A/N Written for the 100th Anniversary of Armistice Day challenge. Thank you Abracadebra for the challenge!

The story is finished and has three parts. Posting schedule is a chapter a day until complete.

In "Hogan, go home" Crittendon set out to talk Klink into transferring Colonel Hogan and ended with having him locked up in the cooler. In the following conversation between Hogan (working on his transfer) and Klink, the commandant said two strange things: he did it as a personal favor for Crittendon and that he did it to keep Hogan from committing suicide. Every time, the show added something to play down his words. But what if he had actually meant it like he had said it?

Buried, Not Forgotten

One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged. - Oscar Wilde

Part 1: Schultz

Crittendon strode to the commandant's office. In front of the porch, the sergeant of the guard had taken up position and blocked the door. Without pausing, the colonel went up to him. "Sergeant, I need to talk to the commandant."

The big man shook his head and remained where he stood. "The commandant does not wish to be disturbed."

"I'm the senior officer of the prisoners," Crittendon said, raising his head. He pushed his chin forward and put as much authority as he could muster into his next words. "And I demand to speak to the commandant, right away."

"And I am the sergeant of the guards of the POW camp and say no."

Frowning, Crittendon tried to find some space to push around the big guard. But Schultz stood firmly in the way, without leaving enough room to circle around him. He sighed. "Fine. I didn't want to do this, but you have forced me." He took a deep breath. "Get out of my way, sergeant! That's an order!"

Schultz laughed out loud. "You, a prisoner wants to give me," he used his thumb to point to himself, "an order?" He laughed again. "Funny. You're a real comedian."

Irritated, Crittendon blinked and looked away. Frowning, he scratched his forehead "This always works. It was supposed to work." He pulled at his earlobe, the frown still etched on his face, trying to find a solution. "How does Colonel Hogan talk to the commandant then?" he asked himself aloud.

Sergeant Schultz relaxed again but kept a weary eye on the colonel. "That is easy. Colonel Hogan is not as shifty as you. Colonel Klink does not trust you." He put down his gun and placed his hand on his chest. "That is the reason, I stand here and guard the commandant."

Crittendon nodded. "Clever man this Colonel Klink." He turned away to go back to Hogan. He may need a few pointers in dealing with this sergeant as he had not anticipated such loyal protection.

A strong gust of cold wind blew in his face, and he had to grab his cap. His scar ached again and reminded him of another time and another cold wind. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the sergeant also shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Quickly, he tried to estimate his age and an idea formed in his mind how to reach the commandant on his own after all. "Sergeant Schultz." He pivoted on his heel and stepped up to him again. "I need to speak to the commandant in an urgent matter that cannot be delayed."

"Everything is urgent for you. My hunger is also urgent, and yet I still stand here," Schultz grumbled.

"I assume based on your experience and age that you have served in the last war," Crittendon continued, ignoring the interjection. Sometimes, you had to overlook some things.

Schultz froze. It seemed to be the one thing he hadn't expected. His eyes shifted to Crittendon's uniform but there wasn't anything for him to see. He was, after all, a prisoner. The sergeant looked up and met his eyes. "Did you fight there, too?"

Solemnly, he nodded. "Only a man having fought in the trenches can understand what I need to tell the commandant."

Doubt crept on Schultz' face as he thought it over. "Colonel Klink is only interested in military information that forwards his career. But you can't have military information. Besides, what does this war have to do with the last one?" He tilted his head thinking it over. Then he narrowed his eyes, grabbed his gun again and used his best interrogation voice to ask, "what information do you have?"

"You will never know what I know. I am a trained commando, I have endured the hardest training withstanding torture and I have passed. You wouldn't get a single word out of me." Crittendon stated. Under his breath he added, "granted my scenario included the removal of the tongue and I wasn't allowed to say anything at all - the whole day we trained." He shook his head and faced the sergeant with a raised eyebrow. "Never mind, this is not about information, but about a soldier. Do you remember what happened with the men staying too long on the front lines?"

Schultz looked to the horizon. "I know what happened to the new, the old, the weary and the frightened. I wish I'd know nothing."

1914

Hans Schultz stood proudly in line with his fellow class mates. They all had answered the call to defend their fatherland.

"I can't believe we're going off to war," Tom said in front of him. "This is going to be the greatest Christmas ever. We'll get the welcome of a hero and I'll tell my grandsons about the battles like my father told me about his."

Hans laughed. "Can you image to be poor Albert?" His classmates joined his laughter.

"He said he didn't believe in war and that he wanted stay here. I bet his mother rued the day she had given birth to him." Tom made a face illustrating his statement. Even more laughter applauded his efforts to mock their only classmate who hadn't volunteered.

It was a light summer day and the whole city vibrated with excitement about the coming war. "He is going to miss the opportunity of a lifetime," Martin said.

As they marched out a few days later, Hans could feel the electrified air. His mother and girlfriend stood along the streets in their best dresses and waved their handkerchiefs. Even his father had come to send him off. He kept this memory deep in his heart. It felt good to be so valued and encouraged. With squared shoulders and a pristine new uniform, he marched forward backed by the loud cheering of his family, friends and town.

It remained his only good memory.

1916

At first, he had cursed his luck to be selected to serve in the Imperial German Air Service and not in the front troops. But he had relented - he would serve wherever he was needed the most with honor and blood.

"Corporal Schultz," Lieutenant Kammler said in greeting. "How's my baby today?" He patted his Fokker Scourge with a loving expression on his face.

Hans looked up from his notepad and put down his pen. "Your plane is fine, sir, but the engine is stuttering a bit. I am waiting for the mechanics to take a look."

"I'm sure it's nothing. But the Tommy over there needs to be reminded that we're still fighting."

Hans sighed. Every pilot felt the need to remember the other side about their presence - usually with a burst of machine gun fire. Staying in range meant being in range.

"Did they add the new machine gun?" Lieutenant Kammler asked. The innovation and its superiority had already faded. They desperately needed new designs. But Kammler was young and eager, fresh out of training. He still believed that he could make the difference with just enough bravery.

"Yes. That change had started the stuttering."

Lieutenant Kammler patted him on the shoulder. "Don't look so worried. I'm just going to take her for a short visit and some air reconnaissance. I'll be back before you know it."

There wasn't anything left for him to do but wish him luck and helping him to prepare the machine. Two other Fokkers also were rolled to runway and the Gotha was being prepared for another bombing raid. Hans followed the planes with his eyes until he could only see a small spot in the cloudy sky.

He dragged his tired feet through the mud around the airstrip. Without stopping, he entered his barracks with his dirty boots. He just wanted to get off his feet. "Hans, be careful where you walk," his friend Herman warned him on his way out. "There's another inspection on its way."

"Again?" he asked but didn't expect an answer. It just was as it was. Raising his hand in acknowledgment, he went back out and cleaned superficially his shoes. Then he hurried to the mess hall. First, he needed to eat something. An inspection usually took very long and hungry it seemed to take even longer. Then he had to polish his boots for real. If they came for an inspection they liked their troops looking sharp and eager to fight.

There were several new faces in the mess hall and Hans froze as he recognized one of the faces. "Tom?" Grinning, he rushed over and greeted him with a pat on his shoulder. "What are you doing here? Aren't you on the front lines given them beans?"

Tom looked up. His hair was disheveled and his eyes sunken. His skin was sickly pale and his hand was shaking as he rubbed at his forehead. "I had to bring a message. Your major sent me here to eat something. I haven't eaten in a long time." Despite his words Tom sat in front of a full plate.

Hans sat down beside him. "Then why don't you eat? It isn't so bad. You should really eat as long as you can. You'll never know when the next opportunity comes along."

Tom swallowed and glanced around the room as if he needed to check who was around. "It tastes like blood and brain," he whispered. "Everything tastes like blood and brain."

"Isn't this what you set out to do out there?"

Without any hesitation or humor, Tom nodded. "But it's our men that get blown to pieces. The blood and bone splinters get on your clothes, in your mouth and ears. It clings to your skin and you're almost happy if you're showered with earth as it reduces the smell."

Hans froze, he had wanted to rib him for his bravery, but his friend just sat there sullen, like an empty shell. "Tom," he started but didn't know what to say. He had seen the face of their pilots after they had come back from a reconnaissance flight and how they had simply shaken their head at his question how it looked. But his friend sitting next to him seemed like a shadow of himself.

"Hans, they're all dead," Tom suddenly said, shattering the silence.

"What?"

"Martin, Joseph, Heinrich, Herman." He listed them in a monotone voice. "They're all dead. Even Albert. They drafted him, they put him in a uniform and told him to get out of the trenches and fight the Tommy. He was so slow their bullets cut him literally into half before he was even completely out of the trench." Tom swallowed hard and turned to his soup. Suddenly he started to spoon it without pause, wolfing down the soup.

Hans sat beside him, quiet. He had mourned the opportunity to become a hero as he had been selected for the Imperial German Air Service. Only now he slowly realized what the trenches meant. "But it's worth it. They died defending Germany. We are winning. Every newspaper says this," he tried to console his friend.

"We're winning a few inches before they," Tom indicated with his chin to the general direction of the front line, "before they refine their artillery again and then -" he broke off, put down his spoon and pressed his hands against his ears as if he wanted to muffle the memories.

Hans looked over to his old classmate, lost for words. He just sat a few inches away, but they were separated by an invisible wall.

Suddenly, Tom jumped up. "I need to get back. Tell my mom that we fought courageously and -"

"Yes?" Hans waited. He had known Tom's mother since they both had been little boys playing soldiers.

Tom opened his mouth. "Never mind. We're all going to die in this war." He looked up and pointed to the inspection general who has just arrived in the mess hall. "Good luck with your inspection, be careful not to get transferred. You have it good here."

Hans watched him trotting off.

1918

Having it good turned out to be a two-sided sword. He had yet to spend a day in the trenches but death hadn't forgotten about them.

As fast as new pilots arrived, they lost them. They put young boys in a plane and told them fly. But everything that's goes up, has to come down again.

"Sergeant, watch out!"

Hans didn't recognize the voice, but he adhered to the warning and looked up. A plane out of control was coming down near him. Jumping aside the plane crashed a few feet away from him into the ground. Before he could rush over, the whole plane was engulfed in flames. The pilot was screaming but the flames were too hot, Hans couldn't get nearer.

More and more of the ground crew rushed over, but none of them could help. The pilot screamed and screamed until he finally was quiet. Only the fire and the advancing fire crew disturbed the hurtful and accusing silence.

Hans closed his eyes and turned his head away. Keeping his eyes tightly shut, he murmured his new motto. "I see nothing. I hear nothing. Nothing!" It had kept him sane the last terrifying months. He just wished that he also could stop to smell.

Suddenly Hans felt a presence beside him. His eyes snapped open, and he straightened, trying to project the image of a hardened airman. He glanced over his shoulder and recognized the face. "Lieutenant Kammler," he greeted the officer.

"Actual, it's captain now," Kammler pointed to his shoulder insignia, "but don't worry after you have saved my life you can call me for the rest of my life Lieutenant Kammler."

Hans nodded his thanks. Using the offer, he dared to ask the one important question, "is it true, the emperor has abdicated?"

Lieutenant Kammler was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Yes, it seems to be true."

There wasn't anything to say. Hans couldn't express the fear that had grabbed him since he had first heard the rumors and Kammler couldn't offer him any hope. They had to carry on.

In the last few days, there hadn't been any real flights and it had a simple reason. "When do we get more fuel? The burning wreck was one of our last planes with fuel."

"Not today," Captain Kammler said, "maybe tomorrow."

"If they come now, we can't defend this base," Hans voiced his concern.

Kammler listened without moving. "They broke through our defense lines already. It is only a matter of time until they're here."

"We also need new munitions," Hans continued to give his report and tried to ignore the pain in his heart. "But mostly we're lacking fuel to fly the planes back." Then he paused. "And we need more pilots to fly all the planes further inland."

"I know," Captain Kammler simply said.

The fire crew had extinguished the flames. The smell of burnt fuel and human flesh invaded his nose. He could look away, but he couldn't forget the smell. Forcing himself to look, he saw a body where the pilot had sat. Another funeral, another body to bury. Hans didn't even know his name, he had stopped trying to learn them. They always died.

"Sergeant?"

"Sir?" Hans turned around to face his superior.

"You won't leave me, right?" Kammler looked somewhere over Hans' left shoulder.

"Sir?"

"You won't desert like the rest of the men?" Now Kammler looked him into the eyes. What Hans saw there frightened him - Captain Kammler, the man who organized bomb raids and surprise attacks, who invented night flights and mounted better guns on their planes, this man was scared. "They are already joking that we are an army of officers without any men because they all go back home on their own."

"Why should I stay?" Hans bit his lips and relaxed. This wasn't a normal conversation anymore. He could speak freely. "We have lost. We don't have anything to defend this base with, and they are coming."

"We'll get an armistice agreement. They are already on their way and then the fighting will stop."

Hans looked across the airstrip. "But who? The emperor is gone."

"The new government," Kammler explained.

With a heavy heart, Hans looked around. He had lost his friends, his youth, his hope and most of all he had lost his will to fight. His emperor was gone, everything was changing faster and faster and all his enthusiasms hadn't been worth anything. Then his gaze traveled back to Captain Kammler. He was still a young man, too young to shoulder such responsibility alone. This simple thing he could do for a brave man, maybe one day it would be called courageous. "I'll stay."

Kammler pressed his lips together and nodded. Together they went back to the main barracks. "Let's keep remembering the Ardennes and Liege."

Hans nodded. Remembering the battles from 1914 they had won sounded like a good idea. Maybe he could forget the dead then.

Finally, the confusion lifted and understanding dawned on Sergeant Schultz' face. He seemed to have grasped what Crittendon had wanted to tell him. He turned on his heel and made a sharp about-face and opened the door, beckoning Crittendon to follow him.

"I tell the commandant that you have to talk to him in an urgent matter."

Crittendon nodded and followed the German sergeant with a smug smile. From officer to officer, it would be a piece of cake to talk Klink into transferring Hogan. He would show the chaps that he was as suited as Hogan for the job.

TBC

Thank you for reading! Tomorrow it's time for Rodney Crittendon.

A/N 2/1/19 Fixed several typos! Thank you VStarTraveler!