Chapter 22:
"Roll call! Everybody up, up, up, up, up! Raus!" Schultz bellowed.
All the prisoners moaned, as the lights were flicked on in the dark barracks.
"Oh, come on, Schultz! It's only 5:30 in the morning." Carter groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Kommandant Klink's orders. Up! All of you! Up!" Schultz commanded.
The prisoners in barracks two moaned again and sat up in their bunks. Schultz left the barracks for the men to get dressed and ready for morning roll call.
As the four of Hogan's men were getting ready, Walters walked over to them with a hard look on his face.
"Alright, all of you. Get dressed quick," Walters ordered.
Kinch, Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau all snapped their heads towards the lieutenant and gave him a hard glare. The hatred for the man could be seen in all their eyes.
"Sir, I'd walk away if I were you. I don't play well with Yanks." Newkirk hissed.
"Is that how you speak to a military officer, Corporal?" Walters countered.
"Some of them...especially ones that hurt kind, brave colonels!" LeBeau growled.
Walters glared at the little Frenchman, then turned to look at Carter.
"You'll listen to my orders, won't you, Rat?"
"The only orders I'll listen to are Colonel Hogan's and Sergeant Kinchloe's! And if Colonel Hogan dies, boy are you gonna be sorry!" Carter snapped.
Walters glared coldly at the young sergeant and walked away quickly to another part of the barracks.
"Great job, Carter," Kinch said, beaming.
"You told him, Andrew!" Newkirk spoke, proud.
"That was great, André!" LeBeau cheered.
"Aw gee, guys. You're embarrassing me," Carter said, turning red.
Newkirk smirked and patted his best friend's shoulder gently.
"Come on, mates. Let's get ready for roll call."
"And I want all of you to remember once General Burkhalter gets here in another two weeks, all of you will be civil, decent, and cooperative men and not cause any mischief during his stay here. If anyone refuses to listen to those orders, that person will serve 90 days in the cooler and revoked privileges for three months. Any questions?" Klink spoke.
"Kommandant, don't you think that's a bit harsh of a punishment? 90 days in the cooler is enough as it is," Kinch said respectfully.
"Sergeant Kinchloe, I will not have General Burkhalter be disturbed. Now either you can live with that punishment, or I will change it to all prisoners in barracks two serve the same if such a thing occurs! Which do you prefer?"
"Just a suggestion is all," Kinch softly said. He didn't dare push Klink any further.
"Good. Diiiiiiisssssmiiiiiiiisssssed!"
Klink turned sharp on his boot and made his way back to the Kommandantur. The prisoners disbursed amongst themselves and went out on their daily business.
Walters walked off from the rest of the men and grew a malicious smile to his face. He rubbed his hands together and walked off to prepare for his plan that would happen later that morning.
Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau, and Carter made their way back into the barracks and sat down at the table after grabbing cups of coffee.
"Alright, guys. After breakfast, we put our plan into motion," Kinch said.
"You think it'll work, Kinch?" Carter asked, worried.
"I hope so. If not, we're gonna be in deep trouble."
"If it doesn't, someone else may die next." Newkirk answered.
"Who do you think he'd go after next, Pierre?" LeBeau asked.
"Beats me. The man's so batty, he might try for one of us."
"I will not let that happen! Filthy bosche will have to try a lot to try and kill me!"
"I'll just be glad the minute he's gotten rid of. He's tormented me long enough," Carter said, sighing.
"That filthy bastard ain't gonna lay a single hand on ya, if I've got something to say about it, Andrew." Newkirk snarled.
The room fell silent, before LeBeau spoke and started a new conversation.
"Kinch, have you heard anything on mon Colonel?"
"Wish I could say 'yes' to that question, Louis. I haven't heard anything from Dr. Trommler in over two weeks, now."
"I sure hope he's getting better. I don't know what I'll do if the Gov'nor dies." Newkirk sadly lamented.
"Dr. Trommler promised he was gonna do everything he can for the Colonel. If Richard knows this guy, he's gonna do just that," Kinch said.
"I trust Richard. If he says that Dr. Trommler's a good doctor, then I believe him." Carter answered.
LeBeau sighed, got up, and approached the stove. "Well, I'm going to make breakfast. What would you all like?" The little Frenchman asked.
"Anything that doesn't have the pec a la point stuff in it." Newkirk grumbled.
"It's," LeBeau stopped and took in a sharp breath of air. "Nevermind." The little Frenchman angrily grabbed a pan and put it on the stove to begin making breakfast.
"Hey, Kinch, why do people go into comas?" Carter asked, curious.
Kinch let out a deep breath. "'S a good question, Carter. Don't know if I have the answer for you."
"If I remember correctly, I think it's a way to help the body heal itself from severe trauma without any arousal taking place. Certain parts of the brain are injured and the coma helps that person from injuring that part of the body any further," Newkirk said.
LeBeau, Kinch, and Carter all turned to the Englishman and gaped at him.
"What? I listen to Joe every once and awhile," Newkirk remarked.
"Yeah. Whenever you're the victim," LeBeau retorted.
"Alright, you guys. Settle down," Kinch said calmly.
"What part of Colonel Hogan's brain do you think made him go into a coma?" Carter asked.
"Beats the hell outta me, mate," Newkirk said, taking a drag on his cigarette.
"How do you know why people go into a coma, but not know which parts of the brain it affects?" LeBeau exclaimed.
"Sorry I'm not a ruddy doctor, Louis! If I was one, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Newkirk remarked snippy.
"I know all four brain lobes, but other than that, I got nothing," Carter said, twiddling his thumbs.
"Join the party, Andrew."
"Wonder what it's like to be in a coma."
"Ya wanna find out?"
"No, just curious is all."
"You'll have to ask mon Colonel when...if he comes back to us," LeBeau sadly said.
"Bloody hate that word…'if'," Newkirk muttered.
"It shouldn't be 'if'. Mon Colonel should be here with us! He should be sitting right there at the table now." LeBeau pointed to the vacated spot at the table where Hogan always sat at meals or whenever he was socializing with them.
"You can thank Mr…" Carter stopped. It still pained him to remember the night Hogan was shot. It was almost forbidden for him to recall the event. He sure hoped that would not be the last time he ever spoke to his commanding officer.
Kinch noticed Carter's discomfort and patted his shoulder gently.
"It'll be alright, Carter. We're gonna get rid of this guy, and you'll never have to worry about him again," Kinch said with a soft smile.
"Sure hope you're right, Kinch…'cause if you're not, I'm not sure what I'll do."
Breakfast went by quickly, and the four of Hogan's men returned outside and watched Walters from barracks two. Kinch was surrounded by Carter and LeBeau on his right and Newkirk on his left. They were waiting for the perfect moment to start their assignment.
"You think Olsen will be able to do it?" LeBeau asked.
"I hope so, Louis. We need him to in order for this to work," Kinch said. His eyes never strayed from the lieutenant walking around.
The doors to the Kommandantur opened, and Klink walked out onto the porch wearing his hat, trench coat, gloves, and carrying his swagger stick.
"Hey, there's Klink," Carter pointed out.
"Wonder what he wants," Newkirk commented.
"Hopefully he'll do the job for us." LeBeau prayed.
Walters looked up and found Klink walking down the stairs of the Kommandantur. He gave a wicked grin, softly chuckled to himself, and began approaching Klink. Time for him to make his move. Once he got rid of Klink, the whole camp would be his. He would be the top dog and no one would be able to stop him. There was, of course, this General Burkhalter that everyone spoke of from time to time. He would deal with the man later.
Klink had reached the compound and took two steps away from the building. He was about to turn to his car parked besides the building, when Walters reached him.
"Kommandant, where are you off to?" Walters asked.
"Off to town for a couple hours. I have a few errands to run. Sergeant Schultz is in charge while I am out." Klink replied.
Walters laughed to himself. Schultz being in charge was a complete joke to him. The man was nothing more than a big teddy bear. He was not suited for war, but a bunch of monkeys for guards would make the lieutenant's reign that much easier for him to maintain.
"I say, Kommandant. You look ravishing in that coat!" Walters gasped. He acted amazed at how well his Kommandant dressed. Buttering Klink up was the hook to his plan.
"Really?" Klink asked, flattered. "Why thank you, Lieutenant. I do try hard to keep my appearance up."
"Your efforts show, sir. Where did you get that jacket? It looks like it keeps you very warm in cold weather."
"Where did I get this?" Klink looked down at his jacket and pulled on it a bit. He lifted his head and returned his gaze to Walters. "Why, I think it was a birthday present from my mother one year."
While Klink continued with his spiel and completely unaware of his surroundings, Walters sided up besides the man. He dug in his coat pocket to a small hidden compartment and pulled out his pocket knife. He flicked it open and quickly grabbed Klink by the neck and pulled him close to him with one arm and held the knife to his neck with the other.
"Lieutenant! What are you doing?!" Klink wailed. He almost tried pulling away from the man, but once he saw the knife being held close to his throat, he decided against it. "Schultz," he gasped helplessly.
"Alright, listen up here, fellas! Any of you take one step further, and I kill him!" Walters hissed.