Summary: Hogan 'interrogates' Hilda; Hochstetter, in turn, interrogates Hogan; and the Heroes are given a new mission.
Author's Note: ~"Dialogue"~ denotes that a foreign language is being spoken, usually German.
Disclaimer: Hogan's Heroes is owned by Paramount, Viacom and others; this is an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome!
Copyright November 2001****
Just Another Missionby Syl Francis
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"...A man...ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether he is doing right or wrong." (Socrates)
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Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1550hrs localMain Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13
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Hogan spoke in sharp, staccato phrases as he strode through the main tunnel back to the barracks. "Kinch, get on the horn to London. Let 'em know what happened. Request further instructions."
As Kinchloe turned to go, he added, "Oh, and inform them of the batch of bad fuses they sent us. Get the lot number from Carter." Shaking his head, he explained, "They probably shipped some to other units besides us."
"Roger, sir." Kinchloe ran ahead to the radio room. These were the first words that Hogan had spoken since the fiasco at the bridge. Kinchloe knew his Commanding Officer too well to believe that he blamed anyone for their failure to destroy the bridge and all of the V-2 rockets.
Except himself, of course, he thought darkly. The colonel always blames himself for failure and credits us with success.
Kinchloe wished, not for the first time, that he could do more to relieve some of the pressure on his C.O. When they first started on their mission, it had almost seemed like a game. The idea that they could pull off some of their outlandish schemes right under the very noses of their captors appealed to Kinchloe's wry sense of humor.
But that was 1942--two whole years ago.
It seems more like two hundred, he thought. And in that time, their little group of covert operatives had achieved over a 95 percent success rate. With most of their success due to Hogan.
But things are different now.
Two years ago none of them dared think of tomorrow, much less make postwar plans. But that was before North Africa fell to the Allies. Before their forces landed at Anzio. Before D-Day. Before today. Before now.
Hogan's easy leadership style, his technical and tactical expertise, his ability to effectively execute a plan once he set it in motion, had resulted in two things: Kinchloe had begun to dare hope for tomorrow. And for home.
Because if anyone can make it happen, it's the colonel, he thought fervently. But soldiers who dare hope became careful. Too careful, he reminded himself.
Kinchloe knew that soldiers who begin to think about going home inadvertently place their lives above the mission. In the process they become a liability to themselves and to others.
So, no, Kinchloe could not afford to think of home. He could not afford to hope for tomorrow. Besides, his life in Michigan seemed almost unreal, as if it belonged to someone else. His friends and family were like people he'd read about in a book--surreal.
The only reality in his life was here. His only friends were the men he worked and fought with and risked his life with--the same men who would just as gladly put their lives on the line for him. These men were his only real family.
And it was just as much his job as Hogan's to get them through the rest of the war. Kinchloe didn't question the why. He only wondered whether he was up to the job.
And as long as the colonel--and the others need me--it will be my job.
Taking out his codebook, Kinchloe began to encrypt the message to London.
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Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1630hrs localBarracks #2, LuftStalag 13
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Hogan crumpled the message in anger. Slamming his hand on the field table, he swore under his breath.
"The commandoes are on again for tonight," he muttered.
"Yes, sir," Kinchloe nodded. "London says that because not all of the rockets were taken out, the quicker the launch base is destroyed the better."
"But it's suicide while there's still a moon out!" Hogan yelled. "Our guys' chances are gonna be slim at best! Doesn't London know that the Krauts won't be ready to launch for at least another couple of days? Why can't the mission wait twenty-four hours more?"
Kinchloe eyes hardened in disgust. "Politics, sir."
Hogan nodded tiredly. He started pacing, something he hadn't done in a long time. In addition, he futilely patted his pockets for cigarettes. Again, something he hadn't done in quite a while.
Maybe it's because he doesn't smoke cigarettes, Kinchloe observed wryly. Shaking his head in amused tolerance, Kinchloe took out his pack of Lucky Strikes and calmly held one out.
Distractedly nodding his thanks, Hogan took it, and then to Kinchloe's further amusement began patting his pockets yet again, this time in a vain search for matches.
Rolling his eyes, Kinchloe struck a match and held it steadily for him. Gratefully taking a long drag, Hogan smoked in silence for a few minutes, unconsciously grimacing at the foul taste. All the while he paced in slow, deliberate steps. Stopping in front of the sole window in his quarters, he stared out at the main compound.
Leaping lizards, what a dump! Has this place been going downhill lately, or has it always been this depressing? I'd better have a talk with the management about it. Realizing that Kinchloe was waiting for instructions, he faced him, his expression troubled.
"Politics..." he muttered. Stubbing out the cigarette, he placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "Newkirk's right. Paris is not of any military importance. The only reason we're even going into it is because we promised DeGaulle we would."
Kinchloe nodded. "I had an idea it was something like that, sir."
"So now a team of very brave men have to jump into a snake pit during a moonlit night." He slammed his hand on the table in frustration. "And it's my fault!"
"That's not true, sir!"
"I was in charge!" Hogan said dismissively. "The mission was my responsibility." Neither man spoke for a beat. Finally, Hogan let out a long breath. "Okay, Kinch. You're right. Instead of standing here feeling sorry for myself, I should be thinking up a way to help these Brits--"
An urgent knock at his door interrupted him. Exchanging unreadable glances with Kinchloe, he called out, "Come in!"
Newkirk stuck his head in. "Sir...Gestapo just rolled in. Maj. Hochstetter!"
"Swell!" Hogan muttered. "Kinch, I need you to start making arrangements for tonight's rendezvous with the Commandoes. You know what we need. I'll go check and see what our favorite bad guy wants."
Kinchloe nodded. They'd done this cloak and dagger stuff so often, it was practically second nature to him. As he turned to go, Hogan stopped him.
"And Kinch?" Kinchloe waited. "This could turn out real bad. Ready the medical supplies. And tell Sgt. Wilson that he'll be going on this one with us."
Kinchloe nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. I'll take care of everything." He stood, watching Hogan's back for a moment, and then headed towards the tunnel entrance, a sudden chill running down his back.
Wilson was their medic.
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1645hrs localKommandant's Office, LuftStalag 13
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Hilda sighed, bored by the daily tedium. The Kommandant had once again given her a stack of documents to file, dictation to type, and forms to fill. Enough paper work to keep her occupied for the Duration. Riffling through the files, she pulled one out, stuck a sheet of paper in it, and re-filed it.
Slamming the filing cabinet shut, Hilda was about to return to her desk when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. She automatically stiffened and gasped at the unexpected touch. The next moment, she felt herself melting into Hogan's seductive arms, shivering slightly as he kissed her playfully on the neck. He gently turned her around, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear herself making soft purring sounds as she eagerly stood on tiptoe to meet his kiss.
She knew deep down that their secret trysts were but a game to him in order to gain information. But she didn't care. Hilda decided a long time ago that she looked forward to these few stolen moments with him, and that despite everything she was just a little bit in love with the dashing American colonel. She also realized that when the war was over, she'd only have her memories to keep her warm during a cold, winter's night.
"What does Hochstetter want?" he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. Lost in his kisses, it took her a moment to realize he'd asked a question.
"I am not sure," she said huskily. She closed her eyes dreamily as he kissed her neck, her ear, her cheek. "H-He stormed in--" She stopped momentarily, as Hogan's lips found hers, taking her breath away. Coming up for air, she swallowed against the hammering in her chest and butterflies in her stomach. "--a-and he said something about getting to the bottom of it once and for all--"
She felt Hogan's hands on her shoulders suddenly push her away, holding her at arms length.
"Get to the bottom of what?" he asked, his voice all business. Her knees weak, Hilda wasn't sure what he'd asked. "Get to the bottom of what?" Hogan repeated, his tone insistent.
Blinking rapidly, Hilda felt the world stop spinning, and opening her eyes, realized that Hogan's intense dark gaze had her pinned down. She suddenly felt like a helpless bird looking back at a predator that was about to strike.
She shook her head. "I-I do not know, Col. Hogan--" she managed. Hogan glared at her for a beat. The next instant, his eyes took on their usual warm, teasing glint. Smiling boyishly, he leaned down and kissed her once more, a slow lingering kiss that made her forget everything except the moment. Taking out a pair of nylons, he wrapped them warmly around her neck, and then kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
Running his finger gently down her cheek, he whispered, "You're the nicest thing about this lousy war, Hilda."
Feeling short of breath, she wordlessly watched him as he gave her a jaunty wink, opened the door to Klink's office, and strode in. Her knees unable to support her any longer, Hilda collapsed into her desk chair.
Chin in hand, she blew a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes and gazed longingly at the closed door.
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1645hrs localTunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13
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The telegraph key started clicking unexpectedly. Startled, Kinchloe dropped what he was doing and hurried over. He checked his watch. 1645 hours--a quarter of an hour earlier than the scheduled time.
Tapping an acknowledgement, Kinchloe quickly cranked a handle. At the same instant, undetected by the bored guards outside, an antenna disguised as part of the main compound's flagpole, rose several feet. Within minutes, Goldilocks transmitted a coded message. A few minutes later, Kinchloe had it decrypted. He stared at it, feeling suddenly very tired.
"When it rains, it pours..." he muttered.
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Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1655hrs localKommandant's Office, LuftStalag 13
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Pulling out a sheet of paper from his uniform blouse, Hogan walked up to Klink, and pretending that he didn't see Hochstetter, casually saluted the Kommandant.
"Kommandant, I'm glad I caught you. The men have a list of grievances that--"
"Klink!" Hochstetter shouted, suddenly standing next to Hogan and practically shoving him aside. "What is this man doing here?"
"Maj. Hochstetter!" Hogan's eyes lit up in feigned surprise.
"Col. Ho-gaaan!" Blustering, Klink made a shooing motion at him in a vain attempt to wave him out. "As you can see we are terribly busy--"
Ignoring him, Hogan smiled disarmingly at Hochstetter. "So, Major, what brings you to our happy home?"
"Diis-misssed!" Klink interrupted, this time on his feet and saluting meaningfully. Both Hogan and Hochstetter ignored him.
"Tell me, Hogan," Hochstetter began, "what do you know about blowing up bridges?"
Klink immediately ran around his desk and insinuated himself between them. Hands clasped, he glanced from one to the other, a silly grin pasted on his face. "Hogan? Know anything about blowing up bridges?" He waggled his finger at Hochstetter. "Now, now, Major. Col. Hogan is a prisoner of war here, and as you know no one has ever escaped from--"
"Klink..." Hochstetter said, his tone quietly dangerous. "Shut up!"
Wincing, Klink muttered, "Yes, sir...shut up."
"I don't know what you mean, Major," Hogan said innocently. He walked up to Klink's humidor and casually took out a cigar. Reaching for Klink's lighter, he flicked it, and nonchalantly took a few puffs. Klink grimaced at Hogan's impertinence, and was about to protest when Hogan flashed him a grin. "Danke, Kommandant."
"Bitte schon," Klink mumbled. Looking defeated, he scuttled back behind his desk.
Hochstetter's patience was at an end. "Klink!" he growled.
"Of course, if you're asking whether I've ever blown up any bridges--?" Hogan inserted. Hochstetter whirled on him. A full head shorter than Hogan, he still managed to be almost nose-to-nose with the American colonel.
"Yes, Hogan..." he said slyly. "Have you ever blown up any bridges?" He waited, his cold dark eyes hungry.
Taking a long puff on the cigar, Hogan looked askance at the Gestapo officer. Oh, brother...Subtlety isn't your forte, Major. Smiling self-deprecatingly, Hogan looked suddenly shy. "Well...I don't like to brag, Major...Kommandant..." he began. Both men seemed to lean in closer, simultaneously holding their breaths.
"Yes, yes?" Hochstetter sounded eager. "Go on, Hogan."
Hogan's chest swelled with pride. "Like I said, I don't like to brag, but...gosh, at last count I had almost ninety-five bridges--"
"Ninety-five bridges--!?" Hochstetter and Klink burst out together.
"Golly...I know that's not much," Hogan said. "I mean others have blown up a whole lot more than that--"
"Finally!" Hochstetter yelled triumphantly. "You admit that you are responsible for the bridges that have been blown up so mysteriously--"
"Oh, gosh, it's not all that mysterious--" Hogan pshawed.
"Col. Hogan, I don't understand," Klink spluttered. "How--? When--? Where--?"
"We-ell--"
"We know the where and the when, Hogan," Hochstetter interjected sharply. "The Hammelburg Bridge, the Mainz River Bridge, the Fulda Bridge...train tunnels, roads, ammo dumps--all within the area! It's the how that we're interested in."
"Hey, I'm impressed, Major," Hogan said admiringly. "I doubt if I could've told you exactly the where and when, myself. I mean...ninety-five bridges--they do tend to blur after a while."
"So, you admit to having been involved in this--this epidemic of sabotage!?" Hochstetter jumped in.
"Sabotage!?" Hogan protested. "I admit I'm responsible for some ninety-five bridges--" He paused, nodding and shrugging simultaneously. "--Oh, all right, and quite a few tunnels and other targets being blown up, but I wouldn't call it sabotage."
"Oh? You wouldn't call it sabotage, Col. Hogan," Hochstetter said unpleasantly. "Then what exactly would you call this wanton destruction of the property of the Third Reich?"
Hogan shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess."
"Luck--?!" Hochstetter choked.
"Well, yeah!" Hogan said as if talking to a dense child. "I mean...it's not all that easy to hit a target from thirty thousand feet straight up, you know! A couple of times I might've even missed, but I think ninety-five bridges is a pretty good tally. Don't you agree, Kommandant?"
"Oh, yes," Klink said nodding thoughtfully. "I think ninety-five is definitely a good tally."
"Klink--!" Hochstetter screamed, shaking a fist at him.
"I mean from thirty thousand feet straight up," Klink said reasonably. "You have to admit, Major, that's a pretty good record--"
"Klink!" Hochstetter's hands made a threatening move towards the Kommandant's neck. Klink slunk back into his chair, staring back at him, clearly frightened but smiling foolishly in order to hide it.
"Y'know, I think that I could've increased my record by a few more if I hadn't been shot down over Hamburg." Shrugging, Hogan sighed regretfully. "I only wish that I'd gotten an even hundred first."
Hochstetter looked as if he were about to explode, his coloring turning red, then purplish.
"I am not talking about your bombing missions, Hogan!" he growled. "I'm talking about the River Fulda Bridge--"
"Well, like I said, Major, you can't expect a guy to remember the location of all the bridges he's bombed--!"
"--which was destroyed just a few hours ago!"
"A few hours ago? But Major, I've been here in Stalag 13 all day--every day for the past two years if you want to be perfectly truthful about it--"
"Of course, he's been here, Major Hochstetter," Klink interrupted. "You can't expect Col. Hogan to know anything about the Fulda Bridge being destroyed."
"Klink!" Hochstetter screamed. "Shut up!"
Klink nodded wordlessly, and poured himself a shot of Schnapps. Cringing at the Gestapo officer's manic screeching, he downed it in a single gulp.
"Hogan, I know and you know that you are somehow responsible for the Fulda Bridge being completely destroyed--" Hochstetter said. "--along with a very valuable convoy."
"Ah, ah, ah-h!" Klink again interrupted, waggling his finger. "Only half the bridge and half the convoy were destroyed, Major," he reminded him. "Remember, the glass is half-full, not half-empty!" He uttered this last with a bright, innocuous smile pasted on his face.
Watching from the sidelines, Hogan mentally rolled his eyes, allowing himself a slight grin. Thank goodness for good ol' Blood and Guts, he mused.
"Klink! Each day of your continued, miserable existence takes at least ten years from the Thousand Year Reich!" Hochstetter shook an ineffectual fist at him and then glared balefully at Hogan. "Hogan...Klink...I swear that I will get to the bottom of this!"
Scowling at Hogan's disingenuous look of innocence, and Klink's frightened concern, Hochstetter made a low, growling noise deep in his throat, then whirled around and jerked the door open.
"Bah!" he screamed and stormed out.
Puffing thoughtfully on his cigar, Hogan stared at the door for a few moments. "There goes a very unhappy man," he observed ironically.
Reaching into his humidor, Klink took out a cigar and lit it. Matching Hogan's pensive look, he nodded in agreement. "Yes, Col. Hogan...a most unhappy man, indeed."
"Probably hasn't killed anyone today," Hogan murmured.
"Probably."
Exchanging knowing looks, both men blew smoke rings in an uncharacteristic moment of shared camaraderie.
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Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1725hrs localBarracks #2, LuftStalag 13
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Hogan walked in the barracks at the same time that Kinchloe emerged from the tunnel trapdoor. He waited while the senior radioman tapped the bunk frame to close the secret entrance. When Kinchloe finally turned to face him, Hogan felt a momentary pause.
"What is it?" he asked. Wordlessly, Kinchloe handed him the latest communique. Hogan yanked the cigar from his mouth and taking the message, read it through several times. He walked over to the community table and stubbed out the cigar in the ever-present, overflowing ashtray before finally looking up.
"They've lost their collective minds..." he muttered, shaking his head in amazement.
Kinchloe nodded. "Uh-huh."
"What is it?" Newkirk asked.
"Who's lost their collective minds?" Carter added.
"How do they expect us to do this?" Hogan demanded. "Did they say?"
"They authorized us to contact the Underground for any further information," Kinchloe replied, shrugging. "And then to proceed at our own discretion. So long as--"
"So long as we get it done tonight," Hogan finished. Distractedly tapping the message on his open palm, he paced for a moment, overcome by the mission orders. The others exchanged worried glances. Any mission that had their Commanding Officer acting this concerned had to be more dangerous than usual.
"Beggin' your pardon, Colonel," Newkirk pleaded, "but if you don't tell us what this is all about soon, I may just have a stroke."
Nodding in acquiescence, Hogan leaned against one of the bunks, hitching his elbow along the frame. He faced his men squarely and laid out the facts as succinctly as possible.
"We just received the location of the two additional rocket bases. The Underground reports that the remaining rockets were dispersed in three different directions. We believe that they're each being sent to a different rocket base." He nodded at Kinchloe.
"One of the bases is located outside of Tauberbischofsheim," the senior Noncom added. "Which is less than fifteen klicks Southwest of here."
"So...guess who has just been ordered to take out this facility?"
"Do we get three guesses?" Carter asked eagerly. Hogan automatically brought his hand up to rub his eyes. Kinchloe simply looked up at the ceiling for a moment, while shaking his head. "I mean, jeepers, I've never been able to guess right on the first try--"
"Oh, you're bloody marvelous, Andrew!" Newkirk growled sarcastically. "D'you know that? Can't you hear with your ears for a change? The colonel and Kinch are trying to tell us that we've been given the mission of taking out the rocket base." He jumped up. "Buggeration! What the bloody hell am I saying?"
"Criminy--us?! Take out a rocket base? By ourselves?"
"Sacre bleu! Is that correct, mon Colonel?"
"'Fraid so, fellas. The third location is too inaccessible. It's located in the Bavarian Alps just outside of Fussen, next to the Swiss border. Allied High Command is planning a series of air raids to take it out, but chances are pretty slim that our bombers will be able to--"
He stopped abruptly, a familiar, faraway look in his eyes. The next instant, he snapped his fingers, a wicked gleam lighting his handsome features.
"You've thought of something, eh, Colonel?" Newkirk asked excitedly.
"What is it, boy--uh, I mean, sir?" Carter asked. Hogan simply grinned broadly.
"Sir?" Kinchloe asked. Hogan nodded his head in the direction of his quarters.
"Come on. I've got an idea."
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/1830hrs localBarracks #2, LuftStalag 13
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"Blimey!" Newkirk cried out, jumping to his feet. "Beggin' the colonel's pardon, but you're out of your bloomin' head! It's crazy, that's what it is!"
"Newkirk--!" Kinchloe snapped. Newkirk whirled at him.
"Did you hear what he said?" he demanded, pointing accusingly at Hogan. "Go up against a battalion of SS? Just the five of us?"
"Well...actually, the seven of us," Carter corrected. "Baker and Olsen will be going, too."
"Oh, well, I guess that makes it all right, eh?" Newkirk asked sarcastically. "Seven men against a battalion. The odds are suddenly looking better!"
"We are wasting time," LeBeau hotly interrupted. "I say the sooner we get started, the sooner that Paris will be out of danger."
"All right, hold it!" Hogan yelled over them, but was ignored by the angry enlisted men who were busy arguing with one another. "I said, 'Hold it'!" he roared. The room went instantly silent. He nodded. "Thank you."
He pulled down the map from its hidden wall recess. Without speaking, he circled two locations. A third location--the Mutlangen rocket base--was already marked. Moving to the other side of the field table, he quickly began spreading the myriad photos of the Mutlangen facility that the Underground had sent them.
"Okay, here it is, gentlemen. Down and dirty. No frills." His dark, intense gaze held their attention. "Tonight, a company of British commandoes is going to jump into the Mutlangen area. Their job is to take out the rocket base, and render it and any rockets there inoperative."
"That part we know already, sir," Newkirk said impatiently. "It's the next part that we have a bit of a problem with." He swallowed nervously at the sudden glint in Hogan's eyes but didn't back down. After a brief moment, Hogan nodded.
"Don't worry, Newkirk. You're not going on this one." He turned to Kinchloe. "Kinch? Can you come here a minute?" The two senior leaders moved to the side for a brief conference.
Sitting down slowly, Newkirk felt a momentary pang of relief. Looking up at LeBeau and Carter he smiled goofily. "I'm not going on this one," he said, savoring the moment. Abruptly his euphoria gave way to doubt and finally to outrage. He jumped to his feet and stalked over to where Hogan and Kinchloe were conferring in private.
"Just a minute here, Colonel!" he huffed. Hogan and Kinchloe exchanged their characteristic neutral glances, and as one, turned at the interruption. Unconsciously, they struck identical poses--crossed arms, single eyebrow raised, glaring dark gazes.
Mirror images of each other.
Clearing his throat, Newkirk opened his mouth to speak again, but LeBeau beat him to the punch.
"I agree with the colonel, Newkirk!" To prove his point, LeBeau walked up between Hogan and Kinchloe and struck a matching pose. Hogan and Kinchloe exchanged wry looks above his head.
Newkirk made a move towards the much smaller man. "Why you little--!" LeBeau quickly ducked behind Hogan and stuck his tongue out at Newkirk just as Carter grabbed the RAF corporal by the arms.
Emerging from behind the safety of Hogan's back, LeBeau glared at Newkirk, raising his chin in defiance. He made a noise in his throat, which only a true Frenchman could hope to mimic. "You do not care about Paris," he sneered. "Well, you can stay home and you can--"
"You're not going either, LeBeau," Hogan interrupted.
"What? But, Colonel--! Mon Dieu--! I must go with you! We fight for Paris! For the Libertad!"
"And that's why you're not going," Kinchloe said. "You're too close to this one, buddy. Your head isn't on straight." He shook his head. "I'm afraid that I have to agree with the colonel."
"But don't worry," Hogan interjected. "You're not staying home. You'll make the rendezvous with the commandoes at the designated time and place. Then you'll escort them back here and start getting them processed for the return trip."
He stopped. Turning to Carter, he hesitated. "I'm afraid, Carter, that you're not gonna be as lucky. I need you on this one. And your services."
Carter blinked uncertainly. He looked around at the others, then back at Hogan. When he didn't say anything immediately, Hogan cocked his head to the side.
"What is it, Carter?" he asked. Carter looked down at his feet, unable or unwilling to look him in the eyes. A sudden expression flitted across Hogan's face. "Oh. I see...Well, that's understandable, Carter. This mission is extremely dangerous and I can only take volunteers. You're under no obligation to--"
"NO!" Carter said startled. "No, sir, Colonel. That's not it at all. Honest!" He paused, unable to continue. Realizing what was troubling him, Kinchloe placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Carter...you know that the fuses weren't your fault. It was a bad lot number. You can't blame yourself."
"I know that what you're saying is true, Kinch," he said quietly. "But the explosives were my responsibility. Because of me, the mission failed."
"I was in charge of the mission, Carter," Hogan said. "Its failure is my responsibility. The fact that those commandoes have to jump into Mutlangen tonight is my fault."
"But that's not true, sir," Carter protested. "I mean, no one could blame you for the fuses being bad. They were shipped to us like that--" he stopped, a look of understanding crossing his features. "I-I guess, it wasn't anybody's fault. Right, sir?"
Hogan wordlessly gazed back at him, dark eyes smiling warmly.
"Mon Colonel, I still do not see why I cannot accompany you on this mission!" LeBeau complained. Chin jutted rebelliously, he glared with Gallic haughtiness at his Commanding Officer. "The rendezvous with the commandoes does not require more than one man," he said hotly. "But to go against a battalion of SS with only three? It would be suicide. Therefore, I volunteer to go."
"As do I, Colonel," Newkirk chimed in. "I'm not some kind of a Hangar Queen that needs molly-coddling. Baker and Olsen can rendezvous with--"
"Sorry, fellas," Hogan said with a final shake of the head. "My orders stand." He turned back to the photos. "Kinch, Carter...take a look at these and study them. Commit them to memory--"
"I don't understand, sir," Carter interrupted. "If these are the recon photos of the facility at Mutlangen, then why--?"
"Because the Jerries are masters of the assembly line and mass production," Kinchloe explained. "A building plan that worked for one facility is highly likely to be copied almost identically for the next one. Chances are that each of the facilities will be carbon copies of the other."
Carter gave a short laugh. "Sounds like my neighborhood back home in Muncie. Almost all the houses look exactly alike." Hogan slapped him on the shoulder and then turned to Newkirk and LeBeau.
Both men were sitting glumly on Hogan's bottom bunk, looking for all intent like a couple of disappointed kids. ""Newkirk...LeBeau, you'll have to memorize these building plans as well."
"What for?" LeBeau asked belligerently.
"If we're not going--?" Newkirk added.
"Contingency," Kinchloe said sourly. "In case we fail--"
"--And don't come back," Hogan finished. Newkirk and LeBeau slowly stood, the import of Hogan's words leaving them both speechless for once.
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/2130hrs localMain Tunnel under Barracks #2, LuftStalag 13
****
The heroes worked with silent efficiency.
Kinchloe opened the small arms locker and began issuing weapons. Newkirk and LeBeau each withdrew a US made Thompson sub-machinegun. Wordlessly, they went through their safety checks, and satisfied, slapped a 30-round magazine into it. In addition, they stuffed three more ammo clips apiece inside their jackets.
Carter emerged from his laboratory, lugging several heavy, shoulder carried canvas bags. Two were strapped to his left ankle so that he could drag them awkwardly behind him as he walked. Kinchloe and Newkirk quickly gave him a hand.
"Thanks," Carter mumbled, and then called out sharply when Newkirk looked like he was about to carelessly drop the bag he was holding. "Hey! Watch it! That's loaded with dynamite!"
Grimacing, Newkirk gently laid the bundle down. "Why can't you ever carry anything that doesn't explode?" he asked sourly.
"Where would the fun be in that?" Carter asked, wide-eyed. Not bothering to answer, Newkirk grabbed him by the collar and drew back a fist, but he was stopped by LeBeau who held his wrist in a surprisingly vice-like grip.
"Stop playing around, Newkirk!" he said sharply. "We still have a lot of work to do!"
Hogan, meanwhile, was quietly briefing Sgt. Wilson on his mission.
"I hate to toss you into this without prior warning, Wilson, but if things go bad for the Brits, they may not be able to wait for your services."
"I understand, sir," Wilson said. "But, you do know that they'll have their own medical personnel?" At Hogan's nod, he added, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather I go with you?"
Hogan shook his head. "Neither mission's a piece o' cake," he admitted. "And I'm probably overreacting." He gave a chagrinned half-smile. "You may not be needed at all--Goodness knows, I hope you won't be--but like with all the best laid plans..." He didn't need to finish the statement.
Wilson understood only too well. Parachuting into enemy held territory was dangerous enough. Parachuting into an enemy camp while there was still a moon out lowered the odds even more. But these commandoes were professionals. If anyone could pull off the mission, they could.
Hogan clapped Wilson on the shoulder and moved on to Baker who was watching everyone from the communications station.
"Do you have any questions?" Hogan asked. Baker immediately jumped to his feet, snapping to attention.
"No, sir," he said. Hogan flashed him an amused smile.
"At ease, Baker," he said. "We're pretty informal around here." Baker nodded awkwardly and sat back down. "Remember to monitor the Brits' comms. Call sign, Humpty-Dumpty." Which I hope won't prove prophetic, he thought bitterly. "Newkirk's team is White Rabbit. We're Mad Hatter. And, because you'll be monitoring from here, you're Papa Bear."
Baker nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders that the call sign evoked. He was grateful that Hogan chose to take a moment to talk to him. Noting his C.O.'s easy manner and having him go over everything expected of him one more time helped settle Baker's jumpy nerves.
"Yes, sir. And I should expect a radio check from London at H-hour."
"Which is--?"
"Zero-hundred hours, sir!"
Hogan gave him a nod and a wink and smiled. "Good work, Sergeant." About to turn to go, he added, "And don't forget--keep the home fires burning."
Grinning, Baker flashed him a thumbs-up.
Taking a moment to check his own sidearm, Hogan caught sight of Carter busily inventorying the contents of one of the canvas bags. Securing his Luger in its shoulder holster, he was about to walk over to Carter, when he saw Kinchloe crouch down next to young explosives expert.
Hogan instead moved over to the weapons locker and drew a semi-automatic Schmeisser with a folding metal stock. Expertly running through the safety checks, he slung it over his shoulder and next turned to his assigned wall locker. There he put away any personal effects--watch, Academy ring, ID tags--that might identify him later if captured or killed...
Kinchloe watched as Carter concentrated to the exclusion of everything else on the task at hand. Not for the first time, he wondered how a man who had trouble telling his left from his right could have such a talent for handling explosives. Giving himself a mental shrug, he finally spoke.
"So, no more snafus this time round, buddy?"
Eagerly looking up, Carter answered excitedly. "Oh, boy! You betcha! Nosiree bub!"
Kinchloe waited patiently for his explanation. As usual when discussing explosives, and because of his keen anticipation of the night's activities, Carter spoke hurriedly, stumbling over his words.
"See, I figure that since I can't trust the fuses, then it's better not use plastique this time. So...I decided that good old-fashioned dynamite--in six-pack bundles--would work just as well."
"Sounds like a plan," Kinchloe said with a touch of admiration. "How--?"
"But the best part is how they'll be set off," Carter interrupted. He took out a bundle of dynamite to demonstrate. "See, I'll have them on a timer." He pointed to the timer, which was taped to the dynamite bundle. "And when it reaches the designated time, the timer's spring will strike a small glass vial--" He pointed out the fluid-filled vial. "--which will break and release the chlorine--"
"Chlorine?" Kinchloe asked surprised.
Grinning, Carter nodded vigorously. "Yeah...bleach! Plain, ordinary bleach!"
Kinchloe sat back on his heels, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't get it."
"When the bleach is released it'll drop on a sliver of magnesium, resulting in a chemical reaction. The magnesium will flash and burn, igniting the dynamite in the process."
Kinchloe whistled in admiration. "Holy Cats! Remind me not to borrow any alarm clocks from you." Carter blushed proudly at the unaccustomed praise from the senior noncom.
"Andrew, how much time will you be able to give us to complete our part of the mission?"
"It's a twelve hour timer," Carter explained. "So I can give you any increments of that."
Kinchloe looked thoughtful. "We can't run the risk of the Krauts discovering the dynamite before it goes off, but the colonel and I'll need enough time to get things done. Ninety minutes should be plenty of time."
"I figure that if I set off the rocket fuel that's stored in the nearby depot, it'll set off sympathetic explosions throughout the compound and send the whole kit-and-caboodle into orbit."
"That's what I admire about you, Carter," Kinchloe said wryly. "You take such pride in your work."
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/2325hrs localWoods East of the Tauberbischofsheim Rocket Facility
****
As soon as the truck stopped, Hogan and Kinchloe vaulted off the tailgate. Carter and Wilson began handing them their equipment. Newkirk and LeBeau stood guard on either side of the truck. Within minutes, Hogan's team finished their offloading. Hogan gave a soft, two-note whistle, and Newkirk and LeBeau hurriedly jumped into the cab and took off.
Hogan grabbed three of the canvas bags, checked his weapon one more time, and turned to the others. Carter and Kinchloe were similarly loaded down with three, shoulder-slung canvas bags apiece. In addition, Kinchloe carried a small, black case--his tools.
Hogan remained fully alert while his men checked their weapons one last time. As he waited, Hogan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He scanned the area methodically, feeling exposed in the small clearing. Dim moonlight glinted off their SS collar tabs and steel helmets.
He glanced up through a small opening in the tree cover. The barest sliver of a moon silently looked down from the night sky. Hogan glared back, cursing its lovely silvery sheen. One more night, he thought bitterly. Couldn't wait just another lousy twenty-four hours.
Done, Kinchloe gave him a curt nod. Hogan immediately led them into the thick underbrush. They still had three kilometers over heavily patrolled, rough terrain to hike.
****
Thursday 17 AUG 1944/2345hrs localOn the Hammelburg Road heading south
****
"I still cannot believe that I must sit this one out," LeBeau muttered. He was slouched on the passenger side of the cab, his right elbow resting on the open window, his cheek pressed against his fist.
"I know it seems a bit hard, mate," Newkirk conceded. "But I have to agree with the colonel. You're too close to the problem, it being Paris and all. Could make you careless."
"That is not true!" LeBeau denied hotly. "I would never allow my emotions to get in the way of a mission! Never!"
"'Course not!" Newkirk said soothingly. "But the colonel's a bleedin' officer and all...He has to think of these things. You know how it is."
"All I know is that the Bosche plan to wipe out Paris, and I have to sit in the sidelines!" Fuming, LeBeau crossed his arms. "How would you feel if it were your home that was about to be destroyed?"
"You forget something, mate." Newkirk's voice dropped until LeBeau had to strain to hear him. "I lived through a little thing called 'the Blitz.'" Neither spoke for a long moment. Finally, Newkirk continued quietly.
"Back then, England stood alone. The RAF barely had enough planes to fight off the daily air raids. And me? I had to stand back and watch these nineteen- and twenty-year-old fighter pilots scramble for their Spitfires--to fight for bloody King and country." He paused, angry.
"And I couldn't lift a finger to help..." he sighed. "My bomber crew was bloody grounded. See...almost all of our bombers were destroyed on the ground during the first few air raids."
"I did not know that, my friend," LeBeau said quietly.
"I did what I could. Helped man an ack-ack gun during air raids, all the while wishing I were up there. With all those bloody, baby-faced pilots." He shook his head. "I'd never wished so hard to be a bleedin' officer as I did that long, hot summer of 1940..."
"I am sorry, mon ami...But then you must see how I feel at this moment--that I must help save my home."
"Yes, I do, mate," Newkirk agreed. "But things are different now, don't y'see?"
LeBeau turned to him curiously. "I do not understand. How are they different?"
"France isn't alone, mate...not like England was back in '40. For one thing, the Allies are making the liberation of France a joint priority. You have some of the best armies in the world--in all history--fighting right now--this moment--to free your country. France's back isn't against the wall--Hitler's is."
"Yes, but that does not help Paris. As long as the filthy Bosche want to make an example of her, they will never let her be returned to Allied hands!"
"And that's why the commandoes are jumping in tonight, mate, and not tomorrow night when it would be safer for them. Someone in London decided that Paris is too important to let her be destroyed. So, you see...your country isn't alone. It's got the armies of every free nation fighting for her freedom."
LeBeau sat back thoughtfully, digesting his friend's words. Neither man spoke for a long spell, preferring the companionable silence to further conversation.
****
Friday 18 AUG 1944/0000hrs localWoods outside the Tauberbischofsheim Rocket Facility
****
The three men communicated through hand signals. They crouched behind a screen of shrubs and thickets. Around them small groups of SS guards with snarling dogs patrolled the outer perimeter.
Through his field glasses, Hogan studied the surrounding terrain. As he'd figured, the rocket facility was laid out almost identically to the Mutlangen site. A deep trench--almost three meters deep with steep sides--provided the first obstacle they had to overcome. From where he stood, the only means in and out of the complex was a short bridge that spanned the ditch.
Once across the trench, they then had to contend with a high-voltage fence, which in turn was guarded by four, two-man teams of roving guards. Hogan noted that they were armed with semi-automatic weapons. Further inside the compound, Hogan spotted three large fuel storage tanks, lying adjacent to a large, camouflaged motorpool area. Posted signs warned of highly explosive and flammable material.
Hogan handed the binoculars to Carter and pointed at the storage tanks. Carter nodded in understanding. Next, a small patrol marched up to the bridge entrance. A single sentry was posted next to a one-arm security gate. As they watched, the sentry saluted the NCO in charge of the patrol and quickly raised the gate.
When the patrol crossed the bridge, they stopped at the electrified fence in front of a double gate, and the NCO signaled the bridge sentry. The sentry opened a junction box, reached inside and pulled down a lever. He nodded at the NCO who immediately opened the double gate and marched his men through.
Looks simple enough, Hogan mused. His eyes followed the guards until they disappeared inside a side entrance to a squat, concrete building, taking note of the armed guard who stood just outside the door. The guard had checked the NCO's identification before allowing the patrol to enter.
Kinchloe suddenly grabbed Hogan's forearm and pointed--a two-man patrol, with a guard dog headed their way! Hogan immediately unholstered his Luger and quickly screwed on a silencer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Carter and Kinchloe were following suit. Hogan could feel the sweat trickling down his temples.
The dog's a lousy break, he thought ruefully. He glanced at his watch. H-hour! The commandoes would be jumping into Mutlangen just about now. We gotta get inside before all Hell breaks loose over there, and the Krauts beef up security down here!
Even as these thoughts flashed through his head, the dog began to whimper and pull at his leash. As Hogan watched, the dog's whimper turned to a low growl. The guards immediately released it, and it shot like a bolt of lightning straight in their direction!
****
End of Part 2
(To Be Continued)