Summary: Doc is capture; Caje relives previous events; Kinchloe has an unexpected visitor.
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
Farmhouse (Local Underground Safe house)
10km west of Hammelburg
Keeping low, Doc watched the farmyard down below from the rooftop as German soldiers searched the premises.
"With their usual ham-handedness," he muttered. The next instant, Anna was dragged outside and forced to stand in the midst of the destruction taking place before her. Doc caught sight of her tear-stained cheeks and had to fight an impulse to go and help her.
They treat their own people no better than they do the French civilians, he realized. Shaking his head, Doc wondered how the Krauts might treat escaped prisoners once they recaptured them. He did not care for the possibilities.
Anna stood stoically by as the soldiers kicked over storage bins for no apparent reason, knocked over the chicken coop, and did who knew what inside the barn and house. Doc cringed as he heard the sounds of breakage coming from within the house and the panicked cries of draft animals from the barn. He thought about the wardrobe in which Caje was hiding. It would only take one alert Kraut to discover him.
Doc felt guilty that all he could do was sit back and wait, unable to offer any help. Then, Anna did something that filled him with a sudden sense of determination. She lifted her chin in a simple act of defiance against her tormentors. She said nothing; however, the underlying contempt she felt for the soldiers was clearly understood.
An arrogant officer stepped out of the farmhouse at this moment. He called out a few terse commands, and his men quickly stopped what they were doing, lining up single file. The officer turned to Anna, clicking his heels and bowing slightly
"Danke, Fraulein," he said blandly. "Auf Wiedersehen."
Anna gave him a curt nod in reply.
The officer spun on his heel, called out a crisp command, and the German reconnaissance patrol moved out.
Relieved beyond measure, Doc felt his body suddenly give out, and he collapsed in place. He leaned back on the chimney, afraid that his legs would not be able to hold him should he try to stand. Deciding that the coast was clear, he emerged from behind the chimney and began his slow crawl back to the window.
As luck would have it, a trio of German soldiers that must have been left behind chose this moment to emerge from the barn. Doc spotted them at the same time they saw him. He made a move toward the window, when the thatched roof exploded upwardly a few inches around him from a burst of semi-automatic fire. Facing the muzzles of three Mausers pointing directly at him, Doc held his hands out in mute surrender.
"Okay, hold your fire! I surrender!"
One of the Germans said something to him that Doc did not understand. To clarify his meaning, the enemy soldier gestured with his weapon. Doc instantly understood that the Kraut wanted him to climb off the roof.
Looking around for a ladder or some means to climb down, Doc could only shake his head. Yet the soldiers were insistent that he get down. Estimating the distance from the roof to the ground, Doc decided that he did not like his chances of emerging from this predicament alive, much less unscathed.
"Now, how am I supposed to get down there?" he asked himself. He did not have long to decide because one of the enemy soldiers looked abut ready to shoot him. Sighing, Doc scooted to the edge of the roof looking for a safe drop-off point. To his utter surprise, one of the Germans called out a warning, ran to the side of one of the outbuildings, and returned with a ladder.
Climbing down, Doc expressed his thanks. Nodding, the enemy soldier muttered, "Bitte," and then motioned with his weapon that Doc should precede him. Shoulders slumped, Doc sighed and did as ordered. Looking around, he tried to catch sight of Anna, but she was nowhere to be seen. He thought about Caje and his promise to him that he would return.
He wondered if he would be able to keep it.
Date/Time: Unknown
Place: Unknown
The muted noises seeped insistently through the encompassing darkness: glass breaking amidst angry voices, the muffled sound of boots pounding on hardwood floors, and doors being kicked in. The din rolled in like an ocean wave, accompanied by the groans of ancient furniture being overturned and broken. Similarly, it receded into the distance, much as a ship disappears into the far horizon...
In his minds eye, Caje marveled at the blueness of the sky and the warmth of the late August sun. The local countryside lay verdant in its summer lushness, the ripe vineyards glistening on the surrounding hillsides.
The illusion was shattered as a sudden breeze picked up a ribbon of oily, black smoke and scattered its gray tendrils in the sky. The village, or what was left of it, was burning. Crouched behind the remains of a wall in the ruined village, Caje silently watched the deliberate approach of the enemy recon patrol, cringing at the swath of destruction it left in its wake.
The beauty of the summer day was lost on the Germans. As they trampled through the devastated village, they flushed out what buildings remained standing without bothering to check first for noncombatants. They methodically kicked down doors, tossed in grenades, waited for the explosion, and then raked the interior with machinegun fire.
Caje sighted his weapon on a Kraut who was about to repeat the process and fired. The enemy soldier dropped like a rock, but Caje was picking off his next target, having already forgotten the first man. All around him, the squad opened fire, sending a lethal fusillade downrange. Just as Caje squeezed off another deadly round, Saunders was suddenly next to him, slapping him on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Pull back--wood line west of the village!"
The next second, the Sarge was gone, passing the word to the others. Nelson, Littlejohn, and Kirby immediately began moving out in a well-practiced leapfrog maneuver. Saunders waved them past him, signaling Caje and Doc to follow him.
Caje waited for Doc to precede him, and then leaped to his feet, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Bullets exploded in front of him and behind him. He zigzagged to avoid getting hit. He saw Doc reach an alley ahead of him and turn to look back.
"Hurry up!" Doc shouted, urging him on.
Galvanized, Caje pushed himself harder, the alley only a few yards beyond him. Less than five feet away, Caje suddenly felt something slam into him, spinning him in place as he fell forward.
The rest flashed before him as if through a broken lens: Hands reaching for him. Searing pain radiating from his shoulder. Long periods of darkness broken by brief glimpses of light.
Sarge's face loomed before him, his brow creased with worry. Doc appeared next to him, his compassionate eyes reflecting Sarge's concern.
"How is he Doc?"
"Not too good...he needs a hospital..."
"I'll live," he whispered in protest. But the guilt of being a burden to his friends lay heavy on him.
"I'm not going with you, Sarge. I'll never make it."
"Hey, Caje, you listen to me," Saunders said. "You're coming with us, and we're all gonna make it. You got that?"
Next, he heard Doc's soft, comforting voice urging him to remain quiet, promising to return.
"Don't worry 'bout me, Caje. I've got a hiding place all figured out...I'll be back before you know it. Now you...promise me that you'll stay here, without making a sound--no matter what happens."
Again, he was aware of an accompanying guilt for being a yoke around Doc's neck. I promiseDoc...
And always in the background, the continuous pounding noises, angry shouts, and earsplitting sounds of shattered glass grew ever closer...
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/1045hrs local
Farmhouse (Local Underground Safe house)
10km west of Hammelburg
The sudden shaft of light cutting across his eyes brought him back. The wardrobe's door had been yanked open. Caje held his breath as a hand reached in to push aside the clothes that were concealing him. A yell from somewhere outside the bedroom resulted in the hand being withdrawn, and its owner hurrying out.
Caje closed his eyes in relief as he heard the sounds of more boots retreating into the distance. Soon, only the silence remained--that and the sound of his rapidly beating heart.
He listened for Doc's soft, southern drawl, and the reassurance that everything was going to be all right. Try as he might, he could not hear Doc's voice. It did not take long for the guilt to once again envelop him.
Before long, darkness again laid claim to him.
Saturday 5 AUG 1944/1700hrs local
Tunnel Under Barracks 2
LuftStalag 13
Kinchloe sat at his station, monitoring the radio. Messages flashed over his headset, meant for other Underground cells. Some were gibberish to him, sent in codes that his group was not authorized. Others gave the green light to men and women to carry out missions that placed their lives in further danger. Still, he tuned in, feeling as if he were listening to the heartbeat of the secret war. He looked across the excavated 'room,' his eyes falling on a still figure lying on the lone cot.
Saunders lay stretched out, an arm tossed carelessly over his eyes. He had lain thus, practically unmoving for the past three hours. As luck would have it, at that very moment, Saunders' arm dropped to his side, revealing his troubled countenance. Mumbling in his sleep, Saunders tossed his head, turned on his side only to return to his original position, settling down once again into an uneasy sleep.
Kinchloe shook his head. The man was obviously not resting peacefully. What man could who had seen and done the things a combat veteran had in the course of his duties? Kinchloe himself oftentimes suffered from troubled dreams--dreams of bridges blowing while a train was still on it, of factories going up in a blaze glory with unsuspecting men still inside.
The number of sabotage missions was too high to keep track of, but each success Kinchloe knew came with a price, another bit of his soul forever lost to him. He wondered if eternal damnation awaited him after death. And yet, the alternative would be worse. For if Germany won the war, and the world fell permanently under its yoke, then he would not have to wait for death to see what Hell was like. It would be here on earth.
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden yell from Saunders.
"Grady! On me! The rest of you--Caje, Nelson, Littlejohn--cover us. We're gonna flank 'em and get a couple of grenades in. Doc--keep your head down. Okay, Grady, stay low and stay behind me. Let's go!"
Kinchloe blinked in surprise. Saunders was obviously reliving an incident on the battlefield. His commands had been delivered both clearly and crisply with no sense of panic. He sounded in complete control of the situation. The next instant the tough noncom was replaced by a man who was suffering from the pain of loss.
"Grady, get down! Grady, no! No!" The sergeant tossed in his sleep, real tears streaming down his face. "Grady! Oh, God…why?" This last was a tortured whisper.
Kinchloe looked away, unable to bear the naked suffering on the younger man's face. He remembered the loss of Goldilocks, Hogan's pet B-17, and the rest of her crew. Out of a crew of ten, Hogan, Kinchloe, and Olsen had been the only three to survive her final mission. Kinchloe still saw the faces of the other seven in his sleep. From some of the cries he had heard coming from Hogan's quarters late at night, he knew that his commanding officer did, too.
But from up in the sky, the war had been a clean adventure. You flew in your formation, reached your target, dropped your load, and then returned home. If Lady Luck smiled upon you, your plane made it to the target destination and back. Sometimes when the Group came under attack, one or two of the B-17s went down, sometimes more. As the behemoths spiraled down in flames, the rest of the Group held its collective breath, watching out for parachutes.
It they were lucky, they counted ten, but more often than not, only a mere handful managed to jump to safety, only to face capture and a POW camp.
However, as a crewman on a B-17, Kinchloe never had to look a man in the eye before he killed him. He glanced over at the now still form. Not like Saunders and the rest of the foot soldiers who even now had to slog their way through France on their long haul toward Germany. Ironically, Kinchloe had not been forced to kill until he was shot down over Germany and became a prisoner of war.
Of course, Kinchloe should have figured that Colonel Hogan would not take to being a POW lightly. Instead of sitting out the war and waiting to be liberated, he had come up with this crazy scheme to run a covert operation under the enemy's very nose. For the most part, it was interesting and exciting work, if decidedly dangerous.
And while Kinchloe had tried not to fire his weapon directly at anyone, because as LeBeau had stated once, they were trying to fight a 'non-violent' war, eventually, he was forced to get his hands dirty. They all had been, and in each case, the man who had to kill for the first time while on a mission had suffered psychological scars.
He looked back at Saunders who again seemed to be sleeping soundly. The younger man's face was turned toward him, and to Kinchloe's surprise he appeared even younger than he had assessed. His impression of Saunders was that of a professional soldier, a combat veteran of several years, perhaps in his late twenties to mid-thirties. But now, he had to reevaluate his initial estimate.
The man lying in front of him could not be older than his early-to-mid twenties. He had probably not been in the Army before war broke out, living out his life in whatever midwestern town he had been raised.
Like me, Kinchloe said to himself. Only the war had obviously aged Saunders beyond his years. He hoped the younger man would live long enough to find peace after the war. Shaking his head, Kinchloe checked his watch, saw it was time to be relieved, and began completing his log. Finishing, he sat back, anxious to go topside and talk the guys into a game of volleyball, anything to relieve the stress.
The next instant all extraneous thoughts were forgotten. The silent alarm he had personally set up--a blinking light bulb--had just gone off. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the pistol that always lay handy beside him and blew out the oil lamp. He moved up to the branch opening that led to the emergency exit, reached up and yanked on the pull cord that was attached to the blinking emergency bulb. Thus thrown into total darkness, Kinchloe waited.
He did not have long to wait. A sound like that of someone sobbing floated up from the tunnel, carried by the echoes bouncing off the close walls. It sounded as if someone were stumbling as he hurried through the tunnel toward him. With each fall, the sobs increased in volume.
"Help me...please," a soft, feminine voice called out. "Please…help me."
Kinchloe was about to pull the cord and turn on the light again, but his wrist was grasped in the dark.
"Don't!" the disembodied voice hissed. It took Kinchloe a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Saunders. Gone were any signs of the vulnerable kid he had seen lying on the cot. In its place the confident combat veteran had returned.
"Let 'em come to us," Saunders murmured in his ear.
Kinchloe nodded his understanding, realized Saunders could not see him, and whispered, "Wilco," in acknowledgement. They took up positions on either side of the entrance and waited. Whoever was in the tunnel must have decided that no help was immediately forthcoming and therefore began stumbling toward them again.
Kinchloe felt more than saw a dark figure cross the threshold. Before he could react, he heard a loud cry that was instantly muffled, accompanied by the sounds of a struggle. Kinchloe immediately reached up and yanked on the pull cord and blinked in the sudden brightness.
"Anna!" he cried in surprise.
"Kinch! Oh, Kinch--!" Anna cried tearfully, still struggling futilely in Saunders' iron grip.
"Let her go, Saunders," Kinchloe ordered.
"Not until she tells us what she's doing here."
"That is why I am here," Anna sobbed. "The soldiers--SS! They came to the farm--" Unable to go on, she broke down again.
"My friends!" Saunders broke in, spinning her around, facing him. "What happened to them?" When the girl did not answer right away, Saunders shook her violently. "Tell me! What happened to Doc and Caje?"
"Saunders!" Kinchloe snapped, making a grab for the girl. "I said let her go!"
"Not until she tells me what I want to know!" Saunders growled, giving the girl another shake.
Kinchloe reached for her, glaring at Saunders. At last, the angry noncom reluctantly released her, practically shoving her at Kinchloe. Anna immediately collapsed gratefully into the comfort of Kinchloe's arms.
"Anna...you have to tell us what happened. Please, I know it's hard, but this is important." Kinchloe spoke softly, first in German and then in English, until the young girl was sufficiently quieted. Walking her over to the cot that Saunders had only recently vacated, he sat her down and spoke soothingly to her, handing her a handkerchief. At last, Anna dabbed at her teary eyes and blew her nose. Sighing greatly, she calmed her nerves and began to talk.
She told them everything she could from the moment the Germans arrived. When she finished, she looked guiltily at Saunders.
"I am sorry about your friend, Doc. He was a good man, concerned only for the welfare of the other...Caje."
"What do you mean, 'was a good man'?" Saunders demanded. "I thought you said he was taken prisoner, not killed."
"I-I am sorry," Anna shrugged. "I did not mean--" She swallowed. "I-I followed them...the soldiers--to where they took Doc." She began to cry again. "He was loaded onto a lorry...It was already carrying other Allied soldiers." She sniffed and dabbed her eyes. "I-I'm sorry...I overheard one of the SS guards say that the prisoners would probably be shot--" She shook her head, unable to go on.
"And Caje? What happened to Caje?" Saunders demanded.
Anna took a deep, calming breath before she answered. At last, she looked into Saunders' eyes, and shrugged. "I believe that he may still be back in the farmhouse. Doc refused to hide himself before he made sure that Caje was safe. I was downstairs, so I don't know where he might have hidden him…?" Her voice died out.
"And you didn't think to go back and check on him?" Saunders asked coldly.
Anna's eyes teared up again, and she shook her head. "Es tut mir Leid," she whispered.
"What?" Saunders asked, not understanding.
"She said she's sorry," Kinchloe said sharply, clearly upset with Saunders' demeanor. He turned to the girl, speaking in soothing tones. "That's okay, Anna. You did the right thing coming here." Standing, he scowled at Saunders and gave him a warning look. "I have to go up and inform the colonel. Try to be a gentleman until I get back, okay?"
Saunders did not bother to respond. Face set grimly, he made his way to the arms locker and took out the tommygun he had found earlier. Ignoring Kinchloe's "Just what do you think you're doing?" Saunders calmly dug up the necessary ammunition and stuffed it into his shirt. Opening the uniform locker, he dug up a field jacket and watch cap. Continuing to ignore Kinchloe, he donned both items and started down the emergency tunnel.
Kinchloe swore under his breath. "Swell...just swell." Making up his mind, he stuffed the pistol in the waistband of his pants. Turning to Anna he said, "Go upstairs and tell the colonel what you told us." Sighing, he jerked his chin in the direction that Saunders had taken. "Let 'im know I'm going after Sergeant York."
End of Part 7