No one said anything for a moment. The colonel's gaze bore into the corporal, who was unable to look him in the eye. Newkirk stared at a fixed point on the tunnel wall, waiting for the axe to fall.
"Colonel Hogan… Sir…?" Carter said, finally trying to break the silence. "I was outside, looking for Newkirk; I was worried that he might try something. I met him out there, and he decided that going to Stalag 6 was a bad idea after all, so he came back."
"Andrew, you don't 'ave to make me look better than I am," Newkirk said. "Truth is, Sir… Carter ordered me not to go, but I was ready to, anyway. And 'e was right upset when 'e saw me out there. I didn't come back on me own; Carter ordered me back. If not for 'im, I'd be on me way to Stalag 6 now."
"But in a different way than you were three weeks ago," Hogan finished. His voice was absolutely frigid; it was a miracle that his exhaling breath hadn't undergone condensation.
"I reckon so, Sir," Newkirk said, his voice no higher than a quiet rasp. "If… if you just give me a moment to get back into me uniform, I can go outside the wire and 'ave Klink chuck me back into the cooler."
"You'll stay right here, but don't think I'm not tempted," Hogan shot back. "Carter, get over to the radio room."
"Yes, Sir," the sergeant replied, beating a hasty retreat. He cast one last glance at Newkirk as he left, not sure of what to say. Even though he had come down hard on the Englishman, he had never intended to tell Hogan about Newkirk nearly slipping out. Newkirk was not going to get out of his hole now; Hogan might very well turn it into his metaphorical grave.
Hogan's voice had been quiet all this time, but now his anger amplified his voice as he went on addressing Newkirk, circling around him like a shark.
"Gallivanting with a girl in Hammelburg wasn't enough. Disobeying orders to go to England wasn't enough. Bringing that girl—a spy—into the tunnels wasn't enough. And even though we forgave you for that, you clearly have not learned your lesson. Impersonating me on the radio and getting Briar Rose in trouble wasn't enough. And now, this!" He gestured to the captain's uniform. "How far is this going to go, Newkirk?"
"I… I don't know, Sir," the Englishman said. A deep, red flush was creeping up his face. "I'd like to say that this would've been the end of it."
"Did you honestly imagine, even in your wildest dreams, that you could go traipsing off to Düsseldorf and expect that I wouldn't find out anything about it?"
It was the word "dreams" that made Newkirk freeze; the unshakable images from the previous night had been the driving force behind his actions. Hogan would never understand; he was a man who believed in all things logical. The very notion that a dream was what spurred the corporal to impersonate the colonel and attempt to slip away to Stalag 6 was laughable—though Hogan would not find it funny in the slightest.
"Can we just skip to the court-martial, Sir?" Newkirk pleaded.
Hogan noticed the utter despondency in the Englishman's voice, but he was not going to take pity on him.
"I want some answers, Newkirk," he said. "What, in Heaven's name, possessed you to do this?"
"Well, it ain't because I'm going through a rebellious phase, if that's what's worrying you, Sir," Newkirk assured him. "I…" Oh, how to phrase this?
"Keep talking, Corporal."
"I 'ad to see Louis, Sir," the younger man replied, amazed that he was still a corporal after everything he had done; he had been certain that he was going to lose his stripes. "I 'ad to make sure that 'e was all right after Hochstetter snooped around. We don't even know if Hochstetter took Louis with 'im… or if Louis is even… if e' is even alive…"
The frown on Hogan's face deepened, but it wasn't because of his disapproval of Newkirk's reply. Newkirk always worried about the others on the team; he had been just as worried yesterday, though he hadn't been remotely rebellious until today. Something had happened.
"What's this all about?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Sir; you'd think I was completely mental."
"I think you're completely mental already for trying to pull off this hair-brained scheme; believe me, it doesn't matter what you say. Now, talk."
Newkirk swallowed hard, but then proceeded to tell Hogan about the dream. Though his voice remained steady, he noticeably shuddered as he described looking into "Hochstetter's" face and seeing his own instead.
Hogan didn't react to his words, nor did he dismiss Newkirk as crazy for being disturbed by such a vision.
"And it's coming true, ain't it?" Newkirk went on. "I've gotten Louis into more and more trouble these past couple of days."
"And how was going to Stalag 6, risking yourself and the operation in the process, going to do anything to help?" Hogan asked.
"At least I'd know that 'e was alive!" Newkirk said, furious with himself. "I can't believe I've been driven mad by a ruddy dream!"
"And let me guess—you still want to go?"
"Yes, I do, Sir," Newkirk replied, glumly. "If I 'ad it to do again, I'd probably do the same thing."
"Then, go."
Newkirk now, finally, looked Hogan in the eyes, hardly daring to believe it.
"Sir, are you-?"
"Yes, I'm serious," Hogan said. "With the Underground forced to keep quiet, we don't have any other options; someone has to make contact with LeBeau, and to wait for London to send someone might take too long when we don't know Hochstetter's agenda. You'll leave as you originally planned; I'll alert a contact in Hammelburg to give you access to a staff car, and we'll cover for you during morning roll call. Let us know the situation at Stalag 6, and, if possible, see if you can somehow slip a weapon to LeBeau to help even the odds a bit.
"But under no circumstances do I want you to think that this is somehow meant to be a reward for your insistence on putting your foot into it, understood? Aside from the fact that we're out of options, it'll give me enough time to figure out what on earth to do with you."
"Yes, Sir; it's perfectly clear," Newkirk said, knowing that this was more than he could have ever expected. "Thank you, Sir."
"Don't thank me yet, Newkirk; you don't know my choice of punishment yet," Hogan countered. "Not to mention that you're putting yourself in great danger. Trust me; there's nothing to thank me for." He handed Newkirk a gun. "For LeBeau; I can assume you already have one for yourself?"
Newkirk nodded. "Anything else, Sir?"
Hogan tossed him a notepad and pen.
"Stir their commandant up a bit; if you're going as von Siedelberg's aide, tell him that you're conducting an inspection on the general's behalf. Tell him that the Russian Front is very much an option if the general isn't pleased. And hint that the general himself might be arriving personally—if he doesn't like the report."
"Right, Sir. Incidentally, will the 'general' be arriving?"
"How would I know? I'm still trying to figure out the extent of the damage you caused!"
Newkirk flinched, but he didn't say anything; he deserved that.
"I'll have sorted out everything as best as I can by the time you get back," said Hogan. His tone darkened. "That includes your punishment."
"I understand, Sir," Newkirk said. "I just want you to know, Sir… While I do regret the trouble I've caused, I'll never regret trying to 'elp Louis."
"Save it for your disciplinary hearing," Hogan said. He checked his watch; after the time it would take to get the staff car and make it to Stalag 6, checkpoints included, it would probably be midmorning. "When you get back, hide the staff car in the woods and report to me immediately."
"Right, Sir."
"And Newkirk?"
"Sir?"
"Remember—you're only there to check on LeBeau and give him the gun," Hogan said, icily. "If I hear that you even tried to sneak him out of there, then you will be out of here."
"I understand, Sir," Newkirk said. "I'll follow orders, though I know it'll be 'ard for you to believe."
"Try 'near impossible,'" Hogan retorted. "Get going."
Newkirk turned and sped out of the tunnel, still trying to grasp the fact that he had obtained Hogan's approval of going to Stalag 6. Granted, it was only after he had closed off all of their other options, but he would soon get his wish of helping his friend… assuming he didn't royally mess this up, too. And with his recent track record, the Englishman was suddenly having his doubts about the success of this venture.
Morning crept over Germany. Hogan and the others didn't have to go through much trouble to cover up the Englishman's absence; Schultz barely noticed, and when he finally did, he resolved to "see nothing" for the umpteenth time.
Newkirk himself was still on the road to Stalag 6 once dawn broke; the checkpoints were numerous, and despite the fact that his papers and identification were all in order, red tape still slowed him down considerably.
Red tape had also slowed down the courier, who had been sent by Backsheider. But it was he who arrived at Stalag 6 ahead of Newkirk, and presented the package to a smug Mullenberg.
LeBeau, who was cleaning up after breakfast, saw the courier present it to Mullenberg, as did Vulsor, who watched him drive in. The both of them were soon summoned to the commandant's office. A number of guards, along with colonel's secretary and his personal doctor, were waiting for them. The doctor had a bottle and syringe in his hand, unsure of how much to give to the corporal.
"Sit down, Corporal LeBeau," Mullenberg said. "And tell me once again… do you know anything of the goings-on at Stalag 13?"
A guard forced LeBeau into the chair.
"I will not talk," he vowed. "I know my rights as a prisoner of war; I also know that it is against the Geneva Convention to use that truth serum."
Mullenberg did not look surprised that LeBeau knew exactly what the serum was.
"I told you the first day you arrived here, Corporal; this is not Stalag 13. Klink may be eager to follow the Geneva Convention, but I am not."
"Just remember that after the war, when they try you for war crimes," Vulsor reminded him.
"One more outburst from you, and you will be forced to leave," Mullenberg snapped. "I only invited you here since this was your dear mother's research."
He gave a nod to the guards, who bared LeBeau's sleeve and held him still. He cursed them angrily in his own tongue as the doctor stepped forward.
"We do not know the strength, Herr Kommandant; I shall play it safe and start with a small dose."
"Proceed."
Although LeBeau strained against his captors, avoiding his fate was impossible. He began to feel dizzy as the injection was administered to him. He shut his eyes, half of him pleading for the escape of unconsciousness while the other half knew that if he did fall unconscious, there would be no telling what would come out of his mouth.
"Give him a moment," he heard the doctor say, though the man's voice seemed to come from far away.
"Gut. Take down everything he says."
With a groan, LeBeau slumped forward in the chair, the darkness closing in around him.
Vulsor stared, frozen; he had been hoping, by some miracle, that LeBeau could resist the serum. With the corporal now at the mercy of the serum, he could only hope that it did not work—or that the dose was too small.
"Corporal LeBeau," Mullenberg said. "You remember your friends in Stalag 13, do you not?"
"Mes amis…" the corporal repeated. "Stalag 13…"
"Ja, that is correct," the colonel went on. "What do you and your friends know about the operation at Stalag 13? Is there a processing center for escaped prisoners, and do the men in Stalag 13 also commit acts of sabotage and espionage?"
"Quand nous sommes arrivés, nous ne savions pas…" LeBeau began.
Vulsor had to hide a smirk as Mullenberg stared at the Frenchman with an unreadable expression.
"Talk in a language I can understand, you fool!" He furiously turned to his perplexed secretary. "Get all of this down; we can send it to a translator afterward!"
"But, Herr Kommandant, I do not know French!" she protested. "I do not know the proper way to spell the words!"
Mullenberg cursed loudly before turning back to LeBeau.
"Corporal!"
"Quoi…?"
"Can't you speak in German, if you possibly know it?" Mullenberg asked. He hoped that if the corporal was a part of some underground organization, he might speak in German, which he would be required to learn in order to operate.
"German…" LeBeau repeated, derisively. He began to murmur own tongue again, cursing the ones who shot him down at Salon and cursing his captors, as well, including Mullenberg.
"Forget German!" the colonel spat. "Speak English! English!"
LeBeau's expression changed as the word "English" served as another mental cue.
"Pierre…"
Mullenberg calmed down; at last, he was getting somewhere!
"Pierre who?" he asked. "Is he at Stalag 13? What does he do?"
"…Insult my cooking…"
Mullenberg had been restraining himself all this time, but now he finally slapped his own forehead in utter frustration.
"The underground organization at Stalag 13—who is a part of it?" he demanded. "How do they get escaped prisoners of war out of Germany?"
But LeBeau just mumbled something else about Newkirk.
"Give him another dose!" he said, turning to the doctor. "Clearly, this much is not enough!"
"At-at once, Herr Kommandant," the flustered man replied, moving to get another syringe.
He paused as there was a knock on the office door; it was another guard.
"Herr Kommandant!" he cried, in a frantic voice.
"What is the meaning this?" Mullenberg demanded, letting him in. "I gave strict orders that we were not to be disturbed!"
"I am most sorry, Herr Kommandant, but a captain has came through the front gates nearly ten minutes ago; he is here to conduct a surprise inspection on the behalf of General von Siedelberg!"
"A mere captain? Well, you can tell him…" He trailed off, the name sinking in. "Von Siedelberg!"
The name sunk in for LeBeau, also, though everyone was too distracted to hear the Frenchman's quiet murmur of "André…"
"Where is this captain now?" the colonel asked, not even realizing that LeBeau had just revealed the true identity of "von Siedelberg."
"In the outer office, Herr Kommandant, taking notes and wondering why no one is where they are supposed to be," the guard said.
"Take him…!" Mullenberg ordered, pulling the unconscious corporal from the chair and thrusting him into the arms of one of the guards. "Go through my quarters and put him in the kitchen. Administer some smelling salts; do whatever you must to wake him up and have him start preparing lunch—for myself and the captain! Schnell!"
The guard saluted, taking LeBeau out through the assigned door.
"And you…!" Mullenberg fumed, as he turned to Vulsor. "You will get back to the barracks as soon as the captain makes himself comfortable; have your men clean up!"
The American grunted in reply as Mullenberg opened the door.
"Wilkommen, Herr Hauptmann," he said, gesturing for the corporal-turned-captain to enter.
Never would he have guessed that the man he was welcoming was the "Pierre" that LeBeau had mentioned only minutes ago. And Newkirk was hoping he could keep it that way.