Some time before the evening rehearsal, LeBeau took pity on Schultz's lonely vigil in the recreation hall, and provided solace in the form of a generous serving of cassoulet. It was enough to put the sergeant into a better frame of mind, and he greeted the arrival of the choristers with every sign of affability. In spite of this promising welcome, however, the rehearsal did not go well.
"Beckett," said Kinch tersely, when the Barracks 2 contingent returned, late. "Doyle should just throw him out."
"What's he been doing?" asked Hogan, who had stayed away from the recreation hall.
"Singing the wrong words," replied Kinch. "Him and his boys from Barracks 9."
"I'll never feel the same about All Through The Night again," added Carter plaintively. "I'm always going to have those other verses in my head, whenever I hear it."
Hogan didn't bother enquiring as to what the gist of the alternative version might have been; he had enough of a handle on Beckett to make a pretty informed guess. "What's with him?" he growled. "I thought Doyle had him sorted out."
"With respect, Colonel, the only thing that would sort out Barracks 9 would be a couple of sticks of dynamite under the floorboards," observed Newkirk.
"I'm not sure Doyle's the man to handle them, Colonel," Kinch added. "He's okay, but..." He paused, frowning as he tried to find the right words. "He doesn't have authority," he said at last.
"Sure he has." Carter, in the act of removing his boots, stopped to stare at Kinch in perplexity.
"Not the right kind. It's like..." Kinch trailed off again.
"He treats them like children," LeBeau put in.
"Yeah, that's it. It's like being back in school, and Beckett's the bad kid up the back. I keep waiting for Doyle to send him to stand in the corner or something." Kinch went over to his bunk, the one over the tunnel entrance. "Guess maybe it's time you took a hand, Colonel."
He went below, as he still had duties to carry out in the radio room before he could sleep. The others had no such responsibilities, and started preparing for bed. Hogan went into his own quarters to do the same. He started taking off his jacket; then he shrugged it back on again.
"No time like the present," he muttered, grabbing his cap. He didn't want to undermine Doyle, but something had to be done.
"You going out, Colonel?" asked Carter, as Hogan came out of the office and headed for the door.
"Just thought I'd pay Beckett a quick visit, set him straight about why we're doing this," replied Hogan repressively. "Get a move on, guys, it's way past bedtime. The light's going out now, anyone who's not ready for bed can finish in the dark. And no fooling round."
"Oh, dear. The headmaster's not happy," murmured Newkirk irrepressibly.
Hogan ignored him, and slipped out of the barracks. The compound was in relative darkness, but the regular slow passage of the spotlight made crossing the open spaces between the barracks a dangerous prospect. The prisoners were not allowed outside after curfew, and the guards would consider themselves perfectly justified if they opened fire. So Hogan proceeded with caution, slipping from one building to the next and keeping his eyes open.
He paused outside Barracks 9, hearing voices from inside. Apparently Beckett and his men were having a debate of some kind. But one of the voices sounded a little too cultured to be coming from any of the inmates of that unruly residence. Hogan moved closer to the nearest window, straining his ears.
"...while I admit, it was amusing, there's a place and time for such things." He recognised Doyle's well-rounded accent and perfect modulation. "Now, I understand that you don't much like me, Beckett, and frankly, it's mutual. But that's immaterial. We're both here for one reason, to fight this war by whatever means are available, which means, whatever your personal feelings towards me, you - all of you - will remember only that I'm the one with the higher rank. And for that reason, whatever I tell you to sing - even if I put Three Little Maids From School on the programme, and give you the first soprano part - you'll sing it."
Beckett started to speak, but Doyle cut him off with hardly a pause. "I haven't finished. You don't care for the job you've been asked to do. I understand completely. I don't like my part in it, either, and I'm quite certain, if you were to ask Colonel Hogan, he's not happy about constantly cutting deals with Klink and Burkhalter. But all of this is a means to an end."
"Well?" Beckett put in, as Doyle stopped for breath.
There was a slight pause before Doyle continued. "There's a man in Hammelburg who needs our help. He's given up ten years of his life. Think about it, all of you. Ten years ago, I was still at prep school, waiting for my voice to break. You were probably playing football with your mates, and sneaking into the local pub on Saturday nights, hoping your dad wouldn't find out. And Morrison was walking away from his home and family, and moving to a foreign country to prepare for a war hardly anyone thought would come. He's already done more than his share, more than you or I will ever be asked to do. Now if we can't put our differences aside, and pull together to get him out of Germany, then what kind of men must we be?"
Silence followed. Hogan waited, and at last Doyle spoke again. "Good. Now that we're all reading from the same hymn book, I assume I can expect a little more effort from every one of you. I don't want to be obliged to have this discussion again." A little pause, then, "Oh, and Beckett, when you have a minute, you might write out those extra verses for All Through The Night. I daresay it'll come in handy for a prisoners-only entertainment some time."
Beckett, sounding thoroughly chastened, murmured some kind of acknowledgement. Hogan moved back into the shadows, and watched with a slight smile as Doyle left the hut, and without the slightest attempt at concealment strolled across to his own barracks.
It hadn't been a model address, but Hogan, as he returned to Barracks 2, came to the conclusion that not one word of it could have been said any better. He no longer had any concerns about Doyle's ability to govern the men. He knew how to keep them in order, all right.
Beckett and his men would be feeling pretty small right now, but once they'd thought it through, they'd come into line. By Saturday night, Hogan was willing to bet, they'd be ready to sing the Hallelujah Chorus if it helped to get Morrison to safety.