Stalag 13, Barracks 2
November 6, 1943, 1030 hours
Baker sat at the table in the barracks reading from the sheet of paper that he had transcribed in the tunnel overnight. It contained the latest exploits of Nimrod. Colonel Hogan was leaning against one of the bunks, his arms folded in front of him in a relaxed manner.
"A German munitions train outside of Düsseldorf," Baker read. "A ball bearing factory outside of Cologne; Anti aircraft emplacements near Antwerp; Information on the strengths of the forces on the French coast near Calais; and blowing up the car of Field Marshal von Kettering." Baker looked up. "With the Field Marshal inside it," he said.
"Blimey, that chap's been busy," exclaimed Newkirk.
"We haven't exactly been sitting here darning our socks," Kinch said. "We've done a couple things too in that time, in addition to sending some fliers back to England."
"Do you think London is sending Nimrod a list of the things we are doing?" Carter asked.
"If they do, I bet he is laughing hysterically," Le Beau said. "Compared to Nimrod, we haven't done that much lately."
Hogan watched his men with amusement. It had become like a contest between themselves and Nimrod. He didn't mind it at all; in fact, he liked the way that it made his men bond together more as a team.
"Colonel, why don't we do something spectacular to show London that we're as good as that Nimrod bloke?" asked Newkirk.
"Like what, Newkirk?" Cater asked. "We've blown up everything nearby, and as fast as the German's repair it, we hit it again."
"I know, but we've got to do something," Newkirk replied.
"It's the fact that we are stuck here in this camp that limits us," Le Beau said. "Nimrod doesn't have to stay in one place."
"Hey Colonel, what about that old factory that Erich said the Germans are turning into a staging area for fuel shipments?" Baker asked. "Why don't we hit that?"
Hogan shook his head. "They aren't done with it yet," he replied. "There's nothing there."
Carter's eyes lit up. "Yeah, and when it's loaded with all that fuel, ka-blooey!" he said. "Boy, that will be a big explosion!"
Hogan laughed at the exuberance of his young sergeant. "Remember guys," he said. "It's quality, not quantity."
"It still rubs me the wrong way that he gets all the applause," Newkirk complained.
Before anyone could reply, the barracks door opened and Schultz walked in carrying a large bag.
"Mail!" came the reply from everyone at once. Schultz began to back away from the rushing crowd of men.
"Hold it fellas!" Hogan said loudly. "Let's give him some room." Inwardly Hogan sighed. Another mail call. I wonder if I will get anything this time.
"Hey Schultz, is there anything for me today?" Hogan asked. Schultz looked back at Hogan with a sad face, and immediately Hogan knew what the answer would be.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," Schultz said. "There is nothing for you again today."
Hogan shrugged. "Oh well, I'll just go read a book while you pass out the letters," he said, trying to be cheerful.
The men watched him as he walked into his office and closed the door behind him.
"Schultz, why isn't the Colonel getting any mail?" Carter asked.
"I do not know, Carter," Schultz replied. "It makes me sad to come here on mail day when I know I don't have anything for him."
"How do you think he feels?" Newkirk asked. "It's been a long time since he's gotten a letter from his sister Lisa. He misses hearing about his little nephew Robert."
"I know," Schultz said. "But it's not my fault. I can't give him what I don't have."
"It's all right, Schultz," Kinch said calmly. "We know it's not your fault. It just upsets us."
Schultz began to pass out the mail, but the normal excitement of mail day was not there. Everyone was thinking about how they would feel if they had not received any mail for over a month. In fact, most of them were remembering what it was like when they first came to camp, and it had taken many months for their mail to find its way to camp. Being stuck in the prison camp was bad enough, but not to hear the news from home, regardless of how long the letter took to arrive, was a terrible thing to have happen.
Even Schultz was not his normal jolly self. He did not joke with the prisoners as he passed out the letters. After the last letter was handed out, Schultz slowly and quietly left the barracks.
The men looked somberly at each other. Normally, they read their letters out loud to everyone and shared their news from home. Today, no one felt much like reading.