Newkirk always suspected that one of his missions would end up with him staring down the barrel of a gun, but even he had to admit that this wasn't quite what he had expected. It was a sad irony, he realized, that Hochstetter ended up being a smaller threat than this American.
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Vulsor said. "You're going to take him out to the truck, just as you intended. But you're going to insist that you drive the truck. And I will be there with you in the passenger seat; just tell them that you needed to take me along as a witness."
"And let me guess; if I don't do things as per your instructions, you'll let me have it?" the Englishman asked, his mind racing for a solution. He was still holding LeBeau up; hopefully, the American wouldn't shoot haphazardly if he was trying to save him, too. But Newkirk also had to wonder why he was going through so much trouble to do so in the first place.
Another light bulb went off in Newkirk's mind as he recalled his brief meeting with LeBeau yesterday. If he was lucky, there was still one way to defend himself—one that the American wouldn't know about.
"That's the general idea, Captain," Vulsor went on. "You're going to drive us to somewhere safe; the Frenchman might know some Underground rendezvous points. You'll take us to wherever he says. We can let you go after some time, but seeing as though von Siedelberg will see you as a traitor, you might as well go with these men into the hands of the Underground."
"Let me just say that you're making a very grave mistake," Newkirk retorted. He was not going to take this any longer.
"Oh, I don't think so," Vulsor said. "I know what I'm doing. This man is going to go free, and this gun will be the insurance policy that I need to make sure it happens. You're in no position to argue."
"That's what you think," the Englishman snarled. He reached into LeBeau's pocket and withdrew the gun he had given him the day before, pointing it at Vulsor. "Now the odds are evened, aren't they?" There's no choice; I have to tell him the truth… or part of it, anyway. I don't have the time to get caught up in a standoff with this idiot, but if he thinks he's getting the whole story, he's daft.
The American major stared, stunned, at the gun that Newkirk had just produced out of the Frenchman's pocket.
"How…? He couldn't have had that gun; he would've told me if he was armed! How did you know he had that in his pocket?"
"I put it there, you ruddy fool!" Newkirk retorted, in his normal voice.
"You… you're English?"
"Oh, thanks for reminding me; I'll keep that in mind if I ever 'ave an identity crisis!" Newkirk snarled back, quietly. "Look, shut the door; we've got to talk."
Still wary, Vulsor used his foot to close the door to his office, still holding Newkirk at gunpoint. He, too, wasn't sure if Newkirk was a German plant or not; which accent was his real one?
"Talk," Vulsor said. "I'm listening."
"Let's 'ear you talk," said Newkirk. "Why are you so concerned with a man who's only been 'ere a few days?"
"Oh, no; you're the one in the enemy uniform. You talk first. Why are you working for a German general; are you a traitor or a double agent? And just what do you have planned for this corporal and those other men? But, before that, where are you really from?"
"I'm not about to give you me life story, especially since you've given me no reason to trust you," Newkirk retorted. "But I'll tell you this much: based on what I 'eard from you, we seem to be working with the same goal in mind. I'm on a mission to free those men, but this one especially." He glanced pointedly at LeBeau, whom he was still holding up with one arm. "I know 'im personally."
"And just how do you know him?" Vulsor asked. "He's been a prisoner in Stalag 13 for years; you'd have had to have known him from long ago."
"The RAF did fly in France, you know," Newkirk replied, cryptically. He didn't want to reveal that he was a prisoner in Stalag 13, just in case the major was a plant. The truth was, of course, that even though he had been part of the British Expeditionary Force, Newkirk hadn't met LeBeau until he arrived in Stalag 13. "What's your story?"
"This corporal decided to confide in me the true reason why he was here—to orchestrate the escape of those eight men in the cooler. It was a mission that I swore to help him complete at all costs; that is why I dared to draw your own weapon on you. And though you make some sense, I'm afraid I don't quite trust you."
"Nor do I trust you," said Newkirk. "It looks as though Louis is the one who can clear up this misunderstanding… if 'e was conscious."
"Then, perhaps, we should wake him and clear this up," Vulsor suggested.
"Don't you move," Newkirk warned, as he knelt down to allow him to keep the gun drawn on Vulsor while trying to awaken LeBeau. "Louis…? Wake up, little mate." And please, come around enough to know me again, otherwise our goose is as good as cooked. "Louis, you've got to wake up!"
The older corporal groaned and stirred, but did not awaken.
Newkirk gritted his teeth and then resorted to using the language he knew his friend would best respond to.
"Réveillez-vous, Louis! S'il vous plaît!"
That got the rise out of LeBeau that Newkirk had been hoping for; he opened his eyes, looking very bewildered at Newkirk. The Englishman's heart sank; was he still too out of it to recognize him?
The Frenchman just stared at Newkirk and began to shake his head.
"Louis…?" Newkirk asked, concerned.
"Your pronunciation," LeBeau said, still shaking his head. "C'est terrible, mon pote!"
Newkirk stared at him with an unreadable expression.
"Oh, charming. I risk me neck to save yours, and that's the gratitude I get?"
LeBeau managed a weak smile.
"Of course not; I knew you would come, Pierre. My gamble paid off."
"Pierre?" Vulsor repeated. "You mean this is the Pierre you kept bringing up?"
"Oui, Major; he is a very dear friend of mine."
"There, you see?" said Newkirk. "May I 'ave me gun back now?"
"My apologies," the major said, handing the gun back to Newkirk. "It looks as though we are on the same side, after all."
"Yeah, well, I reckon I'll let it slide this time," Newkirk said, half-heartedly. "Louis, we've got to get a move on; Andrew's loading up the eight fliers in the truck. 'E sent me to get you nearly twenty minutes ago!"
"André is here, too?" LeBeau asked, amazed. He then smiled. "I should have expected him to come…"
"Who is this André?" Vulsor asked, confused
"Another friend of ours," Newkirk said. "You know 'im best as 'General von Siedelberg,' I'd wager."
Vulsor stared at him, amazed.
"Are you with the Underground?" he asked, quietly.
"I'm just 'ere to 'elp a mate," Newkirk said. Even if the major was trustworthy, he wasn't going to get an answer to his question.
"I'll leave it in your hands," Vulsor said, with an understanding nod. This man was going to play it safe, too, and he had to respect that. He turned to LeBeau. "Good luck, Corporal."
"Bonne chance, Major," LeBeau responded. "Are you sure you do not want to come with us? I am sure Pierre and André can pull some more strings."
"No; I think I've interfered enough," Vulsor said.
"Too right you 'ave," Newkirk muttered, as the major left the office. "Cor, I never thought a fellow Ally would end up 'olding me at gunpoint—with me own gun, at that… Oh, right…" He handed the gun he had borrowed back to LeBeau and placed his own back in its holster.
The Frenchman pocketed the gun and tried to stand up, but yelped as he nearly fell over.
"Easy, Louis, easy…" said Newkirk, helping him steady himself. "We're going to 'ave to say our goodbyes 'ere, little mate; Andrew and I are 'eading back in the staff car, and you're going in the truck via your 'omeland to get to the Channel."
"Really?" LeBeau asked, the shine evident in his eyes.
"Yeah; Tiger's planning your route!" Newkirk had to force the smile on his face. By his choice, he would take LeBeau back with them to Stalag 13. But the look on his friend's face clearly told him that the Frenchman was sticking to his original plans; the chance to travel through France would make it even more impossible for LeBeau to resist escaping.
"It will be nice to see Tiger again; I shall have to give her regards on le colonel's behalf," the Frenchman said.
"You do that, Louis," the Englishman said. "And if you can do me a favor, too… When you get to London, could you look up me sister and make sure she's 'andling things on 'er own just right?"
"Of course, mon pote," LeBeau promised. "I shall never forget all that you have done for me. Give my regards to everyone."
"You bet I will, Louis," Newkirk said. He suppressed the mounting sigh. "Bonne chance, mon ami."
LeBeau managed a smile now, deciding to go through with the instigated role-reversal. "Good luck, old mate."
Newkirk gave a nod, and as they headed out of the barracks, he reverted back to Captain von Leonhart as he led LeBeau along.
"What took so long?" Carter exclaimed. His frustration was obvious and genuine; his worry was hidden to all but those who knew him.
"I am sorry, Herr General; the corporal was not quite awake when I found him," Newkirk responded.
Carter pretended to survey LeBeau, taking the opportunity to exchange a glance with him. It was their silent goodbye.
"In the truck," he ordered. "Schnell!"
LeBeau gave a nod, pretending to be intimidated, and he clambered inside the truck with the other eight men. The fliers were nervous, but they had begun to suspect that this was a method of escape, particularly when they noticed one of the slightly-open bundles in the truck bed; the men saw the briefest glimpse of civilian clothes. LeBeau's quick, reassuring look seemed to confirm their suspicions; the fliers now had to force themselves to look nervous.
"Drive on," Carter ordered.
Both he and Newkirk watched as the truck drove through the gates of Stalag 6. Remaining emotionless was an almost impossible task, but, somehow, the American and the Englishman pulled it off.
"We had best follow, Herr General," said Newkirk. "We must make sure that the Underground does not try to waylay the truck."
"An excellent suggestion," Carter agreed. He turned to Mullenberg. "We shall go."
"I understand, Herr General," the colonel said, saluting. "And I give you my personal assurance that there will be no more escapes—and no more transfers!"
Carter returned the salute in an almost bored manner.
"Gut," he replied. "See to it that I do not have to return here to reprimand you again. If I do, I can assure you that the results will be most unpleasant."
He got into the back seat of the staff car. Newkirk closed the door and headed into the driver's seat. He quickly pulled out through the open gates, biting back a smirk as he saw the perplexed Mullenberg stare vainly in the direction of the kitchen. It was back to substandard food for him.
"Boy!" Carter exclaimed, relieved to talk in his normal voice again. "We did it!"
"Just barely," Newkirk responded, proceeding to tell him the story of what really happened in the barracks.
"Wow," Carter mused, after Newkirk had finished. "So old Louis was pulling something together on his own!"
"Yeah, but who knows if it would 'ave worked?" Newkirk asked. "Especially with that serum that 'ochstetter was going to use; that could've ended very badly."
"Well, let's not think about that, then," said the sergeant. "The important thing is that we helped him accomplish the mission, and Hochstetter didn't get anything; those fliers are heading to London along with Louis! When we get back, we should break out whatever's left of the wine and toast to the mission's success!"
Newkirk let out a half-hearted grunt, prompting Carter to frown.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Let's just say that I'm not in a toasting mood right about now," the Englishman replied. "I'm due for the Guv'nor's punishment, remember?"
"That's not the real reason though, is it?"
Newkirk gripped the steering wheel tightly, not really wanting to answer.
"No, it's not the real reason," he said at last. "Andrew, I… I was just thinking that after everything you and I did to get Louis out of that place, he might at least consider changing his mind about going! I was 'oping—praying, even—that 'e would look at me and say, 'Pierre, I changed my mind; I wish to go back to Stalag 13 with you.' No such sentiments. I shouldn't 'ave told 'im the escape route was through France; that must 'ave sealed it for 'im."
"Come on, Peter; if you had the chance to escape, wouldn't you have taken it?"
"I 'ad the chance—twice. And both times, I came back! And what about you? You were all about going 'ome to see your girl, but you decided to stay, too!"
"You know how Louis is," Carter. "Once he believes in something, there's no swaying him. If he'd rather fight for France on the front lines rather than behind the scenes with us, then I feel we should respect his decision. You think I wanted him to go? Of course not!"
"'Once he believes in something,' eh?" Newkirk repeated. He shook his head. "All this time, I thought he believed in us."
"He still does, and you know it."
Newkirk waited for a moment before replying, "You know something, Andrew? There is no arguing with you. There really isn't. I just can't win."
Carter leaned back in his seat, a smirk of triumph on his face.
"At least you helped us to win the 'poker game.' That accounts for something," Carter was saying, as they headed down the tree stump entrance.
"Yeah," Newkirk agreed, smiling in spite of himself. They had left the staff car with the Hammelburg Underground and made the last leg of the journey back on foot. The evening darkness cloaked their arrival and a fresh wave of snow promised to cover their tracks. "And I'll tell you something else, Andrew; I'm thirsty enough to settle for that toast after all. Maybe just a quick drink before I report to the Guv'nor—"
"Hold that thought," said Carter, pausing. "I think Colonel Hogan is in the radio room. …Yeah, that's him."
"Oh, Cor… I really can't win."
After returning to their old uniforms, their transformation finally complete, Newkirk and Carter headed to the radio room. Hogan and Kinch were both there, and the worried expressions on their faces did not bode well.
"Papa Bear to Tiger," Hogan was saying. "Papa Bear to Tiger, can you repeat your last message?"
"Tiger?" Carter repeated, quietly. "I thought she was helping Louis and the others…"
Newkirk didn't respond. From the look on Hogan's face, something had gone wrong… terribly wrong.
"Tiger to Papa Bear," the familiar voice of the Frenchwoman crackled over the radio. "One of my men took custody of the bowls of porridge as planned. He encountered an unexpected squad of Wicked Witches near the vicinity of Paris. The truck tires were blown out; everyone fled. We have recovered some of the bowls of porridge."
"How many have you recovered?" Hogan asked.
"We have recovered six of them, Papa Bear; my man was able to regroup some of them shortly after the ambush and they are on their way to London as we speak, by an alternate route. We believe the others are somewhere in Paris; Big Bad Wolf is also missing, and it seems that it would be the most logical place for him to lead them."
Newkirk could not bring himself to worry for the other two fliers; his mind could only register that LeBeau was somewhere in Paris. Well, it was where he wanted to be, of course, but it was too dangerous for him. On the other hand, Newkirk could take comfort in the thought that LeBeau knew the city better than any German could ever hope to. However, it still didn't bring him much relief.
"Have your men continue looking for them," Hogan said to Tiger. "However do not—I repeat, do not—enter Paris yourself, under any circumstances."
"Negative, Papa Bear; I must help—"
"And what happens if Backsheider sees you?" Hogan retorted. "He's got your number; he'll have you thrown back into one of his cells before you could even say a word!"
"Big Bad Wolf cannot stay in Paris," Tiger insisted. "If I must put myself at risk to get him and the two bowls of porridge out, then so be it. I know how to stay hidden, Papa Bear. I would think that you have a little more faith in me than this!"
"This isn't about faith, Tiger," Hogan said. "I'm going to try whatever I can from my end; just give me 48 hours before you go entering the city."
"I will wait 24 hours," she replied, flatly.
"I said '48,'" Hogan repeated, the strain evident in his voice.
"D'accord; 48 hours," Tiger said, knowing when she was beaten. "But if I do not hear from you once those 48 hours are up, I will go."
"Affirmative, Tiger," Hogan replied. "Papa Bear out."
"She's got guts, Colonel," Kinch said.
"Too much of it; how could she take such a risk?"
"I would, Sir, to 'elp Louis…"
"Newkirk, don't even start," Hogan said. He turned to him and to Carter. "I'm sure you two have figured out the scope of it by now; the good news and the bad news is that LeBeau is home."
"Well, Sir, you did say that the plan was to have him end up in Paris eventually," Carter said.
"Right, but 'eventually' meant after the heat would be off of him; once word gets back to Hochstetter, he's going to, in his own words, 'surround Paris with a ring of steel.' Not even LeBeau can hide from him forever."
"Actually, 'e could if 'e 'ides under a double bunk…"
"What?"
"Long story, Sir," Newkirk said, with a shake of his head.
"We do have a limited window of opportunity in which to act," said Kinch. "Depending on how long it takes for Hochstetter to find out, Backsheider only knows LeBeau as 'Marcel Chalet.' And, knowing LeBeau, he wouldn't let any of Backsheider's boys spot him in the first place; he has the home advantage."
"And that's the only advantage he's got," Hogan sighed. "We've got to find LeBeau and those two fliers before Hochstetter does."
"Especially since 'e 'as the serum now," Newkirk said, and he proceeded to tell Hogan about Hochstetter pocketing it on his way out.
"Great; that's just great," Hogan said, sardonically. "How else can things go wrong?"
"I'm afraid I've got the answer to that, Sir," said Olsen, climbing down the ladder. "There are staff cars out there, Sir."
"Staff cars?" Hogan repeated. "Whose?"
"Burkhalter, Hochstetter, Mullenberg…" Olsen said, with a shake of his head. "It's going to be a convention in Klink's office. Mullenberg even has one of his prisoners with him; Hochstetter apparently thinks the prisoner knows something about a second mass escape, an ambush near Paris, and a fake general and captain." He glanced pointedly at Carter and Newkirk.
"Well, I guess I had to retire the von Siedelberg disguise sooner or later…" Carter said, with a shrug.
"And cancel that limited window of opportunity," Kinch said. "What now, Colonel?"
"Well, the poker game isn't over yet," Hogan said. "We're not abandoning LeBeau, but need to know the new score."
"Baker's setting up the coffeepot," Olsen said. "He figured you'd want to listen in on this."
"Bless him," Hogan responded. He headed up the ladder as quickly as an officer's dignity would allow.
The others followed, although Newkirk lagged behind for a moment. Fate was planning something new. The corporal could only hope that it would be better than what had transpired so far.