Schultz paused outside the Kommandant's living room, silently eavesdropped on the radio broadcast. The BBC announced the invasion of Poland by Russian troops and the continued carpet bombing of Berlin.
"And here's a special message for the commanders of all German POW camps. We'll be coming for our lads soon and we'll hold you accountable for any deaths while they're under your care. This message is for you, Major Udelhoven of Stalag 1, Colonel Gollmer of Stalag 2…" Schultz held his breath as the announcer worked his way to "Colonel Klink of Stalag 13, Major…."
"Schultz."
"Jawohl." Schultz frowned as he realized he'd been caught lurking in the hallway. "Here I am, just coming into the building."
"Never mind." Klink turned off the radio. "Did you hear?"
"Herr Kommandant, I…"
"Ja, ja.' Klink gestured Schultz to a chair. "It's happening again. It'll be Versailles all over."
"You mustn't say that, Herr Kommandant." Schultz remembered all too clearly what the reparations demanded after the last war had done to his country. He'd struggled to feed his family while the economy collapsed around him. To go through that again… "Our Fuhrer wouldn't let it happen."
"The war is going badly." Klink shook his head wearily. "They've just reported --Dresden is gone."
"Gone?"
"Fire-bombed." Klink closed his eyes. "They say thousands were killed."
"But Dresden is a cultural city. It has no military value."
"It was a cultural city. Now it's a pile of rubble."
"But why?"
"Revenge for the London blitzkrieg, the looting of Paris, the siege of Leningrad…." Klink laughed bitterly. "Perhaps even for the attack on Pearl Harbor."
"But we had nothing to do with Pearl Harbor."
"Anger must go somewhere, Schultz. The combined fury of the Allies was turned on Dresden. And soon it will be turned on us." Klink sighed. "Especially if the rumors are true."
"Nein. They can't be." Schultz had head the whispers, but they were too horrific. It wasn't possible. Not in Germany.
"I hope not, but General Burkhalter seems certain there will be trials if the Allies win. He doesn't intend to be taken alive." Klink tapped his service revolver. "He may be right."
"Herr Kommandant!" Schultz leaned forward anxiously. "You can't."
"What choice do I have?" Klink stood, paced to his window. "Do you expect me to surrender to a pig like Anders?"
Schultz shook his head reluctantly. "If only Colonel Hogan…"
"Ja." Klink stared blankly out the window. "I spoke to General Burkhalter earlier. He said the prisoners from Stalag 3 were moved to Stalag 7. Stalin could not be allowed to commandeer the services of the British and American pilots for Soviet planes."
"Than Colonel Hogan is safe." Schultz breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad. I was afraid that…"
"The prisoners were forced to march for four days through the snow." Klink turned slowly to Schultz. "Hogan collapsed on the third day. General Burkhalter says his wounds are badly infected. He doesn't expect him to recover."
"Herr Kommandant, you must do something. He's a troublemaker, but…"
"But I'd rather surrender to him than to Anders." Klink poured a glass of schnapps. "It's odd, Schultz. Annoying as Hogan was, I think we could have been friends if the circumstances had been different. Now he'll die among strangers and I'll have to kneel at that bastard Anders' feet."
"But couldn't you transfer him back here, now that Major Hochstetter is gone? He may not be as sick as the General believes."
"Ja. He's too stubborn to die." Klink downed his drink. "Alright. Go to Moosburg and bring him back here. If he must die, he should at least be with his men. I owe him that much."
"Jawohl." Schultz saluted and hurried outside. He was looking for Langenscheidt when Sgt Kinchloe approached him.
"Schultz. We need a favor."
"I'm about to leave camp." Schultz halted beside the black man. "Can it wait?"
"I don't think so." Kinch sounded as exhausted as Schultz felt. "Something has to be done about Sasha. I just talked to the guard at the cooler. He says he's still banging on the door."
"Ja. He does not like small spaces. The Kommandant said he could move to a bigger cell once he calmed down, but only Colonel Hogan…"
"Let me talk to him."
"Well…" Schultz shot a quick glance at Klink's quarters. "Alright, but only for a moment."
"Thanks. I owe you one." Kinch strode quickly towards the cooler.
Schultz followed at a more sedate pace. The Soviet prisoners had never given the German guards any reason to be overly concerned with their welfare. In fact, their end of camp was too dangerous for any but the toughest guards to patrol. Still, he didn't enjoy seeing any human being suffer – even a Russian.
"Come on, Schultz." Kinch waited for him at the entrance to the cooler.
"Ja, ja." Schultz didn't need to ask the guard on duty if the Russian had settled down. He could hear his cursing from the door. "Maybe we should wait."
"Just give me five minutes."
"Alright." Schultz reluctantly led the way inside.
"Sasha." Kinch made his way to the steel door of the isolation cell and raised his voice above the Russian's shouting. "It's me – Kinchloe. Quiet down for a minute."
Schultz didn't need to understand Russian to decipher the answer. Pasternak wanted out. Now.
"Sasha, calm down." Kinch tried for a soothing tone of voice. "Schultz will move you to a bigger cell. One with light and air and water. But only after you calm down."
"I won't let the animal touch me."
"He won't. No one will. You have my word." Kinch glanced hopefully at Schultz. "But you have to be quiet. Ok?"
Sasha muttered an invective, but the volume was reduced.
"Sasha?"
"Da. I am quiet as rodent. Now get me out of here." Sasha's voice caught as he struggled for control. "Pazhalsta. I cause no more trouble."
"Ok. Just hang in there for a minute. We'll get you to a bigger cell." Kinch stepped away from the door, gestured at the lock.
Schultz fumbled for the key. He refused Kinch's silent offer to transfer the prisoner, gestured for the guard outside to assist him. He cautiously unlocked the door and pointed his gun at the belligerent man inside. "Hands on your head."
"And your hands to yourself." Sasha seethed as he was herded to a cell across from Anders. "You animals will pay for everything you've done to us. My people will burn your country to the ground."
"Sasha." Kinch stayed on alert until the bars clanged shut behind the Russian, then exhaled loudly. "You ok now?"
"Da." Sasha collapsed onto the cot and buried his face in his arms. "Spasiba."
"You're welcome." Kinch waited for a response, but Sasha seemed to have mentally dismissed them all.
"He'll be alright now." Schultz whispered. "He's afraid of the other cell."
"Then why put him in it?"
"It's the rule. Dangerous prisoners go into the isolation cell until they calm down." Schultz waved away Kinch's rebuttal. "Sometimes I have to be on our side."
"So the Red's yellow." Anders chuckled from his cell. "Figures."
"He's claustrophobic." Kinch looked towards Sasha's cell. The Russian had curled up and was either asleep or oblivious. "I wouldn't harass him, Major. He has a long memory."
"Are you threatening me, Sgt?" Anders was on his feet and at the bars.
"No, sir." Kinch smiled marginally. "Just warning you."
"Let me warn you, boy. I'm not Hogan."
"No, sir." Kinch's voice grew cold. "You're not."
"It's time to go." Schultz tugged Kinch away from Anders and out of the door. "You shouldn't upset the Major. He can make trouble for you."
"I know." Kinch forced his temper under control. "Thanks, Schultz. You probably just saved me from getting court-martialed right there in the cooler."
Schultz gave the man's shoulder a fatherly pat. "You behave while I'm gone. Maybe I'll bring you back a surprise."
"Right." Kinch started automatically for his barracks, then halted. "What kind of surprise? Where are you going?"
"Nein." Better not to raise the prisoners' hopes. Especially if all he returned with was Hogan's corpse.
"You know you're no good at keeping secrets, Schultz." Kinch checked his pockets. "I'll bet I have something here…"
Schultz shook his head. "As the Colonel always said – 'Mind the store' while I'm gone. Keep everyone out of trouble."
Schultz felt Kinch watching him as he gathered Langenscheidt and headed for the staff car. He didn't like the idea of leaving the camp for so long while the prisoners were fighting among themselves, but Hogan was the only one who could get the situation back to normal. If he was still alive.
* * * *
There was nothing scenic about the trip to Moosburg. The road snaked through bomb-damaged towns populated by war-weary civilians. Twice they had to stop and take cover when air raid sirens warned of approaching planes. By the time they neared Moosburg, Langenscheidt was clutching the steering wheel tightly and staring anxiously down the road.
"It's alright." Schultz tried to sound convincing. "We're very close to Stalag 7. We don't have to worry about Allied bombers anymore."
"I know. It's just…"
"Don't worry." Schultz patted the younger man's shoulder. "Even I have been afraid, once or twice."
"Back in the last war?"
"Oh, ja." Schultz laughed gently. "And in this one too."
"Really?" Langenscheidt hazarded a glance at Schultz. "Even at Stalag 13?"
Schultz snorted. "With all of the monkey business that goes on there and Gestapo agents lurking around in the shadows? Who wouldn't be afraid?"
"Oberfeldwebel, there is something I must tell you…"
"Ja?" Schultz didn't like the corporal's sudden seriousness. "You're not going to tell me that you're a Gestapo agent, are you?"
Langenscheidt shook his head. "It's about my uncle. You know, the one in Berlin."
Schultz knew. Everyone knew that the healthy young man was only stationed at Stalag 13 with the old and battle-fatigued guards because his uncle was a high-ranking member of the Nazi party. Since Karl never asked for special favors or refused any orders, he was accepted by the others. But they all knew why he was there. "What about him? Is he having your transferred to his office?"
"Nein. He is…." Langenscheidt swallowed nervously. "I haven't heard from him in over a month."
"Oh." Schultz suddenly understood Karl's apprehension. No high-ranking uncle, no post at Stalag 13. "I'm sorry. Maybe he's just busy with the war."
"With all the bombing in Berlin…."
"Maybe he's on vacation." Schultz attempted a light-hearted tone of voice. "In Paris with a beautiful fraulein."
"He would send me a postcard." Langenscheidt's voice dropped. "What will the Kommandant do when he finds out my uncle is dead?"
"Nothing. He wouldn't send you away."
"Not even if he has orders?"
"Well…" Schultz sighed. He liked the Kommandant, but he was realistic about his position. Klink was barely keeping himself from the Russian front. Without Hogan to keep the prisoners in line and to secretly bail the Colonel out of trouble, not even Klink could be certain of remaining at Stalag 13. "Karl, there is something I must tell you. But you must promise that it stays between us."
"What is it?" Langenscheidt shot Schultz a curious glance. "You know I would never betray you, Oberfeldwebel."
"You're a good boy, like my son Rudy." Schultz considered the risk, decided it was safe to continue. "You remember my son Rudy?"
Langenscheidt stared guiltily out of the front window. "He was sent to the Russian front. Like I should have been."
"He was sent to the Russian front, but he didn't arrive there." Schultz lowered his voice, though they were alone in a car in the middle of nowhere. "I have a friend. He helped Rudy get out of the country. Someday, if you need him, I'll introduce you to my friend."
"You mean I should desert?"
Schultz steadied the wheel as Langenscheidt stared at him in amazement. "Right now, I think you should keep your eyes on the road. We will talk about the other thing someday in the future. If we have to."
"But…." Langenscheidt returned his attention to the road. "You would not think the less of me if I talked to your friend?"
Schultz gestured out his window at the ruined buildings that lined the road. "I wouldn't send my own boy to a pointless death, why would I send you?"
"Danke. I will never forget this, Oberfeldwebel."
"Keep your eyes on the road or neither of us will need to worry about the Russian front." Schultz tried to sound stern, but failed. He pointed to a signpost. "Stalag 7 is over there."
Langenscheidt nodded, headed towards the camp. "It will be good to have Oberst Hogan back at Stalag 13."
"Ja." Schultz stopped himself from adding, 'if he's alive.' If Hochstetter couldn't beat Hogan, neither could the elements. He hoped. He concentrated on that particular thought as he directed the corporal to park beside the camp office.
Kommandant Burger barely looked up from his desk when they entered. Schultz held out his orders in what he hoped was a properly military manner. "Herr Kommandant, we have orders to transfer one of your prisoners to Stalag 13."
"Take as many prisoners as you like." Burger gave Klink's signature a cursory glance. "My camp was already full to capacity. Now General Burkhalter sends me thousands --- thousands – of Allied officers. What am I to do with them?"
"I'm sorry, Herr Oberst." Schultz used his best conciliatory tone. "I know you're busy. If you could just tell us where to find Colonel Hogan..."
"Hogan?" Burger scoffed. "Do you expect me to know where one man is? I have thousands…"
"Ja, Herr Kommandant, but this man is very sick. Perhaps you have a medic?"
"If he's sick, check in the hospital tent. Or talk to the grave detail."
"Jawohl. Danke." Schultz retrieved his orders and left Burger to his paperwork.
"Grave detail?" Langenscheidt trotted beside him as they left the office.
Schultz shook his head. He hadn't come this far to retrieve a corpse. He paused on the porch to talk to a guard. "Bitte. Where is the hospital tent?"
"You don't want to go there, Oberfeldwebel. Dysentery, cholera, pneumonia -- the new prisoners brought much illness with them."
"I'm looking for an American Colonel."
"Spivey? He's in Barracks…."
"His name is Hogan." Schultz repressed a smile. "He's always up to some monkey business. Perhaps he's in your cooler?"
"Nein. The new prisoners are too tired to cause trouble. For now, at any rate." The guard pointed across the compound. "If you really want the hospital tent, it's back there. But no wise man would go there."
"Danke." Schultz trudged down the stairs and headed across the compound. He didn't have to go far to realize that the camp was grossly overcrowded. The stench from the latrines alone told him that.
"All these prisoners." Langenscheidt whispered. "How do they keep so many under control?"
"I don't want to think about it." Schultz shuddered at the thought of getting such an influx at Stalag 13. He didn't like the hard looks from the prisoners as they walked past them. He'd felt such hostility before, mostly from the Russians. But to have thousands of eyes glaring at him was unnerving. He was thankful when they reached the hospital tent. For a moment, at least.
Rows of cots greeted them as they entered the makeshift hospital. All around them, men were coughing, retching and moaning. Schultz gestured for Langenscheidt to wait for him outside, but the corporal shook his head adamantly. He decided not to make an issue of it – he couldn't blame the younger man for not wanting to be alone in the compound.
"Excuse me." Schultz struggled to get the attention of a harried British medic. "I'm looking for a sick man."
The medic laughed bitterly. "Take your pick."
"His name is Hogan." Schultz doggedly followed the man as he moved to a new patient.
"Names mean nothing here. What's wrong with him? Frostbite, malnutrition, dysentery….?"
"He was hurt by the Gestapo." Schultz automatically lowered his voice.
"Oh. Him." For the first time the medic stopped his work long enough to look at the Germans. "You won't be getting any information from that one. You might as well leave him be."
"Nein. We don't want to hurt him. We just want to take him back to Stalag 13." Schultz dug his paperwork from his coat pocket. "We have orders."
"He's in the far corner." The medic returned to his patient. "If you had any decency, you'd let him die in peace."
Schultz mumbled his thanks and hurried past dozens of ill men to the farthest cots. He had spent time in a tent such as this in the last war. He knew all too well the triage system that shuffled the most severe cases to quiet, out-of –the way areas.
"Oberfeldwebel." Langenscheidt tugged on Schultz' sleeve. "Over there."
"Colonel Hogan!" Schultz hurried to the man's cot. Hogan's eyes were closed. Schultz prayed that he was merely sleeping. "Wake up, Colonel. We've come to take you back to Stalag 13."
"He looks very pale." Langenscheidt hovered beside the cot.
"Colonel." Schultz laid his hand on the American's forehead. "He has a fever."
"What do we do now?"
"Go get the car and bring it as close as you can." Schultz smiled at the corporal's obvious reluctance. "Go on. The prisoners won't give you any trouble. You have a rifle."
"Jawohl."
Schultz knelt down beside Hogan's cot and gently shook the man. "Come on, Colonel. Wake up now."
Hogan mumbled incoherently, but his eyes remained closed.
"It's me, Sgt Schultz. Come to take you home." Schultz pulled Hogan into a sitting position and gingerly lifted his shirt. He swore as he saw the old wounds that had become infected.
"No." Hogan made a feeble attempt to push him away.
"It's alright. Don't be afraid." Schultz moved into Hogan's line of vision. The man's eyes were open, but unfocused. "It's Schultz. I won't hurt you."
"No."
"Look at me." Schultz gently lifted Hogan's chin. "It's Schultz."
Hogan struggled to break free, but Schultz easily restrained him. "It's alright, Colonel. You're sick. I'll take you back to your men. Close your eyes now."
Schultz kept his grip on the man until he grew calm – or exhausted himself. Whatever the cause, Hogan suddenly fell silent and leaned against him. "That's right. Sleep now."
"The car's right outside." Langenscheidt hurried to the cot, belatedly lowered his voice as he took in the situation. "Is he alright?"
"We have to get him back to Stalag 13. His men will be able to help him." I hope, Schultz added to himself. He bundled Hogan in the blanket, glanced around the cot. "Do you see his jacket and his shoes?"
Langenscheidt shook his head, checked under the cot.
"Don't bother." A man on a nearby cot coughed. "Damn scavengers. Could have waited another day or so."
"What does he mean?" Langenscheidt helped Schultz gather up Hogan.
"In wartime, you should never take off your shoes. Remember that, Karl, if you ever find yourself on a battlefield."
"Ja. I will."
Schultz hurried through the ersatz hospital, eager to be away from the death and suffering. Langenscheidt was close on his heels.
"Filthy buggers." The medic muttered at their backs.
Schultz ignored the comment. It was harder to ignore the American Colonel standing by their car.
"Taking your mole home?"
"Mole?" Langenscheidt turned to Schultz. "What is 'mole'?"
"They think he's a spy." Schultz settled Hogan into the back seat of the car, turned cautiously to the enemy officer. "He's not an agent, Colonel. He was sent here to save him from the Gestapo."
"Since when have you Krauts given a damn about a POW?" Spivey spotted a pair of camp guards approaching, took a few judicious steps away from the car. "I have a message for your mole, Sgt. Tell him that Col. Spivey remembers his name."
Schultz nodded, though he had no intention of delivering the message. He slammed the back door shut and hurried Langenscheidt inside. He didn't even bother checking in with the Kommandant before they left camp. He doubted that Burger would even remember their arrival by the end of the day. As for himself, the sooner he forgot Stalag 7, the better.
* * * *
