Chapter Four: The Last Thing Kinchloe Needed

"Roll call! Raus! Raus!"

Schultz's voice was an unwelcome start to Kinchloe's morning. Stumbling out of bed, he forced himself to walk outside. He had finally fallen asleep in the early morning hours and his body was trying to tell him that it hadn't been enough.

So when he noticed Olsen standing in line at roll call his first thought was that he was hallucinating from the lack of sleep. He shook his head, trying to force himself to focus, and when he looked again Olsen was still standing there. Was he mad or had he dreamed Olsen sneaking out of the barracks last night?

A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that just because Olsen snuck out of the barracks it didn't mean that he had tried to escape. He could have visited another barracks or prepared things for an escape attempt to come later. Breathing a silent sigh of relief that he was not going mad, Kinchloe turned his attention back to Schultz.

"Kommandant, all present and accounted for!" Schultz announced happily.

Thankfully, the Kommandant was in no mood to give a speech as he replied, "Dismissed!"

The prisoners began to disperse when the gates opened and a truck drove into camp.

"Look!" LeBeau hollered.

Kinchloe decided to see what was going on and most of the barracks was of a similar mind. They didn't have to wait long before the truck came to a halt and the guards escorted a single prisoner off the truck.

The sight of the American wearing a brown jacket and crush cap caused murmurs to break out all through the ranks as the POWs realized what was happening.

As Kinchloe studied the new prisoner, he quickly came to the conclusion that this was going to mean both good and bad news. The good news being that Anderson was now out of a job. The bad news being that the camp now had an officer.

From experience, Kinchloe knew that the last thing he needed was a white officer. His time in the Army Air Forces had taught him that there were only two types of white officers: those who openly hated the men they were charged with supervising and those who were apathetic to the charges and simply counted the days until they would be given a better assignment.

Either way, Kinchloe was in trouble. Either the officer would make his life hell or he wouldn't care if the other prisoners in the camp made his life hell. All he could do was pray for a short war.

Colonel Robert E. Hogan of the Army Air Forces had come to the conclusion that the Kommandant of Stalag Thirteen was an idiot. Now to be fair, he had only been in the presence of the man for five minutes but those five minutes for the most part were filled with the Kommandant's fruitless attempts to interrogate him.

Hogan really didn't understand how this German officer thought that he could succeed where the professionals failed but he was stuck with no other choice than to keep repeating his name, rank and serial number until this buffoon decided to shut up.

Finally, Klink concluded their conversation by warning him about the fruitlessness of trying to escape and it took all of Hogan's willpower to hold back an audible snort when the Kommandant claimed that so far there had never been a successful escape from Stalag Thirteen.

Well, he would have to be the first. After all, the first duty of an officer was to escape and with his fluency in the German language – a fluency his captors knew nothing about – he figured he had a better chance than most at success.

Klink dismissed him with a salute which Hogan half-heartedly returned before following the sergeant of the guard to his new temporary home.

When he walked through the door to see eight men standing at attention next to their bunks, the colonel returned the salute. "At ease. I'm Colonel Robert Hogan of the 504th bomber group until I was shot down and the krauts decided to send me here."

Hogan tried to sound authentic but to him his introduction felt forced. That's the problem with being the only officer, Hogan thought. It's going to be a while before the men will let their guard down around me.

An average built, sandy haired American stepped forward. "Sergeant Major George Anderson, sir. If you like, I can show you to your quarters."

As Hogan followed Anderson into the small room he could tell that it had been recently occupied. The sergeant must have been displaced by his arrival. While he felt a slight twinge of guilt, the chance to have a private space was the one perk of command that he was not giving up.

Looking at the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress, Hogan longed to crawl on top of it and sleep for the next month. However, he was aware that the men – his men he realized with a start – were watching him and he knew that he needed to make a good first impression. So he turned and walked back into the common room.

A few of the man who had sat down jumped up again and Hogan realized that for everyone's sanity he was going to have to give permission for certain military protocols to be dropped. Holding out one hand, he ordered, "Stay seated." Then after sitting down at the last spot at the table, he added, "There's no need to come to attention in the barracks or around camp. I would like to not have to return salutes all day."

Several of men nodded their approval while a short Frenchman set a mug on the table in front of him. "For you, sir."

After taking a small sip, Hogan grimaced. The coffee was horrible but as it was the first cup he had since being shot down he drank it like it was the finest cup of joe he had ever tasted.

Setting down the mug, he gestured to the man sitting beside him. "What's your name?"

He did his best to listen as for the next hour he learned that Clayworth had four brothers, Brown played linebacker in college and Bennett came from a long line of miners. He had men from the cities of London, Paris, and St. Paul and several small towns that he had never heard of.

Most of the men had been shot down over Germany though most of the Americans had been shipped to Germany from North Africa. He was informed that Stalag Thirteen had only recently opened and that about a third of the prisoners had been transferred in from other camps and that none held a high opinion of their Kommandant's ability to command. He learned that Newkirk had been a prisoner the longest, having never made it out of Dunkirk, and that LeBeau was not far behind him as he became a prisoner shortly before France surrendered.

As the men talked, Hogan did his best to remember their names and at least one piece of information about each. Though it did not escape his attention that during this one man had remained silent throughout the whole conversation.

Looking over at the final occupant of the barracks who was standing off to the side, Hogan asked, "What about you, sergeant?"

"Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, 477th."

"Where are from?"

"Detroit, sir."

The soldier was so stiff that Hogan backed off. He would have plenty of time to know of his men - though not too much time he hoped.

For Colonel Robert E. Hogan had no intentions of remaining a prisoner for long.

A relatively warm winter day and a free exercise period provided a welcome breath of fresh air to the cooped up prisoners. A volleyball match by barracks two and a cricket game on the other side of camp had both attracted a decent amount of players and spectators. However, there were three men who stood apart from the rest of the camp taking advantage of this moment to privately converse amongst themselves.

"What's he like?" Leonard asked, nodding toward their new officer who was watching the volleyball game.

Kinchloe glanced at his fellow Tuskegee Airman. "He either keeps to himself or he's mingling with the men, asking lots of questions about the camp, the Germans, us prisoners."

"You think he's planning something?"

Kinchloe shrugged. He had done his best to stay out of Hogan's way as much as possible which meant that he truly had no guesses as to what the colonel was thinking.

"Doesn't seem too happy about us," Washington stated coldly.

Kinchloe glanced over at Hogan and saw that he had turned his attention away from the game and was looking at the three of them with a frown on his face. Well, Kinchloe hated to disappoint officers but it wasn't his fault that they had been dumped in this camp. Hogan would have to come to accept that fact. Though acceptance of their presence didn't mean the man would have to treat them fairly. Would Hogan's frown be the start of him showing his true colors?

With luck Kinchloe wouldn't be in camp long enough to find out. "I'm going to go for a walk," he announced.

"You take a lot of walks," Leonard said with concern in his voice. "Are you okay?"

Not wanting to admit what he was really thinking, Kinchloe joked, "I have to get my exercise in somehow."

Leonard frowned, thinking that Kinchloe was referring to the way in which they had been informed to stay out of camp games but, before he could respond, Washington laid a single hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Let him go. Each of us has to stay sane in our own way."

In exploring his new quarters, Hogan had discovered a well-used chess set and wasted no time in challenging the room's former occupant to a match. Looking at his pieces, he didn't need to be an expert to know that he was losing and badly. Anderson was good and it didn't help that Hogan's attention was not entirely on the game as he was using the game to get to know the senior NCO a little better. For in the short time he had been at Stalag Thirteen, Hogan had recognized that Anderson was generally well liked and respected by the men. It would be a lot easier for the officer to win over the POWs if he managed to get Anderson on his side.

So while they played they chatted about the camp, the Germans and the things they had done off base while being stationed in London.

Once Hogan's inevitable defeat became official, he broached a subject that had been bothering him for a while. "How is the intermixing of nationalities working out?" The colonel hadn't failed to notice during the exercise period it had been the Brits playing cricket, the Americans playing volleyball while the Tuskegee Airmen stood off by themselves.

"Depends on who you ask. We've had a few issues but for the most part we've become resigned to it. Our Kommandant seems to think that it cuts back on escapes, hoping that our differences will make it harder for any one barracks to work together on a plan."

"Has it?" Hogan asked, eagerness slipping into his voice.

"We normally have one or two guys go through the wire a month but none have gotten away. I believe Corporal Newkirk holds the record as he managed to elude capture for four days once."

"Once?"

Anderson chuckled. "Oh, Newkirk's gotten out several times. Him and LeBeau combined, I'd say, account for about half of the attempts.

Hogan made a mental note to talk to both men as he suspected they had a pretty good idea where the weaknesses where. Though, from his studies of the wire and the guard towers, he had already identified a couple of blind spots. "What about you?"

Anderson smiled. "Not yet, sir."

"But you have something in the works," Hogan stated.

Anderson stood up. "Follow me."

Hogan followed the NCO into the main room and watched him walk up to the bunk that Clayworth used. Anderson gestured to O'Brien who immediately walked over to the door and opened it a crack.

Anderson lifted up the mattress on the bottom bunk and set it on the floor. Then he picked up the flat board underneath and placed it beside the mattress. Standing inside the bunk, Anderson knelt and pointed out a spot where the floorboard was loose and lifted that up and handed it to Hogan.

Hogan set the board down and then stepped inside the bunk to study the hole. It was just big enough for a man to slip through which explained why, even though there was room between the bunk and the floor, they had to remove the mattress. Deciding to be adventurous, Hogan lowered himself into the hole and was surprised to find himself in a small underground room.

Anderson joined him and the colonel noticed that there was room for two or three other men to fit in addition to themselves.

"We dug out the room when we realized it made it easier to transfer buckets of dirt to the surface," Anderson explained.

Looking around, Hogan noticed a few buckets piled in a corner, a pickaxe that he was curious to know where that had come from and the tunnel itself which was a small black hole just big enough for a man to crawl through.

"Who all knows about the tunnel?"

"All the men in Barracks Two except Olsen and Kinchloe. We had to stop digging when the ground froze and so they hadn't been here long enough to know about it."

Seeing Hogan's confused look, Anderson added, "The dirt down here can be dug in winter but we can't dispose of it without the guards seeing and then the game's up. Once the thaw hits, we'll have another month or two of digging until we're outside the wire."

"I'm impressed," Hogan said, his mind already whirling with possibilities. Two months seemed like a long time to finish the job as it wasn't like the camp was low in manpower. No, as Anderson said the problem was the disposing of the dirt.

There was potential here. He just needed to figure out how to make it work.

Kinchloe finished his second lap around the compound that day but still was no closer to coming up with a plan on how to escape. Even though he had identified places in the fence where he would have a better chance of going through the wire, the risk of him getting shot was high if spotted, and he would need to find something he could use to cut the wire.

Besides, he had grown up in the city. He had no idea how to walk through the woods without leaving a trail or how to survive in the wilderness on his own. However, he knew that no matter what plan he came up with he would have to go cross-country at some point. But, to have any sort of chance, he needed to put distance between him and the guards and the dogs that were sure to come after him.

There had to be a better way.

He came to halt as the noticed a black car pull in front of Klink's office. A guard stepped out and held the door open for the Kommandant who hurried outside, bundled up due to the cold weather, and quickly sat down in the driver's seat. As Klink drove off, the guards opened the gates so he didn't have to stop and could drive right on through.

The guards never even checked the car. They just opened the gate.

Kinchloe smiled; he had a plan.