"He what!" Lebeau tossed his cards on the table and pushed his chair back. Hogan stood by his office, leaning casually on the door frame.
"He looks like me, or I look like him," he shook his head, patiently explaining again. "Whatever way you look at it, we look alike."
"Blimey! That's a mouthful, an earful, and a mindful," Newkirk stretched in his chair. "Are you thinkin' this is our big chance, guv'nor? It's the perfect coincidence." He pocketed another dollar from Olsen.
"It is," Hogan admitted. "And it could be the perfect switch, too. If I became Major Lang, maybe, just maybe we could pull off our mission. Maybe…" He chuckled. "It's kinda odd seeing yourself on the other side."
"It would depend quite a bit on whether or not Rommel's known Lang for a long time," Kinch thought out loud. "If they're good friends, it would be harder to impersonate the real Lang. On the other hand, if he's new on the job, like you said, it might work."
"And if I waited until we were out of the area, the pressure would be off the Underground," Hogan started pacing. "Our operation would be safe from investigation."
"It would be very dangerous too," Lebeau cautioned, still not sold on the idea. "What if you were found out? You'd be shot, as a spy."
"Well, it is a war, after all. There's gotta be a little danger." He was getting excited. "But we could do it. A pinch of hair dye, some pictures…" He snapped his fingers. "Lebeau, tonight I want you to slip the major a few sleeping pills, got it?"
"Oui, Mon Colonel," the Frenchman saluted smartly. "It will be done."
"Newkirk, you'll be our impromptu waiter-"
"Sir, I've always been very good at ad libbing."
"Good, well, I want you to swipe his wallet at dinner. There should be photos of his family in there, some personal information. Kinch, can you have a camera ready around midnight?"
"Sure thing, Colonel. There's even an old tunnel that goes to the guest quarters. You want me to take some shots of him?"
"Yeah, I think he might have pointier ears. I'll have Carter whip up a batch of putty… By the way, where is Carter?" Hogan peered around the room, saw no sign of the young chemist. "Doesn't he know all prisoners are confined to the barracks? That crazy kid."
"I think he was looking for his comb a while ago. He said he may have left it outside during roll call." Lebeau rolled his eyes and searched the grounds from the window. "When will Carter ever learn to think? How can the smartest people be so dumb? Oops, there he is. Krieger's got him by the arm." He sighed loudly. "Oh no."
"What?" the others all looked out, and groaned.
"He's taking him to the cooler."
"Klink wasn't kidding," Kinch muttered.
"Neither am I," Hogan was determined. "Carter's in trouble, all right, but he's just earned himself a pass to Berlin. He'll be in the cooler for what, thirty days?"
"The usual punishment."
"Right. That gives us plenty of time to do our stuff. An extra guard from Berlin will be joining us."
"A few chocolate bars and some friendly advice will keep Schultz knowing nothing," Kinch agreed. They stood gathered around the window, planning their suddenly very real mission.
"One question," Olsen finally broke the silence. "What'll we do when Colonel Hogan disappears? Klink will notice that."
"Questions, always the questions with you guys," Hogan threw his hands up in exasperation. "That's our problem, Olsen. Maybe Lang would fill in for me, but I doubt it. You can always say I escaped."
Later evening
The night sky was extraordinarily clear, only a few small clouds, and Hogan could see every constellation over Germany. He paused for a minute in the center of the prison yard, contentedly staring up at Orion. He always felt good when he had a plan; tonight he felt wonderful. It feels like I've reached for the stars and almost caught one. If this goes as planned, what will this do for the war? With Rommel out of the action, the German High Command has lost their element of surprise. The other generals we can predict with decent accuracy, with maybe Guderian for an exception. But we never know what the Desert Fox might try. Guess that's why he's called a fox, a wildcard. It's also why we have to succeed. Remove the wildcard, and the enemy's been dealt a lame deal. Hogan could see figures moving in Klink's office, setting the table, pouring the drinks, turning on the lights. He spotted Schultz at the window and waved.
"A perfect bomber's moon tonight, isn't it?"
Hogan jerked around, startled at the sudden appearance of his quarry. He groped for a reply. "Um, yes, I suppose. Were you Luftwaffe once, sir?" He tried to casually fold his arms across his chest, seemed perfectly collected. He spied Lang hovering several feet away.
"No, but I have studied that aspect of war," Rommel glanced up at the stars as well. "I am surprised not to hear your planes overhead tonight, Hogan. If I were in their place, I'd be up there right now."
"We do have a pretty tight schedule, got a lot of places to bomb. I think Berlin was scheduled for tonight, actually."
Rommel laughed. "You Americans, always cracking jokes, even as prisoners. You're a light-hearted people, but you can be serious too." He watched Hogan, eyes glittering in the semidarkness, and started walking towards Klink's office. "I have to give your people credit, Hogan. Your men in Africa, they were green to begin with. After I beat them once though, they kept coming back. And your supplies, your weaponry, absolutely amazing. Some Germans don't think so, but I do. () If I had half of what they had…" he trailed off. "It might have ended differently."
"I'm pretty happy with the outcome myself," Hogan offered.
"You would be," Rommel shrugged indifferently. "But the war is not over yet, Hogan. My duty is to keep you Allies away from Germany. I have not given up."
"I'm sure you'll do what you can, sir. After all, you Germans are pretty stubborn."
"Ja? Well, we all have our faults," he glided up the steps.
"Even supermen?" Hogan asked sarcastically.
"Especially supermen." There was a bitter note in Rommel's words.
Hogan was left to wonder at that statement, for they had arrived at the party. Major Lang moved past them and opened the door to reveal an exuberant Klink. He cheerfully hung Rommel's trench coat on a peg and led them to the table. He ignored the unexpected Newkirk, who looked resplendent, but uncomfortable, in his red coat. So it begins, Hogan slowly sat down. I wonder how it ends.
"Some Germans don't think so, but I do." In my research on Rommel, I found this kind of interesting dialogue between Rommel and Goering. It was during a last ditch attempt by Rommel to convince Berlin that he needed more men in Africa in order to fight the newly arrived Americans.
An except from some World War II book. I can't remember the name. This isn't mine, so nobody can sue me.
"Rommel got the red carpet at the Wolf's Lair, where all hands were optimistic. Hermann Goering told Rommel that the Luftwaffe ruled the Egyptian air. Rommel didn't bother to argue the point, but mentioned the heavy American aid to the British 8th Army.
"Quite impossible!" Goering said. "Nothing but rumors! All the Americans can make are razor blades and refrigerators!"
To which Rommel replied, "We could use some of those razor blades.' "