Chapter Nine: Revelations
When Hogan woke up and discovered that Newkirk and LeBeau were in the cooler after attempting to escape, he decided that he was done waiting and he was done trying to befriend men who had no interest in his friendship or his advice. It was clear that this camp didn't need or want an officer. The men would try escape on their own. They had before he arrived, they did so while he was here, and they would continue to try after he left. And the truth of the matter was that, right now, he had three men in the cooler for escape attempts that he hadn't been informed of. In addition, Olsen was sneaking around at night and refused to tell him why and the rest of the camp acted like an officer was the last thing they needed. So how was Hogan supposed to fulfill his duty to assist his men when his men refused to acknowledge his authority?
Back in his unit, Hogan's flying abilities had quickly enabled him to earn the trust of the men who had served under him. He had prided himself on his ability to read men; it was part of what made him such an effective commanding officer, but here in Stalag Thirteen it was like he hit a wall.
Hogan felt that he understood the Germans well enough but his fellow prisoners were another story and suddenly earning the trust of a hundred prisoners seemed to be beyond his capabilities.
Therefore, Hogan was done. He was done wasting time trying to earn his men's trust. He couldn't help men who were unwilling to be helped. He would escape and, in escaping, help his men by proving to them that it could be done. Then Hogan could return to this war, return to a job which he knew that he was capable of performing and do his part to ensure that this war ended as fast as possible.
After all, was that not his duty as an officer?
In that moment, Hogan decided that the best possible course of action for him to take would be to escape and the sooner the better. With his knowledge of the German language, he should have no problems traveling cross-country. Crossing the border into Switzerland would probably be more difficult but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
Mentally running through the plan he had been working up over the past two weeks, Hogan decided that he only needed get his hands on a couple of objects and he would ready to go. He had already spent enough time in Klink's office to memorize the map of the area and it was child's play to spot the blind spots in the wire. No, all he needed now was a knife and a set of civilian clothing. He needed papers as well but that would have to wait until him got to the nearest town – Hammelburg was the name on Klink's map.
The knife he would swipe from the kitchen and the clothes from the guards' barracks. The only catch was, as a prisoner, he was barred from both places. Though as senior POW officer, Hogan had an advantage that his fellow prisoners lacked. He was sure he could get in both places with a little help from none other than Sergeant Schultz.
"Hi, Schultz," Hogan called out as spotted the large guard sneaking a snack outside of Barracks Seven.
"Oh, Colonel Hogan. Forgive me if I do not get up. I am eating."
"Nice snack," Hogan commented. "Are they not feeding you enough in the mess hall?"
Schultz groaned. "Don't speak of the mess while I eating. It puts me off my appetite."
"Your food is as bad as ours?"
"The same cooks prepare it."
Hogan snapped his fingers as he had suddenly come up with an idea. "You know if I saw how the food was prepared, I might just discover a few violations and, if I tell Klink that I'm planning on reporting them, he'll be forced to improve the food."
"Would you?" Schultz' face light up at the prospect
"I'd be doing both of us a favor. But I can't go into the kitchen without an escort…"
Schultz moved faster than Hogan had ever seen as he jumped to feet. "Sergeant Schultz reporting for duty."
That had been too easy and so, twenty minutes later, Hogan walked out of the mess with a long list of violations and a nice knife tucked under his jacket. For all of Schultz' complaints about the food, he still tried to sneak some of it leaving the American with the opening he needed to swipe the contraband.
Next step: civilian clothes.
"You know, this inspection got me thinking. I wonder if there are other places in this camp I should inspect: the motor pool, the dog kennels, the guard barracks…"
"The guard barracks," Schultz quickly repeated. "The heating is terrible and we are crowded in worse than the prisoners."
Gesturing for his eager escort to lead the way, Hogan said, "After you."
This time the job wasn't as simple as grabbing an item when Schultz' back was turned. But Schultz was only too happy to list the names of the guards who shared each room. It was easy enough to complain about the smell and crack a window in room belonging to a guard that Hogan knew was close to his size.
He would come back later to get the clothes.
As Hogan stepped back outside, he turned up his collar to protect himself from a blast of windy air. "Thanks, Schultz. I'll talk to the Kommandant tomorrow."
Of course, Hogan didn't add that he intended to be as possible away from camp tomorrow. He had everything he needed and no reason to wait. For tomorrow he would be a free man.
If breakfast was a sordid affair, then lunch could only be described as a fiasco. It was not that the meal had changed for the worse as it was the same brown bread flavored with sawdust and washed down with porridge so thin it might as well have been water, it was more that Kinchloe's and Newkirk's patience for LeBeau's commentary was running out.
For after a long tirade about the non-existent skills of their cook, LeBeau pushed his bowl away and declared, "I will not eat this trash!"
Newkirk threw up his arms in disgust. "I don't need to hear this at every bleeding meal."
LeBeau glared at his cellmate but, before he could reply, Newkirk continued on, "Admit it, LeBeau. You're homesick. I'm homesick. We're all homesick but gripping about it isn't going to change anything."
"Oh, and I suppose you are a just a ray of sunshine in this dreary place."
Kinchloe braced himself to hear Newkirk's angry retort but was surprised to hear the calm and the warmth in the Englishman's voice. "You know I'm not. How can I be, knowing that those krauts are bombing London night after night."
"Paris has it worse."
"Yes, she does, mate."
As Kinchloe watched the two men in the cell across from him he began to understand just how deep their friendship was. Yes, they argued but it was clear that they argued to relieve their tension of knowing the ones they loved were in danger and the guilt they felt at being helpless to do a thing about it. They knew exactly how far they could push and they knew when the other needed him to pull back.
What Kinchloe wouldn't give to have a friendship like that.
LeBeau sighed. "We aren't ever getting out of here."
"We're a sorry lot." Newkirk agreed. "Going mad in this foul place. Maybe we should just throw in the towel. Ole Klink is right, for us the war is over."
Kinchloe should stay out of it. LeBeau and Newkirk were close friends, he was just the interloper, eavesdropping where he wasn't needed or wanted. But yet something inside of Kinchloe told him to speak.
"I don't believe you."
Newkirk head snapped to the side and he glared at the American who dared to interrupt his speech.
That look almost made Kinchloe stop but again he followed his gut "You have been prisoners longer than anyone else in this camp and yet you've tried to escape more than everyone else in this camp combined. If you were going to give up, you would have done it several attempts ago."
"That's easy for you to say," Newkirk countered. "You've only been here a couple weeks. Wait a couple years and then we can talk."
How Kinchloe could he say he understood their struggle? It wasn't likely that the Europeans knew the history of his people or would know that Kinchloe understood what it felt to fight for a cause year after year without ever seeing any results."
"Don't be so hard on him, Newkirk. He understands more than you think." LeBeau said before turning his attention back to Kinchloe. "Don't think we haven't seen how your own countrymen treat you. We want to escape to fight for our homelands. You fight for something else."
"Respect," Kinchloe whispered, barely believing that he had said it aloud.
Newkirk still looked angry with this time his words were filled with anger for his fellow prisoner. "Any man with half a brain would respect a man who had the guts to try what you pulled."
"I guess I'll have to try again until they get it through their thick skulls," Kinchloe joked.
Newkirk let out a short laugh while LeBeau's eyes blazed with passion. "So we are in agreement," the Frenchman declared. "We plan another escape."
"Agreed," Newkirk said, "but I am not waiting for Anderson to finish that tunnel."
"Anderson has a tunnel?" Kinchloe asked.
"Oui, under Clayworth's bunk. It still needs a lot of work though."
A momentary surge of anger toward Anderson for his secrecy passed as Kinchloe instead realized that Newkirk and LeBeau where speaking to him as if he were an equal partner in their next caper.
Had he been wrong? Could he really find friends in this place after all?
It looked like he was going to get the opportunity to find out.
Part of Hogan wanted to shout in celebration as he walked down the streets of Hammelburg. The buildings, the people, it was such a change from the dreariness of Stalag Thirteen that Hogan felt like he was walking in a dreamland.
And the women! It had been too long since he had seen one of fairer sex. And while Hogan realized that these people were his enemies that didn't mean he couldn't take some pleasure from the scenery.
For escaping had been ridiculously easy. Hogan had simply timed the spotlights and waited for the right moment to sprint across the compound, cut the wire and duck into the safety of the nearby forest. The civilian clothes he had stolen were a decent fit and he had gotten lucky and found some money in one of the pants pockets. The map in Klink's office had been accurate and so it had been easy to find the town of Hammelburg. Now, all he needed was to steal some papers and buy a ticket on the next train west.
Forcing his eyes away from a pretty young lady who ducked into a building called the Hofbrau, Hogan remained on the street and look for a man with similar features to himself. Luck was on Hogan's side as he spotted a likely candidate within a few short minutes. But it looked like this restaurant was a popular destination as the man walked inside before Hogan could make his move.
Going into a restaurant would be more dangerous than wondering the streets, but Hogan needed those papers and he couldn't count on finding another mark that met his specifications. So summoning up his courage, Hogan put a smile on his face and walked through the front door.
Inside the Hofbrau, Hogan had to stop himself from staring. He smelled real food, he could just taste the beer, and the sounds of people taking and laughing made him realize all the things that he missed being a prisoner of war.
Well, he wouldn't be missing them much longer.
Knowing that he needed to buy a drink to avoid being conspicuous – and rather pleased that this was case – Hogan walked causally up to the bar only to see something that made him stop in his tracks.
Sitting on a barstool with his arm around the beautiful young woman he spotted earlier was Sergeant Olsen.
As Hogan started moving again, his brain quickly put together all the facts he knew and it didn't like the conclusions he was making. He now needed to add another step to his plan. He needed to confront Olsen.
"Guten tag, Fraulein." Hogan said as he placed a coin on the bar top, leaning past her and Olsen as he ordered a mug of whatever was on tap.
Olsen's eyes went wide as he recognized his commanding officer. Hogan gestured to the runaway sergeant that he wanted to talk. Olsen whispered something in his lady's ear that made her giggle, took a long drink from his beer and then followed Hogan to a secluded table in the corner.
Hogan wasted no time in getting to the point. "What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that question," Olsen countered.
"I'm escaping while I get the sense you intend to back in camp before morning roll call."
"You would be correct," Olsen answered with a smirk.
"So you sneak out of camp to drink and pick up girls," Hogan stated, forcibly keeping the anger he was feeling from his voice.
"A man has to make the best of his situation."
"I could order you to escape."
Olsen snorted. "I'd like to see you try."
It took every ounce of willpower Hogan had to keep his voice low. "We need ever man we can get and if you know enough German to pick up girls, you know enough to make it across the country."
"Funny, sir, but I wouldn't have considered a visit to the Hofbrau a normal stop on an escaped prisoner's route."
"I need to get my hands on some papers first."
Olsen leaned in so that his face was mere inches away and so the colonel wouldn't miss the conviction in his voice. "Then do it and go. I'm not holding you back. I have a good thing going here and I don't plan on ruining it. So if you will excuse me, I have a lady to entertain."
Dumbfounded, Hogan just watched him go. In all his years, he had never seen such a selfish, egotistical, self-centered soldier in this his entire military career.
At that moment Hogan wanted nothing more than to drag the disgraceful sergeant up on a court martial but decided that Olsen wasn't worth it. Instead, he needed to calm down and follow through with his plan. He needed to keep a close eye on his mark. Unless he planned on hiking cross-country, the most important thing was getting his hands on those papers.
A waiter gave him a mug which Hogan nursed. He was no longer able to take pleasure from his first taste of alcohol in months. He was on a mission and he could not let himself be distracted by the pleasures in life – not even the pleasures of a lady who cast a flirting glance his way.
Finally, his mark rose and Hogan moved to discreetly follow. Nothing else mattered. He would corner this man, knock him out and steal his papers. Once he had those papers, Hogan had no doubt that he would be able to find a way out of the country.
Once his target turned down a side street, Hogan started to close the distance. But, before he could close the gap, they both stumbled back into the war.
Black uniformed men surrounded a small house and Hogan recognized them as Gestapo. He needed to get out of here and fast. If the Gestapo stopped him for questioning and realized that he was an American he would be shot as spy if not worse.
But before Hogan could turn around there was loud crash as a large object flew out of a first floor window and landed only a few feet in front of him. It was a radio and by some miracle it was mostly intact though bits and pieces of it had broken off and were scattered across the street.
Hogan knew he needed to leave but he couldn't. He was frozen as he watched more Gestapo drag members of the family out of the building: a man, his wife, and three kids. The man was bleeding and looked like he had been beaten. The woman and children were treated just as harshly as they were shoved into waiting cars.
A man who stopped beside Hogan whispered, "They must be members of the underground."
When Hogan turned to ask this man what he meant, he had already disappeared into the crowd that was gathering in the street.
Hogan hadn't walked into a dreamland when he had entered Hammelburg; he had entered a nightmare. He was now in a world where secret police could terrorize its own citizens and people lived in fear from those who should protect them.
As a Gestapo officer began to give orders to his men, Hogan recognized that this was his best chance at getting away unseen but something stopped him.
It was an impulse. A stupid, reckless impulse. But before Hogan could think he had thrown his jacket over the discarded radio and then scooped it up in arms and took off down a side street.
By some miracle, no one noticed his actions but still Hogan's heart beat rapidly against his chest. What was he doing? He should be getting out of town. He couldn't carry a radio halfway across the country. He needed to drop the radio, get those papers, and leave town.
But his moment had passed. In the confusion, Hogan had lost sight of his mark. No, not a mark – a man. A man whom Hogan had planned on mugging just so he could steal his wallet and his papers.
But Hogan was no longer sure that this man was an enemy and if he wasn't an enemy than how could Hogan justify mugging him?
Besides, there was no way that Hogan could escape. Not tonight. Not after what he just saw. Not after learning that there were Germans who opposed the current regime, Germans who had much to fear from their government but still dared to fight back.
Hogan had seen true evil this night and he would never be able to forget it.
The American officer had been just as selfish as Olsen. He had thought only of getting himself to England and helping his country and her allies win this war. Hogan had forgotten that not all Germans were his enemies. That some were fighting for the same cause – risking far more than Hogan ever had as a pilot.
And if there was those were willing to fight back against Hitler, if Hogan could make contact with the underground, he could give them a change to strike a real blow against the evil that had taken root in their country.
With the help of the underground, Hogan could do more than simply escape. He could find a way to help every single man in Stalag Thirteen escape and maybe even something more.
However, if Hogan was to do this thing, he couldn't do it alone.
Luckily, it didn't take Hogan long to realize that he had the men he needed were already in Stalag Thirteen. The officer knew that the men he wanted were a hot-tempered French chef, an irritable English thief, a multilingual distrustful Negro, and, even though it pained him to admit it, an insubordinate, doll dizzy American.
What a band of merry misfits we'd be, Hogan mused.
And in that moment, Hogan began to understand just what drove these men to be the people they were.
He understood that underneath LeBeau's anger and Newkirk's bitterness were two men who were itching to fight to protect their families and their homelands. That behind Kinchloe's distrust was a man searching for acceptance. While Olsen was still a question mark, the colonel recognized that Olsen's swagger and sheer brazen were qualities that Hogan needed if he was going to pull this plan off.
It wouldn't be easy, convincing these men to join in his crazy scheme but Hogan knew they were the right men. Together, with the help of the underground, they would strike a blow against the Nazis and make a real difference in this war.
Decision made, Hogan headed back to the Hofbrau. If he was going to willingly return to Stalag Thirteen, he might as well return in a way that the camp would never forget.