Chapter Four
LeBeau shifted the hot mug of coffee to his other hand to knock at the door to Hogan's room. A second knock and still no answer. Shrugging, he cracked the door open and called in, expecting he was going to catch hell for rousing a very tired senior officer. No response. Puzzled, LeBeau swung the door back. His anxiety grew by the moment as he realized he was looking at an empty bunk. He whirled about, spilling half the coffee on the floor, and turned to his barrack mates, most still in the act of pulling on uniforms.
"Mon dieu, le Colonel is not here!"
"What?!" exclaimed Kinch. He rushed to Hogan's room.
"Oui, I checked the top bunk, too," protested LeBeau. "I tell you, he's missing. Something went wrong last night; I can feel it." He began a worried stream of French, the others uncertain whether they were petitions or curses.
"Relax, Louis," Newkirk said reassuringly. "He's probably asleep in the tunnel. You know him, didn't want to wake us by climbing up the ladder in the middle of the night."
LeBeau momentarily halted his mutterings.
"You think so, Newkirk?" Carter asked, his sense of alarm beginning to rival the Frenchman's.
"Not a doubt, Andrew. C'mon, you 'n me'll take his coffee to him." Newkirk finished pulling his turtleneck over his head and took the cup from LeBeau's hand. "Just wait right here, Louis, you'll see."
Kinch, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach, stepped aside after hitting the hidden latch on the bunkbed frame to expose the hidden tunnel below.
"Hurry it up, fellas, we've got roll call in just a few minutes."
He let any further instructions go unsaid. There was something about this he didn't like one bit. He knew instinctively that even if Hogan had remained in the tunnel overnight he never would have overslept and risked missing morning formation. His failure to appear meant something had gone seriously wrong, but Kinch worked to keep his voice sounding light and any inner concerns masked.
Several minutes elapsed before they heard a frantic scrambling up the ladder. Carter's panicky face popped in view.
"He's not down here!"
All eyes turned in the opposite direction as the front door to the barracks suddenly was flung open.
"Kraut coming!" yelled a fair-haired private.
Carter momentarily froze in place before being ejected from the tunnel entrance by a vigorous shove from beneath by Newkirk. The Englishman stumbled over the bunk rails and landed on the floor next to him, as Kinch leapt for the latch mechanism. The hatch was still sliding in place as a rotund Feldwebel lumbered through the door. Fortunately, his attention was drawn to the two men sprawled on the floor in the middle of the barracks. Kinch breathed a silent sigh of relief as Hans Schultz, sergeant of the guard, peered downward, a perpetually baffled look adorning his beefy face.
Newkirk elbowed the American lying next to him. His hands splayed against the floor, he shakily executed a series of pushups.
"…ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred," he gasped out, collapsing in place as Carter stared at him, eyes wide in amazement.
Still panting for effect, Newkirk counseled his companion. "See, Carter, nothin' to it. Just do a few each morning before roll call and before you know it, you can do a hundred at a stretch. Same with situps."
He quickly rolled over and cupped his hands behind his head. Raising his upper body, Newkirk waited until his back was fully toward the door then mouthed to Kinch, his eyes wide with worry, "We looked everywhere."
"Corporal Newkirk, I had no idea you were such a fitness devotee. Perhaps you would like to lead the men in calisthenics after morning formation?"
The two men scrambled to their feet as the rest, the German sergeant included, snapped to attention.
A trim, balding Oberst in a long gray overcoat stood stiffly next to the potbellied stove. One arm was crooked like a bird's wing, a leather crop clasped firmly in its grip. His head was cocked to one side in patent disbelief, as he fixed a gold-rimmed monocle over his weak left eye. Skeptically, he surveyed the barracks, noticing the door to Hogan's room remained closed.
"Perhaps your Colonel would be better served to follow your example than sleep in late, hmm?"
Kommandant Wilhelm Klink marched ceremoniously to the door, rapping sharply before calling out in an exaggerated sing-song, "Oh, Colonel Hogan, would you care to join us for morning formation?"
He raised one brow in annoyance after receiving no response. Rolling his eyes and sighing for effect, he grabbed for the door handle and threw it open.
"Colonel Hogan, I'm waiting."
The look of irritation slowly gave way to one of confusion, as his head swiveled around to peer inside the clearly vacant private room. He turned back to the room of still frozen enlisted men, unusual in their marked adherence to the proper military position of attention. Shoulders hunched forward in calculating suspicion, Klink leisurely strolled past the statue-like prisoners, coming to rest before a jittery Carter.
"Sergeant Carter?"
"Uh, yes, sir, Kommandant, sir?" He cleared his throat nervously, but it did nothing to ease the edgy squeak in his voice.
"Would you like to tell me where Colonel Hogan is this morning? Hmm?" Klink's voice was oily with feigned affability.
Carter looked up at the ceiling, appearing momentarily thoughtful, as he slouched to one side and brought a hand to his chin reflectively.
"Uh, well, sir, maybe he escaped?" he offered helpfully.
Klink drew himself up, barking stonily, "Absolutely no one escapes from this facility, Sergeant! Is that understood?"
Trembling, Carter resumed his stance of attention and brought his left hand to his eyebrow in salute.
"Oh, of course, sir, Kommandant Klink, sir, yes, Colonel, sir."
The German officer shook his head in exasperation then sauntered further down the line to stop in front of the tall black communicator. At least he might get a more reasonable response from this POW.
"Sergeant Kinchloe, where is Colonel Hogan?"
Kinch adjusted his gaze to look at the Kommandant. He started to speak, then halted. A nervous cough preceded his answer, his voice quavering.
"Colonel Klink, I'll tell you truthfully, I…" Kinch paused, "I wish I knew."
Peering into the somber man's eyes, Klink detected a hint of genuine worry. Wheeling about, he raised the riding crop, crying out shrilly, "Guards! Sound the alarm! Release the dogs! There has been an escape!"
The Kommandant raced for the door, Sergeant Schultz at his heels. As the door slammed behind them, all hell broke loose in the barracks.
"Carter, you bloody dolt, why'd you tell him that?!" Newkirk shouted, glaring into the ashen face of his companion.
"C'est trés imbecile!" LeBeau threw up his hands in disgust.
"Hold it, hold it, guys." Kinch raised his palms to halt the incipient riot. "Carter may have just done us a favor."
"Huh?" Even Carter looked surprised at this declaration.
Kinch walked over slowly, pensive, and clapped a hand on Carter's shoulder in comfort.
"There's no way any of us are getting out of here to go on a search. Not with Klink sounding the alert and the woods now being combed with guard dogs."
He glanced soberly around the room at the worried faces.
"So, I guess it's up to Kommandant Klink to find Colonel Hogan for us."
Unspoken was what he might find.
Continued in Chapter Five