Hammelburg, Stalag 13, Office of Colonel Hogan
December 25, 1943, 0130 hours
Hogan lay in his bunk with the echoes of the Christmas carols still ringing in his ears. Here it is, another Christmas stuck here in Germany. How I wish I could be home for Christmas.
The light in his room was on, a Christmas gift from the Kommandant – canceling lights-out on this one occasion and allowing the prisoners to celebrate the holiday.
Hogan was holding two photographs in his hands. One of them was his wedding photograph and one was the last picture of little Robbie. He looked at his son, yearning to be able to hold him in his arms, tell him bedtime stories and tuck him into bed on Christmas eve with the anticipation of presents in the morning. It pained him to know that his son was in Connecticut, growing up without him. Little Robbie was almost two years old already, most likely walking and starting to say his first words. He knew that he was missing the joy of seeing his son take his first unsteady steps and hearing him say "Papa" for the first time. Right now, I wouldn't even mind having to change a diaper or two, he thought.
He looked at the other photograph, of he and Lisa on their wedding day. Lisa darling, I'm sorry I ever thought that you would stop writing to me. I should have known that something else was happening. I love you more than life itself, and I know that you feel the same. He thought back to when they were in high school. Together forever, we told everyone then. I meant it then, and I still mean it today. I cannot imagine my life without you in it. Even now, in this hellhole that is my home for this war, you are here with me. I think about you every day. He brought the photograph to his lips and kissed Lisa's image. If I had one wish for this Christmas, it would be to have just one day to spend with you. One day to see you and little Robbie.
He put the photographs back in their envelopes and placed them in the wooden letterbox that was a Christmas gift from his men. Each of them had contributed some talent in creating the box. He looked at the intricate carving on the sides, and the lettering on the top, compliments of Baker and Kinch. Carter had made the box itself, and Newkirk had fashioned the hinges and the latch. LeBeau had even lined the inside with some felt that had been left over from Vladimir's sewing materials. Even though he is no longer in camp with us, old 'Sam' contributed to this gift. He had been touched deeply when his men had presented it to him this evening – to know that his men considered him a friend, and not just their commander. He had told them about Hochstetter's orders, and that until it was rescinded he would not be receiving any mail. They had been even angrier than he had been, and LeBeau had surprised him with a string of French expletives that might even make a sailor blush. Then he laughed as he remembered Carter offering to share his mail with him so he wouldn't feel as though his family had deserted him.
He put the box on the shelf by his bunk. Kinch is right; I am selling the men short. I should tell them the truth about Lisa and Robbie. They deserve to know, and they will understand my reluctance to tell them. He sighed deeply. But the time is not right. I need more time for myself. He clucked softly. Kinch is right about that too. I can't tell them because I cannot forgive myself for what I have done to Lisa.
He reached over and turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness. Oh Lisa, how am I going to ever tell you the things that I have done? It sounds cliché for me to say that the women meant nothing to me. But it is the truth. The whole time I was with them, I was with you in my thoughts. When I was caressing them, I was really caressing you. Will you believe it when I tell you that I did it because this mission demanded it? Will you hate me for betraying your trust? I couldn't blame you if you did, but you couldn't hate me any more than I hate myself. He rolled on his side to try to get comfortable. And yet, until this war is over, I will do it again if the need arises, in order to complete a mission successfully.
He remembered Kinch's words; Fidelity is usually one of the first, and biggest casualties of war. This is so true. And yet, I added ours to that list with great reluctance. He yawned and started to drift off to sleep. The Lord may forgive my sins, but that will mean nothing to me if you will not. Lisa my dear, I wish you a Merry Christmas. I love you. He drifted off to sleep with his arms wrapped around his pillow, thinking of Lisa.