Chapter 4
A few hours later, Hogan stood in front of Klink's desk, listening to the Kommandant pontificate on being slighted, the inefficiency of the garrison, the Dulag and anyone else he could think of.
"And would you believe they had the proper authorization papers and everything, Hogan?"
"No, sir. Well, yes, sir. You've told me of incidents before."
Klink was still yammering. "In broad daylight, they removed the six fliers and left. The dummkopfs at the garrison believed they were the ones taking them to the train and then to the Dulag Luft." He shook his head in disbelief. "And it wasn't until the Dulag called to tell them to bring them here—finally, that they discovered the Underground was responsible for them flying the coop, as you say."
"Not necessarily," Hogan replied, trying to buy some time to think of how to get the heat off the Underground.
"Not necessarily, what?" Klink pressed.
"The Underground operating inside Germany risked everything just to free some Allied POWs? It's ridiculous. Why take that risk, or risk reprisals? This just doesn't smell right. Sure, as you've said, they've destroyed infrastructure or rescued prisoners from Gestapo custody. But this? I doubt it."
Klink sat back in his chair and rubbed his chin. A sign of the wheels turning in his head. "You do have a point. But, if that is the case, who had authority to transport the prisoners, and where did they go?"
"I think this is a clear sign of miscommunication. The guy's dentist's, brother-in-law's nephew."
"No, no. no. that's incorrect. It was his…never mind…Go on," Klink said.
"This person knew the POWs were there. They expected cooperation and a transfer shortly. They thought they would handle the handover. The garrison thought the Dulag would handle the handover. No one expected you to handle the handover. Wires got crossed. Maybe someone had orders—no one knows from whom. My guess is they're taking the long way around to the transit camp. Someone ordered train. Someone ordered truck. No one knew who said what. Next thing you know, the orders go out. They leave to pick up the prisoners. They leave. And then new orders come in. Just a comedy of errors, if you ask me. Not a great symbol of your lauded German efficiency."
"Hooogannn!"
The colonel chuckled. "Oh, come on, Kommandant. If they had listened to you in the first place this wouldn't have happened. I'm sure they'll show up somewhere sooner rather than later. But, you're not to blame for this mix-up. I'll bet someone gets demoted for this. Or worse."
Klink shuddered at the thought. "You are right. And I am definitely not to blame. Next time, they will listen. Oh, and I just wanted you to be aware that I did not fall for your psychological shenanigans where that tower guard was concerned. I am too smart. I know you, Hogan. You say one thing, assuming I will decide you mean the opposite. But you know that, so even though you wanted me to think that you wanted me to think you did not want him on the towers, I saw through you. You wanted him on the towers. So, he is now off the towers and yet again, your silver tongue did not work on me."
Hogan sat there, his mouth gaping. He quickly shut it, then said, "if you say, so." After leaving Klink to his fantasies, Hogan left the office and said to Hilda, "I have absolutely no idea what he was trying to say."
"Half the time, I don't either." She smiled. "I take it everything worked out with Dirksen?"
Hogan smiled and nodded. "It's hard to pull the wool over the Kommandant's eyes, in case anyone asks."
Elliot paced down in the tunnels that evening after the last roll call, nervously waiting for his crew's arrival. Newkirk, who had connected with Elliot in the few days he had been their guest, kept him company, while Kinch kept an eye on the radio.
"You'll wear a hole in our carpet," Kinch chided him gently. "Don't worry. Our contact has done this multiple times. And Dirksen is not on the searchlights, so timing will be so much easier."
"Thanks, Kinchloe. Just a bit harried, that's all."
"Gotcha. I'd feel the same way"
A few other men came down to help greet the new arrivals. LeBeau and Carter stood next to Kinch, while Hogan took the extra chair. Blankets and some food were ready, as the men were probably very cold and hungry after holing up in a safe barn most of the day and evening.
Their patience was rewarded as one by one, they stepped onto the ladder. It took several minutes for all of them to arrive in the tunnel. Kurt followed.
"Delivery successful," Kurt stated.
"Thank you, sir."
"My pleasure, Captain Hawthorne," Kurt replied. "And now that you are safe, I will be leaving. Colonel Hogan." Kurt tipped his cap and waved at everyone, then headed up top.
"This was quite an operation. Good to see you gents again and…" Hawthorne stared, and the rest of his rescued crew did the same. "Elliot! We thought you were captured, dead or long-gone. Well this is wonderful. But how?" Recognizing, Carter and Newkirk, he asked, "you didn't tell us he was safe. Actually, you didn't tell us this is where we would end up."
"That's for safety, in case something went wrong." Hogan stepped over to the captain and shook his hand. "I'm Colonel Hogan. I run this operation. Elliot's been with us a few days."
Elliot jumped in. "I was rescued the night we went down. We've been waiting for you all to get transferred here, and then they would have stopped the truck or something. But, all's well that ends well." Seeing the men shivering, he began handing out blankets, while LeBeau and Carter handed out mugs of hot tea.
Once they were settled, fed, washed up, given clean clothes, and warmed up, Hogan explained what would happen next. "We've got to make you all new papers, get you civilian outfits, and then wait for our escape line to get you out of here and on your way back to England. Most likely, this will happen over several days. Sending seven men out at once is a bit difficult."
"Whatever you say, Colonel. I can see we are in capable hands and in your debt," Hawthorne replied.
"Right. We all need some sleep." Smiling at the recent success of multiple operations, Hogan and his men headed up top. Elliot, who was still taking Olsen's place, offered his bunk to his crew, but not wanting to upset the apple cart, they declined.
It took a few days to get the men properly outfitted and trained for what lay ahead. Three men left the first night. Then two. And then finally, on the last night, it was Elliot and Captain Hawthorne's turn.
"I'll miss you, mate," Newkirk mentioned to Elliot a few hours before Schnitzer would arrive at camp and whisk them away in his dog truck.
"Same." Elliot finished eating his last meal at Luft Stalag 13. A nice…well, he couldn't actually say what was on his plate, but it was tasty. LeBeau's skills with rations were impressive, and after the war, he vowed to look him up in Paris. He assumed everyone would survive their stay and clandestine activities; he wouldn't allow any other thought to cross his mind.
"Let's plan to meet up when we get home, Elliot. After we're liberated and debriefed, or whatever plans they have for us, that is." Newkirk removed Elliot's clean plate and placed it in the sink. The Londoner would clean up the dishes later.
"I'd like that." Elliot had no clue as to his next posting. Hogan mentioned his crew wouldn't be sent back to the European theater, and most likely he wouldn't be sent back either. He also had no idea how long it would take for them to get back to England. But, he told Newkirk he would write to him under an assumed name and address.
He then started chuckling.
"What's so funny?" Newkirk asked.
"I have no idea how to actually explain to anyone—after this is all done, that is, and we're free to talk about it—how I witnessed a guard with no rhythm causing the opposite issue you would expect; a zany plan to figure out why and if there was anything you could do to help the lad, because he turned out to be a good bloke and you didn't want him transferred. And how your colonel managed to pull off the plan, and get him removed from the towers."
Newkirk laughed. "I don't actually think the plan was necessary. Colonel Hogan managed to get Klink running around in so many circles that if he had started out that way, I think the end result would have been the same. But, as our American friends like to say, he covers all the bases. Here. While you're getting dressed and we make sure you're all good to go, let me tell you about the time we almost sent the Guv'nor away for a much needed vacation. It involved baskets and a balloon!"
Hogan now had a chance to relax. The barracks were warmer, thanks to Dirksen's kindness. His sneezing and coughing dissipated. The last two rescued fliers were on their way home. He had the entire hut to himself this afternoon. All inhabitants were either at the rec hall or in the tunnels, and he relished the privacy. He sat at the common room table, a mug of coffee in his hand and the newspaper he used to smuggle Dirksen's file out of the Kommandanteur open in front of him. He ignored all the propaganda and worked on the crossword puzzle. He paused and thought about his extra-complicated plans to figure out the tower guard fiasco, realizing that on the face it appeared that he actually had everything backwards. His men said he should have confused Klink first, and then taken it from there. Next time, he vowed, for something like this, I'll definitely ask for their input. But his plan to improve morale worked. He gave other men in camp something to do. They obviously enjoyed the challenge.
A slight tap on the door startled the colonel. Figuring someone from another barracks needed his attention, he yelled, "come," and turned around to see who was visiting. To his surprise, it was Private Dirksen. Guards never knocked, but Hogan deliberately did not point this out to Dirksen.
"Private Dirksen. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Hogan asked with a smile. He could see Dirksen, who was not as fluent in English as some of the other guards, translating the phrase in his head.
"I wanted to thank you, Colonel." Dirksen propped his gun by the door.
"Thank me for what?"
"Well, for accompanying Schultz and me to see the Kommandant about the scrap metal."
"You deserve our thanks. As I told you, it was a humane gesture. You also obviously have the ability to think creatively," Hogan replied. "Be resourceful; think of different means of achieving goals," he explained further.
"Ah." Dirksen removed a small notebook from his pocket. "I'm writing down phrases," he explained. "Knowing different languages is helpful in the Luftwaffe. Corporal Langenscheidt is helping me. I hope to be like him someday. Here, that is. Going where needed. Although, not as a secretary. I am not a good typist."
"Have a seat." Hogan moved over to the stove. "Cup of coffee? It's not great, but it's hot."
"No, thank you." Did the colonel fraternize with other guards besides Schultz, Dirksen wondered. He assumed so. He had noticed in his short time here that the guards often listened to the American. They definitely respected the officer. More so than Klink. Guards often talked about the Kommandant behind his back. Dirksen thought Klink was no worse—and even better—-than some of the other officers he encountered. He quickly glanced around the room, taking anything and everything in. His goal was to eventually move up to Barracks Guard, and he knew he had to stay alert for anything amiss. Contraband, hidden radios, for example. Not that he thought he would find it here. The colonel and his men were too careful. He was just happy to be out of the tower, and seeing things he knew were not appropriate. This saved him from lying or reporting that something was amiss. After all, there was no harm done.
The bizarre thing was; he was no longer paranoid. Nothing weird had happened to him since his transfer. No odd ear ailments. No impromptu dance lessons or snowball fights. He put two and two together. It could not be a coincidence. Could it?
"I must be going, Colonel. I'm on duty at the mess hall in 15 minutes. A much better duty than the tower, I know." He looked at Hogan's face; no luck. The colonel's face was blank.
"Well, thank you for stopping by to thank me." Hogan stood up and walked him over to the door. "Your rifle," he reminded him. Channeling Schultz, I see.
"If there is anything else I can thank you for, Colonel; well, consider it done." With that, Dirksen left, leaving Hogan with a smile and then shaking his head. He then happily went back to his crossword puzzle.
A/N. Thank you everyone for your support of Dirksen in my drabble series, and for telling me you wanted to see more. Perhaps we will see more of him in the future! Huge thanks to Abracadebra for her beta work! Regarding the crossword puzzle. You know me-I look every which way for citations, proof, etc. But, a very quick search led me to nothing concrete. So, let's just assume that puzzles were a thing in WW2 era newspapers in Germany, and leave it at that! If anyone has any proof that's not the case, let me know and I'll adjust the narrative.
