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Weaving A Web To Freedom

Book Three: Fliegerabwehrkanonen Spells FLAK

By Marty Miller Breedlove

Chapter 25

Ready or Not

Roll call had come early. The surrounding POW camps were ordered to take a head count when it became apparent that those breaking into SS Headquarters had eluded their pursuers. After Klink satisfied himself that all was as it should be in his Stalag, he quickly released the prisoners to return to their bunks for a few hours longer. The sight of his senior POW had added weight to this decision. Despite the hours of enforced rest, Colonel Hogan looked as bad, if not worse, as when Klink brought him back to camp. Now, several hours later, Klink was nervously pacing in his office wishing this day were over. I wish I could tell you about Colonel Knefler's plans, Colonel Hogan, but they've ordered me not to. They want to catch you off guard. Klink paused in his pacing and looked out his window. Well, that's easy enough for them; they won't have to live with you for the next few days. I'm going to have one angry senior POW officer to contend with. Klink shook his head at himself. I shouldn't care. It should be as simple as putting you in the cooler until you cool off. But I do care! I don't like what I'm seeing. My country has changed…no…my country is still the same. It is still occupied by the same good people I grew up with. It's our leaders that have lost their way.

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The door to Hogan's room opened and Wilson exited, on his way to the sink, to empty the used washbasin. "We didn't hear any shouting, I guess the Colonel took the news about 'no' shower okay," LeBeau observed.

Wilson gave LeBeau a wide-eyed look and said, "No! When I told him his bathing was going to be confined to the use of this washbasin for a while, I thought his eyes were going to cut my heart out. But he did real well about keeping his voice down. However, I'm not giving him too much credit for that! I think his headache was the deciding factor."

The medic turned from the sink and added, "I had Baker ask London for some penicillin, but it seems to be in short supply right now. We might be able to stay on top of this infection without it, but I sure would like to have some." Wilson rolled his sleeves down and headed for the tunnel. "I'll be back a couple hours after breakfast and we'll do another dressing change. Right now, I'm going to go help Dirk with his morning libations."

LeBeau's face took on an air of concern and taking a step forward, he asked, "Excusez-moi, Wilson, but how much do you know about herbal medicines?"

"I know a little, mostly our own home remedies. Why do you ask?" Wilson waited while LeBeau stopped to consider how to explain.

"We use many natural remedies in my family," LeBeau began. "Have you heard of Bardane?" Louis stopped for a moment trying to remember the American name. "Umm, Bur…Burdock?"

"Burdock! You mean the plant mentioned in Shakespeare's 'Troilus and Cressida'?" Wilson asked.

Louis smiled, "Oui, and in 'King Lear'!"

"Well then, yes, I've heard of it. It's a burr isn't it?" Wilson asked, rubbing his chin trying to remember exactly what reference Shakespeare made to the plant.

"The entire plant can be used, burrs, root, leaves, stems. The root beaten with a little salt is useful as a poultice for boils and inflamed skin and helps relieve pain. It will draw out the poisons in an infected wound. Burdock root tea and seeds are a diuretic, and useful in treating fever, insect and snake bites, even the flu." Louis' meaning was plain. He wanted to prepare some for Colonel Hogan.

Wilson's expertise was clearly more science oriented, but he had been exposed to the benefits of some herbs during his studies, and he was familiar with his grandmother's and mother's home remedies from when he was still living at home in New Mexico. These remedies seemed to do what they were intended to do. Whether that was a result of the properties of the herb or of the mind he couldn't say. But it didn't matter as long as the result was the same. The mind has healing properties of its own that sometimes defy science. Wilson couldn't afford not to consider herbal remedies; their access to conventional cures was limited if not altogether missing. He considered what Louis was offering.

"You've seen these results with your own eyes, Louis?" Wilson asked, not wanting to introduce another toxin for Hogan's body to fight. But he didn't like the route this wound was taking; the tissue was angry and the Colonel had definitely digressed from where he was twelve hours earlier.

"Oui, many times," Louis assured.

Wilson thought back to one of his early college courses. His studies in Indiana, under Varro Tyler, Professor of Pharmacognosy at Purdue University's School of Pharmacy, was his first, formal, introduction into the world of herbal medicine. Professor Tyler was a proponent of Saw Palmetto, used to treat urinary tract problems. This herb was currently an official drug in the US. "Okay Louis, but don't take offense if I watch closely for signs that he's getting worse. We're in a delicate balance here."

Louis nodded. "Oui, I understand." Louis answered, "But you don't have to worry, I wouldn't have said anything if I weren't sure." LeBeau headed to the tunnel to get into his "stash". Smiling to himself he thought, I've told them before, cooking is not just an art, it's a science! Hiding healing herbs in my cooking is one thing. But a poultice would be a little too difficult to disguise.

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"When you say he had bands around his wrists, were they leather bands used to say, offer support, or decorative as in made of silver or gold, or maybe symbolic as in representing an organization? Be specific, Private!"

The SS Private was shaking in his boots. He hadn't even thought of those possibilities. In fact he probably wouldn't even have remembered the banded wrists if Captain Krantz hadn't scared it out of him.

No wonder he's in charge of interrogation here. He can get information you don't even know you have! The private thought and began to analyze what he had seen. "They did not appear to be made of metal, I don't recall there being any shine to them. They appeared dark. They could have been leather or maybe cloth."

Krantz took the offered information and rolled it around in his head, before looking back at the private. "Well, now that I have milked this information from you, I want you to think real hard now…" Krantz mocked. "… and tell me how wide these bands were."

The private glanced down at his hands hanging by his side, and using his thumb and forefinger placed them at about the width he thought he remembered, before making his judgment. "I would say three fourths of an inch wide, Herr Hauptman."

Krantz looked down at his desk and shook his head after seeing the visual aid the private invented. Give me strength! Sighing, he summed up the information obtained.

"All right, let's go over what we have. You came into my office and…" Krantz rose out of his chair, walked around his desk and stood with his back to the Private. "…you saw a man standing here, with his back to the door like this. The man was dressed all in black and wore a black belt, had dark hair, either black or brown. He was about five foot eleven or six foot tall. And you estimate about one hundred and sixty to one hundred and sixty-five pounds. He did not speak but he followed your instructions, which you spoke in German, and had some sort of bands around his wrists." Krantz now turned and walked over to his filing cabinets. "The second man, who grabbed you from behind this door, was about five feet ten or five feet eleven, weighed about one hundred fifty-five or one hundred sixty pounds. Wore black and a black watch cap had dark brown or black hair, and dark eyes. You didn't look at his wrists so you don't know if he also wore wrist bands." Krantz finished and then asked, "Is that all we know?"

"Jawohl, Herr Hauptman!" The Private was quick to answer, wanting this to end.

"Nein!" Krantz bellowed. "We also know they were experienced in hand-to-hand combat! Or were you taken down by common street scum?" Krantz's face reddened with anger. "You are dismissed; leave before I do something I will be sorry for!"

The Private clicked his heels, saluted, and made a hurried exit.

The door did not quite close before Lieutenant Hildebrand popped his head in. "Captain Krantz, may I come in?"

Krantz looked at the figure standing half in and half out of his office and nodded. "Come in Jonathan, close the door and pour us some schnapps."

Hildebrand went to the file cabinet and opened the bottom drawer, pulling out a bottle and two glasses. "Bad night, Captain?"

"Please, right now it is just Nicholas, your boyhood friend, in need of a little consolation," Krantz answered, while reaching for the offered glass.

"What did they take?" Jonathan asked, looking around the office.

"Nothing that I can see, at least nothing tangible," Krantz walked over to his chair and sat down. "The Private who found them was very inexperienced. I'm afraid I wasn't very patient with him."

"I can't imagine that!" Hildebrand laughed. "The man who made Captain in record time and earned a reputation for being able to get information out of prisoners, even after it was thought, by our experts, that the prisoner had no more to give, is impatient?" Hildebrand swirled his drink and took another sip. "Patience with ineptness has never been one of your virtues, Nicholas!" Hildebrand commented. "So did you learn anything more from the idiot Private?"

"Not a lot." Krantz answered, putting his glass down on his desk, he leaned back in his chair. "I know we have two men experienced at breaking and entering, who have obviously worked together frequently and are able to complement each other's moves. Also, that they have a network behind them that allows them to get information out of Germany and are analytical, keenly observant, and will wish they were dead when I get my hands on them!" Krantz slammed his fist down on the desk.

"Okay the part where they'll wish they were dead I understand, but where did you get analytical and keenly observant?" Hildebrand lowered the hand with the glass in it, to the armrest of the chair, giving his undivided attention to Krantz.

"My file on Kohnstein was removed from the filing cabinet." Krantz clenched his jaw.

"How do you know that? Are you going to tell me that these two sly thieves put it back in the wrong spot?" Hildebrand questioned.

"No, they put it back in the right spot."

"Then the papers were out of order?" Hildebrand guessed, again.

"No, they placed them back correctly."

"Well, then what was it that gave them away? I'm dying of curiosity." The Lieutenant looked with earnest at his Captain.

Krantz stood and motioned Hildebrand to the filing cabinet. "Take out that file," Krantz said, pointing to the file in question.

Hildebrand pulled it out and looked at Krantz.

"Now, look in the bottom of the drawer. See that thread. It is attached to the bottom of the drawer and lies just inside the folder. When the folder is pulled out the thread falls out of the file. It is undetectable unless you know what you're looking for." Krantz turned and walked back to the window behind his desk and looked out. "They picked that file out. It is the only file in these drawers written in code. They distinguished the difference between this file and the others by observing its smaller size and three underlines on the tab, not one or two like the others." As Krantz turned from the window, a look of disgust appeared on his face. "I let my excitement show when I was marking it that was my mistake." Krantz admitted and then continued. "They analyzed the contents and knew the information was written in code, which means they, at the very least, can read German. These men are experienced. They see detail." Krantz, turned back to the window, and was silent.

Hildebrand watched for a minute until he couldn't stand it any longer. "Something else is bothering you, Nicholas."

Krantz , tensed and with eyes wide, turned to look at Hildebrand, who was surprised to see his Captain on edge. Forcing himself to smile and relax Krantz answered, "Yes, Jonathan. But right now, I only have questions and suspicions. Perhaps Corporal Reimers will bring me answers."

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Hogan, still feeling achy after breakfast, decided to lie back down on his lower bunk for a few minutes rest before Wilson showed up for his morning torture session.

Well, you can't avoid it any longer. It's time for an examination of conscience. Did you save Hochstetter because allowing someone to painfully burn to death screaming was immoral, or… Hogan couldn't bear to think that he had allowed them into the deepest recesses of his mind and that his thoughts were not his own. He squeezed his eyes shut against that possibility.

NO! I didn't let that happen! Please…I didn't let that happen, he prayed. His head was pounding again and he began to feel nauseous. Why can't I think? I should be able to analyze this. But if my thinking is tainted, can I analyze rationally? He placed his hands over his face and tried to rub some sense into his head.

Ahh! I need some time to think…but time is one luxury I don't have. They'll be taking me to face Kaltenbrunner and Knefler soon. I have to get my head straight before that happens. Feeling uncomfortably warm, he struggled up and went to the window to get some air. What's the matter with me? I'm an American pilot, a saboteur, a spy. I haven't stopped fighting...yet! STOP IT! You're going to drive yourself crazy and save the Nazis the trouble. How could I have been affected by their brainwashing techniques? I've never been one to follow the crowd. I've always thought for myself. He argued, trying to reason with himself, as he made his way to sit on the stool next to his desk. Now, staring at his bruised wrists, his reasoning gave way to reality. How indeed, I can't even remember everything that happened at Hohemark. The pounding behind his eyes increased. Crossing his arms on his desk, he rested his head on them and withdrew into their darkness.

And that scares me!

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"Can't those bloody Krauts put off taking pictures one more day?! Newkirk asked, grabbing his mug off the table, he paced to the stove and emptied the last of the coffee into his cup.

"Yeah, Colonel Hogan looks…bad. I can't imagine he'd take a very good picture! Carter said, looking around at the others.

"Carter, they don't care what he looks like. The idea is to make it look like he has gone pro Nazi." Kinch explained.

"Oui, the Boche could care less how he feels as long as they get their lousy pictures." LeBeau added, from his seat across from Andrew.

Changing the subject, Newkirk asked, "How'd the gov'nor do with Wilson last night, Kinch? When you didn't come to get us to help, I passed out." Newkirk took a sip of his coffee.

"I heard him," Carter said. The others turned to look at him. "It wasn't loud. I don't think anyone else was awake enough to hear him. It's just that I was listening. You know, in case you needed me."

LeBeau was on his way around the table to see about making another pot of coffee when he stopped to lay his hand on Carter's shoulder and sighed, "Oui, mon ami."

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"Are you ready for him, Colonel Knefler?" Kaltenbrunner asked, referring to the American

"Yes, General, I'm ready!" Knefler answered, wiping off the hypodermic needle with the alcohol soaked cotton ball. He then laid it on the metal tray with the tourniquet for later use. "We will talk before I give him this. I want to try and discern his deeper private thoughts. The ones he can't share.

"Do you think you will catch him off guard?" The General asked, as he watched the Oberst cover the tray with a sterile towel and set it aside.

Knefler turned and looked the General in the eye. "This one? No! But I do think I can use that to my advantage," Knefler said, softly.

Kaltenbrunner turned and looked at the empty chair that would soon hold his sought after prisoner. "I want him, Colonel. I want him body and soul! I want to use him to make the world aware of our strength. And I want to use his strength to make an army of soldiers that will bring the Third Reich to full fruition."

"Don't worry, General," Knefler assured. "German science will engineer a path to genetic perfection as well as a path to controlled thought! The Fuhrer's goals are within our grasp. A rat in a maze can only run down so many blind ends before there is nothing left but the path to completion. Colonel Hogan is running out of blind ends."