[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0430hrs local]

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0430hrs local]

West bank of the River Mainz, Wurzburg, Germany

****

The medium-sized truck was preceded and trailed by a motorcycle escort. "Here they come!" Hogan muttered. "Newkirk, stand by on the detonators...Kinch, we'll wait until they're alongside us."

"Yes, sir!" they said simultaneously. The three men pulled down full-face masks.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0432hrs local]

West bank of the River Mainz, Wurzburg, Germany

****

From where she waited in the truck over a hundred meters away, Margarethe watched tensely. This is crazy! She thought, close to panic. I cannot believe that they are going through with such insanity! They will never get away with it!

The next thing she knew, the quiet of the moonlit night reverberated with several earsplitting explosions and the staccato of automatic weapons fire. Quickly climbing out of the truck, she looked back, stunned by the show of pyrotechnics.

What was left of the bridge was on fire. The truck from the Gestapo was clearly outlined on this side of the river by the blazing illumination. Several dark shadows were running around in a state of panic. Gunfire rang sporadically in the night.

She heard a high-pitched shriek, closely followed by a loud explosion and two figures falling over. They did not get up again. Meanwhile, several more shadows stood stock still, their hands held high. In the background, the distinctive wail of the air raid alarm sounded its lonely cry.

She heard angry shouts from across the river. Soon a lethal stream of automatic gunfire began spitting out death and destruction from the other side of the now destroyed bridge. The figures on this side moved in low crouches, returning fire.

She saw them jump onto the truck, and tires screeching, start towards her. One of the men was hanging from the passenger side window providing covering fire. Margarethe clapped her own hands to her mouth to keep from screaming out loud. She could not discern the identity of the victors--Hogan and his men, or the Gestapo?

All of a sudden, three powerful explosions rocked the scenic walkway on the opposite bank. Margarethe's heart lurched, and she let out a short scream. At the same time, several enemy soldiers were blown clear into the fast-moving waters of the River Mainz below.

As the truck rapidly approached her position, Margarethe stood uncertainly, debating whether or not she should run. "No!" she swore fiercely. If her friends were captured, then she would have to help them.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0443hrs local]

West bank of the River Mainz, Wurzburg, Germany

****

By the time Hogan jumped out of the passenger side window and held the door open for her, Margarethe thought she'd aged ten years. Before she could say anything, he fired a long burst over her head. Automatically, she ducked and clapped her hands over her ears, screaming in terror.

She saw that he'd been aiming for the caretaker's truck gas tank but nothing happened. He swore under his breath and then grabbed her by the collar.

"Quick! Get in!" he ordered, practically throwing her inside the cab of the Gestapo truck. At the same time, he called to Newkirk and pointed at the caretaker's old truck. "We need to blow it!" he yelled. "We can't leave any evidence for the Gestapo to find!"

Nodding, Newkirk ran towards it, slapping something against the gas tank and dashed back. As soon as Newkirk was a safe distance away, Hogan fired a burst at the truck. Instantly, it went up in a blinding flash, and Hogan vaulted through the open passenger side window.

Kinchloe pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal, and they roared off into the night. Hogan took up a shotgun position, hanging from the open window, firing continuously. Margarethe could hear more automatic fire coming from the back of the truck. Newkirk, she surmised.

Finally, when it appeared that they were home free, Hogan slid into the cab and collapsed on the seat next to her...

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0515hrs local]

Outside LuftStalag 13

****

"But I do not understand...a prison camp?" Margarethe looked aghast. "You broke out of the camp, and now you are breaking back in?"

"Oh, it doesn't like much," Hogan quipped, "but it's home." He climbed out of the cab and turned to her. "Sister Margarethe, it's been...interesting to say the least. If there's anything you or the orphanage ever needs--"

"Col. Hogan, please...before we say good-bye, I must--"

"Colonel! It's getting close to roll call," Kinchloe interrupted. "And you know what happens then!"

"Blimey, he's right, Colonel," Newkirk piped up. "Ol' Klink always doubles the guards just in case anyone's missing!"

Hogan turned to the Underground leaders. "Gentlemen, if you wish, we can make arrangements to have you sent back to London. It's up to you." He was answered with four headshakes.

"Thank you, Col. Hogan, but no. Our place is here. Thankfully our families are safe, which frees us all to continue our work." They each shook hands in turn with Hogan, Kinchloe and Newkirk. "Until we meet again, Col. Hogan. Auf Weidersehen."

Hogan nodded. "By the way, would you gentlemen mind returning Sister Margarethe to St. Johanniskirche?"

"It would be our pleasure. This is a small enough payment, Sister, for what you have done tonight."

"Thank you," she said softly. The Underground leaders waved farewell and hurried to the truck. She turned to Hogan and his men. "Sgt. Kinchloe, Cpl. Newkirk, it has been a most exciting evening. I do not know when I have been more frightened in my life."

She laughed softly at their abashed looks. "But I thank you for everything. You were both wonderful." She stood on tiptoe and kissed each one on the cheek in turn. Both men ducked their heads in embarrassment. Next, she faced Hogan.

"And as for you, Colonel," she began. "Never in my life have I met a more exasperating man. You look like you are about to fall in a heap, and yet you blow up a bridge and rescue four men from the Gestapo, no less. Then you ride on the outside of the cab of the truck like some cowboy from the American cinema."

"Oh, yeah?" Hogan retorted. "Well, you're not exactly my idea of a nun. Always shouting orders, pushing people around, and threatening them with loaded guns!" Snapping his fingers, he pointed at her, reproachfully. "And wearing perfume! What kind of a nun are you anyway?"

"I am no kind of nun," Margarethe said calmly.

"I mean," Hogan continued, ignoring her, pacing and waving his good arm, "if I wanted to get pushed around by a woman, I'd get married!" Stopping suddenly, he whirled around. "What did you say?"

"I said, that I am not a nun."

Hogan spluttered. "But--? You--!? I mean--you're Sister Margarethe!" This last sounded like an accusation.

Margarethe smiled. "I told you that I took my schooling in Cambridge before the war?" Hogan nodded. "I also spent my first two years as a nurse in Christ's Hospital. And the English address their nurses as--"

"--'Sister'!" Hogan finished, crossing his arms and wincing at the sudden pain from his left shoulder.

Margarethe nodded. "That is correct," she said. He gave her a sour look.

"The children at the St. Johanniskirche orphanage were already used to addressing the religious staff as 'Sister,' so when I reported for work in the infirmary, it was only natural that they addressed me as such. I'm afraid that the title stuck."

Hogan stared at her, dark eyes registering his anger.

"Well? What do you have to say?" she asked, sounding annoyed.

"This!" With that, Hogan grabbed her, and taking her into his arms, kissed her long, hard and deep. After an eternity, Hogan dimly heard Kinchloe's voice reminding him of his duty.

"Uh...um...Colonel...?" Kinchloe cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Um...sir? It's, um, uh, time, sir. We gotta go."

Reluctantly, Hogan and Margarethe broke apart. Dark brown eyes smiled gently down at sad gray ones.

"I guess this is good-bye, Sister," he said softly.

"No, it is not good-bye, my colonel," she whispered. "It is Auf Weidersehen." Hogan walked her to the truck, and opening the door for her, he leaned down and kissed her one last time.

"Auf Weidersehen, Sister Margarethe."

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0515hrs local]

Main Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13

****

Agitated, LeBeau paced. He checked his watch, and then paced some more. It was almost time for morning formation. Where are they? He stopped pacing momentarily and listened.

Nothing.

What could have happened to them?

He remembered his first reconnaissance mission. He and Carter were late getting back and had just barely made it in time for roll call. The look of utter relief on Col. Hogan's face had been worth the harrowing ordeal, and LeBeau had boldly teased his Commanding Officer for worrying like a mother hen.

And now I know how he felt, he admitted. Helpless.

Footsteps descending the ladder announced that Carter was coming down. "Louis? Are they here, yet?" Carter asked anxiously.

"Non, they are not," the small Frenchman answered with a shake of his head.

"You think that maybe--?" Carter didn't finish.

"I do not know what to think, mon ami," LeBeau said sharply. "Except that it is almost time for roll call, and we must have a story ready for the Krauts."

Carter nodded unhappily. "I guess so." He scuffed the toe of his boot in the tunnel's dirt floor. "You don't suppose--?" Again Carter didn't finish, but this time it wasn't LeBeau who cut him off but rather the familiar sound, dim at first, then growing louder, of pounding footsteps echoing from the emergency tunnel entrance.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0520hrs local]

Main Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13

****

"Colonel! Kinch! Newkirk!" Carter called excitedly. He ran up to them, and pounded them on their backs, too happy to see them to bother hiding his emotions. "Boy, am I glad to see you guys!" Not noticing Hogan's sudden wince of pain when he thumped on him on his hurt shoulder, Carter quickly amended his jubilant greeting, "Um, I mean, it sure is great to see you again, sir."

Noting his C.O.'s clerical collar, he did a double take and added, confused, "Uh--I mean, um...Father?"

Hogan shook his head and rolled his eyes. He was too exhausted to come up with a snappy response, so he settled on the truth, instead. "Glad to be here, too, Carter. It's been a long night." Hogan's usually pleasant features looked withdrawn, his mouth pinched in pain. Kinchloe and Newkirk were immediately at his side.

"Colonel, sir," Newkirk complained. "I hate to keep sounding like a broken record, but you need to lie down."

"I'm fine, Mother," Hogan growled, shrugging off their concerned looks. He fought against the constant feeling of lightheadedness. Newkirk was right. He did need to lie down, but he'd be damned if he'd give in to any weakness. He thought of Margarethe, and allowed himself a small smile. Removing the priestly garments, he began to dress in his uniform.

Exchanging surreptitious glances, the others gave him his space.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0705hrs local]

Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13

****

Newkirk studied his Solitaire hand. A long, thin trail of smoke from a forgotten cigarette wended its way from the ashtray to his eyes. Irritated, he waved his hand in front of his face to dispel the smoke. Reaching across the table, he picked up the cigarette and took a long drag from it.

Exhaling, he blew out a double stream of smoke from his nostrils and stubbed out the cigarette. His mind only half on the game, he placed the Jack of Clubs on the Queen of Hearts.

He glanced across the room at the closed door leading to Hogan's quarters. It had taken some subtle maneuvering, but finally the enlisted men had managed to get their stubborn Commanding Officer to bed.

He turned a card--Nine of Diamonds. He immediately placed it on the Ten of Spades.

Newkirk grinned. I've gotta hand it to the colonel, he thought. He might be a bleedin' officer and a Yank to boot, but he's a bit of awright.

Turning another card, he scowled. The Seven of Clubs. About to place it on the discard pile, his eyes took on a sudden glint. Looking left and right, he saw that no one was paying any attention to him. Smirking, he placed the Seven of Clubs on the Eight of Spades, and then quickly covered the Seven with the Six of Hearts.

I always say that a little bit of cheatin' in Solitaire only serves to spice up a right boring game. Besides, a lad's gotta keep his hand in, eh, Peter?

Abruptly, his smirk faded. Fingertips still on the Six of Hearts, Newkirk thought pensively about the unexpected raid by the Gestapo that resulted in Hogan being wounded. It brought home the extreme danger that the Allied prisoners placed themselves in each time they left camp.

You knew that when you volunteered, he reminded himself. But you did it anyway. Buggeration! What will the lads back home say if they ever find out ol' nimble-fingered Newkirk is actually takin' orders from a Yank colonel?

He stared unseeingly at the cards lying before him. His thoughts were with his Commanding Officer, who though wounded, had come through with a simple and daring plan that had ensured the safe rescue of the captured Underground leaders.

Not one to openly admire others--especially those in authority--in a rare moment of insight, Newkirk admitted that Hogan was one of the bravest men he'd ever met.

He's the kind of man all the lads dream of growing up to be one day...and the kind all men wish they were.

Looking down at his Solitaire hand, Newkirk smiled to himself, and shrugging picked up the cards and reshuffled.

Wonder what the lads back home would say if they found out that I've even followed some of his bloomin' orders?

He was startled out of his musings when the bunk that camouflaged the main tunnel entrance abruptly opened. Kinchloe's head appeared at the same time. Climbing out, he quickly slapped the bunk's frame, and the trapdoor instantly closed. The radioman's grim expression immediately caught Newkirk's eye.

"What is it, Kinch?" the RAF corporal asked worriedly.

"Message from the local Underground. And it's bad. Gotta tell the colonel right now."

"But you saw the colonel!" Carter protested, instantly jumping from the upper bunk and blocking Kinchloe's way. "He's dead on his feet. Whatever it is, can't we handle it?"

LeBeau, who'd hurried up to see what was going on, nodded vigorously. "Carter is right, Kinch. Why can we not handle this and allow the Colonel to rest?"

Kinchloe momentarily considered their suggestion, and then rejected it out of hand.

"No! The colonel's gotta make the decision." Again, he started towards Hogan's quarters, but Carter blocked his way once more.

"Kinch, maybe if you told us what the problem was we could come up with an idea?" he asked earnestly. Kinchloe scowled at the young sergeant and was about to snap at him, when he saw Carter's sincere worry. Taking a deep breath, Kinchloe nodded slowly.

"The Underground reports that the nuns and orphans from St. Johanniskirche have been taken by the Gestapo--"

Newkirk's breath hissed in shock. "Sister Margarethe?" he asked.

Kinchloe nodded. "She had just been dropped off by the Underground leaders when the arrests were made. They were taken less than an hour ago." He looked at each man in turn, his expression bleak.

"Now you see why the colonel has to be told?"

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0715hrs local]

Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13

****

Hogan leaned against the small window in his quarters that overlooked the main compound. He clutched the message that Kinchloe had given him and reread it. Again.

Margarethe in the hands of the Gestapo! And Mother Bernadette and the children.

"Why?" he muttered half to himself. "I don't understand. Why now? Did someone sell them out?"

Did the Gestapo suspect that they were hiding Jewish children? For that was Hogan's own conclusion from his discussion with Margarethe earlier that evening.

He turned to Kinchloe not really expecting an answer. The radioman met his eyes, and then looked guiltily away. Kinchloe's expression piqued Hogan's attention.

"What is it?" he asked.

His back to his C.O., Kinchloe shook his head. Hogan immediately walked up behind him, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. "I asked you a question, Sergeant!" he snapped. "You know something! Now spill!"

Kinchloe nodded, his expression filled with remorse. "According to the Underground, the Gestapo found a large, ornate crucifix lying near the bridge. Major Tischler traced it back to--"

"--He traced it back to St. Johanniskirche...and to me," Hogan said flatly. His jaw line hardening, he stood to his full height and without another word, headed towards the tunnel.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0730hrs local]

Main Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13

****

Hogan struggled into the uniform of an Abwehr officer, a colonel. He heard the others coming up behind him. Without turning around, he said curtly, "There's no love lost between the Abwehr and the Gestapo. I'll go in and--"

"--You mean, we'll go in, eh, sir?" Newkirk asked.

Hogan turned around and stopped. He pinned Newkirk and the others with a pair of tired, bloodshot, and very angry eyes. The four men were also dressed in Abwehr uniforms. Hogan felt his blood pressure rising to the boiling point. He knew that he was in a foul mood, which was only exacerbated by the still gnawing ache from his shoulder.

He did not need this.

"Absolutely not!" he snapped. "This mission is of a purely personal nature and of no military value whatsoever to the war effort. London will never authorize it! And neither will I."

He pointed at Newkirk: "So--" Then at LeBeau: "--you--" Next at Carter: "--stay--" And finally at Kinchloe: "--here!"

"Sorry, sir," Newkirk said shaking his head. "But this is one time that we're afraid we'll have to overrule you." At Hogan's thunderous expression, he swallowed and took an involuntary step back.

"Corporal, the next words you're going to hear from me are Court Martial," Hogan spat out.

"Colonel, we're all volunteers here," Kinchloe said quietly. Hogan whirled on him. "And we're volunteering to do this with you. You know that you'd never make it alone, sir." He met Hogan's dark eyes calmly. "Besides, like you said...it's personal."

After a long moment, Kinchloe saw the corner of Hogan's mouth twitch slightly. "Et tu, Brute?" Kinchloe flashed him a smile in return.

"What's a 'Bru-tay'?" Carter asked. Newkirk and LeBeau rolled their eyes.

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0750hrs local]

Main Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13 **** Kinchloe listened intently into his headsets, nodding occasionally, writing rapidly in his shorthand. "Pied Piper, this is Goldilocks. We copy. Over and out." Looking up at Hogan, he tore out the communique and handed it to him. "Everything we asked for, sir. They're as anxious to get the sisters and the kids out of harms way as we are." Hogan nodded, his eyes hooded. "This is turning into a regular donnybrook," he grumbled. "If anything should go wrong..." He didn't finish. Looking up, he held Kinchloe's eyes momentarily. "I want Baker fully briefed. If we don't return--" "He knows what to do, sir," Kinchloe said quietly.

Sighing, Hogan nodded and jerked his head in the direction of the emergency tunnel.

"Let's go."

****

[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0850hrs local]

Alte Mainbrucke Strasse, Wurzburg

****

Hogan checked his watch. 08:50. There was no leeway for error. They had to rescue the prisoners, turn them over to the Underground, and make it back in time for noon roll call.

Piece o' cake, Colonel!

He stood across from the Rathaus, holding a newspaper. The headlines proclaimed victories on the Eastern Front and North Africa. He rolled his eyes.

Somebody better inform Allied High Command that we're losing the war.

He glanced around the bustling, cobblestoned street. It was comprised of half-timbered shops with gingerbread roofs. Again, he was struck by the almost folktale setting. He half-expected the Pied Piper to come skipping down the street followed by singing children and dancing mice.

A movement from across the street caught his eye. The black, red, and white flag that had been hanging limply from the flagpole crisply fluttered in the sudden breeze. A cold hand gripped Hogan. The Nazi Swastika dispelled the odd, nostalgic mood into which he'd temporarily fallen.

A black sedan with Nazi flags protruding from the front bumpers pulled into the Rathaus circular driveway, parking in front. A diminutive soldier dressed in the uniform of the Abwehr stepped out of the driver's side. He immediately walked to the rear and sharply opened the rear passenger door.

The driver saluted stiffly as the passengers--a general officer and his aide--stepped out. The general nodded at the driver without returning his salute. At sight of an Abwehr general officer, the two SS guards posted at the front entrance to the Rathaus snapped to attention.

The general and his aide saluted casually as they passed them. The aide hurriedly opened the door for the general, who walked in without a backward glance. About to follow, the aide looked over his shoulder momentarily, and catching Hogan's eye, nodded.

Hogan folded the newspaper in slow, deliberate movements and placed it under his arm. He glanced towards the meat market's ornate roof where Kinchloe was once again tapping into the local phone system. He flashed Hogan a thumbs up, indicating that he was ready.

Hogan nodded, and then crossed the street. He heard a motor start about a half block away.

****

End of Part 3

Continued in Part 4