Chapter Five
Risa stopped squirming and gazed across the car at her brother's shadowed profile. "I should have never allowed you to push me into this. This evening will be absolutely interminable."
"All this doom-saying isn't like you," Klaus chided, maneuvering the car around a hole in the rain-damaged road.
"You just met the Kommandant last night and only for a few minutes. Believe me, if you had spent any length of time in his company, you would have run the other way as soon as he entered the bar. I've done that often when I'm not waiting tables."
She snuggled deeper into the warmth of her evening wrap, wishing she were home with a hot cup of tea. Her fingers curled into its folds, clutching it tightly about her to fend off the dampness of the chilly air seeping into the car. She forgot all about her discomfort when she glanced at Klaus and saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face. She was quite familiar with that smile. It usually heralded trouble.
"What are you thinking about?" She demanded suspiciously.
"Hmm?" Klaus replied in a distracted tone. He steered the car to straddle a pothole, then immediately veered to the right to avoid another. A thick spray of mud from the rain-soaked berm splashed onto the windshield. He flicked the wipers on; clearing the view to reveal a short, relatively clear section of the road ahead. Glancing toward her, he raised an eyebrow in mute enquiry.
Risa frowned. "Please, Klaus, I beg you. Please tell me that you aren't planning on making what will be an utter farce even more excruciating."
"I would not do such a thing!" he protested, looking affronted.
Yes, you would! Risa thought, remembering childhood incidents. Before she could refresh his memory, he pointed ahead.
Stalag 13 appeared stark, yet imposing. Beyond the high wire fences topped with loops of barbed wire, row upon row of barracks loomed like silent squads. Their clapboard sides were unpainted, adding to the depressed atmosphere that seemed to hang over the camp. The one spot of color was a garishly striped, red and white guardhouse near the wide double gates. Klaus stopped the car alongside it and addressed the guard that stepped out.
"Captain Klaus Leidel. And this is my sister. We're here at Kommandant Klink's invitation."
The guard verified the information on his clipboard and signaled another guard to open the gates. Risa took a slow, deep breath as Klaus drove into the camp and the gates swung shut behind them. She suddenly felt a deep kinship for prisoners entering the camp for the first time.
She looked through the windshield and clucked under her breath. The Kommandant's modest quarters were just as bare of decoration as the rest of the camp. What a dreary place! she thought, leaning farther forward to peer up at the flag of the Third Reich mounted on the roof. A chill that had nothing to do with the inclement weather raced down her back, raising goosebumps.
Her door swung open. She gasped, jerking back against the seat. Klaus leaned down and peered into the car. The passing of the searchlight made his gray eyes appear an eerie silver.
"Risa?" he called softly, placing a hand upon her arm. "We don't have to do this. Just say the word and I'll take you home."
His concern warmed her, banishing the fear of an instant before. "I'm fine." Placing her hand in his, she climbed from the car just as Klink rushed out of his quarters. Risa put on a smile, linked arms with Klaus, and went forward to meet their host.
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"HOLY COW!" Carter clamped his fingers upon the doorframe, struggling to keep his position in the crowded doorway. Peeking out from beneath Olsen's arm, he watched Klink greet his guests.
Benson, jammed next to Olsen in the opening, rapped a clenched fist against the doorframe. "How did Klink get so lucky?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Newkirk grumbled, standing on tiptoe to see over Benson's shoulder.
Olsen continued to stare at Klink's quarters. "She looked like a lamb being led to slaughter," he murmured, shaking his head.
"Probably felt like one, too." Parker's swarthy features were scrunched in sympathy as he peered across the prison yard.
"Back off, fellas." Pulling on their shoulders, Hogan uprooted them from the doorway. "There's nothing to see now." Ignoring their complaints, he shut the door and headed for his quarters. To his surprise and dismay, he found Kinch feverishly working over a jumble of parts that only vaguely resembled their coffee pot receiver. Newkirk and Carter abandoned their discussion of Risa Leidel's attributes and crowded around the table.
"What's the matter?" Hogan watched Kinch fuss with the wires and connections. It looked like their plan of eavesdropping on Klink's party might be a bust.
"I don't know!" Kinch tossed the pot aside. "It was working fine this afternoon when I checked everything out." His eyes slowly shifted to Newkirk and narrowed.
"Don't be giving me that look!" Newkirk flung his hands in the air and took a step back from the table. "I was taking a kip from all the doorknob polishing Klink had me doing this afternoon!"
Rubbing his mustache, Kinch studied the melange of parts. "It could be the bug. The wires might have worked loose if the table got bumped hard enough."
Hogan pushed his cap back on his head, then balled his hands on his hips. "There's more than one way of finding out what's going on in there. I'll give them some time to get into the meal and then I'll crash the party."
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One of the first lessons Risa's mother had taught her was to always be polite. That meant smiling when she felt like screaming, talking softly when she wanted to rant and rave and above all: always, always remaining a lady no matter how awful the situation. In her opinion, the situation could not get worse than this. She was stuck in a dismal prisoner of war camp with a lunatic Luftwaffe officer babbling at her, while Klaus smirked from across the table. She could practically feel the pulse in her temples pounding in time with the cadence of Klink's voice.
There were a few bright spots to the evening. The meal was delicious, the table tastefully set with china and silver and complimented by an unusual bouquet of wild flowers. And the little Frenchman who appeared at regular intervals to supervise the serving had a friendly smile. But that was where the good ended and the torture began. As she had predicted, Klink's company left a great deal to be desired. His fawning and overly attentive manners had grown old minutes into the visit. Klaus occasionally deflected the other man's attention with questions and comments, but those moments were too few and far between for her liking. She kept glancing over Klink's shoulder at the ornate cuckoo clock, marking the minutes until she and Klaus could leave gracefully.
"More wine, my dear?" Klink thrust the decanter toward her glass.
Risa plastered on a smile. "Danke, Kommandant, but as you can see, my glass is already full."
He checked and gave a start of surprise. "Why, so it is." He set the decanter aside. Looking back toward his plate, he spied the small crystal bowl sitting nearby. An instant later, Risa was staring cross-eyed at the bowl hovering directly below her nose.
"Jam?" Klink offered hopefully.
Risa gave a tiny shake of her head. In the distant part of her mind that wasn't screaming for mercy, she wondered where Klink had managed to find strawberries. When he went to replace the bowl, she flashed a rude face at Klaus, who was struggling mightily not to choke on a bite of asparagus. Gulping the food down, he sent back a smile loaded with false sympathy.
She was readying a kick to his shin when she noticed Klink's hand moving yet again toward the seasonings.
"No!"
Klink froze in place, fingers poised above the shakers. Risa cleared her throat, pressing back the scream of hysteria that had almost slipped out. Calling upon the fortitude her father said she had been blessed with, she smiled. "You are a very gracious host to wait on me with such devotion, Kommandant, but I need nothing more at this moment." She reached over and patted his arm. "I will ask if there is."
Klink's hand clamped atop hers. "If it was within my power, I would give you the stars, my dear."
A choking sound came from the other side of the table. Klaus was bent over his plate, his face an alarming shade of red, tears leaking from his eyes, wine dripping from his chin. Klink leaned toward him in concern.
"Captain?"
"I'm fine," Klaus gasped, blindly setting aside his wine glass. He fumbled for his napkin and wiped at his chin.
Risa used the distraction to quickly liberate her hand. She latched onto her fork and put up as much of a pretense of eating as she could -- otherwise, she feared Klink might attempt to spoon feed the meal to her.
"Kommandant," Klaus began, his breathing and voice now back to normal. "while tales of your fencing exploits are truly fascinating --"
"Ah, how I miss those days," Klink sighed with exaggerated drama. "When I faced and conquered challenger after challenger. A true gentleman's sport – but not without its dangers. One of my most grueling duels left me with a scar. Would you like to --"
"NO!" Klaus and Risa yelped, startling Klink into silence.
Settling back in his chair, Klaus swallowed, gathered his control. "You have not told us about your remarkable achievement here at Stalag 13, Herr Kommandant. Your record of no escapes is extraordinary -- "
"Danke." Klink dabbed at his lips with his napkin. "Truly, Klaus . . ." he leaned toward Klaus again, this time close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. ". . . may I call you Klaus?"
Klaus bowed his head, gritting his teeth behind a thin smile. Tittering with pleasure, Klink relaxed back in his seat and affected a lecturing pose. Risa bit into her bread to keep from groaning aloud.
"The other Kommandants would do well to take a few lessons from me. As a matter of fact, I fully expect any day to hear from General Burkhalter that I have been chosen to share my vast wisdom and experience with them."
"Really," Klaus muttered, staring down at the piece of excellently prepared veal that he was pushing around his plate.
"Oh, yes, yes. Kommandant Decker of Stalag 9, in particular, would benefit from my expertise. Did you know that he has lost -- "
"What is your secret, Herr Kommandant? How do you succeed when so many fail?"
Klink straightened and tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Klaus. "The others lack my superior intelligence and discipline. It has taken years to perfect the command style that I'm so famous for. I rule over Stalag 13 with an iron fist and an indomitable will! The prisoners don't dare to risk my anger with any attempts at escape. I can assure you, they are utterly cowed."
Klaus regarded him steadily for several moments. "I . . . see. Perhaps you could tell us more? We would be most interested to hear of your methods, wouldn't we, Risa?"
Risa stared down at her loaded fork, sorely tempted to sling the food at him. In a voice heavy with warning, she replied, "Certainly the Kommandant would much rather discuss something other than business, Klaus."
"It is no trouble, my dear!" Klink burbled, directing the full force of his enthusiasm at her once again. "None at all! I'd be more than happy to explain the finer points of my philosophy."
Risa sighed and stole another peek at the clock. She was seriously considering foregoing the idea of graceful exits.
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Klaus glanced looked across the table at his sister. Klink's twenty minute monologue on prisoner exercise schedules had left Risa's green eyes glassy. If he didn't act quickly, she might end up passing out face-first onto her plate. He was preparing to break into Klink's rambling when a loud exchange of voices intruded from the foyer. The Sergeant of the Guard backed into view, arms outspread.
"Colonel Hogan, you cannot -- Bitte!" Schultz lumbered from side to side in the foyer, trying to bar someone from entering the dining area. The man on the other side feinted to the left, danced to the right and easily ducked under Schultz's outstretched arm.
"Hogan!" Klink jumped to his feet, his napkin clenched in one fist.
Klaus clenched his teeth and dug his fingers into his thighs, forcibly keeping himself quiet and in his seat. Sound muffled, the room fell away and everything about the man walking toward the table took on startling clarity, like watching a blurry image come into focus. Somehow, he found the presence of mind to keep his shock well hidden.
The man – an American colonel - sauntered closer to the table, his movements confident and unhurried. Brown eyes, sharp with intelligence, skated past Klaus and settled upon Risa. The American's slanted grin blossomed into a full-blown smile and he swept his cap off. Risa's cheeks pinked, her lashes lowering.
Busy contemplating the ramifications of the American's appearance, Klaus barely noticed the brown eyes swing to him and turn cold and considering. Hogan nodded in greeting. Feeling slightly off-balance, Klaus returned the gesture. Klink sputtered and his fist clenched the napkin so tightly that his knuckles went bloodless. Throwing the napkin down, he strode right up to Hogan until they were chest to chest.
"Hogan, what is the meaning of this?"
Hogan merely grinned.
Klaus watched the clash with interest. The American appeared completely at ease with the invasion of his personal space. For that matter, Klaus had the strong impression that Hogan, rather than Klink, was in total control of the situation.
Klaus cleared his throat, pulling Klink's attention away from Hogan. "Your idea of discipline is quite unique, Herr Kommandant. It is my understanding that all prisoners are to be confined to their barracks before nightfall. Yet this man is free to wander where and when he chooses?"
Sweat broke upon Klink's forehead. "Well, you see -- "
"Corporal Langenscheidt escorted me from the barracks," Hogan interjected with a guileless smile in Klink's direction.
Watching Hogan, Klaus asked, "Is it a common occurrence for prisoners to be shown to the Kommandant's quarters this late at night?"
"Hogan isn't just any prisoner," Klink grumbled, fidgeting uncomfortably. "He is the camp's senior Prisoner of War officer."
Hogan stepped around Klink to Risa's side. "Colonel Robert E. Hogan," he volunteered, gallantly bowing and smiling down at her.
Ignoring Klink's blustering, Risa looked up into Hogan's eyes and offered her hand. "Risa Leidel."
Klaus stared at her, surprised yet again. Only chocolate had ever rated that particular dreamy expression from her before. His gaze returned to Hogan and he scowled. Of all the men she has to choose from, this one catches her eye? His protective instincts propelled him out of his chair and he quickly stationed himself at her shoulder.
"And I am her brother, Captain Klaus Leidel."
Hogan's smile grew cocky. "Welcome to our humble little Stalag. It's too bad you didn't arrive earlier. The sun setting over the de-lousing station is a sight not to be missed."
"Perhaps another time," Klaus replied, happy to have pulled Hogan's interest away from Risa. "You appear remarkably at ease in Kommandant Klink's presence, Colonel Hogan. He treats you well?"
"We have an understanding: I stay on this side of the wire and he doesn't shoot me."
"And how long have you been 'on this side of the wire'?"
"Too long."
"Yet you appear remarkably fit for a prisoner of war."
"Oh, we have a great exercise program here." Hogan's smile went from cocky to wolfish. "Staying ahead of the guard dogs does wonders for our health." The brown eyes traveled the length of Klaus' body. "You obviously don't spend a whole lot of time pushing paper. The little warmonger in Berchtesgarten keeping you pretty busy, huh?"
Outwardly, Klaus scowled. Inwardly, he was laughing – at Hogan's description of Hitler and at the American's audaciousness. His amusement vanished when he noticed that Risa's eyes were still glued to Hogan. Her fascination perplexed him so much that he almost missed Hogan's question.
"Hey, has our Kommandant told you he's a violinist?"
The question seemed innocent enough on the surface. It was the quirky gleam in Hogan's eyes that Klaus found bothersome. His answer was just the slightest bit wary.
"No. We weren't aware that he had any talent."
Hogan's smile widened. "Are you in for a surprise! His concerts are unforgettable. Colonel, you really must stop being so humble about your talent."
Klink looked momentarily pleased by Hogan's praise, until he appeared to remember that he, and not his senior Prisoner of War, was supposed to be in charge. He drew himself up, anger coloring his face an unhealthy shade of red.
"This has gone on long enough! Schultz, take Colonel Hogan back to the barracks!"
"Just hold on!" Hogan threw his arms wide, palms outward. Schultz ground to a halt behind him. "Don't I get a chance to explain why I'm here?"
"NO!" Klink roared, thrusting a finger toward the door. "OUT!"
Mumbling apologies and using his large stomach as a bumper, Shultz shoved Hogan away from the table. Stepping backward with each shove, Hogan stretched and called out over Schultz's shoulder, "Hey, nice to have met you! Hope we can do this again soon!" before he was forced outside.
It took several moments for Klaus to relax enough to retake his seat. He barely listened while Klink attempted to smooth over the incident and reclaim Risa's attention.
That was certainly interesting, Klaus thought, staring out the window as the barracks were briefly illuminated by the searchlight. And very enlightening.
To be continued . . .