Chapter Three
The midnight stroll might have been illuminated in moonlight if the skies hadn't opened up half an hour after Hogan slipped away from Stalag 13. The torrential downpour had continued unabated while he worked his way across the railway trestle, but at least he was almost done. He set the final timer in place and re-checked the connections. This time he was certain it would go.
Clinging precariously to the wooden support beams he carefully picked his way across the undercarriage of the trestle. Moments earlier the slippery going had almost caused him to lose his grip, but he'd somehow managed to hang on until he'd found another foothold. The plunge to the noisy river rushing below would not have been an enjoyable ride, he thought grimly, as he finally hopped from the wooden framework to the safety of an earthen bank at one end of the span.
He silently surveyed the swollen channel far below before peeling back one cuff of his waterlogged black sweater to check the time. The rain ran in currents down his face, and in a rare wasted motion he wiped ineffectively at his brow, hoping to stem the flow long enough to be able to read the dial. Wish I coulda worn my flight cap instead of this black knit one, he mused ruefully. At least the visor would have shielded my eyes from this blasted rain. Straining to see the tiny luminescent dots, the hands finally came into focus, indicating ten minutes after two. Another twenty minutes before it blew, he figured with satisfaction. Long enough for him to be well on his way back to base.
Just then a brilliant flash of lightning emblazoned the sky, making the landscape as bright as midday. The flash was immediately followed by a crash of thunder so loud as to shake the earth beneath his feet. He never stood a chance of hearing the patrol's footsteps. It was as much the evil glee in the sneering voice as the pistol's steel barrel being pressed into his spine that caused Hogan to suddenly freeze in place.
"Well, well, what have we here? Turn around. Slowly," barked the voice in German.
Carefully raising his hands, Hogan turned to confront a young blond captain flanked by a Wehrmacht patrol. He forced a broad grin in return.
"I'm just admiring the view, Herr Hauptmann," Hogan replied in German. "Such a lovely evening, wouldn't you say?"
The wisecrack earned him a blow across his temple with the pistol, sending a warm stream of what he assumed was blood suddenly mixing with the rain that ran down his face. Hands still held high, he silently glared at the officer.
The German's eyes strayed to the front of Hogan's black sweater, clinging to him wetly. An outline of an object hanging from his neck was visible in the beam of the flashlights that played across his torso. The captain roughly thrust his hand inside the neck of Hogan's sweater and pulled sharply on the chain around his neck. A pair of dog tags dangled from the broken metal links.
"An American, eh? Such insolence from someone in your position is not advisable."
He held them higher, signaling for a nearby soldier to aim his flashlight where they hung. The captain's blue eyes widened in surprise, and he turned back gloatingly to his prisoner.
"Such a catch is quite unexpected, Colonel."
Rain cascaded down Hogan's upstretched arms, forming a rivulet along his spine and creating a chilled pool at the small of his back that forced Hogan to involuntarily shiver. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, knowing that the German officer assumed the reaction was from fear.
Inwardly Hogan chastised himself. He'd forgotten to take off his dog tags before leaving camp. Ordinarily he removed them, although London had ordered all of them to wear the tags, naively banking on their protection under the Geneva Convention in the event they were captured during a mission. But Hogan realized it wouldn't matter, particularly if found with German documents or explosives in their possession. Under those conditions, they weren't likely to receive any special treatment at all.
Hogan had subsequently decided that if he were going to be caught in the act he'd just as soon leave Stalag 13 out of it. He would, if needed, die with that secret rather than divulge their operation. Only now, the imprint of his name and rank dangled there in front of him. It would be only a matter of hours for the captain to confirm via telephone his official status of internment in a nearby POW camp.
"Where are the rest of your men? I'm sure you didn't parachute in alone. Where is the team of saboteurs who accompanied you? You realize since you are out of uniform I can shoot you all as spies. Of course, if you order your men to give themselves up we will certainly honor the Geneva convention for our fellow soldiers." The captain smiled falsely.
Yeah, right, Kraut-face, I'll just bet I can count on that. However, he quickly seized on the realization the Wehrmacht officer assumed he was part of a special operations team that had just parachuted into the area. If he could use that misconception to his advantage, it might afford his men the time they would need. Once they discovered he hadn't returned and was captured, they could begin to shut the operation down in time to escape before Blondie and his men showed up at the gates.
Hogan turned his head slowly, wiping at the corner of his left eye where the blood was making it difficult for him to see clearly. It didn't pass his notice that the captain tensed slightly as he made the movement. He was sharp and on edge, and Hogan knew it would be a challenge to get away from someone like that.
"Come, now, Herr Hauptmann, my men are highly trained. They scattered as soon as they reached the ground. You'll have your hands full trying to round them all up, probably be out in this weather all night before you find even half of them."
Hogan clucked sympathetically, noting the officer in front of him was now as thoroughly soaked as he was and beginning to look much less polished as a result. He glanced down at the man's glistening brown boots, rising snugly over the top of his calves.
"Tsk, tsk, such a shame. Those handsome boots are going to be covered in mud come morning. Bet it will take you a week to get them cleaned up. Sure hope you don't have any inspections coming up before then, Herr Hauptmann. You might as well kiss that weekend pass goodbye right now."
The captain was indeed feeling the effects of the weather and didn't need much provocation. Despite his glee at finding what he presumed was a good catch, he would much rather be questioning the American in a warm, dry office than out in the cold rain. His lips narrowed to a thin line, as he signaled to a soldier standing behind Hogan to raise his rifle butt and bring it down sharply between his shoulder blades.
Hogan dropped to his knees and gasped with the paralyzing pain that ran through his upper body. A well-placed kick to his head followed. Hogan collapsed to the ground, his ears ringing. Another set of blows specifically targeting his more vulnerable areas added more agony than he would have thought possible. The surrounding pack of soldiers joined in, equally eager to vent their frustration at being out in the downpour. Hogan tried vainly to block the onslaught but soon had to conserve his energy just to maintain consciousness. He writhed helplessly in the mud, as blood poured from his nose and the cut at his temple, mixing with the coating of wet earth that now covered him.
The captain raised a hand to halt the attack. Two soldiers begrudgingly reached down to grab Hogan under his shoulders and roughly haul him to his feet. The pain made it difficult to stand upright, and Hogan wobbled, as he bent over, his forearms on his thighs.
"Tie him up," the officer barked. "We will continue this back in town."
He turned to a sergeant flanking him. "Take half the men and fan out. I want the others found before daybreak."
"Ja, Herr Hauptman." The enlisted man grumbled inwardly. He was hoping to be among those heading back to town and the chance to dry off. His expression did not escape the captain's notice.
"The sooner you find them, the sooner you, too, can change into a dry uniform. Now get to it, Sergeant."
"Jawohl, mein Herr." The sergeant snapped off a salute, not wanting to aggravate his superior further, and turned to the group of men who would accompany him.
The captain turned back to Hogan. His arms had been forced behind him and were being tightly bound at the wrists. The final knot in place, the rope was jerked upward, straining Hogan's shoulders in their sockets and causing him to squirm in pain. Satisfied the knots would hold, the corporal nodded to the captain and jabbed Hogan in the back with his rifle.
Hogan stumbled forward, struggling to keep his balance. The soldier at the other end of the rope jerked it cruelly in compensation. The pain it caused was excruciating, and Hogan closed his eyes, biting his lip to keep from crying out.
The captain grinned evilly. "That is just the beginning, Colonel Hogan. You have much more to look forward to once we arrive at our headquarters."
Hogan wearily glanced over one shoulder and caught a glimpse of a sergeant leading a team of men across the railway bridge, intending to begin their search on the other side. He wondered how much time remained on the charges and figured they probably wouldn't make it across. His estimate was right. They progressed only another 20 meters before the sky lit up in a strange fiery glow, accompanied by a deafening sound. The shock wave hit them next, toppling all of them to the ground like a tsunami.
Hogan knew this was his only chance. The others, still stunned, lay scattered around him. The loud death rattle of the wooden bridge covered Hogan's grunts as he struggled to his knees. His hands still trussed behind him, he somehow got to his feet, at first walking and then running into the nearby woods.
Seconds later the creaks and groans of the bridge's demise quieted into fainter echoes. A thick layer of pine needles now crunched beneath his feet. Soaked by the rain, they were as slippery as shifting sand, making his footing treacherous. Over the rasping sound of his labored breathing, Hogan could clearly hear the crack of rifle shots. He raced forward, fighting to keep his balance in the wet leaves and uneven terrain, the loss of the use of his arms making it more difficult to remain upright.
The shards of a branch shattering next to him suddenly stung Hogan's face, the wood splintering as a bullet just missed his head. Flashlight beams jerked crazily against the outlines of trees before him as he dodged and wove among them, hoping they might provide some cover. Bullets continued to violently tear leaves and snap twigs from the branches surrounding him.
They were gaining, their nearness forcing him to hurry his pace despite feeling he was already at his limit. He could see a break in the tree line before him and realized he was reaching the edge of an embankment that flanked the noisy river below. Glancing behind, his poor footing caused him to collide roughly with a thick trunk, throwing him sharply off balance. Hogan spun sideways, struggling wildly as he lurched backwards. The blond captain broke through the trees and began to advance on him, showing with a derisive laugh that he knew his prey was cornered.
Hogan desperately looked to either side. He could tell from the faintly muffled sound of the roaring river below that the embankment rose some distance above it. There was no route of escape. Another step backwards found the wet earth unexpectedly crumbling beneath his feet. Hogan looked up in shock at the advancing German officer; the enemy's face mirrored the same look of surprise.
Hogan's body contorted, as he fought to find solid footing at the edge of the steep embankment. His eyes pleaded with the German to help him, but his reflexes weren't fast enough. The captain watched impotently, as the edge gave way beneath him, and Hogan suddenly pitched backwards into the black abyss.
The German grabbed a flashlight from a breathless soldier who had just arrived and tried to follow the series of crashes that echoed from below. Hogan's body tumbled downward, colliding into jutting rocks and reedy saplings along the face of the steep precipice. The sounds grew fainter and then finally stopped. Dumbfounded, the captain stood in stunned silence, the only sound the rasping of his breath as he recuperated from the chase. Other men soon arrived at the edge of the embankment, and he ordered them to play their flashlights down below. A trail of partially broken trees continued out of sight, obscuring their view of the river.
Cursing, the captain turned away from the embankment. He'd hoped to gain more information from the American before finishing him off. Losing the prisoner and the information he possessed, along with his failure to prevent the sabotage of a strategic bridge would not bode well with his superiors. His hopes of promotion and accolades for the capture were as fleeting as the American's sudden plunge into the inky void. He stomped back into the woods, suddenly remembering the dog tags still in his pocket. At least he had some proof of the capture. Maybe things weren't so bad after all, he pondered. A hopeful smile played across his face.
***
Snapped branches traced a crooked line of exodus from the cliff. The stillness of the night was replaced with the sound of an angry river rushing downstream. A clap of thunder rose above the constant roar on the heels of a lightning flash. A thin strip of ground was illuminated at the base of the precipice where water swelled against its narrow banks, revealing a dark irregular shape. Hogan lay motionless on his back, his body twisted in an odd position. Rain fell in torrents, pelting his bruised and torn face, the sky descending as though there was no longer any separation between it and the ground.
***
Newkirk grumbled, as another drop splashed on his cheek. He shifted his position in the top bunk once more. He had half a mind to get up and try to patch the leaky roof overhead. One more drip and that was it, he decided. The next splatter came just as he was drifting off to sleep. Oh bugger, why bother. It was a losing battle, and he knew it. Stretching out from under his blanket, he reached for a waterproof poncho hanging on a nearby nail and drew it over his head. A final shift of his legs, and he grew still once more, fading to an uneasy, dreamless sleep.
Continued in Chapter Four