RAMPS

Chapter 13

Camp Lucky Strike

Luft Stalag 13 staff housing area

Hogan's men immediately surrounded him when he arrived at his tent. They all wore huge grins and began talking at once.

"Hang on. One at a time," Hogan said.

"Would you like a tour of the camp, sir?" Carter asked eagerly.

"There's a USO tent," Newkirk added.

"I managed to see a bit on the way over here. But, no thanks," Hogan replied. "The doctor said I should take it easy. Plus, I need to make a call to London."

"Aside from the call, there's nothing you need to do," Kinch said, as he and the rest of the core team accompanied Hogan inside.

"What time are we leaving tomorrow for London?" Hogan sat down on his cot and removed his shoes. "LeBeau, there's no need to hover."

"Sorry, mon colonel." LeBeau's face betrayed his relief. He was so worried about Hogan's health—both back at the camp and their first few days at Lucky Strike—and now he finally felt like all the tension had melted away. "0800."

"And the men coming with us?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, they all know the schedule," Newkirk assured him. "Probably already queuing up." Some department heads —the men behind the scenes who made sure the tunnels didn't collapse, the printing presses were operating, the metal shop kept grinding along and the rank and file stayed engaged—were accompanying Hogan and his operatives. Most of the barracks chiefs were also going, while some were told to remain behind to stay with the large group of soldiers waiting for the troopship to take them first to England, and then home.

"That's a good bet." Hogan laughed.

Kinch looked at his watch. "Do you want us to bring you back some lunch, colonel? The lines can be pretty long."

Hogan thought for a moment, admitted that he still felt a bit tired and agreed to take a break. After his team left, he began to check out the tent. It was spartan, but comfortable; however, he wished he could bunk with his men. Once he got to England, he realized the accommodations would also be separate, and he wondered how hard it would be to acclimate to the peace and quiet and the privacy. After years away, many of the former prisoners would find themselves like fish out of water. It would not be an easy transition. He sat down on the cot and then lay down, linked his hands behind his head and let out a weary sigh. After a brief rest, he got up, opened the tent flap and asked a passing MP where he could make a secure call. The MP escorted Hogan to a communications tent, where he waited for a secure connection, and briefly spoke to Colonel Wembley about plans for their arrival the next morning.

"There's one other thing you need to hear," Wembley said.

"Go ahead." After listening to Wembley's final message, the colonel smiled as he heard the British colonel's words. "I'll let everyone know this afternoon," he told Wembley. "I'm speaking to the entire group over at the hangars." Relieved there was nothing further to discuss, Hogan returned to his tent.

When the men came back a couple hours later with some food, they found the colonel propped up comfortably on the cot. For weeks, Hogan had been pale, run down and even hunched over by illness; now he looked rested and relaxed, as he sat up comfortably with his ankles crossed. He hadn't looked this good—hadn't looked this much like himself—in months.

"Not haute cuisine, Colonel, but it will have to do," LeBeau sniffed.

"Put it on the table." Hogan rose and gazed at the plate. He shrugged, sat down, picked up a fork, and began to eat. "Not that bad," he said in between mouthfuls. "Not as good as your food, LeBeau," he quickly added. "What you could do with spam…"

LeBeau smiled and then began to laugh. It was contagious, and one by one, the rest of the group joined in. For the second time since the tanks rolled in, the men let it all out. They had a release of tension back at the camp, not long before they left the area and the wired tunnel system collapsed in an explosion. This time, for an indescribable reason, Hogan's compliment set them off. (1)

As the group wiped the tears from their eyes, LeBeau tried to forget what he was forced to work with back at camp. "I promise you what I did with spam will be nothing compared to what I will feed all of you once I open up my restaurant in Paris."

A contented Hogan happily stood back, his arms crossed around himself, as he listened to his men joke and talk with one another about post-war plans.

An hour later, he and his staff piled into two jeeps and drove over to where the rank and file were being housed. Olsen, who seemed to know the complex like the back of his hand, was at the wheel of the colonel's jeep. The trip reminded Hogan of a slow-moving amusement park ride—bumper cars, he thought, except they were avoiding uneven spots in the road, which was not in the greatest shape. The occupants began coughing as the jeep churned up dust, forcing Olsen to ride the brakes as he squinted to see through the cloud enveloping the vehicle.

"Olsen. Is there another way? There's too much dust," LeBeau complained. He looked over at Hogan, who seemed to be taking this all in stride. Fortunately, he was not showing any signs of breathing issues.

"No problem." Olsen then turned down what the people in the camp called a street. The other jeep, which held the rest of the staff, followed. "They don't call me The Outside Man for nothing," he quipped. "I know another way."

This route, while off the beaten path, had less dirt and potholes, and Hogan's jeep made better time. They pulled up next to another area, where the entire population of Luft Stalag 13 crammed themselves into one of the larger hangars, now devoid of all the cots where previously, 300 had slept. A platform and standing microphone had been set up at one end. The men were antsy and the anticipation was running high as they awaited the arrival of their commanding officer and his senior staff. The chit-chat and shuffling immediately stopped and close to 900 men came to attention as the small group entered the building and Hogan stepped onto the platform.

"At ease," he said into the microphone.

The near silence turned to a wave of voices. Loud murmurings and then enthusiastic cheers rose up.

Hogan held up his hand and immediately the crowd quieted down. "This speech is a little bit late," he began.

"That's okay, Colonel!" a corporal near the front yelled. The men broke out in applause.

Hogan smiled. "Take a seat."

The men settled down on the floor and immediately gave their C.O. their complete attention.

"By now you've been through interrogations, debriefing by military intelligence, poked and prodded by doctors, and fed eggnog, served to you by German POWs, who are finding out what it's like to be the captives. Germany's surrender is near, and the Allies are very close to securing the freedoms that we have all been fighting so hard to protect. I can't discuss everything in detail right now."

There were nods, smiles and some muttering. Hogan gave the men time to react to his statement, and when the group quieted down, he continued.

"Some of you will say it was fate that brought you to Luft Stalag 13, and some of you will say it was luck that you all ended up there. When you were shot down, captured and brought to 13, I offered a chance to continue to fight—to be part of something extraordinary. And you are all part of the vast majority of the men who volunteered to stay.

"And here you are—873 of you safe and going home."

The hangar erupted in applause and cheers. The din was so loud that the men on the platform could feel the vibrations of the floor underneath their feet

The rank and file needed this outlet, Hogan thought as he waited for the men to quiet down.

"General Butler spoke to all of you, and you're aware the intelligence staff went back to London. What they didn't tell you was that you've all been promoted a grade, retroactive to the time you came to camp." The colonel was treated to stunned silence. It was not the reaction he expected.

Hogan's main core team was standing on the back of the temporary platform. Newkirk turned to Carter and poked him in the ribs. "Blimey, that means some of those blokes out there are now officers?"

"Wow." Carter was stunned. None of the crew did what they did for a raise in pay grade or medals. Sure, they often joked about it, and often griped—sometimes good-naturedly and sometimes seriously. But they all volunteered to stay and to use their expertise to help shorten the war and save lives. "I think so, Newkirk," the tech sergeant managed to croak out. "You think that goes for the Colonel as well? That means he should be a general by now."

Olsen heard Carter's comment. "I don't think he's thinking about that. But I guess so," he murmured.

Hogan continued. "Instead of sitting out the war in a prison camp, you all agreed to risk your lives. You all showed extraordinary courage every day against tremendous odds. You all helped to fulfill our mission. Take pride in what you've accomplished. I'm proud of each and every one of you." He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"I'm heading back to London tomorrow morning with my core team and staff, some barracks chiefs and department heads. A troopship is on its way, and I'll see some of you in London before you head off to your homes. To those of you staying behind in France, I know the future appears uncertain. You will all play a vital role in rebuilding the continent, just as you played a vital role in our mission."

After a deep breath, he continued. "You may recall that when you arrived at the camp—and Kommandant Klink liked to repeat himself—he said, 'For you the war is over.' Well, for you this part of the war is over. And it is my duty to remind you that you all signed agreements not to reveal what went on at Luft Stalag 13. I know it will be hard. This information may come out next week, next month, next year, or maybe never. It's not for me to decide. But even if people do not find out in our lifetime what we accomplished there, you'll know what you did."

As he stepped back from the microphone, close to 900 men sprung to their feet. There was thunderous applause, foot-stomping, and some whistling. The rank and file then came to attention and saluted their C.O. Hogan was already keeping his emotions in check, but knowing that this was his final speech to all of these men, he now felt overwhelmed. He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes as he returned their salute before stepping down from the platform and leaving the building.

The ride back to their billets was silent; everyone was lost in their own thoughts. The core team followed their C.O. into his tent and watched as a silent Hogan removed his crush cap, which he put on the small desk, and his bomber jacket, which he draped over the chair.

LeBeau, Carter, Kinch, and Newkirk stood in the center of the room, while Olsen and Baker hung back near the threshold. The operation's Outside Man, who, if anyone was counting, actually spent more time in town than in camp, and Baker, Kinch's main relief man on the radio, looked at one another and nodded. Baker cleared his throat. "With your permission, sir, Olsen and I have some last-minute packing to do."

"Go ahead," Hogan replied. He waited until they were gone, and then turned towards his men. He leaned back against the desk, crossed his ankles and wrapped his arms around himself. He noticed that the four men-his top operatives-were awkwardly starting at the ground. "Well," he said. They looked up.

As he paused, as if he was trying to come up with the right words.

"Yes, sir?" Kinch asked.

Hogan stood erect and stepped forward. "I was going to say a lot more in that speech. About how the Germans haven't surrendered, the civilians behind the lines, the victims, all those we saved, the defectors, the Jewish families, and the horror of what they've discovered." He ran his hand through his hair. "But, what came out, came out."

"They all know," Kinch stated quietly.

"Your speech was perfect, sir." Carter's voice shook a bit as he shuffled a bit. From nerves, he supposed.

The others nodded in agreement.

"I know we had a few of these conversations back at camp-especially right before we left."

"It's all right, guv. You don't have to say anything." Newkirk said, as he choked back tears.

"No. Tomorrow morning will be chaotic. And then after we land; I don't know exactly what will happen, but I know we will be busy for a while. So, I just wanted to say that I couldn't have pulled any of this off without all of you. I just want to make sure you all know that. When I asked, you gave me feedback. When I ordered, you obeyed. When you screwed up...well, you made amends. And even I screwed up one in a while. When I offered a way out-you stayed. Everything fell into place. An officer doesn't see that all too often."

"You did the same," LeBeau reminded him. "Stay, I meant to say."

"We were at the right place at the right time, Colonel," Kinch said.

"That you were, Kinch. That you were. I know you have things to do to get prepared for tomorrow. Oh, and check with the others coming with us. Make sure that they're all ready to go."

They enthusiastically agreed to their new orders, as if this moment was so uncomfortable that leaving to do busy work was the best possible thing they could do.

As they left the tent, Hogan stood and watched the four men who were so vital to the operation. A language and communications expert. A performance artist and reformed thief. A master chef. An ordinance expert with a flair for acting. All fluent speakers of German. What were the odds? And all as close as four men from such different backgrounds thrown together could be. Kinch, his arm draped around Carter, led the group. Newkirk was with LeBeau. The two, who became inseparable when they arrived at camp just days apart, shared what was perhaps a private moment. He was sure that if it weren't for them, his surrogate family, he would not be standing where he was right now.

The next morning, Hogan, his staff, most of the barracks chiefs, and a raucous bunch of soldiers all met at the airfield and waited to board transports that would take them to England, where most of the men would be discharged, while a few would stay on for a lengthy debriefing. After that, they would begin a new life. For it could not be a continuation of the old. Not for anyone involved in this war. For no matter what you went through as a soldier, whether you fought in the foxholes, or on a ship, or behind the scenes as a spy, from this day forward, they would be forever changed.

The end

1) See my last chapter of "Out the Front Gates."

Thank you to all of the readers and reviewers. And for all those who helped proofread, edit, and offered suggestions which helped improve this story.

While I tried to incorporate as much research as I could, I left many things out. I will be uploading a new topic in the XIII forum titled Liberation Bibliography and notes. I'll include citations, notes etc there. Please feel free to use any of the information in your works. Or add anything to the topic in your posts.