Summary: Saunders, Doc and Caje meet Colonel Hogan and his men!
Acknowledgement: See Part 1.
Note: The following denotes foreign dialogue, generally German: "Dialogue."
Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Copyright: December 2005Escape to Stalag 13
By Syl Francis
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/0500hrs local
Somewhere in Bavaria
Between Hammelburg and Wurzburg
"We don't have time," the leader said, pointing at his watch. "Roll call will be in another thirty minutes. We have to be there or we could ruin the whole operation." He glared at Saunders. "You, my friend, are a headache we don't need."
"Yeah, well, we could say the same thing about you," Doc broke in.
"What happened, Doc? How's Caje?" Saunders asked. However, before Doc could answer, yet another man came up behind him and pressed him down into a seat.
"I wouldn't talk if I were you, mate." His words were delivered in a clear, Cockney accent. To emphasize his warning, he wordlessly made a slashing motion across his throat. The threat was clear: No talking or else!
Saunders looked around at the strange men, all dressed similarly in dark, non-reflective clothing. The two others who had spoken to him--the black man and the leader--sounded American, but they both spoke perfect German to the girl. So far, they had said or done nothing to make him trust them.
No, that was not exactly true. They had laid Caje on a small settee in the sitting room, next to the fireplace, and were allowing the girl to tend to his needs at the moment. Glancing at Doc, he saw the stark look of longing he gave Caje, his need to help their friend almost palpable.
"You know, it won't hurt anyone if you let Doc here take care of our friend," Saunders said. However, his words went unheeded.
Saunders felt disgusted that he had allowed himself to be recaptured less than six hours after their escape. He glared at the leader--the 'colonel' as the others addressed him--wondering what he had planned for them.
Studying the interplay between the colonel and the black man that had escorted him to the farmhouse, he noted that they had what looked like an easy-going relationship, nothing like his awkward leader/subordinate friendship with Lieutenant Hanley. No, these men appeared to be equals in every way; yet, the colonel was clearly in charge.
Saunders studied the black man. When he had first come up from behind him in the woods, Saunders had mistakenly thought that like his leader, the man's features were disguised under a layer of black soot; however, a closer look revealed that the man was actually dark-skinned...
"You're no German!" Saunders blurted out.
"Why? 'Cause I'm not blond and blue-eyed like you, pal?" The black man studied Saunders closely. "Yep, with those looks, you could pass for 'Aryan Poster Boy of the Month.'"
"You're an American!" Saunders accused, ignoring the taunt. "What're you doing out here--?"
"I could ask you the same question, Blondie," the black man sneered.
"Saunders, Sergeant!" Saunders spat out. "Two-two-seven-zero-six-two-two! And that's all you're gonna get!"
"Relax, Saunders. I'll leave the interrogations to the colonel."
"The colonel?" Saunders asked.
But the black man simply gestured with the weapon he was holding. Saunders needed no translation: Move it...!
And now, he, Doc and Caje were their prisoners. But if they were Americans, then why were they being held prisoner? Unless, of course, the men were collaborators. Again, he glared daggers at the colonel, daring him to try anything.
At that moment, Caje began muttering in French in his sleep. Every few words, he cried out, "Sarge!" in his delirium. At his words, the colonel started toward him, and Saunders suddenly jumped to his feet.
"What are you doing--?" he demanded.
"Hey! That man's wounded!" Doc yelled outraged. "He can't do anything to hurt you! You can see he's running a fever! Please, let me help him!"
They both made a move toward Caje, but the muzzles of two Schmeissers and the cold eyes of the two men who wielded them held them in place.
"Get LeBeau!" the colonel snapped. The black man nodded to the one who had spoken with a Cockney accent. A few moments later, the short man that Saunders had seen earlier entered.
"Colonel? Did you wish to see me?"
Saunders glanced at Doc. The smaller man's accent was clearly French. A Brit, a Frenchman, a black American and what appeared to be an American colonel? What had they stumbled onto? A mini-Allied combined arms operation?
"LeBeau, what's he saying?" the colonel asked.
The shorter man listened attentively for a few minutes, his face frowning on occasion. Finally, he shrugged expansively. "Colonel, some words are lost to me. He speaks with an unusual accent, but--"
"Can you make out what he's saying?"
"Oui, mon colonel!" LeBeau shrugged again. "He is begging his sergeant--" He glanced around the little room and pointed at Saunders. "--to leave him back. He is afraid that he will only slow them down." He paused, concentrating. "He keeps saying something about a POW train and the Bosch. He is most anxious that the Bosch do not recapture his friends."
The colonel nodded. "Thanks, LeBeau. Go back to your post."
"Oui, mon colonel!" With that, the diminutive Frenchman headed outside again.
Nodding towards Caje, the colonel asked, "French?" but Saunders merely glared at him. Doc took his signals from Saunders and refused to reply as well.
Rolling his eyes at their attitude, the colonel shook his head. "Okay, this is the deal, Sergeant," he said. "Your wounded friend here obviously needs medical attention. Anna--" He pointed at the young woman standing next to him. "--has volunteered to stay with him until we can contact the local doctor to come out here."
"Now wait just a doggone minute!" Doc protested. "I ain't leaving Caje! Not for a minute, I ain't!"
The colonel held his hands up for quiet. "I don't expect you to." He held the two exhausted men's eyes, impressed by their open defiance in face of such overwhelming odds. "That's why we're leaving you behind with your friend."
"What? Begging the colonel's pardon, sir," the Englishman demurred, "but don't you think that's a bit rash? I mean...what if they're really spies or something--you know...not exactly on the up and up?"
The colonel nodded. "I thought of that, Newkirk, but somehow I don't believe they are. Besides, we're taking their sergeant with us, just in case."
"Just in case of what?" Doc demanded.
"Oh, I don't know...fire? flood?" The colonel's brown eyes crinkled in wry amusement.
"What?" Doc asked, clearly not understanding.
"He means, for insurance," Saunders said flatly. "Now you listen to me, Doc. No matter what happens, you're to head back to our lines, you hear me? That's your first responsibility. Don't worry about me or Caje. Head back the first chance you get. That's an order, Doc!"
The colonel grinned tolerantly. "Somehow, Sergeant, I have a feeling that's one order your medic will wisely choose not to obey." He shook his head. "The truth is I don't want to take either of you, but I can't afford to leave you out here, Sergeant. You're liable to do something rash, like get yourself killed. So, you're coming with us. Your friends will be safe here as long as they don't go outside or do something foolish to call attention to themselves." He glanced at his watch again and gave his men an apologetic look. "As it is, fellas, we're gonna be late for roll call anyway."
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/0526hrs local
Outside LuftStalag 13
Saunders gasped, practically staggering as he followed in the wake of his captors. He knew that he was nearing his physical limits. With no decent food or water for almost three days, being on the move for more than five hours, much of those carrying Caje, his body was close to giving out on him. When the colonel called a halt in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, Saunders did not argue. He simply collapsed in place where he had just been standing.
"How much farther?" he managed to ask breathlessly.
"Not much. We're almost there, in fact." The young man who was evidently supposed to be guarding him gave Saunders an eager, ingenuous smile. In fact, he exuded so much openness and friendliness that Saunders felt disinclined to trust him. "By the way, I'm Carter," the young man added shyly.
Before Saunders could respond, his shy friend suddenly dove on top of him, holding him still. "Shhhhh..." Carter hissed. "Krauts!"
Saunders instantly froze underneath him, listening. Sure enough, German voices floated up to them from somewhere to their far left. At length, the voices were matched by two pairs of gleaming jackboots that marched at a brisk pace past them. The boots were accompanied by two slavering German shepherds.
Saunders held his breath as one of the dogs sniffed the air in their direction and made a sudden, whimpering sound. The guard spoke sharply to it, and the dog settled down, ignoring the scent coming from the low-lying brush. With what Saunders could swear was a regretful last look, the dog moved on.
"That was Max," Carter said in Saunders' ear. "He's real friendly."
"Who's Max?" Saunders asked. "The guard?"
"Are you kidding, pal? I'm not friends with any of the goons!"
"Then who?"
"The dog, silly. Max is the German shepherd that spotted us. I guess he wanted to come over and play."
"What--?" Saunders was about to ask why a guard dog would want to play with him, but the colonel was already signaling that they move forward. They continued at a brisk pace, keeping to the deep gloom and thick underbrush. Saunders still had no idea where they were going or why this roll call was so important, but he could see the anxiety on his captors' faces and feel their sense of urgency.
Soon, the colonel called yet another halt. Each man took up a kneeling position, listening for signs of enemy patrols, watching the shadows for any hidden Germans. After a momentary pause, the colonel urgently signaled each of his men to proceed, and one-by-one, Saunders watched them disappear into the early morning mists.
At last, only Saunders and the tall leader were left. The colonel moved up next to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go." To Saunders' surprise the colonel preceded him as if forgetting that Saunders was supposed to be his prisoner. Not quite knowing why he did, Saunders followed him without any thought of giving him the slip.
A few meters later, the colonel urgently waved him down. Not having time to think, Saunders ducked just as a bright searchlight swept the area around him. As soon as the beam passed by, the colonel signaled Saunders to join him where he was crouched next to a tree stump.
"Okay, Sergeant. We're here."
"We're where?" Saunders looked blank.
The colonel gave him an impish smile. "Home sweet home!" With that he lifted the top off the ordinary tree stump and pressed Saunders to go in. "Hurry, that searchlight will be swinging back in another second!"
Not needing to be told twice, Saunders climbed inside. There was a ladder immediately within the tree stump, and as he started scrambling down, he noted that the colonel was right above him, hurriedly closing the lid.
"That was too close," the colonel muttered.
"Hey, you guys! Get the lead out!" A voice echoed weirdly from somewhere in the darkness below. The next instant, the black man, now dressed in G.I. issue with staff sergeant stripes on the sleeves appeared. He was carrying a lit torch. "Colonel Hogan! Schultz is about to have kittens! We've gotta get out there!"
"Coming, mother!" The colonel muttered as he brushed past Saunders at a fast jog. As he ran, the colonel began stripping off his dark clothing. "You have to understand Sergeant Kinchloe...he's likes to worry."
"Yeah, well, somebody around here has to," Kinchloe muttered. "The goons around here might be dumber than most, but they're not--"
"--Stupid?" Hogan finished with a snort. They had arrived in a large underground room, and Hogan was now down to his shorts and boots. Hurrying to a metal locker, he pulled out a pair of pants, a khaki shirt, and a brown leather jacket.
"Okay...bad choice of words, sir. But you know that we can only push Klink so far, and I don't think you want to spend the next thirty days in the cooler, do you?"
As Saunders watched, the man was transformed into who he really was--an American air force colonel. The silver eagles on his uniform shirt were matched by the faded insignia on his battered bomber's jacket.
Hogan paused a moment and slapped Kinchloe on the shoulder. "You're right, Kinch," he said. Keeping a straight face, he added, "It was a bad choice of words."
Kinchloe gave him a sour look, shaking his head at his commanding officer's irreverence. Not bothering to say anything further, the senior noncom went up another ladder and through a trapdoor in the ceiling above.
Giving Saunders a devilish grin, Hogan donned his campaign cap and followed the black staff sergeant up the ladder. When Saunders made a move to follow, the colonel held up his hand.
"Sorry, Sergeant. This is your stop, I'm afraid. The upstairs lounge is strictly off-limits to non-flyers." With that and a wink, the colonel fairly flew up the ladder.
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/0531hrs local
Parade Ground
LuftStalag 13
"Hogaaaaaaan!"
Hogan winced. He was more than a minute late. Thinking quickly, he assumed his most disingenuous look, and greeted the camp kommandant with a bright smile.
"Good morning, Kommandant!" Abruptly, Hogan's smile disappeared as he did a sudden double take. "Colonel Klink--!" Hogan stared open-mouthed at the German officer. "That's not a--?" Hogan brusquely cut himself off.
"What?" Klink stared back in obvious confusion. "Colonel Hogan, what are you talking about?" The German kommandant took a couple of tentative steps forward.
"No..." Hogan said, with a shake of the head. "Just wishful thinking, I guess." He dropped his head regretfully.
"What? What's wishful thinking?" Klink demanded. "Colonel Hogan, you are not making much sense."
Hogan looked up slowly. "I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled. "It's just that...well, just now, as the sun was coming over the barbed wire and the delousing station...well, the sunlight just managed to catch your collar insignia..." He shrugged again, his voice fading.
"Yes, so what?" Klink's curiosity had yet again gotten the best of him. "Colonel Hogan, what about my collar insignia?"
"I thought for a split second that I saw a general's insignia there, sir." He dropped his eyes again in feigned sorrow.
Klink stared at him in astonishment. "You thought that I had been promoted to general? Hogan, what on earth could ever give you such a ridiculous idea?"
What indeed, Hogan asked himself. Still, it was all he could think of at the spur of the moment to get Klink off his back for being late to roll call. Risking a peek at Klink, Hogan was just a little pleased with the kommandant's reaction so far.
"Ridiculous idea, sir? I protest!" Hogan spoke with mock outrage. "I know that I spoke out of turn, but--well, it's just that the men and I have been rooting for you for a couple of years now, sir--"
"You have?" Klink asked wide-eyed. Looking around at the other prisoners, he added, "They have?"
"Oh, of course, sir!" Hogan said, surreptitiously signaling his men to go along. Suddenly, the rest of the prisoners began nodding their heads with the sincerest possible insincerity.
"Of course we've been rooting for you to get everything you deserve, sir!" Newkirk called out.
"That's for sure, boy...uh, sir!" Carter chimed in. "We all hope you get everything that's coming to you!"
Hogan scowled at them, but kept up his inane chatter next to Klink. "You see, sir? It was all an honest mistake...I just figured that finally you had received the recognition that you so well deserve for your work here. But, well, I guess I was wrong and put my foot in it."
Klink looked genuinely touched. "That is quite all right, Colonel Hogan. It was an honest mistake." He smiled broadly at the senior POW officer. "Hogan, I had no idea you and your men held me in such high esteem."
"Neither did I," Kinchloe muttered from behind Hogan. Hogan flashed him a warning look.
His chest swelling just a bit, Klink strutted up and down the morning formation with a definite swagger and accidentally slapped his riding crop against his thigh. He winced at the sharp, unexpected pain, but managed to keep his smile in place.
"Schultz!" Klink called for his sergeant-of-the-guard in a wheezy croak.
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant!" Shultz stood stiffly at attention before Klink, his crisp salute actually appearing military for a change.
"Dismiss the prisoners..." Klink saluted hurriedly and limped back to his office in obvious pain, Hogan's lateness apparently forgotten.
Schultz turned around to face the prisoner formation that was already breaking up. The sullen men were muttering under their breath, casting looks of disdain in his and the kommandant's direction. Unmindful of their surly attitude, the rotund sergeant-of-the-guard called, "Dismissed!"
As Hogan started heading back to his barracks, he caught Schultz's eye and gave him knowing wink. At that moment Schultz realized that the American colonel had deliberately played the kommandant for a fool. What was more, Hogan knew that Schultz knew it, too.
Worse, the hapless sergeant could not do anything about it because he had already been involved in too many of Colonel Hogan's strange activities and failed to report them. At the senior POW's brash smile, Schultz's eyes widened and then squeezed shut. He could almost see the frozen landscape of the Russian Front.
"I know nothing," he muttered.
End of Part 3