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"That's right, General Burkhalter, it is causing quite a stir among the prisoners, which the guards are starting to have a hard time controlling, sir."
Klink sat at his desk that night, willingly, almost gratefully, gushing out this tale to his superior officer. "Yes, General. Yes, but he says he is acting on the Fuhrer's wishes.... No, General, he has not given any time frame... Of course, General, I will not tell the Major that you are coming....Yes, sir, tomorrow. Oh yes, Heil Hitler."
Klink hung up the phone and smiled his relief. For the first time since all of this began, he was having some say in its direction. He had noticed at afternoon roll call that the men were starting to behave more aggressively toward the guards, and toward each other. The tension was so thick in the camp Klink thought he wouldn't be able to walk through it, and though he tried to put it down to the normal irritability of captive men, even he was smart enough to realize it had been exacerbated by what they had witnessed yesterday, and by the fact that Hochstetter was still there, and therefore clearly still toying with their Allied commanding officer. And when he got to the head count at Barracks Two, some of the men had to be physically restrained when a fight began over something trivial, and had escalated into a virtual free-for-all. It had been an almost uncontrollable incident, and Klink, while angry at the disruption, understood the displaced rage of the men.
Because he, too, was angry.
Sergeant Kinchloe had apologized as the men shuffled back into the barracks, and told Klink that the men were all devastated by the taking of Colonel Hogan and were taking it very hard. Then he said he didn't know how much longer he would be able to get them to control themselves as well as he had done up to now. Klink had nearly dropped his monocle at the suggestion that these men were already showing some restraint. But when Kinchloe had mentioned offhandedly that Hochstetter wouldn't be allowed to operate this way if someone like Burkhalter were here, a light went off over Klink's head, and he had headed straight for the phone.
And now, things were about to change. It might be too late to save you, Hogan. But at least I can stop you from suffering any longer. He stared across the desk at the spot Hogan usually occupied when he was bargaining for more rations or privileges for the prisoners. It looked starkly empty now, and Klink could almost hear Hogan's loud, genuine laugh echoing in the silent room.
It's a strange feeling, to want to save an enemy from an ally.
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Lying prone on the cot, Hogan tried not to succumb to the coughing fit he could feel building in his throat. The last spasm had been excruciating to his battered body, and he had been unable to concentrate for the next five minutes on anything but the sharp, pulsing pain that consumed him. Hochstetter had ordered him released from the shackles awhile ago, speaking in saccharine tones that only made his prisoner feel all the more helpless and wary.
Worst of all was when Hochstetter himself had brought Hogan some bread. Hogan could not have felt less like eating, and yet he was ravenous. He reached out with a shaking hand to accept the offering, gagging as it went down his dry throat. Then Hochstetter had actually brought him a small ladle of precious water, most of which got spilled on the way to Hogan's mouth because of the Colonel's unsteady, swollen hands. At that point, Hochstetter had shaken his head and "tsk"ed, saying that Hogan had used his full ration for the night, and would not get more until the morning. The desperation with which Hogan tried to save any drops that were lingering on his arms and hands was a humiliation that Hochstetter wouldn't have dreamed of hiding his delight in seeing.
Through a feverish haze, Hogan was starting to feel the cold. His jacket had been long ago stripped away, and was visible in the corner of the cell. But he was exhausted, and had no strength to retrieve it. His torn shirt was soaking with sweat and was of no help at all, and his shoes were probably somewhere near his jacket and cap. He had been deposited on top of the thin blanket provided to prisoners in solitary, but he could find no energy or ability to get off of it so he could wrap himself in it.
He was lost in a twilight netherworld, and blankly faded into uneasy dreams, which were a strangely distorted version of his nightmarish reality.
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"Are you sure it's safe to do this now?" Carter asked.
Kinch was standing by the bunk that led to the tunnels below the barracks, ready to head to the solitary confinement cell where Hogan was being held. He nodded his head. "Hochstetter's done for the night. We have to see what condition the Colonel's in, tell him the plan. You heard what Klink said on the coffee pot—Burkhalter's coming tomorrow. When he hauls Hochstetter out of there, we'll be able to rescue the Colonel. It's too risky to do it now."
Newkirk patted his shoulder. "Let us know if you need anything."
Kinch nodded grimly, then headed out.
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Kinch gritted his teeth as the stone that would let him enter the cell in solitary confinement scraped noisily against the floor. Stopping every few seconds to gauge any activity on the other side of the wall, he pushed just far enough to be able to squeeze through the hole, and drew himself up in the room.
What he saw nearly made him sick. There was blood on the floor in the middle of the cell, splattered like raindrops in spots and concentrated as though poured from a gaping wound in others. There was the Colonel's jacket discarded in the corner. A single shoe. His cap. And the smell of sweat, fear and pain. As his eyes adjusted to the dim, cold light from the bare, single bulb, Kinch scanned the room until he saw a still figure abandoned carelessly on the cot against the wall.
Oh my God, we're too late! Kinch rushed to the cot and put his hand out to touch Hogan, then recoiled as he became aware of his condition. The Colonel was lying still, his breathing coming in shallow, rattling breaths, with an occasional groan coming from somewhere within him. His face was bloody—Kinch couldn't tell where the actual wounds were—and his hair was matted and dirty. Hogan's hands and wrists seemed swollen, and Kinch could see where some sort of restraints had cut into him, and where Hogan had obviously pulled against them, whether to escape them or as a reaction to some form of torture he did not want to know.
Kinch very gently put a hand to Hogan's forehead. Hogan was hot to the touch, and yet the room was near freezing. Kinch saw the blanket underneath him and started to move Hogan very carefully in order to release it. He paused briefly but did not give up on the task as Hogan let out a plaintive whimper of pain at the jostling. Finally, he was finished, and he tucked the scratchy covers softly around his commanding officer. "Colonel Hogan," he whispered near Hogan's ear. Hogan made no response. "Colonel Hogan, sir," he said again, kneeling closer. No answer but a coincidentally well-timed moan. "Hold on just a little longer, Colonel. Help is on the way." Nothing. Kinch started despairing, but decided to take heart in the fact that Hogan had lasted this long, and that Hochstetter was obviously not satisfied enough to shoot the man yet.
Standing up, Kinch whispered a farewell promise. "You'll be out of here tomorrow, Colonel. You can count on it." Then, his heart nearly breaking, he left Hogan in the cold cell to endure the night alone.
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The next morning, Le Beau pulled away from the wall of the barracks he was leaning on and gestured vaguely toward the front gate. "Kraut car," he said.
Newkirk and Carter looked up from the nothing they were doing, and watched the vehicle pull up in front of Klink's office. A non-com got out and opened the rear door, revealing General Burkhalter, who quite purposefully strode into the building.
"Carter, go tell Kinch it's time. Le Beau, you'd better tell Wilson to be standing by."
The pair agreed and broke away to do their assigned tasks. Newkirk tried to nonchalantly head back inside the barracks, then bolted for Hogan's quarters, where he pulled out the coffee pot to monitor the situation. "All right, Burkhalter, do your stuff. And do it quick so we can get the gov'nor out of there."
"Klink, what is going on?" Burkhalter didn't bother greeting Klink when he entered the office. Nor did he think of sitting down. The whole idea of dealing with the Gestapo, and Hochstetter in particular, was completely distasteful, and, in this case he believed, a waste of his time. Hochstetter was to have come to the Stalag the day before yesterday and remove Colonel Hogan from existence. Something had not gone to plan, and, in Burkhalter's opinion, it was no coincidence that the foul-up had occurred under Klink's nose. "Why is Hochstetter still here?"
"General Burkhalter, how good to see you," Klink started by fawning. Burkhalter waved away the effort and, worry eating at him, Klink got straight to business. "I know the General asked me to cooperate fully with the Gestapo; however, I expected the Major to be gone by now."
"What has he done about Hogan?"
"Major Hochstetter arrived during morning roll call two days ago and upset the prisoners, sir. He promised Colonel Hogan that he would be interrogated about the sabotage of the oil refinery and then, when the Gestapo was done, that Hogan would be shot. The prisoners were naturally very distressed by this, and I had to confine them to barracks. They seemed better this morning, so I let them out. But the guards are very vigilant, General Burkhalter, and I can't help but wish that the Major would complete his business and leave the camp."
Burkhalter had remained silent during all of this, nodding in agreement, and raising an eyebrow in annoyance. "Major Hochstetter has not been assigned to do anything at the moment but ensure that the Fuhrer's orders are carried out. The disruption of an entire prison camp for the interrogation of one man is not acceptable. Where is he now, Klink?"
"He has Colonel Hogan in one of the solitary confinement cells," Klink answered.
"And how is this interrogation proceeding?"
"I have not been down there, General. I did not want to interfere with Gestapo business." And the reports from Schultz were bad enough. I don't think I could see Hogan right now—even if he could remember who I am.
"Well I am going to interfere with Gestapo business. Right now. Come, Klink."
Burkhalter turned and swept back out the door. Klink grabbed his overcoat and hat and hurried to keep up, praying that Hochstetter had not finally completed the horrific deed he had been sent here to do.