The rest of the day passed slowly, and nothing else was heard from Major Hochstetter (for which Karl was supremely grateful). Though it seemed that Colonel Hogan's day was growing more complicated, to judge by the stream of covert notes and very serious conversations passing between him and mostly Kinchloe. Whatever was happening seemed to definitely annoy the American officer.
Whatever the colonel's issue was, it only appeared to get worse as the day wore on. By afternoon, there seemed to be a deep furrow permanently etched between Colonel Hogan's eyes.
The following day, Karl was somewhat surprised that the fliers were still there, and the colonel's mood had only darkened. Karl knew better than to ask. He was startled during his morning rounds, however, when Colonel Klink shouted for him to bring his car around.
Karl winced and hoped that Colonel Hogan hadn't sabotaged the vehicle today. Fortunately, everything seemed in working order (for once) as he pulled the staff car up to the Kommandantur and the Iron Colonel climbed in, his demeanor a mixture of very characteristic anxiety and annoyance.
"The Hauserhof in Hammelburg, at once, Langenscheidt!" he ordered.
"Going somewhere, Kommandant?" Colonel Hogan's sudden appearance nearly startled Karl out of his skin, though herr Kommandant seemed more irked than anything else.
"What do you want, Hogan? I'm on my way to meet General Burkhalter in town, and I don't have time for your American foolishness!"
"Just wondering why you have to go to town instead of him coming to you like he normally does. You're a busy man, after all, running this little vacation getaway!"
"May I remind you that General Burkhalter is a general-"
"Really? I keep forgetting!"
"If General Burkhalter says for me to go to him, then I go to him!" Colonel Klink said in an aggrieved tone.
"He told you that he's a general, and you're a colonel, so Heil Hitler and shut up," Hogan replied understandingly.
"...yes. These staff officers just don't understand what I have to deal with here!" complained the Kommandant. "Now don't be getting ideas that security will lapse in any way while I'm gone, Hogan!"
"Ideas, Kommandant? Me? And ruin your perfect record?" the American drawled in exaggerated innocence.
"Colonel Hogan, I told you already, I don't have time for this!"
"All right, all right!" Hogan threw up his hands and stepped back from the staff car. "Give my best to the General! And be back before ten!"
"Hogaaaan! ...oh, forget it. Langenscheidt!"
Taking that as his cue, Karl threw the car into gear and headed out.
The bridge was still out on the direct route to Hammelburg, but the long way was infinitely less nerve-wracking under the light of day. Karl noted that someone had taken care of the… abandoned… truck he'd seen on the way back to camp the last time; privately, he was very glad about that.
He spotted a couple of patrols combing the woods, as well, no doubt searching for any remaining American airmen who'd been shot down during the air raid. If Captain McCaffrey and his men hadn't run across Karl's truck when he did, no doubt they'd currently be on their way to accommodations far less savory than Stalag 13.
They made it to Hammelburg without incident, much to Karl's relief. The damage from the air raid was still apparent, though the fires had been doused. Fortunately, the Hauserhof had been completely untouched, which was no doubt why General Burkhalter asked for Klink to meet him there, since Luftwaffe headquarters in town was still a pile of rubble.
Karl pulled up outside, noting that there were other staff cars also in evidence; their drivers were in various states of nervousness and boredom as they loitered in and by their vehicles. One of them Karl recognized as Major Hochstetter's driver (bored), another General Burkhalter's (nervous). The other he didn't know.
Colonel Klink got out of the car and disappeared into the hotel. The other drivers barely even glanced at him. Hopefully, this meeting, whatever it was about, would be short.
His hopes were dashed as other staff cars started appearing almost as soon as the Kommandant entered the Hauserhof, each disgorging its own senior officer (usually accompanied by an adjutant) who then made a mad dash for the hotel.
Fantastic. A meeting of the senior officers in the area. No doubt that Major Hochstetter would use the opportunity to complain about the rampant sabotage, while the others would probably shut him down with their loud complaints over the location of the meeting (courtesy of the destruction of Luftwaffe headquarters during the air raid).
Karl had just about lost track of time when he was startled out of a brown study by a gentle rapping on his window.
"Karl! Fancy running into you here. I was just headed out your way!" Hauptgefreiter Klaus Bauer grinned at him from atop his motorcycle as he pulled up his goggles, revealing a red and sweaty face despite the relatively cool weather. "Since you're here, maybe you could do me a favor and take this mail back with you. There's this Fraulein at the Hofbrau I had my eye on, and the Stalag 13 run is twice as long with the bridge out."
Karl couldn't help but gape at the Luftwaffe mailman's audaciousness.
"You must be joking. I'm not here to do your job, Klaus! What's in it for me?" he protested.
The Hauptgefreiter grinned, wiping his brow with a handkerchief.
"Well, you'll get first crack at the mail, obviously!" he suggested hopefully.
Karl shot him a withering look. The only mail Karl ever got these days was from his cousin Dieter, who wasn't exactly a paragon of wit and humor. Klaus heaved a sigh.
"Oh, fine. Tomorrow I'll drop you off a fresh loaf of my sister's pumpernickel when I make the mail run. They should have at least a temporary bridge up by then, anyway."
"Two loaves, and you have a deal," Karl replied immediately. Klaus's sister made the best pumpernickel he'd ever tasted, and he could definitely use it to curry favor with the other guards, who were more than a little sick of Kommißbrot. Anything that wasn't potato-related was sure to raise morale. And fresh bread doubly so.
Within moments, the mail was deposited in the trunk and Klaus was on his way, no doubt to get either slapped or beer thrown in his face before the hour was out.
Not five minutes later, General Burkhalter appeared out of the front door of the Hauserhof, with a miniature swarm of Luftwaffe and Heer officers (plus their adjutants) buzzing like a swarm of bees. The general seemed extremely put out, his face red and puffy. Major Hochstetter was furious enough to simply stomp to his car.
Colonel Klink was practically wringing his hands helplessly until General Burkhalter yelled at him (and all the other officers) to get back to their posts. They all responded with alacrity.
When they got back to camp, the Kommandant closeted himself in his office, while Karl made himself busy delivering the mail. A fat envelope for Sgt. Schultz, probably from his children (to judge by the barely-legible scrawl); a letter to Fritz from his girlfriend in Hamburg (it still somehow smelled of her flowery perfume); even Colonel Klink got something from his mother. Karl also had mail. Cousin Dieter again. Yay. He was much more excited for the pumpernickel.
He was almost ready to go back to his regular duties when he realized that he'd nearly missed one last envelope, a fat one that had somehow fallen to the bottom of the bag and was half-hidden in its folds.
Grumbling to himself, Karl pulled it out. The only thing on the envelope was a bland typed German To Whom It May Concern. That was supremely unhelpful in figuring out to whom it needed to be delivered.
Curiously, the envelope was not sealed, just folded shut. Had the censors been getting lazy? Shaking his head slightly, he opened the envelope and pulled out its contents.
The first page he pulled out was loose from the rest. Like the envelope, it was neatly typed, though the message was quite brief, in formal and precise German.
My compliments on saving those fliers. I could not have done better myself. Please deliver the enclosed to whom it may concern.
Near the bottom of the page, however, was an additional note in English, hand-written in stilted and blocky letters:
Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!
Karl caught his breath. His hand trembled slightly as he reread the line. On his last birthday before Greta had gone to university, she had given him a book by an Englander of German heritage, on the pretext that it would help him learn their "barbaric" tongue.
He'd reread that story so many times that the pages were all but falling from their bindings. One of the last conversations he'd had with Greta before she left had them both laughing about the title character's opinion of adventures at the start of the story.
Finally letting out his shuddering breath, he wondered wildly how such a meaningful statement for him would have ended up in a mail bag he only acquired by coincidence. Did someone intend to send this to him? Why? And how would whoever-it-was know about either the fliers or the book?
Curiosity getting the better of him, he set the top page aside and glanced at the first page of the thick stack it covered.
Angriffspläne… Oh. Karl suddenly felt a bit lightheaded as he tried to put the papers back into the envelope as fast as he could without drawing attention. Plus his palms were suddenly sweating.
He had the battle plans for the 3rd Panzer Division in his hands.
This was the information Colonel Hogan and his men must have wanted to acquire from General… whatever his name had been. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Was it really only a couple days?
As casually as he could manage, he slid the envelope into his coat.
Author's Note: In case you're curious, that book by an Englander of German heritage? It's The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien.