Chapter 18
Kinch, LeBeau, Newkirk and Olsen all stood, slack-jawed, as they stared at the medic.
"Plastic surgery?" asked a skeptical Frenchman, keeping his voice low. "Are you sure?"
"Very," Wilson replied. "As I said, I've seen those scars before, and they are definitely those from having had plastic surgery."
"Now why would a prisoner have plastic surgery?" asked Olsen, mystified.
"Maybe he suffered facial injuries and had to have his face repaired," said Newkirk.
"Maybe," said Kinch scratching his chin. "Another possibility is to conceal one's identity."
"Blimey, you think that's the case here?" Newkirk asked looking at the radioman. "But that would mean the blighter might not be a stranger to the Gov'nor after all."
"I don't get it," said LeBeau staring at his friends.
"What they mean is that Colonel Hogan might know this phony if he changed his appearance only to make sure the Colonel didn't recognize him."
"Mon Dieu," murmured LeBeau. "We must inform the Colonel right away."
"I'll handle it," said Wilson. "I left him resting and I don't want to disturb him at the moment. He needs to rest. But I'll tell him when he wakes up. Speaking of which, I'd better get back to the infirmary and check on my patient."
"Give the Colonel our best, will you?" asked Kinch. He saw Wilson nod before he left the barracks with Langenscheidt. Then, Kinch looked at the others. "Under no circumstances are we to let on that we know this fake's had plastic surgery," Kinch emphasized to the others. He saw the others nod their agreement.
On his way back to the infirmary, Wilson spotted Carter, with a sad look, trying to make his way back to the barracks without being spotted. Fortunately, it didn't seem as if Langenscheidt had seen him, or if he had, didn't say anything. The man's head was bowed and he was hunched over with hands jammed in his jacket pockets. He watched the young man kick at some dirt as if lost in his own thoughts. The medic still couldn't believe what he had been told about Carter and felt sorry for the young man; he seemed so alone and lonely right now. He wanted to approach Carter and say something to him, but thought better of it and continued on his way. No sense in drawing unwanted attention to the young man.
He reached the infirmary minutes later and once inside, noticed Sergeant Anderson sitting and talking with Hogan. The two men spotted Wilson when he came closer.
"How's our patient, Paul?" he asked.
"He's fine, considering we had an unexpected visitor," Anderson replied.
"Who?" Wilson asked already knowing the answer.
Anderson shook his head and looked up at Wilson. "I was in the back room taking care of something, and when I came out, I found Sergeant Carter seated beside the Colonel. I chased him out immediately. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. As long as no harm was done." Wilson exhaled. "Paul, why don't you take a break? I need to speak with the Colonel."
Anderson got to his feet and Wilson waited until his assistant had left the infirmary before he sat down and looked at the Colonel.
"What happened in the barracks, Joe?" Hogan asked. "Is everything all right there? Who was hurt?"
"Newkirk punched out your namesake and he hit his head on the post holding up the upper bunk in the common room." He saw Hogan momentarily close his eyes and exhale deeply.
"Damn," he muttered not in anger, but more out of frustration at not being in the barracks to keep the Englander from doing what he did. Now he had to worry about what Hogan number two would do to Newkirk in retaliation. He knew Klink would toss Newkirk into the cooler probably for thirty days for striking a superior officer, and there might not be anything he could do about it; at least until the phony was exposed. He opened his eyes again to look at Wilson. "How is he?" he then asked.
"Newkirk's fine, and your namesake has a mild concussion. But, while I was examining him, I discovered something strange that I told the men about and now you."
"What?"
Wilson then repeated his findings to Hogan and saw Hogan's eyebrows arch and his eyes widen at the news. Whatever he was expecting to hear, Wilson sensed this wasn't it.
"Plastic surgery? Are you sure?" asked Hogan.
"Colonel, I'd know those post surgical scars anywhere. And from the looks of them, I'd say he had it done within the last year."
Hogan's eyes narrowed as he thought about what Wilson had told him. "There's only two reasons I can think of that would cause a person to undergo plastic surgery," he said. "Facial injury, and to conceal their identity. But which applies to our guy I have no idea. You say the men know?"
"By the men I mean Kinch, Newkirk, Olsen and LeBeau. Nobody else in the barracks and not Carter."
"Good. Let' keep it that way for now. London is on radio silence for one more day. Day after tomorrow, we'll have to disable that radio detector truck in the compound, contact London, and hopefully clear this mess up so we can get rid of our friend."
Wilson sighed and nodded. "Sir, what if London can't clear up this mess? What will you do then?"
Hogan sighed wearily. "Then I'd say we have one very large problem on our hands."
Hogan number two opened his eyes due to the pounding in his head. "That damn Englander!" he told himself. "He'll pay for what he's done. And he'll pay big time." He figured since he was planning on getting rid of Kinchloe and Baker and any other blacks, he would include Newkirk as well. The Englander was trouble and he would not waste his time trying to turn him. It would be better to just do away with him; and the sooner the better. But how? Then he smiled as the realization came how to get him out of the way.
After Wilson left him alone, Hogan closed his eyes and decided to try and get some sleep. But with his mind inundated with information, he found sleep didn't come easy to him. In fact, he found himself staring up at the ceiling instead, and suddenly thinking of his close friend Lieutenant Kyle Bingham who had been assigned to Stalag 13 about a month after he was. It went without saying that Hogan was overjoyed to be reunited with at least one member of his bomber crew, as he had lost track of all the others and never found out what happened to any of them. He had to assume the others hadn't made it, and inwardly mourned their apparent loss.
He wondered how Kyle was doing these days in Stalag 18.
"I wish you were still here," Hogan told himself wearily. "If you were, the prisoners who doubt me now would believe who I am. You would have straightened them out but quick." Hogan found himself chuckling at the thought. For the life of him, Hogan wondered why now, after all this time, he was thinking of his co-pilot from the mission in which he and his crew had been shot down. He and the others had gotten separated after bailing out of their damaged plane, and Hogan had feared for awhile that he was the only survivor; but, when the truck came into Stalag 13 a month after Hogan became Senior POW officer, and he saw Kyle climb out of the back along with three other prisoners, he nearly wept openly with joy. He even made sure Kyle was assigned to barracks two, and the two men spent most of the night in Hogan's quarters reconnecting by talking and recalling past missions, and it was then Hogan learned that the remainder of his crew was dead; two or three hadn't even made it out of the plane in time, the rest killed by German patrols who had come across them soon after the bailout. Kyle, not seeing Hogan, had wondered what had happened to his commanding officer and had assumed he had either been killed or captured and had mourned the knowledge that regardless, they probably would never see each other again.
Hogan tucked his good hand behind his head and sighed. Kyle had been his best friend in the 504th as they both traveled pretty much in the same circles. In fact, Kyle was Hogan's choice over Captain Leonard Wylie when he needed to replace his previous co-pilot who had been killed during a previous mission. To Hogan, the choice was easy. And while Wylie was a good officer, there were things about him that didn't sit well with Hogan. In addition to having a narcissistic attitude, he also noticed whenever he chose another man to replace somebody on his crew, and overlooked Wylie, there was an anger in the Captain's eyes although the man remained polite to all he met, even Bingham. But to Hogan, despite the man's politeness and demeanor, the dislike of Bingham and of Hogan himself was quite evident. In fact, it came as no surprise to Hogan when he began to hear rumors that Wylie blamed him for him being constantly overlooked whenever the Colonel needed to replace someone. Secretly, Hogan was relieved when Wylie was selected by another bomber commander for his crew.
For a fleeting moment, Hogan wondered what had happened to that crew and Wylie, and whether they had made it safely back to London after dropping their load. But his mind quickly returned to Kyle. He wished more than anything right now that Kyle was still in camp and that he could talk with him. He missed the man. Not that he couldn't talk to Kinch and the others, but with Kyle as both were officers, he could confide in him as such.
Then one day a year ago, Kyle was gone. Transferred out of Stalag 13 without so much as a warning or explanation, to Stalag 18. It wasn't a surprise as prisoners were transferred in and out of Stalags all the time. To say Hogan was upset was to put it mildly. He had even tried to convince Klink to get Kyle back, but without success. And in return, Sergeant Rowland was sent to Stalag 13 from Stalag 18, and almost immediately he and Hogan clashed. He learned that in Stalag 18 Rowland was a barracks chief, and when he came to Stalag 13 and assigned to barracks nine, found Captain Horner was already the barracks chief, and didn't like it. It didn't matter to the Sergeant that Horner outranked him. After being a barracks chief, Rowland didn't want to go back to being second banana again. He complained to Hogan who refused to budge and make a change, and for that, Rowland's dislike of Hogan intensified.
In fact, Hogan momentarily wondered if there was some connection between Kyle being transferred out and this other 'Hogan' arriving, but dismissed it as pure coincidence. It was an odd thought to have, Hogan told himself, and there was no grounds for it whatsoever. Yet, why did the thought persist and bother him so much right now?
Klink, from the minute he returned to his office, poured himself a snifter of Schnapps and downed it quickly before returning to and sitting down behind his desk. He couldn't erase from his mind the sight of Hogan number one's injuries, and the blood. How had things progressed to the stage that some of the prisoners would turn on one of the two Colonels? He supposed it had only been a matter of time, however, before it was to happen given the situation. Hoping to occupy his mind with different thoughts, he began going over the reports on his desk. But after only a few minutes, tossed the pen aside and clasped his hands together, elbows on the desk, and pressed his lower jaw against clenched hands. He just couldn't get the image of Hogan number one in the rec hall out of his mind. In fact, any giddiness he previously felt at seeing Hogan number one's discomfort at having another man in camp with the same name was gone as well. And whatever he had felt didn't mean he wanted to see either man hurt; especially the Hogan he had known for awhile.
"What have I done?" Klink asked the open air around him. "I should have stopped this before it started; before somebody got hurt. I suppose I should be fortunate Hogan wasn't killed. Thank heavens Sergeant Wilson said he should be all right." He rubbed his forehead as a headache was beginning. He was starting to feel he was losing control of Stalag 13; and if that happened and General Burkhalter was to find out, Klink knew he would end up on the Russian front for sure. It was then his phone rang. Hoping Fraulein Hilda would answer it, he ignored the incessant ringing. But after it rang four times, Klink figured his secretary was probably out of the office at the moment.
Exhaling with sudden weariness, he picked up the receiver. "Klink speaking." He suddenly stiffened. "Yes, Captain van Kueren. No, sir, it hasn't been determined yet who is the real Hogan. But Captain….but….no sir. Yes, sir. I will await your arrival tomorrow morning. What? Yes, sir. Heil Hitler," the Kommandant said raising his hand in the Party salute even though van Kueren couldn't see anything. Hanging up the phone, Klink rubbed his temples now with both hands. Just what he needed. To have that Gestapo Captain coming back out to Stalag 13 again. What was he going to do?
He looked up when his office door opened and Fraulein Hilda looked in. "I've returned from lunch, Kommandant. Do you need anything done?"
"No, nothing," Klink mumbled not looking up. Hilda started closing the door when Klink suddenly looked up. "Wait!" He noticed Hilda pause, watching her superior. Klink turned his eyes toward her. "Fraulein Hilda, get me General Burkhalter's office, priority call."
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant, right away," Hilda replied closing the door.
After a few minutes, Klink's desk phone buzzed, and the Kommandant picked it up. "General Burkhalter, Klink here. Klink, sir. Yes, I thought you'd want to know that I just received a call from the Gestapo. Captain van Kueren is coming here tomorrow and he demands that I turn Colonel Hogan number one over to him. What? Oh, I call the Hogan we've known as Hogan number one and the new prisoner as Hogan number two so we can tell them apart. Yes, sir, I thought it was brilliant if I do say so myself," he commented with a smile that soon turned into a frown. "Yes, sir. Naturally I would think it was brilliant. Yes, sir. I shall expect you tomorrow. What's that? Yes, sir. Heil Hitler." Hanging up, Klink started feeling a bit better about tomorrow until he heard a knock on his door. "Come in." he announced not looking up until his door opened, and a nervous-looking Corporal Langenscheidt entered, saluting. "Yes, Corporal, what is it?" Klink asked returning the salute. He didn't need any additional trouble.
"Herr Kommandant, I wish to report that there was a disturbance in barracks number two."
Klink felt his heart drop into his stomach. Now what? He slowly got to his feet. "Disturbance? What kind of disturbance?"
"Apparently, the British Corporal Newkirk struck Colonel Hogan number two causing him an injury. But Sergeant Wilson deemed the injury not to be serious. Just a mild concussion."
Grabbing his cap off his desk, Klink hurried past Langenscheidt and out the door followed by Langenscheidt. As Schultz was coming in as they were leaving, Klink ordered him to accompany them to barracks two.
Once the trio reached the barracks, Schultz pushed open the door. "Achtung!" he announced resulting in the prisoners coming to attention as Klink and Langenscheidt walked in.
"Gentlemen, you may stand at ease," Klink addressed the prisoners; the men stood at ease and waited.
"Can we help you, Kommandant?" asked Kinch wondering what Klink wanted, and afraid he already knew the answer.
"Yes, Sergeant Kinchloe," Klink replied stepping close to the radioman. "You can tell me about the fight between Hogan number two and Corporal Newkirk."
Kinch looked nervously at Newkirk who couldn't meet his eyes. "Fight, sir? What fight? I wouldn't exactly call it a fight, Kommandant," Kinch explained. "It was just a misunderstanding is all."
Klink then stepped in front of the Englander. "Newkirk, what was this misunderstanding between you and Hogan number two?"
"Well uh, sir….it's just that….you see….I seem to have forgotten what it was all about, actually, sir." He smiled weakly.
"You've forgotten what it's all about, eh? Well, let's just see about that. Where is Hogan number two?"
"He's uh, resting in his quarters, sir," said Kinch. With a quick glance at LeBeau and Olsen, and Newkirk, they followed Klink and Schultz as they marched in the direction of the smaller room.
Grabbing the doorknob, Klink opened the door and saw the American laying on the lower bunk holding an ice pack to the back of his head. The man slightly turned his head enabling him to look at the Kommandant.
"How are you feeling?" asked Klink who was not without compassion.
"I'll live, Kommandant," Hogan number two explained, his eyes focused on the Englander. "As long as you keep that homicidal maniac away from me."
"What exactly happened here?" Klink asked the injured man walking into the room.
"I have no idea, Kommandant," Hogan number two hissed. "Corporal Newkirk has had it in for me since I was assigned to this barracks. The minute I returned here after the incident in the rec hall, he started blaming me for everything, and before I knew it, he was on me and struck me causing me to hit the back of my head on one of the posts of the bunk beds. The man's crazy and dangerous."
Newkirk's eyes widened. "That's not what the bloody hell happened and you know it!" he shouted. Klink immediately turned to face him, anger on his face. He didn't need this especially at this time. "I would have thought after what happened in the rec hall, the prisoners would have learned their lesson, but apparently they haven't. Well, perhaps thirty days in the cooler for fighting, Corporal, along with loss of all privileges for an additional thirty days will teach you a lesson. Schultz, take him away."
Kinch, LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged looks. "Isn't that a bit harsh, sir?" asked Newkirk innocently with eyes wide and eyebrows arched. He was fighting to control himself all the while glaring at Hogan number two.
"Newkirk, shut your mouth before he increases your punishment," Kinch advised Newkirk with a touch of his hand on the man's shoulder.
Klink, noticing Schultz hadn't moved, ground his lower jaw. "Schultz, I said take him away."
"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," the rotund guard answered sadly sensing the cause of Newkirk's trouble probably deserved what he got. He gently took Newkirk's arm. "Let's go, Newkirk," he said leading the Englander toward the open door of the barracks while Klink closed the door of the smaller room. He then turned to follow them, but paused and looked back.
"Just so you all know, this entire situation just might probably be resolved tomorrow," he said.
Kinch's eyes narrowed. "Resolved tomorrow how, Kommandant?" He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"That Gestapo Captain, van Kueren, is coming back here tomorrow morning and intends on taking Hogan number one back to Berlin with him when he leaves."
Newkirk suddenly gripped the side of the doorway to keep from leaving. He looked back at Klink. "But he can't do that, sir! He'll be taking the wrong man with 'im! That man in the infirmary is the real Gov'nor! You can't let 'im remove 'im from this camp!"
Klink stiffened. "Don't you think I realize that," he replied. "That is why I have asked General Burkhalter to come here and see if a peaceful resolution can be reached."
"And what if it can't be?" asked LeBeau, panic written all over his face.
"Then the man you've know for close to three years as Colonel Hogan will be removed from here and taken to Berlin where more than likely he will not return unless the Gestapo decides they removed the wrong man and removes the other Hogan as well. That is all." He turned and exited the barracks behind Schultz, Newkirk, and Langenscheidt. Once they were gone, LeBeau and Olsen turned to Kinch.
"What are we going to do, mon ami?" asked the frantic little Frenchman. "If they remove Colonel Hogan from this camp….
"I know, I know," Kinch replied. "And we won't allow that to happen. But right now I believe neither will General Burkhalter. He stopped it once, I believe he'll stop it again."
"But why would he care what happens to the Colonel?" LeBeau asked.
"Easy," Kinch began. "If the Gestapo takes over this mess, and determines that the man in the infirmary is a phony, they'll make sure the Luftwaffe is the laughing stock of the German military. Burkhalter will want to keep both men here and resolve things so they can avoid being embarrassed and humiliated."
Olsen ran a hand over his dark brown hair. "I never thought I'd see the day when we'd have to rely on a Kraut to save the Colonel."
Inside the smaller room, Hogan number two grinned. Despite the pain in his head, he was happy. He had turned one of Hogan's intimate little group to his side, and another was in the cooler for thirty days. It was a painful way to go about it, but the end result couldn't have been more favorable for him. He'd leave the Englander in the cooler for the entire thirty days, and he knew Hogan number one would not be able to do anything about it without making himself look guilty to everybody else. He saw a way he could use this to his advantage. Still smiling, he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to come over him.