RAMPS
Chapter 5
Camp Lucky Strike
April 22, 1945
early morning
Hogan, sensing a presence, slowly opened his eyes. "Oh, it's you," he groaned as he spied Wilson sitting at his bedside. "What are you doing here?"
"Glad to see you're your usual self, sir. Grumpy," Wilson said with a straight face. The medic moved aside a curtain surrounding Hogan's bed, making his area at the end of the building seem a bit more roomier.
"Dopey is more like it." Hogan hoisted himself up in an attempt to get more comfortable. "Guess I fell asleep." Now that the one curtain was gone, he leaned forward and glanced at the other men in the ward. Several were eating, while others had screens around their beds. The bed next to him was now empty. Satisfied everyone was being cared for, Hogan began to reach for his watch, which was in a drawer. The motion hurt, and he wisely stopped.
"You've been asleep for fourteen hours," Wilson stated.
That got Hogan's attention. "What? Get the doctor and get me out of here. I've got to…"
"Hold it! You're not going anywhere yet. Breakfast?" Wilson reached over to the bedside table and picked up a plate and fork.
"No. I'm not that hungry." Hogan, annoyed at never being able to finish a sentence, gave the medic a dirty look. "Report?"
"Well, all right." Wilson put down Hogan's breakfast and removed a pad of paper from his pocket. "Three more men have been discharged from the hospital, including your former next-door neighbor, Reynolds. They brought in some movies last night."
Hogan perked up. "That's great! Which ones?" He then frowned. "I hope they didn't bring in any newsreels."
"No newsreels, sir. They had prints of Meet Me In St. Louis. That's a musical with Judy Garland," Wilson replied. "And Arsenic and Old Lace. Cary Grant was in that one. That's a black comedy. I was pretty busy, so I didn't see them. They are starting to process everyone this morning."
"That's important. And our debriefing?" Hogan shifted impatiently.
"The men sorted the paper items and the brass is beginning to look them over." Wilson snapped his fingers. "Oh yeah. They wanted me to make sure you knew about the telegrams."
"What telegrams?"
"To send home, Colonel. Here." Wilson handed Hogan a pad and a pencil. "Write down the information and your message and I'll get it out. We're a special case, I guess. Most of the guys-the ones liberated from other camps-were told to write letters. This is faster."
"Home?"
"Yes, sir."
"We shouldn't be given special treatment," Hogan complained, as he wrote down his message and handed it back to the medic. Now tired from the exertion, he laid his head back down.
"Well, some of these guys will be here longer than the others, for obvious reasons. I guess it's the least London could do. Get some rest, sir. I'll check on you later."
"Tell the men to check in," Hogan shouted as Wilson left. "Oh hello," he said to a nurse, who had come over. "You aren't Gage."
"No sir. She's off duty. I'm Lieutenant DeSoto."
Hogan took a breath, which hurt, and drew upon his charm. "I'm better. I need to get out of here. Can you tell the doctor I have to be discharged?"
The few men within earshot chuckled and went back to eating their breakfast.
DeSoto smiled at Hogan and took a look at his chart.
"Lieutenant Desoto. I asked you a question," Hogan said sharply, trying a new tactic. Command tone.
It didn't work.
The colonel let out as deep a breath as he could. He realized that the best medical personnel had a special way of controlling those under their care; a subtle talent of softening the blow while getting their way. This brought his memory back a day in camp where, unfortunately, Wilson took control.
Luft Stalag 13
March 24, 1945
"You aren't better, sir," Wilson argued. "In fact, you're getting worse. Do me a favor. Go to bed. You just told me you can't take a deep breath."
"I can't. There's too much to do." Hogan began coughing, and Wilson brought out the stethoscope. Hogan removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Wilson listened, and to his consternation, heard wheezing and other sounds he did not want to hear.
"Like what?" Wilson looked at Hogan and waited for an answer.
"Air raids." Cough. "Planes passing over being hit."
"Let the other men go out. They know what to do."
"LeBeau is sick." Cough.
"Use someone else."
"Carter is sick."
"There are nine hundred men in this camp, Colonel. Surely someone else besides Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk, and Kinch can go out. Well?"
"Olsen," Hogan whispered. "Foster, Baker. I always kept it to a minimum."
"I know. But these are desperate times. Here. Stick this in your mouth. I need to know what you're going to do with any prisoners you rescue. You can't get them to the coast, can you?" After enough time had passed, Wilson removed the thermometer. He shook his head.
"No, the Underground will hide them until we can transfer them to Allied lines."
"All right." Wilson opened the door. "Kinch, can you come in here, please?"
"Wilson." A suspicious Hogan stood up. "Wait one moment."
As soon as Kinch entered the room, Wilson, a sad look on his face, spoke. "Colonel Hogan. I'm officially relieving you of duty and ordering bed rest. You may meet briefly with Klink if necessary, and that's it. You will not be allowed to handle any outside operations, and absolutely no trips into the tunnels."
Hogan was a protective commander. And he was stubborn as an ox. But, he had common sense. "Kinch," Hogan said quietly. "Please notify London of Wilson's orders. You're now in charge of the operation. And let McMahon know he's the new MOC." (1)
"Yes, sir." Kinch immediately left, closing the door behind him.
"I'll go to bed." Hogan stood up and began removing his shirt, grabbing hold of the bunk frame for support. To the colonel's dismay, the medic helped him get into bed. "Wilson, ask Schultz to take you over to Klink's office. Let him know what's happened."
Wilson held his tongue. He knew in this case his victory was not sweet.
Camp Lucky Strike
"Lieutenant Desoto. I asked you a question," Hogan repeated, this time in a softer voice.
Desoto put down the chart and walked to the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, sir. That is up to the doctor." She pulled the curtains back around and began her examination. "He'll be by shortly. You need to eat. I know it's bland, but it is specially formulated."
Hogan laughed. "You sound like a walking advertisement." He reached over and picked up the plate. "Yum," he said sarcastically as he took a first bite. The nurse smiled and wrote information down on the chart.
"Good. I'll be back." She left, nodding at man Hogan presumed was a doctor. She conferred with him quietly for a moment and then left.
The man took a quick peek at the chart and introduced himself.
"Colonel Hogan, I'm Colonel Martin. I'm in command of this facility. I hear you have been harassing my nurses."
"Harassing? No, that's an exaggeration. And call me Robert."
Martin moved the curtains and pulled up a chair. "Jim. I've been briefed on your unique situation and I know this is frustrating. But, if we release you too soon...well, in these cases, relapses are all too common."
Hogan changed the subject. "What's the story with the rest of the boys in here? My medic said three were discharged."
"Yes. I don't know their names off hand, but they've sufficiently recovered and have been transferred back to the rest of the population. We're taking it slower with some of the others. Just to be sure."
"That's fine. I can't believe we ended up like this."
Martin nodded in sympathy. "I can tell you stories and recite statistics that will make your blood curdle. You are all very fortunate. Some of the men coming through here weigh less than a hundred pounds."
"Yeah. I guess we are fortunate and…" Hogan spied Kinch and Newkirk walking down the aisle separating the two rows of beds.
The sergeant stopped and spoke with several of the other patients; then, while Newkirk continued visiting, Kinch headed over. "Morning, sir. How are you feeling? Doctor."
Hogan handled the introductions. "Colonel Martin. This is my second in command. Sergeant Kinchloe."
"Pleased, Sergeant. Actually, I was about to ask the same question and conduct an exam."
"We can leave," Newkirk, who had sidled up behind Kinch, said.
"I need a few moments first with my men," Hogan explained.
"Granted. I was just explaining how important it was not to overdo it. Relapses are a concern," Martin said.
"We've had experience with that." Kinch looked at Hogan as the doctor stepped away.
"Looks like they have everything under control in here. It's everywhere else that I'm worried about. Give the word and I'll pull rank and get out of here."
"With all due respect Colonel, you're not getting any sympathy from me." Kinch smiled. "Besides you can't pull rank on the chief medical officer."
"It didn't work with Wilson," Newkirk added as he stopped by the side of the bed.
"You're right. I'm just frustrated and chomping at the bit," Hogan admitted.
"Understandable. You look better today, by the way," Kinch said.
"Thanks. Give me a report." Hogan briefly closed his eyes, coughed and then opened them again. "Oh." He groaned and grabbed his ribs.
Kinch started talking, fast. "Processing has started with the rank and file. By barracks. But we have to wait for a troop ship. Once they're debriefed they may be moved either into the general population or at least allowed access to the facilities."
"I want to see them off," Hogan complained.
"You'll get a chance," Kinch replied. "Look. Here comes General Butler and his posse."
Hogan grinned. "Posse?"
Kinch laughed. "Baker coined the name. They're going through documents, but I think he'll be heading over here today."
"That's good. I think. And you and the rest are up to what?"
"Keeping things under control, sir. They're taking us all back to London," Newkirk explained.
"No!" Hogan struggled to sit up. "Not LeBeau. He doesn't need to go."
"Easy! Here. Have some water." Kinch handed Hogan a glass.
Hogan sank back down. "I need to talk to Butler," he said quietly as he spied the doctor returning.
Kinch nodded.
"You know we were damn lucky."
"Not getting caught. I know," Kinch said.
"No." Hogan shook his head. "The POWs coming through here. The conditions in the other camps...We were lucky we had Klink."
"You're right about that, guv'nor. We really had no idea what to expect the day Wilson relieved you," Newkirk recalled.
"I admit, I didn't either," Hogan replied. "Considering how much stress he was under by then, he handled it better than I anticipated." He looked at Kinch, his eyes betraying his feelings about what transpired. It couldn't be helped, but he still felt awful about the travesty.
Kinch, for his part, knew what his commander was thinking. He placed his hand on Hogan's free arm, and the radioman's eyes told a story of understanding and loyalty.
Hogan blinked away tears and repeated,"Yup, we were lucky we had Klink." He held back a shudder as he recalled being removed from command and his conversation with Klink afterwards.
Luft Stalag 13
March 24th, later that day.
"Hogan, I am sorry to hear about you being relieved." Klink was looking for a place to sit. It was obvious to Hogan that the Kommandant was wary of getting too close.
"Sit down, sir." Hogan put the down the book he had been reading and pointed at the chair.
"Yes," Klink said as he brought the chair as close as he felt comfortable. "Where was I? I am, well, concerned."
"Thank you," Hogan answered, surprised. "But my staff here knows what to do. And McMahon has a good rapport with the rest of the prisoners."
"About that. I do not recall ever meeting Sergeant McMahon, not since he arrived, that is. I expected someone from this barracks to take over, Hogan."
"Well, Carter has the highest rank, sir. But, he's sick. And the rest have enough to do. I think McMahon will be fine. He'll be able to relay any concerns to you."
Klink nodded. "I expected perhaps to see Sergeant Kinchloe in my office, Hogan."
Hogan closed his eyes. Kinch has enough on his plate besides dealing with the regular routine right now. And Kinch and the rest were fine with using McMahon. Hogan had to think of a reasonable reason to tell Klink why the sergeant was not appointed temporary MOC. Unfortunately, that was all too easy. And not far from the truth. "Honestly, sir. We haven't had any racial problems in camp since I've been here. But, I have no idea how some of the men would take it if I appointed Kinchloe MOC. Especially with the ground troops that recently came in."
"Ah, I see. Most unfortunate," Klink whispered. "To be honest, Hogan, I have found Sergeant Kinchloe to be an asset to the camp population. I have spoken with him alone several times. Your country's history in this matter has given my country quite a propaganda tool."
Hogan wisely held back his tongue, although inside he was seething. First of all, he knew Klink was correct. Not only that, but the military segregation policy was costing the United States extra money and manpower just to implement the ridiculous guidelines. But for a German to complain about segregation when they were exterminating entire groups of people was uncalled for, although Hogan suspected that Klink did not know of the full extent of the atrocities taking place all over Europe. If Klink did know; well, Hogan would face that moral dilemma later. (2)
"Yes, I know."
Klink raised his eyebrows in surprise at Hogan's agreement. "I do not recall since you came here, you ever having anything more than a cold."
"I guess it catches up to you." The stress, Hogan said to himself. The late night forays into all kinds of weather. The close calls.
"Yes, that must be it." Klink replied. "I am sorry I cannot offer anything but sympathy. We are down to nothing, but you know that."
"How are the guards?" Hogan began a fit of coughing. After it subsided, he repeated his questions. "The guards. How are they?"
"Thank you for asking Hogan. I shall pass on your concern. But, you are trying to get information." Klink wagged his finger at him.
"I'll never stop trying," Hogan grinned.
Klink stood up. "I see you have items to keep yourself occupied."
"Signing off on duty rosters." Hogan picked up his book. "Catching up on my reading. 'Tale of Two Cities,' by Dickens. Are you familiar with it, Kommandant? Maybe you read it before your countrymen started burning books." (3)
"Hogan…yes, I've read it. A long time ago."
"Maybe I should take up knitting." Hogan sat up further and swung his legs over the bed. "I get up every so often to walk around the office. It helps. I'll start with a scarf. Initial AH of course. Then let's see…Himmler, Goering, and Goebbels." Hogan counted them off on his fingers. "You tell lies often enough, people will believe anything."
Klink began to show his anger. "Hogan if you were not so sick, I would throw you into the cooler for your insolence. And arrogance," he added for good measure.
"It was the best of times. Seems appropriate." Hogan picked up the book. "Here, take it."
Klink shook his head. "There will be no Red Cross packages. They cannot make it through the lines." Klink sighed. "I have to cut electricity. Lights out two hours earlier."
"Then skip a roll call."
"Hogan, you are not in command. NO bargaining. And no…Now is the time your men would take advantage. Both roll calls will continue, even if a quarter of the prisoners cannot stand. Go back to bed." Klink did not wait for a salute. "I will inform Sergeant McMahon of the changes," he said as he walked out the door.
"Kinch"? Hogan cracked through the open door a few moments later.
The sergeant walked in. "Something I can get for you, sir?"
"Did you hear?"
"Klink gave me a report," Kinch smiled. "Not good is it?"
"No. I don't know if you heard the conversation about the MOC? Klink was surprised I didn't pick you."
"We already went over it, Colonel. We're really tied up here, especially with half this barracks sick. And we don't need any other tension in camp. I know it's been fine, but all it takes is one complaint or someone not showing respect, and then it can spread."
Kinch thought back to his training down south and the experience of total segregation. Life was bad enough in Detroit and other northern areas if you were colored, but the south was indescribable. It took every ounce of self-restraint for Kinch and other men to not fight back when goaded or abused. Fighting back would have been disastrous for them, as justice was not blind. Things improved marginally in England, as the residents of the small town where his unit was stationed welcomed everyone equally. Ironically, the biggest improvement occurred when he was captured and sent to Stalag 13. He experienced no unusual problems with the Luftwaffe personnel who took him in and conducted interrogations, although he suffered similar harsh conditions as other new prisoners. Klink could care less what color, nationality or religion a prisoner was, as long as they obeyed the rules and stayed put. And Hogan, well… Klink and the others quickly realized Hogan was a man ahead of his time. He refused to tolerate racism and prejudice and sent home several men who threatened to cause problems in the camp. Unfortunately, Kinch and the few other American colored personnel in camp knew they would return to a segregated military once they were liberated, and an unfair system once they were back in the states. He sighed; then noticed that the colonel had fallen asleep. He covered Hogan with a blanket. "Sleep well, sir."
After speaking with McMahon and Schultz, Klink eventually relaxed the roll call procedures. This humane step helped some of the sick prisoners recover more quickly.
A/N FYI: This chapter has not been betaed. Please let me know if there are any issues. I'm also starting to adjust the italicized portions in each chapter. Hopefully will be able to add some transitions and repost-leaving the flashbacks in regular type.
1) MOC stands for Man of confidence. In POW camps for enlisted men, a MOC was elected by POWs to be the liaison between the Kommandant and prisoners. Meteorologist Master Sergeant McMahon was featured in the episode "What Time Does the Balloon Go Up?"
2) Based on more recent research, it's clear more people (including German civilians) were aware of the extent of the atrocities against civilians, the Holocaust and other horrific actions committed by the German forces, their collaborators and the civilian population in occupied territories. Word came back from Poland early on, and from other areas of the Eastern Front. These witnesses passed on information to their families and friends, etc. It was not just the SS troops and the killing units who participated. Please check out posts in the book thread at the top of the Forum XVIII for more information. Also the United States Holocaust Museum website is a good resource. FDR, Stalin and Churchill were also aware of the mass murders. And remember, it did not start with murder. It began with a long process of dehumanization, laws, and people looking the other way.
3) For an extended scene, see my companion piece s/8133476/1/At-What-Cost there is a significant plot device in "Tale of Two Cities," having to do with knitting.
The names Gage and Desoto were not picked out of thin air. These are the two main characters in the old TV show, "Emergency."