Chapter III - The Rescue
"You left them?"
"There wasn't anything we could do, Colonel," LeBeau said to the outraged Hogan.
"Yeah, there were 'krauts' everywhere," Carter added. "We were lucky we weren't caught."
Hogan didn't want to hear anymore. Almost three hours ago, he sent his men to find out more about the Red Hawks' situation. Only Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau returned, bringing with them a man they called Joseph Kaufman. Kaufman, who said he was one of the Red Hawks' leaders, was injured with a shoulder wound. Kinch and Carter were treating it.
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the group split up after they were discovered and the men lost sight of Roberts and Kaufman's sister. With Joseph hurt, and patrols looking for them, they couldn't wait for the two to show up.
Wonderful, Hogan thought grimly. Now the Germans have two more prisoners they can interrogate. And if Roberts talks... "And whose bright idea was it to split up in the first place?" he asked.
Newkirk opened his mouth to protest, but Joseph interrupted him. "Stop. Please," he said, grimacing as his injured shoulder throbbed. "We have no time to argue. Right now, your friend, my friends and my sister are in terrible danger. We must do something to help them."
He's right, the colonel thought. There was no time for arguing. Not with people counting on them. "What do you suggest?" the colonel asked him.
"This rescue plan of yours. Will it still work?"
"I think so. LeBeau," Hogan said, turning to the Frenchman, "we'll need transportation."
"I think I can get a truck from the motorpool," LeBeau said.
"Do it. Newkirk: uniforms. A colonel and three guards."
"Right, sir," Newkirk said as he nodded.
"Carter," Hogan said, "We'll need explosives. At least three."
"I'm on it."
"Okay. Kinch? How would you like to take out a storage shed?" the colonel asked.
The sergeant grinned. "Delighted."
"I'm coming with you," Joseph told Hogan. "I want to make sure my sister's all right."
The colonel shook his head. "You're hurt. And it might get danger--"
"I'm coming with you." There was no mistaking the firmness in the young man's voice.
Hogan smiled faintly. Stubborn. He liked that. "All right. Gentlemen, let's get moving. We've got places to go and people to save. And I, for one, do not want to be late."
He was sitting in the middle of a perfectly square room, hands and feet tied securely to the chair he was in, and his face scrubbed clean of the paint that was on it. He was scared, but he didn't show it.
There was no clock in the room, so Sam didn't know how long it was since he and Sarah were brought in. Sighing, he hoped her brother and the guys were all right. He hoped Sarah was all right. If anything happened to her...
His sudden anger turned to puzzlement. What was going on with him? He never felt so strongly about a girl before. Any girl for that matter. What made her so special?
Before Sam could think of an answer, there was the sound of a lock opening. The room's metal door opened with a loud groan. For a moment, Sam thought help had arrived.
But it wasn't help. It was a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a mustache, wearing the night-black uniform of the Gestapo.
Sam's heart started beating faster. He had never met the man, but his friends back at Stalag 13 had described him in perfect detail. And now he was standing right in front of Sam.
Major Wolfgang Hochstetter.
Trying valiantly not to let fear show on his face, Sam watched as the major walked over to the chair, went behind it, and undid the ropes that bound Sam's legs. "There. That's better, isn't it?" the major said in a slightly grating voice. "Now, suppose you tell me who you are and what you were doing here." Sam looked Hochstetter straight in the eye and said nothing.
The major smiled. "Very well, then," he said, "let me tell you what I know about you: you match the description of the person who started a fight at the Blackwood Tavern, your inability to speak German suggests you are a foreigner, and you were in the company of a known member of the Underground. That alone tells me you are an enemy of the Fatherland.
"Now I ask again: who are you? And what were you doing here?"
"Why should I tell you anything, huh?" Sam said quietly. "Because you're better than me? Because you're a member of the 'Master Race'?" He let out a short laugh and said, "You're nothing but a bully. And a pathetic one at that."
"There are limits to my patience, boy," Hochstetter said in a tight, cold voice. "And I am quickly reaching them."
"I'm not a boy," Sam told him in the same tone of voice. "I'm a man. Same as you."
The major chuckled. "Of course you are."
Sam suddenly felt very hot and, more importantly, unafraid. Time to teach this guy a lesson. "All right. You want to know who I am? I'll tell you." As the major came closer, he said, "Someone you really don't want to get angry." With that, he rammed his right foot in-between the major's legs.
Rammed it extremely hard.
The man cried out in sudden and horrible pain and fell to his knees. Two guards burst in, wondering what happened. Hochstetter shouted something in German to them. One went over to Sam and untied him while the other helped the major to his feet.
"Filthy dog!" the major roared in Sam's face. "I will see you hang for that!"
Sam was unfazed. "Not before I see you first." With a growl and a gesture from the major, Sam was dragged away.
Hochstetter watched as the prisoner was dragged down the hallway, then he turned and put his hands on the back of the chair, his entire body trembling with rage.
It wasn't possible, he told himself. He was a loyal member of the Third Reich. He was the best the Gestapo had to offer. And he had been attacked and humiliated by a...child! Impossible!
With a wordless roar, the major picked up the chair, turned, and threw it at the wall. Panting, he promised himself next time, it would be the boy he threw.
The door opened and Sam was dumped into the cell like a sack of flour. He sat up and and saw three people looking at him. One was a young woman with curly, blond hair, another was a teenage boy with short black hair and gray eyes. The last person was an older gentleman with a thick gray beard. Sam was about to say hello when he heard someone say, "Sam? Sam, is that you?"
He looked and saw Sarah get up from the bench she was resting on. He went over to her and hugged her. "Sarah!" he exclaimed. "Thank heavens you're all right. Did they hurt you?"
"No. Just scared me, that's all. You?" she asked.
"I'm fine," he replied. He turned to look at the strangers again and asked, "Are these you're friends?"
Sarah nodded. She then introduced Sam to the rest of the Red Hawks: the woman's name was Claire, the teenager was Kris, and the gentleman's name was Johann.
Sam said hello to each of them, then sat down and started thinking. He wasn't sure what was happening back at camp, so he thought they could try to escape on their own.
But how to do it? Breaking the door down and running for it was out of the question. Bribing the guard was also impossible. If only he had some kind of tool or weapon--
He stopped. Someone was crying. He turned and saw Sarah, her head covered by her hands.
"Hey, why are you crying?" Sam asked gently.
"Why?" she asked, tears streaming down her face. "Because we're never going to get out of here. Because no one is going to save us, that's why."
"Yes, they are," he said, wiping a tear off her cheek. "It's just going to take some time. Now please, stop crying."
"Why should I?"
"Well, because--" He paused. What does one say to a gril who's crying? Then he smiled and said, "Because a face as pretty as yours isn't meant for crying."
Geez, Sam, he thought. Could you sound any cornier?
"You think I'm pretty?"
Sam blinked. Corny or not, the line worked. "You mean no one's told you that?"
Sarah blushed. "Just my parents," she said.
Sam touched her cheek and said, "Well, you are." Then he did something he never did and thought he'd never do. His heart racing, he leaned foward and kissed Sarah on the cheek. "Better?" he asked her.
She nodded. "That was my first kiss."
"Really? Mine too." he said. He then started laughing. A few seconds later, Sarah joined him. Their laughter stopped when the cell door opened. An officer entered and said, "All of you, come with me. Now." Sam and Sarah got up from their seat--
And stared, not believing their eyes. It was Carter. Seeing their faces, he put a finger to his lips and they nodded with understanding. They and their cellmates then followed him out into the hall where Newkirk, also in disguise, was waiting.
Once outside, Carter pointed the rifle he carried at the guard and grabbed the keys from the man's hand. "All right, pal," he said, dropping his fake accent, "get inside and don't make a sound."
"You heard him. Move!" Newkirk said when the guard hesitated. The man entered the cell and Carter locked the door.
"Took you long enough," Sam said to them.
"Hey, we're here now," Carter said. "That's all that matters."
"I don't understand," the old man--Johann--said. "Who are you people?"
"Just call us the cavalry," Newkirk said. "Now let's get out of here."
Moving as fast as he could, Kinch made his way to the back of the fence that surrounded the jail and storage shed. Wire-cutters gripped firmly in his hand, he watched as the guards moved away from his target. When they were no longer visible, he went to work, cutting open a hole in the fence. Staying low, he ran to the shed and forced open the door.
Using a flashlight, he saw at least thirty crates--no doubt the food and ammo the Germans were storing--plus ten or twelve drums of gasoline. Reaching into the bag he was carrying, Kinch pulled out the bombs Carter made and put them on three of the drums. With steady hands, he set the three timers for ten minutes, then bolted out of the shed and back into the woods.
As soon as he was far enough away, Kinch let out a sigh and leaned against a tree. He did his job. Now it was up to Newkirk and Carter to do theirs.
"Who else is here?" Sam asked.
"The colonel, LeBeau, Kinch, and Joseph," Newkirk replied.
"My brother?" Sarah said. "Is he all right?"
"He's fine," Carter told her. He then looked at his watch. Only eight minutes left to go. The small group rounded a corner--
"What are you doing here?" a familiar voice asked.
Carter almost gasped. Major Hochstetter! Here! Could things get any worse?
"Orders from General Burkhalter," Newkirk said with his best German accent. "The prisoners are to be sent to Berlin tonight."
"Tonight?" Hochstetter said in disbelief. "But the transfer wasn't supposed to happen until morning! Let me see your papers," he ordered. As Newkirk reached into his uniform for the phony documents the major said, "Wait. I know you. I've seen you before. Both of you." He pointed at Newkirk and Carter.
Uh-oh, Carter thought. Things just got worse.
Before the major could say anything else, there was the sound of someone pounding on a door. Everyone turned to see where it was coming from.
It was coming from the cell where they put the guard. He was also shouting, "Hilfe! Herr major! Hierin! Hilfe!"
"What is that?" the major shouted. "What's going on here?" He stepped past the phony officers--
POW!
--and fell down senseless. Sam had punched Hochstetter squarely in the nose. "Guess it's just not your day," he said to the unconscious major. "Help me with him." Sam and Carter grabbed the major's arms and dragged him to an empty closet. All the while, the imprisoned guard kept shouting uselessly for help.
As Newkirk opened the closet door, Sam and Carter placed Hochstetter in a sitting position. "I thought you didn't like resorting to violence," Carter said.
Sam looked at him funny. "You think he'd listen to reason?" he said, indicating the major. He turned and saw that Newkirk and the Red Hawks were staring. "What's everyone standing around for?" he asked. "Let's move."
Everyone jumped slightly at the command and then, with Newkirk and Carter in the lead, made their way to the exit.
"Who's in charge of this rescue, anyway?" Newkirk muttered. Carter could only shrug.
Inside the truck "borrowed" from Stalag 13, Colonel Hogan--or rather, Colonel Schviker--drummed his fingers on the dashboard and checked his watch again. If Kinch did his job, they had only five minutes before all heck broke loose. But where were Newkirk and Carter?
Something in the rear-view mirror caught his eye. There they were. Behind them, he could see Roberts, two young women, a teenage boy, and a old man. Those had to be the Red Hawks.
"Get ready," he told LeBeau, who was in the driver's seat. "When they're in, we get out of here as fast as we can."
Just a little further, Sam thought, and we're home free. The guards at the enterance lowered the barricade on the truck and everyone piled in. Sarah saw Joseph sitting inside and they embraced.
"I thought I'd never see you again," she said quietly.
"Me, too," he replied.
When everyone was seated, the barricade was raised and truck began to move. The jail seemed to become smaller and in moments, it disappeared from view.
With a squeal from the brakes, the truck stopped and a dark figure emerged from the woods. "Room for one more?" he called out.
"Hop in," Sam said and helped Kinch into the truck.
"I'm worried," Kris--the teenager--said. "What if they realize they were tricked?"
"I don't think they will," Carter said, looking at his watch. "They'll be too busy to care right about...now." As he said that, there was a thunderous explosion that made Sam and the Red Hawks gasp. An orange light appeared in the sky in the direction of the jail.
"Wh-What was that?" Claire asked in a stunned voice.
"That, young lady," Kinch said to her, "is a whole lot of supplies going up in smoke."
As the truck started moving again, there was another, slightly smaller, explosion. Two more followed.
"Sounds like the whole shed's going up," Sam said. "Not bad."
"Thank Carter," Kinch said. "He made the bombs."
"What can I say?" Carter said, sounding very pleased with himself. "It's a gift."
Sam chuckled and looked around. They made it. Everyone was safe. He caught Sarah's eye and they both smiled.
Mission: complete.
Score one more for the good guys.
