How Long in this Hellhole?
December 24, 1943:
Curled up in a fetal position atop a bunk lacking a mattress belied the yule. No blanket or pillow, the winter cold chilled the bones. Some of the krauts still crowed about an air raid on Bari three weeks prior. It was their fortune that one of their bombs hit an Allied cargo ship carrying mustard gas, immediately killing some eighty soldiers. Did Hogan have any right to complain about his unjust and unexpected incarceration in the Cooler?
LeBeau tried bringing a meager dinner earlier. Langenscheidt held firm and refused to disobey Klink's orders. Hogan barely managed to retrieve the tiny wad of paper that the Frenchman flicked into the cell. General Dwight D. Eisenhower was the newly designated Supreme Allied Commander. Nothing against the four star, but Hogan failed to understand the significance of one of his men bringing him the news.
The waning crescent moon hung in the sky like a sliver of fading hope. The pilot knew the new moon was due in three nights. Would he still be in the Cooler? Usually, he anticipated Klink's moods and situations very well. This time, the sour officer acted quickly. Der Heiligabend traditionally required a simple meal, in contrast to the grand dining of Weihnachten. Klink wanted LeBeau and Hogan wanted more food to celebrate the holiday.
If Hogan had been up to one of his schemes, he could accept his relegation to the frozen wasteland known as the Cooler. He had no mission, either ordered by London or dictated by necessity from relevant intelligence. Damn it all to hell! He just wanted a couple of extra slices of bread and some potatoes for the soup so his men had something.
Every day it became increasingly difficult to expect his men to remain willingly behind enemy lines as captives of the Third Reich. Giving it good to the krauts as a form of pride toward the war effort quickly faded when thin soup tasted like dirty water. Hogan's resources were just as thin as the soup during the food shortages running rampant in the Bavarian region. Yet somehow, Klink wanted to showboat a feast to impress Burkhalter while Hogan's men continued grumbling with empty stomachs.
Hogan thought sleep might finally come when the key turned the lock and a remorseful visitor entered. He sat up but kept his arms folded across his chest. His hands were numb. He strained, "Feeling guilty?"
Klink sighed, "Hogan, the Cockroach is a good negotiator. He will cook the feast as long as you are released from the Cooler."
"Pass," Hogan sternly said. "My men are starving. Your men are starving. My men are contemplating escape while yours deserting."
Klink said, "I know. I am tough but fair. I also have a temporary relief."
Hogan asked, "You're leaving?"
Klink gently laughed, "Nein. Some of the guards went off on a hunting party. They managed to take several Rotwild and der Wisent. Let me think, ah, yes, red deer and the other word is something like wild cattle in English."
"I think you mean buffalo," said Hogan.
"Perhaps," smiled Klink. "Hogan, you are often devious but I know you care about your men. I cannot control the supply lines. The Red Cross packages will not be here for another two weeks. Your men cannot escape and my men will not desert. Tomorrow we will all have less hunger. That is all I can offer."
"Thank you," Hogan managed to say with sincerity.
While it felt better to return to his room, Hogan knew the temporary relief was just that: temporary. At some point, Klink would prioritize feeding his men over Hogan's men as food shortages continued. London refused to release the men from the highly successful embarkation point and sabotage center.
Dear God, end the war soon.