Changing of the Guard
Last December a handful of us posted a drabble challenge for every day in December. Several of my chapters featured an OC-a guard named Hilbert Dirksen. I received such great feedback on this character-and requests to see more, that I've expanded his story here. For those of you not familiar with the character and/or the challenge, I've copied his drabble chapters in this story (in italics) and some may follow one another. Since the chapters were in order based on the challenge words, timing here may be a tad different and some prose may have been added.
The title of the challenge story is December Drabble or Snapshot a Day. Thank you to those readers who nominated chapters and who nominated Dirksen as best OC for a Papa Bear Award.
And a huge thanks to Abracadebra for her outstanding beta work on the following chapters.
Hilbert Dirksen released the searchlight and removed his gloves; they were worthless in the cold. He blew on his chapped hands, reminding himself that when he got off-duty he needed to rub in some salve.
That did nothing except remind him of his misery, so he put his gloves back on. The tower was his least favorite duty. The other guards constantly berated him for his lack of rhythm. He didn't care. No one ever escaped.
Well, technically, they did. Like tonight! He noticed a shadow when he paused for a moment. Not his business. After all, the prisoners always returned.
Sometimes there was neither rhyme nor reason to the rhythm of searchlights.
Whenever LeBeau and Newkirk thought they could hustle the flier down below, fate had other ideas.
Fate tonight went by the name of Hilbert Dirksen.
Dirksen was a tame guard willing to overlook indiscretions. Despite his imprecise movements on the towers, he was not worth transferring.
"Dirksen," Newkirk groaned.
"Dirksen?" The rescued flier's head ached from being pushed down multiple times.
"Hilbert Dirksen," LeBeau said. "The tower guard. Now!" They tumbled down the ladder.
Their guest stared. "Hilbert?" He laughed. "German for battle-ready. Unless he's manning tower lights."
The two corporals followed the rescued flier down the ladder, grumbling about the tower guard as they hit the floor.
Newkirk continued griping as he began to wipe the tar off his face. "Never thought we'd ever get a chance to get into the tunnels." He nodded at Kinch, who appeared before the confused flier.
"Kinch." He approached the British airmen. "Welcome to our travelers aid society. You hurt?"
The sergeant shook his head. "I'm fine, sergeant. Thank goodness."
"This is David Elliot. Only one we snagged," Newkirk told Kinch. Elliot was tall and blond appeared to be in his late 20's. His accent was similar to Newkirk's. A cloud came over Kinch's face. "I'm sorry."
"We all jumped," Elliot replied. "I must have hit an air pocket and landed a distance away. Is there any way we can find out what happened to the rest of my crew?"
"I'll ask our C.O. What happened with the tree stump?" Kinch asked. "Don't tell me it's the new tower guard again." The new man was named Dirksen, and he had been at his post for close to three months now.
"He's still causing problems. Can't get a decent pattern," LeBeau replied. He and Newkirk headed to another area to change out of their blacks, leaving Kinch with Elliot.
"Stay right here." Kinch ordered as he headed up the ladder leading to the hut. After a few moments, Elliot observed the colored sergeant, followed by an American colonel, climbing back down.
"I'm Colonel Hogan. I know this seems confusing."
Elliot offered a quick salute. "Yes, sir. I'll be honest. It is quite confusing."
Hogan smiled. "We'll explain everything," he said as Newkirk and LeBeau came back into sight. They quickly described to both Hogan and Kinch what happened when they were trying to get back into camp.
"Well, that is the definition of irony." Hogan laughed when LeBeau recounted Elliot's observation on Dirksen's name. You speak German, Elliot?" Hogan asked.
"A little bit. Enough to get food, ask where the bathroom is, and say, I surrender. I had some mates growing up who spoke it. And I knew a Hilbert in school, which is how I knew the meaning."
"Yup. That's the translation." Hogan stated. "I heard your crew made it out of the plane?"
"Yes, sir. Don't know what happened after they jumped."
"They probably landed closer to the road. Chances are they got nicked," Newkirk explained. "We waited a bit. Heard some trucks and noise. We headed back the other way, and that's when we found Elliot, still holding his parachute and trying to wipe away his tracks."
Hogan nodded and then looked at his watch. "We're going to deal with Dirksen," he commented. "Tonight." The tower guards worked in shifts of 30 minutes to an hour, depending on availability and weather. Not even Klink was so mean or stupid to have a man up there, in the freezing cold for 12 hours straight. Both he, Schultz and the guards' direct supervisors knew that would impact concentration.
"But, it's freezing."
"Doesn't matter, LeBeau. Kinch, you're with me," the colonel replied in a tone that meant no arguments. "All we need is a half hour."
The radioman put down his equipment, and followed the colonel up the ladder. Hogan opened the top of the tree stump and slowly and carefully poked his head through the opening. He noticed Dirksen's relief was manning the searchlight. His pattern was fine, and he and Kinch hunkered down in a safe spot a short distance away. After 15 minutes, they observed Dirksen climb hesitantly up to his post. The other guard climbed down, and Dirksen took hold of the light. It didn't take long for both of them to confirm that, indeed, the guard had no rhythm.
"I've seen enough," Hogan told Kinch. Let's go." The colonel found Elliot seated on one of the cots, with Newkirk keeping Elliot company.
"It's a small world," Newkirk said. "Elliot comes from quite near where I live. We've had a nice long chat."
"That's a coincidence, considering how big London is. I'll try to find out in the morning what happened to the crew." It was cold in the tunnels, but colder in the barracks. Hogan steeled himself to face the poor conditions up top.
"Thank you, sir."
"In the morning, you'll switch places with one of my men." Elliot gave him a confused look. "Don't worry. We'll explain later. And Dirksen is an issue," Hogan told Newkirk. "Don't want him transferred, but we have to figure out something. He's putting a crimp in our routine."
While his men saw to Elliot's switch with Olsen after morning roll call, Hogan headed over to Klink's office. Langenscheidt, who had secretarial duties this morning, looked up when the door opened.
"Good morning, Colonel Hogan. He's in. I'll announce you." The corporal knew there was no point in stopping the American. It had been that way since the officer's arrival in camp a year before.
Hogan entered Klink's office and found the Kommandant seated behind his desk, wrapped in a blanket. "What do you want?" Klink said. Clearly the Kommandant was not in a good mood this morning. Not that his moods ever stopped Hogan.
"Cold?"
"What do you think?" Klink removed his fogged-up monocle, rubbed his eyes, and placed the eyepiece on his desk.
"You should try sleeping in one of the huts. The frigid air is coming in through all those holes. Speaking of which, I just wanted to let you know we're planning on rearranging sleeping quarters for the crew. How many did you say were captured?"
"I did not say anyone was captured," Klink replied. "And stop complaining about the hut, Hogan. You are fortunate to have wood. Wait a minute. What crew?"
"I heard rumors. In passing. Let's see. Guards were chatting. I heard planes, parachutes, men. I put two and two together. Besides, I knew there was a raid last night. Could feel it in my bones. Instinct." Hogan plopped down in the chair in front of Klink's desk and waited for the inevitable hand slap as his fingers moved towards the humidor. He was not disappointed. He put his hands on the top of the desk and leaned slightly forward. "Well, it would be a shame if you don't get these prisoners, considering they were captured so close to here. Of course, if prisoner count isn't important to you, that's your call. Maybe they'll send them somewhere else close by. Say Stalag 9?"
Klink stared at Hogan for a moment and then picked up the phone. "Langenscheidt. Get me the Luftwaffe garrison in Hamelburg." He held up his hand, motioning for Hogan to wait.
"Hello. Yes, I'll hold." Klink impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk.
"They should play music while you wait, you know. Someone should look into that," Hogan commented with a grin.
"That is ridiculous, Hogan. What? Yes. This is Klink. The Kommandant. From the POW camp on the other side of Hamelburg. No, not that one. That's all the way in Bavaria. No, I don't know why we have the same numbers. Yes. It is rather odd. Can I get to the point? I heard rumors that a plane crew was captured last night. Uh huh. Hmm. Yes. I see." He looked up at Hogan and nodded.
Hogan sat back in his chair and examined his fingernails.
"Well, they should come here. Why? I do understand about interrogations and the Dulag Luft. But, wouldn't it be more convenient to….what? No, I don't want to go on hold…wait!"
"I knew it," Hogan said triumphantly. He rose from the chair. "How many should we expect, sir?"
"Hogan." Klink grumbled under his breath. "They put me on hold again."
"That's an insult. A man of your stature. You're in charge of this district. Well, unless Burkhalter is here. I wouldn't take that lying down, if I were you."
"You have a point," Klink conceded. "I hear a noise. Yes, I'm still here," Klink mistakenly replied in English. "What. Yes, I'm still here. I am sorry, I have a lot of English-speaking prisoners. Sometimes, I switch back and forth without thinking. I see. But, listen to me. It would be more efficient…save the guards accompanying them…I can conduct the interrogations."
Klink held the phone away from his ear. Hogan could hear the raised voices coming from the other end of the line. "Yes. I understand." Klink grabbed a pencil and held it so tightly his knuckles began to turn white. "Yes. Goodbye."
Hogan frowned. "I take it that didn't go well."
"They did capture six men from a bomber, and the garrison commander has men and the Gestapo looking for one missing crewmember. And apparently, this man has a cousin's nephew's brother-in-law who is stationed at the Dulag Luft. I have a feeling there's something fishy going on here."
Something fishy was an understatement, Hogan thought. "No doubt," Hogan replied. "Instead of doing the logical thing, which is sending them here, it's nepotism and favors at work. They get credit for the capture. The Dulag gets the prisoners and whatever they can get out of them." Hogan managed not to shudder at his memory of his capture and time at the transit center. "And eventually, they'll get transferred to another POW camp."
"They will wait a few days before making a decision. And yes. You are correct. While they are looking for the other man, they will wait for instructions from someone, somewhere about where they will send them. I agree it will probably be the Dulag." Klink looked dejected. Meanwhile, Hogan silently cursed the milquetoast Kommandant and his lack of gumption.
"Anyone hurt?" Hogan asked.
"Minor injuries. Nothing serious. They were checked out by a medic and are being housed and fed."
That was a relief. At least Hogan had something to tell Elliot. He just had to figure out a plot to either have the men transferred here, or better yet, get them safely out of German hands and into the tunnels.
"You are dismissed Hogan." Klink blew on his hands in a futile attempt to warm them up. He put his monocle back on and then said, "send in Langenscheidt before you leave the building."
"Right, sir." Hogan left the office and told Langenscheidt to see Klink. After the corporal shut the door to Klink's office, Hogan took some initiative and grabbed Dirksen's file from a drawer. Now how to get this across the compound without being seen, he thought. The file was too big to hide under his jacket. He spied a crumpled up newspaper in a trash can. Perfect. Slipping the file in between pages of the paper, he left the building and safely made it to Barracks 2.
Fourteen pairs of eager eyes looked up at Hogan as he closed the barracks door behind him. "Geez, it's frigid out there." Hogan sneezed, acknowledged the gesundheits and sat down at the table. He placed the paper in front of him and removed the file. "Elliot. I have news. All six of your crew are being held at the garrison north of town. They're all in good condition."
"Oi, that's a relief. Thank you, sir."
Carter handed Hogan a mug of hot ersatz coffee. "Are we going to spring them, Colonel?"
"Complications. Klink couldn't convince the garrison to immediately transfer them here. They need orders from higher ups first. Or they'll be sent to the Dulag Luft. Which is really inefficient. Especially since Klink has done this before," Hogan explained. "New man in charge of the Luftwaffe garrison north of town, and he's apparently close to someone at the transit center. And a lot of Germans are looking for you, Elliot."
"We covered his tracks in the snow." Newkirk reminded everyone. "And we have his chute."
"They'll probably wait a day or two for the search, and then transfer the men either here or the Dulag." Hogan took a sip of the hot liquid. "If that's the case, we should be able to attack the truck and get them to the tunnels. If they're heading out to a train or driven to the Dulag? Well, that's a bit more difficult. Sorry, I have no other assurances for you."
"I appreciate everything, sir."
"What's the file?" Newkirk asked.
"Swiped Dirksen's file from the office when I had the chance."
"Well done!" Newkirk grinned.
"Thanks. You can sneak it back in tonight," Hogan stated. "Let's see what makes this guy tick."
"Okay. Now I know why he was a bit slow going up the ladder. He was hurt in Africa. Then after he was cleared, he was transferred to the Luftwaffe and assigned here. He must have friends in high places. 25 years old. No demerits. The usual medals and ribbons. From Stuttgart." Hogan closed the file. "I've got nothing. Anyone have anything to add?"
"He's been polite. No sign of any animosity towards us…yet…He guards men in the kitchen and occasionally the rec hall when he's not on the towers and is still on duty. But we don't see too much of him," Kinch elaborated. "He's probably not walking the compound because of his injury."
"Well, I've got rhythm, but does he?" Hogan quipped. "Here's what we're going to do."
A/N: I researched the telephone hold function and found it was available in the United States before the war, so I assumed it would be used in Germany as well.
How nice for Newkirk and Elliot! London is huge, so this is quite the coincidence.
The Dulag Luft was the Luftwaffe's transit center for captured airmen and was composed of three different sections. The initial interrogation center was located at Oberursal near Frankfort am Main. (approx. 230 kilometers from Dusseldorf) I have a longer description of the Dulag in the author's notes in chapter 3 of The Outside Man. For Hogan's experience, see my 2015 SSSW challenge story, Epiphany. It seems really inefficient to schlep captured men all over the place when a perfectly good POW camp is located on the other side of town. We've seen and heard mentions of garrisons in the area. So, someone who has as a relative who has a contact-well, you can guess the drill...
Langenscheidt and other staff are often seen in Klink's outer office.
Klink is very competitive when it comes to other area stalags and prisoner count. I believe Stalag 9 was mentioned at one point.
