Act Four

Scene Two

Chapter 9

Wilhelm Klink was kneeling, facing the bars of his cell. His bleeding wrists were bound uncomfortably high above his head. He had been stripped to the waist, but despite the cool air, he was drenched with sweat. They had grown tired of beating him. Now, they were after new entertainment.

His wet forehead rested against his left arm as he waited. God, he was the weakest he'd ever been in his life. It was ironic that his first official contact with the Allies was with men who would have made Hochstetter proud.

Something struck his bare back, sending him falling into the bars. He almost cried out from the shock.

The thing struck again. It was different from yesterday when they had hit him with his riding crop. Whatever they were using now tore into his flesh and ripped his back.

It struck him again.

Oh, God, the pain . . . His white fingers wound around the bars of the cell, grasping it tightly.

The whip struck again. He could feel the blood flowing down his back as the whip snagged and caught his flesh.

Why? What have I done?

Nothing was the bitter answer. These men were not immune to the insanity he had fought against for so many years.

His back was torn once more.

There was a sob in his throat now; his face pressed against the bars of the cell. He didn't know how much more he could take.

Yet another blow.

No food, little water. The abuse of the past few months and his fatigue had finally taken their toll. He had no reserves left to call upon.

The thing struck his back again. A cry was finally forced from him. Dimly, he heard laughter in the background.

Another fainter cry as the lash again struck his back.

His vision was failing. Sweat, tears, obscured his sight. The cell was growing dimmer; it was difficult to breathe. He barely felt the next blow.

Was this what it felt like to die?

...

Newkirk approached the private standing by the cooler fence.

"Nice night, eh?" Newkirk asked in a friendly voice.

"It's okay." The man sounded bored.

"Out here long?"

The man shrugged. "About an hour." Then, "Say, shouldn't you be in the barracks?"

Newkirk laughed with fake heartiness. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Huh?"

Newkirk leaned closer to him. "Say, what goes on in there? I mean, Randall and his pals go in a couple of times a day."

"Don't know. I guess they're questioning that kraut about everything he knows."

"That shouldn't take long; Klink's not too bright." Behind the guard, he could see Carter approaching. "Say, how's 'bout a cigarette, mate?"

The guard looked longingly at the one in Newkirk's hand. "I can't. Randall will kill me."

"Well, I won't tell him." Newkirk lit the cigarette and gave it to him.

Reluctantly, the man took it.

"Sure you don't know what's going on in there?"

The man snorted. "You don't know Randall, do you? Unless you're one of his pals, he says nothing."

"Well, mate," Newkirk said grimly. "That's good for you. Because from what we heard about that place, Colonel Hogan may just kill whoever's in there."

"Huh?"

Carter jammed a gun into his back. Astonishment crossed the guard's face.

"Now, mate," Newkirk said. "Let's take a little walk."

"You can't do this!" the guard objected.

"We just did."

Witton walked over to the men. "Everything all right?" he asked quietly.

"Just fine, Captain," Carter said.

"If you like, I can have a little chat with the private here," Witton offered.

Carter and Newkirk glanced at each other in surprise.

Finally, Carter asked, "Are you sure, sir?"

"Very."

"Well, sir," Newkirk said with a grin, "if you insist."

"I do. Now, private." Witton put his arm around the man's shoulders and led him away. "There are a couple of things you need to know . . . "

Carter glanced at his watch. "They should be there now."

"Right, Andrew. Let's go."

Together, guns drawn, the two headed for the cooler door.

Outside, men started coming out of the barracks and gathering around the cooler.

...

Hogan heard laughter as they emerged from the tunnel. Then a faint cry. More laughter sounded during the short walk to the rear of the cooler. A few more steps and they'd be there.

His blood froze as he came upon the scene. There were five men there, including Randall. They were drinking and laughing at the man kneeling before them. One of them, Yeager, took something from Randall and staggered toward the rear of the cell.

Beside Hogan, LeBeau gasped in horror. Klink, stripped to the waist, was on his knees, bound to the bars of the cell, his back bleeding and torn. He looked barely alive.

Yeager raised the thing in his hand; Hogan fired without thinking. The bullet nicked Yeager's side, drawing blood. Yeager cried out and dropped the lash. Randall and the others turned with astonished expressions toward Hogan and his three men.

Guns pointing unwaveringly at them, the men were prodded out of the cell none too kindly.

"Hogan!" Randall yelled, "I'll have your head for this!" as he was herded into an empty cell.

Hogan left them to his men; he cared only about getting to Klink.

Klink was slumped against the bars when Hogan reached him. Hogan cut the ropes binding Klink's wrists with a penknife. Then carefully, trying to avoid Klink's lacerated back, he turned Klink over in his arms.

"Wilhelm," Hogan said softly. The tearing blue eyes opened. Hogan grasped Klink's right hand in his own, willing strength into the tortured man.

Klink could barely feel the pressure of his hand. "Robert," he whispered.

There were tears in Hogan's eyes. "It's over, Wilhelm."

"Over . . . " Klink's gasping voice could barely be heard. "The end . . . you and . . . Thank . . . " His voice faded. "Tell . . . "

Klink's limp hand slipped from Hogan's grasp as his eyes closed.

"Wilhelm?" Hogan whispered. "No . . . NO!" His scream echoed through the cells.

Kinch hastily knelt beside the two men, his fingers reaching for a pulse on Klink's neck. "Colonel," he said urgently. "He's still alive, Colonel."

Hogan lifted his stricken face to the sergeant. Kinch smiled reassuringly at him.

Hogan found his voice; it was choked with tears. "Get a stretcher!" he ordered. "And call Doctor Bauer!"

Baker ran toward the stairs.

Hogan carefully relinquished his burden to Kinch and stood. Then he turned. Before LeBeau could stop him, assuming he could, Hogan was in the next cell, his hands around Randall's throat, squeezing.

Newkirk and Carter arrived, carrying a stretcher. Dropping it, they ran to Hogan, trying to pry his hands from Randall's neck.

Carter was openly crying. "Colonel, you can't!"

Kinch's voice shouted over theirs as Randall started gasping. "Robert! Stop it! He wouldn't like it!"

His name, the tone, startled Hogan enough so that Newkirk and Carter were able to loosen his hold. Hogan spun around furiously, his eyes staring daggers at Kinch who still held Klink.

"Colonel," Kinch said softly, "he wouldn't like it. He'd tell you Randall isn't worth your life. You know that. You know that," Kinch repeated quietly, his eyes boring into Hogan's.

The rage slowly faded from Hogan's eyes.

Carefully, Newkirk and Carter released his arms and stepped away from him. Still keeping their eyes on Hogan, they backed out of the cell and picked up the stretcher.

Hogan turned back to Randall.

Randall shrank away from Hogan, his hand at his discoloring throat. Hogan's eyes met his, and Randall shuddered at what he saw.

"You'd better pray he lives," Hogan said in a nearly inaudible voice. "Because if he dies, so do you."

Randall slumped to the floor of the cell.

Hogan went back to Kinch. Kinch handed the unconscious kommandant back to Hogan. Gently, Hogan, with Carter's help, laid Klink face down on the stretcher.

Kinch went over to the object that had fallen from Yeager's hand. He picked it up gingerly and walked over to Newkirk. Newkirk looked at it and shuddered. It was a thick piece of rope; twisted around it were strands of barbed wire stained with blood.

"Bloody bastards," Newkirk murmured.

Kinch nodded and dropped the thing to the floor. Then he walked over to the stretcher. Together, Kinch and Carter carefully lifted their burden and slowly started for the stairs.

Outside, Witton and the officers were waiting at the cooler entrance. Groups of men were standing in the open areas around the cooler. The searchlights that had been turned into the compound cast a harsh glare over the entire area.

LeBeau, white as a sheet, was the first one out of the cooler door, followed by a gloomy looking Newkirk. Then came Carter and Kinchloe, carrying their burden. Hogan walked behind them; in the stark light, grotesque stains were visible on his clothes.

The men nearest them moved back as the group approached.

"My God!" Samuelson swore.

Many of the men paled as they saw Klink's bloody back. Some gagged and hurried away; a couple became ill as they stood there.

The funeral-like procession walked to Klink's quarters, trailed by the shaken, silent men of the camp.

At the yard, Hogan turned to LeBeau. "Get Schultz and Gruber. Release the other guards also."

"Oui, mon colonel." LeBeau hurried off.

Baker waited in the doorway. "The doctor's on his way," Baker told Hogan as he walked up the stairs. "He wasn't going to come until I told him it was for the Kommandant." A pause. "If the rest of the town feels as he does, we're not the most popular folks in the area."

The group entered Klink's quarters.

The camp's officers, Samuelson and some of the barracks leaders assembled in the small yard in front of Klink's quarters, with Miller and Samuelson talking in hushed voices about what had happened in the tunnels just a couple of weeks before.

Private Ken Tiptoe turned to the dozen or so men standing behind him just outside the picket fence. "For the past few weeks, you've been offering prayers for an unnamed person. Tonight you learned his name. And he needs your prayers, our prayers, more than ever. So, let us pray . . . Lord, we stand before you, humbly asking that you save the life of Wilhelm Klink, a good man who has been grievously wronged. We ask that you touch his tortured body with your healing hand. Be with those who care for him. Give them the knowledge they need to help him. And give him the strength to survive the evil that has been done to him. In Christ's name, amen."

And around him, in a variety of accents, far more than a dozen men echoed his amen.

...

Hogan grimaced with disgust at the condition of the room. Klink's quarters had never been much to write home about, but they had been neat and clean. Now, dirt had accumulated, especially empty bottles from Klink's cellar. Some of furnishings had been damaged.

Hogan checked Klink's bedroom. It was a mess.

Baker returned from the guest room. "It's in decent shape," he reported.

Hogan nodded. "Okay, take him there."

He followed Kinch and Carter into the room. Gently, they laid the unconscious man face down on the bed.

Schultz and Gruber appeared at the door.

The big sergeant had aged in the past few days. He had been consumed with worry ever since Klink had been led away by Matthews. He turned white as he saw his Kommandant's bleeding body on the bed.

Gruber took a look and hastily backed out of the room.

Schultz continued to stare. Then he exploded in rage, lashing out verbally at the Allied soldiers standing there. Hogan and his men let him get it out of his system. Finally, Schultz stopped and sank into a chair, sobbing loudly.

LeBeau went over to him and awkwardly patted his shoulder.

Then, Hogan and his men quietly left the room.

Sergeant Wilson was waiting for them when they returned to the living room. "May I help, Colonel?"

"I don't . . . No. Better wait for Bauer," Hogan said shakily. "We might do more harm than good. He should be here soon. Thanks."

Wilson nodded.

Newkirk looked around the mess. "Bloody pigs," he spat. "Take a while to clean this mess up."

"Make them do it," Carter murmured.

"Schultz'll tear them to pieces," Kinch said soberly.

Hogan nodded. "Schultz can decide what to do in here." He looked at Gruber who was sitting, ashen and shaking, in a chair.

Gruber noticed Hogan's eyes on him and slowly stood. "Why did you let it go on so long?" the normally bland Captain asked in an outraged voice.

"I didn't know," Hogan said. "I didn't think Randall was a sadist."

Gruber studied his face for a long moment and then said quietly, "I hope you remember your answer, Colonel, when you ask the same question of a German."

Hogan looked at him but didn't say anything.

After a few minutes, a car pulled up outside.

Carter looked out the window. "It's Doctor Bauer," he said and went to open the door.

Bauer walked into the disorganized room. "Colonel," he greeted Hogan abruptly, "your man said Kommandant Klink requires medical attention."

Hogan nodded and led the doctor into the guest room; Wilson followed them. The doctor's face twisted with revulsion as he saw Klink's back.

"Do you need anything?" Hogan asked quietly.

Bauer shook his head. "I am certain that Sergeant Schultz and Sergeant Wilson will provide anything I need," he said tightly. His expression softened as he saw Hogan glance at Klink. He had forgotten about the unusual bond the two men had. "Please, leave. I will let you know how he is."

Hogan nodded at him and left the room.

"Now, gentlemen," Bauer said quietly, "we have work to do."

...

Hogan paced restlessly in the front room.

LeBeau came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with cups and a coffeepot on it, muttering angrily.

"What's wrong, Louis?" Newkirk asked.

"Those pigs!" LeBeau spat. "You should see what they did to that kitchen."

"I'd rather not," Newkirk said as he picked up a cup.

"Colonel?" Kinch carried over a cup of coffee.

Hogan shook his head and walked away.

His men exchanged worried looks.

"He wasn't kidding, you know," Carter whispered to Newkirk. "I think he will kill Randall if the Kommandant dies."

"I think you're right, Andrew," Newkirk agreed sadly. "Weird, isn't it? A few months ago, I don't think he would have cared."

Kinch shook his head. "You're wrong about that, Peter. He's cared about Klink for a long time; that cave-in proved it. He was just afraid of admitting it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Newkirk sighed. "Bloody strange war, isn't it?"

The others nodded in agreement.

After a while, the guest room door opened and closed quietly. Doctor Bauer walked into the room; Wilson followed.

Hogan stopped pacing and waited in the middle of the room. Bauer walked over to him and smiled faintly; Hogan visibly relaxed.

"The Kommandant will recover," the doctor said. "But Sergeant Schultz has told me briefly what has happened to him over the past months. To put it bluntly, Colonel Hogan, he is exhausted, mentally and physically. He needs rest, a great deal of it."

"He'll get it," Hogan vowed.

The doctor smiled faintly. "I believe you, Colonel. I have left instructions with Sergeants Schultz and Wilson for his care. He will sleep for a long time. If he wakes, give him liquids. Water, soup, if he will take it; he is dehydrated. I will be back tomorrow morning. If his condition changes for the worse, call me immediately. But I do not think that will happen."

Hogan walked him to the door. "Thank you for coming."

A thin smile. "You were told I did not want to?"

"Yes." Hogan accompanied him out on the porch. "I don't know what went on in town. But . . . "

The doctor's voice took on a hard edge. "They seem to think they owned the town. People have been beaten, robbed. There have even been rapes."

Hogan looked soberly at him. "I give you my word, they will be punished."

"Forgive me, Colonel Hogan, but my people are frightened. Even those who were in the resistance are wondering what it was they were fighting for."

"You can tell them there will be changes; I promise you."

Bauer looked at him. "All right, Colonel Hogan. I will tell them. Perhaps they will believe you. After all, you have helped us before."

They walked to the car. Witton and the other officers were within earshot.

"Colonel, I did not wish to alarm you or your men about the Kommandant's condition."

"He will be fine?" There was a touch of panic in Hogan's voice.

"Yes. But I do not wish to minimize his condition either," Bauer said. "As I said, Colonel, he is exhausted. The life he has been living has taken its toll. If that torture had continued, he may not have lived through the night."

Hogan suppressed a shudder.

Bauer sighed. "What made them think they could get away with it?"

"Easy," Hogan said harshly. "Shot while escaping. Simple and neat. No questions asked."

The doctor glanced at him. "Somehow, Colonel, I think there would have been questions. I think if the Kommandant had died, his death would not be the only unexplained one in this camp."

Hogan refused to meet his eyes.

Bauer nodded. "I understand. What has happened here is not my concern. Keep the Kommandant as comfortable as you can. Let him rest. I will be back in the morning to check on him."

"Thank you. Good night, doctor."

"Good night, Colonel."