Chapter 3

Dirksen was not a paranoid man. Not even in the middle of a world war. His upper-class upbringing, even in the face of the economic horrors suffered by the German people after Versailles, left his family in better shape than others. His apolitical family stayed off the Reich's radar, although he was forced to join the Hitler Youth, which really was not too bad. Moreover, his father's connections got him transferred to this safe posting after he was released from the rehabilitation hospital. But now, his senses were on alert, and he felt like something was off. Like he was being watched.

Just this morning, after his tower duty and before he could get some sleep, he somehow managed to get involved in a snowball fight. Sides were already drawn. Even barracks versus odd barracks. Guards joined in.

"Hey, guard! Dirksen, right? We need another man!"

Dirksen took his place beside another guard, and the men of Hut 4. They were alongside Hut 6 and Langenscheidt, and being pummeled by Huts 3 and 5.

Fortunately, he had good aim. Snowballs appeared in front of him, and getting into the spirit of things, Dirksen gave as good as he got. He ducked and moved; happily not getting hit by the icy missiles. His one throw took off the cap of one of the men in Hut 5— the barracks chief, a prisoner explained.

"Great hand-eye coordination," said a prisoner he did not know. "Next thing you'll know, in spring, we'll draft you for our baseball team."

"Thank you," was Dirksen's tentative reply, as he wondered why he could not get the tower lights correct, even if he was good at sports. It was, the kindly Langenscheidt told him, just one of those things.

The next day, he was unexpectedly ordered by Schultz to take another guard's spot in the rec hall for a couple of hours. Which was fine with him. It was warmer in there, and he didn't have tower duty that evening.

This was an easy post.

A few men worked on a jigsaw puzzle. Several were over by the library, and a few were dancing to some records sent by the Red Cross. He watched and observed that they all looked like they had two left feet.

When the record was over, a British sergeant, who said his name was Maddock, pulled out another record and put it on the player. To Dirksen's surprise, it was German music.

Cries of horror went up in the building. "We don't know how to dance to this. What are you doing?"

"Sorry, it was the first thing I grabbed. I have no clue what to do."

The two guards looked at each other and stifled a laugh.

"Well, in the interest of culture, I think it's a nice idea to learn other dances. Oh, come on. Be daring. Things are boring enough around here, lads," Maddock said.

The men began to grumble and then put up the worst attempt at German folk dancing Dirksen had ever seen. The two guards now began laughing out loud.

"Well, we don't mean to be funny. Why don't you show us then?" another Englishman insisted.

Ignoring the cheek, the two guards shrugged and moved to the center of the hut, where a small space was available.

"It's not that hard," Dirksen said. "Watch." He nodded at his cohort and they put on a quick display. The POWs tried to follow, until eventually, they improved.

"Want a lesson in swing?" Maddock asked.

The two guards vehemently declined.

"Your choice."

The guards observed until the time was up for the men in the hall. Dirksen and the other guard opened the door and began escorting the men back to their huts. On the way over to the barracks, the men politely thanked Dirksen for his help.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Thank you for your help," Maddock repeated. "We're all here together. A little politeness never hurt anyone. Right fellows?" They answered in agreement.

Dirksen stuck his finger in his ear in an attempt to clear it. He shook the cobwebs out of his head.

"Something wrong?" Maddock whispered.

"What? I can't hear you." Dirksen now sounded very distressed.

"Something wrong," Maddock repeated. "I just yelled. You should get that checked out. Could be an ear infection." He pointed at the infirmary across the compound. "Let me walk you over there. In case you get dizzy."

Dirksen saw where the sergeant was pointing. "Oh, thank you. Yes. I should get that checked out." There were not many prisoners hanging around the compound, but those chatting sounded like they were speaking underwater. He could barely hear them. Dirksen was confused. His hearing was perfectly fine until he got outside. Was it the weather? His mother often said most ailments could be explained by bad nutrition and weather changes.

Maddock helped Dirksen up the steps and opened the door to the infirmary. Wilson was nearby and immediately addressed the two. "What's up? You sick too?" He pointed to the men taking up the beds.

Dirksen could now barely hear the conversation.

"Not me. This guard. Hearing issue. Thought it best to get it checked out before he gets dizzy or worse." He whispered something in Wilson's ear.

"I'll take a look." Wilson walked over and touched Dirksen's arm. "Maddock, go tell Schultz that Dirksen is here, then come back."

"Will do, Wilson. Thanks!"

Dirksen looked up at Wilson, who grabbed a small chalkboard and began writing. I'm not going to strain your ears. He then stuck a thermometer in Dirksen's mouth, and felt his pulse. He took his stethoscope and wrote, take a few deep breaths. After he read the thermometer-which he showed Dirksen- he wrote, no fever. Tell me what's going on?

That's definitely sudden, but it can happen. No dizziness, loss of balance. Reflexes? To prove his point, Wilson grabbed a book and without warning, tossed it to Dirksen, who caught it without ducking. Hmm, Wilson thought. This matches the results of the dance lesson and the snowball fight.

I'm going to check your ears, he wrote. Dirksen nodded and patiently sat there while Wilson continued his examination.

Wilson saw nothing amiss. There's some wax in there I can clean out for you. That's probably the culprit. He nodded at Maddock, who had just walked through the door. Wilson hated lying, but he didn't know what more he could do. After cleaning out Dirksen's ears, he spoke in normal tones. "Ah, Maddock. He's good to go. Just wax buildup. Great news. Can you make your way to wherever it is you need to be?"

"Yes, Sergeant Wilson. I'm, what is you say? Okay?"

"Okay, it is, Wilson replied."

Maddock left and quickly spread the word that Dirksen's hearing and ears seemed fine.


It was not long after that test that Elliot, Foster, and Kinch headed up top to discuss the rescued flier's confusion and concerns.

"So, it seems, sir…that this plan is awfully complicated. And thank you for listening."

"My door is always open," Hogan answered as other men gathered round.

"It's par for the course," Newkirk said with a grin. "But somehow, the Guv'nor manages to pull it off!"

"Wouldn't it be better just to have him transferred to another post?" Elliot asked. "Or removed?"

"Well. I don't want him transferred. He's an asset to the camp—and look at how he offered to help us. We need tame, humane guards. Anyone is fair game if they stray or go over the line. But so far, he hasn't done anything of the sort."

Elliot nodded in understanding.

"If it's a simple matter of lack of rhythm, more training or a medical issue, we may be able to fix it." Hogan paused as Maddock walked into the hut.

"I have a report, sir. There's nothing wrong with his inner ear as far as Wilson can tell. He did well with the snowballs, as you saw. He caught something Wilson threw at him without flinching. And he's not a bad dancer. Not Fred Astaire, but passable. He can even carry a tune, which is more than I can say for a lot of us here in camp." That garnered a laugh. "At any rate, the rest of the men enjoyed helping out with something not life-threatening for once." With that, a look of comprehension came over Maddock's face. "Well now," he commented to himself with a chuckle.

Hogan began to pace, a sign that he was considering the situation and planning the next move.

"I have to go meet with Klink again. Hopefully, I'll come up with a solution on the way over there."


"Any word on the captured airmen, sir?" Hogan reached into the bowl of shelled nuts Klink had on his desk and grabbed a handful. He sat back in his chair and munched while waiting for Klink to answer.

"No. They are being very stubborn over there. Truthfully, I'm willing to overlook it. Sometimes, it's not worth the battle."

"But, you'll lose the war, sir."

"I'm not going to lose that war. Prisoners are being ferried all over Germany every day. It's inefficient sometimes, but rules are rules. They may wind up back here. Truthfully, I think that other member of the crew is gone." Klink said. "Even Hochstetter's ring of steel couldn't find him. In fact, I will call the garrison after you leave and release my claim."

Hogan tried not to show his disappointment.

"How is the work going on the barracks?" Klink asked, relieving Hogan of the responsibility of bringing it up.

"Slow, but steady. It was kind of that guard to bring up the suggestion," Hogan said.

"Well, do not get the idea in your head that we are all pushovers, Hogan." Klink, as usual, wagged his finger at the colonel. "It was only because the scrap metal was unusable and that you offered to find a use for it that I allowed this project to go on. And do not forget it."

"We won't," Hogan replied through clenched teeth. "Dirksen should be promoted for what he's done. But anyway, it seems to me you haven't had a new shipment of guards in a while."

"We are at full strength now and the new recruits are working out splendidly. And Dirksen is not up for promotion. He has only been here three months. Besides, we do not give promotions for being kind to prisoners."

"Is that a fact?" Hogan asked. "You're at full strength, I mean?"

"Yes. And why are you pressing me about guard strength and promotions?" Klink was now suspicious. "We have had no escapes since they arrived."

"You never have any escapes."

"True," Klink said. "You are trying to get me to do something I do not want to do. I can tell. I have your psychology down."

"Well, I don't want to say anything about Dirksen. After all, he did make that one gesture. But, he's real sharp up on those towers. Don't know how he does it."

"Hogan. How do you know what he does on the towers?"

"Nightly roll call. We can sense his keen rhythm and eyes. It's obvious, even from a distance away. No one is escaping on his watch." Hogan stood up. "Am I excused, sir? I have escape plans to work on."

Klink ignored the quip."Dismisssed."


While Hogan hoped his words to Klink didn't backfire, he walked at a quick pace back to the hut. While he was gone, some of the men were shoring up the walls with the scrap metal. They were just finishing up. "Meeting," Hogan stated, and he entered his office; his four main operatives followed behind him.

"Klink has given up on the air crew. We have to get them or they'll wind up at the Dulag."

"Am I on, sir?" Carter said with almost too much enthusiasm.

Hogan nodded. "We need four men. Two in the front and two guarding the air crew. Newkirk. You're with him. Kinch, get a vehicle and have Olsen and another member of the Underground meet them at the garrison—an extra man is never a bad idea. You have the papers?"

"All ready to go. Insurance policy just in case," Newkirk replied.

"All right, it's showtime."


Klink's head was spinning after Hogan left.

The colonel talked up the skills of the new tower guard. Klink had never heard any complaints about the man; not from Schultz, nor from the other guards. He figured everything was fine. Schultz did a fairly good job training and supervising the younger guards, and Klink usually maintained a hands-off attitude with schedules. The tower guard rotations, which were based on seniority, worked and seemed fair.

If Hogan thought the guard was tough, did that mean he wanted Klink to remove the guard? Or was that what he thought Klink would think he wanted? Or was it a ploy to get Klink to think Hogan really wanted the guard to stay on the tower? In which case, he would need to get the guard off the tower and working somewhere else.

Now Klink had a headache. It was a common result of listening to Hogan. What was it? He picked up the phone and asked Hilda to have Schultz report to the office.

"Schultz, tell me about the tower guards. Specifically, Dirksen."

The sergeant's stomach did a flip-flop. He had several recent conversations about the tower guards and Dirksen. Now he felt sick. Hogan and his men had pressed him on training and rotations. Where was this headed? As usual, he decided to play ignorant and know nothing whatsoever.

"What is it you would like to know, Kommandant?"

"Hogan was asking about Dirksen specifically. And that is suspicious."

I agree, Schultz thought. "Dirksen has been here almost three months. He came in with the last group. He has had no problems or demerits. Except he had a quick sick call. When he was watching prisoners in the rec hall, his hearing went. A quick-acting prisoner brought him to the infirmary and Wilson kindly fixed him up. He's fine. It was ear wax."

"That is what I call TMI."

"TMI?" Schultz asked in confusion.

"Too much information, Schultz. I made up that acronym. It saves time. What about his performance on the towers?"

"Sorry, Kommandant. We've had no problems with him on the towers." Although there's something Hogan wants done and I don't know what it is. Schultz began to sweat. Leave him there. Take him off. Now Schultz's stomach acid was threatening his appetite, and that definitely wouldn't do. Hmm, I do recall hearing some of the other guards complaining about his work on the lights, but they never actually reported Dirksen or spoke more about it to me. He made a mental note to check that out himself.

"What exactly did Colonel Hogan say?" Schultz asked.

"He thinks Dirksen is tough. Too tough. Which means he wants him transferred off the tower. Or is that what he really wants me to think? In which case transferring him off the tower is not what he wants. So transferring him off the tower would be to our benefit, wouldn't it Schultz?"

"If that is what you want me to think, Kommandant."

"Hogan is smart and convincing," Klink said. He tapped his head. "But we are smarter and one step ahead of him."

"Yes, Kommandant. So, I'm transferring Dirksen off the tower? What is the reason? I have to tell his direct leader and the other guards something."

"Tell them, ear issues—he already went to the infirmary. We don't want him losing his balance."

Schultz stared open-mouthed at the Kommandant.

"And find someone else to go up the tower. Dissmisssed."

Schultz saluted and left the building. Never mind checking Dirksen's work on the lights. He sighed in relief since Klink and Hogan obviously made the decision for him. If this is not what Hogan really wanted, Schultz was sure he would hear about it.


A quick cheer went up in Hogan's office, where he, LeBeau and Goldman were listening in on the coffee pot. Newkirk and Carter were getting ready in the tunnels, while Kinch arranged for transport and notified Olsen. They'd be off in a short time. Their first stop was to pick up an Underground agent known to them as Kurt. He was not a novice—having joined the men previously on similar operations.

"Klink's logic reminds me of a maze I went to when I was a child," LeBeau explained as they entered the common room. "You start out; wind your way around all sorts of corners and dead-ends, but somehow, eventually, you end up at the exit-which is where you want to be."

"I try not to overthink," Hogan replied. "The right outcome is the right outcome no matter how we get there!" Goldman chuckled, while LeBeau held back his laughter as they left the office.

The bunk entrance opened—a welcome sight—as Hogan and his men waited for Carter and Newkirk to return from the garrison with six captured British fliers in tow. It was Baker. "Colonel. I've got word. All have been rescued and holed up at a safe location until dark. Carter and Newkirk are coming back, Olsen is going wherever he goes, and Kurt will guide them here later tonight."

Hogan smiled. "Thanks, Baker. Elliot must be happy. Notify London we have seven cubs." It was safe for Newkirk and Carter to return to camp in daylight, but leading a group of six men was a different story.

"Yessir. And yes, he is happy." Baker disappeared back down the ladder, while Hogan and his men waited for the inevitable call from Klink's office.