As I sat back and looked at the words I had written I could harldy believe what I was saying. After all these years I can finally admit that Hogan was right. It's been twenty-five years. Twenty-five years since the War ended and Hogan told me about his setup at Stalag 13. How I hated him then! All those years in Stalag 13 had been a lie. I told myself that I was a brilliant military man, but Hogan destroyed that image that took me years to build up in just a few moments. How I hated him as he took me through those tunnels of his. I was so sure that he was doing it to bring me down. I stormed out of there as mad as could be, waving my fists at all who passed. I didn't even care about the American soldiers with their guns aimed directly at my back. I felt betrayed. All those times I had trusted Hogan, he was only using me for his own purposes. I could picture him laughing at me behind his barracks door.
Hogan came after me that day. I didn't want to see him, but I had little choice. After all, I was the prisoner then, and he the captor. I am ashamed to admit it, but I ignored him. I didn't want to speak to him. I didn't want to look in his eyes and see the laughter that was surely there. He tried to tell me I was really a hero, but I didn't believe him, not then. It wasn't long before Hogan realized there was nothing else he could do, and he left me sitting alone. I never saw, nor heard from him again till two short months ago when he showed up on my doorstep with a letter in his hand. At first I thought of slamming the door in his face, but something stopped me, and I stood waiting, wondering what Hogan was going to do. Strangely he said not a word as he held out the letter in his hand, waiting for me to take it. With a trembling hand I reached out and took the letter, then stepped back in surprise when he snapped into a crisp salute before turning and walking away.
To this day, I don't know why I decided to open the letter. Perhaps it was the strange way he saluted me and then walked away, or maybe it was seeing my name written in the bold hand of the man I had once called my friend. I will never forget what that letter said.
Klink,
Years ago I tried to talk to you about what went on at Stalag 13 and you refused to listen. I hope this time it will be different and you will listen to what I have to say. You were a hero, Klink. I realize you felt like a traitor to your country for having allowed our operation to continue under your own nose, but that is far from the truth. You were a hero because, with your help, we were able to save thousands of innocent lives. Without you, our operation would have ended in failure and there would be tears flooding the street of Germany today. You're a hero, Klink. You helped us bring laughter into this world again. It is such a precious gift to be free to laugh and sing. Please do not hold on to your anger any longer. You did a good thing, even if you didn't realize it at the time.
Sincerely,
General Robert E. Hogan
I tried to hate him. Everything about his letter reminded me of why I hadn't spoken to him since the war ended. Even his signiture was a burning reminder of my failure. I had tried so hard to become a General, yet I remained a Colonel despite my efforts. But Hogan's letter also brought to mind a memory that I had buried long ago. Not long after the war I visited one of Hitler's "special" camps. I saw the evidence of the torture that had gone on in those rooms. The rooms were so dark and cold that shivers ran up my spine as I stepped inside the shower room. Visions of people dieing flooded my mind. I saw the children leaning over their dead mothers, pleading with them to wake up and explain what was going on. It was so vivid that I could almost hear the cries of the men, women and children who lost their lives inside that camp. I had forgotten the horror of that place in my own anger at Hogan and his band of men. How could I have been so callus? Hogan's letter revived the memory of that terrifying place, and suddenly I was glad Hogan and his men had found a way to bring the war to an end sooner. Suddenly I wasn't angry anymore. I wanted to talk to Hogan and tell him how sorry I was for my actions, but he was long gone by then.
I don't know how long I sat staring at the piece of paper in my hand before dropping it as though it were on fire. I buried my face in my hands and wept for all the years of friendship I lost because of my anger. I believe him now. I know deep down that I am indeed a hero, but Hogan forgot an important point. I may be a hero, but Hogan was my hero. He was the one that showed me how important it was to be free.
