Chapter Four

The roar of the low-flying Messerschmitt's engine tore through the air, the sound loud enough to penetrate the sturdy walls of Hochstetter's radio car. The young Gestapo agent operating the machinery flinched at the noise, cursing under his breath.

His companion chuckled. "Afraid they're going to strafe us, Hans?"

"The way Major Hochstetter's been acting, it wouldn't surprise me," Hans grumbled, adjusting the headset covering his ears. "Look at what he has us doing, sitting right off of one of their runways, just trying to make that Oberst he's feuding with angry. There's no reason we should be here."

"Hochstetter's orders are reason enough. Be glad you're sitting off of a Luftwaffe runway instead of an American one. The boss could send us to the front like that—" he said with a snap of his fingers, "and you wouldn't have the luxury of complaint anymore."

Hans sighed and rubbed his head. "Du hast recht. Still, I don't want to be here once those fighter pilots figure out where the radio interference is coming from."

"Ach, that's no matter. Give me the signal and we'll burn out of here on two wheels."

"I think a Messerschmitt might be able to outpace a Mercedes, Gustav," Hans said, smiling a bit. His smile faded as he adjusted one of the main dials, though, and he shushed the driver violently. He sat very still for a long time, then removed the headset from his ears. He looked over at Gustav with apprehension on his pale face. "I'm picking up something. Sounds like it's coming from the base."

Gustav frowned. Maybe Hochstetter was right for once. "What sort of thing?"

"…I think it's the BBC."

Rookie fighter pilot and first-time Gestapo infiltrator Rudi Kirschner stood watch at the door of Major Hochstetter's office, trying to keep his mind off of how many laws he was currently breaking. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner in inter-service espionage, a more experienced pilot named Erik Stirn, who was in the process of rifling through Hochstetter's filing cabinets.

"Remind me why we're here again," Rudi whispered.

"Because we don't want Oberst Kohlrausch getting put in front of a firing squad for mouthing off at that pipsqueak of a Gestapo officer. If his file's fat enough, he has friends who can get him transferred."

"I think we're running a better risk of death by firing squad than the Oberst is, at the moment."

Erik shrugged. "Firing squad or fiery crater in the ground. Take your pick."

Rudi looked down at his sleeve and picked a few specks of lint off of the black material, trying to hide his nervousness. "Where did we get these uniforms from, anyway?"

"Some friends at the supply station owed us a favor. We saved them from a squadron of Lancasters once," Erik muttered, flipping rapidly through files Kaepernick through Krauss.

Rudi slinked over and peered at the documents. "Is there anything there under Kirschner?"

"There will be if you don't get back to the door!" Erik snapped.

"Jawohl," Rudi acquiesced, then did a double take. "Moment—go back to that last file, the one labeled Klink."

"We don't have time to look up dirt on all of your friends, Kirschner."

"I know, I know, that's not what I meant—here, look, this is a map showing all of our forward bases prior to the invasion. That's classified information, no one outside of fighter command is supposed to see it!"

Erik regarded him critically. "And you know that how, Leutnant?"

"I had a staff position before I was called up for flight training. But look," he exclaimed quietly, pulling out another file. "This one shows all of the Western fuel refineries, with convoy routes. And what's that behind it?"

"The total cost of Reichsmarschall Goering's summer wardrobe, itemized and alphabetized," Erik said grimly. "Top secret, Luftwaffe only."

"Heiliger Strohsack…"

Erik replaced the files and closed the filing cabinet decisively. "Forget Kohlrausch's file. There's enough in here to put that Major in front of his own firing squad. The Oberst is going to get a kick out of this... los, let's get out of here before someone catches us in these uniforms. I'd hate having to explain this to my mother."

The second battle of Stalag 13 couldn't have had better timing. Klink was just finishing up a particularly boring roll call as for some reason his heart was no longer into spewing propaganda at his captive audience, when Colonel Kohlrausch stormed into camp.

It wasn't long before the officer practically dragged Klink into his office. So it was left to Hogan to dismiss his men before slipping into the room behind the Germans.

Kohlrausch was shaking with rage as he towered over an also shaking Colonel Klink—although for different reasons. "This man, this traitor has gone too far this time. First he accuses me of being Nimrod and blocks off my access to my airfield. Endangering our beloved Fatherland over a power play! Then my men discovered evidence that he is the very traitor he seeks."

"Of course, Colonel. May I ask who are you referring to?"

Kohlrausch growled, "Hochstetter and the nest of traitors that is the Gestapo!"

Raising the glass of schnapps he had poured, Hogan said, "So the Gestapo are the bad guys. Whoever would have thought?"

It was a testament to the extent of his rage that Kohlrausch ignored that quip as he instead pressed his case. "General Burkhalter must be informed immediately."

Klink squirmed beneath the other man's gaze. "I assure you, sir, that General Burkhalter is on the way and should be here shortly."

"Not good enough! I will take command of your guards and we will lead an assault to take back my airfield."

Hogan grinned. "Oh, I love a good battle. Also, if the guards are gone, does that mean we are free to go? I'd hate to miss the end of the war."

Even when the world was falling apart around him, Klink never missed his cue. "No one escapes from Stalag 13."

"Right. Can't have a bunch of prisoners running around. The locals might think that crazy man in Berlin has finally came to his senses and surrendered."

"Hogan!"

The American took another sip of his drink. This was about to get good.

As if his thoughts were prophecy, the door opened as Schultz stepped into the room, looking like he wished that he was stationed on the front. "Colonel Klink, I beg to report that ... that..."

"That what?" both Klink and Kohlrausch yelled.

Schultz took two steps to his left, and Major Hochstetter stood triumphantly in the frame. He was carrying a machine gun, looking just as ridiculous as the last time. "Aha! I knew it! Here it is! Nimrod meeting with Papa Bear."

If Kohlrausch was intimidated by the gun, he didn't show it. "The only Nimrod I see is you. My men found enough evidence in your office that we won't need a trial, traitor! Not that there was any doubt. Only one man in this room has decided to impede the work of a vital defense base!"

"Better for no planes to fly at all, then for them to fly under the command of a spy!" Raising his weapon, Hochstetter said, "You are under arrest!"

Kohlrausch pulled out a gun. "No, you are under arrest."

While Hogan was debating the benefits of adding his opinion to this lively debate, Schultz took matters into his own hands and dove under the closest table. Or at least, he tried to. The guard's jacket caught on a chair, causing him to stumble into the table, scattering the chess board and pieces all over the floor. The seams of his jackets ripped as he jerked away from the chair and landed on the floor.

The room was silent as one very special chess piece caught Kohlrausch's eye as he reached down and pulled a length of microfilm out of the knight. "Klink, what is the meaning of this?"

Klink spluttered off some nonsense that would have condemned him to the firing squad if Hochstetter had been listening. But the Gestapo officer was busy staring at the now exposed map on Schultz's person.

Schultz gave the papers one quick glance before squeezing his eyes shut and turning away. "I know nothing! Nothing!"

Meanwhile, out in the compound…

An open staff car rolled through the gates and came to a halt alongside the Kommandantur with a squeal of brakes. A rotund man heaved himself from the driver's seat and courteously went to the passenger side to assist a lovely lady to alight. Then he opened the rear door to assist a second lovely lady out of the car.

His chivalrous duty done, the man took a moment to pause and frown thoughtfully at the two cars which were already parked in the compound: a dusty Kübelwagen and an equally dusty black staff car with tattered swastika flags drooping from each fender. However, his contemplation was interrupted when a Luftwaffe officer rushed up to offer his salute.

"Welcome, Herr General!" stuttered an agitated Captain Gruber, while an equally agitated Corporal Langenscheidt hurried to join him, almost knocking off his garrison cap with his own salute.

General Burkhalter returned the salutes absently and addressed the officer. "Gruber, what is this? Germany is teetering on the brink of disaster, and I find Stalag 13 playing host to visitors?"

"Only Colonel Kohlrausch and Major Hochstetter, Herr General," Gruber said faintly. "But I would not say that they are visiting. In fact, I…"

He was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open, and all eyes turned to the Kommandantur. The startled corporal standing guard on the porch tried to come to attention, but he was knocked off his feet by a surge of humanity pouring forth in the manner of a clown car emptying itself of its passengers.

Leading the way was the Sergeant of the Guard, who stumbled down the steps uttering sounds of anguish. He was followed by the familiar figures of an irate (as usual) Major Hochstetter and a dithering (as usual) Colonel Klink. Next came an unfamiliar Luftwaffe colonel who was shouting unintelligibly, and bringing up the rear was Colonel Hogan, who had a bemused look on his face.

Burkhalter regarded the new arrivals with disfavor and spoke sharply to the one who had the misfortune to encounter him first. "Schultz, control yourself. It is most distressing to see a soldier of the Reich behave in such a fashion!"

Wide-eyed with terror, Sergeant Schultz could only gasp like a fish at the sight of the General, and one of the lovely ladies clucked her tongue in sympathy. "Sergeant Schultz appears quite upset. Shall I fetch him a glass of water, Herr General?"

"Please do, Frӓulein Hilda," Burkhalter growled. "Anything to stop that sniveling!"

The second lovely lady (who happened to be Marya) smiled quizzically as she surveyed the group of men in front of the Kommandantur, two of whom were engaged in a rather nasty argument with guns waving about. She pitched her voice to be heard above the din. "Major Hochstetter and Colonel Klink I have met," she said, with eyebrows arched. "Also Hogan darling. But who is this handsome man?"

Seeing that he was the focus of the lady's attention, Kohlrausch stopped short in the middle of his tirade and turned even more red than he had been before. But he collected himself enough to realize that there was a superior officer present, and he holstered the pistol he had been brandishing. He offered Burkhalter a brisk salute, muttering, "Entschuldigung, Herr General!"

He turned to the two ladies, clicking his heels and giving a very correct bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Franz Kohlrausch, of Jagdgeschwader 7. I apologize for the unpleasant scene, but I am here to uncover a traitor in our midst!"

He directed an accusatory finger at Hochstetter, but his opponent was undaunted. The Major obviously still considered Kohlrausch his primary target but was more than willing to accept other candidates for the position, and he had a machine-gun at the ready to enforce his final decision. His glare swept from Kohlrausch to encompass his entire audience, which by now included most of the prisoners and all of the guards at Stalag 13.

"EVERYBODY IS UNDER ARREST!"

Hogan spoke calmly, as if Hochstetter had merely said the sky was blue. "Including you, Major?"

"Of course not!" Hochstetter screamed.

"I have proof, Major, that you are a traitor!" Kohlrausch screamed. Klink cowered, fearing the whole mess would start again.

"You know, in the Old West that insult was grounds for a duel," Hogan stated bluntly, wondering which of the two would demand one first.

"Bah, I do not have to duel with this traitor," Hochstetter blurted, pointing his gun at Kohlrausch.

"You are the filthy traitor, Hochstetter," Kohlrausch stormed.

"All right, look," Hogan said, as if trying to reason with both, "so we don't get any innocents shot here…"

"Bah, nobody here is innocent, this camp is filled with traitors!" Hochstetter persisted.

Hogan nodded sharply. "And if Kohlrausch is the real Nimrod, or especially if he isn't, you can't just shoot him. Do you realize how hard the Luftwaffe will come down on you for shooting the man who should be defending every square inch of German soil?"

Hochstetter glared at Hogan, but seemed to be giving it a little thought.

"Now, since he accused you, though, and your Prussian military honor has been besmirched, you can kill him off in a duel right here in this compound." Hogan smiled conspiratorially. "Remember that traitor who tried to flee in a car, and you hit the gas cap? They said you were brilliant."

Hochstetter seethed, but saw some merit in what Hogan was saying. "Very well, but I will surround this camp with a ring of steel, and once I have rid it of this traitor, I will take care of all of you!"

"Sir, Major Hochstetter here has challenged you to a duel, you get to choose your weapon," Hogan informed Kohlrausch.

"I will choose!" Hochstetter shouted.

Kohlrausch surprised Hogan by agreeing. "I am a good shot, too, Major. I promise you that with equal weapons, I shall shoot first and you will not get to shoot! A fitting end for a traitor like you!"

Hogan turned to Schultz, who was by now drinking some water. "Better get them each weapons from the supply depot."

Once the other two left with Schultz toward the supply depot, Klink had a moment to regain his senses—and try to regain power over his camp as well. "Hogan," Klink stammered, "are you mad? I will not have a Wild West shootout in my camp while the Allies are at the door!"

"And blow your chance for a role in 'The Battle of Stalag 13'?" Hogan asked, visibly stunned. "Kommandant, once you get to Palm Springs—after I put in a good word for you with the war crimes people—you've got to name established as quickly as possible before all those other actors get re-established. And, what better way than as yourself." He held up his hand as if showing the display of a marquee. "I can see it now. All the beautiful girls surrounding you, Wilhelm Klink, the surprising young immigrant who overcame long odds to escape the horrors of war and make a name for himself under the lights. 'The Battle of Stalag 13,' with Humphrey Bogart, Byron Buckles, and Wilhelm Klink."

"You really think…?" Klink was a little flabbergasted, even with his normally vain demeanor.

Hogan nodded. "Of course, Kommandant. Otherwise, you'd have to start out as a lowly extra mopping the floor with a one-word line. 'Oops!' " He exaggerated the line with his face. Klink recoiled slightly at the thought of being known as a character who did something really dumb. "But once word gets out how you solved this whole thing, you can play yourself, the great Wilhelm Klink!"

"I never thought of playing myself in a movie. How often is that done?"

"Well, not too often, but, really, sir, who could ever come close to the real you?"

He saw Marya out of the corner of his eye as Klink turned slightly and put a finger to his chin, clearly thinking about it. He knew this was it as a couple of his men also signaled him over to Barracks 2.

"Just a minute, sir, my men need something," Hogan said. He walked over slowly and somewhat expectantly. All minds were on the compound, the yelling from the weapons depot, and the shootout that would soon take place, but he had a more important meeting. With Nimrod.