The window through which nothing hides
And everything sings
I am counting the signs
And cursing the miles in-between…

"Michalovich, 8547960, stand forward please!" a sentry, spitting as he called this name, is standing over the group of gravediggers I am working with and each is hoping for a way out, and envy to those who are called away to Death, or even stay alive, away from this hellish place. "Michalovich, please stand forward."

I dropped whatever I was holding, a shovel (who handed it to me in the first place and where did I get it?) and stepped forward. "I am Michalovich," I feebly said. I am a sorry excuse for an U.S. officer, and know it well. I am stuck here – twice even! – and then, I can picture the reports High Command will surely receive, a joke really: She was able to die and she knows about it, accepts it and goes on. She is yanked away from her fellow workers who continue to dig the graves and never gaze into the eyes of the guards. Then, she is lead away, someplace, most likely never to return again.

It was a scene that all could imagine if they dared to. However, it was much the opposite of what it was (I even had the thought then) and I didn't allow myself to hope for such. Roughly examined, I was led to an office, the Head's place, the Shadow to those who know him (inmates in the camp, I mean), in which he watches all activity and laughs. He is the gloom of this part of the Nazi regime, the giver and taker of Life. We are slaves to his wake and whim. He controls us, the puppets, who slave ourselves and work to the Death and for the Dead. If you fool him or if anyone interferes with his plans, he'll either take your life or those you love: anything to torment and torture you.

Thoughts and fears passed through my mind once more. Why does he want with me? Was it my character that attracted him to me or was it because he saw that it was the second time I am here? I didn't want to know, really. I wanted to go back to work.

The guard opened the door for me (strange enough, as I thought it was a kind deed to suck me into some false sense of security, before I was killed) to an office where it was warm, cozy even. The man behind the desk was talking with someone, a large Luftwaffe General, and a prisoner was stuck in between them, an American with a colonel's hat and dark brown bomber jacket. As soon as they heard the door click to a close, two of the three men looked to see me. The American prisoner gasped at me as I stood flabbergasted, enough as it was the last day or so. It was Rob; it was really Rob, alive, with the Luftwaffe General Burkhalter. So that means…?

"Colonel Hogan, make sure it is her," General Burkhalter ordered in a panic.

The Shadow, the Head, stood with them smiled evilly at me, knowing of Burkhalter's panicked state. It was a sure sight that he wanted me done away with anyway and it didn't matter which way it meant, just as long as I was out of the way of his plans, whatever they may be.

Meanwhile, Rob walked over to me and slowly, as if he wanted some suspense, pulled my left uniform sleeve up. I felt his touch, it was so gentle and tepid, and I was shivering for it tickled through all the cold, so warm he was. He sighed with relief when he saw the dark tell-tale tattoo, but he wasn't satisfied nor was he enthused with what happened to me, and neither was the Head or General Burkhalter, who wanted to make sure that it was really me and not some imposter.

"Ask your questions, Hogan, and make sure it is her so that we can get out of here!" an angry and frightened Burkhalter barked at Rob again. I bet that this place was just as fearful and dark to Burkhalter as it is to everyone else that comes here as a prisoner. I wasn't surprised. Anyone who places themselves in the clutches of this hellish pit will be just as frightened as those who are forced to work and live here. Burkhalter was probably just as frightened about what his government is doing to people, if he has any humanity at all. Or is he just fearing for his life like Klink does?

Rob looked into my eyes. I felt his brown-eyed glare and he gripped my hands with his without any of the others seeing. He knew it was me, but he had to suit the Shadow and Burkhalter, so he began with questions I knew I had to answer, in a whisper. "Where, when and under what circumstances did we meet?"

I closed my eyes and printed that image of the snowy February day years and years ago before answering in detail. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and my answers must make everyone else convinced that I am who I am. I said, "February 14, 1928 was the exact date we met. It was in a back alleyway, where my step-brothers sought to kill me, in the middle of a snowy Bridgeport, Connecticut. It was an unusual winter…we usually had rain…but it was a blizzard. Your eldest brother Ted, who is two years older than you, saw me and yelled at them to stop and you were just along for the ride. I didn't know if you were just walking with him or annoying him with your jokes, as you usually do, but you both found me and took me to your place. I remember fuzzy details after that."

Burkhalter and the Head was impressed and looked at Rob to ask the next question. I was nervous; it seemed so much bigger than proving myself to the men at Stalag 13 because it was like a test. It was to see if I can move my token, pass Go and collect my money. So, knowing this, Rob asked the next question, one of the most painful questions. I knew he had to ask it, for it was so personal next to nobody knew about it and the only one who knew about it in this room was me, except maybe if Rob told Burkhalter. "What are the names of our children?"

I answered, about ready to cry my eyes out at that moment. I opened them to Rob, with much pain, whispered, "We had a child, Michael Robert Hogan, born on October 6, 1932, in Bridgeport. We were not married. I was nineteen years old and you were twenty-three. Michael died exactly a week later. There was no cause why, he just turned blue and died. He…suffocated, they said. He wasn't a strong child." I paused. "We had no more children afterward."

I felt the grip from Rob's hand become tighter on my hands. He knew that same pain and it was so unusual in him not to use his usual jokes to hide his greatest fears. That time, we had silence.

I shut my eyes tightly to block away the tears that threatened to come down hard. Still, there was more and I felt a loosening in Rob's grip on my hands. Maybe there is to be the last question? I didn't know, because it was so silent, until Rob spoke again. "What is the inscription on both of our rings and where are they both located?"

I opened my eyes and let out a sigh. So far, I was passing the test, and this was just the icing on the cake: the end was in sight and I knew it. I knew I was going to be free, but I couldn't show any eagerness yet so I answered soberly and thoughtfully. "Both of our rings have the inscription Love is forever entwined to us because of a poem I wrote about our bond. It was a relation to the lines 'entwined forever – it's time to pass it over'. We both thought marriage to be rubbish at the time. We were that young and careless and so, we gave them back to each other. I have yours on the same chain I hold my locket which has held priceless pictures of my parents and myself while the other side remained empty. My ring has hung on various chains in the past next to anything that held onto your neck, which, recently, has been your dogtags."

I let out a loud whoosh of breath and collapsed into Rob's arms, a dangerous thing to do, and held onto him for what seemed to be the longest time. I couldn't cry out, but I was relieved and the fear was lifted off of my shoulders. I was free…I knew that I was going to be freed. And I was alive.

"Then it is settled," the Shadow said suddenly. Turning to the guard who just opened the door, the Head, the Shadow of Death, ordered, "Take the prisoners to the train car and make sure they make it back to Stalag 13 alive. If they try to escape, shot them and make sure they're dead." It was a generous order, indeed.

I didn't know how or when, but two other guards came in and grabbed me and Rob by the scuffs of our necks and dragged us out of the camp where we heard screaming and so many others working for their freedom. I bid the place such a farewell, wishing that all was well for all of those who entered. I do not envy them and do not wish to inflict more pain upon them.

As I was dragged by my feet by the guards, eventually walking after a few yards with Rob by my side as they let us go, I never felt more alive than before. Freedom, the air in which I breathed, never tasted so sweet.

~00~

The train ride back was bumpy, but at least it was only me and Rob in the cattle car and the air quality was finer than earlier. The dingy scent had been aired out by the cold winds and the cars themselves washed away with the snow through prisoner labor. It was empty of all feeling of fear and it left me with some dream that I might see the New Year 1944, at Stalag 13, with Rob.

To the right, near the door, only a single guard watched us, a rifle in his hands, as the two of us slouched down its wall in silence. The guard looked slightly younger than Jerry, Rob's youngest brother, and I knew that the guard wasn't up at the military age either. He looked to be about my nephew Jozef's age, about sixteen or seventeen. He certainly didn't look like he shaved either: a child's face, bare and without the scars of life on him.

As soon as we were pushed into the car, Rob grabbed me and had us sit in the corner walls where nobody could see us (hear, more like) but the guard, and as time went on, we cuddled and slid downward as if we were a small pile of clothes. He knew that I was cold and took off his bomber's jacket just to keep me warm, and took something off his neck – my locket and his ring. I took it back from him as soon as he pulled it out and put it back around my neck. I also accepted the jacket so that we didn't get into another argument about what was best for each other. I knew that Rob was worried about me more than I was about him.

I snuggled next to Rob (he held me tighter in return, as if protecting me from that guard) and studied him. All of the bruises he received were, by far, not yet healed and very violet-colored indeed. Most had, more or less, blended into his skin, clammy and blue with the cold. His lower lip was also that same hue of purple from being hit too often and his forehead displayed a thick cut. Only his hair masked that cut, while his hair, as I fingered it somewhat, remained white at the sides, more so than usual. Rob was really showing his age. I knew that I was appearing to be older as well and have seen in a small mirror that I was growing white in my hair, too.

It was an awkward silence, but after an hour or so, when we rolled into Germany at about 1950 hours and the train stopped for some prisoners of the German State (situated in another cattle car), I couldn't take this silent treatment anymore. I broke from Rob's already too-tight grip, the jacket threatening slip off of me, and asked, "Why Rob? Why did you come back for me?" I pulled myself up bravely, went deeper into his jacket and was already bumping into his personal belongings. I felt his knife, which I knew he kept as a weapon, in the inside right pocket (was that a temptation?), his wallet and some other random objects.

Rob turned back to me. He just put his arm back around me and said, "It was the same reason you did." That was all he needed to say: he loved me, he really did, and he went after me the same way and reason that I went after him and planned to destroy the Gestapo in the long run and to get them out of Stalag 13.

I snuggled closer to Rob once more, feeling one with him again, almost, because of where we are. So, it was a surprise to me when Rob slid his arm into his jacket after answering me and his arm coming out quickly in pain, screaming, "Ow! Dammit, Nikki, what do you have in there, a shard of glass? You just realize that you can actually protect yourself?"

The guard over by the entranceway raised his gun and pointed at it us as the train started to move again, its prisoners tucked away in other cars. I was afraid for a minute and said in rapid German, "It is nothing. We're just talking!" His gun was lowered immediately and his feelings of anticipation were dashed by this dubious explanation.

I didn't know what Rob was talking about, though. "What do you mean?" I asked as I turned my attention back to Rob. "I am not hiding anything."

Rob groaned in frustration and took off the jacket from me and then I saw what he meant. I had not felt anything since I came to the camp, but I saw before me blood all over my clothes. The bullet in my side has found its way through, fully, and now, it broke my skin. I was so frightened that I just instantly took some clothing off of me, anything that ripped from the uniform, and applied so much pressure to it that I had to hold my lips back from screaming. I breathed in and out deeply, panting in pain. Rob sighed and held me as he should, not knowing what else to do.

There is, naturally, something up Rob's sleeve about this incident and it hasn't been laid out to me yet. I know him. Rob isn't one to just sit back and watch it all happen. He'll do something to me soon enough.

~00~

In any case, all I remembered from the rest of the journey back to Stalag 13, blurry as they are to me already, was Rob holding me and refusing to let go…getting back to the station and the journey back to the camp. Schultz picked us up in town from the train station and then drove the potholed truck ride back.

It was only Christmas Day already, about 2400 hours when we arrived at Stalag 13, and the men, surprised and happy that I am alive and well from that camp a second time, cheered as we entered. They all gathered around the truck as it moved in and was parked (Schultz waddled as fast as he could away from the riots), dying to see me and Rob alive together. It was a dreary evening to be back in Germany, but to see myself and the people I care about alive is better for me. This hard and trying mission to rid ourselves of the Gestapo is done and over with and we have succeed.

Afterward, I felt a warm shower down my back, a hot cup of coffee in my hands, a humid fire in the barracks and some love and appreciation from the men. Many thanks from the men came around the camp until Kommandant Klink came out of his bed, in pajamas way after midnight mind you, and ordered that roll call be at 0415 hours as punishment for being around the camp after hours. It was a far cry from being nice, because it was Christmas after all. At least we all knew that everybody was safe, but sadly in this mangy hellhole for probably another year or so.

At that time, though, I was laughing and it wasn't of the misery of the men, but the circumstances of it almost, cruel as it is. It was only two hours before fallout and the men, grumbling about such atrocity, went their way back to the barracks. We may have to have two hours of sleep, but seeing as it is Christmastide, I don't think the men would care.

I smiled, tired and hurt, as I stood by the window of Barracks 2, the one next to the tunnel's entranceway, in my spare uniform. I watched the men go back to their bunks, less than confident that they would have a rest day later, and felt Rob's hand on my shoulder. "I think it's about time we sleep too," he whispered, reminding me that some prisoners actually went to sleep as they were supposed to. And so, this tired colonel went to her bunk. I admit I didn't sleep much more than an hour but I think it was not a huge loss. There are a lot more important things to think about other than my sleep and today, as Christmas Day winds down, I rejoice that I am here and I am somewhat grateful that Rob and I are together in this place called Stalag 13. The place isn't ideal for a holiday such as this, but the true meaning of it was never hidden from me as we celebrate this great day.

Oh, geez, I never knew I wrote this long! It is after 1000 hours already, about ten hours since I have arrived here somewhat safe and sound. Rob, Kinch, Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau are most likely looking for me already, and are probably here since I am nowhere else in sight. I hear some voices beyond these walls and above the caroling from the different men I hear some joyous shouts…

Or is that Schultz celebrating with some beer?