If War is Hell, What is Peace?
A little story about when the 'happily ever after' encounters the reality of life after the tension, excitement, and driving sense of purpose, are over.
Part 1: Klink
Wilhelm Klink settled back in the easy chair, putting his feet up on the footstool, and opened his book. Flipping through the pages, he found his place. As he reached for his coffee the delicate china cup began to dance on the saucer. Startled, Klink dropped his book, scrambling upright. The cottage rattled beneath the roar of an airplane buzzing low over the roof. He recognized the sound—a fighter plane. An American fighter. The entire cottage shook. Klink frantically grabbed the cup and saucer before they hit the floor.
"Damn that Hogan," Klink muttered as he set the china safely back on the table and shook hot coffee off his hand.
Crossing to the door, Klink stepped out onto the porch, peering upwards. Across the lake, over trees ablaze with autumn colors, the Mustang pulled up and looped over. The plane barely cleared the treetops on the next pass. Klink shook his head as he waved at the plane. With a final victory roll over the lake, the Mustang disappeared into the distance.
The airplane had already landed by the time Klink drove up the narrow dirt road to the field. The P-51 was stopped near the small shed that served as a hanger at the tiny grass airstrip nestled in the Wisconsin woods. As Klink walked up, he saw Hogan standing on the wing, reaching back into the cockpit. He wore his bomber jacket and brown trousers, but as he turned to toss a duffle bag to the ground, Klink saw no rank insignia. Must be on leave. Off duty.
"Most people would have telephoned to announce their arrival," Klink grumbled as Hogan reached back into the plane.
Hogan turned, giving Klink a quick half-smile. Yes, yes… he wasn't 'most people'.
"Here, take this," Hogan said as Klink stepped up to the wing.
A small bundle was thrust into Klink's hands. "Donnerwetter!" Klink exclaimed, earning another quick grin from Hogan. The bundle was warm. It wriggled. And it was somewhat damp.
Holding the child out at arms' length, Klink stared at the bright-eyed boy who stared back, laughing and squirming. "I cannot believe Marie let you take this child so far in that airplane," Klink said.
Hogan pulled the Mustang's canopy closed. The look he gave Klink was enigmatic. Maybe. It was hard to tell with the aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. His mouth seemed tight as Hogan dryly said, "I didn't tell her." Easing himself down off the wing awkwardly, Hogan caught himself against the fuselage. He hopped on one foot until he maneuvered a cane down to lean upon.
Klink scowled over at Hogan as he held the ever-more-soggy child as far as he could out away from him. Hogan snatched up the duffle bag and, leaning heavily on the cane, hobbled toward the car.
"What happened to you?" Klink asked.
"A little hunting accident," Hogan said.
"Hunting?" Klink echoed, puzzled. "Hunting season hasn't started yet."
"Wasn't hunting deer," Hogan said as they reached the car. He opened the back door and tossed the duffle bag in. "It was a little Nazi hunting safari." He peeked over his sunglasses at Klink. "The quarry did not take kindly to being run to ground."
"Hmph. Is that what you and Marie were fighting about?" Klink asked.
"How did you know…?" Hogan started, then stopped himself. "Never mind. Just one of many things we were fighting about," he said with a sigh. "Situation normal all fuc…"
"Not," Klink cut him off, "in front of Willy."
"William," Hogan corrected in an irritated how-many-times-do-I-have-to-tell-you way.
"I prefer 'Willy'," Klink countered, grinning fondly at the little boy he still held well away from him. The child squealed and kicked. "My namesake."
"My father's namesake," Hogan said gruffly. "And why are you holding him like that?"
"This child is sopping wet," Klink said.
"Yeah. He did seem to find that last barrel roll a little exciting." Hogan shrugged as Klink aimed the boy pointedly toward him. Klink noted Hogan did not reach out to take him. "Well, take care of it," Hogan ordered. "The stuff's in the bag."
"I most certainly will not," Klink said, trying again to hand off the child. "You do it."
"You know… I can get you deported with one phone call," Hogan said. He softened the threat with a broad grin.
"Oh… very well," Klink grumbled.
"This is nice," Hogan commented as he propped his leg up on a pillow on the footrest. He looked to admire the view of the lake off the porch where they settled in. "Indian summer. On the right continent. The leaves are beautiful." Klink spared only a quick glance, then returned to trying to keep track of the scurrying toddler, and to a wary defense of his breakables.
Klink noticed Hogan winced considerably as he adjusted his leg. "It hurts?" He handed Hogan a saucer and cup of coffee.
"Oh, yeah," Hogan said, settling back. "I got some pills, but I didn't take any. They don't mix well with either flying or drinking." He held his cup up, looking expectantly at Klink. With a smile, Klink brought the brandy decanter and poured a dose in Hogan's coffee. He set it down on the small table between the two wooden Adirondack chairs.
Settling down into his own chair, Klink didn't relax, but perched cautiously on the edge. Only a moment later he leapt up to retrieve little Willy from an attempt to climb the porch railing. He sat the youngster down and gave him a tattered paperback novel to shred. The boy stayed in one place—paper flying about—long enough for Klink to sit and venture a sip of his own coffee.
There was silence for a time, broken only by the sound of leaves rustling in the warm breeze, and lake birds hooting (and paper ripping). Hogan stared across the lake, though Klink wasn't sure he was really seeing it. Klink never questioned the reason for these sporadic visits. Usually they were unannounced—or announced by an airplane buzzing his rooftop—and never had a stated purpose. Sometimes Hogan stayed a few hours. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes they talked a lot. Sometimes very little. Klink always let Hogan set the pace and the agenda.
The real purpose of the visits, Klink had soon realized, was one that would never be spoken of directly. Hogan could talk to Klink of things he couldn't speak of to anyone else.
Hogan drained the cup, then poured in more brandy, not asking for more coffee to dilute the liquor, Klink noted. Hogan studied the cup and saucer more closely, then turned the saucer over, examining the markings on the bottom. "Dresden china," Hogan said quietly. "They're not making this any more."
"I found it in a shop in Milwaukee," Klink said, watching him closely.
Turning the saucer back over, Hogan stared at the pattern a long moment. Klink just waited. "I have a letter for you from your mother," Hogan said distantly. He gestured with his head toward his duffle bag on the floor in the living room.
"Thank you. I'll read it later," Klink said, still watching.
"Might be the last," Hogan said. "She's still at your grandfather's house near Leipzig and won't leave." Hogan shook his head. "The Soviet occupation zone. I really don't want to get caught as a spy by the Soviets."
"Don't take any chances," Klink said firmly.
"Found your brother finally," Hogan went on. He glanced over at Klink. "He's absolutely crazy. Certifiable." Hogan quirked a small grin at Klink. "Must run in the family."
"I might say the same," Klink countered as he jumped up to snatch Willy up as he was about to swan dive off a stool. "Have you considered a leash?" he asked as he held the squirming child tightly. He sat back down, holding William close. The boy grinned up at Klink and swatted at his face. Pulling off his bifocals, Klink let Willy slobber on them. He'd disinfect them later.
"I have one of my lieutenants guard him when Tiger's gone," Hogan said with a smile. "Humbles them."
Klink wanted to ask about Tiger… Marie, but didn't. Instead he asked, "How is my brother?"
"He's okay. Aside from being crazy. Found him in the American zone, so maybe not so crazy," Hogan said. Suddenly Hogan turned to stare intently at Klink. "Did you know he was blowing up factories during the war?"
With a shrug, Klink said, "I knew things tended to blow up when he was around. But that predated the war. I recall there was an auditorium balcony at the Gymnasium…"
"He wasn't even in the Underground," Hogan said, shaking his head, "yet there he was blowing factories up freelance. Two war plants, and—for no reason I could guess at—one that made shoelaces." Hogan chuckled. "He reminded me of Carter. Carter is starting a demolition company, by the way. It suits him." Hogan gave a bemused shrug. "Not sure what there is to demolish in North Dakota… there just isn't much in North Dakota, but if it makes him happy… I hope that little Norwegian girl, Maddie, can keep him contained. Maybe lots of fireworks." Hogan brightened again. "Oh, hey—Kinch is getting married."
"Sergeant Kinchloe?" Klink asked, looking down. Young William seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, but he was fighting it manfully. "To that African princess?"
Shaking his head, Hogan said, "No. That didn't work out. Get this—he's marrying one of Newkirk's sisters and staying in London."
Klink laughed lightly. Willy laughed with him. "That should make for some interesting family gatherings."
"Lively, to say the least," Hogan commented. "At least the one I was at last month was."
"On your way to the… safari?" Klink asked, trying to probe gently. Willy sighed and finally dozed off, snuggling in closer. Klink smiled down at him.
"Yeah," Hogan said shortly. He fidgeted with the cane with one hand, twirling it around. "Tiger was mad when I left. Then she got all teary and clingy when I came back hurt. Then when she realized I wasn't gonna die she got mad again, packed a bag and left." He twirled the cane and sighed heavily. Looking up at Klink imploringly, Hogan said, "I used to think I understood women."
"She's not a woman," Klink said abruptly. "She's a wife. Your wife. And a mother." He paused a moment. "Where is she?"
"France," Hogan answered. "Number two is due in a month. She said she wanted to be home with her mother when it's born." He sighed again. "That's an excuse. She wanted to get away from me."
Klink readjusted the sleeping child. "Maybe she wants to let you know what it's like to be left behind, alone, with the young one."
"Maybe," Hogan allowed.
"Has it ever occurred to you she's bored?" Klink asked.
Scowling, Hogan said, "How could she be bored? She's got that wild little rascal to chase, another on the way, and a house to take care of."
"Hogan," Klink started slowly, "it's not even her house. It's an air force base house in Ohio. How does she fit in with the other army wives? What sort of things do they talk about? This is a woman who spent years blowing things up and dodging the Gestapo. She wasn't just in the Resistance. She was a leader in it. She lived danger night and day for years. Now you expect her to sit home quietly, like some tame little hausfrau, while you gallivant off on adventure after adventure."
Hogan rolled his eyes and looked back over the lake. "I never thought of it like that. But what can I do? With one kid already—" He gestured toward William. "—and soon to be another…?"
"Find a way to include her," Klink said firmly. He'd given this a lot of thought over the past year or so. Hogan and Marie had been separated more than once already, always by the pressures of peacetime life. "She's fluent in French, English, and German—have her work on translations, research documents… Surely you didn't start off after this 'quarry' just on a guess. There had to be paperwork behind it. Have her help with the hunt. And, when possible, take her along. She can certainly handle herself in dangerous situations."
"But the kids…"
"Leave them with someone." Glancing down at Willy, Klink hastened to add, "Not me." Hogan smiled. "Your mother. Or… or Kinchloe. Or LeBeau and that—" Shudder. "—Russian woman in Paris. Work it out. You didn't marry Marie because she was a placid little girl-next-door." Klink looked down at the sleeping child. "Wartime didn't rip you two apart, don't let peacetime do it."
