Hi, my dear readers,

I'm happy that I can already present you the next chapter – thanks to Lils, who does the beta-reading in the moment. Thank you so much, dearie. I also want to thank you all for the feedback. I know that the story is dark in the moment and that you all hope for the 'cavalry' to appear, but nothing is easy in those sinister days before the war's end.

I want to warn all of you, who are a sensible, because there's two scenes in this chapter which are very hard.

Nonetheless there are also some funny and emotional scenes I'm sure you're going to like, so brace yourself for a big rollercoaster of feelings.

Have fun

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 11 – A tiny light of hope

"You can't be serious!" It was rare that Louis LeBeau raised his voice while speaking to a woman. He regarded himself as the perfect French gentleman, who always treated a lady correctly while trying his best to flirt with her, but just right now he was about to explode.

"I am sorry, LeBeau, but Hans Wagner went with Danzig, his brother has a mission in Frankfurt and Müller is alone here. Three others are busy with an operation in Nürnberg and…"

"You can't tell me that there is not one guy of the Underground left in Hammelburg!" LeBeau raged.

"No, I'm here – Oskar Schnitzer is here, but he is very well known to all the officials within the town, so he can't take any action. Okay, we've a few boys and girls left, but they are still green behind the ears. Hans said he can be back by tomorrow and he will try to organize something during this day so that we can try to get Hogan out tomorrow, but not sooner."

She glanced down at her guest who had stayed the night on her sofa. That he hadn't slept well hadn't slipped her attention, because she could often hear him walking back and forth within the last hours. She could understand him. She knew how close the men Hogan had gathered around himself were and that they loved their superior officer like a brother. Knowing he was being tortured and facing execution had to make them mad with worry and fury.

LeBeau let off a stream of French curses, while he looked down on his wristwatch. "It's half past six. Hogan has been in Hochstetter's mercy for more than twenty hours now. The Gestapo is never gentle, but this bosche is insane and hates mon colonel like nothing else. One day more in the clutches of this bastard could be too much, even for a man like Hogan." He shook his head. "Non, we've to act today – and I know what to do."

He began to walk down the stairs, and 'Red Riding Hood' looked at him, concerned . "What do you want to do?"

Down on the ground level, LeBeau glanced back upstairs, and snapped, "Something I never thought I would want to do, but I've no other chance left: Getting help from someone who turned out to be more of a hero just two days ago, than some people I knew for more than two years!"

The door was closed softly as to not elicit any attention, after all he didn't know if the curfew had officially ended, even after the power had been restored. Slipping out on the street, LeBeau looked carefully around himself, then he began to jog. He had the unpleasant feeling that every minute counted now.

*** HH *** HH ***

"Sergeant Schultz?" The young nurse shook the large figure who slept on the spare bed beside Klink's room. She needed three attempts until he finally woke up – still groggy and clearly not fully wake.

"Wha-ish'n?" he mumbled, and the nurse chuckled quietly. The man reminded her of her grandfather and she had taken a liking to the Bavarian.

"Herr Sergeant, you asked my colleague to inform you when the power is back. I only wanted to tell you that the power supply in town has been working again for half an hour now and…"

Schultz woke up properly at this news. "Thank the Lord," he sighed. "Oberst Klink was more than angry as I returned from my failed attempt to reach Stalag 13 because our car is without gasoline." He rose and suppressed a yawn. "If the Oberst wakes up, please tell him that I'm on my way to the camp now and will give word as soon as I'm there."

The young woman nodded. "Of course, Herr Sergeant." She smiled at him. "Be careful, the streets are icy."

He smiled at her, without any attempt of flirting. "I will," he nodded, picked up the empty gas can, saluted and left the room quietly. It was still pitch dark outside as he stepped into the icy morning, and he realized that he hadn't even drunk any coffee or tea – not to speak of breakfast. Sighing, he shook his head, pulled the helmet deeper into his face and stepped onto the street. He would have to walk to the next gasoline station, then back to the car to fill its tank a little bit and then he would drive again to the station to fill up the fuel tank completely. Grumbling he began to stomp through the snow; wishing for a decent breakfast and a nice warm bed afterwards.

*** HH *** HH ***

Leutnant Horst Schmidt closed the door of the little chamber that served as his quarters in the Gestapo-Headquarters since his arrival in Hammelburg, and walked down the corridor. He hadn't slept well this night, even though he was tired. To implement a curfew wasn't an easy task, because the people had to be informed about it in time to avoid misunderstandings, unnecessary arrests and maybe even unfortunate accidents. As he returned late at night he had heard the prisoner's screams again and he had felt sick to his stomach as minutes later a bang of a harshly closed cell door had echoed upstairs and Hochstetter had arrived from the cellars, grousing that the 'damn Ami had lost consciousness again'.

Schmidt had learned from some of the guards that Hochstetter seemed to hold a personal grudge against the American colonel and had been trying to convict him for more than two years. Why the major thought that a POW was an active Underground-member was beyond Schmidt's comprehension. He was trained in revealing secret activities and reading between the lines – he had worked for the Abwehr for three years, after all – but Hochstetter's idea of the American's 'crimes' were too bizarre to be true. And Schmidt couldn't help himself – he felt real compassion for the prisoner. The 'glorious war' Hitler had pronounced had spiraled out of control and had left more and more insanity in its path. Schmidt was sick of it and not for the first time he wished that Count von Stauffenberg would have been successful last year with his planned Attentat (assassination attempt) against Hitler.

Schmidt looked at his wristwatch. It was half past six and his shift would begin in two hours, yet he was unable to find any rest. What was going on within this building, which still bore the tracks of the aircraft attack of two years ago, was madness. He couldn't call it anything else. Of course he knew that many things were getting out of hand within Germany and that the Gestapo and SS got more nervous the nearer the Allied Forces were coming toward the German border, but in Schmidt's opinion this shouldn't lead to tyrannizing their own people – or to torturing POWs because of spurious reasons or, even worse, because of personal grudges.

As he walked down the corridor, he heard the voice of Sergeant Huber from Hochstetter's anteroom; sounding impatient and irritated.

"How often shall I repeat it, Sergeant Diekmann? Major Hochstetter isn't available at the moment." – "Yes, I know that General Burkhalter has an urgent message for him. You already told me as much during the last three calls, but I can't give you any other information."

Schmidt frowned. He could have sworn that he had heard the major's voice from the cellars, so why wasn't he available?

And then the truth began to dawn on him. The prisoner was a POW of the Luftwaffe and he knew that General Burkhalter was responsible for the Stalag-camps. Somehow the general had learned of Hochstetter's doings and wanted to speak with him – certainly about the American who had been suffering like a victim of the Spanish Inquisition for many hours now.

No, this wasn't the way he had been brought up. This wasn't the Germany he had once loved. This wasn't RIGHT!

Making a decision that could be very dangerous for him, Schmidt stepped into the anteroom. "Sergeant, whom do you have on the line?"

The younger man looked up at him, startled. "Herr Leutnant, this is the Luftwaffe-Headquarters in Berlin. They are trying to reach Major Hochstetter, but the Herr Major isn't available and so…"

Schmidt reached for the receiver. "Give it to me!" he ordered and pulled the receiver away from a surprised Huber. If he played it clever maybe he could set a stop to the evil cruelness that was happening beneath his feet.

*** HH ***

Hogan had to cough again, and the pressure in his left side turned anew into searing pain as if someone was pushing knives between his broken ribs. And the posture he was forced in – more or less dangling from the ceiling by the shackles around his sore wrists, his feet barely touching the ground – didn't do anything to lessen the agony.

Out of his left eye he watched Hochstetter, who stood at the small open fire-heater – a metal basket with burning wood – and was more frustrated than he had ever seen the smaller man before. It gave him some satisfaction that his nemesis wasn't triumphing. He hadn't been able to break him until now, and Hogan would try to hold on a little bit longer, even if he had never been in so much pain in his whole life.

And he had had his share of unpleasant experiences – last but not least as an older teen while he even lived out his wild side by vandalism, which had brought him some nasty run-ins with the police. He knew what would have become of him, if he hadn't met a friend of his dad who persuaded him into joining the military. Today the colonel from those days twenty years ago was one of the leading supreme commanders of the Allied High Command – General Butler. Yet even all those incidents in his youth, including brawls with local rockers, hadn't been comparable to what was happening to Hogan now.

Every breath hurt, the skin of his neck and wrists was sore, his whole upper body and even his upper legs had countless bruises, and he knew that his back was a mess. Sweat burnt in the gashes he had gotten from the lashing, the back of his head ached where the blow had left a laceration and his strained muscles and sinews trembled. The concussion he'd suffered made his mind and his eye sight foggy, and he had vomited until nothing was left in his stomach. Thirst and hunger racked him, and that he still gave Hochstetter trouble was only because he was too stubborn to give in.

"I really lose patience with you, Hogan," Hochstetter growled. He had stripped off his jacket and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. Fury lay in his eyes as he glared at the torn figure that hung from the ceiling, shirtless, bleeding, sweating, beaten – yet Hogan kept his secrets to himself. He hadn't given him any answers to his questions. The only words he had uttered were insults or rank, name and serial-number. Hogan was stronger than the major had anticipated, and it angered him a lot. Too much time was needed to break him.

Hochstetter knew that Burkhalter's office had been trying to reach him since the main power had been restored, and he had a good idea what the general wanted to tell him. He would order him to leave Hogan alone and return him to Stalag 13. Burkhalter, who usually wasn't squeamish himself, grew a conscience when it came to the POWs and especially to Hogan. That was the problem when you knew someone personally for quite some time. Even a prisoner became a person then and scruple followed quickly. Hochstetter hadn't such qualms. He did his job and people who were a threat to the Fatherland were lower beings than animals for him. Mercy didn't belong in his personal dictionary.

And, besides, he couldn't give up now. Not so shortly before he reached his goal. Hogan was on the verge of breaking, and then he would tell him everything he wanted to know. Hochstetter couldn't allow to be pipped at the post now.

So, he had given orders that he wasn't 'available' at the moment. It fell to Burkhalter to prove otherwise, which he couldn't. Even if the general, whom he knew to be in Berlin for a few days, would decide to check on everything personally like he did ever-so-often, Hogan would be already dead and buried by then.

Glancing at his nemesis, Hochstetter said slowly, "What happened until now is only one of several steps, Hogan, and we both know that you can't hold on for very much longer. Why suffer when you can put an end to everything and face the inevitable?"

"There is nothing I have to tell you," Hogan rasped; his voice barely recognizable anymore.

"A shame," Hochstetter shrugged, took the poker and raked the fire. "I hoped that it wouldn't come to the utmost, but you have left me with no other possibility." He pulled the poker out of the flames and stepped towards the colonel, whose one, still fully functioning eye fell on the tool and widened in alarm. Lifting the metal, Hochstetter held it in front of Hogan's face; showing him that the poker didn't end in a hook, but in the double-s-rune – the symbol of the SS. And it was glowing almost white with heat.

"No!" Hogan whispered; horrified. "No, you can't do this!"

"Regrettably, I have to," the major answered coldly.

Hogan had faced several different methods to make him suffer and he had thought he had gotten the worst, but this was something that made him tremble. The prospect of being branded woke something close to panic in him. Trying to step back as wide as the chains allowed, he panted, "Is this your gratitude that I saved your life last year?"

"When did you save my life?" Hochstetter sneered.

"The fire in the cooler… I got you out before you could suffocate," the colonel croaked; his belly churned with icy fear.

"Yes, I remember, but unfortunately the situation doesn't allow any personal feelings to get in the way," the Gestapo-officer taunted.

"What else is this?" Hogan shouted back. "This is nothing else than you getting your revenge on me because I didn't shiver whenever you raise your voice."

Hochstetter laughed quietly. "But just right now you are trembling, my dear Colonel, aren't you?" He aimed with the poker at Hogan's belly. "Tell me with whom you met last Monday and…"

"It wasn't me!" Hogan tore at the chains as he felt the hellish heat nearing his unprotected right side – a spot that was most sensitive. 'No! Please, God, NO!'

"Tell me!" Hochstetter snarled.

"It wasn't me," the colonel screamed; panicking now. "I swear! I was in the camp. Ask Klink! We played chess for the whole evening. For God's sake, Hochstetter, ask Klink! Please!" He couldn't prevent his voice from becoming shrill, while his chest heaved with unshed tears of terror. He turned his head away and closed his good eye as the heat became unbearable; expecting the burning agony any second. 'Please, God, NO! Don't allow this. Please – PLEASE!'

"Major Hochstetter!"

Hochstetter angrily turned around. "Yes?" he snapped and glared at the intruder. It was Leutnant Schmidt, who stood in the doorway – face pale and eyes wide, while he looked at Hogan with shock. "Is there something important or do you want to learn how to get a stubborn mule to obey?" the major growled impatiently.

Schmidt's gaze wandered over the bleeding, sweating and trembling figure that tried desperately to avoid the glowing poker Hochstetter held in his hand. The Leutnant had listened to the short conversation long enough to know that all this here was mostly something very personal between the major and the prisoner – some sick kind of revenge, and it made Horst nauseous. If the prisoner really was an Underground-agent or not didn't change the fact that he was still a human being. And no man should be going through such hell. They weren't in the Middle Ages anymore, for God's sake!

Taking a deep breath (and regretting it instantly because of the ugly smell within this room), he answered, "Sir, I've General Burkhalter's assistant on the line."

"I'm not available," Hochstetter interrupted him. "I already gave Huber the instruction to…"

"Sir, I know that you don't want to be disturbed, but you see, I spoke with the general's assistant on the phone, and he warned me that the general will call his personal friend Reichsführer Himmler and is going to demand your arrest if you don't answer the phone within the next minutes." He cleared his throat. "I thought that this is important enough to ignore your order and get you."

Hochstetter stared at him – quivering with fury. No! He couldn't be called off just before he would have broken his nemesis. He knew that being branded would be Hogan's breaking point. Turning around towards the colonel, he raised the poker, heard the colonel's shallow breaths quickening, saw the sheer fright in the one eye visible and…

"Herr Major, the Luftwaffe-Headquarter is still on the line. I don't think it would be wise if you let them wait any longer." Schmidt sounded calm – and far too reasonable for Hochstetter's liking at the moment.

With a furious "Bah!" he threw the poker back into the fire and stormed towards the door. "Don't cheer too soon, Hogan, we're not done here! I will get the truth out of you – even if I have to brand every inch of your body!" He left and raced towards the stairs; grousing the whole time.

Schmidt looked back at the prisoner. He seemed to be somewhere in his thirties, but Horst couldn't be certain because of the bruises the man had in his face. The right eye was too swollen to be usable, blood and sweat mingled on his abused upper body and his breath was alarmingly hollow. 'Sweet Lord, this went too far,' he thought, before he slowly closed the distance to the prisoner.

"Colonel Hogan, right?" he asked softly.

The other man only eyed him, body and breath trembling violently.

"I am Horst Schmidt," the Leutnant continued quietly. "I heard what the major said – and what you said. Klink is the commanding officer of Stalag 13, isn't he?"

Hogan didn't know what to make of all this. His brain had problems comprehending everything that was going on after the panic began to ebb away a little bit. But the name 'Klink' reached something within him. He nodded slowly as far as it was possible in the way he was restrained.

"You have a watertight alibi for what the major accuses you of, because you played chess with the Oberst. Did I understand this correctly?"

Again, he had to wait a few seconds, before he got a reaction. "Yes," the American rasped out. "Hochstetter… refuses to ask him. Klink… is in hospital but… not dangerously wounded."

Schmidt nodded slowly. "Hochstetter skips asking the Oberst, because afterwards he would have no further reason to keep you here. This all here is personal, isn't it?" The hoarse 'yes' was barely audible.

The Leutnant took another deep breath. "I can't promise you anything, but I'll try to help you. You may be an enemy to my Fatherland, but you are also a human being. And this here isn't the German way I was taught. Can you hold on for a little while longer?"

"I'll try," Hogan whispered; not daring to hope that one of Hochstetter's own men wanted to help him.

"Good," Schmidt nodded, before he turned around and raised his voice. "Guards!"

The two SS-men, who had waited outside, appeared on the threshold. Straightening his frame, Schmidt ordered sternly, "Get the colonel down, loosen his ties and give him something to drink!"

"But sir, Major Hochstetter ordered…" one of the men began, but was interrupted sharply.

"And now I order you to obey my commands! Do I have to pull rank, Corporal? Do as I say. The prisoner is of no use if he dies of dehydration and circulatory failure."

Obviously nervous, the two guards began to do as ordered. Schmidt stepped to the fire-basked and took out the poker. "I'll take this with me," he said to Hogan, then he vanished. Determined he quickly climbed the steps and went to his chamber. Closing the door behind him he held the poker for another long moment in his hand – becoming sick again as he imagined how the two iron runes would burn into human skin.

Cursing he opened the window and threw the poker out into the garden at the backside of the building, where it landed with a hissing in the snow and melted through it. 'At least there it can't do any harm,' he thought, closed the window, took his coat and walked towards the main entrance. He knew what he had to do.

*** HH *** HH ***

Schultz was in bad mood, after he had first walked to the gasoline station, had to wake the owner to get some very much needed gas, then wandered back to the staff-car, filled in the few liters into the tank before he drove to the station and finally back to the hospital. He would report to Klink that the car's tank was filled now (if the Oberst was already awake, that was) and would wait for maybe some more orders, before he would drive to Stalag 13. Parking the car in front of the main-entrance, he climbed out, stepped into the building and went up the staircase as he heard a very familiar voice with an unmistakable French accent clamoring,

"But I have to speak with Colonel Klink! It's a matter of life and death!"

Speeding up, Schultz turned around the next corner and saw no-one else than Louis LeBeau standing in front of the night nurse – arms crossed, swearing like a trooper and at the verge of throwing a raging fit.

"LeBeau?" he gasped; not trusting his eyes. "How… What are you doing here? How did you…"

"SCHULTZIE! Mon Dieu, merci!" LeBeau cried out in relief, while he dashed towards the Sergeant of the Guards. Finally, he would make process. "Schultzie, I have to speak with Colonel Klink. Hochstetter arrested Hogan yesterday and the camp was taken over by the Gestapo. Klink has to help mon colonel! Hochstetter said that Hogan wouldn't come back, and he has had him now for many hours. Quick, Schultz, we've to do something!" His voice cracked with urgency, while he gripped the larger man's upper arms and tried to shake him.

"I don't permit so much noise during…" The night nurse was interrupted, as LeBeau whirled around and pointed a finger at her.

"Our friend is being tortured and faces death, and you damn hag dare to…"

"What did you call me?" the woman screeched.

"Was ist hier los? (What's going on here?)" Klink stood in the door frame to his sick-room, wearing only his nightgown and a pair of slippers. At least the always present monocle was placed over his left eye, while his hair stood out into any direction – giving him a resemblance to a typical crazy professor. He looked tired with bags beneath his eyes, cheeks red with fever and his voice sounded hoarse, yet he stood surprisingly tall there.

"Colonel Klink!" the little Frenchman gasped, feeling for once indeed some joy at seeing the other man, and raced towards him.

Klink – torn out of sleep because of the loud voices near his room, groggy from the fever and the medicaments, with limbs like lead and suffering with the whole load of symptoms a nasty bronchitis gives everybody – stared wide-eyed at one of his POWs, who… who shouldn't be here at all!

"LeBeau?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Louis was at full speed as he reached Klink and almost ran him over, while he gripped the Oberst's under arms and spoke in one quick rush,

"Colonel Klink, you have to help! Hochstetter took Colonel Hogan yesterday. One of his men said that the colonel wouldn't return anymore, and a few bosches punched mon colonel, manhandled him and Hochstetter took over Stalag 13. You have to do something, or mon colonel will die. I'm sure they're torturing him and… and we have to help him!" He looked from one German officer to the next – eyes wide and pleading with desperation. He had staked everything on one card as he saw no other alternative than to go to Klink for help. If he was mistaken and the Oberst wouldn't risk new trouble with Hochstetter, Hogan's life was forfeit.

Klink was wide awake by now, bronchitis and graze-wounds forgotten. Hogan – arrested by Hochstetter. The man who had somehow become the center of his universe was at the mercy of a madman who had searched for two years for a reason to kill the American. What Klink had feared most had come true. While he was in hospital the Gestapo-major had reacted and had taken Hogan with him. Klink had no doubt what Hogan had been going through since then, and it made him shiver inwardly with dread.

Maybe Robert was still alive. He had to be! Klink couldn't imagine anything else without feeling the shadow of insanity gripping for him. He couldn't lose the only person in the whole world who gave him a reason to live. Not after three years – not after having a taste of the caring man beneath the boyish troublemaker he had yearned for so long.

The shock of maybe having lost the love of his life woke something in him that seemed to have died almost twenty years ago. He had felt its shadow touching him the evening before yesterday, as he had raced back into the shower of bullets to save Hogan, but now he sensed its full presence. Deep in him something he thought he had lost moved again, and began to rise with stiff but large wings.

Looking towards the sergeant, he bellowed, "Schultz, tell me the car's tank is filled!"

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst, the car is…"

Klink didn't let him finish but already whirled around towards his room. "Nurse, help me with my clothes. LeBeau, come with me!"

"Herr Oberst, I can't allow you…"

The night nurse was cut off, as Klink turned around and stared with suddenly blazing eyes at her. "Either you help me get dressed in no time and prepare some medicaments I can take with me, or I see to it that you're fired!"

"What's going on here?" Dr. Thomas Birkhorn came down the hallway; his doctor coat full of crinkles that proved he been on call last night and had slept fully clothed on a makeshift bed. His gaze found the enraged nurse, the nervous large sergeant, the Oberst and… Sweet Lord, this was LeBeau! Birkhorn managed in the very last second to control his features, otherwise he would have given away his surprise of seeing the Frenchman here which would have shown that he knew a man he officially hadn't met until now.

"I have to leave this welcoming hospital. It's an emergency," Klink called over his shoulder; already stripping off his nightgown. "LeBeau, come in and pack my belongings. Every minute counts!"

Usually Louis would have given some impudent comments, definitely mentioning it was against the Geneva Convention to force a POW into doing private work for his jailers, but in this case LeBeau didn't mind lending a helping hand to Klink. Racing into the room, he caught the nightgown Klink threw at him and put it into the small suitcase that was placed beside the door. Like this he not only saw the two bandages around the German's left upper arm and calf, but also the thin, long, well-healed scar that sported the Oberst's right side. He assumed that it came from a fencing-duel like it was often still done between students of universities or academies.

Birkhorn had stepped into the room, too, accompanied by the still indignant nurse. "Herr Oberst, I don't know what emergency happened in your camp, but I urgently advise you to…"

"Major Hochstetter, this cursed bosche, arrested mon colonel and made it clear that he wouldn't return him in one piece. And this is meant literally," LeBeau explained while packing the slippers. His gaze found the doctor's, and Birkhorn took a sharp breath. Hogan was arrested by the Gestapo? Oh no, that wasn't good. That was one of the worst things that could happen to the Underground!

Klink, in the meantime, got dressed with the nurse's help, while Birkhorn came to a decision. "Herr Oberst, when you're done with getting the POW officer out of the Gestapo's hands, please return to bed. I shall get some medicine you certainly are going to need, for you and your POW. If you or he needs more, let me know." He turned to leave. "We'll meet at the entrance. Please don't drive off without the medicaments!" He hastened away.

Slipping into his coat, Klink reached for his scarf and his cap. His gaze found LeBeau for a moment, and it just dawned at him fully that the little Frenchman shouldn't be out of the camp. "How did you, pray tell, escape Stalag 13?" he asked.

"What shall I say, Colonel? The SS-guys are nothing like your men," LeBeau commented wryly; taking Klink's suitcase to hurry things up.

"No, usually it's impossible to escape the SS," Klink dead-panned; leaving the room with large steps. His left calf hurt, he already felt exhausted from the bronchitis and his head ached, but he ignored it. The only thing – the only man – who counted now was Robert Hogan. Klink didn't dare imagine what had already been done to his American counterpart since he was arrested. Fear crept through the Oberst's heart and soul at the thought of Hogan being tortured for many hours now. He only hoped – prayed even! – that Robert hadn't been pushed too far and could not be rescued anymore; not only physically, but also mentally.

Then it hit him, what LeBeau had also told him. Stopping dead in his tracks he stumbled as LeBeau ran into him; mumbling an apology, "Pardon, Colonel."

"Did you say the Gestapo took over Stalag 13 and that SS-men are now controlling MY camp?" he demanded; enraged.

The little Frenchman looked up at him. "Oui, Colonel. A Leutnant von Neuhaus took over command, threatened Langenscheidt and treated us like slaves!" Fury shimmered in his dark eyes that matched Klink's feelings.

"I'll get Hochstetter for this," the Oberst snarled and continued his way; ignoring the still grousing night nurse who followed them. "This is the third time the Gestapo wants to use my camp for their tasks and the second time they really took control over it! Hochstetter should know better than messing with my territory! I'll take care that Burkhalter makes one time use of his friendship with Himmler and transfers this malicious gnome to the Russian Front – or even better, sends him directly to Siberia! I'm sure even the Russian generals can still learn from this beast!"

He hurried down the steps; half mad with worry. 'Hold on, Robert. I'm coming. Just hold on, I'll get you out of this hell. Don't give up, Rob, please don't give up!'

At the entrance stood Dr. Birkhorn and gave him a bag. "Penicillin-injections for you and your POW-officer, take them two times a day. I also packed sedatives, pain-killers and two cans with antiseptic ointment. I don't know about the condition the man is in, but if it is too worrying, call me."

Klink looked shortly at the surgeon; surprised by the man's willingness to help an enemy- officer like this. To his knowledge Birkhorn had never met Hogan, yet he offered aid in a way that was more than kind. "Thank you, Doctor," he said sincerely, then he rushed out of the door; LeBeau on his heels.

"SCHUUUULTZ!" Klink shouted; coughing instantly afterwards.

The sergeant had already started the motor and opened the door to the back-seat. "Everything is ready, Herr Kommandant."

"To the Gestapo-Headquarters, Schultz, as quick as you can drive!" He slipped on the back-seat; LeBeau followed him after he threw the suitcase in the trunk. Schultz climbed on the driver's seat and took off with squealing tires.

Somehow they knew that they were running out of time.

*** HH *** HH ***

Hogan had never thought that a few sips of water could taste so good – that they could mean a part of heaven. He leant against the wall and one of the guards had put on his shirt again, while the other one held a glass of water against his split lip. The man was young – certainly younger than Carter – and there was an unsteady flickering in his blue eyes. If Hogan were in a better mental state, he would have used the boy's shakiness to manipulate him, but his foggy mind didn't work properly.

All of sudden the door was pushed open and banged against the wall.

"What's the meaning of this?" Hochstetter stormed into the room; more furious than ever before after the telephone talk.

He couldn't believe it! First, he had spoken to Burkhalter's assistant who had wanted to link him to the general, who was already on his way to Hammelburg, but to Hochstetter's luck the connection hadn't been successful. Yet the assistant – a Sergeant Diekmann – had made it very clear that Burkhalter demanded a halt of Hogan's interrogation until he was there in person and that Hochstetter should withdraw the SS-men from Stalag 13.

Hochstetter couldn't accept that he was stopped just before he could cross the finishing line. Hogan had reached his limits and one little push would be enough to get him to finally talk. And then Burkhalter intervened and Hochstetter would be left with empty hands again.

No! This wouldn't happen! He had to force the secrets out of Hogan to show Burkhalter that he – Hochstetter – had been right all the time about the American's secret activities. Otherwise the major would face hard consequences.

And one thing Hochstetter also knew: He was running out of time. He didn't know how Burkhalter had learned about everything this quickly. The main power had been restored for only two hours now, but if he had understood Sergeant Diekmann correctly, Burkhalter was already near Bavaria. Therefore, the general must have learned about Hogan's arrest and the over-taking of Stalag 13 many hours before.

How so?

Klink? Yes, the fool could have already given a report to Burkhalter's office before he went to hospital, but this was before Hochstetter had been able to get his hands on Hogan and take over Stalag 13. And afterwards the power in the whole area had broken down – yet Burkhalter already knew everything! He had to have an informant within Stalag 13 – one who had been able to reach him despite the failed power supply. And he hadn't the tiniest clue who this mysterious person could be.

But this was a problem he would solve later. Just right now there was only one important thing to do: To get Hogan to talk – or to shut him up forever, before Burkhalter learned that he, Hochstetter, hadn't checked Hogan's alibi concerning his alleged chess matches with Klink while there was also the statement that the colonel had been seen in Hammelburg during the same time.

Hochstetter was well aware of the fact that he had overstepped his boundaries as he refused to check the alibi. He would be in deep water if he couldn't clear himself by presenting any successes – like Hogan's admission of being an Underground-agent.

Determined to use the short time that was left before hell broke loose in form of an enraged General Burkhalter, Hochstetter had stormed down into the cellars again – ready to overstep any limits to break his nemesis. To see Hogan freed from the chains and sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and getting water poured down his throat, made him burst with anger – screaming at this underling for intervening in his plans like this.

The young man, who crouched in front of Hogan, jumped to his feet hectically. "S-s-s-sir, Leutnant Schmidt ordered to…"

"Since when is Leutnant Schmidt in charge of this headquarters?" the major shouted; face reddening. He couldn't allow Hogan to get some recovery time, even one of a few seconds.

"Sir, the Leutnant said that the prisoner wouldn't be of any use anymore when he dies of dehydration and…" The second SS-guard was cut off by Hochstetter, too.

"Dehydration? If he is that thirsty, he can drink as much as he wants." With those words he closed the distance to the colonel and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt. "Bind his hands on the back!" he ordered; fixing the colonel was a glare full of contempt. "I'll give you water, Hogan, enough to still your thirst – and more."

The guards were barely done, as Hochstetter already dragged him towards the door. "Corporal, unlock the next room and switch on the light. The prisoner isn't to get at with fire, but maybe water does the trick!"

Hogan was barely able to remain on his feet as he was roughly pulled a short way through the corridor and forced into another room. He didn't know what Hochstetter was referring to, but he assumed that it was another devilment. Trying to clear his mind and fighting down the pain, exhaustion due to the fever and to suppress another coughing fit, he looked up as a light bulb that dangled on a simple cable from the ceiling was switched on. In front of him was a basin, maybe one meter in cross section, the walls were about the same height and it was filled with water. The realization of what this meant hit him with brutal force: Waterboarding.

Somehow the fear that exploded in him gave him new strength. Rearing up he tried to escape the cruel grip around his collar, but the major was strong given his stature, and Hogan was weakened after hours of torture, coldness and no nourishment. Despite his desperate attempt to get free, he was pulled towards the basin and he had only a few seconds time to draw in a deep breath before his head and shoulders were forced beneath the water surface.

Odd as it sounded but the icy water felt good. It soothed his feverish flesh, cooled the bruises and even made his head ache less, while he instinctively drew in two sips of the water to soothe his still burning thirst. And then he had to release the breath far sooner than intended as he had to cough. And with that the torment began as his lungs – his whole body – demanded new oxygen that was denied. Instinctively Hogan tried to get up, to wriggle free of the hard grip around his neck and to push Hochstetter's upper body, with which the major held the American down, away. It gave Hogan even more pain because the Gestapo-officer leant with almost his full weight on the gashes. But all his fighting back was for naught.

Finally, as he thought he couldn't take it any longer and had to breathe, Hogan was released. The major pulled him up and for a few seconds the colonel was granted some hectic intakes of air, before Hochstetter snarled,

"This is your very last chance, Hogan. Talk! Give me the answers I need! Now! I will not let you up again!"

The colonel was still coughing and gasping for breath. He felt dizzy, his lungs burnt and his belly, which had been pressed on the basin's edge, convulsed with pain. He screamed out in agony as Hochstetter pushed him hard against the basin's wall again and bruised his broken ribs even more.

"TALK!" the Gestapo-officer shouted and shook the American like a dog would do with a puppy.

For long seconds there was only silence except for Hogan's gasps.

The colonel had closed his eyes; knowing that this was the end. He couldn't talk – wouldn't talk! He would never give away his friends and the mission that had weakened Hitler's attempts of gaining victory so much that the Allies were about to win the war. Thousands of lives depended on a quick end of the madness that racked Europe. He couldn't let these people down. His death was a price he was willing to pay.

He took a deep breath. Whatever it was that Leutnant Schmidt had planned to help him would come too late. Within the next two or three minutes he would be dead, and for a moment he thought of his parents, of Jason and of his men which were his dearest friends. For a few seconds he even thought of Klink – the man who should be his enemy but had become somehow a friend, too. A friend, who had outgrown himself and his deep fears to keep him, Hogan, safe. Odd that Hogan felt sorrow for the German officer, as he knew that Klink would mourn his death.

Then the colonel summoned his strength; his whole inner being tightened with mortal fear. The next words would be the last he would ever say, yet they came out strong and unwavering despite his hoarse voice,

"Robert E. Hogan, colonel of the US Air For…"

The furious scream that was torn from Hochstetter's throat was barely human anymore, while he forced his nemesis back under water.

Hogan had taken a deep breath before his face hit the surface and the water closed over his head. He knew that he was only prolonging the inevitable, but his fighting spirit wouldn't allow anything else. He held the breath as long as he could, his body shook with the effort before it had to give in. His body cried out for air as the emptiness in his lungs became too much to bear – and he breathed in water. He coughed, only to get more water into his chest – the devilish circle that would lead to death had begun.

Panic woke in him, as his instincts took over. He tried to rear up again, to escape the brutal grip in his neck, to get free – somehow! But his body was too weak, his muscles lacked oxygen and didn't obey him anymore. The pain in his lungs spread through his body, into his head and paralyzed him. The sheer mortal fear told him the bitter truth: He was dying.

Somehow a part of him seemed to have truly doubted that it would come to this – that Hochstetter really would kill him. But it was happening – here and now. There was no escape anymore – fate had caught up with him.

His mind shut off as any sane thoughts fled from his brain, while the first shadows of the dark eternity were closing on him…

TBC…

Yeah, cliiiiifffffhaaaanger… I know, this is certainly the meanest moment to end the chapter, and I can imagine that you all this at the edge of your chairs now. But I love cliffhangers, and this one should be a strong one. I hope I succeeded.

I don't tell you anything about the next chapter, because it would reveal too much, therefore: Sorry, guys, you've to wait until the new chapter comes during the next week.

Like always I'm utterly curious what you think of the chapter. It had a lot of twists in it and even if the whole situation in the story is very gravely in the moment, I loved to write the scene in which LeBeau comes to the hospital. I also know that the scene in the cellars was very hard and I hope I didn't scare anybody off, but the whole thing with Hogan almost being branded and Schmidt deciding to help, will become very important for the story-line.

I wish you all know a nice weekend, for those who are celebrating St. Martin: Have fun and enjoy the St. Martins-goose,

Love

Yours Starflight

TBC…