Summary: Saunders hears some devastating news; Doc and Caje are forced to hide from Germans.
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 1944/1000hrs local
Barracks 2
LuftStalag 13
Saunders stood respectfully in a quiet corner in Hogan's quarters. Kinchloe had already reported that Papa Bear's contact in London verified the identities of Saunders, Doc, and Caje, stating that the three men had been reported Missing In Action six days ago following the shelling of Ville-Orne, France.
In addition, Kinchloe reported that the doctor had checked on Caje and reassured Saunders that the native from Louisiana was on the road to recovery. With plenty of rest and regular meals, Caje should be ready to travel in another few days or so.
For the moment, Hogan decided it was best to leave Caje and Doc in the farmhouse under Anna's tender care. Apparently, Anna was one of the many small cogs in Hogan's vast Underground network, generally supplying a hot meal and safe room for the night to downed flyers who were being returned to Allied lines. Saunders was not happy about remaining separated from his men, but understood the need to leave them in place for the moment.
As the morning progressed, he had had the unusual privilege of watching the interaction between Hogan and his men. While the enlisted men were generally respectful of their commanding officer, no one stood on ceremony. In fact, they were quite casual in addressing Hogan, who in turn, appeared genuinely interested in his men's input. Furthermore, he seemed to relish bantering with them, keeping the atmosphere easy and relaxed.
Their current discussion was quite open and animated. However, Saunders noted that Corporal Newkirk came a little too close to showing signs of possible disrespect. Saunders' instinct was to step in and dress him down, but a quick glance at Hogan told him that it would not be necessary.
"Begging the colonel's pardon," Newkirk said, "but I think you've finally gone round the bend. The munitions factory that Tiger wants us to take out is at least fifty kilometers away. Why doesn't London authorize a bombing mission, instead?"
"You've already heard mon colonel, Newkirk," LeBeau growled. "The dirty, filthy Bosche are holding several hostages in that factory--men, women, and children from different conquered nations, including France!" He glared at Newkirk. "The bombers will take out the factory, but they will also kill the hostages. You want that on your conscience?"
"Louis, that's not what I meant--"
"All right, hold it, fellas!" Hogan interrupted. "LeBeau, Newkirk's right."
"He is?" "I am?" LeBeau and Newkirk asked almost simultaneously.
Saunders felt a cold, sinking feeling at Hogan's words. He remembered a similar situation not too long ago in which a young girl and an old man lost their lives trying to help in the rescue of several French children who were being held hostage by the Germans. It looked like even in their own country, the Krauts did not know how to play fair.
"I'm afraid so, Louis," Hogan was saying. "Look, I don't want those hostages' lives on my conscience, either. But we've got to destroy that munitions plant. HQ is giving us twenty-four hours to come up with a plan to neutralize it and save the civilians. If we don't succeed within the time allotted, then--" He gazed into LeBeau's eyes and shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, LeBeau." He looked at Newkirk and Carter. "Sorry, fellas."
LeBeau looked down and nodded resignedly. "Oui, mon colonel," he murmured. "I understand."
Carter and Newkirk followed suit. "We know you'll do all you can, Colonel," Carter said, giving his commanding officer an encouraging smile.
At that moment, Kinchloe burst in. "Just received a message from Rumplestilskin, Colonel." Without further explanation, he handed it to Hogan. Glancing at Saunders, Kinchloe gave him a look devoid of expression. After a moment, he turned back to Hogan.
"How long ago?" Hogan's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Less than twelve hours," Kinchloe said. "Our guys came across them, just outside of Spess-Am-Mainz--"
"Hey! We passed that place about ten kilometers west of where we bailed out of the train," Saunders said, stepping forward.
Kinchloe looked at Hogan, who held his eyes for a long moment. "Tell him," Hogan said with a nod. Kinchloe was about to begin, but Hogan interrupted him. "No, wait...I should be the one." He nodded to the door, indicating he wanted his men to leave the room. As Kinchloe made a move to follow them, Hogan stopped him with a shake of the head.
The senior NCO sighed and turned back. Crossing his arms, he leaned against Hogan's bunk, waiting for his CO to make the first move.
"Saunders, take a seat," Hogan ordered, indicating a battered straight-backed chair.
Not liking the serious tone in Hogan's voice, nor the absence of any of the senior officer's easy-going lightheartedness, Saunders did as ordered. He looked up at the senior officer, waiting for whatever news he was about to break.
"Saunders, members of one of our Underground cells--" Hogan began.
"So you people really are involved in covert ops," Saunders said. Then realizing he had just interrupted a full colonel, quickly apologized. "Sorry, sir."
Hogan nodded. "That's quite all right, Sergeant. As I was saying, members of one of our underground cells were returning from a mission in the Spess forest, when they discovered..." He stopped, looking away momentarily. Sighing, he turned back to Saunders. "They discovered the remains of ten Allied soldiers." He stopped again, swallowing. "They had all been machine-gunned to death, and--" Hogan walked toward his window and stared out. At last, he spoke without turning. "Their hands were tied behind their backs."
"What?" Saunders asked raggedly. "But why? I don't understand?"
"Who knows why, Saunders?" Kinchloe snapped. "The fact is the Krauts did it!" He glared at Hogan's back. "It smacks of SS death squads, Colonel."
Hogan nodded.
"Sir?" Saunders spoke tentatively. When he did not continue, Hogan turned to him. "Do we have any ID on the--on the dead? Were they some of men who escaped with us?"
Hogan nodded. "Yes, Saunders...I'm afraid so."
If Saunders had not been sitting already, his legs would have given out on him. Bringing his hand up, he covered the naked pain in his face. "Who were they?" he asked at last.
"They were Privates Anderson, Robinson, Butler and Jenkins--" Hogan recited softly.
With each name a face flashed before Saunders' eyes: smiling, joking, serious, worried. All young and hopeful. All eager to get back to friendly lines.
"--Corporals Dickinson and DuBois--"
"Did you say 'Dickinson'?" Saunders demanded, hoping he had misheard. At Hogan's nod, the sergeant's shoulders slumped, remembering the lighthearted Englishman. "He was a good man."
Hogan exchanged glances with Kinchloe. Neither man wanted to continue, but Saunders had to hear it all in order to put the tragedy behind him. Giving a mental sigh, Hogan went on with his painful recitation. "Privates Johnson, Baker, and Thompson..." He swallowed, but determinedly finished. "...and Private First Class Liebowitz--"
Keeping his eyes fixed in a faraway point, Saunders spoke softly, his voice ragged. "Liebowitz just turned nineteen last week." He finally looked up at Hogan. "The escape was my idea, Colonel. And now they're dead." He stood abruptly. "They're dead, and it's my fault!"
"And how do you figure that, Saunders?" Kinchloe asked.
"They would still be alive right now if I hadn't talked them into escaping. 'It's our duty as soldiers,' I said. 'Our duty...'" he muttered, his self-disgust evident. "The Kraut officer in charge of the train told us that the war was over for us. I should've listened to him! But no...! I had this glorious idea of mounting a massive escape and giving the Krauts a black eye! And now look what happened." Saunders walked slowly to the window and stood staring out, seeing the men's faces as they prepared to jump into the waiting darkness. "I led them to their deaths."
Hogan walked up next to Saunders and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You didn't kill them, Saunders. The Krauts did...and I promise you that before this is over, we'll find the ones who did it." Saunders turned and faced Hogan, the colonel's dark brown eyes boring into his own. "And when we do...they'll pay."
After a long moment, Saunders finally nodded, accepting Hogan's promise. "So, what happens now, Sir?"
"I'm afraid, Saunders," Hogan began, "that until further notice, Hogan's Triple-'A' Travelers' Aid Society is officially suspended."
"But why, sir?" Saunders asked. "The Krauts don't know about your operation. Why stop now?"
"Because, my dear, Sergeant Saunders," Hogan said blandly, "the Gestapo is now aware of the escape. They are probably out at this very moment, combing the vast Bavarian forests, conducting a massive manhunt. That means, Sergeant, that all Underground activity is halted until further notice."
Saunders nodded, then his expression somber asked what was uppermost on his mind. "I don't understand, Colonel. If the Krauts recaptured those men, why execute them? What purpose could that serve?"
"The first question is standard operating procedure for the Krauts. They don't like mass escapes because it makes them look bad. Also, it tends to tie up much of their resources because they're forced to look for and apprehend the escapees."
Pausing for a moment, Hogan took out a cigar from an inside pocket in his leather jacket. Offering one to Saunders, who turned it down, he took a moment to light it and another to puff it with obvious pleasure. He gave Kinchloe an appreciative grin. "The best our good kommandant has managed to get his hands on yet."
As Saunders grew increasingly impatient, Hogan finally attempted to answer the second question. "As to what purpose their murder could serve...? Your guess, Sergeant, is as good as mine, I'm afraid. By disposing of the bodies in the forest, the Krauts aren't exactly advertising their actions."
"On the other hand," Kinchloe broke in, "they made no effort to conceal the fact that the prisoners were shot with their hands tied behind their backs--"
"Which makes the whole affair smack of some kind of message," Hogan surmised. "But to whom and for what purpose?" He shook his head.
"Instill fear, maybe?" Kinchloe offered.
"Fear?" Saunders asked.
Hogan shrugged. "It's purely guesswork, mind you, but if word of this got back to the front lines or even the POW camps, imagine the fear that it could strike in the hearts of the average G.I."
Kinchloe nodded. "I think you're right, Colonel. I mean, it's bad enough that there's always the possibility of being taken prisoner, but to get shot in the back for trying to escape...? It sure would cut down on the number of escape attempts, that's for sure."
"It could also result in our guys taking no prisoners," Saunders snapped, "or even in retaliating against those they've already captured." He shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense."
"You're right, Saunders, it doesn't," Hogan agreed.
"But whoever said that anything the Krauts' do makes sense?" Kinchloe added rhetorically.
"So...now what?" Saunders asked. "If my guys and I wanted to stay behind barbed wire for the Duration, we wouldn't have tried to escape. The last thing we want is to trade one prison for another."
"Don't worry, Saunders," Hogan said. "I keep telling Kinch here that worrying is my department, but he never listens." He shook his head regretfully. "Nobody respects officers any more--"
"Colonel!" Newkirk suddenly stuck his head in. "Begging your pardon, sir, but goons driving in the front gate! Looks like Major Hochstetter!"
At the RAF corporal's words, Hogan and Kinchloe immediately rushed to the outer room. Fighting their way to the door, the senior men were stuck midway in a crowd of prisoners all scrambling for the door. Suddenly, a booming voice no one recognized sounded off: "All right you clowns, make a hole!" The crowd of men suddenly parted like the Red Sea.
Hogan and Kinchloe turned, open-mouthed, to the source--Saunders. Giving the junior NCO a thumbs-up, Hogan and Kinchloe turned to the door. Opening it a crack to take a peek, they both stood still, wordlessly observing whatever was happening outside. Finally, Newkirk spoke up.
"Colonel Hogan, if you don't tell us what's going on soon, some of us are liable to push you out of the way...Sir."
"Not much happening yet, Newkirk," Hogan murmured. "Just ol' Smiley doing his usual ranting and raving act."
"Yeah, and Klink letting him walk all over him like always," Kinchloe added. "Uh-oh...they're heading into Klink's office."
"Quick, fellas," Hogan said. "The coffeepot! Kinch?"
Kinchloe nodded. "On it, Colonel!"
With those cryptic words, the men who seemed to make up the core of Hogan's team hurriedly preceded him back into his office. At the door, Hogan paused and looked at Saunders. "Coming, Sergeant?" He smiled at the young sergeant's look of surprise. "We're getting used to your presence, Saunders." A thoughtful look came over him while regarding the junior NCO. "You know, if you're not careful, you just might make yourself indispensable. Who knows...if that were to happen, we might decide to keep you."
Saunders did not bother to answer the senior officer; however, the glare Saunders gave him said all he had to say.
Laughing, Hogan slapped him on the shoulder. "Just kidding, Sergeant! Honest. Well, maybe."
Saunders followed the highly decorated officer back into his office, all the while shaking his head. Hogan's irreverence continued to throw him off balance. He was used to his officers being standoffish and correctly military in their bearing. Yet, he knew that Hogan's leadership style was perfectly suited to the type of behind-the-lines mission that he commanded. More importantly, from Saunders' brief exposure to Hogan's operation, it was obvious that his men were loyal beyond measure and would follow him to Hell and back.
Considering Hogan's words about the possibility of his staying, Saunders began to wonder if it would be such a bad thing after all.
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/1000hrs local
Farmhouse (Local Underground Safe house)
10km west of Hammelburg
Doc checked Caje's bandages again. He placed a cool, wet towel on the scout's forehead to bring down a low-grade fever that he was running. The local doctor had already come and gone. Thankfully, he had spoken English, so Doc was able to easily communicate with him. His examination of Caje had allayed most of Doc's fears; however, Caje's wound had developed a slight infection, and this had resulted in the fever. Doc's primary focus at the moment was to keep the wound clean and the fever down.
The doctor had prescribed what he could to fight the infection, but not unexpectedly, his stock of medical supplies was running low. He informed Doc that Papa Bear had promised a shipment soon, but that these things took time.
"These things take time, all right," Doc muttered, angrily wringing out excess water from the towel before replacing it on Caje's forehead. "Sure...we can always get more bullets and invent new ways to kill and maim, but new medicines--? Supplies needed to help the sick and the wounded--? Those 'take time.'" Speaking softly, soothingly, his words belied the comforting tone in which he delivered them. "I sure would like to know who this 'Papa Bear' is, wouldn't you, Caje? I know if I ever do, I sure will give him a piece of my mind."
At Doc's words, Caje moaned in his sleep, stirring slightly. Afraid that his patient might tear his stitches open again, Doc held him down gently but firmly.
"Oh, no, you don't, buddy," he said, his voice quietly insistent. "We don't want you to go and ruin all of that good doctor's fine work, now...do we?"
As he spoke, Doc ran his hand soothingly across Caje's forehead, combing back his dark hair. After a few minutes of his gentle ministrations, Doc's words and actions had their desired effect. His feverish friend at last quieted down.
"I don't want you to worry none, Caje...Sarge'll think of something. You know he always does. 'Fore you know it, he'll be here--right outside that door--with a plan to get us home."
"You have much faith in your sergeant," Anna said from the doorway. She was carrying a covered tray. Doc stared at her, open-mouthed. These were the first English words that she had spoken to him.
"Y-you speak English?" His tone was more accusatory than surprised. "Well, why haven't you--? I mean...why wait till now--?"
Anna had the grace to look slightly abashed. "I am sorry. But until we received verification of your identities, I was obliged to pretend I could not understand your words. In case--"
"In case, I said something incriminating," Doc finished.
Eyes down, she nodded. "I am sorry for the caution, but you must understand...in our business, there is always the possibility of betrayal."
Doc nodded in understanding. "Look, there's no need to apologize. I reckon if I were in your place, I sure would've done the same thing. As it is, I'm right grateful for the risk you're obviously taking and for the help you've already given both me and my friend here."
Anna smiled her gratitude. When Doc returned the smile, she felt suddenly flustered and hastily handed the tray over to him to hide her embarrassment. "Here...y-you need to keep up your strength, too."
Smiling his thanks, Doc took the tray from her. "Thank you, Anna." The words did not seem like enough, Doc thought, but the young girl blushed furiously and hurriedly beat a retreat. After she left, Doc lifted the cloth covering and smiled in delight. Anna had prepared a hearty stew and homemade bread. Happily, Doc hungrily dug in.
Keeping a close eye on Caje, Doc somehow managed to finish his meal and soon was polishing the bowl with the remains of the bread. Stuffing it in his mouth, Doc stood to return the tray to the kitchen. He and Caje were located in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Bright and clean, the room was simply furnished: a bed, large wardrobe, single chair, washstand, and mirror. The shutters were open to let in sunlight and fresh air.
When he and two of the black-garbed men--the Englishman and Frenchman--had carried Caje up here, Doc had noted that the rest of the upstairs was similarly furnished. The steep and narrow flight of stairs opened up onto a small balconied hallway that oversaw the dayrooms below. The upstairs bedrooms were located on either side of the stairway, two rooms on each side. Surprisingly, Doc discovered that the house also had indoor plumbing and that a small bath was located at the very end of the hall.
Carefully navigating the steep stairs to the main room, Doc laid the tray on the kitchen counter. Searching for, he found some powdered soap and proceeded to wash his own dishes. In a short time, the bowl, spoon, and small bread plate were sparkling on the drain board, water droplets dripping onto the sink.
About to return to the room upstairs, Doc looked up startled by Anna's sudden appearance. She looked like she had been running, and her face was flushed.
"Anna, what's wrong?" Doc asked.
"Soldiers!" she hissed. "Quick! We must hide you!"
"Well, what about Caje?" Doc asked. "I can't just leave 'im there!"
"There is no time," Anna insisted. "They will be here any minute."
Doc shook his head. "No, I ain't leavin' Caje!" He did not wait for a reply; instead, Doc ran upstairs. Not pausing, he came up to the bed Caje was lying on and began insistently slapping the sleeping man on the face.
"Come on, Caje...wake up, buddy!" he muttered. "Krauts! We gotta go!"
At last, Caje's eyelids fluttered open; however, he stared vacantly to a spot on the ceiling, obviously confused about his surroundings.
"Caje! Caje, can you hear me?" Doc asked sharply.
"Doc...?" Caje's questioning answer was all the incentive Doc needed.
"That's right, ol' buddy," Doc said. "It's Doc all right. Just you'n me, pal."
"Sarge?" Caje whispered.
"Sarge ain't here, Caje," Doc said quietly. "But he'll be back. He promised."
Eyes closed, Caje's pain-filled face softened slightly with a smile. "...Always...keeps his...promises..."
"Darned right, buddy. So, don't you go off and fret none. Ol' Doc here has everything under control."
Working quickly, Doc did not have time to be gentle. Lifting Caje to a sitting position, Doc maneuvered him until his legs were hanging over the side of the bed. Spotting the wardrobe, Doc hastily opened it, examined its contents and mentally measured it, determining that it could hold a single man.
Going back to Caje, Doc got him to his feet, all the while keeping a running commentary on what he was doing.
"Caje, ol' buddy...we got Krauts heading this way. I gotta hide you. Come on, now...we gotta hurry."
Caje nodded. "Krauts..." he murmured.
"Caje, you gotta help now," Doc said quietly. "I can't carry you, so you'll have to walk a little. Think you can do that?"
Again, Caje made a small, jerky movement with his head, signaling his understanding.
"Good boy!" Doc said, guiding him slowly toward the open wardrobe.
Standing before it, Caje blinked rapidly, working to clear his blurred vision. At last, he was able to make out the contents of the wardrobe and its relative size. Shaking his head, he tried to back off. "Too small," he protested. "Not...'nuff room...for us..."
"Hey! Who's the doctor here?" Doc replied. "Don't worry 'bout me, Caje. I've got a hiding place all figured out. But we can't stay together. There's no way you can make it down those steep stairs. So, quit double-guessing me and let's get you inside."
While Doc had been talking, Caje had been shaking his head and weakly fighting him. Now, he was too exhausted to struggle and reluctantly surrendered to the inevitable.
Doc situated him as comfortably as possible and was about to make sure that the hanging clothes covered him completely when Caje grabbed his wrist. "Promise...you'll be okay."
"I promise, buddy," Doc said gently. "I'll be back before you know it. Now you make me a promise..." Caje opened his tired, pain-filled eyes and looked directly into Doc's. "Promise me that you'll stay here, without making a sound--no matter what happens."
Caje did not like the sound of that and was about to protest, but Doc pressed him. "Promise!"
At last, Caje nodded weakly, closing his eyes. "I promise..." With that, his head dropped onto his chest, unconscious.
Doc heard the knocking downstairs--more like banging, he decided. Hurriedly making up the bed, Doc took the tray holding Caje's medications and slid it under the bed. He did likewise with the water bowl and wet towel. Satisfied that the room looked unoccupied, he stepped softly to the door.
From his vantage point, he could clearly see Anna at the open door. On the other side of the door, all he could make out were two pairs of highly polished jackboots. Taking this as his only chance, Doc moved quickly down the small balconied hallway, crossing to the bedrooms on the opposite side of the stairs.
Glancing in the first, he was disappointed to see that it didn't include a wardrobe like the one Caje was now in. Going to the second, he paused long enough to hear the Germans enter and begin searching the house downstairs. A cursory examination told him that this room also would not afford him a hiding place.
Closing the door, he stood uncertainly over what to do. Spotting the small bathroom at the far end, he hurried noiselessly there. Opening the door, he stepped in and quickly shut it behind him. It was much too small: A bathtub with no privacy curtain, toilet, and sink.
About to give up, Doc's eyes fell on a small window directly above the bathtub. Not pausing to consider what he was about to do, he climbed onto the bathtub's rim and reached for the window. Urged on by the sound of jackboots pounding up the stairs, Doc hurriedly opened the window.
Taking a quick look around to see that the coast was clear, he quietly slipped through the narrow opening. Closing the window behind him, Doc carefully moved at a low crouch across the thatched roof, unsure whether it could hold his weight. At last, he reached the chimney along one of the house's long gables and huddled against it.
Making himself as small as possible, Doc waited tensely and prayed.
End of Part 5