Act Three
Scene One
– Four –
It was finished. Hogan waited beside Klink as the last group of men returned from the buildings.
Klink's eyes were on the approaching fire. If they were lucky, they had maybe a couple of hours before it reached this location. Except for a privileged few and the firefighters, everyone had left the area, retreating to the woods.
Hogan wiped his brow. Already, he could feel the heat from the blaze.
The death toll from the fire was over forty with another hundred missing and presumed dead. Some of the victims had been fighting the fire. Already, sixty percent of the town had been destroyed, and the entire town had now been evacuated. If the firebreak failed, Hammelburg would be almost completely destroyed before the fire turned on the woods. Then it would sweep unimpeded toward the camp. The weather forecast called for snow sometime after dawn, but it would be too late to halt the destruction already in progress. Too late to save Stalag 13.
Several hundred men from the camp had volunteered to fight the fire. As of yet, there had been no escapes, though Hogan wouldn't have wanted to bet there would be none if the camp were evacuated. There had been some injuries among the prisoners, but only one was considered serious. Now, most of the camp's volunteers had been returned to Stalag 13 to get ready for the evacuation.
At a word, Klink and the others who had placed the charges returned to the empty buildings for a final check. As soon as they were finished, they were to return to headquarters. Klink wanted no one, including the firefighters, near the buildings when they blew. And the fire was already far too close for comfort.
One by one, the men checked their assigned buildings and returned to the group waiting on the edge of the woods. Soon, there were only a few of them still checking.
Hogan ran into Klink as the latter checked and rechecked the connections.
"Colonel Hogan," Klink requested, "I would like you to recheck the connections on the south end once more. I don't want to take any chances."
"Of course, Kommandant." Hogan turned away.
"Robert."
Hogan glanced back at Klink in surprise.
"There might not be time later on. If this fails, you and your men will return to camp."
"And you?"
"I'll go back later. But Captain Dingel(1) has orders to begin the evacuation at dawn. You will need to talk to your officers and men. To get ready."
Hogan looked far too soberly at Klink, wanting desperately to think of something else they could do. But there wasn't anything left to try. All he could do was nod his agreement.
Klink continued, "Dingel will hand out the remaining Red Cross packages, blankets and clothing. Your officers and noncoms can distribute them. Then the men will march to a railway siding some ten kilometers from camp. A train will be waiting there."
"Where will they go?"
Klink shook his head. "I don't know. That decision is out of my hands. Somewhere east I think. Wherever there's room."
"No camp has room," Hogan said.
"I know. I'm sorry."
Hogan nodded. "So am I."
Klink glanced back at the fire. "You and your men, stay with Schultz."
"We're not leaving with the others." A statement, not a question.
"No."
"London?"
Klink hesitated. "I don't know." A sober look. "One of the things we will have to discuss. But first," he added as a soldier appeared, "we still have work to do."
Hogan nodded and left.
Klink headed over to the building where Baines was still checking.
Klink entered the dark building. The charges here were crucial. This building had to be destroyed totally or there was a good chance the fire would jump the firebreak and continue onward. The charges on the first floor looked fine. Now down to the sublevel.
It was dark, the flashlight in his hand barely adding any light. It was also dismal — dust, dirt, broken boxes, bits of concrete.
The first charge should be here. His light found it.
Klink froze. The charge had been tampered with, the wire leading to the detonator severed.
Fury clouded Klink's mind for an instant, replaced by an icy calm as he set to work, fixing the damage.
He found another one, also sabotaged. He knelt, and began to fix it.
Klink was on the third charge. Engrossed in his task, he failed to hear the faint step behind him. Something gleamed in the faint light, something that struck at his back.
Klink felt the savage thrust rip into his back, the horrible pain darkening his vision, and he collapsed forward onto the charge.
Clumsily, the knife slashed again in the darkness as he fell.
Then the silent figure retreated, leaving behind Klink's fallen body, a stain dampening the left side of his uniform jacket.
...
Hogan met Witton in one of the buildings. Witton, to Hogan's surprise, was also rechecking the connections on the charges. Hogan challenged him on it.
"If I do a thing, I want it done right," Witton said belligerently.
"Maybe," Hogan said pointedly. "But a few hours ago, you would have been happy if the whole thing failed."
"All right," Witton admitted. "But that was yesterday. Before I saw the women and kids and old people. They didn't care if I was an American or whether the fire was my fault. I never really thought of them as people before. Just targets. Or puppets." A deep breath. "I guess it's not their fault that Richey died."
"Or your father?" Hogan ventured.
A lopsided grin. "Or my father."
"Well, I'm glad you came to your senses," Hogan said. "You wouldn't have helped our operation by being a hothead."
"No, I guess not. But, Colonel," Witton touched his arm, "I'd better warn you about Baines."
Hogan stood still, a chill going through him. "What about Baines?"
"Colonel, I'm a hothead," Witton said. "He's not. He's as cold-blooded as they come. He hates Germans even more than I did. And," a deep breath, "I think he may have slipped over the edge. He lost his family in a recent air raid. I was gonna ground him after this mission."
"Then why did you drag him along with you?" Hogan demanded.
"To keep an eye on him. I'm not sure I can trust him alone. But I've lost him. Do you know where he is?"
"I left him in one of the buildings," Hogan said tonelessly. "Klink was going to check on him."
"Colonel," Witton began in alarm.
"Come on!"
...
Lying on the dirty floor, his right hand beside his head, his left arm at his side, Klink's eyes opened. He blinked in the near total darkness. His head lifted. He started to push himself off the floor and almost cried out as his left arm gave way beneath him. Pain shot across his left shoulder and down his back and arm.
Gasping, he lay still, trying to catch his breath. After a moment, gritting his teeth against the pain, he tried again.
Clumsily, favoring his left side, Klink rose to his knees. His shirt stuck to his back as he moved, he could feel wetness on the left side. His right hand lifted to his left shoulder. The dirty fingers came away stained with blood. Someone had tried to kill him. Under better conditions, they might have succeeded. But for now, he couldn't worry about it. He had to finish the job he'd started. Ignoring the pain and the blood that flowed whenever he moved, Klink began reattaching the wires.
...
Klink had found the remaining charges on the lower level and fixed them. He blinked the sweat away from his eyes. It was getting hot. The fire couldn't be that far away now. Precious time had been lost. Time the town desperately needed.
He staggered to his feet. The wounds had congealed at least; he was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death. But he hurt.
Getting soft, Klink? You're used to working with pain.
But he was also far too tired and hot. And it was a little difficult to breathe. Did the knife puncture a lung?
Klink found the stairs and dragged his aching body up to the next level. It was a little cooler and more open up there.
He wiped his wet brow with his sleeve, smearing more dirt on his face. He had to check the charges up here again. Whoever had attacked him may have sabotaged them as well.
Wearily, he found the first charge. And wearily, he knelt to fix it. A moment later, Klink heard a noise in the darkness.
He stopped, listening.
There it was again. Not that far away.
Alert now, Klink stood and looked around. There were shadows everywhere as light from the approaching fire dispelled some of the darkness. But he could see nothing. Nor did he have anything to use as a weapon. But he had to get his attacker out in the open, before he struck again.
"All right," Klink called out. "Where are you?"
Silence.
"Have you come back to finish what you started? As you can see, I am not that easy to kill."
A faint noise to the left.
Klink turned toward it. "Afraid?" he taunted. "Of course you are. Only cowards stab their victims in the back."
There was a noise, almost like a snarl to his right. Then a crash to his left. Instinctively, he started to turn but he never completed it. A figure jumped him, a knife raised high in its hand. Klink caught his attacker's wrist with his right hand as they fell to the ground. Klink landed heavily on his left shoulder, a cry escaping his lips. For an instant, the darkness became absolute, but he held on to consciousness.
Klink's grip tightened on the wrist of the man above him. He forced his left hand up, fighting the pain as he did so. Sweat slid down his face as he fought to keep the knife away from his body. But he had no idea how long he could do so. He was far too tired and the pain from his wounds was more than just troublesome; he could feel consciousness slipping away.
Unexpectedly, the weight lifted from him. Klink's hands dropped uselessly and he lay there gasping for breath.
"Kommandant!" a voice was saying urgently.
Klink lifted a shaking hand to his face to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. His eyes focused blearily on Witton's face as the American knelt beside him.
"Kommandant?" Witton repeated.
A deep breath to still his adrenaline-shaking body. "Help me sit up, please," Klink said in a low voice.
Witton moved to help him. Klink swallowed a cry as Witton grasped his left shoulder firmly.
Startled, Witton removed his hand from Klink's back. Blood stained his fingers. "You're hurt!" Witton gasped.
Klink ignored him. Leaning on Witton, Klink stood awkwardly, swaying a bit as he did so. "Who is it?" he asked in a shaky voice.
Hogan dragged a stirring Baines to his feet.
"But why?" Klink wanted to know.
"You killed them! You and all those other bastards! Killed my babies, you f . . . !"
The obscenities continued, alternating with his sobs.
Klink sighed; another victim of the war he hated. He looked at Baines pityingly.
"What do we do with him?" Witton asked, shaken by what happened.
"Take him back to camp," Hogan said, not without pity.
"And do what with him?" Klink asked wearily. "Lock him up?"
"Well, what else can we do?" Witton asked in frustration. Then, "You're not going to shoot him, are you?" He was aghast.
"No," Klink said slowly. "But perhaps it would be better if he were a casualty of the fire." He looked at Hogan.
A slow smile on the American's face. "It would wreck your perfect record."
"Hardly," Klink retorted. "He would be listed as missing, presumed dead, like the rest of the victims of the fire."
Witton was horrified. "You're not going to leave him here!"
Klink sighed. "No, we are not. Colonel Hogan will explain." Klink turned back to the charge.
Now, Hogan noticed the slashes and the blood on Klink's stained jacket. "Wilhelm!" The name slipped out.
Witton's startled eyes swung to Hogan's face and back to Klink.
"Robert."
Witton started. What kind of a prison camp was this when the Kommandant and senior prisoner were on a first name basis?
"Robert," Klink repeated. "I will finish resetting the charges. They will go off in exactly," he checked his watch, "fifteen minutes."
"Leave them," Hogan said tersely.
Klink shook his aching head. "They are too important." God, he was tired, and he hurt so. But . . . "Without these, the fire cannot be stopped. It is already too close."
"But you're hurt," Hogan protested. "Let me — "
Klink interrupted him, his toneless voice hiding his pain and fatigue. "You need to deal with Baines. Both of you."
"But — "
Klink turned back to him, wincing as he did so. "Go. Now," Klink said far more calmly than he felt. "That was a direct order, Colonel." He managed a small smile. "From both of our armies."
"You would pull rank," Hogan grumbled. "You'd better get out. I'm not breaking in a new kommandant this late in the war." The expression in his eyes belied the flippancy.
Their eyes held for a moment before Klink turned away. "I intend to." Then, "Go. I have work to do."
Hogan stared at Klink's bloodied back for a moment, his throat tight with emotion. Then he turned to Baines, pulling him to his feet. "Come on." His voice was rougher than he intended.
Hogan and Witton dragged the whimpering Baines away. They left the building using a side entrance away from the view of any observers. Hogan explained what they were going to do as they walked unseen toward the woods.
Minutes later, Hogan and Witton joined the observers watching the buildings.
"Where is Kommandant Klink?" the Bürgermeister asked.
"Still checking the connections," Hogan said tensely. "Some appear to have slipped."
"But," objected Gruber, "there are only a few minutes left."
"Two minutes," a voice said tonelessly.
Oh, God, Hogan found himself praying, after all this, Klink had to make it.
"One minute." Again that emotionless voice.
Then all too soon. "Thirty seconds."
"There!" LeBeau shouted.
Klink was running toward them, his figure silhouetted by the fire behind him.
The voice began a countdown. "Ten . . . nine . . .eight . . . "
All too quickly, it reached one. The charges blew.
The buildings lurched and then, as if in slow motion, began to crumble. As Hogan and the others watched, Klink was caught in the shock wave that followed. He was picked up and tossed like a rag doll. After a few horrifyingly interminable moments, his body dropped, crumpling to the ground.
"Look!" a voice cried.
As the dust finally settled, they could see the remains of the buildings blocking the fire. And, as they had not dared to hope, the force of the explosions appeared to smother the hottest flames.
There was a wild cry from the firefighters and they surged forward with renewed hope to battle the remaining blaze.
Hogan ran, oblivious of the others. He reached Klink's limp body first. He turned Klink over. "Wilhelm?" he said in a soft voice. Then louder, "Kommandant?"
Doctor Ernst Bauer arrived just behind Hogan and felt for a pulse. "He is alive. Bring a stretcher!" he ordered, his gentle hands feeling for possible fractures. Startled, his fingers pulled away. The doctor stared at the blood on his hand and then at Hogan.
"Doctor," Hogan said softly, "I think he would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone about that."
"But how?" The doctor was shaken.
"Later," Hogan promised. "But for now, please."
The doctor nodded, "All right, Colonel. For him, I promise."
Hogan smiled faintly, an unexpected lump in his throat.
The stretcher-bearers arrived. Hogan helped them place Klink gently on it. Then, slowly, carrying their pale burden, they walked to the waiting ambulance.
Hogan stood, his eyes straying to the fire. It did seem to be dying. Finally.
Absurd tears stung his eyes. After all these years of fighting, was Klink ultimately to be destroyed by a fire?
Oh, God, he prayed, not now. Not when the end was so close. Klink had to survive to see it. He had to.
1 "Klink vs. the Gonculator