Chapter 6

June 3, 1944, sometime after 0200 hours

Hogan stirred in his seat: the plane had been airborne for well over an hour, and during that time he had come up with the outline of a plan to carry out O'Malley's directive. Somehow the drone of the engines had been conducive to thinking, as the near full moon shone on their wings and filled the sky with light as they flew above the clouds. Hogan liked his plan: Klink had been fussing over his desire to make general just a couple of weeks ago—why not let him live his dream a little? After all, who better than Klink could keep the generals confused? There were still some twitchy parts to the plan, particularly making sure Klink didn't suffer afterwards for his role in the affair, and a lot would depend on the wife of von Scheider. She was a big unknown factor, until he could meet her and get a bead on her. That would tell him how she could help with the plan—if she would.

It was going to be a big job, requiring a lot of effort from his crew. But he thought the idea could work, if they were careful. He grinned to himself. O'Malley would probably think the plan suitably bizarre.

Thinking of O'Malley brought the encounter with Barton back to the front of his mind, out of the compartment he had determinedly shoved it into shortly after takeoff so that he could plan the mission. Hogan wasn't too happy with O'Malley for arranging the meeting: he didn't need the distraction given the gravity of the objective that O'Malley had set for him and his team. But he supposed that having the air cleared to some degree was a help—especially as far as Kinch's status in Barton's mind was concerned.

What was odd, Hogan realized while thinking back, was that he hadn't felt tempted in the slightest by Barton's suggestion that he should be back with the Army Air Forces, rather than commanding his current unit. In one sense he had made that decision long ago, when he had chosen to start the operation at Stalag 13 rather than try to escape, back when he had seen the possibilities for a unit operating behind enemy lines.

But the more recent epiphany that he'd had during the Crittendon debacle—that his place was at Stalag 13 for the duration of the war—factored in too. If he and his team survived—and Hogan wouldn't let himself consider any other outcome, because it was too easy to jinx results if he let himself second guess his judgment too much—he wouldn't be leaving the camp until he walked out the front gate, just as he had told Kinch a while back. Right before Barton showed up, come to think of it. He owed it to the Allied men of Stalag 13—his core team in particular, but also to all the men who helped with the operation and kept its secrets—to see them through the war. Home and family and rest had beckoned him when the orders to return had come through, but at this point he couldn't take escape and safety for himself and leave his men to the caprice of any other commander. He was still ashamed of himself that he had considered it at all last month.

He thought regretfully of his parents, but he was sure they would understand his decision to stay if they knew—not that he would ever be able to tell them about it. But now . . . the invasion was imminent. At last. All the families of the men at Stalag 13 had been hoping for this since they got the news that their loved one was alive but a prisoner. The next few days would bring great hope to them—and equally great fear and grief to many other families with sons, brothers, and husbands serving in the Allies' armed forces. And with good reason: enormous sacrifices would be required, not just from those who would first hit the beaches that O'Malley had indicated with a sweep of his hand, but also from all those who followed them to drive through France, Belgium, the Netherlands, and finally into Germany. Breaching the Atlantic Wall would open another major front, further splitting German attention from the Soviets, who needed the relief and no doubt would use it to their advantage in the east. A successful invasion would be the beginning of the end of the war—it just simply had to succeed.

Although he couldn't be part of the direct assault, he and his men could do their part. They could have a real impact on all those men's chances for success if his plan worked. He wasn't about to miss that opportunity. Barton had plenty of intelligent officers to manage the air assault during the invasion itself and the fighting to come afterwards. Hogan knew that he had been good at commanding a bombing group, and he appreciated Barton acknowledging that, but managing the unit at Stalag 13 took a far more varied and subtle set of skills that he excelled at—and that couldn't be easily replaced at this point in the war, even if Barton lacked the imagination, or understanding, to see that.

Hogan missed flying, but he had no desire to serve under Barton. He appreciated the general's gesture this evening, but they had vastly different personalities and command styles and they would mix about as well as oil and water if working within a command structure. Barton was a sledgehammer, and that was what the Allies needed in his position.

But Hogan preferred O'Malley's more nuanced, subtle touch. Even if they came from different armies and were seldom in direct communication, the two of them had always easily found common ground, and Hogan had been able to feel O'Malley's lightly directing touch in a number of the missions they had been assigned since founding the unit, especially after they moved beyond the "Travelers' Aid Society" into espionage and sabotage work. O'Malley knew how to handle men to get them to freely give their best work: Hogan had felt it working on him during their interview in the way O'Malley had structured his positive assessment of Hogan's work and then the mission briefing, all after having made clear how seriously HQ had considered other alternatives. O'Malley had phrased the mission itself as a request, but Hogan knew it had been a set of orders and he hadn't any real choice. HQ hadn't gone to all that trouble of bringing him to England for him to say no, plus they were holding the threat of that bombing raid in their back pocket. Nonetheless, O'Malley requesting his help in person rather than simply ordering him over the radio made a difference, especially on a project of this magnitude. Being told that Churchill knew about this also made a difference—a huge difference. (That idea still made him reel.) Even being aware of O'Malley's command tactics while the man was using them on him hadn't changed their effects. Hogan wanted to do his British superior proud in this assignment.

Additionally, honestly speaking, he also found Stalag 13 more interesting as a unit to command than flying bombers had been. The work was varied—he never knew what was coming next—and it required a constant balancing act to keep everything running above and below ground. Granted, it was exhausting, and he was constantly under immense pressure in terms of London's needs and expectations as well as the weight of the lives of his men and the Underground units they worked with. But there were advantages too: despite living in a prison camp with all its privations and restrictions, in many ways he had greater autonomy as a commander than he would in almost any other position he could fill within the scope of the war effort. And that was because of O'Malley, whose command style gave him a long, loose leash and trusted him to deal with situations on the ground as they came at him.

That was worth remembering with the men in his own command. He had the best crew in the combined Allied armies: they were skilled, committed, and devoted. He couldn't ask for better.

"We're near the drop zone, sir!" The pilot's shouted information interrupted Hogan's musings.

"Right!" he shouted back, over the engine noise. He began gathering himself to prepare for the parachute jump. He had put on the parachute with its harness shortly after take off, but he went through a safety check again. The plane had had to land to pick him up at the beginning of this venture, of course, but Hogan had deemed a second landing in the same night too risky. Too much noise in one place; too much risk to his men to be out a second time, especially close to morning roll call. They could cover for him if they had to, but having more men missing would be noticed. It would also take more time to get the plane on the ground again. The parachute jump was risky too, but at least the risk was concentrated on him rather than including his men and the pilot.

Looking out of the plane, he could see well off to his right the lights of Stalag 13. Avoiding searchlights while trying to get out of camp was always a problem, but from the air the searchlights and other lights in the compound certainly lit up the place like a beacon in the blackout-shrouded landscape. The lights kept them all safe from accidental targeting by British night bombers, and for his operation they also provided the extra bonus of being a clear landmark for night drops for the operation. And speaking of night—this one was getting near its end. Hogan could see the first, faintest traces of light toward the east. He needed to be getting home.

Shortly afterward the pilot signaled that it was time to make the jump. Hogan leaped from the plane, into the dark, safely back behind enemy lines.

ooOoo

An hour later, Hogan slithered down into the tunnel, pulling the entrance shut fast behind him. It was alarmingly light and worryingly late: he'd had to hustle to get his 'chute buried and get back to Stalag 13 from the field he had landed in, while taking care to avoid patrols. The last thing he had needed was a repeat of the near-disaster from two nights earlier. He hurried down the tunnel. At least he had no need to change, since he was already in uniform: it had seemed most safe to be thought to be escaping if he had had the bad luck to get caught.

The radio room was deserted—just as it should be. Just a couple of oil lamps were burning to provide light for him. He had told Kinch firmly that he wanted all hands above, in case he came in late. He climbed the lower part of the ladder then paused to listen, hoping for the silence of a sleeping barracks.

No such luck. He could hear Schultz above him. "Where iss Colonel Hogan?" Given the extra sibilant on the verb, the sergeant sounded put out. Well, having his men stay in camp rather than come to meet him had just proved to be a good idea.

LeBeau's voice came next. "Where should he be?"

Then Schultz again, answering: "Rrright here! If he's not here I would like to know where he is!" After a moment's pause, the guard added uncertainly, "I think I would like to know where he is."

Time to let the guys know he was back. Hogan knocked against the top of the entrance, with two taps.

They should hear that, he thought. But what if they hadn't? He was sure his men could take care of Schultz. He tapped again, twice.

Schultz spoke again, demandingly. "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

Kinch suggested, "Why don't you take a look in his office, Schultz?"

Great idea, thought Hogan.

"I will!" Schultz proclaimed. His voice faded somewhat, suggesting he was moving away from the bunk, but Hogan could still hear him ask, "Is he in there?"

"No," Kinch answered, calm and matter of fact. "But by that time he may be out here."

Hogan grinned. That in a nutshell was why Kinch had charge of the unit in his absence.

Schultz's voice got louder with impatience. "I demand to know— Shht! Don't tell me!" His voice got further away, although it also seemed raised: "Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan! Colonel Hogan! Where are you?!"

Hogan heard scrambling footsteps, then the trapdoor opened. As the ladder came down, Hogan climbed up it. He could see Carter and LeBeau up top, Kinch behind them.

Hogan greeted them cheerfully, "Hi."

Carter, smiling in relief at his CO's safe return, answered with his natural informality, "How's it going?"

LeBeau meanwhile patted Hogan's left arm as he clambered over the edge of bunk. "Welcome home, Colonel!"

Newkirk, Hogan noted, was still in his bunk. Apparently his ankle had recovered enough for him to have gotten back to using his upper bunk instead of Carter's lower one.

From the office came Schultz's voice, now at full bellow: "Colonel Hogan!"

"Somebody call my name?" Hogan asked ironically.

Schulz bustled back into the main room. "Colonel Hogan! Where have you been?" he scolded, shaking his finger in admonishment. "I have strict orders from Kommandant Klink that nothing out of the way should happen in the next several days, that everything has to—"

Just at that moment LeBeau moved injudiciously, bumping his head against the bunk's hidden mechanism. The trap door rattled down into place, interrupting Schultz's rebuke. Hogan sighed internally. Schultz did his best not to see their various escapades, to the point that Hogan sometimes wondered what made the old soldier so determined to not see and not interfere. But the team usually tried to avoid flaunting their activities quite so obviously as this right under Schultz's nose, especially when the sergeant was under pressure, as he clearly was at the moment—and when their own stakes were so high, as they certainly were now.

Schultz stammered out another couple of words before totally losing the ability to speak, staring at the bunk and its hidden tunnel in horror.

Oh well, sometimes all you could do was brazen a situation out. Hogan had plenty of experience doing that with Schultz, and he seriously doubted that Schultz would report what he had just seen to Klink: Schultz knew that "monkey business" went on in Barracks 2 and that it could mean his own hide if any of it was officially discovered. So Hogan looked back at the bunk, where Schultz was staring, then insouciantly back at the guard.

"Something wrong, Schultz?" he asked lightly.

"I see nothing!" Schultz asserted, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself—and no wonder, given the evidence of his own eyes. "Nnnothing!" He darted toward the door and then through it, as fast as he could manage. It slammed behind him.

Hogan's men nearly mobbed him in curiosity over his trip as Newkirk swung down from the bunk to join them, landing only slightly gingerly.

"What happened in London, Colonel?" LeBeau asked as Hogan moved down to the end of the table, where he could put his foot up on the bench and stretch his back a little after the long night.

Newkirk naturally had to have the first word on anything to do with England. He draped his arm around LeBeau's shoulder. "Hey, did you get a chance to visit Ginger? Goes anywhere, anytime, day or night—"

Newkirk had, in fact, offered up half a dozen names and phone numbers to Hogan as they had been waiting for the plane, trying to break the tension. It hadn't really worked: Hogan had ignored him, too consumed about what the trip might be about.

Carter, however, took umbrage, apparently feeling the need to defend his CO's honor, despite the impossibility of any kind of liaison in the short time he had been gone. "If you think my commanding officer would do a thing like that—"

They didn't have time for this. Hogan put a stop to the incipient argument. "All right, hold it, hold it—small talk later." His crew all stilled and looked at him intently. "We've got work to do. The German Army General Staff is due here by the end of the day. They'll be meeting here over the next couple of days."

Hogan had expected his crew to be surprised, and he wasn't disappointed. Shock showed on all their faces as they stared back at him.

Kinch was the first to recover speech. "You're kiddin'."

"Straight stuff," Hogan assured him.

"Here?" LeBeau asked incredulously.

Carter was the one to move beyond disbelief and into strategy. "I'll design my greatest bomb!" he promised, his voice low and intense, enthusiasm shining from his eyes.

That, of course, would end their operation—and them personally as well as the German General Staff. Hogan appreciated once again O'Malley's far-seeing intentions: he wanted the effectiveness of the generals compromised—without losing his behind-the-lines unit.

"No violence," he warned them. "Psychological warfare." Time to start moving forward with the plan he had devised on the way back. "Now, who does the best Hitler?" Hogan had his own ideas on that, but it would help to have the team on the same page.

"Audio or visual?" Newkirk asked.

"On the phone," Hogan answered.

LeBeau replied instantly, "Kinch."

Newkirk jerked his head toward Kinch as LeBeau spoke. "No doubt about it," he affirmed, just as Carter said indignantly, "Kinch!"

"Yes, Kinch does the best," LeBeau said, Newkirk agreeing with him, as they overrode Carter's pique. Kinch, in the meantime, managed to look both happy with Newkirk and LeBeau's vote of confidence and annoyed with Carter.

Hogan shut down the debate. They didn't have time for it. "All right, all right: that's all set. Now this is big—the biggest thing we've ever handled. I'm probably not supposed to tell you what it is," he looked embarrassed, then determined, "but I wasn't ordered not to tell you, and I think you deserve to know what you're working toward—plus you'll need to know it to carry out the plan I've come up with."

He had their full attention: they were all watching him, focused and intent.

"Invasion?!" Carter guessed.

Hogan felt somewhat exasperated at having his thunder stolen, but he nodded. "Yes. This is it. And although we won't be on the front lines, we're going to give the best chance we can to all the boys who will be."

"They will liberate France," LeBeau said—and it was not a question. Determination shone in his eyes.

"Yes. And everyone else too, when we all win. So let's get to work."

Fin

ooOoo

Author's Note: As many of you will have recognized, I changed the dialogue from the show slightly for this final scene, mostly for reasons I've discussed in notes to earlier chapters: partly to reflect the changes in timeline I've introduced to fix some problems of the original show, and partly to reflect accurate terminology of the day. I treasure the expression on Hogan's face after Carter guesses what the project is about and tried to preserve that, although I don't think the scene is quite as funny without Carter's original line. I also have always disliked Hogan's refusal to share the purpose of the mission at that moment, especially since he would have to explain what was going on given how he uses his team later in the episode (Kinch tracking radio jamming, etc.). So I gave him the intention of sharing, even if Carter still steals the line from him.

Interestingly, Richard Powell, the writer of the episode, did base part of its premise on historical reality. The German reaction to the invasion was much slower than it should have been, partly because permission to move Panzer divisions could only be given by Hitler (as General von Scheider observes in the show). Hitler was asleep when the invasion started, and his aides didn't dare wake him against his orders, also as shown on the show. When Hitler did wake (late in the morning), he initially refused to believe that the day's events were the main invasion, believing D-Day was a feint to draw attention away from the real invasion. Thus Field Marshal Rommel's hands were tied in terms of bringing up tanks to help repel the invasion until it was too late, and the Allied beachhead was well established. The aide Klink speaks to is also a historical person: Martin Bormann was personal secretary to Hitler, who trusted him to handle most of the domestic policies of Germany. The historical facts concerning Hitler on that day are so incredible that it is easy to take them as part of the show's comedy, as Powell worked them so skillfully into the script.

My story's title comes straight from one of Hogan's lines in the show, and it's a phrase that he repeats later in the episode when talking with Lilli von Scheider down in the tunnel: "Right now I've got time to understand just one thing. We've got a thousand ships crossing the Channel ready to hit the French beaches, and I've got work to do." Given that emphasis within the episode, and the enormous amount of time, effort, and sacrifice that so many real people put into Operations Neptune and Overlord, it seemed a fitting tribute.