Summary: A bombing mission over the Hungarian oilfields goes awry, and the
plane co-piloted by young Lieutenant Oliver Wendell Douglas is shot down.
In order to escape Nazi territory, he enlists the help of our Heroes.
Based loosely on Green Acres episode #33.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hogan's Heroes nor the Green Acres characters. While some elements of the story originate in Green Acres episode #33 (which does not belong to me, either), the events and situations depicted are products of my own imagination.
Hungarian Rhapsody
by Rebecca Sowell
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Part I
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Slipping through the darkness, he pulled open the barn door slowly, hoping—no, praying—that the hinges wouldn't squeak. A small sound, anything, could give away his presence and cost him his life.
He'd been hiding out for a couple of days, ever since he'd bailed out west of Szeged. Luckily, their bombs had fallen on target, and the smoke from the burning Algyo oilfields and refinery had virtually obliterated any sign of his parachute. The mission, launched from the American air base at Sterparone, Italy, had been an unqualified success, that much he could tell. But then, suddenly, the plane had been wildly out of control. As co- pilot, he'd been ordered to bail out and the entire crew had jumped. Landing on the ground, he had quickly taken cover and hidden his parachute. It wouldn't do for the Jerries to find that. In survival training, that was one of the first things you were taught: Don't leave an obvious trail. But where were the other members of his crew? He'd searched, but in the thick, choking smoke from the burning oilfields there was no sign of the rest of the men. And then, the next morning, he'd seen them from his hiding place in the tall grass beside a bridge that crossed a small stream. The Germans were prodding them along, taking them God only knew where.
Briefly, he had considered trying to help them escape, but there were just too many Germans. There had been ten of them, all armed to the teeth, and he was the only American with a weapon. No, that would never work. He'd waited until they were out of sight. He'd wanted to follow, but there was no cover. The grassy plains and farmland didn't afford many hiding places. His only hope to survive would be to try and make it out of the enemy's territory, although he had to admit it was a slim chance that he would be able to escape Hungary without being captured.
Luckily, he had come upon a farm. It appeared deserted, and the barn would make a good shelter for the night. Maybe he could try to get his bearings, get a little rest. He knew he was nearing the point of exhaustion. The stress of the mission, then of having to bail out, and the flight across country by foot was taking its toll on him.
The cool darkness of the empty barn welcomed him. He sniffed the air—Ah! The wonderful smell of straw! There was nothing like it in the world! As his eyes adjusted to the dusky black interior of the barn, he could just make out the ladder to the hayloft. There! A perfect place to stay for the night. He climbed the ladder and flopped onto the soft hay that was striped from the moonlight slipping through the cracks in the barn wall. A small cloud of golden dust puffed around him, and he drank in the sweet aroma of the dried grasses.
Smiling a little bit, he closed his eyes, blocking out the war and imagining for a moment that he was living the life he had so often dreamed of—that of a farmer—and this was his hayloft, and the grassy farmlands he had just crossed were his fields, just waiting for him to hitch up the plow and turn the soil; watching the rich, dark brown of the earth that was waiting, beckoning him to plant the seeds that would grow into the acres and acres of wheat and corn that would feed America—no, that would feed the entire world! And here in the barn, he'd have a milch cow who would provide his little family (once he got one!) with all the milk and butter they'd need to survive, and in the barnyard there would be a flock of chickens, and the eggs they produced would be the finest in the whole state! Yes, this was what his forefathers had intended when they landed their ships on America's shores! Each man strong, independent, and capable of surviving on his own, working the soil with his own two hands, standing firm and free, just a man and his family, a man and his wife—
"Achoo!" He turned his head, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.
"Achoo! Achoo!" Hearing the sound again, a small kitten-like sneeze, caused him to reach slowly and carefully for his sidearm. All was quiet again, yet he knew someone was in the barn with him. He looked around, trying in vain to see any movement in the dark recesses of the barn loft. Snap! He whirled to the sound, which had come from directly behind him, near where the boards of the barn's wall didn't fit too snugly, letting in a small amount of moonlight. "Achoo!"
Drawing his gun up and aiming it in the general direction of the sneeze, he spoke, "All right. Come out with your hands up." He grimaced. The line sounded so corny, like something out of a Hollywood B movie, not intimidating at all. He wouldn't blame whoever it was if they didn't surrender!
"Don't shoot!" A female voice speaking heavily accented English came from the shadows.
Surprised, he ordered, "Step closer to the light."
Slowly, gracefully, a woman appeared out of the darkness. Her white-blonde hair was adorned with bits of hay, and she looked up at her captor with a pair of the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen in his life! As he stood there gaping, she spoke, "You are under arrest!"
Taken aback, he replied, "Under arrest? Why, you can't arrest me! I've got the gun! I'm arresting you!" The nerve of this crazy woman! What was she thinking? Why, if she weren't so darn beautiful, he would have a lesson or two to teach her!
"Achoo!" The woman sneezed again, and looked up, blinking.
Automatically, the man spoke, "God bless you. Are you all right?"
The blonde woman smiled a little, tilted her head a few degrees and answered, "Yes. I just get allergic smelling-hay."
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"So, what were you doing in the barn? Do you live on this farm?" He asked the woman, as they sat in the loft, eating a meal made from the items carried in his survival pack. After a few moments at a standoff, during which time he had managed to convince her that he was not going to hurt her, his hunger pangs had gotten the better of him and he'd informed her that he planned to have a snack. She could join him, or not, it was up to her.
She answered, "No, I am out hiding." The woman answered, as she stuffed in a bite of cracker.
The American man watched her eat, enjoying the way her tongue licked the crumbs from her lips. "You mean hiding out?" He corrected.
"Out where?" She asked, wide eyed.
He frowned, not sure if he understood her question. "Here. In the barn."
"What is here in the barn?" She queried, looking around them at the open space of the loft. "I don't see anything but straw."
He opened his mouth to answer her, but thought better of it, instead deciding to change the tone of the conversation by introducing himself properly. "My name is Lieutenant Oliver Wendell Douglas, United States Army Air Corps. What's yours?"
She smiled, and answered, "Lisa Gronyitz."
"Well, Miss Gronyitz, it's nice to meet you. But why are you hiding?" Douglas asked between bites.
"I have been working with the Hungarian Underground. My family lived about one hundred kilometers from here, to the east, but they have fled the area. I became separated from them, and was hoping to get to Switzerland." The woman replied. She was intent on her meal, and answered without looking up.
"Fled the area? Why? Were there a lot of Allied bombing raids near your home?" Douglas tried to think of a reason for her family's flight. He knew that many civilians were fleeing from the Allied bombs, and he had also heard that the Red Army was advancing from the East at a rather quick pace.
"No. The Germans have been locking all the Gypsy families into camps. They came for us one night, and we had to go." She told him, with a flicker of sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
Douglas frowned, remarking, "Gypsy? You certainly don't look like any Gypsy I ever saw!"
"Well, you don't look like any American I ever saw, either!" Lisa cried indignantly, rising to her feet. "Besides, how do I know you aren't a spy?"
"I told you I'm an American! I was shot down—I'm even in uniform!" Douglas replied, also standing. "How many Americans have you ever seen, anyway?"
Lisa huffed and sputtered, "I-I-I've seen enough Americans! I know that they are supposed to carry proof with them!"
Douglas looked surprised, and answered, "Like what? Isn't this—" he waved his arm in an outward motion, encompassing the scant picnic feast the two had been enjoying, with its English-labeled food wrappers, as well as his uniform, pack and gear—"proof enough?"
She looked him straight in the eye, and lifted her chin. "Where are the nylon stockings?" Lisa folded her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for his answer.
Not for the first time since they had met, Lieutenant Douglas was speechless. This was the most exasperating woman he had ever met! She was alternately friendly, suspicious, demanding, confusing, and above all, beautiful. He wasn't sure how to answer her, but gave it a try. "Why, that's ridiculous. Why would I have nylon stockings?"
Lisa looked uncomfortable, obviously finding his logic disconcerting. "Well, that is what I want for my proof. You had better find some. Maybe you should look in your pack again." She lifted her chin in the direction of his gear.
Douglas shook his head, saying, "I don't have to look in my pack, I can tell you that I don't have any nylon stockings with me. But I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to pack up my things, and head out. It's been nice meeting you, Miss Gronyitz, but I think I need to be moving on now." He turned and began collecting the remains of their meal, as well as the wrappers.
"I am afraid you can't leave, Lieutenant Douglas." Lisa stated in a firm tone.
With surprise in his voice, Douglas said, "Why not?"
She answered, "Because you are my prisoner." She planted her hands on her hips and her feet firmly on the floor.
"But you said you were with the Underground! That makes us both on the same side, doesn't it?" Douglas stammered, searching for a way to reason with this most unreasonable woman. "Besides, we've already been over this. You don't have a weapon, and I do. You're in no position to hold anyone prisoner!"
Lisa looked suddenly defiant. "You are going to just leave me here? Alone? If we are on the same side, you must take me with you!" Taking a deep breath, in a more pleasant tone she added as an afterthought, "And Lieutenant Douglas—"
"Yes?" Douglas answered, still bewildered by the events that were transpiring.
"You may call me Lisa."
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"Colonel, if what the Underground gave us is accurate, those troops are going to pass less than twenty kilometers from Hammelburg." Sergeant James Kinchloe remarked as he studied the map that was spread out on the desk in front of him. The other men crowded around, Corporal Louis LeBeau, Corporal Peter Newkirk, and Sergeant Andrew Carter, looked to their commanding officer, Colonel Robert Hogan, with smiles on their faces.
"Men, this could be one of the most opportune moments of the war for us." Hogan leaned over, indicating a point on the map. "With the Germans marching their troops so near, we can give London the exact coordinates for their location, and—"
"And Kablooee!" Carter interrupted with a grin. As their explosives expert, the American sergeant was captivated by anything that went "boom".
Hogan looked at the young sergeant and smiled. "Yeah. Kablooee." He stood and folded the map. Turning to Kinchloe, he ordered, "Kinch, radio London with the information we have so far. If all goes well, in a very short amount of time, the glorious Third Reich will be missing one of its armies."
"Will do." Kinchloe answered. Like the other men gathered in the small room that served as Colonel Hogan's private quarters, he knew that each time they were able to provide assistance to the Allied war effort, it made the end of the war that much closer to becoming a reality. Although they were officially prisoners of war interred in LuftStalag 13, a German prisoner of war camp for Allied airmen, the men serving under the senior prisoner of war, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, played a much greater role in the war than most other POWs. They ran a highly efficient, successful escape and rescue operation, as well as serving as an espionage and sabotage unit. Because of the ineptness of the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Wilhelm Klink, their operation had gone virtually undetected by the Germans for nearly a year and a half now.
As the men left the private room at the North end of the barracks, the outer door swung open to admit a chubby, pleasant-faced man dressed in the uniform of a German sergeant major. Schultz was the guard assigned to Barracks 2, and although a member of the German army, he was not a fervent loyalist to Hitler's cause. His main goal for the war seemed to be to keep a low profile and stay alive. Schultz dusted the flakes of snow off his sleeves, and passed along his message, "Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant requests that you come to his office immediately."
"What is it, Schultz? The Führer calling for advice again?" Hogan needled the rotund sergeant good naturedly.
Newkirk, with his biting British wit, couldn't resist adding, "I'll give 'im some advice. Give up while you still can!"
The men in the barracks laughed as Schultz muttered, "Jolly Joker!" Shaking his head in exasperation, the German turned to leave the building, followed by Colonel Hogan.
Once outside, Hogan walked across the bare earth of the prison yard to the Kommandant's office. Fortunately, it wasn't quite cold enough for the snow that was falling to stick to the ground. Heating fuel was always scarce in the camp, but as long as the temperature outside didn't dip too low, the prisoners were not in danger of frostbite.
Inside the small entryway, Hilda, the attractive blonde secretary to the camp commander, was seated at her desk, typing a letter. Hogan approached her from behind, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "Ummm. New perfume?" He asked, as she smiled and turned to him.
Hilda answered, "You should know. It's from the bottle you gave me last week." She smiled flirtatiously at the handsome American colonel.
"I thought so." Hogan smiled back at her, then winked as he went into the Kommandant's office unannounced.
Colonel Klink looked up as the American officer walked through the doorway. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Hogan asked, saluting casually, then hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket.
"Hogan," The German officer began, "I'm ordering all prisoners be confined to barracks for two days. Anyone disobeying will be shot, no questions asked. Dismissed." Klink was formal and brief with his order, and it was apparent that he had no intention of elaborating further on the instructions he had just given.
Suspicious, Hogan narrowed his eyes and tried to get a look at the paperwork the Kommandant was laboring over. Seeing nothing that appeared noteworthy, he asked, "What's this about, sir?" Although the German officer was under no obligation to provide him with answers, Hogan always tried anyway. This time, however, Klink was not forthcoming with any information.
"Hogan, frankly, it's none of your business. Orders are orders. Now, I don't have time for your questions, so leave." Klink replied without raising his head from the papers that were spread out on his desk.
Hogan was about to continue plying Klink with questions when the door to the Kommandant's office opened. Hogan looked over to see Hilda standing in the doorway, her left hand resting on the doorknob. He raised one eyebrow, giving her a small secretive smile. She blushed prettily and looked away, then spoke to Colonel Klink, "Kommandant, the telephone call you asked me to make to Major Hochstetter's office has gone through now." Glancing back at Hogan, she continued, "The Major is on the line." Turning to go back into her office, she looked over her shoulder lingeringly at Hogan, who returned her gaze. With a satisfied smile, Hilda closed the door behind her.
The kommandant reached for the telephone that was on the corner of his desk, but realized Hogan remained in the office. "Hogan," he said, annoyed, "Do you mind?"
Hogan smiled innocently and sat down in the chair that was reserved for guests. "Of course not, Kommandant. Don't let me bother you." Leaning forward, he reached for the cigar humidor.
The Kommandant slapped the box closed, nearly catching Hogan's fingers before the American could jerk his hand back. His face twisting in exasperation, Klink exclaimed, "Get out!" as he gestured toward the doorway.
"Ok, ok. Awfully touchy today, aren't we?" Hogan answered, rising from the chair and exiting the room. In the secretary's office once again, Hogan walked swiftly toward the outer door and reached for the doorknob, ignoring the woman seated at the typewriter.
"Good-" Hilda began, as Hogan closed the door behind him, "bye." She finished to the empty room.
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Back in the barracks, Hogan hurried to his private quarters, where his men were already gathered around the small table located in the center of the room. Motioning toward the partially dismantled coffeepot with a movement of his hand, he asked, "What's he saying?"
Newkirk shook his head slightly, while Kinchloe answered for the men, "Not much yet." The men turned their attention back to the appliance, which was secretly wired to a microphone in Klink's office. The Kommandant's voice was clear through the speaker, but as Kinchloe had indicated, Klink didn't seem to have any information.
"But Major Hochstetter, why will you be needing Stalag 13 guards? We're shorthanded as it is. And our supplies are rationed, as well. We just don't have any to spare. Surely the Gestapo can provide—" Klink argued ineffectually in his whiny tone. "Yes, of course, I understand. Yes. Yes, I'll have the guards there tomorrow morning." As the Kommandant hung up the telephone, the prisoners could hear him mutter through the speaker, "I can't stand that man."
""E's not alone there," Newkirk remarked as Colonel Hogan disconnected the cord to the coffeepot, then replaced the basket and lid.
In light of the Gestapo major's request for a contingent of guards from the camp, the reason for the prisoners barracks restriction became clear. Hogan spoke to the men, filling them in on Klink's orders that everyone be confined to barracks for two days. When that was met with grumbles and groans, he offered in a patient tone, "Now, don't complain too much. We're going to be busy enough. With the camp's guards doing duty for Major Hochstetter, that'll leave the camp understaffed. It'll be a good time to catch up on a few things that we've needed to do for a while now."
"Like clear out that collapsed section of tunnel 8." Kinchloe remarked. This was met with more grumbles. Although a necessary task, digging underground was not a favorite pastime for the prisoners.
Slapping Carter on the back, Hogan grinned at the men. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."
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Lieutenant Douglas leaned tiredly against the tree trunk. It had been a long day, and it didn't show any signs of getting better. During the time he and Miss Lisa Gronyitz had been traveling together, they had narrowly escaped Nazi patrols several times. His original plan was to approach the Allied lines by the closest route possible, which appeared to be across Austria to the Italian border, but Douglas knew that this would be impossible without transportation. Finally, outside a small dry grocer's near Buda, after traveling on foot for miles, he had spied the old, run- down car. An elderly couple pulled up outside the store, slowly climbed out of the vehicle and went inside the shop.
Douglas looked at Lisa and smiled. She whispered, "Are you going to hots wire the car?"
"You mean steal it? Of course not. I was going to offer to buy it. I've got this gold money clip—" he pulled out the fine piece of ornamentation, complete with diamond studs in the shape of a dollar sign. "I couldn't steal from them! I've never stolen anything in my life!"
"But I thought you said you were a lawyer!" Lisa cried out in dismay, remembering their earlier conversation about their civilian lives before the war.
Douglas sputtered, "Well, I was. I am, I mean! Now, see here, I object to that—" He broke off as she shushed him. He looked back to see another car pull up at the shop.
"Gestapo." She whispered. Douglas felt his heart skip a beat. Their earlier sightings of German troops had all been regular soldiers. This was his first glimpse of the dreaded secret police. They watched as the man went inside the shop, returning less than a minute later to climb back into his car and drive off.
Douglas exhaled. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath. As Lisa scrambled out of the underbrush, heading toward the empty automobile, Douglas grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you're going?" He asked.
"I'm going to steal the car." She answered, looking pointedly at his fingers, which were tightened around her wrist.
"That's much too dangerous for a woman. I'm sure if we wait for the old couple to come outside, we can reason with them to sell us the car. Or maybe we can pay them to drive us somewhere." Lieutenant Douglas explained.
Lisa stared at him for a moment as if he were daft. Reaching a decision, she spoke with all the authority she could muster, "I'm stealing the car. As my prisoner, you must cooperate with me fully, or suffer the consequences. Now, Lieutenant, what will it be?"
Douglas shook his head in frustration. "Now, you're not going to start that again, are you? I've told you, I'm not your prisoner. We're on the same side!"
Lisa raised one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. "Then prove it!"
Rolling his eyes, Douglas asked, "Is this about those nylon stockings again? Because if it is, I've already told you—"
"If we are on the same side, then help me steal the car!" Lisa interrupted, turning wide eyes up to his face.
"Well, I—oh, all right, come on!" Douglas gave in, finding her plea hard to resist. He pulled the woman along with him toward the car. Raising the hood, he began searching for wires that looked like they might belong to the ignition. Behind him, Lisa walked to the driver's side door. Opening it and reaching up, she pulled down the visor. A set of keys fell onto the seat below. With a smile, she sat down behind the wheel and started the car engine. Douglas jumped back, surprised at the sudden movement of the motor. "What the—"
"Come along, Lieutenant!" Lisa called from the car window. "Let's go!"
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Night had fallen when the American officer and Hungarian woman reached the Austrian border. Through the darkness on the road ahead, the torches of a checkpoint were clearly visible.
"Oh, drat!" Douglas exclaimed. "We'll never make it through that way. We'll have to try to go another route." Just then, he noticed the gas gauge was approaching empty. The little old couple who owned the car had kept an extra can of gasoline in the trunk, but it was long gone now, used on their cross-country trek.
"We're going to have to get fuel somewhere, too. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all." Douglas mumbled under his breath.
"Look! Over there!" Lisa cried, pointing at a farm road that was barely visible in the night. "Turn there, to the right."
Douglas swung the car onto the dirt road and continued driving. "Where does this go?" He asked.
Lisa shrugged. "I don't know. Why?" She kept her eyes on the road ahead.
The American man looked at his companion with a confused expression on his face. "I thought you knew where this road leads, you sounded so sure when you told me to turn here."
Lisa turned to him and smiled. "Oh, I've never been to this part of Hungary before. Our family traveled north into Germany a few times, but never to the west like this."
They rode in silence for several miles, Lisa appearing oblivious to Douglas' concern. As they approached a farmhouse, the automobile began sputtering and finally coughed to a stop. Douglas guided the car to the grassy edge of the road and spoke, "I guess we're on foot from here. Come on." He stepped out of the car and grabbed the cloth jacket and hat he had found in the back seat. Knowing that these probably belonged to the elderly gentleman they had stolen the car from, he pushed his guilty feelings to the back of his mind. This was war, after all, he reasoned.
Lisa called from the passenger side of the vehicle, "But why don't we just get more gasoline?"
At her puzzled tone, Douglas shook his head. Didn't the woman understand anything? "How do you propose we do that? Just walk up to the next house and ask if they have any gas?" He laughed a little at the absurdity of his statement.
"Why not?" she answered.
Douglas laughed a little more. "Why not, indeed?" He approached the woman while shrugging into the jacket, which he intended to use to cover his military uniform. "Miss, as soon as I walk up to that house and open my mouth, everyone's going to know I am an American. Now, unless we happen to get lucky and find someone who doesn't like the Nazis, I'm likely to get shot, or at the very least captured. And the way my luck has gone lately, I'm not willing to take that chance. So I say, I'm walking." At that, Douglas took a few steps down the road.
"Wait!" Lisa called, running after him. "What if I ask for the gasoline? What if you don't talk?"
Douglas considered her idea. It just might work, he reasoned. At her hopeful expression, he gave in and answered, "All right. But if anything goes wrong, step back out of the way. Things could get nasty." He reached to his side and placed his hand upon the butt of his gun.
Lisa's eyes widened, and she nodded silently. The pair approached the farmhouse that was back off the road a short distance. She walked boldly up to the front door and knocked. A farmer, who appeared to be in his late fifties, answered the door. His wife peered over his shoulder at their visitors, as Lisa began speaking in Hungarian. Douglas hung back in the shadows, hoping that the farm couple didn't find his attire suspicious. The farmer nodded a few times at Lisa's words, then gestured toward Douglas, obviously asking a question. Lisa looked back at Douglas and then continued to speak to the couple in her native tongue. The farmer's wife began making "tsk, tsk" sounds, and pushed past her husband to put her arm around Lisa's shoulders in a comforting gesture. Douglas' grip on his pistol tightened when the farmer disappeared into the back of the house, only to emerge a moment later with a large can. Stepping onto the porch, he handed it to Douglas, who accepted it without speaking.
Once out of earshot, Douglas laughed and said, "What did you tell those people to get them to part with this? It's got to be more precious than gold to them!"
Lisa laughed along, and answered, "I told them you were my husband and you had been injured in the war. We are trying to get home to my parents."
"What was the man asking you?" Douglas wanted to know.
"He just said that you didn't look like you had been injured." Lisa replied.
Still chuckling, Douglas asked, "What did you tell him?"
"I told them that your injuries weren't obvious to anyone but me." Lisa laughed even harder, saying, "I told them that you would never father children."
"Oh." Douglas said, as his laughter died down. "Oh." Suddenly not finding the situation amusing anymore, he said, "Come on. Let's go."
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Later the next day, it became apparent to Douglas that his original plan to cross into Allied territory via the Austrian-Italian border would never work. The Germans were concentrating their efforts on fortifying the front lines, and there were too many Jerries guarding the roads to take a chance on making it back to friendly soil.
Douglas slapped the top of the steering wheel in frustration, and sighed, reaching a decision. "That leaves Plan B."
Lisa looked at him questioningly, and asked, "What is Plan B?"
Douglas answered, "We head north."
Twisting in her seat to face him and with obvious alarm, Lisa exclaimed, "North? Into Germany? Are you mad? Isn't there a Plan C we could try instead?"
Remembering the words of his squadron commander, Lt. Colonel Hathaway, during the briefing prior to takeoff, Douglas knew that if any of their planes were shot down in enemy territory, all the men had been instructed to first try to make it to Italy to rejoin their unit. If that failed or wasn't practical, the alternate plan was to seek out a particular man. Lt. Colonel Hathaway hadn't offered any details, but had told the men that things would be clear later. And although Douglas didn't understand why, and he didn't exactly know how he would do it, their C.O. had been adamant about their orders: Get to Stalag 13, a prisoner of war camp run by the Germans for Allied fliers, and find Hogan.
Whoever that was.
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End Part I
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Disclaimer: I do not own the Hogan's Heroes nor the Green Acres characters. While some elements of the story originate in Green Acres episode #33 (which does not belong to me, either), the events and situations depicted are products of my own imagination.
Hungarian Rhapsody
by Rebecca Sowell
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Part I
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Slipping through the darkness, he pulled open the barn door slowly, hoping—no, praying—that the hinges wouldn't squeak. A small sound, anything, could give away his presence and cost him his life.
He'd been hiding out for a couple of days, ever since he'd bailed out west of Szeged. Luckily, their bombs had fallen on target, and the smoke from the burning Algyo oilfields and refinery had virtually obliterated any sign of his parachute. The mission, launched from the American air base at Sterparone, Italy, had been an unqualified success, that much he could tell. But then, suddenly, the plane had been wildly out of control. As co- pilot, he'd been ordered to bail out and the entire crew had jumped. Landing on the ground, he had quickly taken cover and hidden his parachute. It wouldn't do for the Jerries to find that. In survival training, that was one of the first things you were taught: Don't leave an obvious trail. But where were the other members of his crew? He'd searched, but in the thick, choking smoke from the burning oilfields there was no sign of the rest of the men. And then, the next morning, he'd seen them from his hiding place in the tall grass beside a bridge that crossed a small stream. The Germans were prodding them along, taking them God only knew where.
Briefly, he had considered trying to help them escape, but there were just too many Germans. There had been ten of them, all armed to the teeth, and he was the only American with a weapon. No, that would never work. He'd waited until they were out of sight. He'd wanted to follow, but there was no cover. The grassy plains and farmland didn't afford many hiding places. His only hope to survive would be to try and make it out of the enemy's territory, although he had to admit it was a slim chance that he would be able to escape Hungary without being captured.
Luckily, he had come upon a farm. It appeared deserted, and the barn would make a good shelter for the night. Maybe he could try to get his bearings, get a little rest. He knew he was nearing the point of exhaustion. The stress of the mission, then of having to bail out, and the flight across country by foot was taking its toll on him.
The cool darkness of the empty barn welcomed him. He sniffed the air—Ah! The wonderful smell of straw! There was nothing like it in the world! As his eyes adjusted to the dusky black interior of the barn, he could just make out the ladder to the hayloft. There! A perfect place to stay for the night. He climbed the ladder and flopped onto the soft hay that was striped from the moonlight slipping through the cracks in the barn wall. A small cloud of golden dust puffed around him, and he drank in the sweet aroma of the dried grasses.
Smiling a little bit, he closed his eyes, blocking out the war and imagining for a moment that he was living the life he had so often dreamed of—that of a farmer—and this was his hayloft, and the grassy farmlands he had just crossed were his fields, just waiting for him to hitch up the plow and turn the soil; watching the rich, dark brown of the earth that was waiting, beckoning him to plant the seeds that would grow into the acres and acres of wheat and corn that would feed America—no, that would feed the entire world! And here in the barn, he'd have a milch cow who would provide his little family (once he got one!) with all the milk and butter they'd need to survive, and in the barnyard there would be a flock of chickens, and the eggs they produced would be the finest in the whole state! Yes, this was what his forefathers had intended when they landed their ships on America's shores! Each man strong, independent, and capable of surviving on his own, working the soil with his own two hands, standing firm and free, just a man and his family, a man and his wife—
"Achoo!" He turned his head, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.
"Achoo! Achoo!" Hearing the sound again, a small kitten-like sneeze, caused him to reach slowly and carefully for his sidearm. All was quiet again, yet he knew someone was in the barn with him. He looked around, trying in vain to see any movement in the dark recesses of the barn loft. Snap! He whirled to the sound, which had come from directly behind him, near where the boards of the barn's wall didn't fit too snugly, letting in a small amount of moonlight. "Achoo!"
Drawing his gun up and aiming it in the general direction of the sneeze, he spoke, "All right. Come out with your hands up." He grimaced. The line sounded so corny, like something out of a Hollywood B movie, not intimidating at all. He wouldn't blame whoever it was if they didn't surrender!
"Don't shoot!" A female voice speaking heavily accented English came from the shadows.
Surprised, he ordered, "Step closer to the light."
Slowly, gracefully, a woman appeared out of the darkness. Her white-blonde hair was adorned with bits of hay, and she looked up at her captor with a pair of the biggest, bluest eyes he had ever seen in his life! As he stood there gaping, she spoke, "You are under arrest!"
Taken aback, he replied, "Under arrest? Why, you can't arrest me! I've got the gun! I'm arresting you!" The nerve of this crazy woman! What was she thinking? Why, if she weren't so darn beautiful, he would have a lesson or two to teach her!
"Achoo!" The woman sneezed again, and looked up, blinking.
Automatically, the man spoke, "God bless you. Are you all right?"
The blonde woman smiled a little, tilted her head a few degrees and answered, "Yes. I just get allergic smelling-hay."
+++++++++++
"So, what were you doing in the barn? Do you live on this farm?" He asked the woman, as they sat in the loft, eating a meal made from the items carried in his survival pack. After a few moments at a standoff, during which time he had managed to convince her that he was not going to hurt her, his hunger pangs had gotten the better of him and he'd informed her that he planned to have a snack. She could join him, or not, it was up to her.
She answered, "No, I am out hiding." The woman answered, as she stuffed in a bite of cracker.
The American man watched her eat, enjoying the way her tongue licked the crumbs from her lips. "You mean hiding out?" He corrected.
"Out where?" She asked, wide eyed.
He frowned, not sure if he understood her question. "Here. In the barn."
"What is here in the barn?" She queried, looking around them at the open space of the loft. "I don't see anything but straw."
He opened his mouth to answer her, but thought better of it, instead deciding to change the tone of the conversation by introducing himself properly. "My name is Lieutenant Oliver Wendell Douglas, United States Army Air Corps. What's yours?"
She smiled, and answered, "Lisa Gronyitz."
"Well, Miss Gronyitz, it's nice to meet you. But why are you hiding?" Douglas asked between bites.
"I have been working with the Hungarian Underground. My family lived about one hundred kilometers from here, to the east, but they have fled the area. I became separated from them, and was hoping to get to Switzerland." The woman replied. She was intent on her meal, and answered without looking up.
"Fled the area? Why? Were there a lot of Allied bombing raids near your home?" Douglas tried to think of a reason for her family's flight. He knew that many civilians were fleeing from the Allied bombs, and he had also heard that the Red Army was advancing from the East at a rather quick pace.
"No. The Germans have been locking all the Gypsy families into camps. They came for us one night, and we had to go." She told him, with a flicker of sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
Douglas frowned, remarking, "Gypsy? You certainly don't look like any Gypsy I ever saw!"
"Well, you don't look like any American I ever saw, either!" Lisa cried indignantly, rising to her feet. "Besides, how do I know you aren't a spy?"
"I told you I'm an American! I was shot down—I'm even in uniform!" Douglas replied, also standing. "How many Americans have you ever seen, anyway?"
Lisa huffed and sputtered, "I-I-I've seen enough Americans! I know that they are supposed to carry proof with them!"
Douglas looked surprised, and answered, "Like what? Isn't this—" he waved his arm in an outward motion, encompassing the scant picnic feast the two had been enjoying, with its English-labeled food wrappers, as well as his uniform, pack and gear—"proof enough?"
She looked him straight in the eye, and lifted her chin. "Where are the nylon stockings?" Lisa folded her arms and tapped her foot, waiting for his answer.
Not for the first time since they had met, Lieutenant Douglas was speechless. This was the most exasperating woman he had ever met! She was alternately friendly, suspicious, demanding, confusing, and above all, beautiful. He wasn't sure how to answer her, but gave it a try. "Why, that's ridiculous. Why would I have nylon stockings?"
Lisa looked uncomfortable, obviously finding his logic disconcerting. "Well, that is what I want for my proof. You had better find some. Maybe you should look in your pack again." She lifted her chin in the direction of his gear.
Douglas shook his head, saying, "I don't have to look in my pack, I can tell you that I don't have any nylon stockings with me. But I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to pack up my things, and head out. It's been nice meeting you, Miss Gronyitz, but I think I need to be moving on now." He turned and began collecting the remains of their meal, as well as the wrappers.
"I am afraid you can't leave, Lieutenant Douglas." Lisa stated in a firm tone.
With surprise in his voice, Douglas said, "Why not?"
She answered, "Because you are my prisoner." She planted her hands on her hips and her feet firmly on the floor.
"But you said you were with the Underground! That makes us both on the same side, doesn't it?" Douglas stammered, searching for a way to reason with this most unreasonable woman. "Besides, we've already been over this. You don't have a weapon, and I do. You're in no position to hold anyone prisoner!"
Lisa looked suddenly defiant. "You are going to just leave me here? Alone? If we are on the same side, you must take me with you!" Taking a deep breath, in a more pleasant tone she added as an afterthought, "And Lieutenant Douglas—"
"Yes?" Douglas answered, still bewildered by the events that were transpiring.
"You may call me Lisa."
++++++++++++
"Colonel, if what the Underground gave us is accurate, those troops are going to pass less than twenty kilometers from Hammelburg." Sergeant James Kinchloe remarked as he studied the map that was spread out on the desk in front of him. The other men crowded around, Corporal Louis LeBeau, Corporal Peter Newkirk, and Sergeant Andrew Carter, looked to their commanding officer, Colonel Robert Hogan, with smiles on their faces.
"Men, this could be one of the most opportune moments of the war for us." Hogan leaned over, indicating a point on the map. "With the Germans marching their troops so near, we can give London the exact coordinates for their location, and—"
"And Kablooee!" Carter interrupted with a grin. As their explosives expert, the American sergeant was captivated by anything that went "boom".
Hogan looked at the young sergeant and smiled. "Yeah. Kablooee." He stood and folded the map. Turning to Kinchloe, he ordered, "Kinch, radio London with the information we have so far. If all goes well, in a very short amount of time, the glorious Third Reich will be missing one of its armies."
"Will do." Kinchloe answered. Like the other men gathered in the small room that served as Colonel Hogan's private quarters, he knew that each time they were able to provide assistance to the Allied war effort, it made the end of the war that much closer to becoming a reality. Although they were officially prisoners of war interred in LuftStalag 13, a German prisoner of war camp for Allied airmen, the men serving under the senior prisoner of war, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, played a much greater role in the war than most other POWs. They ran a highly efficient, successful escape and rescue operation, as well as serving as an espionage and sabotage unit. Because of the ineptness of the Kommandant of Stalag 13, Colonel Wilhelm Klink, their operation had gone virtually undetected by the Germans for nearly a year and a half now.
As the men left the private room at the North end of the barracks, the outer door swung open to admit a chubby, pleasant-faced man dressed in the uniform of a German sergeant major. Schultz was the guard assigned to Barracks 2, and although a member of the German army, he was not a fervent loyalist to Hitler's cause. His main goal for the war seemed to be to keep a low profile and stay alive. Schultz dusted the flakes of snow off his sleeves, and passed along his message, "Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant requests that you come to his office immediately."
"What is it, Schultz? The Führer calling for advice again?" Hogan needled the rotund sergeant good naturedly.
Newkirk, with his biting British wit, couldn't resist adding, "I'll give 'im some advice. Give up while you still can!"
The men in the barracks laughed as Schultz muttered, "Jolly Joker!" Shaking his head in exasperation, the German turned to leave the building, followed by Colonel Hogan.
Once outside, Hogan walked across the bare earth of the prison yard to the Kommandant's office. Fortunately, it wasn't quite cold enough for the snow that was falling to stick to the ground. Heating fuel was always scarce in the camp, but as long as the temperature outside didn't dip too low, the prisoners were not in danger of frostbite.
Inside the small entryway, Hilda, the attractive blonde secretary to the camp commander, was seated at her desk, typing a letter. Hogan approached her from behind, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. "Ummm. New perfume?" He asked, as she smiled and turned to him.
Hilda answered, "You should know. It's from the bottle you gave me last week." She smiled flirtatiously at the handsome American colonel.
"I thought so." Hogan smiled back at her, then winked as he went into the Kommandant's office unannounced.
Colonel Klink looked up as the American officer walked through the doorway. "You wanted to see me, sir?" Hogan asked, saluting casually, then hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket.
"Hogan," The German officer began, "I'm ordering all prisoners be confined to barracks for two days. Anyone disobeying will be shot, no questions asked. Dismissed." Klink was formal and brief with his order, and it was apparent that he had no intention of elaborating further on the instructions he had just given.
Suspicious, Hogan narrowed his eyes and tried to get a look at the paperwork the Kommandant was laboring over. Seeing nothing that appeared noteworthy, he asked, "What's this about, sir?" Although the German officer was under no obligation to provide him with answers, Hogan always tried anyway. This time, however, Klink was not forthcoming with any information.
"Hogan, frankly, it's none of your business. Orders are orders. Now, I don't have time for your questions, so leave." Klink replied without raising his head from the papers that were spread out on his desk.
Hogan was about to continue plying Klink with questions when the door to the Kommandant's office opened. Hogan looked over to see Hilda standing in the doorway, her left hand resting on the doorknob. He raised one eyebrow, giving her a small secretive smile. She blushed prettily and looked away, then spoke to Colonel Klink, "Kommandant, the telephone call you asked me to make to Major Hochstetter's office has gone through now." Glancing back at Hogan, she continued, "The Major is on the line." Turning to go back into her office, she looked over her shoulder lingeringly at Hogan, who returned her gaze. With a satisfied smile, Hilda closed the door behind her.
The kommandant reached for the telephone that was on the corner of his desk, but realized Hogan remained in the office. "Hogan," he said, annoyed, "Do you mind?"
Hogan smiled innocently and sat down in the chair that was reserved for guests. "Of course not, Kommandant. Don't let me bother you." Leaning forward, he reached for the cigar humidor.
The Kommandant slapped the box closed, nearly catching Hogan's fingers before the American could jerk his hand back. His face twisting in exasperation, Klink exclaimed, "Get out!" as he gestured toward the doorway.
"Ok, ok. Awfully touchy today, aren't we?" Hogan answered, rising from the chair and exiting the room. In the secretary's office once again, Hogan walked swiftly toward the outer door and reached for the doorknob, ignoring the woman seated at the typewriter.
"Good-" Hilda began, as Hogan closed the door behind him, "bye." She finished to the empty room.
+++++++++++
Back in the barracks, Hogan hurried to his private quarters, where his men were already gathered around the small table located in the center of the room. Motioning toward the partially dismantled coffeepot with a movement of his hand, he asked, "What's he saying?"
Newkirk shook his head slightly, while Kinchloe answered for the men, "Not much yet." The men turned their attention back to the appliance, which was secretly wired to a microphone in Klink's office. The Kommandant's voice was clear through the speaker, but as Kinchloe had indicated, Klink didn't seem to have any information.
"But Major Hochstetter, why will you be needing Stalag 13 guards? We're shorthanded as it is. And our supplies are rationed, as well. We just don't have any to spare. Surely the Gestapo can provide—" Klink argued ineffectually in his whiny tone. "Yes, of course, I understand. Yes. Yes, I'll have the guards there tomorrow morning." As the Kommandant hung up the telephone, the prisoners could hear him mutter through the speaker, "I can't stand that man."
""E's not alone there," Newkirk remarked as Colonel Hogan disconnected the cord to the coffeepot, then replaced the basket and lid.
In light of the Gestapo major's request for a contingent of guards from the camp, the reason for the prisoners barracks restriction became clear. Hogan spoke to the men, filling them in on Klink's orders that everyone be confined to barracks for two days. When that was met with grumbles and groans, he offered in a patient tone, "Now, don't complain too much. We're going to be busy enough. With the camp's guards doing duty for Major Hochstetter, that'll leave the camp understaffed. It'll be a good time to catch up on a few things that we've needed to do for a while now."
"Like clear out that collapsed section of tunnel 8." Kinchloe remarked. This was met with more grumbles. Although a necessary task, digging underground was not a favorite pastime for the prisoners.
Slapping Carter on the back, Hogan grinned at the men. "It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."
++++++++++++
Lieutenant Douglas leaned tiredly against the tree trunk. It had been a long day, and it didn't show any signs of getting better. During the time he and Miss Lisa Gronyitz had been traveling together, they had narrowly escaped Nazi patrols several times. His original plan was to approach the Allied lines by the closest route possible, which appeared to be across Austria to the Italian border, but Douglas knew that this would be impossible without transportation. Finally, outside a small dry grocer's near Buda, after traveling on foot for miles, he had spied the old, run- down car. An elderly couple pulled up outside the store, slowly climbed out of the vehicle and went inside the shop.
Douglas looked at Lisa and smiled. She whispered, "Are you going to hots wire the car?"
"You mean steal it? Of course not. I was going to offer to buy it. I've got this gold money clip—" he pulled out the fine piece of ornamentation, complete with diamond studs in the shape of a dollar sign. "I couldn't steal from them! I've never stolen anything in my life!"
"But I thought you said you were a lawyer!" Lisa cried out in dismay, remembering their earlier conversation about their civilian lives before the war.
Douglas sputtered, "Well, I was. I am, I mean! Now, see here, I object to that—" He broke off as she shushed him. He looked back to see another car pull up at the shop.
"Gestapo." She whispered. Douglas felt his heart skip a beat. Their earlier sightings of German troops had all been regular soldiers. This was his first glimpse of the dreaded secret police. They watched as the man went inside the shop, returning less than a minute later to climb back into his car and drive off.
Douglas exhaled. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath. As Lisa scrambled out of the underbrush, heading toward the empty automobile, Douglas grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you're going?" He asked.
"I'm going to steal the car." She answered, looking pointedly at his fingers, which were tightened around her wrist.
"That's much too dangerous for a woman. I'm sure if we wait for the old couple to come outside, we can reason with them to sell us the car. Or maybe we can pay them to drive us somewhere." Lieutenant Douglas explained.
Lisa stared at him for a moment as if he were daft. Reaching a decision, she spoke with all the authority she could muster, "I'm stealing the car. As my prisoner, you must cooperate with me fully, or suffer the consequences. Now, Lieutenant, what will it be?"
Douglas shook his head in frustration. "Now, you're not going to start that again, are you? I've told you, I'm not your prisoner. We're on the same side!"
Lisa raised one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, looking up at him through narrowed eyes. "Then prove it!"
Rolling his eyes, Douglas asked, "Is this about those nylon stockings again? Because if it is, I've already told you—"
"If we are on the same side, then help me steal the car!" Lisa interrupted, turning wide eyes up to his face.
"Well, I—oh, all right, come on!" Douglas gave in, finding her plea hard to resist. He pulled the woman along with him toward the car. Raising the hood, he began searching for wires that looked like they might belong to the ignition. Behind him, Lisa walked to the driver's side door. Opening it and reaching up, she pulled down the visor. A set of keys fell onto the seat below. With a smile, she sat down behind the wheel and started the car engine. Douglas jumped back, surprised at the sudden movement of the motor. "What the—"
"Come along, Lieutenant!" Lisa called from the car window. "Let's go!"
+++++++++++++++
Night had fallen when the American officer and Hungarian woman reached the Austrian border. Through the darkness on the road ahead, the torches of a checkpoint were clearly visible.
"Oh, drat!" Douglas exclaimed. "We'll never make it through that way. We'll have to try to go another route." Just then, he noticed the gas gauge was approaching empty. The little old couple who owned the car had kept an extra can of gasoline in the trunk, but it was long gone now, used on their cross-country trek.
"We're going to have to get fuel somewhere, too. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all." Douglas mumbled under his breath.
"Look! Over there!" Lisa cried, pointing at a farm road that was barely visible in the night. "Turn there, to the right."
Douglas swung the car onto the dirt road and continued driving. "Where does this go?" He asked.
Lisa shrugged. "I don't know. Why?" She kept her eyes on the road ahead.
The American man looked at his companion with a confused expression on his face. "I thought you knew where this road leads, you sounded so sure when you told me to turn here."
Lisa turned to him and smiled. "Oh, I've never been to this part of Hungary before. Our family traveled north into Germany a few times, but never to the west like this."
They rode in silence for several miles, Lisa appearing oblivious to Douglas' concern. As they approached a farmhouse, the automobile began sputtering and finally coughed to a stop. Douglas guided the car to the grassy edge of the road and spoke, "I guess we're on foot from here. Come on." He stepped out of the car and grabbed the cloth jacket and hat he had found in the back seat. Knowing that these probably belonged to the elderly gentleman they had stolen the car from, he pushed his guilty feelings to the back of his mind. This was war, after all, he reasoned.
Lisa called from the passenger side of the vehicle, "But why don't we just get more gasoline?"
At her puzzled tone, Douglas shook his head. Didn't the woman understand anything? "How do you propose we do that? Just walk up to the next house and ask if they have any gas?" He laughed a little at the absurdity of his statement.
"Why not?" she answered.
Douglas laughed a little more. "Why not, indeed?" He approached the woman while shrugging into the jacket, which he intended to use to cover his military uniform. "Miss, as soon as I walk up to that house and open my mouth, everyone's going to know I am an American. Now, unless we happen to get lucky and find someone who doesn't like the Nazis, I'm likely to get shot, or at the very least captured. And the way my luck has gone lately, I'm not willing to take that chance. So I say, I'm walking." At that, Douglas took a few steps down the road.
"Wait!" Lisa called, running after him. "What if I ask for the gasoline? What if you don't talk?"
Douglas considered her idea. It just might work, he reasoned. At her hopeful expression, he gave in and answered, "All right. But if anything goes wrong, step back out of the way. Things could get nasty." He reached to his side and placed his hand upon the butt of his gun.
Lisa's eyes widened, and she nodded silently. The pair approached the farmhouse that was back off the road a short distance. She walked boldly up to the front door and knocked. A farmer, who appeared to be in his late fifties, answered the door. His wife peered over his shoulder at their visitors, as Lisa began speaking in Hungarian. Douglas hung back in the shadows, hoping that the farm couple didn't find his attire suspicious. The farmer nodded a few times at Lisa's words, then gestured toward Douglas, obviously asking a question. Lisa looked back at Douglas and then continued to speak to the couple in her native tongue. The farmer's wife began making "tsk, tsk" sounds, and pushed past her husband to put her arm around Lisa's shoulders in a comforting gesture. Douglas' grip on his pistol tightened when the farmer disappeared into the back of the house, only to emerge a moment later with a large can. Stepping onto the porch, he handed it to Douglas, who accepted it without speaking.
Once out of earshot, Douglas laughed and said, "What did you tell those people to get them to part with this? It's got to be more precious than gold to them!"
Lisa laughed along, and answered, "I told them you were my husband and you had been injured in the war. We are trying to get home to my parents."
"What was the man asking you?" Douglas wanted to know.
"He just said that you didn't look like you had been injured." Lisa replied.
Still chuckling, Douglas asked, "What did you tell him?"
"I told them that your injuries weren't obvious to anyone but me." Lisa laughed even harder, saying, "I told them that you would never father children."
"Oh." Douglas said, as his laughter died down. "Oh." Suddenly not finding the situation amusing anymore, he said, "Come on. Let's go."
++++++++++
Later the next day, it became apparent to Douglas that his original plan to cross into Allied territory via the Austrian-Italian border would never work. The Germans were concentrating their efforts on fortifying the front lines, and there were too many Jerries guarding the roads to take a chance on making it back to friendly soil.
Douglas slapped the top of the steering wheel in frustration, and sighed, reaching a decision. "That leaves Plan B."
Lisa looked at him questioningly, and asked, "What is Plan B?"
Douglas answered, "We head north."
Twisting in her seat to face him and with obvious alarm, Lisa exclaimed, "North? Into Germany? Are you mad? Isn't there a Plan C we could try instead?"
Remembering the words of his squadron commander, Lt. Colonel Hathaway, during the briefing prior to takeoff, Douglas knew that if any of their planes were shot down in enemy territory, all the men had been instructed to first try to make it to Italy to rejoin their unit. If that failed or wasn't practical, the alternate plan was to seek out a particular man. Lt. Colonel Hathaway hadn't offered any details, but had told the men that things would be clear later. And although Douglas didn't understand why, and he didn't exactly know how he would do it, their C.O. had been adamant about their orders: Get to Stalag 13, a prisoner of war camp run by the Germans for Allied fliers, and find Hogan.
Whoever that was.
++++++++++
End Part I
++++++++++