War is never pleasant. It's never wanted; desired. Or, at least; it shouldn't be. There are people out there that crave war. Crave death. Crave the elimination of countless innocents, no matter their age; no matter their walks of life. There are some who might even find it entertaining. To see others fall before them, trembling in fear; waiting to find themselves standing before a firing squad, or being sent to a Prisoner of War Camp. To see fathers taken from their wives and families. To see humans, just like them, marched through ice and cold and snow; until they dropped from exhaustion. Some even enjoyed taking men away, for them never to return. Atrocities all. And some saw it as entertaining.
But not Schultz.
Schultz knew that war was not to be called out. Taunting it was always a mistake; creating it, even more so. War was a sleeping beast; one that, despite years of experience, man had still not learned to leave alone. It seemed that every time one war had come to a close, another war was always ready to take its place. War was dirty. War was hard. War was a nightmare.
This, Schultz knew.
Schultz never wanted war, but he understood its course. He believed in hanging on to the moment; each second one more closer to the end. The end of the war. His goal was always to make it until then. To get through it. To get his family through it. To get his friends through it. To get his country through it. Each day was one day closer. One day closer to normality; to freedom; to going home and staying home. To seeing family and friends again without that overhanging shadow of war always clinging at their backs. One day closer to sleeping peacefully, without the cry of explosions and air raids. Without the fear of whether the next whistling shot would be a stronger, someone you love, or you. Every single day, was one day over, and another one closer.
This, Schultz knew.
Schultz loved his life as a man. Not as a soldier, but a man. While others hid their humanity and marched obediently, bring hundreds upon hundred to their doom, Schultz embraced what he truly was. A human being. A lowly sergeant; a person guarding other persons. But, unlike most, he did not think himself higher than them. He was a human, and so were they. He ate, they ate. He talked, they talked. He had dreams and fears, and so did they. There was no difference between them, except that he was free to leave Stalag 13 and they were not. But it could just as easily have been the other way around. Had fortune played out differently, he could have been the prisoner, in some Allied camp in London.
This, Schultz knew.
Schultz feared death. Hated it with a passion. He feared seeing one of his prisoners shot, almost as much as he feared being shot himself. Maybe just as much. It was a healthy fear, one that had saved his skin many a time; but also the skins of others. He was scared enough of death that he was willing to turn a blind eye to, what he called, 'monkey business'. He often saw more than he wanted. He had seen prisoners disappear, only to return shortly. He had even caught them in town once or twice. But the prisoners were never concerned. They looked on him in trust. They knew he would never betray them, even though they were already on opposite sides. Even though he had the power to report them. Destroy them. End all they had done. They were certain that Schultz would never do so, because, enemies by country they may be, enemies as men they would never be.
Because Schultz cared about more than many. Because Schultz understood a lot more than many. And because, for a man who knew 'NOTHING'...he knew a lot more than most.
Just a quick one shot for today that wouldn't leave me alone. :) My brother and sister are in a play about Nazi Germany next week, and it just got me thinking a bit. I do not own anything related to Hogan's Heroes. I do not write for profit. I write only for my own enjoyment, and (I hope) the enjoyment of others. Please review!