[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0915hrs local]
****
"And why was
the Abwehr not informed of this capture, Major?"
Tischler stood
nervously at attention before the Abwehr general. The general's aide, Major
Neukirche, had introduced him as General Karteig, in charge of relocation and
interrogation of all persons deemed 'enemies of the state.'
They were speaking
in English to avoid any eavesdropping. The general was speaking--or rather
screaming--at Tischler.
"As you know,
the head of the Abwehr, Admiral Canaris has been authorized by Reich Fuehrer
Goebbels to investigate any matter involving the treasonous act of hiding any
known enemies of the state!"
"Nein,
Herr General!" Tischler responded.
"Wha-aat??!!"
Karteig shrieked. "Are you implying that I am lying to
you?"
"Nein, Herr
General," Tischler stammered. "I-I only meant that I was not aware of
any such orders--"
"How long have
you been in command here?" Karteig demanded. An insane look had come over
the general's blue eyes. Tischler felt his knees turning to jelly. He glanced
over at Neukirche, but the general's aide was determinedly studying a spot on
the wall.
"F-For s-six
months, Herr General," he managed.
"And in that
time, you haven't bothered to read Reich Order four-three-seven-nine-two-six
slash A-two-B?" Karteig yelled.
Neukirche bit the
inside of his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Carter is layin' it on a
bit thick, eh?
Unexpectedly, his
eyes fell on a bright, gleaming object lying on Tischler's desk. Glancing
askance at the Gestapo major, Neukirche saw that his attention was completely
taken by Karteig. Casually brushing his fingertips past Tischler's desk,
Neukirche palmed the object and smoothly transferred it to his inside coat
pocket.
Tischler, meanwhile,
anxiously shook his head. Seeing the insane glint return to Karteig's eyes, he
quickly changed it to a desperate nod. His Adam's apple bobbing up and down, he
stuttered, "I-I...y-yes, of course, I have, Herr General."
"Oh,
really?" Karteig asked silkily. Taking out a folded document from inside
his overcoat, he dramatically opened it and held it before him. "Then
what, may I ask, does paragraph four, subsection two-C state?"
Tischler swallowed
nervously. "Um...S-subsection, um, uh...two-C, mein Herr?" He
fingered his collar, suddenly feeling hot and sweaty inside the drafty office.
Karteig whirled
towards Neukirche. "Who placed this incompetent in charge here? Make a
note, Major Neukirche. To Reich Fuehrer Goebbels! Inform the Reich Fuehrer that
the Wurzburg Gestapo office obviously does not take the internal security of
the Third Reich seriously. Recommend immediate transfer of its Commanding
Officer, Major Tischler, to the Eastern Front!"
"Jahwohl,
Herr General!" Neukirche snapped, writing quickly in a small
notebook.
"Herr
General!" Tischler interrupted, his voice pleading. "Please, sir! I
remember now! The Reich Order states unequivocally that--um..."
Tischler stopped,
fishing for words that wouldn't come. Karteig disdainfully turned his back on
him, giving Neukirche the chance to surreptitiously sidle up to the terrified
Gestapo officer.
"--That all
'special' prisoners will be immediately transferred to the authority of the
Abwehr," Neukirche supplied quickly under his breath.
"--That all
'special' prisoners will be immediately transferred to the authority of the
Abwehr!" Tischler echoed triumphantly. He shot Neukirche a grateful look.
Karteig whirled
around, his insane look instantly changing to one of benign kindness. He smiled
gently at Tischler.
"That is correct,
Herr Major!" he said, pretending not to notice Neukirche stepping away
from Tischler's side. "I knew that the Abwehr's good friends, the Gestapo,
would not select a moronic simpleton--like that Kommandant of LuftStalag 13--to
command such an important field position."
Tischler fairly
glowed under the praise. Swallowing nervously, he cleared his throat.
"Umm...Herr General...I am required by regulations to clear the prisoner
transfer with Berlin--"
At that moment, the
phone ringing interrupted them. Tischler jumped to pick it up.
"~Major
Tischler speaking. Heil Hitler!~" he said. "~Who? Major Kinchmacher
from Gestapo Headquarters in Berlin? Ah, yes, major, I remember that I spoke to
you last--~" He stopped, swallowing. "~But--~" he said.
"~But--~" He started sweating under the collar again. Catching
Neukirche's sympathetic eye, he shook his head in desperation.
"~But we were
ambushed, Herr Major! Not a kilometer from the building--~" he stopped.
"~The special prisoners, Herr Major?~" he stammered, nodding his
head, trying to get a word in edgewise. "~Col. Feldcamp wishes them
transported to Berlin--?~"
"~Impossible!~" screamed Karteig. Grabbing the handset from
Tischler, he proceeded to shriek into the mouthpiece. "~This is
General Karteig of the Abwehr! Who is this!!??~"
His face and neck
reddening dangerously, he listened. "~Major Kinchmacher, I'll only
say this once--!~"
Major Neukirche
moved up to him and spoke sotto voce into his ear. "~General...your blood
pressure. Please, you must calm down...~" Karteig looked like was going to
explode, but then at the next moment, he nodded and visibly calmed himself.
Turning back to the
phone, he spoke in a more moderated tone.
"~Major
Kinchmacher, I have only one thing to say to you and Col. Feldcamp. Interfere
with the Abwehr's authority over this matter, and I shall take the issue up
with the Fuehrer himself. What's more, I will personally lead the firing squad.
Do I make myself clear, Herr Major?~"
He listened a moment
longer. Smiling a smile that only a rattlesnake might find endearing, he handed
the phone back to Tischler.
"~I believe,
that you will find Gestapo Headquarters quite cooperative now, Major
Tischler,~" he said.
Nodding nervously,
Tischler took back the phone. Listening momentarily, he nodded several times,
saying "Jahwohl" over and over and then hung up. He looked up at
Karteig and snapped to attention.
"Gestapo
Headquarters ordered me to fully cooperate with the Abwehr, Herr General."
"Good...good,"
Karteig said with a smile. Abruptly, his demeanor instantly changed back to
maniacal.
"Well?
What are you waiting for?"
he screeched.
Tischler jumped. He
jerked open his door and immediately began shouting out orders. Taking great
comfort in the knowledge that his job was secure, for the moment at least, he
thoroughly enjoyed making others jump in terror.
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0945hrs local]
****
Karteig and
Neukirche exchanged unreadable looks. While Tischler's back was to them, they
donned full-face masks. Taking out their Lugers from their holsters, they
removed the safeties.
Neukirche crossed
the main entrance and opened the double doors. This was the signal Hogan had
been waiting for. He also donned a full-face mask, and brandishing a
semi-automatic Schmeisser with a folding metal stock, jogged up the Rathaus
stairs. The faded outline of a green tree could still be made out on the facade
of the building.
The tree of justice,
Margarethe had called it. Unfortunately, the black shadow cast by the Nazi flag
fluttering in the biting breeze was currently swallowing it.
Hogan coldly eyed
the two outside guards who'd quickly stiffened at his approach. They each
brought their weapons up to bear, blocking the entrance. Hogan halted but he
didn't lower his weapon. Instead, he held the Schmeisser almost nonchalantly,
his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Neukirche quickly stepped in,
allaying the guards' fears.
"~Stand at
ease! The colonel is with me!~"
The guards exchanged
nervous looks, but slowly lowered their weapons nonetheless. A two-ton truck
with military markings pulled up into the Rathaus' circular driveway.
Several armed and
masked soldiers in Abwehr uniforms jumped out of the rear of and took up
positions around it. Hogan waved at the short driver of the black sedan who was
still waiting for Neukirche and Karteig. The driver waved back and climbed into
the sedan. He started the motor and pulled out in front of the truck.
Inside the Rathaus,
Tischler finally noticed Karteig's mask. "Herr General? I do not
understand?"
"These are
enemies of the state, Herr Major," Karteig said curtly. "The Abwehr
works best anonymously. Many of our operatives work undercover. There is no
telling if any of these prisoners might recognize us. It is better that our
identities remain secret."
At this moment, the
prisoners were escorted in under heavy guard.
Mother Bernadette
looked calmly at Major Tischler and the strange masked man. "~Herr Major,
is all this really necessary?~" She waved at the armed men. "~Most of
these children aren't old enough to read, yet. I assure you that you and your
guards are under no danger from them.~"
"Who is this woman?"
Karteig screamed. Several of the children immediately started to cry.
"Please!
You are frightening the children!" Margarethe protested. She knelt down
and picked up a tiny child who looked no older than three.
"I--?
I--frighten children? How dare you, Fraulein!"
Karteig shrieked. The children began wailing in terror. The little one that
Margarethe held, hid her small face in the young woman's shoulder.
"Why...I love children!" Karteig eyes were again
insane. "There is no one in the Fatherland who loves children more than
I--except perhaps the Fuehrer himself!"
"Then why are
you doing this?" Bernadette asked. "These children are no one's
enemy. It is not their fault that--"
"Of course,
it's their fault!" Karteig interrupted. "Whatever it is that makes
them enemies of the state--it is no one else's fault but their own!"
"Herr
General!"
They turned to the
new voice, an Abwehr colonel. "The truck is ready for the transport of the
prisoners."
"Very well,
Herr Oberst. Take the prisoners. But be careful--I do not trust that small one.
She might be a midget in disguise."
"A midget--!"
Margarethe protested. "But that is preposterous--!"
"Of course,
Herr General!" The colonel clicked his heels smartly in acknowledgement.
"Major Neukirche! Get these dangerous prisoners loaded onto the truck. We
have a long way to go!"
"Jahwohl,
Herr Oberst!" Neukirche acknowledged.
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//0955hrs local]
****
The masked soldiers
stood mute guard as Neukirche and Hogan loaded the women and children onto the
back of the truck. Karteig remained at the top of the stairs, Tischler next to
him. When the last child was lifted onboard, Karteig casually re-holstered his
weapon.
"Another
victory for the Fatherland, Herr Major," he said. "These criminals
shall be taken to a special place where they will no longer be a danger to the
Third Reich." His cold eyes smiled under the hooded mask, sending a shiver
through Tischler.
"The Abwehr has
had plenty of practice in erasing the existence of dangerous
enemies everywhere. I assure you...these midgets will never grow
up to raise a weapon against the glorious Reich."
He snapped out a
stiff-armed salute. "Heil Hitler!"
"Heil
Hitler!" Tischler returned.
Karteig marched
stiffly to his waiting car. The driver stood by the rear passenger door. As
soon as Karteig climbed inside, the driver shut the door and quickly slid in
behind the wheel. The black sedan pulled out of the Rathaus' circular driveway,
followed by the truck.
As the vehicles
disappeared into the distance, Tischler finally released the breath that he'd
been unconsciously holding.
****
[Monday 23 NOV 1942//1035hrs local]
****
The truck slowed to
a stop. Margarethe comforted the still-whimpering children. She was more
frightened now than when the Gestapo had taken them into custody. She thought
of that horrible man, Karteig and how he'd deliberately terrorized the already
frightened children.
She looked towards
Mother Bernadette. The Mother Superior was rocking an inconsolable child in her
arms, murmuring the Hail Mary over and over. The other nuns were also doing
their best to comfort the terrified children.
As soon as the truck
stopped, the guards that had accompanied them lowered the tailgate and jumped
out. Margarethe saw that they had pulled into a deep, wooded forest. Fear
clutched her throat. Would this be the end?
Margarethe and
Bernadette exchanged looks. Bernadette regarded her calmly.
"~Have faith,
my child,~" she murmured. "~Trust in God. Whatever happens, it is His
will.~"
Margarethe raised
her chin proudly and gave Bernadette a brave smile.
"~Everybody
that's an 'enemy of the state' get out!~" an amused voice shouted.
Margarethe paused. That voice! So familiar! But it couldn't be--could it? She
exchanged a hopeful look with Bernadette and then quickly made her way towards
the tailgate.
She was greeted by
several unmasked Abwehr soldiers wearing huge smiles. Among them stood Newkirk,
Kinchloe, and Hogan.
Instantly, her joy
turned to anger, and she jumped to the ground, her eyes blazing.
"How dare
you! How dare you not tell us before now! You frightened the
children! You frightened Mother Bernadette and the other sisters. You even
frightened me! How could you? What kind of men are
you, anyway?"
She spotted Carter,
wearing a general officer's uniform, and whirled on him. "And you!"
she hissed, pointing her finger accusingly. "You are the worst
of all! You deliberately took pleasure in making the small children cry!"
Carter withstood the
onslaught, eyes downcast, his expression miserable.
"You are worse
than the Gestapo--" she began.
"Margarethe!"
Hogan's sharp voice cut in. She turned on him, her anger fueled by the fear
she'd been put through and the betrayal she'd felt at his hands.
"How could
you?" she whispered. She looked at the point of collapse. Hogan grabbed
her immediately. "How could you?" She leaned her forehead on his
chest and sobbed quietly.
"I'm
sorry," he said fiercely, holding her closely. "But it was
necessary--"
"Sir?!"
Kinchloe interrupted. "We have to hurry!" Hogan nodded and jerked his
head in the direction of the children. The men were quickly offloading them
from the back of the truck onto an excursion autobus.
"Margarethe,
I'm sorry we frightened you and the others, but we had to," he said.
"You never would have been released if we hadn't been able to 'out-Gestapo'
the Gestapo."
"But once we
were safely away?" she demanded tearfully. "Why not then?"
"Because we
couldn't risk being stopped at any checkpoints, and the children accidentally
revealing that we were their friends. We had to keep up the charade until we
were sure that it was safe to reveal who we were."
He released her
slightly, looking longingly at her. "Believe me...I am more sorry than
words can say. We all are." He indicated Carter who stood, shoulders
slumped, the picture of pure misery.
Feeling guilty for
what Carter must have been going through, Margarethe walked up to him. Touching
his arm lightly, she startled him out his gloom.
"Please...?"
she said softly. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Margarethe
Wunderling. And you are--?"
Carter instantly
turned scarlet from his neck to the tips of his ears. Stammering, he tried to
answer. "Uh...My, um, name, uh...is, um, Carter, ma'am," he managed
shyly. Margarethe smiled.
"Thank you,
Carter," she said, standing on tiptoe and pecking him on the cheek.
"For everything." Deeply embarrassed, Carter looked everywhere but at
her, too tongue-tied to respond.
Mother Bernadette
walked up to them at that moment. Or at least, Margarethe thought
it was the Mother Superior. Margarethe stared at the apparition.
She looked like
Mother Bernadette. She held the small child, whom Gen. Karteig had terrorized,
in the same comforting manner of Mother Bernadette. She spoke in Mother
Bernadette's soothing tones.
The only problem was
that she was not dressed in Mother Bernadette's traditional black and white
habit. In fact, she was dressed in an outfit that Margarethe would never in her
life have expected to see the Mother Superior wearing--that of a Hitler Youth
Leader.
Bernadette looked
almost as embarrassed as Carter had been by Margarethe's kiss. "Col.
Hogan," she began, bewildered. "I do not understand the necessity for
this charade. Why must I and the other sisters wear this abomination?" She
indicated the uniform.
Hogan was about to
answer, when Margarethe cried out in shock, "Col. Hogan! Is this some kind
of joke? I will not wear such a monstrosity!"
"Oh, yes, you
will--!" he began, but was interrupted by Carter, who was pointing excitedly
at the little girl.
"Hey! Isn't
that the midget--?" the young sergeant asked. Bright blue eyes animated,
he stepped up to Bernadette, and holding out his hands, he gently pried the
squirming, wide-eyed tyke from her. "Why, you're just as cute as a button,"
he crooned softly.
The little girl
continued to struggle in his arms. "Y'know," Carter said, a smile
lighting his features, "I have a little cousin not much older'n you.
What's your name?"
Carter's gentle
approach and soothing tones finally calmed the child's fears. She solemnly
gazed back at him, fascinated. Curiously, she tweaked his nose with stubby
fingers and laughed delightedly when Carter made a funny face. He looked up at
Bernadette.
"Beggin' your
pardon, ma'am, but what's her name?" He rubbed the little girl's nose with
his own.
"Ilse,"
Bernadette said warmly, running a finger down the child's apricot cheek.
However, Carter and the Ilse had eyes only for each other. Smiling, she held
her hand gently over both their heads in silent blessing.
"Ilse,"
Carter repeated. "Ilse..."
"Col.
Hogan!" Kinchloe called from the bus. "It's time, sir!"
Hogan nodded his
acknowledgement.
"Mother
Bernadette, Margarethe," he said quietly, "I'm sorry, but the
uniforms are necessary--"
"But they stand
for everything we oppose!" Margarethe protested. "We cannot--!"
"Margarethe!"
Bernadette said sharply. Margarethe looked at her, startled. Bernadette walked
solemnly up to Hogan and placed her hand on his arm. "Can you suppose that
our good colonel here and his men relish wearing these
uniforms?" She whirled on the young woman.
"Do you think
that mere clothing makes the person underneath it? We must each play several
roles in our lifetime, my dear child. Today, we are called upon to do
this...not for ourselves, but for the children."
Margarethe bowed her
head in shame. "Forgive me, Mother," she said sincerely. "I
spoke out of turn."
Smiling, Bernadette
turned to Hogan. "Vulpem pilum
mutat, non mores, eh, Colonel?"
Hogan grinned. "Yes, but in your case, Mother, it's not the fox
wearing a new fur, but the lamb donning wolf's clothing." Catching
Kinchloe's anxious eye, he started heading them towards the bus.
"This bus will
take you on to Heidelberg," he told them. "You and the others are on
a school excursion as part of a Hitler Youth rally. You'll find enough armbands
and uniforms on the bus. I'm sorry, but you'll have to pretend you're fanatic
Hitler Youth leaders for a couple of days." He grinned slightly.
"How's your 'Heil Hitler'?"
Putting on a serious
face, Margarethe held her arm out stiffly, and clearing her throat cried out,
"Heil Hitler!"
Hogan shook his
head. "Maybe you'd better practice a little," he said, warm brown
eyes smiling down at her. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "The bus
driver and two male 'teachers' who will accompany you are members of the German
Underground."
When they reached
the bus, Bernadette turned to Hogan. She indicated that he bow his head
slightly. When he did so, the Mother Superior laid her hands lightly on his head,
and recited a short blessing. "May the Lord watch over you and keep you
safe. Amen."
Then, placing her
hands tenderly on either side of his face, she pulled him down to her, and gave
him a motherly kiss on the forehead. With that, Bernadette climbed on board the
bus.
Hogan turned back to
Margarethe, who waited mutely. He gave her a quick rundown on what they were to
expect.
"When you get
to Heidelberg you will board a Rhine River cruise liner for a day trip. The
boat will make an unscheduled stop in Strasbourg, where you will be met by
members of the French Underground. They will escort you south across the border
into Switzerland. Arrangements have already been made to have you transported
on to England from there."
He caressed her
upturned cheek.
"Do you have
any questions?" he asked softly. She shook her head, a single tear
trailing down her cheek. He leaned down and kissed her gently, their lips
barely touching. An embarrassed throat being cleared interrupted them.
"Beggin' the
Colonel's pardon," Newkirk began awkwardly. Clearing his own throat, Hogan
straightened and gave the RAF corporal a questioning look. "Sister?"
Newkirk said. "I believe that I have something that belongs to you."
He reached inside
his overcoat and held his hand out, opening it slowly. The morning sunlight
gleamed on a bright object, revealing its many faceted semi-precious stones on
a gold setting.
"Father
Schumacher's crucifix!" Margarethe cried. Hands shaking, she took the
beautiful icon from Newkirk. "Where--? How--?" she asked.
Newkirk smiled
slightly, his usual smirk absent. "Well, Sister...we all have our gifts.
Let's just say that a magician never reveals his tricks!" He glanced over
at Hogan, who gave him a short nod of approval, and he suddenly felt his chest
swell with pride. Newkirk quickly excused himself, leaving Hogan and Margarethe
alone.
Feeling the
preciousness of the moment, Hogan gently touched her face, his fingers feather
soft. His warm eyes looked in hers with sad regret. Knowing that it was time,
he finally spoke. "I guess this is good-bye--"
"No--!"
she said fiercely, burying her face in his chest. "No, not good-bye!"
She looked up at him, her tear-filled eyes momentarily alighting in a smile.
Reaching behind her neck, she removed the simple, gold crucifix that she always
wore and placed it on his open palm. Before he could protest, she firmly
enclosed his hand over it.
"Keep it safe
for me until after the war. And do not worry. You shall not need to look for
me. If it is His will, I shall find you." She stood on tiptoe and caressed
his cheek with a light kiss.
"So you see, my
colonel...This is not good-bye. It is Auf Weidersehen."
****
[Thursday 26 NOV 1942//1230hrs local]
****
Hogan sat on his bunk, staring, unseeing at the orders from London. He
was supposed to reconnoiter a new factory that was going up halfway between
Hammelburg and Frankfurt am Main.
His orders were to blow it up if the factory was manufacturing a
new-improved rocket fuel, which would give the German V-1 rockets an increased
range--perhaps as far as Wales and Northern Ireland. Intelligence believed that
the new fuel mixture was the first step in the development of the next
generation of rockets, the V-2.
Destroying the factory could set back German rocket research and
development by several months, perhaps years.
No rest for the weary, he
thought glumly.
Today was Thanksgiving Day, his first as a prisoner of war. He thought of
his mother and father, having to spend this day with both their sons gone.
Some day of thanks for the folks, he thought bitterly. Ryan, killed at Pearl
Harbor. And me, a POW. An unpleasant thought occurred to him. What if
they haven't yet received word of my capture? What if they think I'm dead--that
they've lost two sons to this lousy war? What'll that
do to Mom?
Suddenly feeling restless, he stood and walked to the window. He patted
his pockets uselessly for a cigarette. He remembered that he'd given them up a
little over a week ago, preferring the challenge of commandeering some of Klink's
private stash of cigars, instead.
And what do you have to be thankful for, Colonel? he asked himself.
He watched a lively one-on-one game of basketball between Olsen and Baker. Both
men were excellent athletes and neither seemed to be able to find a weakness in
the other. Newkirk called out 'helpful' suggestions from the sidelines, while
Carter stood quietly next to him, simply enjoying the company of others.
In the short time since his arrival at LuftStalag 13, Hogan and his men
had set up one of the most outrageous behind-the-lines covert operations of the
war. With the full blessing of Allied High Command, Hogan's Heroes were quickly
gaining notoriety among the Underground.
So far, they'd blown up three bridges--not counting the one in
Wurzburg--sabotaged an arms shipment, exposed a double agent, and now rescued
the leaders of the local Underground and the nuns and orphans of St.
Johanniskirche from the Gestapo.
A busy couple of weeks there, Colonel. What'll you do for an encore? he
asked himself.
Lay low for a while if I'm smart, he sneered.
Hogan knew that the sudden flood of sabotage activity in the area would
arouse suspicion sooner or later. Laying low wasn't such a bad idea. Besides,
today was Thanksgiving Day--the men deserved a break.
And your heart just isn't in it tonight, is it?
He thought about Kommandant Klink's 'generous' allowance of an extra
ration of white bread to all POWs in honor of the holiday. At first, Klink had
only offered the additional allotment to the American prisoners, but Hogan
convinced him that such preferential treatment could only result in a morale
problem among the other Allied POWs.
"You wouldn't want a sudden spate of attempted escapes, would
ya?" he'd asked.
"No, of course, not," Klink responded, suspecting he'd been outmaneuvered
but unsure how. Hogan allowed himself a small grin, which turned pensive again.
It had been four days, and he still had not received word about
Margarethe and the others. Could something have gone wrong?
All too easily, he thought bitterly. You should never have
allowed her to make such a dangerous overland trip. You should've insisted that
Allied HQ send a sub for them--even if there were no military value to the
mission.
Kinchloe abruptly interrupted his private musings, bursting in the door
excitedly without knocking.
"Sir!" he cried, rushing across the room towards him.
Wordlessly, he handed Hogan a brief communique.
From: Pied Piper
Message: Mission Accomplished. Sister Sends
Warmest Regards. Mother and The Children Are Doing Fine. Request You Join Them
In Giving Thanks For Safe Homecoming. God Bless and Keep You Safe. Love, Sister
M.
Hogan took a deep
heartfelt breath. He looked up at Kinchloe, his eyes lighting up with the first
real smile in days.
"They're
safe," he said unnecessarily. "Thank God, they're all safe."
Kinchloe nodded
wordlessly.
Hogan kept his head down for a moment, blinking back the stinging in his
eyes. When he finally looked up, his expression was serene. He walked towards
his locker and dug out a bottle of bourbon that he'd 'liberated' following one
of his last tête-à-têtes with Klink.
Pouring them each a generous drink, he lifted his glass in toast.
"To safe homecomings!" he said.
"To safe homecomings," Kinchloe echoed. They clinked their
glasses and then each took a deep gulp from their drink.
Laying down his glass, Hogan placed his arm around Kinchloe's shoulder
and led him towards the operations map. About to speak, Kinchloe promptly
closed his mouth when he caught a familiar gleam in the veteran pilot's eyes.
Using a pencil as a pointer, Hogan indicated a spot between Hammelburg
and Frankfurt am Main.
"Isn't that the location of that new rocket fuel factory,
Colonel?"
Marking the spot with a red pin, Hogan nodded and grinned broadly.
"Kinch, I suddenly find myself feeling very thankful. I mean, take a good
look at this place! It's a dump! Almost enough to make a grown man cry."
He held his arms out, taking in the whole compound.
"Makes me thankful for everything I've ever had in my life. Parents
who love me. An older brother who took the time to show me how to throw a curve
ball. A Command I know can make a big difference to the war effort. And best of
all, the greatest bunch of fellas a guy like me could ever hope to work
with."
Kinchloe dropped his eyes in embarrassment at this last compliment.
"So, Kinch, what do you say, you and the fellas help me make this
Thanksgiving Day extra special? You know--with all the trimmings?"
Kinchloe shrugged, nodding. "Sure, sir. What do you want us to
do?"
Grinning wickedly, Hogan pointed at the red pin on the map.
"Sergeant, how would you like to accompany me on a little Thanksgiving Day
turkey roast?"
****
The End
####
