FUBAR
Chapter nine
"That was close!" Hogan's hands were shaking.
"Colonel, look." Boswell pointed to the mouth of the cave, which was now filled with rocks, dirt and debris.
"Are we dead?" Garrett moaned.
"No," Hogan replied, "I think it's over."
"At least we weren't killed by our own weapons." Garrett moaned again.
Boswell looked up to Hogan. "Any morphine in there?"
Hogan shook his head. "It's just basic supplies."
"Here, Mitch. Drink some of this." Boswell passed Garrett the whiskey.
"I don't want…"
"Drink it!" Boswell ordered. Garrett meekly obeyed.
"What now?" Boswell asked Hogan who had moved forward to examine the debris.
Hogan ran his hand through his hair. "One thing at a time," he whispered. "Once I don't show up in camp, they'll send out a search party. My men knew where the meeting place was. I hope, anyway, or we'll be digging for a while." Hogan took another bottle of liquor, and poured it over some of the tools he had scrounged from the first aid kit.
"Mitch, take another swig."
"I'm fine, Todd. This can wait."
"Sorry, buddy. Here, bite down on this." Boswell stuffed a rolled up handkerchief in Garrett's mouth. "I'll start cleaning this out. Colonel, if you can hold him down?"
The next few minutes were unpleasant to say the least. So far, Hogan and his team back at camp had mercifully escaped serious injury, but Hogan was unfortunately used to seeing serious injuries firsthand; from crashes, machine guns, and shrapnel that had penetrated his plane. The two somehow managed to work together to remove what they could see and bandage up the wounds. The ordeal left the two amateur medics a sweaty mess and a patient who had passed out.
"We need to get back to camp," Hogan said in between deep breaths, "Soon. Sorry if that's not where you were heading." He walked over to the mound of debris and started digging with his hands. Boswell followed.
"It doesn't matter now. Care to tell me why you were meeting our contact, Hogan?" Boswell groaned as he attempted to move a large boulder blocking part of the entrance.
"It was my contact, Boswell." Hogan joined the agent; but the boulder wouldn't budge.
"I believe I got the call first," Boswell retorted. He gave up on the boulder and started removing small stones, throwing them haphazardly behind him.
"Guys, stop arguing, please," Garrett, who had come to, pleaded. "Looks like one hand…"
"Didn't know what the other was doing. Again." Boswell completed Garrett's sentence.
"No, I don't think so. I believe..." Hogan got up, took another blanket and threw it to Boswell. "Put this over you. It's damp. I believe it may have been an insurance policy."
"That makes some sense, I suppose. What were your orders?"
Hogan pondered Boswell's question and decided to come clean.
"Get the plans and return to camp. Make immediate contact and then catch a secret flight to Allied headquarters in France. After that, I assume they were going to drop me back in. You?"
"We were supposed to split up. Double the chance of one of us getting out."
"Any idea what the plans were?" Hogan asked.
"Nope. Could have been a weapon. But my bet was for a last gasp counteroffensive."
"Damn." Hogan was upset. "I think that bet was a good one. He must've been caught."
"At least it was before we got there," Boswell pointed out. "Hey, you with me, buddy? Open your eyes." He poked Garrett, who grunted. "We weren't supposed to be taken alive."
"Nice thought." Hogan turned off the flashlight to save the battery. The three men, now dejected at the failure of their mission, leaned up against the wall and wallowed in their collective misery.
************
Back at the stalag, the men, who had waited long enough for Hogan's return, were already starting to organize search parties for both their commander and downed flyers. Armed with walkie-talkies and Hogan's last known position, eight men sent out in four teams and headed out, picking up several airmen on the way. The teams, now reduced to six men, continued.
"This is the place." Newkirk and Olsen, along with Carter, LeBeau, Baker, and Mills reached the meeting spot.
"Looks like this area got hammered." Carter, who was examining the ground, pointed to a spot. The men fanned out for a quick search of the area, then met up again in the center.
"There's some brush and twigs here that have been crushed." Mills shone his flashlight on a section.
"He could have run; probably with the contact," Newkirk guessed. "Olsen?"
"We'll follow it," the sergeant decided. "We'll head towards some of our hiding places. He may have gone that way on purpose."
************
Boswell and Hogan, with Garrett in between them, huddled together to keep warm, as the dampness of the cave began to chill their bones. Occasionally, Hogan would flick a lighter to check the time; then close it to save fuel. He was debating whether or not to continue digging out by hand, when he felt Garrett begin to shiver. Hogan reached over and tapped Boswell.
"Hey. He's getting colder or feverish. Not sure which."
Boswell placed his blanket on his partner.
"Put it back on," Hogan ordered. "Don't need you getting sick."
Boswell turned on the flashlight. Hogan saw him stare at the bottles of whiskey. "You think your men are coming?"
Hogan shrugged. "Not sure. But they know the cave is here. They'll probably go to the meeting spot, and hopefully see the tracks; if the tracks weren't blown to smithereens."
"Then one swig won't hurt?"
"One swig? No. It will warm us up."
"Fair enough." Boswell opened the bottle and took a drink. He passed it to Hogan, who first gave a sip to Garrett.
"You know," Hogan said, about an hour later. He started feeling around for his pockets. "I always have a bar of chocolate in here, somewhere." He patted his shirt; then got confused.
"For Schultz?" Boswell blurted out.
"Yup. Oh," the colonel's face fell.
"You ate it already," Boswell accused him.
"Not wearing a uniform." Hogan was dressed in his black camouflage outfit.
"Too bad," Garrett piped up.
"How…how you feeling, Mitch?" Boswell slurred.
"Not too hot. My side hurts like hell."
"Wilson will fix you up," Hogan said.
"He hates me."
"Us," Boswell interjected.
"Not true. You," Hogan poked Boswell, "You saved me from the sodium pant… sodium pent… Saved me from the truth serum. Anyway, I'll order him to fix you up," Hogan said emphatically.
Boswell laughed. "I didn't know he followed your orders." That got Garrett laughing.
"Shnot funny. What is this stuff anyway?" Hogan glanced at the bottle he and Boswell had drained. "Hmm?"
"Hmm?" Boswell was beginning to nod off.
"Wake up." Hogan shook Boswell and then looked at the label on the bottle. "Let's see. Not a good year. 1938."
"Very bad year," Boswell repeated and then hiccupped.
"So, how did you to get schtarted in the spy business, anyways?" Hogan asked Boswell.
"Diplomatic corp. Schtationed in Berlin in the thirties."
"UGH."
"Yup. Didn't like what we saw and got, got, got…"
"Recruited," Garrett who wasn't as tipsy as the other two, added helpfully.
"Now, it's only fair, Rob." Boswell reached over and poked Hogan. "How did you get schtarted in the spy business?"
"Wright Brothers," Hogan answered, ignoring use of his first name. He then pursed his lips together and made the sound of a propeller, while at the same time drawing circles in the air with his hand.
"No. Really?"
"You know, this stuff is as bad as some moonshine I had back when I was 17. What was the question?"
"How did you get started in the spy business?"
"Got shot down over Hamburg and that's all she wrote."
"Not telling."
"Nope."
Boswell started laughing. "I still can't believe Klink thought we were plants." He got up, stumbled, and made another attempt at moving the boulder. He gave up and started digging again.
Hogan stopped him. "Don't waste your strength."
"Well, aren't you the optimist." Boswell sat back down and threw the blanket over his shoulders.
**********
The men in the search party approached the cave entrance about a half hour later.
"Oh, will you look at that! Oh man," Carter cried out when he shone his flashlight and saw the debris.
"Do you think he's in there?" Mills asked.
"One way to find out." LeBeau walked up to the mound. "I think I may be able to shimmy my way in. Give me a boost."
Moments later, Hogan thought he heard rustling and movement outside.
"Shhh," he said loudly, "We got company." He tossed off the blanket, got to his feet and walked somewhat crookedly towards the entrance. Boswell followed. They both took out their guns.
"Colonel!" LeBeau shouted, "You in there?" He was just able to poke his head through. His flashlight temporarily blinded Boswell.
"LeBeau? Is that you?"
"Wait! Hold on, Colonel. We'll try and dig you out. Are you hurt?"
"No, but I have an injured man in here."
Lebeau crawled backwards. "He's in there," he announced happily.
"See!" Hogan hit Boswell on the back. "I told you they would come."
"Yes, you did."
"We need to work fast to get back in time," Olsen pointed out.
"Dig the top out a little deeper and we should be able to get in there and get the colonel out," LeBeau suggested. "Rather than worry about the whole pile."
"That's a plan," Olsen agreed. The six men started digging and were shortly able to make a small ditch. LeBeau was then able to climb down.
"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes," Hogan said.
LeBeau thought he smelled liquor, but didn't comment. "Was your contact injured? Oh, it's you two?" He asked as his eyes adjusted to the dark.
"Don't even ask," Hogan said.
The men made it back to camp with an hour to spare. Wilson was waiting in the tunnel for his patient, having been notified by radio of the rescue. It was a crowded tunnel system that night; two spies and seven fliers taking up temporary residence, plus one colonel waiting for word on Garrett's condition.
"You two did a good job, Colonel," Wilson said as he put the finishing touches on Garrett's wounds.
"Did we get everything?" Hogan asked as he peered over the medic's shoulder.
"Yes." The medic sprinkled sulfa on several spots and then bandaged the area. Garrett, who had been given a shot of morphine, was now sleeping. Wilson covered him with a blanket; then looked up at Hogan. "You and Boswell worked well together."
Hogan, who was developing a headache, and whose mouth now felt like paste, grunted. "I have to contact London and make a report," he sighed.
"Try to get some sleep after roll call, sir." Wilson ordered. "You look like you can use it." He grinned.
Hogan went over to the radio, where Boswell was finishing his report on the failure of his mission. He looked up at Hogan with bloodshot eyes. "Your turn," he said, as he shakily got up from the chair and headed off to check on his partner.
"Gee, thanks," Hogan answered.
"Sorry to hear it," was the response when Hogan informed his handler of a failed contact. "We were counting on this," the handler reported.
"Apparently, so was the OSS," was Hogan's reply.
"Repeat that, Papa Bear."
"The OSS sent agents out for the same information. The two men who needed a message passed."
Silence.
"London, you there?"
"We know nothing about that."
"Are you sure? I was there."
"Sorry?"
"We ended up in the same grove, pointing guns at each other, and then getting caught in an air raid that showed up 2 hours early."
"Sorry."
"Like I said, the last time this happened," Oh my head, Hogan thought,"I suggested that the two organizations have a nice chat over a cup of tea and get yourselves coordinated! These guys were stuck here for three weeks, and they attracted attention from the Gestapo!"
"Well, at least this time, Hogan," his handler chuckled, "At least you didn't end up accidentally shipped back to stand trial."
"What?"
"Hold on, Papa Bear."
Hogan waited impatiently, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. He could hear all the voices in the background.
"Sorry, old boy. That wasn't funny. We are all very upset at the mission failure and we will contact the OSS and coordinate intelligence," Hogan's handler said in a monotone.
Hogan held his tongue and signed off. He climbed upstairs, chewed some aspirin, and reported for roll call with a hangover and bloodshot eyes.
"Colonel Hogan. Colonel Hogan? Are you in there?"
"Schultz, not so loud," Hogan whispered.
"He's sick, Schultzie," Newkirk tried to block the sergeant. "Can we make this quick?"
"Rrepooort!" Klink came hustling over.
"All present and accounted for, Kommandant."
Klink stared at the colonel for a moment. "You sick?" He asked him point blank.
"No. Yes. Bad night. Noisy. Did you hear the raid?" Hogan coughed to make a point.
Klink pondered that for a moment. "Disssmissed!"
"I'm going back to bed," Hogan announced as everyone returned inside. "Don't bother me unless Eisenhower is on the phone."
"I think he and the other two had a little too much to drink last night."
"Now why would he do that, Newkirk?" Carter asked. "That doesn't sound like the colonel. He's too on the ball."
"It was cold, damp and dark in there, Andrew," Lebeau explained. "Warmed them up."
"It probably started as a medicinal thing," Kinch noted, "And then, what the heck. They finished the bottle."
"No one's perfect, Andrew." LeBeau started rustling around the room. "I know a great cure for a hangover."
After taking the aspirin that Wilson had provided, Boswell sat down on a cot down below. He stared at the roof for a moment, wondering how Hogan would react when told that, due to Garrett's injuries, the two of them would be stuck in camp for another week.