December 25th, 1943. Morning.
Colonel Robert Hogan stood outside the door of his barracks, savouring the bright winter sunshine.
"Christmas Day! And what a place to spend it in!" He turned his head to take in the panorama. Snow covering the compound. Icicles hanging from the gutters of the prisoners' barracks. Frost riming the windows. Beads of ice glistening along the barbed wire surrounding his not so modest prison camp, Stalag Luft Dreizehn – Luftstalag Thirteen.
He chuckled as he noticed the ridge of snow hanging from the edge of the roof over the entrance of the Kommandantur. He pointed it out to the tall, black staff sergeant who had just opened the door beside him.
"Sure hope I'm around if it dislodges and covers Klink or Burkhalter. Or Hochstetter."
Sergeant James Ivan Kinchloe chuckled. "Now that would be worth the wait, Colonel."
"Anything I should know about, Kinch?"
"No, sir. Just routine stuff. Seems Goldilocks is letting us take Christmas Day off. She only wants us to blow up a factory near Heidelburg before New Year's."
Hogan frowned. "I hope it's not Schultz's toy factory."
Kinch rubbed the corner of his mouth. "Hmm. I hadn't thought of that. After the story he told us last night…. No, I wouldn't want it to be his factory; but what can we do if it is? His factory's making rifles now. Real ones."
"Maybe we'll all be lucky and it won't be his plant that must go boom." The two men saw the fat sergeant of the guard pacing his beat in front of Kommandant Klink's quarters. "Do me a favour, Kinch. Find out where it is, will you?"
"Right, sir."
Colonel Hogan watched his radio operator as he trudged through the snow to Sergeant Schultz. He squinted his eyes from the glare of the refracted sunlight. "He's trying his best to hide it, but he still looks depressed. Well, who can blame him? Christmas Day in the cesspit, and his only sister telling him she's engaged to a man he's never met. She's probably even marrying the guy this week, if he's on his furlough. Poor Kinch. Stuck here when he wants to be home inspecting the groom and kissing the bride."
The colonel felt a heavy hand strike him on the shoulder. He turned, annoyed, to scorch whoever it was who nearly sent him sprawling into the snow. His anger suddenly evaporated when he saw the man who saluted him.
"Merry Christmas, Colonel!" boomed a big bass voice that came from a giant of a man, ruddy haired and ruddy faced, who grinned at him mischievously.
"Donovan! You did that on purpose! How dare you assault your commanding officer?" Hogan said, returning his salute and holding out his hand. "Merry Christmas, Mike. A very merry Christmas."
Group Captain Michael Donovan gave his commanding officer's hand a hearty squeeze. "T'was the only way to get your attention, Robbie, and quite effective t'was." He looked over at the German and American sergeants pacing the ground on the other side of the compound. "How is our Kinchin? Still not yet himself?"
Colonel Hogan flexed his hand to restore circulation to it. It wasn't that the Irish born R.A.F. officer did not know his own strength. He did. It was that Donovan didn't care how much of it he used – particularly on his superiors in rank.
"Michael, I don't care if you try out your muscles on Klink or on Kinch; but why try them out on me?"
"Because yon Kinchloe can best me fairly in a fight and Klink can best me unfairly by tossin' me in the cooler, but you have to use those eagles on your shoulders to best me at all. I'd like to think we're equals for all your rank."
"You know 'all' my rank is a squint above your own, you bogtrotter!" Hogan said with a smile, holding the thumb and forefinger of his hand up to Donovan's eyes so the Irishman could see that they were a scant millimetre apart. "And of course we're equals in all that matters. Shall we have our meeting here or in your barracks?"
"Mine. I was inviting you to come over; but you didn't hear me for worrying about yonder man." Donovan looked anxiously at Kinch and Schultz. "You didn't answer my question, Colonel. How is our Kinchin?"
"You know Kinch." The colonel shook his head with a sad smile. "Does his job. Keeps occupied. Smiles, and hides his feelings inside himself. The only person he's confided in is Marlena Falke, but I doubt he's told her everything that weighs on his mind. Come on, Mike. We'll talk about it inside your quarters over a Guinness."
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"Merry Christmas, Schultzie! How goes the war?" Kinch gave his opposite number a hearty greeting. He nearly slapped Schultz's broad, bowed back; but had second thoughts about it. He didn't really like the German guard, or did he? He looked at Schultz's sad face, and an unfamiliar pity suffused his heart. I sure hope his factory is not the one we're after.
Schultz looked up from his plodding. "Oh. Hello, Sergeant Kinchloe. Merry Christmas."
Kinch looked at him, now sincerely concerned. "What's wrong, Schultz? Other than that you're stuck here walking a beat Christmas Day."
Schultz heaved a tremendous sigh.
"It can't be that bad!" Kinch motioned at the sky. "The sun's shining. The snow's not too deep and it's not too cold. All in all, it's a beautiful day to be outside in."
"As you say."
"Mind if I walk with you?"
Schultz shrugged. "As you like."
Kinch matched his steps to Schultz's. "Want me to hold your rifle for you?" he teased, trying to coax some reaction from the big German.
"Nein. Danke."
Kinch suppressed a sigh of his own. Well, let's get to what I'm here after.
"That was quite a tale you told us last night about how your Great Grandpa Gunther started your toy company."
"Ja." Schultz heaved another tremendous sigh.
"It was in Heidelburg that he founded it, right?"
"Nein. But he had to move the factory to Heidelburg because of the Burgomeister Meisterburgers."
" 'Toymakers to the King.' That's quite a reputation to live up to. And you told us that your company delivered toys all over Germany?"
"Ja. To all over Europe before the war. France. England. Even to Russia and America. The Schatze Toy Company was famous for its quality toys, especially before the last war." Schultz looked wistful. "Oh, those were glory days, Sergeant Kinchloe."
"I'm sure they were, Schultzie." I've got to get him to talk about the present time. "It must be a huge factory now. I'll bet it covers acres of ground."
"Ja. It did."
"Doesn't it still?" Maybe it's already been bombed out.
"Ja; but my factory doesn't exist now. The government took it over to make rifles and ammunition." He looked up, his face contorted by anger. "They should not have done it! Aren't there enough factories in Germany making guns? The Schatze Toy Company should be making toys for the children!"
Then Schultz sagged like a deflating blimp. "I should be honouring my family's tradition right now, bringing toys to all the orphans and the sick children in the hospitals. Instead, here am I, guarding Herr Big Shot while he sleeps away his Christmas schnapps."
Kinch looked away. "I'm sorry, Schultz," he said quietly.
Schultz looked at him. "How are you, Sergeant Kinchloe?"
Kinch turned to him, surprised. "How am I?"
"Ja. How are you? You have looked heartsick."
"I'm well enough," Kinch replied. He studied Schultz's moon face. The big teddy bear actually seems concerned about me. "Yeah, thanks. Thanks for asking. I'm quite well enough. Just a little worried about my sister. Don't trouble yourself about me, Schultz. I'll be fine."
"You must miss your sister very much. Another Christmas Day you have to be here, instead of with her."
Kinch shrugged it off. "I guess you miss your family too. Guarding us, instead of being with your wife and children."
"Ja. I miss the little ones." Schultz frowned. "They are not so little now. My little Gizela is nearly twelve. She is the youngest. But that is not what makes me sad today. I cannot keep from thinking about the little ones orphaned by your bombs."
"Be fair, Schultz. A lot of little ones all over Europe have been orphaned by your bombs."
"Ja. You are right. I did not drop them; but they are my bombs. They could have been made in my factory." Schultz sighed even deeper than before. "I cannot give them toys. I cannot make toys for them." He looked at Kinch with sad, very sad, eyes. "I thought we had given up fighting wars when we lost the last one, Sergeant Kinchloe."
"I hoped we had given up war then, but we didn't." Kinch thought about his dead father, about his separation from his sister, and about the fact that the man Jessie was marrying was also a soldier. Now she had two men to worry about. "Maybe we never will give up war. There always seems to be some reason to fight another one."
Doktor Falke would say most reasons for war are either stupid or selfish. "I'm not denying that, Marli, but what if you're hit first, or someone you love is hit, or someone is hit who's weaker than the guy hitting him? You've got to fight then, don't you?"
"But what are we going to do about this one? When is it going to end, so I can make playthings again and keep my Great Grandfather Gunther's legacy alive? When can we give the children toys instead of bombs and guns?"
When is this war going to end? When can I go home to Jessie? When will I meet her husband and learn to live with him beside her? When can Carter be a decent dunderhead again and not a pyromaniac? When will LeBeau have his beloved France restored to him? Newkirk not have to worry about bombs dropping on his home? When can Doktor Falke return to her true country without fear of condemnation? And when will I go home to a nation that won't care what I look like, so long as I do the good, right and honest thing as best I can?"
"I don't know, Schultzie. I hope next year. I don't know."
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Group Captain Donovan closed the door to his private quarters in Barracks Eleven. He turned and saw Colonel Hogan unzip his leather flight jacket and pull out a bottle. The colonel presented the bottle to him.
"With my complements and those of my men, Group Captain. A very merry Christmas and a much happier New Year."
"And to you too, sir." Donovan took the bottle and admired it "Guinness! Ireland in a bottle! Ah, you do know what to give a man! I only wish I could give you as princely a gift in return."
"You do it everyday, Mike, just by being here. I don't know how I would've kept the men in line without you. You've done all my routine senior officer chores for me so I can concentrate on the operation. Don't think I don't appreciate it."
"Merely doing what I'm best at, sir."
"As to Kinch. I wish you could do your 'father confessor' job with him. My door is open to him, but when he locks himself away, we both know how thoroughly he does it.
"I've tried to give him tasks to distract him. Right now, he's trying to winkle out the location of Schultz's toy factory. The Krauts are making rifles and small arms there now, and it may be our next target on London's Christmas wish list. He's helped Newkirk and Carter cut down fir boughs to decorate the tunnel two nights ago. He spent a long night down there after Schultz finally left us last night, but I know he wasn't asleep because I went to check on him. So did LeBeau and Marcus Simms.
"Today LeBeau is fussing over our Christmas dinner. Carter and Newkirk are going up and down the ladder with decorations, so Kinch can't rest either on his bunk upstairs or his cot downstairs. I've told him to nap in my room; but he says he's too restless to sleep."
Donovan sighed as he reached into his footlocker and drew out two whiskey glasses. "I was hoping he'd be himself again by now."
'Don't tell anyone about this, but I think his sister is getting married today. I've invited Doktor Falke to spend Christmas afternoon with us. Kinch has a soft spot for her."
Michael Donovan raised his thick brows and smiled. "I think that Kinchin is not the only one with a 'soft spot' for the lady."
"If you mean Carter, you're right. If you mean me, Michael Donovan – don't be so sure." He saw Donovan smirk as he poured out two measures of the Guinness. "O.k. Maybe I was over reacting when Hochstetter started closing in on us. I like Marlena Falke. She's been useful to us, and not only as a sympathetic friend for Kinch and for Carter. I did not want to place her out of bounds, but she's a vulnerable girl and she's scared to death of the Gestapo. I don't want Hochstetter and his bloodhounds sniffing around her and finding my two sergeants."
"Yet you've invited her to spend Christmas with you."
Hogan drained his glass. "As I said, maybe I was over reacting. She's lonely too. I saw that in her eyes when she was here two weeks ago. The way she looked at Kinch and the way she hugged Newkirk spoke libraries. She has to be so careful not to give herself away, or to say anything that traces any of the damage we do to us. She's the only one in that hospital who knows we're responsible for the injuries she and the other surgeons have to patch up. That means she can't afford to have any other friends but us."
"You think that you owe her something."
"I know that we owe her. She saved LeBeau's life. She risked her own neck to look for Newkirk. She gives Carter those elder sister hugs that brace him up. She's kept Kinch from going stir crazy because her cottage is the only place he can go to get away from this place and the tunnel. We can saunter to the Hofbrau and flirt with the barmaids. He can't.
"Marlena also came to us when our blabbermouth war correspondent Walter Hobson insisted that a 'real doctor' examine his 'broken' ankle."
The colonel grasped the neck of the bottle and raised it. Donovan nodded. Hogan poured out another two glasses.
"Do you know that Kinch found her at the wreckage of that plane Hobson parachuted from? She saw the same ghastly sights he did, and it was her first time seeing carnage in situ. Kinch has seen such horrors before, but that one really burnt him. He came back to camp angry and bitter, dripping scorn all over Hobson because the man survived and was criticizing the guys who died. So, you can imagine how upset Marlena must have felt when she saw what was left of the crew of that plane. Yet, she came when we summoned her for little Wally's sprained ankle."
Hogan drank the Guinness and licked his lips appreciatively. "Hobson was rude to her; but she pretended she didn't understand his insults. She just calmly taped him up. We owe her a lot."
Donovan refilled Hogan's glass. "And you miss her."
Colonel Hogan looked down at his glass. "Yeah. She's the nicest pain in the neck I've ever dealt with," he admitted. "I want her safe in London; but I also want her here with us. She's good company. I find trying to disabuse her of her stupid notions a diverting pastime. Sometimes I wish her notions were not so naive."
He sighed. "And it's Christmas. A time when we sing about wanting peace on earth and goodwill to men. She deserves to celebrate Christmas with us."
"Well, tell me when she's coming, Robbie," Donovan downed his Guinness and smacked his lips. "I've not forgotten when she stayed in the tunnel nursing LeBeau. I want to greet her with a 'Merry Christmas' too."
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