Chapter 2: Second Hour

ooOoo

"Do you think it bothered him at all?"

I jerk out of the near trance I've fallen into as I've been pacing the cell. "What?"

"The Colonel," Davis clarifies. "I mean, he didn't hesitate throwing all that water on us, he was even grinning when he gave us up to Klink, and he didn't protest a word when Klink sentenced us to thirty days."

"He probably did argue it with Klink," I protest reasonably. I know Davis is mad, but he's being unfair. "We just got dragged out of there first and didn't hear it. That guard sure didn't waste any time once the Kommandant told him to take us away."

"So d'you think it bothered him any, him throwing us to the dogs that way?"

I pause for a minute in my pacing to think how to respond to that kind of a question, stuffing my hands back up in my armpits where there's a very small bit of warmth. "There weren't any dogs; they're outside the fence," I answer, hoping the joke will help ease Davis's anger.

Doesn't work. "You know what I mean!" Davis's voice is sharper still.

I sigh again. Sure seems like I'm doing a lot of that, but I guess this is a situation that calls for it. I can usually jolly Davis out of his bad moods, but humor clearly isn't going to work on him this time. At least, not yet. "Yeah, I think it probably did."

"You sure? He's an officer. He does what he has to in order to accomplish the mission, right? Isn't that an officer's job, being willing to sacrifice his men for the good of the cause?"

The bitterness in Davis's voice is really beginning to worry me.

"Besides, it's not like we're the first string," Davis cuts back in before I can answer. "You don't see him drenching Newkirk or Carter or LeBeau or Kinch and then letting them go sit in the cooler for days and weeks on end."

"Look, the Colonel did what he had to," I argue back. "He couldn't let the other eighteen guys from Stalag 9 get caught just because Braden and Mills jumped the gun – he said that himself before he doused us with the buckets. You even agreed with him," I point out.

"That was before I knew what he was going to do to us!" Davis is unwilling to give an inch.

"That shouldn't make a difference. The Colonel didn't really have a choice. And like I said earlier, he's probably still bawling out those two creeps for messing up the mission, and I wouldn't be in their shoes for anything – even if their shoes are drier than ours."

A snort answers me, and the glimmer of humor makes me hope I'm finally getting through to my buddy. "C'mon, Davis, you can't really think the Colonel wanted this to happen. He was just doing damage control as fast as he could. He didn't have a lot of options. And once Klink cools off, Colonel Hogan will work on him to get us out early. When was the last time anyone served the full thirty days?"

All I get for my speech is silence. Guess I haven't convinced him yet.

"C'mon, Davis, give him a break," I plead. "You know the missions come first. We all agreed to that when he started the operation up. A few days in the cooler are hardly the worst we're all risking," I add in warning.

We all know that a firing squad would be the consequences for getting caught by the Germans for the escape and espionage and sabotage operation that the Colonel runs. I try not to think about it most of the time, but sometimes I can't help it. The very thought of it makes me shiver now in the chilly damp air of my cell. Stalag 13 is really the most dangerous POW camp of all to be in, and especially so for all of us that live in Barrack 2, right in the middle of the action. It's always felt good to me to still be contributing to our side in the war after being shot down, but I know it's risky. Real risky. We all count on the Colonel's plans and intuition to keep us alive, and he's always done it so far. I decide I'd better remind Davis of that.

"Colonel Hogan'll do anything to avoid exposing the whole operation," I say. "This time it just happened to be the two of us who have to pay the price."

"Yeah." Davis's voice is grudging, but I hear the reluctant acceptance of reality that I need to hear in his tone and breathe a sigh of relief.

"I just wish if he was going to douse us with water, it had been in July, not the beginning of March," is Davis's final comment.

"Me too, pal. Me too," I agree wistfully.

After that we're both quiet as we pace. All anybody would hear from either of us is the sound of shuffling feet from behind the doors on each side of the cooler corridor.

ooOoo