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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A short cough and the groan that followed woke Wilson up from the slumber he had unwittingly fallen into. Aside from roll call and quick rounds of the camp infirmary, the medic had barely left the tunnel since Hogan had been rescued, gratefully accepting the food that Le Beau prepared and sent down for him. But he had kept a close eye on Hogan, not as confident about the Colonel's condition as he had made himself sound to the others, and that meant not sleeping—at least, until his body had decided otherwise.
Wilson blinked and opened his eyes widely as he got up from the chair and came to Hogan's bedside. He couldn't help smiling when he saw two half-open, confused eyes looking back at him. "Colonel Hogan," he said.
Hogan said nothing, but continued looking at Wilson. Wilson could tell from experience what Hogan was doing: taking stock. Checking himself over, trying to gauge the situation, seeing if it was safe to move, to speak, even to breathe. Hogan suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and stiffened in agony, biting his lower lip—a mistake, as that was also sore. Finally, he simply allowed himself to cry out softly in pain.
Wilson came down close to Hogan to reassure him. "I know, Colonel. I'll get you something to help," he said. He had avoided it before now, wanting to be able to monitor Hogan's natural progress, something that couldn't be done while he was medicated. But Hogan was obviously now back in the present, and needed relief, so he took out the syringe he had had waiting and injected the contents into the Colonel's arm. "You're safe, Colonel. You're in the tunnel. The Krauts don't know where you are."
Hogan seemed to relax then, and Wilson watched as he faded away again. "Hurts" slipped almost imperceptibly from Hogan's lips. And then he was quiet, still unable to lie completely still, but his breathing rhythmic and strong.
"I know," Wilson answered, though he knew Hogan wouldn't hear him. "At least you can tell me that."
Despite himself, Wilson felt emotion overcoming him. He had looked after Hogan many times, including when he had first arrived in the camp, and he had watched as the senior POW struggled with injuries—both physical and mental. This time, Wilson had honestly thought he might have lost him, but Hogan's single word had somehow reassured him otherwise. Just like I've watched you do for your men countless times, he realized.
Wilson took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, and blinked back his emotion and his tiredness. Then he headed upstairs to let the fellas know that their commander was coming back to them.
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"Hochstetter, you continue to amaze me."
"General Burkhalter, my men have searched the camp, and they have searched the cell. If Hogan was not released by the guard, then it had to have been Klink himself!"
"Then why not arrest them both?" The question was almost, but not quite, serious. Burkhalter was finding this small man tiresome, and even though he had always cooperated with the Gestapo, something about this particular member of that group always rubbed him the wrong way, and he chafed at letting Hochstetter have his own way easily. He had had a hard time getting through to Berlin, and while he awaited further clarification of the Fuhrer's orders, he was on edge; after all, one did not normally approach the Supreme Commander about his directives. He hoped he wouldn't get himself into hot water over this himself. And since the cause of that would in the end be Hochstetter, Burkhalter was cutting him no slack whatsoever.
"One bumbler at a time," Hochstetter answered. "And if the Sergeant is guilty of the crime, then Klink would be held responsible anyway."
Burkhalter pursed his lips. How many times he had heard Hochstetter berating this camp. Many times he agreed. But the camp's record spoke for itself, and even he, Burkhalter, could not dispute it. Something about Klink and Hogan together worked well for the Luftwaffe's performance here. "Major Hochstetter, I think you occasionally forget who you are dealing with here," he said slowly.
"General?"
"Exactly. General. Of the Fuhrer's staff." He held his breath for a second before launching into what would be his release. "Major Hochstetter, I speak for the Fuhrer in his absence on all things to do with the Luftwaffe. Colonel Hogan, if he is found, is not to be interrogated again—if that is what you truly think you are doing. When he is returned to camp you will have him shot as per the Fuhrer's orders, with no excuses. Understood?"
"We shall see, Herr General, when our answer comes back from Berlin," Hochstetter answered, now a deep scarlet. "With all due respect to your rank, of course."
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Klink paced back and forth in the cooler, missing his riding crop that he used to grip so tightly when under stress. He let Hogan out? Klink? If only it had been that simple! Hogan had never needed Klink's help in anything, including, it seemed, getting himself out of facing a firing squad. But the how and why of it all still bewildered the Kommandant.
Klink considered the American as he walked a path around the cell's perimeter. Since Hogan had arrived three years ago there had certainly been an increased number of strange events in and around the camp. Prisoners who had escaped from other Stalags disappearing into thin air; a huge amount of sabotage activity that had the higher-ups pulling their hair out; tanks, planes, and vehicles mysteriously going missing—and then sometimes reappearing in the most unlikely places. Klink had never found himself in so much trouble—and he had never found himself saved so many times by a man who should have been his sworn enemy.
Yes, Hogan had often tried to pass himself off as a cowed, broken man—he certainly resembled something like that when he had first arrived in the camp escorted by General Burkhalter—but over time, Klink noticed a distinct change in the American. And that change did not match the continued words of compliance that Hogan used when talking to the Kommandant.
Or was that manipulating the Kommandant?
Could it all be true? Could I just have been missing something all this time? Klink shook the thought out of his head. Impossible. And yet...
He looked up as the sound of footsteps grew louder. "Schultz!" he cried, a cross between anger and relief, as the portly guard came into view.
"Herr Kommandant," Schultz said, coming to the bars of the cell, "I have been sent to guard you."
Klink turned away, still unreasonably angry at the man. "And where do they think I am going?" he asked bitterly. "Unless Colonel Hogan happened to tell you a way out of here before he decided to leave!"
Schultz shook his head regretfully. "Herr Kommandant, I assure you, I did not see Colonel Hogan get out of solitary. I swear to you, Kommandant, I stood outside his cell the whole time, and he did not come out through the door."
"Then what did he do, Schultz?" Klink despaired, gripping the bars of the cell tightly. "I don't have any idea how he got out, and now Major Hochstetter thinks I helped Hogan to escape!"
"I am sorry, Herr Kommandant," Schultz replied. His mind drifted to his encounter with Kinch and Newkirk yesterday, but he refused to let it dwell there. After all, he didn't know exactly what they had done, or how, either.
Klink made a sound of frustration and turned away from the bars. "Oh, it's not your fault," he admitted, deflated. "I just wish I had an answer for him, so he would let me out of here! I would not have let Colonel Hogan just walk out of here," he added. If I had known what was going to happen to you in solitary, Hogan, I would have driven you out of camp myself.
"Of course not, Herr Kommandant. But, Herr Kommandant, the Major, he was very angry with Colonel Hogan."
Klink nodded and waved his hand futilely. "Major Hochstetter is always quite happy to blame Colonel Hogan for anything that happens around here. Once the Fuhrer's orders came through, he just knew he had leave to do whatever he wished." Klink shook his head, remembering the sight of Hogan hanging limp in the cell. Rarely had Klink ever been so devastated by human suffering; certainly he had witnessed many tragic scenes—in World War One, even in this war—but seeing Hogan, a man considered nearly unbreakable, who had changed from being a bewildered new prisoner to a confident senior POW officer, who had more than once saved Klink himself from the Russian front or worse—seeing Hogan helpless and suffering unfathomable torture was something Klink would not easily forget. "Now he can't blame anything on Hogan, and he has General Burkhalter watching his every move."
"Is there anything I can get you, sir?" asked Schultz.
Klink shook his head. "No, no, thank you, Schultz," he answered. "Perhaps a good lawyer-- or maybe a miracle. That's what it's going to take to get me out of this mess."