Outside the barracks, Karl exhaled heavily, watching his breath billow out before him in a pale cloud before dissipating into the night. For hours, the entire night, he had been a taut wire. Starting with the air raid, his heart had barely a chance to slow from a death defying gallop. Karl gazed up into the night sky, awash with stars, and wished it were all over.
He'd never considered himself a brave man; he certainly hadn't ended up at Stalag 13 through an act of courage, and he would much rather stay far, far away from any opportunities for heroism (which were almost universally life-threatening situations). So what had come over him back there on the road, to lie to the face of a Gestapo major? Was he merely repaying the debt he owed to Colonel Hogan and his men, or was it something more?
Oh, Greta. A wave of loneliness washed over Karl. He missed his sister more than he could ever reveal to anyone. He loved her cleverness, how she always knew the right answer to any question, the way she could wheedle an extra sweet or pat of butter. He had never felt more proud of her than the day she went off to university on scholarship, and never more terrified when she came to Hammelburg to beg for his help to flee the country.
"I only ask what help you can give me, Karl, even if it is but a few marks," she had said softly. But there was nothing he could do to save her, not from the Gestapo. Once their hounds suspected someone of Underground activities, they would not rest until that person was dead or in prison, where they would be forced to name names - guilty or not. But, even though he couldn't save her himself, he could never abandon her to such a fate, not his clever, beloved little sister. So he turned to the one person he knew could see her to safety: Colonel Hogan, a man who he was supposed to think of as an enemy, a man who was supposed to be securely tucked away in a POW camp where he could do no harm to the glorious Third Reich, a man who was almost certainly the infamous Allied agent Papa Bear who had been such a plague to German forces in the region.
The best man Karl had ever known.
Greta had made her escape that night - the Gestapo never discovered how she so completely vanished, and the case was buried under more urgent and immediate affairs soon after. Karl hadn't heard from Greta since then, but he knew in his bones that Hogan had done everything in his considerable power to ensure her safe passage, whatever the route. But she had never seemed farther away than she did at this moment.
His ruminations were interrupted by the approach of a very irked-looking LeBeau, Carter, and Newkirk, escorted by Schultz, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore the substance of their conversation.
"Incroyable!" the Frenchman muttered in disgust. "Just when I think those idiot Americans couldn't screw things up any worse-"
"Hey!" objected Carter patriotically, sticking up for his fellow countrymen. "Next time we're in the air, I want to see you hit every target on the mark! It's not easy, let me tell you."
Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Andrew, but did they have to hit the bloody Luftwaffe headquarters by accident, too? What were they trying to do, earn themselves a gold star an' a pat on the 'ead?"
"I don't get it. Isn't it a good thing their headquarters got blown up?" Carter's face screwed up in confusion.
LeBeau glared at him, clearly put out. "If it were tomorrow, yes. But now the general who was supposed to come here to have dinner with Klink is stuck in Hammelburg putting out fires-"
"-almost literally," finished Newkirk in an acerbic tone. "So much for our operation."
"Please, do not talk about our generals putting out fires in headquarters!" Schultz finally burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. "It's not very nice! Now go back into the barracks! Back!"
"Yeah, yeah, Schultzie, we know," the Englander replied, patting the fat sergeant on the shoulder. "Just our bleedin' luck tonight, it seems."
Karl wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry as the three Allied prisoners marched past him into the barracks. The entire (legitimate) reason he had taken Hogan and LeBeau to Hammelburg was now completely moot - without the general coming to dinner, there would have been no need to buy fresh tomatoes. And he wouldn't have encountered the downed airmen on the road, and he wouldn't have lied to Major Hochstetter, putting him at risk of a firing squad, or worse.
What a world.
"The Big Shot wants to see you and the most senior of the new prisoners you brought, in his quarters," Schultz informed him, his mustache bristling in an almost alarming manner. "Major Hochstetter is very upset!"
"Major Hochstetter is always upset about something," Karl replied with far more levity than he actually felt.
"Yes, but he thinks that Colonel Hogan is up to some monkey business with these men," said the fat man. "But you would have seen it if the colonel were up to something - wouldn't you?" Schultz's expression suddenly filled with confusion.
Karl sighed. It seemed his troubles weren't quite over yet.