Chapter Twenty: A One Time Job

Kinch stared at his white pieces, debating the best way to neutralize the queen with which Hogan was currently ravaging his pawns. Even though these games had been a nightly occurrence since he had left the cooler, he still found the experience more than little surreal.

Before, he had mostly waited in silence as he monitored the radio in Hogan's quarters, letting the Colonel do most of the talking. Now they talked and laughed and played away the evenings. However, the barriers weren't completely gone. Hogan was an officer after all.

Nor had his internal doubts and the whispered insults from the other prisoners stopped completely. But with every passing day, he was finding it easier to ignore them and to project confidence in his new role as Hogan's XO.

Forcing his eyes away from the immediate threat of the queen, Kinch spotted an opportunity too good to pass up. Moving his knight, he grinned. "Check, sir."

Hogan leaned back and considered his options when the tapping sound of Morse code filled the small room. The game was immediately forgotten as Kinch moved over to the radio.

It quickly became clear that this message was not just a nightly check-in. Kinch forced his expressions to remain calm as the Underground asked for assistance with a problem. The request was absurd, but it wasn't his place to comment. He was just the messenger.

"Sir, the Underground says they need to eliminate an ammo dump south of Hammelburg. However, they are short of manpower and were wondering if we could take on the job."

Kinch had to give his CO credit: Hogan didn't even blink as he processed the information. Nor did it take long for him to come up with an answer. "Reply that we may have the manpower to assist, but we lack the proper equipment."

That was an understatement. Plenty of men, but explosives? He hoped the Underground wasn't expecting them to be hiding that somewhere in their expanding tunnels. Because he recognized that look in Hogan's eyes. They were going to do this. It didn't matter that they were POWs; his CO would find a way. And even though he wasn't sure that it wouldn't get them all killed, Kinch would follow Colonel Hogan's lead. He had earned that much.

After exchanging messages, Kinch had the Underground's answer. "The Huntsman says that wouldn't be a problem. He would like to arrange a meeting for tomorrow night."

"Arrange it."

Nodding, Kinch carried out his orders. However, long after he had shut down the radio for the night, he lay in bed unable to sleep. This job. This wouldn't be like anything else they had done so far. And, as he lay awake, the familiar words of their Kommandant echoed in his mind. For you the war is over. That taunt had always made sense: one couldn't fight a war from a POW camp. If he wanted to rejoin the war, he had to escape. But what did that phrase mean if they successfully completed this job? Kinch wasn't sure that he wanted to find out, but he had already made up his mind. He had placed his trust Hogan and he would follow the officer regardless of what path he led them down.

How had he gotten mixed up in this mess?

Escape. Now that was a plan Newkirk could get behind. He had already spent too many of his precious years as a guest of the prison camp system. But he couldn't deny that they owed the Underground a favor. So he choose not to contradict his superior officer when Hogan announced that Newkirk would be joining him for this meeting due to his skills in getting into places where he didn't belong.

However, that didn't mean he had to like it.

And he had plenty of time to think about just how much he didn't like it as the Huntsman first drove a substantial distance from camp and then led them on a hike through the forest. Once they reached their destination, the gray-haired veteran of the last war gestured at the complex at the bottom of the hill.

Three concrete bunkers had been built in the valley. Barbed wire fence surrounded them, and the woods had been cleared for several meters in front of the fence. Guards patrolled a tight perimeter around the dump.

This ammo dump had the security Klink believed he had at Stalag Thirteen, but unlike Stalag Thirteen, this security was real.

"This is madness," Newkirk said. The other two men glared at him, but he didn't care. Someone needed to speak the truth.

Hogan turned to the Huntsman. "He's the cheery one of our group."

Determined that his concerns would be heard, Newkirk pressed on. "Sir, the first rule any good thief knows is when to turn back from a mark. I can't crack this nut."

The Huntsman shifted nervously. "My orders are clear. It's imperative that this site be taken out of commission."

"We agreed to help," Hogan reassured the German. "And I've learned that every target can be taken out with the right plan."

Newkirk pulled Hogan aside. "Sir, I thought the goal of working with the Underground was so they could help us escape?" he whispered.

"It is. This is an unexpected bonus."

It was hard to argue with that reasoning. His captors had bragged about what the Luftwaffe was doing to London. Newkirk had no qualms about dishing out some well-deserved payback, except for the fact that none of them were trained in sabotage.

Clearing his throat, the Huntsman asked, "Do you have a plan for how we'll sneak explosives past the guards?"

Hogan studied the target, watching as a covered truck approached the gate. The truck stopped, and the guards talked with the driver before allowing them to drive on in. Grinning, Hogan announced, "We let the guards carry the explosives inside for us."

The Underground had come through.

Over a series of trips into town, Olsen had returned with packages of not only explosives, but fabric and sewing supplies as well. That was welcome as it allowed Hogan to order them to stop borrowing civilian clothes from the guards. They were going outside the wire too often and the risk of a guard noticing was becoming too great.

Sergeant Ward from Barracks Four had been an apprentice tailor before he had joined the RAF, so he was placed in charge of the newly dubbed sewing room below Kinch's bunk. He had no problem finding willing assistants.

Newkirk's skill with the needle was put to use by Ward until the Underground had sent an unexpected, but very well received gift. Everyone tried to ignore the fact that the kit had come from a former agent who had been arrested by the Gestapo, because it contained a working camera and all the other supplies needed to create fake papers. Newkirk, for once, refrained from any commentary and went straight to work proving that he was no stranger to forgery.

Most of the prisoners seemed to enjoy the extra work, for it gave some purpose to their incarceration. But there had been some muttering around camp that they were doing a lot of work for what was going to be a one time job. Hogan, however, had quickly reminded the malcontents that having the ability to make papers and civilian clothes would mean they would be more likely to avoid recapture when they finally managed to escape.

Things progressed faster than they had any right to and before Kinch knew it, he was kneeling in the bushes next to a road, waiting for a certain military vehicle to pass by. He was glad that for this trip he was out of his uniform and wearing a functional head-to-toe black outfit.

LeBeau knelt beside him, similarly dressed, one hand resting on their explosives. They were to stay hidden and wait until Hogan created an opening to plant the charges.

That was, if that truck ever arrived.

Looking down the road, he saw Newkirk and Hogan lean against the side of their 'broken' car. They appeared calm, so he would be, too. After all, they were taking the bigger risk of posing as German citizens. Though hopefully, in this darkness, no one would be able to tell that their civilian outfits were made mostly from spare camp blankets.

The long wait finally ended when the sight of headlights announced the arrival of their target. Kinch could feel LeBeau tense as Hogan waved a flashlight to catch the driver's attention.

Thankfully, the driver stopped. However, he and the guard sitting next to him didn't seem happy about the car that was blocking the road.

Kinch forced himself to ignore the scene, trusting that his CO's silver tongue and Newkirk's forged papers would be sufficient. Instead, he scouted out the back of the canvas covered truck. Like the one Hogan had spotted several days ago, there were no guards in the back, so he dashed over to the truck and lifted up the back flap to peer inside.

Still clear.

He gestured and LeBeau hurried over with the explosives and they climbed inside. Then he silently assisted his friend in prying open one of the crates. Kinch forced his hands to be steady as he carefully removed the top layer of ammo so they could hide the charge inside.

Between the two of them they somehow managed to set the timer, return the ammo and put the lid back on the crate. Kinch didn't think he breathed until he was back in the relative safety of the bushes.

The driver and his guard did not sound happy as they fiddled with the car's engine. Not wanting his friends to stall any longer than they had to, Kinch crept closer to the confrontation and picked up a small pebble, carefully aimed, and threw it towards his CO.

Hogan didn't react as the pebble hit, but his next words confirmed that he had felt it. "Sergeant, I think that might have done it. Though if this doesn't work, I may need to implore you for a ride into town."

The Sergeant scowled, but when the car started, Kinch suspected that all the man could think of was how grateful he was to have these civilians off his hands. If he had been thinking clearly, he might have wondered why the 'broken' car had suddenly started up again.

Only after the truck drove off, the group of prisoners turned saboteurs began the long journey back to camp. Yet, none of them were ready to celebrate. They still had to sneak past the guards. Plus, this job wasn't over until those explosives went off and the ammo dump became nothing more than a big crater in the ground.

They ditched the car for the Underground to take care of, and were walking the last mile to camp when a brilliant explosion lit up the night sky. Kinch smiled as the sound of bombs and ammo exploding echoed all around them LeBeau beamed, Newkirk grinned at sight. Kinch could tell that they were holding back the same loud cheers that he was. Hogan gave his shoulder a slight squeeze and said softly, "Gentlemen, I think that explosion might have just knocked old scramble-brains out of bed."

Kinch watched the arch of the volleyball as it came right toward him. He returned the serve, but the groans of teammates signaled that he had set the ball straight into the net.

Shrugging off the mistake, he shifted his weight instead and reached under his shirt and pulled lightly on a hanging string to release some of the dirt hiding in bags inside his pants onto the ground. Their playing should help distribute it evenly over the ground so that no one noticed.

This disposal system was new. One of the prisoners from Barracks Seven mentioned that he had seen the concept used at Stalag Four. Since their work on the latrines had ended, they had to come up with new ways to dispose of the dirt, and the suggestion had been quickly put into practice. Even though things now moved more slowly they had succeeded into breaking through to the dog kennels early last night.

The diggers had managed to come up right under one of the dog houses, and the engineers in camp had went to work attaching hinges to the house and the tunnel support beams to create a door of sorts. It was supposed to work. He hadn't tried it out. Even though they all knew the dogs were friendly, LeBeau was still the only prisoner willing to risk entering the kennel.

LeBeau served and the ball was returned. Olsen managed to set the ball for Anderson who spiked it for another point. Kinch was beginning to get the feeling that he was on the wrong team. But as LeBeau prepared to serve again, Newkirk called for a timeout.

Unhappy about the pause, LeBeau hollered, "You just can't handle losing."

"Look behind you," Newkirk shot back.

Kinch looked toward the main gate and saw Schnitzer driving into camp. That was odd. This was not a regular visit.

"Act normal," Hogan ordered and then gestured for them to resume their game.

The game resumed, but the play was rather sloppy as the POWs' attention was split between their game and their visitor.

"Sir," Newkirk said softly, "he's signaling that he left a message."

Hogan waited until the truck had left the compound and then gestured for the main conspirators to join him on the sidelines. "LeBeau, retrieve the message. The rest of you, my office."

Kinch sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk while they waited for LeBeau to make his way through the tunnels. Newkirk's nervousness expressed itself in the usual way, with a pessimistic commentary on everything possible that could have gone wrong.

Since Hogan seemed resigned to listening quietly, Kinch followed his lead. Thankfully, LeBeau didn't take long.

"Well?" Newkirk demanded as soon as the Frenchman closed the door.

LeBeau handed Hogan a small leather bound book. "He left this in the doghouse, Colonel."

Hogan picked it up and began flipping through the pages. "It's a code book." Then noticing a slip of paper slipped between two pages, he read, "I was approached in town by a man who knew about my activities and about my connection to Papa Bear. He knew the proper codes and ordered me to deliver this message. You are to contact an agent named Mama Bear."

"Who is Mama Bear?" Newkirk asked as Hogan passed the note around.

"Can we trust this guy?" LeBeau added. "This could be a trap."

When Kinch received the note, he saw that under the message was a new radio frequency and he suspected that they were being introduced to more of the Underground. Schnitzer probably hadn't recognized the messenger because it made sense for him to only be in contact with members in the immediate Hammelburg area. He would know where the next stop on the escape route was and how to send downed flyers there; it would be dangerous for him to know much more than that. However, someone had organized that route and that would be the type of person who would insist on communicating in code.

"We'll find out tonight," Hogan answered. "We'll meet in my quarters at 2300." Then looking up at his radioman, he added, "Kinch, we have a code to memorize."

In spite of their best intentions, it was not possible to memorize a code book in one afternoon. But the two of them went to work learning some of the most commonly used words and phrases. They would memorize what they could and hope that Mama Bear would be patient when they looked up anything else they didn't know.

By the time the appointed hour had arrived, Kinch's mind was a jumbled mess of random words. He hoped that they would be able to keep the transition short. Though until he began to attempt tune into the proper frequency, it hadn't crossed his mind that they might not be able to make this contact.

Fiddling with the dials on the radio, Kinch grimaced. All he was receiving was static. He double then triple checked to make sure he had the right frequency, but he hadn't made a mistake. Looking over at his CO, he stated, "Sir, I don't think we're in range."

"What?" Newkirk asked. "Why would the Underground give the information of someone we can't contact?"

"They don't know the capacity of our radio. They probably didn't realize that we wouldn't be able to."

LeBeau frowned. "So what do we do now? Build a new radio?"

Feeling a little defensive, Kinch stated, "There's nothing wrong with the radio. What we need is a bigger antenna."

"To transmit where?" Newkirk inquired. "Berlin?"

"We already can reach Berlin."

Hogan cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, this codebook is too official, too military. And I don't believe it is a coincidence that we got this message a few days after blowing up the ammo dump. We've been making noise, and it looks like we just got ourselves noticed."

"By who?" Newkirk pressed.

"My guess is London."

Newkirk whistled while Kinch stared at his radio in shock. London!

"Sir, what makes you say that?" LeBeau asked. "And how would London even know we exist?"

"Crane," Hogan answered. "Schnitzer was adamant that the Underground's escape route didn't lead to Switzerland. Now Spain is an option, but that's an even more difficult trek than Switzerland. However, the coast isn't that difficult to get to from here. Put Crane on a boat and he's back to England in no time."

"You mean after crossing the Channel full of warships and mines?" Newkirk asked sarcastically.

After considering that thought, Hogan said, "The Allies have probably mapped out a few safe paths through the mines that a sub could use."

"That's risky," Kinch countered.

"We are at war," Hogan stated solemnly.

Those words were a stark reminder that in Stalag Thirteen they were removed from the immediacy of the conflict that still raged on. The room fell silent as the prisoners reflected on their situation. Was a slim chance of escape worth the risks they were taking?

LeBeau finally broke the silence by asking the question that was on all of their minds. "Sir, what are we going to do next?"

"That, gentlemen, is the question."