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WHEN I'M GONE

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BANG!!!

Private Kurt Muller practically jumped a mile into the air. Whirling around, he saw his friend and fellow private, Max Klaus, holding his rifle and pointing it into the woods. "Max! What was that for?"

"Sorry. I thought I saw something moving over there!"

"Thought? Well, was there?" Muller asked. Klaus hesitated. "Let's go see then. Where did you fire?" Klaus pointed up ahead a few meters. Gripping his rifle, Muller cautiously headed in that direction, scanning everything around him. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

"Mein Gott."

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Hogan looked like he'd aged a decade in the last few weeks. He sat hunched over his desk, pouring over the latest intelligence the underground had sent. His men loitered nearby, waiting for him to come up with an idea.

"Sir?"

"Quiet Carter," Hogan said tiredly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Just… just let me think."

"Right Colonel," Carter said meekly, shrinking back into the woodwork. Hogan looked as if he wanted to apologize but shook his head instead and continued to pour over the message.

"A munitions train'll be going by here, heading for France," he finally said. "We've got to blow it up, tonight. But there's going to be a lot of open ground to cross. Anyone want to volunteer to go out?" He couldn't order them to go- not after what had happened. He wanted to go himself, but couldn't. General Burkhalter was in camp and if Hogan didn't show up to do his usual snooping and pestering, the Krauts might become suspicious. He was really the only prisoner the Germans would miss.

Kinch was about to speak up but Carter beat him to it. "I'll go Colonel. You know I can never turn down a good explosion."

Hogan almost smiled, but then a dark shadow crossed his features. He hesitated, but then finally nodded. "Okay Carter, you can go. But be careful! Security's been tightened for Burkhalter."

"Sure thing Colonel. I'll be extra careful. I'll make sure to stay far away from any patrols and…" Carter's voice trailed off when he saw the colonel and the others tense. "I'll be careful," he repeated quietly.

"Please," Hogan said softly. "I can't afford anymore grey hair. Girls will start to think I'm too old for them." The men quietly laughed and he replied with a tired smile. "All right, dismissed. Carter, you have an hour to get some dynamite ready. Newkirk, fix him up with a uniform."

"Right Colonel. Come on Andrew, let's get you dressed for the ball." The men marched out, but Kinch stayed behind. The colonel didn't seem to notice so Kinch took the opportunity to study him.

He looked tired and depressed. Of course, Kinch couldn't blame him. It had been so unexpected. In one lousy night, for one lousy mission, Hogan had lost one of his men. And it had hit him hard.

Of course, it had been hard for everyone. It was a small camp and everyone was so close to one another. But Hogan blamed himself for what happened. Kinch could see him going over it in his head. He could practically hear the colonel's thoughts- I should've went. I should've gone with him. Why did I send him? It's all my fault.

Kinch shook his head. It wasn't his fault. As brilliant as Hogan was, he couldn't foresee everything. Sometimes bad things just happened and there was nothing anyone, not even Hogan, could do about it.

"Sir, if you want to talk," Kinch offered, though he knew the gesture was in vain.

"I'm getting too old for this," Hogan mumbled as he rubbed his eyes. Kinch wondered how long it'd been since the colonel had gotten a good night's sleep. Probably not since before he'd taken command of Stalag 13. Losing one of his men had just made it worse.

"Get some sleep Colonel," Kinch suggested quietly. Hogan just shook his head and went back to looking at the information the underground had given him. Kinch knew it was useless to try to get him to listen. Sighing, he shook his head and quietly left the office.

The attitude in the common room was not much better. The men lay quietly in the bunks, lacking their usual cheer. A few glanced at the empty bunk in the room which only added to the melancholy mood that hovered in the air.

As he flopped into his own bunk, Kinch wondered how long the men would stay in this depressed rut. It amazed him how the death of one man could affect an entire camp. Pausing to think, it suddenly dawned on him that for the death of a man to have such an impact, his life must have been equally important. It was a new thought, one that Kinch had never considered before. It made him think how important his work was to the men and operation at Stalag 13.

He wasn't going to fool himself. He wasn't as important as Hogan. Without Hogan, the whole opera fell apart.

Hogan was the genius behind the operation, no doubt. His crazy scheme always managed to work out, sometimes just by sheer luck. Hogan could manipulate anyone into anything with his quick thinking and even quicker tongue. He took risks that Kinch wouldn't dare make and did so with such confidence that, for the most part, his men went along willingly, no matter how crazy the scheme seemed. He was brilliant with just a touch of insanity. Kinch couldn't help but admire the man.

Then, of course, there was Newkirk. Surely Kinch couldn't consider himself as important as he was. Newkirk's talents were indefensible. His sticky fingers could get a hold of anything without anyone being the wiser. He could steal Hitler's moustache if he wanted. And as far as safe-cracking went, well, anyone better than Newkirk had to be flown in from London.

Newkirk was a cynic with a heart of gold, though he would vehemently deny the latter. But he wasn't fooling anyone. Kinch knew that Newkirk would do anything for one of the other men- especially Carter.

Kinch chuckled quietly to himself. Carter and Newkirk, what a team. No two people could be completely opposite. Newkirk, a shady character from the hard streets of London, and Carter, a naïve farm boy from the backwaters of North Dakota, had somehow managed to form a friendship.

Carter was important too. Kinch shuddered to think what would happen to the camp if anything ever happened to the young sergeant from Bullfrog. He was like everyone's kid brother. He was dopey and annoying and the butt of everyone's jokes. But if he was ever in trouble, Kinch was sure that in an instant, there'd be twenty guys willing to go help him.

Not only was Carter important to morale, but he was also the best and certainly the most enthusiastic demolitions man they could hope for. And though he would never admit it out loud, Kinch found Carter's German characters ridiculously funny.

Then there was Lebeau. Lebeau, the fiercely loyal Frenchman. Some might think that cooking wasn't important to an operation like this. Kinch knew better. It was Lebeau and his cooking that had been responsible for the success of many missions. Cooking for the German brass, something Kinch was sure gnawed at Lebeau's soul, gave Hogan opportunities to get secrets and meet contacts and defectors. Lebeau's famous apple strudel had distracted Schultz on many occasions. If nothing else, Lebeau's cooking made life in a prison camp just a little more bearable. What would they do without Lebeau?

So, where did he fit into all this?

Kinch had always considered himself somewhat expendable- easily replaced. After all, it didn't take a genius to operate a radio. Given time anyone could master the system he'd set up. And it wasn't as if he went out on missions very often. He couldn't. Oh sure, he could speak German backwards and forwards, a lot of men here could. And he did a fairly convincing impersonation of Hitler- over the phone. But in person he couldn't pass himself off as a typical German. So he was usually stuck holding down the fort, waiting. A hard job to be sure, but definitely not dangerous or as appreciated.

Kinch got up and took a few steps forward. He turned and looked at his empty bunk and then at the depressed faces around the room.

So, if he was so expendable, why was everyone so miserable?

What Kinch hadn't considered, until this moment, was the quiet strength he lent to the men. He certainly did a lot to maintain the sanity of the camp. His was the voice of reasons amidst the often rambunctious and down-right insane thinking of the other men. It was his quiet strength and support that bolstered the men's faith in Hogan and Hogan's faith in himself.

Kinch grimaced. Was that it? He felt somehow cheated. He was smart and capable and yet he was stuck simply being a support to the others- helping to ease their frustrations and burdens when he had his own. Anger bubbled up inside him. But another look around the room calmed him a little. Maybe his role in the group was a little more passive than he would've liked. But there was no denying the impact he had on the men and how important his presence was. Besides, the last mission he got to go on hadn't ended so well anyway.

Suddenly, Lebeau, who had been keeping watch at the door, announced a guard was coming. Hogan poked his head out of his office. "It's Schultz and he's bringing someone with him," Lebeau announced.

"All right, get Carter and Newkirk up here," Hogan ordered. He wasn't going to take any chances, not even with Schultz. Lebeau nodded and scrambled over to Kinch's bunk and opened the entrance to the tunnel.

"Carter, Newkirk, get up here, vite, vite!" As soon Carter and Newkirk came top-side the entrance was closed, Schultz burst in.

"Hi Schultz," Hogan greeted flatly. "What's new?"

Schultz seemed hesitant as he motioned his companion inside. "I ah, brought a new prisoner Colonel Hogan. This is Sergeant Baker." He gestured to the new man. Kinch sized him up as he knew Hogan was. The tall, young African-American sergeant shrank slightly under the Colonel's thoughtful gaze.

"Fine," Hogan said dully as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Schultz waited for Hogan to greet the new arrival and when he didn't, Schultz nervously cleared his throat. "Well, Sergeant Baker, that's Colonel Hogan, the senior prisoner of war. This is your barracks, barracks three. And that-" he looked around and pointed to Kinch's bunk- "that's your new bed."

"No," Hogan said harshly. He looked around and pointed to an empty bunk on the other side. "You can sleep there."

Baker looked from Schultz to Hogan and finally made his way to the other bunk. Schultz cleared his throat again. "Well, goodnight Colonel Hogan."

"Was this Klink's idea?" Hogan asked quietly. "Does he think Kinch can be replaced so easily?" He shook his head and snorted. "No wonder Klink's such a bad officer." And with that, Hogan turned on his heel and marched back into his office.

Kinch followed him. Hogan, of course, didn't notice him and sat down at his desk. He pulled out some paper and a pen and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I've been putting this off for too long, but how do you write a letter like this?" he asked himself. Kinch moved behind him and peered over his shoulder. "Hell, I don't even know who to write it to!" Hogan let out a frustrated sigh. Grabbing his pen, he scribbled 'Dear Mrs. Kinchloe' at the top of the paper. 'I regret to inform you that your son-' Hogan crumpled the paper and threw it away.

"Way to go Rob," Hogan berated himself. "The guy was practically your best friend in this whole stupid camp and that's the best you can come up with?!"

Kinch was taken aback. He'd never really considered himself Hogan's friend. A confidant, an advisor, but not a friend. It was funny how you only really found out how people felt about you after you were dead.

"Listen Colonel, why don't you hit the sack?" Kinch said, though he knew Hogan couldn't hear him. "Things'll look better in the morning. It's not that big a deal. Being dead is not so bad."

"Ah Kinch," Hogan said, throwing down his pen. "You weren't even supposed to be here in the first place… but I'm glad you were." Letting out a sigh, Hogan retrieved his pen and started writing again. Kinch peered over and smiled. Perhaps not the most elegant letter ever, but it didn't have to be. It was enough to console his family and enough to let Kinch know how important he'd been. He'd never been one to show much emotion, but Kinch felt a few tears prick the corners of his eyes.

Smiling sadly, Kinch clapped the Colonel on the shoulder. "Thanks." Hogan shivered and pulled his jacket closer. "When you're done that and when Carter comes back, get some sleep Colonel," he said before leaving the office.

"Well Lebeau," he said as he came up to the little Frenchman, "it's been a lot of fun. Stay out of trouble." Lebeau just continued stirring the pot on the stove. Kinch shook his head and made his way down to the tunnels.

"Now keep your head down and stay out of trouble Andrew!" Newkirk ordered.

"Yes mother," Carter replied with a lopped-sided grin. He straightened his uniform and grabbed his explosives. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"All right, good luck mate." Carter grinned and started down the tunnel. "And be careful!" Newkirk called after him. "Remember what the colonel said!"

"Don't worry about him," Kinch said, coming up behind Newkirk. "He'll be all right." Newkirk sighed and sat down at Kinch's radio, lighting himself a cigarette.

"Well Kinch old friend," Newkirk said to the radio, "I guess it's my turn to wait. Wasn't a job I really envied you."

"Waiting's the worst part." He gave a half-smile. "Hold down the fort while I'm gone. I guess you're second in command now. Make sure the colonel gets some sleep huh."

Leaving Newkirk behind, Kinch followed Carter down the tunnel and up to the ground outside camp. "Be careful Carter," Kinch whispered, though he didn't know why. It was not as if the guards, or even Carter for that matter, could hear him. But something kept him from speaking up, just in case. He didn't want to bring any attention to Carter.

He waited until Carter was out of sight before standing up. The camp's searchlight passed over him and he instinctively shied away. "Well James, you've always wanted a chance to get out of camp and do whatever you want. I guess now's your chance."

Kinch turned and took one last look at the camp before slowly disappearing into the night.

The End

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