No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
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"Anything, Kinch? Anything?"
Kinch hadn't even finished climbing all the way out of the tunnel when Le Beau started interrogating him. Tapping the side of the bunk and watching the cover come down, he turned to the Frenchman, shaking his head. "Nothing, Louis. Not a sign."
It was Le Beau's turn to pace. "It has been almost two hours, Kinch. They have been gone too long! What do you think happened to them?"
"Nothing," Kinch said, hoping that if he said it, it might be true. "They probably just got tied up. Maybe the guys from Stalag 9 were hurt and they need more time to get them back here."
"Look at the weather—it has been pouring for almost half an hour. Where can they be, Kinch?"
"I don't know," Kinch answered, his voice a bit sharper than he had expected. "We still have another fifteen minutes. Then we'll have to do what the Colonel said and close everything down for the night. If there have been problems, we can't afford for everyone to get caught."
"Kinch—the Colonel…Newkirk…" Le Beau couldn't finish what he was thinking.
"I know, Louis, I know," Kinch replied. "Try not to think that way. We'll find out when we find out."
He moved towards the stove, looking in yet another pot from Le Beau's incessant cooking session, listening to the heavy rain, straining for the slightest noise that would tell them everything was okay. But no matter how much he wanted to hear it, no sound came.
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Hogan motioned for Newkirk and the other prisoners to lay low as they approached the exit to the tunnel. He breathed in the scent of fresh dirt as the rain pelted his body and ran down his face. He wiped away some of the water, a wasted effort as more rain immediately impaired his vision again. Hogan dropped his face to the ground as the search lights pierced the sheets of rain, then slowly crept forward to the pile of underbrush and branches and turf they had laid on the way out. Moving aside enough of it for a man to squeeze through, he urged them over with a wide wave of his arm. "Come on," he whispered loudly to the first man, whose face, like the others', was obscured by the darkness and the weather. "You first. Watch your step; there's a ladder there to help you. Don't move till we're all down there." Hogan wondered if the man was relieved that no one could see his fear; only the man's shivering gave anything away, and even that he could attribute to the cold, wet night they were traveling in.
Hogan guided each man down, stopping their movement when the lights from the guard tower swept past them again, or when sounds distorted by the weather made him cautious. Finally Newkirk came up beside him, and he sent the Corporal down with the flashlight, then followed him. He replaced the planks and the turf as best he could, then hopped down to the tunnel floor.
The sound of the rain on the earth above combined with the darkness made for an eerie atmosphere as the men headed down the tunnel aided only by a single beam of light. Still feeling compelled to speak in a hushed voice, Hogan said, "Okay, is anybody hurt? I haven't heard any complaints yet, but if you've got a problem, now's the time to speak up."
The escapees murmured that they were fine. Someone sneezed in the dimness. "You're traveling in the rainy season. You should ask for your money back," Hogan said. Anxious snickers greeted his attempt to relax the men. Hogan stopped walking. "Look, you're safe now," he said, a bit louder. "The Krauts don't know about this tunnel, and we've got contacts with the Underground who are going to help you get out of Germany. But first we've got to make you fit to go. There are dry clothes and warm food waiting for you further along the line. You've made it this far; you'll get home, I promise you." Please, God, let this not be an empty promise.
Even in the darkness, Hogan could feel the men relax. Newkirk continued to lead the way, with Hogan bringing up the rear. Finally they reached the radio desk and the end of the line. Newkirk held up a hand in the slim light, asking for silence. Hogan moved forward and the pair of them listened carefully. Finally Hogan nodded, and Newkirk took a couple of steps up the ladder and knocked on the ceiling.
The sound coming from under the bunk startled Le Beau into dropping the lid to his pot. He headed for the tunnel entrance, but Kinch, though further away, still beat the Frenchman to it. Pressing the hidden spring, Kinch held his breath as the bottom mattress rose up, then breathed out loud and smiled broadly as he pulled Newkirk into the room.
"Thank God you guys are back!" he said, as Le Beau grabbed a towel and a blanket and handed them to Newkirk. The three bewildered men from Stalag 9 emerged, still dripping, and then Hogan came and closed the tunnel entrance. "What took you so long?"
"They had some trouble. And we had a bit of a shower," Hogan answered, gratefully accepting the towel Le Beau offered him. He rubbed the last of the polish off his face and then his hair. "Now, sorry, let's get acquainted. We were in too much of a rush in the dark to even get your names. I'm Colonel Ho—"
Hogan stopped as he looked at the prisoners for the first time. Thunderstruck, he let his towel fall around his shoulders. Could it be?
The prisoners, who'd been surveying their surroundings, turned their attention to Hogan when he stopped mid-sentence. One of the men came forward hesitantly, studying Hogan as though not quite sure he was real.
"Papa?" he asked, stunned.
Hogan's men looked at each other, unsure what was going on.
"Bailey?" Hogan said softly, not daring to believe it.
Hogan suddenly gave a shout and a laugh, and pulled the flyer into a bear hug. The man returned it vigorously, joyously. "I should have known you'd be involved in something this crazy, Papa," he said as they parted.
Hogan shook his head, still unable to take it all in. "They told me you were MIA. I thought you'd—I mean, I never thought I'd—" Try as he might, Hogan found he couldn't wipe the broad, childlike smile off his face. "And you let me treat you with kid gloves. That's not likely to happen again!" He turned to his men. "Fellas, this is Lieutenant Mark Bailey, one of the best navigators the US Army Air Corps ever had, and a general pain in the backside."
Kinch, Newkirk, and Le Beau exchanged looks of disbelief, and happiness for their commanding officer. Bailey took a swipe at Hogan with his towel. Hogan ducked away and continued smiling. "You were no walk in the park yourself," Bailey retorted. He paused and looked at Hogan more carefully. Then, suddenly serious, his voice quiet, he said, "They told us you'd been broken by the Gestapo, and then killed. They showed us papers they said you'd signed before your execution. I didn't want to believe it, Papa."
"Good," Hogan said, the smile leaving his face. "They asked me for a lot… and they were pretty insistent, I'll admit. But they didn't get very far." He shrugged, then forced on a disarming grin. "I'm stubborn like that."
Bailey smiled. "That's an understatement." The barracks went uncomfortably silent for a moment, then the Lieutenant said, "Sorry, I've uh—forgotten my manners. This is Corporal Richard Troy, RAF, and Captain Eddie Killian, US Army Air Corps."
"I recognize the uniform. Welcome to Stalag 13, fellas," Hogan said.
The pair thanked him, and continued to look around them in amazement. "This is a real POW camp?" Troy asked.
"Yep. Barbed wire, Kraut soldiers, the whole nine yards," Hogan answered
"You'd all better get changed before you come down with pneumonia," Le Beau urged. "Then you can sit down and have something warm to eat. I have made some lovely soup."
"Quite a night this has turned out to be," Newkirk observed. "Oh, and that taste of the outside I promised you, Louis?" he began.
"Yes?" Le Beau asked.
Newkirk shook his wet clothing until he got Le Beau nicely damp. Le Beau protested as he covered his ladle to protect the food. "I never thought I'd want to see the inside of this dump again…but I changed my mind for awhile tonight." The others laughed. "Do me a favor next time I volunteer for anything outside, would you? Shoot me?"
"Kraut coming!" shouted Olsen, who had resumed his watch when the men came out of the tunnel.
"Quick, back in the tunnel," Hogan said, pushing the escapees back toward the bunk and opening the hatch. Le Beau covered up his soup, Newkirk dove for cover under his blankets, and Hogan threw on the robe Kinch tossed at him as the bottom bunk slid back into place. Abandoned towels were kicked underneath nearby bunks, and Le Beau, Kinch and the others hopped back into bed.
Suddenly the door opened and Schultz appeared, dripping wet and looking unhappy. "Colonel Hogan, you know it is lights out. Why are you still up?"
"Couldn't sleep, Schultz, thought I'd just…think for awhile."
"Think?" Schultz repeated, uncertain as to whether he should believe Hogan or not. "Do you have to have a light on to think?" he asked.
"Sure; makes everything clearer, Schultz," Hogan said. "And uh…I might want to write something down."
"But you might wake up the others," Schultz persisted. "That is not very nice."
A groan of protest came from under Newkirk's blanket. "Blimey, keep it down, would ya, Schultz? Anyone'd think we're up partying all night."
"Sorry, Newkirk," grumbled Schultz. He took a closer look at Hogan. "Colonel Hogan, you are all wet," he said.
Hogan took only a moment to respond. "I was looking out the window when it started raining. Takes ages for my hair to dry when it's this humid," he said, nodding.
Schultz nodded with him, knowing it didn't sound right but unable to think of an argument. "Go to sleep, Colonel Hogan. I need the rest."
"G'night, Schultz," Hogan said, guiding him out the door.
"Good night, Colonel Hogan." And, mumbling, Schultz headed back into the rain.
When they were sure he was gone, Le Beau hopped out of bed and tapped on the side of the upper berth. "It's okay now," he called out to the men below. The trio climbed back up.
"Gee, that was close," Bailey said.
"It's not that bad; Schultz is pretty harmless for a German," Newkirk said.
"Do you guys make a habit of this?" asked Killian, as Le Beau handed him a dry shirt and started peeling off the one that had attached itself to the man's body.
"No, you're our first guests," Hogan replied. He took off the robe, shivering. Newkirk climbed out of his bunk and grabbed some dry clothes. "You'd better get changed; I'll meet you out here in a minute." Hogan knocked Bailey happily on the arm, shooting him a still-incredulous look before heading to his room.
As Hogan's door shut, the others got into new clothes while Le Beau served the hot food. "So, qu'est-ce c'est 'Papa'?" Le Beau asked, putting the bowls down around the table.
"What?" Bailey asked, not understanding. "Oh—sorry, I didn't think to call him anything else. We always called Colonel Hogan 'Papa' when we were flying. After all, Goldilocks was his plane. He was the boss. Montgomery said it once as a joke, you know—Papa Bear—and it stuck. I'm Baby Bear, by the way."
"Ah, well, your porridge will stay in your bowl until you're ready for it, I promise," Kinch quipped.
"Yeah, no one else'd go near Le Beau's cooking," Newkirk joked.
A stray wet towel slapped Newkirk in the face, accompanied by a lighthearted stream of French invectives.
"London told the Colonel you were Missing in Action," Kinch said.
"Nope—not me. Captured almost immediately, unfortunately." Bailey pulled on a pair of dry socks and then sat at the table where Troy and Killian were already starting to plow into the warm meal. "The Germans told us Papa—Colonel Hogan—had talked. And then that they killed him." Bailey grew quiet, memories flooding his mind. "I didn't want to believe it. I didn't."
"Well they very nearly did kill him," Newkirk admitted quietly. "But they never got a word out of 'im, I can guarantee you that."
"So what's the go here, anyway?" spoke up Killian. "If you guys got out of camp, why didn't you stay out—I mean, why didn't you keep running?"
"It's a long story," Hogan said, emerging from his quarters dressed in a dry uniform. He sneezed, then rubbed his tired eyes; Le Beau handed him a cup of coffee and sat him in front of a bowl of steaming soup.
"Eat, Colonel," Le Beau said. "Get warm."
"You fellas will have to sack out in the tunnel, I'm afraid," Hogan said, massaging his shoulder. "It's not quite a four-star hotel, but it'll do till we get you out. There'll be plenty of blankets, and we'll get you a lamp." Hogan paused, rubbed his temples, and then stood up. "Sorry, fellas; I've had it. I'm going to get a couple of hours' shut eye before roll call. You should all do the same. We'll talk in the morning. Kinch, can you make sure these guys are all set up?"
"Sure, Colonel."
"Okay, good night, then." He squeezed Bailey's shoulder, then looked like he was going to say something, but didn't. With a nod to the others, he slipped back into his room.
Bailey looked at the others, bewildered. Le Beau answered his questioning look. "It has been a long journey for the Colonel. He will be more like himself tomorrow."
Bailey nodded and turned back to his soup. I wonder if the man they know is the man I knew…or did the Gestapo change that, Papa?