Chapter 2
Schultz entered Barracks 2 to conduct his final nightly check and found everyone doing what prisoners normally did at night at that time of year to keep warm. He walked over to the stove and attempted to defrost his hands.
"I'd hate to be a tower guard on a night like this, Schultz," LeBeau commented as he handed the guard a mug of tea.
"Oh, thank you."
"Us enlisted, we need to stick together." LeBeau gave Schultz a friendly poke, just as Hogan left his office, negating the need for Schultz to check in there.
"What about the tower guards?" Hogan asked innocently.
Goldman chipped in. "We all feel sort of bad for them, Colonel. Got to be colder up there."
"That's very humane of you, Goldman. I suppose you rotate the guards, Schultz?"
"No." Schultz propped his gun against the wall and took a seat. "It's all seniority."
"Last one hired, first one fired," Garlotti stated. Meanwhile, Elliot, witnessing this unusual scene, hid under the covers.
"Ha. You can't get fired from the Luftwaffe. Just discharged, dishonorably discharged, or worse." Newkirk grabbed his blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders and torso and leaned against a lower bunk.
"That is true. Doesn't take much training to do that job," Schultz said, without prompting.
Elliot wasn't completely sure what these guys were up to, but they made confusing the guard look like a piece of cake.
Schultz pointed at the bunk where Elliot was hiding. "What's with Olsen?"
"Sniffles," Hogan told him. "Well, boys, I know there's constant training for the guards. Even when we weren't flying, our air crews and ground crews always kept up their skills."
Schultz let out a laugh. "We do what we need to do. Meaning what's necessary and nothing more." Of course, Hogan and his team knew this perfectly well. "Now, I did not say that," Schultz emphasized.
"I think they often scrape the bottom of the barrel to staff these camps," Hogan mentioned. "Present company excluded of course."
"Danke." Schultz said. He gratefully bit into a pastry that had miraculously appeared in front of him. "Well, we sometimes get soldiers who can't handle combat conditions, but can handle guard duty."
Kinch approached the sergeant. "Oh, that new guard. Don't know his name. He has a slight limp. Saw him guarding our men in the mess."
"Dirksen," Schultz said. "Yes. He has a slight limp. But he's perfect for working here."
"It's cold." Hogan sneezed and coughed. "But, it's safer too, I'll grant you that."
Searchlight duty was safer than combat, and he was grateful for his post. Tonight, Dirksen wondered why he wasn't transferred for his bad timing. Another shiver—this time from fright, rather than the cold; questions could be hazardous and he vowed not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Dirksen mulled things over and concluded that prisoners needed warmth. He justified this as preventing further trouble. Knowing Klink's concern about the bottom line, Dirksen realized too many sick prisoners could cause quite a hassle. He thought about giving a scarf to all prisoners for Christmas and laughed. No, they needed warmer beds and warmer huts.
He took his concern to Schultz.
Schultz offered to take the concern to the Kommandant, as long as Hogan came along.
Hogan agreed to come along.
Klink sat at his desk, warming his hands on a hot mug of tea, staring at the three men in front of him. A guard he could not remember—Dirksen was his name—sat in front of his desk with Schultz and Hogan. The guard appeared nervous. Schultz appeared hungry, and Hogan, as usual, appeared calm. Surely something was up his sleeve. Hilda sat on the side, pen and notebook in hand, ready to take any notes. She smiled at Dirksen, which relieved a bit of the young man's fright.
"Schultz. What is this about?"Klink asked.
Schultz looked at Hogan, who replied, "If I may."
Klink sighed. There was no point. He decided to let the man talk. "Go ahead," he said as he glared at Schultz.
"Dirksen had an idea. It's a wonder I didn't think of it," Hogan stated.
Klink noticed that Hogan was actually presenting a different demeanor. Whatever this was about, Klink realized, this was serious.
"Go on."
"We're all freezing, Kommandant. It's so cold this winter that the drafts are coming through the gaps in the walls of the huts. More so than last winter. Even the guards are cold, but not as cold as the prisoners."
"You are the prisoners. We are the jailors," Klink emphasized. "I believe the phrase is, live with it. There is nothing more I can or will do. Extra wood and heating oil go to our military, and then if there is enough left over, to our civilians."
He dared Hogan to refute his point.
"Wrong, sir. Wrong." Hogan smiled at the guard, who shrank down in his seat. This was not easy, because Dirksen was close to Hogan's height.
"If you get more sick prisoners on your hands—and the infirmary is almost full—that will create dissension. And dissension creates conflict, which leads to discord." Hogan paused as the three Germans in the room tried to make sense of his language skills. Schultz whispered a translation to Dirksen.
"Private Dirksen. What do you have to add?" Klink asked.
Dirksen cleared his throat and sat up a bit taller. "Colonel Hogan is correct, sir. The more the prisoners are uncomfortable or sick, the more anxious they get, which creates more of a risk of an incident. Or prisoners looking for a way out. An escape? I talked to Sergeant Schultz, who spoke to Colonel Hogan. There is scrap metal here and in town. I saw it last time I had a day off. For many reasons, the metal is not suitable for other use. Colonel Hogan believes we can use some of the metal to help make the huts warmer."
"Hogan?"
"Yes, sir. I do know a bit about metal. I agree. We probably have enough between the camp, and the depot in town. "And what Dirksen said about the men is correct. As one of my favorite founding fathers said, 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.'"
"Very good, Colonel Hogan. I admire Benjamin Frank…" Seeing the look on Klink's face, Schultz quickly shut his mouth.
Klink thought for a moment. The last thing he wanted was contention in the ranks of both the guards and the prisoners. "Your men are responsible for the work, Hogan."
Hogan was thrilled. Using Dirksen's point about preventing trouble, he got Klink to agree; and a construction project was born.
Morale was terrible, and he hoped this would bring some improvement to the men's outlook. Hogan also realized there was another thing he could do, besides the hut project, to help improve the atmosphere.
Metal was scarce, but with Klink's blessing, Hogan poked around and scrounged up some thin, flimsy pieces that weren't good enough for the Germans. Then he put his men to work making the huts more weatherproof.
The symphony of pinging hammers lifted the spirits of everyone, including the guards in camp.
"It's remarkable there was so much scrap metal lying around," Hilbert commented.
"Remarkable," Schultz snorted. Yes, Hogan was a miracle worker. "Dirksen, I know nothing," he added firmly. "Always."
Dirksen offered Schultz a quizzical look then decided to take Schultz's advice. From now on, Dirksen would also know nothing.
Once the construction project commenced, the Dirksen plan was afoot. Why was Dirksen so bad at the searchlights and what, if anything could be done about it? They'd seen his file and they had come to appreciate the compassion he showed them. They set to work keeping him at Luft Stalag 13.
The colonel stood in front of an easel, a yardstick in hand, which he used in place of a pointer. In attendance were all those in Barracks 2, Sergeant Maddock, the man of confidence prior to Hogan's arrival, the medic Joe Wilson, and a few barracks chiefs. They would pass the word and any orders on to the rest of the prisoners. Two men stood watch at the windows and doors. A piece of paper showing plans for board game tournaments was primed and ready just in case.
Elliot stood by, sorry he couldn't outwardly assist in these schemes, as he found the brainstorming both amusing and frightening at the same time. He hung out near the bunk tunnel entrance just in case.
"Because the main operatives are on alert 24/7 now, waiting for word on Elliot's crew, I am requesting assistance from the rank and file," Hogan explained.
Baker, standing at the back of the room, raised his hand. "Anything I can do to help, Colonel?"
"Thanks for asking Baker, but we still need your help monitoring communications. Hand-eye coordination?" Hogan asked.
"We got this sir." Barracks 4's chief held up a hand. "Don't worry."
Hogan continued his rapid-fire pace. "Good. Inner ear problem?"
Since this situation ostensibly involved a possible health issue, Wilson was happy to do his part. Wilson usually took things in stride. He sat next to Elliot and attempted to hide a smile. As capers went, this seemed innocuous. He raised his hand.
"That would be me? But I need someone to raise suspicions."
"I can do that," Maddock replied.
"Inner ear?" Elliot whispered to Wilson.
"It can throw a guy off balance." Wilson shrugged.
"Colonel Hogan? Is he just lazy?" This question came from Garlotti.
"I don't think so," Hogan replied. "Schultz seemed to like the man. No reprimands, no fights. He's just doing his job. Badly. But since no one escapes, how would they know? Of course, someone—-say Burkhalter—could come and notice if he's out at night. He's checked the camp over at night before. And that could cause problems for Dirksen. And Schultz. And Klink." Hogan stretched his back and then continued.
"Lack of rhythm. LeBeau?"
"Oh, just since you managed to convince Klink and Hochstetter I could dance doesn't mean I really can." He shook his head. "I think I would win the contest for most fake occupations if we ever had one. I'm a chef, not a French Fred Astaire."
"I'd say Shirley Temple," someone muttered.
"Who said that?" LeBeau dropped his spoon and assumed his best boxing stance. "I'll spike your food and you won't know until it hits an hour later. I can do that, you know."
"No insults and that's an order," Hogan said over the cacophony. The men quieted down.
"I can really cut a rug, sir."
"How did I not know this? Maddock, is there anything else you'd like to hide from me?" Hogan asked.
The British sergeant laughed. "No, sir. But, it would feel pretty good to have a mission, such as it is. Oh, and I have the latest camp newsletter ready for your approval." Maddock was Hogan's right-hand man when it came to a few tasks that Hogan and his main staff would normally be expected to handle. No German was the wiser.
Hogan took the draft from Maddock. "I'll look at this later and get it back to you. You're hired as our new camp dance maven. Find a few other men to help. Good. We'll start on this phase and figure out if there is anything wrong. And then take it from there."
Elliot sat there rubbing his chin. He was afraid to say anything as he had only been at camp a few days. His escape plans were delayed due to both bad weather and the massive search being conducted around the area. Besides, they were still waiting on news regarding the rest of his crew.
"Colonel, any word on Elliot's crew?" Wilson asked, as if he had read Elliot's mind.
"Glad you asked. No. They seem obsessed with finding Elliot. And because of that, they don't want to move the rest of the crew. It's odd, but the new man in charge there is a pain in Klink's you know what."
"How about a fake body?" Carter suggested. "We've done that before."
"I already thought of that." Hogan saw Elliot's face, which had turned a deathly shade of pale. "But this is an Allied flier. That is too risky. We'd have to find a body. Besides, Elliot would be reported as dead. His crew would think he was dead. And London wouldn't cooperate with notifying his next of kin that he's really alive. No if, ands or buts about that. I won't put anyone's family through that." With that explanation, the color returned to Elliot's face.
"I'll check with Klink again. If we don't get word soon, I'll have to send someone in. We used General Kinchmeyer too much last month. So…" Hogan looked straight at Carter, who happily puffed up in anticipation of another Oscar-worthy acting job.
Elliot was not allowed outside. Not that he minded. It was frigid in the compound, and the tunnels, while a bit damp and claustrophobic, were a bit warmer. Bored, and not wanting anyone to have to watch for stray guards or worse, he headed below to hang out and see if there was anything he could do to help. He found Kinch organizing and cleaning some equipment. A few other men were examining ceilings and walls. They ignored him.
"Anything I can do?"
"We're covered, Elliot," Kinch answered. "But you can check with Foster. He's over by Carter's lab."
"Fair enough." Elliot walked over to the area by the lab, where he observed Foster checking the tunnel ceiling. He waited for him to climb down the stepladder before speaking. "Anything I can do to help?" Elliot asked.
Foster turned and looked at the private. "Thanks, but we're about to finish up here. Waiting to make your run," he stated.
"Yes." Elliot remained tight-lipped as he was unsure what if anything other men in camp knew.
"They'll get you out as soon as it's possible. Sometimes things throw a wrench into the works. Heard there a lot of patrols out there looking for someone. You, I wager." The man smiled and introduced himself. "Foster." He held out his hand.
"Elliot."
"Nice to meet you. How do you like our traveler's aid society?" Foster headed over to Kinch and informed the radioman that their work was finished. He stayed while the rest of his crew headed up top.
"No comment." Elliot smiled. "Just glad I made it here. Been up top while Olsen is out."
"That's his job," Foster replied. "Kinch, I heard that the new guard is giving you fits. Shame, since he helped get us that metal for the hut walls."
"Yup. Our guys had problems with getting Elliot down into the tree stump. Dirksen is tame, of course. But, his rhythm is so off it's dangerous. We're working on a plan."
"Greater words were never spoken." Foster laughed. He saw the confusion on Elliot's face. "Our C.O. is well-known for planning. Sometimes we manage to walk away, despite the fact that they come out of the school of complicated overthinking!"
Kinch chuckled.
"Don't get me wrong, Elliot. Colonel Hogan is the finest officer I've ever worked under," Foster said.
"He seems quite capable," was the reply. "And creative."
"That he is." Kinch put away his tools. "Somehow, he manages to turn lemons into lemonade. And he could sell a used Chrysler to Henry Ford."
"If you don't mind me asking, this plan to see what's is up with that guard is; it's awfully convoluted. Seems a bit too intricate for the problem."
"How so?" Kinch asked Elliot while Foster grabbed a chair and sat down. He was intrigued. It was always beneficial to get an outside perspective. He was beginning to think of Elliot as their own little Greek chorus.
A/N: Drabbles used are indicated in italics. Sergeant Maddock is an OC I created for my story, "What's in a Name." The camp's original man of confidence, Maddock was only too happy to turn the reins to the operation over to Hogan when the colonel arrived. Since Barracks 2 and the staff is usually busy with clandestine activities, the camp has a "shadow" administrative staff to handle other tasks.
Foster, played by William Christopher (best know for playing the chaplain, Father Mulcahy, in MASH) appeared in 4 episodes of HH. Foster was in "Will the Original Adolf Please Stand Up?" He had to have spoken fluent German. He also played Thomas (an interchangeable character?) in "War Takes a Holiday."
