Hi, my dear readers!
Given the shown stats I'm really happy that already a lot of you already had a peek into the story and thank you so much for the first feedback.
Because my dear beta-reader Kat was already done with the second chapter as I published the story, I poste the new installment now. I hope you're going to like it.
As already mentioned it tells about the secret feelings Klink had for a long time now for his troublesome senior POW officer, but there will be also a lot of action. I hope you're going to like it.
Have fun
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 2 – Courage has many faces
'Brave' wasn't the word that would came to your mind when you saw Klink sitting beside Hogan in Hochstetter's staff car just right now. Outside the approaching night was about to swallow the landscape – like a dark omen. The journey was silent, because for once Hogan didn't make quips. And Klink was grateful for it. The situation was dire enough without enraging Hochstetter even more.
He turned his head and watched Hogan's profile in the last glimmer of daylight and sighed inwardly.
The moment the man had come through the door of his office, Klink had known the American officer meant trouble. A lot of trouble, not only because of his personality, but also because of his devilish good looks and his irresistible boyish charm.
Klink liked to flirt with women and during his stay in Munich, when he was still quite young, he even fell in love with a sweet lady called Marlene. He had come as close to a marriage as much as he could, but the affair ended before it became too serious.
Because of him – because of something he missed in the relationship he only began to comprehend within the following years.
Between the end of that relationship and his realization of what was 'wrong' with him, he really hadn't minded taking women to his bed. Hell, he had even increased his dubious reputation of being constantly after every skirt that came his way, but a part of him was never satisfied with it. Step by step it became an act, because he couldn't deny any longer that he wasn't immune to male beauty – a streak that was regarded as pervert and sick in the Third Reich.
Klink had heard what happened to men who were caught living out their 'weakness'. He even had lost a comrade because he had been seen kissing another man. Paul had been brought to jail and a few days later news had reached Klink that Paul had been executed. There were also the horrible murmurs of men being castrated fully conscious before they were shot – all of this only because they had tender feelings for the same gender.
Just like Klink had. And for almost three years now these feelings were directed towards the man who was living, breathing trouble on two long legs.
As Hogan had been brought to his office the first time and looked with tempting deep brown eyes at him, Klink had known that fate had walked through the shabby wooden door into his life. Proud, lazily and more handsome than it should be allowed the new prisoner had made Klink hold his breath. But this had been nothing compared to the second the American officer had offered him the first impish grin. Eyes twinkling with boyish amusement, white teeth shimmering, long lashes shadowing those catching eyes a moment later, Robert E. Hogan's appearance had hit home more seriously than any bullet could do.
Klink had felt his belly clenching – a well-known, constantly feared clenching that set him on high alert. To be attracted to another male meant excitement, but also mortal risk. Only a few days later Wilhelm Klink realized that Hogan possessed a danger to him that had nothing to do with him being a highly intelligent man who was the senior officer of the POWs from now on. There was so much more to the colonel that it made Klink's head spin and he realized that this man could be his down fall.
He had tried to brush the temptation aside – to regard Hogan as only another prisoner of war, but for naught. Then he tried to get rid of him; using any chance that would show Hogan in a bad light to get him transferred to another camp or to reveal him as a danger to the Third Reich. Again, for naught – especially because he couldn't go through with his plan with a full heart; skipping too harsh accusations because he knew it could mean Hogan's death.
His attempts to keep the younger man at a distance went out of the window, too. Hogan came to his office without being called; walking into it as if he would just show up at a friend's house. Worse, he rarely even knocked. There was no day that the colonel wasn't near him several times and spun his web around him – sometimes teasing, sometimes irritated, often manipulating.
Oh yes, Klink knew that Hogan manipulated him to his liking; wheedling benefits out of him. One time it was more bread for his men for a week, another time it was half an hour longer light for a few days or an additional shower. It never was something big, never something insolent, yet the small victories that Hogan gained nine times of ten he came to Klink were an alarming rate.
Yet the Oberst was helpless to resist the man he should regard as an enemy and had defied him over and over again. He loved to bargain with Hogan and to watch his American counterpart accepting the challenges in his typical way. The tricks Hogan had put up his sleeves seemed to be endless, his arguments sometimes well thought through, other times they simply were improvisations, but still clever. And Klink had been shocked to the core as he realized one day that he was eager for those moments when he found himself the full focus of those brown eyes; Hogan's wits a never-ending pool of ideas which held Klink on the tips of his toes.
Yes, there were times Klink had the urge to wring Hogan's neck. The man gave him more trouble than all the prisoners together, but one cheery glance, one lopsided smile and one friendly clap on the Oberst's shoulder, and Wilhelm Klink found himself melting inwardly like butter in the sun. Hell, he even was half as irritated as he pretended to be when Hogan stole his cigars, called him 'Willie' or even served himself with Klink's wine or Schnaps. It was the part of his carelessness that had caught Klink first, then he had come to almost adore the sharp mind behind the boyish, innocent looking behavior.
Of course, Klink wasn't stupid enough to buy Hogan's act of being a simple prisoner who was only more daring than the others. And he also didn't buy the half of Hogan's stories he presented him with whenever something odd went on. He knew that he hadn't been sent to the Russian Front until now because of Hogan. Every time Burkhalter was about to make this move, something strange happened that made the general think twice of sending Klink away. Hell, Klink was even sure that Hogan was behind the plan that made Hochstetter and Burkhalter exchange him, Klink, for a caught Underground-head because all of sudden they were convinced, the Kommandant of Stalag 13 was the long-searched super-agent Nimrod. This kind of prank bore Hogan's stamp, and Klink would have bet his last shirt that the American colonel had been the person who was responsible for his release of being held hostage.
And there were the two times, Klink had found himself in custody – placed there one time by Burkhalter and another time by a Gestapo-officer. Both times he was about to face a firing squad, and both times he had escaped his fate only because Hogan (and Schultz) intervened. All right, the first time Hogan had put him into the situation, but he also had saved him. And the second time it had been Schultz who tried to help him, but Hogan had been part of the game. There was no doubt about it.
It should alarm him that his senior POW officer was able to pull stunts like this from his position within the camp, but it didn't really bother him. Hogan's willingness to help Klink when a situation became too hot, showed the Oberst that his American counterpart cared for him.
When the war came dangerously close to Stalag 13, the ground shaking with explosions and things were hurled through the air, Hogan always pushed him out of harm's way or yelled a warning. If something happened, Hogan always found a chance to hold him, Klink, within the camp's relative safety. And if ill-willed persons showed up, Hogan was there to distract them. In his own way the colonel had turned into a kind of protector whenever it was necessary, and Klink had skipped asking how Hogan was always able to come out of every situation as the winner. Sometimes it was better to use Schultz as an example, who constantly stated he would 'see and hear nnnoooothing'.
But it wasn't those events in which Hogan showed he didn't really regard Klink as an enemy which made the Oberst's feelings bubble. It was the hours when they played chess, the minutes they gambled for victory in their endless banter and the seconds Hogan really smiled at him – eyes warm, expression soft, stance relaxed. It gave him ideas of what could be.
Klink was not blind to the fact that Hogan flirted a lot with the camp's secretary Fräulein (Miss) Hilda and switched on his charm whenever a female was near, yet he couldn't stop hoping that maybe the younger man wasn't reluctant to regard another male as more than a friend. The hope was tiny at best, yet Klink had saved some optimism for himself.
And, by the way, there was no chance to escape the temptation Hogan presented. The American was a constant factor in his life by now, and somehow on the way Klink had fallen for him.
Hard!
The hidden longing and the fire in his veins which flared up whenever Hogan was in his personal space still burnt in Klink's gut, but during the last months it had mingled with more deeper feelings. Softer, more gentle and tender ones – and it scared Klink.
He had fallen in love for real this time – and the danger to lose this love just right now was huge. It wasn't the first time that someone of the Gestapo accused Hogan of being an Underground-agent. Only a few weeks ago Major Pruhst of the Gestapo had been absolutely certain that he had revealed Hogan's double-life and had come to lay out a trap for the colonel. Klink had been forced to support him, yet he had prayed that Pruhst was wrong – and as Hogan's doppelganger Erik Schafstein had shown up, he had been glad that the major's accusations went out the window. Yet, deep down, Klink had a bad feeling when he thought back on those two days. Something had been off, but he couldn't put a finger on it.
And the bad feeling worsened from minute to minute now.
If Hochstetter really had proof that Hogan was an active member of the Underground, the colonel would be sent to the firing squad or the gallows. There would be no escape. And the mere thought of watching Hogan die made Klink nauseous.
Forcing the direction of his thoughts away, he quickly returned his attention back to the road. The night was falling rapidly now, and he could see in the headlights how nature was freezing over. The winter was hard this year, harder than before, and the temperature was below the freezing point for weeks now. But it was nothing compared to the chill that went through Klink's inner core. Soon they would be in Hammelburg and then he would learn the truth – a truth he really didn't want to know.
Beside him Hogan remained silent; his thoughts moving in circles. What was it that Hochstetter held over his head? The last mission had been to make certain that the Third Panzer Division would be delayed. The success was still to be seen because of the closed main road to Hammelburg. Since then London hadn't given him and his men any new special tasks. Hogan had transferred a little information from the Underground to London, which had been retrieved by Newkirk four days ago, but that had been all.
If someone, by pure misfortune, had seen Newkirk in Hammelburg meeting someone from the Underground and was able to identify him as one of the POWs – howsoever – Hochstetter would have come earlier to Stalag 13. Usually the Gestapo worked quicker; especially now, after the Allies had landed in Normandy several months ago and had forced the Germans to retreat to their own original borders by now. And, by the way, Hochstetter would have arrested Newkirk and not him, Hogan.
So, if it hadn't been Newkirk's visit to Hammelburg, then what had maybe given the colonel away? A defector of the Underground or of Allies' united military? If so, he was absolutely lost. On the other hand, his men were also well-known to the most members of the Underground in the area and to the high-ranking officers in London. Why hadn't they been in Hochstetter's focus, too? Of course, Hogan was more than grateful that his comrades – his friends – weren't in the same position as he was now. He would give his life to protect them without any hesitation, yet the question remained: Why was only he arrested?
Was this whole situation here a pretense of Hochstetter to finally have his hands on him? Had Hochstetter faced a dead end in his searches and wasn't ready to quit; staging a deception to finally kill the man he had hated for so long? And even if the latter was the case, then why now? Was the major's position at stake again? Did he realize that the Germans were about to lose the war and he didn't want to forfeit the chance to get revenge on his personal nemesis before everything was over? Or had it something to do with Major Pruhst's investigation a few weeks ago? Had they both teamed up to bring him, Hogan, down? Had Pruhst found out that there was something off with 'Erik Schafstein' who was ought to be a 'Doppelganger' of Hogan but in reality had been Hogan himself?
So many questions without an answer, not before they would reach Hammelburg. And Hogan really didn't look forward to it. He knew what lay ahead for him, despite Klink's unexpected presence. It was well known that the Gestapo was not above of torturing people in the most brutal way if information and answers were demanded, and Hogan would have been a fool not to realize and – yes – to fear it. The prospect of what would happen to him within the next hours and maybe days sent dread through his whole being.
Swallowing again the bad taste in his mouth and ignoring the sick feeling in his belly, he looked to his left, where Klink sat. He was still baffled that the man had stood up against Hochstetter like this and even accompanied them by his own free will. Usually a sharp tone was enough to let the Oberst step back with nervous laughter and foolish jokes to cover his deeply rooted uncertainty, but not this time.
Why?
Wilhelm Klink never stopped boasting about his record of no escapes from his camp, unaware of the permanent coming and going of Hogan's men, and called himself an uncompromising officer who commanded the toughest POW-camp in the whole of Germany, but in truth he was an anxious man who tried to stay alive during the madness that had befallen the whole world. Yes, Klink was there for his men and his prisoners when necessary and there had been several times he defied Hochstetter and even General Burkhalter, when he had to defend or to protect those within his responsibility, but in truth he was weak.
'Not weak', Hogan had only thought a few days ago as he had listened to Klink's endless rambling about the paperwork he had to do. 'He simply doesn't want to be involved in the war and in the horror the madman in Berlin and his companions are spreading through Europe. Willi is everything but a Nazi but he has to hide it without giving himself away. He fights his own fight – in his very own unique way. It's a kind of bravery that isn't easy to realize, yet it is there.'
His thoughts about the man he inwardly had laughed about over and over again, but also had come to respect in some way, seemed to be true. The Oberst did battle if he hadn't any other choice left, yet Hogan asked himself what made Klink choose to accompany them; skipping his chance of any escape if Hochstetter would be convinced that the Kommandant was a part in Hogan's Underground-mission – even an unwilling part. If he would have remained in Stalag 13 he always could have tried to run away the moment Hogan's organization was revealed. There was no way that Berlin wouldn't blame Klink for it. Yet the Prussian officer with Saxon roots and upbringing in Düsseldorf, had decided to walk another way – together with Hogan to aid him. The colonel had no clue what to make of this sudden show of recklessness, and he almost felt bad that maybe Klink's one-time courage could lead to his own arrest and death.
Hogan pressed his lips into a thin line as those thoughts led to the only possible decision. If there was the tiniest chance to protect his men AND Klink he would take it. For months now, he was convinced that Klink didn't belong in this insane war – like so many other good men and women. Even with his streak of agreeing with everything his superiors did, Klink was not a bad man. Rather the opposite. Hogan had met too many evil persons to not see the differences, and if there was a chance to save the man's neck he would do it. They had lived through too many things together, had faced too many crazy situations and had enjoyed too many banters with each other to let the man down.
What was the saying? Ten minutes together in danger forges more than ten years of companionship? Well, they both had faced mortal situations more than once, and along the way Klink had become an odd kind of friend for him – one he certainly couldn't trust utterly, yet the Oberst had his fine moments. Just like now as all of sudden he'd become the 'Iron Eagle' he called himself and spread his wings in the attempt to protect Hogan. This was something the colonel would never forget – how long this 'never' would last in the end.
Taking a slow deep breath Hogan looked out of the window again. They were forced to detour, because of the still closed main road to Hammelburg. For days it had snowed in the beginning of January and winter was now, almost two weeks later, still strong – preventing the Germans from making much progress in getting the road free.
But not only the weather delayed the repairs. The truth was: Germany was bleeding out – not only with nourishment but also with simple nutrients and other goods which would be necessary. Therefore, the usual short way of three or four kilometers was shut off and forced everyone who wanted to travel from the POW-camp to Hammelburg to use other roads which made a detour of more than 15 kilometers. Hogan saw it as a kind of short delay that would still end far too soon for him.
Suppressing a sigh, his attention drove to the skies. The darkness of the winter evening was catching up with them – especially here in the woods they were crossing – and despite his usually cocky way of thinking he felt coldness gripping his mind and soul. This was maybe his last travel before his life ended, and the thought sent another shiver down his spine.
The driver's voice distracted him.
"Herr Major, look!" He pointed to the left above them and Hochstetter bent forwards to have a better view. The two men on the backseat followed his example.
Klink frowned because he saw nothing in the dark skies which shimmered behind the thinning out branches above them, then he became aware of Hogan's proximity, as the younger man pressed alongside him to see for himself what had caught the driver's attention. Klink's heartbeat increased. He could smell the cheap soap the prisoners were forced to use, but also Hogan's very own scent – a pleasurable mixture of sandalwood and herbs. He felt the other man's warm breath washing over his cheek and his pulse drummed harder. Klink swallowed a lump in his throat. This was not the moment to have such feelings!
"I see nothing," he declared; glad that his voice sounded firm.
"You sound like that fool Schultz," Hochstetter sneered.
"Schultz sees and hears nothing," Klink corrected him, "but I do hear something."
Beside Hogan him nodded. "Yeah – a deep sound."
The road headed out of the forest and into clearings, interrupted by several clusters of trees. The rising moon shone on the motorcycles and the one car ahead of them, then, suddenly, the silver light was shadowed for a moment and Hogan quickly looked up, while the sounds became louder.
"Fighter planes!" Klink yelled in alert.
"Ours or theirs?" Hochstetter demanded.
"How should I know?" the Oberst snapped back. "Do I have a night vision?"
Hogan ignored the quip and listened closer to the noise. "It sounds like Black Widows and…"
He didn't get any further, as the planes came nearer and one of the smaller ones in the front opened fire – aiming for the convoy.
As the first bullets rattled down towards the road and the convey, the cars and motorcycles stopped with squeaking breaks. Two of the bikers dropped to the ground, the front window of another car was shattered as it was hit with a salvo of bullets, screams and curses filled the air. Then the plane flew past them and the next ones were there. The headlights of the cars, the rest of the vanishing daylight and the bright moon that already hung in the skies, gave the attackers a good view of their targets.
"Out!" Hochstetter shouted while the next salvo hit the car behind his own. "Out, out!" He opened the door and let himself fall to the frozen ground beside the road; the others did the same. The vehicle in front of the staff car caught fire, while the next fighters attacked them with their artillery pieces.
Carefully Hochstetter peeked over the roof of his car. Four fighters were turning back towards them, while the bombers and the other air fighters continued their way towards the south. Looking around the major's gaze fell to the trees which led into the forest and realizing that his men and he stood no chance out in the open, he shouted, "Retreat to the woods! Quick, quick! Before they're back!"
He didn't need to say it twice; his men followed this order more than keenly.
"The first sane words I heard from him today," Klink commented and sprinted in a ducked posture around the car to follow the SS-guards and Hochstetter. Hogan's shout, "What about me?" made the Oberst stop dead in his tracks.
Glancing back, he was about to yell at Hogan that this really wasn't the right time to joke, but the words died in his throat. Hogan had left the car, too, but being chained to the door handle he wasn't able to make a run to safety. Cowering behind the car he tore at the handcuff, but the shackle didn't give in; trapping him.
Klink gasped and whirled around again. "Hochstetter! The keys to Hogan's handcuffs! Schnell (quick)!" he barked.
Indeed, the Gestapo officer stopped and turned around. His confused gaze found first the Oberst, then the colonel, who tried to get free from the chain but without any success. There was no doubt that Hogan wouldn't survive the next attacks, and for a moment the major's sense of duty awoke. Then the noises of the returning air fighters drew nearer again, and he recognized the perfect chance to get his revenge on his nemesis – to get rid of him once and for all.
A maniac grin spread over Hochstetter's face that was clear to see in the light of the burning car. "I told you that I would be your downfall one day, Hogan. Now go to hell!" he shouted, turned away and began to run towards the trees.
"HOCHSTETTER!" Hogan roared as the cruel truth crashed down on him – that the major had left him here to die. "HOCHSTTER, YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
But the major's black clad figure melted with the dark shadows of the forest and with him the key to the handcuffs. Hogan struggled with the realization of what this meant for him: Certain death.
"Hochstetter, come back you damn coward!" Klink screamed as he comprehended what the major meant, and jogged after him, but the Gestapo officer was already out of ear-shot beneath the trees.
The sounds of the fighters were dangerously near now and Klink looked back at the lonely figure of Hogan, tied to the staff car. In the flickering flames of the burning car nearby the Oberst watched Hogan's furious expression turning into horror. And the severity of the situation hit Klink with the force of a truck: Hogan would really die – within the next one or two minutes.
Something reared up in the Kommandant; dread and denial fought their own battle at the prospect that the man he desired – loved! – would find his demise here and now. Then the droning noise of the aircrafts ringed in his ears, and instinct took over…
Hogan gulped as he saw Hochstetter disappearing into the woods. He was left here to die – helplessly chained to the staff car like a lamb to an altar stone.
He thought he heard Klink shouting something before he saw the Oberst racing after Hochstetter. He was surprised at the hurt of betrayal that rose deep in his soul. He had known that Klink was a coward, yet a tiny part of him had hoped that the older man would care enough for him to make a real attempt at rescue. But – as always – Klink ran away when a situation turned hairy.
Then the booming sound forced his attention back to the deadly situation he was in. There was no chance that the pilots of the aircrafts would recognize him as one of their own. The speed with which the fighters flew was too high to let a pilot get a closer look at small details like a uniform. He, Hogan, was only a person near a car of the hostile army and none of the US-pilots could know that one of the men they wanted to bring down was an American.
For a moment nausea was about to overcome Hogan, then defiance flared up in him.
No, he wouldn't give in. Never! Not until his very last breath.
He looked hastily around if there was something he maybe could use to force the shackle open, but there was nothing besides the abandoned vehicles, two dead SS-guards and three wounded ones, which tried to hobble or to crawl towards the trees – left behind by their own comrades.
The roaring of the planes betrayed the aircraft's position, and the next salvos of shots ripped through the air. Hogan's blood ran cold. That was it – the end. One of salvos hit the staff car and Hogan ducked. His mind turned blank and panic gripped him as he recognized that only a few inches were between him and the bullets – that the Grim Reaper was above him, lifting his deadly scythe. The salvo of the next aircraft was only seconds away and this time he would be done for. He would die – here and now!
Bile rose in his throat and a scream was torn from his lips, as the rearmost car of the convey exploded after its gas tank was hit. The blast wave washed over him with heat; bearing the ugly smell of melding metal. Instinctively he threw his free arm over his head; a part of his mind sane enough to know that it wouldn't protect him at all. He closed his eyes while a cold fist seemed to reach into him and twisted his belly; mortal fear paralyzed him. Everything would be over within a few moments, and the sorrow of never seeing his friends again – and his parents and brother – mingled with despair. He only prayed that his death would be quick.
"Hogan, move aside!"
That voice…
Shocked he looked to his left and his eyes got wide as saucers as he recognized the familiar face. "Klink?" he gasped; thinking he was imaging things.
"Dammit, Hogan, move!" the Oberst yelled, before he impatiently pushed the younger man aside, set the muzzle of his pistol at the chain that tied Hogan to the car and pulled the trigger. He turned his head away, hoping that he wouldn't be hit by the ricochet as the bullet went through the chain and into the car, where it was stuck in one of the backseats. Pointing the pistol at the other half of the chain's link, Klink shot a second time and the chain gave in.
Hogan was free and both men jumped to their feet, the aircrafts were almost over the clearing again.
"Run!" Klink screamed with shrill voice and gave the younger man a rough shove. "Run, run. Run! RUN!"
Hogan didn't hesitate for a second. The moment his mind started working again, he began to race towards the trees – survival instincts kicking in with all their might. He heard Klink running close behind him, heard the shouts for help from the three wounded SS-guards and the ear-deafening reports of another salvo. A second explosion pushed the two fleeing men forward and made them stumble. Instinctively both men pulled their arms over their heads, which also saved Hogan's crush cap from being blown away. Thousands of sparks flew through the air like fireflies; bullets raged with high whistles around the two men and punched up the frozen ground; the roaring of the aircrafts drowned out everything.
Almost!
Klink's painful cry pierced the air and Hogan stopped without a second thought. Whirling around he saw the older man tumbling to the ground – and an icy fear he would have to think about later froze Hogan's limbs.
No!
Not Wilhelm Klink!
Not the naïve, gullible, foolish and gauche Kommandant, who just had shown a courage Hogan had never thought he possessed. Not the man who just saved his life by risking his own. It couldn't be true! The war couldn't have taken away another one from Hogan that he had come to respect and – God help him – to like!
Frozen in shock he looked at the lanky, tall figure clad in German Luftwaffe blue, thrown to the ground like a broken doll, and who…
…who began to move.
Without giving a damn about the danger around him, Hogan dashed back and knelt down beside the fallen Oberst; putting both hands on his back and shoulder. He could feel the heat of the burning cars nearby, heard the roaring flames singing a sick duet with the din of the air fighters, and caught the acrid stench of burning oil, grease and bolsters that penetrated the air, but his whole attention was focused on the man who had proven to be, indeed, his friend.
"Klink!" he called; fearing the moving he had seen was only some left-over reflexes of a dying body, then he heard the Oberst's painful moan, while he saw two long, slender hands balling into fists. Hogan's hectic gaze wandered over Klink. He took in the tiny holes which were burnt through Klink's uniform, before he saw the blood on the left pants leg and the left upper arm. Hogan didn't know if it was relief or frustration that soared up in him. As it seemed, Klink had only been grazed by two bullets – a miracle given the salvos.
"Klink, get up!" he shouted; well aware of the fact that they had only seconds left until the next attack would begin. "There is no time to play The Dying Swan!"
Wilhelm Klink was dizzy with fear, dread and pain. His left calf and upper arm hurt like hell, his ears were ringing and the freezing ground beneath him did nothing to make him regain some senses. But those two hands on his back, combined with the rich tenor that haunted his most secret dreams worked a miracle. Trying to move he braced himself on his right arm, looked up – and the blinding light of the rearing fires nearby brought him back to his senses.
He – and Hogan! – were out in the open; attacked by aircrafts of the Allies whose pilots couldn't know that they were about to kill one of their own men. And he, Klink, was wounded and was about to die.
As much as the latter prospect had always scared the hell out of him, he was now – as the time had arrived – shockingly calm. He had always known that he wouldn't survive the madness that would be called World War II in the history books. He wasn't made for this kind of brutality, cruelty and warfare. He was a child of the last century, forged in the Great War and tired of facing the new war's even uglier visage day by day.
He knew he would meet his maker today.
But this fate should not befall Hogan. Not this bright, cheery, crazy, daring boy-man who had slipped beneath his careful raised walls and had wriggled into his heart. Hogan had to live! If there was one hope that Klink really clung to, then it was the faith that men like Hogan would raise a better world from the ashes the war would leave when the madness finally had burnt out.
"Go!" he rasped; his throat dry from dread and the heat of the near fire. "Go, Robert, save yourself!"
"No!" Hogan snarled; only realizing at the sidelines that Klink had used his given name for the first time ever. "I don't let my friends down!"
Holstering the pistol that had slipped from Klink's hand into his belt, Hogan leaped up, bent down and hauled the Oberst to his feet. Klink's cry betrayed the pain he was in, but Hogan couldn't take any consideration of it now. They had to reach the trees, or they both would be killed. Throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the skies, he saw how the fighters made another circle to return – and to end Klink's and his life. Ignoring the Oberst's protests and curses, Hogan wrapped one arm around the older man's slim waist, slung Klink's right arm around his neck and began to run – more or less dragging the Kommandant with him.
Again, the planes opened fire and the detonations which shredded the last cars into pieces pushed both men to their limits; mortal fear and desperation gave them the strength to run even faster.
Hogan began to pelt in a zig-zag pattern, shouting the direction he was heading for every time to let Klink know when to run to the right or to the left.
Soil flew up behind and beside them, as one of the air fighter's pilots chose them as his target. That they weren't hit again was pure luck – as if Fortuna herself held her hands over one of her favorite children and his protesting companion.
How they made it was beyond Hogan, but all of sudden they reached the trees and plunged into the holey roof of the leafless branches the woods presented in the moment. Still Hogan didn't dare stop but continued to run; pulling the sputtering and whimpering Oberst with him – deeper and deeper into the forest. The colonel knew of the increased radar capabilities that allowed the Allied air forces to detect even small targets, and he didn't want to risk being spotted by them.
He heard how the fighters raced over the woods; searching for the real and perceived enemies to eliminate them. One of them roared dangerously close over them and a new kick of adrenalin made Hogan act.
"Down!" he wheezed and pushed Klink to the ground before he threw himself above his German counterpart – giving into his protective instincts. He listened to the engines blaring above and then away from him and Klink, but he didn't dare to rise again as new gunfire rattled through the dark evening a few hundred meters to their left. Obviously, the pilots went for Hochstetter and his men now.
Carefully lifting his head, Hogan looked around. He was out of breath, the stale taste of fire and ashes was in his mouth, adrenalin burnt in his veins and his heart hammered like a wild drum, but at least he was alive – as was Klink. The older man hadn't moved until now, and Hogan could feel the Oberst gasping for air. Klink had never been keen about sports. The days Hogan and his team had tried to give the Kommandant a sport training by letting him pump irons which ended in a disaster, were still clear in Hogan's memories.
"You okay?" he panted; lifting his weight from Klink's body.
In secrecy the Oberst usually would have loved to have Hogan pressed all over him, but just right now he was glad the younger man removed himself. Despite his slender build, Hogan was heavy. No wonder given his broad shoulders and the muscles Klink had never seen clearly but had recognized in the way Hogan moved and how he was able to lift weights he – Klink – wouldn't even be able to lift one centimeter.
Feeling Hogan's hand on his back again, he tried to roll around – and cried out anew as a burning pain shot up his leg and arm. Looking up he could barely make out Hogan's concerned face hovering above him.
"Colonel Klink, are you okay?" the American officer repeated; slapping himself mentally a second later. Of course, the man was not all right given the pain he was obviously in. "Are you hit somewhere else besides your calf and arm?"
"Isn't it enough?" Klink moaned; closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm done for."
Hogan made a face. "Oh, come on, don't be such a drama-queen," he sighed; sitting down on his butt. "You just showed so much courage, don't take that image away so quickly."
Klink glanced back at him and lifted his head from the ground; smiling proudly for a moment. "I did, didn't I?" His smiled widened. "I'm a hero."
Hogan rolled his eyes and inwardly shook his head. Sometimes Klink really acted like a child, yet he had to admit that indeed it had been a very brave thing the Oberst did a minute or two ago. It had been heroic, no doubt.
"You came back for me and saved my life – despite the hundreds of bullets which blew up in our faces," he said quietly; his mind only now began to understand fully what Klink had done for him. "Thank you, Wilhelm," he added softly; eyes gentle.
"You did the same for me moments later," Klink answered; feeling warmth bubbling deep in him for a few seconds. Hogan had challenged the Grim Reaper he was about to escape, only to help him – Klink. It made him feel fuzzy all over. "Danke (thank you), Robert."
Hogan moistened his lips. To hear Klink calling him by his given name did odd things to his heart. Never before the Oberst had addressed him this personally and Hogan was uncertain what to make of his reaction to it. It was strange. Usually this kind of flip-flop inside of him followed after a pretty woman batted her eyelashes at him and she was his type, but certainly not because a guy addressed him by his first name.
In the dim light of the moon that hung in the bare branches, and the light of the fires a hundred meters away, both men looked at each other for a long moment. Klink had lost his monocle and dirt was smeared all over his face. Hogan knew that he himself didn't look any better, but he didn't care. To get clean was the least of their problems, as the air was again pierced with new gunfire and the roaring engines of the returning air fighters.
"You Americans really don't give up easily," Klink groused, and Hogan pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment.
"We're not safe here."
"You don't say," Klink commented with a rare shown sense of wry humor.
"Come on then," Hogan urged, rose and pulled the older man to his feet. The Oberst muffled a further outcry and gritted his teeth; accepting the colonel's help as they stumbled deeper into the woods – leaving the place that had almost brought them death.
Behind them the attack continued, and Hogan knew that they weren't out of danger yet, but with every meter they were able to distance themselves from the clearing, his hope of escaping mortal danger grew…
TBC…
Yeah, Klink outgrew himself for the first time since WW I – but not for the last time. There is a dark, stony way both are going to face within the near future, and how much it will demand of them, remains to be seen.
Concerning Hochstetter: I always regarded him as a very dangerous man. One, who do not stop at everything to reach his goal, but also has an own kind of cowardice that isn't easy to realize on the first sight but is really there. The Gestapo and the SS were the most cruel and twisted unions in the history of my country, and I think Hochstetter was perfectly portrayed in 'Hogan's Heroes' – so don't be surprised if 'my' Hochstetter acts in a way you would call criminal today.
I also admired the few times Klink showed some backbone and acted bravely. Yes, those scenes were rare, but they exist. And I always imagined: What is needed to give the 'Iron Eagle' back his wings. Believe me, this chapter and the following one are only the beginning of a fallen eagle becoming a phoenix – out of sense of honor, decency and above all love.
Latter will be shown in the next chapter, but also how Hogan ticks. Both men are needing each other to survive not only the war, but also the many stones which are thrown into their way – and Hogan is no one who let someone fall or leaves behind, who not only saved his life, but he also regards as a friend (as much as he wants to deny it).
There begins a slowly change in the relationship of the two men…
I hope you liked the second chapter and I'm really curious what you think of it, so any feedback is more than welcomed.
Have a nice rest of the week,
Love
Yours Starflight
