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What's In a Name

Chapter 23

A Few Familiar Faces

Now that the excitement of the Russian invasion had passed, Burkhalter resumed his regular visits to Klink's camp. Occasionally, he brought dignitaries, including other generals or scientists, with him. Other times, these visitors, who often brought blueprints or small weapon systems to camp, would show up alone and often unannounced. Klink didn't know whether to have a nervous breakdown over these visits or be flattered, but somehow he managed to do both. And when useful and edible supplies meant for the other Hammelburg prison complex arrived at his gates, he accepted the gifts gratefully, and shared the wealth with the higher-ups.

Burkhalter was a recent recipient of this bounty, and he chuckled as he relayed the reason why he was sharing a case of superlative French wine with an acquaintance. "So, the mapmakers are refusing to change all the maps, and Klink said the printer was overcharging for the stationery. You should have seen Klink's face the last time I brought it up. He groveled." Burkhalter shook his head. "Putz."

"Is it really that crucial?" Colonel Biedenbender took a sip of the wine and sighed. "This is good."

"Try the caviar." Burkhalter passed the plate over. "Well, it is something that should eventually be rectified. We are, after all, sticklers when it comes to records and bureaucracy. But crucial in terms of the war? Not really. It's not like a few prisoners going to the wrong prison camp can do any damage. Berlin has their mind on other issues at the moment. Which reminds me, how was your trip to Africa?"

Biedenbender wiped his mouth with a napkin, and put down his glass. "We are in for a long fight. The RAF is good. Well, you know that. Look what happened in Britain. I came across some Americans in a few skirmishes over France."

"I heard," Burkhalter said. "We captured a member of one the Eagle Squadrons. He was shot down on an escort mission on July 2nd." (1)

Biedenbender nodded. "There's an American I really have my eye on. He's attached to an RAF squadron and he's already been a menace. Knocked out submarine pens, brought down fighters, and destroyed crucial rail yards. Yes, he is a menace," Biedenbender stated with a touch of admiration. "Impeccable reflexes and strategy. But once I figure him out, I'll get him. Even if it takes until the Americans get into war, and I believe they will."

"Agreed. Do you know his name?" Burkhalter asked.

"Hogan," answered Biedenbender. "Robert Hogan."

Hogan, who had no idea he was on Biedenbender's radar, was attending a briefing at a central headquarters located in the southeast portion of England. Approximately two dozen pilots, briefing packets open in front of them, listened intently as an RAF air commodore spoke in the front of the room.

"As you can see on this slide, we have updated intelligence regarding the location of POW camps in Germany. Copies of this map and aerial photos are in your packets." The commodore stepped aside and took a drink from the glass of water placed on a nearby table. "Make sure your crew is familiar with the new information. We don't want any friendly fire incidents harming any prisoners."

A faint rustling could be heard as the officers thumbed through the pages of the booklets.

"Also, this sector here..." The commodore took his pointer and placed it in an area of Germany just south of Dusseldorf. "We have confirmation that-and this is quite extraordinary-there is active resistance in this sector." A murmur spread through the room. "Several airmen have managed to return to England after being shot down near here. The French resistance has made contact with friendly Germans who seem to be as upset with Hitler as we are." He paused and gazed out at the group of men. "So, if by chance you do bail out in this sector, head in this direction. Questions? Yes, Gentry?"

"Sir, how do we get in contact with this resistance? How do we find them?"

"Good question. Hopefully, they will find you. That's all I know at this point. Yes, Hogan."

"There's a POW camp in the area. Is it mismarked? It says thirteen. Shouldn't it be six? And is there any connection between this camp and the resistance cell?"

The commodore walked back to the screen. "Yes, it is Luft Stalag, and it should actually be numbered six. But for some reason we don't quite understand, the Germans made a bureaucratic or recordkeeping mistake. I know that sounds implausible," he said as several of the men chuckled. "But they numbered it thirteen. Don't confuse it with this camp down here." He moved his pointer. "That's Stalag 13 as well, but it's much larger. You'll notice the other camp is very small, and that it's located near the town of Hamelburg with one 'm.' The other camp is also located near Hammelburg, which is spelled with differently. Two separate camps and two separate towns. In answer to your other question, I can't see how the camp has anything to do with the resistance in the area. Probably just coincidence. However, we have received verification that conditions in this camp are humane, if that's any consolation."

As the meeting broke up, some of the pilots stationed further away left the building quickly. Hogan's base was nearby, and he stayed behind to chat with several of the other officers.

"Good catch, Hogan, on that Hamelburg mix-up." Hogan's friend, Group Captain Roberts grinned. "Do you have time to get something to eat?"

"Thanks. Probably the last we'll ever hear of it. Thirteen, six? As long as I know their coordinates, it doesn't make any difference." Hogan straightened his uniform, grabbed his cap, a pile of briefing packets, and began walking out. "I'll take a rain check. I have to get back and brief the rest of the crews."

"Next time, then." Roberts paused. "I have to go up to London next week."

"Official business?" Hogan asked.

"Possibly."

"Aha." Hogan, without thinking, walked around to the left side of the car.

Roberts laughed at his friend's mistake.

"I meant to do that," Hogan said. He opened the door, and threw his cap and briefing packets onto the passenger seat. "Well, have a safe trip. Give my regards to Winnie." He winked, walked around to the driver's side, opened the door, and drove off.

The man responsible for the updated verifiable information about Luft Stalag 13 was a British sergeant who resided in Barracks Five. Sergeant Thomas Matlack, a young, quiet gunner from Northampton, had an older brother, Gary, who worked as a physician at an RAF base. At the beginning of the war, the brothers worked out a personal code they could use in letters home, in case Matlack was taken prisoner. When Gary received a letter from Thomas, he would turn the coded material over to an intelligence officer, who then turned it over to the appropriate authorities. Neither the German censors, nor Matlack's hut mates caught on to the ruse.

Matlack was careful not to include anything truly dangerous in the letters. There was no mention of the tunnel system or the contact with the Underground. But he did pass on information about camp conditions, the treatment of the prisoners, the number of guards and any information he could find on troop movements. His latest letter, however, did mention Newkirk's and LeBeau's foiled escape attempt. He briefly wondered if he should mention the help they gave the downed flier, but thought better of it, and left it out.

He was flabbergasted three weeks later when he received a letter from his brother that seemed to be a reply to the previous letter. A three-week turnaround was unheard of; some prisoners went months without receiving any mail. Curious, he immediately checked the greeting, which indicated a secret message within the contents of the letter. "How did this get here so fast," he muttered.

"You say something, Thomas?" asked the man who slept in the upper bunk.

"Um, no. It's nothing." Matlack removed a small notebook from his foot locker, and hopped back on the bunk. At first glance, the letter was innocuous, and would pass any censor. Matlack licked the end of a short stubby pencil, and began writing. Everyone else in the hut was busy with their mail, so the sergeant's work went unnoticed. Finally, as he finished, he pursed his lips, scratched his head, threw the paper into the stove, and then headed over to Barracks Two.

While the mass escape was on temporary hold, the prisoners continued to expand the tunnel system. Fortunately, most of the supplies, such as the wood needed to shore up the walls and ceiling, were brought down into the complex before the entrance in the woods was sealed off. The idea to dig a spur into the cooler, originally dismissed as ludicrous, was brought up again in an escape committee meeting.

"It wouldn't be a huge undertaking," Bellows explained. "It's not a room, after all. You'd have to crawl on your hands and knees. But, I think it might be useful in the future. You never know when it may come in handy."

"It's not like we're doing anything else at the moment," Goss stated. "The cell with the sink is easier because the entrance will come up from the floor. For the other cell, you would have to move a block from the wall. And if we do this, it will have to be soon. Otherwise, the ground will be frozen."

Maddock, whose job it was to be pragmatic, asked, "Through the concrete? And how are we going to get the entrance open from the other side?"

"That's a good question, John." Seeing as he had come up with the idea, Newkirk was enthusiastic about the prospect of tunneling into the cooler and other areas in the camp, for good measure. "We would have to have someone in there, of course."

"Well, I'm not volunteering," LeBeau stated.

The discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. Deschamps, who had been watching for guards, opened it and let in Matlack.

"I need to show you all something," he said to the Frenchman.

"Come in." Deschamps closed the door and continued with his sentry duty, while Matlack walked over to the center of the room.

"What's going on?" Maddock cleared the table, pushing aside the blueprints.

Matlack was a bit shy, and he hesitated for a moment. He then retrieved the letter from his pocket. "I just received this letter from my brother."

"You're fortunate," LeBeau said as he placed a mug of coffee in front of the guest. "I haven't received mail in over a month."

"And..." Maddock prompted the young sergeant to continue.

''Well, this letter answers my letter. But, I only sent that letter out three weeks ago."

"I don't get what the issue is." Newkirk grabbed a chair and straddled it.

"That's an awfully quick turnaround time." Maddock looked at Matlack. "There's more?" he asked.

"Definitely." Matlack took a sip of coffee. "Well, I might as well let you in on something I've been doing. My brother and I worked out a code before I started flying. Just in case. He's a doctor with the RAF. And he's been passing on what I send." Seeing the look on everyone's faces, he quickly added, "I've said nothing about the Underground or the tunnels. Basically, it's been stuff about the conditions here, any information the guards blab on about. That sort of stuff."

"That's a relief," Maddock said. "You should have told us. This sort of thing could be dangerous."

"Some of us have little codes we use," Newkirk said. "Mavis, that's my sister. She and I have something worked out. But not to let her know what's going on, only if something isn't right. If I say something about the wrong football team, she'll know. But I haven't had to use that."

"Yes, well, that's not all," Matlack said. "I mentioned in the last letter about Newkirk and LeBeau's escape. Just how they were caught. Nothing about that flier they helped. I deciphered this letter. I don't have the paper I used because I burned it. But basically, we were to be congratulated for rescuing the airman and that he is safe."

There was a long moment of stunned silence in the hut.

"Obviously, that flier must have told intelligence what happened," Maddock stated. "And thanks to Captain Marceau, we know they are aware of the connection between us and the Underground."

"Absolutely," Matlack agreed. "But, John. How did my brother's letter get here so fast? Mine went out in that last batch three weeks ago. It had to get through the German censors, the British censors and then to Gary. And then his letter had to get here. How?"

"That's weird," Bellows stated.

"Too weird." Maddock stood up. "I need to meet with the Underground. I'm not waiting for Oskar's next visit. I'm going over to see Helga to arrange a meeting."

"What's your reason this time for visiting Klink's office?" Deschamps reminded Maddock.

"I have no idea," Maddock said as he grabbed his cap. "But, as usual, I'll think of an excuse on the way over."

Author Notes

(1) William Hall. Also another flier was shot down and captured.From "Eagles of the RAF: The World War II Eagle Squadrons" By Philip D. Caine "Nat Marantz was shot down in July of 41. He used to be an Eagle. 37 eventually taken prisoner, 14 while actually still in the squadrons."

Air commodore is the equivalent of a one-star general or Brigadier general.

Thomas Matlack's coded letters: This actually happened, and recently, one of these codes was broken. If you type coded letters from POWs in WW2 into Google, you'll get numerous hits, including recent articles. I also saw this used on an episode of "Foyle's War."

This book: First in the Air The Eagle Squadrons of World War II, by Kenneth C. Kan, is available in PDF form online.

Unfortunately, I found the real historical timeline doesn't work for Hogan to be in an Eagle Squadron. But men got attached to the RAF in other ways. And this was mentioned in the episode, "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to London," where we also met Hogan's friend, Group Captain Roberts. If I delve into this much further, I won't finish the story. So, my historical notes for this chapter are done!