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What's in a Name

Chapter 30

The Calm Before the Storm

"For you the war is over."

The words stung. For some of the men, their time at Oberusal provided an opportunity to come to grips with their situation. But for most of the 40 men standing behind the colonel, their experience after being shot-down left them in shock. Immediately after their capture, they were transported to a central holding location, a fenced off area with no shelter, and little food and water. Eventually, a group was herded onto three trucks and driven west. After a miserable drive, they formed a convoy and headed for Hamelburg. Now all of these men realized that they were in jail, a decidedly uncomfortable feeling for men who were not criminals.

The words hit Colonel Hogan hard. His surprise at turning up at Luft Stalag 13-his confidence in his manipulation skills had now skyrocketed-was tempered with this new reality. If he escaped, he would not be sent back to his original command. More than likely, he would be transferred to the Pacific Theater. He noticed the curious prisoners taking a look at the new arrivals. He was again responsible for a large group of men. Hogan took a deep breath. His pride intact, he looked the Kommandant in the eye.

For a brief moment, Klink felt uncomfortable and he shifted his gaze towards the men standing behind the American officer. He noted with interest that three colored men were standing directly behind the colonel. They were of no interest to him. Unlike many in the ranks, he disagreed with the regime's racist policies. Of course, he kept these thoughts to himself, for if his feelings were made public, his career and his life would be in danger. What was Colonel Hogan's position on American race relations? It did not matter. Klink would not tolerate any discourse that jeopardized the smooth running of his camp. He would make that clear to the new Senior POW officer.

He took a deep breath, straightened his posture, reminded himself who was boss, and resumed his original position. The preparations for accommodating these new prisoners were complete. His staff, along with Maddock's men, would see to the necessary paperwork and orientation. After they were all settled, he would give his usual introductory speech.

"Schultz. Start the processing." The sergeant acknowledged the order, and then began herding the large group of American fliers over to the tables set up by the mess hall.

Hogan followed the herd.

"Colonel Hogan, you will come with me," Klink ordered.

Hogan turned and accompanied Klink over to the small building that housed the Kommandant's office. On his way over, he noticed the huts were not raised, and that the office was not isolated. Who was he dealing with? Although the German officer's appearance and bearing were somewhat amusing, Hogan knew he had to be cautious.

Klink thought the same. He admitted he was intrigued by the younger officer's demeanor. In fact, it was the confidence in the American's eyes that initially threw Klink off. He would be cautious in his handling of his new star prisoner. But the Kommandant was ready. After all, he had a full day to prepare for this moment.

24 hours earlier:

The day started out as an ordinary day. Klink left early to attend a meeting in town, while Helga fielded calls, opened mail, and caught up on her filing. It was mid-morning when Kommandant Klink returned. He thought his visit with town leaders went well, the food was decent and the female server was most attentive. He left his staff car by the Kommandanteur and strode into the office.

"I'm back, Helga. Any messages..." Klink stopped as he noticed the look on his secretary's face. "Something wrong?" He then followed Helga's gaze. She pointed to the three large crates on the floor by the filing cabinet, and let out a small whimper.

"What are those?" Klink asked. Large deliveries were normally handled in another area of camp.

Helga gave him a look, and then let out a sigh of frustration. She walked over to the crates and lifted one of the tops. "The delivery person said these were marked urgent and had to come right to the office. They wouldn't listen."

Klink walked over and peered into the box. He looked up. "All these crates?"

Helga nodded.

"Supposed to go to the other...?"

Helga nodded again.

"Helga, what are we going to do with 20,000 tongue depressors?"

Helga was about to suggest giving them to the prisoners-perhaps they could use them for crafts-when the phone rang. "Kommandant Klink's office. Yes, sir. He is right here." Her eyes opened wide. She put her hand over the receiver. "It is the transit camp at the interrogation center." This was unusual. Normally prisoners and their paperwork just showed up with little or no warning.

"I'll take it in my office."

Klink settled in behind his desk, and then picked up the phone. "Hello, this is Kommandant Klink. Delighted to speak to you." He listened for a few moments to the person on the other end.

"You what?

"We certainly do have the room.

"How many?

"All at once?" Klink almost dropped the phone.

"No, we will take them. It is an honor. Thank you for considering us.

"A what? Excuse me, can you please repeat that?" This time, Klink lost his monocle. "No, I don't need you to spell it. I speak perfect English." He grabbed a memo paid, and jotted something down.

"Yes, I suppose I should notify General Burkhalter when he returns. He comes and goes, you see. Never lets me know his schedule, and you think he would; half the time, I never know when he will show up. Yes, I understand that is not your concern. Wait, I do have one question. Can you use tongue depressors?"

Helga was considering how the Underground could make use of a large shipment of tongue depressors when Klink came barreling out of his office. He was clearly in a tizzy; yes, that is how she would describe it. She jumped up, ready to do whatever necessary to calm him down. "Kommandant?"

He ignored her, opened the door, and spoke to the sentry. "Have Sergeant Maddock brought over here at once. And Sergeant Schultz as well." He then closed the door. "Helga, that was the transit center," he needlessly stated, forgetting she had taken the original call. "We are getting a large group of prisoners all at once. Forty Americans. Tomorrow."

"Oh, my." The tongue depressors were now forgotten. This new development was a big deal, as normally prisoners arrived in small groups. Helga knew she would be busy, as the processing could take hours. "Do you need me to stay over, Kommandant? It is not a problem." Helga kept a change of clothes in the closet in case of emergencies.

"Yes, of course, if it is necessary. There's more." Klink was pacing back and forth. "Where is Schultz?" He opened the door and then closed it again. "We are getting an officer."

Helga's face fell. "That means Sergeant Maddock will no longer be the prisoners' spokesman." She had to let the Underground know as soon as possible. Would this officer be someone they could trust? Would he want to use the tunnels for his own purposes and escape? Unless the Allies were crossing over the border, change in this business was not always beneficial. Life was too stressful.

"Yes, that is true. And, I've been informed this officer is a colonel." Klink puffed up and stood a bit straighter. "Our Stalag has achieved real recognition, Helga. Otherwise, why would they send this colonel here?"

Good question. "I don't know, Kommandant, but perhaps you are correct. You should be recognized," Helga said, soothing Klink's ego as she had many times before.

HhHhH

"Why would they send a colonel here?" asked Foster.

Maddock, most of his hut mates, his assistant, Sergeant Graves, the three American prisoners, and a few other men were crammed together in the common room of Barracks 2. As soon as his meeting with Klink and Schultz concluded, Maddock rushed back to the hut. First, he had to assemble a work party to get several empty barracks ready for the newcomers. Then, after asking all of his top personnel to come to the barracks, he gave everyone the news.

"Good question." Maddock was so flustered; he began pacing around the room. For once he no pencils in his hand to snap or play with to settle his nerves. "It could be a trick, or it could be perfectly innocent. Klink seemed to think Berlin was recognizing his wonderful management skills by rewarding him with a high-ranking officer."

"Do we know who he is?" Newkirk asked.

"Yes. Klink would not tell me, but Helga slipped me his name. "Colonel Robert Hogan. He's an American, like all the others. That's all we know. Sound familiar?"

While the three Americans were consulting with one another in a corner, a British sergeant spoke first. "The name does sound familiar. I think it was back in '40. We were at a pub, and the Eagle Squadron came up in conversation. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but it could be him."

The three Americans could not place the name. As Foster explained, they had not been in Britain very long, and there were many colonels in the air corps.

"Well. I guess that's it then." Maddock walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. "We'll send a message to the Underground and let them know a colonel is coming. Hopefully, they can get him vetted. And there are the other men to check out as well." He stopped. "LeBeau, do you think you can bribe Schultz for information? Maybe he knows something else."

"Of course. I have some apples. Give me a few hours, and I can make something."

"Good." Maddock took a sip and made a face. "Either this pot needs cleaning or the coffee is getting worse."

"I keep trying to tweak the coffee." LeBeau looked insulted. "But making a good brew in these conditions is impossible. I will steal another pot from the kitchen. That might help. Besides, we can always use an extra pot. How do we know this colonel won't ask for a transfer to an officer's camp?"

"Klink won't allow it. He is too head over heels in love with the idea of having another colonel in camp. I bet he's already bragging about it to his cronies in the other stalags. Unless this colonel can get sympathy from Burkhalter, he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

The meeting broke up, and everyone scattered. There was a lot of work to be done in the next twenty-four hours. Maddock retreated to his office, and sighed. He was conflicted about this new turn of events. While he was proud of his work, the constant stress was a burden. He could confide in his friends, and they were supportive, but perhaps an officer taking charge of the camp and their clandestine operations would not be the worst thing in the world. His biggest worry right now was Colonel Hogan's personality and whether he could be trusted. Some officers were difficult and only thought about themselves. "Well," he said to himself. "No need to worry about that yet. Hopefully, he will work out." Maddock decided it would be awkward if he remained in the barracks, even if he moved to the common room. So he picked up a box, and began to pack.

HhHhH

Schultz stopped to catch his breath as he supervised preparations throughout the camp. He was ultimately responsible for smoothly transitioning the incoming men from new prisoners into permanent residents. Since Klink transferred the small group of staff officers under him when they failed to respond to an attempted escape, Schultz and Corporal Langenscheidt's workload had increased. Langenscheidt was young, smart, and up to the task. The prisoners also liked him. Schultz knew all this, and he kept the young translator under his wing. The Sergeant of the Guard, however, was no longer young, preferred to remain quiet about some odd goings on in the camp, and was not in the best of health. After inspecting the delousing area, a whiff of something special caught his attention. His body followed his nose, and he almost ran over the small French corporal who lived in Barracks 2.

"What is that smell, Cockroach?"

LeBeau, ignoring the usual insult, artfully swung his arms around to the front of his body, and gracefully removed the lid off the plate he was holding.

"Your favorite."

"Apple strudel?" Schultz asked hopefully.

"No, it's potato pancakes." LeBeau shook his head. "Of course it's apple strudel."

"Ooohhh. I could use a break." Schultz reached for the plate, but LeBeau quickly held it back.

"Langenscheidt gets some. He's been working as hard as you," LeBeau said.

"Yes, of course. He is working hard. He's helping Helga organize the paperwork and forms while I supervise the prisoners working on the barracks."

LeBeau grinned knowingly. The German corporal was smitten with the secretary. Who could blame him? But, the corporal was also better suited to filing and sorting, while Schultz was better at barking orders at prisoners, not that they listened half the time. "So, Schultz. I hear we are getting a new officer." He handed him the plate and followed him over to the office.

"Yes." Schultz took another whiff and sighed. "It smells so good. A colonel. Too bad for Sergeant Maddock. He is a good spokesman."

"Well, he is not going anywhere. Just across to Barracks 8." LeBeau followed Schultz up the steps, and inside. Langenscheidt and Helga looked up from their work as Schultz and LeBeau walked in. Schultz, not paying any attention to LeBeau's presence, placed the plate on Helga's desk. Both Langenscheidt and Helga took a sniff.

"That smells delicious." Helga winked at LeBeau.

"What are in those crates?" he asked.

"Tongue depressors," answered Langenscheidt. "Another mix-up. I have no clue what we will do with them."

"Tongue depressors?" LeBeau began to laugh. Seeing Schultz's glare, he quickly stopped. "Give some strudel to the fraulein as well." LeBeau perched himself on the edge of Helga's desk. He glanced at the stack of forms, but they were of no interest, as they were all blank. "Where's the Kommandant?"

"He went to the recruiting center in town to requisition some more guards." Helga stated. "He thought that if he showed up in person, they would not turn him down. The poor man has been busy straightening his office and making phone calls. Although, he would much rather do that than deal with paperwork. I will get some plates and a knife. There are some in his office." Helga rose from her chair and headed to the door.

LeBeau quickly hopped off the desk. "Let me help you."

"LeBeau. What are you doing?" Schultz blocked the path. "I will get them. You stay here."

"Have Corporal Langenscheidt help you, Sergeant. They may be on the bottom shelf of the credenza." Helga smiled at both of the men. As soon as the two guards entered Klink's office, Helga whispered to LeBeau. "I found out what bomber group he commanded. That's all." She slipped him a piece of paper, which LeBeau quickly pocketed.

"Enjoy the strudel." LeBeau quickly kissed Helga's hand and left the office.

HhHhH

At first Klink's visit to the recruiting center was unsuccessful; every available man was being sent to the Russian Front. All the staff could do was promise to send along any man who failed the physical, an unlikely prospect. But, a threat to call General Burkhalter worked wonders, and Klink was promised two extra guards. As Klink left the building, he spied Oskar Schnitzer's van parked nearby. The Kommandant decided to inform the dog handler that 40 new prisoners were expected to arrive the next day. Klink told himself this could affect Schnitzer's services. Besides, although he had informed several colleagues, why not bring a leading town citizen up-to-date.

Schnitzer, of course, was dutifully impressed by Klink's news. He even shook the Kommandant's hand, a gesture that shocked Klink. Thinking back, the Kommandant had never seen the dog handler in a jovial mood. This time, the two had a small cordial conversation with Schnitzer showing interest in the colonel soon to arrive in camp. By the time the veterinarian drove off, Klink's ego was suitably fed, and he returned to camp satisfied with the results of his trip back into town.

Schnitzer's ego was suitably fed with the knowledge that the Kommandant was an idiot. In just a few minutes he managed to get Klink to divulge that two new guards were being assigned to the camp, that the 40 new prisoners were all American, and that, indeed, one of these prisoners was a colonel and a commander of a bomber group. The Kommandant also revealed the name of the officer. Would this colonel be a friend to the resistance, or just out for himself? That was a question no one could answer until an appropriate amount of time passed. What Schnitzer did know was that for some reason karma had been good to Klink. A camp built for escapes had no successful escapes. A small complex near an inconsequential town attracted more prisoners and a high-ranking American officer. What next? Schnitzer wondered. He thought Klink's behavior was positively creepy. The Kommandant was almost glowing with happiness over this new turn of events. Yes, what next?

HhHhH

"What next?" Burkhalter was clearly not happy, and the Kommandant was the recipient of the general's wrath. Technically, for once, this crisis was not Klink's fault.

"General, I was not the person who assigned Colonel Hogan here." Klink stepped back in fear. "I'm so glad you got my message and that you were not far away."

The general was standing with his hands placed on the edge of Klink's desk. He leaned in further.

Klink reached over and opened his humidor. "Would you care for a cigar?"

"Stop trying to placate me," the general snarled. "And no, I do not want a cigar!" He slammed the lid of the humidor down on Klink's fingers. "Sit down."

Klink held back a whimper, and then collapsed in his chair. "I thought you would be pleased to have a colonel in your jurisdiction. Haven't most of them been sent to another area?"

"That is where he was originally assigned. Far away from the border. The fools. He speaks German fluently. I was warned he could be trouble. Sending him somewhere else will reflect poorly on me. Berlin will think I do not have confidence in my camps and camp management."

"General, I assure you he will not cause any trouble. Remember, over two years and there have been no successful..."

"Escapes from Stalag 13. I know. You sound like a broken record. Don't forget, we are still using this camp as a testing ground, and dignitaries are still visiting." Burkhalter stopped for a moment. "He will be the only officer here, responsible for all the enlisted men."

"That is correct, General."

"Perhaps I can use this to my advantage." Burkhalter opened the door to the outer office, which was empty. All work had been completed, Helga was able to go home, and all the sentries were outside. He closed the door and walked back towards the desk. "The rest of the prisoners can be used as leverage."

Klink nodded. "Yes."

"And, I may be able to get more tests and scientists sent to this camp if this colonel is here. They will be curious and interested in speaking with this man. This will only decrease his morale and the morale of the other prisoners. Who knows, Klink? After a while, perhaps we can get some information out of him."

Klink's relief was obvious. "General, you are brilliant!"

"Stop fawning! Once all these new prisoners are settled, I will be back for an inspection. I forgot to mention, I am awaiting another report from Berlin regarding the numbering situation. I will be frank. I know you have been trying to fix this. I don't understand what the holdup is with that." Burkhalter checked his watch. "I am leaving. Do not mess things up with this colonel."

"Or, I'll be on the next train east," Klink muttered to himself as he watched the general leave. Seriously, he thought. What could possibly go wrong?

Almost done! (I hope). I appreciate everyone's support. Thank you Sgt. Hakeswill for your input. The tongue depressors? Seems the same supply sergeant who screwed up the delivery ended up working for the Allies, and also sent a large shipment to a certain MASH unit in the Korean War.