Wings of Daedalus
by Nina Stephens
Could it be,
Have I really lost my way?
Have I lost my mind,
Will I lose the day?
Look at me and say,
Where it all went wrong,
This has been my dream,
My whole life long.
Those who dare to try,
Those who want to fly will find a way."
"No One Must Ever Know" from the musical Jekyll & Hyde
Book and lyrics by Leslie Bricusse
Chapter One
A baseball, its stitched leather hide scuffed and well worn, soared against the crisp blue sky. Beneath its high arc, prisoners craned their necks to watch dejectedly as it sailed over the triple strands of barbed wire ringing their compound.
"Well, gents, there goes the end to another ruddy ball game," muttered a dark-haired RAF corporal, helplessly watching the ball land with a thump well outside the camp's perimeter.
"Funny, I don't remember hearing any fat lady sing," chuckled an American colonel, a mock look of surprise spreading across his handsome face. The men trotted up to where he stood leaning against the outside of the recreation hall. The senior officer slipped his arm around the shoulders of a short Frenchman next to him in a consoling gesture.
"Eh. Very funny, Colonel Hogan," the corporal retorted. "Although, right now even a fat lady would be trés irresistible. You can't keep a Frenchman away from les femmes for over two years and expect him to maintain his usual high standards." He folded his arms, sticking out his lower lip in a pout.
Hogan grinned, playfully pulling LeBeau's red beret down over the corporal's swarthy face. His smile quickly disappeared, however, when he spotted Kinchloe, the American communicator for their group, hurrying toward him at a rapid clip from their barracks. Kinch, as the other prisoners called him, had a serious look on his face. Hogan quickly hoped that his haste meant orders from London had finally arrived, and he stepped away from the building to approach the black staff sergeant.
Things had been slow lately for the commander of the elite team of combined military personnel who conducted their clandestine intelligence activities behind enemy lines. They operated under the unusual cover of a prisoner-of-war camp in northwestern Germany, near the town of Hammelburg. The break in their typically hectic pace was a welcome one, but after a few weeks of dulling inactivity Hogan found himself itching to get back into action.
He'd volunteered for the challenging assignment principally because of his distaste for the administrative burden of more ordinary commands. But this one definitely came with small print in the contract, including the requirement that he allow himself to be shot down and then taken prisoner. And that was just for starters. However, he had to admit he'd never regretted the decision to take the position.
For two years he'd served as flight commander of the 504th Bomb Group when General Fitzhugh, head of a joint military intelligence command, approached him to establish a special operations group behind enemy lines in Germany. Hogan had been with the all-volunteer team at LuftStalag 13 for almost three years now, longer than even his command of the 504th, but he still hadn't tired of the duty. Their mission to hinder the German war effort via acts of sabotage, as well as exfiltrating downed fliers, was incredibly rewarding. Hogan was proud of the skills and accomplishments of his tight band of men. They'd been extraordinarily successful in duping the Germans and were sustained by knowing their efforts were bringing the war closer to a victorious end for the Allies.
Hogan looked around to see if any guards were looking, as Kinch handed him the slip of blue notepaper. He unfolded the note, a broad smile lighting his face.
"What's up, Colonel?" asked Carter, sidling next to Hogan.
The American enlisted man hoped an impending mission might require his skills as the team's explosives expert. The former drug-store chemist still seemed very much a small-town boy, but his assignment to Hogan's team had allowed him to experience thrills he never imagined while filling prescriptions back home in Bull Frog, North Dakota.
"Carter, m'boy, our contract's been renewed," Hogan said with his characteristic grin, "and for a signing bonus London is going to let us take out a railroad bridge."
"Where, mon Colonel?" asked LeBeau.
"The one just south of town, over the Rhine."
"Gee, Colonel, that's a pretty big span."
"About as big as they come," Hogan mused. "All I know is we've got to scramble to get this done. There's a train carrying a critical shipment of spare tank parts for the Wehrmacht that will come through there in two nights. With any luck they'll never make it."
He turned to Carter. "You'll need to ready about three dozen packs of explosives and timing devices to go along with them."
"You got it, boy! I mean, Colonel." Carter beamed, delighted to be back in action again.
"Good. Kinch, radio London and confirm we'll proceed as ordered. The rest of you, thanks for volunteering to go out tonight."
"Volunteer!" exclaimed LeBeau. "I didn't say anything about volunteering."
"Sure you did," insisted Hogan. "Besides, what else are you going to do in your spare time?"
"Maybe he could practice his swing," Newkirk said smugly.
"Yeah," Carter added with an exasperated huff. "Any more foul balls like that one and we'll be asking London to parachute in a batting coach."
Hogan chuckled, giving a friendly push to Carter's back, as he followed him into Barracks Two.
Continued in Chapter Two