Chapter Twelve: Last

It was weird to see the tunnels empty again. They weren't really empty, but that was the thought running through Barnes' mind as he walked through them. For only twenty-two men remained. Twenty-two current and former residents of Barracks Two tasked with being the last men to leave Stalag Thirteen.

After the forced inactivity of the past couple days, none of them had complained when Kinch put them to work. From sensitive documents to machinery to clothing, all of it needed to be destroyed or made inoperable. They didn't want to risk leaving anything behind that could be used to aid their enemies or betray their contacts in the Underground. There had been a lively debate about blowing up the camp. Carter had left behind enough supplies and Scotty was trained in using them, but Kinch had decided it was best not to draw attention to the existence of the tunnels or the fact that they had remained in camp days after the Germans believed they had left.

Barnes picked up code books from Kinch, who was in the middle of dismantling the radio, and then walked past Greenberg, Abrams and Hanson, who were digging a large hole in a side tunnel - pieces of the broken printing press lying beside them.

When he reached a ladder, Barnes climbed up to the Kommandant's quarters where he spotted Addison and Saunders feeding papers into the furnace while Davis, Broughton and Foster kept watch. He knelt on the ground beside his friends and slowing began to rip pages from the codebooks and add them to the fire. Watching the paper curl and burn was equally satisfying and terrifying. The fiery destruction of those codes signaled to Barnes more than anything else that his time in this camp was over. For as much as he hated it here, tonight he would be leaving the place he had called home for years.

"Do you think we'll make it?" he asked his barracks' mates.

"I hope so," Foster replied.

Sauder added another page to the fire. "Kinch seems confident."

"That's his job," Davis countered.

Addison paused in his task and said, "We've made it this far. And escaping sounds more plausible than most of the things we've done."

"True," Broughton agreed.

"Think," Saunders said, "if we pull this off, we'll be able to tell our children that we escaped instead of lying and saying that we sat around in a POW camp for most of the war."

Broughton raised an eyebrow. "That's bold of you to say; assuming that you'll find a woman willing to marry you."

Saunders's jaw dropped while the rest of them burst into laughter. Tension eased, and Barnes settled back into his task. He didn't know what tonight would bring, but at least he would face it with the best group of mates he had ever had.

LeBeau stared at the unappetizing pile of food, trying to work up the courage to try it. But the more he looked at the fatty meat, lumpy potatoes and mushy peas, the more his stomach revolted. "This is not food," he announced, pushing the plate away.

"What?" Newkirk exclaimed. "Bangers and mash is a national delicacy."

"It is pretty good," Carter said as he shoved another forkful in his mouth. The American had consumed an alarming amount of food at each meal ever since they had arrived at the airbase.

"Better than bread made with sawdust," Baker teased.

LeBeau was not convinced. "I'd rather eat camp food than this swill."

Newkirk groaned. "Are we going to have to listen to this at every meal?"

"You're one to talk."

"Because the meals you made weren't real food."

"And beans and toast is?"

"Hey," Olsen protested. "I thought it was a good breakfast."

"See," Newkirk said, "even Yanks appreciate fine dining when they see it."

LeBeau was two seconds away from unleashing a string of choice French words that would have made his mother blush when he spotted Colonel Hogan walk into the mess with Group Captain Roberts at his side. After their CO parted from his friend, who also happened to be the base commander, the officer grabbed a plate and was about to sit down when the Frenchman pounced. "Mon Colonel, please, I need you to convince Roberts to allow me into the kitchen. I'll cook for the base if I have to, but I cannot survive another meal in this place."

Hogan grinned as he joined them." Sorry, LeBeau. While I would love to see what you could do with a well-stocked pantry, I doubt you'll have the time."

That, unfortunately, was true. Three long days of debriefing and their handlers showed no signs that they were nearing the end. Even the mess hall was almost empty since most of the other escaped POWs and the men stationed here had eaten hours ago. Which meant that if LeBeau wanted to eat, he didn't have a choice. He needed to gag down something on his plate. He immediately dismissed the peas because some barbarian had boiled them. How that wasn't considered an act of treason, he would never know. He managed to choke down a couple bites of the greasy sausage before his stomach started to protest. The potatoes could have been edible with less fat and more herbs but with no better option, he grudgingly ate.

Carter, now on his second plate, asked, "Colonel, any word when Kinch and the others will arrive?"

Hogan set down his fork. "The plane is scheduled to take off in two hours and it's a three hour round trip so around 0200."

Not even this disgusting excuse for a dinner could steal LeBeau's joy upon hearing this news. Even though the airbase was bursting at the seams with escaped prisoners, the hole caused by the missing men from Barracks Two was felt by everyone. No one wanted to celebrate until they knew that all their comrades were safe.

"I found a lounge overlooking the runway where we can wait," Olsen said.

"I'll bring the cards," Newkirk added.

"No poker," Baker insisted. "I'm finally getting my back pay and I have no intention of losing it."

"Fine, gin rummy. Friendly game."

Carter smiled. "You're on."

The hours passed quickly and when Newkirk suggested going outside to watch the Gooney Bird take off, LeBeau, Carter and Baker decided to join him. However, for Lebeau, the sounds and sights of an active runway brought back of a flood of memories of serving in France. Soon, he promised himself. Once he knew the others were safe, he'd swim across the channel if he had to in order to get home.

The C-47 lined up on the runway, but as soon as it took off, LeBeau knew something was very wrong. Carter gasped and Newkirk swore when smoke began billowing out the left side. The pilot was good and he quickly managed to circle back around for an emergency landing.

Everyone held their breath while the plane skidded down the runway to a bumpy stop. The fire suppression crews moved in fast while others pulled the injured, but still living pilot from the plane while the other crew stumbled out behind him.

Realizing that they were on a deadline and unwilling to leave a friend behind, LeBeau grabbed Newkirk and shouted, "Have the ground crew ready another plane. I'll get Colonel Hogan."

LeBeau raced across the tarmac and through the building until he reached the lounge where they had been waiting. There he found Hogan in the middle of a lively conversation with Group Captain Roberts. "Mon Colonel!"

"I saw."

"Sir, Newkirk has them prepping another plane; we can still save them! We just need a flight crew."

Hogan turned back to Roberts."Call your men," he ordered.

Sadness flickered across the English officer's face as he said, "Hogan, I have fighter crews on standby, not cargo crews. By the time I wake up some men and they take off, they'll be too late to make the rendezvous."

Colonel Hogan looked the British officer directly in the eye and announced, "I'll fly it."

"And I'll help crew it," LeBeau volunteered.

"We both know that's not possible," Roberts replied.

"I am more than capable of handling a C-47," Hogan insisted.

"I don't doubt that, but we both know that General O'Malley will never authorize you returning to Germany." Roberts reached out and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Rob, but your men are on their own."

Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe walked the tunnels under Stalag Thirteen for the last time. He had spent countless hours down there, sitting beside the radio, talking with friends, thinking up new ways to trick the Germans. It was weird thinking that he would never return to this place again. It wasn't that he wanted to stay. No, he was more than ready to leave and reunite with his family. It was just hard thinking that he might never again experience the community, the friendships and the equality he had felt in this place.

But as he approached the others waiting by the emergency exit, he pushed down his doubts and fears and chose to be calm and hopeful. "Ready?"

"Been waiting years for this moment," Saunders joked as the other men laughed and added their affirmatives.

Kinch reached up and pulled down the periscope to check the perimeter one last time. "All clear. Go!"

Barnes didn't waste any time as he climbed up the ladder with Davis right on his heels. One by one, the last men of Stalag Thirteen exited the camp and gathered in the woods outside the fence. Without speaking, they separated into three groups. Each would take their own path east to the designated spot.

The Stalag Thirteen luck remained with them and they only had to dodge one patrol before they arrived at the rendezvous point. One group had beat them there and the other was only three minutes behind them. Checking his watch, Kinch ordered, "Keep watch. Our ride should be here in twenty."

The XO sat down on a log that gave him some cover but also provided him with a good view of the field and the sky above. He did his best not to check his watch every couple of seconds, but failed miserably, especially as the minutes passed and the designated time came and went. The others starting shooting him concerned looks while the seconds continued to tick by. When ten minutes late stretched to fifteen, Davis approached with worry etched on every line of his face.

Kinch spoke first. "Give it another ten. They may have had to dodge patrols."

"Right," he replied. "I'll tell the others."

Those ten minutes were the longest of Kinch's life. He worried not just for himself but for every single man he had sent out of camp with the hope that where just a short plane flight to London and to freedom. Had any of them made it? The first group, surely, but not even they were guaranteed. And if the first group hadn't made their flight, then there was no hope for the rest of them. Stop it, he yelled at himself. He knew there had been a good chance that this would happen. He had prepared for this. But as the minutes ticked past with no salvation in sight, he wondered if he had simply deceived himself into thinking that he could lead as well as Hogan.

Rising from his spot, he gave a weak smile and said, "Looks like they're not coming. You all know what to-"

"Quiet," Greenberg hissed as he raced over from where he had been keeping watch. "Patrol."

They all moved by instinct, diving into nearby brush or up nearby trees. Kinch checked the pistol at his hip. He knew it wouldn't be enough to win in a fight but it might help him create a diversion or ensure that he wasn't captured alive...

A tree branch shook above his head, forcing Kinch to lose his morbid train of thought. He spotted Broughton trying to get his attention and pointing up into the air.

Kinch searched the sky and as soon as he spotted it, he heard it, too. Their ride had arrived.

Watching the Gooney Bird circle above, he had no doubt that this was the plane they had been waiting for, but Kinch didn't know whether to laugh or cry. London had pulled through, but it wasn't safe to land. His flashlight stayed at his hip and when Addison motioned to ask if he should signal with his, he shook his head 'no.'

But the plane didn't leave. It kept circling and started to descend. It was going to land!

Kinch cursed the pilot. The man must have a death wish! Moving slowly toward Greenberg, he spotted the patrol off in the distance, and realized that they, too, had noticed the plane and were now headed their way.

"What should we do?" Greenberg asked.

"Gather the others and run for the plane as soon as it lands. I'll provide a diversion."

Kinch drew his weapon, switched off the safety and waited for the right moment. The guards came into range just as he heard his friends move from their hiding places. He let off one shot in the Germans' direction and watched in satisfaction as they hit the dirt. He waited until a head poked up before firing another warning shot. If only he could keep them in hiding...

The same scene repeated itself several times until loud shouts caused him to glance over his shoulder to see that the others had made it to safety. Quickly firing his final shots, he then tossed his gun to the side and sprinted for the plane. Zigzagging across the field, he willed himself to move faster to avoid the gunfire behind him.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him into the plane, while Newkirk - Newkirk - closed the hatch and shouted, "Go! Go! Go!"

Kinch collapsed into the closest seat, his hands shaking as he attempted to buckle his seat belt. LeBeau reached over and helped him finish while the plane picked up speed and raced down the field. They bounced around in the air, the pilot engaged in what he presumed were defensive maneuvers. But after a few minutes, the aircraft settled down and Kinch found that he could breathe normally again.

"You okay?" LeBeau asked.

Kinch nodded. "I'm fine. But what happened? We would have been long gone if that patrol hadn't shown up."

"Sorry about that," Newkirk said. "Bloody desk officers acted like a mechanical issue with the first plane was a good enough reason to scrap the whole mission. But the Governor set them straight."

Governor. Hogan! They saved him! But where... of course! Who else would have been crazy enough to attempt that landing?

Once they had settled into cruising altitude, Carter stepped into the cargo hold, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at all his friends. "Boy, am I glad to see you guys! Kinch, you can take my spot in the cockpit. Someone wants to see you."

Rising from his seat, Kinch squeezed friend's shoulder as they passed. "Good to see you, too."

Stepping into the cockpit, Kinch didn't realize just how much he needed to see Colonel Hogan until the pilot gestured for his co-pilot to take the controls and then looked back over his shoulder with that familiar cocky grin. "Kinch."

"Colonel." Then glancing around, he was shocked but very pleased to see Baker sitting in the radio operator's chair. "Baker! You made it to Neverland?"

"Eventually," Baker replied. "Took a detour through Gestapo HQ, but Colonel Hogan let me tag along on his rescue so it all worked out."

"The others?"

"Waiting for us in England," Hogan said. "They all got out, Kinch. Every single man. And I'm told that it's all thanks to you."

Kinch sank into the navigator's chair, not sure what to say or think. They had all made it! Even for Stalag Thirteen, that sounded too impossible to believe.

Changing the subject, Hogan gestured toward the man beside him. "Do you remember Group Captain Roberts?"

"Vaguely. You needed help with a double?"

"Yes, and while I'm grateful you lot got me out of that mess, I want it to be noted that I will probably be court-martialed for this when we return."

Hogan waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I'll handle the General. Our own side can't be worse than Germans."

Kinch chuckled. He suspected HQ was very soon going to wish that Hogan had stayed in Stalag Thirteen for the duration. But not wanting to get too cocky, he turned his attention to his instruments. They wouldn't be out of the woods until they landed this plane in England. The last thing he wanted to do was guide them in the wrong direction.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, though he had to admit that a large lump appeared in the back of throat when he looked out the window and saw the English coast.

Once the plane came to a landed safely, Hogan began taxing toward the base, where... Blinking his eyes several times, Kinch realized that what he was he was looking at was people. A lot of people. People cheering, hugging and jumping into the air. "Is that?"

"Looks like it," Baker replied.

As they drew closer then came to a full stop, Kinch began to pick out individual faces. "Colonel, look, they've lined up to greet you."

"They're not there for me." Hogan said and looked back over his shoulder. "They're here for you."

"Excuse me?"

Hogan motioned for Baker and Roberts to exit the cockpit before rising from his seat and then walking over to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Kinch, did you ever wonder why we never made detailed plans for an evacuation?"

Kinch shook his head no.

"I knew that if things ever got that bad, the only thing we could do was run, scatter and hope that a few of us would make it out of the country in one piece. I never imagined that we would be able to do more than that. And those men out there, they knew that, too.

"Every single person in Stalag Thirteen, including me, is alive today because of you. You kept your head, you came up with a plan, and you followed it through."

"I...I don't know what to say, sir."

"You're an exceptional leader, Kinch. Don't let anyone tell you different. Now, let's go. There's a lot of people who want to thank you."