IV. Frustration

Klink couldn't stand it any longer. He cursed himself for trying to put off the inexorable, and still very pressing, issues at hand by letting his mind race in useless circles. He had to pry some answers out of Hogan at once! If he was going to make any sort of progress in fixing this dilemma, and preferably avoid Burkhalter's wrath a second time, he needed to take the initiative.

The kommandant called upon two of his lieutenants to fetch Hogan, (with additional orders to drag the colonel out of Barracks 2 by his eagles if need be). As he waited, he tried to keep his anger in check. He felt that pressure surge inside his chest once more, but thankfully, it wasn't as overpowering as it had been earlier. A few measured breaths helped to keep it at bay for the moment.

I will not let this problem hold sway over me, Klink told himself fiercely. My reputation - my very existence, in fact - depends on getting back those prisoners and proving that I can manage this camp with an iron fist.

Minutes later, the lieutenants brought in Colonel Hogan. He smiled at Klink as he entered, in that cheeky, impish way which never failed to grate on his nerves.

"Good afternoon, Kommandant," he said, barely managing to give a salute.

He whipped off his officer's cap and tossed it over Klink's pickelhaube. When he sat down and started to reach for the humidor, any thread of patience Klink may have possessed promptly snapped. He rose from his chair, grabbed the officer's cap, and smacked away the colonel's wandering hand.

Hogan snatched his hand back, looking hurt and shocked.

"Gee, a simple 'no' would have sufficed," he complained. "I guess this isn't going to be one of our friendly social visits, then?"

Klink glared at him, wondering how long he could maintain his composure and tame his growing flood of anger against Hogan's wisecracking.

"Colonel Hogan, I will get straight to the point," he said, "and I insist that you do the same, as well. Do you know anything about the escapes of those twelve prisoners?"

"Well, that depends," Hogan replied. He donned a look of innocence. "You'll have to be more specific, Colonel. Were they from our camp? What time of day did this happen? Are..."

"You know what I'm talking about!" interrupted Klink. His hands clenched at his sides. He fought the temptation to step around his desk so that he could properly throttle Hogan. "The prisoners from Barracks 3, 7, and 12. The barracks leaders informed me of their disappearances this morning. I, of course, had to report the incident to Burkhalter, who was extremely displeased with me."

A look of understanding seemed to dawn on Hogan's face. Klink could never be certain when the man was just acting or actually being genuine.

"So, you think I'm involved in helping those men escape?" he asked. When Klink nodded sharply, he said, "Come on, Sir, that's ridiculous! You know how much we all love it here. No pillows, drafty huts, itchy blankets, lice by the thousands...why would we ever want to leave that?"

Klink closed his eyes and took a slow, uneven breath. Strike me down right here, Lord, he thought. I know you are laughing at my pain, and let me tell you, I would rather freeze to death than tolerate one more second of this man's audacity!

"Answer my question, Hogan," he said at length.

There was a pause as the other colonel averted his gaze. Then he asked, "I'm sorry, what was the question again?"

Klink sank into his chair with a groan. This conversation was getting him nowhere! He might as well start packing his suitcase for the Russian Front this very minute. His earlier resolve to fight his anxiety crumbled like sand. The pressure in his chest felt like the force of an entire ocean, straining for release, and he barely managed to push it back by sheer willpower.

With a painful effort, he gathered enough strength to push himself forward and walk over to the schnapps decanter. He unstoppered it and began pouring into one of the glasses. His hands were shaking (of course, why wouldn't they?), and although he spilled some of the alcohol in the process, he didn't care. He drank at least three or four shots before Hogan intervened.

"Whoa...take it easy with the booze, Kommandant!"

Hogan quickly eased the glass and the decanter out of his hands. Klink didn't oppose him; he observed as the items were set down, and felt his arms being gripped tightly. What was it with Hogan gripping him like that lately? It was irritating, to say the least.

After both of them had settled down and reclaimed their seats, Hogan's face twisted with guilt. Klink could definitively sense that he wasn't acting, this time.

"Forgive me, Sir," he said. Klink thought for a moment that he would expand on that apology, based on the way his eyes seemed to flash with sympathy. But then he went on, "The truth is...I do know something about those prisoners, and it's been bothering me a lot, too. But I swear to you that they didn't clear an escape with me or anyone else in camp! I don't know exactly where they went, either. That's all I really know. If there's a way my men and I can help get them back, we'll gladly be at your disposal."

Klink could feel the ocean inside him recede further and further as Hogan spoke. Perhaps there was some hope after all! But he couldn't shake the feeling that Colonel Hogan did know more than he was letting on, that this could very well be an elaborate ruse to get rid of him. However, the kommandant's top priority was to locate the twelve prisoners. He didn't necessarily care how it was done, or with who, at this point. All he craved now was some peace of mind, free of his horrible stress.

And if Hogan could - in any fashion - help him achieve this goal, then he was willing to do just about anything.

"All right, Colonel," he said. He forced a smile onto his face, and even tried to add a note of cheerfulness to his voice. "Now we're starting to get somewhere."

...