Chapter Text
Stalag 13, Germany
October 22nd, 1943
Colonel Robert Hogan sighed. The dark clouds that hung low in the sky matched his mood. He could feel a rainstorm brewing and wondered if, perhaps, it would help wash away the unbearable melancholy that had affected not only him but the rest of the camp. But since the last two storms had failed to do so, he didn't know why this one would be an exception.
At times like this, Hogan thought that maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew—that this operation was far too complex and stressful to keep up for as long as they had. Five months of almost non-stop work—doing everything from helping prisoners escape back to England, blowing up bridges and factories, and gathering intelligence. It all had to catch up to them eventually.
When he had accepted the assignment, he just hadn't considered how complicated everything could get. And, for a while, it all seemed routine. And then there was one mission that threw him off balance—a radio broadcast that was brainwashing Allied flyers and making them question the purpose of the war. Hogan, himself, had started to question whether they were justified in all the actions they took at Stalag 13.
That mission was soon followed by another that had had a devastating impact on several of his men. After being subjected to a Nazi experiment that sought to give men superpowers, Carter and Private Hoffman were starting to exhibit some worrying behaviours. Another man, Private Wagner, was so traumatized by what he had witnessed that he had gone mute.
Carter was doing a good job of hiding it, acting like his goofy self, but there was a dangerous undercurrent beneath his affable exterior that frightened Hogan.
And then there was the self-inflicted wound that LeBeau had delivered to the team earlier that month. During a mission to retrieve plans for a Nazi 'Sun Gun,' LeBeau had discovered his ex-wife had hidden the fact that they had a son. LeBeau, enraged and hurt, had kidnapped the boy. The tragic fallout was that his ex-wife and her husband were dead after a search for the boy had led to the discovery that they were hiding Jews in their attic. And the boy, Henri, had to be shipped off to England where he would spend the rest of the war in the care of strangers.
It was almost too much to bear. But Hogan didn't have the luxury to fall apart. Tragedy, heartache, and trauma had to be set aside—they could deal with all that when the war was over. Right now, they had a job to do. Three newly escaped prisoners needed to be transferred to England. And they had plans to blow up a ball-bearing factory. And there was a new codebook due from Berlin any day now that they would have to steal from Klink's safe.
The life of a star.
A big drop of rain splashed onto the brim of his cap. Hogan peered up and got another drop right in his eye. Taking that as a hint, he hurried back to his barracks. He got through the door just before the sky opened, and the rain poured down in sheets, instantly turning the compound into a mud bath.
"Good timing, Colonel," Goldman greeted. Hogan saw him put a towel back on a hook before settling in at the table with a deck of cards.
"Oui, it is coming down hard," LeBeau observed quietly from his place at the table. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, and he was gazing into it as if it held the answers to life, the universe, and everything.
"It's enough to make a man homesick," Newkirk sighed as he craned his neck to peer out the door.
"Sure is loud," Carter commented with a frown.
Hogan glanced up at the ceiling. It sounded like an orchestra made entirely of kettle drums as the rain pounded the roof. He wondered if it would hold or if they would be battling a whole slew of leaks.
"Yeah, it's pretty miserable," Hogan agreed. He cast one more glance outside before shutting the door. In another month or two, they would have to contend with snow. It would be his first winter at Stalag 13, and he wasn't sure what the cold would do for the conditions, not to mention the morale, which was currently at an all-time low.
An unhappy silence fell on the barracks. Hogan wasn't in much of a mood to break it, although he probably should. But they were allowed to have quiet days. And they didn't always have to be cheerful and full of beans. After all, every other trouble aside, they were prisoners.
Without a word, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat next to LeBeau. The corporal cast a wary glance his way and hunched deeper into his coat. Hogan couldn't prevent the sigh that escaped his lips. Their relationship had been strained ever since the incident with LeBeau's ex-wife, and Hogan wasn't sure if it would ever be quite the same.
They all settled into their silence, the snap of cards, the odd turn of a page, and the rain thundering on the roof the only sounds. The gloom was dispersed for a moment when the trap opened and, a moment later, Kinch climbed out of the tunnels, a piece of paper in his hand.
"Message from London, Colonel."
Hogan groaned and held out his hand. What did London want now? They had sent their thanks for the Sun Gun plans weeks ago, but Hogan wasn't convinced he was out of the doghouse. No doubt they were going to complain that the plans weren't sufficient and he needed to kidnap a scientist to explain them.
Kinch passed over the note and, while Hogan scanned it, explained what it said to the others. "Germans have a new codebook. Should reach Klink soon enough. London wants a copy."
That was a small bit of good news. A codebook they could handle. "All right. LeBeau, keep an eye out for a courier. Once he gets it, we'll send a cleaning crew into the office. Newkirk, make sure your ten magic fingers are ready."
"Right," Newkirk said flatly.
"Nice to have a simple mission," Carter mumbled. "No complications."
"From your mouth to God's ears," Hogan heard Goldman murmur.
Then, suddenly, Carter sat up in his bunk.
"You guys hear that?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Then he jumped to his feet.
"Carter?" Kinch asked.
Without another word, Carter took one long step to Kinch's bunk where the trap was still open, and quickly hopped onto the ladder and scrambled down. The others shared a look and dropped what they were doing to follow him.
"What's going on, Carter?" Hogan asked as he climbed down.
Before Carter could answer, Private Zimmermann raced into the radio room and stopped short when he saw the command team on the ladder. Covered in mud, Zimmermann was out of breath.
"I was just coming up to get you, sir," Zimmermann panted. "There's been a cave-in."
"Where?" Hogan asked. Below him, Carter jumped off the ladder and, a moment later, Hogan also planted his feet onto solid ground. Hogan snapped his fingers at Zimmermann, motioning him to lead them on.
"Forgery, sir," Zimmermann said.
Forgery. Dammit. Hadn't those boys been through enough already without having to worry about a cave-in?
"LeBeau, all hands on deck. Get everyone from the barracks down here to start digging them out." LeBeau, half-way down the ladder, stopped and then started to climb back up. "Come on."
"I was just coming back from the latrine," Zimmermann explained as they hurried through the tunnels. "The whole roof nearly fell on me. Don't know how bad it is on the other side. I hope the boys are all right."
"We'll get them out." Whatever shape the forgery crew was in, Hogan could at least promise that much.
The men followed Zimmermann through the tunnels to a section that was completely washed out, mud and dirt clogging the tunnel, save for a small crack near the top. Hogan looked over his shoulder to find the rest of Barracks 2, save for Walsh, who was likely acting as look-out up top, coming in behind them.
"All right, let's get digging," Hogan said. There wasn't time to put on coveralls. Their clothes would be dirty, which would make the guards suspicious, but nothing a little misdirection couldn't take care of. "Kinch, take some guys and find some wood." Kinch nodded and tagged Goldman, Fuller, and Wiggins to follow him. "LeBeau, go round up some shovels and buckets." LeBeau also nodded and took Lopez and LaCroix with him. "The rest of you, help me."
The remaining men started clawing through the dirt with their hands. The work went faster when LeBeau returned with the tools.
"Put your backs into it, lads," Newkirk said as he shovelled away at the dirt.
"They're okay, Colonel," Carter said as he filled a bucket with dirt. "Sounds like they're digging from the other end."
Hogan didn't question how Carter knew that. That was a can of worms he wasn't ready to open yet. "Good. Keep working, fellas." If the boys on the other side were digging, it meant that the initial panic of the cave-in—always a terrifying experience—had worn off. It'd be much easier to get them out if they weren't panicked.
Kinch and his crew arrived with wood and, as they dug through to the forgery unit, they propped up the sagging dirt. The heavy rains over the last week must have just been too much for the tunnels to stay up. They would have to add extra reinforcement once it was all dug out again.
Finally, they managed to break through to the other side. Sergeant Klein, the chief forger, was there with half a dozen other men. They all looked relieved to see their rescuers.
"You boys all right?" Hogan asked.
"We're fine, Colonel," Klein reported. "I think it just affected the hall. The equipment in here is all good."
That was a relief. The forging equipment would have been a pain in the neck to replace. Not to mention all the money and documents that were already made up and stored away in there.
"Good. Come on and we'll—"
A loud creak cut Hogan off. Suddenly a wall on the far side of the forgery room started to collapse, and dirt fell from the ceiling. There was a groan from an overhead support beam.
"Get out of there. Move," Hogan barked. Hogan grabbed Klein's jacket and tossed him into the clear. The others followed, but the overhead beam shifted. A loud crack echoed through the room. In an instant, Carter surged forward and arrived just as the beam gave way. He caught it and held it up.
"Oof. Hurry up, would you," he cried as his body shook under the weight of the beam and the dirt it was still supporting.
"Come on!" Sergeant Klein shouted. The other men scrambled out of the forgery room.
"Carter!" Hogan called.
Carter looked at him and then up at the support beam. Then, with one swift move, he let go of the beam and dove for the opening. He barely made it through before the whole room collapsed and disappeared under a ton of dirt and mud.
"Dammit!" Klein cried. "Colonel! All our equipment!"
Hogan shared his frustration. "I know. But we saved the most important equipment anyway," he said, gesturing to Klein and his men. Machines could be replaced. Men couldn't. "You guys all right?"
"We're fine."
"Good. Newkirk, I want you to head up the cleanup crew. Klein, you stay with him and see if we can't salvage anything." Both men acknowledged his orders with a nod. "Carter?" Carter fidgeted and nervously met his eyes. "My office. Now."