Chapter Eight: When Nothing Makes Sense
Out of all the sights Hogan expected to see at roll call the next morning, the last thing he expected was the scene that was laid out before him.
He was supposed to have been awoken to news that Olsen had been caught last night or to have received the pleasure of seeing the krauts realize that he was missing and watching as the dogs barked, the guards ran around, and the alarms blared.
But instead he had awoken to the sight of Sergeant Olsen standing in formation with all the other men.
Not even bothering to pay attention to Klink, Hogan instead watched Olsen and tried to figure out what on earth had possessed the POW to return to camp after getting cleanly away.
Had he just dreamed the whole sequence?
As soon as roll call was over, Hogan didn't hesitate. He marched straight over to the object of his attentions. "Olsen, a word."
Olsen cocked his head. "Can I help you, sir?"
"You certainty can. Did you try to escape last night?"
Olsen tried to look confused but Hogan recognized overacting when he saw it. "I'm still here, aren't I?" the sergeant asked jokingly.
Hogan's voice turned cold. "Don't play games with me, Sergeant. I saw you go through the wire. Did you try to escape?"
Holding out his arms in a gesture of defeat, Olsen said, "Look, sir, if you haven't noticed we're prisoners of war. As the Kommandant says, for us, the war is over. Might as well have some fun while we pass the time."
"Soldier, I asked you a question."
Olsen smirked. "No, sir, I did not try to escape." Then before Hogan could question the flippant sergeant further, Olsen sauntered off without another word.
There were no words to describe the fury that currently flowed through Hogan's veins. Did Olsen think this was all just some game? Had he forgotten that they were at war?
Hogan had walked the streets of bombed London. He had listened to Hitler's speeches. He feared a world under Nazi control. Because of that fear and the justness of their cause, he had volunteered to fly dozens of missions; he had watched men die. He bore the weight of knowing that some of those deaths were a result of his orders. He had killed men, knowing that even as they targeted sites of military value that civilians had died due to his bombs.
He knew all too well the cost that was demanded of soldiers and he feared the enormity of that cost should they lose this war.
So the knowledge that one man made light of their situation stopped him in his tracks and made him wonder if the problem was Olsen's character or if there was something about being a prisoner that made men resign themselves to their fate.
Klink couldn't be right, could he? Hogan's contributions to this war couldn't be over, could they?
The day moved too slowly for Newkirk's liking. Stand for roll call, wash laundry, take a turn on the volleyball court during the exercise period and choke down another meal of black bread and potatoes. Even his excursions to acquire a proper knife and some supplies for the escape failed to provide a more than a short break from the monotony of camp life.
Though Newkirk knew that he shouldn't complain as he could have found some excitement if he had really wanted some. For it was clear to everyone in camp that their CO had a bee in his bonnet but no one in camp dared to inquire as to what had caused Hogan to get so worked up. Newkirk certainly wasn't going to be daft enough to cross an irate officer's path. He had a strong personal policy about officers – stay out of their business so that they'll stay out of yours.
Therefore, he was grateful that after evening roll call Hogan shut himself in his private quarters and he was able to relieve the tension of the last several hours of waiting with a not so legal poker game.
Shortly before lights out, Newkirk made a point to pass on a quick message to Sergeant Olsen. For he knew that Olsen often snuck out of the barracks at night and he considered it professional courtesy to warn his fellow POW that it would be better for him to remain in his bunk tonight. As for what Olsen did during those nighttime excursions, Newkirk considered it none of his business. A man needed to have some secrets if he was going to stay sane in this place.
"Newkirk," LeBeau whispered from the next bunk over after the rest of barracks had fallen asleep. "Are you ready?"
Silently nodding, Newkirk lowered himself to the floor and tiptoed over to the door. After opening it a crack, his keen eyes were able to spot the closest guard and figure out where in the patrol route their captors were. Sometimes, the Englishman wondered if their captors were trying to make things easy on purpose in order to tempt the prisoners to escape. He doubted it even though the searchlights moved across the courtyard in the same predictable pattern that they always did. Would Klink ever learn? Probably not.
Glancing over at his friend, Newkirk ordered, "Follow me and do exactly what I do."
He didn't wait for an answer. He and LeBeau argued a lot but they always agreed on the most important things and his little mate knew that when it came to sneaking around that their best chance lay in following his lead.
In a few short minutes, the pair reached the wire and they silently put the next part of the plan into action. LeBeau reached out and gripped one of wires near the bottom and held it taunt so that Newkirk could cut it with one swift slash. They repeated the process twice more, creating a hole that they easily slipped through. After a quick sprint the two prisoners reached the tree line and freedom.
They were out. Now, they just needed to put as much distance between them and the camp before dawn as possible. Then Newkirk would discover if LeBeau could get them to France as promised.
LeBeau was all smiles but Newkirk didn't dare celebrate yet. He had been in this situation too many times before and had still managed to get caught every single time. "Let's move."
The two of them crept quickly through the trees, but all their care came to naught because the moment that LeBeau spotted trouble was the same exact moment that Newkirk's foot landed on a dry stick.
"Patrol," LeBeau hissed as the crack of the stick breaking echoed through the forest.
Certain that they were caught, Newkirk simply reacted in hope that his mistake wouldn't cause this attempt to end in the same way as all the others. Grabbing LeBeau by the waist, he lifted his friend into the air so that he could grab a branch of the closest tree before scrambling up after him.
Newkirk was easily able to climb several feet but when he looked down, he noticed that LeBeau was struggling. His friend had managed to wrap his legs around the branch he was hanging from but was unable to lift himself up.
Come on, LeBeau, Newkirk thought. He wanted to call out advice, but he didn't dare to when he caught sight of a barking guard dog trotting into the clearing beneath the tree.
Go away, doggy, Newkirk silently begged.
The dog, oblivious to Newkirk's pleas sniffed at the ground only to look up just in time to see a human fall from the air right in front of him. Newkirk's heart leapt to this throat as he saw the dog stick his muzzle into his friend's face. That beast was hurting LeBeau!
Jumping to the ground, Newkirk grabbed a fallen branch and prepared to beat off of the vicious monster before he could do any more damage. But as he swung the branch, LeBeau sat up and thrust out his hands to protect that mangy mutt. "Stop! It's okay. She's a friend."
Newkirk eyed the German shepherd warily as the dog backed away slowly at the sight of his stick. "I think you hit your head, mate."
"Look," LeBeau commanded.
Newkirk was looking and he barely believed what he was seeing: the large guard dog had sat down and was watching them with the most innocent expression she could muster – tongue out, tail wagging.
What in the world?
Suddenly, the dog's hackles rose and she started barking and growling at the two escaped prisoners who slowly started to back away.
"You call that friendly?
But before LeBeau could answer, Schultz and another guard stumbled into the clearing and they were prisoners once more.
It had to be the middle of the night when Kinchloe heard someone enter the cooler. Groaning privately to himself, he wondered why the guards kept making these late-night bed checks. It wasn't like he could go anywhere.
The sound of approaching voices, however, told him that this was more than just a bed check.
"Come on, Schultz. We were just out for a walk. Don't lock us away."
That voice was unmistakably Newkirk. It sounded like he had been caught outside the wire. At least, Kinchloe wasn't the only one with bad luck.
"You heard the Kommandant," Schultz answered. "Thirty days in the cooler for attempting to escape."
"That's cruel and inhumane punishment," a third voice which Kinchloe identified as LeBeau declared.
"Locking you in the cooler is cruel?"
"No what is cruel is forcing me to eat nothing but camp food for thirty days."
"You are right about that," Schultz admitted. "The food is terrible."
Newkirk noticed that the American sergeant was awake and called out, "Hello, Kinchloe. We figured you were lonely so we let this tub of lard catch us."
"Jolly jokers." Then after locking his two new charges in the cell across from Kinchloe, Schultz said, "You boys behave."
"Don't worry," LeBeau reassured the guard. "We always do."
"That is what I'm worried about," Schultz murmured as he walked out of the cooler.
As soon as Schultz was gone, LeBeau turned to his friend and stated matter-of-factly, "I am telling you. The dogs are friendly."
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "I suspect that's why she started growling and barking at us then."
"She licked my face to make sure I wasn't hurt."
"She told the guards where we were!"
"Never! She was trying to protect us."
"I saved your ungrateful hide and this is the thanks I get!" Newkirk shot back. "That dog was going to bite your face off!"
LeBeau's hands were balled into fists and, for a second, Kinchloe feared that things were going to get physical. However, LeBeau settled for murmuring a string of unsavory adjectives about the English in his native tongue.
In desperation, Newkirk looked towards Kinchloe and the sergeant knew that the corporal was asking for a translation. However, Kinchloe had done that once and learned his lesson. There was no way he was going to step in the middle of this battle.
"No," he said firmly. Then in French he added, "LeBeau, I am not going to be your translator so can you please yell at Newkirk in English or be quiet so I can get some sleep."
LeBeau and Newkirk continued to glare daggers at one another but when LeBeau opened his mouth he finally decided to address what he was really upset about. "Newkirk ruined our escape and got us caught. If it had not been for his clumsy feet I would be halfway to France by now!"
"I ruined the escape! It was you who fell out of the tree!"
"A tree you threw me into!"
Getting very irritated, Kinchloe snapped, "At least neither of you crashed into General Burkhalter's car."
For a couple of seconds silence filled the cooler as the newest residents were shocked by Kinchloe's outburst. However, it didn't take Newkirk long to recover. "Now that was back luck, mate."
"The look on Burkhalter's face must have been priceless," LeBeau added.
"I didn't notice," Kinchloe admitted. "I was too busy watching the gun his driver was pointing at my head."
The prisoners all had a good chuckle at that image and Newkirk and LeBeau, having lost their rhythm, stopped fighting. Thankful for the blissful silence, Kinchloe laid back down on his cot only to be awakened when Newkirk and LeBeau realized that there was only one bunk in their cell and they started bickering again. Kinchloe privately groaned; he had thought being alone was bad but now he suspected that during the rest of his time in the cooler he was going to be begging for the peace and quiet of an insane asylum.