[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//1735hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
"Colonel?"
Kinchloe stuck his head in. Hogan looked up from the papers that he'd been
going over yet again. His brain felt fried. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.
"What
is it, Kinch?"
"We'd
like to show you something, sir. Got a few minutes?"
Hogan
nodded and followed his senior noncom who led him to the section of fence that
had been destroyed that morning. The American pilot stood, hands on hips, his
mouth agape.
"I
can't believe it, Kinch," he said, shaking his head. "It looks better
than the original!" He grabbed Kinchloe by the sleeve. "You didn't make
it better than before did you? You were supposed to--"
"--We
were supposed to 'fix' it, so that we could get in and out without too much
trouble." Kinchloe grinned knowingly. "And we did." Looking
around, he caught the attention of a POW on lookout duty. The lookout nodded,
and then surreptitiously dropped a red handkerchief on the ground.
Further
down the main compound, another lookout, playing catch outside Barracks Five,
began bouncing the baseball against the barracks wall. Immediately, two men
standing just outside the Kommandant's office started a loud argument, which
quickly exploded into fisticuffs. Several other prisoners quickly surrounded
them and yelled encouragement.
Their
jeers and roars were soon drowned out by the pounding feet of the fast
approaching guards. Shrill whistles rang out in the early evening, accompanied
by the chilling yowls of snarling dogs.
"Achtung!
Achtung!" Sgt. Schultz yelled as he ran towards the mass
disturbance.
While
this chaos erupted around them and the tower guards' attention was turned
towards the growing riot, Kinchloe took this moment to demonstrate the unique,
built-in qualities of the newly repaired fence section.
"Colonel,"
he spoke rapidly. "The problem with most attempted escapes through the
wire is the requirement to always carry with you a pair of wire-cutters--"
"--Yeah...and
the Germans get really testy about that sort of thing if they find a set on
you!"
"Exactly!
Also, the time it takes to cut each individual strand of wire eats into the few
seconds that you have to effect your getaway."
"Thank
you for the step-by-step, Kinch," Hogan said impatiently. "Now get to
the point."
"Right.
So, what we needed was to find a way to circumvent that problem. Olsen and
Foster have done just that. They've fixed the fence so that you'll no longer
need to cut your way to the other side--"
"--Kinch,"
Hogan broke in, his voice dangerously low. "If you don't get to the point,
I swear I'll confine you to the cooler myself."
"Yes,
sir!" Kinchloe said, nodding. "Now watch--!" With that, the
senior radio operator grabbed the fence's lower wooden beam and pulled up. "Voila!"
To
Hogan's stunned surprise, the entire section of fence rose almost three feet.
"Not
wide enough for a tank, but plenty good enough for a man to easily slip
under," Kinchloe said easily, enjoying Hogan's reaction.
Hogan
looked at his senior noncom with open admiration. "'Voila,'
indeed!" Jerking his head, he indicated that it was time to go. As they
ran towards the sounds of the staged prison riot, Hogan held out a 'thumbs up'
to Kinchloe.
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//2230hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Outside Barracks #2
****
The
two shadows advanced with the precise movements of a choreographed ballet.
First one would flit from the dark recesses between buildings, then the next
would follow, dodging the incessant sweep of the omnipresent searchlights. At
last, they came to the fence section between guard towers four and five.
Timing
the lights to the second, first LeBeau, then Carter slipped out from underneath
the altered fence section.
Safely
outside the compound, the two men made their way stealthily to the prearranged
location where Schnitzer had parked the truck. In the back, they found dark,
non-reflecting clothing. They removed their uniforms and quickly dressed.
Climbing
inside the cab, LeBeau released the brake, and he and Carter pushed the truck
for almost a quarter-mile before climbing in and starting it.
Carter
checked his watch. 22:50! Only twenty minutes had passed since they'd left
Barracks Two.
****
[Thursday 05 NOV
1942//2250hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
"I'm
sorry, Colonel," Newkirk said despondently. "I know I promised them
by 1800 hours, but it's a lot slower going without a typewriter to print the
letters." He looked shamefacedly at his leader who was holding two
completed travel vouchers.
Hogan
sighed, nodding. "This isn't bad, Newkirk. I'd never be able to tell the
difference from the original." He looked up at the unhappy RAF corporal.
"I think that this will do. Only the two men in the cab of the truck
should have to show papers anyway, if the need arises. And chances are that
only the senior officer will have to produce any type of orders."
"But
the uniforms we'll be getting are enlisted only, sir."
"Yeah,
Colonel," Kinchloe agreed. "The boys in Barracks Three have been
working on six goons all day. Priming them for the wine-tasting party, but
they're all privates."
"Well,
I don't see why that can't work, either," Hogan mused aloud.
"Begging
the Colonel's pardon, but if the most senior man in the truck is just a
private, then any checkpoints we come to, we'll probably be given the third
degree," Kinchloe suggested.
"And
searched from top to bottom," Hogan finished.
"Sir?"
Newkirk spoke up. "I could maybe come up with something. You know, sneak
into Klink's quarters, see if I can lift some of his insignia? Or maybe one of
his uniform jackets?"
Hogan
shook his head right away. "No! Absolutely not! He'd miss it and then he'd
turn the whole camp upside down. These privates might not be too keen in
admitting that they'd misplaced a uniform, but Klink? No...too dangerous!"
All
three men glared silently at each other for a long moment. The tension in the
room was so thick Kinchloe could feel it. Finally, he spoke up.
"Sir?
Newkirk's right. It would be the best chance we have. We need someone in the
cab that can scare off any potential inspection of the back of the truck. Only
a high-ranking officer would be able to pull that off. And besides me, you're
the only one who speaks German." He paused, shrugging. "And I don't
exactly look German."
"Right,
sir!" Newkirk exclaimed "And since you're already an officer, you
know how to bluster with the best of them. You know--pull rank!"
"Newkirk?"
Kinchloe muttered.
"Yeah?"
"Don't
help."
"I
hate to admit you fellas have a point," Hogan murmured. He looked at
Newkirk. "What kind of diversion would you need? And for how long?"
"Well,
I--"
"Sir?"
Kinchloe interrupted. "I have an idea. Instead of Newkirk sneaking into
Klink's quarters, why don't we arrange it so that he can just walk in?"
"Just
walk in?" Newkirk protested. "Just like that--?"
Hogan
waved him to silence. "Go on--?" he said interestedly.
"We're
prisoners of war, and technically, the Germans can use us on work details that
aren't directly tied to the war effort. So--"
"--So,
Newkirk could actually go into Klink's quarters on perfectly legitimate
business...Say to clean it or something." Hogan grinned. "I like the
way you think, Kinch...Sneaky! Kinda reminds me of me."
Kinchloe
and Hogan shared a moment of mutual respect, but they were interrupted by
Newkirk.
"Oh,
bloody charming! I volunteer to sneak into the Kommandant's office and pinch
something, and what do I get for my troubles? A cleaning detail."
"Think
of it as Post-war job training," Hogan offered. Crossing his arms in a
gesture reminiscent of their C.O., Kinchloe grinned at Newkirk. The RAF
corporal looked at them both with a sour expression.
****
[Friday 06 NOV
1942//0115hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #6
****
Hogan
checked his watch by the weak light from a nearby burning torch. He rubbed his
tired eyes. 01:15! It looked like another sleepless night.
He
glanced blearily around the enclosed the space. The boys of Barracks Six
have done themselves proud! he thought impressed. The tunnel's low ceiling
required him to keep his head down for the most part; however, it was high
enough that a man of average height could walk it upright. Hogan admired the
shoring job that the Barracks Six crew had done.
"I
bet there isn't a stick of wood left in this entire complex," he said,
grinning.
"Well,
I ordered my men to leave just enough so that the buildings didn't collapse
under their own weight," MacPherson said, "but I'm afraid that a few
of the boys got just a little carried away."
"I
like a soldier who demonstrates enthusiasm for the job," Hogan said,
heading back to the entrance. "Shows spirit."
"We
couldn't have done it without Sgt. Baker and the Barracks Five crew, sir,"
MacPherson added. "They came up with the idea of getting rid of the dirt
right under the Krauts' noses."
"I'll
let them you said that, Mac," Hogan promised. Baker and his boys had
come up with a brilliant plan to dispose of the dirt--during the soccer match,
the staged fight, and any other activity involving a number of men, the boys of
Barracks Five mingled among the crowds and furtively dumped the dirt, which
they'd hidden inside their trousers.
However,
while this idea succeeded in getting rid of a large amount of dirt, they'd
still had quite a ways to go. Kinchloe solved this problem by assigning
Barracks Three and Four to dig slit trenches. (For future hygiene needs,
Hogan told Klink when the Kommandant protested.)
While
the soldiers of Barracks Three and Four dug trenches, Barracks Five dumped
tunnel dirt into them. Hogan grinned. This might be one of the first times
in the history of digging trenches that more dirt went into the ground
than came out of it.
"Mac,
how much longer before you get to the woods beyond the wire?" he asked.
"At
the rate we're going, sir," MacPherson answered. "I'd estimate
another eight to ten hours."
"Excellent,
Mac. I'm taking a few men with me tomorrow night--" He glanced at his
watch, and added ruefully. "--Well, make that tonight, anyway--And I'm
gonna raid an ammo dump. Being able to get out of Dodge without having the
Sheriff's posse spot us would make my life a whole lot easier."
"Not
to mention it would also make it last a whole lot longer," MacPherson said
ironically.
"Yeah...there's
that, too." Hogan shook hands with MacPherson. "I'd best be getting
back."
****
[Friday 06 NOV
1942//0345hrs local]
Cliffs
overlooking the River Mainz' cantilever bridge,
approx. 5km due
East of Karlstadt
****
"I
have seen enough," LeBeau whispered. "It is getting late. We should
start back." They'd been scouting the river crossing for the better part
of 90 minutes now. While Carter sketched a detailed drawing of the bridge with
its steel reinforced superstructure and open girded trusses, LeBeau updated the
map that Hogan had given them.
In
addition to the bridge they'd been sent to scout, LeBeau noted that the
railroad line paralleled the River Mainz for at least five kilometers. However,
other than the cantilever bridge located at the Mainz' widest point, there were
no other bridge crossings nearby.
Carter
nodded, and about to reply, dropped back down. "Shhh--! Krauts!" he
hissed suddenly. LeBeau instantly froze in place next to him.
After
a several tense minutes of waiting, LeBeau finally asked. "Where are they?
I don't see them." The next moment, he heard them. A six-man patrol!
"What are they doing out here?" he muttered annoyed. "At this
time of night?"
Carter
slapped him on the side of the head. LeBeau grimaced, but didn't retaliate.
Instead, he listened to the soldiers speak as they passed by. LeBeau couldn't
understand German, but maybe he could remember a phrase and pass it on to the
Colonel once they got back to the barracks.
After
the longest quarter hour in LeBeau's recent memory, the patrol finally moved
on.
He
tapped Carter on the shoulder, and holding up his closed fist, he jerked it in
the universal 'Follow me' signal. Carter nodded and folded the piece of paper
on which he'd been scribbling notes. Rapidly stuffing it inside his waistband,
he got up and followed LeBeau.
Taking
off in the direction where they'd hidden the truck, the two men moved quickly,
but quietly. They avoided most of the well-worn paths that paralleled the
railroad tracks as well as the sentries they'd spotted earlier.
****
[Friday 06 NOV
1942//0525hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
Hogan
paced within the cramped confines of his quarters. He'd chain-smoked the
remainder of his cigarettes and was on one of his last ones. He took a long
drag and blew out a thin stream of smoke. Stubbing out the cigarette butt on
his field table, he left it in a growing pile of spent butts.
Mechanically,
he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the crumpled cigarette pack.
He looked at it surprised. Hogan preferred cigars and rarely smoked cigarettes.
He hadn't realized until now that he'd been smoking steadily since he'd
returned to his quarters.
One
cigarette left--slightly bent, but it would do. Quickly, he lit it and started
his endless pacing again. Noticing that he was still holding the empty pack in
his left hand, he flung it into the wastebasket.
That's
the last of them, he
grumbled. They're probably bad for you, anyway. He checked his watch. Five
more minutes before morning roll call. Think, Colonel, think! If LeBeau and
Carter don't make it back on time, you've gotta have a cover story ready.
He
didn't have anyone in the cooler this time with which to explain the missing
soldiers.
Yeah,
and why is that, smart guy?
He took a long, lingering puff, inhaling deeply. Pausing in the middle of the
room, he blew out a long stream of smoke. Yeah, well, there's no helping it
now, he added fatalistically. His musings were interrupted by Schultz's usual
gentle morning wakeup call.
"Raus!
Raus!" Came the daily alarm clock. "Everybody out!"
Schultz's
order was met by the normal grumbling and muttering on the part of the
prisoners. Hogan stepped out of his office and looked for Kinchloe. Catching
his senior noncom's eye, he frowned at Kinchloe's sharp shake of the head.
Hogan
jerked his head in Foster and Olsen's direction. Kinchloe nodded and then
walked up to the two soldiers. As he passed them, he muttered something under
his breath. Immediately, Olsen threw his pillow on the floor and walked up to
Foster, shoving him backwards.
"You
take that back!" he yelled. "Betty loves me and only
me! I know she does!"
"You're
crazy, Olsen!" Foster yelled. "How many times do I gotta tell
you? You've got a face only a mother could love!"
"Oh,
yeah! Well, let's see what your mother thinks about yours once
I'm done pounding you!" With that, he launched himself at
Foster, fists flying.
"Achtung!
Achtung!" yelled Schultz. "Stop fighting or you will be late
for roll call once again."
"Olsen,
Foster!" Newkirk called out. "Did you hear that? Schultzie says that
we're going to be late. What do you think they'll do to us? Put us in
prison?"
"Col.
Hogan!" Schultz called, as he struggled to come between the two
combatants. "Please, Col. Hogan. If this barracks is late again, it will
be on my head!"
Hogan
checked his watch, and then looked across the room at Kinchloe. The sergeant
shrugged helplessly. Hogan sighed. Time was up. He nodded at Kinchloe who
immediately stepped between the two antagonists.
"All
right, guys! Break it up!" he yelled. At his words, Olsen and Foster
stopped fighting, but stood fists ready to go another round.
"Everybody
outside!" Hogan shouted. "Come on. We don't have all day." With
that he started heading back into his quarters.
"Col.
Hogan! Where are you going? You should be heading outside!"
"What?
Oh, sorry, Schultz," Hogan said easily. "I need to hide our escape
plans. I wouldn't want to leave them lying around in the open. No telling when
your goons might come sniffing around."
"My
goons?!" Schultz asked, shocked. "Col. Hogan...I would never--"
"Yeah,
I know you wouldn't, Schultz," Hogan said, patting Schultz
on the arm. "But the walls have ears, as they say."
"They
have?" Schultz asked. He looked around, caught up in the
moment. Hogan was about to answer, when they were interrupted by Klink's
high-pitched shout.
"Schultz!"
Schultz's
large eyes bulged in sudden fear. He muttered something unprintable under his
breath, and hurriedly waved Hogan and the few remaining prisoners outside.
"Raus!
Raus!" Schultz shouted, waving his arms in annoyance.
"We're
coming! We're coming!" Hogan shouted, waving his arms in imitation of the
fat sergeant. Stepping out into the dark, Hogan squinted against the eerie mist
that covered the chilly morning. The guard towers were lost in the haze, the
only sign of their presence the relentlessly sweeping searchlights.
Again,
he checked his watch. 05:32! He could hear Schultz walking along the rows and
columns counting aloud. "Eins! Zwei! Drei...!" Hogan closed
his eyes against the inevitable. What would he say by way of excuse?
Come
on, Colonel! That's why you get paid the big bucks...Think of something!
"...Zwangzig,
Eins-und-Zwangwig...!"
"Report!"
Klink shouted.
I
guess this it, Hogan
thought. Two outs and the count's full. Oh well, it was a great idea while
it lasted.
"Herr
Kommandant!" Schultz saluted smartly.
Here
it comes, Hogan thought in
grim anticipation.
"All
prisoners present and accounted for!" Schultz reported.
"Very
well, Sergeant!" Klink acknowledged, returning the salute. "Diss-misssed!"
Hogan
stood speechless, his mouth agape. Slowly, he turned and faced his men. They
were all looking back at him with wide grins.
"Kinch?"
he called, eyes questioning.
"Here,
sir!" Kinchloe replied, smiling.
"What--?"
At
this point, the line of soldiers parted, revealing Carter and LeBeau standing
stiffly at attention. Both men saluted smartly. His expression inscrutable,
Hogan snapped to attention and returned their salutes crisply. As soon as he
dropped his arm, the entire formation broke out into loud cheers.
Climbing
his porch steps, Klink stopped midway. He whirled around at the sound of
cheering, and grabbing his monocle, he squinted in confused suspicion at the
crowd outside of Barracks Two. Hogan was slapping two of the soldiers on the
shoulders, and--
Klink
blinked.
--and
he playfully pulled down the hat brim of the young American sergeant over his
eyes, while simultaneously squashing down on the little Frenchman's red beret.
Shaking
his head, Klink turned back to his office. Soft! Hogan is too soft...Again,
I wonder, how did he ever make Colonel?
****
[Friday 06 NOV
1942//0600hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
Hogan
smiled at his men over his coffee cup as he took a tentative sip from the
bitter liquid. He was leaning casually against one of the bunks, enjoying the
feeling of camaraderie. LeBeau had everyone's attention as he recounted his and
Carter's harrowing ordeal.
Carter
merely sat and smiled at the right times, nodding his head as LeBeau spoke. The
others good-naturedly passed the two scouts their breakfast rations. As LeBeau
spoke animatedly, Carter ate. He looked up and caught Hogan's dark gaze on him.
Smiling shyly, the young sergeant dropped his eyes.
"You
two did well," Hogan said quietly. At his words, the others fell silent.
Realizing they were expecting some words of profound wisdom from him, Hogan
grinned ruefully and said the first thing that came to mind. "Now I know
how Mom and Dad felt when I was late coming home and didn't call ahead."
The
others laughed appreciatively.
"I
guess you must've caused your mum and dad quite a few restless nights there,
eh, Colonel?" Newkirk asked, winking wickedly.
Hogan
felt a slight pang at the innocuous reminder of home. He stared pensively into
his coffee cup for a long moment, remembering his last visit home. Two years
ago this Christmas. Ryan was still--
The
sound of a throat clearing brought him crashing back to the present. He looked
up quickly and saw everyone's eyes on him. Realizing his mistake, he smiled
self-deprecatingly.
"Let's
just say that growing up, my brother and I were grounded more often before
we got our wings than afterwards."
The
men chuckled at his poor attempt at humor. Pouring another cup of coffee, Hogan
took the papers that LeBeau and Carter had brought back with them.
"Your
brother's a pilot, too, sir?" Newkirk asked.
Hogan
looked away momentarily, his dark eyes becoming bleak. "Was,"
he said shortly. "He was killed at Pearl Harbor." He turned to leave,
unable to face their well-meaning sympathy.
"Excuse
me, gentlemen. I'll be in my quarters going over these. LeBeau, Carter?"
Both men looked up. "I'd like to see you when you've finished your
breakfast. Relax, fellas...no need to hurry."
"Oui,
mon Colonel."
"Yes,
sir."
Entering
his quarters, Hogan crossed over to his field table and pulled out the lone
chair in the room and collapsed into it. Leaning on his elbows, he covered his
eyes in an effort to erase the unbidden memories of home. Try as he might, he
kept seeing them in his minds eye: Mom, Dad, and Ryan...
****
End of Part 9