Klink, Klank… KLUNK.
This is just a little filler piece; Klink wanted to have his say, it would seem. So this is the tale of how he ended up with…. But you'll just have to read this to find out. Oh, yeah: All previous disclaimers apply; I do not agree, etc, etc. jordre.
Chapter 1 – Moving out, German Style
September 30, 1942
Luftstalag 13
He stood alone on the porch of the Kommandantur; his greatcoat, whipped by the wind, billowed around his legs. He didn't feel it, didn't feel the wind, or the biting chill. He was too numb to feel anything. Ruined: he was utterly ruined. Slowly Oberst Wilhelm Klink turned to fumble at the door leading to the offices. No guard stood there now, having been pulled to other duty. Most likely the men, his guards, were shocked also… or, perhaps not. The guards, common soldiers, didn't question anything their superiors did anymore. Not after years of living under Hitler and the Gestapo. Those hadn't been gone long enough for people to risk allowing their curiosity license yet.
At last the door opened and he made his way inside. No secretary sat at the desk in the outer office: Hilda had gone home for the day. He would have to remember to call her at home, and tell her to stay away. Luftstalag 13 would no longer be a safe place for a pretty Mädchen to work, for it would no longer be under the Luftwaffe's control.
His poor prisoners…
It was all Hogan's fault, as was nearly everything else that went wrong around here. Only this time, Hogan wasn't here to put things right again. Hogan would never be here again, would never barge into his office, or steal his Schnapps, or his cigars… Klink fought back unaccustomed tears at his failure to protect his charges. He fumbled his way into his office, removing his greatcoat and scarf to hang them on the coat-tree beside the office door by habit. By habit also he poured himself a glass of Schnapps and moved to seat himself at his desk.
The envelope sat on his desk, mocking him. All his work, all his hopes and dreams, gone up like smoke. He cradled his head in his hands, silent in his despair.
«Herr Kommandant!»
Klink looked up at this cry of distress to see his Sergeant-of-the-Guard, Oberfeldwebel Hans Schultz standing in the office doorway, cradling a small box in his large hands. «What is it, Schultz?» He tried to sound fierce and angry at being disturbed, but his heart just wasn't in it today.
«Herr Kommandant, the Abwehr Guards are taking all of the Prisoners' Things out of Barracke 2! The Men will be so upset to find all of their Belongings gone, Herr Kommandant. What will they do when they get back…»
Klink sighed once more, then looked down at the envelope on his desk again. «Schultz, those Men won't be coming back here anymore. That is why their Things are being removed.» He tried to gentle his voice, for he knew that his sergeant was a kind-hearted soul. Schultz had been especially fond of 'Hogan's Boys', as he had heard them referred to as.
«Bu… Bu… But… Herr Kommandant… I don't understand why…»
«Schultz, I know that you have turned a Blind Eye to Hogan's Antics these last few Years,» Klink let his voice grow sterner now. «Others, not so open-minded, have learned what they were up to. Abwehr has taken them for questioning. They will not be coming back…. what is that in that Box, Schultz?» Klink's attention was diverted by scratching sounds coming from the box in the big Oberfeldwebel's hands.
Schultz looked down at it as if seeing it for the first time. He looked back up at his Kommandant, his eyes suspiciously moist-looking. «It is Felix, Herr Kommandant,» he admitted slowly, «Karter's pet Mouse. The Soldiers were going to kill him, but I took him away from them. Karter will be so worried about him…»
«Schultz, Sergeant Carter will have more important Things to worry about than a pet Mouse. Now get rid of that Vermin!"» Klink snapped, pushed nearly to his limit by the day's events.
«Nein, Herr Kommandant,» Schultz answered with great dignity and determination, surprising his senior officer. «He is a German Mouse; I will take care of Felix for Karter, for he is a good and loyal Mouse.»
«Oh, whatever,» Klink sighed, seeming to fold in on himself once more. «It doesn't really matter anymore, does it? Nothing matters anymore.»
Schultz gaped at his Oberst. «Why, Herr Kommandant, whatever do you mean?» he asked, totally confused now.
«You heard the Announcement, Schultz: the War is over. We have defeated the Englisch and their Allies.» He paused and looked at the portly man, his head cocked slightly as he considered him before continuing. «You are going to be discharged from the Military, Schultz. Does that please you?»
«Oh, yes, Herr Kommandant!» Schultz exclaimed, but his puzzled expression only grew more intense. «But Herr Kommandant, why does that make nothing matter anymore?»
«Because I am also to be discharged,» Klink tried to explain. «I have the Paperwork right here; a Major Grüber is coming Tomorrow to take Command here.»
«But that is good, Herr Kommandant,» Schultz began to say, smiling until Klink shook his head.
«It is not good,» Klink corrected, his voice nearly shaking. «You are to get an Honorable Discharge. I will have a huge Blot on my Record, for not knowing what Hogan and his Men were up to. They were Spies, Schultz; Saboteurs! That is what General Mannheim said, and he said that they had Proof! I am ruined!
«The War is over; they do not need even such a poor Soldier as I any longer. No One will hire me with that on my Record… Oh, why am I bothering to tell you all this?» He fumbled with the envelope for several moments, pulling Schultz's discharge papers out and handing them over. «Here, Schultz: take your Papers and go and pack your Things. There is no Reason for you to have to stay here any longer; Gefreiter Langenscheidt can assume your duties, since we now have no one in Barracke 2. Go back Home to Düsseldorf, or wherever; Have a good Life, love your Kindern…»
«I must go back to my Wife?» Schultz muttered under his breath, but he came to attention and accepted his papers. He saluted his Kommandant one last time, then turned and left the office to go and pack his belongings. Truthfully, the sooner he left that place, the happier Hans Schultz would be, since here he could only mourn the loss of Colonel Hogan and his men.
Klink watched his former sergeant go, sitting motionless and unfeeling to stare at the back of the closed door once he'd gone. Fear settled in as the numbness faded; that and anger at the Amerikaner who'd played him for such a fool.
He snatched up his glass of Schnapps, meaning to down it, but melancholy settled over him once more as he glanced at the framed photographs on the walls. The glass was set down once more, still untouched, as Klink slowly rose and began to remove the mementoes of his past. He wasn't sure just why he bothered, but he had been told to pack up all of his belongings; that was what he would do. Just like all the other good little German automatons, he would follow his orders to the letter.
It took three trips to empty the office of all his personal effects; he looked at them, piled now on the dining room table in his quarters, and wondered when he had acquired so many things. Slowly he shuffled to his storage room, unearthing his old footlocker to begin the actual packing. He lost himself in the work until the bell rang for evening Appell. In shock he looked out the window to see a dark sky, threatening rain this night. The weather suited his mood perfectly, he thought as he went back into his office for his Greatcoat and scarf, to go out and receive his last evening report.
In the end, much would be left behind for lack of space to pack it all in. They were things that Klink realized didn't mean all that much to him anymore. He kept his books, his records; he packed his chess set with the greatest care, remembering all the long hours he'd passed, playing with Hogan. He looked at his packed violin case with a smirking laugh, recalling all the sour notes he'd played just to make the Amerikaner squirm as he tried to pretend that the music hadn't been awful. Klink could play the violin; it had been very difficult to sound so… excruciatingly incompetent. Music had been the one thing that he'd been able to do well… no helpful skill for a Soldier of the Third Reich.
At last all he had left to pack were his clothes, and those were mostly uniforms. It wasn't much to show for such a long career; those, and the embarrassing accolade of being the man who had the longest time-in-grade as an Oberst in the whole Wehrmacht. It would greatly surprise him, if no one referred to him as a Stabsoberst1 because of that.
Finally finished, Klink looked around his quarters with a sigh. He would have to leave the furniture; perhaps Major Grüber would be kind enough to ship it to him, once he'd found a place for himself once more. Somehow, though, he doubted that would happen. But it was late, and he was becoming very morose; he would go to bed, and deal with tomorrow when it came.
Klink rose in the morning, still numb. He washed and dressed for the day, then packed his nightclothes away with the rest of his things in the last bag. This he set besides the others by the front door of his quarters, ready to vacate the premises when Grüber got there. He had one last Appell to oversee at Stalag13, although it felt wrong without Hogan and his men to cause their usual disturbance. The prisoners left behind were restless and wary, not trusting their jailors even more than usual. The count over at last, the men were dismissed until 0900, when the Official Announcement of the Surrender was to be broadcast.
At 0830, two staff cars drove in through the main gate. The first carried Major Elmar Grüber, Luftstalag 13's new Kommandant. The second displayed the fender flags of the Gestapo.
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1 A/N: The rank designations prefixed 'Stabs-' were rewards for long serving soldiers who could not advance further for one reason or another (such as Stabsgefreiter, over 5 years in grade as an Obergefreiter, Stabsfeldwebel, over 12 years in grade as an Oberfeldwebel). I found this little tidbit on the internet; unfortunately I do not remember the site, so I can't properly credit it. There was no actual rank of Stabsoberst, the thought just seemed to fit Klink.