Chapter Ten: Neverland

As the truck sped through the streets, Hogan quickly assessed the situation. LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk and Baker were safe with him. Schultz was seated in a corner and seemed to be content just being along for the ride. Klink, bound and gagged, appeared to be another story. But due to the muffed noises coming from the officer, Hogan didn't dare remove the gag until they were safely out of town. "Good to see you, too, Kommandant," he said, enjoying the opportunity to openly send a barb his way now that the tables were turned. Then he reached out and squeezed Newkirk's shoulder. "Thanks for coming back for me."

"There was never any question, sir," the Englishman replied.

"Boy, am I glad that you are alright, Colonel," Carter said as he turned around in his seat to look in the back. "You gave us a quite a scare."

LeBeau gave a derisive snort from the driver's seat. "There was never any doubt that the Colonel would escape."

"Really? I don't recall you having that confidence before," Newkirk teased.

"I didn't panic and have to be held back from doing something stupid like someone I could mention."

Schultz shook his head at the familiar bickering before adding an admonition of his own. "Colonel Hogan, I always warned you boys that you would go too far and this time you went too far."

"Couldn't help it, Schultzie. Who would have guessed that old woman was a traitor? Has Granny been taken care of?"

Newkirk tensed up. "Yes."

Realizing that he would have to ask for the details later, he turned instead to the quietest member of their group. "Baker, how'd you end up in that joint?"

"It's a long story, sir, but the short version is that I volunteered to draw attention away from the others. I succeeded a little too well."

"The others?" LeBeau asked.

"They're fine. Kinch has a plan to get everyone out of the country."

Hogan nodded. "Where do we meet up with them?"

"We don't."

Carter looked taken aback at Baker's words. "We're supposed to go to Neverland, but..." he trailed off as if hoping the radioman would share some new information that would change their plans.

"No," Baker insisted. "Kinch was adamant. The best chance we all have is if we split up. We can't risk bringing attention back to camp just in case everyone hasn't gotten clear yet."

Hogan frowned. The news that there still might be people hiding at Stalag Thirteen was new to him. Everyone should have cleared out days ago. Kinch was improvising which meant that something had gone wrong. There were definitely important details that his men were not telling him. "Baker..."

"Sir, I need you to trust Kinch. He's got a plan."

"But we can't leave him behind!" Carter protested.

"You want us to run away from a friend?" Newkirk asked. "Not bloody likely."

Sensing that things were about to spiral out of control, Hogan held out a hand. "Gentlemen, before we make any decisions, bring me up to speed. Do we have communications with the others?"

"No," four voices replied simultaneously.

"Do we know where they are right now?"

"No," Baker replied immediately.

"No," three more voices reluctantly replied a few seconds later.

"The search parties?"

"Just the guards from camp and the local Gestapo," Baker said. "They're working their way out from the camp in rings. The immediate area around Stalag Thirteen is clear, but we would still have to go through them to get back to camp."

"That's all!" Hogan exclaimed. There was no way he had heard the radioman correctly; a mass escape should have set off a large scale response. "You're saying there has been no reinforcements?"

"They're all at the front," Schultz whispered.

That almost made sense; Klink had been severely understaffed for months as the Allies closed in on Germany. The latest intelligence they had received mentioned that conditions were so desperate that the German military was sending Hitler Youth boys to the front. And while this helped explain his men's success at avoiding recapture so far, the truth was that with almost three hundred men running around the countryside, not even in the best possible scenario would only one POW have been recaptured. Something wasn't adding up.

"Sir," LeBeau said softly from the driver's seat, "Olsen is holding the sub for us at Neverland. He went ahead of us to shut down the escape route, but ..."

"You don't know how long he will be able to wait."

"Correct."

Hogan didn't like his choices. He didn't like them at all. His heart wanted to follow Newkirk and Carter but Baker's and LeBeau's voices of reason were winning out. "Gentlemen, as much as I would love to swing by camp and show our guests our underground apartments-"

Renewed muffled shouts interrupted his thoughts. Klink was struggling against his bonds, so after checking that they were clear of the town and driving down a country road, Hogan pulled off the officer's gag and asked, "Have something to add, Kommandant?"

"Colonel Hogan, I must protest! Your men-"

"Sir, whether or not you realize it, my men just saved your life. Do you really think your superiors would show mercy to a man that lost an entire camp of prisoners? They won't even waste time sending you to the Eastern Front."

"Hogan! This is all your fault. If only you would have listened-"

The American officer raised the gag, which caused Klink to stop mid sentence. Turning his attention back to his men, he said, "I've made my decision. We go to Neverland. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," a mix of voices replied.

The decision made, Hogan tried to get comfortable in his seat. The sheer exhaustion of the last few days weighed heavily upon him. He needed to rest and he had finally closed his eyes when Klink spoke again. "Colonel Hogan?"

Hogan opened his eyes. Klink appeared as if he was trying to convince himself to ask something he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Yes, Kommandant?"

"Was what Hochstetter said true? About you being Papa Bear? The sabotage, the missing flyers?"

For the first time in a long time, Hogan looked at Klink and did not see an enemy or a target or a even a piece in a con, he just saw a man. A man struggling to understand. A man determined to cling to the last vestiges of his pride. They would have a reckoning someday, but today was not that day. "Go to sleep, Kommandant. We have a long journey ahead of us and, for you, the war is over."

Kinch glanced at the twenty-seven men crammed into the radio room. Each was from a different barracks and had been chosen by lot. These men would sneak out of camp, meet up with the plane and escape. If all went well, they would be in London by dawn. These soldiers had a real chance to get out of Germany, and the weight and responsibility of that opportunity did not escape them; a mix of excitement and fear flickered across their faces.

Kinch wondered if this was how Hogan felt every time he had briefed them on a mission. His stomach twisted in knots while he went over the plan one last time. Only when he was confident that every man knew his route, how to signal the plane and, most importantly, had memorized the message he needed passed on to London did his nerves begin to settle. They were good men; they could do this.

It was strange looking into those faces. Some he knew quite well while others he had only seen in passing. He should say something. Hogan probably would have given a speech, but when he opened his mouth, the only words that came out were his final orders, "Say your final goodbyes and meet me at the emergency exit in fifteen."

Wordlessly, the nervous men shuffled back into the network of tunnels until only one man remained. Sergeant Anderson looked at his former barracks mate and asked, "You sure you don't need help to manage the men here? Everyone is behaving now, but they will get restless the longer they're cooped up in these tunnels."

"Sarge, if I could keep you I would. But London is only sending one plane. The only way the rest of us are getting out of here alive is if you convince them to send more. You're British and the highest ranked prisoner left. You're our best chance."

"I'm no Colonel Hogan."

"You don't need to be."

"I'm starting to think we should send you."

"We both know that's not possible."

Anderson sighed. "You're right; it's a nasty habit of yours, you know. I'll lead the crew and when I get to London, I'll get down on my knees and beg if I have to. But how will you know if the plan worked?"

"I won't," Kinch confessed. "I'll send the men out on schedule and, if the planes don't show, their orders will be the same as yours. Make their way across the country by any means they can. Some will make it, some won't. But by staggering the groups, it should give us a chance."

The Englishman nodded. "It's time."

Kinch followed his friend into the tunnels, which were crowded even more than he ever thought possible. Men stood on top of each other, lining the halls. As they squeezed through, many of the prisoners reached out to Anderson to shake his hand, to give him a pat on his back, to wish him luck, to say goodbye. Kinch couldn't help but be touched by the sight.

Reaching the exit, Kinch stepped to the side, counted the men and then nodded at Barnes and watched the POW use the periscope to check the area. "Clear as day."

Anderson was first. He wrapped Kinch in a quick embrace and said, "I'll convince them. I promise."

"I believe in you."

Tears threatened to fill his eyes while Kinch watched Anderson climb the ladder, open the hatch and disappear from sight. Instead, he choose to focus on the next man in line. And as each soldier passed, Kinch shook his hand and said one word, "Godspeed."

LeBeau had almost forgotten the smell of a fish market in the early morning. An aroma that garnered complaints from the ignorant, but it made the chef in him sing. He had spent so many mornings in the markets of Paris, finding only the freshest and best to prepare that evening.

A burst of homesickness washed over him as the memories came flooding back. Soon, he told himself. Soon. He was so close. If all went well, he would be in London by the time the sun rose tomorrow and then he would be free to go home. Home to Paris - a free Paris! But before he could escape, they needed to find the one man who could get them out of Germany: Captain Hook.

Not even Colonel Hogan knew much about the man who ferried allied prisoners, political enemies and prisoners to the submarine. A necessary precaution in the Underground. There were only two ways to met up with him: by taking the escape route (a route that was now closed if Olsen had succeeded in his task) or by arranging a rendezvous via radio (a piece of equipment they currently lacked). They knew he was a fisherman since that was how he smuggled his human cargo out to sea. So the escapees figured that the fish market was the best place to begin their search.

Armed only with his culinary knowledge, false papers and a code phrase, LeBeau had volunteered to track down the Captain. He just hoped the man had left behind some sort of clue...

LeBeau moved through the market slowly, taking his time to inspect freshly caught trout or piles of salmon. He lingered over a beautiful specimen of pike that he longed to steam with some lemon and thyme. But none of the stalls he passed gave any hint that this could be the one. He didn't want to start dropping the code at every stall, but if his first walk around the market didn't reveal any possibilities, he might be forced to try.

At a small stall near the back, an older man with sea-weathered skin held up a large trout as he enticed the crowd to draw close. LeBeau wasn't reeled in by the pitch but rather by the large fishing hook that was driven into the table in front of him. "How much?"

The man named a price that was absurd even in the middle of a war so LeBeau scoffed, "For that? Even a starving bear would throw it back at that price. I'll take it for half."

The fisherman snorted. "Half? The only bear I know is father to a litter of cubs and would surely pay my price for the service I provide."

Litter of cubs. Papa Bear. This man had to be their contact! LeBeau lowered his voice and asked, "Captain Hook?"

"Aye. Papa Bear?"

"One of his cubs. Is the route to Neverland still open?"

Hook nodded and then suddenly shifted gears. "My price is final. Should I wrap this up for you?"

"You drive a hard bargain-"

A strong hand pulled LeBeau back from the stand. He jerked away and turned, looking right into the face of a Gestapo officer. "Papers!" the man demanded.

LeBeau did his best to remain calm as he handed them over. The German studied them carefully and then eyed the escaped POW suspiciously. "You're a French laborer?"

"Yes, I am a loyal supporter of Vichy. I fled Paris when our enemies approached."

The officer didn't look convinced. "Where is your work station?"

"I serve General Kinchmeyer-"

"You serve on General Kinchmeyer's staff?"

"I'm his chef. And if my papers are in order, I must go. The General is very demanding and he is hosting a very important guest tonight."

"We received no word that General Kinchmeyer is in town."

"Well, I shouldn't say anything, it's all very hush, hush." LeBeau leaned in as if to let the officer in on a secret. "Surprise inspection of the coastal defense."

The man handed back the papers. "These are in order."

LeBeau was about turn back to the stall when he noticed another soldier approach with a hand on the arm of a civilian. "Sir, I think I found a deserter," the soldier said as he pushed forward a familiar looking young man in civilian clothing.

Olsen! What was he doing here? Thinking fast, LeBeau stormed right up to his friend. "There you are, you lazy sod! Isn't it a little early to be looking for the bar?" Then looking at the Gestapo officer, he said, "To think this is the soldier General Kinchmeyer gives me. Here I am, scrounging up food for the General's table and he wanders off, leaving me to carry the bags." Then as if that sentence suddenly reminded him of what was missing, he yelled, "Where are the vegetables? You know how the General gets when there is no asparagus on the table."

"I paid a boy to deliver them," Olsen lied.

"You fool. If those greens grace the table of a local family, it will be both our heads! Have you forgotten that he is entertaining tonight? Mon Dieu! What am I supposed to do?"

"Why is he out of uniform?" the Lieutenant asked.

"Better prices," LeBeau replied. "The locals believe that you soldiers have money to burn."

Anger flashed in the Gestapo officer's eyes and he turned on poor Hook. "Is this true?"

"No, Herr Lieutenant. The Frenchie is spreading lies. In fact, I have a little something set aside for your Major."

The way in which the German nonchalantly accepted the bribe told LeBeau that this was not the first time. But it seemed to satisfy his suspicions. He took his fish and his man and walked off, searching for another person to harass.

With the immediate threat over, Hook grabbed a piece of newspaper to wrap the trout. "How many?"

LeBeau instinctively knew he wasn't talking about fish. "Eight."

After taping the wrapper closed, the fisherman handed it over, bidding the Frenchman, "Auf Wiedersehen."

The two escaped POWs walked silently for several blocks before Olsen laid a hand on the LeBeau's arm and steered him into a deserted alley. After ducking behind a pile of crates, he said, "Thanks for the save back there. Did you find Hogan?"

"Yes, and a few others. What were you doing wandering the streets?"

"Looking for you. Hook and I guessed you'd try the market, but we didn't think you'd find him on your own."

Speaking of Hook, LeBeau lifted the newspaper wrapper on his fish. Ignoring the German propaganda, he spotted the hastily written time and place. Showing it to Olsen, he asked, "Do you know where this is?

"Yes, a few miles east of town."

LeBeau grinned. Everything was falling perfectly into place. "Let's go tell the others the good news."