an inspection tour.
As
soon as he stepped outside, he stopped. Too many things could still go wrong,
he knew. But more importantly, as a leader of long experience, Hogan also knew
when to back off. His job was done for the moment.
It
was now up to his men.
****
End of Part 8