Chapter Eighteen: One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Things changed after they rescued that downed flyer.
News of Crane's appearance and later disappearance had spread throughout camp and most of the other barracks began to think to think that perhaps Barracks Two wasn't a group of traitors after all. A few men had even wandered over to their hut and asked if there was anything they could do to help.
Kinchloe was given more and more responsibilities. Hogan bounced ideas off of him and often sent him out to give orders to the other men.
However, the biggest change was that Hogan ordered that all work stop on their tunnel heading out of camp. He had a new priority. He wanted a tunnel leading to the kennel completed first. While there had been some grumbling at those orders, their CO's reasoning made sense. Right now they needed contact with the outside world more than anything else and access to the kennels meant contact with Schnitzer and secondary route in and out of camp.
Knocking lightly on his CO's door, Kinchloe was excited to announce that he had finished an easier and more reliable means to communicate with the outside world. "It's finished, Colonel."
Hogan grinned. "The radio?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have you tested it?"
"Not yet. I can't pick up signals in the tunnel."
Hogan nodded with understanding. "Bring the radio to my office. Anderson, stand watch and let us know if a Kraut is coming."
"Will do, sir," the Sergeant Major replied.
In a few minutes, Kinchloe set the portable radio on Hogan's desk and plugged it in as the main conspirators gathered inside. Deciding to start simple, he turned it on and searched for a local station.
Kinchloe had never been more pleased to hear German propaganda than in that moment when news of glorious victories of the Third Reich filled the small office.
Newkirk and LeBeau cheered while Hogan grinned. Looking at his superior officer, Kinchloe asked, "Do you want me to try and contact the Underground?"
Hogan nodded.
Fiddling with the controls, Kinchloe tuned into the memorized frequency and begin tapping out, Papa Bear to Huntsman. Papa Bear to Huntsman.
No one talked as the silence stretched on. After a couple of minutes passed, he tried again.
"Maybe he's not home," Newkirk suggested.
Hogan was about to agree, when the radio picked up the much anticipated signal.
"Huntsman to Papa Bear," Kinchloe said, translating the Morse code for the others. "Glad to hear you got your radio up and running."
The smile on the Colonel's face was infectious. "Give him our greetings and tell him we are eager to work with him in the future."
Kinchloe obeyed and then listened to the response. "He wants to set up a time we can both arrange to be on the radio in case we need to exchange information."
Hogan pondered the question. "What do you think?"
Kinchloe frowned. "The problem is that in order to receive, I'm going to have be set up in the barracks. And the guards don't always knock."
LeBeau and Newkirk began reminiscing over the frequency and times of bed checks over the last few months. Each offered their own suggestions of best times to avoid detection. As the conversation began to turn into a debate, Hogan made his decision. "Tell the Huntsman that we will be on between 2300 and 2330 whenever possible."
"Right, sir," Kinchloe replied as he touched his Morse key. "Anything else?"
"No. We don't want to push our luck."
Taking those words to heart, Kinchloe ended the conversation and quickly packed up the radio. Behind him, Newkirk clapped him heartily on his shoulder. This was really happening. Against all odds, the pieces of Hogan's plan were slowly coming together.
Perhaps they just might pull off their escape after all.
In hindsight, Kinchloe should have expected it.
Three days had passed since they had gotten the radio in working order and they had exchanged a few words with the Underground at night. Olsen was busy doing whatever he did when he was outside of camp while another downed flyer slept in his bunk. Poor Schultz tried to pretend that the new man was Olsen, but it was clear that he was deliberately avoiding looking at the newcomer's face in-between pleading with Hogan to make things right again.
In short, things had been going too well. Kinchloe had let himself grow comfortable. For he should have known better, but instead, he had made an inexcusable mistake: he let his guard down.
After drying his hair off, he walked out of the delousing station and almost bumped directly into Sergeant Brown. "Excuse me," he murmured as he stepped to the side.
Sensing that something was wrong, Kinchloe quickly rounded the corner of the building, only to see Clayworth standing there with three of his friends in a half circle as if to block his path. His heart started beating fast. He knew a set-up when he spotted one, and a glance over his shoulder confirmed his fear. Brown had followed him around the corner and had picked up a friend as well.
He was surrounded.
Crossing his arms, he waited for his adversaries to make their move. But with six to one odds there was no doubt in his mind that, if the confrontation turned violent, he would lose badly.
Clayworth was glaring at him like he was lower than the scum he scraped off of his shoe. Gesturing for his supporters to tighten their circle around their prey, the Brit said, "We warned you, boy. We told you to stop with the uppity act."
"You didn't listen," Brown agreed in a voice that promised pain. "You kept ordering around your betters."
"So this time we are going to give you a lesson you won't forget."
Brown smirked as he got in Kinchloe's face. "What's it like? Being Hogan's slave?"
Kinchloe knew they were trying to provoke him, but he didn't care. He was done putting up with their insults. So, without a moment's hesitation, he hit Brown with a strong right hook right in the temple. The POW never knew what hit him as he crumpled to the ground out cold.
It didn't take long for the others to react, and Kinchloe managed to get in a few good punches before one of his attackers was able to get behind him and deliver a direct hit to his kidneys that sent him to his knees. Unable to catch his breath as the blows continued, Kinchloe thought he spotted Sergeant Leonard standing off in the distance. Anxious for his friend's safety, he thought, Get out of here, kid! There was no point in both of them getting hurt.
Trying to stand would have been impossible, so Kinchloe kicked out with both feet and felt a man fall to the ground behind him. He would not give up. He bit, scratched and lashed out with every ounce of energy he possessed as the men piled on top of him.
A loud whistle and the shouting of guards gave a glimmer of hope. They would end this beating. They had to.
When the guards were finally able to separate the combatants, Kinchloe rose unsteadily to his feet. Every inch of his body hurt. He didn't want to know what he looked like, but as he studied the scene, he was proud to see that his attackers had not come out of their encounter unscathed. Clayworth was sporting a bloody nose, while one of his friends was looking at the bite marks on his arm in disgust. Brown was still on the ground, where another one of his friends helped the confused man sit up.
A large crowd of prisoners and guards had gathered, but Kinchloe's eyes were on the unmistakable gait of Colonel Hogan as he marched straight toward the confrontation. There was no mistaking the anger radiating from the officer as he glared at the POWs in front of him. "Who threw the first punch?" he demanded.
"I did, sir," Kinchloe confessed.
Shock flashed across Hogan's face, but as he studied the his trusted Sergeant there was no mistaking the disappointment in his gaze.
That gaze hurt more than anything his attackers had thrown at him. For it was in that moment that Kinchloe knew he had made a gigantic mistake. He had finally crossed a line that Hogan was unwilling to overlook. His opportunity to prove to the world what he could do had passed. Hogan would never take him along on his escape now.
It hadn't mattered how good of a fight he had put up. He had misjudged the situation badly. Clayworth's and Brown's attack hadn't been about giving him a warning. It had been designed to provoke him into making the first move. And with one punch, Kinchloe had walked straight into their trap.
His attackers had won. He had lost.
Wishing that he could explain what had really happened, but not sure if he could, Kinchloe simply stood still and braced himself for the inevitable chewing out.
However, Hogan wasn't given a chance as the crowd parted and Klink marched through. "What is going on here?" the Kommandant demanded.
Schultz stepped forward. "These prisoners were fighting, Herr Kommandant."
"I will not tolerate fighting in this camp. Three days in the cooler for every man involved." Then turning to face the crowd, Klink addressed them, "Let this serve as a warning to all of you. I run a disciplined camp."
As the guards moved to escort them to the cooler, Kinchloe was grateful that it was Schultz who approached him. Once again the guard seemed to understand more than the prisoners gave him credit for as the kind German locked Kinchloe in solitary, safely away from the others.
Alone, he sank to floor, ignoring the bunk. He didn't deserve the small measure of comfort that it offered his aching bones. He was a fool. Hogan had trusted him, treated him like an equal and, in one moment of anger, Kinchloe had thrown it all away.
He only had himself to blame.
Hogan couldn't believe it. What had gotten into that man? Starting a fight, brawling in the compound? He thought he had a good measure of Kinch, but the Staff Sergeant had completely thrown him for a loop when he had admitted to starting that fight.
And to think that he had come running, fearing the worst when the word had spread through camp that Kinchloe was involved in a fight.
When he had arrived at the scene, he had thought that his worst fears had been confirmed. Even though he hadn't recognized all of the individuals involved in the fight, when he had first seen the bloodied and bruised Kinch, he had believed that the Staff Sergeant had been jumped by the six other men. But then Kinch had admitted to starting the fight and he was forced to reevaluate his thoughts.
Still, as Hogan watched the guards lead the combatants to the cooler, he couldn't shake the feeling that something just didn't add up. He needed to know more, but his answers were currently being locked away and he was out of candy bars to bribe Schultz.
He would just have to find another way. Because he needed to talk to his men. All of them.
He would get to the bottom of this mess.
As he pondered his dilemma, Hogan noticed one of the other Tuskegee Airmen looking at him from across the compound. Something about the POW's body language told Hogan that he had seen something and was debating whether or not he should share.
Hogan needed answers and so he could not afford to give this young man a choice. Walking over, he asked, "Can I help you, soldier?"
The kid was visibly nervous. "Are you a good man, sir?"
Confused, Hogan asked gently, "Excuse me?"
"Kinchloe seems to think you are."
There was fear in the soldier's eyes. Leonard was the kid's name if he was remembering correctly. But Hogan could think of no reason why Leonard would be scared of him. They had barely crossed paths. Yes, he was an officer and Leonard was an enlisted man, but that didn't fully explain why the kid was acting like he would get in trouble for simply speaking with him.
As Leonard looked down at his feet, the truth suddenly it hit him. Leonard was acting the same way Kinch had in the beginning. And if Leonard was experiencing issues similar to Kinch's then Hogan had a good guess as to what this conversation was about. "Are the men in the barracks giving you a hard time?"
Leonard flinched, so Hogan took that as a yes.
"Sir, um, sir, that's not why I want to talk to you."
Hogan smiled. "You can tell me."
"Kinchloe didn't start that fight."
Surprised, Hogan gently corrected the young soldier. "Sergeant Kinchloe told me he started the fight."
Leonard seemed to gain confidence as he explained, "Sir, Kinchloe may have thrown the first punch, but he didn't start the fight."
Hogan thought back to his conversation with the Staff Sergeant, and remembered that Kinchloe had only admitted to throwing the first punch. "He was provoked?"
"Yes, sir."
"What happened?"
Leonard was clearly debating how to respond and Hogan figured that he was still holding back. "Permission to speak freely."
The kid's eyes widened in surprise, but a few seconds later he took a deep breath and began to speak. "The other men, they surrounded Kinchloe. I didn't hear everything, but they sounded angry. The one guy got in his face, so Kinchloe knocked him out. When the rest of the guys jumped him, I ran and told the guards there was a fight."
Proud of Leonard's courage, Hogan reassured the young man. "You did the right thing both in getting the guards and in coming to me."
Leonard looked relieved and saluted before scampering off. However, now that Hogan knew more of the story, it didn't make his job any easier. He had known that Brown and Clayworth hadn't liked Kinchloe simply because he was colored. He had hoped that in time, the men would come around. But today had proved otherwise.
Also, if Leonard was having problems in his barracks, that meant Hogan had a camp-wide issue that he needed to deal with. But how?
A voice called out gently from behind him. "You can't solve this problem, sir."
Hogan spun around and saw Anderson looking at him. "Excuse me, Sergeant?"
"I recognize that look in your eye. Look, Kinchloe's a good man. He's proven that. But the world's not ready for white and colored to live together. If you somehow get these men to stop, six more will take their place."
"I can't accept that."
"I didn't think you would, sir. But what about the other Negros in camp? Everyone knows that you have taken Kinchloe under your wing, but are you going to protect them, too? Our army is segregated for a reason."
There was logic behind Anderson's words. Logic that all of Hogan's training told him he should accept. But he couldn't. He wouldn't. No man willing to risk his life to protect his country should have to fear for his life or his safety from his own countrymen. For what good would it accomplish to defeat the Nazis, only to embrace their hate-filled ideology?
The issue went beyond that of white and colored. He knew he was reacting to what had happened with Kinch, but if Hogan was honest with himself, he had noticed signs of disunity from his very first days in camp.
He had seen the separation of prisoners by nationality during the recreation period.
He had heard reports of conflict in Barracks Six between the French and the English as the old rivalry refused to die. Orders for their barracks chief to resolve the issue had been unsuccessful.
He remembered a conversation with a Jewish prisoner who had asked him not to share that fact. He had assumed it was because of the Nazi feelings toward the religion. But now he wondered if there was not something more behind that request.
He had believed that time would ease the tensions. He had ordered the men of Barracks Two to work together, in spite of their differences, hoping that the rest of the camp would notice and follow their example.
That plan hadn't worked and he was not afraid to change tactics. For these divisions were unacceptable and he would no longer remain silent. He would speak and he would make it very clear that disobeying his orders was not an option.
"Anderson, call a meeting of the barracks' chiefs. We can't fight the Krauts if we are busy fighting amongst ourselves."
Starting today, the men of Stalag Thirteen would succeed or they would fail – together.