Ace in the Hole

by graveyardnuggets

Summary:

Captain Casper Hogan is delivered to Colditz, making things awkward for everyone.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The arrival of a new prisoner to Colditz was rarely a production, excepting in the cases were members of the S.S arrived, and despite everything, Captain Ullmann generally pitied any officer they brought in. Not being ignorant of the methods used to extract information, he was still surprised to see the figure being hauled from the transport truck. Slight, shorter, and wearing heavy manacles that one of the soldiers escorting delibertly trod on; sending the American crashing to the ground.  Prisoners gasped. 

 

He just managed not to wince, but he knew that the prisoners in the windows would be watching and this would make it to his kommandants ears via the Senior British officer.

 

“Captain!” the gestapo major, shorter than Ullman by over a foot and vibrating with absolute fury, Stomped over, giving the Facist salute. 

 

“Sir.” 

 

Producing a packet of papers, the man slapped them into his hands. “Another for your sieve of a prison, Captain.”  The American was rising, his cap tipped off his head to reveal a shock of black hair, and a bandage wrapped around his neck. Reaching for the cap, another SS guard stomped on it, nearly crushing his fingers. Falling back, the American left his cap, and managed to straighten. 

 

“Captain Casper Hogan,” Ullmann said, shooting the soldier responsible a firm stare before focusing on the officer. His greeting nearly died on his lips as he came face-to-face with a boy who was hardly a man, and so bruised and swollen it was a surprise he could see from a sluggishly bruised eye which was seeping blood down the side of his face. Clearly worn down by his captivity, he was friendly enough to offer a smile. “Welcome to Colditz.” 

 

“I’d like a room with a view, please.” Casper rasped, something about the screaming-until-he-broke quality of his voice wrapping cold nerves around Ullmann’s stomach. 

 

“Insolence!” Hochstetter screamed, shocking every Colditz man, and nearly raising a hand to the American before Ullmann interjected. 

 

“Major!” He said sharply, “please, this will only provoke a riot.” 

 

“Then shoot them!” Hochstetter sneered at Hogan, loudly and in English. “Eh? This is a prison you won’t escape from, Hogan !” 

 

“That’s what you said about that last one,” Captain Hogan continued, and Ullmann had the feeling that he was with yet another naughty schoolboy intent on making his life difficult. At least Hogan looked the part. 

 

Before Hochstetter could retaliate, Ullmann stepped forward. “The chain, Herr Major.”  

 

“I am certain he could live with them.” Hocshtetter grunted, but gestured. Once a guard had unclapsed the manacles from his hands and wrists, he could see the bruised and bloody cuffs of his sleeves which were so soggy that blood was still dripping from flesh and fabric.  “Bah! He is your problem!”  Ullmann hardly had enough time to salute before the unpleasant little man was gone. Focusing on the American, who hadn’t moved and who seemed unsteadier with each passing moment.  Ullmann nodded to a guard who picked the dirty hat off the cobblestone

 

“Captain Hogan. I apologize for your treatment.” Surprise flickered in the eye he could see. “It is not how things should be done.” 

 

“Huh.” Hogan dind’t move when Ullmann stepped aside and gestured him forward. In fact, the young man was gazing into the middle distance as if he hadn’t heard anything. 

 

“Captain,” he tried again. “I understand that this is sudden.” 

 

“Is it?” Hogan sounded distant, and Ullmann stormed forward just in time to catch the American as he crumpled forwards. Prisoners in the windows cried in surprise, each one watching as Ullmann check the man’s pulse. He appreciated how much effort it must have taken to right himself and show any measure of cheek and courage. The last of his strength, because he hardly stirred in Ullman’s arms. 

 

“Go to the infirmary,” he ordered his shocked aide. “The doctor will be needed.”  With a quick motion, he hoisted the unconscious American into his arms. His aide took off sharply, and he knew that before the day was out every prisoner would have seen or know the story. 

 

Adjusting his grip, he carted the newest and most dramatic arrival aside from Shaw to the infirmary. 

 

The doctor gaped at the new arrival, but made no trouble with getting him onto a bed. 

 

“I would a full report of his injuries,” Ullmann said firmly. “Without sparing detail, watching the orderly rushing over with a screen. “And do not cut off his boots.” The guard set the cap down. 

 

He made his way to the kommandants office, the man already ready to receive him as rumor clearly made its way quickly.

 

“Sir.”

 

“Sit, sit.” Karl gestured, and Ullman obeyed. “This new arrival.”

 

“And American Captain Casper Hogan,” he reported handing the file over, he continued. “The handover from the SS, and very badly treated by him. The men deliberately continued to abuse him in front of the prisoners. I estimate that he cannot be over nineteen years of age.” 

 

“Very young, even for an American.” He flipped the file open. “An impressive escape record…unfriendly to Germans. “Hmmm, there is fresh blood.” He said, and Ullman realized that some of the blood had dripped onto the papers and from his leather coat. 

 

“I apologize, sir.” He hesitated only momentarily. “He has been taken to the infirmary.” 

 

“I heard a report that you carried him.”  Karl’s eyes were sharp. 

 

“Yes, sir…it seemed the most expedient way."

 

“I see. We will see what complaints they leverage.” The man sighed. “It says his brother is a prisoner at Stalag 13….Colonel Robert Hogan. Over twenty-five escape attempts, and not one successful.” 

Ullmann felt his lips twitch faintly at the thought of Colonel Klink and his spotless escape record. The man had been utterly infuriating at the last security meeting. “Captain Hogan has escaped two prisoners, a train, and shows a remarkable agility and fighting ability, with…Eastern martial arts…how odd.” 

 

“Yes, sir.”  He had seen nothing of the kind, but a man was not at his best when he collapsed in his enemy's arms. “I will make the necessary arrangements. For his own sake and to prevent a riot, I believe he should not have guests.” 

 

“Very well. I will inform the British officer when he arrives.” Karl grimaced. "They have put us in a very awkward position. It is very possible that this will get out of hand. Keep an eye on the prisoners."

Ullmann nodded. "Yes, sir." He had his own concerns about this new arrival.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Hogan’s dramatic arrival put the prisoners on edge, the night roll-call was fraught with calls and snaps at guard and Ullmann alike.  He was hardly surprised when Carrington narrowed down on him later. The American had a nose and ears for information and was wholly uncowed by the security officer’s frown. 

 

“What happened to the captain?” Carrington demanded arms crossed to ward against the cold, and the frantic energy reminded Ullmann that Carrington was the only American in camp for the moment. 

 

“He is in the infirmary, and will not be receiving visitors until the doctor advises otherwise.” 

 

“He looked like hell, Captain.” 

 

“It is unfortunate.”  Captain Grant was lurking near the background, listening in. “But, and unacceptable.” 

 

“I want to see him.”

 

“That is not possible,” he said and held up a hand to forestall the man’s furious rebuttal. “Until the doctor clears him.” 

 

“You just don’t want us to see how badly he was beaten,” Carrington growled. 

 

Saying nothing more, he left the furious American and went to the infirmary. 

 

Captain Hogan was behind a screen, cleaned and bandaged, he managed to look worse . Cool, wet clothes were draped around his face to reduce swelling. Wrists looked thin beneath the white bandages, and his uniform had been stripped away and removed for cleaning. Casper truly looked like a boy. 

 

“He is resting now,” the doctor came up beside him. “He could hardly keep his eyes open enough for water and broth. He seemed quite delirious, and was speaking a language I don't recognize.”

 

“Language,” he muttered. Carrington had been correct, this was bad enough to cause a riot. 

 

“Yes.” The doctor sniffed. “His uniform will be cleaned.” 

 

“I want to be notified of any changes.” He paused, stiffening as the kommandant approached. 

 

“Captain,” he nodded, “doctor.” eyes falling on the prisoner, they widened. “My God!” 

 

“A full report, sir.” The doctor passed it over. 

 

Dehydration, exhaustion, cuts, scars, bruises, and burns over his body, evidence of torture abounded. Hogan was lucky to have been alive, much less upright. 

 

As they left, he looked deeply troubled. “Sir?” 

 

“My son is a pilot,” he said, clearly wondering what would happen if the young man was taken prisoner.

 

Over the next few days, Ullmann fielded requests to visit the American from increasingly furious prisoners, and paid several visits himself to spot the young man’s eyes fluttering open and closed as if he were fighting his ability to stay awake. 

 

On the fourth day, he visited past the evening appell and found Captain Hogan staring blankly at the ceiling, and soft brown eyes flickered toward him as he took the seat beside the bed. 

 

“Captain Hogan.” 

 

“Hmmm.” The throaty hum was soft, and the young man fiddled with the bandages over his wrists. “Who….are you?” 

 

“Captain Ullmann, I am the security officer here at Colditz. I understand that your escape record is impressive.” Hogan flinched. “I assure you. I intend to make your future attempts very difficult indeed.” 

 

“Yeah?” Casper blinked. “You think I’m going to try an escape?” 

 

“That is a stupid question,” he said plainly. “I have seen you, Captain. I am impressed with your strength of character.” 

 

“Is this place,” coughing a moment, he winced. “Escape proof?” Reaching for the water, his hands trembled and Ullmann found himself obliged to help him drink a few mouthfuls. “Thanks.” 

 

“No prison is escape proof,” he said. “But there are proper mitigation techniques.” 

 

Leaning back against the pillows, Hogan’s mouth flickered into a smile that almost looked genuine. “You sound sane.” 

 

“Thank you,” he said begrudgingly. Several awkward moments passed. 

 

“The orderlies tell me that you carried me in here.” 

 

“I did.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

Ullmann stared, faintly surprised by the boldness of a young man who looked more like a sickly Victorian child with consumption. “It was the most expedient route.” 

 

“I see.” Hogan was much smarter than Ullmann had initially given him credit for, beaten but not broken, he was a determined man on the mend. 

 

“I know your kind well, Captain Hogan. Naughty school boys,” Hogan’s cut mouth split into a smile. “You may try to make things difficult, but I am not so easily moved.” 

 

“Yeah?” they took each other’s measure for a moment. “When can I get visitors?” The man’s bruises were faded enough, and he seemed on the mend. 

 

“Tomorrow,” he promised, visibly brightening the boy looked openly hopeful. 

 

In the silence, Hogan finally sighed. “Why did you come?” 

 

“I am the security officer.” 

 

“Not that,” he waved a tired hand, strength visibly leaving him the longer he spoke. “Why visit me so often?” 

 

Ullmann stared, blinked, and stood. “Sleep well, Captain.” 

 

“Captain.” Hogan offered a vague salute, and the security officer retreated. 

 

After the morning appell, Ullmann gestured for a retreating Carrington. The American eyed him suspiciously. 

 

“Captain?” 

 

“Captain Hogan is receiving visitors, limited visitors.” The American almost grinned. “Do not overwhelm him.” 

 

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Carrington enlisted Carter for the first visit to Captain Hogan, stuffing a few pieces of chocolate in his pockets, a biscuit, and a few books. He wasn’t sure what the deal was, but Ullmann had been guarding the man carefully and the orderlies who had been in the infirmary hadn’t been able to say much except that his injuries weren’t just on his face.  Sentiment had been angry the last few days, even the French officers getting upset. 

 

The infirmary was just as it always was, and behind the sheet that had hidden Hogan, Carrington finally pushed behind.  Bruises must have been spectacular for him to look that bad a week later. Distance and dirty glass hadn’t given him much of a view of the prisoner whose face was shockingly pale and he was thin under the blankets and the purloined jacket. 

 

“ Jesus !” Carrington swore, prompting Hogan to look up. 

 

“Captain Hogan, actually.” The voice rasped. “No relation, but I get that lot.” 

 

An incredulous laugh startled out of him. 

 

“Sir!” The slip of a prisoner outranked him, and Carrington saluted. Carter followed suit. 

 

“At ease. They said I’d be getting guests. Take a seat.” Both men sat, and Hogan eyed them with keen interest. “Damn! It’s good to hear an American accent.” 

 

“Lt. Phil Carrington,” he said, “and this is Flight Lt. Simon Carter. Well, we brought you a few things. He set out the books on the bed. “We weren’t sure what you’d like, but anything has to be better than staring at the ceiling.”

“Gee, thanks.” He opened the books cautiously. “Where are the covers?” 

 

“We were using them as escape materials,” Phil said without shame.

 

“Nicely done.” Hogan mused, turning the book over in his hands. “Bronte? Not bad…it sure beats the ceiling.” 

 

“Well, and a few things to cheer you up.” The chocolate, biscuits, and the apple were met with wide, amazed eyes. Almost like having a child on Christmas, and he stared as Hogan gently fondled his new treasures. 

 

“Thanks, folks.” He smiled, and Phil wondered if it was supposed to be shy, but the teenager clearly had a lot of strength behind him. 

 

“The,” Carter cleared his throat. “The senior British officer would like to speak with you, Captain.” 

 

“Are you the welcome committee?” Hogan leaned back, tiring. 

 

“Yes, sir.” And boy was it strange to say to someone who looked so young. “We are. Apparently, the Germans are rationing your guests.” 

 

“Sounds like them….are they normally this…conscientious?” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“The security officer…I’ll admit I don’t remember much after Hochstetter left…he carried me?”

 

“He…yes, sir.” Carter shuffled awkwardly, wondering why the steady gaze made him so uncomfortable.

 

“I see.” Staring at his apple, Hogan nodded. “What’s the situation here?” 

 

“It’s a rather international place, sir. Poles, Russians, French, the English, and everyone else. A good mix and it’s not so bad.” 

 

“Can’t be worse than the pit I left,” Hogan mused. “And the Germans?” 

 

“Strict, military only. Ullman technically doubles as the political officer, but he spends more time on escape prevention. I’m quartered in the  British section, sir. We’ll set up a bunk when you’re out the infirmary.” Wavering under the steady gaze, he wondered just what sort of man could become a captain so young .  

 

“Interesting.” 

 

“The man to watch out for,” Phil’s voice dropped low. “Is a Major Mohn. He’s a piece of work, not violent but he’s got a way of getting under people’s skins.” 

 

“ I see .” Hogan mused attention on his hands and attention visibly drifting before snapping back as the curtain shifted.  The man in question was standing just within the curtain looking as smug as ever but even his eyes widened as he caught the full effect of Hogan’s presence. 

 

“Major.” Both men stood reluctantly. 

 

“Mr. Carter, Mr. Carrington…what a surprise.” He ignored Hogan. 

 

“A surprise to visit.” 

 

“Your commanding officer?” Glittering eyes focused on Carter and the man bristled. 

 

“Carter, Carrington,” Hogan’s voice was stronger, “thank you for your visit.” 

 

It was a clear dismissal, and Carrington only retreated when the neat eyebrows drew together in a warning frown. He had to drag Carter along. 

 

“He can’t leave him with Mohn,” Carter hissed. “Not with a lad like that!”

 

“He’d made of sterner stuff, but we need to talk to the colonel. I know that kid.” 

 

Cater met his eyes briefly, and they retreated back to the British quarters.  With the escape committee assembled, Carrington waffled as he assembled his thoughts. 

 

“Hogan, Captain Hogan that is, is related to Colonel Robert Hogan. I knew him a while ago, he’s a smart guy, and their a politically connected family in America, but not showy. Casper, the younger brother is what’s called a Wunderkind….and he was fast-tracked through West Point.” 

 

“West Point?” Colonel Preston stared in shock. “Is he really as young as they say?” 

 

“Younger…he can’t be just over eighteen or nineteen. Carries himself well, but…I think there’s more to him than meets the eye, sir.” 

 

“Major Mohn was visiting just when we left,” Carter said bitterly. “The captain dismissed us.”

 

“I think he’ll manage Mohn well enough.”  Carrington shook his head. “But whatever the Gestapo did to him wasn’t….it was beyond anything I’ve seen from even my stay.”  A pallor hung over the room. 

 

Carter hoped that Hogan was doing well.

 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Stuck in the bed, Casper observed the officer lurking closer to the cot with a strange snake-like motion and took the seat abandoned by the other officer. Colditz had been utterly bizarre, and almost peaceful after the time spent in SS custody. Even the security officer, and mean as he looked, didn’t seem half as awful as expected. 

 

Since he hadn’t actually been dragged to the infirmary, he was willing to be cautiously optimistic. Tired, bruised, and feeling every bruise and scrape, he wondered what this man wanted. 

 

“Good Morning, Mr. Hogan.”  Major Mohn said, and Casper wondered if he knew his voice was as soft as that. 

 

“Morning.” 

 

“You created quite the stir here at Colditz. With your arrival…the strong, beautiful American…only to faint dead away in Captain Ullmann’s arms.” 

 

“I had to make an entrance,” Casper said plainly. Mohn’s eyes twitched at his voice. “Otherwise there’s no stage, Major. Say, was it an impressive swoon? I was really going for the damsel in distress feel.”  His expression tightened. 

 

“You certainly seemed to manage it well.”

 

“Thank you,” Casper affected as much sincerity as possible.  “It does take a lot of effort to look appropriately hang-dog.” The American slang clearly confused him. 

 

“I certainly hope this womanly weakness will not continue,” he managed with a pouting sneer. 

 

“The next time I’m close to death,” Casper assured the man earnestly, “I’ll just keel over. Would that make you feel better?” 

 

The scarred face twisted into a deeper pout as Mohn’s expression darkened, only to brighten when Casper yawned. “I understand that schoolboys need their rest.” 

 

“Hmmm.” Hogan felt himself fading fast, only managing to keep his eyes open long enough to watch the slimy officer slink away. 

 

Sick Bay was almost enjoyable after he’d been given books and snacks, but Casper could hardly stay awake, and sleeping was a brief respite from the reality of his position. He knew he’d have to face the men and soldiers of the wider camp at some point, but the concept of even trying was too exhausting. 

 

The doctor and medics returned at regular intervals, checking his bandages and his strength. It was once the man was gone that Casper finally tried to sit up and get out of bed. His body hurt , every muscle screaming tiredly and his fading bruises never more apparent than when he was trying to walk down the length of the room. 

 

To the next bed, he felt fine and at the second he felt winded, and by the time he got to the third his legs were shaking and he could feel every breath in his body struggling. Clinging to the metal, he struggled to get air into his lungs for the trip back and didn’t realize he had company until it was too late. 

 

“The doctor advised the severity of your injuries,” Captain Ullmann loomed behind him, leather coat squeaking faintly as he shifted. “Needed more rest to properly recover.” 

 

“Did he?” Casper gasped, unable to move and loathing just how weak he felt. His knees buckled and the enormous security officer was there to catch him a soon as he fell. Now, he could appreciate the sheer size and bulk of the man as he helped him back to his bunk. “Ow.” 

 

“Please heed the doctor,” Ullmann ordered as Casper leaned against the pillows with a gasping sigh. 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” his fingers trembled as he tried to pull the blankets back. “Just… tired .” 

 

“You are injured and recovering.” The German said, standing back as Casper blinked. 

 

“Did you need something?”  He managed. 

 

“No, Captain. I take concern with all prisoners.”

 

“Huh.” He yawned into his sleeve. “I…wouldn’t mind some more company. When will I join the others?” 

 

“When you can manage a walk down the length of sickbay without fainting,” he responded promptly.  

 

“I didn’t faint.”  The man raised a wholly unimpressed eyebrow. “ Chh !” 

 

“Thank you for understanding.” 

 

“I don’t suppose there’s tea anywhere,” he asked. 

 

“I understood that Americans drink coffee.” 

 

“I do, but if I drink coffee right now my heart may stop. I can think of better ways to commit suicide.” To his surprise, the man almost smiled. 

 

“I will pass the word along.” 

 

“Thanks!” He stared, wondering if there was something that he ought to say.  Ullmann seemed oddly concerned with him. If he really was the security officer, then Casper was in trouble if the man was paying this much attention to him.  Since silence was an interrogation technique, he decided to wait the man out; only to blink awake a few hours later with the chair abandoned and another blanket having been tucked around him. 

 

He didn’t have much energy for staring contests. 

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Carter and Carrington revisited Hogan a few days later, noting just how much brighter his eyes were and with significantly diminished bruises.  He was about a cheery as a man could get when he was in prison.  

 

“Seen any more of Major Mohn?” Carter asked, settling in beside Carrington. “Em?” 

 

“I think that Captain Ullmann seems more concerned with me.” He admitted, turning over the biscuit in his hands.  “He visits almost daily.”

 

“Ullmann?” Carrington mused. “Odd.” 

 

“It is, so. How is it outside of Sick Bay, the doctor won’t let me go.” 

 

“You were rather bruised, Captain.” 

 

“Eh,” he shrugged. “It’s fine. “I need a good walk to clear my head.” 

 

“ A good walk will do it.”  Carter agreed. 

 

“Say, Carrington.” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“You wouldn’t happen to be that war correspondent, would you?” 

 

“Err. Yes, sir. The same.” 

 

“I read your article about the party,” Hogan nodded sympathetically. “Must be a bit like a zoologist being stuffed into a cage by the lions.” 

 

A laugh startled out of Carrington. “You’re not wrong, sir. I just…suppose I never thought of it that way.” 

 

“Think about it this way. Your books will be invaluable to historians.” He added. 

 

“You must have been a bit younger to be reading the things I wrote during the first few years.” Carrington hedged. 

 

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you. Your grasp of prose is excellent.”  Phil wondered just how old Hogan was. “So, any news?” 

 

“News…sir?” 

 

“The news of the camp or castle, or even the war? Anything interesting?” 

 

“Wel…no, sir. The French officers parachuted a mouse out of a fourth-floor window.” Phil added, 

 

“....I’m going to die of boredom,” he said cheerfully. “Great!” 

 

“There are worse ways to die.”

 

“I’d rather be entertained,” Casper told them, turning his head away to yawn. 

 

“I’m afraid nothing’s come for you in the mail, sir. If the letters need to be rerouted, it could take some time.” 

 

“That’s fine,” he went to sit up, pushing the blankets back only for the screen to be ripped open. 

 

“The doctor has ordered you to bed rest!” Ullman stated firmly.

 

“I’m not going to get any better if I’m in bed,” Casper retorted, and the men stared. 

 

“Sir,” Carrington said politely, and the other American frowned, and relented with a sigh. 

 

“Fine, fine.” Have you been lurking there this whole time?” He asked Ullmann, who shook his head.

 

“A rather inconsiderate accusation,” a new voice joined them. Mohn reappeared, and Casper visibly rolled his eyes. 

 

“Can’t a man recover from torture in a little bit of peace?” Hogan wondered. All four men winced. “And a fair accusation, since you did happen to leap around the curtain at a very convenient time.” 

 

“I only arrived,” Ullmann retorted. Phil started at Ullmann while Carter frowned at Mohn. 

 

“I suppose I should be flattered with all these guests” The young man waved tiredly. “Can you take a number? It’s very tiring.” 

 

“What is this?” A new voice joined them, and all of the men stiffened to attention. Casper swallowed back concern as he realized even the prisoners were at attention. Since there was no real way to lie at attention, Hogan kept his eyes trained on the curtain as a new man emerged. Shorter than Captain Ullman, but stiff and exact. His gray hair was neat and trim, uniform pressed and cleaned. If he had to guess, this was the commander. “Are we hosting a party?” 

 

“I hope you brought drinks!” Casper said with as much cheer as possible, catching the moment the man caught sight of his still-ugly injuries. “We’re almost out!” 

 

Mohn’s lips twisted in a bitter pout, Ullman frowned, and both Carrington and Pat stared at him with something like shock. The newcomer paused at the end of his bed, raising an eyebrow. There wasn’t active malice in his eyes, only a curious military detachment.  

 

“Captain Hogan,” he adjusted his gloves. 

 

“You have met at a disadvantage, sir. I do not know your name.” 

 

“I am the Kommandant of Colditz.” Bright eyes shot to Carrington and Carter. “Gentlemen, dismissed.” 

 

They left without protest, though they clearly wished to and Mohn left with only a little prompting. Only when the captain and Kommandant remained, did Hogan feel a little cornered.

 

“My deepest apologies,” the older man said abruptly. “For your treatment. This is not appropriate, and it is not condoned.” Bright eyes skipped over his injuries, widening as Hogan tilted his head up just enough to see the bandages wrapped around his neck. The rope burn hadn’t faded, and the doctor had covered it to prevent the other men from seeing it. Both men stared, visibly uncomfortable. 

 

“I see.” Casper smoothed out the blankets on his lap. “To what do I owe the honor?” 

 

“You have an impressive escape record,” the man said plainly, sitting down. He was very tall and straight, meeting Hogan’s eyes calmly. “One that you will not be able to continue in Colditz.” 

 

Casper stared, more sure than ever that he was in a strange camp. Everywhere else and each time he’d been continuously abused and assaulted.  His last name damned him, despite his best efforts. 

 

“A strange place,” he mused. It also wasn’t the reason he was here. “I’m sure I’ll settle in well.” Flashing a winsome smile that any other officer would have taken as an insult, the Kommandant seemed comforted. 

 

“See that you do, Captain.” He didn’t move. Casper wondered why he was still here.  Who did he see when he looked at Casper? What fate did he imagine for that person? What could he possibly want?  Ullmann didn’t have an answer, and when the older man stood, Hogan had the sense that he’d come to a very strange conclusion. “Rest well, Captain.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” When he was alone, he was too tired to stay awake to see Mohn lurking near the curtains. 

Chapter 6: Chpater 6

Healing was boring work after a certain point. A few days went by without visitors and Casper convinced one of the friendlier guards to play cards. The man was older, didn’t seem to know more than a few words of English, and seemed fine in indulging Hogan’s blatant cheating. Any excuse not to have to walk around and pace the infirmary? 

 

They were in the middle of an arousing game of Go Fish when a sharp voice sent the man snapping to attention. Cards scattered, and as Casper tried to catch a few, his stitches protested and he fell to the floor with a yelping cry. The flagstones felt cool beneath him, and he was a little too stunned to do anything but sit there in abject misery. 

 

A large hand met him, and the nervous guard was helping him stand. 

 

Major Mohn seemed faintly shocked at his reaction. After weeks of constant abuse at Hochstetter's hand, it was hard not to feel his pulse pounding and heart shaking when someone shouted near him. 

 

“What a way to announce yourself,” he managed, pulling his blanket closer and ignoring just how embarrassed he was.  

 

“You leaped from the bed,” the major approached slowly, dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand. “Like a child caught misbehaving.”  

 

There was no response to any of that, and things hurt too much to argue. Casper smiled past the pain, wondering why that sallow man was vising to begin with. 

 

“What brings you by, Major?” He asked instead. 

 

“Today,” the sharp eyes glittered. “The mail arrived.” 

 

Fuck . “That’s nice.” He waited politely, wondering if anything was forthcoming. 

“You,” Mohn said plainly, “did not receive a letter.” 

 

It wasn’t surprising in the slightest, and Casper wondered why the man had come all this way to tell him. “And you came to tell me this personally?” He asked. Was he supposed to be upset? Offended?

 

Mohn blinked. “Perhaps it was lost in your transfer.”

 

He had been here for three weeks, which should have been more than enough time to get his letters transferred over. They both knew it. “Maybe next time.” Casper offered. 

 

“Perhaps.” 

 

“While you’re here, why don’t you play a game with me.” He shuffled the cards again, holding up the deck as an offering. “Do you know how to play Crazy Eights?” 

 

Whatever Mohn had come for was lost in the process of learning how to play a game of cards. By the time he left, he realized that he had completely missed his chance to learn more information. He meeting with the Kommandant and Ullmann only illuminated a few things.

 

“He is a child,” Mohn stressed, disbelieving as Ullmann was annoyed. “This security status is unnecessary.” 

 

“Sit, with all due respect, Captain Hogan’s record should speak for itself.” As always, Ullmann was too set on his path. “Escapes from Stalag 10, 5, and evasive maneuvers which tied up dozens of soldiers and units when he was first shot down. Whatever brutality he suffered at the hands of the Gestapo will not keep him down. Sir, I believe this security is necessary.”

 

“The captain expects too much from him. He did not have the strength to walk and you were forced to carry him in your arms like a babe.” Mohn scoffed. “He is no more dangerous than other prisoners.” 

 

“Looks are deceiving. He would not have been made a captain or so useful in his escapes if he did not deserve it. Assuming he is not dangerous is dangerous.” 

 

Karl leaned back in his chair, musing over the problem. “When will the captain be well enough to join the other prisoners?” 

 

“I would hesitate for another week. He has difficulty walking, and there is a lingering infection in his lungs. The bruises have mostly faded.” 

 

“He is a dangerous prisoner,” Karl agreed, holding up a hand to stave off Mohn's inevitable rebuttal. “But we cannot treat him as such. The other prisoners will consider this…foolish. We must be discreet. If anything seems out of the ordinary, then we must have an explanation.”

“Then perhaps treat him for what he is,” Mohn added. “A child.” 

 

Again, Karl held up a hand. The officers were quiet. “That is a good idea, Major. Do not … coddle him, but a difference will give us an opportunity to observe his reactions.” 

 

“Fellow prisoners may not consider him useful with an escape attempt,” Ullmann agreed with deep reluctance.

 

 Karl waited a moment.  “Do you have any further concerns, Captain?” 

 

“It is unseemly to treat an officer no better than a child.”  He said slowly. “Even one as youthful as Captain Hogan.” 

 

“Surely you can see the advantages of this, Captain?” Mohn asked. 

 

“I do, and I understand. I simply do not approve. It is too underhanded.” 

 

“The captain is too honorable to be guarding such unruly prisoners,” the major sneered.

 

“It need not be obvious,” Karl stated. “Simply enough to show that we do not consider him a threat…while watching for any signs of escape….are you capable?”

 

That was enough to make the man sit up. “I am, sir.”

 

“Good, then do so.” 

 

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Thre was a marked oddness in how the Germans were preparing to release Hogan from the sick bay. One of the kindlier guards, an older man with a dozen children of his own, brought extra blankets for the American, and a coveted extra pillow. Since prisoners usually brought their own supplies up with them, Carrington thought it was very odd.  

 

Ullmann seemed annoyed as he hovered behind the young man, who’d been granted a short cane, as he left the sick bay and crossed the empty courtyard. Carter watched the a jaundiced eye as the young man stopped and looked back. The pair exchanged a short conversation and returned on their walk. 

 

Hogan was made of stern stuff. It was clear the Nazis has put him through the wringer, and even if some of the officers sneered at his unmanly collapse in the courtyard. Carter knew he was dangerous, and knew that no one could have survived what he had without being stronger than most. 

 

He would bear watching. 

 

Shuffling around the crowds, and ignoring Mohn, he made his way to the British quarters just as Ullmann was patiently following a still-limping Hogan inside. It was clear he was hiding how hard his breathing had become, and he was clutching at his cane to keep himself upright. 

 

“The English quarters,” Ullmann was saying. “Your bunk has been prepared for you.” 

 

“Has it?” Hogan asked with a slight wheeze. Carter joined one of the officers standing by the window. “Wonderful.” It seemed to be taking every effort not to collapse where he was standing. 

 

“Yes,” Ullmann’s stern eyes met the soldiers, and he excused himself. Only once he was gone, did the younger man sink onto the cot with a pained sigh. 

 

“A bit rough on you,” Captain Ellert remarked. “Were they?” 

 

“A bit,” he wheezed faintly. Turning sideways and laying down. The other men gathered close. “So…the English quarters?” 

 

“You didn’t expect to be given your own room, did you?” Someone asked. 

 

“Wouldn’t have minded it,” Hogan muttered, eyes closed. 

 

Carter went to speak to him, only to find that the American had dropped off to sleep. He was still asleep during the appell, and his absence wasn’t missed. If Carter was reading it correctly, they probably hadn’t expected him to come down anyway. 

 

Something Carrington, Preston, and the rest of the escape committee seemed to agree upon. 

 

“Ullmann didn’t even look for him during roll,” Carrington pointed out. “And it was damned odd that he escorted him up himself.” 

 

“The orderlies said that he was visiting Hogan in Sick Bay almost daily.” 

 

“Very odd.” 

 

“And the kommandant visiting him,” Carter agreed. “Possibly because of his beat-down. We all saw how he looked when he was first brought in. According to him, it was worst.” 

 

Preston seemed conflicted. “It seemed to me…that the good captain was almost concerned for him.” 

 

“He might have been. Is he rather upright? Did you see the look on his face when the little man stormed away?”  

 

Preston nodded, thinking hard. “Carrington?” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“I want you to befriend Captain Hogan. See what he knows. Keep your intentions discreet.”

 

“Do you suspect him, sir?” All eyes turned toward the kindly Englishman. 

 

“I’m not certain,” Preston admitted. “I am simply curious. He is very young, and from such a family…he's received no letters. I wish to be cautious.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“Good to be careful,” Dick agreed. “Very good to be careful.”

Chapter 8: Chapter 9

Casper woke as someone tapped the end of his bed. The wood shuddered under the the movement, and his eyes snapped open. 

 

Carrington was standing at the end of the cot, leaning against the upper bunk. “Morning, Captain. It’s morning roll, if you’re up for it.” 

 

“Hmm?” He was still dressed, and someone had kindly thrown a blanket over him. “What time is it?” 

 

“Tomorrow,” Carrington said, smiling at Casper’s disbelieving expression. “You slept through the night.” 

 

“They didn’t notice?” Sitting up, he pushed the blanket back and rubbed his tired face. He needed food and a piss. 

 

“We told the guard you were a bit out of it. Seemed to work just fine. They did check that you were here.” 

 

Why not make him go down? Why let him stay in bed.” 

 

“Well, I”m up.” He muttered, and taking the cane tapped his way out of their quarters to the washroom.  Once he’d used the facilities and started on his way down to the courtyard. Halfway there, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Enough time had passed for a guard to poke his head around the stairs. Catching sight of Hogan, he tilted his head to the side in bemusement as Casper waved him off. “On my way.”  He said, managing another few steps with a hand against the wall. The guard didn’t move, and Casper could feel each humiliating step. Instead of grabbing him, as he might have expected, the guard offered an arm. Leaning heavily against the older man he stepped into the courtyard where men were waiting in mused clothes puffing pipes, and five-o’clock shadows. The general sense of disorderliness was odd. Casper ignored the whisperings as he was helped to a spot in line. A solicitous Frenchman in a pressed uniform took his arm and patted his hand. 

 

“Bonjour.” 

 

“Hi.” He was so tired. Roll was noisy, the guards trying to sush the talkative prisoners, and he was dimly confused when someone set a tall stool behind him. He sat, leaning against his cane with a sigh. At some point, someone tapped his shoulder and he blinked awake to find the crowd dispersing and the French officer standing over him. 

 

“Captain,” the man said warmly. “Are you ill?” 

 

“I’m fine,” he said, feeling a little better and a little embarrassed that everyone seemed to be staring at him. He could see Ullmann watching from a distant corner. 

 

“Then come eat,” the man offered his arm again, and Hogan followed easily. “It is not good, but it is filling.” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Captain!” Carrington was back at his side, shooting a look at the officer. “Sorry about that, should have made sure you made it down.” 

 

“I’m fine,” Casper lied. 

 

“I’ll take over from here,” Carrington offered, neatly brushing the officer aside. Casper wondered how a hand ended up trailing over his backside and decided to ignore it. “Thank you.” 

 

“Of course,” the man nodded politely, detaching himself from Hogan. 

 

“I’m fine,” the younger man tried to protest as he was led toward the mess hall. “Really.” 

 

“You’re right,” Carrington said. “But it’s been a while since I’ve seen an American. You get lonely.” 

 

“How long?” 

 

“About a year,” he grimaced. Watching the man for any obvious signs. 

 

“That’s a long time,” he admitted. The man was right, the food wasn’t filling or good, but it was better than nothing. He passed the coffee over to Carrington, who seemed delighted. “Say, you never said where you were from.” 

 

“I didn’t,” Hogan agreed, refusing to elaborate further. Tiredness plagued him even if he’d been healing for weeks. At least no one expected him to walk around in Sick Bay.  Thank God that Ullman expected him to be able to walk a little bit before letting him leave. It had been a good idea. 

 

“I’ll give you the tour…for the most part.” 

“I’m not sure I can stay upright,” Casper admitted, leaning that much more heavily on his cane. 

 

“There’s a library,” he offered, watching interest spark in his eyes.

 

“Where?” 

 

“A…few flights up.” 

 

“I’m sure I can make it.” Hogan mused. 

 

“I can bring a few to you.” Phil offered. “You’ve been worked over. It’s the least that I can do.” 

 

“Well.” He really didn’t want to move. “Alright.”  At least they seemed polite about it. 

 

Colditz was big , crowded, and as the second American in camp was probably drawing a lot of stares from the men around him. Being American was always a draw. 

 

He took one of the lounge chairs being set out and promptly dozed off.  

 

A book being dropped onto his lap woke him. Carrington grinned from where he was standing, taking an abandoned lounge chair beside him. 

 

“Jane Eyre?” Casper wondered, squintingat the sky above. The guards were still pacing around the courtyard, a few of them were watching the Americans. 

 

“It’s good to read,” Carrington said. “And you can’t sleep the whole time.” 

 

“No…probably not.” Casper slipped the pages of the book open, wondering why Carrington had bothered. He wasn’t in Sick Bay, and it wasn’t like they were friends. If this was solely motivated by nationality then that was one of the weirder excuses. He stretched out his limbs, feeling his aches and bruises protesting mightily. “Thank you.” 

 

“It’s no trouble. So, where’d they pick you up?”

 

“My usual corner.”  He answered, startling a laugh from the other man. “Near Hamburg.” 

 

“Ah, cold up there.” 

 

“It can be.” He hummed. 

 

“Who picked you up?” 

 

“Regular police.” 

 

“And then?” 

 

“This is the handiwork of Major Hochstetter,” Casper told him stiffly, gesturing at his wounds. “The short man who dragged me in here.”

 

“Yeah? Does he realize?”
 

“He knows.” Casper’s eyes flickered over as an awkward tread approached. “But we’ll have to see what happens.” Tilting his head back, he caught sight of Major Mohn standing not a foot away. “Major,” he said. “What brings you by?” 

 

“I had wondered, Mr. Hogan.” The major was stiff, too proud to use a cane. “How you had adapted from Sick Bay.” His watery eyes fixed on Carrington. “Ah, Americans must be…companions, are they not?” 

 

“Not unless we want another Civil War,” Casper replied before Carrington could bite of a retort. “And I’m not in the mood to play Stonewall Jackson….or Sherman.”  Mohn frowned slightly. “But you’re right, Major. Imagine being stuck somewhere without any friends…for a long time.” 

 

Phil eyed the younger man, wondering if it was an earnest response or if he realized the dig he was making at the major. Mohn was disliked by just about everyone in the camp, even the Germans. 

 

Mohn’s expression was similar, and he blinked a few times. “But then!” Casper continued, “You meet someone like you! Wouldn’t you want to be friends?”  

 

Pouting lips thinned.  Phil hid his grin in his hands.

 

“Very wise, Captain.” his eyes skipped over to Phil. “I suppose you might need a minder.” 

 

“I hope you charge the full babysitting fee,” Casper told Phil. 

 

“I’ll let Captain Ullman know my rates,” Carrington supplied, and both shared a short chuckle. It wasn’t quite goon-baiting, but visibly infuriated the man. 

 

“It would be wise, Captain, to keep yourself from trouble. Mr. Carrington here often courts it.” 

 

The brown eyes flickered over to Phil, who grimaced. “I’ll take that into consideration, Major. Thank you for the warning.” 

Hogan, Phil realized with a bit of a jolt, was a little bit of an ass. Englishmen had a particular brand of attitude that the Germans were learning. Americans, on the other hand, were a strange and alien species. Their attitudes were different, and only RAF volunteers would have been able to realize that Hogan’s deference was an insult in and of itself.  

 

Mohn nodded and moved off. Hogan glanced over to Phil. “I hope you brought trouble some nice flowers for all that courting.” 

 

“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t show up to a date without them.” 

 

“You’ll need to tell me about them,” Casper leaned back. 

 

“Of course,” Phil agreed. “Don’t tell me you went calling?” 

 

“How else do you think I got these?” He gestured again. “Sometimes, she finds me.” 

 

“Ah,” glancing at Carter, who was engaged in a chess game with Tim, Phil nodded. “So, an honest courtship?” 

 

“Shotgun wedding.” 

 

“Lovely.” It had been a good while since he’d engaged in any level of banter. “Say, how’s your brother?” 

 

“He’s in Stalag 13.” Casper relayed. “Hammelburg.” 

 

“No kidding.” That was news. Carrington hadn’t heard anything about the man since his scandals in the Pentagon. 

 

“Hmmm, for about a year now.”  Phil leaned back with a whistle. “Seems fine, last I heard.” 

 

“Sure hope so. Kraut hospitality isn’t so great.”

 

 Something cold and tired washed over the young face.  “ I know .” 

 

“Right, well.” 

 

“I think it’s best if I take some peace and quiet to read,” Captain Hogan said, voice deceptively light. Carrington nodded, made his excuses, and left the young captain with his book, cane, and bruises in the courtyard.   Carter detached himself from his game, and he didn’t speak until they were in their quarters again. 

 

“Colonel Hogan’s a prisoner in Stalag 13, and the captain seems a bit touchy.” 

 

“A cause for concern?” 

 

“I hope not. Not with his family.” Carrington scrubbed a hand down his face. “But he’s only just gotten out of sick bay and it looked like they worked him over pretty good.”

 

“I saw how he looked when he was brought in,” Carter agreed.  It wasn’t just that Casper looked young, but the fact that his voice was still as raspy and worn as if he’d smoked every day since his birth, wasn’t helping. Even once the bruises faded, the scars would remain and Hogan’s voice would always sound like that.  

 

 “I say,” a man at the window chuckled. “Your Hogan is drawing quite the crowd.”  Rushing to the window, he could see the Russians, Poles, and Frenchmen hovering about the young American. “Odd, that.” 

 

“Not too strange.” Carter offered. “He’s only the second American.” 

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get too out of hand.”

 

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Summary:

Enter Colonel Hogan

Colonel Robert Hogan mused over his cup of tepid coffee, eyeing the map of Germany on the table. A string of sabotage operations meant that there were a dozen guard patrols out and they were buttoned up in Stalag 13 for the time being. 

 

Bridges that would need to be rebuilt, officers killed and discredited, men who had been misassigned. Putting a particularly brilliant radio officer on a miserable guard position in the Hammelburg Jail had been a good move, and he’d stolen hundreds of rations for the locals…which was even better. 

 

Leaning back, he watched his men tense. 

 

“You’re not sending out out, are you, Guv?” Newkirk demanded loudly. “It’s crawling with Germans!”

 

“We are in Germany,” Carter said helpfully.

 

“There are too many Germans in France,” Lebeau muttered murderously. “Colonel, are you planning anything?” 

 

“London gave us the go-ahead to lie low for the moment.” He told them. “The heat is on.” 

 

“A break is nice,” Carter set his cards down. “Gin!” Newkirk glanced first at Hogan and then at Carter. With an explosive curse, he threw his cards down.

 

“I’m out for a smoke!” He announced and yanked the door open.  

 

Major Hochstetter stood on the other side and every man in the barracks scrambled to their feet.  Robert stood slowly, folding the map out of the way. “Major!” He beamed as Newkirk choked on his gasper. Kinch helpfully thumped his back. “What brings you by?”  

 

“A number of sabotage operations have taken place in this area recently, Colonel.” Klink hovered behind the tiny major, nervously glancing about. 

 

“I thought I’d heard something,” Hogan made a production of picking at his ears. “But I thought it might just be our flyboys.” It was that moment that something visibly changed in the major's expression. 

 

The rabid, animalistic glare was still present and soon joined by something darker and far crueler. Hochstetter was a man who savored pain, humiliation, and misery. A man who scoffed in the face of decency and spat on everyone he could. It wasn’t often that such an expression could be levied at Hogan, and here it was.   

 

“Colonel Hogan ,” Hochstetter eyed him with visible contempt, almost smiling with sick pleasure. “ Colonel Hogan.” 

 

“Hmm?” Something was amiss. 

 

“Colonel Hogan,” he continued with an expression so pleasant it was downright nasty. “I will tear this camp apart splinter by splinter if I have to.” 

 

“Then we’d really escape,” Robert joked. 

 

“I don’t have time for this!” Klink exclaimed a moment later. “Major Hochstetter. I have a conference!” 

 

That wasn’t a surprise, but it was a conference for POW kommandants and security officers. Not exactly something Hogan needed to sabotage. 

 

“THERE IS SABOTAGE HERE! I KNOW IT!”  Hochstetter turned, screaming directly into the kommadants face. Hogan winced. “And for your flyboys!” He turned to Hogan again, vicious cruelty dripping from his face. “We have ways of dealing with them.” 

 

That sounded…bad. By the time the Germans had left, Hogan turned to Kinch. “There’s something else,” he said. “I want to know what it is.” 

 

“We’ll put our feelers out,” Kinch promised. 

 

#$# 

 

A heavy footprint startled Casper awake. Eyes snapped open to take in the underside of the bunk as his body froze with sudden terror. The footstep moved along, away from the door to their prisoner's quarters and further down the hall. 

 

Burrowed in his thin blankets, Casper worked his head free and peered around the dim room. Softly moving lumps punctuated by gentle breathing filled the bunks around him. Only the light of one cigarette glowed, 

 

“Alright there, Captain?” Lt. Timothy turned toward Casper, pinched face sympathetic in the dime light of his cigarette 

 

Casper gingerly rubbed his face. “I’m alright.”  He lied, blinking away memories and yawning slightly. He managed to get into a sitting position. “God…what time is it?” 

 

“Just after oh-four-hundred,” Timothy explained. “Nightmare?” 

 

“Hmmm.” Rolling over, he faced the dark wall. Even Lt. Carter was asleep, and the man spent most of his time plotting endless escape attempts. He hadn’t been difficult too difficult to peg as the escape officer and his regular posse of friends who clearly held Hogan at arm's length. 

 

“Right.” Timothy snuffed out the cigarette. 

 

He wasn’t sure he could get back to sleep now, no matter how tired he was.  

 

And he was tired. Ever since he’d arrived at Colditz he’d been exhausted to a near biblical level. Each day up and down the stairs was proving an endless trial.  It didn’t help that everyone was patronizing him to an unfathomable degree.   

 

He might not have minded help, but when even the guards made comforting noises and offered him a hand when he was catching his breath on the stairs…it didn’t bode well.   Casper didn’t exactly have faith in the better nature of man…or woman. He didn’t have faith in people, and he was proven correct each time. 

 

This much kindness in the middle of a Nazi stronghold? This much assistance from men sworn to keep him prisoner…even his own allies weren’t doing it. 

 

It was a tactic, he realized as he tugged at the frayed edges of his blanket. He was a prisoner, a soldier, but his escape record spoke for itself. His rank meant something to them….and if they knew his brother. 

 

Rolling back over, he watched Tim close his eyes. 

 

Ullmann had rolled back the security and surveillance, but that didn’t mean he was exactly free to act. 

 

Casper needed an escape. He needed to be well enough for an escape. The more time he spent compressed around these men the more danger he was in. He couldn’t use any of his various skills, not when he was still in recovery. 

 

“Planning an escape?” Tim asked, voice soft over the snoring of Casper's bunkmate. 

 

“Hmmm.” 

 

“How would you do it?” 

 

Casper glanced over. “I’ll build a big slide from the castle walls and just slide down.”  The older man’s face cracked into a grin. 

 

“A bit like the schools then?” 

 

“We’ll tell them it’s a fire escape,” he continued. “Then set the place on fire.”

 

“It might work,” Tim muttered. 

 

“Hmmm.”  What would the Germans notice? How much time did he have before everything went horribly wrong?

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point, but it wasn’t long before the noise of the rest of the men getting dressed woke him.  Waffling in the zone of well-rested and too tired, Casper made his way down the morning appell. The English didn’t dress until after the morning roll, and Casper wasn’t about to be caught dead in a bathrobe and clogs in front of an enemy officer.  

 

Half-dead worked too, he eyed the rest of them and met the friendly Frenchman from his first day. Major Dubois was a man much like his countrymen, charming, pleasant, with a nose that had been broken sometime during his capture, the remnants of a bad burn over his face and down the side of his neck. He walked with a stately, refined air, and considered his scars the ‘height of war-time fashion’.     

 

Casper almost offered a smile when the man beamed as he arrived. Slower than everyone else and all eyes were on him as he paced across the courtyard. 

 

“Feeling alright there, Captain?” Carrington asked, and side-stepped the cane that nearly jabbed his foot in a way that Casper would plead innocent. 

 

“Very well,” he rasped. It was cold out, and most of the men were shivering within their coats and jackets. 

“Are you warm enough?” Carrington asked, visibly shivering. 

“I’m fine.” He’d dealt with much worse. Standing out in the driving rain and cold wasn’t the worst he’d ever suffered. At least he could use the larger men as wind buffers.  

 

“If you say so,” he muttered as a guard shouted for him to be quiet. “But the wind is going to go right through you.” The guard shouted again, approaching rapidly and paused when he caught sight of Hogan peeking around Carrington. 

 

Pausing, he put his fingers to his lips he aggressively pushed the pair before moving on. Carrington exchanged a glance of insulted pride with Casper, who regarded him plainly. 

 

“They are an odd bunch here.” Someone down the line stifled a laugh.   Once Appell was over and they dispersed, a chubby Scotsman wandered over.

 

“Do they think you’re a little schoolboy?” he asked.

 

“I think so.” It was almost funny, and the men who’d introduced themselves on the first day made themselves scarce.  Apparently most considered it too cold and windy, which left Casper, the miserable guards, and a few groups of men in a smoking circle to enjoy the meager sunlight.  Taking a free lounge chair, and making sure nothing was exposed to the weather, he settled in. 

 

He might have found it uncomfortable, once upon a time, but years of training and misery had taught him to ignore such things. His teachers and masters would have been disappointed if he couldn’t survive a small bit of wind. 

 

He clocked the guards, soldiers, and routines. If there was any time to plan an escape, now was it. The guards seemed confused, and miserable in their coats, watching him from the corner of their eyes as they paced the courtyard. 

 

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

“He’s just…sitting there.”  The Carrington muttered. The rest of the men were talking among themselves and eating. 

 

“Is there a problem?” Carter asked, coming up beside him.

 

“No…not really,” he gestured at the other American. “What’s he doing?” 

 

“Terrible day to be out in it.”  He watched Hogan produce a deck of cards and amuse himself with a game of solitaire. “He’s just…sitting in the cold.” 

 

“Is he trying to make a statement?” 

 

“Perhaps he’s got an idea of what he wants to do. “

 

“That is odd .” Someone said. “Just what is he trying to prove? Carrington, you’re American. What do you think?” 

 

“Could be anything,” he said finally. “Could be nothing…but it sure is odd.” 

 

#$#$# 

 

 “I sincerely hope that my absence will not cause too much concern, sir.” Captain Ullmann handed a bundle of files to Kommandant Karl. 

 

“No, no. Hauptmann. The conference should not be too long. I  should warn you.” Karl winced, causing the taller man to pause. “The speaker of this conference is Kommandant Klink of Stalag 13.” Ullman was too experienced to despair, but it was a close sensation of irritation. 

 

“Stalag 13 has no record of successful escapes, sir.”  

 

“They do not,” Karl agreed. “A fact that Colonel Klink well knows. Our own record cannot stand to his. However, I do not need to state that you should manage his difficult personality.” He glanced at the door. “You have ample experience.” 

 

Ullmann caught the hint. “Yes, sir.”

 

“See what you can learn. If nothing else, inquire with Colonel Klink for the brother, Colonel Hogan.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“Captain Hogan presents a particular case. I received word from the general that he wishes for more information.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” It would be a pleasure to be free of the prisoners and the presence of Mohn.

 

“Good. Dismissed, Captain. 

 

“Yes, sir.” With his case in hand, he navigated his way through the castle to the bitterly cold courtyard only to pause as the sight of Captain lounging in an otherwise empty courtyard. His cards were hidden from the gusting wind and he seemed content. Idle curiosity propelled Ullmann across the yard. 

 

“Captain Hogan.” He stopped in a way to keep the wind from gusting against the younger man. 

 

“Captain.” The rasping tone was a condemnation even if his tone was light. 

 

“It is cold today, Captain.” You’ve been ill . 

 

“So they tell me.” Hogan tilted his head back, light-catching along the white scars now at home on his face. “I hope you enjoy your trip.” 

 

“I am certain it will be enlightening.” 

 

Interest sparked in his soft eyes. “There’s a sweet shop just across from the bar called… Alric's Something, something . They made gingerbread. If you’re inclined, would you bring me some?”

 

Did he know Ullmann was going to Hammelburg specifically? Anyone could have guessed that he was about to leave with his case in hand…but to know his destination? To know he might be able to make a stop at the sweet shop?  To ask for something was the height of impudence, and Ullmann shook a hand at the captain reflectively. His years as a school teacher* rising to the forefront.  

 

“I expect you to behave, Captain.” 

 

He almost looked amused. “You too, Captain.” 

 

$#$# 

 

“What’s Ullmann doing?”  Carter wondered.

 

“He looks like he scolding the lad,” Tim muttered, peering through the glass and bars. “Look at that, wagging a finger in his face and everything.”

 

“What do you suppose he’s saying?” 

 

“No idea. I say, Carrington. Why don’t you go rescue the poor bugger.” 

 

“I’ll get right on it.” He said and hurried his way down to the courtyard just in time to catch a snippet of the conversation. 

 

“-and this is poor weather.”  Ullmann seemed to forget that some of the prisoners weren’t actually schoolchildren sometimes. Which could be funny if he slipped up at the right moment.  Was Ullmann trying to get Hogan to go inside?” 

 

“The weather is fine,” the younger American rasped. 

 

“Very well.” With a click of his heels, Ullmann was gone, moving through the gate and vanishing. 

 

“What was that?” Carrington asked.

  Hogan reshuffled the cards looking unconcerned. “No idea.” 

 

Carrington didn’t believe him. 

 

RERE 

Colditz had escaped much of the bombing that was taking place in the rest of the country. The effects of bombing and bombing raids gave Hammelburg a tired, worn-out look that concerned Ullmann immensely. The conference, held in the largest hall in the city, was uninformative. Every suggestion and idea had already been implemented at Colditz, plus a few extra ideas. Colonel Klink, officially the main speaker, had meandered his way through an ineffective speech on breaking prisoner's will. 

 

Never mind that the ‘cowed prisoners’ were regularly attempting escapes. 

 

Captain Ullmann nonetheless listened, waiting for something useful. Which did not occur until that afternoon when Colonel Kleist of Stalag 5 approached.

 

“Captain!” Tall, round, with a paunchy stomach that spilled from his middle and a florid face, his smile was as unpleasant as anything. 

 

“Colonel, sir.” Ullmann finished securing his briefcase before straightening. 

 

“How is the little captain?” Kleist asked. “Has he attempted an escape yet?” 

 

Hogan, Ullmann remembered, had been at Stalag 5 before being handed to the Gestapo after his last attempts. “No, sir.” He answered. “That may change by the time I return.” 

 

Kliest laughed. “I do not envy you. He is trouble, and far too clever.”

 

“Captain Hogan has been very….ill, sir.” He edged around the true reason neatly. 

 

“Oh…ill? I have not seen him get ill.” Kliest paused, his aide looking equally confused. “He was a medic in the infirmary and handled most of the sick prisoners without catching a thing!” The fat man stepped back. “Shouldn’t Colditz be in quarantine?” 

 

“No, sir. He is recovering from injuries….he was in Gestapo custody.” 

 

“Ah,” Kleist relaxed, laughing faintly. “Then no matter.” A little offended on Hogan’s behalf, who Ullmann was sure wouldn’t consider his time in Hochsterrers grap as ‘no matter’ Ullmann simply nodded. “He is fiendishly clever and you have not seen him fight. I have not seen him fight, but reports from the men who recaptured him  paint a very odd picture.” 

 

“Sir?” Ullman prompted. 

 

Colonel Kleist laughed faintly, a little disbelieving. “He fights like a demon. Too fast, too sharp, and brushes aside the best fighters with a single punch. They tell me it is some Eastern martial art, but I have not seen it.” 

 

“I cannot say I have seen it either.” Would it explain the deliberate, careful way that Hogan held himself? 

 

“But if you wish to find more on Hogan,” Kleist said knowingly, “Colonel Klink is still here.”  

 

“Thank you, sir. If you will excuse me.” The colonel waved him away, and Ullmann went to find the tall, narrow man fumbling at the door with a corporal who should have been on combat duty. “Colonel Klink!” He called, reaching for the door and opening it as the man twittered back and adjusted his improbable monocle.  

 

“Captain!” The man blinked rapidly. “Ah! Thank you.” 

 

“Colonel. Excuse me. I am Captain Ullman, security officer of Colditz.” 

 

“Yes! Yes!” Klink stared, narrow face twisting into an oddly warm smile. “I have heard of you, Captain. You are very clever.  Of course, Colditz does not have the record of Stalag 13. However, officers are more clever than enlisted men. It should be expected.” 

 

Ullmann wondered what the enlisted men might think if they heard that, and kept it to himself. “Thank you, sir.” 

 

“Did you need advice, Captain?” The thin man puffed up. Despite everything, Colonel Klink was friendly, which was a far cry from his counterparts. “I have more than enough.” 

 

“I apologize, sir.” Ullmann glanced around. “I do, and…perhaps somewhere more private. I believe the officer upstairs is available.” 

 

“Ah! Yes. I see.” He turned toward the corporal. “Sent word to Gruber that I will be delayed, Langenscheidt. Do not wander far.”  With the corporal dispatched, and Ullmann had expected him to make the young man wait by the car, they retreated to the office.

 

 There was nothing to drink, but he carried on carefully. “An unusual prisoner has been transferred to Colditz recently.” 

 

“Unusual prisoner?” Klink blinked through his monocle. “Ah, they are best paired with a prisoner with a very mellow temperament or equally unusual.” 

 

“I…that is not my meaning, sir.” Ullman wondered what he meant by paired . “This prisoner is a captain, a young captain, and I understand the younger brother of Colonel Hogan.” 

 

Klink’s eyes widened so quickly, that his monocle fell out. “Colonel Hogan does not have a brother!” He said sharply, almost offended. Ullmann remained silent as the man turned. “He does not! How can he!” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

Klink continued to pace. “He has never mentioned a brother! He doesn’t receive letters from his brother!” Whirling on Ullmann. “What is this brother's name?” 

 

“Captain Casper Hogan,” Ullmann said after a short moment.

 

“And you are certain he is related to Hogan? Oh! This explains Hochstetter’s nastiness.”

 

“Major Hochstetter.” 

 

“A hideous little man,” Klink waved off Ullmann’s astonishment. “Every time he visits Stalag 13 something blows up and he demands to meet with Hogan. How absurd! But a brother! A brother! I suppose I will have to ask him.”

 

Ullmann shook his head. “Sir. I am curious if Hogan displays any peculiarities?” 

 

“Hmm? Hogan is always peculiar. That is not strange. He is very clever, but I have always outsmarted him. His schemes have never worked. I’m sure that Colditz can hold this Captain …Caper! Oh, that is a charming name.” It wasn’t particularly helpful. “I will ask!” Klink said grandly, shaking himself out of the confusion. “I will interrogate Colonel Hogan and ring you with the details.” 

 

That was…helpful. Odd for someone from the Luftwaffe. “Thank you, sir.” He wondered if he should ask him to be discreet, but given that the man is a colonel…surely he could manage. 

 

“I should arrange a visit to Colditz,” Klink said to himself. “I would love to see your security arrangements…and perhaps meet this Captain Hogan.” He scoffed. “I cannot believe that the colonel never mentioned a brother. I am insulted !” 

 

Why, Ullmann tried not to think about it. “Yes, sir. I appreciate your help, sir.” 

 

“Tell me, is Captain Hogan particularly clever?” 

 

“I believe he is, sir. His injuries were not.” 

 

“Injuries!” 

 

Ullmann paused, “yes, sir.” When Klink stared at him, clearly expecting an explanation, he continued. “He was in the custody of the Gestapo, sir.”  The older man blanched, face turning milky white.  “He is recovering very well,” he lied.  

 

After an exchange of the expected niceties, Ullmann found himself wandering around Hammelburg as he waited for his train. As he did, his eyes caught on the name Alric . Alric’s Confections . A shop, still standing despite the rationing and there were loaves of bread and to his surprise, gingerbread. 

 

“Captain!” The girl behind the counter smiled. “Are you interested in something for your sweetheart?” 

 

Scant piles of gingerbread cookies, soft and delicate mocked Ullmann completely. 

 

How did Hogan know about these? The strange, broken, and wounded boy who seemed so alien even among his allies.

 

He got a handful before he knew what he was doing. 

 

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

 Casper wondered if he should invite the lietenant to sit with him, or if he should shoo him out of the cold. He was pretty sure that’s what Ullmann had come over to do. After the relentless cruelty to the Gestapo being here was a point in the bizarre. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be thinking, surrounded as he was by elderly guards and soldiers in strict military discpline. 

 

He wasn’t sure he’d been around a place like this since…West Point, or even after that. It seemed like Ullmann didn’t trust him 

 

It was a smart move, if he’d had the strength and ability then Casper would have figured out some escape. He had a few more resources available to him than the other prisoners. 

 

Though, escape seemed wholly unlikely. He couldn’t remember feeling as weak and as exhausted as he had been the last few weeks. Death, misery, and pain were usual while in Gestapo care. He could tolerate them within reason, as he had been in lengthy periods of miserable conditions in the past. Still, it was leaving those wretched conditions which caused the most contention. 

 

Worse to better was just as painful as better and worse. Even if he was getting better, his wounds hurt as much as they had when they’d been inflicted. At some point, he’d have to get clean, to wash the grim and musk from his body until his skin breathed against the air. 

 

For now, he could wallow. In his thoughts, his coat, and in the familiar aching pain; Casper's oldest and best friend. 

 

He dozed, memories crowding on the heels of the steadily walking guards, jerking away as each noise kept them at bay until exhaustion pulled him down. Pain, fear, but comfort, smooth dark faces drifted overhead, a hand reaching to brush the hair from his face vanished as a sneering voice dragged him into the waking world. 

 

“ Klein prinz ,” Stiff was anything, Major Mohn stood a few paces away. His coat was pulled close, and the cold visibly bothered his wound as much as it soothed Hogans. The ghosts faded in the noise of an assembling appell. 

 

“Major?’ Casper yawned, unimpressed with the beady expression and sneer. “What did you just call me?” 

 

Mohn didn’t answer, and the soldiers nearby kept a respectful distance.Flt. Lt. Carter shuffled close with his own cane, a matching sneer stamped under his eyebrows. 

 

“One would think that the courtyard in the cold is not a place for a nap.”

 

“One could think that,” Casper knew he ought to stand, but he also knew he didn’t care enough to bother. They could count him sitting down just as easily as if he was standing. “It’s very bracing, Major. Have you tried it?”

 

“Russian cold,” his expression soured to an acidity fall off the PH scale. “Is cold enough.” 

 

Casper conceded with a nod. Mohn’s injuries must have been substantial. Unlike Casper, he had a lot of pride and his injuries were played close to his chest.  When the older man stalked off and the count was over, he supposed he was numb enough to venture inside. 

 

He was aware of the approaching man before he opened his mouth. “Captain Hogan!” 

 

Casper paused, “Lafayette.” 

 

Major Dubois scars pulled as he smiled. “My name is not Lafayette.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Contrary to expectations, Dubois was thrilled. “Ah! This is an American nickname! Wonderful.” 

 

Caser wondered if the man was taking the piss. “Tell me, Captain. How are your injuries? You must be mad to sit in the cold.” 

 

“It’s alright.” They paced slowly up the stairs, Dubois polite enough to keep pace. “It doesn’t feel so bad to me.” 

 

“A strudy man,” he remarked. “ Parle vous francais? ”

 

“No.” 

 

“You understood.” 

 

“Sure, it was easy to tell,” he paused at a landing on the stairs, sucking in a heavy breath. “But I don’t know vocabulary.” 

 

“Then I should teach you,” he offered. 

 

Over Dubois shoulders, Casper could see Carrington's heavy frown. “Of course,” he replied brightly. Have never really gotten the need to shove people's disapproval into their faces. Even if the disapproval was for something as simple as taking French lessons.  

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Nothing had come over the wire that would indicate any particular reason for Hochstetter's new bout of nastiness. No matter what Colonel Hogan was thinking, it wasn’t obviously clear what was the cause was. 

 

Business at Stalag 13 continued as usual, a few plugs here and there, and keeping a keen on Klink as he went to the conference in town to brag about his accomplishments. 

 

Hogan was, for the first time in a while, not engaged in anything other than letter-writing when Klink rolled through the gates. Bypassing his office, and dinner, he barged into Barracks 2 without announcement. 

 

“Colonel Hogan!” He announced himself, the door was still swinging open. Prisoners gaped at the spectacle as the tall man stood beside Hogan’s nominal desk. 

 

“You should have called ahead, Kommandant. I haven’t had coffee brewed up.” He gestured for the door to close. “What brings you by?” 

 

“I am insulted, Colonel! I am enormously insulted by your lack of honesty and respect.” The man seemed to be winding up for a rank of epic proportions. “It is insulting to find out from other officers not even Luftwaffe officers that you have a brother.” 

 

It wasn’t often Hogan could be surprised and even less by Klink, but at the moment Robert found himself gaping. 

 

“A brother!” Klink continued, pacing the increasingly small office with severe agitation. “A younger brother no less! Unbelievable!” 

 

Why did someone in Germany know about Casper, Hogan wondered immediately. His younger brother had been bounced around the world with a million nannies, tutors, and boarding schools. His acceptance into West Point had been a surprise, and his graduation even more of one. He’d lost track of him after that, Casper vanishing into the military with millions of other American boys.  Robert wasn’t even sure he’d shared a conversation with him since before he’d been sent away. 

 

Letters were sparse, Casper apparently having a delicate temper and prone to fits of pique when the mood struck.  His mother having shared few and far between reports of Caspers's various failings. In fact, his overall impression was that Robert didn’t have much of a younger brother.  He had been born late in his parent's lives, and as much as the colonel could remember, a very fussy baby. 

 

What was Klink doing asking about his brother? Why would the Germans even know ?  It wasn’t a secret, but he should have still been in officer training.  

 

“My brother.” He remarked with no emotion. 

 

“A captain!” Klink failed to notice Hogan’s eyes widen. “A captain, you must be so proud!” 

 

A captain ? Casper was nineteen !  When has he graduated West Point? How the hell was he a captain? 

 

“Of course, he’s at Colditz right now. The head of security tells me that he is very troublesome. I imagine much like you.” Klink sat suddenly, facing Hogan. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me about your brother? Don’t you trust me? I thought we were friends?” 

 

“Friends, Colonel. Come on. Would you trust me with your little brother?” 

 

“Of course, I imagine he deserves it.” Klink waved him off. “If I can hold you, then I imagine that Colditz should be able to hold him .” 

 

Colditz? His nineteen-year-old- brother was at Colditz ? 

 

He couldn’t decide which was weirder. 

 

“Colditz does have a reputation,” he agreed. Maybe he should have sent someone to observe the conference. There was zero percent chance that Kinch and the others weren’t listening at the door 

 

Klink almost looked upset, “Why not tell me?” 

 

This had to be the reason Hochstetter had been sneering around. It wasn’t a matter of the war, this was personal and any opportunity to make Hogan miserable was one he took with a religious zeal. Sinking his teeth into someone Hogan was related to would be a meal he couldn’t resist. 

 

What had Hochstetter done to his brother ?

 

“Recovering from what?”  His voice was a touch too loud. Klink blinked in confusion. 

 

“I imagine some illness or another.”

 

“Which one? If he’s sick then I ought to send a card.” 

 

“Oh, you’re being ridiculous. You know that prisoners cannot write to each other. Now, tell me about your brother.”

 

“Sorry, Kommandant.” Hogan stared down at the letter to his mother. “Classified.” 

Casper should have still been at West Point. He should have still been studying or in training. There was no way an active duty officer was a captain and captured .  Something stank about the whole situation. “How else was the conference?” 

 

“Oh, ridiculous. The security officer at Colditz is very effective, I give him that. Nothing more could be learned as Stalag 13 is already escape-proof.

 

“Well, make sure to never invite that security officer over.” He turned the letter over. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Well, you wouldn’t want this man to steal all of your secrets? If Colditz had the record you did, then you’d be out of a job!” 

 

“Of course! Of course! Maybe you don’t even have a brother.”  Hogan blinked as Klink’s face scrunched up in concentration. What ? “Oh! I will have to investigate!” Klink leapt up, waving a finger in his face. “Do not think that I have forgotten this conversation.” Only once he had stomped out of Barracks 2 did Hogan’s men come bounding into his office. The shock was thick in the room as each voice clamored over the other. 

 

“A brother! You never mentioned a brother!” 

 

“That’s barmy, guvna! I’ve written away to my Mavis every day and you haven’t written him!” 

 

“What’s he doing as a captain? Which branch?” 

 

“Why is he asking about a brother?” That was Kinch, the voice of calm amongst the insanity. 

 

“Hold it! Hold it!” He waved his hands for quiet. “Kinch, get on the radio to London. Find out what they know about Captain Casper Hogan.”

 

“Right,” he hesitated. “And…Colditz, sir?” Hogan nodded. It wasn’t the time or the place to explain that there was something wrong.  “What are you thinking?” 

 

“I’m thinking…something’s rotten in the state of Denmark.”

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Tim Downing woke at a sharp, strangled gasp that cut through the almost quiet of the English quarter. He’d never managed to grow accustomed to the night terrors of other men; but something about the young, higher-pitched tone had him sitting up before he realized something was wrong. 

 

Usually, he lay still until the man fell asleep, and paused when he heard Casper move.  Slitting his eyes open, he watched the American limp towards the window. A bare sliver of moonlight illuminated the young, narrow face stamped with a desperate, urgent longing as he stared overhead. 

 

A flyer’s dream. Tim realized, that a flyer’s nightmare was to be sealed away into a prison like Coldiz. 

 

Added to whatever other peculiarities there were about Hogan…this was at least normal. 

 

Tim shifted faintly, nothing abnormal or too noisy, but the sharp eyes landed on him. Dark, murky brown narrowed at Tim, and the Englishman wondered what had made such a young man so dangerous.  He felt pinned, trapped, wondering what would make Hogan snap. 

 

Would he hurt them? Hurt him? 

 

The moment passed as Casper glanced toward the window. Tires over cobblestones drifted through the glass. Wrapped in his blanket, Tim shuffled to the window. 

 

“Who is it?” He whispered. 

 

“Ullmann,” Hogan replied, accent lilting oddly. Not exactly German, but more exact than most Americans. 

 

“He was out…wonder where?” As always, the man shifted around to stare at the windows. Hogan and Tim pulled from the window as his gaze swept over them. 

 

“Conference on prisoner security in Hammelburg,” the younger man replied with such assurance that doubt didn’t occur to Tim until much later. 

 

“Right, and he’s famous now?” Tim snorted, leaning against the wall as the boy stared blankly through the panes. 

 

“Almost,” Casper didn’t shiver, hardly even giving the impression of doing so. 

 

“Is there a camp more secure than Colditz?” 

 

“There are a lot more camps more secure than Colditz,” Hogan turned blank eyes toward Tim. 

 

“Ermmm. Right,” he swallowed hard. Tim had never considered himself a soft man after the war started. He’d been a gentleman before its outbreak, public school and the regular route and routine of an Englishman. Casper was young but nothing about him implied softness or ease with society that Tim and even Preston had.  He hadn’t noticed it before now, the noise of prison and Ullmann’s vague patronization having created an image that was hard to ignore. “Nightmare?” 

 

“Of a sort.” Casper shifted vaguely. 

 

“It…they rather worked you over,” Tim ventured, voice dying when the captain tensed. “I say…it’s not often how they manage things.”  He wondered at the severe glance offered his way. “At least with pilots.” 

 

“Even Nazis like to dress themselves in a mantle of righteousness sometimes.”  Pulling from the window, Hogan eventually moved back to his own bed. It was good too because a few minutes later the door cracked open. Not an escape attempt. Downing watched through half-lidded eyes as Ullmann entered. He moved quietly, stopping beside Hogan’s bunk where the teenager was pulled under his blanket and pretending to sleep. 

 

How odd.  Ullmann must have considered him a flight risk and a serious concern because he hovered by his bed for a long moment before checking the rest of the room and leaving just as quietly as he’d entered. Tim shifted to see Carter watching him and Hogan with a clear-eyed expression. 

 

The next morning, both of them were huddled in a corner of the yard within earshot of Hogan as he settled into one of the chairs for the scant morning sunlight. 

 

“They must consider him a risk,” Tim offered. “It’s not usual for him to do this.” 

 

“I’m not disagreeing,” Carter muttered. “Still, he’s bloody strange. I don't,” Ullman approached Hogan in his quiet corner.

 

“Captain Hogan.” 

 

“Captain,” Hogan squinted up, adjusting his scarf. “How was the conference? Learn anything exciting?”

 

Ullmann considered him for a long moment. “There was a great deal to learn, Captain.” Tim strained to hear what was being said 

 

“I’m sure it will be very helpful.” Tinged with no small amount of sarcasm, the boy didn’t seem to care about any insult. 

 

“Yes,” Ullmann agreed. “Good day, Captain.” 

 

Hogan hummed in response. 

 

It was clear, as Ullmann moved away, that he’d meant to say more. Keenly aware of Carter’s presence, he had decided to forego the conversation.  Carter wondered what it was. 

 

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

It took another two weeks before Casper felt well enough to make his first walk to the park with the others. Dubois, cheerfully ushering him along into the line-up. 

 

“The fresh air, mon ami. It will do you good, yes. You will look alive and healthy soon.”

 

“A bit less like a corpse.” Downing agreed, producing his cigarette. “Hmm. We have an afternoon when we play football, care to join us?” 

 

Casper, still managing with a cane, shot the Englishman a look of such derisive irritation that even a guard chuckled. “Maybe,” he answered plainly. “When I’m better.” Downing blushed.

 

“Do not be so hard on him.” The Frenchman sighed, patting his shoulder. “You know these Englishmen, made for their sports.” 

 

“I’d much rather cricket.” Someone added. 

 

“Crickets are good,” Casper found himself saying.  One could have heard crickets with the concentrated silence that followed from the native English speakers. 

 

“I do not understand the rules,” Dubois waved an airy hand.  “The sportsmen are more confused than the audience.  With such ridiculous equipment!” Utterly incensed by the concept of cricket, the man continued his commentary the entire way to the park. He slowed, as did one of the guards as Casper struggled to keep up. 

 

His bruises had faded, but his body remembered. Long interment and lack of movement had atrophied his muscles and lungs. True, he would recover, but as he struggled to catch his breath over the short bridge; Casper felt despair overwhelm him. 

 

Dubois said nothing on the matter. Tucking his hands behind his back, observing the castle looming overhead. 

 

“I’m fine,” Casper assured him.

 

“Of course, you are.” 

 

The guard, oddly enough, said nothing. When they were the last to be ushered into the enclosure, pride surged through him. From collapsing into the arms of the security officer to managing his own walk to the park in a month.  Not that he stayed standing longer after arriving. A clean patch of gas and Casper let himself fold neatly onto the knees and then his backside. 

 

A few Dutch officers were nearby, listening to one of their number read a book and several officers pacing the inside of the fence. It was quiet as the men burned off their restless energy. 

 

“You seem to be doing better.”  Casper could pretend the light touch to his back was politeness rather than a measure of interest. “It was quite a shock when you arrived.” 

 

“Hmmmm.” He remembered the screaming and the screaming pain. Glancing down at his wrists to eye the neat white lines dug into the soft flesh. The bandages had come off, and it looked self-inflicted. 

 

“Of course, the captain swooping you into his arms. Ah! You looked like one of those pretty fraulines from their propaganda ministry. “

 

“I have black hair.” Casper reminded him, “And I doubt that they’d make a film about a German officer rescuing an American from breaking his skull open.” 

 

“True. It was a charming image.” Dubois lit his pipe, puffing curiously at him a few times. 

 

“I almost died.” Still, the man did not look at all ashamed. It was possibly the first time someone had indicated interest purely because they had born witness to his helplessness. Odd, and a little flattering that even in the fits of near-death someone found him charming. 

 

“Of course, of course. But you did not! So you are alive, and we must be grateful.” 

 

Casper yawned. “What do you think I’m going to do, Lafayette? Grow wings and fly away?” Or maybe he really just wanted to get to know him.  Dubois was not an ugly man when he smiled, and he favored the distant castle with a soft one. 

 

“You have interesting stories to tell.” Casper raised a newly split eyebrow. “You do, anyone who can be brought in such a state must have a story to tell. Anyone so young with such pain in their eyes….surely there is a reason.” 

 

Casper drew back, humor falling. Dubois did not follow, legs awkwardly strewn over the grass compared to the American's compact motion. 

 

“Ah,” an apologetic nod followed. “I have stepped too far.”

 

“Hmmm.” 

 

Casper wondered if he was supposed to pretend he hadn’t seen Downing inching closer. Being treated as a spy by his own side wasn’t at all new. Too much of his life was controversial and bizarre. Still, he’d need friends to escape and whatever packets and things they were smuggling into the country and the castle.  

 

Being treated like a child by the guards and the captain wasn’t helping and was probably exacerbating the issue. 

 

“I wonder about the guards,” Casper said slowly. “They seem…they don’t act like any guards I’ve met anywhere.” 

 

“Not so ugly?” 

 

“No…hardly ugly at all. That’s the odd part. I’ve dealt with them in the past; and…well.” He gestured at the castle and the men behind the walls. “Don’t you think it’s odd?” 

 

“How they treat the men or how they treat you?”

 

“Those are two separate things.” He admitted. “I feel like I’m a little boy with a nanny…a very tall nanny.” 

 

Dubois let out a barking laugh, startling some of the guards. “That you are. I doubt he expected such a high-ranking officer to come with such a young face, yes? It must be stretching his abilities to the limit. He was a teacher before the war.” 

 

“Oh…. oh .” Casper almost laughed. “That might explain it.” Maybe it wasn’t active sabotage…but for all the men. It would make sense if Captain Ullmann was the only one focused on the behavior, but it was far too coordinated.  

 

“It certainly might. You will find that the…Englishman, Shaw. He offers many lessons. You you considered any lessons?” 

 

“Well…it depends on if anyone wants to learn about Dante’s Inferno….or geology….or how to counterfeit Aztec money.”  Countless tutors, lessons, and classes waffled around in his brain. He shrugged, pausing. “What?” 

 

Dubois blinked rapidly. “I…mean to say, Captain. Would you attend these lectures?” 

 

“Does….Shaw know anything about Dante’’=s Inferno?” 

 

“His other lessons. Surely….you did not think to host these lessons?” Disgust washed over Casper; clear across his face with such unintentional vibrancy the Frenchman raised his hands again. “Of course. I would like to learn this….erm, Aztec money.” The disbelief must have been clear. “Truly. Reading English novels and hearing a discussion of their virtues is tedious. Perhaps we will speak to the schoolmaster, hm? Open you onto their lecture circuit.” 

 

Maybe Casper was being a cynic. Maybe he was being stupid, but something about the easy give in their conversations. Dubuois shifted around his point of discomfort and annoyance; which endeared the scarred man to him even more. Their French lessons displayed an unusual level of patience. Despite everything, Dubois didn’t regard Casper as a child…just young, and certainly not to be trifled with. 

 

Flattering, all things considered. Caspers age had been discarded so many times over the course of his life; it was a shock to meet people who cared about such things. Even more of a shock to meet people who cared. 

 

“It might be interesting. It would be something to do.” In spite of his best efforts, or maybe because healing was a tedious process; Casper was starting to get bored.

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

With so little to do, gossip spread through the castle like wildfire. Captain Dubois had kept his promise to arrange an opportunity to lecture. In doing so, had set off a firestorm of interest and curiosity that landed Colonel Preston in this position in the first place.

 

“If I take your meaning,” Kommandant Karl cleared his throat. “You wish to open the theater for a lecture.” It had been closed after the escape attempt last week, and no one had been in since. 

 

“That is the idea, yes.”

 

“This lecture cannot take place in the library. I understand many other lessons have no difficulty.” 

 

Preston nodded. The problem had been trouble to him by Dubois, then Downing, and finally a highly suspicious Carter. There was no escape attempt tied to this, and was generating keen interest among the officers. “There is a promise of greater attendance.” 

 

Karl wondered if it might be worse for the effort to stifle this lecture. Ullmann and Mohn, not to mention the others, had reported the curiosity stemming from the young Americans' quiet assertion that he could lecture on such a topic. So much of Captain Hogan was a mystery, this might give them an opportunity to learn more. 

 

“I understand that this topic is…peculiar.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Preston hesitated. “I believe this is the source of the great interest.”

 

“That very well may be the case, Colonel Preston.” the longer he thought about it, the more intrigued he became. “Very well. I will allow this lecture under supervision.”

 

That wasn’t a surprise. Preston nodded graciously. “Thank you.” 

 

“How long will he need to prepare?” 

 

“A day or so.” 

 

“Then Thursday. Four o’clock. It will be at a decent hour.” 

 

“Thank you, Kommandant.” Preston stood. “I will inform him.” Karl stood, eyeing the paunchy Englishman. 

 

“Good day, Colonel.” 

 

“Good day, Kommandant.”  As soon as he was gone, Captain Ullmann and Major Mohn made their appearance. 

 

“I have given permission for the theater to be used for a lecture on Thursday.” Mohns expression tightened. The captain did not look surprised. “I believe this may be a crowded affair. Security measures should be considered, as this might cover for an escape attempt.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Ullmann nodded. 

 

“And I want someone who understands English well to attend. We must keep order.” 

 

Mohn looked as if he was about to speak, but seemed to reconsider his option. Likewise, Captain Ullmann seemed troubled. “Gentlemen?” 

 

“I must confess, sir. This captain is a peculiar figure. He receives no letters from home. Much of his file is either sparse or contradictory. I believe this may be an attempt by Captain Dubois to humiliate the captain in front of such a large audience.” 

 

“It is not good to believe your own lies, Captain,” Mohn said waspishly. “Treating him like he is a child does not make him any less dangerous. “If the captain wishes to indulge the Frenchman’s whims; then so be it.” 

 

Karl almost wished the two men would get along, but one was a fanatic and the other was too sensible. 

 

“Captain,” Karl shot Mohn an admonishing glance. “You have been a schoolmaster before?”  Mohn continued to sneer. 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“Then, in particular, I would like for you to attend. Ensure that this lecture does not get out of hand.”  Ullmann nodded agreeably. “Very well. Dismissed.” 

 

#$#$# 

Carter, Downing, Carrington, and the rest of the escape committee was in a conference in Col. Preston's quarters, shaking a drink and smoking as Col. Preston considered the situation. He had sent his aide to relay the information to Hogan. 

 

“This might be a little too obvious for an escape attempt,” Carrington said after a moment. His eyes were focused on the weak coffee in his hand. 

 

“If the Germans are distracted by the lecture, then we have a shot.” Carter pointed out. 

 

“It won’t just be the Germans being distracted,” Downing added. “It’ll be a good number of officers as well. That Dubois fellow did a good job stirring up interest and a bit of gossip. Even the Russians are keen.”

 

“If he’s any good,” Carter answered. “Or if the Frenchie isn’t just having him on. He’s not even twenty, sir.” Preston nodded in agreement. “Or thereabouts. I’m not sure it’s all above board.”

 

“Regardless, the lecture will take place. Carrington, you may be correct. Ullmann has taken a special interest in Captain Hogan for whatever reason. He will be on the lookout for an escape attempt. Do we know among the English officers who are interested in going?” 

 

“I…” Tim cleared his throat. “Was rather interested myself. Fascinating topic idea. Very diverting. From the usual lectures on novels and mathematics and such.” 

 

“What about Shaw?” 

 

Carter grimaced. “I think he’s interested, sir.” 

 

Preston considered the problem carefully. “There is no harm in this lecture. We could use a boost in morale for the men…provided he speaks well.” All of the men knew just how boring a schoolmaster could be. “It wouldn’t be an assumption to guess that either Ullmann or Mohn will be present.” 

 

“I don’t doubt it. This isn’t even a play…it’s just an American talking.” 

 

“Yes.” Preston wondered if Carter intended to be entirely shortsighted about this. “Carrington.” 

 

“Sir?” 

 

“I want you to attend…solidary and such. Keep an eye out for anything peculiar.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

Preston lit his cigarette, wondering why Hogan had been so withdrawn from the men. So far, he had received no letters and written nothing down. How could someone so accomplished and young have no one to write?  

 

Didn’t he have friends? There had to be a reason…wasn’t there? 

 

#$# 

 

Casper had agreed to give a lecture. He had thought that Dubois was joking; right up until the blackboard announcing the menu also mentioned a lecuture time and place. Apparently starved for entertainment, enough officers had expressed interest that they’d had to request the theater. 

 

Now… now he actually had to give the lecture. 

 

So he’d assembled some notes, considered what to talk about when he actually to stand in front of people…and now he was staring at the large, assembled crowd of officers, the large chalkboard someone had helpfully set onto the stage which he’d already annotated…and a chair. For him, whenever he got too tired. 

 

Because he was about to go onto a stage and tell an entire camp of officers the techniques of counterfeiting Aztec money.

 

“Right,” shaking his hands, Casper discarded his nerves and paced into the small stage.  Whispers passed around, and a there were enough men in the room to stand lining the walls. At the very back, Casper watched Ullmann slide into the room.  “For anyone who wants to start trading near Tenochtitlan or anywhere within the 85,000 square miles of the Aztec empire, you need things to trade.”  He didn’t smile, and picking up the chalk, tapped it against the sketch he’d drawn of the South American continent.” 

 

So, he had offered lessons and tutoring sessions before. He’d been in enough of them to get the gist down and he’d taught English, much to his shame, pretty well in Japan.  It wasn’t as if anyone going to give him a grade on teaching. These men were bored. 

 

“Who knows what Tenochtitlan was?” 

 

“The capital!” Someone called, and Casper nodded, drawing a star over the half-approximated location of the city.

 

It wasn’t that much different from teaching English, and he could take a little slower to give the translators time to work. 

 

He could do this. 

 

#$#$ #

 

Someone had made an egregious mistake putting Hogan into the military. Salutes, fighting, and strenuous activities weren’t particularly suited to the younger man. If anything, this was the first time Ullmann had seen anything close to confidence. 

 

Being a teacher or a professor far better suited the young man. 

 

He spoke with confidence, assurance, and skill. Enrapturing the man in the audience, guards included, with the information and descriptions. From the cramped theater of Colditz to the warm jungles and deserts of Mexico. 

 

The nonsense joke between two men had proven true; if the glittering interest in the officer's eyes was anything to go by. Even the orderlies were packed into the wings, listening with keen interest.  

 

It might be a cover for an escape attempt, save for the fact that the members that Ullmann could reliably pin as the Escape Committee were in the audience as well. 

 

“Well,” Hogan coughed. An orderly hustled on stage with a cup of water which Hogan drained a moment later. “Should have been my Big Ask,” he told the audience to chuckles. “A glass of water.” The raspy quality had worsened audibly. “We can close here…or we can open the floor for questions….if you have any.”  He nearly reeled off his chair as a dozen men leaped to their feet. “Wow, wow. Hold your horses folks! One at a time!” Waving them back down, he glanced around as if looking for someone to commiserate with. Briefly meeting Ullmann’s eyes, he focused again on the audience. “One at a time.” 

 

He taught well; and Ullmann was more focused on the incredible depth of knowledge Hogan possessed on the subject of Aztecs, their currency, history, culture, and all other related topics. For someone who didn’t seem old enough to have enlisted; being able to speak of minute and random details was…startling. 

Other men shared these thoughts. Clear by the confusion on their faces and the glances being exchanged around the room. The Russians were less confused, and more interested being utterly confused on the subject of jungles and their heat. Questions shifted from the Aztec to jungles and plants; with which he kept a remarkable pace. 

 

Finally, at the second-hour mark, Captain Hogan held up a hand to forestall any further questions.  His meager stamina was already reduced. “Class dismissed,” he croaked. 

 

It was enough of a sign. The faint tremble in his fingers as they wrapped around the chair when he stood, solidified his choice. Noisily and somewhat cheerfully, the prisoners dispersed with conversation hot and heavy with gossip and ideas.  Hogan did not move, holding steadfast to the chair and breathing slowly as the rest of the men left. 

 

Ullmann waited as Major Dubois approached. 

 

“ Mon Ami ! You have done so well!”  He climbed onto the dias, gesturing at the empty chairs and the few still lingering. “You carry their attention in your hands. With a word you dismiss an audience and enrapture their hearts!” 

 

Hogan smiled faintly. “You credit me too much, Major.”

 

“Ah! Save your voice! I will go find some English tea!” He clapped a hand over his shoulder. Hogan flinched. “Then we will toast your success.”  Then he was gone too, and Ullmann waited as Hogan stood slowly. 

 

As he passed by, the captain said. “You teach very well, Mr. Hogan.” Hogan stopped, tilting his head back to look him square in the face. 

 

“Ah.” Curiously, instead of prompting the denials from him; a blush without any measure of tan to hide, spread across his face. “I.” 

Ullmann nodded once, producing a package made of folded paper. In the weeks since their purchase, a staleness had crept in. Rationing would keep food long past its shelf-life by sheer necessity.  “I hope you will hold other such lectures, Mr. Hogan. It will be diverting for the men.” 

 

“I.”  Hogan glanced away. “That’s not…why I.” 

 

“Enjoy your tea with Major Dubois, Mr. Hogan. Excuse me.” 

 

He left the American standing in the doorway, clutching a packet of ginger cookies. Ullmann had a report to make.

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

It was a weak tea, leaves used past their usual lifespan but soothing on Casper's throat nonetheless.  Holding his cup close as the men chatted around him, muted excitement blooming as they discussed wth lecture and their reactions. 

 

Dubois focused on Casper, unnervingly as the teenager produced the gingersnaps to share. 

 

“What’s this?” Picking up one of the cookies with elegant, scarred fingers, the Frenchman surveyed it with an exaggerated curiosity. 

 

Too sore to speak, Casper shrugged. He hadn’t spoken much before the Gestapo had captured him, and he was less inclined to speak now.  He was sure some permanent damage had been done to his throat; didn’t want to worsen it. 

 

“Who?” Casper shrugged again. Ullmann had gone ahead with buying the cookies; and then given him said cookies. A measure of bizarre kindness he didn’t know what to do with. “Well….it was very kind of them, non ?” 

 

Nodding again, he snuggled further into his coat and scarf, peering over the chatting men. 

 

“Where!” One of the English officers clasped his shoulder, popping up. “Did you learn such things? I can’t imagine speaking for two hours, not simply on Aztec, but jungles, and waters, and culture and currency!” 

 

“Madness!” someone agreed, and a  dozen eyes turned toward Casper. “Your university must have been the best. Did you attend Harvard?”

 

Nearly choking on his tea as he laughed, Casper shook his head vigorously.  Harvard? Even Harvard hadn’t taken him! 

 

“Now, my young friend,” Dubois continued, waving off the others and leaning close. “We must decide what your next lecture will be.” At Casper's incredulous expression, laughed. “Of course, you must lecture again, non ! What other topic can you discuss with such charm and vigor.”  Almost batting his eyelashes, Dubois chuckled when Casper batted him away with the end of his scarf. “Well?” 

 

“Perhaps he can replace Shaw,” someone muttered. “Say, have you read Emma? It might be more interesting to hear an American perspective?” 

 

“No, no. We’ve got Shakespear, haven’t we?” 

 

Casper sighed gustily, tracking Carter and Downing across the courtyard.  Yes, he had figured out who was on the escape committee. No, he didn’t give a rat's ass. Ullmann’s patronization, polite though it was, did not endear him to the other officers. It was a black mark against him, and this wasn’t helping.  

 

“You can lecture on the Bard, can’t you?” 

 

“I should wonder if Mr. Hogan can lecture at all.” Cold, and unpleasant, the voice of Major Mohn silenced the men and shuffled to give him room. Casper bunched up in the lounge chair with a teacup in hand, squinted upward. “After such a strain.” 

 

Carter was Mohns usual punching bag, so why he’d turned his attention to Casper wasn’t clear yet. Maybe because he assumed Casper was an easier target? Perhaps he wanted to scoff or tease, but a soft-nosed bully like Mohn didn’t even scratch the top ten of most obnoxious people Casper had had to deal with. 

 

As all eyes turned to Casper, he shrugged. Mohn waited for him to rise to the bait. 

 

“He might be preferred to be coddled rather than strain his limited strength.”  Mohn sneered, expression dropping the longer Casper stared evenly at him raising his cup to his lips. Confusion morphed into outrage as the slurping broke over the relative silence.  Incredulous as it continued. “I should.” 

 

Casper was not above obnoxious childishness if his enemy wasn’t above juvenile bullying. Mohn clamped his mouth shut, turned sharply, and shouted. “GUARD!” 

 

Casper cradled his teacup the entire way to solitary.

 

#$#$ 

 

“He what?” Preston set his letter down, facing Lt. Downing as the man gulped awkwardly. 

 

‘Solitary, sir. Apparently, Major Mohn thought he was being disrespectful.”  

 

“Was he?” 

“I don’t think so, sir. Major Dubois reports that Captain Hogan could not speak as he had worn out his voice. He was unable to answer….apparently, the major was trying to get a rise out of him.” 

 

Preston wondered what he could do for Hogan. “The Kommandant will not countermand the order, but it is something to watch for. He might consider harassing Carter or other officers acceptable; but given how they treat Captain Hogan, a line might be drawn.”

 

“I think Major Mohn was more upset that Captain Hogan didn’t seem to care,” Downing admitted. “Whatever the SS did to him….a little bully like Mohn isn’t going to even register.” 

 

“Let me know the moment he is released.” 

 

“Yes, sir…and, sir?” 

 

“Waht is it, Leftenant?” 

 

Downing's mustache bristled awkwardly. “Major Dubois mentioned the captain might offer other lectures. It could be very good to use as a cover for escape attempts.” 

 

Preston nodded. “I will consider it. It seems to have been a resounding success.”

 

“It was fascinating, sir. I know a few professors who would have loved him. I can’t imagine where he learned so much.” 

 

Another piece of information to tack to the mystery of Captain Hogan. 

 

“Very interesting.”

 

“Even Ullmann was impressed.” 

 

“High praise,” Preston admitted. “And this friendship with Major Dubois? Does it seem… untoward ?”  

 

Downing eyes widened. “Sir?”  

 

“The French are often caught in flights of fancy, and unable to resist charm. Captain Hogan possesses a great deal. Does this relationship with Major Dubois seem inappropriate?”

 

The blond's face compressed. “I’m…not sure, sir. Captain Hogan is awfully young for such interest.” 

 

“Sometimes youth is an added bonus.” Downing’s expression twisted into disgust. “As unnatural as it is, Captain Hogan has no letters, and in extreme situation a man may be tempted.” 

 

Troubled, Downing nodded. “Yes, sir. I will keep an eye on them.” 

 

“Good. Dismissed.”

 

#$#$3 

 

“What do you mean acknowledged?”  Colonel Hogan hissed to Kinch as they waited for Shultz to keep counting. 

 

“Just that, sir,” Kinch said plainly. He bunched into his jacket, shivering. “No other response. It might take them a minute to get any other information.” 

 

“Maybe, but if that’s all they’ve got to say then I know there’s more to find out.” As it had been since he discovered his younger brother's new state of occupation, Colonel Hogan’s expression pinched with worry. 

 

“Would not the Red Cross already have informed London and your family?” Lebeau asked, blowing on his fingertips. “Colditz is for escaping officers. He must have already escaped once.” 

 

“He must have….but he shouldn’t be needing to escape because he shouldn’t fucking be here.” Hogan snapped, startling every man in the lineup.

 

“But he’s a soldier,” Private Marcus added, bravely or stupidly. 

 

“He is.” Apparently . And why hadn’t his mother written about Casper? Why didn’t anyone tell him? General Hogan wasn’t the most forthcoming, but if Casper had been an officer then why not share the good news? If he had spent as much time travellling the world, why wasn’t his brother assigned to a unit in the Pacific? 

 

What the fuck was he doing in Germany?  

 

He needed some answers. His normal route of sneaking out of camp and into Colditz wouldn’t work. Last he checked, like Robert, Casper was an exact replica of their father. There was no mistaking their familial relationship. 

 

Not to mention the security officer of Colditz was considered one of the best in the business. Escapes from there were few and far between. Something was rotten and so utterly wrong with it, his stomach only churned.  He’d asked for a few hints on the family from his mother…but would she answer? 

 

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Casper Hogan wrote a letter while he was in solitary. It came out short, sweet, and in ten lines assured Mrs. Li that he was in good health, missed her cooking, and requested she send a Mahjong set. 

 

Ullmann, Mohn, and the Kommandant poured over the letter, wondering what might be hidden in the lines. The only part of the address in English was New York . Which clarified nothing, since none of them had ever been to America and knew very little about it. 

 

“Majong must be a game,” Mohn admitted slowly. “Is it Chinese?” 

 

“It is not likely to be Japanese.”   Karl mused. “I’m sure intelligence might be interested in such a letter.” 

 

“It seems he is just ordering a game.” The security officer mused. “It does not appear overly sinister.”

 

“After months of silence?” Even Karl looked skeptical. “Whatever the reasons may be, this letter will be sent to intelligence. We may an answer, or it may be a code. Major, I feel that the captain has served his sentence, as contrived as it was. Arrange for him to be released today.” 

 

“Kommandant,” Mohn seared, tone just a hair above polite. “He insulted a German officer.”

 

“Major, another complaint has already been filed against you. Harassing a recovering man whose voice has failed is entirely ridiculous.” 

 

“Failed?” Ullmann watched the annoyance keen warp the scarred face. “He refused to speak and he….” Perhaps just realizing how stupid his complaint was, snapped his mouth shut. 

 

“Was it simply beyond being unable to speak?” Karl wondered. Ullmann couldn’t imagine what had actually happened. 

 

“He was,” Mohn straightened, “slurping over my words.” 

 

“...I see…was he not drinking tea?”

 

Again, the sunken mouth tightened. “He was.” 

 

“Major,” Kommandant Karl set the neat letter atop his desk, glancing briefly at Ullmann. “The officers present have sworn a statement that, by all accounts you felt solitary was a fitting punishment for having lost his voice.” 

 

“They are lying! Of course, they would support one of their own.” Still, the Kommandant did not look impressed. 

 

“Even if that is the case. Three days is more than enough.” Karl made meaningful eye contact with Ullmann, who blinked in acknowledgment. “Major Mohn.” He passed the letter back. “I will leave this in your capable hands.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“Good, dismissed. Captain, a word.”  Once Mohn had gone, the Kommandant let out an aggrieved sigh. “That man is a danger to our work, Captain.” 

 

Not at all surprising. He was a fanatic and overall unpleasant. “Yes, sir.” 

 

“Do you think there is any credence to what he says, Captain? Did Captain Hogan…slurp over him?” 

 

Ullmann considered the situation. “I would not like to question the integrity of a superior officer, sir.” 

 

“Your opinion, Captain. Please, if he is simply antagonizing prisoners then that is one thing; but Hogan’s surge of popularity means this is even more precarious. Not simply that, he tugs on the heartstrings of the older men with children.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

The man gestured, “Well?” 

 

“As you said, sir, he is young. Young men often have poor dinner manners. I will admit that I have not seen evidence of this during meal times. If he can speak with the skill of a university lecturer then it is likely his manners are excellent. Then we must wonder if he is the sort to do something so childish.” Here, Ullmann hesitated. “He does not participate in antagonizing the guards. Whatever cheek he displays is wholly verbal and meant for a rather learned audience. I also do not believe this many English officers would present falsehoods.” 

 

Kommandant Karl nodded. “I see. This is a fair assessment. I do wonder what will become of his letter.” 

 

Very little became of it, as it turned out. Intelligence wasn’t sure why they were so concerned and even pointing out the specifics wasn’t enough to hold it. No code was found, and it was sent onward with the next mail truck. 

 

#$#$# 

 

Casper blinked, snuggling deeper into his coat as the guards moved up and down the line of appeal, counting and shouting as they did so. He knew men who panicked under these sorts of situations. Whose pride ate them up as they were forced to stand in line; and Casper envied such arrogance. He could never have had any, and being counted and stared at by the Nazis was par for the usual course in his life. This prison was just outside now.

 

He wrapped himself in his thoughts, sinking into the loneliness and dark as was his usual habit. Insulated from the outside world, it's cold, it’s noise, and cruelty. 

 

“ Mon ami .” Major Dubois returned, voice full of interest and humor. Dragging Casper to the edge of his insulated shell. The man was still leaning on his cane, looking tired but as cheerful as he could manage. “Such sadness in your eyes. Come, Mass will start soon. Come with me.’ 

 

Casper blinked, obediently following with the confusion of a newly leashed puppy. “Mass?” 

 

“Mass,” Dubois glanced back. “Surely you have been?”

 

He’d been a lot as a child. Starched up, set up to sit and stand and kneel when ordered until church was as much of an obligation as a military inspection. Casper hadn’t paid attention to any readings or bible studies or anything overly religious in his entire life.  He categorized it the same as the Shinto beliefs, Buddhism, or Islam; a nice idea for someone else to deal with. 

 

“I’ve been to services.” Catholics were weird if he remembered correctly.  

 

“This is Mass.” Dubois was frowning. Casper wondered if the man would notice or care that his understanding of faith was academically inclined. “Surely…?” When he shrugged, Dubois sighed and continued pulling him toward the chapel.

 

Considering just how many ceremonies and rituals he’d sat through during his life travels; when it reached the end, Casper wasn’t sure if clapping was appropriate. 

 

“Does it not refresh the soul?” Dubois asked later. 

 

“It’s a ritual with familiar motions and history,” Casper said blandly, eyeing the large crucifix looming over the room. “It’s familiarity is comfort. Most religious services are similar.” Dubois, the priest, and several other officers paused. With more attention on him than he knew what to do with, Casper fell silent. 

 

“Mass,” Dubois said waspishly, “is not a ritual .” 

 

“That’s exactly what it is. It’s a highly specific ritual, why do you think they call it a rite ?” He blinked, realizing a little too late the air of annoyance stemming from everyone. “It’s not a bad thing. It just is…and I’m flattered you wanted to share it with me.”  Still, Dubois’ expression soured.

 

“You are not a practitioner of faith then?” The priest approached, curiosity visible in his tired eyes. 

 

They were gaining an audience, but Casper shook his head. 

 

“So young to be such a cynic,” the Frenchman muttered. “Ah, to meet the architects of such unhappiness. I would certainly have a few things to say.” 

 

“I’m sure you would.” Casper sighed turning and nearly running face-first into Major Mohn as he stepped through the chapel door. The heavy boot knocked against his cane, and he stumbled backward in an ungainly, awkward heap. Expletives, curses, and swears in German, English, and a smattering of other languages filled the air.  A guard caught Mohn as he tripped, and Hogan clattered to the ground. 

 

Even as the Frenchmen swarmed around him, he lay against the cold stone sighing deeply, and aggrieved. 

 

“Captain! Did you hit your head?” Dubois leaned over him, scarred features wound up in concern. 

 

Feeling the flagstones digging into his back and legs, he shook his head. “No….I’m okay. It’s just comfortable down here.”  One invalid, one wounded boy in recovery and the confrontation was as stupid as it sounded.  When Casper opened his eyes again, Mohn was standing at his feet, the priest at his head, and the officers at his side. “Oh, my pallbearers…wonderful.” 

 

“ Mon ami !” Dubois urged, “You cannot lay on the floor of the chapel all day.” 

 

“Not all day.” He muttered, taking in a shallow breath before forcing himself to rise. Once back on his two feet, it felt less like pallbearer and more like an escort to a doctor. “Major, are you alright?” All whispers and conversation died at the innocent question. Mohn’s ever-present sneering pout lifted in surprise. Like that, he almost looked normal.  “I don’t think we need any more injuries.”

 

Off-kilter, Mohn gave a jerking nod, and Casper decided it was time to get the hell out of there. 

 

#$#$ 

 

“You want to what?” Kommandant Karl asked with something close to shock. 

 

“A psychological evaluation,” Mohn repeated.  “For Captain Hogan.” 

 

“On what grounds?”  Karl wondered if the man had been sniffing too many shoe boxes for escape materials. 

 

“I believe Captain Hogan is severely psychologically disturbed, Kommandant. I believe he may be a danger to his fellow officers. An evaluation cannot be too amiss, we have ordered them for men before.” 

 

“That is true.” Karl agreed slowly. “What was the inciting incident for such a request?”  His eyebrows crawled up his forehead as Mohn explained. Only half of it sounded reasonable, and he was sure some of the story was missing. 

 

“Very well.” It was a sound notion, but far outside of Mohn’s usual concern for the prisoners. Hogan was a peculiar, strange, and unsettling officer.  Perhaps it would take a doctor to understand the depths of his oddities. “I will put in the request."

Chapter 18

Colonel Hogan was nominally surveying his men during laundry duty, chewing over the missions assigned by London that very morning, when Sgt. Shultz ambled up. He puffed a moment, shoving his helmet back a bit to catch some air before puffing out. 

 

“I did not know you had a brother, Colonel.” He patted his forehead. 

 

“Klink telling stories again?”  

 

“Oh, Big Shot is telling many stories.” He answered, “But I hope your brother is not as naughty as you.” 

 

Robert couldn’t say for sure and really wished that that weren’t the case. “I’m sure he manages just fine on his own…why the sudden curiosity?” 

 

“Bah, I have been sent to pick up a doctor.” Shultz waved at the staff car which the motor pool was bringing into position. “He is to be brought to camp.” 

 

“What kind of doctor?” Robert paused, nothing his men eavesdropping as they stopped moving. 

 

“A head doctor,” Shutlz tapped his helmet with a fat finger. “A psychologist.” 

 

“Another one?” Robert wondered. “What does that have to do with my brother?” 

 

Again the guard shrugged. “I do not know. I’m only sent to pick him up from town. Please tell me that your men will behave. Please! He is a bigshot from Berlin.” 

 

“What’s his name, Shutlziee?” Newkirk approached, flicking water from his fingertips. “Well?”

 

“I do not know!” Shultz cried, shuffling away. 

 

“If he’s a brainpan trawler,” Carter piped up, “then maybe he’s here to talk to us! Another one of those weird experiments.” 

 

If Shultz had brother up Casper, then the pair might be related.  As Shultz moved away, protesting his ignorance as Lebeau and Carter hounded him for answers. Robert watched the proceedings with a measure of concern that logic couldn’t quiet. 

 

 Robert's concerns were solidified an hour later when Shultz pulled into the compound and a narrow Luftwaffe officer sidled out of the car. He was known by his polite reputation, both an excellent doctor and half-interrogator who could convince even the hardest man to give out information by accident.   

 

Whatever he was doing here could not be good. 

 

Shorter than Shultz, a narrow, lean man with bushy gray eyebrows and a sheet of iron-gray hair cut close to his scalp. His uniform was ironed out exactly and his briefcase was well-oiled and cared for. Soft gray eyes flickered over the camp, landing on Robert after only a moment’s searching. He nodded briefly, attention breaking away as Klink bounded down his steps with his usual level of enthusiasm. 

 

“Colonel! Colonel Scarff!” Hogan winced to himself. “What a pleasure to see you! My friend! Welcome! Welcome to Stalag 13!” 

 

“Colonel Klink!” The narrow officer smiled, returning his salute. “It is a pleasure to see you. How have you been?” 

 

The pair moved back into the officer, chattering between themselves. Hogan nodded to his men, and they disappeared back into Hogan’s office. 

 

“Coffee pot.” He ordered, “Carter, watch the door.”  it popped to life, Klink’s voice fading into the office. 

 

“...brings you by? When you requested a visit, I couldn’t believe it. Are you here to speak to my prisoners?” 

 

“I am,” Colonel Scharff said simply. “One prisoner in particular. I’ve received a curious request to evaluate one Captain Hogan. I understand you have his older brother here.” 

 

“I do! Colonel Hogan! He is….a very strange man. I understand his brother is in Colditz….not at Stalag 13.” 

 

“What do they want with my brother?” Hogan wondered. His men shifted, listening keenly. 

 

“He is in Colditz, but to understand the basis of a man, you must also look into his family. I want to know more of this captain, so I must speak with his brother.” 

 

“Oh! Of course, such a meeting can be arranged.  A Luftwaffe officer must be present, of course.” 

 

“I understand such a necessity, but this is not an interrogation…simply a conversation. You are familiar with Colonel Hogan, I’m afraid he will not be so honest with me if you are present.”   

 

“I don’t think the colonel will be honest at all,” Newkirk remarked.  Robert met Kinch’s concerned stare over Lebeau’s head. His radioman’s brow was furrowed. 

 

“I doubt it.” Klink let out a gusty sigh. I didn’t even know that Colonel Hogan had a brother until recently.” 

 

“He never mentioned him?” 

 

“No, he never mentions anything about his family. I am curious to see or hear what his brother is like.” 

 

“I have not had the pleasure,” the doctor demurred gently.

 

“You must tell me. Shall I have Shutlz fetch Colonel Hogan?”

 

“No, no. I would like to speak with him where he is comfortable. In his quarters.” 

 

Robert sighed deeply, trying not to groan. One damn thing after another.

 

“Colonel … what are we going to do about our mission?”  

 

Colonel Hogan listened to the men leaving the office, peering through the windows to see them approach. “I’ll play it by ear. Keep a low profile, the krauts have him as their best for a reason.” They shuffled into the main room, taking up their usual positions just before the door opened. 

 

“And here!” Klink was saying. “Is Barracks Two!” The men nominally stood at attention. Private Buck, the newest arrival, continued to sleep under the pile of blankets that had been piled on him the moment he’d laid down.” 

 

“New arrival?” Robert wondered, still propped up on his knee and staring over the game of Gin Rummy. “Or your replacement, Kommandant?” 

 

“You’re getting a combat position?” Carter hoped in on cue. “Gee, wiz! I hope you keep your head down.”  

 

“I thought we only took our guys, colonel?” Kinch added from his bunk, eyeing the newcomer. “Doesn’t seem like our sort.” 

 

“I am not getting a combat position!” Klink yelped. “Who said that? He will be severely punished!”  Colonel Scharff seemed deeply interested in the proceedings, keen eyes jumping from man to man. “This is Colonel Scharff. He is a doctor!” 

 

“Oh good! He can help Wilson out,” Robert added with a blithe dismissal, focusing on the game and peering up at the man through his eyelashes. “You know we’ve got a few men in the infirmary.” 

 

Klink harumphed, waving his arm and smacking his crop against a bunk. Private Buck yelped at the noise, rolling off the bunk with a thump and standing blearily. 

 

“What? What? I’m up!” The younger man leaned against the bunk, blankets shedding off his form. “Oh…what?” 

 

“Go back to sleep, Private,” Hogan ordered, suppressing a smile when Buck obeyed. He fell asleep quickly. “You should really be more quiet, Kommandant. We’re trying to rest up for an escape you know.” 

 

“Insolence!” The Kommandant cried, glancing at the other colonel with frantic concern. 

 

Colonel Sharff’s eyes twinkled with a suppressed humor that didn’t bode well for any of them. “I can certainly take a look at these men, but I am a psychologist.” 

 

“Ohhhh,” Carter muttered, “you’re here to talk to Corporal Wainwright!” 

 

Klink blustered again. “There is nothing wrong with Cpl. Wainwright! He is simply English!” 

 

“He doesn’t like coffee!” Carter protested, folding his card down. “Gin.” 

 

“Damn!” Newkirk tossed his hand to the table. 

 

“He is English,” Klink stressed the last word, staring at Carter the way most officers did. A father scolding a very slow, stupid child. “Not American.”

 

“It’s not normal,” the bombmaker sighed. “Everyone likes coffee.” 

 

“A very interesting view to have,” Colonel Sharff muttered under his breath. Hogan hoped he was having fun because every shrink who had come through Stalag 13 had gone a little bit insane. 

 

“So,” Robert shifted, giving his men their cue to entertain themselves. “What does bring you by, Colonel? If you’re here for Klink’s evaluation, I can tell you his nerves aren’t what they used to be.” 

 

“Hoooogaaaan!”

 

“Simply an evaluation,” Sharff replied. He wouldn’t press, Hogan realized, he’d need to invite him into his office to get on with this. A clever consideration he could admire easily before gesturing at the door to his office. 

 

“Well, step on in, Colonel.” Colonel Hogan’s smile was as predatory as the other man’s was gentle. 

Chapter 19: Chapter 19

Sharff, as with most of the officers, was out of place in Colonel Hogan’s sad, depressing little quarters. His spiff, clean uniform at odds with the wrinkled, faintly dirty uniform Robert wore and his own pictures, letters, and pin-ups on the walls. The doctor considered it all curiously, eyes noting every detail and how Robert fit into it. Whatever details he was looking for, and whatever it meant; Robot was curious as to what he was digging up. 

 

“So,” he propped himself against the bunk as the officer took a careful look and invited himself to sit at his desk. “An evaluation?”

 

Cooly glancing over his desk, noting the stack of neatly organized letters, the man nodded. “I am curious. A small study for the long-term effects of imprisonment on men and soldiers.” 

 

“Oh, I hope you’ve taken the time to interview the Polish and French soldiers,” Robert answered, eyes twinkling. “They’ve been in this longer than I have. We’re a bit of a late-comer to the party.” 

 

“Of course, of course.” Scharff lied easily. “Each nation handles such concerns differently, Different ranks, and different religious beliefs.” 

 

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll find the use as the sanest people in Germany right now.”  He shrugged faintly as the man continued to peer around. 

 

“I wonder.” Scharff eyed his letters. “Do you write often to your family?” Robert shrugged. “Rather, do they write you often?” 

 

“Take a look yourself.” He offered, waving. It isn’t anything the censors and intelligence hadn’t already picked over before. If it was in his file, then this man probably already knew or would know pretty quickly.  The doctor nodded, shuffling his letters open and eyeing the dates, their authors, and just how often they’d been cut up. “So, which school did you go to, or did yours come from the back of a cereal box?” 

 

“My school? The University of Munster. Before the war, with some studies in England.” He almost smiled. “I found it a very strange place.” 

 

“They are a fun people,” Robert laughed faintly. 

 

“Fun…when Americans say that I find that they often mean the opposite. Do your people ever say what they mean?” 

 

Shrugging, he pretended to be absorbed in a pin-up of Betty Grable. “Sure.” He flashed a smile. 

 

“Ah…I see many letters from your dear mother.” Scraff held one up. If Robert remembered correctly, she’d been explaining how to correctly sew a button. A little insulting considering how much mending officers had to do. “She has much affection for you.” 

 

“Don’t all parents?”  He knew they didn’t. Newkirk’s father having abandoned all of his children. Men and soldiers whose parents had tossed them into the Army to be rid of them, but Mrs. and Mr. Hogan had meant a lot to Robert over the years.  

 

Not liking the considering, searching gaze now aimed his direction, the man lifted a letter that had been written in January and delivered in May. All letters from General Edward Hogan took longer to arrive. 

 

“And your father.” Alarm prickled over Robert’s skin. Nothing showed and nothing was clear, but he felt seen all the same. “Several letters from him, in fact.”  His father stuck to neutral topics. Boring, and tedious, but it was communication all the same. “I will imagine you were inspired by his career, Colonel.” 

 

“Imagine all you like.” Which was exactly what did happen. He was too clever to be anywhere other than the military. His father joked that it kept a leash on his` mad-cap schemes; but that leash had fallen off and the Nazis were paying the price for it.  He turned around to glance through the window. When he looked back one of the letters was opened.

 

“You have been a prisoner for over a year, correct?” 

 

“Forever.” 

 

“I am sure it seems this way.” Eyeing the room, Scraff paused. “I’m sure this is not the comfortable place to spend the war.” 

 

“And I’m an officer,” jerking a thumb at the door, continued.  “You’ve seen my men.” 

 

“That is unfortunate.” Colonel Scraff continued, eyeing the letter oddly. “You are being treated according to your rank and station, Colonel. That cannot be argued. These are enlisted men.” 

 

Hogan shrugged, eyeing him with a cold smile. It sounded ridiculous no matter how often men said something similar. He couldn’t imagine Newkirk, tired and hungry Newkirk on the street of London and now a hero somehow deserving less. 

 

“The comfort and connection from home must give you some comfort. I will not pretend imprisonment is so easy, Colonel Hogan.”  Something remarkably brisk about his manner soothing over Robert’s annoyance. At least he was pragmatic.  

 

“When it actually reaches me.” Tugging a letter from the pile, Robert unfolded it to show the sheer number of blocks and cuts. “It’s hard to read what isn’t there. I’m not convinced the local censors don’t cut it out just to spite me.” 

 

“I am sure that is not the case.” He said slowly. “Ah, letters from your girlfriends. Do you have one to marry?” 

 

“Marriage? Why, are you proposing?” Most Germans would have been flustered, and the joke would get him shouted out. Scraff only tilted his head. Let him see what he wished. Deflection was the oldest tactic in the book. 

 

“So, marriage is not for you. I am certain you will find someone, Colonel.  Prison is unique for being so isolated and masculine. Without women, our attention and senses dull. You have not been in prison as long as some, but I wonder. You have attempted many escapes, Colonel Hogan, haven’t you?” 

 

“Attempted, haven’t succeeded. If I had, we’d be having this conversation over telegram…or the phone.” 

 

“And you have failed often…always.”  There was being tortured for information and then there was being insulted for an afternoon. Hogan gritted his teeth. “Which is perhaps as sign of our security or perhaps you are unwilling to truly leave.” He blinked, forcing his alarm down. “Americans are very affectionate and lax with their children, and their soldiers. German military discipline can seem…fatherly almost.” It took everything he had not to laugh as the man continued. “All children will wish for stability. If they cannot find some stability later in life, then often they will cling to it. Though, your own father seems rather affectionate….as is your mother so perhaps this is not the case.” 

 

“Something to think about on your way out of camp,” Robert offered. What the fuck did this have to do with Casper? “But you’ve read my letters, so what do you think?” 

 

Colonel Scarff set the letters back, arranging them as they had first been organized. Then, he straightened the pencils in his cup, fixed the crooked notebooks, stack of books, and wiped a handkerchief over his desk. “You asked for your brother in your last letter, Colonel. I cannot help but notice that he has not sent a letter.” 

 

Casper never had, and it was easy to forget he existed when his own career was off on such a meteoric rise. When his professors and officers curse and praise him in the same breath. “Well, he’s just a kid. You know kids can’t keep up a good correspondence.” 

 

“Perhaps. Brothers are…unique in our lives, Colonel Hogan.” 

 

“Another obscure philosopher, Colonel?” Robert wondered. Concern curled around his heart, the spiked vines digging into the muscles with each beat. 

 

“Perhaps…but my own musings as well. You see, it is natural for our parents to die. They will age having done their duty. Girlfriends and wives will pass too. You may find more love, divorce, or simply be bored of them. Fellow officers will go with the tide…but a brother…” He paused. “A brother can never be replaced. You grow with them, you will die with them, but to live without them or their affections is perhaps as pain greater than can be known.” Tired grief touched his words. 

 

Colonel Hogan shifted. If the man was faking or otherwise, it was good to get his own information. “When did your brother die, Colonel?” 

 

The tension shifted, and Colonel Scarff took a careful breath. “Poland…He did not survive the first few months.” 

 

“I’m sure he died a hero.” Disguising the disgust in his voice was too much of an effort. He was rewarded with a scoff. 

 

“Heroism is for fools and filmmakers, Colonel Hogan.  We have our duty, and that is all.” Whatever true level of fanaticism he had, the loss of his brother clearly cut deep. 

 

“Did you write him?” 

 

“Every week.” 

 

Hogan rolled his shoulders, staring at the grimy ceiling for a long moment. “You should try writing him again then, Colonel.” The narrow German’s eyes widened faintly. “I’m sure there are a lot of things unsaid. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he isn’t here.” Robert tapped his heart with a smile. 

 

Perfect .

 

“That is…very plausible.” The man considered him. “Then join me, Colonel Hogan. Write a letter to your brother. I will write one to mine.’ 

 

“And neither of them will read it.” Robert took a seat carefully, passing the man one of his rare spare pieces of paper. 

 

What to write? He realized as he held his pen at the ready. What did you say to someone you hadn’t spoken to in a decade? Someone who should still be a snot-nosed brat in West Point and clearly wasn’t. Too much information and the Nazis could get a peek inside his head. Too little affection and then the psychologist would have a complete field day.  At least the doctor seemed to be having an equally hard time. What did you write to someone who was dead? What did you write to someone who had never really lived? 

Chapter 20: Chapter 20

“Another lecture?”  Captain Hogan lifted his head, turning toward Colonel Preston with a confused tilt to his head. “Sir?”  Carter, Carrington, and Downing all watched him from the side of the room. 

 

“Yes, Captain. The men found it diverting and entertaining. I would like to know if you can lecture on another topic.” 

 

That had to be the lead-up to an escape attempt, but it wasn’t like he could turn Colonel Preston down without making himself look bad. Not that he wanted to, but following the success of his lecture Shaw had been awfully short-tempered with him. 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

Preston’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Again, on Thursday. The Kommandant had allowed the opening of the theater. Do you need more time to prepare a topic?” 

 

“No, sir.” Best to keep it short and sweet. 

 

“Very good, captain. Please bring me the lecture topic before lights out tonight.” 

 

“Yes, sir.”  He was dismissed with a nod and retreated into the corridor with a frown on his face. 

 

So, the escape committee would use him as a cover in a few days. Alright then, that was fine.  It would distract the guards, most of the soldiers would be in attendance and it might work.  If he hadn’t been invited then he could still support the escape by doing his absolute best. 

 

He rounded the corner of the stairs, nodding at one of the stooges on the look-out, and a new voice interrupted. 

 

Mohn.  Ever since they’d run into each other in the chapel the older man had been acting strangely. He lurked and skulked wherever Casper went, following him into card games, and watching from the windows as Casper meditated in the cold. 

 

“Good Afternoon, Major.” He paused, taking a moment to even out his breathing. 

 

“Mr. Hogan.” Mohn’s sinister expression never shifted. 

 

“I hope your wounds aren’t bothering you too much.”  Mohn was so widely disliked that other than basic manners expected of officers and enlisted men; there were no attempts to be polite. It put the man off-kilter, which amused Casper endlessly. 

 

“No, Mr. Hogan….they are not.” A fact they both knew was a lie. “I hope you have recovered well enough.” 

 

“Well enough.” Also a damn lie. They began their slow pace to the courtyard. One man injured and the other recovering.

 

“I have heard that you will stand another lecture, Mr. Hogan.” Casper hummed in response, cataloging the stonework as they walked. “Have you chosen a topic?” 

 

So…this whole thing had been set up long before Preston had bothered to bring it to Casper.  Wonderful. No need to ask him . 

 

“I haven’t decided on one.” He answered.

 

“Then perhaps you have run out of topics.” A glance up and down his frame sent a shiver of disgust down his spine.  

 

“Perhaps I have.”  Not even close to possible. “Would you be attending?” 

 

“I do not have time to be entertained by a lesson, Mr. Hogan. I have many other things to be concerned with. Namely, preventing escape attempts which are sure to happen during your lecture.” 

 

“I’m not going to force people to attend. They can leave if they want to, it’s not an escape attempt.”  Someone nearby coughed. Casper pretended not to see the flash of irritation in the man’s eyes. “I think I’d be insulted if people felt the need to escape from my lectures though. It’s just a few hours of their day.” He paused, pretending to consider. “They might think it’s boring.” 

 

“Escaping from Colditz, Mr. Hogan.” 

 

“That would be really rude,” he continued without pause. “Since they’d be leaving without me .” 

 

“And do you want to leave, Mr. Hogan?” 

 

Casper wondered if the man was actually stupid or just pretending. “Of course,” almost smiling added. “Last time I was locked in a castle it had a much better heating system.” Mohn’s eyes narrowed, wondering if the American was making a snide joke or an honest story. It wasn’t always easy to tell with Englishmen and Americans.

 

“Your last castle was warmer?” Major Dubois wandered over, keenly interested. They hadn’t quite gathered an audience, but enough men were lingering nearby to count for one. 

 

“Hmmm,” Casper almost smiled. It had been older than Coldtiz, and infinitely warmer. He used to walk around in bare feet or in socks. Now, if he took off his boots then his feet were freezing.  

 

“A great deal more comfortable too,” he added, thinking of the onsens, hot springs, gardens, and derth of blankets which had been piled on him in the winter months.  

 

“And how should you like to make Colditz more comfortable.” Mohn’s mocking tone visibly frustrated Dubois. Casper decided to lean into it. 

 

“More blankets, some house plants, and maybe some more tea. I’m sure that’s rationed.”  Maybe some drapes over the windows, a real mattress, or even a decent futon. He sighed. “Blankets would be the start.” No one seemed impressed, but as Major Mohn stalked off in a snit, Dubois raised an eyebrow. 

 

“Truly, another castle?” 

 

“There are a lot of different kinds of castles.” Allowing the other man to shift closer, he offered a smile to the older man. “It depends on where you are in the world.” 

 

“Not all are as magnificent as Versailles,” Dubois said pompously. “It is the loveliest in the world.” 

 

“I can’t say that I’ve been, but European palaces are very different from…oh! That’s what I should lecture on,” He beamed, turning just enough to give the man a brush over the small of his back. The soft eyes widened. “Excuse me. I need to let Colonel Preston know.”  

 

Yes, he could flirt back. Older, scarred, and tired, it was lovely to have someone listen to him. So yes, he would flirt. 

Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Colonel Scraff rubbed his eyes as Colditz loomed on the horizon. Over the small town and the watchful citizens, he knew dozens of eyes from within the castle and the nearby windows traced his car. 

 

It wasn’t surprising, but as the car drove past the fenced-in ‘park’ where the prisoners went; he spotted the officers of a dozen nations all mixing together. Pride swelled in his heart, and he smiled as the car turned over the bridge and into the castle proper. A large figure stood at the ready, waiting for the car to halt, and opened the door. 

 

“Colonel Scraff,” the enormously tall man saluted. “Welcome to Colditz, sir.” 

 

“Thank you, Captain.” He observed the courtyard and the few prisoners lingering about. Some watched with more discretion than others and most gawked openly. “It is a pleasure to be invited.”  Someone pulled his suitcase from his trunk.  

 

“Please follow me. The Kommandant has light refreshments prepared.” 

 

“Wonderful. The road was quite unpleasant.” They made no further conversation as they proceeded through the castle to the Kommandants office. Colonel Karl was a narrow officer with a neatly trimmed mustache and a polite smile as they exchanged greetings. 

 

“Welcome, Doctor. I hope your trip wasn’t difficult.” 

 

“Only as much as any other trip through Germany these days, Colonel. Thank you.” 

 

“Good. Good, would you care for a drink?” 

 

“Yes, thank you.” Scarff set his briefcase beside the chair, accepting the drink with a nod. They spoke of noncommittal things. Weather, food, and what might happen when winter turned around again. When it felt safe enough to broach the topic he continued his original train of thought. “I have been called to do many evaluations of prisoners. However, I will admit that this may be a more baffling case.” 

 

“Ah,” Karl and Ullmann exchanged a short glance. “Yes.” 

 

“I wonder, do you believe he is a danger to himself or the others? I believe the Army has a way to manage such prisoners.” 

 

“We do, but this was specifically requested by my second in command. He will be arriving shortly.”  Scraff mused it was a neat way to put off any blame and accept any commendations. “Captain Hogan presents an…unusual case. But I am not certain he presents any danger; he is still recovering.”

 

“Ah…I understand he was a prisoner of the SS for some time.” Karl shifted uncomfortably, and Captain Ullmann set a file on the desk before retreating a step. Flipping to the medical report, Scraff hissed through his teeth at what was laid out. “It seems that I am not evaluating him for repatriation.”  The medical would never approve a man with torture on his file. Letting the Allies know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that their men were subject to torture would never be allowed. Even if they already knew from previous escapees. He paused at an even stranger detail. “Truly…he is only 19?” 

 

“As far as can be assumed,” Karl admitted. “His photo does not do his youth justice.” 

 

Colonel Hogan had made sense. Young, but not nearly so youthful. Brash, spoiled, and American. Not wanting to make too many assumptions before he met the young man, the colonel closed the file. 

 

“An interesting case,” he admitted. Bruno hoped that this American was more interesting than his brother. Most men and women were easy to discover. Tugging their minds apart and discovering their secrets was simplicity itself. There were so few genuinely strange people in this world, and he wondered if Captain Hogan counted among them. He turned as the door opened, entering the accounted war hero, Major Mohn himself.  

 

Bruno had read of his heroic exploits in the papers; admired the stories and courage it took, and greeted the man with undue deference. “Major, it is an honor to meet you.” 

 

Mohn paused just within the door, narrow face lifting. “Thank you, Colonel. The pleasure is mine. I hope you have found Colditz to be acceptable.” 

 

“It is. It is. I can see the effort being put into maintaining order and discipline. It is exceptional.” 

 

Eventually, all four of them were shuffled into chairs and a light lunch was served.  Mohn, Bruno observed was a quiet man with an arrogant confidence which didn’t suit the men around him. He was obviously disliked by his commanding officer and subordinate, though they were still polite. He was probably loathed by the prisoners.  After coffee was served, he faced the scarred officer. 

 

“I would like to know, Major, why you considered an evaluation for this officer.” If he was correct, then this had been more about Mohn than the American.

 

Mohn wiped his lips, folding his napkin delicately down to his lap before answering. “I believe he may have been damaged by the SS. There was a prisoner who went mad, and it is possible that Mr. Hogan displays the same symptoms. Perhaps a danger to his fellow officer, but it is best to be sure in these situations.” 

 

Something was surely at play here. “Of course, Major. You are familiar with this officer then?”

 

“As any can be with a prisoner. I imagine Captain Ullmann may know more.” There was no missing the insinuation in his voice. “He had kept a rather close eyes on Mr. Hogan since his dramatic arrival.” 

 

Then why had Mohn been the one to request this evaluation?  His attention turned to Ullmann. “Dramatic arrival?” 

 

“Captain Hogan collapsed upon arrival,” Ullmann related without great emotion. “Having been significantly tortured by the SS. He had enough strength to show while they were here, but it vanished quickly.  It is hardly a production and he was quickly moved to Sick Bay.” Given the sharp glance from Mohn there was something missing from the details. “His arrival nearly prompted a riot.” 

 

“I see.” 

 

“What the captain is failing to explain,” Mohn sneered. “Is that the rapid move to Sick Bay was carrying Captain Hogan in his arms.”

 

Ullmann didn’t blink or blush, he hardly seemed surprised by the admission. “Is the the most expedient route.” 

 

That was certainly odd. “I see.” 

 

“If is good that you arrived today.” Karl cut into the quiet tension. “The man in question will be hosting a lecture today.” 

 

“A lecture?”

 

“Indeed. He hosted one a week or so ago. I am not certain today’s topic will be as interesting as how to counterfeit Aztec currency, but should prove a distraction for the officers.” 

 

Scraff put his glass down gently, wondering if he’d heard correctly. “Counterfeiting Aztec currency? He held such a lecture?” 

 

“Much to the amusement of all.” Karl nodded. “It was quite the success.” 

 

“It is such an odd topic….I do not know anything about these Aztecs. What is he lecturing on today? Surely something of a similar vein? 

 

“Architectural styles of castles.” Major Mohn prompted with a frowning sneer. Still, Bruno was confused. 

 

“He is nineteen.”  He pointed out. 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

“How can any young man lecture with any confidence…on such a bizarre topic…on such bizarre topics?” 

 

“Then it is good you will see today,” Karl input. “I will be attending, as I am also curious.” 

 

That sounded good. “I will sit from view. I would like to observe without giving the impression of observing." All of the men nodded in agreement, and Bruno wondered what might be so special about Captain Hogan. 

Chapter 22: Chapter 22

There were three chalkboards at Casper's disposal and enough chalk to fill out his sketches and drawings. One or two of each and he might be alright, then again, these were Europeans, so they might not care. 

 

Just as he was filling in the outline of the Forbidden City when a familiar warm voice tapped up his spine. 

 

“Ah! How clever you are, my friend.” Dubois was smiling from the end of the mostly abandoned theater. A guard shuffled past every few minutes to look at his work.  So far, no one had come in to bother him. He hoped they were setting up for their escape attempt. 

 

Casper rolled the chalk between his fingers. “You’re just saying that.” He knew he was clever. Hideo had often told him, and so had his instructors, and very few people actually wanted to see how clever he was.

 

“I do say it,” Dubois replied. “And I mean it.” 

 

“You’re stealing an early seat then? You didn’t go on the walk?” Dubois enjoyed the sunshine and hardly missed a day.

 

“No, no,” tilting his scarred head, the Frenchmen settled onto the side of the dias, long legs hanging over the edge. “I wished to watch you work. When you were alone…when only I could see.” 

 

Casper ducked his head, blushing faintly. “These sketches are so beautiful.”

 

“You should see the damage I do with pencils,” he replied idly, thinking back to the enormous pile of hidden comics and manuscripts in a West Point locker and in the attic floorboard of his parent's home. 

 

“Then you should draw! Or write! I wish to be entertained in this prison and only you indulge me! Come, come, my friend, do not shy from my eyes.” 

 

The awkward blush remained. If it was the praise or the attention, Casper wasn’t sure. True, Dubois had eyes only for him and their focused intensity seemed to peer deep into his soul. Peeling back the layers and into dark corners to spread his attention across his heated gaze. It took every ounce of self-discipline not to squirm. 

 

“I’m just prepping for the lecture,” Casper managed to steady his voice. Dubois was several feet away, staring up at Casper, and from the outside it looked as polite and proper as possible.  Responding to his flirtations had opened the man to more compliments, patting his hand in public and in the movement of the crowd and walks his backside. When he leaned over to watch his card come his voice was too close to his ear and the heat along his neck could have startled a blush from marble. He was pretty sure a few of the French officers thought the entire thing was hilarious, but none of the English contingent had noticed. It wasn’t exactly a courtship, and more than one man had expressed interest solely by Caspers's looks, but Dubois felt different. His attention as Casper explained his moves or conversations never wavered. His comments were never dismissed.  He had not been shy in admiring his intelligence in the same breath as his beauty. 

 

Dubois answered with a tilt of his head. “One may sit in an art gallery with others, breath admiration of the masterpieces in the same air as fools…and now I sit alone. The air and awe is mine…” 

 

Shocked heat raced up his cheeks, the chalk slipping from his fingers. Casper went chasing after it, the man’s words and laughter ringing in heated ears.  

 

“What’s this then?” Casper glanced around to find Tim Downing ambling in. “Has the show started?” 

 

“Not until I shimmy up my garter belt,” Casper replied, earning a choked, started a laugh from the man. Dubois considering expression running warm over his legs. “I’m just setting up.” 

 

Tim nodded, glancing between them and staring intently at the sketches. “This good work.” 

 

“Thank you.”  He said plainly, picking up the chalk and hesitating. “Will you be there?” 

 

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss my new mates class. I’ve been trying to convince Carrington, but he’s not so interested in castles.” 

 

“No? I suppose it’s not as riveting as counterfeiting money.”

 

“Perhaps not, but I am confident Captain Hogan will make this topic as exciting as one might expect from his last lecture!” 

 

Downing grinned at the Frenchmen, and they turned around toward the door where Carter was loitering. “Will you be joining us?” 

 

“For castles?” He scoffed, suspiciously eyeballing the boards. “Hardly likely. A rather boring subject.” 

 

“I could give an in-depth lecture on sex.” Tim snorted. “But I’m not sure the priest would appreciate it.” 

 

Carter’s mustache bristled. “Rather peculiar subject. Could you speak on anything civilized?” 

 

“Do you want to discuss the Book of Songs?” 

 

“Shakespeare,” Carter shot back. 

 

“Play or sonnets?” 

 

“Play.” 

 

“Tragedy, history, or comedy?”  

 

Tim and Dubois’s heads bounced between the two men like an interesting tennis match. 

 

“Comedy.” 

 

“Which one?” 

 

“Twelfth Night.” 

 

Casper nodded, turning back to his work. “Alright. I’ll add it to the list.” 

 

Tension drifted from the frustrated office to the indifferent American. Tim raised his bushy eyebrows. “There’s a list?” 

 

“There is now,” Casper replied. He didn’t bother with Carter's visible annoyance. Ego wasn’t useful in most situations and even less in prison. “Anything, Downing?” 

 

For a long moment, the tall Englishman was stuck between his own confusion and his own pride. He drew himself up. “I’ll let you know.” When the American didn’t reply, they excused themselves into the hall, each confused. 

Chapter 23: Chapter 23

Colonel Scharff shuffled neatly into the Colditz theater behind a few Polish officers with their heads bent close together and perfectly willing to ignore his existence. It was crowded with soldiers, officers, and guards all packed into the chairs and against the walls.  He could see the top of Karl’s head and a few of the German officers sitting in the front row, Major Mohn had claimed his own spot and Captain Ullmann was nowhere to be seen.

 

There were a few men he recognized from the news reels. Colonel Preston and then Shaw…the war hero and pilot who had only just been captured to the celebration of everyone. High-ranking French officers, a few Russians, the Dutch, and the English. 

 

For such a tedious topic the lecture was well-attended, which baffled Scharff less. Men in prison got bored and bored men got creative. 

 

There were three chalkboards on the stage, a chair, a low stool, and a cup of water. Polite applause broke out as the American moved onto the stage. Short, narrow, steadying himself with a cane; Captain Hogan had none of the magnetic, energetic presence of Colonel Hogan. Like a bruise or an injured animal; but still managing his dutiful work. He didn’t move like any American Scharff had met. Clearly aware of his body in every way, contained inward despite the movements and deliberate.

 

Not a panther, nothing particularly menacing… a house cat, Scharff realized. Captain Hogan moved like a housecat. He knew where his body began and ended and probably looked far more natural perched on an overstuffed armchair than in a jungle. A young, thin man who probably should have been lounging around instead of standing in front of so many men. 

 

“Peculiar.” He muttered as Hogan perched on the chair and propped himself up. From this angle, the faint white line ringing his neck caught Bruno’s attention. He’d been strangled, Bruno realized, and the evidence remained. 

 

“Full house,” Hogan’s voice echoed the long-faded cries of someone who had screamed until there was no air left to scream. Shuffling awkwardly, the psychologist listened as the teenager continued. “What makes a castle, a palace, and a mansion? A house, a home, and a royal residence. What styles exist where? Europeans have plenty of different styles and ideas, but there is more to the world than just Europe. So we’re learning about different styles and if you want to leave halfway through then that’s fine…but I will steal your socks and make them into little dolls.” The room shuffled into bemused silence. 

 

It was an evocative threat. One Scraff could spend a few weeks picking over. The turn of phrase was so peculiar and interesting, it fascinated him more. Perhaps it was not so good of a plan to have met with Colonel Hogan before meeting the captain. Comparisons were drawn too easily between the confident officer and leader and the younger man. 

 

Perhaps the colonel had not been so badly tortured, but why was Casper Hogan an officer in the first place? A genius-level intellect was obvious, but often learning was simply reciting facts before a schoolmaster.  Perhaps he was only clever enough to memorize and relate.

 

As he listened, Bruno realized it was familiarity with which Hogan was describing the eastern palace designs. A fact which seemed to dawn on several men at once. It was more than knowing the facts, but they were relayed with a quiet enthusiasm that Bruno could not help but be drawn in. Hogan did not appear to be a man on the verge of collapse, but there were such a way to hide those symptoms. 

 

In fact, the longer he listened, the less he understood why the major had been insisted on an evaluation. 

 

Captain Ullmann slipped, as much as a man like Ullmann could slip, into the room half an hour later and took off a pose of a man deeply interested in the proceedings. Perhaps he was, he had been a schoolteacher before the war. 

 

As discreetly as he could manage, he took notes. Observations of the boy's mannerisms, how speech patterns, and any turn of phrase that sounded so foreign to his ears that it could only have been imagined by the speaker. 

 

When Hogan paused for water an hour into the lecture, giving several officers a moment to use the facilities; Ullmann sidled over. 

 

“What do you think, sir?” 

 

“I think I’m rather impressed,” Bruno admitted without reservation. “I can see why the kommandant has allowed these lectures.” 

 

“Yes, education and diverting. It is good for the men and morale.” 

 

“And any security concerns?”  He prodded. The large man raised an eyebrow and considered the whispering crowd for a moment. 

 

“A few. With so many officers distracted then it is possible for a man to make an escape. This does serve as a rather obvious distraction.” 

 

“Ah.” Bruno politely left the man to ruminate over possible escape plans and focused on the crowd. 

 

The second hour seemed to be for questions, of which there were many. At one point, Hogan stood to erase a board and described how wood was grown for some palaces in a method Bruno had never heard about. He sketched out a rough outline of a dragon for symbolism, and eventually called it quits after an hour. 

 

Making himself scarce, Bruno watched most of the men file from the theater chatting and talking amongst themselves. A few promised to corner the captain later as they still had questions and a few officers approached the dais. The senior British officer seemed as chuffed as a stoic man could be, and his retinue shuffled close. Oddly enough, a wounded French officer hovered close. 

 

“That was very well done, Captain.” 

 

Hogan had settled rather heavily into the chair, propping his head on the top of his cane. “Thank you, sir.” 

 

“Leftenant Carter informs that you intend to lecture on Twelfth Night. I should very much like to hear your observations.” The man puffed his coat up, eyeing both the Kommandant and Bruno as they approached. Mohn continued to lurk just within earshot. “Kommandant…sir.” 

 

Hogan didn’t give the impression of paying attention, his warm eyes had flitted low and were gazing at the back of the room without any apparent focus.

 

“Captain Hogan, my congratulations on your success,” Karl told the teenager. Bruno watched the faintest hint of red creep past the collar to color his ears. 

 

Ah , soldier or officer, Captain Hogan was still a child. A young man who craved approval. Did Karl resemble his father? Why had his compliment meant more than Colonel Prestons? 

 

“Uh…” Hogan glanced over. “Thank you.” When his eyes met Bruno’s he tilted his head to the side. The resemblance to a bemused housecat could not have been more complete.  It took every ounce of control not to chuckle.  With the English attention shifting, the Frenchmen still nodding admiringly at the captain; Bruno broke the stare. 

 

“Colonel, allow me to introduce Colonel Scharff. Colonel, the senior British officer.” 

 

“An honor,” Bruno assured the narrow man. “To be sure.” 

 

“Thank you, and what brings you to Colditz today?”  Bruno blinked, not having anticipated the question. He had thought the English were more circumspect than this. 

 

Hogan made a soft chuffing noise, half-lidded eyes now solely focused on Bruno. Flickering from his notebook to his uniform and then to the kommandant. “He’s a psychologist.” The teenager announced. The listening prisoners now focused entirely on Bruno. He favored the captain with a scolding frown. “And it’s probably not too arrogant to say that he’s here for me.” 

 

“You are as clever as they say,” Bruno admitted, rather disliking the slow smile half-hidden by the folded hands. 

 

“Not really. You’re holding your notebook outside.”  Bruno looked down, embarrassment flushing over his cheeks as he realized he was holding his notebook outside in. Hogan’s name and his speculations were available for all to read.

 

Colonel Preston chewed on a half-suppressed smile. Karl was too professional to be angry over such a small detail, but he glanced at Bruno and promised a dressing down later.  Hogan’s smile was as unsubtle as the scar on his neck which gleamed as he lifted his head. Again, Bruno shuffled his expectations from his meeting with the colonel. 

 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” A little childish, but not surprising. Hogan glanced meaningfully at Preston. Whatever silent conversation was happening came to a pause. “Likewise, Colonel. Should I host a lecture on psychology, Colonel?” 

 

“Assuming you could lecture on such a topic, I would be very interested to hear your thoughts, Captain.” 

 

“I hope it is not before you discuss the play,” the Frenchman objected strenuously. “You speak on scientific topics. I wish to be entertained with an amusing subject, Captain.” 

 

“The play before psychology,” Hogan promised gently, dismissing Bruno entirely. “Do you want to read it beforehand? “

 

“Of course!” The major promised.

 

“I’ve got the tea!” An orderly announced, appearing from backstage with a cup in one hand and a guard at his side. The private froze at the sight of that many officers, only jerking forward when Hogan turned around. 

 

“Thank you, Private.” Hogan collected the cup, sipping noisily for a moment and clearing his throat. “ Ow .” 

 

“Aye, Captain. Perhaps you ought to rest a bit.” The orderly whispered, too loud not to be overheard. “You’ve had an awful long day.” 

 

“I’m alright, Private.” The soft reply came. A thin hand traced along the white scar, and Colonel Preston’s expression soured. Even Bruno’s stomach twisted. 

 

“That is quite alright, Captain.” Bruno input. It wouldn’t do to push so early. “I imagine even a skilled orator would need a moment to recover.” 

 

“Uhhh…” Alarmed, the teenager glanced again at Preston for guidance. After a nod, continued. “Well that's…kind of you?” He hesitated a moment before continuing to drink his tea.  

 

“Was this comparable to the lecture on Aztec currency?”  

 

“I couldn’t say, Colonel. I did not attend the previous lecture. Though.” Preston turned to one of his officers, who nodded eagerly. 

 

“Very good, and a very odd subject. I am keen to hear about something I’m a little more familiar with.” 

 

“I have always found the works of Humbolt to be most fascinating,” Bruno admitted and a spirited discussion of literature simmered away. When they turned to look at Hogan, this time for input into the discussion Bruno once again stifled the urge to chuckle. 

 

Captain Hogan was still propped up against his cane, head over folded hands and perched stiffly on the chair, but his eyes were closed and his breathing slow. He had fallen asleep. 

 

“My word!” Preston muttered.  The Frenchman muttered something too quiet for Bruno to hear; and kicked the dias.

 

“Hmm?” Brown eyes flickered open. “ Ittai nani ga shitai nda?” Dead silence, interrupted only by the quiet yawn of the American, rang about.  His eyes flickered again. “What?”

 

“Best be off to rest,” Preston said hastily, but the damage had already been done. 

Chapter 24: Chapter 24

“That was Japanese!” Bruno exclaimed once they were safely back into the Kommandants office. “Of course! His understanding of the East! But why?” he paced around the small office, not paying attention to the bemused expressions of the other men. “Why is he in Europe? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have him fight in the Pacific?”  No one had an answer for him which he didn’t notice or care about. Shifting around, he wondered why no one else seemed enthused. 

 

“This does not change the nature of his imprisonment in Colditz,” Karl pointed out. “He is a prisoner and unlikely to be well enough to escape and be re-deployed to the Pacific.” 

 

“True! True! However, how did he come to learn of the East? Why was he there? His brother showed no understanding. Kommandant! This is a fantastic opportunity! Oh, marvelous!” Still pacing, the doctor continued to speak. “I believe Captain Hogan will be my most interesting patient yet!” 

 

All of them nodded in candid agreement. 

 

“You are not surprised?” 

 

“I heard this language before,” Captain Ullmann admitted. All eyes turned toward him. “When he was semi-coherent in the sick bay. I did not recognize the language. I believe America has many native languages and consider it inconsequential. I could not replicate the words, sir.” 

 

Bruno nodded. “People speak the language of their hearts when they are not fully awake. A man who dreams in German will also speak it during the night. His head,” Bruno tapped the side of his head. “Is not truly in English.” 

 

“What do you intend to do with this then, sir?”  Ullmann asked, and again all focused on the doctor. 

 

“I believe…I would like to speak with him tomorrow. Surely he is too tired now…excuse me, Kommandant, I would like to make a phone call. May I use your private line?” 

 

Karl nodded his assent and once the man had departed the commanding staff of Colditz shared a baffled silence. 

 

“This,” Mohn finally said. “Is hardly enough to make Captain Hogan interesting. Many of these officers traveled before the war. I do not understand this fascination with him.” 

 

“Perhaps it is the many contradictions.” Ullmann offered.

 

When the doctor returned, he was smiling still. “Wonderful. Wonderful..,. Please, I would like to be shown to my quarters. I have a great deal to consider.” 

 

“Of course,” Karl agreed. “Will you join me for dinner?” 

 

“I would be honored.” Bruno nodded and excused himself and their usual duties resumed.

 

#$#$# 

 

“Japanese?” Preston was not a man of a great temper or rash decisions. Still, his eyes were sharp as he focused on the American sitting across from him with a bemused expression. “Captain?” 

 

“Japanese,” Hogan agreed, eyes shifting from Preston to Dubois and then to Carter. 

 

“Captain, this seems to be a point of interest to the doctor. Can you offer an explanation for his interest? Or why he might intend to interview you?” 

 

“I…cannot,” Hogan said slowly. “I was never interrogated on….they wanted to know about my family. My brother and father.”

 

“General and Colonel Hogan?”  Captain Hogan nodded. “And how did you come to know Japanese.” 

 

Casper blinked, dark eyes shuttered to an alarming blankness that was only copied by the absolute stillness in his body. “That’s not something I can talk about, sir.” 

 

It was far too suspicious and coincidental. Preston nodded his assent. “Do you know why the doctor might have been summoned?” 

 

At this, Hogan’s bemused expression deepened. “No, Sir….the Germans might think I’m unwell, but there’s no way I’ll ever be repatriated.” 

 

“Why do the Germans think you’re unwell?” Preston asked, glancing at Carter and then Dubois. The Frenchmen seemed equally confused. 

 

“I don’t know, sir.” 

 

‘If you know Japanese…why were you not stationed in the Pacific?”  Hogan’s bitter scoff caused Preston to tilt his head. “Captain?” 

 

“That is also something I can’t talk about, sir.” 

 

“Is there anything you can speak of, Captain?” 

 

“I could, sir. But I have already held a lecture today.” 

 

Preston shot him a sharp, furious glance which did little to stifle the insolent gleam in the American eyes. 

 

“Sir, I didn’t answer any questions pertaining to my brother or father. I can’t hazard a guess why the man would be coming to speak to me. I can only say that it is likely an opportunity to interrogate me further because I’ve offered no information previously. 

 

Still, Preston wasn’t entirely impressed by such a premise. It wasn’t often a prisoner was treated with the kid-glove procedure, Shaw being the exception for his rank and notoriety. Perhaps it was Hogan’s family connections that netted him such an unpleasant stay and confrontation. An entire family of officers would make any man a tempting target. 

 

“Very well… very careful, Captain Hogan. Whatever mission this doctor is on cannot be pleasant. He may attempt to disguise his venom as honey; whatever you do, do not fall for it.” 

 

Hogan nodded, “Yes, sir.” 

 

“Good, dismissed.” When the younger man was gone, Dubois hovering at this side. Once he was gone, Carter said. 

 

That’s something bloody odd about that man, sir. Something just unnatural with his attitude and bearing.” 

 

Preston couldn’t help but agree. “Still, he is an officer and an ally. We must suspect that the Germans intend to do something with him. If he is to be evaluated then this might set a precedent.” 

 

“I would say that he does display madness, sir. He sits alone in the courtyard in the cold, lurks about by himself, and spends time with the Frenchie. There’s something odd about it, I think.” 

 

Preston wasn’t sure. There was simply too much conviction in the boy's voice when he said no one would care. 

 

Far too much. 

Chapter 25: Chapter 25

Casper hadn’t made it two steps away from formation before guards began to inch towards him. He spotted them, ducking into the crowd of officers and slipping off his jacket as he did so. Once he felt he’d blended in enough, he made his way up the stairs at a cautious pace until he could move toward the French quarters. 

 

Three soldiers in the courtyard shuffled through the crowd of prisoners looking for the distinctive hat and coat of the American officer. As the crowd thinned and it was clear that the man had vanished under their very noses, they returned to Captain Ullmann’s office. 

 

“He was not in the courtyard, sir.” 

 

Ullmann glanced up from his paperwork. “Did you locate him?” 

 

“No, sir.” 

 

“Did you search , Corporal? He is injured and unlikely to escape with such poor health. Search the British quarters, and failing that, Sick Bay.”  As the man left, Ullmann leaned back with a curious frown.

 

Where else would Hogan go? “

 

Casper made use of the French quarters, ignoring the knowing grins of the officers as he settled in for a few card games with Major Dubois. The man obviously thrilled by the company making soothing noises and patting his knee occasionally. If his hand slipped further up his thigh than anticipated on occasion then it wasn’t anyone's business. 

 

“I think,” He said an hour later, “I have only a few minutes to make myself scarce before the guards come.” 

 

“You are hiding from them?” Another officer asked, possibly drawn by the overly interested air between the two men.  He seemed pleased to observe their interactions without much comment. 

 

“I’m not hiding. I’m evading.”  Adjusting his cane, he nodded. The second officer slid into his abandoned spot as Casper made his way out. Ducking into a washroom, he inched into the newly overturned British quarters to settle onto his own bunk. 

 

A soldier had turned it over in the search for him, and he could feel the ghost of strange hands over his standard-issue blankets. 

 

Grumbling, he made himself comfortable as Carrington moved into the room. “You’re names up, Captain.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Downing chortled. “How long do you think you can keep this up? If you’re evading him the entire time?” 

 

“It’s not really about the time. It’s about annoying them.” He reached for one of the books he’d kept in his cubby over his head pillow and propped it open. “Let me know if they’re coming this way.” 

 

He wasn’t sure where they’d search next, but he took the roundabout way to the Sick Bay for a quick visit. The doctor on duty didn’t give him a glance when he settled in next to the most recent patient. A Pole who had twisted an ankle slipping on a wet staircase.  Handing him a cigarette from the Red Cross package and lighting it; he opened his book to the latest unread chapter and focused. 

 

Ullmann’s search for Hogan would keep his attention from the escaped prisoners. Quiet whispers last night before he dropped off confirmed that both men had gotten away and they were now free to break for Switzerland.  

 

So, as long as the search for Captain Hogan kept them entertained, they wouldn’t notice. 

 

The patient didn’t speak English and Hogan didn’t speak Polish so they sat in silence with books and cards for a while until a call for roll came. 

 

It was already midday. He had successfully evaded being hauled into the doctor's office so far and intended to keep that trend going. Doubtless, he’d be furious by the time someone actually managed to get him, but that wasn’t the point.

 

There were only so many hiding spots in Colditz that wouldn’t arouse suspicion or lead the guards to an escape attempt or contraband. Ullmann, who had joined the search sometime after lunch, was quickly canvasing the castle faster than the guards who were being posted in each searched room to sound the alarm if he made his return. It was a frustrating endeavor and only came to an end when Ullmann moved to storm across the courtyard and caught sight of Hogan slouched in a lounge chair with a book in his hands, dozing fitfully under a blanket. Nearby officers stifled their laughter as the captain shot a pointed stare at the guards on duty, and loomed over the short American. 

 

In a decidedly cool voice, he said. “Mr. Hogan.”

 

“Captain,” squinting upward, he gestured to the side. “Mind moving? You’re blocking the sunlight.” 

 

“Please come with me,” Ullmann said, keenly aware of the eyes on him. 

 

“Oh? Well.” He tucked the book back into his pocket, trying to leverage himself up with his cane. It took a moment, and his pinwheeling arm met Ullmann’s hand. “Thank you.” He pulled him the rest of the way up and taking a moment to brush himself started towards Sick Bay. 

 

“This way, Mr. Hogan.” 

 

“Are you sure?” Casper paused and pointed towards Sick Bay.

 

“I am quite sure, please follow me.” He was being polite, even with the irritation visible on every line of his enormous body. Casper wondered how much longer he could have hidden within the castle walls as he was escorted from the prisoner's contingent to the German quarters. Here it was warmer, and more comfortable with lights that didn’t flicker, carpet, and actual upholstery on the chairs. He was led into a small sitting room where Dr. Scharff and the Kommandant were deep in discussion. 

 

“Sir, Mr. Hogan as requested.” 

 

Both men stood, the commandant’s expression soured faintly. “You have made things very disturbed, Captain. I do not accept such behavior.” 

 

“Behavior?” Casper ignored how the doctors began to scribble in his notebook. “I’m not sure what you mean?” 

 

“Do not play ignorant. You have delayed this long enough” 

 

Casper let confusion settle over his features, trusting the man’s temperament to smooth over in a few minutes. True to form, the man nodded finally. “The doctor wishes to speak with you. As you well know. You will cooperate fully.” 

 

“Shouldn’t I have another officer here?” 

 

“If this were an interrogation, yes. This simply a…conversation.” 

 

Casper hoped his expression relayed just how he felt about that statement. It must have because Ullmann coughed faintly. “I will take my leave.” 

 

Both officers scooted out, and Casper looked around the office. 

 

Bruno smiled politely. “Please, take a seat.” There was a comfortable chair and the door opened again to let a corporal through with a tea tray. It smelled like real tea. Well, European tea wasn’t the best but it was better than nothing.  “I know Americans prefer coffee, but it is rather strictly rationed at the moment. Please, have some.” 

 

“Oh…thank you.” He poured himself a cup, cautiously sniffing at the heat to see if anything extra had been added.  No, just over-boiled tea leaves without cream or sugar. 

 

“I have been very eager to speak with you, Captain.”

 

Of course, he had. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”  

 

The smile was too friendly. “I doubt you could ever. “

 

Flattering. Casper took it with as many grains of salt as rationing would allow. Staring blankly, the doctor cleared his throat before marking something else down. 

 

“Now, Captain. I am here for a routine evaluation. I have made a concerned effort to study prisoners and their physiological reactions to imprisonment. I believe you may prove to be an interesting case study.” 

 

“I’m an open book.” 

 

“Ah, no. I do not think you are.  Now, how do you find Colditz?” 

 

Rubbing the side of his head as he sipped the tea, Casper shrugged. “The truck didn’t have windows to look out of. I don’t think I could find this place on a map.”  Again, the doctor let out a small hum and marked something down. 

 

“What of your experiences? You are one of the only Americans in Colditz and certainly the youngest officer. Does this impact how others treat you? Englishmen? Even the guards?”  

 

A question he already had answered by Ullmann’s observations. There was no way he’d missed anything in the last few weeks. “Yes.” It really was terrible tea. He’d never really gotten used to how badly the Europeans burnt their leaves. 

 

“How?” 

 

Casper didn’t answer, prompting another thoughtful hum from the man. “Is it similar to your father and older brother?” 

 

He’d known this would be an avenue of discussion as soon as he’d figured out the man was a brainpan trawler. Any sign that he gave would be interpreted, correctly or otherwise. 

 

“My brother and my father? No, my father and mother?” The cold, distant figure of his parent. His mother's indifference on the few times he’d been away from a nanny, caretaker, or boarding school to actually meet her. General Hogan’s relentless demands for perfection and obedience. Merciless against failure, perceived or otherwise. Colditz and the officers had fewer rules than his parent's home. 

 

Dr. Sharfch pursed his lips. “Your brother is a colonel and your father is a general. Surely their military experience would be different than your mother's. Since mothers are often a hiding place for boys and their fears. We are naturally drawn to our mothers for protection.” 

 

It was a herculean effort not to spit tea across the room. The urge to beat the man over the head with his own notebook left his fingers twitching. 

 

“So, is it different from your brother and father?” 

 

Trying to imagine Mrs. Hogan being protective was a measure of fantasy even Casper couldn’t imagine.  He hadn’t cried when he’d been put on the boat. She hadn’t even seen him at the train station. 

 

“Captain?” 

 

“What?” He blinked. “What was the question?” 

 

“Is this treatment different from your family?”  He tilted his head to the side. “You seem confused.” 

 

“I’m not sure why it’s any of your business.” The doctor frowned, scribbling rapidly. “I mean, a man needs some privacy.” 

 

“I understand, Captain, but how one lives at home can impact how one copes with imprisonment. If you had a loving home then you must wish to go home very badly….” He trailed off meaningfully. 

 

“And if I had an unhappy one?” 

 

Bruno smiled tightly. “Then you are already familiar with imprisonment.”  A fairly sound assumption, and Casper told him so.  “Thank you. Of course, you may have had a happy home but the prison does provide you with a father’s discipline.” 

 

Casper choked on his tea, sputtering in laughter. Setting the cup down, he buried his face in his handkerchief and tried to stifle the laughter. 

 

“It is a fact,” the man continued firmly. “Young men need and desire discipline. If your father was.” 

 

“Maybe from an expert,” Casper choked out. “I'm sure there’s a professional who’s made a study of it.” 

 

“Fascinating.” Scribbling away as Casper poured himself a new cup of tea. “What would you say to your father if he were here?” 

 

If General Hogan was in Colditz? In this very room? The very notion made his blood run cold. Seeing the dark-haired man loom, looking him over for untucked shirts, a hair out of place, and an unmade; would have left Casper strangled by his nerves. His father demanded respect and attention, and nothing Casper did suited his standards. Every attempt left both men frustrated with failure. The general had recalled him from Japan. Sent him to West Point, and Casper's attempts to reach any measure of approval had sunk.  He’d be ashamed of his son, ashamed that he was a prisoner, that he’d allowed himself to be tortured by the Gestapo. Allowed himself to be carried like a fainting damsel. 

 

Noting his continued silence the man spoke. “Would you offer him a cup of tea?” 

 

“Oh…no.” It was bad tea. The General preferred coffee.  

 

“And would you offer your brother tea?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Hmmmm.” He wrote for several minutes, as Casper settled himself further into the couch. It really was warm in here the way none of the prisoner's quarters were. The stove crackled merrily, sulfating the room with a woody, comforting scent. “What is your relationship with your father?” 

 

“He is my father,” Casper replied. A true enough fact and the man would excavate it for any details he wanted. 

 

“I see. And what of your mother?” 

 

“She’s a woman.” He snuggled further into his sheepskin, letting his tired body relax. 

 

“And does not know a soldier's hardships?” 

 

Mrs. Hogan didn’t know hardship as anything other than a vocabulary word. “Only a soldier can speak for a soldier's pain.” 

 

Again, the man scribbled things down. Casper wondered what he was getting out of anything he was saying. 

 

“Your lectures are very intriguing. I must say that I found your most recent topic fascinating in a way I had not considered before. I understand you lectured on Aztec money.” 

 

“You do?” 

 

 “Well…yes. That is what the others discuss. Quite fascinating.” 

 

“Is it?” 

 

“You lectured on the topic for some time. Wouldn’t you consider it fascinating?” 

 

Casper did think it was fascinating but cut the man a blank look. 

 

“Many of the German officers seemed interested as well. Did you notice Major Mohn in the audience?”

 

“It was crowded.” 

 

“I understand you’ve had several interactions with the major. You were put in insolation in his order, but when you two knocked against each other and fell over you asked how he was.” 

 

Which was the interaction when Mohn started treating him as if he was on a long fuse and liable to blow at any moment.  None of it explained why they felt it necessary to put him in front of this doctor for an evaluation. “Hmmm.” 

 

“And,” the doctor made a mark. “Wouldn’t you consider that odd?” 

 

“Odd?” 

 

“He is your enemy. He has made your life here unpleasant.” 

 

“I’d argue that you are doing a better job of that.” 

 

“And,” the man continued gamely, “despite this fact you inquired after his health. You have no reason to like him.” 

 

“No one likes him.” Casper pointed out. “You don’t like him.” 

 

“I respect Major Mohn immensely. He is a war hero and a symbol of German strength.”  Rapidly shuffling his papers, he eventually cleared his throat.

 

“Respect isn’t liking someone.”

 

“That is a….distinction.” The older man eventually conceded and spent so much time making notes that the darkness encroached. Casper was dimly aware of a second voice in the room, exhaustion and injuries pressing over a lifetime of training to keep him asleep. Someone cleared their throat. His eyes jerked open, sucking in a sharp breath as both men stared over him. The doctor and someone from the kommandants staff. Old, thin, and, narrow he wasn’t sure who the man was. 

 

“Captain,” the doctor closed his notebook. “I see that I have overtired you. We will have to continue this conversation tomorrow. It seems I am needed.” 

 

Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Casper nodded faintly.  He hadn’t answered to the man’s satisfaction then, and let himself be escorted back to the courtyard. The escape committee seemed to be in conference, and Casper couldn’t stomach the notion of being surrounded by the men. 

 

The doctor wanted to dig deep into his psyche, suss out what made him tick and ways to control him.  They wanted information on General Hogan. Information and insight into the great men making their lives difficult that Casper could have never hoped to become or reach. He was simply… that . A man, a soldier, a tool, and a weapon. There shouldn’t be much to figure out, not when duty and expectation were all he could live towards. Capture and prison had ruined his plans and now.

 

“Captain.” Dubois's voice caught him. Casper paused. The Frenchman was eyeing him warily. “Come with me. We are playing cards and need another player.” 

 

“Sure.”   

 

He didn’t want to think about his parents. 

Chapter 26: Chapter 26

The next day, he dodged the men enough to slink down the park on the daily walk with the others. Dubois joined him, humming a jaunty tune under his breath until they were within the gates. 

 

“What does this doctor ask about, my friend? Does he ask you to look at strange blots and ask about sex?” 

 

Casper squinted at their distant prison, musing over the question. “I’m not sure what sex has to do with anything, but he’s asking me a lot of stupid questions.” 

 

“Don’t you know, my friend? Sex is at the forefront of all minds. All human behavior relates back to sex. This is well known…surely you knew this. With all of your fantastic knowledge, you must.” 

 

“I don’t,” Casper replied, “because it doesn’t.” Dubois paused, and Casper dug his cane into the dirt. “It doesn’t.” 

 

“That is all man is concerned with.”

 

“It’s a great deal of what we’re concerned with…I’m not, but I know others are. But that’s not the most important thing. Sex is just sex, it’s like going on a walk. It’s a physical activity, it just also happens to make children.” 

 

Appalled and confused, the man turned away and back with a retort on his lips. They were deep into a debate rapidly spiraling into an argument when a car pulled up at the gate. When the doctor emerged, expression souring the longer he eyed the unhappy prisoners in the yard; Casper ducked into his coat. 

 

“Ah…” Dubois annoyance lifted. “I see you have made a timely escape…again.” 

 

“I was hoping he might not call for me.”  He didn’t want to think about his parents. He didn’t want to think about their expectations or anything else the man might find as interesting. “I’m not sure what he finds so interesting.” 

 

“Ah, mon ami…you are so clever but even the clever have failings.” With a squeeze to his shoulder, they turned from the gate where the doctor was trying to wave for Casper. “So, do you simply enjoy infuriating the guards or do you have further intent?”

 

They looped around the inside of the walls, heads tucked close together. As they avoided looking back for the summons. 

 

“The guards are approaching,” Dubois warned gently, his hand brushing against Caspers in a way that could have been friendly but sent a shock through his arm. A leather-gloved hand reached around, followed by the deep green of the man’s uniform, and the guard himself. He planted himself in front of the two men, weapon across his chest and glowering. Captain and Major paused as a new voice rang behind them.

 

“Captain!” The doctor’s voice was tinged with just enough irritation to pull a smile across Casper's lips. As he joined the guard, curious eyes skipped over Major Dubois before focusing on the American. “You are a very clever man, captain. I understand why they watch you so closely. I also understand that you have taken some… liberties .” 

 

“I suppose.” He shrugged. 

 

“I see…please, Captain. I would like to continue our conversation.” 

 

“You maintain great manners with a gun to back you up.” Casper pointed out, stepping from his companion. I wonder how’d you stack up without the guard.”  The guard in question understood English, expression souring as he took a stiff step forward while the doctor waved him down. 

 

“I understand you a rather defensive. It is only natural. Of course, I will dispense of the guard.” Ushering the man away, the facade continued. “It is time to continue our conversation. Major, please excuse me.” Dubois waved them off, eyes following the pair and their guard until they had stepped out of the enclosure. 

 

Casper tucked his hands into his sleeves, observing the car, the town, and the locals passing by. Some people stared, others eyes slid right past him. He wondered which would betray him if they saw him escape, which would look the other way, and which wouldn’t even notice. 

 

“The weather is very lovely today.” Casper blinked, still eyeing the nearby buildings. “Have you experienced similar weather in the Orient?”

 

In the crowd a few soldiers on leave, drinking on the chairs and steps of a shop were watching them closely. One or two pointing openly at Casper, nudging the others, and laughing. 

 

“I suppose that the Orient is much warmer.” The doctor continued, ushering Casper closer to the town and shops.

 

That was the problem with Europeans and Westerners. None of them really understood the world outside their limited perspective. They might not understand that only parts of Japan were tropical and most were as cold as the Russian front part of the year. The monsoon season had been an entirely different subject as well. 

 

“I suppose it ought to be.” He assumed it was the doctor’s presence that was keeping the drinking soldiers from getting close. 

 

Dr. Scharf eyed him a moment longer before someone’s exclamation caught his attention. A woman waved her arm, melting from a shop with a package in her arm. Her hair was a blonde too bright to be anything other than chemically induced. A dress as fine that could be afforded with limited rations and style clung to an hourglass figure. Casper caught her uttering the man’s name, speaking too quickly for him to understand and seizing the doctor’s hands as they got closer. 

 

Thoroughly distracted, the doctor beamed kissing her cheeks in the French fashion and responding with equal excitement. 

 

Friends reuniting, Casper presumed. Lovers possibly if the naked affection on the woman’s face was anything to go by.  He sighed, looking around for his escort who was standing a respectable distance away. Eyeing the pair and then Casper, he made no move to go forward or engage. He’d found over the course of his time in Germany, that most soldiers followed orders to the letter and without engaging any portion of their minds beyond those orders.  A depressing state of events, but hardly surprising all things considered. Dr. Scharff seemed wholly occupied even as Casper waited politely. When he glanced around, meeting the tipsy soldier's eyes, the man waved him over. Seeing this, the others gestured furiously a few cajoling him in cheerful, drunken tones as the American shrugged. When the doctor didn’t respond to Casper’s departure and took it as permission to join the soldiers he arrived to one shoving a stein of beer into his hands and kicking a crate over. 

 

“ Amerikaner! ” A stocky man beamed, eyes swimming in beer he’d already drunk and flinging an arm over his shoulders. “ Willkommen! ” 

 

The three others raised their glasses, a few echoed the first welcome and Casper accepted the beer. He hadn’t made a habit of drinking in the past. Sake was more dangerous than most people expected it to be, and he took a careful sip of the beer. Each of the soldiers watched intently for his reaction. When he shrugged, a collective groan went through them. 

 

He guessed they were arguing about what he ought to like or not like. 

 

“You don’t like beer?”  The newcomer was short, on the nebbish side with thick glasses and a hat too large for his head which he tucked under an arm. His hair was almost as dark as Caspes, flattened with generous amounts of oil reflecting from a sculpted style which only made his thin face even more narrow. Acne and scars pimpled across his chin, neck, and over his forehead, but his English was clear and faintly accented. 

 

“It’s alright.” He jostled under the drunken man’s arm. 

 

The newcomer sighed. “They bought you a beer. An American…our enemy.” 

 

“....do you want it?”  The skinny soldier looked offended. 

 

“I am not so dishonorable,” he sniffed, the others jeered something at him which he dutifully translated. “They want to know if you have been left behind by your father while he does his shopping?” 

 

“Ah…” Dr. Scharff was still fully occupied with the woman. Their conversation was deep, and drifting to the shadows of an elegant and empty salon. “Yes, I guess.” 

 

Once word had been relayed, the others laughed harder as conversation fluttered around their drinks. 

 

“Why don’t you buy a drink?” He asked the unknown corporal. 

 

“That is not the point!” He whined. “I have been with this unit for a month.” Casper moved over, patting the side of the crate for him to sit. He obliged thin mouth in a pout. “I have never been bought a beer.” 

 

Casper had never been bought a drink by any of his officers or classmates while at West Point. He knew well enough how people viewed someone with a little too many brains.  “Well, eventually you get to a point where they do.” He sure hadn’t but hoped his confidence was enough to convince the other. “I think I’m a novelty item.” 

 

“Ah…true.” 

 

Casper leaned from the table, glancing to see that his guard was still standing in place, eyes on the barmaid who came out to refresh their drinks. The doctor hadn’t moved.  “So, a month?” 

 

“They hate me!” The corporal snapped an order at the barmaid, who rolled her eyes once the corporal's back was turned. Casper offered her a sympathetic smile. “I was the best in my youth courses and at university!” Casper took a long pull of his drink. “I am very clever.” 

 

“Obviously.” 

 

One of the soldiers gestured at Casper, words slurring over themselves. “They want to know where you are from.” 

 

“Spokane,” he lied, the wildly foreign word charming the soldiers who echoed the word in increasingly heavy fits of laughter. 

 

“Spokane is not an American town! It must be a product! No! You are lying! It is not a real place.” 

 

“Why don’t you believe me? Have you ever been?” 

 

“Well…no! But I still do not believe you!” 

 

“I suppose there’s no fixing stupid,” he shrugged, finding himself at the bottom of his glass as the man insisted that Spokane could not be the name of a town or a city that had any respect for itself.  ‘You know…why are you a soldier at all? You should be a teacher.” 

 

The corporal nodded in furious agreement. Now with a sympathetic ear, he continued to complain. Drinking steadily, the young officer whined, and moaned, leaning heavily on Casper as the night wound on. Occasionally translating between the soldiers and Casper. 

 Casper's own stein was being topped off regularly by the barmaid who had clearly been forced to listen to this one whine over drinks and proposition her. When he stuck out a foot to trip him as he reached for her backside; her next trip around included a plate of dinner. Hot, and infinitely better than what was served in Colditz, he devoured the sausages and toast and potatoes. 

 

It was only when the sun had begun to set and the world blurred around him, did Casper think he might have had too much to drink. 

Chapter 27: Chapter 27

Ringing metal, a baton being smacked against the iron bars just barely preceded a voice clapping over Casper’s headache and dragging him from blissful black-out. He snorted awake, eyes snapping open and then closed as weak fall sunlight seared over his eyes. Groaning, he was vaguely aware of the wooden slab beneath his aching muscles. 

 

“ Wake up!” Loud, piercing, and furious, the man smacked the bars of the cell again. 

 

“Shhhhh,” Tugging his arm from beneath his body, Casper gestured soothingly at the door. “ Shhhhhh .”

 

He smacked the cell again. “You will find that I am not entertained, Captain Hogan. Wake up!” 

 

“ I’m up ,” he replied, Japanese slipping out before he could manage English. Someone muttered in German as Casper dragged himself more-or-less upright. Blood pounded in his head, something fuzzy coated his tongue and teeth, and the world spun around him. Eventually coalescing into a dingy prison cell with a single window to allow sunlight to stream onto the lonely bench which Casper was haphazardly clinging to. His nose twitched as perfume filtered through his clothes and the dark green shawl tucked around his shoulders. “ What ?” 

 

As he raised a hand to scrub at his face, he paused at the sight of a clear-coated manicure of his nails. A blue silk handkerchief wrapped around his right wrist, and smudged lipstick smeared over his palm and up the inside of his wrist to disappear under his sleeves.  He was still wearing most of his uniform with a small crushed rose threaded through a button-hole. His boots were polished to a unbelievable shine, and as he lifted a hand to his aching head, felt smooth, conditioned strands fall through his fingers. 

 

Not recognizing the Luftwaffe officer or the policemen standing outside the cell, Casper raised a hand in a tired wave. “Hello?” 

 

“So, you are awake…and speaking English.” Sniffing, the Luftwaffe officer continued to frown. 

 

“I suppose.” The buildings outside weren’t painting with Colditz’s distinct style, and the castle wasn’t rising in the distance. “What….where….am I?” 

 

The men exchanged looks. “You do not remember?” 

 

“I….” digging for memories sent pangs through his skull. Light, music, girls and women crowded around him….a couch? The last thing he really remembered was drinking a beer while the doctor was talking to a lady friend. “Who are you?”

 

“I am Major Reinhart. You were found cavorting with prostitutes.” Casper’s confusion doubled, holding onto his head, he squinted upward. “This, you must remember.” 

 

“....no?” Prostitutes…..”A brothel?” 

 

Major Reinhart smothered a smile, nodding firmly. “Yes. so you do remember.”

 

“Context clues. Where am I…I..” Feeling under his shirt for his Colditz tag, he pulled it out to find the metal polished and buffed. 

 

“What is that? Give it to me.” 

 

 Unwinding it from his neck, Casper flung it across the cell towards the officers before slumping down. Why had they given him a manicure? His uniform was pressed and boots polished, and running a hand over his face marveled at the smooth softness. 

 

He hadn’t had sex, had he? If they’d dug him out of a brothel…..he knew one person in particular who would cut his throat for ever daring to enter one. Stumbling upright, he peered through the window at an unfamiliar city. No familiar buildings or church spires or trees. “Where am I?” 

 

“Leipzig.” Major Reinhart answered, humor threading through his words. 

 

“ Leipzig ?”  A good distance for Codittz, and he must have been dragged onto a train to have come this far. People had probably thought the other soldiers were his guards and left them unbothered….but he was…had he been kidnapped? Whirling on the two men before groaning as his head spun “ Oh…ow .” 

 

The men muttered to each other in German as Casper lowered himself back to the bench. His head didn’t hurt as much when he was sitting. Moments and impressions flickered into view as he reached for what had happened the night before.  Music…dancing, a soft, comfortable body settled beside his…darkness. 

 

“Very well, Captain. We will investigate your story.” The men walked away, and Casper did his best to avoid vomiting down his shirt. 

 

#$#$# 

 

Carter, Preston, Dubois, Carrington, and the French senior officer shared a brief moment of silence before Preston cleared his throat. 

 

“This was the last time you saw him?” 

 

Dubois was clear of the irritation simmering through him. “Yes. He was being lead away by the doctor. I have not seen him since…”

 

“No one’s seen him.” Carrington agreed. “And the doctor hadn’t returned either.” 

 

‘If this is a transfer then it has not been authorized.” Carter mused. “And his things are still at his bunk.” 

 

Prseton nodded, gravely considering the landscape past the window. “Given the state he arrived in, it may be likely that the Gestapo have collected him from the doctor. Or, he may have attempted an escape.” 

 

“Without assistance? Still very weak and ill? It would not be wise.” Dubois pointed out. “Captain Hogan is far more intelligence than this.” 

 

“He is American,” Carter added, nodding apologetically to Carrington who shrugged.

 

“He’s also a Hogan. If half the stories about his brother are true, then this one might be just as nuts. They’re as close to a military dynasty as Americans can get,” he elaborated after the confused glances. “His father and brother and grandfather set new records at West Point. If he wanted to escape, this would have been the perfect time to do it.”

 

“Then why hasn’t Captain Ullmann started out on a manhunt?” 

 

“The doctor hasn’t returned. He might be embarrassed to admit the boy is missing…if he is missing. I don’t see why he could be transferred out, and this move would have to be approved.”

 

Downing nodded, shifting backward to lean against the wall. “I’ve got to wonder if Ullmann even knows where he is.”

 

Silence fell as the men considered the strange and likely option. 

 

So, where was Captain Hogan?

 

#$#$# 

 

 “American!” Jolly, loud, the voice jerked Casper from his doze. He ignored the man, pretending to sleep. A clang followed again, the voice exclaiming. “American! Ah, Captain! You dance so pretty! Prettier than girls!” 

 

What ? His eyes flew open, but he forced himself to rise slowly.   A cheerful lieutenant waved, cigar in one hand and an apple in the other. Fresh fruit ? Casper caught it, staring past manicured nails. 

 

“Your winnings. I am a fair loser at times. When you gift me such an excellent evening. Ha! It is just as well we did not have a camera. The propaganda of an American dancing in an officers club.” 

 

Not a brothel? What had he been doing in an officers club? Where had he gotten this apple?  He wasn’t hungry, per se. He’d clearly eaten something…but what? 

 

“I suppose that’s alright.”  Fair-faced, blond, and the very image of Nazism, the other officer all but vibrated with glee.  Had they…done something? 

 

“It is a pity you are in jail. I tried, Captain. I tried to entice one of the girls to take you for the evening. They refused! Absurd! Tch! I offered to pay twice their usual fee too, for the favor you’ve done me.” 

 

“Well, fair is fair.” 

 

“Now! I am to be married!” He clapped his hands. 

 

Casper winced, pulling away to cover his eyes.  He offered a half-hearted congratulations. Marriage was nice, and he couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry this guy…but maybe he had a warped view of marriage.  

 

“I think you should marry. It will do you some good, I think. I have heard American men must be managed very well by their wives or they will become like children. I cannot imagine We will find you a wife. Surely you can write away to America for one?  Ah! I have an engagement dinner with my fiance and her parents.” 

 

“And her uncle. He is a general. It will be good for my career, ja ? It only makes sense that we shall have a happy marriage.” 

 

Making curling up under the blankets would give him a clue? Maybe he should just let himself be sick and die?  The officer was still talking, explaining his fiance and their plans for a quick wedding. AFter all, what else would one do in a war? Had Casper heard from his family recently? Or had he really been kidnapped or had he tried to escape? 

 

“Have you seen my cane?” He wondered, breaking the other man from his chatting. A glowing orange end of a cigarette shifted around as the man moved.  

 

“A cane? Ah! Yes! You had a cane. I remember now. It…..was firewood.” He laughed at Casper's baffled frown. “Yes! It was an accident. I am sorry. I will find you one, yes. You are clearly in need of one.” 

 

Unsure if he wanted to dig into his aching head and pry memories loose from the alcohol sticky floor of memories or just let things filter back with time and sleep; A few minutes later solve the problem for him. As soon as he let himself settle back onto the slab he was asleep.

Chapter 28: Chapter 28

Summary:

Where is Casper ?

Col. Hogan watched Shultz wobble toward Barracks 2, nose in the air and sniffing in the direction of the mess hall. Someone besides Lebeau was on cooking duty. Probably Corporal Baby, a master of all foods not French and another one of Hogan’s secret weapons. 

 

He glanced inwards to the men, processing pilots along. Taking photos, making up ID cards, ration cards, and handing out maps. 

 

“Shultz it coming.” He said. The other escapees tensed up, but Stalag 13 crew only shrugged. “I’ll intercept.”  Hogan pulled on his hat, slouching out the door before anyone responded.  “What’s up, Shultz? It’s not time for Lebeau’s usual strudel.” 

 

“Colonel Hogan!” Shultz sighed, huffing to a stop. Resting the butt of his empty gun on the ground as he paused for breath. “Oh good, Bigshot wants to see you.” 

 

“Really? Already? We just had roll-call.”  

 

“Phss, no. This is something special. I think, please. Do not make this difficult.” 

 

Robert sighed. “I won’t. I won’t. Let’s go.” 

 

As he might have expected from Klink, the man was pacing restlessly about his desk. Jerking about as Hogan was ushered in. “Hogan! Good! I will need to borrow the Cockroach for a dinner.” 

 

“A dinner?” This would be useful. 

 

“An engagement dinner!” He waved his hands furiously. “General Burkhalter's niece has become engaged and he is ordering me to host an intimate family affair !  I must show my capabilities as a host! Frau Linkmeyer will be present.” Hogan winced. “The general, his niece, her fiance and…someone. I suppose.  It doesn’t matter! I will need him to cook something!” 

 

“Hopefully it’s not an engagement dinner for you and Frau Linkmeyer.” On cue, Klink shivered. 

 

“Don’t say that! How horrible. Now, about that dinner.” 

 

Robert mused faintly. “It will cost you.” 

 

Unsurprised, Klink still slapped his desk. “Unacceptable!”   

 

“Then you’ll have to have sauerkraut and black bread. I hope that’s a good engagement dinner.” After a brief and calculated negotiation for white bread and hot water; he made his way back to his barrack with a faint spring in his steps. “Well, folks. Burkhalter's niece is off the market.” 

Mild protests and complaints met him. We’re hosting the engagement party. Lebeau, you’re on duty.” 

 

The Frenchman began to mutter a complaint and return to his cooking. 

 

 Carter sighed. “I hope she found someone nice. Good officers are hard to come by these days.” 

 

“What do you care?” Newkirk demanded.  

 

Carter waved helplessly. “If you’re getting married then you need to get married to a nice person! Even Lotte deserves that! Who’s she marrying, anyway?” 

 

“Not sure yet, but they’re coming to dinner with the general, his sister, and some…guest.” 

 

“Who’s the guest, sir?” Kinch wondered, finally looking up from his book. 

 

“Klink didn’t say…he doesn’t know.” 

 

“A general perhaps? A love of the Lady Linkmeyer?” 

 

That was the question, he settled back a bit in his chair with a sigh.”The dinner is tomorrow.  We’ll work it, and maybe get something useful out of the guests. At the very least, we can get some blackmail material. We might be able to help London with this information. “

 

The men nodded, and Robert wondered who might be coming. 

 

#$#$#%#$# 

 

Casper polished off the apple the next morning, still too hungover to suffer stomaching the prison food being offered. His appetite didn’t function or operate on a regular schedule, and he was lucky he managed to keep the apple down.  Watery coffee, and he would have rather settled for just water, which soothed the faint headache still pulsing along his temples. Whatever was happening, and he wasn’t sure he knew what was going on, wasn’t waiting for his input. 

 

This wasn’t a military prison, a local cell he’d been dumped into.  Cells across the hall were packed with dunkards, soldiers arrested while on leave, a few others Casper knew wouldn’t be long for this world once they were removed. Some stared openly, as others were dragged by they spat at his cell, drunk soldiers jeering.  

 

It was interesting…odd too. Even in a country of people who looked like him, he was still an odd man out…he’d been the same in America. Trying to get his feet underneath himself; merge back into American society and culture, adapt as quickly as possible to fit in where he was even more alien than before. At least these people disliked him for a reason. A war they started and now brought to their front door; Casper the unlucky salesmen. 

 

Sitting cross-legged on the bunk, hands resting on his knees and eyes closed; he was sure the guards thought he was asleep.  Thoughts and impressions vied for attention. Half-memories of the night before and his last view of the doctor before the alcohol blurred every synapse. 

 

Dinner was mostly ignored. Only taking the black bread and a few sips of the porridge before resuming his half-meditation. Once the guards stopped walking past, bored of sleeping prisoners and probably disliking the routine of passing down the cells; Casper opened his eyes. 

 

Quiet, dark, only muffled conversations taking place down the hall were scant light flickered from beneath the doorway.  A furious, spitting officers had come for the drunk soldiers earlier in the day, shouting and waving his arms before catching sight of Hogan and snapping his mouth shut. His shouting has turned on the American who proceeded to ignore him as easily as he’d ignored his men.  One of the drunks had slipped from his bunk with a nasty crack. Hogan had heard his last breath an hour ago as the other man rifled through his pockets for his packet of cigarettes and had smoked the whole pack before falling asleep.  

 

Casper slipped noiselessly from the slab and pulled one of the few hairpins from his hair. He wasn’t sure how’d they’d gotten there; probably the same as his manicure, rose, and the perfume. One of the mystery girls had tried to tame his hair, for which he thanked her as he delicately toyed with the cell lock. It was undone in short order, and not the most difficult lock he’d picked, and once in the hall found the smoker staring at him with wide eyes. He opened his mouth, only to pause when Casper shushed him. He got a glare in return which only faded once Casper tossed him a few American cigarettes. With his cigarettes, he turned his back to the cell and smoked quietly. 

 

There weren’t many ways out of a prison. Logically, the only thing down the other direction was a washroom and toilet for prisoners. Which he found oddly tidy, and a few pieces of clothing. There was no exit on this part of the second floor…or not one a regular office might think of taking. The window probably wasn’t meant for a full-grown man to climb through. Germans did seem to be fairly large, but Hogan bundled up his stolen clothing and squeezed it through the window onto the roof below. His own escape wasn’t as easy, but even two months out from his release from Gestapo custody echoes of his injuries and terror sometimes seized him.  Up and through, he let the window slip shut behind him once on the roof. To the left was a sheer wall down and the right a wall going up with blacked out windows of the offices and barracks.  

 

Casper shimmied cautiously to the closest window, teasing it open just enough to glimpse past the blackout curtains. Several bunks with all but two occupied. They slept, and since the other window was out of his reach and beyond his current physical capabilities; he climbed in. 

 

This has the added benefit of being made of stone, not wood which would creak and whistle if he stepped on it wrong. He’d been caught a few times by his masters on his way in and out of their homes and palaces. Casper could only withstand the annoyance and pain of punishment a handful of  times before he mastered infiltration. These weren’t even soldiers. Only policemen of men unfit to be soldiers or officers.  One, thin and sickly, shivered under the cool air as Casper shut the window, only to subside once he fixed the blanket and unfurled the one from another bunk. 

 

Thankfully, the hall was empty. Conversations floated up from downstairs. The secretary’s desk outside the ornate office door was abandoned, typewriter and papers organized with painful efficiency.  He paused, bundle of clothes in his arms as someone approached up the staircase. They called back down, pausing long enough for Casper to slip into the dark office. Well-furnished, but shabby and tired; desk long-abandoned by the late, now early, hour. Whoever was moving past the door stopped at the desk. Casper didn’t let his sigh out as the typewriter started up. 

 

Damn. He crossed the room and found himself on the balcony…overlooking the front door of the police station. 

 

It was fantastically bad luck. Almost as bad as being shot out of the sky, being captured, or being born at all. There wasn’t anything else to do. Casper bit back the cry of pain which threatened to overwhelm him; and shimmied down the drainpipe and hit the ground with a wince.  

 

Getting out of prison was the easy part.

 

Getting out of Germany was next.