Summary: Kinchloe and Saunders head back to the farmhouse to find Caje; Hogan paces and begins to develop a plan.

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 1944/1845hrs local

Farmhouse (Local Underground Safe house)

10km west of Hammelburg

Annoyed that Saunders had heretofore totally ignored him, Kinchloe was taken slightly aback when Saunders suddenly waved him down.

"Caje is my responsibility," the infantry sergeant hissed. "So we do things my way--got it?"

Kinchloe rolled his eyes. "I got it, Saunders. And just in case you forgot--" He plucked at his uniform shirt. "--We're supposed to be on the same team. Try to remember that, huh?" He did not mention that if it were not for him, Saunders would not have made it this far. But what's a 'little helping you not get captured quick-thinking diversion' among friends? Shaking his head, Kinchloe swore under his breath. "I knew I shoulda let the Krauts nab you."

Not bothering to reply, Saunders moved closer to the farmhouse. Reluctantly, Kinchloe followed. Settling next to Saunders, Kinchloe carefully studied its layout, on the lookout for anything suspicious. He felt a tap on his shoulders and turned to the younger man.

Saunders silently signaled that they would approach the farmhouse from two different directions. Saunders would go in through the front, Kinchloe from the back. Holding up the five fingers of his right hand, Saunders pointed at his watch, indicating that they would begin their approach in five minutes.

Kinchloe nodded. The shadows were even now lengthening, and it would be dark soon. He hoped for Saunders' sake that his wounded friend was safe. Kinchloe was not sure that the intense young man would be able to handle losing two men for whom he felt responsible. Moving off to take his position, Kinchloe wondered at the other man's fierce drive.

From his own perspective, Kinchloe was a rather laid-back kind of leader, as was Colonel Hogan. Either man rarely lost his temper or worried over situations they could do little or nothing about. And yet, the mission still managed to get accomplished--sometimes beyond even their wildest expectations.

Saunders, while obviously not what Kinchloe's mother might have called a 'nervous Nellie,' had a single-mindedness about him that was almost exhausting to watch. Of course, Kinchloe had witnessed that kind of concentrated focus from Hogan on more than one occasion. But with Hogan it had been different. Kinchloe never had a feeling in his gut that his commanding officer might do something thoughtlessly reckless that would get his men killed or foul up the mission.

Saunders, on the other hand, did not seem to care one way or the other that his foolish need to go after his friend might result in the whole operation being compromised. And yet, Kinchloe had to admit that Saunders' return trip to the farmhouse had been accomplished in a quick and efficient manner. The younger NCO had taken every necessary precaution to avoid the many enemy patrols that they had run across.

Checking his watch, Kinchloe saw that it was almost time to start his approach. As he waited, he thought about the one patrol that had almost stumbled upon them on the way out here. Luckily, Kinchloe recognized his favorite guard dog, Trudy. For some reason shortly upon his arrival at Stalag 13, Trudy had taken an instant liking to Kinchloe, licking his face and whimpering in delight whenever she could.

Naturally, when the German guards were around, Trudy would growl and slaver, snapping her teeth at the prisoners like the worst of them. But it was all an act. Inside she was a real pussycat and looked forward to the times that Kinchloe would sneak out of the barracks at night and bring her a special treat, or just spend a few minutes with her.

Spotting her, Kinchloe signaled her silently to lead the guards directly away from them. To help her, he threw a rock in the general direction he wanted her to go. The noise attracted the soldiers, who shouted to each other as they pointed toward the source of the sound. At the same time, Trudy went into her 'killer guard dog' routine. She growled and barked, pulling on her leash with all her might, baring her sharp teeth for good measure, which added just the right touch of realism to her whole act.

Kinchloe watched proudly as she successfully led the whole patrol away from them. Grinning he turned to Saunders, expecting...actually he did not know what he had expected from his grim young friend, but all he got was a view of Saunders' backside as the single-minded NCO continued on his way. Rolling his eyes, Kinchloe muttered, "You're welcome," under his breath.

Now, sitting just outside the farmhouse, Kinchloe could not help thinking about what might lie in wait inside. The place looked innocently peaceful. A light breeze gently rustled white lace curtains that hung from a small open window. Black smoke rose up from the lone chimney, softly curling in the gentle air currents and disappearing into the evening twilight.

It was just another farmhouse snuggled alongside the dark Bavarian forest. With its thatched roof and gingerbread gables, it could have stepped out of the pages of a Hans Christian Andersen tale. However, after almost two years of operating behind enemy lines, Kinchloe knew that looks could most definitely be deceiving.

Remembering the reason that he was there, waiting to enter a potentially dangerous building, Kinchloe again thought of Saunders, and the usually easy-going noncom glowered. "I should've let the Krauts grab him when I had the chance." Glancing at his watch, Kinchloe saw that it was time to proceed.

Silently emerging from the tree line that encircled the house, he moved quickly at a low crouch and was soon standing against the back door. Sidling toward the open window, he chanced a quick look inside. The glowing embers from the fireplace gave off just enough light to allow him to make out the still, shadowy forms of the kitchen table and chairs. A dark, open doorway lay beyond.

Satisfied that no one lay in wait immediately on the other side of the door, Kinchloe edged it open. Taking a tighter grip on his pistol, he noiselessly crossed the kitchen floor. The sounds of a violent struggle in the next room galvanized him into action. Rushing into the front room, he saw Saunders being held in a headlock from behind.

"Freeze!" Kinchloe shouted. He need not have bothered.

At that moment, Saunders reached behind him, grabbing his attacker by the collar. Without pausing, he bent forward from the waist up, and threw the shadowy figure over his head in a single smooth motion. Bending down calmly for his discarded Thompson, Saunders methodically aimed it at his fallen opponent.

Studying Saunders' face as the younger sergeant glared at the still form on the floor, Kinchloe felt a shiver shoot up his spine, for he suddenly found himself looking upon the cold, naked eyes of a killer. "You okay?" Kinchloe asked. Saunders did not reply, his eyes on his unconscious attacker. As Kinchloe watched him, he saw Saunders' expression slowly change to one of shock and regret.

"Caje?" Saunders rasped. Then more raggedly, the name torn from his heart, "Caje?" Dropping to his knees, the heretofore-angry veteran gently lifted the unconscious man's head and held it in his lap. "Caje? Caje…oh, God, I'm so sorry," he whispered desperately, fighting hard against tears that threatened to spill unchecked. "Caje, buddy, come on…wake up. Please…wake up…" With that Saunders took his friend in his arms and held him fiercely to his chest, sitting back on his heels.

It was obvious to Kinchloe that the battle-hardened noncom did not even realize that he was in the room. Suddenly embarrassed that he was witnessing a private moment, Kinchloe decided that he needed to stand guard outside and watch for any possible Kraut patrols. Turning on his heel, he left them alone.

Saturday 5 AUG 1944/1945hrs local

Farmhouse (Local Underground Safe house)

10km west of Hammelburg

Saunders sat back on his heels holding Caje close to him. Sniffing slightly, he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. Taking a deep breath, he struggled to get his warring emotions under control. First, he abandoned his friends, thus allowing Doc to be captured; now he hurt the already injured Caje.

"Some friend, I am," he muttered. Swallowing, he cleared his throat, and then murmured softly, his voice growing more insistent as the minutes ticked by. "Caje…buddy, you've gotta wake up. Come on, Caje--"

"Sarge--?" The whispered name came out as little more than a soft breath, more felt than heard.

Excited, Saunders tenderly laid his friend back down, careful to keep Caje's head elevated on his lap. "Caje?" he called softly. "Are you with me, buddy? Caje?"

Caje's hand came up slowly, and to Saunders' surprised delight, enclosed the noncom's hand in an unexpectedly strong grip.

"Sarge…I knew you'd come back." Blinking his eyes open, Caje looked up at Saunders and gave him a weak grin. "Sorry for the ambush…thought you were a Kraut."

"S'okay," Saunders murmured.

"Doc?" Caje asked hopefully.

Saunders shook his head, and looking away, said roughly, "Captured."

Caje nodded. He vaguely recalled Doc's whispered warnings to stay quiet because the Krauts were in the area. More importantly, he remembered Doc's promise to come back. Squeezing Saunders' arm gently, Caje murmured with all the conviction he could muster, "He'll be back, Sarge. You'll see…Doc is going to be okay." As he spoke, Caje attempted to sit up.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Saunders protested, trying to pull him back.

"I'm trying to stand on my own two feet, Sarge," Caje said unnecessarily. Holding Saunders' concerned gaze, he added, "Don't you think it's about time?"

Looking doubtful, Saunders said, "Caje…you're still hurt. And I didn't help matters by knocking you around. You need a doctor and rest and--"

Ignoring his friend, Caje struggled to his feet, fighting against an attack of vertigo. He waited until the dizzy spell had passed, and he felt that he was not going to fall flat on his face. Giving Saunders an encouraging grin, he offered him a hand up.

Nodding slowly, Saunders took the proffered hand and stood. The men stood thus, hands clasped for a moment longer, each taking in the measure of the other.

Saunders worried that Caje was still too weak to be out of bed and was pushing himself too soon.

Caje worried that Saunders looked like he had aged ten years since the day they were captured.

"You look like Hell!" The two spoke simultaneously, and at their words, broke into wide grins. These were soon replaced with low chuckles, and before long, laughter.

"Okay…but you like Hell a lot worse than I do!" Caje managed to say between chuckles.

Grinning, Saunders nodded in surrender. "You win." Then growing serious once again, he asked, "Sure you can walk, buddy?"

Caje shrugged. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"

"Let's go then." Saunders started for the door.

Following his squad leader, Caje could not help but wonder at his look of exhaustion. Saunders did indeed look like Hell, but Caje suspected it was a direct result of his continuous worry over the past few days. And what had he done to help his friend deal with their dangerous situation? Nothing, he glowered. He had only helped to make matters worse by getting himself wounded. Instead of being Saunders' right hand man, he had been his primary headache.

And Doc? Caje firmly put all thoughts of the medic in the backburner. As Saunders was so fond of saying, now was not the time!

Saturday 5 AUG 1944/2245hrs local

Tunnel Under Barracks 2

LuftStalag 13

"Where are they?"

Hogan had been continuously pacing the length of the radio room for the better part of an hour. He was also chain-smoking one Lucky Strikes after another, something he normally did not do. For the most part, Hogan did not smoke cigarettes, preferring instead to savor the occasional cigar that he lifted from Klink's private supply. The fact that Hogan had borrowed the pack from Carter only to promptly forget that the cigarettes were not his was a further indication of the strain that he was under.

"It's been over five hours, Colonel," Newkirk said, breaking into Hogan's troubled thoughts. "I say we go after them!" Seeing that Hogan was about to reject the idea again, Newkirk hurried on. "I know that if it were any of us out there, Kinch would come after us."

"Yeah...and if he did, I'd have him court-martialed, as well," Hogan snapped. He jabbed his forefinger in the direction of the RAF corporal. "You know as well as I do that the woods are lousy with Krauts right now. We chance going out there right now, we risk walking right into the Gestapo's hands."

"And that wouldn't do Kinch much good, huh, Colonel?" Carter asked, wide-eyed.

Newkirk gave the young sergeant a blistering look of disgust. "My, my...aren't we brilliant tonight, Andrew?"

"Knock it off, Newkirk," LeBeau growled. "You're not helping Kinch…." He paused, and then nodding meaningfully at Hogan added sotto voce, "Or the colonel."

Newkirk nodded. "Sorry, Andrew…Colonel."

Carter ducked his head, unsure of what he had done to merit an apology. Hogan, meanwhile, waved off the apology as unnecessary and resumed his pacing.

"So…we wait," Newkirk muttered. "Still."

He glanced at LeBeau and Carter who were sitting on the single bunk against the wall, Anna between them, and shrugged as if to say, "Hey, I tried." LeBeau nodded in acknowledgement, while Carter smiled uncertainly.

The small Frenchman sat to Anna's left, his arm protectively around her, while Carter sat stiffly on her right, a space for the sake of modesty between them. As Hogan paced, LeBeau whispered softly, encouragingly in her ear. Carter tried to smile and nod encouragement at her, but for the most part, he simply looked uncomfortable being in such close proximity to a girl.

Hogan, meanwhile, continued pacing and smoking. He knew that the Gestapo was behind the round up of Allied prisoners that Anna had reported. It was probably part of the overall dragnet they had set up in order to find the escaped prisoners from the transport train.

Remembering Hochstetter's words to Klink in his office, Hogan was certain the prisoners, including Saunders' medic friend, were to be added to the hostage population at the ammunition factory. Still…they first had to survive being interrogated at Gestapo headquarters. Flicking the latest cigarette butt on the tunnel floor, Hogan ground it out with a savage intensity, wishing that it were Hochstetter's head instead.

In addition, Ol' Bubblehead Hochstetter had mentioned using Stalag 13 as a temporary base for housing the prisoners. While Hogan would have loved to wait to get the men practically delivered into his hands, he knew that several of them might not survive the Gestapo's interrogation. No, if the prisoners were to have an even chance, Hogan and his men would have to somehow get them out.

But to break them out of Gestapo headquarters? That was something even he had never tried to do. It was a good way of getting everybody--the prisoners, himself and his men--killed or captured. And what if he or the others were captured and later broke under torture? Who else in the vast Underground network he led--men and women--would suffer the consequences?

Sighing, Hogan shook his head. He knew he had to get the men out before they were subjected to the Gestapo's interrogation methods. Somehow he had to walk in and have Hochstetter hand the Allied prisoners over to him. Simple.

Yeah, and the Easter bunny is gonna pay us all a visit this spring, too. Why were the simplest solutions always the most difficult to carry out? He grumbled.

Smiling suddenly, Hogan remembered the time he had actually convinced Hochstetter that the war was over in order to have him release three Underground leaders. That idea had been beautifully simple, too: He had to somehow get Hochstetter to release the prisoners of his own free will.

Of course, as usual the execution had been just a bit more complicated than that.

First, Hogan arranged to have Klink and Hochstetter listen to fake radio broadcasts announcing that the Allies and Germany had signed a peace treaty, ending the war. With phony newspaper headlines and spontaneous celebrations breaking out all over the camp, Hochstetter was eventually forced to believe the ruse. In fact, he was so completely taken in by the trick that in the end, he had even offered the Underground leaders the use of his personal staff car to return home.

Frowning, Hogan thought about the mad scramble to make his outlandish idea work. It had taken a combination of careful planning and an Academy Award-winning performance on his part to carry it out. The whole situation had been touch and go for a while, and Hogan had been actually sweating near the end. Anything could have gone wrong and blown the entire operation, but his famous luck had held out and the prisoners were released.

Taking out the crumpled cigarette packet, Hogan took out yet another cigarette. Tapping his breast pocket for his book of matches, he realized that he must have misplaced them again. Impatiently, he yanked one of the many burning torches from its wall sconce and used it in lieu of a match, nearly singeing his brows in the process.

Reflecting momentarily, Hogan murmured to himself, "The solution is simple: Get Hochstetter to release the prisoners of his own volition." He sighed. "But as always, it will require a complicated execution--which is yet to be determined."

Taking a long, drag from the fresh cigarette, Hogan restarted his pacing. Stopping in front of Anna, he glared at the young girl, irritated that she had not been able to give him any more information. "Anna, are you sure that Kinch didn't say anything else to you before he took off? Anything at all?"

Her face hidden behind a curtain of long, blonde hair, Anna did not look up from where she sat huddled, a picture of abject misery. She felt as if this whole episode were her fault. Worse, Colonel Hogan, usually so kind and gentle like her father, blamed her, too. "Nein, Herr Oberst," she whispered.

"And the SS soldiers…they made no mention of where they might be taking the prisoners?"

"Nein..." she whispered, "...only that they were to be shot." She paused momentarily, and then continued softly, her voice filled with pain and regret, "Colonel Hogan...I am so sorry. I wish I could have done more…I should have done more. I regret that I have failed you and the mission."

At the quiet formality of her words, Hogan's expression softened. The poor kid actually blames herself, he thought. And it's my fault, he admitted, feeling suddenly guilty. Yelling at her, pushing her around. You're a real heel, Colonel, Hogan silently chastised. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he dropped it on the floor and used the act of stubbing it out as a means to mask his sudden discomfort.

Hogan did not believe that the Gestapo planned on shooting the soldiers--at least not yet. It was probably more of a scare tactic to keep the prisoners in line. Still…Saunders and his men had engineered a mass escape that made the Germans look bad. Hogan knew that the prisoners were indeed facing certain execution sooner or later.

Remembering his sharp tone with Anna, Hogan glanced first at Newkirk and then LeBeau, who studiously looked away, their expressions neutral. On the other hand, Carter who was incapable of hiding his true feelings gave Hogan a hurt-puppy look; however, the young sergeant's expression showed more disappointment than condemnation.

Squaring his shoulders, Hogan walked up to Anna and took her small chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him.

"Anna, forgive me," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to yell at you. Whatever happens…you are not to blame. You did the right thing to come here."

Smiling a bit tremulously, Anna blinked back the tears that threatened and managed a soft, "Danke," before she looked away. "If Father were still alive--" she began.

"--He would not have been able to do more than you did today," Hogan finished. "Your father would have been very proud of you, Anna. I know I am."

"Me, too, cherie," LeBeau murmured at her side, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Looking at each of the soldiers sitting around her, Anna felt enveloped by their friendship. Each man gave her a warm look of comradeship.

Newkirk winked at her and called her "Luv."

Carter blushed, smiled and said, "You bet, boy…uh-I mean, ma'm."

While Baker, a young sergeant she hardly knew, gave her a warm grin and a thumb's up, a hand signal Anna had come to recognize as meaning "a job well done."

"Why don't you fellas catch some shuteye?" Hogan asked. "Roll call will come soon enough."

"Too soon if you ask me," a disembodied said from the shadowy interior of the emergency tunnel. "Then again, my mother always says that a man should be proud to stand up and be counted." Grinning, Kinchloe emerged from the darkness. He and Saunders were assisting a dark-haired, dark-eyed soldier who seemed on the verge of collapse.

"Kinch!" Hogan and others surrounded the group's Prodigal. However, Kinchloe waved them back as he and Saunders attempted to maneuver the barely conscious man to the bunk.

"Get Wilson," Kinchloe snapped, referring to the prisoners' only medic-in-residence. He glanced at Hogan. "I don't think he's in any danger, Colonel. He managed to keep up until about the last mile. After that, we had to give him a hand."

Hogan nodded. "You took a foolish risk, Kinch."

Kinchloe nodded. "Yes, sir." He offered no excuses or explanations. Hogan knew him too well. If the colonel deemed it necessary that he be court-martialed, then Kinchloe would gladly accept his punishment. He did what he had to, plain and simple.

Hogan nodded toward Saunders and the other man. Saunders was placing a wet cloth on the injured man's forehead, grumbling nonstop as he did so. "I knew you were still too weak…always pushing yourself too hard. You're nothing but a headache, pal. Don't think that I won't bring you up on charges when we get back. When I get done with you, Private Paul LeMay, they're gonna bust you so low, you'll need a telescope to look up to a new recruit--!"

"Shut up, Sarge," Caje murmured.

Saunders froze momentarily, then wrung the washcloth and again gently dabbed it on the wounded man's forehead. Grinning slightly, he said in mock severity, "And that's another thing, Caje…this new propensity for insubordination. You know it's not gonna over well with Lieutenant Hanley and Captain Jampel. They'll rake you over the coals. Oh, and don't forget the Sergeant Major--Avery is gonna chew you up and spit you out in little pieces."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you, Sarge?" Caje asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Somebody's gotta keep you in line. It's just been my lousy luck that the stinking job's fallen to me."

As the two friends sparred verbally, Hogan ordered that two more bunks be set up, one next to Caje for Saunders, and another in a small cul-de-sac off a branch tunnel for Anna. LeBeau and Carter rounded up more blankets for their current 'guests' and before long their sleeping arrangements had been settled.

At last, Hogan indicated that it was time to hit the sack. "We'll need all the sleep we can get before this situation is over."

End of Part 9