Hogan was metally ripping out his hair for the next several hours as Klink chatting on about absolutely nothing. It was rather scientifically impressive the man's ability to keep a one-way conversation going about truly nothing. Hogan tried everything in his capasitivy to keep himself sane including mentally singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall, the ABCs, and seeing how high he could count, all in order to drown out the man's babble. He was finally working on multiplication facts, working on times factors by 32, when Klink's driver finally pulled into the city of Dortmund.
"Ah! Wir sind bald da! (We are almost there!)" Klink smiled happily.
„Endlich... (Finally…)" Hogan muttered, covering his eyes with his hand trying to get rid of his headache.
„What was that, Hogan?" Klink asked.
"Oh, um, I uh, said 'finally', Kommandant." Hogan quickly covered for himself. Looking outside the window, he found it was incredible how vastly different the northern parts of Germany were than the southern. Having been shot down, and quickly transported, he never got to truly appreciate the architecture of the various cities. Dortmund, Hogan noted, while being a smaller city, certainly had interesting architecture.
Hogan was still gazing outside the window, when the motorcar finally rolled up to the forbidding looking building of the gestapo headquarters. The driver, doubling as Hogan's own personal guard, opened the door and grabbed a shackled Hogan out into the wet, drizzling street. Hogan immediately stretched his legs, having been sitting for the good portion of six hours. We could have been here in four and a half, if Klink and the guard didn't need to stop for a smoke every 45 minutes, he chuckled to himself. Turning around he gazed at was the most depressing building he had ever seen in his 40-odd years. Following the structure up with his eyes, there was no part of it that seemed welcoming. The light rain and overcast skies seem to be apart of it. I can't imagine this place in sunlight, Hogan shivered.
"Walk." The guard, gave Hogan a slight shove, as the two followed Klink up towards the building. Hogan's heart seemed to beat faster with every step, he couldn't seem to figure out why, yet there seemed to be something very wrong with this building, and all he knew is that he didn't want to go any place near it. Glancing over at the guard and Klink, he noticed the same hesitation on both of their faces, as if they were also summoning the same courage in order to step inside. Finally all three of them stepped inside the dark building.
Inside was a stark contrast of cleanliness and dark light. The trio found their way to the main desk, where Hogan and the guard hung back as Klink walked up to talk with the balding man standing behind. Hogan strained to hear, but was too far away. Yet, was close enough to hear Klink's yell.
"WAS? (WHAT?)" Hogan turned his head and saw Klink swigging his arms wildly obviously chewing out the balding man behind the desk. Curiosity was eating Hogan, but with the multiple guards in the room, any movement by him was careful monitored. He noticed too, that the guard with him, was intently watching Klink, curious as to what was going on. Finally, after several moments, Klink came storming back.
"Weg! Er ist weg! (Gone! He is gone!)" Klink yelled. The guard's eyes went wide and confusion crossed his face. Hogan's mouth dropped open, which Klink, to Hogan's good fortune, interpreted as him about to ask a question.
"Gone he's gone!"
"Gone, Kommandant?" Hogan couldn't believe it.
"Yes! Gone! Escaped!"
"What?"
"Was? (What?)" The guard was stunned.
"How?"
"Wie ist das möglich? (What ist hat possible?)"
"Isch weiß nisch, ob isch das wüste, dann würde er nisch mehr weg sein, oder? (I don't know, if I know that, then he wouldn't be missing, now would he?)" Klink rolled his eyes.
„Kommandant. They didn't happen to say just how or when he escaped, did they?"
"Hogan I just explained that to the guard." Klink started walking towards the door. Hogan almost laughed at what he had to say next.
"Um, I don't speak German remember."
"Oh….that's right." Klink stopped and nodded several times. "No. His cell was locked, but he was gone. It is all here in this report, here." He gave Hogan the report before continuing his walk back to the vehicle. Hogan looked down at it. It was half typed in Gothic, and half written in Sütterlin (1). Hogan looked up and down the page for something of use, finding nothing. Starring intently at the handwritten portion, not being able to make hands or tales of what the person actually wrote.
"You don't actually expect me to read this, do you? This isn't even readable. You seriously call this handwriting?" Hogan followed Klink down the staircase.
"Yes, Hogan. That is what is called Handwriting. And I am sorry if you're unable to read it. I will gladly translate it for you when we get to the hotel."
"We aren't heading back tonight?" Hogan was surprised.
"No. I am receiving my new orders here today, and from there will be going to my new assignment."
"What about your things? What about the change over at the Stalag?"
"Why the sudden interest, Hogan?"
"Why, the men care for you, Kommandant. You're like a father-figure to them."
"That's very kind, Hogan," Klink, sat down in the motorcar, "but unnecessary. I am fully capable of collecting my possessions later. And as a career Airman, all I need are my clothes on my back, and wind in my hair."
"Did you pack your hair?"
"Hogaaaaan…."
"Sorry….you left that at the Stalag."
-HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH-
Kinch watched as Hogan, Klink, and one of the guards head out of the gate. He felt for Hogan, he didn't want to imagine what spending hours in the same tiny vehicle as him would be like. There are at times advantages to not being an officer. Kinch snickered. Turning around, he headed back towards the Barrack, and towards Hogan's office, knowing that the new Kommandant would be shortly arriving, Kinch wanted to get all the paperwork in the office sorted incase they would be in for the inspection of their lives….or end of our lives….Kinch shook himself morbidly.
"'Ey, Kinch!" Kinch turned as Newkirk approached him. "'Ere is the finished report from the Döner Meat Factory Mission from last night. The Moreau brothers just finished working it up. I know the Colonel wants 'ese things first thing, but seein' as 'e is on a torture-mission with ol' Klink, I though I'd give it to ya."
"Thanks, Newkirk. I'm currently going through all the paperwork now. You know. I never though in a million years I would wind up playing secretary in a POW in Germany."
"Well, just think of all the experience ya'll get to put on your CV when you get out." Newkirk grinned as he handed the report over to Kinch. "Radio operator, secretary, bomb maker, tailor, miner, forger,-"
"Thanks, I get the idea." Kinch turned and put the report on a pile of papers he had been collecting from the various hiding places around Hogan's office. "Do you know if all the places in our Barracks are clear?"
"Wha'? Oh, yeah. An' according to the other chief's, their barrackses are clear too."
"Good, I'll just get these down into the-"
"Kinch!" LeBeau came running in. "A car is approaching!" The three men turned and ran out into the common room, Kinch as quick as he could took the last remaining papers and scurried into the tunnels, yelling to those down there that there may be a roll call soon. Dropping the papers on a nearby table he picked up the emergency hand bell and rang it three times, an emergency single that had been newly established, before scampering back up the ladder.
Newkirk was standing outside with the rest of camp watching the scene when Kinch met back up with him.
"Who do you think he is?" Kinch wondered aloud.
"I dunno, mate. But whoever 'e is, e's important. Burkhalter came outta of Klink's office to greet 'im, and there were more medals on 'is uniform than the rest of Germany put together.
"Wonder what a big time war hero is doin' here then?" Andersen commented to Newkirk's left.
"Dunno. But it can't be good." Newkirk shook his head, leading himself and Kinch back into the Colonel's office to listen to the coffeepot. The pot had bearly been plug in a second when Olsen came running in and yanked the two out as the new Kommandant was getting ready for inspection. Quickly unplugging the pot, the three scrambled back out into the late morning light.
Burkhalter, the new Kommandant, and no less than three guards stood facing the crowd of curious men, each sizing the other up. Newkirk smiled inwardly, he knew exactly who this new man was, he had delt with them on the streets of London.
"Prisoners. This is your new Kommandant. As of today, you are no longer under the thumb of Oberst Wilhelm Klink, you are now under Oberstleutnant Rudolf Bähr und your new Sergeant of the Guard is Oberfeldwebel Gustav Bähr. While the pervious Kommandant is normally present for these proceedings, I have taken the liberty of acting upon his behalf." Burkhalter was practically gleaming as he turned to Kommandant Bähr. "I hereby relinquish command of this Stammlager für Kriegsgefangene der Luftwaffe Nummer 13 to you, Oberstleutnant Rudolf Bähr." Burkhalter announced in English, much to the Prisoners surprise.
"I accept." The Kommandant shook Burkhalter's hand.
"Feldwebel Georg Hans Schultz!" Burkhalter spun around looking for the Sergeant when he realized that he wasn't stepping forward. A moment later Schultz came running around the corner from the Guard's barrackses towards the crowd. Burkhalter merely shook his head rolling his eyes. "Feldwebel Schultz. Oberfeldwebel Gustav Bähr."
„Grüß Gott, Oberfeldwebel." Schultz stuck out his hand to shake Oberfeldwebel Bähr's, however Bähr was slightly confused, and waited for a sign from the two officers before putting out his hand. Receiving none, he shrugged and shook Schultz's hand."
"Moin. (2)" The man smiled. Schultz did a double take, before smiling in return.
"Schultz. Wir wart'n. (We're waiting)" Burkhalter tapped his foot.
„Wart'n...? Auf wen? (Waiting...? For whom...?)"
„Sie! (You!)"
„O. Woas mua i' denn tun? (What do I need to do?)"
„Tret'n S'e Ihre Befehlsgewalt ab! (Relinquish your command!)"
„O. Die, gell? (That, eh?)" Schultz straightened up, and coughed a little bit. „I, Georg Hans Schultz, from Bayern, Feldwebel of the Luftwaffe, on this beautiful Morning in-"
"Macht weiter, Feldwebel… (Hurry up)" Burkhalter was amused by quickly loosing his patience.
"-Hearby turn the command of the guards over to…. Nochmoi, wia hoassen Sie? (What's your name again?)"
"Oberfedlwebel Gustav Bähr."
"Schon gut. (Good) To him." Schultz grabbed the man's arm, shaking it again. Burkhalter silently laughed, while Kommandant Bähr looked on in horror.
"Möcht'n Sie ein paar Wörter red'n? (Would you like to say a few words?)" Burkhalter asked, bringing the man out of his trance.
"Bitte. Hello Men. There will no Eludes here. Your all last Kommandant was strong, but I am stronger! Here is no mercy! A Elude means dead, and for others much punishment! Understand You! Have you then the war lost! Accept You it! You may play, but never dream! Weggetreten!" Kommandant Bähr turned and starting storming up towards Klink's former office. Burkhalter called Schultz over to him, and the two followed him up the steps. Looking slightly lost, Oberfeldwebel Bähr walked alone towards the guard's barracks, leaving the men of Barracks two alone, as the guards from the other barrackses quickly ushered their own prisoners back into their respected barrackses.
"Well what do you think, guys? Pretty interesting huh?" Olsen huddled in towards the mass of men.
"I for one like 'is English. Beautiful pronunciation, 'orrible grammar." Newkirk took out a cigarette and started smoking on it.
"Why? Remind you of your own?" LeBeau laughed.
"And you 'ave better grammar, LeBeau?"
"Oui! In three languages."
"I 'ope one of those isn't German, Louis…..das Essen (3)….mmm?"
"Tais-toi, Peter. (Shut up, Peter)"
"Hey I don't mean to break up the pow-wow here, but shouldn't someone be listening to the coffeepot?" Andersen spoke up looking at everyone.
"Where's Kinch?" LeBeau asked, momentarily distracted from his ongoing bickering with Newkirk. The men looked at each other, and then around them, before all storming into the barrack and then trying to squeeze into Hogan's office.
"Lemme through!"
"Stop stepping on my foot!"
"Hush up, everyone!"
"Ow! Ow! Ow! That's my spine being squished against the doorframe!" The men tried to squish into the office. Kinch was sitting quietly listening to the coffeepot, completely focused on what was being said on the other-side. Looking up at the men he made a motion with his finger and lips to silent everyone, the effect was immediate.
"-München."
"München, Herr General?"
"München, Feldwebel. Sie würd'n als Wache der Universität, und machen die Umgebungsüberwachung. In der Stadt, gibt's ne Untergrundgruppe, die Die Weiße Rose( 4) heißt. Würd'n Sie als Wache die verbotene Flugblätter klaubm arbeit'n. Würden Sie schon auch zur gestapo melden, wenn Sie ‚was hör'n. (You will be working as the Guard at the University, and monitering the surrounding area. In the city, there is an underground group, known as The White Rose. You will be collecting the forbidden leaflets they produce. You will also be reporting to the gestapo anything you hear.)"
„Ein Müllmann? (A Rubbish collector?)"
„They're sending, Schultz to Munich!" LeBeau screamed.
"He's going to be investigating Die Weiße Rose!" Doe gasped.
"What are we going to do, Kinch? If Schultz is sent to Munich, and with Klink off who knows where, will we be able to continue our travel agency?" Olsen asked. The question hung in the air a moment.
"I dunno, Olsen. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. The Colonel should be back no later than tomorrow. Till then, we lie low, and feel this new Kommandant out, and his new Sergeant of the Guard."
-HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH-
Word spread quickly of what was happening with Schultz. The normally upbeat prisoners were depressed. The guards, who normally would have caught on to the change in mood and activity, were too preoccupied with the change-over, and giving Schultz a farewell party to notice. This gave each prisoner a chance to sit himself down freely and try and figure out a solution to the monumental problem that loomed before them.
Schultz leaving was hitting LeBeau and the other French prisoners fairly hard. It surprised LeBeau how much he realized that he cared for the guard. I hope this isn't some type of Stockholm Syndrome. He laughed. Thinking of just how long he had known the man. It was hard to believe that he was one of the first prisoners, having been captured shortly after France was invaded. Difficult to believe it will be two years soon… Thinking back, he even remembered when they moved to Stalag Luft 13 from the previous camp, and Klink had taken over as the new Kommandant. Sighing, LeBeau tried to push the memories from his mind and focus on making Schultz some farewell strudel for the road. Heh. If only we could all escape….that would show the new….LeBeau dropped the spoon into the pan. He suddenly had an idea.
-HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH-
Kinch's head was hanging down against his chest. He was utterly depressed. Starring at his watch again, he prayed that Colonel Hogan would march in through the door at any second to take over this doomed command. I guess I should start writing my farewell letters since this is the end of the line. After this, this will truly be a POW camp. Kinch was trying to wrap his mind around a way out of the situation. There must be something that he could do to get Schultz from being sent to Munich. Maybe a fire? No. What good would that do? Where did that idea come from? Burning something, no, Kinchy old boy, you are really losin' it….Oh my gosh something burning! Kinch jumped outta of the chair slamming his right knee on Hogan's desk as he did so.
"OW!" Limping over, he saw a Dazed LeBeau starring off into space, and the three prisoners around him, frantically trying to put out the smoke and fire from the strudel, or former strudel, that he had been cooking on the stove. The other prisoners upon hearing the screaming from the three came pouring in from outside, and those already in the barracks backed away, afraid of being hit by wet towels and shirts.
"LeBeau! LeBeau!" Kinch ran up to him. "Louis! Hello! Qu'est-ce qu'il y a ? Parle à moi! (What's wrong ? Talk to me !) Kinch stook him by the shoulders, causing LeBeau to come back to his senses.
"Hmmmhein? (Hmmmwhat?)" LeBeau screamed. "Mon strudel! Ma belle, strudel belle! Ruiné! Non! Non, non, non! C'est terrible! C'était mon cadeau d'adieu à Schultz! Maintenant, que vais-je faire? Je n'ai pas plus de sucre, et il est horriblement rationnés, et-" (My strudel! My beautiful, beautiful strudel! Ruined! No! No, no, no! This is terrible! It was my farewell gift to Schultz! Now, what shall I do? I have no more sugar, and it is horribly rationed, and-)
"Louis!" LeBeau turned towards Kinch. "Forget the strudel for a moment. What just happened. You never burn anything. Ever. Not even Newkirk's food. What happened?"
"Oh Kinch, I just had an idea. What if everyone were to escape? They can't have a prisoner of war camp if no one is here. And if Schultz just happens to find us, all the better."
"That's a great idea, it really is…."
"But what, Kinch?"
"Schultz is leaving tomorrow."
"So we go tonight, Kinch." Olsen jumped off his bunk.
"I'm game." Doe chimed in. "I'd be happy to break Smith outta the cooler. We just need to dig a few more feet and figure out how to get through the walls. Should be simple.
"I'm up for it." Andersen added.
"Me too, mate." Newkirk smiled.
"I dunno, guys. The Colonel is gonna be back tomorrow. He could be in a lot of trouble if no-one is here."
"'Ow much trouble can 'e be in, mate? It's obvious 'at no-one consulted 'im. 'At we just went all balmy an' left. End of story. 'Sides. Our Kommandant up there. 'E's a big pushover. I know 'em anywhere. They were all over London. Mates w'o talk big, shove others around, but are big chickens 'emselves."
"Are you sure Newkirk? We are taking a big chance if what you say is true. All of us could end up with a very unpleasant ending if this doesn't work out."
"Positive, mate." Newkirk played with his boxes of cigarettes. Kinch sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, pacing a bit. He wished he could open the door or windows. But he didn't want the meeting to be heard. Looking over that the sentry at the door, he sighed again.
"Alright. Get the barracks chiefs over here pronto. I want a meeting with all of them before we do this. Every man must be in on it or it's a no go. If someone isn't comfortable. I'm not going to push it on them. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Kinch." The barracks murmured, before each man ran off to his assigned barracks number which he was to inform of the meeting.
-HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH-
The last chief had just walked out the door when Schultz came sauntering into the barrack. His bulk slumping sadly down onto the bench at the centre of the room.
"Hi fellas."
"'Ey, Schultz. I 'eard you are goin' back to Munich. That's great. Aren't you from there?" Newkirk hopped off Carter's top bunk where he had been enjoying looking down at the rest of the room.
"Yes, I am. And that is the worst news ever!"
"Why, you'll be close to home then, won't you?"
"Yes. I will get to go home every night to my wife."
"Oh. I'm, uh, sorry to hear that?"
"You do not know my wife. Be glad."
"You have kids though, don't you, Schultzie?" LeBeau tried to cover up the burnt strudel in the corner with a towel.
"Yes. Four of them. Three boys and a girl. Is that….Struuuuudel I smell?"
"Um, officially yes, Schultzie, and technically no." LeBeau uncovered the plate.
"It is! Why is it burned?"
"Fire will do that."
"You were preparing me for my wife's cooking. How thoughtful. And how dreadful."
"You're uh, welcome, Schultz." LeBeau looked at Newkirk and shrugged.
"Tell me Schultz." Olsen walked over. "Just what will you be doin' in Munich?"
"I'm sorry that is top secret."
"Okay then." Olsen stretched and took out a chocolate bar. "Mmm. Man I wish my mom would stop sending me these from home. I wonder if our new Kommandant likes them, or our new Sergeant of the Guard. Do you know Schultzie? Nah I don't suppose you do." Schultz's eyes went wide. As he went for the chocolate.
"I do know. And I happen to know that neither one likes it. The Kommandant is a big shot. A big time war hero. He was sent here because Berlin is tired of him disobeying orders. He is a loose bullet. And his son-"
"His son?"
"Yes, his son was sent here upon his request. He was suppose to go to Siberia." Schultz gobbled up the chocolate.
"Tell me, Schultz." Kinch walked over. "What would happen if you didn't go to Munich?"
"Mimd mo mu Mümshm?" Schultz said with his mouth full of the candy bar. He paused a moment before swallowing. "I'd be shot."
"Besides that."
"Sent to Siberia?"
"Besides that."
"I dunno?"
"Would they keep you here?"
"Away from my wife? I hope so!"
"You know Schultz. I was just thinking," Kinch laid his left hand on the guard's shoulder, if I were you, and I wanted to keep my job, I would stay vigilant, since a change over would make prisoners unhappy, and want to escape. You know, maybe go to a local barn, or hide in a local pub, or even, check out the local caves around here. That sort of thing." Kinch led him towards the door.
"You're not unhappy are you, Seargent Kinchloe?"
"What do you think, Schultz?"
"I'm thinking….I don't want to think." Schultz turned and walked across the compound back towards the guard's barrackses.
"What do you think, Kinch. Will he bite?"
"He will. Even if we have to clamp his mouth open and shut with our bare hands."
-HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH- -HH- -EKvH-
(1) The OLD type of Handwriting. It was dropped around the 1950s. It looks REALLY weird to my generation, and (don't feel bad, Hogan) even I can't read it.
(2 ) Just a side note. Remember how I said that Schultz is from Bayern? Well they usually say, "Grüß Gott" for Hello. In North Germany, a common Hello is "Moin". So it would be like someone from Australia saying "G'day Mate" to someone from Ireland.
(3 ) Pilot Episode. LeBeau walks in and saids, „Der Essen". Hogan corrects him in front of everyone in a tone of voice stating that he is obviously tried of correcting him, with „Das Essen." Ein Käfig voller Helden.
(4) A real resistance group that operated in München/Munich during the war from 1942-1943, before being caught by the gestapo. They were university students that produced leaflets and are considered some of the greatest heroes of the war.