[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//0025hrs local]
Reisert
Buchladen, Hammelburg
****
As
they emerged from the root cellar, Greta immediately saw that something was
wrong.
"Col.
Hogan? What is it?"
Instead
of answering her, Hogan indicated that they should replace the rug and sofa
back to their original places. When that was done, he nodded at Kinchloe to
move out. As soon as his NCO left, Hogan turned to Greta.
"Two
of our OSS agents were captured by the Gestapo in Bremerhaven," he said.
Greta gasped.
"Oh,
no! I am so sorry!" she said. Hogan nodded, his shoulders slumped. He
looked like a man who was about to break under the weight of the world. She
wanted to hold him in her arms and offer comfort, and was about to take a step
towards him, when he suddenly straightened, a look of cold determination coming
over him.
"Before
their capture, they reported spotting the heavy water being loaded onto a
freight car at the train depot. They also reported that the shipment's been
moved up a day. Instead of waiting for the new moon as previously planned, the
heavy water will be shipped out tonight."
"I
don't understand," Greta said. "Why would they risk such an important
shipment? The Allied bombers might be able to pinpoint it at night if there is
even a sliver of moon left."
"That's
true," Hogan agreed. "But not if the Luftwaffe is busy pounding
London at the same time."
"What?"
Greta was shocked.
"The
agents reported that the German High Command has ordered a massive day and
night drop on London. It'll be the Blitz all over again."
"But
why? It makes no sense!"
Hogan's
dark, brooding eyes bored into hers. "Since when does anything that psycho
does make any sense?" He started for the door. "I gotta get going.
I've got a bridge to blow."
****
[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//0235hrs local]
Woods outside
LuftStalag 13
****
Hogan
brought his hand down sharply. "Go!" he hissed.
Newkirk
took off at a crouch, staying as low as possible. As he dove under a thick
shrub, a searchlight that swept the outer perimeter cut a swath in the spot
he'd just vacated.
Hogan
held his breath as the beam moved on. The instant it passed, Newkirk made a
dash for the new tunnel entrance. He stopped at what appeared to be an ordinary
tree stump. Inexplicably, Hogan could feel a strong desire to laugh bubbling
inside him.
He'd
have to find some special way to reward the boys from Barracks Six. Not only
had they completed the tunnel ahead of schedule, it exceeded all engineering
expectations--to include the camouflaged entrance.
Newkirk
placed his hand on the tree stump and furtively pulled up. The top of the tree
stump opened, revealing the entrance to the tunnel below.
****
The
men moved quickly down the length of the tunnel.
"Blimey!
Where is everybody? I thought we'd have a nice reception party
waiting for us--beer...champagne...water."
"That's
a good question," Hogan muttered. He was beginning to get a bad feeling.
"Colonel
Hogan!" LeBeau's distinctive French accent could be heard coming
up the tunnel from the opposite end.
"LeBeau!
Here!" Hogan called. LeBeau came running up to them. "LeBeau, what's
going on here? Where's MacPherson?"
"It's
Carter, sir--" LeBeau began.
"I
bloody well knew it!" Newkirk complained. "Colonel, you
shouldn't mix dangerous explosives with a low intelligence like Carter's!"
"What
about Carter?" Kinchloe asked, ignoring Newkirk.
"He
started working on the explosives mixture as soon as he got the
ingredients," LeBeau explained. "We did everything we could to keep
the goons away, even set him up in one of the empty barracks buildings."
"But--?"
Hogan prodded.
"But
we cannot hide the smell."
"Smell?"
"Oui,
mon Colonel. The smell is terrible!"
"So
what happened?" Hogan asked anxiously. "Did the Krauts find it? Is
Carter okay?"
"Oui,
mon Colonel...I mean, non! I mean--"
"LeBeau,
you're not makin' any bleedin' sense! Do the Krauts know or don't
they?"
"Non!
They do not. We knew we couldn't hide the smell, so one of the prisoners, Sgt.
Barclay I think it was, suggested that we disguise it."
"Barclay?"
Kinchloe snapped.
"Disguise
it?" Hogan asked confused.
"Oui!
Sgt. Barclay reported a lice infestation in Barracks Five. The Krauts went
crazy...Klink ordered all the prisoners to go through the de-lousing
shack."
"Barclay
came up with the idea?" Kinchloe looked skeptical.
LeBeau
nodded enthusiastically. "Oui! It's worked like a charm!
The Krauts are so busy processing us through the de-lousing shack they haven't
noticed that some of the prisoners have gone through there three and four times
already."
The
others laughed at the audacity of the whole thing.
"And
best of all, the smell from the disinfectant chemicals are hiding the smells
from the explosive mixture."
"You
guys did well, LeBeau," Hogan said respectfully.
"Merci,
Colonel," LeBeau said with a smile. "But you must hurry. Schultz
has asked about you once already. I am here, under the pretext of looking for
you."
Nodding,
Hogan and the others started down the tunnel, stripping off their German
uniforms as they ran.
****
[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//1730hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Barracks #2
****
The
day passed uneventfully, the hours ticking by with interminable slowness. Hogan
ordered his team to get as much sleep as possible. Unable to follow his own
advice, Hogan paced his quarters, smoking one cigarette after another. As the
sun finally began its slow descent, lengthening the shadows, and bringing with
it an unexpected cold mist, Hogan felt his inner turmoil begin to settle down.
They
were ready...
****
[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//2100hrs local]
LuftStalag 13,
Tunnel underneath Barracks #6
****
The
men donned their uniforms, struggling with the unfamiliar buckles and imperfect
fit. Carter hopped around on one foot, hopelessly trying to get his left foot
into the narrow, storm trooper's boot.
"Carter!"
Hogan snapped. "What's the problem?"
"It
doesn't fit, sir!" Carter said helplessly. Hogan looked at Newkirk and
jerked his head in the sergeant's direction. Newkirk rolled his eyes, but moved
in quickly to help.
"Here,
Carter...let me help you," he said, annoyed. Carter stopped hopping long
enough for Newkirk to assess the problem.
"See?
It's too small," Carter insisted.
Newkirk's
facial expressions warred between disgust and frustration. "Too small,
eh!?" Newkirk said, dangerously. "I'll give you 'too
small'!" He grabbed Carter by the collar and held a closed fist up
to the startled sergeant's nose. "It's the bloody wrong
boot! You're trying to put on the right boot on your left
foot!"
"What?"
Carter looked down at his foot in amazement. "Well, how do you like
that?"
Newkirk
closed his eyes and shook his head. "Sir, are you sure you
wouldn't want to raid that ammo dump, after all?"
Hogan
and Kinchloe exchanged inscrutable looks. Kinchloe shrugged his shoulders
helplessly. Hogan sighed and checked his watch--21:15 hours!
"Saddle
up, people!" he ordered. Pausing over the canvas bags filled with Carter's
homemade munitions, he glanced over to where the young explosives expert was
still struggling with his boot. Rolling his eyes, he added ruefully, "We
who are about to die, salute you."
"You
have such a way with words, sir," Newkirk said sarcastically.
"Stow
it, Corporal!" Kinchloe growled, grabbing him by the sleeve.
"Inspiring
is what I meant!" Newkirk said quickly, stumbling as Kinchloe dragged him
through the tunnel.
Grinning,
Hogan turned to MacPherson who was waiting to see them off. "Mac, you know
what to do if we don't come back."
MacPherson
nodded. He glanced regretfully around the tunnel, which he and his men had
worked on so diligently. His orders were to blow it if Hogan and his team
didn't return.
"We
won't let you down, sir." He and Hogan shook hands. "Godspeed, sir."
Hogan's dark eyes softened momentarily. Nodding curtly, he turned and hurried
down the tunnel after his men.
****
[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//2130hrs local]
Woods outside
LuftStalag 13
****
Hogan
moved with a grace borne of stealth, his shadow an extension of the forest. He
came noiselessly upon Carter who'd been posted to keep watch. The ever-vigilant
sergeant, whose back was to Hogan, remained oblivious to his C.O.'s presence.
Hogan glanced up at the sky and shook his head.
Why
me? he asked.
Grimacing,
he clapped his hand over Carter's mouth. Surprised, Carter's hands went up,
involuntarily throwing his weapon over his head. Hogan sighed.
"Carter,
lookouts--by definition--are supposed to be on the lookout for
trouble."
Carter's
wide blue eyes looked up at him, chagrinned. Hogan slowly released his hold,
and reaching behind him, picked up Carter's weapon, returning it to him.
"Sir,
I was ordered to keep watch on the trail coming from the camp."
Jerking
his thumb over his shoulder, Hogan said tiredly, "Carter...the camp is in that
direction."
"Oh,
no, sir!" Carter said, shaking his head. "Kinchloe specifically told
me to keep an eye on the trail coming from my right." Carter pointed down
the opposite trail with his left arm. Hogan looked down the trail where the
eager young sergeant was pointing and followed the length of his arm, up to
Carter's candid eyes.
"Uh-huh."
Shaking his head, Hogan got up and started in the direction of the truck.
Sensing that Carter wasn't following him, he looked over his shoulder and was
about to call him, when he saw that Carter was glancing back and forth between
his left and right hand.
Covering
his eyes, Hogan again shook his head and sighed. "Let's go, sergeant. The
war's waiting."
Beaming,
Carter nodded, his normally sunny disposition in direct contrast to Hogan's
mood. As they neared the truck, Kinchloe ran up to them.
"Sir,
we have a problem--"
"I
am not a problem, Sergeant!" Hogan whirled in the direction
of the voice--Greta!
"I
am going with you, and that is that."
"What
are you doing here?" Hogan kept his voice low, but it was as
angry as his men had heard from him. He stalked up to her.
"I
have already told you," she said calmly, lifting her chin defiantly.
"I am going with you. I wish to help."
Newkirk
was immediately next to her, his arm possessively around her waist. "I
knew you couldn't stay away. As soon as this silly little mission is over, you
and I, we'll pay a little visit to the local vicar--"
"Help?"
Hogan repeated, ignoring Newkirk. "The only way you can help is by
returning home and letting us do our job!"
"Since
when is it the job of POWs to blow up bridges?" she asked disdainfully.
"Oh,
she's got you there, Colonel," Newkirk said helpfully.
"Since
we took an oath to defend our country and follow orders," Hogan snapped.
"Orders--!"
Greta said in disgust. She broke away from Newkirk. "That is what the
Nazis always use as an excuse. They are simply following orders!"
Hogan
grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "I might be a prisoner of war,
but I'm a soldier first. And as long as I can do something to harass the enemy
and throw a monkey wrench into his activities, I'll do what I have to do."
"So
must I," Greta said. Newkirk sidled up to her again, and unobtrusively
moved her out of reach of Hogan's hands.
"I
love strong women," he said dreamily.
"Please..."
Greta whispered, her eyes on Hogan. Hogan glared at her, his dark eyes burning
into hers. Newkirk looked from one to the other, not liking what he was seeing.
"You
can't come with us, Fraulein," Hogan said formally. "It's too
dangerous, and you're not trained for this. I won't risk my men on a
whim--"
"A
whim--!" Greta said, visibly struggling to keep from
shouting. "How dare you! My sister died fighting the Nazis.
I cannot just sit back and--"
Angry
beyond words, Hogan grabbed her by the elbow and led her away from the others.
She fought against his steel grip, her own anger and frustration building up to
the boiling point. Hogan finally released her, practically throwing her to the
ground. Somehow, she managed to maintain her balance.
"Now
you listen to me and you listen good, lady! You. Are. Not. Going. With. Us! Do
you understand?"
She
stared at him, shocked by his violence.
"My
men do not have the time to look after you and do their jobs. If
we run into any German patrols and we're caught..." He indicated the
German uniform he was wearing. "The Geneva Convention won't protect us. We
have to go in, blow up the bridge, and move out. We don't have time to babysit
civilians!"
"You
will not have to babysit me, as you put it!" she replied,
haughtily. "I can take care of myself."
"Oh,
really?" he asked. He grabbed her by the wrists, and before she could
react, he was holding her tightly against himself. He held her arms immobile
behind her. Gasping at the unexpected pain, she glared daggers at him,
struggling uselessly against his hold.
"You're
not the only one who's lost someone they love to this lousy war," Hogan
said softly, his face inches from hers. "But we can't let our emotions get
the better of us. We risk all of our lives if we do. Is that what you want...Fraulein?"
Slowly,
she shook her head. "No, of course not...Colonel." Her voice caught.
His dark gaze softened as he held her, and before either knew it, their lips
were touching in a soft, tentative kiss.
As
if a fire were suddenly lit inside them, their first hesitant touch was
instantly transformed into a deep, passionate kiss. Hogan broke it, pushing her
away from him. He looked at her shocked, gasping for breath.
"Forgive
me, Fraulein..." he gasped. "I--"
Shaking
her head, she reached up and gently touched his mouth with her fingers,
shushing him. "No...please, do not apologize."
Hogan
took her hand in his and briefly caressed it to his cheek. They stood without
speaking for a moment longer, staring at each other. Abruptly, Hogan turned
away.
"I
have to go," he said, his back to her. "Good night...Fraulein."
"Greta,"
she said. Her tone offered it up as gift. Hogan stopped and glanced back at
her.
"Greta,"
he repeated softly. "Be careful getting home." He hurried back to the
truck, avoiding the knowing look in Kinchloe's eyes. "Mount up!"
As he said it, Hogan caught sight of Newkirk sourly slapping a handful of bills
into Kinchloe's open palm.
The
others jumped in the rear of the truck as ordered. Newkirk climbed in the cab
on the driver's side. As soon as Hogan shut the passenger side door, the RAF
corporal started the truck. Pulling out on the Hammelburg road, he drove for
almost three quarters of a mile before turning on the headlights. After several
minutes of silence, Hogan finally spoke up.
"How
much did he take you for?" he asked.
Newkirk's
mouth worked uselessly for a couple of tries until he found his voice.
"Excuse me, sir?" he asked disingenuously.
"Kinch.
How much did you lose?"
Newkirk
sighed. "Ten bloody pounds," he said sadly. "I can't understand
it, sir. I was ready to forsake all others for her. But she was merely toying
with me affections." He sighed despondently. "Women...they are a
right fickle gender, aren't they, sir?"
Hogan
smiled to himself.
****
[Saturday 07 NOV
1942//2248hrs local]
Karlstadt road,
overlooking the River Mainz
****
"Heads
up, Newkirk," Hogan warned, pointing at a roadblock further up ahead.
Turning towards the rear, he called out, "Roadblock! On your toes."
He heard the distinctive snaps and clicks of weapons being locked and loaded.
Hogan
did likewise. He unclasped his holster and took out his Luger, chambering a
round. Soon, it was their turn to come up to the checkpoint. A flashlight
suddenly beamed in his face. Hogan squinted involuntarily.
"Guten
Abend, Herr Oberst. Heil Hitler!" Hogan caught a glimpse of an armband
with a Swastika.
"Heil
Hitler," Hogan intoned. And then in fluent German snapped,
"~Remove that light from my eyes! It is ruining my night vision!~"
"~I
apologize, Herr Oberst. We have our orders.~"
"~Ah,
yes...Orders~," Hogan growled, pulling out his travel voucher. "~And
here are my orders, Private.~"
"~Fulda...~"
the soldier muttered, looking over the document carefully. "~I have a good
friend in Fulda~," he said pleasantly. "Will you be joining the 603rd
Air Squadron, Herr Oberst? My friend tells me that they will be getting a new
Commanding Officer this week.~"
Hogan
glared haughtily at the chatty sentry. "~Are you always this friendly with
people you've just met, Private?~"
The
soldier snapped to immediate attention. "Nein, Herr Oberst!"
"~See
that you are not. You never know who is the enemy and who is a friend!~"
"Jahwohl,
Herr Oberst!"
"~Who
is your Commanding Officer, Private?~" Hogan demanded.
"Hauptman
Karl Muller!"
"~I
see,~" Hogan said, coldly. "I shall be in touch with him, Private.
Such a gross breach of security measures is a direct reflection on him and his
poor training methods. I recommend that you make no more such mistakes this
night!~"
"Jahwohl,
Herr Oberst!" The guard stood at rigid attention, eyes front,
unmoving. Hogan detected the faintest sign of trembling along the boy's chin.
"~Very
well, Private. I am in a hurry. My papers, please!~"
The
guard couldn't return the papers quickly enough, practically shoving them into
Hogan's waiting hand. "All seems to be in order, Mein Herr. Heil
Hitler!~"
Hogan
nodded curtly and raised his arm in salute. "~Heil Hitler. Drive
on~!"
As
they drove off, Newkirk shook his head in admiration. "Sir...your name
wouldn't be Irish by any chance, would it?"
"My
family came over from Ireland," Hogan admitted, shrugging.
"Why?"
"You
certainly have the gift."
"The
gift?"
"Of
blarney, sir." Newkirk glanced over at Hogan, a smile on his face. Hogan's
narrowed eyes, which were devoid of any humor, glared back. Swallowing
nervously, Newkirk quickly added, "And I mean that in the best sense, of
course, sir."
"Of
course," Hogan muttered.
****
[Sunday 08 NOV
1942//0005hrs local]
Bridge over the
River Mainz
****
They
had avoided any further patrols, but Hogan could feel the time slipping away.
The Karlstadt road had paralleled the railroad tracks along the River Mainz for
the greater part of the journey, and they hadn't passed any freight trains on
the way. Therefore, while they had a good chance that the heavy water shipment
hadn't yet crossed the Mainz, there was still a slight chance that they were
too late.
There
was no helping it now. They had to operate as if the train had not yet come
through...
They
pulled the truck into a thicket a full kilometer from the bridge. Although,
they had never worked together before, their military training showed. Without
need for words, they unloaded the truck with a swiftness and efficiency of men
accustomed to working as part of a unit.
LeBeau
took the lead, having scouted the area already. Hogan instructed him to scout
ahead for any German patrols. The others followed, mindful of the uncertain
stability of the munitions they were carrying amongst them. Even Hogan bore a
full load.
They
arrived at the bridge without incident; however, they soon ran into their first
setback. LeBeau came running back.
"Krauts!"
he hissed. "Colonel, do you have the bridge diagram?" Nodding,
Hogan pulled it out. Talking rapidly, LeBeau indicated two points on the
bridge. "They have sentries posted here and here,"
he said. "I counted four sentries in all, patrolling the bridge in
pairs." He pointed at another spot, midway on the bridge. "Here
is where they pass each other on their normal patrol."
Hogan
nodded, thinking rapidly. "Well, I guess we'll just have to have a
changing of the guard, right?" The others stared at him. "What?"
he asked. The others looked studiously away. Shrugging, he gave curt
instructions.
"Newkirk,
LeBeau. Wait for the guards nearest to this side to be halfway to their
rendezvous with the second patrol, then take a position here. When
the second patrol approaches, take 'em out--"
"Blimey,"
Newkirk groaned. LeBeau nodded.
"--then
take over their patrol." He paused, his look intense. "The next part
is even more dangerous."
"Lovely,"
Newkirk muttered.
"As
you approach the other two guards near the rendezvous point, you'll have to
dispatch them quickly--before they see that you're not their pals."
"Oui,
mon Colonel," LeBeau said easily. Newkirk glared at him.
"You
seem mighty sure of yourself, Louis," he complained. LeBeau shrugged.
"We
French have dispatching the Bosche down an art," he said
immodestly. He took out a razor sharp dagger, his normally cheerful demeanor
turning deadly. The others stared at him in shock. "There is only one
slight problem, Colonel."
"Yeah,
what's that?" Hogan asked.
"I
cannot stand the sight of blood!" LeBeau made a move to get
away from them. Newkirk easily grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled
him back.
"Let's
go, Lafayette!" he said sarcastically.
****
End of Part 11