Hitching a Ride

Alert for debris and craters blocking portions of the road, Schultz carefully maneuvered the staff car down a quiet street in Düsseldorf. He came to a halt outside a nondescript office building.

"There's a spot over there," Klink pointed out. "Just pull over."

The sergeant pulled up next to the curb and shut off the engine. He quickly exited the vehicle and opened the back door.

"Wait here," Klink ordered. "No looking for food or anything else. I don't know how long I'll be," he said. "These other Kommandants love to hear the sound of their own voices."

It takes one to know one, Schultz thought. He opened his mouth, wisely decided not to say anything, and nodded. He stood and watched the Kommandant head towards the entrance of the building. Looking forward to a nice nap, he opened the driver's side door, settled into his seat, closed his eyes, and rested his hands on his ample stomach. But something tickled his brain. He opened one eye, then the other, and sat up straight. "The briefcase!" He checked the back seat. It wasn't there. Was he imagining things? Leaving the car, he saw Klink heading towards the stairs leading up to the entrance. No, Klink was not carrying his case.

Schultz screamed as he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Oi, Schultz. Klink forget this?"

"Newkirk… What are you… " The corporal, dressed in civilian clothes, was nonchalantly leaning up against the car, holding Klink's briefcase in his right hand. "Give that to me," Schultz commanded.

"Falling down on the job, Schultz?" Newkirk asked as he walked towards the sergeant. "Should have noticed he was missing something. Bet there's something really important in here. Let's have a look, shall we?" Newkirk opened up the briefcase and pulled out the papers. "No, that's food inventories, the guard compliments. Boring." He put those sheets back. "Oh, what's this then?" He frowned. "He'd be in right trouble if this went missing."

Schultz stared at the corporal for a moment and then finally regained his equilibrium. He snatched the case out of Newkirk's hand, but the paper was out of reach. "Newkirk, I am ordering you, on my life, to hand over the case. I have to get this to the Kommandant."

Newkirk grinned. "Since you asked so nicely. Hang on one second." He put the paper on top of the car, snapped a photo with a pen, and then handed it back to Schultz.
"Well, put it in then. You only have a few seconds to catch..." Newkirk saw the guard's face and quickly turned around.

"He's coming back," a panicked Schultz said as he quickly stuffed the paper back in the briefcase. "You! Scram." He waved his hand. There was no place for Newkirk to hide now as Klink was making good time. He was looking directly at them and would definitely notice if someone opened the trunk and popped in.

"Scram?" Newkirk pulled down his hat a bit further. "You're really picking up our slang, mate." He gave Schultz a pat on the shoulder and then walked away.

"Newkirk, come back!" Schultz stopped as Klink came closer. The Kommandant did not appear upset or angry. He just walked up to the sergeant and grabbed the briefcase.

"I was about to...to…" Schultz stammered.

"Bring it to me?" Klink stared for a moment. "Fortunately, I am early for the meeting. Don't know why I forgot the case." He shook his head. "I decided I won't stay more than an hour," he told the sergeant. I'll make an excuse if the meeting goes longer." He turned and then walked back to the building.

Schultz let out a deep breath and then a squeak as Newkirk reappeared as fast as he disappeared.

"Well, that's a shock, isn't it? Thought he'd have your guts for garters and blame you for his mistake." Newkirk leaned against the car and lit a cigarette.

"He what?" Schultz asked.

"Put you on report, give you night duty. Punishment. Blame you for his forgetfulness. He usually does."

Schultz nodded. Both men paused for a moment, their mutual companionship offering a temporary bond. Until…."Newkirk! What are you doing here? The big shot will be in meetings for an hour. You can't… Stop! What kind of cog are you playing?"

Newkirk chuckled. "I think you mean, con?"

"No. That's short for convict. I mean the other one? What you do. What you all do!"

"Con can mean several things, Schultzie." Newkirk grinned. "I do believe the word you are looking for is scam." Newkirk stubbed out his cigarette and glanced at his watch. "I have my own meeting. I'll be back in a jiffy!" Before the guard could stop him, the corporal took off.

Schultz stared at the departing prisoner. "I know nothing," he said to himself as he opened the car door, sat, and closed the door. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. His entire career at Stalag 13—since Hogan's arrival—seemed to be surviving one predicament after another.

Wrinkling his brow, Schultz forgot about his nap for a moment. He took a notebook out of his pocket and wrote down the word jiffy with a question mark. He then bit his lip in concentration and wrote down the words con and scam. Realizing he and the Kommandant were, as usual, the victims of this latest trick, he decided not to worry and settled in for a nap.

Newkirk returned to where the car was parked and spied Schultz dozing in the front driver seat. He smiled to himself and stayed out of sight for a few more minutes, then opened up the trunk and crawled inside. Normally, LeBeau handled these trips, but he was under the weather. Satisfied with completing a successful mission, the Brit closed his eyes and attempted to get comfortable. Good thing I made it in time for the ride home.