Chapter Fourteen: Progress

There was peace in the tunnels.

What had started as a small room with a tunnel branching that was barely big enough for a man to crawl through had slowly been transformed into something grander.

Hogan had stated that in order to dig more efficiently they needed more space to move. Later, they would use that space to store the supplies for their escape. So the tunnel had been expanded into a corridor tall enough for a man to stand straight and three men to walk abreast.

Thankfully, Klink had never noticed that the posts that had been deemed 'subpar' by O'Brien during their work on the fence had made their way underground where they could be used to support the growing tunnel. And while latrine duty was unpleasant, it did give them a way to rid themselves of large amounts of dirt. More dirt then Kinchloe ever would have guessed. Thankfully, Klink wasn't the most observant of jailers. And as long as the required ditches were dug, no one seemed to notice that their digging created more dirt than it should.

So now that they had room to move around underground, the small original room underneath the barracks had been declared Kinchloe's workspace. He hadn't asked where it came from, but Newkirk had found him a simple wooden table and chair, so that he didn't have to do his work in the dirt. So, for the first time since Kinchloe had become a prisoner, he had a space to call his own; a place where he could be alone.

And in those pre-dawn hours, when he had the tunnels to himself and he could light the lanterns and lose himself in his work, he could almost convince himself that he had found a place where he belonged.

But when dawn came, Kinchloe would have to climb back up that the ladder and remind himself to put his barriers back up. He couldn't forget his position in camp depended solely on remaining in the Colonel Hogan's good graces. And the Colonel could revoke that grace at any time.

Setting down the radio after triple-checking his latest repair, Kinchloe knew that he had reached the point where he had fixed everything he could without getting replacement parts. Grabbing a notepad, he began to write down a list of everything he would need.

Letting out a yawn, he looked down at his watch. Two hours to morning roll call. He needed to go back upstairs and get an hour or two of shut-eye before Schultz would come barging in.

Roll call was a blur as Klink rambled on about news from the war. Besides, there was no point in trying to pay attention to what were most certainly lies anyway. When they were finally dismissed, Kinchloe's plan of going back to sleep was thwarted by Hogan calling a meeting. Clearly, one couldn't escape meetings even as a POW. But at least this time he'd have something to report.

As they gathered in Hogan's quarters, the Colonel looked at Olsen first. "Any news from town?"

"No, sir. I've identified a few civilians who seem to be unhappy with their government, but I wouldn't be willing to stake my life on any of them being a possible member of the Underground They're careful, sir. They have to be. And the truth is, I am unknown quality. I could just be a soldier stationed at the Luftstalag like I claim, or I could be Gestapo in disguise."

"Which of course is the same problem we have in approaching anyone we think might be sympathetic. Keep up the observation for now." Then turning to Kinchloe, the colonel raised an eyebrow. "It looks like you had a late night. Any progress?"

"Yes, sir. I've fixed as much as I can. But I'm going to need replacement parts to finish the job."

"Do you have a list of what you need?"

"Right here."

Hogan took the list, glanced at it briefly and handed it off to Newkirk. He grimaced as he saw the technical names of parts.

"Sir, if I know what I'm stealing, and where it's found I can get it for you. But I don't know what half of this stuff is."

"Could we buy the parts?" LeBeau asked.

Kinchloe shook his head. "I don't see how we can buy the electronics we need without raising suspicion."

"He's right," Olsen confirmed. "It's against the law in Germany to own a transmitter radio."

Hogan seemed to consider the problem. "Newkirk, how's your German?"

"Good enough to order a drink and get slapped by a bird."

Hogan chuckled. "Here's what we are going to do. I want you and Olsen to go town this afternoon. Scout out the radio station and see if you think you could break in there after hours."

"Go out during the day!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"Sir, I've never done that before," Olsen said, a hint of doubt creeping into his usually so confident tone.

Hogan didn't seem concerned. "Klink wouldn't miss you as long as you're back by evening roll call. You can borrow some papers from the guards for the afternoon. And, as long as Newkirk keeps his mouth shut, you should be fine."

"I don't know," Newkirk murmured. "It sounds risky."

"I never said it wasn't," Hogan countered. "But you want to escape, right?"

Newkirk and Olsen exchanged a look and then Newkirk sighed, "I'll do it, sir. But one question: how do you intend to get us out of camp? We can't go through the fence in broad daylight."

"I'll think of something," Hogan replied nonchalantly. "Now remember: this is just a scouting mission. Tonight, after hours, you'll sneak Kinchloe in so he can grab what he needs."

Kinchloe couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But sir, I can't pass as German. If anyone sees me, it will ruin the whole operation!"

"You won't be meeting with anyone. Stick to the shadows, follow Newkirk, grab the parts and no one will ever know you were there."

LeBeau slouched against the barracks as he watched Klink's car drive out of camp, with Klink in the driver's seat and Olsen and Newkirk safely hidden away in the trunk. He wished his friends well, but even the sight of them pulling another stunt right under the noses of the Boches did little to brighten his mood. This morning's meeting had made one thing clear: LeBeau was not contributing in any meaningful way to this operation.

Sure, he had helped dig and fix the fence, but so had everyone else in the barracks. That was nothing compared to Olsen sneaking out almost every night, or Kinchloe building a radio, or Newkirk gathering whatever supplies the Colonel asked for.

All he did was cook the occasional meal whenever Newkirk managed to scrounge up enough ingredients. But that happened less and less these days, with so many other priorities on his list.

The fact of the matter was, that LeBeau was just a chef. And chefs didn't win wars.

LeBeau knew that he should talk to someone, but Newkirk wouldn't return until as close to evening roll as possible – so they could sneak back in under the cover of darkness. And Kinchloe was sleeping and he didn't dare wake him. Not after the American had stayed up all night working on the radio, and would be going out on a mission tonight. The Colonel had too many other things to worry about and LeBeau suspected that if he went to his commanding officer, he would be told that he was helping and then sent on his way.

Besides, he didn't want someone to tell him he was useful. He wanted to do something useful and he wanted to prove to himself that the Colonel had made the right choice by asking him to join his team.

But how could he help? Colonel Hogan had already given out assignments for the day, and LeBeau didn't want to just lounge around while the others were making real progress on getting ready for their escape.

However, there was one thing that the operation needed to do and needed to do soon: make contact with the Underground. Though how LeBeau would be able to help with that from inside a prison camp was anyone's guess. But the plan depended on them making contact. If only the he could just come up with an idea, something they could try, anything.

Harsh German words echoed throughout the compound as one of the guards struggled with a guard dog that growled and snapped his jaws at his handler.

LeBeau felt his anger grow as he watched. He would snap, too, if some clueless goon was hurting him. The dog's collar was clearly on too tight, and the way the guard was yanking on that leash was plain cruel.

He hadn't forgotten what had happened during his last escape attempt. He remembered how a dog had licked him when he had lain helpless on the ground. Newkirk had refused to believe him, but somehow LeBeau had known that the dog wouldn't hurt him. He hadn't forgotten how she had only growled after Schultz had appeared.

The guard got his dog into the kennel and stormed off with a curse. Wanting to make sure the dog hadn't been hurt, LeBeau hurried over to the kennel and knelt down next to the fence. He called out softly, "Come here, boy. I won't hurt you."

Immediately, several of the dogs trotted over to him. None of them looked particularly threatening.

"Come here, boy," LeBeau urged and the dog that had been hurt by the guard walked up to wire. "Sit."

The dog sat.

Carefully sticking a hand through the wire, LeBeau watched in awe as the dog laid his paw in it. "Good boy," he whispered.

Reaching up to give the dog a good scratch, LeBeau read the collar as he loosened it. "Wolfgang."

Could this really be? Wolfgang seemed friendly. And the dog that had licked him in the woods had been female. That was two different dogs. This couldn't be a coincidence.

As if to confirm his thoughts, three new dogs approached the wire, tails wagging. But before they reached LeBeau, they suddenly backed up and started barking.

Spooked, LeBeau fell back on his butt.

"Hey! Get away from there!" a guard hollered.

Quickly getting to his feet, LeBeau turned and said, "Sorry, monsieur, I dropped something."

The guard gestured for LeBeau to go.

Taking one look back at the dogs, LeBeau noticed that their hackles were up as they looked at the guard. They looked like ferocious guard dogs, but around him they had acted like big puppies.

There was no denying it. The camp dogs were definitely friendlier to him than to the guards. Besides, someone had trained those dogs. Was it possible they had been trained to be friendly to the prisoners on purpose? And if that was true, that meant that it was LeBeau who might have just found their connection to Underground.

Excited as he was about this conclusion, he told himself that he couldn't be sure yet. Newkirk's outright refusal to consider that the dogs were friendly still rang in his head. He was going to need to test a couple of the other dogs before he shared his discovery with Colonel Hogan.

But that meant that he now had something to do. He couldn't wait to see the look on Newkirk's face when he proved to his friend that he had been right all along.

Keeping his face down, Kinchloe walked briskly through the back alleys of Hammelburg, following two steps behind Newkirk. There was no doubt in his mind that this was the craziest thing he had ever done in his entire life, including stealing the Kommandant's car. Sure, the civilian clothing he was wearing came with a hat that he had pulled low over his face, but it did little to ease his nerves. As soon as someone – anyone – got a close look at his face or saw him accidentally step out into the light, he'd be finished. Because for him, not even the best forger could produce papers that would make people believe that he was a native German.

"There it is," Newkirk whispered as they stopped a few yards away from a nondescript building. It had a Nazi flag by the door which made it look like most of the other buildings in town.

"What do you want me do?"

"Hide here while I get the door open. Then, when I give the signal, come inside."

Kinchloe nodded.

It didn't take the Englishman long to pick the lock, and Kinchloe prayed a silent prayer before dashing across the street and entering the building.

By the time Kinchloe had closed the door, Newkirk had already explored the building. " NO guards," he announced.

That was one crisis averted. Turning on his flashlight, but careful to shine the beam on the floor, Kinchloe followed Newkirk while keeping an eye out for what he needed.

Once they arrived in front of the large radio, Kinchloe handed Newkirk the light, took out his tools and got to work. It took a while to work free the assortment of tubes, wires and other assorted parts he needed. Then he started grabbing parts that he didn't need at the moment, but that he might want if something else broke. The last thing he took was a spare Morse key from a reporter's desk.

"You done?"

"Yes."

"Let's get out of here."

Kinchloe couldn't agree more.

Once they got out of town and headed back towards the Stalag, he actually started to enjoy himself. He was out of camp, walking around. The stars seemed brighter, the air fresher. Walking around out of camp gave him a sense of energy. It reminded Kinchloe that while he may be imprisoned, he was still a free man.