Chapter 5: The Merciful End

Hogan emerged from his office putting on his jacket. "Come on, rise and shine," he said cheerfully.

Newkirk yawned as he sat up in his bunk. "What are you so cheerful about this morning, Colonel?" he asked.

"It's Easter, Newkirk," Hogan replied.

"Oh happy days," Newkirk replied sarcastically.

"I have a feeling it will be, Newkirk," Hogan responded. "I believe that this stupid story is drawing to a close."

LeBeau groaned. "Thanks for reminding me," he complained. "I had forgotten we were suffering."

"Where are Kinch and Carter?" Hogan asked, looking at their empty bunks.

"Carter never came back last night," Newkirk replied, jumping down from his bunk. "And Kinch is still sitting outside the barracks."

"Still?" Hogan asked. "I thought he was joking when he said he quit."

"Apparently not," LeBeau said. "Hey, what's that on the table?"

Everyone looked at the table. The basket was still sitting in the middle of the table, but it was now full of colored eggs and little bits of candy.

"Blimey," exclaimed Newkirk. "Carter was right!"

At that moment, Carter entered the barracks carrying a plate. "Hi guys," he said dejectedly.

"Andrew, you were right," Newkirk repeated. "The Great Plot Bunny was here and left you your colored eggs and candy."

"Oh joy," Carter moped.

"What's wrong?" LeBeau asked. "I thought you were looking forward to this."

"I was," Carter replied. "But I fell asleep last night, and when I woke up, the eggs were gone. I missed the Great Plot Bunny."

"Didn't he leave you a treat?" Newkirk asked.

"Yes, he did," Carter answered.

"So what did he leave you?" Newkirk asked. "Chocolate? Candy?"

Carter shook his head sadly. "No, he left me these," he said, putting the plate on the table.

"Scrambled eggs?" LeBeau asked. "He left you scrambled eggs?"

"Yeah, I don't understand it," Carter replied. "I did everything right."

Hogan walked over to Carter and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't let it bother you, Carter," he said. "Remember, nothing ever makes sense in these stories."

"But I thought this time would be different," Carter complained. "I thought it would be a good story."

Newkirk grinned at his friend. "I think there was a better chance of you meeting the Great Plot Bunny than that happening," he said.

"That's right," LeBeau chimed in. "To have a good story, you have to have a good writer."

"Thanks for trying to cheer me up, guys," Carter said. "You might as well have some eggs."

At that moment, they heard a commotion outside the door of the barracks. Hogan walked over and opened the door. He found that Baker and Vladimir were having a heated argument.

"Black!" Vladimir said.

"No, Brown!" Baker corrected.

"I'm telling you, Black," Vladimir insisted.

"Look, Sam, I know Black. And it's not Black," Baker argued.

"Baker, Vladimir is right," Hogan said. "It's Black."

Baker was about to continue the argument when they saw a contingent of prisoners walking in their direction. "What's this?" Hogan asked.

The group had reached the barracks, and the leader of the group did not look happy. "Why are we having this argument again?" she asked crossly.

"What argument?" Hogan asked.

"These two," the leader said, motioning towards Vladimir and Baker. "They are having the black/brown argument again."

"Yes, what's it to you?" Hogan asked warily.

"And you, you actually agreed that it was black!" the leader exclaimed.

"Of course I did," Hogan agreed. "That's because Black is correct."

The leader glared crossly at Hogan and pointed at his jacket. "You call this black?" she said.

"No," Hogan answered. "I call it my jacket."

The leader let out an annoyed huff. "And you think your jacket is black?" she asked.

"Of course not," Hogan replied. "Anyone with eyes can see that it's brown."

"Um, Colonel," Newkirk interrupted. "There are some color vision impaired people that might not be able to make that distinction."

"Color vision impaired people?" LeBeau asked. "Why are you calling them that?"

"Because I don't want Hochstetter to come back," Newkirk answered. "He's bad enough when he's Gestapo and now he's joined the political correctness police."

"Oiu, he's ever more insufferable now," LeBeau agreed.

"Wait, can we get back to the jacket here?" the group leader asked. She turned to Hogan. "If you think it's brown, then why did you say it was black?"

"I never did say it was black," Hogan insisted.

"You did too!" the leader countered. "Right as we walked up, you agreed with Vladimir that it was black."

"Of course I agreed with Vladimir," Hogan said. "He's right, it is Black."

"So you think your jacket is black?" she asked.

"No, I think it's brown," Hogan said.

"So Vladimir can't be right," she countered.

"But Vladimir is right," Hogan insisted again.

"How can Vladimir be right?" she asked. "He says your jacket is black, and you say it's brown. And yet you keep insisting he is right?"

Vladimir opened his mouth to speak, but Hogan motioned him to silence. "I think you are arguing under a very great misunderstanding here, my dear."

The group leader's brow furrowed in confusion.

"You see, Baker and Vladimir were not arguing about the color of my jacket," Hogan said.

"What are they arguing about?" she asked.

"You see, a few weeks ago, my jacket turned up missing," Hogan explained. "And Sergeant Evan Black was the person who found it. Baker thinks it was Sergeant Dirk Brown."

"Oh," the leader said. "I guess everything's all right then – as long as you are trying to tell people your jacket is black."

"I know better than that," Hogan said, smiling at her.

"Well then, we'll be going," she said.

"Wait!" Hogan said. "We've got some colored eggs inside, and I was thinking of asking LeBeau if he could whip us up some egg salad. Would you care to join us for some Easter egg salad?"

The leader looked at the rest of her group, who were all nodding their acceptance. "We'd be much obliged. Thank you!"

Hogan watched as everyone filed into the barracks. When the last person was in, he looked over and saw Kinch still sitting on the bench. "Kinch, are you coming?" he asked.

"No," Kinch replied.

"But the story is over, Kinch," Hogan said. "It's safe to come back."

Kinch shook his head. "But the story is not over yet, Colonel," he replied.

Hogan's brow furrowed with concern. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Kinch stood up and walked towards the reader. "I'd like to say that I am sorry that you had to suffer through reading this terrible story, with all of its bad jokes and terribly irrelevant side tracks." He paused and then shrugged. "I'd like to say that, but the idiot writer won't let me. Instead, he wants me to pass this message along to you." He pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and started reading.

"For those of you who are so religiously inclined, I'd like to wish you a very Happy Easter. For those who do not observe the holiday, I'd like to wish you a very Happy Spring. And for those of you who have been enjoying summer, I'd like to wish you a very Happy Fall."

Kinch folded the paper and put it back in his pocket.

"That's it?" Hogan asked.

"Yes, that's it," Kinch replied.

"That was a pretty pathetic message," Hogan commented.

"I agree," Kinch responded. "But I didn't want to try to argue. I wanted to give him no opportunity to drag this story on any longer than absolutely necessary."

"Well, it didn't work," Hogan observed. "We're still prattling on about things." He smiled. "So let's stop prattling and go get some egg salad before it's all gone."

As Kinch walked back towards the barracks, Hogan asked, "So now that the story is over, what was the terrible thing that would happen if you told us what was going to happen in this story?"

Kinch stopped and looked at the main gate. A staff car was entering the camp. "That," he said, pointing at the car.

Hogan watched the car stop in front of the Kommandant's office and General Burkhalter emerge from the back seat. "General Burkhalter is the bad thing that would happen?" he asked.

"No, not just that," Kinch replied. "He's here to get this." Kinch removed something from his pocket and dangled it in the air for Hogan to see.

Hogan looked at the object Kinch was holding and winced. In Kinch's hand was a small piece of fabric with a label on it – the label read Speedo.

"Good grief!" Hogan exclaimed.