Friday the 13th, Hogan Style
Chapter 4
October 13, 1944 8 a.m.
Over an hour went by, and Hogan and Oscar passed the time by exchanging small snippets of conversation, assisted by the German-English dictionary. Hogan learned Oscar was twenty, and had been a math student at a university he refused to name. Hogan attempted to teach the young man how to say Connecticut, and failed. Eventually, Hogan decided he needed to use the bathroom. It took a good quarter of an hour to get the message across, and convince Oscar to untie his hands and let him loose. The boy kept a very steady hand on his weapon while Hogan was walking around the apartment. He was obviously wary, and held a distance between them, preventing Hogan from possibly overpowering him. Actually, Hogan wasn't sure he wanted to escape. He was genuinely afraid if he fled, he'd jump right into another gang of Gestapo agents patrolling outside. He could, of course, exchange clothes, but he had no idea when the others would be back; so, he reluctantly sat down, and allowed Oscar to tie him to the chair. This time; however, the knot was tight, and Oscar added another piece of rope around Hogan's torso for good measure.
"Don't trust me?" Hogan grinned. Oscar smiled back, but let the gun hang down a bit. Shortly after this exchange, Josef and Gunther returned with Otto. Otto was middle-aged, and was not someone Hogan recognized. "I don't suppose you speak English," he asked hopefully.
"Yes, I do," the man replied.
"Oh, thank the Lord. Listen," Hogan said quickly. "I really appreciate what your friends here did for me, but you can let me go. Really. Maybe take me to the outskirts of town, or even give me some clothes, and I'll be out of your hair. I can take care of myself, and you don't want to get caught hiding a POW."
"You are a POW? From where?" Otto appeared somewhat amused by Hogan's plea.
"Stalag 13." Hogan gave the man a quick once-over. He seemed pretty calm, and in control.
"The boys here claim you are a Colonel! Impressive. So, Colonel Hogan, we will see to it that you get to Allied territory, safely. Okay, I have a plan."
"Oh, great," Hogan sighed. "And may I ask what that is?"
"No, you may not," Otto laughed. "All in good time. Sit tight… Is that how you say it?"
"Close enough," Hogan grumbled.
Otto walked up to the chair. "I do believe you. But, in these times, no chances are to be taken. Are we clear?"
"Crystal clear," Hogan muttered under his breath.
"Good," Otto said happily. He gave Hogan a friendly slap, and then turned to the boys. "Be ready in exactly two hours."
The next two hours crawled. The boys fed Hogan a sandwich, and gave him some water, but they refused to let him go. Eventually, he couldn't fight the fatigue, and he dozed off. Hogan was jolted awake by Gunther, who was undoing the ropes. Now extremely stiff, and fighting a sore neck, Hogan stood up and stretched; but his misery continued as he was again blindfolded, led down the stairs, placed in the flatbed of a truck, and covered with an assortment of burlap bags and blankets. He was relieved; though, to see Otto had returned.
October 13, 1944 10 a.m.
"Stay down and be quiet," Otto told him. "We have a bit of a ride."
"Got it." Hogan, who had no idea where they were heading, settled himself in for an uncomfortable trip, with Josef along for company. So much for jumping. It was Hogan's last chance to make a run for it, and head for the camp and its tunnels, but the odds were again stacked against him. No surprise, considering how this day was going.
October 13, 1944 11 a.m.
After an hour of bumps, potholes and several checkpoints; which rattled Hogan's nerves, but seemed a piece of cake for Otto, the truck rolled to a stop. The driver slipped out, and the guard and the reluctant passenger hopped down. They were greeted by, to Hogan's utter shock, a British pilot and a two-seater; with the engine running and the propeller turning.
"Afternoon, folks," the pilot said cheerfully. "Need a lift?" he asked Hogan. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir." He saluted.
Hogan returned the salute. "Uh, sure. Yes. Where the hell are we?" He looked around. "You landed here in daylight?" Hogan asked the pilot.
"Sure did. Had a lot of trouble, but, the Jerries lost sight of me. We best be off."
"You don't have to tell me twice," Hogan climbed into the plane. At this point, he had to trust that this really was a British plane, and a British pilot. At this point, he didn't care. He just wanted to take off, and get the hell out of wherever he was.
"Good luck, Colonel," Otto yelled as the plane began to roll. He waved.
"Thanks," Hogan waved back. "Are we landing in France?" he yelled to the pilot as they became airborne.
"No, sir, England. An airbase near Dover."
"Okay," Hogan yelled back. "Sounds good." Hopefully I'll be in London before dark, and I can figure out what the hell to do next. Happy to be in the air, Hogan sat back, and enjoyed the flight.
October 13, 1944 1 pm.
For some reason he couldn't explain, Hogan was a bit surprised when the plane actually touched down at an air base near Dover. He thanked the pilot, and hopped into a jeep driven by an MP that took him to the main building; where he was led into a conference room.
After the preliminary introductions and tea, the commander of the airbase, Group Captain Edward Bellamy, peppered Hogan with the usual questions. The normal interrogation one would expect if one was an escapee.
Finally, the colonel was told to get comfortable, while Bellamy excused himself to make a few inquiries, as he called it. Hogan poured himself another cup of tea, and relaxed for the first time in hours; no, days, it felt like. He stared out the window, gazing at the planes parked on the tarmac. Realizing that the group captain had been gone for a while, Hogan glanced at his watch, and began to walk around the room. Seeing a paper, he picked it up, sat down and began to read. He read every article, and then picked out the coded messages hidden within the notices. He glanced at the cricket scores, the stock returns and the rental ads.
October 13, 1944-3 p.m.
Hogan skipped the casualty lists, and worked on the crossword, finishing it in pen. Finally, as he contemplated chewing his fingernails, the door opened. Bellamy, followed by two MPs, walked in.
"We have a wee bit of a problem," Bellamy stated.
"A wee bit of a problem," Hogan repeated. He stood up.
"Yes. Sorry, but due to, uh, a certain recent severe security breach that happened last year – well, almost happened last year – we have to take you into custody, until we can be 100% sure with no doubt that you are you."
"No," Hogan tried to remain calm, "What type of security breach?"
Bellamy looked embarrassed. "Let's just call it possible identity theft. Headquarters wouldn't get more specific, except that the Jerries attempted it once, and they may try it again."
"You're kidding."
"Sorry."
Identity theft. Hogan's wheels were turning as he was led to this base's version of the cooler. A cell, with bars, a cot, sink, toilet and desk.
"Sit tight. I'm sure we'll get this all straightened out in no time at all," Bellamy assured Hogan.
"Yeah, no time at all." Hogan unhappily sat on the cot and pondered his fate. Roberts! He quickly got up. "Bellamy. Wait!" Roberts. That was the identity theft. It had to be.
Bellamy turned back.
"I, uh…" Hogan couldn't explain he was aware of the identity theft. Face theft actually. How could he? The guys at this base didn't know about the operation. He was now between a rock and a hard place. Oh boy.
"I have a friend, group Captain James Roberts. I have no idea where he is, but we were very close. He could vouch for me."
"Roberts is a common name. Do you know where he flew out of before you were shot down?" Bellamy asked.
Hogan told him.
"I'll pass this on to headquarters. If it's your lucky day, perhaps we can find him and you'll be free to go by dinnertime."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it, Colonel." Bellamy took off.
Lucky day. Yeah, right. Hogan flopped back on the cot, and began counting sheep.
Bellamy came by every so often to update Hogan. Bellamy's headquarters were not the same as Hogan's headquarters, so locating Roberts was proving difficult. Hogan knew his command center in London would have kept tabs on Roberts, and he was almost certain that his friend wouldn't have been sent back into action, but he couldn't suggest Bellamy contact Special Ops. So, he waited. And waited. Supper came and went. The sympathetic MPs brought the colonel a book to read, but he couldn't focus. Hogan was convinced he would be spending his second full night locked up in a cell. He was now getting ornery, and he really needed a shower, and he was worried about the men back in camp. He flopped down on the cot, and fell asleep.
October 13, 1944 – 11:00 pm
"He hasn't been located yet," Bellamy informed Hogan later that night, "But don't give up. Right?"
"And if you don't find him?" Hogan's voice rose in frustration.
"Oh, we'll sort it out, eventually. Not to worry. But you have to understand; I have to follow my orders."
"I know, it's not your fault. It's just the way this day started. And now this!"
Bellamy asked the guard to open the cell. He dragged the chair away from the small desk, and faced Hogan, who was seated on the cot.
"I spoke to some people," Bellamy said, "Called in some favors. Thought to myself, why put someone through this? We don't see too many escaped POWs, you know."
"Well," Hogan agreed, "It's not easy."
"You'd think they'd give you a medal."
"Or a nice dinner," Hogan laughed.
"Glad you're keeping up your sense of humor. Good man."
Hogan was beginning to really like this group captain, even if he did have him locked up in the only cell on the base.
"Anyway," Bellamy continued, "One of my old chums spent time working in the Cabinet War Rooms. He filled me in on some information. Top secret."
"And that would be..." Hogan had a not so vague idea.
"This sounds fantastic, but he swore it was true." Bellamy moved in closer, and lowered his voice. "This identity thing; they're edgy, nervous. Apparently, a German mole almost made it all the way here."
"Disguised as an Allied officer?" Hogan offered.
"No, worse; looking like an Allied officer. Plastic surgery."
"Oh, c'mon," Hogan grinned. "That's ridiculous. It sounds like science fiction."
Bellamy shrugged. "That's what I said. But, he swore it was true. So, it could explain why everyone is so touchy."
One word, one word, and I can take care of this. Hogan was now so tired and fed up, despite Bellamy's company, he was almost ready to cave in, and have Bellamy place a call. But no, he couldn't. He had to hang in there. "What about my old unit?" he asked Bellamy. "Someone's got to still be there."
"Well, I found out the 504th has been redeployed. Not sure where," Bellamy explained.
The Manhattan Project. "That's inconvenient," Hogan replied, "Figures."
"Yes, it is. Bad luck, there. But, if we can't locate this Roberts fellow, they'll send some people over tomorrow. There are still men at the base who should be able to confirm you are you."
"Or, we could fly my mother over," Hogan quipped. "She would know in two seconds flat."
Bellamy chuckled and then got up. "Well, Colonel, I will keep you posted, and I'll be up all night. Tell the guard if you need anything."
"Raid?"
Bellamy nodded. "They're all going out."
"I know how that is. Good luck."
And so, as Bellamy left to monitor his group, Hogan became the recipient of another pot of tea and plate of biscuit. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time, and finally sacked out on the cot and tried to fall asleep. It was five minutes to midnight on October 13th. Hogan went through everything that had happened to him that day. "This is one for the books. Well, tomorrow can't be much worse," he said as he observed the second hand sweep past the number twelve on his watch. It was now October 14th. (1) "Tomorrow's another day. Yippee!" Hogan covered himself with the blanket and eventually fell asleep.
(1)What a coincidence! That's my birthday. I had no idea that was going to happen when I checked a 1944 calendar, looking for the appropriate date. (A Friday the 13th, after D-Day.)