"First Mission"
by
Steven J.Pani
Chapter I - A Call To Action
February 16, 1943 - Stalag 13, Germany
The message came in at around ten in the morning.
Sergeant James Kinchloe, "Kinch" to his friends, interpreted the electronic signals with practiced ease. To him, Morse code was just like a foreign language. Once you understood it, you could translate it. The transmission from Allied headquarters in London lasted for almost three minutes. When it was finished, Kinch looked at the handwritten translation and frowned. "Great," he muttered.
"Trouble?" Andrew Carter asked, looking up from an inventory checklist.
Kinch turned to his friend and fellow sergeant. "Big trouble," he said. "Take a look." He handed Carter the clipboard he wrote the message on.
Carter looked at it and he frowned too. "Oh, no," he said quietly.
"Better get the colonel," Kinch said. Carter gave him a short nod and headed toward and up the ladder that led to the barracks they shared.
Kinch smiled to himself. The kid sure knew how to follow orders. A minute later, Carter came back down followed by Colonel Robert Hogan, the senior POW officer. He was only wearing his gray officer's shirt and brown pants.
"Carter says we've got trouble", he said in his deep, bass voice. Kinch nodded and handed Hogan the message. It wasn't good.
MEMBERS OF RED HAWK RESISTANCE CELL CAPTURED. AWAITING
TRANSER TO BERLIN FOR INTERROGATION. RENDEZVOUS WITH
CELL LEADERS AT BLACKWOOD TAVERN AT 2000 HOURS. FURTHER
INFORMATION AFTER MISSION ACCEPTANCE.
Blast! Hogan thought. He had heard of the Red Hawks through various contacts and they all told him they were some of the best intelligence gatherers they knew. To lose them would hamper the war effort.
"So, is it a go?" Kinch asked.
"It's a go," Hogan replied. Suddenly, a thought came to him. "Kinch," he said. "Who hasn't been on a mission yet? Any kind?"
Kinch got up from his seat and went to a section of wall where several clipboards hung. He took one and studied the attached pages. "Just three people, Colonel," he reported. "Jim Barton, Tom Pierce and Sam Roberts."
Hogan rubbed his chin. Already he could scratch off Barton. He was in the "cooler" for starting a fight with one of the guards. And Pierce was sick with a nasty stomach bug.
Which only left one person: a young lieutenant, barely into his twenties, from someplace in New York called Westchester County.
"What are you thinking, sir?" Carter asked, breaking the silence.
"That it's time to formally induct one of our new members," Hogan told him. "Find Newkirk and tell him I need to see him. Now."
Okay. One...two...three.
With that thought and a grunt of exertion, Sam Roberts leapt onto the crate in front of him, his feet sticking staright up in the air. He closed his eyes and began taking slow, deep breaths. Doing a handstand and maintaining it for as long as he could was one of his favorite forms of exercise. Sam knew other people thought it was strange, but he didn't care. Doing something that few others could do gave him a thrill he never got tired of.
Unfortunately, at the moment, his body was getting tired of being upside-down. Before his handstand could collapse, Sam put his feet on the ground with a soft thump. Just for fun, he did a quick backflip as well.
"Not bad," said a voice to his left.
Sam turned to face the speaker. "Huh? What?"
"I said, not bad. You've got a good talent there." The man was wearing the blue uniform and cap of the British Royal Air Force, complete with corporal's stripes.
"What? That?" Sam said, pointing his thumb at the crate. "That was just light exercise. Nothing compared to what I can really do."
"I can imagine. Peter Newkirk," the man said, holding out his hand.
Sam gripped it firmly. "Sam Roberts. Nice to meet you." A stray memory clicked. "You're Carter's friend, right?" he asked.
The other man--he looked about ten years older than Sam--seemed amused. "Ol'Andrew told you about me, did he?"
"Just the basics," Sam told him as he tugged his green cap onto his head. "You're one of the few people who call him by his first name, you're a pretty good pickpocket and you're a lousy gin player."
"The man cheats," Newkirk said, pointing a finger at Sam. "I just haven't figured out how. C'mon, Colonel Hogan wants to see you." The two men started walking, slowly so they wouldn't attract attention. Along the way, Newkirk pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Sam.
"No thanks. I don't smoke," Sam said. He found the whole notion quite odd. Why breathe in something that made you cough?
"Oh. You don't mind if I...?"
"Oh, no. Go right ahead. So...why does the colonel want to see me?"
"It seems London's given us a job to do," Newkirk said, exhailing a small cloud of smoke, "and the colonel wants you to help out."
Me? Interesting, Sam thought. "What's the job?"
Newkirk puffed on his cigarette. "Not sure," he said. "Didn't have time to ask. Guess we'll find out together." A minute later, Sam and Newkirk were standing in front of BARRACKE 2, the spot where the main area of the tunnel system was located. Taking one last puff, Newkirk got rid of his cigarette and opened the wooden door.
Inside, several men noticed them entering and said various hellos. "Hey, Newkirk," one of them said. "The colonel's waiting downstairs."
"Thanks," the Englishman said. "Watch the door, will you?" The man got up and opened the door slightly, so he could see outside. Newkirk and Sam brushed past him and went over to one of the bunks. Newkirk gave the side of the top bunk two quick slaps and with a loud squeak, the bottom bunk's false mattress rose, revealing a sturdy-looking ladder.
Sam shook his head and smiled. When it came to hiding things, these guys were good. "Amazing," he said quietly. Newkirk went down first, then Sam. Halfway down, Sam let go of the ladder, landing with a loud thump.
"Show-off," Newkirk muttered. Sam didn't mind. To him, that was a compliment. The two men then walked down a short tunnel into the large room where the colonel was waiting. Giving him a salute, Newkirk said, with a touch of humor, "Reportin' as ordered, sir." Sam went over and shook Hogan's hand. He did the same with Sergeant Kinchloe and Corporal Louis LeBeau, both of whom he met a few days earlier.
"Hey, Carter," he said cheerfully as he shook his friend's hand. "How you've been?"
"Okay, I guess," the young man said. "Louis' been showing me how to cook. He even let me do breakfast today."
"Just scrambled eggs," LeBeau added. "Nothing too fancy."
"Really? Were they any good?" Sam asked.
"Well, I haven't thrown up yet," Newkirk said, getting a very loud "Hey!" out of Carter.
"Okay, enough small talk," Colonel Hogan said. "Time to get down to business." After everyone had found a place to sit he said, "Gentlemen, about twenty minutes ago we got word that a resistance cell, The Red Hawks, was in serious trouble and London wants us to get them out of it."
"Can't you ever give us any good news?" Newkirk said to Kinch.
"Hey, I just report it," Kinch protested. "I don't make it up."
"What's the trouble, Colonel?" LeBeau asked, ignoring the exchange.
"Several members were captured and are going to be interrogated. I don't think I need to tell any of you what could happen if they talk," he said. "Any questions before I go on?"
Sam raised his hand. "I was just wondering, sir, how do I fit into all this?"
"Every member of our operation gets to be part of at least one mission," Hogan told him. "And I thought your time had come. You interested?"
Sam grinned. "Yes, sir."
The colonel returned the grin. "All right, then," he said. "Now, the cell leaders are still free, and they want to meet us at the Blackwood Tavern at eight tonight. Newkirk's team leader, followed by LeBeau, Carter, and then Roberts. Find out what's going on and report back. Then, we'll work out a rescue plan. Any more questions?" The men were quiet. "Then that's it. I'll give you the recognition signal an hour before you leave. See you later." As the small group started for the ladder that led upstairs, Sam remained perched on his seat.
He couldn't believe it. A mission. He was going on a mission! A chance to prove that he was part of the team. But something was bothering him. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on...
"Hey, you okay?" Carter asked.
"Sure. Guess I'm just a little nervous." That was it. He was nervous.
"Don't worry, mon ami," LeBeau said, putting his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Just stick with us, and nothing will go wrong."
Sam gave him a tight smile. Nothing will go wrong, he said.
Famous last words.
