Chapter Twelve
Full Circle
Hogan sat at the common room table, nursing a cold cup of coffee that he hadn't touched to his lips in fifteen minutes. The others knew well enough to leave him alone when he was in this frame of mind. Waiting was hard enough. But having a Colonel who was concerned about what was being said between Kinch and Allied High Command was almost intolerable. Despite the cold that descended as the clouds cleared away to reveal a pale blue sky, Hogan's men went outside, leaving him free to get lost in his own thoughts and his own worries.
Hogan was about to stand up and pace the barracks for the eleventh time when Kinch's head appeared from below. "London's agreed to go along with your plan, Colonel." Kinch stepped to the barracks floor and closed the tunnel. "The latest weather forecast is 'clear and cold'… so it looks like the show will go on as scheduled."
Hogan nodded and looked vaguely into his coffee cup. "Thanks, Kinch," he said, not moving.
Kinch went to the stove and poured himself a cup of what passed for coffee before taking a seat at the table. He took a sip, and caught the pensive look on Hogan's face. "What's wrong, Colonel?"
Hogan straightened but continued studying his cup. "I was just thinking how much could have gone—how much did go wrong this time around," he said. Kinch waited. "I guess it's one of the times that I'm being forced to realize just how lucky we really are most of the time." He let out a snort of a laugh through his nose. "I honestly thought that good planning and execution had a lot to do with it. The execution part is fine—you men are the best team a commanding officer could ask for. But too many things went wrong this time, Kinch. I'm falling down on the planning. No wonder London was sore."
"It just goes that way sometimes, Colonel. I mean, when you think about what we're doing here, we've had more luck than the law allows." Kinch paused to take a sip of coffee. "But it's not all luck, sir. Everything we've done since we sent our first escapee back to England has been backed up by good, solid planning. Sure, there've been times that the Krauts have tossed us a few curve balls along the way, but we—no, you—have been able to turn them into base hits every time."
Hogan smiled softly. "This one's been more like a game of foul balls." He placed the coffee cup deliberately in the middle of the table and looked at the man who over time had become more than just a subordinate, but a friend. "I understand what you're trying to do, Kinch." Hogan nodded once as Kinch furrowed his brow. "And I appreciate it. If you're ever looking for a reference to become camp chaplain, let me know. I'll put in a good word for you." Hogan stood up and zipped his jacket as he headed for the door. "I'm going to have another look at those skies… and imagine being up there looking down, instead of the other way around."
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Newkirk sat at the end of the table in the common room, putting the last button onto a wool jacket he'd started working on the moment he'd been able to unwrap his hand. "There, that's got it then." He shook the jacket out and held it up for the others to see. "What do you gents think?"
Le Beau looked up from the small piles of tinned food he had spread out on the table. Spam, biscuits, chocolates, and a bit of sugar—priceless stocks from the Red Cross packages that had arrived earlier in the day, and the men had willingly pooled their resources to allow Louis to make a fine meal for the evening, supplemented with some treats from home and a few forbidden goodies they had stored from various trips into Hammelburg. This was the remainder. It wasn't a lot, but it would have to stretch till the next lot of parcels made it through. Le Beau scrutinized Newkirk's handiwork, frowning. "What is it supposed to be?"
"A little something extra for Colonel Hogan to wear under his jacket when it's a bit nippy outside. That fancy leather thing he's got might be all right for looks, but it's not much when it comes to stayin' warm." Newkirk grinned and shook his head. "Just like a ruddy officer anyway. Thinking more about how he looks than what it makes sense to wear in weather like this."
Kinch smiled and shook his head. "You know the Colonel, Peter. It's all about image—if he looks like an in-control officer, the prisoners will feel more secure. Never mind if he comes down with pneumonia. As long as the prisoners feel better when he wears it. And let's face it: we all know we do."
"Right, mate. That's why I've fixed this so it's not gonna show when he's got his leather jacket on over it. See here? No collar, and a short waist as well. I got his measurements fitting him for all those blasted Luftwaffe uniforms, so that wasn't a problem." Newkirk folded the wool garment and laid it on the table. "He could spend all day on Saville Row and not find a better fit anywhere, if I do say so myself."
"Unless he went to Paris," Le Beau muttered with a wicked grin.
"Don't stir the pot, Le Beau," Kinch warned, half-wishing that he would, just so the long spell of waiting would be broken.
"Stir the pot?" Carter asked from his bunk, where he was carefully sorting his booty. "I thought we were saving up the rest of the stuff from the Red Cross packages for another night. What are you making, Louis?"
"Go back to counting your macaroons, Carter." Newkirk shook his head as he put the sewing kit away.
"I'll bet ol' Hochstetter's not getting any macaroons tonight, boy," Carter predicted with a grin.
"Too bad he's not having borscht tonight either." Newkirk dug into his Red Cross box and pulled out a chocolate bar. "From what Colonel Hogan said after his talk with Klink, the Major just missed getting handed his ticket for the Siberian Express."
"He sure would have had a hard time explaining his taking orders from von Karterheim and Kinchmeyer," Kinch laughed.
"Oh, I don't know about that, they weren't too bad, even as officers go." Newkirk broke off a bit of his chocolate and carefully wrapped the rest before continuing. "Now on the other hand, I think Kinchmeyer's aide was a fine chap, if I do say so myself."
"You would," Kinch replied wryly.
A tap from below suddenly got everyone's attention. The bunk bed over the tunnel rattled as the mattress rose up and the ladder swung down into place. A few seconds later, Hogan's dark hair announced his return to the barracks, and he quickly climbed into the room, his white fingers clutching a small parcel, his face pale from the cold. He gave a quick nod to the men as he banged the bunk back into place, dropped the parcel on the table, and hurried to the stove to pull its warmth past his wet, black clothing. "M-Mission ac-c-complished," he said with the best smile he could manage with stiff cheeks. He shivered, blowing hot breath into his cupped hands and flexing them over the stove before reaching for the coffee pot.
"Go and change, Colonel, before you make yourself ill." Le Beau frowned as he realized that Hogan's clothes were soaking wet.
Hogan nodded, his mind focused on the warmth of the cup as the coffee's heat seeped into it and spread to his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I will, I will. Everything all right here?" he asked, turning back to the table. He took a cautious sip, then reluctantly put the coffee down and picked up the parcel. His normally nimble fingers struggled with the wrapping and it took him some time to pull the precious book free.
"Everything's fine here, Colonel." Kinch watched as Hogan unwrapped the book. I'd like to help him with that, but this is one mission he needs to finish on his own.
Hogan finally had the book in front of him, and his eyes scanned the cover over and over again as though trying to make sure it was real. A smile slowly spread across his face as he carefully opened the book and leafed through the pages, drinking in the precious information that would help Hogan continue running the operation. His men watched with satisfaction as their commanding officer finally redeemed himself in his own eyes, and nodded when he finally looked up and said, "Gentlemen, we're back in business."
Newkirk let the moment run its course, then gave Hogan a grin. "We won't be in business for long, gov'nor, if you don't get out of those dripping togs of yours and into something dry." He stood, and made an 'after you' gesture toward Hogan's private quarters. "What you need, sir, is the services of a 'gentleman's gentleman,' if you take my meaning. Not saying I ever was, but one time I saw one walking in Piccadilly, and I reckon that's as close as you're gonna get in this camp."
Hogan arched an eyebrow at the Corporal. "I'm sure I can undress myself, Newkirk. But you're welcome to come get the wet clothes to bring to the laundry." Still holding tightly to the precious book, Hogan headed for his office, stopping in his tracks when he saw something sticking out of the pages. He furrowed his brow and pulled it out. "It's a note from London," Hogan said, frowning and looking back toward the others. His face transformed as he read it aloud: "'Contact when this book received intact. Worth the loss of the other to get target at Leipzig. Fine planning. Congratulations to all involved. Well done.'"
"Well, what do ya know about that?" Carter looked at the others and grinned. "Boy, it sure is nice to know once in a while that we're appreciated."
"I always appreciate you, Carter," Kinch assured him, his eyes teasing.
"Gee, thanks, Kinch!"
"Please!" Le Beau interjected. "You're making my stomach turn." He looked at Hogan, who was still watching the exchange. "Go on, Colonel—get out of here!"
"Fine, fine," Hogan said in mock-hurt. "I know when I'm not wanted." He gave a brief nod to the men and then walked into his office. He put the code book on the lower bunk and turned back in surprise when he saw Newkirk had actually followed him into the room. "I thought you were kidding about this 'gentleman's gentleman' bit," he said.
"No, sir, and I'll stay and help if you like, but I mainly wanted to give you this." Newkirk held out the wool jacket liner he'd carried in with him. "I... thought it might help out a bit during roll call, on account of it being rather hard to get the upper hand with the old Bald Eagle when you're shivering."
Hogan looked at Newkirk's offering for a moment without moving. Once he opened his mouth as if to speak but stopped and closed it again. Finally, he reached out hesitantly for the garment and held it carefully, running his hand over it and studying the stitching and the bulk. "Newkirk, that's…" Finally getting the code book tonight had taken its toll on Hogan's emotions, and he stopped to gain control of himself before continuing. "This was a lot of work for someone with a damaged hand," he said. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Not long, sir." Newkirk shrugged. "Just since I finally got Wilson to lay off about my hand yesterday."
Hogan nodded, still looking at the liner. "It's great, Peter," he said quietly. "Thanks." Hogan sniffed and tried to hide a small shiver.
Newkirk nodded and spoke softly in reply. "You're welcome, Rob." He turned quickly and went to the door, pausing before he opened it. "Now you get out of that wet stuff, Colonel, before I decide you do need a hand with it."
Hogan laughed softly, grabbing a towel and pulling the wet shirt over his head. "Here, take this," he said, throwing the shirt at the back of Newkirk's head. The Corporal turned around just in time to see Hogan pulling on a warm pajama top. "And just to show how grateful I am, I'll put this on right now," he said. Hogan shook the liner open and put his arms through both sleeves, sighing contentedly as the jacket's warmth helped soothe his trembling body. He looked at the cut of the cloth, impressed by the perfect fit and the workmanship, and patted it down in appreciation. "It's great," he said again. He stopped patting over his chest as he felt something not quite right at the breast pocket. "What's this?" he asked.
"Something you'll need the loan of until you can get your own." Newkirk took the time to run his eyes over Hogan, pleased with the Colonel's obvious enjoyment of his gift.
Hogan reached into the pocket and pulled out the shilling he had tried to maneuver in his fingers what seemed like months ago. Now, it sat in his still-cold hand, staring back at him. "Peter?"
"Lessons start tomorrow… if you're still interested, that is."
Hogan looked thoughtfully at the coin. "We all need to do some cross-training." He closed the shilling into his fist. "But I'm never going to pretend to be the expert." He smiled. "Let me recover for a little while first… then I'll be ready to be your back-up, sir." For the second time that week, Hogan managed a nice finger trick that ended with the coin in the air, flying back toward Newkirk. "You hang on to that in the meantime. I don't want to jinx your good luck piece."
Newkirk caught the coin, rolled it through his fingers and made it disappear with a flourish. "Careful there, mate. I might be the expert, but I'm no bloody officer!" He grinned and touched two fingers to his brow in a playful salute before ducking out the door. Hogan could only smile and shake his head.
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For the first time in almost a week, Hogan lay down on his bunk and truly felt like he'd be able to sleep. The worry and the stress that had kept him awake through this entire experience had blessedly started to drain away when Kinch reported that the Allied bombing raid over Leipzig had been a resounding success—minimal losses, maximum destruction. And the pat on the back from London didn't hurt, either. Even better, his men had resolved their differences, and Newkirk was back in the fold again. But it was the recovery of the new code book that had finally signaled complete relief to the Colonel's weary mind and body. Hogan reached under his blanket and felt for the small set of Rosary beads his mother had sent that he kept hidden there. Thanks, God. I should have let You look after this from the beginning. You always have a plan in mind to keep us out of hot water.
As his mind drifted into dreamless sleep, Hogan added drowsily, You always were my co-pilot. Would You mind staying with me while I'm grounded?
Author's Notes:
This story was written by Nancy Ware and Linda Groundwater over a period of about four weeks, spanning two continents and a fifteen-hour time difference. The whole experience started with an innocent role-play that we quickly realized could evolve into an entire story.
This story meets the requirements of at least two "Smart Groups" challenges: the Flattery Challenge and the Thirteen Canon Characters Challenge, as listed below. However, the biggest challenge was getting the plot and the characters "just right" as we saw them. We wrote virtually all scenes together, line by line, online, live. We edited and beta'd as we went along, and sometimes that was quite arduous, but we hope in the end it was worth it.
For the Thirteen Characters Challenge, we managed purely by accident, fifteen.
In order of mention/appearance: Hogan, Newkirk, Carter, Gretel, Olsen, Schnitzer, Wilson, Kinchloe, Klink, Le Beau, Schultz, Hilda, Hochstetter, Byron Buckles, Du Bois.
For the Flattery Challenge, we also have quite a list, purely by accident:
Sticky Wicket Newkirk, Hogan Goes Hollywood, Hogan Gives a Birthday Party, The Safecracker Suite, Drums Along the Düsseldorf, D-Day at Stalag 13, Six Lessons from Madame LaGrange, and two of our own works, "Stray Hares" and "Once Upon A Time: Papa Bear."
Thanks for reading, let's all do it again!
Linda and Nancy
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The Author's Notes you have just read are true. The names have not been changed to protect the guilty.
This story really started when one of the authors was watching Sticky Wicket Newkirk while chatting online with the other. Now, these two authors have a runaway habit of letting the characters take over and speak for themselves. They both claim that's how they get their stories; that the characters tell them what to write and they write it. The jury's still out on that one.
All it took was a comment from one author to the effect that Newkirk was in trouble with the Colonel over Gretel, at which time Newkirk took over one of the keyboards out of self-defense. It wasn't long before Hogan laid claim to the other keyboard, and things rapidly spiraled out of the authors' collective control.
After four weeks and a lot of rearranged sleeping schedules, dozens of emails zipping halfway around the world at a moment's notice, sneaking in bits of writing time while getting ready to go to work, inordinate amounts of giggling, and in a few cases missing sleep entirely, the authors managed to get their acts together and present this story to you, the readers.
We hope you've enjoyed the show. Thanks for reading.
Nancy and Linda
PS: Would we do it again? Absolutely! It was really quite a lark.
