RAMPS
Chapter 6
There was a pause in the conversation as two orderlies dropped off a few extra chairs. In order to get some privacy, Kinch and Newkirk moved the curtains back around the bed, and then gratefully sat down. Knowing stress could worsen Hogan's condition, Kinch did not want to upset the colonel any further. Changing the subject away from their current situation was a good tactic. He saw an opening with Hogan's comment about Klink and the way he ran the prison camp, and decided to continue with this line of conversation. He gave Newkirk a small poke. Thankfully, the men had been together for so long, the corporal read Kinch's mind and took the hint.
"Right you are, sir," Newkirk said. "I wouldn't want him as a friend, after the war that is. But, for a Kommandant, well...he..."
"Was an easy mark," Kinch stated with a straight face.
Hogan smiled. "He kept his records straight. Good bookkeeper."
"It was easy to forge his signature," Newkirk said. "You're right. If you ask me, there were a lot worse."
"He had his moments. Good and bad," Kinch reminded them.
"Times he didn't stand up to the Gestapo," Newkirk said. "Although all's well that ends well," he quickly added.
"To quote one of my favorite authors," Hogan stated; "'Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.' That's Mark Twain. I think that Klink's fear often overrode his true feelings."
"I think you're giving him too much credit, sir."
"We'll have time to ponder Klink's behavior, Newkirk." Not wanting to continue a philosophical discussion, it was now Hogan's turn to change the subject. "How is morale, Kinch? I forgot to ask."
"Fine, sir. Considering. Anyway, that's Newkirk's department."
"They're being kept busy. Just standing in line for the mess takes time and organization." Newkirk laughed. "In case you hadn't heard, they've got Germans servicing up grub."
Hogan frowned. "I hope the officers are maintaining discipline."
Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I haven't heard of any major problems from our crew. There's been some name-calling and harassment, but as far as I know, it hasn't gotten out of hand. No worries. At any rate, the debriefing and paperwork is taking a while. Mostly, they're sleeping and writing letters. Oh, that reminds me…" Newkirk reached into his pocket and handed Hogan a packet. "Here's some writing paper. I didn't know if you had any."
The pad of paper Hogan was using was smaller. It worked for composing a short telegram, but it wasn't suitable for writing a letter. "Thanks. Put it there." Hogan pointed to the table next to the bed.
"There's another thing. How can I put this? I think they're finally starting to come to terms with everything."
"What do you mean, Newkirk?" Hogan asked.
"Well there's the shock, of course, of realizing how dangerous things really were, but they also understand what an incredible thing…they…we…everyone accomplished and pulled off. And they're proud. What will be hard is when they won't be able to talk about it. But now everyone is excited."
Hogan smiled, and then blinked back tears. Hearing what Newkirk described filled him with such pride and joy, he momentarily forgot his fatigue and pain for just a moment and let everything sink in. Kinch and Newkirk smiled as well.
"Colonel, if it's all right with you, I have to check in with the others," Kinch said.
"Go ahead, and thanks. Oh, and find McMahon and send him over. I want to speak with him."
The conversation came to a pause as Martin came out from behind the curtain. He nodded at Kinch, who headed for the exit. The doctor stopped at the edge of the bed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. "It looks like everyone's morale has lifted."
"Good. Morale is essential for good health," Hogan parroted. "So, that being said. I'm improving. Can I get out of here?"
Martin stared at the colonel for a moment. "I heard you were a con artist. From multiple reliable sources."
Newkirk held back a laugh. "I'll check on you later, sir." After leaving, he thought about Hogan's words, the issues in camp and what transpired after he and the others realized they had a serious problem on their hands.
April 2, 1945
Luft Stalag 13
"Hey. Hey. Break it up!" Newkirk pulled apart the two fighting prisoners. "What's your problem?" He glared at the two-one Brit and one American-who were in turn glaring at each other.
Crowley, the Barracks 17 chief, came running over. "I'll handle it." He strode up to the two men and got into their faces. "What is it this time? Gambling? Stealing? C'mon. Get inside and wait," he ordered. "This is the third fight this week on this side of camp," he told Newkirk as the crowd shuffled away.
"The camp is beginning to lose its charm, isn't it?" Newkirk, who was rarely without a clipboard, jotted down the names of the fighters. He pulled off the page and handed it to Crowley. "Can you see that McMahon gets this?"
"Sure. The camp. I'll tell ya, it's a powder keg. One-third of the men are on edge. One-half are depressed, and the rest are too hungry or sick to care. How's the colonel?"
"The same. I think if he could just stroll around and be seen, it would mean a lot."
"These men were more well-behaved when they were involved, if you get my drift," Crowley whispered.
"Yeah, well, that's about ended." Newkirk stopped the chief as two guards approached. "I've got to go, thanks."
"No problem." Crowley went into the hut and Newkirk continued his stroll around camp, stopping every so often to speak with department heads and chiefs before coming across Carter.
"Hey, mate! You look a bit better."
"Good to get out. Look at this." Carter quietly led Newkirk around the corner where they could see Schultz and a younger prisoner seated on a bench outside a barracks. The prisoner appeared upset. "Who is that?" Carter whispered.
"Don't know offhand."
"Come with me," they heard Schultz say. "I'll walk you back." The sergeant spotted Newkirk and Carter as he stood up.
"Everything all right, Schultz?" Carter asked as he and Newkirk approached. He looked at the prisoner. The prisoner's eyes were red.
"Yes, Carter. I have…" Schultz paused. "Everything under control. How is Colonel Hogan today?"
"He was sleeping when I checked. He seems the same."
Schultz's charge looked down at the ground and shuffled uncomfortably. "I see. Tell him I asked after him." Schultz gently grabbed the prisoner's arm and led the man away.
"Another one for the depressed column." Newkirk said. "Wonder why he didn't go to see the chaplain?"
"I hear he's sick as well. Besides, Schultz is kind of a father figure, you know. Or he could be your favorite uncle. Anyway, maybe he got bad news from home," Carter said in a tired voice. "No, wait. We haven't had mail for a while."
Newkirk shook his head. "I just broke up a fight, and I have another crying prisoner. Don't mention this to the colonel."
"I wouldn't think of it," Carter replied. "You know something else? Olsen is cringing every time he hears artillery or our planes fly over."
"Blimey, it's all gone to pot, hasn't it?"
When Carter and Newkirk returned to the hut, they were pleased to find Hogan sitting up in bed. He was attempting to keep down some hot broth LeBeau had prepared for him. "How is morale, Newkirk?" he asked after taking a sip of the weak liquid.
"Fine, sir." Newkirk stood by the bed, slouching a bit, his hands clasped in front.
"I can tell you're lying."
"Why would I lie to you, sir?"
Hogan tilted his head as Carter stifled a laugh. "Newkirk. Start talking or I'm getting dressed and going out to see for myself." Hogan put down the mug and began to remove the covers.
"No need to do that," Carter interjected. He glanced at Newkirk and then continued. "We've had some fights."
"And…"
"There's a…what's the word? A cloud hanging over the camp," Newkirk reluctantly admitted. "That's it. I'm sorry. I didn't want to upset you. You have enough problems."
"I'm not upset. I'd rather hear the truth then have everyone tiptoe around me like I'm a piece of china."
"That's an odd piece of imagery," Newkirk responded with a smile.
"Yeah, well." Hogan took a breath and coughed. "I can't give pep talks, but we can't have this. Not this close." A bang in the distance interrupted the conversation. Newkirk deliberately neglected to mention Olsen's apprehension.
"Oh, here's something that will cheer you up." Newkirk pointed at Carter. "This one went for a walk this afternoon. Said he felt a bit better."
"Is that a fact, Carter?"
"Um. Yes, sir."
"That's good. You have something for me, Kinch?" The sergeant was standing by the door.
"Latest news from the front."
"Hand me my bathrobe. I need to get up." Newkirk grabbed the bathrobe off the back of the chair and held it while Hogan stood up. He helped the colonel put it on. Hogan then waved him off and walked over to the desk himself, grabbing onto the edge for support and collapsing in the chair.
Newkirk exchanged glances with Kinch and Carter and then said, "I'll go get Wilson."
"I'm not dying. But go tell him to come over when he gets a break," Hogan said.
"Right away, sir," Carter said.
Newkirk and Carter both ran off, leaving Kinch and Hogan alone.
"Newkirk is acting, what's the word, too polite." Hogan sighed. "Sometimes I miss his cheeky backtalk."
"Well, no interesting missions, so no chance for him to complain about being volunteered."
Hogan let out a small chuckle at Kinch's description of his bunk mate and fellow team member.
Wilson showed up a few minutes later and Kinch left the office to give the colonel and the medic their privacy.
"You want to do what?" Wilson closed the door and removed his stethoscope from his medical bag. "Open your shirt."
"Go for a walk outside, Wilson. Someplace further than the latrine. Like around the camp. The entire camp."
"I don't think that's a good idea, although I do understand your frustration."
"What's up your sleeve, Wilson? You're being too polite. I…oomph."
"Hold that under your tongue. There's nothing up my sleeve. We're out of sulfa. I've had to reduce the daily calorie count again. Fifteen guards are sick. I cleaned the rec hall and then I added more beds. The good news is that LeBeau can start handling food again. I know why you want to talk a walk." Wilson removed the thermometer.
"You stuck that in deliberately. And I know about LeBeau. He managed to make some weak broth."
"I needed to take your temp," Wilson explained. "Unless you would rather do it the other way."
"Not a chance." Hogan buttoned his shirt. "Well?"
"You've improved since last week. So….I'll let you get dressed and take a walk around camp. Provided someone goes with you."
"I may hold off on your demotion yet, Wilson," Hogan joked.
"In that case," the medic answered, "I may consider putting you back on limited duty. In a few days. Provided you behave yourself."
"You want to come with me. For the walk?" Hogan asked as he began to take off the pajama shirt he had just buttoned.
"Here." Wilson opened the locker and handed Hogan a uniform. "No. It would not be good for morale if you were seen walking with a medic. Take someone from the barracks. Olsen. Take Olsen," Wilson suggested.
"Olsen? Yep. I'll take Olsen," Hogan murmured. "I hear morale isn't too good."
"They need to see you, sir." Wilson poked his head out the door. His quarry was on top of his bunk, his right arm flung over his face. "Hey, Olsen!"
The sergeant moved his arm, slowly rolled over and sat up. "What's up, Wilson?" Olsen was usually upbeat and gregarious. Today, it was clear to the medic that the sergeant was depressed.
"You and Colonel Hogan are going for a walk."
He's well enough to go for a walk, Olsen realized. "Um. Sure. Give me a minute to get dressed."
Wilson let out a small grin. "Not too far and take it slow," he told the sergeant. This will do them both some good, he told himself as he left the building. For the first time in a while, he felt more optimistic about the dire situation in camp.