Hi, my dear readers,
Just back from my holidays, I was happy to find my dear beta-reader's mail in my inbox with the next edited chapter. Therefore you don't have to wait too long to get the new installment.
Like already told, in our Heroes have no reason to doubt that their beloved superior and friend is dead (keep some handkerchiefs near), but then the surprises start.
Thank you so much for the feedback I got on the last chapter; I'm glad that you enjoy the story so far.
Have fun with the next chapter,
Love,
Yours Starflight
Chapter 6 – Returns
"It's half past seven o'clock and Schultz hasn't summoned us for roll call?" Carter glanced baffled from one of his fellow prisoners and friends to the next. They had all barely slept and even those minutes when tiredness had overwhelmed them, had been restless. The fear for their leader – their dear friend – was too deep.
"It's pitch dark outside," Newkirk reported; looking out of the open the window that was covered with frost. "Even the searchlights at the towers are still not working."
"So, the power hasn't returned," Kinchloe grumbled, who tried to switch on the light for the fifth time. They had lit a few candles on the table to at least see something. "Whatever is the reason for the power blackout, it's serious."
All of sudden the light flickered on and cheers broke out. After a few more flickers it remained stable but dimmed.
"Finally," LeBeau sighed.
"Mates, Schultz is hurrying to Klink's office. He'll certainly call Hammelburg now with the power back on," Newkirk said and closed the window. Quickly they set up the 'coffee-pot' to eavesdrop the talk from Schultz's side within the Kommandantur. They would miss too much if they went down into the tunnels to listen to the whole conversation at the telephone exchange.
"Hochstetter returned during the night?" Schultz's voice sounded from the tiny speaker, caught by the hidden microphone in Klink's office. "Why didn't you call…", "Yes, we had a power blackout...", "No, we were cut off from the general power supply and our own emergency generator broke down after a few hours." – "Why? I don't care at the moment. I only want to know if Oberst Klink and Colonel Hogan…" Silence began to stretch. Then Schultz's said quietly. "I understand, Sergeant. No, there is no need that Hochstetter calls in person. I… I'll make the next necessary steps.", "What? Yes, Heil…" The soft click showed that the receiver was placed back on the phone before the demanded current usual greeting could be finished, then a desk-chair squeaked, followed by a deep sigh full of sorrow.
The four friends looked at each other with blank expressions; blood running cold.
What they had heard could only mean one thing: Hogan and Klink hadn't made it.
No!
No way!
That couldn't have happened!
Not after all the dangerous and suicidal missions they went through together with Hogan, coming out of the riskiest situations as the winner. Their friend – brother – couldn't have died in a damn ambush by their own allies.
"This… this is not true," LeBeau whispered; his dark eyes filled with tears. "Mon colonel can't be dead."
"Hochstetter is mistaken," Carter murmured. "He certainly only assumes the colonel and Klink dead and misinformed his underlings. Hogan is on his way back to the camp and will come through those gates over there within the next few minutes!" He pointed outside in the direction of the main entrance; his voice shook.
No-one answered – painful silence had befallen Barrack 2.
Newkirk rubbed his temples; a murderous headache was starting as he tried to suppress the rising tears; his heart hurt like it rarely had done before.
Kinchloe lowered his head and balled his hands into fists. He couldn't believe it. No, not Hogan. Not this bright, warm-hearted, kind-spirited man. He never had met a superior officer like him. Hogan didn't see the color of skin, the heritage or the rank, only the person. He had treated him as an equal, contrary to many other officers he had served under.
And London… Kinch had to inform General Butler that his friend Robert Hogan had…
God, Kinchloe couldn't even finish the sentence in his mind. His throat constricted and only his strong self-control prevented him from giving into the sob that rose from the depths of his soul.
The door to the barrack opened and somehow LeBeau had enough presence of the mind to close the 'coffee-pot' before the newcomer could see the wires inside. He looked up and straight into Schultz's sorrowful face.
The Sergeant of the Guards glanced at Hogan's team, saw their pained expressions and even moisture in their eyes, and sighed heavily. "You already know," he said quietly.
Mute nodding was the answer. "Boys, I'm… I'm so sorry," he murmured crestfallen; not giving a damn about how they already knew of something he had gotten affirmation of only minutes ago. "Colonel Hogan was… he was a fine man – a real gentleman and…" Hans was lost for words. He heard a whine and as he glanced down he saw LeBeau tightly crossing his arms as if he wanted to protect himself against the pain and lowering his head; his tiny frame began to shake. With a "Come here, little cockroach," he simply pulled the small Frenchman against his massive form like he would take a son into his arms; trying to comfort him, even as his own heart was dwelling with sorrow.
For a few moments there was nothing else to hear other than the soft sobbing of Louis, while Andrew buried his face into his hands – shoulders shaking.
"We've to get the bastards who did this to the gov'nor," Newkirk whispered; eyes brimming with moisture. "They've to pay for this."
Kinch nodded; already planning to speak with General Burton in person on the radio and to demand punishment for the fateful overzeal that cost their friend his life. Then he glanced at Schultz, whose eyes were reddened, and remembered what he also heard over the 'coffee-pot', too.
"Schultz," he whispered. "I'm also sorry that we lost Klink. I know that you and he weren't always on the best terms, but I also know that you respected and certainly even liked him. My condolences."
"Thanks," the Bavarian sergeant was able to reply despite the tears which threatened to spill over. "He… he was a good man – with a heart far too soft for this job." He gulped, gulped again – and finally began to weep. "Dammit, I can't go outside like this – seen by the guards," he cried.
For minutes they all sat or stood together – prisoners and the Sergeant of Guards; united in mourning for two men that had been more than superior officers to them. One had been a beloved leader, the other one had turned into something close to a friend – at least for Hogan's core team and the big Bavarian.
Then something pierced their suffering minds. Turmoil was heard from outside, which only reached the men in Barrack 2 just now.
Schultz cursed and wiped one large hand over his round face. He pushed LeBeau with a gentle "Let go of me, son," from himself and went with heavy steps to the door. Rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his coat he opened the door, looked outside – and went rigid.
There, in the light of the now working searchlights he saw Schnitzer's truck parking outside of the areal and three people making their way to the gates. One was Schnitzer, who followed two people wrapped in blankets. One of them supported the other one who limped, and both had covered their heads with the plaids, but in the pale light of the spotlights their faces were unmistakable.
A loud bark of laughter, born of pure delight and relief, was torn from Schultz's throat. "HA-HA, there they are! 'They didn't make it – my ass!' Hochstetter, you mendacious rat! I could tramp you in for making us believe they were dead!"
Hogan's friends had run to the door the moment they heard the sergeant's joyful outburst – hope rising in them like the sun after a long dark night. Could it be…
"It's mon colonel!" LeBeau screamed, as soon as he had recognized Hogan.
The four men more or less tumbled out of the barrack; almost running Schultz over. And they weren't the only one. The moment the other POWs realized that the rumors of their superior officer's eventual death were wrong, they left the barracks – cheering and rejoicing. Even the guards at the gate that was opened at that moment, grinned.
Hogan supported a sniffling and slightly feverish Klink; whose calf gave him hell by now. They had needed almost an hour to reach the camp and Schnitzer had been forced to shovel the road free with Hogan's help a few times. Klink had remained in the truck, yet the Oberst was frozen to the bones again, shivering and coughing – a certain sign that he really suffered a relapse. Hogan felt like shit, too, but the prospect of coming back to his men drove him forwards.
And now, after they climbed out of the truck as two guards outside of the gates had stopped them, the colonel wanted nothing more than to have a warm shower, a nice broth made by LeBeau and a long nap. And one look at Klink's pale face told him that the Kommandant sported the same wishes.
Klink looked at the sight in front of him. The familiar layout of the buildings and fences, the inviting light in his office and the lamps outside of the barracks spoke of homecoming. The spotlights were trained on him and Hogan, and the guards even smiled at him a little bit (and that after they volunteered to have a part in the firing squad that threatened him only a few months ago). The POWs were running towards them now – everyone beaming like crazy.
"Home, sweet home," he sighed, as they entered the camp through the gates; greeted formally but with pleased faces by the guards.
"Yeah!" was all Hogan said but it came from the heart.
Then his men had closed the distance to him, and for a moment Hogan was overwhelmed as he was pulled away from Klink and found himself caught in a group-hug; ranks forgotten. He looked at his friends, saw the remains of shed tears on their pale, tired-out faces, the way they looked in wonder and overjoyed relief at him – and couldn't help himself but began to laugh quietly. Sweet Lord, so these were the tough Heroes who thumbed the Germans' noses over and over again, and who had gained a legendary reputation in Allied High Command and in the Underground? At the moment they reminded him of little boys under the Christmas tree, and he felt warmth at the display of brotherly love they held for him.
"Mon dieu, mon colonel…" LeBeau began, and continued to chatter in French with such speed that Hogan, who spoke a passable French, was not able to translate it properly.
"Thank the Lord, Gov'nor," Newkirk sighed and pulled his friend into a bear hug, before Kinchloe did the same – clapping Hogan on the shoulder.
"You really had us worried here, Colonel," he said.
"I knew you would make it – you and Klink," Andrew piped up; beaming like mad. "I told the others that you were on your way back to the camp – coming through those gates at any minute."
"Carter!" Newkirk groaned.
"I told you!" Andrew insisted; sniffling with shining eyes.
"And who told you this?" Klink asked; driving the others attention towards him.
"It's easy: Colonel Hogan always finds a way out," Carter explained in innocence eagerness. "But I'm glad that you made it too, Kommandant. Boys, we all were worried… I mean, sirs."
"Thank God you're well, Herr Kommandant," Schultz said, who finally reached the group, too. His round face showed his real joy, while his big, still reddened eyes beamed. "The same goes for you, Colonel Hogan. Your men were devasted when they thought you dead."
Klink pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "So, Hochstetter really believed us dead?" He glanced at Hogan. "I'll bet my last shirt that this damn coward didn't even search for us."
"A sergeant from the Gestapo headquarters in Hammelburg and I phoned during the night several times until I had enough and sent Langenscheidt with a search party for you," Schultz began to report informally. "We already assumed that the attack we heard was directed on the convoy, and as Karl found all vehicles destroyed and we got no news from the Gestapo, we believed that really something bad had happened to you and Colonel Hogan. And in the morning, after the power blackout was remedied, I called Hochstetter's office again and one of his undserlings told me that Hochstetter had told him that you and Colonel Hogan hadn't made it. It was like this," he nodded; clearly still troubled by everything despite the current happy ending.
"Ha, that wish was the father to his thought," Klink sneered. "But he will learn soon enough that we're still alive when Burkhalter will have his head for what he did to Hogan. That was attempted murder, nothing else – and he'll pay for this!" Anger mirrored in his eyes and voice, while he shook one balled fist.
"He tried to murder the colonel?" Newkirk gasped; shock written all over his face.
"What exactly happened, Colonel?" Kinch asked Hogan, who recognized that Olson and the camp's medic Sergeant Joe Wilson had joined the group. The other POWs remained at respectful distance but were still grinning like mad. "We only learned that the convoy was attacked by Allied aircrafts and that you and Colonel Klink were killed during the ambush," James continued.
"That is what Hochstetter wanted," the Kommandant growled – and promptly coughed. "But what is the old saying? Dead men live longer or so?" he added after his coughing calmed down.
"Yeah, thanks to you," Hogan answered; looking with open gratefulness at his German counterpart. As he caught the confused gaze of his men and Schultz, he explained, "That I'm still alive is only because of Colonel Klink. When the aircrafts attacked, Hochstetter and his men fled and left me behind while I was still chained to the staff car – hoping that I wouldn't survive the following attack."
"WHAT?" LeBeau outraged.
"This gutless swine!" Andrew snarled.
"Carter, language!" Hogan rebuked him softly.
"He left you to die?" Newkirk growled. "I'll beat the hell out of him the next time he shows his ugly visage here in our camp!"
"How did you escape?" Kinch asked more factual, yet his blazing eyes betrayed his wrath.
"Only because of our Kommandant," Hogan said with an unusually gentle voice; glancing shortly at an almost blushing Klink. "I know now why he got the nickname 'Iron Eagle' – because of his courage. He came back for me despite the salvos which pelted down on us, shot the chains apart and pulled me away seconds before the staff car exploded during the next attack." He laid one hand on Klink's shoulder and returned the almost sheepish look the older man gave him with a warm smile. "I take back any thoughts I sometimes had of you being someone who backs down too easily, Wilhelm. You're one of the bravest men I ever met. Not many people are able to overcome their fright and above all even risk death only to help others."
Klink gazed with big eyes at the American. Hogan was serious for once, this much he could tell. And as he saw the soft smile that curled the colonel's lips ever so slightly, he felt flushed all over. Warmth spread through his heavy limbs, made his heart beat quicker and raised his pulse. He knew that he was smiling like an idiot, but he couldn't help himself in the moment.
The four Heroes stared flabbergasted first at their superior officer, then at Klink and then back again. Was Hogan pulling their legs or had Klink really outgrown himself by saving the colonel despite mortal danger?
Schultz smiled knowingly to himself, before he addressed Klink with a gentle, "Always knew that you had it in you, Herr Kommandant."
"Thanks, Schultz," Klink murmured; hoping that the other took his burning cheeks for signs of his fever.
Newkirk shook his head in wonder. "I never thought that I would say this, but thank you, Kommandant. A big, fat thank-you from all of us."
"Yeah, I agree," Kinchloe smiled. "Colonel Hogan is more than our commanding officer. He's our friend." He glanced with brotherly warmth at the colonel, who shrugged with a hue of embarrassment.
"Stop it, fellas, or you'll make me blush, too."
"Herr Kommandant… I'm glad that the rumors of yours and Colonel Hogan's death were highly overrated!" Langenscheidt stopped beside Schultz and smiled at Klink. He was a little out of breath and his uniform jacket wasn't correctly buttoned up. It was more than obvious that he had just came out of bed; risen by the cheers and shouts outside.
Klink was about to rebuke him for such an appearance, then he took a closer look and saw the dark circles beneath the corporal's eyes, the paleness and the dull eyes. He glanced at Schultz and saw the same, just like Hogan's men. "Didn't sleep well last night?" he asked no-one in particular, and it was Schultz who answered,
"We all could barely close our eyes – sick with worry for you and Colonel Hogan."
Klink only nodded; almost embarrassed by the sudden display of comradeship. He wasn't used to something like this. He knew that Schultz cared – and Langenscheidt a little bit, too – but this clear concern was a surprise for him.
At the same moment the lights began to flicker anew before they stabilized again. The incident brought a relieving distraction for Klink. "Schultz, what's the matter with our power supply?" he demanded in his well-known sharp tone.
"Well, it is like this, Herr Kommandant. During the night – shortly after Langenscheidt returned from the search party – the emergency generator failed to cover for the official power blackout. We examined it, but only found the error in the morning." He sighed; his tiredness was now clearly seen on his face. "The thing is tinkered together from old spare-parts after all, and I don't think it will be functional for much longer."
Klink rolled his eyes. "Well, I hope it will work during the next nights, otherwise we've a real problem. But first I must call Burkhalter. He has to learn what Hochstetter did." He shrugged off the blanket and handed it Schnitzer. "Here, please return it to the Obermayers, once again with my thanks."
"I will," the veterinarian answered and took the plaid.
"The same from me," Hogan said and gave his own blanket to Schnitzer.
Klink had already begun to head towards his office but stopped after two steps and turned around. "Hogan, you're off roll call until the day after tomorrow. Get some rest and stay in bed. Maybe your cold can be cured before it breaks through fully."
Wilson frowned as he saw the Oberst's movements. "Kommandant, you don't look so well yourself – and you're limping. Are you hurt? After all you ran through a shower of bullets."
Klink blinked for a moment in surprise. Was this real concern the American medic showed for him? Why all of sudden? Because he saved Hogan? Had this one movement of neck-breaking risk smoothened the POW's understandable grudge against him and his position? He didn't dare to believe it.
"Nothing so dramatic, Sergeant, two graze-shots, that's all," he shrugged, before he pointed a finger at his senior POW officer who looked ready to hit the pillow. "Hogan, do as I say. Go to bed and cure yourself." His voice became softer. "And thank you for not leaving me behind but taking care of me."
"You're welcome, sir," the colonel answered with a tiny smile; feeling and seeing the asking glances his men directed at him. Well, they would have to wait until he could tell them of all that had happened since he had been arrested by Hochstetter.
Klink nodded, put his right hand on his back and stormed with his typical stooping posture towards his office – only to stumble to the ground after a few meters with a yelp.
Hogan and the others hastily closed the distance to him, and the colonel heard the Kommandant cursing in colorful German, as he knelt down beside him. "Is it your leg, sir?" he asked; feeling new worry rising in him. God, something really had something changed between them. Hogan had always felt concern when Klink's position as the Kommandant of Stalag 13 had been at stake, but he always had brushed it off with the excuse that he needed Klink's stupidity to continue his missions. Now he knew that he had started to care for his German counterpart many months, maybe even years, ago. Because just like during their trek through the icy woods last evening, he really loathed seeing the older man in pain or suffering.
"Dammit! It can't be that such a little rip can hurt so much," Klink groused; balling his right hand into a fist.
Hogan stood up. "Come on, fellas, help me get the Kommandant on his feet. Wilson, get your kit. Colonel Klink was grazed with bullets on his left calf and upper arm." Together with Newkirk he pulled the Oberst to his feet. "And given his grumpiness, he also relapsed with a cold," he added with the old habit of teasing the German officer, who promptly protested,
"I already told you Hogan, I am not grumpy! Keep that in mind, will you!"
"Just right now you are grumpy," Hogan said innocently, which brought grins to his friends' faces and made Schultz sigh in fond exasperation.
"Do you want to spend a night in the cooler?" Klink threatened, but even he heard that his hoarse voice was anything but serious.
"We already solved this topic yesterday evening, Willie."
"Hogan! How often do I have to tell you not to skip formalities?"
"And you gave me a whole day free," the colonel continued as if he hadn't heard the interjection at all, "including lingering in bed, sir. Oh, and you invited me to coffee. You can't have already forgotten it," Hogan ended his little protest with a poorly hidden smirk.
"Hogan!" Klink growled – and had to cough again. He huffed as he saw the lopsided grin his American counterpart gave him, before Hogan turned towards the Sergeant of the Guards.
"Schultz, take Colonel Klink to his office so that he can call General Burkhalter. And he really needs something warm to drink and maybe a hot foot soak," he all but ordered.
"Is' scho' recht (Bavarian: All right)," Schultz sighed, slung Klink's right arm around his neck and wrapped his own arm around his superior officer's waist. "Anything else, Colonel Hogan?"
"Yeah, I hope the warm showers are functional. I'm freezing my ass off."
"You could use the shower of our guards, Colonel and…"
"SCHUUUUULTZ! Colonel Hogan is still a POW and NOT a guest. And he certainly isn't the one who gives orders here," Klink griped; even if he deep down really wished he could grant the younger man such a favor like a warm shower in the guards' quarters. Sweet Lord, he wouldn't mind warming Hogan the way the colonel did with him last night (or to do more), but there was no possible way for it. As much as he yearned to snuggle into the next bed with the object of his most secret desire, holding each other and trying to find content and peace in each other's arms, the risk of being revealed was too great, especially during the day. And, regrettable, he didn't think Hogan would even agree to such an act.
Besides those points he also had duties which couldn't be delayed anymore. Like calling Burkhalter to tell him of Hochstetter. No, the warm bed had to wait – just like finding some comfort by dreaming of the man who had captured his heart.
Schultz sighed as he heard the typical dressing-down. "Sorry, Herr Kommandant, I almost forgot." Together they made their way to Klink's office, and Hogan wasn't the only one who smiled at the unequal pair.
Wilson watched them walk and addressed the colonel with professional concern. "How bad are his injuries, sir?"
"I can't say for certain," Schnitzer answered the question. "I attended to him as good as I could, but I'm usually treating animals, not humans, so you should have a closer look at it." He smiled shortly at Hogan. "I'll return the blankets to the Obermayers and then drive home. I have to take care of my dogs. They haven't seen me since yesterday. Have a good day, Hogan – gentlemen!"
"Thank you, Oskar, the same for you. And thank you for your help."
The older man nodded. "You are welcome, Hogan." He glanced at the others. "Keep an eye on him, boys. He has this terrible streak of getting into trouble."
While Hogan rolled his eyes, the others began to snicker and bid the veterinarian good-bye, who left the camp, nodded at the guards and climbed back into this truck, while the colonel and his team walked towards Barrack 2. Smiles, claps on his shoulders and words of relief and joy accompanied Hogan, before he finally reached the wooden building that served him and his friends, as well as ten further men, as 'home'.
Sighing in relief, Hogan pulled a chair beside the oven and sat down; feeling like a big burden had been taken from his shoulder. Rubbing his face, he realized the stubble of a one-day-beard and grimaced. He hated it when he wasn't clean-shaved.
"I'll go down and radio London that you're back," Baker said, before he looked at Kinchloe. "Stay here, Kinch. I'll take over the radio station for you."
"Thanks," Kinchloe smiled and watched how Baker stepped to the bed that hid the secret entrance to the tunnels, hit the mechanism and climbed down the makeshift ladder as soon as it appeared.
"What did they say as you informed them about me being arrested?" Hogan asked.
"They said that they see no chance to get you out if the Gestapo really has proof of you being an Underground agent and that we should be ready to evacuate ourselves," LeBeau groused. "As if we would let you down. They should know us better!" He shook his head and began to prepare a late breakfast.
Hogan frowned. He had given almost the same orders to his men like London did. But, of course, they wouldn't have obeyed them without at least trying to rescue him. He knew that they would risk court martial for insubordination to help him and that he should give them a stern speech concerning the matter, but he knew it would be for naught. And, besides, hadn't he disobeyed London himself when he went straight against orders and saved Tiger from the Gestapo, sending her to England?
'Don't throw stones in a glass-house, Robert!' he reminded himself, before he sighed, "Have you learned who attacked the convoy?"
Gratefully he accepted the cup of coffee Newkirk offered him, while the English corporal told him about the squadron that had been on a mission to bombard some factories in Nürnberg. "Baker made it clear to London that those overzealous pilots have maybe killed you and demanded that the guys will face consequences for it."
"Did you inform London of my presumed death after the phone call between Schultz and Hochstetter's office?"
Newkirk shook his head. "No, there was no time for it after the power came back. First, we were too shocked after we eavesdropped Schultz via the 'coffee-pot', and then you and Klink appeared at the main gate."
LeBeau placed a bowl with broth in front of Hogan. "Did Klink really risk his neck to save you, mon colonel?" he asked, and as the colonel only nodded, he began to beam. "I'll make a dinner for him he will give his eye teeth for."
"Everything is all right," Baker reported while climbing back into the barrack; closing the hidden entrance. "London knows that you're still with us, Colonel, yet they say that we're to hold still for the next days until Burkhalter as called Hochstetter off your neck – hopefully."
"Klink was furious enough to sock Hochstetter if the latter would have been in range," Hogan sighed; rubbing his neck. "I'm sure he'll nag Burkhalter's ears of getting Hochstetter for what he did to me – or tried to do."
Newkirk shook his head. "I never thought that old Klink would put the life of someone else above his own – at least the life of a prisoner. No offence here, Gov'nor."
"No offence taken, Newkirk," Hogan answered. "I remember the occasion when Klink turned into full protective mode as Hochstetter demanded that the half of our guards here should support some dangerous mission of his. Klink denied him any support. And Klink also steps in front of us whenever someone threats us." He took a sip of his coffee. "Yet this was more. He was… terrified of the hell around us two, but this didn't stop him from coming to my rescue, getting injured in the process. Even after he was grazed with the shots my safety remained a priority for him – screaming at me to run for cover while he lay wounded in the open, a clear target for the pilots in the aircrafts." He frowned. "I always knew that he had some fierceness left in him – that he is like a ticking time-bomb with all the pressure he has to endure as the Kommandant of a POW-camp, howling with the wolves which sing a song he loathes. His life is like a dance on the high wire – just like yours and mine. But that this all would make him become a fighter not for his own safety but for others' is something that never occurred to me before."
"Schultz said that Klink would take any risk if it comes to your safety," LeBeau mused. "But he didn't want to tell us, why."
Thoughtfully Hogan pursed his lips. "He took a big risk to get to me," he murmured. "That was almost suicide as he returned to free me from the chain that tied me to the car, while the bullets flew around us. And…" He hesitated.
For a moment he wanted to tell the others that his German counterpart had practically ordered him to flee – to get away from Germany. But out of a reason he couldn't put a finger on, he rejected it. Klink's command that Hogan should escape was high treason – and something absolutely private between them; just like last night. Of course, the latter hadn't been anything that could be called criminal. It was only logical to share body-heat under the given circumstances, but Klink's reaction when he was still in half-sleep and afterwards in the morning, stirred something in the colonel that prevented him from speaking about it. First, he would have to think everything through, before he could utter a word about it.
"And what?" Carter asked curiously.
"Nothing," Hogan shrugged it off. "He got injured and fell. I returned to him, pulled him up and together we made it to the woods before the pilots in the aircrafts could hit us. Hochstetter and his fellows had left in another direction, and because we both really didn't want to be guests in the Gestapo headquarters, we tried to return to the camp."
"Have you two tramped the whole night through the woods?" Kinch asked worried, while sitting down at the table.
"No, we found shelter in a farm house as the snowstorm got nasty. Schnitzer was visiting the residents, recognized Colonel Klink and me, aided us and his hosts let us stay overnight."
"You could have made an escape," Newkirk said quietly; pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Hochstetter will not let you off the hook, Colonel."
"I couldn't leave you behind, fellas," Hogan said softly. "We're a team – thick as thieves. I knew you would worry your head off about what had happened to me, and I didn't want you to mourn when there is no reason for it." He sighed. "And, by the way, Klink was indeed wounded. He wouldn't have made it back to the camp alone. I owe him – and, besides, he earned my respect long ago as I realized that he is in his own way a man of honor. Officially an enemy or not – I… just couldn't let him down."
Newkirk and LeBeau exchanged a glance. Typical Hogan!
*** HH ***
"Yes, Herr Sergeant, this would be all. Thank you and Heil… whatsoever!" Klink ended the call and grimaced. "Burkhalter is on his way to the Führer headquarters for a meeting that will last the whole day. I ask myself if they can do anything in Berlin other than talking, talking, talking. The war is as good as lost, and instead of thinking of a way to lessen the losses and how to handle the Allied Forces when they take over, they are talking about how to continue the mess." He shook his head. "I really don't get it."
Schultz, who had prepared a tea for his superior officer, sighed deeply. He knew that Klink would be in deep, hot water if anybody could hear him speaking like this, but he couldn't blame the Oberst. He himself had the same thoughts.
"Maybe they simply do talk about everything that will happen afterwards," he offered, and Klink waved his hand.
"The brass will not recognize the truth until it jumps into their faces with a blow worthy of a boxing-champion." He gratefully accepted the cup of tea. "Is everything else in order here? Are all prisoners present?"
Schultz gulped. Roll call! He hadn't made a roll call this morning. He could only hope that all prisoners were still in the camp. "Well… I think so," he said lamely.
Klink stared at him. "What does that mean? Haven't you made a roll call this morning?"
"Uh… well… you see… With the generator blacked out and…" Schultz pushed his helmet back and straightened his large form. "No, sir, there was no roll call this morning," he admitted.
The Oberst went rigid. "I should give you extra-shifts for this laziness, Schultz," he said sharply, before his face softened. "But I know that worry can lead to something like this." He watched his substitute carefully. He took in the pale face, the small, red eyes and frowned. "Have you slept at all last night?"
"No, sir, not really. There was no time for it."
Klink sighed. "Well, then it's time for you to go to bed." He rose. "Help me over to my quarters so that this Ami-quack can have a look on my injuries. And then you are dismi…" A coughing fit interrupted his sentence, and as it finally calmed down, he found Schultz bending over him; face crinkled with concern.
"Come on, Herr Kommandant, you should find some rest, too." He fetched Klink's coat that still hung at the hook since yesterday afternoon, helped him into it and followed his superior out of the office. Together they walked through the snow-covered yard towards the single building that held Klink's quarters and where Wilson was already waiting for them.
Two times Schultz had to support Klink, who finally accepted the help gratefully.
Thoughtfully the Oberst looked up at the man who had become his confidant during the last years.
He knew Schultz was slow-minded, but not stupid. And he had a good heart; trying to be all things to all men, which was impossible. He could be tough if really necessary, but most times he was far too indulgent – especially with the prisoners. He took his duties seriously, yet he too often got involved in private with the POWs – something Klink couldn't hold against him. After all, he himself allowed a certain American POW to manipulate him over and over again – out of personal reasons, too.
And there were two things about Schultz, Klink held in high regard. First, the sergeant knew about Klink's 'weakness' and neither revealed him to his superiors, nor did he judge him. The reason for it was also the second thing that made Klink thinking well of the large Bavarian sergeant: Loyalty.
Schultz was down-right loyal to him, even if he groused here and there about Klink's orders or moods, but it didn't change his fidelity. Klink would never forget how Schultz broke him out of the cooler and tried to bring him to safety after he had been accused of high treason and waited for his execution. Yes, it had been Hogan's idea how to clear Klink's name in the end, but Schultz had – indeed – risked his own life as he freed his superior officer and tried to help him to escape.
Klink would bet any money that Schultz and Hogan had worked hand in hand to get him out of the trouble he had maneuvered himself into, and Klink had finally realized that Schultz was a true friend. Maybe one of the few real friends he had.
Friends…
To tell the truth, he hadn't many of them. If he was brave enough to admit it to himself, the only real friends he had were here in this camp – the Sergeant of the Guards and the senior POW officer. But, like he comforted himself, they were indeed friends, and not these lickspittles the high-ranking staff-officers and politicians were surrounded with. Klink preferred his situation, because he knew when something became hairy he could always count on these two men – and Hogan's team. Yes, they were wary of him out of duty – after all he was 'the enemy' – but he knew that they didn't loath or hate him, and this was more than all other Stalag-Kommandanten could tell of themselves.
TBC…
So, I do hope you liked the homecoming after our Heroes mourned their friend at first so much. And, of course, they are thunderstruck that Klink, of all people, saved the day the way he did. But latter isn't the only thing that has begun to change the 'relationship' between Hogan and his German counterpart – and in the following chapter Hogan will start to think more closely about the possible reasons which made Klink react the way he did.
Like always, I would be happy to get some reviews / comments.
Have a nice rest of the week,
Love
Yours Starflight
