Prolog
They—the Unsterblich- weren't a huge percentage of the population by any means; no more so than albinos or the deaf or any other subgroup of humanity. Nevertheless, given the Nazi interest in the occult it was inevitable that those who fell into the supernatural category were rounded up as well. They weren't the only ones of course but their fates were just as brutally pointless as their fellow victims. The Führer wanted the secrets of immortality and had no qualms about how many beings he tore apart in an effort to discover it.
Many fled to safer havens, and built new lives in other countries but for those who stayed behind it meant existing in the margins of society, and staying in the shadows. If during a full moon a sheep or two disappeared, or if a person woke up with pinprick holes on a wrist it was understood that somewhere nearby an occult one was in hiding; someone with a paranormal nature and a desperate hope to endure. Their existence was never denied, but their survival was always in a precarious balance.
Hogan
The news that Hilda had gotten married didn't come as a complete surprise but it still sent a bittersweet pang through both Klink and Hogan. Klink because she'd been a competent secretary and a pleasure to look at; Hogan because interludes with Hilda had been one of the few perks of his daily existence. He'd enjoyed flirting with her and she'd been fun to smooch.
Still it meant a change and those were tricky things. For all anyone knew the next secretary could be a spy for the Gestapo, or a fanatical Party member, either of whom could make future missions a lot more difficult.
"She also might be some dotty old Bavarian who knits antimacassars in her spare time," Newkirk offered up mildly as he lounged on the upper bunk. "A granny type."
LeBeau rolled his eyes. "You shut your mouth! Don't you know grandmothers have the keenest eyes? We'd be spied on from morning until night!"
"Brush your teeth! Wear a sweater! Do you have clean underwear on young man!" Carter cackled, grinning. He added, "boy I miss my grandmother, actually."
"We're already in a prison camp," LeBeau pointed out dryly. "We don't need any further punishment."
"Just hold your horses," Hogan broke in. "Granny or Gestapo, we need to know who's replacing Hilda as soon as possible so we can figure out how to work around them if we have to. Any input from London?"
Kinchloe gave a shrug. "I asked but clerical staffings are filled by civilians, Colonel. Probably someone local from Hammelburg. We ought to check there."
Hogan nodded. "Get on it then. In the meantime I'll see what Klink knows."
It wasn't as much fun strolling in without anyone at the front desk, and Hogan suppressed an inner sigh. The doctor that Hilda was marrying had checked out as supportive of the Resistance, so there wasn't much risk to security there. With a mental shrug he wistfully he wished her well and gave a quick knock on Klink's door before poking his head in. "Colonel?"
Klink looked up, his expression annoyed even if his heart wasn't in it. "Hogan?"
"Hey isn't there supposed to be a secretary out here? Blonde, blue-eyed, built like a . . ."
"Hogan!"
" . . . Bavarian beer hall," he finished innocently. "You know sir—fortified and all?"
"Fraülein Schneider has left us to get married," Klink admitted with a sigh. "Which I wouldn't mind nearly as much if it didn't mean a pile-up of paperwork."
"Well I could always help you with that," Hogan offered.
"Thanks but no thanks," Klink grumbled back. "Is there something you want, colonel?"
Hogan smirked. "Oh I want what every man wants; house with a yard, a white picket fence, maybe a dog . . ."
"I meant at this particular moment," Klink managed through gritted teeth. "I'm rather busy."
"Just checking to see when the next package shipment is due in," came the cheery reply. "Carter's looking forward to more cookies from home. We're using them as coasters."
Klink gave a very put-upon look. "Sounds delightful but as to your question I have no idea. At some point in the future I suppose."
"Well that certainly narrows it down," Hogan shrugged. "So you'll be getting a new secretary?"
"Yes, I'm expecting her this morning," Klink muttered, flipping through a stack of papers and re-arranging every third one.
"You've met her?" Hogan plucked a paper from the floor and handed it to Klink, who smothered a little yelp and shoved it deep into the files on his desk.
"Hogan! No, I haven't met her but the woman comes highly recommended. Now please get out of here and find someone else to bother today!"
"Sheesh, somebody's grouchy-" Before he could finish, a knock at the door made both men look up from their exchange and then at each other.
Klink rose and moved around his desk, shooting Hogan a glare. "Out," he repeated, his focus on the woman now standing uncertainly in the front office. Hogan stayed quiet, determined to see how this would play out.
"Frau Kovac," Klink murmured, extending a hand. "I'm glad you arrived safely."
She took it, her gloved palm pressing his. "Oberst Klink?"
Hogan studied her quickly, taking in her delicate frame, her glossy black hair in a neat coronet braid, her dark brown eyes. She wore a long Loden coat that even he could see was a decade out of date, and despite her dark stockings and sensible shoes, Hogan realized this woman was pretty. Not in the bold blonde way Helga and Hilda had been, but in a much more serene fashion. With Frau Kovac it was easy to picture her as a librarian somewhere, or teaching a class of little ones.
Klink was still holding her hand and from the look on his face it wasn't hard to figure out he was already taken with the woman. Not that Hogan could blame him; women were in short supply in the camp, particularly appealing ones.
Lorelei
Junker, she thought a little dizzily as warmth radiated through her palm. Three generations back at least. She hadn't met anyone from Prussia in over two decades, not since Von Hecht all those years ago in Switzerland. Lorelei pushed back the memory and gave the man holding her hand a smile.
"A pleasure to meet you, sir."
"And you as well," he murmured, and she watched his thin face flush a little. The sight made her look down so she wouldn't give herself away. Not now, Lorelei chided herself. Blend in, don't draw attention. Carefully she extracted her hand and fiddled with pulling off one of her gloves.
"I hope you will find my work satisfactory. Do you have a moment to show me my duties?"
"Oh of course, of course!" came the quick reply. As she looked up again, Lorelei realized there was someone else standing there. The man smiled, but his stare was one of assessment as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. Apparently Colonel Klink noticed him as well and gave a sigh.
"Frau Kovac, this is Colonel Hogan, senior officer among the prisoners here at Stalag 13. Hopefully you'll have as little to do with him as possible." This was said in a warning tone.
Given the twinkle in Hogan's eye Lorelei doubted it would work. The man held out a hand, and she watched him turn into a far more charming person as he did so.
"Pleased to meet you, Frau Kovac. Is there a Herr Kovac back home?"
Lorelei forced herself to give a sad little smile. "I'm a widow, Colonel Hogan."
She liked how he seemed taken aback, and how defensive Klink looked. "Hogan—"
"My condolences," Hogan murmured quietly and she got the feeling he meant it. "Well I'm sure the colonel here has a lot to show you so I'll just see myself out."
As he left, she saw the tension in Klink's shoulders soften a bit. "I'm so sorry; the man has no tact whatsoever."
"It's all right. He had no way of knowing and it's been several years," Lorelei assured him with a nod. "So where should we begin, sir?"
Klink walked her through the two small rooms, talking her through what he expected her to do, and offering up suggestions of where to start. She pulled out a steno pad and took notes; by the time they stepped into Klink's office she had nearly two pages. The sight of the pile of papers on his desk though, made her laugh.
"A bit of a backlog?" she asked. Klink looked as if he wanted to deny it and then simply sighed, looking sheepish.
"Fraülein Schneider may have been a little . . . pre-occupied with her upcoming wedding," he confessed.
"I understand," Lorelei murmured, scooping up the stack, "but I think I can put a dent in this right now. Shall I get started?"
For the next three hours Lorelei methodically sorted, filed, and organized the paperwork, keeping an ear out to learn the sounds of the camp as she did so. The whistle of the wind through the barbed wire made a low moan, and the occasional bark of a dog were mingled with male voices, boot steps and the rumble of truck engines. Nothing was particularly frightening, but she kept alert, aware of other sounds as well. Digging for one and electronics for another.
She fought her fatigue, aware that the shift to the daytime would be taxing after decades of working after dark, but times were uncertain now, and jobs harder to come by. It had been a pity that Hintzmann's Fine Furniture had closed so early on during the war. Still, it had been a lucky break that the baker's daughter had mentioned the camp posting for a secretary. Lorelei still had a bike and the camp was within an easy ride, so it seemed as if it might work out.
By the end of the day, the desk was clear of paper, the filing cabinets were much fuller, and Lorelei was aware of several men loitering outside the barrack directly across from the office. None of them were Colonel Hogan, and it amused her how nonchalant they were trying to appear. After she bid goodnight to a pleased Klink she put on her coat and headed out, making her way close enough to the barrack to look at the inmates.
"Bon soir, madame!" came the cheerful call of the slight man with a beret.
"Bon soirée à vous aussi," she replied, smugly noting the man's surprise. Impishly Lorelei added, "J'aime ton beret."
He gave a little laugh and a bow. "Je vous remercie; vous êtes une femme au sens de la mode!"
Lorelei smiled back and headed to the guard shack to collect her bicycle. Under the careful scrutiny of both the guards and the prisoners, she slipped through the barely opened gate and climbed on, riding off into the twilight along the road outside the Stalag.
Klink
He was astounded at how quickly Frau Kovac had gotten through the accumulated paperwork, and a little chagrined about it as well. Yes both Helga and Hilda had been good workers, but not particularly efficient ones. He'd been indulgent with them, Klink knew—a holdover of paternal courtesy he supposed. At the moment he was grateful that his desk was clear and he could focus on smaller tasks, like writing a birthday letter to his mother. Not that it was going well—much as he loved his mother he was never sure what would please her. Nothing he'd ever done seemed good enough but he tried. At least the delivery from the florist would arrive on time this year thanks to Frau Kovac.
She lingered in his thoughts, and he indulged himself, pleased again to have someone so organized in the front office. Klink had been around bureaucracy long enough to appreciate the skills of a good secretary like Frau Kovac. And she wasn't hard to look at either, he admitted to himself. She reminded him of a ballerina with her sleek brunette graces, and seemed more than ready to anticipate his schedule. Helga and Hilda had been fine in their own ways, but they'd both had a tiny hint of . . . insouciance that had been intimidating. And both of them had flirted with Hogan, Klink admitted to himself with resignation.
He doubted Hogan would try it with Frau Kovac, however. Her status as a widow would probably keep the American at arm's length, as would her quiet courtesy, which would be a relief. Klink knew Hogan had natural charm—something he himself was deficient in if the truth was known—but Frau Kovac looked to be less flirtatious than her predecessors. Klink glanced down at his letter and wrote a sentence about the weather, and another one asking his mother about her sciatica before drifting off again, staring at the dusk outside the window.
A knock and the creak of the outer door alerted him; he looked up as Hogan wandered in. "Hey! Your desk looks a lot neater now."
"Yes," Klink agreed. "I'm very impressed with Frau Kovac's work so far."
"Showed her the ropes? All the ins and outs?" Hogan asked, idly picking up Klink's letter. Klink tugged it out of the other man's hand.
"She's already well qualified for the work," came his reply.
"Luftwaffe Secretarial School?"
Klink gave a sigh. "She worked for Heinrich Hintzmann's in Hammelburg for several years."
"I bet you can't say that three times fast," Hogan smirked. "Hintzmann's?"
"A well-respected furniture broker, not that it's any of your business," Klink pointed out. "Look, I realize she's new but I won't have you pestering her, you hear me?"
"Can I pester her when she's old?" Hogan countered, and held up his hands placatingly. "Look I understand, but she's going to be right there in the front office and I can't very well ignore her. That would be rude."
"Then be polite, but no more," Klink muttered. "Your men as well."
"Got it. She seems young for a widow, though," Hogan mused. "Unless her husband was say, in your military."
"In that case she would have a pension and not need the job," Klink pointed out. "Just . . . let her do her work, Hogan."
"All right," came the agreement. "After all, I'm sure we can both think of worse candidates, especially if Major Hochstetter suggested any."
Klink gave a shudder and nodded.