AUTHOR: Meercat
RATING: Strong PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence, some torture, drama, angst
AUTHOR'S THANKS: To Patti and Marg for their wonderful beta of this story. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
Chapter 13
Major Wolfgang Hochstetter stomped his way into the Kommandant's office, forcing Klink to frantically backpedal to keep from being run over on his way out. By the time the senior officer righted himself and turned to face his guest, Hochstetter had paced four round-trips between the desk and the window.
"This is a surprise, Major." A very UNPLEASANT one, Klink thought. Still, it never hurts to be polite to the Gestapo, and NOT being polite can hurt very much. He pasted on a quasi-sincere smile of greeting as he moved to sit behind his desk--the closest he had to a position of power from which to deal with any problem. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
Dark, compassionless eyes stopped Klink in mid-motion. "Don't pretend to be an idiot, Klink ... What am I saying! You aren't 'pretending' at all, are you?"
Klink settled into his chair and did his best to sound cordial and accommodating in the face of the Gestapo officer's rudeness. "I can assume, then, that this is not a social call. Please, Major, have a seat and tell me what brings you to our humble home here in Stalag 13." He unlocked and held up the humidor. "May I offer you a cigar?"
Hochstetter stared from the cigars to the chair, threw up his arms, and continued to pace. Klink set the box down and did his best to hide his amusement. Was this how Hogan felt when he tweaked an enemy officer's temper under the guise of cordiality and social grace? Klink found it equally entertaining. Not that he showed it--Wilhelm Klink had enough survival sense to know better.
"I received your message." Hochstetter stopped his pacing long enough to pin the camp Kommandant with a beady-eyed stare. The way his eyes failed to blink and his neck stretched forward and down reminded Klink of a hungry vulture eying a fresh kill. "The escaped prisoner was found and returned to camp. Your report said he was wounded? Give me details."
"There is not that much to tell, really. An American, Sergeant Andrew Carter, was found to be missing at morning roll call. We immediately confined all other prisoners to their barracks, released the dogs, and sent out search parties. One of them found Sergeant Carter in time to see three men in civilian clothes assaulting him."
"Ahhh. Loyal German citizens. Good." Hochstetter smiled in malicious satisfaction. "We need more like them. Continue."
"Sergeant Schultz chased the men away and took custody of the escaped prisoner. Upon seeing the extent of his injuries, Schultz sent a man on ahead to request a doctor then returned to camp carrying the unconscious prisoner."
"His injuries--describe them to me."
"Major, why is that so important? He is injured, having been beaten and stabbed by civilians. German soldiers witnessed the assault. The doctor has spent the last six hours treating his wounds and performing surgery to repair the damage. Why would you need to know more?"
"Not that you truly need to know, but one of our finest young officers vanished last night, along with two of his men. A third was found in the woods between here and the destroyed way station. The man had been shot in the throat."
"Surely you don't think--you can't suspect-" Colonel Klink's jaw fell in surprise. His monocle landed in his lap. "Major Hochstetter, your constant suspicion regarding my prisoners is preposterous! And to be perfectly honest, it is getting quite old."
"Colonel Klink," Hochstetter said through clenched teeth. He leaned on the desk with both hands and did his best to loom over the Luftwaffe officer. "Do you not find it the least bit suspicious that a way station filled with vital ordnance is sabotaged on the same night that one of your prisoners escapes and one of our more experienced patrols disappears?"
Klink leaned back in his chair until his shoulder brushed the wall, a bemused smile on his face. "No, Major Hochstetter, I do not."
Hochstetter's mouth opened and closed twice before he finally snarled, "How could even you not see it?"
Klink waved in an isn't-it-obvious gesture and said, "I do not see what is not there."
Klink noted the ash and dirt under Hochstetter's unmanicured fingernails with some distaste. A faint odor of old smoke and spent explosives permeated the black uniform. To combat the subtle stink of war, Klink opened his humidor and lit up a cigar.
Before he could fully enjoy the first draw on of tobacco smoke, the Gestapo Major counted off each major point, starting with his pinky finger. The remainder of his hand showed still more signs of a hurried and incomplete washing.
"The explosions at the depot are now proven sabotage. One of your prisoners just happens to escape that very same night. A patrol assigned to the section of woods between this camp and the way station encounters the enemy, either a single man or a small party. The deployment roster shows this encounter to have happened sometime after the explosion. One soldier was killed by a single bullet to the throat. The other three, including Captain Von Hippel, are missing. Now your escaped Allied prisoner returns to you with life-threatening injuries. A result of his encounter with Von Hippel's patrol, perhaps."
"Your talents are wasted in the Gestapo, Major Hochstetter," Klink said, his voice rich with gentle ridicule. "You would have done quite well in the Propaganda Ministry. Or better still as a writer of pulp fiction. The escape and the sabotage are no more than coincidence. You have met Sgt. Carter. A more inept and clumsy fool you will never meet."
"Ohhh, I don't know about that." Hochstetter eyed Klink with contempt. "I know of at least one other who comes a close second."
Even as he bristled against the implied insult, Colonel Klink carried on with his argument. He rose from behind his desk and moved to his credenza, where he poured himself a glass of schnapps. The camp Kommandant pointedly did not offer his guest a drink.
"Despite what you might think," Klink said, "I have done a bit of research into underground activities in this region. There have been hundreds of escape attempts from this camp. Only a tiny fraction occurs when there has been underground resistance activity in the Hammelburg area." He took a sip of schnapps before he stepped away from the credenza, waving the glass in the air to emphasize his next point. "As for your patrol, how would I know what happened to them? Maybe they fell into a ravine or a hole in the ground. They're your responsibility, not mine. My prisoner was returned because of a swift and decisive search by soldiers under my command. And as for the American's injuries, Sergeant Schultz reported seeing the injuries being inflicted by men dressed in civilian clothing--citizens from town, no doubt, foolishly playing soldier when they should be tucked safe and warm in their soft, civilian beds. So, there was no encounter with your missing patrol."
"There is one last thing you should know, Klink," Hochstetter said. "I will not give up as easily this time as I have in the past. The captain of the missing patrol, Wilfred Von Hippel, is my cousin. He is family. I will get to the bottom of this mystery, a bottom that I am certain lies here, in this camp!"