What to Do When You're in a Crunch
The heroes had convened in the tunnel beneath Barracks 2 on a crisp autumn day. It was the kind of dry weather when the maple, aspen, birch, and oak trees burst into a riot of color.
"Alright, men, we've got to finalize the details for Operation Moonglow," Colonel Hogan said, leaning over a table covered in maps and sketches. He looked around at his attentive men and suppressed a smile. What a team he had assembled. The very best.
Hogan continued. "London says a vital supply convoy will be traveling the Hammelburg Road tonight. LeBeau, Newkirk, you'll redirect the convoy onto to road that runs past the Trimburg winery. Carter, Kinch, you'll set the charges so we can trap the trucks between the two wooden bridges that cross over the streams that feed the apple and grape orchards. The Underground will take it from there."
Carter, LeBeau, Newkirk, and Kinch nodded in agreement. It was another routine mission. Fool some Krauts, blow up some bridges, cause some havoc. Nothing they hadn't done before, although having all five of them out of camp always added an extra edge of danger.
That night, they set out through the dark woods just as they always did, this time following a well-beaten path past the perimeter of the camp. They'd gone a mile when they noticed something. As they walked along in single file, they were crushing the autumn leaves underfoot, and the sound was carrying. They looked over their shoulders at one another, concern etched on their faces.
LeBeau tugged Hogan's sleeve. But Hogan, in the lead, was uncharacteristically moody. "Walk softly," he hissed.
The warning did no good. Not even Newkirk, who had more experience in stealth than the rest of them put together, could find a way to muffle the sound.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound grew louder with every step they took. They couldn't help it. In the still night, the dry, crisp leaves might as well have been a klaxon bellowing.
Hogan's thoughts were racing as he waved his men off the path. They were halfway to their destination. They'd have to divert to a field where what remained of the grass might dampen some of the noise. They leaped the fence that cordoned off the apple orchard at the south edge of the winery and ran toward a farm wagon parked under a thicket of trees.
Hogan's men ducked behind the wagon to take stock of their situation. Catching their breath, they inhaled a cidery scent. Pickers had been out all day, filling their bushel baskets with apples. Another day's labor, and they would be hauling some of their harvest into town and turning the rest into cider.
"Those apples sure smell good," Carter said, reaching his hand toward a shiny yellow and red one.
"Well, you're not having one," Newkirk snapped, smacking Carter's paw. "Last bloomin' thing we need is another crunching sound."
"Last bloomin' thing we need is your voices carrying," Kinch said quietly. "Zip it, you two."
The men fell silent, but the air around them did not.
"Did you hear that, mon Colonel?" LeBeau whispered.
Hogan raised a hand, signaling for silence. A new noise was filtering through the air. It was the cadence of boots on fallen leaves. The men again exchanged worried glances.
"Just our luck," Newkirk muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
"They must have heard us," Carter said, just a bit too loud. At that, the soldiers' heads swiveled in their direction. Swift and decisive action was required.
Hogan's mind raced again. "Alright, we don't have time to retreat. Grab anything you can use as ammo."
The prisoners scrambled. Kinch was the first to snatch some apples from the wagon. They were not the most fearsome weapons, but their potential quickly became evident as Kinch formed a fastball grip and got ready to hurl it. Newkirk took note, and he gripped his apple for a googly.
As the patrol rounded the corner, the rustling noises from behind the wagon caught their attention.
"Hande hoch!" the patrol sergeant barked, raising his rifle.
But before the soldiers could react, the heroes launched their assault. Apples whizzed through the air, finding their marks with stinging accuracy. The soldiers stumbled and cursed as apples struck their helmets and shoulders.
"Keep firing!" Hogan commanded, his own apple sailing through the air.
The German patrol was soon in disarray, their shouts of confusion mixing with the thuds of apple hitting their target. It only took moments before the patrol retreated, beaten back by the barrage.
As the dust settled and the heroes caught their breath, they exchanged triumphant grins. Their unlikely arsenal had saved them.
"Looks like we've won this round," Kinch said, wiping apple pulp from his sabotage blacks. "Who knew apples could take out a whole patrol?"
"An apple a day keeps the enemy away," Hogan quipped.
"Oh, not if you're feeding Schultz, Sir," Carter said seriously. "Then the apple keeps the enemy coming back for more. Actually, you need a whole bunch of apples to make a strudel, right Louis? Not to mention butter and sugar and..."
"Carter?" LeBeau replied as Newkirk whacked Carter on the back of the head. "Tais toi!"
"Don't say his bleedin' name, you daft git," Newkirk added.
"Maybe don't speak English either," Kinch observed, and they all fell silent.
Hogan just shook his head, suppressing a laugh this time. "Come on, fellas. We've still got a convoy to derail."