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Hogan met his men downstairs feeling ten years older than when he has last seen them. This was always going to be a tough mission, but this one had gone so awry that he hardly knew whose side who was on. So it was hardly a surprise to him to see Le Beau chatting happily with the guard in front of the parking lot, handing him the remains of what looked like an apple strudel. Somewhere in his brain Hogan registered the fact that he hadn't eaten since he left the camp that morning, but he was in no state to stomach food now.
Le Beau approached as soon as he saw his commanding officer. "Colonel, are you all right?" he asked, giving Hogan a thorough looking over. "You do not look well."
"We've got trouble. Big trouble. How are you going with your little assignment?"
"Carter is nearly done, Colonel. But I had to give up almost all my finest cooking to do it."
"We'll put you in for a Medal of Valor," Hogan said. "Let's get outta here." He approached Schultz, who was picking through the crumbs left in the basket the other guard had abandoned. "Schultz, I want you to know I protest this treatment. Here we were, coming into Hammelburg to do a good deed, and we end up polishing everyone else's cars and being questioned for nothing. The Red Cross is going to hear about this."
"Oh, Colonel Hogan, I am so happy to see you back!" Schultz cried. "Please, Colonel, the men were just waiting for you. They said they wanted to occupy their minds; we were—they were—so worried about you! Please. Let us just go home now, yes?" he asked.
"Not so fast," Hogan said. He turned to Voelker, who was standing nearby. "Hey, Strohm, who's going to tell the kommandant that we didn't get everything done? Who is going to believe this pathetic excuse for a guard?" Schultz looked about to protest when Hogan added, "Can't even keep hold of his prisoners—you're lucky we weren't killed, Schultz; you'd have an awful lot to explain. And we haven't even lined up the beautiful fraulein we promised for his birthday."
"I am sure your kommandant will trust his guard to tell him the truth."
"You don't know Klink very well, Captain. He runs Stalag 13 with an iron fist. And if he even suspects that the SS was out of line on this, you'll have to start packing your snowshoes, mister." Le Beau just watched Hogan, totally at sea. "You may just have to front up yourself to apologize in person."
Voelker nodded, understanding. "We will see, Colonel Hogan. Perhaps that is so. Sergeant Schultz, this man is your responsibility again. I am sure you will have the wherewithal to ensure he does not leave your sight again."
"No, Herr Kapitan. I mean, yes, Herr Kapitan," Schultz fumbled. "Come, boys, raus, raus, let us go back now." And he moved off towards Kinch, Carter, and Newkirk, who were further back in the lot. "Cockroach, come; we will get the others moving." Le Beau looked to Hogan, who shrugged, and then followed Schultz, still trying to retrieve his basket.
Hogan moved in closer to Voelker. "I can't organize this completely on my own; we operate as a unit, Voelker," he said.
"Very well; tell only those who must know. I will do what you say is necessary. But you will honor your word, Colonel Hogan."
"I would have helped you out without the threats," Hogan reminded him. "It's we who can't trust you," He paused. "I'll be in touch soon." And he turned his back on Voelker and concentrated on getting his men back to camp.
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Carter's instincts about the best way to set the charges impressed Hogan. Here was a boy who could often easily be mistaken as unintelligent, scatterbrained. And yet Hogan knew that when it came to explosives and chemicals, he would trust Carter's expertise with his life. Now, Carter had whispered to Hogan as they headed to Klink's car that the vehicles had all been rigged, the timers primed to start working when each engine was started. But, in an effort to minimize any civilian loss of life, the timers had been set for thirty minutes, plenty of time for the vehicles to be out of more heavily populated Hammelburg, and well on their way back to Berlin. Hogan had smiled and patted Carter on the back. "Good boy, Carter," he praised him. Hogan had heard enough from the Luftwaffe officers about civilian casualties; he knew he and his men didn't want to be associated with that type of warfare.
The ride back to Stalag 13 passed much as the meeting had for Hogan: in a dream. He was so busy processing the information that he had heard, and analyzing his reaction to it, that he did not notice the time passing swiftly by with the scenery. Hogan's military background was chiding him for being so sensitive to what was clearly military strategy. He tried to put it down to the coldness with which the plans seem to have been made, but he knew somehow that he couldn't discount his recent devastating encounter with the Gestapo as having a role to play. After all, he had certainly been in German company before, and in German uniform. And it bothered him that this sometimes crucial aspect of his operation could now be a source of distraction for him during a mission. He felt he had been weak when he should have been strong today, and resolved not to let it happen again.
And then there was the matter of Voelker. It had been bad enough that he had backed out of the mission when it was in progress, but to then make demands of Hogan and his operation was unprofessional, and dangerous. Hogan felt he could understand the man's fears for his family; he had met enough terrified Germans living under the tyranny of the Third Reich. But he could not accept the man's terms: do it, or someone dies. Where could a bomb be in the camp? Who would be willing to set it off? And was Voelker telling the truth in the first place? How many lives was Voelker willing to risk? Too many unanswered questions dogged him. And he had not even begun to face the questions that would inevitably come from his men, when they found out that their mission was somehow not finished.
Lost in these thoughts, he had to be nudged two or three times to answer questions that were posed as part of the small talk of the men discussing what had happened with Schultz while Hogan and Newkirk had been at the Landgasthaus. And when they returned to camp, tired from their taxing excursion, Hogan simply banged twice on the bunk bed that led to the radio downstairs in the barracks, and turned to his men, who had planned on getting the lowdown on his talk with Voelker themselves. "Kinch, tomorrow we're going to have to put in a call to the Underground, get an agent who's willing to spend a night with Klink. I know: it means giving up the comparative safety of a mission, but ask them to make the sacrifice in the name of freedom."
His attempt at lightness was not lost on his men, who simply listened silently. Something was obviously troubling him; he didn't usually go to quite this much trouble to keep them amused after a troublesome assignment. "Now get some sack time; you've earned it. Le Beau, you'll want to sleep under Baker's bunk tonight; I'm going to have to go in and out of the tunnel and there's no point in waking you up all the time."
"But Colonel, you will need to sleep, too. You should not—"
"Le Beau, when did you step in as honorary mother?" Hogan snapped.
Le Beau stopped, hurt. Hogan always lost a bit of his charm when under extreme pressure. And Le Beau knew that it wasn't his commander speaking, but his fear and his frustration. "Oui, Colonel," he said, subdued.
Hogan sensed he had overstepped his boundary and put a hand on Le Beau's shoulder. "Sorry, Louis; but I have to get this information to London tonight. And the faster it's out of here, the more time the Allies have to thwart it."
"Oui, I understand, Colonel," Le Beau said, satisfied that Hogan was handling the strain at least passably. "But before I go to bed I will bring you something to eat. And you will eat it, Colonel."
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care. You will eat it."
"Okay, Louis, okay." He looked on his men with gratitude for their loyalty. "You fellas did a great job today. There's more to tell you but it will have to wait until the information gets to London first. I'll be sure to tell them how you went above and beyond the call. Maybe they'll set you up a car detailing shop after the war." He offered a weary grin, then stopped as an apparent afterthought struck him. "Hey, Newkirk, any of those dissolving tablets left?"
"Yes, gov'nor, I'm sure there are," Newkirk answered quickly, heading towards his footlocker. "I'll fix one up for you right away." Still hiding that headache, eh, gov'nor?
"Thanks. I'll be downstairs, gotta get the radio warmed up," Hogan said, and he disappeared down the ladder, four pairs of worried eyes following him.
The men allowed Hogan the dignity of heading down on his own, then Kinch descended a few minutes later. Wordlessly he handed Hogan the glass full of fizzy medicine Newkirk had prepared. Hogan looked at him, beaten, then downed the contents in one hit, grimacing at the taste. "Thanks," he said. "Now get to bed. It's been a big day."
"I can pass the code through for you, Colonel," he offered.
"I was sending code when you were still a Private," Hogan said, trying to sound casual. "Thanks anyway, Kinch. But there's so much stuff to send you'd be rotated home by the time I'm through. I'll be fine on my own." Hogan appreciated Kinch's offer. And he wasn't blind to the fact that the men were trying to keep an eye on him as well. But he wanted to get this over with. And he didn't want them to see the shell-shocked look that was bound to cross his face when he repeated everything he had heard at the Luftwaffe meeting, when the information was released from its compartments, and back into his consciousness. Or when he told Headquarters about the bomb.