Chapter Seven: Secrets Hidden, Secrets Revealed

There was a sense of finality in the closing of a cell door.

It was over. He had failed to escape.

Shivering, Kinchloe looked around his home for the next thirty days. A slab of concrete would serve as his bunk, though he guessed he was lucky that his cell contained a small table with a single chair against the far wall. The cell bars allowed him a view of the rest of the cooler – alas, a view that was no more interesting than his cell.

Settling into the chair, Kinchloe debated what to do with his soaking wet clothes. Their dampness was making him cold but he didn't dare remove them – not when the guards could return at any moment. And, even though his aching body wanted nothing more than to sleep, he knew that going to sleep in wet clothing would only make him sick.

Curse that general. Of all the people he crashed into – he had to crash into the man who appeared to be Klink's boss.

It could have been worse, a voice in the back of his mind said. He could have hit a German who would have shot him on sight or the Gestapo or he could have killed an innocent civilian or himself.

He was lucky to be alive except that he didn't feel particularly lucky.

Out of all the ways for his escape to have gone wrong, the last thing he would have guessed was the way he was caught. It was bad luck that he had crashed that car and worse luck considering who he had crashed it into.

It just seemed like he was forever destined to fail at whatever he tried.

The sound of a heated conversation broke him from his thoughts. Walking over the bars of his cell, he watched as the door to the cooler opened and a nervous Sergeant Schultz let Colonel Hogan enter the room.

Hogan waved Schultz away and approached his cell – alone. "I only have a minute but I brought you some dry clothes."

Surprised that Hogan thought of him, Kinchloe said softly, "Thank you, sir."

Studying the man in front of him, Hogan continued, "So how did you manage to get the car?"

Kinchloe shrugged. "I just did it, sir." He held his breath and hoped that Hogan accepted his non-answer. To tell the truth would mean admitting his German language skills and he remembered how badly his barracks had reacted to learning he knew French. And French was a language of their Allies. Admitting he knew the language of their enemy – he couldn't imagine a scenario where that wouldn't reflect badly on him.

Seeing Hogan's expression, he knew that the colonel realized that he was holding something back but thankfully the officer decided not to press the issue and told the sergeant to get some rest.

That was an order Kinchloe was glad to follow.

When Kinchloe woke up the next morning his body was stiff and his lungs decided to complain by inflicting him with a cough. It seemed getting caught wouldn't be the only price he'd have to pay for his failed escape.

After stumbling through his morning routine and trying to force down some of the stale bread the guard had given him for breakfast, he decided that the rest of his day would be best spent in bed. Besides, it wasn't like there was anything else for him to do.

However, just as he was about to fall back asleep, the sound of approaching footsteps caused him to sit up and see who had disturbed his rest. In hindsight, he should have expected Hogan to return. But he was nevertheless surprised when he looked up and saw his commanding officer standing there – again without a guard in sight.

Kinchloe's body complained as he forced himself to rise and come to attention. Hogan hadn't reprimanded him for his escape attempt last night and he didn't want to give the officer any excuses to start now.

"At ease, Sergeant."

Unsure of what to say, Kinchloe waited for Hogan to speak. He had a good idea of what the colonel wanted but he was still as unsure as he was last night as to how wise it would be to share the details of his escape.

Hogan flashed a friendly grin as he asked, "Care to share your story now?"

Fearful of how Hogan would respond to his denial but more afraid of how his CO would react to the truth, Kinchloe said, "I'd rather not say, sir."

Surprisingly, Hogan looked more curious than upset. "Why not?"

"It didn't work."

The Colonel didn't press as he instead crossed his arms and considered his charge. Thinking aloud, Hogan mused, "Burkhalter was convinced that you bribed a guard but you denied that. Now you could have lied to protect your source but my gut tells me you are telling the truth. So that leaves trickery. In particular, a trick that you seem reluctant to share even with your allies. So that makes me think that this trick is either embarrassing or involves a talent that you'd prefer to keep secret."

Kinchloe didn't have to look at Hogan's face to know that the officer was watching his reactions to his musings. He could feel those eyes studying him and it was taking all of his self-control to stare calmly back.

Hogan kept rambling on, "Now the word in the barracks is that you are fluent in French. A surprising talent as not many men in our country bother learning another language. What are the odds that you are capable of speaking a third?"

"Pretty high, sir," Kinchloe answered before realizing that Hogan had spoken that last sentence in German.

Immediately, fear flashed across his face but Hogan didn't seem upset. Rather he seemed pleased. "Don't worry," Hogan reassured his anxious charge. "I doubt anyone is going to think that you are a German spy."

While hewas relieved to hear his CO's words, he still couldn't help but wonder what Hogan's angle was. The officer had clearly wanted confirmation that he spoke German but why?

"So, my friend, I think…"

My what?

Kinchloe's blood boiled as he considered the officer standing in front of him. Who did Hogan think he was? He was an officer, Kinchloe was an enlisted man. Hogan was white, Kinchloe was colored. The gap was too large. Did Hogan really think that Kinchloe was so desperate for a friend that he would immediately trust the first person who spoke some friendly words?

For under no circumstance did he believe that Hogan was offering genuine friendship. The officer needed something from him and he suspected that the second the officer got what he wanted these overtures of friendship would cease.

There was simply no other reasonable explanation. White officers never befriended their colored subordinates. They hated them, tolerated them, or used them to achieve their own goals. But friendship? That was impossible and Kinchloe would not let himself be fooled into hoping for something that he could never receive.

Hogan was still talking but Kinchloe only paid enough attention so he could continue to give brief replies where necessary. Thankfully, the ordeal ended quickly as Schultz poked his head through the cooler door and announced that Hogan's time was up, leaving Kinchloe alone once more.

Louis LeBeau knew that there were several truths in life. One was that through good food one was able to experience a taste of the divine. Another was that trying to make something edible out of a can of SPAM and a few stolen potatoes day after day was the culinary equivalent of being trapped in purgatory for all eternity.

It was a shame. With some real meat and a few spices, he knew he could make a stew that would have his taste buds singing. Though a part of his mind whispered that it wasn't the ingredients that were the problem that but the fear that he was losing his skills after being a prisoner for so long.

Almost two years now. Two years a prisoner while his countrymen fought and died and France groaned under the weight of the occupation. Two years of being held captive in various prison camps, of failed attempts to escape and being forced to obey the orders of the dirty Boche who dared destroy his fair homeland.

Frustrated at the world, LeBeau tried to block out his depressing thoughts by attacking the skin of the closest potato with a dull knife. However, that didn't work for his hands knew how to do the work with any thought on his part and so he let his gaze wander around the room.

No one met his eyes except for Newkirk who was mending a sock and the look on the Englishman's face told LeBeau that he was paying no more attention to his sewing than the Frenchman was to his cooking. No, Newkirk was thinking about something else and, if LeBeau's guess was right, he wanted to be a part of whatever his friend was planning.

Glancing at his friend, LeBeau stated, "You have that look."

"What look?" Newkirk asked innocently.

LeBeau shot him a glare that said you know what look I'm talking about.

Nodding towards the window and world outside, Newkirk said, "It's getting warmer."

Suspicions confirmed, the Frenchman asked, "What's your plan?"

"Steal a sharp knife, cut the wire and get as far away as I can, as fast as I can."

"Sounds like your last plan."

It was Newkirk's turn to give LeBeau a glare that said this has worked at getting me out of camp before.

Setting down his knife, LeBeau turned and sat down at the table across from his friend. "Hear me out. We both know that you have no problem getting out of this camp but once you're out you have nowhere to go. I know how to get to France but I keep getting caught while escaping. I think that this time we should try to escape together."

Newkirk considered the offer. "Can't hurt."

They both had been imprisoned so long that anything was worth a try,

"I leave tomorrow," Newkirk said in a tone that suggested alone if necessary.

That was not a problem as LeBeau could think of no reason to wait. "I'm coming with you."

And this time, LeBeau promised himself, he would finally see France again.

Alone in his quarters after lights out, Hogan found solace in the quiet night. He had spent so much time since his arrival at the Stalag getting to know his men and the camp that it felt like he barely had any time to think. The aftermath of Sergeant Kinchloe's escape and recapture had taken up even more of his time as Klink had insisted on having a meeting today where he attempted to lecture his senior POW on the importance of keeping his men in line.

It had taken all Hogan had not to laugh and instead give the answers that the Kommandant wanted to hear in order to keep that meeting as short as possible. For as Hogan saw it, it was his job to encourage the escapes and then, when the time was right, escape on his own.

His earlier meeting with Kinchloe hadn't gone well either. Yes, he had confirmed how the staff sergeant had managed to escape but he was no closer to gaining the colored man's trust. He told himself that he shouldn't let Kinchloe's aloofness bother him. But the problem was the longer Hogan stayed in Stalag Thirteen and the more he got to know the men, the more he felt responsible for their well-being.

You can't save the whole world, Hogan.

He knew that too well. He couldn't even save the men in his plane.

But I should be able to save the men in this camp.

But he couldn't help men who refused to helped.

No, but you can convince them to trust you.

The sound of the barracks' door opening and closing caused him to sit up in his bunk with a start. Who would risk going outdoors at this hour?

Quickly easing himself to the floor, Hogan tip-toed over to his window and opened it a crack. His eyes quickly noticed that the spotlights were searching the other side of camp so he risked fully opening the shutters and sticking his head out into the night air. It only took a him a moment to spot a shadowy figured heading straight for the wire.

The uniform was American and the figure was too tall to be Anderson and too skinny to be Brown. With Kinchloe safely locked up in the cooler that meant the escaping POW could only be Sergeant Olsen.

While silently wishing Olsen the best of luck as he watched him go quickly through the wire and disappear into the woods, Hogan realized that he was going to have to have a talk with the men about these escape attempts. He wanted the men to try but he feared that sooner or later someone was going to get himself killed.

There simply had to be a better way.