Chapter Six
"Hey, Kinch." Carter gestured apprehensively with a nod of his head toward the window.
Kinch craned his neck from where he sat on his bunk. Two figures, one tall and thin and one corpulent, were moving across the compound directly for Barracks Two. Klink distinctly did not appear happy.
"Okay, fellas, this is it. Looks like the showdown is about to begin."
Kinch purposely settled back against the wall, trying to appear unconcerned. He glanced at the others and hoped the last-minute coaching had stuck. They'd worked out their stories, knowing full well it would be only a matter of time before the Kommandant confronted them in his search to unravel the mystery of Hogan's absence.
The door suddenly opened. Expecting the usual bombastic entrance by the German officer, Kinch was taken aback. Instead, Schultz slowly shuffled in followed by the Kommandant. The officer entered solemnly, his head bowed. Instead of a resounding "Achtung," Schultz stood silent, not wanting to look at the men he knew were anxiously studying him. Kinch noted with alarm it appeared the German guard had been crying; his eyes were red-rimmed. After a moment, Klink raised his eyes to look at the sergeant beside him and merely nodded his head.
Schultz spoke, his voice subdued. "Kinchloe, Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau, remain here. All other prisoners, you are to exit to the compound."
The German guard looked up once, briefly, before following the POWs out of the barracks. His eyes caught the black airman's and expressed a flash of empathy. Kinch felt his heart sink and wondered why, if they were all going to be shot, they weren't the ones herded out the door to be lined up against a wall.
Klink continued to stand just inside the door. His shoulders appeared more stooped than normal, as though weighted with an unimaginable burden. He finally lifted his head and spoke in a hushed voice.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the bench at the head of the table.
Kinch seemed unable to find his voice and merely nodded, trying to keep the panic under control that wanted to flood through him.
Removing his cap, Klink wearily settled himself on the bench. He stared at the stained and scarred wooden surface before him and found himself realizing he had unconsciously selected Hogan's place at the table. He wondered how many times the American officer had sat there, staring at this same surface, worrying about his men, agonizing over decisions, perhaps thinking of his family. Coughing slightly to quell the emotion that suddenly wanted to rise in his throat, Klink reached into his overcoat pocket and found the metal tags. His fist closed around them, the metal edge biting into his palm, as he struggled to keep his feelings in check. Cautiously he removed his hand from the pocket and placed the contents with care on the table in front of him.
All eyes stared at a soiled black knit cap, recognizing it as the sort Hogan had worn the evening before. Newkirk was closest and noticed one rust-colored stain on the upturned cuff stood out from the rest. With a shock he realized it was dried blood. Klink next placed a set of American dog tags on top of the cap, fingering the chain and metal disks as he spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, and the men strained to hear his words.
"I received a visit today from a Wehrmacht officer. He told me his patrol last evening discovered Colonel Hogan outside of camp. They took these from him before…" Klink paused to compose himself. He cleared his throat nervously before slowly continuing. "Before he was killed trying to escape."
LeBeau, outraged, began a verbal tirade at the Kommandant and had to be physically restrained by Carter and Newkirk. His anger gave way to tears, as he continued his stream of invectives. Klink closed his eyes and passively sat there, absorbing the abuse he felt he so rightly deserved.
"Wait a minute, fellas," Kinch quietly interjected. "Kommandant, you look as though you have more you want to say." He nodded tentatively at the officer, wondering how much he had discovered and whether the next order would be for their execution.
Klink looked up appreciatively at the enlisted man and blinked back the tears that had begun to form.
"Yes, I do, Sergeant," he began. "I was told, and have no reason to believe otherwise, that Colonel Hogan was being taken into custody when he ran from them. The patrol leader assured me they had every intention of taking him alive. They gave chase. The pursuit brought them to the edge of a steep embankment. It was there that Colonel Hogan fell to his death."
Carter dissolved into tears, joining LeBeau who had been reduced to spasmodic sobs, his body shaking as he leaned forward on the edge of the table. Klink wanted to reach out to console him but awkwardness restrained him. These were not his men, he reminded himself. He sat there instead, his head bowed. After a moment, he raised his eyes, now watery, and addressed Kinch.
"I have a patrol on its way there now. They will perform a search for Colonel Hogan's…" Klink started to say "body," but caught himself. "…for Colonel Hogan. In the meantime, I assured the Wehrmacht officer that he was merely engaged in an escape attempt. My official report will make no mention of a nearby bridge that was destroyed that same evening. The coincidence is unfortunate, as is this entire incident. I want you to know I wish I were bringing you other news. I wish…" Klink stopped, his voice quavering. He closed his eyes once more, not wanting to look at the mournful faces around him.
Newkirk reached out, touching the German officer lightly on the shoulder. "It's okay, guv'nor. We know you feel as badly as we do. We appreciate your giving us this news in private like this. Gives us time to let it settle in a bit before we have to face the others. Thanks, Kommandant." Even LeBeau reluctantly showed his agreement. They knew Klink could have been much colder and insensitive in how he informed them of the tragic news. He had given them more consideration than they would have previously expected.
Clearly morose, Klink rose gradually from the table and turned to leave. The closed door to the private room at the end of the barracks caught his eye. Remembering another purpose for the visit, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small box and letter. He drew himself erect and turned to resignedly face the men once more.
"Sergeant Kinchloe."
Confused, Kinch realized the form of address was an implied order. Klink had yet to say anything about the consequences of Hogan's "escape" on the men who remained. Kinch crossed the room, his steps deliberate, and came to attention directly in front of the Kommandant. Drawing his powerful shoulders back, he stood there stoically to hear the anticipated punishment. A glint off something metallic caused him to glance down at the small box Klink held open. Two shiny gold bars lay nestled in a satin cushion. Kinch looked questioningly at the other men, wondering what this all meant. They looked equally bewildered.
The German colonel cleared his throat. "I have an official letter that I must read to all of you." He held the paper out at arms length, the moistness in his eyes blurring his vision. "It begins, 'By order of the Secretary of War, be it hereby known that James Ivan Kinchloe, United States Army Air Corps, has been promoted effective immediately to the rank of Second Lieutenant.' The letter is signed, 'Harry L. Stimson.'"
Klink looked up at the staggered American before him. The black man's face conveyed a mixture of emotions, still visibly tinged with grief.
"Sergeant Kinchloe," Klink began before correcting himself, haltingly, "I mean, Lieutenant Kinchloe…I so very much wish this was under…better circumstances. I know you would have preferred…to have Colonel Hogan here. I'm sorry it had to be…"
Kinch interrupted, shaking his head sympathetically. "It's okay, Kommandant. I know you mean that sincerely."
Klink hesitated before removing one of the gold bars from the cushion. "Lieutenant, would you allow me the honor?" He looked searchingly at the tall black man.
The American nodded somberly. "I would consider it a privilege, Kommandant," he spoke softly.
Klink reached up, carefully pinning the bar in proper position on the lapel of Kinch's uniform. Closing the box gently, he drew himself up and took a step back before raising his arm in perfect salute. Kinch noted he touched the visor of his cap, American style, forgoing the German gesture. He slowly returned the salute, the scene still surreal around him.
Turning to address the other men, Klink spoke, his voice consoling. "I will leave you men for now. I imagine you want to be alone." He turned next to Kinch. "If you need anything…anything at all, you know where to find me. My door is open to you, Lieutenant."
Kinch was unable to find words in reply.
The Kommandant slowly left the room, closing the barracks door quietly behind him. The others hesitantly grouped around Kinch, staring uncertainly at the letter he had been handed.
Newkirk started to speak, but Kinch raised a hand to silence him. His voice trembled.
"Before anyone says anything, I want to make two things clear. Don't anybody congratulate me, not after what happened." Kinch hung his head momentarily. "And I'm still just Kinch, got it?"
"We understand, mate. We'd all feel the same way." Newkirk paused before glancing at the others. "But I just want to say I'd rather have you in charge right now than anyone else, Kinch. You deserve this." He stuck out his hand, more in comfort than celebration.
Kinch gratefully took the proffered hand. "I promise you all I'll try my hardest to keep this mission going. I don't expect to live up to the Colonel's standards, but…" His voice trailed off.
"You'll do fine, Kinch. I know Colonel Hogan would be proud of you. We all are, too."
"Thanks, fellas." Kinch tried clearing the lump in his throat. "Only it just doesn't feel right without him here to share in this."
He glanced over at the table where the black knit cap and dog tags remained. Instinctively, in a gesture he unconsciously acquired from the man he so much admired, he slipped his arm around Newkirk's shoulders. The others stepped in to complete the circle. Their spirit would somehow remain unbroken. Determination rose to temper their grief. They would carry on the work that meant so much to their fallen leader. It was the least they could do to honor his memory. It was the least they could do to make certain his identity was never forgotten.
Continued in Chapter Seven