No ownership of the Hogan's Heroes characters is implied or inferred. Copyright belongs to others and no infringement is intended.
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Klink stood reluctantly in the doorway to the cell that had recently held Colonel Hogan prisoner. Inside, three guards, including two of the men Hochstetter had brought with him from Hammelburg, were scouring the room, studying it closely, pulling at the bunk, tapping on concrete blocks, jerking at the tiny bars on the solitary, high window that could not possibly fit any man, not even a child.
Though the middle of the cell no longer held the American, Klink's mind refused to pull Hogan away from the chains that dangled from the ceiling. A torture chamber—that's what this room had become. Under Klink's command, this cell had only been intended to punish and remind prisoners where they were and under whose authority they were living. But now, it had been anything but that, and he doubted he could ever send a man here again.
"Keep looking, keep looking!" Hochstetter was urging. "He must have gotten out somehow!" He took the ladle out of the bucket of water and sniffed it absently. Klink wondered what he was thinking. Then Hochstetter suddenly got more agitated and splattered the ladle's contents against the wall. Klink could only watch, feeling somehow disembodied, with a deep-set feeling of personal loss. Loss of...what? he wondered. Klink wasn't sure, but somehow he suspected that life at Stalag 13 would never be the same.
"Herr Major!" came a sudden cry, jerking Klink out of his private thoughts. Klink looked up to see a young solder on his knees at the side of the cell, tugging with all his might at a large concrete block that formed part of the wall.
Hochstetter was there in seconds. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.
"Major Hochstetter, this block is loose!" answered the guard.
"Get down there and help him!" Hochstetter ordered another guard. The man obeyed, and with great effort the two young men managed to shift the block a few inches out. Hochstetter moved in to examine their findings. All he could see was a wall of dirt. But that didn't deter him. "This hole is big enough to fit a man—this could have led to a tunnel! Start digging!" The men looked around impotently. With what were they supposed to do this? "Imbeciles! Klink, get some shovels and get these men digging, schnell!"
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"He's sleeping now," Wilson said, sitting down at the desk Kinch used for radio transmissions. "That's a good sign."
Newkirk nodded and watched Hogan, whose breathing seemed steady and stronger. But the sleep wasn't peaceful; that much was clear. "So what happens now, Joe?" he asked. "What can we do for him?"
"Not much," Wilson admitted. "I'll need to spend a lot more time with him," he said. "I'm going to have to make him drink, which isn't easy at the best of times, and it'll be harder now with his throat swollen, thanks to someone's iron grip." Wilson tried hard to contain his anger, knowing how easily Newkirk rose to anyone's heated emotions. But it was a difficult task when faced with such overwhelming damage as this. "Damn that Hochstetter," is all he said now.
"Amen to that," Newkirk answered. "His hands seem pretty bad; what about them?"
Wilson sighed. He never did have guaranteed answers. He wished Newkirk didn't want them. "Well, his right hand's suffered the most. The outer two fingers were broken at the base—"
"That would have been just for fun," Newkirk said bitterly.
Wilson nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. A very deliberate act. And excruciating. So that hand's going to stay pretty useless for awhile, and I don't expect the swelling to go down any time soon." Damn the Germans! "Otherwise you're looking at just some time to let his wrists heal, and the rest of the swelling will ease up. From the sound of it, they were taking a lot of strain. He's just going to need time."
Newkirk nodded. Time. "I've never been any good at waiting," he said simply.
"Me neither," Wilson answered. "Guess that's why I went into medicine. Always trying to rush Mother Nature's healing powers." He stood up. "Come on; let's see if we can't find something to eat. You look like you could use a sleep and a meal yourself. When we're done, it might just be time to help prod nature along."
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Hochstetter was raging through the rest of the day, angry at the turn of events. Burkhalter had agreed to allow Hochstetter to search the camp, but had drawn the line at the Gestapo man digging past the solitary confinement cell wall. "If there is dirt there, Major, then a man would not be able to go through it. You will end up digging your own tunnel and then blaming it on the prisoners!"
Hochstetter's response had been typical of his character—an exclamation of disgust and dismissal, then a "If you say so, Herr General," through gritted teeth that spoke of a promise for revenge someday, even if the war was over.
Meanwhile, a study of the rest of the cell and the surrounding buildings turned up nothing, and the guards who had taken the dogs out of the camp also reported no success. Hochstetter called in the radio detection truck, then turned his temper and his suspicions on Klink later that day in the Colonel's office. "So, Kommandant," he started. "You say no one but you and your guard had a key to that cell."
"That's right, Major Hochstetter, no one could have possibly gotten in without either myself or Sergeant Schultz knowing about it!" Klink insisted from behind his desk. Somehow it always seemed safer to face Hochstetter with a barrier of some sort between them.
"So if Hogan is not there, he is either a magician," Hochstetter began. Klink let out a nervous titter; "or he had help from someone who had access to the cells."
Klink's laugh got a little louder. "Surely you are not questioning the loyalty of Sergeant Schultz!" he began. "I know he is a lot of things, but Schultz is certainly not the type of soldier who—"
"Well if not Schultz, then someone else with a key," Hochstetter persisted, his eyes boring into Klink.
"I am the only other one who has a key, Major Hochstett—" Klink cut off abruptly as he realized the implications. He shook his head vehemently, desperately. "No, Major Hochstetter, I assure you, I had nothing to do with Hogan's disappearance! I—"
"Sergeant Schultz was found to be wandering through Barracks Two after the escape was discovered, before ordering the dogs to be released. He apparently said he was there on your orders. A man who wants escaped prisoners found would certainly not be sending men out for clothes for a man who isn't there! Guards!" Hochstetter bellowed. Immediately the door to Klink's office opened and two of the Major's men came in. "Take this man to the cooler. Klink, I am arresting you on suspicion of helping Colonel Hogan to escape." Klink started protesting, but when faced with the raised rifles of the soldiers he quickly succumbed. "Now we will find out how our Colonel Hogan played Houdini, Klink. And you will wish it was you who had disappeared instead!"
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Wilson ignored the Colonel's low groans and adjusted Kinch's hands so he better supported Hogan's head. "There, hold him like that. No, no—watch the angle, that's right; we have to be careful not to aggravate his chest injuries. Now hang on." Wilson regarded Hogan's face for a moment—the still-closed eyes, the cheek sporting an inflamed gash—and readied himself. Very slowly he started to tip a cup of tepid water toward Hogan's mouth. Gently he tried to part the parched, swollen lips, only to be met with new moans of protest but only the slightest resistance. Kinch hesitated. "It's all right, Kinch, we'll keep going," Wilson reassured him. The Colonel's still too weak to put up much of a fight. "Come on, Colonel, you know how much I love these little tête-à-têtes with you. Let's just take one sip, eh?"
Hogan tried to swallow in a reflexive reaction to the liquid he felt hit the back of his throat. He immediately coughed, a choking, suffering sound as his body jerked forward, and he moaned weakly, still never opening his eyes, as pain from the sudden movements enveloped him and removed him from the present once again.
Wilson shook his head regretfully and, with Kinch's help, eased Hogan back under the blankets. "Too soon," he sighed. "Well, we had to try. Good thing no one's expecting him at roll call."
Suddenly Le Beau burst through the tunnel entrance from above. "Kinch—you are not going to believe this—Klink is being escorted to the cooler!"
"What?" Kinch said. With just a glance back toward Hogan, he headed upstairs. "What are you talking about?"
"I just saw Klink heading to the cooler—with Hochstetter's goons holding his arms. I think he is in trouble!"
Kinch shook his head. "Where's Carter?"
"He's still down near solitary where we collapsed the tunnel."
"Get him. And get Newkirk, too. We'd better find out what's going on. If Klink's in trouble, that means we're all in trouble." Kinch thought of Hogan down below. Oh, Colonel, what I wouldn't give for one of your wild schemes right about now!