Klink

He liked her. Possibly more than liked her and while Klink had been in that situation before with women—many women—it generally flickered and died meekly due to lack of encouragement. Oh he tried, but it was difficult to . . . converse with women. He always felt slightly judged and found lacking, which did nothing for his confidence. So he pushed a little too hard and was a little too indecisive and that was generally that. Klink thought back to his one sweet success, Marlene, and while the memory was lovely, the knowledge that she was truly gone always left it bittersweet.

Perhaps it was his career, Klink thought while facing himself in the mirror, shaving. A lifetime in the military, always lagging behind others and feeling as if everyone else knew more than he did. He scowled at his reflection a moment before lifting his chin and scraping it with his razor.

"Half your life gone and what to show for it?" Klink demanded of his reflection. "No family of your own, few friends, and even then most of those are technically the enemy. Face it, Will. You are mediocre at best and a lucky fool the rest of the time."

His mother's words, he realized bleakly. Here he was spouting them at himself, just shy of her tone. Klink sighed. "Yes, well I'm still here so far, which is more than I can say for a lot of people. And after the war, who knows? I could . . . retire early. Take up writing my memoirs. Travel."

Klink snorted at his own foolishness and finished shaving, making it a point to do a thorough job. Nothing like having a ridiculous conversation with his reflection to start the day. At the rate the war was going, he might not get the chance to retire, although admitting that would be treasonous. Better to keep his cynicism to himself and focus on more uplifting thoughts.

Later that morning Klink managed to lose himself in a tangle of transfer notifications, attempting to decipher the smudged ink signatures and noting which forms needed confirmation replies when he heard a soft throat-clearing and looked up at Frau Kovac, who stood at the doorway, waiting for his approval to approach. She looked shy and young; Klink admired her for a moment before murmuring, "Yes?"

"I have found a . . . discrepancy, Oberst Klink," she replied and glided over to his desk, a sheaf of papers in her hands. "An . . . oversight that needs correction."

Her words chilled him, and when she reached the desk he rose up, wondering what could possibly be wrong. Klink realized she held the pay docket forms, and he reached for them. "An oversight?" he echoed uncertainly.

"Yes sir. You," Frau Kovac told him. "You have been underpaid, sir. And have been for the last twenty-six years."

"What?" Klink blinked, bringing his gaze up from the columns of numbers to look at the woman beside him.

She gave him a small smile as she pointed to a column. "Your Pour la Mérite entitles you to an annuity which you have not been receiving. I checked with the Luftwaffe accounting offices in Berlin to make sure my figures were correct and they are rectifying the situation even now. All I need is your signature so that they can balance the books."

"An . . . annuity?" Klink murmured, dim memories coming to mind. He remembered the brief blau max ceremony back in 1917, the fatigue and depression as he and the others stood on the rough wood stage at Ypres. He'd had more hair then, he recalled, and a serious case of shell-shock.

"Yes sir." She recited a figure and added, "multiply that by the years and it amounts to a nice little nest egg that you've been entitled to for a while."

Klink tried to find the words. "Th-thank you!" he murmured, still staring at the pay docket. "I can't believe it! This is wonderful!"

Frau Kovac smiled at him, cocking her head. "It's what you deserve." Her expression shifted slightly, sadness in her dark eyes. After a moment she added, "it was a terrible war. So much destruction, so much grief."

Klink glanced at her, his mouth pursed. "Yes." There were still a few nights when his dreams were poisoned by images and memories he'd never shared with anyone. "But you were only a child then, I'm sure."

Frau Kovac sighed. "I'm . . . older than I look. In any case, if you will simply put your signature here, I can have this couriered to Berlin."

"Of course, of course," Klink murmured, hastily signing his name and handing the page back to her. "Thank you so much for your . . . attention to this matter. I'm grateful, Frau Kovac."

She held his gaze and for a long moment Klink found himself feeling a surge of shy hope rising up, a bewildering rush of emotion that was much stronger than this simple good deed deserved.

Frau Kovac smiled again. "Please call me Lorelei if you wish."

Hogan

"Lorelei Marie Kovac, nee Luchian," Hogan murmured, running a finger down the page. "Says here she's from Lausanne, so you're on the money, LeBeau."

LeBeau preened. "I pride myself on my ear."

"Mostly because the rest of you isn't worth much," Newkirk drawled. LeBeau scowled at him but Hogan continued.

"Switzerland . . . they're neutral. She'd be a lot safer there, so what's she doing in Germany?"

"It could have something to do with the late Mister Kovac," Carter offered. "Hey, maybe he was an artist, and that's why she's so good at paintings."

Hogan looked at the papers again. "Possibly. A few addresses in Schweinfurt and Hammelburg; some references; a resume-Kinch, any chance of digging more out of these?"

Kinchloe took the file and nodded. "We can try, but . . ." he hesitated, and Hogan looked at him before he continued, "It ties up communication. I guess what I'm asking colonel-is it worth it?"

Hogan hesitated. Kinchloe was right and more than that it was his job to play Devil's Advocate whenever he felt the situation warranted it.

"Just a little more," Hogan finally murmured. "If nothing turns up we'll let it go, but I'd hate to find out later something was hinky and we didn't spot it."

Kinch gave a nod and gave the folder a shake. "We'll need to get these back," he reminded Hogan, who nodded.

"I'll think of something. Maybe it's time to suggest the offices get fumigated."

"Well we certainly know of a few bugs," LeBeau pointed out cheekily.

"And at least one cockroach," Newkirk added, ducking the swat the Frenchman aimed his way.

Hogan smirked at that and stepped out, considering what his next move should be. They were still waiting on mission details and everyone was bored—enough so to start sniping at each other, which wasn't a terrible thing but if it went on much longer Hogan knew it would start getting personal.

The sun had begun to set, smudging the wet snowdrifts around the camp with gold, and Hogan watched as Frau Kovac came out from Klink's office, pulling on her gloves. Normally she headed straight for the striped guard shack, but today as she came down the steps, she looked at him and caught his glance.

"Colonel, if you would be so kind . . ." she murmured, gesturing to him.

Surprised, Hogan sauntered over, his expression mild. "So kind?" he asked.

"One of my tires is flat and I'm sure you can handle a pump," she replied, adding, "please."

"At your service," Hogan assured her, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking alongside her to the guard shack. Once she'd retrieved the bike and he'd borrowed a pump from the guard, they stepped a few feet away and Hogan squatted to unscrew the valve cap.

"There is a file missing from my office," Frau Kovac murmured, bending over across the bike. "Do you know anything about that?"

Nonplussed, Hogan kept his gaze on the work at hand, attaching the pump to the tire valve. "Tricky question. If I say 'yes' all sorts of bad things could happen to me, and I'm very fond of breathing. I'd better say 'no'."

"Your pulse jumped and you're holding your breath," Frau Kovac replied dryly. "Just . . . put it back as soon as possible, please."

This time Hogan did look up at her, his expression intense. "I don't know what you're talking about, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Look, Colonel, I don't know what you're looking for but I assure you I'm not your enemy. I'm nobody's enemy. All I want is to work and be left in peace until this stupid war is over and go home."

"To Switzerland," Hogan sniped, waiting to see if she would rise to the bait.

"Not yet," Frau Kovac sighed. "Maybe in another seventy years' time. For now I'd be happy just to have Herr Hintzmann come back."

Hogan rose and worked the pump, putting his frustration into it and filling the tire within a minute. "Nothing you've just said makes any sense to me and I prefer things to make sense. On paper you're just another civilian but I don't think that's the whole story, is it?"

She blinked at him, and in the last of the sunset her eyes looked red for a moment. "The whole story . . . that would take most of the night."

"I'd settle for the abridged version," Hogan assured her, and once again found himself slightly unsettled when she nodded.

"Very well then. If you take a little stroll near the kennels at midnight we'll see if you like what I have to tell you. Thank you for the help."

He watched her settle onto the seat and pedal away past the guard shack as Kinchloe wandered out to stand beside him. "What was that all about?"

"Oh nothing, I just have a date tonight," Hogan told him. "Although it's probably past my curfew."

"Hope it's worth it, colonel," Kinch grinned wryly, "hope it's worth it."