Chapter Eight

Roll Calls

Newkirk sat in the crowded mess hall, cradling a tin cup of lukewarm tea in his hands. He'd managed to choke down a few bites of the camp bread that he'd been given for breakfast, but between the high sawdust content of the bread and pain in his abdomen, he couldn't make himself eat any more. He took a sip of tea and shook his head. How the bloody hell am I going to find the gov'nor in all this mess? Must be over a thousand men here, and with us in separate barracks, it'll be tough to keep in contact even after I do find him.

But it wasn't long before Hogan made an appearance. Still limping badly, and with a dark bruise making an unwelcome appearance near his swollen jaw, he came and sat down next to the Englishman. "So, you have a nice little visit with the Kommandant?" he asked wryly, bringing a cup of ersatz coffee up to his lips, then reconsidering and putting it back down. He laid his arms on the table, making tight fists with his hands. "Lieutenant Staub was a charming combination of gracious host and Golden Gloves champion."

"Yeah. Herr Kommandant's a real charmin' sort as well. Quick with the questions, an' even quicker if he don't like the answers." I think I know who taught Staub everything he knows about how to hit. Newkirk nodded slowly, but didn't look up at Hogan as he spoke. "You doin' all right then?"

"I still have all my teeth, if that's what you mean, but I might not eat solid food for a week," Hogan answered grimly. "I'm more worried about how the hell we're going to get out of this place. And I'm not thrilled with Kinch, Carter and Le Beau being stuck with Townsend back at camp, either." He shook his head carefully. "Though I suppose they're better off getting used to him now while they can. They won't have any choice when all this is over, even if we succeed in getting back."

"Is that what Townsend really came for, to replace you? If that's the case, he may as well turn round and go home, because no one's gonna go along with it." Newkirk took a careful sip from his cup and shook his head. "Someone back there's lost what little sense they had in coming up with that idea in the first place."

Hogan shrugged and attempted the coffee again, winced, and put a hand up to his jaw to soothe it. "I keep telling myself it's about the operation, not about me. That it's about the good of the Allied war effort, not about who commands the units." He sighed and brought down his hand. "But I'm being just plain stubborn if I don't admit that to me, it's also about me being able to be part of it. I look around this place—" Hogan gestured vaguely at their surroundings—"and I know that I'd go crazy if I didn't have something to do, some way to…" Hogan paused. "Some way to get them back… for everything they did…."

"You'd do that no matter where they assigned you, gov'nor. Back at camp, or back in the air, you'd do everything you could to make a difference," Newkirk said quietly. "That's just how you are, and that's why the men follow you."

"Maybe," Hogan said. A pause. "From the look of it, we won't have a chance if we get stuck here, in any case. The way Brinkfried operates, we'll barely be able to have contact. We've gotta get outta here, and fast."

"Have to be done as a wildcat operation, because I don't think the local Escape Committee would take too kindly to a couple of new guys trying to jump to the head of the list." Newkirk smiled a bit. "I never thought I'd hear myself being in favor of something like that." He started to glance at Hogan, but quickly lowered his head and turned away again.

"I know what you mean," Hogan said. "But think of it this way—if we get out, and we can get back to Stalag 13, then any one of these fellas who escapes can have a place to go. If the operation survives under Townsend. And it will," Hogan added forcefully. "If it's the last order I give, it's gonna be that you boys do what you have to, to keep the unit running."

"That'll be easy, then." Newkirk's voice took on the particular tone that Hogan had learned by now meant the Englishman was coming up with something sneaky. "We'll just pack Townsend off home and keep you around. Problem solved." Newkirk turned to Hogan, wearing one of his patented innocent looks, and forgetting at that particular moment about the black eye and bruises forming on the side of his face thanks to his interview with the Kommandant.

"That's not exactly what I had in mind—" Hogan began, then cut himself off when he saw the Corporal's face. "What's that?" he burst. Shaking his head and not waiting for an answer, Hogan fumed, "Let me guess: Brinkfried." He stood up. "That man—" Ready for action, Hogan nearly took off right then and there, then he suddenly stopped and dropped his head. "Damn," he almost whispered. Newkirk frowned when he realized that the shine in Hogan's eyes could be unshed tears. "I have no power here, Newkirk. I can't protect you." He sat down and stared at the table. "I can't do my job and look after my men." He closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he said. "Neither of us got any sleep last night, and I don't think I got any the night before, either. Let's just find our barracks so we can get some rest and think more clearly later on."

"Steady on, gov'nor. I can take a few hard knocks; in fact, my old man showed me the back of his hand on more than one occasion when I was growing up." Newkirk reached over and put his hand on Hogan's shoulder. "Now there is something you can do for me, Colonel," he whispered. "You can give me your word as an officer that you won't let this little tea party Brinkfried and I had get in the way of you figuring a way to get us out of here and back where we belong."

Hogan felt the pressure of Newkirk's hand and felt somehow comforted by it. "I won't," he said quietly. He thought for a moment, then said again, more intensely, "I won't. I just need a couple of aspirins and some time to think. We'll get back there, or my name isn't James S. Dane, Private." He let out a light laugh through his nose. "Private! Corporal, Sergeant, anything would have done… but Private? How much less authority could you have given me? I knew you didn't like officers, but I never thought you'd bust me all the way down to Private."

"Sorry, Private, but I didn't have a spare set of chevrons in my pocket, and if I'd had them, there wouldn't have been time to sew them on your sleeves in any case." Newkirk laughed softly. "Just look at it this way, you're gettin' in some practice for next Boxing Day."

"Newkirk, did I ever tell you I hate English holidays?"

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"Roll call, roll call! Everybody up! Raus, now, boys, raus! Up up up up—" Schultz cut his usual wake-up call short when he suddenly realized that he was standing in the middle of Barracks Two amidst a group of fully dressed men who were milling around the stove and the common room. "Up?" he finished. He furrowed his brow. "What… is going on?"

"We are awake, Schultz," Le Beau informed him.

"I can see that," he said. "But… why are you awake?"

"Didn't Klink tell you?" Kinch asked, raising an eyebrow at Le Beau.

"Tell me… what?"

"The Gestapo was in here about an hour ago and took Colonel Hogan and Newkirk. You don't think they went about their business quietly, do you?" Kinch declared.

"The Gestapo? No, the Kommandant has not yet told me about that," he said. He looked around. "He took Colonel Hogan, and the Englander?"

"That's right, Schultz."

"Oh… that is too bad," he said almost mournfully. "But… where is Carter?"

"Oh, he's… just upset about it all, Schultzie," Le Beau said hastily. "You know how emotional he gets—he is in the Colonel's office. We will bring him out for roll call. You go on, Schultz."

Schultz frowned. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Absolutely, Schultz, really," Kinch said, pushing the guard toward the door. "We'll get him and be out in a minute. You'd better head out; he'd be really embarrassed if he thought you knew. He doesn't want you to see a grown man cry."

"Oh, that is too bad," Schultz tutted. "I will wait outside."

And he was almost shoved out the door. Le Beau went on watch while Kinch banged on the bunk leading to the tunnel under the barracks. "Hurry up, Carter!" he called.

Carter's head suddenly appeared. "Sorry—it takes longer than I thought to get out of those clothes! And that little moustache! I can't imagine how Hitler does it!"

"Never mind that; we're late for roll call. Let's go!"

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Hogan fell into line outside his barracks, having been pushed into place by a guard not very unlike the friendly Staub he had encountered a few hours earlier. Despite his anxiety about his men and his situation and continuing strong pain from his injuries, he had managed to get a couple of hours' sleep, and his muscles had been sore and stiff on awakening. His slow, awkward pace in getting out the door was not appreciated, and he had been told with a quick, sharp prod to his lower back.

"Just keep your mouth shut," another prisoner, who had identified himself only as Norton, warned him in a whisper. Then the man brought himself to attention as Brinkfried approached the group.

"Ah, my Yankee Doodle failures," Brinkfried greeted them. Hogan squirmed in his place in the back row. "Guten morgen, Americans. How lovely a day… when you are free."

Hogan seethed at the German's smile, appalled that the man could take such obvious pleasure in denigrating his captives, and at the same time knowing that it could very well have been like that at Stalag 13 if he had not been able to play Klink like a well-tuned fiddle.

"You have a new toothless lion for your cage, as you no doubt saw as you woke up this morning," Brinkfried said. He moved in closer to the group. Hogan held his breath, determined to keep calm, as the Major reached in between the men and pulled Hogan out of line by the shirt. Hogan clenched his fists, but kept them by his side, and did not look away from the Kommandant. "This is Private Dane. He was brought in last night with an equally useless Englishman. You will teach him the ways of this camp. Or you will all suffer for it."

Brinkfried pushed Hogan away from him so hard that the American fell to the ground at the feet of the men in the front row. No one spoke against the action. No one reached down to help him up. And so Hogan staggered to his feet, accepting an unexpected blow to his wounded knee from Brinkfried on the way up that made him see stars and nearly drove him back down to the ground. Still, Hogan straightened. And when he had caught his breath, he stared unashamedly at the Kommandant. "Looks like we both have a lot to learn, Kommandant," Hogan said in a low voice.

Looking surprised and mildly amused, Brinkfried arched an eyebrow at Hogan's implied warning and nodded. "Is that so, Private?" he replied. Suddenly a truncheon flew across the face of the Corporal nearest Hogan, and then rammed into Hogan's solar plexus. The Corporal shouted and crumpled; Hogan doubled over in pain, gagging. "Let us see who learns the fastest. Take your time, Private. I can teach many such lessons, with so many men around you to accept the consequences of your mistakes."

Brinkfried turned to his guard. "Dismiss the rabble. I have other barracks to visit." And he turned on his heel and walked away.

Hogan tried to stand up straight but found that still beyond him at the moment. So he turned to see the Corporal who had been struck being looked after, as blood flowed from his face. "I'm—sorry," Hogan managed breathlessly.

"It's all right," came a voice. Hogan looked up to see Norton beside him. "We all tried it once. Come on; you need to get seen at the medical hut. You're already not in top shape; keep this up and the medic's gonna be busy for the duration—if he isn't planning your funeral." And he helped guide Hogan away from the dispersing prisoners.

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Across the compound, Newkirk stood among the English prisoners as one of the guards moved down the line counting them. The silence was somewhat unnerving to him, as none of the men were making any attempts at goon-baiting. I suppose I can't blame them for not wanting to cause trouble, given the situation here. While I'd love to put the needle in a couple of these Krauts, I'd best keep quiet, at least until I learn the ropes.

When the guard went back to the front of the ranks, Newkirk yawned as he tried to wake himself up. He'd spent most of the time just trying to find a comfortable way to lie on the bunk he'd been assigned after being unceremoniously dumped into his new barracks. His back was sore from the blow he'd taken from the truncheon earlier, and his abdomen from having been used as a target for Brinkfried's fists during his interrogation. The Englishman's face had also been a target, and the pain from the darkening bruise there didn't help his headache one bit.

Any lingering thoughts of sleep were driven from Newkirk's mind when he saw Major Brinkfried reach into the American ranks and drag Hogan to the front. He swore under his breath and started forward when Hogan was shoved to the ground, only to find himself restrained by a large, dark-haired Corporal. "You want to get yourself in trouble by breaking ranks?" the Corporal hissed in his ear as he held Newkirk in line. Matters got worse when the guard accompanying Brinkfried struck not only another of the Americans, but Hogan as well, and it took the efforts of the Corporal as well as two others to keep Newkirk from going after the German officer.

Brinkfried reached the English formation, barely giving the guard a nod when the man reported his count, as his eyes were focused on Newkirk, who was still struggling to get free. "So, you object to discipline, do you, Englander?" He turned to his guards and ordered them to bring Newkirk forward, and as they held him with his arms wrenched behind his back, the German smiled slowly. "It seems that you have not learned your lesson yet, Corporal. It's quite simple: from now on, every time you step out of line, your American friend will be punished. And of course, you will receive the necessary corrective measures if he does not behave." Brinkfried nodded to one of the guards. "Five times around the compound, quick march, and with a full pack. See to it at once. Dismissed."

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"Ein, svei, drei…"

In the cold morning air, the men of Barracks Two stood shuffling their feet in front of the hut, trying to keep warm as the Sergeant of the Guard counted them to make sure they were all there. Normally, this would be a quick, sometimes even lighthearted affair, with Colonel Hogan standing in the front row, fingers hooked inside his pockets, rocking back and forth confidently, seemingly just waiting for the camp Kommandant to say something that the prisoners could use to their advantage.

But today, that was not the case. Today, there were two holes where there should have been men: Hogan and Newkirk were both missing. And the men who lived practically out of their pockets knew the neat little story that Hogan's men had made up was just window-dressing. The truth was much worse: no one knew where they were, at all.

Schultz continued moving in between the two rows. "Dreizehn, vierzehn…" He got to Newkirk's vacant spot and paused. He knew why the place was empty. And he didn't want to go past it because there would be another empty spot, too—that of Colonel Hogan. Hogan had become almost as much a protector of Schultz as of the American's own men. And the Englander—well, he could be a rascal, but he almost always kept the guard out of trouble.

He mentally counted the unfilled places and reached the right number. Then he turned unhappily to Klink, who was waiting, uncharacteristically patiently, in front of the men. "Herr Kommandant, all prisoners present... or accounted for," he said quietly.

"Thank you, Schultz." Klink nodded slowly. "Bring the ranking prisoner to my office and dismiss the rest." He turned and, forgetting to salute the Sergeant, went back to his office without another word.

Schultz watched as his Kommandant walked away, not moving until the man had disappeared. He looked back at the prisoners and sighed. "You must come with me now, Carter."

The American Sergeant's face went pale. "M-me?" he managed to stammer after a moment. "Why do you want me?" He turned to Kinch, his eyes growing wide with fear. I can't go in there and talk to the Kommandant! I don't know what to say or to do, and what if he recognizes me?

"You are the ranking prisoner in Colonel Hogan's absence," Schultz replied, softly in deference to Hogan's memory. "The Kommandant wants to speak with you."

"B-but I don't have anything to say to him!" Carter protested.

Schultz shrugged. "Neither does anybody else. Come on, Carter. Don't make it difficult for me."

Le Beau and Kinch tried to nod encouragingly, as Carter sighed and went off with the guard.

Schultz opened the door to Klink's office in response to the muffled "Come," that sounded from within. He motioned for Carter to enter, then pointed at a spot in front of the desk, to indicate where the American should stand. "Sergeant Andrew Carter, ranking prisoner, Herr Kommandant." Schultz stepped back and waited.

Klink looked up from his desk, studying the prisoner for a long moment before speaking. "Sergeant Carter, in Colonel Hogan's absence you will be the prisoner's representative to this office. You will also be responsible for maintaining order and discipline among the men."

"Um, Kommandant Klink, sir?" Carter tightly gripped his cap with both hands to keep them from shaking. "May I ask why Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk were taken away by the Gestapo this morning?"

"I don't know, Sergeant." Klink shook his head slowly. "One does not question the Gestapo in such matters."

Carter nodded quickly in reply. "Yes, sir. But do you know when they'll be coming back?"

Klink shook his head again.

"Sir?" Carter swallowed nervously and took an even tighter grip on his cap. "What if they don't come back?" he asked softly.

Klink sighed. "Someone may be brought in from another camp to take over as senior prisoner of war officer here, and if not, then you will continue to hold that office. For now, though, Sergeant Schultz will explain your new duties to you. Dismissed." He looked past the American to the guard, and nodded for Schultz to take Carter and go.

"'May,' sir? What do you mean 'may'?" Carter asked as Schultz led him outside. "Sir? What do you mean 'may'?"

"Colonel Hogan might not come back this time, Carter. If that is the way things turn out, it is as the Kommandant said: you may be the senior prisoner." Schultz sighed. He was as worried as the prisoners about the fate of the missing men, and was just as concerned about what would happen if they did not return.

"Me, senior prisoner? I don't wanna be senior prisoner! Make sure the Colonel comes back, okay, Schultz?" If I could only be sure this was never going to happen for real! Please, Colonel, please come back soon. And bring Newkirk with you!