Chapter Eight
23 January 1945
When a message from London instructed Papa Bear to meet with a French Underground agent and give him all possible assistance, the men of Stalag 13 knew they would have to ignore the bad weather and resume operations.
With the tree stump entrance to the tunnel system still buried under the recent snow, the operatives decided to use the laundry truck that came in regularly to pick up and deliver for the camp guards. After one brief phone call, the truck suddenly developed "mechanical difficulties" that kept it from arriving at the Stalag until after the last roll call of the night, but it carried extra cargo when it left: Hogan, Le Beau and Newkirk, curled up among the sacks.
The trio was to meet the agent and wait in the woods with him until Oscar Schnitzer came by with the dog truck early the next morning. The veterinarian would pick them up and return them to Stalag 13 as he made the routine exchange of the camp German shepherds. All before the first roll call of the day.
When the laundry truck came to a stop outside the camp, Hogan and his men hopped out and melted into the woods, gathering in the shadow of a large tree. "Okay, now we've got to spread out and find this guy quickly before we all freeze to death or get shot. Everybody clear on the recognition signal and the rendezvous point?"
"Oui, mon Colonel. The signal is 'Star light, star bright', and he must answer, 'There are no stars out tonight.'" Le Beau rolled his eyes. "Who makes up these codes anyway?"
"Right, an' we all meet up again about a half mile down the road where that big clump of pine trees is. Piece of cake, gov'nor." Newkirk looked at Le Beau and grinned. "Unless we lose ol' Louis here in a snow bank or something, that is."
Hogan shook his head and smiled. "Save it for later. Let's go find Le Beau's lost countryman." The Colonel headed deeper into the woods, moving carefully as he made his way through the heavy snow.
At five minute intervals, Le Beau and Newkirk moved out as well, taking paths that put them on a parallel course to Hogan. This let them cover more ground, yet stay reasonably close to each other in case of trouble.
Not long after Newkirk started out, machine gun fire tore through the silence of the woods, only to be answered by the bark of a pistol. The two weapons kept up their chatter as the Englishman began making his way toward the firefight as quickly as he could. Newkirk had just caught up with Le Beau when a final burst from the machine gun signaled an end to the battle.
"That sounds like it came from just about where Colonel Hogan ought to be," Newkirk whispered as he and Le Beau crouched behind a tree.
The Frenchman nodded but didn't speak as both men turned toward the sound of someone moving through the underbrush. Le Beau took a tighter grip on his pistol as a few more steps were heard, followed by the noise of something hitting the ground.
The two men traded looks, then Newkirk eased his way out of hiding and crawled through the snow, heading for where the sounds had come from. Shortly after, Newkirk found a man dressed in civilian clothing lying on forest floor, hand clutched to a badly-bleeding chest wound. "Star light, star bright?" Newkirk asked, as he started to examine the man's injuries.
The man's bloody hand came up to grip Newkirk's own as he stammered out his reply. "Oui... il n'y a… étoiles… ce soir."
"Easy there, mate. That's good enough for me." The Englishman untangled his hand and pressed it against the Underground agent's chest. He looked back to where Le Beau was hiding, signaling him forward with a wave of his free hand. When Le Beau crouched beside them, Newkirk nodded to the dying agent. "Talk to him, Louis, an' find out as much as you can about his mission. Then ask him if he saw Colonel Hogan… if you get the chance."
Le Beau nodded, leaned down and whispered into his fellow Frenchman's ear. That set off a rapid-fire conversation in French that went on until the agent was overcome with a coughing spasm that shook his entire body.
Newkirk swore under his breath as blood poured out from under the hands he kept pressed to the man's chest. After a few final words, the agent suddenly became very still. The Englishman fumbled at the man's neck, checking for a pulse as Le Beau scrambled away, having lost the battle to control his heaving stomach.
After briefly scrubbing his hands with snow, Newkirk moved away from the body and crouched next to Le Beau. "You okay there, mate?" At the Frenchman's shaky nod, he went on. "Was he able to tell you anything useful?"
"Oui, Pierre." Le Beau wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "He was being chased by a Boche patrol, and they caught up just as Colonel Hogan had found him. They started shooting and the Colonel stayed back to cover his escape. He also said that he thought the Colonel may have been captured." Le Beau pulled out his pistol and started to stand.
Newkirk reached up and caught Le Beau's arm. "Hang on a minute. Did he say anything about the mission?"
"He gave me most of the important details before he… died." Le Beau nodded toward the body. "We lost a good man there today, and if we do not get moving, we will lose another."
"You're not coming with me, Louis." Newkirk looked the Frenchman in the eyes as he spoke. "You're the only one now who knows what that man died to bring here. It's your job to get back to camp with the information, and it's mine to go after the gov'nor."
Le Beau opened his mouth to protest, and Newkirk cut him off harshly. "Besides, you know what'll happen if the Krauts find out who they've got, especially since we're not in uniform tonight. You have to get back and tell Kinch to be ready to evacuate the camp in case I don't show up with the gov'nor in time for roll call. You know as well as I do that's the way Colonel Hogan would want it."
"Je comprends, Pierre. Bonne chance." Le Beau nodded, then turned away and headed for the rendezvous point.
Newkirk went back to the Underground agent's body and took a pistol from the dead man's pocket. "I hope your information was bloody well worth the price." He shook his head, then tucked the pistol under his belt at the small of his back before starting down the back trail.
A few minutes later, Newkirk arrived at the scene of the firefight. He circled the area, noting the scattering of spent brass that marked the machine gun positions before stopping to examine a large patch of disturbed snow. He crouched down to pick up an empty cartridge, nodding as he saw that it was .45 caliber and of American manufacture. "Well, gov'nor, it looks like you put up a good fight, don't it?" he whispered to himself as he continued to look around.
The spot of fresh blood on top of the trampled snow gave Newkirk a cold chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Taking a closer look, he realized that he was seeing the tracks of three men going away from the battleground, and to judge from the frequent drag marks in the snow, one of them was being hauled along by force. The Englishman absently stuck the .45 casing into his pocket and started rapidly along the new trail.
Only an innate sense of caution kept the Corporal from running as he followed the tracks in the snow; however, he soon caught up with the men who were leaving the trail. Newkirk heard them before he saw them, pinpointing their position from the sounds of curt German commands and a familiar American voice giving them a rather flippant reply.
Grinning at Hogan's rarely-failing cheekiness, Newkirk moved forward and ducked behind a tree. He picked up a branch and deliberately broke it, tossing the pieces into the underbrush a few feet away. The Germans stopped at once, one of them keeping a tight grip on Hogan as the other swung his machine gun up toward the sound.
Another twig snapping. Snow dropping from a struck branch onto the earth below. One guard moved away, motioning for the other to keep Hogan firmly in his grasp. It wouldn't be hard; the Colonel was sagging a bit, grimacing in obvious pain as blood oozed out through a hole in the left sleeve of his dark shirt.
The shot came so fast that it was almost impossible to see what direction it had come from. Suddenly the guard who had begun to scan the perimeter of the woods was lying on his back on the ground, his body twitching as again the snow started to absorb the blood of another victim of the war. The remaining guard jerked Hogan further into the clearing, shoving the barrel of his gun against the wounded man and whirling around with him to find the hidden assassin. "Herausgekommen!" he shouted. Only silence answered him. He pulled Hogan harder, pushing him onto his knees in the snow and leveling the gun at the back of his head. "Herausgekommen oder werde ich diesen Mann schießen!"
By now, the German language was second-nature to the Englishman. But he would have understood the threat even without the words: Come out, or this man would be shot. And this time the guard was so closethe shot wouldn't just wing him. Hogan was leaning forward, braced against his manacled hands, with blood dripping onto the snow from a deep cut on his cheek. Newkirk came into the clearing, hands in the air, his pistol in sight. "Ich bin hier!" he shouted. The guard turned quickly, still holding the gun against Hogan. Newkirk looked at his commanding officer and felt his heart lurch. "I'm here," he repeated in English. "Don't shoot him."
Hogan glanced up and groaned aloud when he saw Newkirk tossing his gun into a snowdrift and moving in. "No…" he moaned. "Damn it, you should have gone back!"
The guard watched cautiously as Newkirk squatted next to Hogan in the snow. "What, and let you wander around Germany without me? You Yanks couldn't find your way out of a paper sack without a compass and a road map!"
Hogan shook his head. "They'll go hard on you—you've just killed one of them!" he protested fruitlessly.
"An' it was worth every hit I'll take, sir." He tried to help Hogan to rise. "Come on, gov'nor. You'd better not stay down here in the snow. You'll catch your death of cold." With effort, he pulled Hogan off the ground.
Hogan blinked and put a cuffed hand to his forehead. "Sorry, I'm just a bit… dazed, I think." He shook his head and straightened. "I'm all right now."
"Schritt weg von ihm." The guard waved his machine gun to underscore his order for the men to separate. Newkirk glanced at Hogan and nodded, taking a couple of steps away from the Colonel and glaring at the German. The guard kept his gun trained on the Colonel, and, looking at Newkirk, said in perfect English, "You run, he dies."
"Bloody charmin'," Newkirk replied not quite under his breath. "You must have taken English lessons just to say that in that menacing tone you Krauts seem to do so well." He moved away from Hogan, putting his hands behind his head as if to emphasize his surrender.
Hogan exchanged quick glances with the Corporal and waited for the guard to move to within a few inches of the Colonel before considering any plan. The German waved his gun one more time. "Schnell!"
Hogan's eyes met the guard's, then suddenly the Colonel swayed and started sinking to the ground with a moan. "Was ist los?" the German asked, leaning down toward Hogan. But before the guard could reach him, a knife struck his hand and he dropped his gun, crying out in pain. He turned and saw Newkirk standing smugly a couple of feet away. Then Hogan, resurrected, raised his cuffed hands and swung hard at the guard's face. He followed up by ramming his shoulder and head into the guard's gut, pushing the man off balance and sending himself face first into the snow beside him.
The guard tried desperately to reach for his weapon, which had gone flying when Newkirk's "pencil sharpener" pierced his hand, and which was even further away now that Hogan had crashed into him. But it was all over before it had begun, when Newkirk reached back for the small pistol he had taken from the Underground agent and fired one perfect, deadly shot.
Newkirk kept the gun trained on the man in case he got up unexpectedly, but after only a few seconds it was clear that was not going to happen. He shoved the gun in his pocket and ran to Hogan, who was still lying in the snow, trying to catch his breath. "Colonel 'Ogan!" He put his hands on Hogan's shoulders and tried to sit him up. The whiteness of Hogan's face and the clamminess of his skin scared the Englishman.
Hogan nodded vaguely. "I'm all right," he said, still drawing in panting breaths. "Just… need to rest a minute." He looked over at the guard. "Your gun…"
Newkirk shrugged and offered Hogan a small grin. "Well, he only needed to think I had the one, now, didn't he?" he asked. Hogan shook his head and smiled tiredly. "Which of these beauties has the keys to the handcuffs?" Hogan gestured to the guard beside them. Newkirk got up and started digging through the man's pockets. "Wouldn't do for Klink to see you in someone else's jewelry, would it?" He quickly found the keys and released Hogan from the restraints. Hogan nodded his thanks, worn out, and Newkirk laid a reassuring hand on the Colonel's back. "Let's get this arm wrapped up." He looked around for something he could use to tie off Hogan's wound, and decided on the scarf he found around the dead man's neck and a large kerchief he carried in his own pocket.
Hogan watched the ministrations offered by Newkirk, tensing when the stinging brought tears to his eyes. He tried to change the subject to distract himself. "That was pretty reckless, Newkirk," he said, not accusing or angry. "You should have gone back."
Newkirk paused in his work. "Would you have, gov'nor?"
Hogan shook his head carefully. "No." He laughed softly. "It looks like you had it all planned out. That knife you always carry behind your back, the extra gun…"
"I did." Newkirk smiled and resumed his work. Hogan looked at him questioningly. "Louis's gone back to camp with the information from Star Bright. We had to make sure it got there. But I knew if the Gestapo got hold of you, it would be bad news for you and for the operation, and then everyone would be in trouble." He stopped. "To tell you the truth, when I saw you kneeling in the snow I just wanted to rush right in, guns blazing."
"But that would have meant we both got killed," Hogan finished for him, flinching at the final tightening of the makeshift dressing.
Newkirk nodded. "So I waited."
"And planned. You had to think of everyone."
"I guess I did at that." Newkirk nudged Hogan lightly and added, "And you got yourself a pretty good hit in, as well. I didn't think you would do that."
Hogan shrugged. "I knew I was going to hit him if I could, but I didn't expect to tackle him." He shook his head. "It felt good."
Newkirk laughed. "So we've both learned a bit about what it's like on the other side of the fence, I guess."
"I guess," Hogan agreed. He sighed and looked at the lifeless body beside him. More death. More killing. When would it be over? Hogan suddenly felt very tired.
Newkirk understood. "Come on," he said softly, "let's go home." The Englishman helped Hogan to stand, then he retrieved his gun and his knife before the pair started the trek back to camp. "Well, there'll sure be plenty to write about in those bloody diaries tonight!" he chuckled.
Hogan shook his head, wiping ineffectively at the cut on his cheek. "You know, Newkirk, I think it's time to burn those things," he said.
Newkirk raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What, you mean get rid of them? Why?"
"Diaries are based on facts, right? If we write down the kind of stuff that happens to us around here, no one will ever believe it!"
