It Wouldn't be Cricket

Upon notification that some escaped POWs needed to be handed off and brought back to camp, the men swung into action. They were happy to have something to do, as they had been mainly idle for a few weeks, and boredom was an unwelcome side-effect of being locked up in a Luft Stalag.

This time, Carter and Newkirk were volunteered to go out, and they eagerly climbed up the ladder and out into the darkness, chatting quietly as they walked towards the rendezvous. There were two men escorted by a totally reliable contact, so what could go wrong?

Carter, being highest in rank, decided to check out the situation first. This was normal routine. You could never be too careful, as any situation could be a trap, or it could turn sour for a number of other reasons. Newkirk objected, but was overruled. He watched Carter leave, and then checked his watch.

"Blimey, that was a quick ten seconds," he complained as he saw Carter coming towards him. "What's wrong?" Carter looked shocked and Newkirk immediately reached for his weapon.

"It was actually 7 seconds, Newkirk." Carter took a deep breath. "Remember how Colonel Hogan always warned us that any situation could turn sour?"

Newkirk stood. "What happened? Oh. No. Not again."

Kinch waited down in the tunnels for the two to return with the escapees. He was listening to a concert on the BBC when he heard the welcome noise of them coming down the ladder. Carter or Newkirk come down first, followed by the rescued men, and then the other hut mate would take up the rear. He decided to let them know up top that they had returned; Hogan usually wanted to meet the escapees, explain the set-up and conduct a debriefing.

It was Carter who landed in the tunnel first. He looked at Kinch and then began to talk. Except nothing came out of his mouth. Kinch could see that Carter was breathing heavily and he quickly gave him a drink of water.

"Where's…?"

"Coming. They're a little slow." Carter finally got the words out. "Oh, the colonel is not going to like this," he said as he watched the older escapee miss the bottom rung and fall flat on his rear. "Missed it by that much," he sighed as he ran over to help the man regain his footing.

The colonel did not like this.

"Crittendon." Hogan stood, his arms folded over his chest. He was not happy. Last he heard, his Allied nemesis was back home in England.

"Hello, chaps." Crittendon turned and pointed to the other man, a young lieutenant. "This American is Roy…Roy…"

"Rosenberg, sir."

"Ah, yes. Rosenberg. He helped me break out, wot. Told him this was my 13th time. Imagine that? Lucky number 13. Had to give it a go."

Hogan was running his fingers through his expertly coiffed head of hair; hair that he felt confident would turn gray by the time they eliminated; no that wasn't the right word, deposited the British menace somewhere else. "Sit," he ordered.

They sat.

"I heard all about you and your operation from Colonel Crittendon, Colonel Hogan. Quite a feat," Rosenberg said as he looked around at the tunnel.

"Quite a breach of security," Hogan said as he reprimanded the two. "Crittendon, how could you?"

"Could I what?" The colonel was seated calmly in his chair, his cap in his lap.

"Tell him about our operation before you got here." Hogan's voice was menacingly slow and clipped, a sign that he was on the verge of losing his temper. All of his men now in the tunnel took a step back.

"Oh, that. Well, word use to get around in some of the camps. After the first time I was here, that is. And fliers knew this is a safer place to bail out."

"That was then and this is now," Hogan replied.

"Sir." Rosenberg jumped up out of his chair and saluted.

Hogan sighed. "At ease. You can sit back down. Not blaming you, but how many people did he discuss this with? We shut down any talk quite a while ago. It's too dangerous."

"Um. I can't honestly say, sir. I wasn't even on the escape committee, for obvious reasons. Our Kommandant was not an angel, but he didn't take things as far as he could have, if you get my drift, sir. I decided for the time being it was best I stay put and let others go."

"Others?"

"Yes, sir. But the colonel here…actually group captain, although for some reason, he wants to be called colonel." Rosenberg paused and then stared at Crittendon. The lieutenant had the look that said something to the effect that he wondered if the British officer knew someone in high places. "He came up behind me in the tunnel portion I was digging, and next thing I know, he hands me a spoon, a flashlight and a really, really sharp pencil."

"You can't get the wood, you know. To make a spear," Crittendon interrupted.

"Let him finish his story," Hogan demanded as he rolled his eyes.

"And he ordered me to go with him." Rosenberg finished and he slumped a bit in his chair. "Actually, sir. Imagine my surprise when we somehow ran into sympathetic civilians." He yawned. "We've been on the run for weeks."

"Wait. Crittendon. Last I heard you were back in London. Why are you back on the continent? Where were you?"

"Ah, Hogan, my boy. That's a long story." He saw Hogan's face. "Um. Yes. Well, I couldn't leave all you good chaps here fighting the good fight while I lollygagged about in England, planting geraniums. Could I?"

"Oh, my God," Kinch exclaimed under his breath. He sank down in his chair by the radio, reached underneath the table and pulled out a bottle of something that was not the equivalent of a warm glass of milk. He opened a hidden drawer, removed several shot glasses and began pouring. Fortunately, Hogan was intent on watching Crittendon, and he didn't observe the medicinal shock absorber now being imbibed by his entire posse, otherwise known by the men in camp as the core team.

"You see, Colonel. The nearest damsel in distress comes first."

"You got sent back over here for a woman?"

"Of course. Well, not quite." Crittendon leaned forward. "Not any woman. The Royal Duchess."

"The Boche kidnapped a member of the Royal Family?" asked LeBeau, who had come down in the tunnels after Hogan had climbed down.

Newkirk finished his swig and then brought out his pencil sharpener. "I 'ave me issues with class, as you well know, sir. That's on me. But, no one is allowed to kidnap a royal and get away with it. Give me one good reason…"

"Hold it, Newkirk." Hogan sighed again. "Who is it and where is she being held?"

"It's not a who, sir. It's a what." This came from an addled Rosenberg, who clearly wished he hadn't gone down the rabbit hole with the Mad Hatter.

"A what?"

"It's a plane." Comprehension dawned on Crittendon's face. "Oh, you thought I was talking about a real woman, wot?" He let out a chuckle. "No. Although, if they did kidnap a royal, I'd be the first to volunteer to rescue them."

"Yes, and we'd be the first to volunteer you." Hogan began to pace.

"Now, that's cruel," Carter said to Kinch.

"Back up. Let me get this straight. They let you return to the continent to rescue a plane?"

Crittendon's face fell. "Well, they didn't really know. I got a seat on a bomber. The Duchess was my very first bomber, and when I heard it was brought down, I had to try. Rescue the plane. You see, it made a crash landing. Wanted to save it from being reverse engineered."

Hogan was shocked that Crittendon actually knew the term.

"Crittendon, they've captured hundreds of your planes and our planes. They've already been reversed-engineered."

"Well, too late for that. Doesn't matter. Ours got damaged before I could jump in the Duchess's last know spot; it was somewhere in France, and the crew said they would let me off. Well, we had to bail. And they caught me. We were on our way back from Bavaria. We've flown from Munich to Paris, and we're still not there. The spot it went down in, that is. Such a pity. We got shot down pretty far west of Paris. But we gave the Jerries a good run for their money, wot."

Hogan was afraid Crittendon would reveal that he was accidentally pushed out of the plane. He was relieved that was not the case. That would be a court martial offense. "And?"

"And a month later, here we are. This lad and I ran away from the camp. Dreadful place. Much too big for my taste."

"Well, guess what. You're getting sent back. Again." Hogan walked over to the radio. "Kinch notify London we have two packages and arrange for a sub pickup."

"Hogan, that's not cricket," Crittendon objected. "I do want to search for my Duchess."

"I'm inclined to agree with him, sir." Rosenberg glanced around; his face easily betraying the look of terror. "I'd be a liability."

"Oh, don't worry, we have papers, clothes."

"I wasn't referring to that, sir. I'm injured, you see."

Rosenberg popped up and began to limp. "You, see…ouch." He grabbed his leg. "I'd be a real liability."

Crittendon wasn't a heartless sort. He rose and walked over to a groaning Rosenberg. "Get your medic, Hogan. The poor lad is injured and kept it to himself this entire way. How did you manage? There's a medal in there for you, son."

Rosenberg coughed. "I had to get you to safety, sir."

"I think there's an acting medal waiting for him," LeBeau whispered to Newkirk.

"Kinch, inform London we have one for the sub. Rosenberg, you're stuck here with us until you're feeling better." Fortunately, Crittendon didn't see Hogan's subtle wink.

Several days later, Crittendon was on his way to the sub. Olsen, who was promised a promotion upon his return, was his unlucky escort. Meanwhile, Rosenberg, whose leg was not injured, told Hogan he was willing to stay and help out. He spoke a bit of German and had other useful skills that Hogan was happy to put to use. He surrendered at the gates and was processed into the camp.

He and the colonel were having a private debriefing in Hogan's office. First, Hogan informed Rosenberg that Crittendon made it safely to England.

"I'm sorry I pretended to have a bum leg, sir. I accept any punishment. After all, I lied to a superior officer."

"I'll let it go this time." Hogan grinned. "Besides, your skills will come in handy. And you're really making a huge sacrifice. This isn't exactly the safest place. Things could always go sour."

"I understand, sir." Rosenberg saluted. He was still not used to the informal atmosphere.

"Dismissed," Hogan said as he opened the door to his office. "And, yes. You're correct. What you did to the Group Captain. Well, never mind."

Rosenberg smiled and left, while Hogan went back into his office, shut the door and laughed. He then penned a coded message to London, informing them in no uncertain terms that if he ever saw Crittendon in his neck of the woods again, he would do something drastic. And that it wouldn't be cricket.

The end.