All geography in this story is made up. I'm lazy that way. ;-) I'm also not a doctor, so please turn a blind eye to any medical inconsistencies.
As always, my thanks go out to Marilyn Penner, for all her hard work. This part has been messed with many times since she last saw it. Any mistakes are all mine.
Chapter Eighteen
Klaus and Hermann stood off to one side of the packed infirmary, watching the chaotic activity. Doctors were methodically wading through the crowd, treating injuries from the explosion while Hochstetter prowled the room, bellowing, sneering, and threatening. The bunker's security officers hugged the walls. Their eyes followed everyone, suspicious of every move. Klaus scanned the milling throng for Rosstal and was unable to locate the pudgy scientist. Odd, Klaus thought. No one seems concerned that he has not been seen since the explosion. He looked across the room, where Hochstetter was loudly berating one of the security guards.
Not even Hochstetter has commented upon Rosstal's disappearance.
Hermann shifted his weight from one foot to the other; the second time in as many minutes. Klaus gave him a sharp look, worried by the telltale sign of pain and the blood on Hermann's boot and uniform. "You will allow a doctor to see to your injuries."
Hermann shook his head, jaw tight with suppressed pain. "I would rather bleed to death than allow one of these ghouls to touch me."
Frustrated by the refusal, Klaus' voice gained an unaccustomed edge. "The longer you go without treatment, the greater the possibility of infection, fever, and weakness. Since you insist on saving my skin without thought to your own, then you leave it to me to see to your skin." Suddenly realizing what he had just said, Klaus choked back laughter, masking his struggle by putting a fist to his mouth. "I meant that . . . oh, nevermind. You know very well what I meant."
Hermann's mouth opened, then snapped shut as Hochstetter turned sharply on his heel and marched toward them. Klaus also saw him coming and instantly drew himself up, preparing for the coming confrontation.
"Herr Field Marshal von Rogner," Hochstetter snarled through a bared-teeth grin. "Your car is ready. Once you have received treatment, it will take you back to your hotel."
"Danke. But I wish to leave immediately." Seeing the Gestapo officer's black eyes narrow in suspicion, Klaus hurried to offer an explanation. "I will summon a physician to see to my injury there, and also to Hauptmann Lang. He was struck by glass." Klaus bridled with anger as Hochstetter's grin evolved into one of pleasure.
"That is too bad," Hochstetter oozed with false sympathy. His expression abruptly hardened. "Why postpone treatment when there are physicians present at this very moment?"
Klaus lifted his chin, glared down his nose at the shorter man. "I do not like this place, Hochstetter. It is crowded and dreary, and I do not wish to endure a tedious wait here while the glass is extracted from Lang's back and legs. The comfort and safety of my room has much more appeal, as does my bed at this late hour. I will leave now."
Hochstetter's baleful glare did not abate in the face of Klaus' show of superior rank. "As you wish, Herr Field Marshal. However," Hochstetter bit out, hands clenching upon his gun belt. "one of my guards will accompany you back to the hotel and shall remain there for your safety."
"That will not be necessary. I have Lang."
"He is injured and incapable of protecting you now."
"Even injured--"
"Those are my orders, Herr Field Marshal," Hochstetter snapped, teeth baring again.
Admitting defeat, Klaus turned the subject to the missing scientist. "Herr Doktor Arkel's assistant – Rosstal, I believe is his name? – has not been here for treatment. Was he killed in the accident?"
"That accident was no accident!" Hochstetter bellowed.
"You have proof it was sabotage?"
Hochstetter's brow beetled with fury. "I need no proof! There are no accidents!"
Klaus arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps Rosstal could shed light on what might have caused the explosion."
"PAH!" Hochstetter's arm sliced through the air in a waist-level cutting motion. "Rosstal is an idiot!" He looked to the doorway and snapped his fingers. A lanky Gestapo corporal with wavy, wheat-blond hair stiffly walked over to them and braced to attention. Klaus fought hard to conceal his relief and gratitude at their extraordinary luck. The corporal was none other than Jan Vogt, one of Klaus' very own recruits. To his credit, Vogt did not give away his surprise at seeing his comrades in disguise. His blue-eyed gaze held steady, front and center.
"Take Field Marshal von Rogner and Hauptmann Lang back to the hotel," Hochstetter snarled to Vogt.
The junior officer snapped off a salute. "Jawhol, Herr Major!" Vogt took a single step backward, swung around to face Klaus and Hermann squarely. Taking it as his cue to leave, Klaus did so. Hermann fell into step behind him, with Vogt bringing up the rear.
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The ride back to the hotel from the bunker felt never-ending. Klaus fought to maintain an outward appearance of disinterest while Hermann struggled to remain balanced on one hip on the very edge of the car seat. Every bump and turn threatened to throw him from the seat, but he managed. It was a relief for both of them when the car finally stopped in front of the hotel. Klaus immediately sat forward, directing his words at Vogt, who was seated in the front with the driver.
"Assist Hauptmann Lang."
"Jawhol, Herr Field Marshal," Vogt acknowledged,exiting the car. He opened the door on Hermann's side and Klaus watched, keeping a tight rein on his concern, while Hermann slowly maneuvered his aching body toward the door. Seeing his difficulty, Vogt bent down and without a word, offered Hermann his hand. Acknowledging the gesture with a nod, Hermann gripped it and pulled himself from the car.
Klaus blinked down at the blood-spotted seat, then slowly sighed and got out.
Once inside the hotel room, Klaus turned to Vogt and Hermann, speaking loudly enough for the Gestapo to hear through their listening devices.
"The Hauptmann can make it from here without further assistance. Go to the hospital and bring back a doctor. And be quick about it. This cut is stinging." He cupped a hand to Vogt's ear. "Find Metzger and bring him back here. And find out if Hochstetter actually left for Berlin."
Vogt's eyes flew wide in surprise. "Metzger? Aren't the two of you barely speaking?"
"Just do what I said, Jan. And hurry."
Vogt's gaze went past Klaus' shoulder, taking in Hermann's tight-lipped, sweat-dampened face.
"Jawhol, Herr Field Marshal." Sending a parting smile in Hermann's direction, Vogt turned and strode out of the room.
Hermann immediately expelled a shuddering breath. Klaus reached out, then hesitated, uncertain of how to help his friend without causing further pain.
Understanding his predicament, Hermann gave a weak snort of amusement. Remembering the way Vogt had helped Hermann get from the car to the room, Klaus dropped his hands, presented his back and squared his shoulders. A moment later, Hermann's arm fell across them. Klaus headed toward the bed, easily bearing his friend's weight.
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Klaus sat fidgeting in the chair next to the bed, impatiently listening for Vogt's return. Hermann lay face down on the bed, his eyes closed, his bare arms wrapped around the pillow beneath his head. The bed's duvet covered his nude body from neck to feet. The room was comfortably warm from the fire Klaus had lit in the fireplace and several towels and the room's wash basin lay ready near the foot of the bed. With nothing further to do to keep himself occupied, Klaus had sagged into the chair, his thoughts in turmoil.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he let his head fall forward into his hands. The mission – which, from the very beginning had not been simple– had gotten even more complicated. Now, it involved a lunatic scientist hoarding a lethal gas, the rescue of three innocents from a horrible death, as well as the destruction of the gas and the bunker.
And . . . Klaus reflected with an inner groan. We must somehow do it all without getting caught or killed.
He slowly shook his head as he faced an unpleasant thought.
Maybe we should have let the execution take place. It would have been cruel, but at least there would be one less complication to this whole mess. Of course, living with myself afterward would be nothing short of impossible.
Letting out a gusting sigh, he looked back at the bed – and right into a pair of wide open hazel eyes. Hermann regarded him steadily, the message in his eyes so clear Klaus could hear it in his head.
Stop second-guessing yourself.
Klaus smiled. You know me too well.
At that moment, a knock came at the door. Klaus shot to his feet, remembering at the very last second to use von Rogner's tone of voice. The door opened at his summons and Vogt appeared in the doorway.
"I have brought a doctor as you wished, Herr Field Marshal. His name is Metzger."
"Very good. That will be all."
Vogt stepped aside, admitting Kurt into the room. Klaus stepped forward, his words of greeting evaporating before they could be spoken. Hollow-eyed and gaunt, Kurt looked like a man who had been pushed too hard for too long. Vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open and that the Gestapo would be wondering at the lengthy silence, Klaus cleared his throat.
"Forgive me, Herr Doktor Metzger. I was distracted for a moment. This evening has been quite upsetting for me. As you can see, I have been cut on the cheek. My adjutant, Hauptmann Lang, was also injured this evening." Klaus tapped his ear, carefully mouthed 'Gestapo. Listening.'
Kurt's confusion was obvious as he tried to reconcile Klaus' voice to his appearance and behavior. His eyes lingered on Klaus' mustache and Luftwaffe uniform, then moved beyond him to the bed, where Hermann lay watching. Hermann slipped his arm slipped from under the pillow and lazily waved in greeting, causing Kurt's mouth to quirk with a small grin. When he looked back at Klaus, his eyes were bright, but his voice was coolly professional.
"What is the nature of his injuries?" Kurt headed for the bed, unsnapping his medical bag. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Klaus stepped into his path and drew him into a hug. Kurt's arms immediately came up and closed around him, returning the hug with surprising strength.
"What have you gotten yourself into now?" he asked in a choked whisper near Klaus' ear.
"You look exhausted!" Klaus whispered back, still disquieted by Kurt's haggard appearance. Aware the Gestapo was awaiting an answer, he reluctantly stepped out of the hug and led Kurt to the bed.
"There is glass in his neck, back and thighs. He can wait, though, until you have seen to my cut, Herr Doktor." Klaus negated the order with a firm head shake and mouthed, 'Hermann first'.
"How did this occur?"
"That is not your concern, Herr Doktor." Leaning close, Klaus whispered to him, "In an explosion. There are unknown chemicals on the glass."
Kurt's mouth tightened. Setting his bag on the floor, he lowered the duvet past Hermann's legs and sharply drew breath. Klaus averted his eyes, preferring to avoid another sight of the burns and lacerations marring Hermann's back, shoulders, buttocks and thighs. He caught Hermann's gaze, silently chided him once more.
You still have not learned that you are not made of iron?
Hermann let out a muffled snort and closed his eyes. They flew open again a second later as he sensed a syringe heading for his shoulder. Klaus clamped down on Kurt's wrist, startling him into another frown.
"No drugs," Klaus whispered.
Kurt glanced from Hermann to the needle and back again, then put a soothing tone into his whisper.
"Relax, Hermann. The drug is only to allow you to sleep through the pain of extracting the glass."
Hermann shrank away, vigorously shaking his head. Kurt stared at him, flabbergasted bythe reaction.
"He cannot be drugged. Not even lightly," Klaus explained, keeping a cautionary grip on Kurt's arm.
"Why not?" Kurt asked, still having the presence of mind to keep his voice down.
"Necessity. He must be alert and able to move."
Kurt stared into his eyes, searching for answers. Klaus stayed quiet, knowing he could not push his cousin any further. Having reached a decision, Kurt pulled his wrist free and dropped the syringe into the bag. Klaus sat back on his heels, gratified by the further show of trust.
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Klaus checked the safety on his gun, then sighted down the barrel at Hitler's portrait. The fanatical eyes seemed to burn with rage at his audacity. He held the position an instant longer, then lowered the gun down and slipped it back into its leather holster. The impromptu target practice was the latest attempt at keeping himself occupied while Kurt cared for Hermann's wounds. He would have preferred to pace off his nervous energy, but von Rogner was not prone to such restless movement. If the Gestapo heard it, there was good chance they would grow suspicious and come to check on him.
Taking up the fire tongs, he stoked the fire, coaxing it higher. Once it was burning well, he quietly walked to the window and peeked out from behind the heavy drapes. There was a large tree further down the building. It stood only a few yards out from the wall and offered a perfect means of escape from their room. But first, they had to reach it. Craning his neck, he looked down, mentally crossing his fingers. As he had hoped, a ledge approximately two feet wide ran directly below the window and all the way along the building. He let the drape fall back and faced the room. The scene he found contained so many familiar elements that he felt like he had stepped back in time.
Kurt and Hermann had their heads close together and were deep in whispered conversation. The looks on their faces were ones Klaus knew well. Hermann wore his implacable 'listen to me, you know I am right' expression, while Kurt had donned his 'you do not know what you are talking about and I am not listening to you any longer so you might as well shut up now' look. Klaus gave a moment's thought to wondering what they were carrying on about, then shrugged and went to the door.
Vogt edged closer to the open door, but remained facing the hall.
"Did Hochstetter leave for Berlin?" Klaus asked, making certain to keep his voice down.
"Yes," Vogt replied, speaking just as quietly. "I made up an excuse to stop by Headquarters on the way to get Metzger and was able to speak with Rueben. Hochstetter called from Kleinstadt and ordered him to do a background check on Lang. The information is to be ready by the time Hochstetter calls from Berlin tomorrow."
"You explained Lang and Hermann are one in the same?"
"Yes. He is building a false profile."
The anger Klaus had been holding at bay suddenly broke free without warning. Hochstetter, being cautious as well as incredibly paranoid, would have undoubtedly done a background check on Hermann's false persona. But Hermann's reckless goading had guaranteed Hochstetter fixation.
Why did you draw attention to yourself? Klaus demanded silently, staring at Hermann. You are not disguised, as I am. If he sees you again after this mess is over, there won't be enough of you left to bury.
As if hearing his thoughts, Hermann's head turned toward him and he attempted to rise up on one elbow. Without even looking up from what he was doing, Kurt swatted him across the back of the head. Hermann's lip curled in a silent snarl, but he lay back on the cot without further fuss. Wearing a small smile, Kurt continued pulling glass and dropping it into the bowl at his feet.
Klaus turned back to Vogt again. "Anything else?"
A smirk appeared on the part of Vogt's face that Klaus could see. "Rueben is to water the plant in Hochstetter's office. It is from his mother."
"Hochstetter has a mother?" Klaus lightly drummed his fingers against the doorframe. "I do not like it. He could have called Rueben from anywhere."
"Rueben recognized a piano playing in the background during the call. Only the one in Kleinstadt is so badly out of tune and missing the middle 'C' key. The piano player there always substitutes a C-sharp for it. I have heard that piano, myself. Believe me, once you have heard it, there is no forgetting it. I do not understand why they do not get an accordion, instead. Or a different piano player. Better still, a different piano. One that is in tune. I am truly surprised that Hochstetter has not shot --"
"Jan!" Klaus hissed. "Is the car still in Heller's barn?"
"Yes. I checked on it a few nights ago and filled the tank with petrol. Are you ready to tell me what is going on?"
"It's better you do not know until after it is over. Listen, if Hochstetter does happen to return--"
"He won't," Vogt insisted, turning his head to look him full in the eye. Klaus ignored the interruption and firmed his tone.
"I'll leave the window cracked. That way, he will have a clear explanation of how we got out without your knowledge."
"You're going out the window?"
"What other choice do we have? There are no back stairs in this hotel and we no way to get out the front door without someone noticing." Feeling time slipping away, Klaus checked on Kurt's progress. He was just placing the forceps back into his bag and Hermann – now bandaged - was in the act of sitting up. "Just stay on guard here, Jan. You should be fine if he comes back."
"It is not me I'm worried about," Vogt whispered, sliding back to his former position along the wall.
Klaus pulled back into the room and shut the door. Turning, he came face to face with Kurt.
Kurt held up a small tube. "His dressings must be changed once a day and this ointment applied. It will have to be done for him, of course, since he cannot reach all the cuts. None of the glass entered his spine and none of the cuts was large enough to need stitches. He was very lucky."
Klaus took the ointment and tucked it into his pocket. "What about you?"
Kurt blinked. "What about me?"
"You are obviously not fine. Are you sick? Are Onkel Josef and Tante Romie--"
"They are well and I am well, too." Kurt put his hands on his hips. "Now, what are you--"
"He is definitely not well," Hermann cut in, having snuck up on Kurt from behind. He gaveKurt a steely-eyed glare. "No matter what he--"
"Do not start with that again," Kurt hissed, rounding on him. Hermann merely hitched one eyebrow.
"Have you been avoiding mirrors? Your eyes and cheeks are sunken, you -"
Kurt sputtered, but before he could launch into another response, Klaus put one hand on his shoulder and the other on Hermann's. They turned to him, both wearing attentive expressions. Klaus grinned, realizing their bond was as strong as ever. Understanding the reason for his pleasure, Kurt and Hermann glanced at each other and smiled. The mantle clock chimed the hour, startling all three of them. Klaus' grin faded.
"I am sorry, Kurt. But I must ask another favor of you. Please contact Colonel Hogan . . ." He put his hand up, delaying Kurt's questions. "And tell him that we are on our way back and that we will need bombs. Many bombs. Will you do this for me?"
Kurt stared at him. "You know Hogan?"
"We are working with him and his men."
Kurt gave him a searching look. "This is about Onkel Gustaf's death, isn't it?"
Klaus' expression hardened. "Partly, yes. Will you help us?"
Kurt thought a few moments, then nodded, his own expression growing resolute. "Yes."
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It was just after midnight when Hogan got word that Kinch wanted to speak with him. Hogan went to the radio room and found his sergeant perched on a stool next to the shortwave, writing furiously. Hogan frowned, immediately sensing his friend's agitation.
"They're on their way back," Kinch reported, keeping his gaze locked on his clipboard.
Hogan studied him a few moments. "Now tell me what you don't want to tell me."
Kinch's eyes flicked up to his, then down again to the clipboard. "The message came through from Kurt."
Hogan's eyebrows jerked up. "I could have sworn you just said the message came from Kurt."
Kinch stopped writing and released a deep sigh. Tossing the clipboard down on the table, he brought his head up and said firmly, "I did."
Hogan stared at him, anger swelling like a summer storm cloud. "How the heck did they manage to get him involved in this??"
"I don't know." Kinch shook his head, played with his pencil for a moment, then threw it on the table next to the clipboard. "It couldn't have been planned, sir."
Hogan thought about it. "Yeah," he finally growled, taking off his cap and shoving his fingers through his hair. "You're probably right. Leidel cares too much about Kurt to risk him unless he was left with no choice."
Kinch looked over at him with a faint grin. "You seem to have a pretty good 'read' on this guy."
"It's like looking in a mirror sometimes, buddy." Hogan stared down at his cap, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the brim. "I wanted to keep Kurt out of this."
"Yeah," Kinch said, drawing the word out. "But you didn't give us much of a reason as to why, sir."
"I stopped by the farm last week. Kurt wasn't there, but Josef and Romie were, and they wanted to talk." Hogan sighed, put his cap back on. "They're really worried about him."
Kinch lifted an eyebrow.
"More worried than usual," Hogan amended. "He's been pulling a lot of double-shifts. When he does have time off, he can't unwind enough to get a good sleep. He's lost weight--"
"He's not got much to lose."
"Josef's afraid Kurt will collapse from exhaustion if it keeps up."
Kinch shook his head. "Romie must be beside herself. And now the Doc is involved in this. Risa, too. The way things have been going, the whole Leidel-Metzger clan might be involved by the time this is over." Kinch folded his arms, stared down at the clipboard.
"Oh, boy," Hogan sighed heavily, shoulders sagging with the added worry. "Did you have to go and say that?"
Kinch's head jerked up. "I thought you weren't superstitious, sir?"
"I didn't used to be," Hogan retorted. "Anything else you want to tell me to make my night even better?"
"The rest of their message said we're going to need bombs. Lots of them."
"Something bigger than just a meeting, then." Hogan turned to leave.
"Where are you headed?"
"To wake up our in-house bomb expert," Hogan called back, before disappearing from sight.
To be continued . . . Thank you for reading!