Hi, my dear readers,
Once again I can only say 'thank-you' for the feedback and that you are still reading the story despite the errors within the last chapters. As it seems the storyline keeps you despite the mistakes, and I'm glad about it.
As you certainly anticipated (and like I already pointed out), the next chapters will be darker, because Hogan will face a very hard time and will be pushed to his limits. Of course his friends want to help him, but this time their hands will be bound. They will have no chance to come up with one of their typical schemes to save the say, and you'll read in the new chapter the reason for it. Yet they don't give up – and desperate times demand desperate acting.
I hope you're going to like it.
Enjoy,
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 9 – Desperate planes, part 1
Even with Leutnant von Neuhaus in charge, the routine within Stalag 13 had to go on. Therefore, the POWs weren't surprised as two dozen of them were ordered to free the yard from snow, while others began to clean the barracks. To the dismay of the most POWs, several SS-guards remained close by as they worked, even shooed them to hurry up whenever one of them let down the shovel because to remove the heavy snow was tiring. The murmurs and mutterings were ignored – the protest even amused the black-cladded men, while their 'colleagues' of the Luftwaffe watched them with anger and disgust.
"Somehow we've to help mon colonel," LeBeau whispered; glad that to be outside of the barrack while fighting against the snow. It gave him and the others the chance to speak of what happened and what they could do to save their commanding officer and friend.
"Yes, I'm already wracking my brain what to do to get the gov'nor out," Newkirk nodded – and began to shovel the snow stronger as one of the SS-guards came towards them.
"Unterhalten ist verboten (Talking is forbidden)!" he snapped.
"Speak English, bosche, or French," LeBeau countered. "You can't expect that every soul on this planet speaks your babbling tongue!"
"Was? (What?)"
"I said, speak English, because…" LeBeau stopped and flipped a thumb at the German, while he addressed Newkirk. "Did you know that they only accept apes in the SS? He can't even speak a foreign langue. What do they teach in school in this land?"
The SS-guard had no clue what the little Frenchman was telling the other POW, but that he was mocked was as clear as water. Taking a deep breathe he was about to shout at the prisoner, as a hand landed on his shoulder. Whirling around and rising his riffle, he stopped as he saw the Corporal Langenscheidt standing behind him.
"Stop, don't shoot!" Karl called in German, startled. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Was ist hier los (what's the matter here)?" He demanded. He glanced at Newkirk and LeBeau, then at the enraged SS-guard, sighed inwardly and pushed the man's weapon down.
"It's forbidden to talk during…" The guard began, but was interrupted by Langenscheidt, who said with unusual sternness,
"You should read the Geneva Conventions when you work here. These men are POWs and not forced laborers on which you and so many of your 'colleagues' are living out their bad mood. What you're trying to do is against written law and if you're doing it again, I have to report you. Our prisoners will be treated with respect and politeness, they are human beings after all. And if you have a problem with it, you should get yourself another job!" He turned his back to him briskly and looked at LeBau and Newkirk. "What was the matter?"
"He doesn't speak English and so we couldn't understand what he said. Then he became angry," Newkirk answered.
Langenscheidt grimaced. The most guards within this camp spoke a few English words at least, and the corporals, sergeants and the Kommandant even spoke fluent English, but obviously the most of the SS-guards had never learned another language. This was the fourth incident like this within an hour.
"Just try to be patient. The current situation will change as soon as Klink is back."
"Then it's too late – at least for Hogan," LeBau growled.
Langenscheidt felt an unease sting in his belly as he thought at the American colonel he had come to respect greatly. Hell, he liked the man, who had always kind words for him and his men, joked around and pulled every one's leg without getting mean or cruel. He was good for the moral, which as down to zero at the moment. The whole POW's were furious, and Langenscheidt knew that a spark was enough to trigger a wildfire within Stalag 13.
Turning around he waved the SS-guard to continue his patrol, but the man only stared at him. "I'm not bound by instruction coming from you and…"
"Guard, you and your colleagues are only here to support us, if I understood Major Hochstetter and Leutnant von Neuhaus correctly. And I'm outranking you, so do as I say – or I really have to report you to the Leutnant." Both men stared at each other – a battle of wills – then the SS-guard gave in; knowing that the Luftwaffe-corporal was right. Swearing under his breath the man walked away.
Langenscheidt turned his attention back to the English- and Frenchman, who watched the SS-man with loath. "Guys, I know that you're upset," he began quietly, "but…"
"No 'but', Langenscheidt. Colonel Hogan is certainly tortured now in this moment, while we're standing here and shoveling snow. Can you imagine what we feel?" Newkirk interrupted him.
"Yes, I can," Karl said softly. "Believe me, if there would be a way to help him, I'd do it."
Newkirk nodded. "Thank you for your sympathy." Then, all of sudden, a plan was forming in his mind. A desperate plan, but a plan it was. "Can you arrange for a trash-transporter?" he asked; catching the German corporal by surprise.
"A trash-transporter?"
"Yes. The boys are cleaning the barracks, we've already a mountain of trash stored behind the motor pool and it will grow during the day. I don't think that even the SS or the Gestapo want to risk diseases and rats within a POW-camp."
Karl cocked suspiciously his head. "To what you're up to?"
"Nothing. What can we do as POW's?" LeBeau shrugged; realizing that 'Pierre' had obviously an idea how to come to Hogan's rescue.
"If this damn town power will be restored within the next hours so that we can use the phones again, I call the trash-company," Langenscheidt sighed, before his gaze wandered over the two other men. They looked far too innocent and he simply knew that they were up to some 'monkey-business', like Schultz called it. They had something in mind to help their superior officer. And if there was a way to aid them without breaking too many rules or to get caught in the act red-handed, Langenscheidt would support them – maybe by simply looking into another direction.
The short incident between LeBeau, Newkirk, the SS-guard and Langenscheidt had given Baker and Carter a chance to exchange a few words.
"We've to alert the Underground," Carter murmured, while helping Baker to 'repair' his shovel.
"No way. The power is still down and without power no radio or telephone. And we can't leave through the tunnels. The tracks we would leave in the snow around the camp would give us and the hidden entrances away instantly."
"Yet we've to do something. Maybe a little detonation at the Kommandantur later in the evening, when Fräulein Hilda went home, will distract the Leutnant enough so that one of us can flee and go to Hammelburg."
Baker held the shovel blade with both hands and knocked the handle a few times on the ground, as if he wanted to stick it more firmly into the blade's holder; making so an alibi for stopping his work and talking with Carter. "Are you mad?" he whispered. "They would know instantly that we're up to something and we would give us away. The colonel endures everything to give us a chance to flee and stay alive, and you're about to affirm Hochstetter's accuses that Hogan and we belong to the Underground."
"Yet we have something to do," Carter insisted. "If we could reach Burkhalter, he maybe would stop Hochstetter."
"Andrew, no power, no phone!" Baker grumbled impatiently. "And I wouldn't count on Burkhalter as a supporter."
"Then maybe Klink. He risked his life yesterday to keep the colonel safe. If he learns what happened to the colonel, he'll act."
"Yeah, by poking his head into the sand – like always."
The young American made a face. "Come on, Klink proved yesterday to be not such a coward we all took him for. Maybe…"
"Attention, one of the black guys comes," Baker whispered quickly and rose his voice. "Step aside and let me try it again. Maybe get this damn thing stuck now." Gripping the handle now, he thrust its end one more time onto the ground – and the shovel blade began to wobble.
The SS-guard was close now and snapped something at them in German, what made both men looking with big eyes at him and shrugging finally. Again, Baker knocked the handle on the ground – and the shovel blade flew away. The swing was strong enough to let it fly a few meters, where it hit another SS-guard in the back, who stumbled forwards and promptly fell into a heap of snow diligent hands had shoveled up.
The reaction came promptly, as the present POW's burst out in gleeful laughter. Even a few guards of the Luftwaffe began to chuckle.
Baker looked surprised at the mess. "Oops, sorry!"
"SCHUUUUUULTZ!"
The shout ended in a nasty coughing-fit, yet it had been loud enough to wake Schultz up. Startled he jumped off the chair he had slept on and groaned as his back began to protest. Sweet Lord, he wasn't twenty anymore and to sleep in such an odd position was poison for his back, shoulders and neck. Throwing a short glance at the clock at the wall he realized that it was already afternoon. No wonder that his back gave him hell. He had slept a few hours in this unhealthy position.
"Coming," he called back, yawned and entered the patient's room. Klink lay in bed, covers drawn up to his nose, eyes small and reddened, cheeks flushed with fever.
"Are you feeling better, Herr Kommandant?" he asked kindly.
"What's that for a question. Don't you see that I'm technically lying on my death-bed?" Klink snapped; falling back into the old pattern.
Schultz almost rolled his eyes. 'Yesterday a hero, today a wimp again,' he thought.
"Schultz, have you informed the camp that I'll have to remain in hospital for a few days?"
The Sergeant of the Guards frowned. "No, Herr Kommandant."
"Why not?"
"Because…" He looked out of the window and saw that no lights were switched on in the houses around the hospital. So, the power was still blacked out and… "The power is still knocked out, Herr Oberst. There is no way to call the camp."
Klink pursed his lips. Schultz was right. Yet there was this nagging feeling deep in him that something was wrong. "Schultz, drive back to the camp. I've a certain assumption that something is way off."
Hans sighed. He already had anticipated that. "As you wish. Shall I come back and report to you if everything is all right or not?"
"This would be really thoughtful of you," the Oberst said indignantly. "How else should I learn if everything is in order?" – 'Including Hogan' he added in thoughts
Looking everything than enthusiastic, Schultz saluted and left the room; closing the door behind him. Two minutes later he stepped outside into the cold. It had stopped snowing, yet the skies were covered with thick clouds and an unpleasant wind blew through the streets. Walking to the staff-car, he climbed into the relative warmth and started the motor.
He made it only until the next crossroad, then the car began to stutter. He glanced at the fuel-gage and began to curse. Only now he remembered what LeBeau had told him – that the gasoline container in the camp was almost empty and that he hadn't been able to fuel the tank properly – especially in the short time they had to end the repair of the staff-car.
Voicing some very strong Bavarian curses, he was able to steer the car at the roadside, left it, walked to the trunk and got the gas can. Looking around he realized that the next pit-stop was several streets away and then it hit him. Without power there was no way that the gas pump would work. So, no power, no gasoline, no returning to the camp.
"The Kommandant will anything but pleased if learns of this," he sighed, and decided to take the gas can with him for the case the power would be restored soon and he could walk from the hospital straight to the next gasoline station. He locked the car and began to tramp the way back to the hospital. "And I'm sure his main worry doesn't lay with the camp, but with our American troublemaker."
*** HH ***
If the situation would be not so gravely, you could say that the troublemaker didn't give but was in trouble this time. But in the moment, there was nothing Hogan could have laugh about. Rather the opposite. Curled up in fetal position he lay on the icy floor of one of the cells in the cellars. He still had his pants, socks, boots and shirt, but the clothes were far too thin for the icy temperature in this dungeon.
At least the coldness soothed the bleeding stripes on his back and upper arm, on contraire the low temperature was bad for his whole condition – but the cold he caught was the less of his concerns, even if it add more pain.
He had never thought that a few hours in the Gestapo's hands could be such hell. Interrogation room 3 had been exactly what he thought to be: A modern torture chamber, nothing else. They had taken his leather jacket, his wallet and his wristwatch from him, sneering that he wouldn't have any use of them for the last hours of his life.
Then the 'questioning' had begun – and Hogan had to cling to his stubbornness and pride to hold on. He had lost count how many blows he had received – the one with fists and those with a whip. He had tried to fight back, not giving Hochstetter the satisfaction of showing fear or the first hints that he would give in. In the end a blow to his head had left him in merciful unconsciousness, but as he regained senses now in the cell, he wished he would have stayed in blissful unawareness. There seemed to be no spot that didn't hurt, his left side burnt where certainly a few ribs were broken and he felt nausea as he tried to lift his head. Maybe he had suffered a concussion because of the last hit.
They hadn't stopped, even not as he had to vomit after the third or fourth blow to his belly. And then always the same questions – like a mantra. Those guys knew what they did, and as a new shiver rocked the colonel he curled himself into an even tighter ball; realizing that this all here was far more horrifying then thought. They hadn't done much damage to his body – yet – but he'd seen enough victims of the Gestapo to know that this here was only the beginning.
He could only hope that Hochstetter would lose patience and would kill him before he broke. Yet, knowing his nemesis, the major was far too delighted to have him in his mercy to give into furious impulses.
Maybe his men came up with a plan to safe him, but he hoped even more that they would take the clue and escape. He didn't want them to risk their lives by coming to his rescue, yet a tiny part of him hoped desperately that they would play a trick on Hochstetter too get him, Hogan, out.
And there was still a third option: That Klink learned of what happened and would show up to stop Hochstetter.
Until yesterday afternoon, Hogan never would have put any faith in the Oberst's courage, but that had changed drastically. He had seen the fierce man beneath the layers of cowardice, nervousness and vanity. He knew that Klink would try to get him out of this hell-hole, but for this the Kommandant would have to know about him. During the 'questioning' Hogan had heard that the whole power within town had broken down, so there was no way that someone in the camp could contact the hospital to inform Klink of the new situation.
And the same went for Burkhalter. Hogan was well aware of the rivalry between Luftwaffe and SS, and he knew for two years now that Burkhalter couldn't stand Hochstetter. The general would intervene if he learned of anything that happened, but again there was no way one of the Heroes' or maybe Hilda could contact the general.
Closing his eyes, Hogan took a deep breath and tried to suppress the dread that plagued him for hours now. He knew he was alone in this, yet a man could hope. After all, there was nothing else left than hope…
*** HH ***
Newkirk's plan to use a trash-transporter to smuggle himself or another one of their team out of Stalag 13 proved to be unsuccessful – because the power breakdown lasted on. As the afternoon went by without that any energy could be used, the men knew they had to come up with another idea. The basic principle would remain – someone had to go to Hammelburg and inform the Underground – but how to get the chosen one out of the camp?
Additional to the whole stress was the fact that the most times one of the SS-guards was around – even in the barracks – and so the Heroes couldn't discuss the topic openly.
The moment some turmoil was to hear in the yard and the SS-guard in Barrack 2 left the building to support his comrades, the four men began instantly scheming again.
"Right, change of plan. We need help and this yesterday," Kinchloe said hastily. "Someone of the Krauts has to support one of us to leave the camp – willingly or unwillingly."
"Why should one of them help us?" LeBeau grumbled.
"Because they hate the current situation with the black guys like we do," Kinch answered. "We need someone who…"
"Fräulein Hilda," Newkirk threw in, and explained as he caught the asking glances of his friends, "She's supported the gov'nor whenever he was in need for information, phony calls, etc. And I have seen them flirting and kissing often enough to know that the Miss has a crush on him. She certainly is deeply worried about him and willing to help to get him away from Hochstetter."
"And how shall she smuggle one of us out of the camp?" Carter asked tensed. "She walks to her parent's farm house and…"
"Maybe she can convince the Leutnant to drive her home," LeBeau mused. "I saw the way he glanced at her, and as I shoveled the snow at the Kommandantur, I heard him purring to her like a cat."
"That's an idea," Kinch nodded slowly, then he pursed shortly his lips. "Louis, do you have any plans for the evening?"
"Going out with ma petite Marie into a restaurant, watching a movie and then having a nice long night with her, why?" LeBeau joked, before he turned serious again. "You want that I go."
"Don't get me wrong here, Louis, but you're the smallest one of us. Whatever vehicle the Leutnant will choose, you're small enough to hide inside. So…"
Sighing he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What about the evening roll call? Someone has to cover for me, so…"
"Alex Rames can cover for you. He is small himself and if you give him your jacket, cap and scarf the SS-guards will not realize the differences. They don't know us well enough."
"Oui, but Langenscheidt knows us. If he summons us for the roll call, you're done for."
"A risk we've to take. And you heard him in the morning – if he could help he would do it. Now it would be his chance to stay true to his word," Kinchloe calmed him. "And if not then we're in trouble, but at least you're out there to help Hogan."
Grimacing, LeBeau nodded. "D'accord, I'll try it. But first we've to inform Mademoiselle Hilda that she got herself a job."
Kinch nodded. "Cater, watch the door and warn us if the SS-swine returns. LeBeau, with me." Quickly they ran to the hidden entrance. "Go through the tunnels to Barrack 5 to get Alex. The SS-guy who watches our comrades there is outside in the yard, too. Alex shall come here immediately. Newkirk and I try to delay the SS-guy's return by telling him about the firewood we've to bring to Klink's office."
"The guy doesn't speak English."
"The better. It will buy you enough time to get Alex and to exchange clothes with him. Then go to motor pool. There is only a truck and the motor-bike with the sidecar left. I don't think the Leutnant will use the truck to get Fräulein Hilda home – should it come to that we'll make certain that he takes the motor-bike. Newkirk…"
"Un moment!" LeBeau protested. "The motor-bike? Where shall I hide – in the footwell of the sidecar?"
"Now you know why I chose you for the task. You're small enough for it."
Louis gasped, then Newkirk cut in, "See it from the bright side, mate. Hogan may kiss Fräulein Hilda, but you are the one who'll be able to snuggle close to her beautiful legs."
LeBeau grimaced at him and was even tempted to stick his tongue out but suppressed the urge. This wasn't a task London had given them, this was more important. They had to save their dear friend. Hogan always gave his best and risked his life for them, now it was up to them to repay his care.
Grumbling an agreement, he listened to Kinchloe's further plan,
"Newkirk and I will inform Hilda of our plan. Knowing her she'll be able to wrap the Leutnant around her little finger. As soon as you can, leave the sidecar and try to reach Hammelburg. Inform the Underground via Little Red Hood or Snow White. Somehow we've to get the colonel out – one way or the other one. Hopefully the power will be back by tomorrow so that we can arrange more."
LeBeau quickly climbed down the ladder. "Wish me luck."
"God luck, Louis!"
He watched his friend climbing down into the radio room and the tunnels, and hit the hidden mechanism that closed the door. He could only pray that everything would go smooth.
His glance found Newkirk. "Ready for a little theatre?"
"Any time you want, mate."
*** HH ***
To make their ‚personal' SS-guard understand that it was their routine duty to collect some firewood from the stock and to bring it to the Kommandantur, was an act that would be an object of topics for quite a time. It lasted more than ten minutes, with many misunderstandings, failure of translation attempts and wild gestures with the hands which should describe the task, until finally Langenscheidt was called, and he could serve once again as a translator. The corporal looked ready to fall asleep on his feet, after only a few hours of rest. He shot the camp's own guards a nasty look. Anyone of them could have translated between the two POWs and the few SS-men which had surrounded Kinchloe and Newkirk, but the Luftwaffe-soldiers only smirked in amusement; loving it how the two prisoners were driving the loathed SS up the next wall.
Finally, as Alex Ramses had already taken LeBeau's place in Barrack 2, Kinch and Newkirk walked towards the Kommandantur; arms full of firewood.
Usually one of the camp's guards stood in front of it, now it was a further SS-man who had witnessed the whole mess and knew why the two men were coming. Giving them a sneer he gestured sharply towards the entrance, where Fräulein Hilda just appeared.
"Sergeant Kinchloe, Corporal Newkirk?" She smiled at the two men. "Finally, the firewood. It's getting cold inside." She looked at the SS-guard who was about to accompany the two prisoners, and told him in German that there was no need for him to join them. This here was daily routine and she added with a smile that the prisoners would never dare to do something against the rules – not when Oberst Klink was in command or now with Leutnant von Neuhaus in charge.
The SS-guard looked at the camp's secretary, who was the best example for a fair German lady, and waved his hand to let the two POW's pass.
They were barely inside, as Hilda already whispered, "What's your plan? How can we help Robert?"
The two men exchanged a look. 'Robert', eh?
"Shall I put a few sticks into the oven, Miss?" Newkirk asked with normal voice, before he whispered towards her, "Can you convince the Leutnant to drive you home with the camp's motor-bike?"
Hilda nodded quickly. "No problem. Why?"
"LeBeau will hide in the sidecar and tries to get help as soon as he is out of the camp," Kinch murmured and put his load of firewood beside the furnache. "Can you distract the Leutnant enough that LeBeau will have a chance to leave the sidecar without being caught?"
The young woman battered her eyelashes. "I can think of a way or two." He turned serious again. "And then?"
"Stay at home. We'll try to reach some people which can help to rescue Hogan."
She bit her lips. "I'll do everything I can. It is my fault that Robert suffers now. If I hadn't told Hochstetter that the Kommandant isn't dead but on his way to the hospital, the mean gnome would never have come to the camp."
Kinch smiled full of sympathy at her. "He would have come anyway. Maybe an hour or two later, but he wouldn't have missed the chance to take over Stalag 13. So or so he would have learned that the colonel and Klink are still alive."
Steps drew nearer, and Kinchloe quickly closed the distance to Newkirk who still was piling the firewood. "Done finally?" he asked a little bit louder.
"Almost, sir," Newkirk answered.
The door to the office that was usually Klink's opened and Leutnant von Neuhaus stepped out. "What's going on here?" he asked sternly in fluid English.
"The prisoners brought new firewood, Herr Leutnant," Hilda smiled at him. "Shall they refill the furnace in your office, too?"
He nodded and pointed at Kinch with an arrogant gesture. "You, refill the furnace!" He looked at Newkirk. "And you wait just here!"
Hilda felt anger rising in here at the harsh tone von Neuhaus used at Kinchloe; showing clearly that he didn't regard the sergeant as a normal man because of his skin color. 'You could learn from Kinchloe's and also Baker's politeness and kindness a lot, you moron!' she thought, but kept her smile as the Leutnant glanced at her. Lowering her head, she pressed her belly until her cheeks flushed and she looked up again, she saw the pleasant expression on von Neuhaus' face. Very good, he had risen to the bait.
Two minutes later, Kinch and Newkirk left the Kommandantur; feeling some relief. The first part of their plan had worked.
*** HH *** HH ***
"You want to announce a curfew for the whole town, Herr Major?" Leutnant Horst Schmidt stood at ease on the other side of Hochstetter's desk; watching his superior office warily. He had been transferred from Bremen to Hammelburg only a few days ago, and he didn't feel well in this Gestapo-Headquarter. Sweet Lord, the one in Bremen had been sinister, but this here seemed to be a part of hell's precipice.
He didn't belong to those men here – or harbored the same frantic loyalty to the insane regime like they did. In the beginning he had been a devotee of Hitler, just like so many others, but within the last two years his eyes had been opened. Germany was descending in chaos and violence, people were hunted at the tiniest suspicion and any laughter seemed to have turned mute and was replaced with fear and tears.
Not only the drastic chance of the war's course and the increasing attacks of the Allies were responsible for all the sorrow, but a main part lay also with the regime.
Schmidt had served in the Abwehr, the German intelligence, but after this unit had been involved in the attempted assassination against Hitler at the 20th July a year prior, the unit had been dissolved into the SD, the intelligence arm of the SS Hitler always had preferred over the Abwehr. Members of the Abwehr, who were found innocent, were granted to keep their job but serving it in a different unit: The SD. Others were forced to serve in the Gestapo – like Schmidt. He knew that he was under observation like all of his other colleagues, but with his father being a rich industrialist who admired Hitler openly, Horst had gotten a chance. And he didn't know if he should be grateful or not.
Being also a full trained soldier, he had gotten the 'recommendation' to enter also the SS, serving as an active member of it – just like Hochstetter did years ago.
And concerning his new superior officer, Schmidt had quickly realized that the man was a maniac. This much was for certain. He had gotten the last proofs within the last hours. He had heard the screams from the cellars and learned that an American POW was accused of being a spy and saboteur, and he asked himself how a prisoner could work actively for the Underground. Obviously Hochstetter was convinced of it, and Schmidt couldn't deny that he felt some compassion for the American who was the target of the Major's cruelty.
And now Hochstetter ordered a curfew for whole Hammelburg – what meant that everyone who was caught on the streets after the curfew's start would be shot or arrested. Good God, didn't those people here suffering enough without the Gestapo's doing?
"Yes, a curfew, Leutnant. It's for their own protection. With the power blacked out, too many ill-willed people have a chance to harass honorable citizen, what has to be prevented. Make certain that word is spread that after eight o'clock this evening no-one shall leave house or flat. Take as many men as you need."
"Jawohl, Herr Major. Only one question. What about the workers which are still attending to their job and have to go home after eight o'clock?"
Hochstetter sneered. "With the power blacked out there is not much a worker can do at the companies. Let them know first that they have to go home before the curfew starts. If some of the bosses protest, they shall contact me tomorrow. Only emergencies for the hospital, police and firemen are allowed on the streets after eight o'clock. The curfew will last until the power is back online, or until six o'clock tomorrow in the morning. Any further questions, Leutnant Schmidt?"
The younger man shook his head. "No, sir."
"Very good. Dismissed!"
He watched Schmidt leaving his office, emptied his cup of coffee that had been brewed on one of the ovens and went to the cellars. A minute later he stepped into interrogation room 3 and smiled as he saw the colonel's figure hanging from chains at the ceiling; his bare upper body bloody and bruised. "My dear Hogan, sorry for letting you wait. Some business kept me away, but now you've my full attention back."
"Go to hell!" was all Hogan spat; the one eye that wasn't closed by the angry swelling his face suffered by now, blazed with hate.
With an evil laugh, Hochstetter closed the door and stepped deeper into the room.
*** HH *** HH ***
"Herr Leutnant, I'm done with today's work and go home. I wish you a nice evening," Hilda said, while peeking through the door into the office. The picture was so wrong – with the Leutnant in SS-uniform sitting at Klink's desk. It occurred to her how much she was used to the Kommandant's far brighter presence.
"You're already done?" von Neuhaus asked and looked at the mantle-clock. It was almost six o'clock. He smiled a little bit. "You are very quick. Very good. I appreciate efficiency."
Hilda gave him one of her perfect smiles – half shy, half flirtingly. "Thank you, Herr Leutnant. Please excuse me now. I've to walk to my parent's home and new snow is coming. I…"
"You have to walk? Alone? In the dark?"
Hilda lifted delicately one shoulder. "I owe no car, Herr Leutnant, and the ways and streets are too much covered with snow to use a bike. It's an old one and not so safe anymore, therefore I walk."
"And Klink allows this? Doesn't one of his men drive you?"
Again, the young woman gave him a coy smile. "No, every guard is needed here, and the Kommandant is too busy to play 'driver' for me. And Schultz… Well, he drives likes he eats, and it's safer for me to walk."
"Alone through the woods," he stated again; shocked.
She giggled. "Until now nothing bad happened."
"And should remain this way," he said; rising. "I don't understand that Klink shows so little responsibility towards you. It's unbelievable!" Stepping around the desk he took his coat. "Come on, my dear, I'll drive you home. I would never forgive myself if something happens to you. These are dark times, after all."
Hilda triumphed inwardly, outside she gave the Leutnant a bright smile. "You are such a gentleman. Men like you are rare."
He offered her his arm after he had slipped on his coat and guided her outside on the porch. "Heinzer!" he yelled and one of the SS-guards came running.
Saluting he waited for his superior's order. "Get a car from the motor-pool. I drive Fräulein Schneider home."
With a "Jawohl, Herr Leutnant," he raced away
"Corporal Langenscheidt!" von Neuhaus called and Karl came, less enthusiastic than Heinzer before.
"Herr Leutnant?"
"Be ready for the evening roll call when I'm back. I want that all prisoners are outside of the barracks then and stay to attention."
Langenscheidt lifted both brows. "This is the usual procedure, Herr Leutnant." It was obvious that he thought von Neuhaus' order utterly redundant and that it was clear to him that the Leutnant hadn't a clue how to run a POW-camp.
Understanding the undertone in Langenscheidt's voice, von Neuhaus gritted his teeth, as he answered, "Proceed like usual!"
"Jawohl, Herr Leutnant."
The same moment Heinzer returned. "Herr Leutnant, there is only a truck and a motor-bike with sidecar in the pool, but no car. The staff-car was taken by Oberst Klink and the other one belonged to Major Hochstetter, so…"
"The motor-bike!" Hilda exclaimed with joy. "I love it when a man drives the motor-bike. It's so… manly." She giggled like a school-girl but made certain to give the Leutnant a very female suggestive glance.
"If it isn't too cold for you and you like a travel in a sidecar so much, then this is what you get," he said; padding her hand that still rested in the crook of his arm. He nodded at Heinzer and a minute later the motor-bike with the sidecar stopped in front of the porch.
Hilda's gaze landed on the heap of blankets in the footwell and she knew that LeBeau already hid there – at her feet. She groaned inwardly. Frenchmen! They never missed a chance to be near 'une belle'. Laughing in pretended delight, she quickly lifted one of the blankets and stepped into the sidecar before von Neuhaus could even offer a hand to help. Pulling the woolen material over her legs and around her waist, she smiled up at him; feeling LeBeau shifting a little bit to give her feet more room.
"A woman who takes the matters in her own hand," von Neuhaus commented wryly, but winked at her. "I like strong women."
"Yet you insist of taking me home," she flirted back.
"Of course, I'll accompany you home. Even a strong woman is no match for a gang of footpads, and I don't take any risk in this case." Climbing on the motor-bike the Leutnant started the motor. "Take a hold, Fräulein Schneider and enjoy the ride."
They drove off into the night – and a lot of prayers accompanied LeBeau, hoping that he would be able to start a rescue mission for Colonel Hogan…
TBC…
Well, at least help is on the way, but it's a stony and dangerous way with the current curfew in Hammelburg, the SS patrolling the streets and the Hammelburg Underground-cell weakened and decreased like it is. And given Hochstetter's hate and glee to finally can do what he always wanted, Hogan is running out of time. So, it isn't certain that the 'calvary' will arrive before it is too late. But more if of it in the next chapter.
I hope you liked the new update, despite the more darker atmosphere in it. Like always I would be very happy to get some reviews/comments – and thank you for putting up with the errors. I hope my beta-reader will be back in two weeks so that she can correct he not beta-read chapters I will replace them with the flawless ones.
Have a nice Sunday and a good start into the next week,
Love
Yours Starflight