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Oflag V, Stuttgart, Germany
"Prisoners!" Kommandant Vogel growled, obviously unhappy that he, once again, had to give his prisoners a warning. "I must again remind you that escape is impossible. You may make it out of the camp, but I assure you, you will be caught. If you are lucky, you will be re-captured by the Luftwaffe. But, as your friend Captain Harding found out, you may also be captured by the SS and they are not nearly so forgiving as I! Dismissed."
The prisoners broke formation and trudged back to their barracks.
"I can't understand it," Lieutenant Kessler said. "Where did it go wrong?"
"I don't know," Major Saunders replied. "I just don't know. He was too young, though."
"We're all too young," Kessler replied solemnly.
Saunders nodded. "We had a good streak going. It's a shame. A damn shame."
Stalag Luft VII, Morzycyn, Poland
Sergeant Lawson took a long drag of his cigarette. Beside him, Sergeant Ryan hunched his shoulders as he leaned against the barracks wall. Both men watched as the guards ushered Corporal Mason into the compound and towards the cooler.
"Damn," Lawson cursed as he threw his cigarette into the mud and squashed it. "How did he get caught?"
Ryan shrugged. "I don't know. He had everything he needed. Bad luck, I guess."
"I suppose," Lawson drawled. "But he's the third guy they've caught in a month. We've never had such rotten luck."
"Farnsworth should be out of the cooler soon. We'll be able to find out more from him."
Lawson sighed. "All right, well, in the meantime, I'm putting a temporary stop on escapes until we can get a better idea of what went wrong."
Stalag VIII-B, Lamsdorf, Poland
"I followed the map precisely," Private Whittaker explained. "I got to the first safe house and they turned me in!"
Sergeant Cooper pushed himself off the bunk post where he had been leaning, arms across his chest as he listened to the Private recount the tale of his failed escape. "Are you sure you went to the right place?"
Whittaker nodded emphatically. "I had my compass, the map, money, everything. The folks at that house were surprised to see me and the next thing I knew, there was a gun pointed at my chest. They weren't friends of ours, I'm telling you that!"
Cooper furrowed his brow. "What do you think?" he asked Sergeant Gable.
Gable shrugged. "I suppose we can't expect them to know everything before they send us the information. They're all the way in England, after all."
"Yeah, maybe," Cooper said. "But this is the second escape that has ended this way."
"Two out of eight isn't bad," Gable replied.
"Something's not right," Cooper said firmly. "But what?"
Stalag Luft XI, Essen Germany
"All right, Hampton, that's all." Hampton nodded and left the barracks. Sergeant Pike fished out a cigarette and lit it. "What do you think?" he asked Sergeant Fisk.
"Something's not right," Fisk replied. "How could the first safehouse be a dud?"
"Dunno, but this is the third time this has happened."
"Well it couldn't be on purpose, could it?" Fisk said.
Pike puffed his cigarette thoughtfully. "Polk?"
Private Polk sat up in his bunk. "Yes sir?"
"Polk, I want you to gather all the games and get them ready for Oskar when he comes. Tell him he needs to send them along to Papa Bear."
"On it, chief," Polk said. He got up and scurried out the door.
"We'll let the big guns figure this out," Pike said.
Stalag Luft XIII, Hammelburg, Germany
"Get it, get it, get it!" Hogan cried. Across the compound, Carter dove and hit the volleyball before it hit the ground. The crowd from the even-numbered barracks cheered and then, just as suddenly, booed when Sergeant Miller hit the ball right into the net.
"Aw, tell it to the Marines!" Miller exclaimed. He grabbed Carter's hand and helped him up. Carter wiped some dirt off his shirt.
"Okay, shake it off, fellas, and keep going," Hogan said.
"Give it up, Colonel, sir. We're going to win," said Sergeant Wilson.
"There's still six games left in the tournament, Wilson. Anything can happen," Hogan replied.
"Anything is right," Kinch said from beside him. He nudged Hogan and nodded towards the gate. Hogan looked and saw Oskar Schnitzer's truck waiting to be let in.
Hogan arched an eyebrow. "We weren't expecting him for another two weeks, right?"
"Something must be up," Kinch surmised.
"All right, let's go." Hogan motioned for Kinch to follow him and together they made their way to the dog pen. They arrived just as Oskar pulled up. Schultz wasn't far behind.
"Back, back, back, away from the dogs," Schultz said. "You know how vicious they are!"
"Killers," Hogan said.
Schultz ignored him and went to the driver's side of the car and thumped on the roof. The door opened, hitting Schultz in the belly. "Oooof. Be careful!"
"What do you expect," Oskar sniped as he climbed out of the car. "You were standing right there. And I have work to do."
"But you are not supposed to be here today," Schultz said. "It is not on the schedule."
"Schedule, schmedule," Oskar grumped.
"But the Kommandant approved the schedule and the Kommandant is the boss and if he signs the schedule, it means we must follow the schedule!" Schultz reasoned.
Hogan and Kinch let Schultz and Oskar bicker as they went to the back of the car. Hogan carefully opened it and Olsen scooted to the edge, a large box in hand. He pushed another one to the edge of the truck, and Kinch grabbed it.
"Rec Hall," Olsen said. Together, the three prisoners left the truck and headed towards the Rec Hall.
"What's up, Olsen?" Hogan asked when they were inside.
Olsen set his box onto one of the tables and opened it up. "I'm not quite sure, Colonel. Oskar said that he got these from Stalag Eleven, over in Essen. They had three escapes go south. They think there might be something wrong with the maps."
Kinch put down his box and opened it, pulling something out from it. "Monopoly?" he said, looking it over.
"Collect $200," Olsen said.
"They're escape kits," Hogan told Kinch. "I've never actually seen one, but we were told about them back in England. Here." Hogan took another box out and set it down. He opened it and took out the board. "See, that red dot on Free Parking? It means the board contains a map, compass, files, and-" Hogan grabbed the stack of fake money from the box, and flipped through it. In the middle was a bundle of real money- "money."
"So what's the problem?" Kinch asked as he opened his own box.
"Like I said," Olsen replied, "the boys at Stalag Eleven think there's something wrong with the maps. Apparently they had three guys bust out, only to be captured by the people at the first safehouse. And they were three different safehouses! I checked one of them back at home, but the map seemed legitimate."
"All right, let's get these into the tunnels and see what this is all about," Hogan said.
Soon, Hogan, Olsen, and the rest of the team were in the tunnel, the volleyball tournament forgotten as they pulled apart the game boards to find the silk maps within.
Hogan stood by the big maps of the wall that marked known escape routes within a thirty mile radius. "This one is fine," he said as he inspected the silk map in his hands.
"Yeah, but this one isn't," Kinch said as he looked over his own silk map.
"Maybe it just has a route we're not aware of," Carter suggested.
"We know all the routes in the area," Newkirk said.
"And if there was a new one, London would have told us," Kinch added.
"But we only know about the routes in a certain area," LeBeau said. "We do not know the whole route. What if the problems are beyond our range?"
Olsen shook his head. "No, the problems are happening at the first safehouses."
"Hey, this one is wrong, too," Carter said as he inspected his silk map. "Boy, what do you think is going on?"
"I don't know, but I'll call London. They need to investigate this at its source," Hogan said.
Intelligence HQ, London, England
"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, come in, Goldilocks."
Mavis Newkirk put on her headset and leaned forward as she pressed down the button on her microphone. "This is Goldilocks. Go ahead, Papa Bear."
"Goldilocks, we're requesting an investigation into Parker Holdings. He sold us some lemons. We have some very unhappy buyers."
"Understood, Papa Bear," Mavis said as she wrote down the message. "We'll look into it."
"Good. Sooner is better. Papa Bear, out."
Mavis removed her headset and wiped a bit of sweat off her forehead. Blimey, but it was hot. She wished they weren't in the basement and could open some windows.
Oh well, there was nothing for it. With a sigh, she stood up and took her pad of paper with her to Captain Sinclair's office. She knocked on the door and waited for him to bid her in before opening it.
"Captain?" she said as she slipped in, closing the door behind her. Captain Sinclair was hidden behind a massive pile of paperwork. She felt sorry for adding to it- he was quite literally in over his head already. But Papa Bear's organisation was top priority, and she had been told to hurry.
"Corporal?"
"We just got a message from Papa Bear," she reported. A hand shot up from behind the wall of paper. Mavis went up on her toes and stretched to hand over her notepad. "Something about Parker Holdings? I'm not familiar with it."
"That's quite all right, Corporal; I am," he said curtly.
Mavis scrunched her nose. Another case of her being left in the dark.
Sinclair's hand appeared again, holding out the notepad for her, which she took. "Type it out in triplicate, please."
"Right away," Mavis sighed. She paused at the door and looked back at the stacks upon stacks of paper on Sinclair's desk. "Can I bring you some tea, Captain?" It didn't matter how hot it was- tea was the cure for just about everything, especially for Captain Sinclair.
"Coffee. Black."
Blimey. He was in over his head!
She was about to leave when his voice stopped her. "You're a saint," Sinclair said, his voice no longer rigid, but warm with genuine gratitude.
"Not by half, but thanks for saying so."
John Waddington Ltd., England
In the secret room hidden within the factory, Arthur Fisher carefully inspected the silk map in his hand. He looked around and, once he was sure no one was paying attention, stuffed it into a small hole in the lining of his jacket. And then, just as surreptitiously, he pulled another silk map out from another hole on the other side of his jacket. It was identical in almost every way. Almost, except for the red line showing the escape route and the yellow circles marking safe houses.
It was a small bit of sabotage. If he had had a radio transmitter, maybe he could have contacted someone in Germany to tell them about what these Monopoly games were hiding. As it was, he only had his like-minded siblings: a brother who put his artistic abilities towards not only the silk maps Arthur employed, but also counterfeit money and ration cards; and a sister who had access to silk through her work at a parachute manufacturing facility, where she also performed her own bits of sabotage. He didn't know if his small act for Hitler would make any difference, especially since only one in ten of the games he produced had phoney maps. But if it even prevented one Allied soldier from escaping custody, it was enough.
He tucked the map into the game and was just about to put in the compass when the door suddenly burst open. Everyone in the room froze, shaken awake from their repetitive jobs by the intrusion. Arthur licked his lips nervously as men in uniforms entered, holding guns, and ready to shoot.
"I'm sorry for the intrusion," one of the men said. "But I'm afraid all you chaps are going to have to come with me."
There was a bit of murmuring as the workers got up from their station. Arthur carefully smoothed down his jacket as he stood. He would be all right. The holes were small- nearly invisible. And the silk barely made a bulge. No one would notice it.
Intelligence HQ
Lieutenant Longbothom followed Captain Worsley out of the room and shut the door behind him.
"I'd say that was a waste of time. They're all perfectly ordinary," Longbothom said, disappointed.
"Indeed," Worsley concurred. He flipped through the files in the hand. "We couldn't find anything unusual in their histories. And their responses to our questions didn't raise any concerns."
Longbothom furrowed his brow. "Then the problem could be with the charities? Or they could occur after the games arrive in Germany?"
"I'm afraid so," Worsley said.
"It's a bloody shame the Germans are onto this. It was a brilliant operation," Longbothom lamented.
"Oh well. Nothing for it. Let's tell the General and then we can send those lads back on their way." Worsley motioned for Longbothom to follow him. "It's bloody hot, isn't it," he commented as he wiped his forehead.
"I can't wait for this blasted heatwave to end."
"It will be raining again, soon enough. And then we'll complain about missing the su-" Worsley stopped dead in his tracks. "It's hot."
Longbothom also stopped and looked at Worsley curiously. "Yes?"
Worsley turned on his heel and hurried towards the room where they had left the Monopoly workers. He quickly opened the door and peered in. He opened the door a little wider to let Longbothom also see inside. "Do you see?" Worsley asked. Longbothom shook his head and Worsley closed the door. "The man second from the left," Worsley said. "What did you notice about him?
Longbothom cracked open the door again and took a look. "Nothing. He's extraordinarily ordinary."
"He's wearing a jacket."
Longbothom looked again. "So? He's a respectable gentleman."
"He's the only one. They've all taken off their jackets. All he's done is loosen his tie," Worsley said.
"Hardly a capital offence," Longbothom said. "In fact, quite the opposite."
"I think it at least calls for a closer look," Worsley said.
"I suppose. Lead on, Worsley."
Stalag Luft XIII
"I hate you."
"Cry all you want, mate, so long as you pay up."
Goldman scowled as he counted out his rent and handed it over to Newkirk. "How did you manage to get that whole first row?"
"He's a regular slumlord," Miller grumbled.
"Ah, music to my ears," Newkirk said as he held the money up to his ear and leafed through it. "You're both nearly done for!"
Hogan shook his head as he watched over the games taking place in the Rec Hall. They had concluded their own investigation of the Monopoly games as far as they could. They would have to wait to hear back from London before proceeding further. In the meantime, the men were taking advantage of the games. Although Hogan wasn't sure if he'd let the games stay around much longer- they had an odd effect on morale. On the one hand, Monopoly was fun and a welcome change from the usual card games they endlessly played. On the other hand, some of his men were extremely competitive and more than one friendship was bruised because of it.
"Colonel?"
Hogan hadn't noticed Kinch slide up to him, a note in hand. Hogan took it. "Orders from London?" he asked as he unfolded the page.
Kinch nodded. "They found the source of the problem: there was a traitor at the factory. They've shut him down. Thankfully, they don't think he had any contacts in Germany."
"So now what?" Hogan said. He looked at the note in his hand. "Ah, makes sense. They can't trust any of the games in circulation. The new sign will be a blue dot." Hogan handed the note back to Kinch. "Get on the horn with the underground and spread the word, will you?"
"On it," Kinch said before heading out of the Rec Hall.
"Everything all right, Colonel?" Carter asked from over his shoulder.
"Just the usual. Another day, another evil plot ruined."
LeBeau, who was sitting across the table from Carter, snorted. "What would they do without us? We are practically winning the war single-handedly."
"Boy, you're telling me!" Carter said. "We've done more than a whole battalion!"
"I wouldn't go that far," Hogan replied. "But we're definitely earning our paycheques."
"Oh, speaking of paycheques," Carter said, "that roll's gonna land you on Boardwalk, LeBeau. Let's see, that's… $1,400."
Hogan ducked to avoid the gameboard that flew through the air.