Chapter Eleven: A Night in the Cooler
The sudden onset of light roused Kinchloe from his slumber.
He wasn't the only one. "Someone turn out the lights," LeBeau murmured groggily from the cell across from his.
Figuring the bed check would be over in a minute, Kinchloe squeezed his eyes shut, rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.
"LeBeau, wake up," Newkirk hissed. Kinchloe didn't have to open his eyes to guess that the Englishman was shaking his friend awake. "Schultz is bringing in another prisoner."
That convinced Kinchloe to open his eyes and sit up on his bunk. Then when he realized just who the company was, the sergeant quickly jumped to his feet and came to attention. For he doubted that Colonel Hogan was here for a late-night visit. And if the colonel was to be thrown into the cooler that meant he would be in a bad mood. Unfortunately, Kinchloe knew from experience that the last thing one wanted to do was give an officer an excuse to take their anger out on him by breaking protocol.
Though, oddly enough, Hogan didn't look upset. In fact, the officer came across as smug while Schultz looked pale and worried. But the surprises didn't end there as Hogan didn't even protest when Schultz opened the door to Kinchloe's cell and gestured him inside.
Kinchloe's heart sunk; this was going to be trouble. Whatever Hogan had done it must have been bad for Klink to order him to share a cell with an enlisted man – a colored enlisted man. Kinchloe swallowed nervously; there was no way that he could see this ending well.
Newkirk shot Kinchloe a worried glance. It seemed that the two prisoners were thinking similar thoughts. Even LeBeau had gotten out of the bunk to watch this scene play out.
"At ease," Hogan said, gesturing for his cellmate to take a seat.
Instead, Kinchloe leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He would not sit while Hogan stood and when the time came he would give up the bunk and blanket and sleep on the floor. No matter how casually Hogan acted, he couldn't afford to forget that he was just a colored sergeant and Hogan was a white officer. He knew too well how white officers had punished men in his unit whom the officers had believed had acted above their station. Kinchloe would not let his guard down – not for an instant. Even friendly officers had changed their tune when they had felt insulted.
"So, sir," Newkirk asked tentatively, "what did you do to incur our bungling jailor's wrath?"
Hogan face lit up; he had been waiting for someone to ask. "Klink didn't like the beer I brought him from town."
Newkirk's jaw dropped. "What?"
"But…how?" LeBeau exclaimed.
"He speaks German," Kinchloe said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. If Hogan had made it to town, then what was he doing back in camp?
Hogan nodded towards the sergeant. "A trait I share with my cellmate here."
"So you escaped and where captured in town," LeBeau guessed.
"Close. I did escape and I did make it to town. But I wasn't recaptured. I came back."
"Traitor!" LeBeau yelled loud enough that Kinchloe wondered if the guards outside heard.
Hogan held his hands in a gesture asking for peace. "Hear me out."
"Right," Newkirk growled. "Like I should listen to Gerry loving coward of an officer!"
"I could make that an order, Corporal."
Newkirk grew quiet and LeBeau glared while Kinchloe could have cut the tension with a knife.
Sensing that he had his audience's attention, Hogan explained, "I planned on escaping but when I was town I saw the Gestapo arresting members of the German Underground."
When his words were met with blank stares, he continued, "Think about it. A German Underground means we have allies in this country. Everyone one of you has managed to get outside the wire but you still got caught. What would have happened if you could have met someone who could help you get out of the country? All three of you probably would have made it."
The officer's words sounded appealing but Kinchloe was skeptical. "And how are we supposed to meet up with these 'friendly' helpers?"
"I'm still working on that part," Hogan admitted. "But we know they exist and if they exist we can find them."
"And trust a boche! I don't want to walk into some Gestapo trap."
Newkirk was incredulous. "Sir, has anyone ever told you that you're out of your bloody mind?"
Hogan looked pained. "You think this is a joke? You think I would return to this camp without a plan to get back out again?"
Newkirk and LeBeau exchanged a look that left no doubt as to what they were thinking but they both seemed to think that it was better to leave things be. Neither of them wanted to confess that they really believed that the Colonel had gotten cold feet and was too ashamed to admit it.
"I'm going back to sleep," LeBeau announced.
Newkirk turned away as well and laid down on his spot on the floor.
Realizing that he had lost the men, the Colonel lowered himself onto the cell's only chair. His voice was despondent as he said, "You can have the bunk. I doubt I'll get to sleep."
Even though Hogan sounded genuine, Kinchloe resisted and instead sat down on the floor. He had been hurt too many times in the past to bring himself to trust at a word now. Besides, he was tired and he needed to sleep. But the question was: could he calm down enough to fall asleep in a cell shared he with an officer?
The sound of movement almost caused him to jump up again but he forced himself to be still. He couldn't let himself react to everything the Hogan did or he would go insane during the rest of his time in the cooler.
Yet, he couldn't help but notice that Hogan had also moved to the floor and was sitting with his back leaning against the wall cattycorner to his own. For a moment their gazes met causing Kinchloe to tense and wait for Hogan to speak. But the usually talkative officer remained silent.
The seconds ticked by and the tension inside of Kinchloe only grew. He would never fall asleep now. Nervously, the fingers of his right hand began to tap randomly against the cold floor. To his exhausted mind it sounded like his familiar Morse key. So it was more out of instinct than intention that he carefully tapped out the question that was weighing heavily on his mind. Why do you care?
He had been caught up in his own thoughts that he was shocked when the last thing he expected to happen did; Hogan replied with a slower yet steady hand that asked, why are you surprised that I do?
Surprise? No, Kinchloe was not surprised at Hogan's display of care. He had encountered several whites in his life who had convinced themselves that they cared for his people. His guidance counselor had believed he was giving helpful, caring advice when he steered him away from the college path. Anderson was convinced he was giving the right advice when he told him to stay out of the other prisoners' way. No, what Kinchloe wanted, no, what he needed was to know was why Hogan cared.
"Sir," Kinchloe asked, "what is this really about?"
"What I said before. Doing my duty and helping every man in this camp escape."
Clearly, he wasn't going to budge. But Kinchloe wouldn't let himself be swayed. He had seen this act before. He knew where this road led. This officer would be no different than the others.
Yet, what he wanted might not matter. All Hogan had to do was give the order and he would have no option but to obey, to once more go down a path that another person had deemed was best for him.
And he was tired of it.
"Sir, I know you want to use my language skills. I guessed that from the first time you came poking around in my cell. But do you know how I learned French and German?"
Hogan opened his mouth to speak, but Kinchloe didn't give him a chance. "I taught myself," he said as he jumped to his feet and starting pacing across the cell. "Because, you see, men – men like you – decided that it was impractical for a man of my background to study such things. So I taught myself the languages from books and I built my own radio in order to listen to stations in Europe so I could practice. I went to a trade school and studied electronics because no one believed that I could handle the rigors of a university education, and I couldn't afford to go without a scholarship."
Hogan slowly rose to his feet but oddly enough he remained silent as the sergeant continued his rant. "I should have learned my lesson but I foolishly believed that a segregated military would be different. But even though I tested highly as a navigator in the aptitude test, I was made a radio operator instead, because policies dictate that officers should be college educated.
"I wasn't long in this camp before I was told that it would be best if I stayed out of everyone's way, keep my head down, and obeyed the orders of everyone else in this camp." He was yelling now but he didn't stop. The dam had burst and now a lifetime of bottled anger kept flowing out. "Well, sir, I'm done. I am done taking orders from men who think they understand me when in reality they don't know a thing about me or what I am capable of doing." Moving so that he standing only mere inches away from his superior officer, he said, "I am tired of being used and I will not…"
Suddenly, strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back but, before he could shrug away from the grip, he heard Newkirk's voice in his ear urging him to back down.
Kinchloe blinked. That couldn't be Newkirk. Newkirk was supposed to be in a different cell. But there was no mistaking the fact that the Englishman was standing right next to him.
What in the world was going on?
It didn't take Kinchloe long to realize that it was Newkirk that had happened. He should have guessed that a man who stole from their captors as much as the corporal did must be able to pick locks.
LeBeau joined them and placed a comfortable hand on Kinchloe's forearm. The American NCO flinched at the touch. Why where they here? It couldn't be to support him, could it? Had he finally found friends in this place?
Friendship or no – it would make little difference in the end.
His fate was entirely in Hogan's hands.
Because there was no doubt in Kinchloe's mind that he had just crossed a line that no man in his position should ever cross.
Yet Hogan remained silent.
Kinchloe wished that the officer would speak. The waiting only caused him to reflect on just how much trouble he was in. He had contradicted a superior officer; he had yelled at a white man. One simply did not do these things. Hogan would be within his rights to bust him down to private right now and, once they got out of this place, he could see to it that he never served in the military again. And there was no possible way that Kinchloe could undo the damage he had just done.
"Sorry, sir," he murmured as he looked down at his shoes. His courage had been used up; he would take whatever punishment Hogan decided to mete out.
But Hogan's voice was surprisingly calm and in control. "Stop that," he ordered. "Look at me."
Raising his head, Kinchloe prepared himself for the verbal barrage he knew was coming.
"I don't ever want see that man again."
Swallowing his pride, Kinchloe apologized, "I let my anger get the better of me, sir. I promise it won't happen again."
Hogan shook his head. "I'm not upset at the man who yelled at me. I am upset at the man who doesn't think he's worthy enough to look me in the eye."
If Kinchloe hadn't already been convinced that the officer was crazy those words would have confirmed it. Hogan was not making any sense.
"Staff Sergeant James Kinchloe, when I look at you I see two men. At times, I see a man who submits, stays silent, and is ashamed of who he is. But I have seen glimpses of a different man. A man who when the world said you couldn't learn a foreign language or serve as an equal in the military stood up and proved them wrong. And for this operation, I need the man who had the guts to drive out of this camp in the Kommandant's own car. I need the fighter who was willing to speak up against his own superior officer and speak the truth about his situation. Can I count on the assistance of that man?"
At first, Kinchloe didn't even hear the question – he was still stunned by the fact that Hogan wasn't even the slightest bit angry with him. Especially, since he still couldn't bring himself to believe that Hogan didn't just plan on using him and then forgetting all about him. But he needed to give an answer. So he gave the only honest response he could. "I don't know, Colonel."
Glancing at Newkirk and LeBeau, Hogan continued, "You two steal food and cook meals, not caring if the guards see and know. I've been told that you have tried to escape more times than the rest of this camp combined. You both have been imprisoned the longest but refuse to stop fighting. And just a few days ago I saw the two of you, without a second thought, attempt to hide from the guards the fact that Kinchloe was missing."
"They did that?" Kinchloe asked, shock evident in his voice.
"Yes they did," Hogan confirmed. "And I'm guessing that Newkirk was the one who picked the locks on our cells."
"Guilty as charged, sir," Newkirk said, "But I don't see how our skills are going to help you make contact with the Underground."
"I admit that will be the hard part. But I need people in camp who can trick the guards, gather supplies, and get things prepared so when we do make contact we can put our plan into action right away."
LeBeau seemed to be seriously considering the matter. "Keep talking."
"Now I won't order any of you to help me – this is a volunteer operation. There will be danger if we are discovered, and some of our tricks may land you in the cooler, but I do believe we have a chance to make contact."
"You seem to be missing a step," Newkirk stated. "How are we supposed to do that, considering we are trapped in here for the next month?"
There was an unmistakable mischievous twinkle in Hogan's eye. "Klink will let us out."
Newkirk snorted in disbelief, and LeBeau asked sarcastically, "When do you expect that to happen, mon Colonel?"
"Tomorrow morning. Noon if he briefly discovers his spine, but I doubt it."
The three enlisted men exchanged looks. Hogan wasn't kidding. He truly believed that Klink would do everything the American officer said he would do.
"Say for a moment, I believe you that Klink is going to let us out of here tomorrow. What is it exactly that you hope to accomplish?" Kinchloe inquired.
"Plan a mass escape. Then hide out with the local resistance until we can get everyone to England."
Newkirk laughed. "This is nuts!"
"Only if it fails," Hogan said with a smirk. "If it works it'll be brilliant."
"More like pandemonium," Newkirk murmured. But there was no denying he was secretly intrigued by Hogan's certainty that his plan would work. In fact, the man's willingness to endure their skepticism about his plan was starting to win him over.
"And even if some of us got caught, it would tie up the German war effort for weeks," LeBeau added excitedly.
The plan sounded almost too good to be true for Kinchloe's ears. "Do you really think we could pull this off?"
Hogan grinned. "I wouldn't have come back if I didn't."
It was crazy. They had no hope of achieving half of what Hogan was suggesting, but for some deluded reason Kinchloe found himself wanting to give the officer's plan a chance.
"But if I am to do this, I can't do it alone," Hogan said. "Are you guys in?"
"I still think you've gone round the bend," Newkirk admitted, "but I'd try anything to escape this place."
"Escape and hurt the boche! I am with you, Colonel."
All eyes turned to Kinchloe as he thought over the proposal.
He really should say no. Even if Hogan pulled this off, it was unlikely that he would bring a colored soldier along for the escape. But yet, the part of him that never stopped believing that the world could change told him to go for it. No other officer would have shrugged off his outburst like Hogan had. He owed it himself to give the Colonel a chance. "If you want me, sir, I will do what I can."
"Great!" Hogan's grin was infectious and, as he whipped out a handful of cigars from underneath his jacket that he had swiped from Klink for them all to smoke, Kinchloe dared dream that the confident officer would deliver on everything he had promised.