.

What's in a name

Chapter 31

First Impressions

Almost done! Thanks for all of your support, patience, reviews and suggestions.

A long chapter! Trying to get this out quickly before I go on vacation later this week. Please let me know if there are any issues, typos etc, I may have missed. Thanks!

Helga watched from an open window in Klink's office as the Kommandant spoke to the new prisoners. As the two colonels approached the office, Helga pulled the window shut, but did not latch it, leaving an open gap of several inches. She then returned to her desk.

She stood up as they walked in.

The Kommandant stopped and introduced her to the new Senior POW officer.

"This is my secretary, Fraulein Helga. Colonel Hogan, we will go over protocol in my office.

Hogan removed his cap. "Fraulein." Wondering why Klink had a civilian female as secretary, Hogan quickly noticed she was young, very pretty, and could be a poster child for Nazi womanhood. He guessed she was in her mid to late 20's; a prime target for Nazi propaganda in her teen years. What a waste, he thought.

"Nice to meet you, Colonel Hogan." As Helga gave the officer a quick smile and a small curtsy, she became mesmerized by the pilot's eyes, which displayed both intelligence and humor. Despite looking a bit malnourished and his obvious exhaustion, Colonel Hogan was extremely handsome. Oh, you must be very popular with women, she found herself thinking as her breath quickened. Now a bit flustered, she asked the Kommandant if he needed anything.

"Yes. Bring in some tea and biscuits. I'm sure the colonel could use some refreshment." Klink was not ready to interrogate the American yet, and he did not need Helga to transcribe any sessions.

Hogan was about to refuse the refreshments, as he did not want any special treatment, but Klink was too fast. The Kommandant was already opening the door to his office, and motioning for Hogan to follow.

"Please take a seat." Klink scurried around to his side of the desk and pulled out his chair. He took his seat and leaned forward. "Would you like a cigar or cigarette, Colonel?"

Hogan was not a smoker, although he was tempted to try one of the Kommandant's cigars. "No."

He became interested in the Kommandant's desk. Alongside a humidor, sat a Pickelhaube. Intriguing. It had to be Klink's from the first war. Hogan guessed the officer, who appeared trim and fit, was in his late 40's. The only blemishes were his balding head, and that ridiculous monocle. He stared past Klink and glanced at the map of the camp that hung on the wall behind the desk. From his short time in the compound, he realized many of the buildings depicted on the map had not been built. Another map, which depicted the continent and parts of Africa, hung next to the other one.

Klink noticed Hogan looking at the wall. "That is indeed a map of the prison camp. It was originally a recreation camp, and became a prison early in the war," Klink said proudly. "Make no mistake, Colonel. Despite our size, Berlin considers us the toughest prison camp in all of Germany. As you probably noticed, we have two lines of fencing, and multiple watchtowers. The dogs are vicious, and the guards will shoot. We have had no successful escapes. In fact, last fall, we foiled a mass escape. I expect my perfect record to continue." Klink clasped his hands and leaned back in his chair.

Klink obviously brought up the foiled mass escape to warn the colonel. Your perfect record will be broken, vowed Hogan. He mimicked the Kommandant, and leaned back in his chair as well.

There was a knock at the door, and Helga entered with a tray.

Hogan waved her away. "I won't have anything my men do not have," he said as she placed it on the desk. She gave him another smile, and then looked at the window. Hogan followed her gaze. Was that a man out there? Yes, he was sure of it. A very short man, eavesdropping. Hogan saw him duck down below the sill.

"Kommandant, it is quite warm in here. Shall I open the window further?" The secretary asked.

Hogan fiddled with his collar. "Sir," he said politely. "May I take my jacket off? It is warm."

He is nervous. Good. Klink nodded. "Yes, if it will make you more comfortable."

Helga adjusted the window. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, thank you." Klink dismissed her.

Hogan knew she had to have seen the prisoner outside the window. He turned and watched her leave. She gave him one more smile as she left the office. Turning back, he could just see the top of the prisoner's head. What is going on? He straightened in his chair. Let's get on with it.

"I have some forms for you to fill out," Klink said. Hogan's file was already on his desk; Schultz had seen to that. "You are not obligated to partake of the tea and biscuits, but as an officer, you must understand…" His voice lowered, Klink addressed Hogan as a co-conspirator, "that you do have special privileges."

Hogan's eyes narrowed. He certainly understood, and he would accept some privileges, but eating Klink's food when his men ate gruel was not one of them. "I'll pass." He looked at the first form. Taking the pencil from the desktop, Hogan filled out only what was necessary. All Allied fliers were briefed on what to reveal if captured. Most of the questions went unanswered, and he was confident all the other new prisoners would do the same.

Klink looked at the form, and he was not at all shocked to see that Hogan left most of the questions blank. He expected Hogan would eagerly take the refreshments, but he admired the American's resolve. Enough of that. "So, Colonel Hogan, I understand you speak fluent German."

Let the dance begin. Hogan leaned back in his chair and let out a small smile. "Hogan, Robert E, Colonel. 08…"

"Oh, stop. This is not an interrogation. Just a conversation. Officer to Officer. Colonel to Colonel. You sure you don't want a biscuit?" Klink passed the plate over.

Hogan slid the plate back. "Let's cut to the chase, Kommandant." Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan could still see the black hair on the head of the eavesdropper outside the window. "I want to get to my billet, and check on the men that came in with me. If there is nothing else?"

Klink let out a little pout, which Hogan noticed. "You are billeted in Barracks 2. I will have Sergeant Schultz escort you over, and the men or Sergeant Maddock will…" Klink pursed his lips, and thought for a moment. "The men will show you the…the… ropes." He smiled at his own brilliance with the English language.

Hogan decided to soothe the Kommandant's ego. "Very good, sir. Your English is top-notch."

"Thank you. I come from a long line of multi-lingual officers. I am a sponge when it comes to foreign languages. It's in the blood." Klink picked up the phone. "Have Sergeant Schultz report here." He hung up the receiver. "He'll be here shortly, I hope." Lately, Klink wondered if he should request additional officers. He now regretted transferring his staff. Schultz was in charge in Klink's absence and for some reason, the sergeant no longer instilled confidence.

There was an awkward silence as the two men waited for Schultz to arrive, and they continued to size each other up. Finally, Hogan spoke first. He could not quite believe what he blurted out. Was it to gauge Klink's reaction, or was it one-upmanship? After all, they knew of his German skills. Why not return the favor.

"I do have one question, Kommandant." The prisoner was still outside the window. Where were the guards? Why wasn't he exposed? "Is this really Luft Stalag 13 or should it be Luft Stalag 6? Must be quite a bit of confusion, considering there are two camp thirteen's and two Hammelburgs. Of course, I know they are spelled differently, but that must not help matters."

Hogan was going to mention the reputation for German efficiency, but clammed up as he saw Klink's reaction. The Kommandant was clearly shocked speechless. Hogan immediately regretted spilling the secret. It was stupid to let the enemy know what you knew, even if the information was inconsequential, and Hogan thought this was. He mentally chastised himself. Well, he wasn't perfect. He was exhausted and hungry, and not surprisingly, feeling quite vindictive.

Klink's face relaxed. Obviously, the Allies must have mapped the POW camps. They needed to avoid bombing them, after all. Moreover, if they mapped them, they would certainly question the military districts and the numbering system. German natives who fled the Nazis worked for the Allies, and they would know there were two Hammelburgs. It was inevitable. But it had no bearing on the war effort or the prisoners, so why not confide in Hogan. Klink believed in attracting flies with honey, so why not start now.

"Colonel. You are correct. There was an error." Klink wagged his finger. "And our efficiency is top-notch, and the man who made this error has been severely punished. But, if you knew what we have gone through." He laughed. "Just this week, we received a large shipment of tongue depressors meant for the other camp. Imagine!"

"Tongue depressors?" Hogan tilted his head in confusion.

"Actually, the mistake has benefited us. One of our best staff members came here by mistake and we kept him. Corporal Langenscheidt. He also acts as our senior translator. You will meet him." He decided not to mention the French food and swimsuit. Klink wondered if it was still in Helga's desk drawer.

"That's nice." Where is that sergeant? Hogan wanted out as fast as possible. He felt like he was falling down a rabbit hole and his name was Alice.

Klink continued to prattle on about the misnaming fiasco, until finally, Hogan was saved from boredom by the entrance of the portly Sergeant of the Guard.

"I am here, Kommandant." The guard was out-of-breath. Hogan saw the eavesdropper leave, and he noticed the man was carrying a large sack and a stick with a point on the end. Across the compound, the prisoner picked up some loose papers and placed them in the sack.

"Finally," Klink said, exasperated. "Escort the colonel to his barracks, and have Sergeant Maddock officially turn over his duties to Colonel Hogan."

"Right away, Kommandant," Schultz said crisply. He turned to Hogan, who was now standing, cap and jacket in hand. "If you please, Colonel."

Upon entering the outer office, Hogan stopped. "Fraulein," he said politely.

"Colonel Hogan, I hope your stay with us is not too unpleasant."

Helga leaned forward, awakening an urge in Hogan that had been missing since he was shot down. He chastised himself. The secretary was quite a bit younger, she was probably spoken for, and despite her machinations in the office, it was still too early to trust her. He made a mental note to ask the MOC about her.

He let out a smile. "I appreciate that. But I'd rather be elsewhere."

"Wouldn't we all," she replied in perfect English.

To Hogan's surprise, the secretary's statement did not faze his escort. In fact, he thought he could hear the sergeant mumble in agreement. He took a quick look around the office. A filing cabinet stood next to the Kommandant's closed door. A pile of crates sat on the floor next to the filing cabinet.

"Tongue depressors?" Hogan asked.

"Oh, yes." Helga left her chair and walked over. "Would you like some?" She pushed aside the lid of the top crate. Hogan peered in. Sure enough, the crate held what looked to be thousands of the little pieces of wood.

Hogan scratched his head. "I have no idea what I would do with them. Sergeant?"

"Call me Schultz." The big man peered inside the crate as well. "Perhaps we can build houses, and model planes, or ships. Maybe we can float the ships in a puddle. Ah. That would be nice." He looked up at the colonel, as if he were a puppy asking for approval.

Hogan donned his cap, and then his jacket. "Maybe take them to recreation hall," he whispered. "We do have one?"

"Yes. I meant to have them taken over there. We have been distracted," Schultz answered. "So many prisoners coming in at once, and then…you. Oh, you should have seen the Kommandant, yesterday. He was in such a state."

Helga let out a small giggle.

"I think I should get going." Not waiting for Schultz, Hogan headed for the door. Now he definitely felt like Alice, and he wondered what could possible happen next.

Schultz scurried after the colonel, and caught up with the officer on the steps. The sentry outside came to attention, and saluted Hogan, a gesture the colonel appreciated. As he walked down the steps and across the compound, prisoners stopped what they were doing and stared. Hogan could see the lines of men in processing; the five he had an interest in were at the back of one of the lines.

Men in the compound came to attention as he passed. Good, he thought. Looks like we have some discipline. The German sergeant kept up a running commentary as the two headed towards the barracks. He pointed out the mess, the infirmary, and the recreation hall. He explained a bit about the shower schedule, the roll calls, and what to do in case of an air raid. The camp was small, and it did not take long for the two men to reach Barracks 2.

"Sergeant Maddock should be in there waiting for you," Schultz said. "He's a nice boy," he added helpfully.

"Thanks, Schultz." Hogan reached for the door.

"Nein. I will open it," Schultz said with a flourish. He opened the door. "Achtung! Attention! This is Colonel Hogan. Your new Senior POW officer."

As Hogan walked through the door, several men in the hut hopped off their bunks. Those seated at the table scrambled to their feet. All the men stood at attention. Hogan recognized the eavesdropper, a French corporal, standing by the stove, a ladle in his hand. Schultz discreetly left, shutting the door behind him

"At ease." Hogan quickly counted how many were in the assembly. There were fourteen men and fourteen bunks in the room. The hut was spartan. A stove and a small table sat in the middle of the common room; a sink was by the wall. Laundry strung over a rope hung over the bunks. The walls appeared thin, and he thought he could see several holes in both the walls and the ceiling. There was a bucket placed beside the far wall; it was probably there to catch leaks. The usual photographs of family members and Hollywood pinups adorned the walls. A footlocker, a vase with flowers perched on the lid, sat on the floor in the middle of the room. Odd. He smiled inwardly. I may have discovered the beginnings of the real rabbit hole. That would wait until later.

A British sergeant stepped forward and saluted. "Sergeant Maddock, sir. I'm the MOC. Your bags are already in your quarters, which doubles as an office."

"Thank you. Come with me, Sergeant." Hogan and Maddock went into the office, Hogan asking the MOC to close the door.

The men in the common room relaxed and started talking.

"Blimey. I don't know about an officer taking charge." Newkirk walked over to the rope and began taking down the laundry. He threw some of the dry clothes over to another prisoner. "We've managed well enough on our own. What about your first impression, Louis?"

The corporal had only just returned to the hut moments before Hogan's arrival, and he had not had a chance to report on what he heard while eavesdropping. "There is nothing wrong with his observation skills." LeBeau dipped the ladle in the pot and pulled out a bit of the liquid. He tasted it and made a face. "Who forgot to stir while I was gone? Oh, never mind; it will be all right." LeBeau threw in a few spices and gave the pot a stir. "Where was I? Oh, yes. He noticed that I was out there, and either he was nervous, or he pretended to be hot so Klink would let Helga open the window a bit more. I think he pretended."

"Why would you say that?" asked Koufax, another British flyer.

"Because my paranoid friend, Colonel Hogan refused to eat Klink's version of a tea service, unless the rest of the prisoners ate the same. He began giving his name, rank and serial number, and he shut Klink up."

This gained the interest of the entire barracks.

"How?" Newkirk asked.

"The colonel knows about the naming mistake. I actually think he has a sense of humor." LeBeau stirred the pot again. Taking another sip from his ladle, he sighed. "Much better. I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt, as you say. We already know he is who he says he is. The Underground confirmed that." The Underground, one of several groups trying to get solid information on the new arrival, did indeed confirm that the Luftwaffe shot down a group leader from the 504th. They passed this information on to the radio operator under the tunnels late that morning. "Ah, one more thing. He speaks fluent German."

"Well, isn't that a fact?" Newkirk was a naturally suspicious person, and it often took a while for a new acquaintance to gain his trust, especially the new person was a member of the upper class, or an officer. "Well, he'll probably want to get out of here." Despite the debacle of the previous fall, and the additional work of rescuing Allied fliers, another escape was not off the table. Plans were just delayed until further notice. "We'll just have to wait and see."

HhHhH

After Maddock shut the door behind him, Hogan took a quick look at his new home. A window and filing cabinet was at the far wall. Next to the window and adjacent to another wall was a bunk bed. To the left of the door was a rickety looking locker. A table and chair sat in the middle of the room.

"It's not much, sir, but it's home. Oh, and you'll find the top bunk to be more comfortable."

There were no personal effects in sight, and Hogan realized the MOC had moved out. Protocol was in effect, even in a prisoner-of-war camp. The colonel felt bad about Maddock's demotion and change of residence, but the army was the army, and while he did not plan to remain at Stalag 13 any longer than necessary, keeping order and discipline, even in this dire situation, was crucial.

As if Maddock could read the colonel's mind, he said, "I've moved on, sir. Over to Barracks 8. Didn't want to put any of the men out. Besides, Graves is over there, and he has been my clerical assistant since I assumed the post. We even put out a camp newsletter from that location. The Stalag 13 Gazette. Klink is nice enough to print it for us."

"That's a decent gesture," Hogan replied. He walked over to his bag. Every man who left the transit camp received some supplies from the Red Cross.

"Would you like help unpacking, Colonel?" Maddock asked. "We don't have any extra American uniforms in stores. Klink is contacting the Red Cross to see if we can get some sent over. We only got our first batch of Yanks in not that long ago."

"That's not necessary." Hogan yawned. "What is in the file cabinet? Sit down, Maddock." Hogan sat on the edge of the bottom bunk, while Maddock pulled over a chair.

"A file on every man in camp, plus work rotations, and incident reports. Thankfully, we don't have too many of them. The medical information is in the infirmary. Klink has tried to requisition a doctor, but they're in short supply. And we're small."

"Too bad. We certainly have enough tongue depressors to open up a hospital."

Maddock chuckled. "Good one, sir." He noticed Hogan let out a small grin. "There is a British medical staff at Stalag 5, but in an emergency, Klink will let us go to town to see a dentist or even to the hospital. We've had a couple of broken limbs, and one case of appendicitis. The Germans took care of it. Several blokes have advanced aid training, and we have a medic that got swept up at Dunkirk."

"Who assigns barrack postings?" Hogan wanted the three colored sergeants, Olsen, and Goldman transferred to his barracks as soon as possible. Fortunately, the guards in the back of the truck allowed quiet conversation, although one made it clear that he spoke English and there would be no talk of taking over the truck or trying to escape. During the trip, the men got to know one another quite well and he developed a rapport with those five. Hogan was particularly impressed with Kinchloe, and wanted to utilize his talents by appointing him as a member of his staff.

While Maddock's knowledge and skills would also be helpful during the transition, it was not unheard of for new C.O's to replace staff members with new men. Hogan was sure the MOC would not want to move back to this hut and Hogan was reluctant to order it; he would still need a steady and intelligent man at his side. As to the other colored sergeants, until he was sure the rest of the prisoners were tolerant, Hogan thought keeping them together might be the best thing for now. He was sure they would argue, but their safety was his responsibility.

Goldman, a confident young Jewish man from Philadelphia, was close to Olsen. The way Maddock spoke of Klink, Hogan did not think the Kommandant would ostracize or abuse Goldman, but he was concerned, especially if other German officers came into camp. He witnessed anti-Semitism cropping up in Allied circles; some bigots going so far as to say the Jews got America or England into the war. He was friendly with a British colonel who witnessed a horrible display in the East End in 1936, when the British Union of Fascists marched through the heavily Jewish district.

Olsen? He was an enigma. The sergeant was chatty at the beginning of the trip to the camp; then became lost in his own thoughts. Hogan's instinct told him there was more to the young man besides his intelligence work, and he would prove to be a valuable asset; if he did not prove to be a discipline problem and end up being demoted or shot. He needed to be kept on a short leash.

Maddock attempted to answer Hogan's question. "Initially, the office. But for such a large group, they'll just go into the newly opened barracks. Schultz approves any changes. We've done it more than once. The records just have to be updated. The barrack guards are notified, and Helga updates the files. Klink usually doesn't concern himself with mundane matters."

Hogan filed that information away for later and decided to wait a few days before moving prisoners around. He did not want to upset the apple cart just yet. It was not going to be an easy transition, and from what he had seen from Maddock so far, the prisoners were bound to be upset with the changes. His group of five men would have to wait until then.

Maddock could see Hogan was tiring. "Sir, it's been a long day. Perhaps you need some rest? I can go and check on the rest of the men for you."

Hogan nodded in agreement. "You're right. But first, I need to meet the other men in the hut." He stood up and stretched.

"Very good, sir." Maddock stood up as well. "Permission to speak freely, Colonel?"

"Of course," Hogan replied.

"I've been the MOC for quite some time. First, the camp was mainly Polish, but they're gone. I was just a regular sergeant, but for some reason, the men elected me to be their spokesman. Most of us have been here a long time as well. We've had some difficulties, but we've managed to all get along. We've got a lot of nationalities here, and some of the barracks are mixed."

"Interesting."

"Klink knows the Geneva Convention rules. There is a pamphlet in the file cabinet, by the way. But he is flexible, as I said. Well, what I mean to say is, you're our first officer, and I'm fine with handing over the reins." Now that Maddock said it, in a roundabout way of course, he felt better. What was interesting, he realized, is that he didn't hesitate in telling this colonel the truth, for his gut told him this man was trustworthy. Having the more stringent discipline, Maddock figured, would not hurt the men imprisoned here. With a colonel now in charge, it was to be expected. They would all make do.

Hogan was surprised to hear Maddock admit his fatigue in commanding this group of men. He was not shocked that the MOC was tired, and perhaps stressed, but he was immediately aware and also grateful that Maddock felt comfortable confiding in him. Being afraid, tired, or stressed during wartime was common. What Hogan wanted from those under him was honesty. Once you were honest with your emotions, he believed, help was available. He also believed that something more was going on here, and he was confident he would find out in good time.

"I appreciate your honesty, Sergeant." Hogan gave Maddock a reassuring smile. "One question before we go out there. First impressions are sometimes not accurate. Am I correct that Klink's secretary is perhaps a bit sympathetic to the prisoners?"

"I wouldn't know, sir." Maddock coughed.

Fair enough. There is something going here. "Never mind." Hogan, followed by Maddock, entered the common room. "At ease," he again said in a tired voice.

The French corporal hurried over and offered the colonel a mug. "It's fresh coffee, colonel. May not be what you are used to, but it's hot and wet."

"Thank you, corporal…"

On the other side of the barracks, Maddock whispered a few words to Newkirk and then a few other men.

"LeBeau. Are you hungry? Please, sit." He placed a bowl on the table.

Another man pulled out a chair and offered Hogan a seat. Hogan took it gratefully and took a spoonful. "This is actually edible. You made this, LeBeau?"

"Out of Red Cross rations." LeBeau beamed.

After a few words with Maddock, Newkirk felt a bit better about the new officer, although Hogan would still have to prove himself to the Londoner. He strolled over to the table. "Corporal Newkirk, sir. From London. My little buddy Louis is a top chef. Known in Stalag 13 for his culinary magic."

After Hogan finished the entire bowl of food, the rest of the men introduced themselves.

"You've got some time before roll call, sir. I'll go check on the other new men. Regarding paperwork and other details, these blokes can help you out, or you know where to find me. We should probably have a meeting tomorrow."

"Sounds good, Maddock. Thanks for your help." Hogan stood up. "I will admit, I am tired." Hogan was an observant man, and he remembered one small item. He turned his eyes towards the oddly-placed footlocker. Some of the men followed his eyes, and a few nudged themselves over towards the locker. "One question." He walked over to the footlocker and stopped. "Who has a footlocker in the middle of the floor in a hut with little floor space?" No one answered. "What are you all hiding? A hidden radio? A tunnel?" He bent down and removed the vase, as the men stood frozen in fear. They all knew that the colonel would be brought up to speed eventually, but an immediate disclosure was not in their plans, as they wanted to gauge his nature before revealing any secrets. However, it was too late. It appeared the cat was about to come out of the bag.