Summary: Saunders finds out what the Heroes' coffeepot is for.

Acknowledgement: See Part 1.

Note: The following denotes foreign dialogue, generally German: "Dialogue."

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Copyright: December 2005

Escape to Stalag 13

By Syl Francis

Saturday 5 AUG 1944/1045hrs local

Barracks 2

LuftStalag 13

Saunders watched bemused as Kinchloe quickly assembled an innocuous coffeepot. He wondered at the others' expectant looks. The young sergeant, Carter, even appeared to be holding his breath. Saunders turned to Hogan with a questioning look.

"Coffee? You rushed over here to make coffee?" Saunders peered from one man to another. Each, in turn, watched Kinchloe's deft fingers as he deliberately assembled the coffeepot in his hands. The same look of worried anticipation was stamped on their faces.

"Come on, Kinch!" Newkirk whined, looking anxiously over Kinchloe's shoulder. "Can't you put the bloody thing together any faster?"

"Take it easy, Newkirk." Hogan spoke softly, but Newkirk immediately backed off.

Saunders could only shake his head. They must really need their caffeine fix, he thought darkly. Standing to the rear, he observed silently as Kinchloe ran an electric cord to a single, naked bulb that hung from the ceiling.

His eyes on Newkirk, Kinchloe cocked a single eyebrow, and holding the coffeepot in his hands recited softly, "Newkirk, as the Good Book says, 'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven...'"

"Kinch, for heaven's sake--!" Newkirk cried impatiently.

Kinchloe calmly ignored Newkirk, and grinning turned the lid on the coffeepot in a counterclockwise direction. "'...A time to keep silence, and a time to speak.'"

With that, and to Saunders' astonishment, the coffeepot began to 'speak'!

"Klink! This entire camp is now under the command of the Gestapo--!"

"Ol' Smiley's at it again," Hogan quipped.

"But surely, Major Hochstetter," Klink's voice came over the speaker, "the Gestapo can commandeer any POW camp in the local military district. I have an idea...the POW train was scheduled to deliver the prisoners to Nuremberg. Why not operate out of there--?"

"Klink, you're not being paid to think. There aren't enough Reichmarks in all the Fatherland for that--!"

"Why thank you, Major," Klink began but was interrupted.

"That wasn't a compliment, you idiot!"

"No, of course not," Klink said, sounding deflated. "Not a compliment."

"Shut up, Klink!"

"Hochstetter sounds like he's about to have a coronary," Newkirk murmured.

"Oui...his usual condition whenever he speaks with Klink," LeBeau agreed.

"Quiet, you two," Kinchloe growled.

"Over forty-eight enemy prisoners escaped and are even now running around the German countryside. I have reports from my field agents informing me that we are pulling them out of haylofts, basements, caves--anywhere the vermin can find a hiding place."

"Yes, of course, Major," Klink said eagerly. "The Gestapo, I am sure is doing a marvelous job--"

"Shut up, Klink!" Hochstetter shouted again. "We will be using Stalag 13 as a temporary holding pen for the prisoners. Once we have them all accounted for, they will be tried for crimes against the Third Reich and shot!"

"What crimes against the Third Reich?" Carter asked.

"What crimes against the Third Reich?" Klink asked.

"Klink, we have to search for these enemy soldiers with men that are desperately needed in the Front. Such insolence cannot go unpunished! Therefore, the men that have been recaptured will be transported to Berlin where they will face an immediate firing squad--for illegal acts of sabotage against the Reich. But before we do that--" The rest of Hochstetter's words were lost in the din that followed his statement.

"He cannot do that!" LeBeau protested.

"That's against the bloody Geneva Convention," Newkirk added.

"Pipe down, you clowns!" Kinchloe snapped. "We can't hear what Hochstetter's saying!"

"Illegal acts--!" Klink spluttered. "But surely, Major Hochstetter, the prisoners were only doing their duty--to attempt to escape back to their own lines?"

"Klink! I've told you already...prisoners of the Fatherland have no rights--except those that the Gestapo wishes to give them!" Hochstetter was nearing his boiling point. "They sabotaged the train they were on in order to effect an escape. That makes them guilty of crimes against the Reich! Don't you agree?"

"Well, uh--" Hogan could almost picture Hochstetter's usual crazed look, intimidating the hapless Klink into agreeing with him. Hogan rolled his eyes as Klink's timid voice again came over the speaker. "Of course, when you put it that way, Major--?"

"I did," Hochstetter growled. "And not that it matters, of course, Klink...but should you insist again that these enemies of the Reich have rights, then it will be my pleasure to let you join them. In front of the firing squad!"

Instead of letting the matter drop, to Hogan's surprise Klink again spoke up, if somewhat hesitantly.

"Major Hochstetter," Klink began uneasily. "What you speak of...I don't believe that it is entirely legal. I mean, using POWs as hostages at the ammunition factory and then shooting them--!"

"Hostages--?" Newkirk began, but was immediately shushed by Kinchloe.

"Klink, what you believe is of no importance!" Hochstetter ranted. "Of course, if you wish to write a formal letter of complaint to Gestapo Headquarters, I will gladly deliver it for you."

"You will?" Klink sounded pathetically eager.

"Yes! Along with your head!"

The next sound the men heard was a door opening and slamming shut. Carter ran to the barracks outer door and looked out. A minute later, he returned.

"Hochstetter just drove out of camp, Colonel," he reported.

"Colonel, did we hear right?" Kinchloe spoke quietly. "Did Klink say that Hochstetter was going to use our guys as hostages at the ammo factory?"

Hogan nodded, his eyes focused somewhere faraway.

"Colonel, what are we to do?" LeBeau asked.

"Yeah, Colonel," Newkirk chimed in. "We can't just sit back while the Gestapo executes our blokes or uses them as cannon fodder for the Allied bombers--which basically amounts to the same thing."

Kinchloe walked up to Hogan and murmured in his ear. "For once, Newkirk has a point, Colonel."

Again, Hogan nodded. "I know, Kinch...I know." Straightening up, he looked from one of his men to another. "Okay, fellas...what are we standing around for? We've got a lot of work to do!" He surveyed each man in turn. "Newkirk--standard SS uniforms. Make me a colonel, you an NCO, and Carter a private."

Newkirk nodded decisively and said, "On it, Colonel!" and moved out.

Hogan turned to Carter. "Carter, we'll need thermite grenades to cut through--"

"You bet, boy!" Carter said excitedly. "Uh, I--um…I mean, you bet, Colonel! Boy! Have I got some doozies for you! And-- He paused, blushing proudly. "--I've made some modifications of my own to the thermites we received a few weeks ago, and if I do say myself…what we have now is a far more powerful incendiary device than--"

"That's terrific, Carter," Hogan said hastily. "I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever modifications you've done--"

"Sir, if you want, I could rig a special device in something as small as fountain pen and--" Carter went on eagerly.

Nodding in exaggerated understanding, Hogan placed his hands on the younger NCO and determinedly pushed him toward the door. "Surprise me, Carter," he said, closing the door on Carter's face. Turning back to Kinchloe, he shook his head. "That boy really worries me sometimes, Kinch."

"Only sometimes?" Kinchloe asked sardonically.

"Colonel?" Hogan turned to LeBeau who was still awaiting his instructions. The diminutive Frenchman shrugged expansively. "Is there anything you wish me to do?" He paused, unsure about how to proceed. Finally, his eyes downcast, he said what was on his mind. "You did not order Newkirk to make a Kraut uniform for me, mon colonel." He looked up. "Does this mean that I must stay behind?"

Hogan held the smaller man's eyes for a beat before answering. Shaking his head sadly, he spoke, "Louis, if things go as I think they will, you won't be sitting this one out. Although I wish to God that I could say otherwise." At LeBeau's questioning look, Hogan held his hand up to stop him from asking anything further. "Not now, LeBeau. I'm not ready to give any specifics."

LeBeau nodded in disappointment. "Oui, mon, colonel." He started for the door, but Hogan stopped him.

"Louis, why don't you fix us one of your famous gourmet dinners?" He indicated Saunders. "Our guest here is probably half-starved by now."

At his colonel's suggestion that he prepare a meal, LeBeau's previously crestfallen expression changed dramatically. "Oui, colonel! I have enough ingredients to prepare a châteaubriand that is to-die-for!" Turning to Saunders, he added, "Sergeant, you have not lived until you have tasted a châteaubriand by Chef Louis LeBeau!"

"I'll go monitor the radio, Colonel," Kinchloe said quietly. Grabbing LeBeau by the arm, he smoothly steered him out the door.

As the others broke away, Saunders approached Hogan who had taken out several maps from a storage compartment hidden between the floorboards. "Excuse me, sir, but what about my men?"

"What about them, Saunders?" Hogan asked distractedly. He was concentrating on the map before him.

"I'll tell you what about them!" Saunders snapped. "This Hochstetter guy says that they're planning on using any recaptured prisoners as hostages, and then they're going to shoot them! That's what!" Uncharacteristically insubordinate, Saunders pushed himself in front of Hogan to get his full attention.

"I've fought side-by-side with those men since D-Day! They're good soldiers! And my friends. It was your idea that I leave them behind until it was safe for Caje to travel. Well, it isn't safe for them to stay out there any longer." Saunders glared at the senior officer, not caring that he had crossed a line. "Now are we going back for them or not?"

Hogan's usually warm, twinkling eyes glittered like ice crystals as they pierced through Saunders. The Colonel and Sergeant glowered at each other, neither moving, holding the tableau for a long minute. Unexpectedly, Kinchloe walked in and inadvertently broke the tension that had built between them.

Saunders stepped aside, shoulders slumped, waiting for the axe to fall. Not only would he be ordered to abandon his men, he would probably also face disciplinary action. Pressing against the bunk bed, he tried to stop the spiraling emotions that were warring within him. Everything that had happened in the past week was his fault. He had to do something, but what?

"This is how I look at it, Kinch," Hogan was saying. "If we can ambush the truck convoy transporting the POWs before they're brought here to camp, then we can hide the prisoners until we can make arrangements for a sub to pick them up."

Saunders tensed, listening to Hogan's quiet voice as he mapped out his plan.

"Sounds good so far, Colonel," Kinchloe murmured. "But what if we can't stop the convoy?"

Hogan sighed. "Let's hope we don't have to cross that bridge."

"Colonel…what if we can't…?" Kinchloe left the rest unsaid.

Hogan sighed. "Then we try to break them out of the ammunition plant before our bombers demolish it."

"And what of my men?" Saunders asked with quiet insistence.

"As soon as it's dark," Kinchloe began, "me and a couple others will go to the farmhouse and get 'em out."

"Kinch, you'll have to exercise extreme caution," Hogan said quietly. "The area will be full of Krauts…and not the Stalag 13 garden-variety type, but the real deal: Gestapo and SS."

"I know...that's why Newkirk volunteered to go with me," Kinchloe replied straight-faced. "Only, he doesn't know it yet."

"And I'm goin' along, too," Saunders said flatly. Not waiting for a reply, he stalked out of Hogan's quarters and headed toward the hidden tunnel entrance.

"Infantry," Kinchloe muttered as the younger man disappeared through the door. The single word, uttered as an expletive, covered all the oddities and unnatural characteristics of men who actually walked into battle and engaged the enemy in face-to-face conflict.

Catching Hogan's eyes, Kinchloe grinned. "I'll bet he's hell on wheels as a squad leader. Think we can keep him?"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "You said mouthful, buddy--Infantry! Give me a squadron of B-17s any day. And, yeah…I think it could be arranged for our young friend to remain here."

Grinning, Hogan returned to his mission planning.

End of Part 6