The work detail had only been back at Stalag 13 for half an hour, but Hogan had already briefed his men on the next phase of the operation.
"We have to make this work," he finished up. "You all know what the results will be, if the Gestapo go to work on these people, and one of them cracks. Every man in this operation is in the firing line. Carter's already gone in, and he's depending on us to get him out. I'm not planning to let him down."
"None of us are, Colonel," said Kinch, and it was obvious the other men agreed, right down to Kellet.
"I know that, Kinch." But Hogan's gravity lightened a little. "Now, this is going to be a big operation, so every one of you has to be on the ball, and obey your section leaders' orders to the letter. Is everyone clear?"
A murmur of agreement came in response, and he nodded. "Okay, get moving. I'm going to speak to Schultz about borrowing the truck, and I want everyone ready to go when I get back."
He left the barracks, and stood outside, scanning the compound until he spotted his target. Schultz had just come from the Kommandant's quarters, and with the complacent air of a man who has just given a favorable report, was heading for the sergeants' mess in search of a little sustenance. Hogan set off at once to intercept.
"Hey, Schultz!" he called, as soon as he could do so without the whole camp hearing him. "Hold up a minute."
Schultz balked, stiffening, then set off again, increasing his pace, and Hogan had to stretch his own steps to catch up. But before he could say a word, Schultz hurried into speech: "Please, don't talk to me, Colonel Hogan. Every time you talk to me, it's something I don't want to hear. So whatever it is, leave me out of it."
"I only wish I could, Schultz," replied Hogan plaintively. "You don't think I like having to squeal on my men, do you? But as the senior POW officer, I have to do my duty. And as the sergeant of the guard, you have to do yours, too. Right?"
"Wrong. I did my duty when I reported to the Kommandant that all the prisoners on the work detail are back in camp," said Schultz.
Hogan's face twisted in distress. "Oh, if only that were true!" he burst out, his voice breaking. "I don't know how to tell you - I don't know how we're going to tell the Kommandant - please, Schultz, whatever Klink does to you, promise you'll put in a good word for them."
"W-what...w-why...w-what...?" Schultz's eyes boggled, and his mouth fell open, but no coherent sentence came forth.
"They were desperate, Schultz. You know how it is, a man can only be locked up for so long before the urge to escape becomes irresistible. And we were out there, in the open, no barbed wire, no dogs, no anything. They couldn't help themselves."
"W-what...w-who...?"
"I blame myself," Hogan went on. "I should have noticed they were missing when you did the final head count. Of course, you didn't notice either, so I guess Klink'll blame you. It's Carter and LeBeau. They made a break for it, while you weren't looking. The others just told me."
"Donnerwetter!" Schultz's shoulders sagged, as he came to grips with the news. "Oh, Klink will be furious. I only just told him all the prisoners were accounted for. And he is in such a terrible mood, with the pain in his back."
"Oh, boy. He's gonna flip when he finds out," said Hogan. "And when they get caught and brought back, he'll throw the book at 'em. If only I could think of a way out of it." He gazed at the sky, as if seeking help from above.
For ten seconds, the two men shared the silence of despair.
"Colonel Hogan," murmured Schultz, "have you thought of anything yet?
Hogan pursed up his mouth. "If we could track them down, and bring them back before anyone finds out they're gone...but we can't do that."
"Why not?"
"Well, because you're a prison guard, and I'm a prisoner, Schultz."
Schultz looked around, then beckoned Hogan to follow him behind the recreation hall. Once he was sure they couldn't be heard, he made a suggestion. "We could sneak out. I could say I have to drive to town for something, and you could be hiding in the back of the truck."
"I got a better idea, Schultz," said Hogan. "You stay here and cover for me, and I'll take the truck and go look for them."
"I can't let you do that." Schultz's voice dropped in horror.
"Come on, Schultz. You don't want Klink to find out his perfect no-escape record was busted on your watch, right? I give you my word, as an officer and a gentleman, we'll come right back."
"Well, in that case...what do you mean, we?"
"Me and a couple of the other guys," said Hogan. "You don't think I'm going to tackle those two on my own, do you? A fella could get hurt that way. Oh, come on, Schultz. Do you want me to get Carter and LeBeau back? Or would you rather go and check on your stock of winter underwear? Just trust me, it'll be okay."
Schultz grumbled under his breath. "How are you going to get out of the gate?" he asked.
"Oh, I'll manage, somehow. Look, you go to the motor pool, and make sure the truck's ready to go," Hogan went on. "I'll get my men and meet you there. Okay?"
Without waiting, he turned and headed back to the barracks. Schultz stared after him, then sighed, and set off for the motor pool, prepared to look the other way as hard as he could.
He had to work at it, when a few minutes later Hogan joined him, accompanied by Newkirk, Kellet and Adams. "Colonel Hogan...!" he began in shocked tones, at sight of the German uniforms they were wearing. He stopped himself, averted his gaze, and saw nothing.
"Don't wait up," said Hogan, as he got into the cabin of the truck. Newkirk took the wheel, and the others clambered into the back.
Schultz didn't answer, nor did he allow himself to look again, as the truck rumbled towards the main gate.
Getting Schultz to let them have the truck was only the first part of the plan, and German uniform wouldn't automatically get them out the gate. But Hogan's team had put the brief period since their return to good use. As the guard at the gate came forward to query their departure, Newkirk, with a bored expression, held out a sheet of paper. "Authorization from the Kommandant," he growled. "We are to pick up supplies from the quartermaster in Hammelburg."
The sentry barely glanced at the orders, recognizing on sight Klink's distinctive, ill-formed scrawl. He gestured to his partner to open the gate, and the truck rolled out onto the road.
"Newkirk, it's starting to scare me, how well you copy Klink's handwriting," said Hogan. "Makes me wonder what other uses you're putting that talent to."
Newkirk chuckled, but didn't answer, and in spite of the moment of flippancy the mood remained sober.
Once out of sight of the gate, he pulled over to the side of the road. They didn't have to wait long, it was only a few minutes before they were joined by another small detachment, these men uniformed as SS. As soon as they were all on board, Newkirk set the truck going again. But they weren't going to Hammelburg. Only a short distance from camp, the truck turned onto a side road to the north, signposted "Schmeckhausen".
They saw no other vehicles on their way, and nobody said much.
"I wish you'd let me come to Hammelburg with you, Colonel," said Newkirk, after about ten minutes.
"I wish I could have you there," Hogan replied. "But Faulmann's seen both you and Kellet already, and we can't risk having him see you again, and start putting the pieces together. Besides which, babysitting Eisner may not be the most exciting job, but it's necessary, and I need someone I can trust to take charge of that."
Newkirk flushed slightly, and a tiny smile flitted across his face.
"What if we've missed them?" he asked, after a pause.
Hogan's brow tightened. "If we have," he said softly, "then we wait, and we hope to God they come back this way, and bring Carter with them. And if we have to, we start shooting."
"Well, at least we've got a plan," muttered Newkirk. "It'll be a great comfort to my mum when she hears about it."
Hogan glanced at him. "You're starting to sound like Kellet...There's the bridge."
The road ahead narrowed, crossing a shallow river by way of a rough timber-built bridge, scarcely wide enough for the truck to pass over. Newkirk slowed, and every man on board held his breath, as the structure groaned beneath the wheels. But it held up, and the truck safely reached the other side.
"Just here," said Hogan. "Let us out, then turn the truck and park it so it blocks the bridge."
He marshalled his troops while Newkirk manoeuvred the truck into position. "Adams, Kellet, you'll be on this side of the bridge with me and Newkirk. Hammond and O'Brien, go and check the barn, make sure it's secure enough. The rest of you get out of sight, and wait for my signal."
The men took up their posts, and prepared to wait.
An hour passed, but no traffic came from either direction. Newkirk and Adams started a game of "I spy", which gradually descended into a debate over whether Adams' something beginning with O was actually an oak tree, or a beech with an identity crisis. Kellet, slouched against the radiator grille, hummed tunelessly under his breath.
Hogan had started pacing, his impatience keeping pace with his rising anxiety. If Eisner had taken the other road, he could be in Hammelburg by now. Carter might have already been exposed as a phoney. At this moment, he might be in an interrogation room, being treated to the Gestapo's special brand of hospitality.
"Hello, here we go." Newkirk's voice broke in on his thoughts, and he looked up. A dark speck had appeared on the road, gradually resolving, as it approached, into the kind of oversized black staff car favored by the security service. Hogan, drawing a deep breath, straightened up and glanced at his men. In spite of the long delay, they were ready.
As the car drew close, Newkirk stepped forward, holding up his hand. "Halt!"
The driver wound down his window. "Was ist los?" he demanded curtly.
"The bridge is unsafe," replied Newkirk. "The supports have been sabotaged, any vehicle passing over is likely to cause a collapse. You can not continue."
From the back of the car, a husky, guttural voice broke in. "What is this? We have no time for this nonsense." The speaker leaned forward, a solidly built man in the uniform of an SS colonel. "Move your truck at once, and let us pass. I have an urgent meeting in Hammelburg."
"I'm afraid I must advise you against it, sir," said Hogan, coming up to the car. "We are waiting for engineers to inspect the bridge, but I have seen the damage myself, and your car will certainly bring it down." As he spoke, he checked out the number of men they had to deal with. Four, including Eisner.
The colonel scowled. "These verdammte saboteurs! Must we go all the way back to Berlin, and come a different way?"
"I don't think that's necessary. There is an alternate route, but a little complicated. Have you a map, sir? Never mind, we have one, and I can easily show you, if you would care to step out of the car."
Eisner turned to the lieutenant sitting beside him. "Deal with it, Geering. And be quick about it."
"Your driver had better come, too," suggested Hogan, in respectful tones. "Two heads are better than one, after all."
As the lieutenant and the driver followed him back to the car, Adams and Kellet closed in, while Newkirk, with apparent indifference, paced slowly across the road until he was close to the passenger side of the car. Hogan leaned inside the cabin of the truck and found the map, which he spread out on the hood. "Here's what I suggest you do," he said. "Don't move a muscle, and don't make a sound, either of you."
The map in his left hand had hidden the pistol in his right, which was now pressed against Geering's chest, just over the heart. Kellet had the driver covered, while Adams blocked the view from the staff car.
"Now," Hogan went on, in a pleasant, conversational tone, "in a moment, you're going to call out to your chief in the car, and ask him to come here. Nice and easy, because I have a nervous trigger finger."
Geering stared at him for a few seconds, then turned his head. "Colonel Eisner," he called. "I wonder if you could come and look at this."
From his standpoint, Newkirk could see the gesture of irritation with which Eisner responded. Then he snarled at the soldier still sitting in front of him. The man leapt out of the car like a startled rabbit, and opened the door for his superior to exit. He turned out to be a big man, both in height and girth, and as he trundled past, Newkirk flinched from the combined smell of sweat and expensive cologne which hung about him. The private closed the door of the car, and turned to follow.
"I shouldn't, if I was you," murmured Newkirk, blocking his way, and the man's eyes widened, as the rest of Hogan's men emerged from the trees on either side, their weapons at the ready.
Eisner stared at them. "What is the meaning of this?" he expostulated, after a few seconds of stunned silence.
"The meaning is, you're all now prisoners of the Allies," replied Hogan brusquely. "Get their guns. Take these three up to the barn." He gestured towards Geering and the driver, and nodded at the other soldier, who was standing stock-still while Newkirk disarmed him. "And move the car and truck off the road."
"Do you know who I am?" Eisner's eyes were bulging, and his face scarlet, as he came to a sense of what was happening.
"I sure hope so, Colonel," said Hogan, coming towards him. "Because I'm about to take your place. So I'm afraid you're going to have to strip, so I can borrow your uniform." His nose wrinkled as he got closer. "And I'm wondering if I should just go ahead and shoot you, for making me wear something that smells that bad."