Karl volunteered for extra patrol duty on Christmas Day, hoping it would keep him out of the way of the boys in the motor pool. In any case, he had nothing better to do with his time, since by unanimous vote he had been excluded from the syndicate's Christmas dinner. Of course, as Corporal Hinkelmann, left without a main course to prepare for the contributors, had decided instead to treat them to his famous pigs' feet stewed in beer, being left out was not really a misfortune.

"Waste of good beer," grumbled the quartermaster to his clerk afterwards, as he mixed himself a large dose of bicarbonate.

The atmosphere in Barracks 2 was a little more festive, despite the faint air of disappointment which, at first, hung over the table. When it came to it, everyone seemed to enjoy LeBeau's version of the Vegetable Goose, prepared to a recipe which owed little to either Mrs Beeton or Granny Newkirk. For a start, he'd been unable to obtain a vegetable marrow, nor was he even quite sure what kind of an object it was. So he had filled a large pumpkin with his sage and onion stuffing, surrounded it with roast vegetables, and ensured there was plenty of Armagnac to follow it.

"It's a bit late for Halloween, isn't it?" observed Carter, somewhat sourly. He was still inclined to think that, had he been allowed to take part in the great goose hunt, this dinner would be a whole lot better; an attitude which didn't discourage him from clearing his plate, and coming back for seconds.

After the dessert of clafoutis aux pruneaux et amandes (served with a crème anglaise to keep Newkirk happy), when a comfortable state of post-prandial lassitude had settled across the barracks, LeBeau gathered up the kitchen scraps in a bucket and headed for the tunnel.

"Where are you off to?" asked Newkirk, rousing briefly from his nap.

"Just going to the compost heap in the woods," replied LeBeau.

"Didn't know we had one." But Newkirk was too drowsy to take much interest. He laid his head back down on his folded arms and closed his eyes.

Hogan, however, turned a speculative gaze on the cook. "Not sure I approve, LeBeau. Those SS men might still be hanging round. And you never really explained how you avoided them the last time?"

"Uh... they heard a noise in the woods and...and went to investigate." LeBeau felt himself blushing. He had felt duty-bound to tell Hogan about the Germans in the woods, but had made no mention of the goose's part in his escape.

"I'll be careful," he added. "It'll be a good chance to reconnoitre. You know, see if the Krauts are still there..." He trailed off, seeing the narrowing of Hogan's eyes.

"All right," said Hogan at last. "But keep your eyes open. I've got a feeling there's more out there than just Germans."

"Oui, mon Colonel." Flushing again, this time out of relief, LeBeau descended into the tunnel. A couple of minutes later, with the handle of the bucket hooked over his arm, he climbed out of the emergency exit in the woods, and set off in the direction of Schmeckhof.

He slowed down as he approached the clearing where last night's encounter had taken place. It looked undisturbed, apart from a few feathers scattered about; and Hans's pistol lying where he'd dropped it. Hans was going to have some explaining to do about how he'd lost it.

LeBeau pocketed the gun, and peered around.

"Are you still here?" he called softly.

There was no response at first, and in spite of himself, his heart sank. Then a small white shape emerged from the undergrowth, and waddled towards him.

"Hello," said LeBeau, feeling both reassured and a little foolish.

The goose stretched its neck, and gave its head a shake.

"I came to say thank you," LeBeau went on, "and to assure you that from now on ...What am I doing, talking to a goose? You don't have any idea what I'm saying, do you? But I will say it anyway. From now on, mon ami, you're going to be safe here. Are you hungry? I've got something for you." He upended the bucket and scattered the vegetable scraps on the ground. "It's not much, but I'll bring you more, whenever I can."

For a couple of minutes, he watched the goose as it tucked in. Then he picked up his bucket, and started on the return trip. A short distance away, the sound of voices reached him through the trees, and he hastily took cover; but it was just the usual three-man guard patrol from Stalag 13. As soon as they were out of earshot, he went on his way.

The patrol hadn't gone much further before one of the guards stopped. "I think I have a pebble in my boot," he said. "You go on, I'll catch up."

"Do you want some help, Karl?" asked one of his companions.

"No, I can get it," replied Karl. "It will only take a minute."

He sat down on a fallen log and started pulling his boot off, but as the others went out of sight, he hastily yanked it back on, stood up and crept off in a new direction.

The goose was waiting for him. It waggled its tail feathers and toddled up to greet him with an affectionate nip on the fingers.

"Yes, I'm happy to see you, too." Karl gave the soft head a gentle caress. "Look what I have for you." He groped in his pocket and brought out a handful of heavy, dense bread which he had saved from his rations.

"As soon as I can, I'll get you some oats," he said. "And we'll have to find you a new home, away from the camp. Somewhere with a pond for you to swim in. But until then, keep out of sight. You understand?"

He patted its head again. "I have to go now, but I will come back tomorrow. Take care, little friend."

As he hurried off to rejoin the patrol, the goose gazed after him. Anyone who didn't know better might have thought there was a calculating look in its little black eyes. But of course, that would be nonsense.

After all, a goose is just a goose.