Act One

Scene Two

– Seven –

It was a cold, sunny day when the SS car turned into the camp. They stopped at the main gate, but instead of allowing the guard to call Klink, they warned him not to. Too frightened to do anything but nod, the guard complied.

Hogan saw the car head for Klink's office. "Party's about to begin," he murmured almost gleefully. "Let's listen in."

Exchanging glum looks, his men followed Hogan into his room.

...

Klink was at his desk, working on more reports. Intent on his work, he barely noted the distraction in the outer office. The door opened without a knock. Surprised, he glanced up. A Gestapo lieutenant and three armed SS soldiers stood there, machine guns aimed at him. Behind them, Hilda had a half puzzled, half frightened expression on her face.

Seeing their expressions, Klink knew that his worst nightmare was about to become a reality.

But his voice hid his fear. "It is customary to knock, gentlemen," Klink said.

...

Listening in, Hogan was surprised at Klink's calmness. Of course, the SS hadn't said anything yet.

The young lieutenant almost looked embarrassed. "I am afraid, Herr Kommandant, that you will have to accompany us to Gestapo headquarters."

"May I ask why?" Klink was faintly surprised that the men in the office didn't hear his pounding heart.

"There are some questions that must be answered, Herr Kommandant. An accusation has been made against you." Still the polite tone.

Klink wondered when the politeness would disappear. "An accusation?"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant. You are accused of being a resistance leader."

Wilhelm Klink knew total fear for one of the few times in his life.

...

In his room, Hogan grinned, anticipating Klink's reaction. His men looked at him worriedly.

...

"I see."

...

Hogan stopped grinning as he heard Klink's calm voice.

...

Klink rose slowly, carefully from his chair. He didn't want to alarm the soldiers. He couldn't risk a shooting in the office; it would be suicide, and Hilda might get hurt. And outside, there was a chance that the prisoners or guards would be hurt or killed. He had to go with them.

"Well," his voice was still calm, "I am certain this is all a mistake. I have no objections to answering any questions."

In his room, Hogan was puzzled. Klink should have been protesting loudly, getting himself into deeper trouble. Instead, he was quite calmly agreeing to go with them. Why?

"May I talk to my aide, Hauptmann Gruber, before we leave?" Klink asked the young lieutenant.

"Of course. Only," menace crept into the politeness, "be very careful of what you say, Herr Kommandant."

So, the politeness was only skin deep. "Fraulein Hilda," Klink said, "please ask Hauptmann Gruber to come in."

Hilda, looking increasingly worried, left the office.

Within moments, Gruber, who had been waiting outside, came in.

"Hauptmann," Klink said with unaccustomed dignity, "these gentlemen have some questions for me. I should be back by tomorrow. Please take care of things until then."

Gruber saluted. "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Klink slipped on his overcoat. The polite lieutenant helped him.

...

Hogan was waiting outside when Klink and the SS men appeared on the porch. He walked over to the office as Klink started down the stairs.

"Going somewhere, Kommandant?" Hogan asked innocently.

Klink glanced at him sharply; Hogan hadn't been this pleasant since Martinelli's death.

Their eyes met. Hogan had an almost gloating look on his face, seeming to relish Klink's predicament.

And Klink knew.

Anger showed in Klink's eyes, but his expression was devoid of feeling.

Schultz saw the anger in Klink's eyes, and saw who Klink was looking at. He also saw the barely concealed satisfaction on Hogan's face.

Schultz went white. Hogan was responsible for this. Hogan had turned Klink in to the Gestapo.

Klink's eyes stayed on Hogan.

Hogan stepped back, astonished at the expression in Klink's eyes. There was no fear, no panic, in the icy blue eyes. Only anger. And contempt.

Then Klink turned away, his eyes flitting over Hogan as if he didn't exist. Without a word, Klink got into the waiting car.

Amid an unusual silence, the car drove out of the camp. Slowly, prisoners and guards drifted away from the area. Even Hogan's men, looking disturbed, left.

Hogan stood alone.

...

"We should have stopped him," Carter was saying as they sat down at the table.

"How?" Newkirk asked tiredly. "None of us could have talked him out of it."

"How do you know?" The normally genial Carter was upset. "We didn't even try."

"Well, I didn't see — "

"All right!" Kinch interrupted. "It's too late for that. It's done!"

The door opened.

Hogan came in; even he didn't look happy. Klink hadn't reacted at all as he had expected. Hogan glanced at the glum faces of his men. Avoiding their eyes, he went to the stove and picked up the pot of coffee. He poured himself a cup.

The door opened.

Hogan glanced at the newcomer. He nearly dropped the cup he held. It was Schultz. A Schultz he had never seen before.

"You are a fool! A blind, arrogant fool!" A harsh, biting voice they had never heard before.

It made Hogan angry. "You're forgetting yourself, Sergeant!" Rank the refuge of a man who knows he did something wrong.

"And what did you do?" Schultz asked angrily. "He is an officer, the kommandant of this camp. And your superior! Even if you think he is worth nothing because he is a German! He is also a man who has tried to do his best for you and the other prisoners here. He has never, Colonel Hogan, NEVER, done you any real harm! And you repay him by turning him in to the Gestapo! I would expect such a thing from the Nazis, Colonel Hogan." Schultz's voice nearly broke. "I have never thought such a thing of you.

"Why?!" Schultz's voice was anguished. "Why did you do such a thing?"

Hogan turned away, unable to bear the look in Schultz's eyes.

Schultz brought up the forbidden subject. "Because Martinelli died?"

Hogan's back straightened.

"Martinelli was mad!" Schultz continued. "You saw what he did to the Kommandant. You know what else he would have done to the Kommandant. You even begged Martinelli not to hurt him."

Hogan moved restlessly, not wanting to remember. The others in the barracks wished they could disappear from the room.

"Martinelli would have killed anyone who got in his way. You, me, the guards, prisoners, innocent people. Anyone! Others would have shot him down in cold blood without a thought. HE tried to save him, tried to get him to give up his mad scheme."

Hogan turned around angrily. "And got him killed!"

"Martinelli was already a dead man," Schultz said. "Only he didn't know it. He had no chance away from this camp. Here, he could have been protected. Even after being beaten by Martinelli, the Kommandant was still willing to protect him." Schultz looked at Hogan evenly. "I very much doubt that you would have been willing to protect a man who had beaten you, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan refused to meet his eyes.

"And so," Schultz's voice grew heavy, "in your arrogance, your spite, you hand him over to the Gestapo."

"He'll be out tomorrow, Schultz," Hogan said.

"He had better be, Colonel Hogan."

Hogan turned at the veiled threat in Schultz's voice.

"He had better be freed tomorrow. Or I begin to see everything, know everything, and remember everything. Tomorrow, Colonel Hogan. That is all the time you have."

The large sergeant, with a dignity none of them had ever seen before, left the room.

Hogan felt eyes on his back. "Go on, what do you have to say?" he asked in a sullen voice.

Kinch answered for them. "I think Schultz pretty much said it all, Colonel."

Hogan looked at his men. None of them would meet his eyes. Hogan angrily slammed the cup down on the table. "I need some air." He stalked out of the barracks.

Inside the barracks, his men glumly retreated to their bunks.

...

The night's mission was as successful as any of them could want. But its success was overshadowed by Hogan's seeming anger at his men. Even the underground group they were with could feel it, and they parted uneasily from the team of prisoners.

It was past midnight when they returned to the tunnels beneath the camp. Normally, after a successful operation, their adrenalin would still be going, and they would continue to talk to wind down. This night, everyone was quiet, glum.

Hogan, again, was left alone.

And he felt alone. More alone than he had ever been. There was a gulf between him and his men.

In a way, there always had been. There was true affection between them, he knew that. They relied on each other to a great extent. But, no matter how much they cared for each other, Hogan knew that his rank was a barrier. The men were far closer to each other than they were to him.

There were few other officers in the camp; this had always been a lower rank camp. And what officers there were, Hogan had no attachment to them. He had not cultivated any. He deliberately kept his group small. Of course, the camp, even with its inflated population, knew what was going on. It had to, to ensure that there would be no escapes. And most of the camp participated in the various escape functions of the camp. But the real missions, the dangerous ones, were mostly limited to his group.

But there were times when he felt a need to talk to someone other than his men. Times when he wished there was someone of his own rank who could share his concerns. Someone he could talk to.

Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee.

Odd. Once in a while, he had even sought out Klink. Just to have someone to talk to who had some idea of command.

Command? Ha!

Klink couldn't command a kindergarten. He was a pathetic excuse for an officer. He was inept, a coward, a . . .

That picture of Klink was back again — Klink hurt, bruised, bloodied, exhausted.

In the recesses of the tunnel, Hogan buried his face in his hands.

No. He didn't want to remember.

...

Klink's eyes were pained, pleading. Then, slowly, the light in them died.

Bastard . . .

Klink's head drooped his body slumped.

Hogan moaned in his sleep.

Hogan watched as Klink stood, swaying as he did so. A step away from the log. And Klink's feet gave way under him and he sank to his knees, shivering.

Hogan stood, watching him.

Klink tried to stand and failed.

Hogan took a step toward him.

Another effort by the Kommandant, and he fell on his side into the snow. His eyes lifted to Hogan.

The American just watched him. Hogan saw the pain, the exhaustion, on his face. Klink's eyes . . .

Schultz reached Klink and awkwardly knelt beside his Kommandant.

Hogan turned away from the fallen man.

Schultz was aghast. "Colonel Hogan."

A glance back at Klink.

"Colonel Hogan," Schultz repeated. "Please," he pleaded. "Don't do this. Please, don't do this."

Hogan became aware of others standing near them, prisoners and guards.

Another look at Klink, his gaze flitting over the bruises on Klink's trembling body.

Deliberately, Hogan turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan saw Klink's head droop.

There was still time. Time to go to Klink and tell him . . .

There was nothing to tell.

Another step away.

Klink's eyes lifted toward Hogan. "Don't . . . "

Hogan ignored him.

Klink's eyes closed and he fell back into Schultz's embrace.

Hogan kept on walking, his eyes away from the faces of the men he passed. Away from those surprised, accusing glances.

Slowly, Hogan's eyes opened. He willed his shaking body still. He refused to think of the dream, refused to think about anything at all. Think of nothing. Nothing at all.

Don't hurt . . .

No. Not this time. His hand clenched into a fist, his fingers digging into his palm. He welcomed the pain. He could concentrate on it instead. And forget that unfamiliar pain in his chest. The one that twisted his insides every time he thought of Klink in Gestapo headquarters.

Stop it! He'll be out tomorrow. And things'll get back to normal again. Normal. Yeah, everything will be normal again.

But even he couldn't believe it.