Chapter 1
Holidays
Hogan always has something up his sleeve, even when Murphy's Law hits Luft Stalag 13.
Note: Written in a bit of a rush. That's how I roll right now. Not betaed. Please let me know if you find any mistakes, etc.
Klink watched in aggravation as, for the umpteenth time this year, Colonel Hogan waltzed into his office. The man was irritating, his behavior often a baffling study in contradictions. He frequently appeared cowed and resigned to his fate. But then, he could appear almost buoyant, as if he and the other prisoners in camp were just passing through, like holiday guests at someone's home.
A chipper Hogan, Klink mused, was often a recipe for disaster. It appeared that it was going to be one of those days.
"Schultz. I said no visitors." The sergeant stood in the back corner. He was trying to hide because, after all, he failed to stop the American colonel from barging into the Kommandant's inner sanctum.
"I'm sorry, Kommandant. I told Colonel Hogan no visitors, but you see..."
"Never mind, Schultz. What do you want, Colonel Hogan?" Klink asked. "I'm very busy." He realized his desk was neat and tidy, which was not the look of a busy man. He quickly opened the drawer, removed a sharpened pencil and grabbed the small stack of papers sitting in his inbox. Without looking up, he began checking little boxes and signing the bottom with a pen.
Hogan let out a long sigh. "Well, I mulled over this request, Kommandant. Long and hard. It was touch and go. But, I decided honesty is always the best policy."
Klink looked up. "Please get to the point."
"Permission to hold a celebration, sir?"
"For what?"
"Oh, sir. I'm surprised you don't know."
Klink put down his pen and clasped his hands. "Enlighten me."
"Mardi Gras. Of course!"
"Denied." Klink waved his hand at Hogan. "Now, go."
"But, sir. The men have been really looking forward to this." Hogan began to pace around the room. "It's an old, historical tradition. After all, it started in medieval Europe. That's where we are now. Europe?" He turned to Schultz. "Did you know it started in the French House of the Bourbons? And considering you now own France…"
"I…"
Klink interrupted Schultz. "Yes. Yes. I did know about Fasching. I'm a well-educated, cultured man...an officer."
"Or Karneval," Schultz added. He let out a big sigh. "I remember it well. We had to use up some of our best food before Lent. Oh, that last meal was, wunderbar."
"Of course, you do, sir. Schultz, you're salivating." Hogan handed the sergeant a handkerchief and then stopped at the front of the desk. "LeBeau told us the tradition of the Boeuf Gras followed France to what is now the United States. That's fatted calf for you German speakers."
"Isn't it a very big holiday in one of your cities? New Orleans?"
"The biggest, Schultz." Hogan grabbed a chair, flipped it around and straddled it. "And, well...we have a new man. Just came in last week. He's from New Orleans."
"Not my concern," Klink said.
"He's never been away from home before. Well, actually, that's technically not correct. He volunteered, was shipped to England, and was shot down on his very first mission. Can you believe that?"
"Poor boy." Schultz looked appropriately sympathetic.
"He's lucky he survived, and managed to wind up here," Klink said.
"Ooh, that's surprisingly callous of you, sir. He's only 19."
"That is how old my eldest boy is." Schultz now looked as if he was about to cry. "I don't even know where he is stationed."
"Do you think I like being callous, Colonel Hogan? I can't allow you to celebrate every single holiday. It's disruptive."
"Well, there is also the issue of multiple calendars, Kommandant. Not just the Gregorian. Let's see, there's also Julian, Jewish, Islamic, Indian, Chinese..."
Klink slammed his hand against the desk. "I don't need a lecture about world calendars and holidays. In the past 12 months you've requested 13 celebrations, not to mention my birthday, your birthday, and Heidi's birthday."
"Awww. She hit the big three in dog years. That's 21 in human years, which coincidentally is our voting age. Something you've probably forgotten about—voting—that is."
Klink's eyes narrowed. "Colonel Hogan. I'm warning you."
"Fine. I'll go. I'll just tell Sergeant LeMay to sit in his hut and wallow in his misery. Right after I tell the men there will be no bead class in the rec hall. We were going to have a parade and everything."
"Oh, Kommandant. I heard they throw presents."
"Shut up, Schultz," Klink ordered.
"I'll try and think of another way to improve morale. And remember, happy POWs tend to stick around and not cause trouble." Hogan got up off the chair and headed for the door.
"Wait." Klink held up his hand. "You may have your celebration. For one hour. And you and your men are totally responsible for cleaning up the compound."
"Thank you, sir. You are a true humanitarian."
HhHhH
"But sir, I'm not from New Orleans. I've never even heard of Mardi Gras."
"Sorry, LeMay." Hogan was watching approvingly as a group of men were decorating their hastily made floats. "You were the last one in."
"Don't worry about it, mon ami. We will make sure everything goes well," LeBeau told LeMay as he put down his hammer and stood back. "Fini."
"It's usually us long-timers who get pulled onto the stage." Newkirk gave the young sergeant a friendly slap.
"Well, I'm willing to do my part," LeMay replied. "Although this seems a bit drastic." The new POW felt comfortable in his new home. Of course, he would rather be fighting, but considering what could have happened, he knew he was lucky to end up in this stalag. Not only did he discover he was now a part of an amazing clandestine operation, but he felt comfortable speaking his mind. "Has this occurred before?"
"Multiple times." Hogan slapped the float and nodded in satisfaction. "We've sent someone out of here in a balloon and hidden in a yacht." He frowned. "Although I have to admit that this latest run of bad luck is unusual." Hogan glanced over at the moveable fence, which was temporarily out of commission. Normally, Schnitzer could park next to the fence by the dog pen and get messages and men sent back and forth. Unfortunately, the veterinarian and dog handler was sick with the flu. The radio detector trucks in the compound were guarded and staffed 24/7. And he could sense the tunnel engineers working beneath him to clear the collapse by the spur leading to the tree stump entrance. It was, as he explained to everyone, a perfect storm.
"Well, it seems drastic, but we have to get someone out as soon as possible. They have important information, plus we need to make sure the Underground knows why we've gone silent. And it's a great way to get someone out of camp when we can't use any of the normal methods. Plus it's a distraction."
Hogan let out a smile. His men stepped up to the plate when asked. The rambunctious guys from Barracks 12 readily agreed to dress up and raided the rec hall's stash of costumes used in talent shows. They waited impatiently by the side of the float. LeMay, the homesick boy from Louisiana, by way of Cleveland, held boxes of beaded necklaces. He stood by, ready to take the seat of honor on top of the first float. LeBeau and an SOE operative waited by the hidden latch leading to a small crawl space in the front float. The second and last float was complete.
Kinch and Hogan walked around the floats. "I think we're good to go, Colonel," Kinch noted.
Hogan pointed with his arm and operation Mardi Gras began.
As he anticipated, the celebration and parade garnered the attention of the camp staff. The noise and revelry also intrigued the men guarding the radio detector truck. Guards not on duty stepped out of their barracks to watch. It was very cold, but the excitement warmed up the crowd.
"I don't think those men would win any dance contests," Klink commented as he sidled up next to Hogan to watch the festivities.
"Ah, glad you could make it, sir. And, yes, I believe you're correct. But, we work with what we have." Hogan stopped and deftly caught some beaded necklaces thrown at him.
"Beads?"
"Absolutely, not." Klink looked up the first float. "That's your homesick man?"
"LeMay?" Hogan nodded. "Yes, and this means the world to him, sir. In fact, he asked my permission to mention your kindness in a letter home."
"Really?" Klink asked. "I am glad to have made such an impression."
Hogan held back a cringe and pointed to the second float. "How do you like our decorations?"
"Very nice."
The floats slowly made their way through the crowds and then inexplicably went faster.
"Hogan. What is happening to the floats?"
"They're just…" Hogan stopped. "Wait a minute. What is happening? That's not right." Both he and Klink hurried over to the back of the last float, but to their mutual dismay, the driver of the float lost control and began turning in circles. Meanwhile, the first float began heading for the fence. At the last minute a "frightened" LeMay, jumped. The float barreled through the front gate, and went off into the woods.
"Hogan!"
"Sorry, sir. But in all fairness, your motor pool provided the engines." Hogan started going after the float on a run. "I have to check on our drivers!" More prisoners and a group of guards followed.
The float came to a stop just at the start of a heavily wooded area. Newkirk, who was driving, deftly exited and quickly unlatched the door to the secret compartment. Both LeBeau and the SOE operative, a small Dutch woman going by the code name Anna, crawled out. "I can find my way from here. Thank you, LeBeau. Newkirk."
"Better get moving fast, luv," Newkirk said. "They're heading our way. We'll distract them."
And with that, Anna melted further into the woods and away from the guards, prisoners and a very angry Kommandant.
They found Newkirk and LeBeau seated on the ground, covered in snow, some dead leaves and beads.
"You okay?" Hogan asked.
They nodded.
"Beads?" Newkirk held up a stack of necklaces.
As the group slowly walked back to the compound, Klink glared at Hogan. "You will have your men tear apart these floats. Now."
"Of course, sir."
That worked out perfectly for Hogan as the secret compartment would remain undiscovered. Meanwhile, a group of prisoners working together with guards managed to corral the other float and stopped it from going in tight circles, but not before they slammed into the radio detector truck.
Carter stepped out and promptly lost his balance. "The world is spinning," he commented as he sunk to the ground. The men on the float, who managed to jump clear, helped him up.
Klink and Hogan stood there, gazing at the mess in the compound.
Hogan turned to Klink. "While, we're here, Kommandant, did I mention that St. Patrick's Day is in about 3 weeks?"
A/N: Thank you Dust on the Wind for catching some mistakes and suggesting some corrections. Same as well for Abracadebra, who also offered a brief lesson on Mardi Gras, Lent, etc. (I'm Jewish, so I was definitely out of my comfort zone here!)
Mardi Gras parades were canceled during the war. Information on Mardi Gras courtesy of the website mardigrasneworleans dot com. In 1944, Shrove Tuesday fell on February 22nd. The last name of LeMay comes from the TV series, "Combat." (although this isn't the same character)