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"Message from London, Colonel." Sergeant James Kinchloe appeared from underneath a bunk in Barracks Two, where a tunnel laboriously dug by the Underground was concealed. Kinchloe spent a great deal of his time under Stalag 13, keeping track of radio transmissions that would give Hogan and his men their next jobs. Tonight he climbed out, carrying a clipboard with the decoded information for his commander.
Hogan took the board from the black radioman. He was in no mood for any static from London. Kinch had handed Hogan five assignments in the last week, too much for ordinary men, Hogan believed. It wasn't like they were being asked to perform commonplace military tasks; every move they made was a risk to their lives. "You'd think they'd give us a little holiday for all the fireworks we've been setting off for them lately," Hogan sighed. "You fellas have earned a break."
"We all have," yawned Le Beau. "If they wouldn't mind waiting until tomorrow, Colonel, we might sleep in for once."
Hogan scanned the words on the paper in front of him and frowned. "Interesting."
"What do they want, Colonel?" asked Le Beau.
"Seems like we've got some high-level Krauts coming to Hammelburg for talks on a new Luftwaffe offensive that could shorten the war—and not in our favour. London wants us to infiltrate the meeting, get the plans, and make sure that the masterminds of the scheme don't get back to Berlin."
"Is that all? Do they want us to do anything else—like make ships in bottles?" remarked Newkirk sarcastically.
"Why are they coming to Hammelburg for a meeting like this?" asked Carter.
"My guess is security. Berlin could be too big and too busy, a bodyguard's nightmare. A little out-of-the-way place like Hammelburg could be the perfect location to hatch a pretty ruthless scheme. And it'd let them filter out all the rotten ideas before presenting them to Hitler," Hogan surmised. "He's not known for his patience."
"This is big stuff, Colonel," observed Kinch. "And in the daytime, more than likely."
"When's the meeting?" asked Newkirk.
"Day after tomorrow. We're going to need some help on this one." Hogan turned to Le Beau. "Louis, what haven't we celebrated lately?"
"Bastille Day. But even the Germans know that is not in October."
"There are other holidays besides the French ones, y'know," said Newkirk sardonically.
"Very few worth mentioning," sniffed the diminutive national.
"You fellas are thinking too broadly. Think closer to home. What would get Klink into town?" Hogan asked, his brown eyes twinkling mischievously.
The men took a moment to consider their balding, prison camp kommandant. His ego well-known, his kowtowing personality even more obvious. And his more than healthy attitude towards the fairer sex a weakness they had exploited—more than once. "Girls," they answered, almost as one.
"So we've got to get him one for his birthday in three days," Hogan said.
"I wish someone'd get me a present like that," muttered Newkirk.
"But Colonel, it's not Klink's birthday until February," Carter said.
"Carter, don't be such a stickler for detail," Hogan censured good-naturedly. "It just wouldn't be wise to leave these things till the last minute. We'll plan a nice birthday surprise for the kommandant. Fix up his car nice and shiny—oh, that's something," he announced with a roguish grin. "We'll need to go into Hammelburg to get some things to shine up and tune up Klink's car nice and proper."
"Who's gonna let us do that?" Carter burst.
"Don't worry, Carter. I'm sure our friendly neighbourhood guard Sergeant Schultz will take us."
"This story's just gettin' better all the time," Newkirk remarked.
"Kinch, we're going to need full details on this conference. Radio London. Get times and places. And then get the details on who we have in Hammelburg that can get into that meeting, preferably someone the Krauts are already comfortable with."
"Yes, Colonel," said Kinch. And, knowing that once a plan was in his head Hogan wanted things moving right away, he took off to the tunnel.
"Newkirk, I'm going to need some papers. High level stuff, no frills. If I have to meet up with some of these pretty boys I'm going to need to play on their level."
"Comin' right up, sir," Newkirk nodded.
Hogan's mind drifted to his last experience with the Germans as he rubbed a sore spot on his temple. "And make a second set for yourself, just in case. Le Beau?"
"Oui, Colonel."
"Start work on your very best apple strudel. We're going to need to convince Schultz that our plan is a good one. And the way to Schultz's brain is through his stomach."
"Oui, Colonel."
"Carter, we're going to need some small, but powerful charges. The best way to make sure these guys don't get home without hurting innocent civilians is going to be to get their cars. They're bound to have someone looking after them. You'll have to find a way around the guard."
"No problem, boy—uh, Colonel," said Carter. "Y'know, I've been working on some knock-out drops that might just work if we have to use them. Or—or I'm developing a temporary amnesia drug that might work better."
"How does that one work?" asked Newkirk.
"Um," faltered Carter. "I can't remember."
"Sounds like he has been testing it on himself," Le Beau said.
"I'll talk with Klink about his coming celebration," Hogan told them. "Let's get to work."
"Can't we turn in and work on all this tomorrow?" Carter moaned.
"Maybe the next war, Carter. Maybe the next war."
The well-oiled machine that was Hogan's underground operation got to work in earnest. Kinch kept his ear glued to the radio, with Hogan hovering nervously nearby. He trusted his radioman but couldn't help constantly looking over his shoulder to get the de-coded information as it was written down. The more he read, the more edgy he got. He paced as he relayed questions to his superiors via Kinch, then furrowed his brow as the answers came rolling in. He was in two minds: this was a chance to strike a real blow to the Axis powers; but it was also a serious risk to his men. He hoped he would be able to take sufficient precautions to ensure their safety.
Meanwhile, Newkirk was further down the tunnel, carefully putting pen to paper, designing papers that would legitimize Hogan in the face of the Germans. History. Identity. Orders. Then he turned to his own paperwork. Pausing, he remembered his stint as a German officer trying to get Hogan out of Gestapo Headquarters. You haven't forgotten either, have you, Colonel? he said to himself, fingering Hogan's documents. Well I'm making these papers good enough to get us out of Hitler's office if necessary, gov'nor. Don't worry this time around.
Nearby, Carter was in his element. Bunsen burners and test tubes at the ready, the American Sergeant was concocting potions only he could explain. Much as he could irritate the others with his sometimes inane comments and poor jokes, they respected his ability with explosives and chemicals. Carter didn't dare underestimate the importance of getting his work right; he knew that a slip-up in his formulas or his charges could mean death to one of his colleagues. In the end he was a perfectionist, for the safety of his friends, as well as for his own satisfaction.
Upstairs at the stove, Le Beau was putting the finishing touches on a fine snack for Sergeants Hans Schultz. The portly guard was easily swayed by the culinary pleasures of his charges. But Le Beau had learned to take no Germans for granted, not even the normally placid Schultz. With this in mind, he added a little more cinnamon to the bowl. "Maybe I should double the recipe," he muttered aloud. "This will only fill one of his three stomachs."
Hogan came up through the bunk bed entrance, followed by Kinch. His face was grim. "What do they have to say, Colonel?" asked Le Beau, turning from his work. Hogan looked strained, he thought. No sleep, more pressure. London should have given him a chance to recover properly after his Gestapo capture.
"That smells good, Le Beau," said Hogan, ignoring the question. "I'm going to turn in. Killer headache. Keep up the good work." And he passed with not so much as a look in the Corporal's direction, shutting his door quietly behind him.
Le Beau looked at Kinch, questioning. "It's risky. It's making him anxious," Kinch said. "The Colonel needs time to think about how to execute this one. But there isn't any time."
"And he is unwell, Kinch," said Le Beau. "He is not sleeping. He did not eat anything at dinner, not even when I offered him his favourites, made by my own hand. And he is still getting headaches. It is not fair for London to expect him to walk into a roomful of Krauts. Not the way he is now."
"Try telling him that," interjected Newkirk, coming up from the tunnel. "These are the best papers I think I've ever done." He dropped them on the table for the others to examine. "I only hope we don't have to use 'em."
"We'll find out tomorrow," Kinch said. "That's when London is going to finish filling the Colonel in on our Hammelburg contacts." He looked at Hogan's closed door. "I can tell you this much: he doesn't like it, not one bit."
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On the other side of the door Hogan was lying on his bunk staring up at the ceiling. The headache had only been an excuse to get some solitude, but now it was becoming real. Face it, Robert, you're just too tired to keep this up. But neither did he want to fall asleep and face these unseen demons haunting him. He massaged his temples and his forehead with his hands. So much to do. The men are counting on me to get it right. And I don't know if I can do it. And London is asking us to kill. To kill…. And though he did his best to fight it, he fell into a troubled slumber, and once more woke up screaming.