Act Two
Scene One
– Four –
A pale Robert Hogan sat with his clenched fists against his forehead. Carter aimlessly polished the tool in his hand while LeBeau had his eyes on the ashen-faced Schultz. Newkirk, shaking his head in disbelief, was staring out the window. Kinch and Baker watched Hogan closely, understanding his agony. All of them had seen the growing bond between Hogan and Klink since the cave-in. Seen and not understood. And to some extent resented it.
Finally, Schultz stirred. "Excuse me, please." His voice was lifeless. "There is a very important telephone call I must make."
Hogan stood slowly, determination replacing the shock in his eyes. "You can make it here, Schultz. From the tunnel."
Schultz nodded tiredly, not surprised at the mention of the tunnel.
Hogan went out first, followed by Schultz and the still stunned men. The barracks was empty; Hogan activated the entrance.
Good. No one else needed to know about what was going on, Hogan thought as he started down the ladder. Right now, the fewer people who knew the better. All too quickly, everyone else might find out. But not now. Not yet.
...
Kinchloe put the call through.
Schultz spoke slowly, deliberately in German. "I am calling regarding the play you inquired about. I regret to say that twenty-four hours ago the play was canceled. The stage is broken. I repeat, the stage is broken." He ended the connection. "So ends my part, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said heavily. "The message will be passed to units all over Germany. Each unit has its own escape plans." He looked at Hogan. "You also must leave."
"What about you?" Hogan asked quietly.
"My orders are the same. But," a sudden shininess in his eyes, "I cannot leave. I cannot leave him, knowing what they are doing to him. I cannot . . . " His voice broke and he turned away.
Hogan watched as the massive shoulders shook and looked at his men. "We're not part of the Stage's organization," Hogan said soberly. "His orders don't apply to us. But he knows who we are. When they break him," a sudden pain inside his chest, "they'll come after us too."
Kinch asked the question. "What are you going to do, Colonel?"
They half-expected the answer. "I'm going to try and get Klink away from them."
His men exchanged bleak glances.
"I'm not going to ask for volunteers." Hogan said evenly. "This time, the odds are whoever goes won't get back alive. The rest of you, use the escape route and get back to London."
"You're going after him alone," Baker said flatly.
"I owe him that much."
"No, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said in a thick voice, turning around. "You owe him nothing. You reacted exactly the way you were supposed to react."
A tiny smile. "Yes, I did. But I owe him my life. And," he added cryptically, "I made him a promise. One I intend to keep."
"Sir," Carter asked, "do we have to decide anything yet?"
Hogan smiled faintly. "No, you don't have to decide yet. There's still time. But first," he said to Kinch, "put a call through to our friendly major in Abwehr."
Kinch grinned and made the call.
In Berlin, Major Hans Teppel(1) of the Abwehr, the German military intelligence agency, answered the telephone.
"Major, this is Colonel Hogansmeyer," a voice said.
Teppel, in reality Robert J. Morrison, a U.S. agent, grinned as he recognized the voice. "Yes, Colonel. What can I do for you?"
"First, is your aunt Viktoria still as deaf as ever?"
"Yes, Colonel, very deaf."
"Good." Hogan resumed his normal voice. "Listen carefully. The Gestapo has taken one of the biggest resistance leaders. But he's not being held in Hammelburg. We need to know if there's a special interrogation center nearby or if he's been taken to Berlin."
"Who caught him?"
"Hochstetter."
"That so-and-so. He wouldn't bring a big shot here; he's too greedy. Who did he get?"
"The Stage."
The major's grip tightened on the telephone. "Hochstetter has always made particularly nasty threats about him," Teppel said soberly. "I would bet he's not here, but you never know. I'll inquire discreetly. There is always a chance that he's here under his real name. I wouldn't ask, but . . . "
"Colonel Wilhelm Klink."
Teppel sucked in his breath sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Very."
"I . . . I hope I get a chance to meet him again."
A fervent, "So do I!"
"It will take time."
"I know. I also want you to arrange to get five of us — Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch and I — out of camp legally. And we'll need Schultz too."
"I can get that done in an hour or so. But the rest . . . Look, it may be twenty-four hours or more before I can get an answer. You know what Hochstetter's doing to him."
A spasm inside Hogan's chest. "Yes. We'll call back every six hours. Be in."
"I will be. Good luck."
"To both of us."
Hogan put the phone down and turned to Schultz. "He'll get us out of camp in an hour or so. But he may not find anything until tomorrow. Things could get very hot around here."
Schultz wet dry lips. "I . . . understand." Then he added, "He has always promised to give his people at least forty-eight hours."
"How can anyone promise anything like that?!" LeBeau exclaimed.
"The Stage can!" Schultz said proudly. "You have not seen him like I have."
"I saw," Hogan said quietly. "In the cave, when he was trapped. Only I was too blind to realize it. Then later, when I removed that bullet from his shoulder. Not a sound. Then or later."
"I, too, have removed bullets, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said soberly. "More than one. We have never had any painkillers. Sometimes, I would have to cauterize the wound. LeBeau accidentally reopened the last one; it needed to be cauterized."
LeBeau paled.
"Afterwards, I have watched him walk across the compound. Greet you and visitors alike without a word, a groan, a hint of his pain. He will give forty-eight hours, LeBeau. He will give more." Then his voice became a whisper. "But what I have always feared the most is hearing him scream. As long as he did not, somehow, the pain did not seem real." Schultz stared blankly at Hogan. "Hochstetter will make him scream."
Hogan shivered. For once, he had nothing to say. There was nothing to say.
...
They had no trouble getting out of the camp just over an hour later. Their departure was watched with mild surprise by some and worry by others.
Captain Gruber was surprised at the call from Major Teppel but, as Hogan had expected, went along with the orders from Abwehr. Gruber was glad that Hogan was leaving for a few days; Hogan had always made him uncomfortable. Klink seemed to be able to handle the American far better than Gruber could, especially lately. With Hogan gone, at least the camp would be quiet for a few days.
With far too somber eyes, Captain Edward Martin, Captain John Mitchell and Captain Jerry Warren watched the departure from Hogan's room. The three men were the highest-ranking officers in the camp after Hogan. Martin(2), the senior captain, had been in the camp the longest.
Warren(3) had been an escapee from another camp and had been on his way to England when his escape went wrong. Instead of transferring Warren to another camp, Klink decided to keep him at Stalag 13, preventing another escape attempt. Mitchell(4) had had the misfortune to have his plane crash just outside the camp; he too became a permanent guest in the camp.
The three men had had little to do with Hogan's operations Hogan preferred having few of the men in camp involved with his outside activities. But now the three found themselves in charge of a camp that might have some radical changes made to it. Hogan hadn't told them much, only that he and his men were going away for a special interrogation. The three captains hadn't been too concerned at first; Hogan and his men had been questioned before. But then Hogan admitted that there was a good chance that he and his men might not be returning to the camp. Out of choice or, as Hogan admitted soberly, because they were dead or in prison. If Hogan chose not to return, then they would remain in charge of Stalag 13 until the end of the war. But if Hogan didn't return for other reasons, then they were to follow Baker's instructions. At any rate, in ninety-six hours, they would know one way or another.
Sergeant Richard Baker watched their departure from outside Barracks 2. He hadn't been surprised when Hogan chose not to take him. He'd figured that one of them would have to stay behind — only they really knew what needed to be done if the worst happened. And Baker was the logical choice. He'd been the odd man out, the latecomer to the team. He'd joined Hogan's inner circle when Kinchloe broke his leg last year. It had been a particularly bad break with complications, necessitating a long-term stay in the camp infirmary. Baker had helped on a few missions before when Kinch had come down with the flu, and had been asked by Hogan to fill in for Kinch after he broke his leg. Since Kinch's return, Baker continued to help out, alternating radio and phone duties with Kinch; there was more than enough work to keep them busy.
Now with the group facing the worst danger they had ever been in, Baker was left behind. He would wait ninety-six hours for word from Hogan or any of them. If they decided not to return to the camp or if he hadn't heard from them within the designated time, Baker's orders were to make his own escape. Twelve hours later, if the three captains agreed, the biggest mass escape in Germany would take place. But if he saw the Gestapo arriving, Baker was to leave camp immediately. Explosives had already been planted throughout the camp, ready if need be to blow up the tunnels beneath the camp. Baker could only hope it wouldn't be necessary to go that far. And he prayed that all would go well for his friends. But he had to admit to himself as he turned back to the barracks, the odds were that he'd
never see them again. And he prayed that if that were the case, the end would come swiftly for his friends. He found himself shivering from that thought as he walked back into the barracks.
...
The car finally stopped at a small cabin about an hour's drive from the camp. It was hidden in heavy woods and in very rugged terrain. A couple of times during the drive, Hogan had wondered if Schultz knew where he was going. But the difficulty of the trip was an added security advantage. This hideout was safe from all prying eyes.
They got out of the car and walked over to the door. Schultz took a key from his pocket. To their surprise, he walked over to an old tree. From a hole used by nesting squirrels, he took another key. Then he walked back to the door and inserted the keys in tandem into the lock.
"If I did not," Schultz explained, "this building would blow up. Along with me."
Carter was impressed. "Nice."
The door opened and they followed Schultz inside.
The cabin was small. There was a living area with a potbelly stove to supply the heat and cooking space; a compact icebox stood in the far corner. Dishes and kitchen utensils were stacked on a counter next to an old-fashioned pump sink. In the middle of the room stood a small table with a couple of chairs around it. Kerosene lamps were scattered around to provide light. A portable generator along with a sophisticated radio transmitter stood in a corner. Before one of the two shuttered windows was a comfortable old chair beside a well-stocked bookcase.
Hogan wandered over to the bookcase curiously. A few of the books were in English; others were in French, German, Italian, Latin and Greek. They were the great works of the literary world, many of them long banned by the Nazis.
Greek? Latin? Klink?
Hogan shook his head in disbelief and picked up one of the books. Virgil. He thumbed through it. The book, like the others, showed signs of frequent use.
Schultz gestured. "His retreat. He would come here to do most of his planning. Sometimes, he would come just to get away from the life he was leading."
Hogan returned the book to the shelf and walked over to the door in the left wall. He opened the door unto a small, spare bedroom furnished with a bed, a chair, a nightstand, a chest and another bookcase. This bookcase held a portable record player on top and records on the shelves. There was another door in the right wall. Hogan opened it; it led to a primitive shower and toilet. Hogan walked back into the living room.
"Colonel, we'll need a phone, if we're going to call Berlin," Kinch reminded him.
"The cupboard under the sink," Schultz said.
Kinch went over to it and pulled out a portable telephone. He examined it closely and whistled his appreciation.
"He used it to direct his operations," Schultz explained.
LeBeau had opened up the cupboards over the counter. "Very nice. All kinds of goodies."
"Think he'd mind if we made some coffee?" Hogan asked Schultz.
The large Sergeant shook his head. "No." Then "It is useless!" he said tiredly. "Why are we even here? We will not be able to find him!"
"Do you want to leave?" Hogan asked quietly.
"No." A heavy sigh. "Forgive me, Colonel. It is just that — "
"I know," Hogan said soothingly. "But it will take time."
"Time." Schultz turned away from him and stared out the window.
Time.
Hogan stared at the bookcase. It had been nearly thirty hours since Klink had disappeared. Thirty hours of what for Klink.
Perhaps Hochstetter was content to let Klink stay in a cell. Perhaps . . .
Who was he trying to kid? Hochstetter hated Klink. And he hated the Stage. To discover that the two were in fact the same man must have overjoyed the sadistic Gestapo major. Only last week Hochstetter had made that threat against Klink, spelling out exactly what he would do to Klink if he were able. But until now, much as he would have liked to hurt Klink, he couldn't. Though there had been a few times in the past when it looked like Hochstetter would get his wish. Last year, Hochstetter had thought Klink guilty of a sabotage job that Hogan and his men had pulled(5). Even then, Hogan, playing his own role with a relish, couldn't help but notice how pleased Hochstetter seemed to be to have Klink in his hands, especially when Klink refused to admit his guilt. Then last month when Hogan had turned Klink into the Gestapo. Fortunately, Hochstetter had been gone at the time. If he had been there, Hochstetter, unlike his subordinate, wouldn't have been content with questioning Klink and locking him in a cell for the night. Schultz and the Stage had been right. Klink, even the Klink he'd thought he'd despised, didn't deserve what Hochstetter would have done.
And now Hochstetter had not only Klink, but also the Stage. A man who had operated inside Germany for years. A man that every Gestapo and SS agent in Germany had been hunting. What a prize for Hochstetter!
Hogan was hoping he'd read Hochstetter's personality right. Hoping that Hochstetter wouldn't be content to share his prize. Hoping that Hochstetter would want to deliver the Stage personally to Berlin along with every piece of information he could wring from the Stage. That's what Hogan was counting on. That Hochstetter would have Klink safely hidden somewhere, away from prying SS or Gestapo eyes. If that were the case, there should be few guards around. If Hogan and his men could locate that place, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to get Klink and themselves out alive.
But how long would it take to get a location from Teppel? Assuming there was a location to be had? Hogan had no idea. He had put out cautious feelers among the local resistance groups before leaving Stalag 13, hoping one of them might know something. For now, that was all he could do.
Except wait.
Wait.
And Klink? Hogan shivered. Schultz was right. Hochstetter would make him scream. And enjoy every minute of it.
1 "Bad Day at Berlin"
2"The Gold Rush"
3"The Flame Grows Higher"
4"The Big Gamble"
5"Will the Real Colonel Klink Please Stand Up Against the Wall?"
