Roam

Sergeant Olsen often said to anyone who asked that he knew the countryside around Hammelburg like the back of his hand, but even he was astounded at how much things changed with each season. The physical features of the land would change, and there was something about the way itfelt that changed as well. It wasn't something he could quite describe in words, and he wasn't sure anyone could. It was simply different.

That particular mission to pass along a new codebook to an Underground cell a few miles north of Hammelburg would have been easy in the summer season, as he had been there before. In the wintertime, it was different, for reasons unknown. It was also made more difficult by the fact that the recent snowfalls had caused several roads to be blocked, so Olsen had to find another way north. The route he chose took him through much of the expansive forest that made up a natural barrier between Stalag 13 and the populated areas of Hammelburg. The forest would eventually end, and he would be wandering through a vast, empty land. It was hilly, but featureless, providing no cover.

That was alright, though—anyone looking for him wouldn't have cover, either.

Olsen could see in the distance, to the east, some of the homes and farms dotting the outskirts of Hammelburg. He could see faint lights in windows, and found himself wondering what the inhabitants were doing. He took another step forward, and sank up to his ankles in snow. He kept moving, looking forward to being back in the barracks with everyone else. The barracks weren't much warmer, but they sure were a lot less lonely.

Olsen had thought countless times over about his role as Colonel Hogan's "outside man." He preferred having other things to think about, as he sometimes felt he was just repeating his own thoughts to himself. As he trudged through the snow, his thoughts turned to a rather dusty memory, when he was a gangly teenaged boy learning how to change tires with his father…

"You ever traveled, Dad?" a young Olsen asked.

His father glanced at him, holding a cigarette and a wrench in his mouth. After a moment of trying to carefully pull the tire off, he took the wrench out of his mouth. "Unfortunately, no, not really. Why do you ask?"

"Just a thought."

His father's expression became more thoughtful. "Just a thought, huh."

"Yeah." Olsen frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Is that something that's been on your mind lately?"

"A little, yeah. Find myself thinking about it, dreaming about it, picking up book about places far away. Feels like… I dunno, a calling."

"Then that's probably what it is. Perhaps it's something you should heed when you're ready."

Olsen raised an eyebrow. "Really? It doesn't seem very logical."

"If we dismissed everything that didn't seem logical, there'd be no adventure. There'd be no curiosity, no desire to learn more about ourselves or the world around us. A calling never comes without some purpose behind it. It just might take a while to learn what that purpose is." His father set the tire on the pavement, gently pushing it aside before getting the new one.

"That makes sense. So… I should listen to it."

"I think so. I will only ask one thing, though; when you're ready to go roaming, let your mother and I know, and keep in touch."

Olsen smiled a little. "I will."

In a way, Olsen wondered if this—his role here—was part of that strange calling he felt all those years ago. He was lonely on his long excursions outside of Stalag 13, but he also felt content. The effects of such long periods of loneliness weren't nearly as devastating as they would be on someone else. He had heard Carter say numerous times that he didn't like being alone for too long. At the same time, being in the same places for too long would make Olsen restless at times. Being out in this strange, somewhat unfamiliar part of the country was… oddly satisfying. The unfamiliarity was a bit scary at first, but after dwelling on it, Olsen felt more confident. Everything was new at one point. On one hand, he liked that it was something to discover, something to study. On the other, he knew he needed to temper his curiosity with caution. It was something he had told himself early on, and thankfully, he hadn't had to learn it the hard way.

Olsen was relieved to get out of the field and into the forest on the other side. The forest looked like it hadn't received visitors in a while, even from animals. The branches of the conifers were heavily weighed down by snow. There were no tracks anywhere. It was quiet apart from an icy breeze and the occasional hoot of an owl. Another mile or so and he would reach his destination. Still plenty of time to think.

He had heard the others in his barracks talk about what they missed about home, and what they planned to do when they went home. Some were a bit shallow—they wanted girls. Others were more meaningful—they wanted to see their families, build their own businesses, build their own homes. Their goals were oftentimes the only things keeping them going with each dull, monotonous day that went by. Corporal Mayes from Barracks 4 would always light up whenever he had a chance to talk about the house he wanted to build by the lake he and his wife were drawn to. He even had a series of drawings made up with various design ideas. They were his lifeline.

Olsen had a girlfriend of his own. A high school sweetheart, named Gail-Ann Macready. A holiday dance that turned into something so much more. Being out here, doing something that could easily get him killed, made him think about how much he truly loved her, and how much he wanted to be back with her. He thought the best thing about her was the fact that she listened whenever he talked about wanting to roam, to travel, and see the world, because she felt something similar. That was his true goal, his one true hope—to return to Gail and go on that adventure. Together.

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he saw the quaint little cottage in the far northern outskirts of Hammelburg. Good, he thought. Drop off this codebook and go back to camp.Olsen glanced around before jogging down the slight hill, then looked around again before knocking on the door.

The door opened, and the sweet smell of tea burst outside. An elderly gentleman looked nervous as he asked, "Who are you, out at this hour of the night?"

"Papa Bear sent me," Olsen replied. He took the flat little book out of his pocket. "Here. New codes."

A smile bloomed across the man's face. "Thank you. Do you need shelter for the night?"

"No, sir. I'm heading back home. I appreciate the offer, though." Olsen waited until the old man closed the door, then turned to head back the way he came. As he returned to the vast field of snow, he hoped no one would be able to track him back to camp. He wondered if his prayers had been answered, as a pair of red foxes came dashing from the woods, yelping and barking as they played and rolled with each other in the snow, ruining Olsen's tracks. They moved up and down the field, doing quite a thorough job of disrupting the tracks. Relief came over Olsen, and he continued on his way.

It was strange to think that seeing Stalag 13 would be a thing that gave him relief. It wasn't home, but it was as close to home as he could get at the moment. Olsen climbed down the tree stump ladder, finding a few of Hogan's men on a night shift, monitoring their radios. He let Hogan himself know that the new codebook had been delivered, then went to his bunk to sleep.

All was silent in the barracks aside from people snoring. Olsen shed his coat, then crouched by the small woodstove to warm up as best he could. He rubbed his hands before standing and going over to his bunk. He lay down, glad to take the pressure off his lower back. He was tired, but not yet tired enough to sleep. His mind kept turning back to the conversation with his father, what he wanted to do with Gail, and the thrill of newness that had come with his long walk. One day, he would be able to roam a place like that without worrying about being captured, or worse. He closed his eyes, and hoped to dream of a long wander.