Hi, my dear readers!

After the first gentle scene at the beginning of the last chapter, you're certainly all hungry for more. And, like I promised, this new chapter will be full of it – Klink becomes a 'nurse', so to say, and shows how much he really cares for 'his' troublemaker. I'm sure the most of you will love this update (*smile*).

Thank you so much for the feedback concerning the last chapter; I know that you all are happy that Hochstetter has to face harsh consequences.

And now have fun with the newest installment of the story,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 14 – Tender care

The moment Klink's staff-car drove with unusual speed into the camp and headed directly to the outbuilding where the Kommandant's quarters were placed, everybody knew something was terribly wrong.

Newkirk had been watching the grounds from one of the windows after roll call while Carter, Kinchloe and the others silently sat around the table and nipped some coffee. Not one of them was hungry and Carter had even been conceiving new explosive formulas to distract himself from the deep worry concerning Hogan and LeBeau. They had all been expecting the Frenchman's return for two hours now, relieved that Langenscheidt 'oversaw' LeBeau's absence again, but Louis hadn't come.

Instead of him all of sudden Newkirk called, "Klink returns – with high speed! And he has someone with him on the backseat!"

Assuming the worst the three Heroes were out of the barracks before the others could even react. They watched how the car headed to Klink's quarters and began to run towards the smaller house. Their dashing elicited several shouts from the SS-guards, then the men of the Luftwaffe cut in and within a minute a hard discussion had started concerning how to treat the POWs.

The turmoil was utterly ignored by Hogan's men, but not by the other prisoners. Doors of the other barracks were torn open and Carter heard Baker calling for them, but he didn't interrupt his run towards Klink's quarters where the staff-car had just stopped with squeaking brakes.

"Oh. My. God!" Was all Kinchloe gasped as he watched how Schultz left the driver seat, opened the back door and pulled someone, clad in Klink's coat, with utter care from the backseat and held the person on unsteady feet. Klink followed immediately and, shocked, the three men recognized the barely conscious person as their superior officer and friend.

"This damn swine Hochstetter!" Newkirk spat; concern mingled with hot fury.

Klink heard the nearing, hurrying steps and the outcries of several POWs, among them the familiar voices of Kinchloe and Newkirk, but he had no time to spare.

"Laaaaaangenscheeeiiidt!" he shouted; suppressing another coughing fit and ignoring the burning pain of the torn stitches. "Get over here and give Schultz a hand!"

The corporal came running from the side gate and helped Schultz more or less carry Hogan towards the Kommandant's quarters – his face grim and full of disdain as he realized the American's condition.

With a "Be careful with him, Schultz!" Klink all but raced to his quarters, despite his limping movements, and opened the door. A moan escaped Hogan and his head rolled against Schultz's shoulder, as the big Bavarian – wheezing like an old steam locomotive – helped him up the stairs.

"We're almost there, Hogan, hang on," Klink called quietly; worry and fear made his voice even more hoarse than it already was. Going ahead, he stepped into his quarters, switched the lights on, hurried to his sleeping chamber and from there into the bathroom. "Careful now," he ordered Schultz and Langenscheidt, who placed Hogan gently down on the toilet cover. Shrugging out of his partly still damp uniform jacket, Klink bent over the American and helped him lean back against the wall; cupping Hogan's head to prevent it from banging against the wall behind.

"Easy, Robert," he whispered as a low groan escaped the younger man.

"Colonel!" Kinch appeared in the door; Carter, Newkirk and Baker behind him. Horrified they looked at their friend; took in the swollen face, the split lips, the many bruises, the dirt mingled with sweat; the blood; the way Hogan held – or at least tried to hold – himself, while he swayed dangerously. His breathing was uneven and hollow and tremors shook his body like a leaf in the wind. His uniform beneath Klink's coat was wet and bloody, and his hair, crusted with blood, stuck out in every direction and was damp.

Hochstetter and his gooneys had beaten him into a bleeding pulp, and the four friends simply knew that they were only seeing a small part of what had been done to their superior officer.

Klink glanced back at them. "Baker, get Wilson! Hurry!" he ordered; taking matters into his own hands. "Carter, I need firewood for the furnace in my sleeping chambers. Hogan will stay there for a while. Newkirk, get Hogan's pajamas, fresh underclothes, a pair of socks and his hygiene utensils. Kinchloe, try to calm the other prisoners. Tell them that I will personally take care of Hogan and that he is getting the best treatment possible. I don't want to give the damn SS-guys outside a reason to act against my POWs." He had to stop shortly as he had to cough again, before he continued, "LeBeau, go to the kitchen and prepare some tea."

Schultz flinched heavily. "LeBeau!" he gasped; whirling around despite his large build. "Joa-mai, I think we forgot him back in Hammelburg."

Klink threw a glance over his shoulder, while his hand held Hogan's underarms in a gentle grip to give him some hold. "You forgot…?" He glanced at the four other men, noticed the Frenchman's absence, remembered him ordering LeBeau to stay a block away from the Gestapo-Headquarters and wait there to be picked up after the rescue, and finally his memories replayed his barely controlled panic as he ordered Schultz to drive back to the camp ASAP. He had been worried out of his mind for Hogan, therefore Klink had really forgotten about LeBeau.

He cursed in German, before he regained some composure. "Right then, Schultz, you prepare the tea, the others do as ordered." He looked at the four prisoners and waved an impatient hand at them. "Do the gentlemen need an engraved invitation? I gave orders, so off you go!"

Newkirk and Carter hesitated; they didn't want to leave their superior officer and friend, but on the other hand they knew that Klink would take care of him and that Hogan needed the demanded things. Especially the aid of Wilson.

"Hurry, guys!" Kinchloe said, turned around and jogged out of the quarters; Peter, Richard and Andrew on his heels.

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz began but was interrupted.

"Not now, Schultz! Prepare some tea – chamomile would be the best. It will help Hogan's certainly sore throat. I have some dried chamomile saved in the cupboard above the sink."

With a "Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," the sergeant nodded and left.

"Langenscheidt, make certain not one of the damn black-clad bastards shows up in my quarters. The last thing Hogan needs now is a reminder of his tormentors."

"I'm certain Leutnant von Neuhaus wants to speak with you, sir. He took over command after Hochstetter left with Colonel Hogan," Langenscheidt reported.

"I know. LeBeau told me everything as he sought me out in the hospital – a circumstance I will have a talk with you about, but later. Go outside and prevent anyone of that frigging scumbags from coming inside – despite their rank. That's an order."

"Jawohl, Herr Oberst," Karl confirmed. He knew that he was in trouble if Klink learned that he, Langenscheidt, had stayed silent about LeBeau's absence during the roll calls last evening and this morning, but he knew that he had done the right thing. He threw a last pitying glance at the beaten figure that cowered on the toilet seat and walked away.

Finally alone, Klink crouched down in front of Hogan; ignoring the stinging pain in his calf and the pain in his throat and chest after he had breathed in so much cold air. Most symptoms of the bronchitis he suffered went by unnoticed for now.

"Hogan, can you hear me?" he asked softly and met the painful gaze of the dull eye that was still to see. Lifting a hand, he gently stroked an unruly lock out of Hogan's bruised forehead; again, offering some comfort. The younger man's trembling worsened, and giving into instinctive urges, Klink cupped the less hurt cheek. "Calm down, Rob, I got you," he whispered. "You're safe now. We're back at the camp and no-one will hurt you anymore. I'd rather die than let Hochstetter near you ever again." Slowly he let go of the colonel and began to peel his coat off Hogan's shoulders, whose open eye widened in alert. "I know, it's cold and you're hurting, but we'll get you warmed up and attended to in no time. We just have to wash you. This dirt doesn't help with healing you at all."

The helpless way Hogan looked at him pained Klink deeply. He was used to the younger man's cocky behavior no matter how grave the situation. To see him like this, vulnerable, injured, mute and apathetic, shook the Kommandant to the core. He had seen victims of the Gestapo's questioning before, but even people weeks after being captured weren't in such a condition. Hochstetter must have lived out his hate to the limits, and Klink didn't dare imagine what more the major would have done to Hogan if he'd gotten a chance. Klink was convinced that Hochstetter had only tried to drown the colonel because he knew that Hogan would be under protection the moment Burkhalter arrived, and even his fear of the general's wrath hadn't been enough to stop the Gestapo-officer from finishing what he had started. The Oberst shivered inwardly again at the thought that Hogan would be dead now if he, Klink, hadn't come in the very last minute.

His gaze found Hogan's hands, as they clung to the coat's material weakly. The American's wrists were bruised and sore, and Klink could only guess how violently Robert must have torn at his chains so that those wounds were the result. His heart went out again towards the man he loved. What would he give to spare him all this suffering!

"Sh-sh," he soothed. "I'll be careful, I promise." Slowly, to give Hogan the chance to comprehend what he was doing, he pushed the heavy coat from the other man's shoulders, unwrapped the scarf from the colonel's neck and began to unbutton the bloody shirt, before he stroked it down his arms. Seeing that the golden chain with the dog-tags worsened the bruises around Hogan's neck, he carefully removed it and placed it on the edge of the sink, before he relieved the colonel of his boots and socks. The whole time he murmured words of comfort while he continued his task of stripping the younger man off all clothes except for the pants. For the latter he would need help.

Klink's hands trembled slightly. He had fantasized about this: To strip the one he loved bare. Never had he really dared to hope that his dream would come true one day – but the reason was wrong. So utterly and terribly wrong – worse than he could have imagined. He never thought that he would be undressing the younger man because the colonel was badly hurt.

His glance wandered over the slender, yet muscular body – strewed with broken skin and bruises which were coloring more and more; some of them had already turned blue. His eyes found Hogan's left side and his breath was caught in his throat as he took in the black spots beneath the pale skin. Schmidt had been right: Hogan had two or three broken ribs – certainly the result of merciless kicks. And he prayed that the bones were still correctly in place and didn't threaten to pierce Robert's lungs.

Rising, he carefully pulled Hogan more towards him and peeked down on the younger man's back. The bleeding stripes on the colonel's shirt had spoken a certain language, and Klink felt new nausea washing over him as he saw the bleeding tracks of the brutal whipping Hogan must have received.

"I'll kill him!" the Oberst whispered furiously. "God help me, but I'll kill this sodding bastard!"

If Hogan would have been himself he'd certainly have rebuked his German counterpart for using such a vulgar term and maybe Klink had tried to provoke some reaction from Hogan like this, but the American didn't show any hint that he had even heard what the Kommandant had said.

Before he leant Hogan back against the wall, Klink gave into his urge to soothe the younger man again and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You will be better soon, Robert. I'll take care of you, I promise."

"Colonel Hogan? Colonel Klink?" Wilson's concerned voice sounded from the living area.

"Over here – in the bathroom. Straight through the sleeping chamber, Sergeant," Klink shouted over his shoulder and felt Hogan flinch. Like before, in the cellars, the colonel reacted to loud voices – another sign of the trauma he suffered. "Hush, Rob," the Oberst murmured and brushed over Hogan's left cheek with utter care again, before he took the American's right hand into his. "It's only me, don't fret."

Wilson stopped dead at the threshold; his dark eyes widened in horror. "Oh my god," he mumbled. As a medic he had seen a lot during the war and most injuries were ugly, but to see his superior officer, whom he greatly respected, beaten like this made his stomach turn upside-down. Catching himself – Hogan needed him clear-headed now – Wilson closed the distance to the two men and bent over the colonel. Attentively he observed the wounds and bruises, inwardly making a list of what to do and in which order he would treat the injuries, then he helped Klink remove the rest of Hogan's clothes.

"We should put him into the shower first," the Oberst said softly. "All this dirt has to be removed before you can attend to him."

"I agree," Wilson nodded. "But I don't think he can remain on his own feet, so…" He stopped, as Klink rose and began to strip. "Sir, you're ill. You shouldn't expose yourself like this or your cold is going to worsen."

There it was again: The simple worry he had never gotten from the American medic before. And, surprisingly, it didn't boost his ego, but touched him. Yet the fact that he had somehow gained the medic's respect didn't count. It was Hogan who was in need of aid, not he.

"I'm pumped full of penicillin, so a shower will not hurt. And, by the way, Hogan's got it nastier than I." He nodded at Wilson. "I'm going to need your help. One of us holds Hogan, the other one washes him." He frowned as the medic only looked surprised at him. "You should strip too, Sergeant. Otherwise you would be forced to run with wet clothes through the camp in the end, and, last time I checked medical basic knowledge, this isn't very healthy given this damn weather," the German officer deadpanned, while kicking off his boots.

Thunderstruck at the Oberst's willingness to go through all that trouble only to help Hogan, Wilson rose, too, and followed Klink's example.

"Where is Sergeant Baker?" Klink asked. "I told him to get you and…"

"After he informed me, he ran to the barracks to help the other boys with getting a few things for the colonel," Wilson told him.

"What about the other prisoners?"

"They are furious as they learned of Hogan's condition, but Kinch calms them. Obviously your word that you will take good care of the colonel, and that he'll get all the help he needs, holds their wrath within limits."

His gaze found the bandages around Klink's left upper arm and left calf and saw that the latter was bleeding through. Obviously the stitches had been torn open again. "Sir, you should avoid getting your injuries wet," he said; pointing at the white mull. "I'm certain the doctors at the hospital had to treat your wounds with stitches and to get them wet with normal water could lead to further infection."

"A risk I'm willing to take," Klink answered and placed his monocle on the washbowl. Only wearing his half long underpants, he waited for Wilson to be done with stripping, then both men pulled a groaning Hogan carefully up. The colonel swayed dangerously and Klink quickly steadied him, while Wilson stripped him off the pants; revealing more bruises along Hogan's legs. His eyes found his superior officer's back and he swore under his breath as he saw the bleeding stripes which could only have resulted from the American colonel having been brutally lashed.

"These damn swine!" he growled.

Klink pressed his lips into a thin line before he hissed, "Hochstetter will pay for this. Mark my words." He stepped into the shower-chamber and helped Wilson steer Hogan into it, too. Ever so gently he gathered the younger man into his arms and swallowed a lump in his throat, as Hogan simply leant against him and placed his forehead on the German's shoulder – unable to utter any protest he usually would have made.

"I'll hold him, and you wash him," the Oberst said quietly to the medic, who had taken the shower-head and switched on the water; trying to mix a pleasing, warm temperature.

Wilson's gaze found the Kommandant's right hand and nodded at it. "What happened to your knuckles?" he asked.

"Nothing serious, Sergeant. It will heal." He felt Hogan tensing as the younger man heard the splashing of water and let his thumbs move comfortingly over the colonel's cold skin. "It's all right, Robert," he soothed. "We will only wash you and this is the quickest and best way to get you clean. Don't fret. You're safe."

Yet Hogan flinched violently as Wilson began to shower his back.

"I know it hurts, Colonel, and I will be as quick as possible, but this dirt has to go, or you'll really be in trouble if that gets infected."

Everything that was happening around him still reached Hogan's mind only slowly – like everything was surrounded by thick fog. He heard Klink's and Wilson's familiar voices and even understood some words, and he was also somehow aware that he was being taken care of, but his usually so quick and clever mind was numb with pain and shock, and therefore his instincts had taken over.

The moment Wilson lifted the shower-head to rinse Hogan's blood-encrusted hair, the colonel panicked. He felt water running down his face – and he was back in the cellars of the Gestapo-Headquarters; being pressed under the surface by the merciless, cruel hand in his neck, while breathing water and dying. The trauma of being almost drowned broke through with all its might, and with a scream of sheer terror he reared up – tried, desperately, to escape.

"Robert, calm down!" Klink called; strengthening his hold on the American who began to trash around.

Wilson had instantly realized that Hogan was having a panic attack and that it was obviously connected with the shower, so he quickly lowered the shower-head and switched off the water. "Colonel, no-one will hurt you. We…"

Hogan broke free – Klink's strength was no match for the well-trained colonel who was in pure survival-mode. Almost losing his balance, Hogan fell against the wall and would have landed on the wet floor if it hadn't been for the other two males who reacted with lightning speed. Wilson gripped his hips to steady him, while Klink did something that made the medic gape at him: He pulled the younger man into a tender embrace, pulled his face into the crook of his neck, made soothing sounds and combed his left hand gently through the messy, wet and still very dirty hair. His right arm was wrapped firmly around Hogan's waist to steady him, while his hand moved tenderly over the skin it could reach. For a moment Hogan tried to fight back, then the American's resistance ebbed away – like someone had flipped a switch.

"It's okay, Rob," Klink murmured. "It's okay, you are safe." Softly he began to rock Hogan like he had done in the car during their ride back to the camp. He rather felt than heard the sob that escaped Hogan, and he thought a knife had been plunged into his heart. His throat tightened as the younger man began to tremble violently and not giving a damn about Wilson's presence, he lent his head against Hogan's and whispered gentle words of comfort in his ear.

Joe Wilson could only stare at the Kommandant. What, in God's name, was going on here? First the sudden heroism during the aircrafts' attack two days prior, then Klink obviously breaking Hogan out from the Gestapo-jail and now the German officer was treating his American counterpart like he was the most important person in his whole life.

His gaze roamed over Klink's face, took in the closed eyes and the emotional pain on the man's features, then his glance found the Oberst's left hand – still massaging Hogan's scalp almost tenderly, while he held the younger man in a way he – Wilson – would have held his wife.

Those gestures, the way Klink outgrew himself and acted to get Hogan to safety (two times now), the gentle words… If it wouldn't sound so crazy, he would think Klink had feelings for Hogan, but given the fact that the Oberst was after every skirt that came along his way, the medic was ready to skip this idea.

In the same moment Klink opened his eyes again, his gaze directed on the figure in his arms, and Wilson suppressed his shock. He knew love when he saw it, and what lay in the Oberst's eyes was this strongest of all good feelings in its purest form.

"Come on, Robert, calm down," Klink said quietly, but more firmly now; knowing that he somehow had to stabilize Hogan's mind by giving him a strong anchor to latch on. "We are only here to aid you, but you have to help us a little bit. We can't do this all alone, so be the stubborn mule we all admire so much and keep on a few minutes longer. Afterwards you can sleep all you want." He gulped as he felt Hogan's arm slowly slipping around him in a weak attempt to find some hold – emotionally and physically. "Yes, that's right, Rob. Just hold onto me. It's okay. I will not let you go, no matter what."

He glanced at Wilson, saw the sergeant's thunderstruck expression and took a deep breath. He knew what kind of image he'd just presented and the American medic was anything but stupid. He had to steer Wilson's attention into another direction, before the medic maybe made the correct conclusion regarding Klink's feelings for Hogan.

"He was being waterboarded when I arrived," the Oberst explained softly, and saw Wilson paling in shock. "Hochstetter had him by the neck and ducked him under. And if I interpreted the whole scene correctly, this damn bastard had decided to skip an official execution by drowning Hogan."

Joe closed his eyes for a moment as the information settled it. "Sweet Lord…" he whispered, then his training kicked in. "We have to get him clean instantly and then I have to check his lungs. He certainly breathed water and…"

"I pressed his chest until he had spit out all water he got into him, yet it would calm me if you could listen to his lungs – after all he caught a cold, too. And the last night in the cellars was certainly poison for his bronchia and lungs. And, by the way, I fear that I added damage as I pressed the water out of his lungs. I hope the broken ribs haven't moved and are threatening his lungs now."

With utter care Wilson palpated over Hogan's left side; eliciting a yelp from the younger man, yet Hogan held still as Klink murmured more words of security and comfort.

"Two are definitely broken, but they are all in place," Wilson said quietly. "No danger for his lungs."

The Oberst sighed in relief, before he carefully straightened his frame and returned his attention back to the man in his arms. "Hogan, we are going to wash you now." He snaked his left arm around the colonel's hip before he placed two fingers of his right hand under his chin and lifted his head gently. One eye, wide in alertness, looked at him. Forcing a reassuring smile on his face, Klink added, "Don't fret. No-one will hurt you, but you have to remain calm so that Sergeant Wilson and I can proceed. Do you understand me?"

He waited a few seconds, but as Hogan remained stiff without any kind of response, he repeated strongly, "Robert, do you understand what I say? Just nod if you cannot speak at the moment, but – please – give me a reaction."

He felt the tiniest movement of Hogan's head and breathed in relief. He almost had feared that the younger man had been pushed too far to be reachable anymore.

"You are absolutely safe here with us. We'll take care of you. I cannot promise you that Wilson's treatment will be painless, because we both know that bandaging wounds is a nasty thing, but afterwards you can rest in a nice, warm, comfortable bed and sleep as long as you want. No roll calls, no silly questions, no duty – until you're fit again. And I'm certain our little cockroach will spoil you with delicious meals, made from my stock. How does it sound?"

He knew that he was babbling – like so often when he was nervous or when a situation was not within his control. But for once it did some good.

There!

For a second Hogan's lips moved, and Klink was certain to understand a croaked "thanks". Smiling, he wrapped his right arm back around the younger man's waist and addressed Wilson, "Carry on, Sergeant. Try to avoid his face – we'll clean it afterwards with a washcloth."

Joe blinked. Aaaaalllll right, who was this guy wearing Klink's face, and where was Klink?

Shaking his head in pure disbelief of what had happened with the usually backboneless man, he resumed his task by taking the shampoo-bottle, opening it and beginning to wash Hogan's hair.

The colonel stood stiff, but weak there; his good eye moved hectically and his breathing quickened, as Wilson rinsed out his hair. Klink felt Hogan's grip become almost painfully tight as he clung to him, but at least he didn't freak out again.

"You're doing good, Rob," Klink soothed him. "That's it, just try to relax and let us do our job."

The American opened his mouth, and Klink was certain to hear his name – whispered in a hoarse, barely recognizable voice.

"Yes, it's me," he said; happy that Hogan seemed to be regaining some senses. "I have you, Rob. Everything is all right now."

Wilson had to shampoo him three times, afterwards he cleaned Hogan's back again, before he took care of his upper arms. "All right, Kommandant, we've to turn him around now," he said after he was done.

The calm, professional, yet warm tone Wilson used seemed to help Hogan in his attempt to fight his instincts. Yet he couldn't fool the medic – or Klink in this case. The colonel reminded the Oberst of a caught deer, ready to flee at any moment.

With utter care he tried to loosen Hogan's iron grip around his waist. "Come on, Robert, let go of me. What shall Sergeant Wilson think of you, hm?" He met the alerted gaze of the one brown eye and added softly. "I'm holding you, I promise. I won't let you fall. Never! Just turn around and lean back against me."

"Come on, Colonel, you have to turn around so that I can clean your front," Joe said gently, while trying to move his patient.

"Just do as Wilson says, Rob," Klink encouraged him and finally – finally! – Hogan let go of him and let himself be turned around. It needed time, but at last it was done. Klink placed himself firmly behind his American counterpart and re-wrapped both arms around his hips; avoiding his bruised belly.

Carefully Joe proceeded and realized after a minute that Hogan had begun to relax enough to lean back against Klink. The Kommandant peeked over the colonel's right shoulder, murmuring new words of comfort. Taking the washcloth that hung on a hook beside the holder of the shower-head, Wilson soaped it up and lifted it in front of Hogan's good eye.

"I'm going to wash your face, Robert, so close your eyes. Don't be afraid, nothing bad will happen to you." Wilson had used the colonel's given name on full purpose; knowing that the familiar addressing woke more trust than using the rank.

And again Hogan fought back his instincts and allowed Wilson to proceed; his mind was slowly coming out of shock. The warmth and gentle treatment had begun to reach his brain.

"All done," Joe said finally and switched off the water. "That was the ration of two days or more," he said, apologizing to Klink, who simply shrugged.

"I'll survive."

Wilson stepped out of the shower chamber and returned a moment later with a large towel. With Klink's help he wrapped Hogan in it and then both men steered the utterly exhausted colonel into the next room; leaving wet tracks. Kinchloe, Carter and Newkirk were already waiting for them – their faces and eyes betrayed their deep worry for their superior officer and dear friend. Baker had remained at Barracks 2, radioing London to give them an update – now, after the power was restored and most of the 'Krauts' were utterly distracted by the gathering of almost all POWs, who waited for news concerning Hogan, in the yard.

The three Heroes were tensed, yet they had kept a clear head to prepare everything for their friend. The oven spread warmth through the small chamber, the curtains were closed and the lamp on the nightstand was switched on.

"How is he?"

"How is he doing?"

Kinchloe and Newkirk asked at the same time, while Cater whispered, "Boy, that looks bad!"

"I can only examine him completely now," Wilson informed them.

Carefully he and Klink helped Hogan sit down on the bed's edge, where the covers were drawn back. While Wilson instantly began to finally do the proper examination, Klink returned to the bathroom, stripped completely, toweled himself dry, put on his monocle and slipped into his bathrobe. With a further towel he stepped into the sleeping chamber a minute later, handing the cloth to Wilson who gratefully accepted it.

While Joe toweled himself, Newkirk crouched down in front of Hogan and tentatively placed one hand on the colonel's knee. "Hey, Gov'nor," he whispered and looked up in the barely recognizable face. It hurt him to see the man he admired and more or less regarded as a brother like this.

The one eye looked down on him, then something sparked in the dull depths. "Ne'kirk?" It was a hoarse croak, barely loud enough to be heard, but it made Peter's heart leap. He was terribly afraid that Hogan had been pushed over his breaking point, and he prayed to all higher beings that Hochstetter had least failed in reaching this sick goal.

"Yes, it's me," he murmured; squeezing the knee ever so gently. "Kinchloe and Carter are here, too."

"Hello, Colonel," Carter peeped up, trying to sound cheerful, but his trembling voice gave him away. Yet it was enough to make Hogan turn his head very slowly.

At least the shower had stirred his spirits a little bit, and even if his brain still wanted to shut down and forget everything, his mind and heart fought against this natural reaction as he became aware of his men's presence. He looked at Kinchloe, who smiled with damp, soft eyes at him, then at Carter, who waved shyly like a little boy in his direction, and finally at Newkirk who knelt before him and was deathly pale.

"Y'guys… 'kay?" he mumbled.

Kinch rolled his eyes. Typical Colonel Hogan. Wearing his head under the arm but his first question was about the welfare of his men. Was it really a question why they cared for him so much?

"We're okay, Colonel."

"Don't you worry about us, Gov'nor," Peter rebuked him softly. "It's the other way around."

"M'fine," came the whispered answer.

"Of course!" Wilson grumbled while slipping in his pants and shirt, before putting on his socks and boots. "There is barely one healthy spot on his whole body left, but he's 'fine'."

Schultz entered at the same moment and brought the tea; looking with unmasked compassion at the American colonel who sat there, only clad in a towel that revealed more than it covered. "Himmel-Sakra (Bavarian curse, translated: Holy heavens!)," he groused outraged, "Hochstetter should go to hell!"

"If you compare Berlin with hell, then you're right, Schultz. I'm sure that Burkhalter will court-martial him for this," Klink mumbled, took the tea cup from his sergeant and placed it on the nightstand.

Wilson gestured Newkirk to rise and give him room to work, and the corporal obeyed immediately. Opening the medical kit, Joe put out a stethoscope and listened to Hogan's lungs. "I'm no doctor, but I think the water is completely spilled out. I'm not sure how much this all will affect his lungs, especially after he'd already caught a cold prior to this. If the noises haven't stopped until tomorrow, I advise you to call a real doctor."

"Consider it done," Klink answered.

Nodding, Wilson took out some iodine and said quietly to Hogan,

"I'm sorry, Colonel, the treatment will hurt, but I have to clean these injuries properly or you could die of infection."

Somehow the American understood those words and nodded his aching head one time, before he closed his eye; waiting with fear for the new pain he would have to endure. He couldn't suppress a moan as the medic began his work.

"At least he needs only a few stitches," Wilson said softly to no-one in particular. "Some of the wounds on his back are deeper and have to be stitched up."

"What about his legs and jaw – and his neck?" Klink demanded; concern plainly written in his eyes and on his face.

"His jaw is fortunately only dislocated, but it has to be straightened which will be very painful. Thank the Lord that the blows he received in the face haven't broken his nose, but I'm not sure about his cheek bone. The swelling has to reduce before I can be certain, which will certainly last a few days. By the way, then he can use his right eye again."

"Further injuries?"

"Countless bruises, some of them bleeding, some of them not. And I'm sure that he also got some strained muscles – mostly in his legs, arms and shoulders as he tried to escape his ties, but also on his abdomen. He seems to have received some hard blows to his belly. Concerning the bruises around his neck I think they came from a rope."

"You… you mean, Hochstetter hung him – sort of?" Kinchloe gasped.

"That – or he connected the rope with the colonel's arms which made Hogan strangle himself whenever he tried to break free. Usually no-one in his right mind would take the risk of suffocating himself by struggling too strongly, but torture can blend out the brightest mind."

"Blimey!" Newkirk hissed; his eyes flashed with burning hate before he addressed Klink. "Burkhalter is taking care of Hochstetter?"

The Kommandant nodded; his own gaze betrayed his wrath. "Yes, he is. And he was as furious as I was – and still are."

"Will… will the colonel heal?" Carter asked quietly; his eyes wet.

"Given time, much rest, good food and gentle treatment he certainly will be fine again – at least physically. Torture doesn't only leave scars on the body, but mainly in the soul, too. Nightmares, panic attacks or unusual outbursts are typical results for a while. It's called post-traumatic stress, because what the colonel suffered was very traumatic. Hogan will need all your help to overcome what has been done to him."

Klink took a deep breath – sick to the stomach after the most grave of his concerns got affirmed. "He gets everything and as long as he needs. I swear. And if I… we have to nurse, tend and spoil him 'til the end of the war then this will be exactly what we'll do." He looked at the other three POWs. "You agree?"

Affirming gestures were the answers, and he nodded at the other men, satisfied. Then his glance wandered back to the miserable heap of a person sitting half asleep on his bed. "Have you enough medicine to treat him, Sergeant?"

"I still have some morphine and sedatives, but I'm not sure how long my stock will last."

"I got some penicillin injections, sedatives, antibiotic ointment and pain-killers from Dr. Birkhorn. If they are not enough then please make a list of what you need, and I'll send Schultz to the hospital to get the items," Klink said.

"Maybe we should transport Colonel Hogan to the hospital and…," Schultz began, but the Kommandant shook his head.

"No. Hogan is more comfortable here – and he is also out of reach from the Gestapo. The people he trusted most are here and this will help him as much as the medicine. And, by the way, they are running out of medicaments in town and when I let the doctor know that he doesn't have to take care of a POW if he gives us the items to treat him, I'm sure the good man will play along for a little while longer. If not, there are other possibilities to get painkillers and sedatives." He looked firmly at his second in command, who understood what Klink was suggesting: Black market. And knowing his superior officer's depth of affection for the American colonel, Klink wouldn't hesitate to pay the sum from his own wallet.

"Right," Wilson said softly. "Now I'll ask the gentlemen to leave me and my patient alone. Attending to him will take a while." He looked kindly at Carter, who still fought back tears. He knew that the youngest of the POWs regarded Hogan as a mixture of older brother and father, and the colonel's condition had shaken the young man deeply. It certainly would do him good to have a part in Hogan's healing process. "Andrew, can you assist me?"

"O-o-o-of course," Carter stammered.

"We will wait outside in the living-room," Kinchloe murmured miserably and glanced at Klink. "With your permission, sir."

Klink waved at them. "I've no objections." Then he hesitated for a moment, before he added. "I know that Hogan is more a friend to you four than a superior officer and that you're worrying your heads off for him. There is cognac in the carafe on the sideboard. Serve yourself, but leave something for Wilson, Carter and I when we're done here. And before you drink, one of you should go to my car, fetch the bag on the backseat and bring it here. It's filled with medicaments from the good doctor. Dismissed!"

He saw Kinchloe and Newkirk exchanging a look of utter surprise, before the second highest senior POW officer smiled at him. "Thank you, sir." Then they left.

"Schultz, go outside and check how Langenscheidt is doing. I have the feeling that Leutnant von Neuhaus won't be too happy that I haven't shown up until now in the office and that he may be giving the corporal trouble."

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant," Schultz grumbled. He had already speculated of getting some cognac, too, but obviously he wasn't that lucky.

Klink turned his attention back to Wilson. "What can I do?"

Joe frowned and deadpanned, "You can undo your bandages and Carter will replace them with new ones. Then you should get dressed before your cold worsens – and afterwards I suggest you join the others outside to get the drink you spoke of. As it seems, sir, you really could use one."

"Thanks for the concern but I have to decline. I will not leave this room until Hogan has been treated," Klink stated, and as Wilson was about to disagree, he added firmly, "There is no room for any discussion, Sergeant. Hogan can barely sit on his own and you will have to move him to get access to any parts of his body that have to be taken care of. Six hands are better than four. And when you're done with him, only then you can attend to me. Not one minute sooner."

Carter blinked in shock at the German officer. Klink caught the look and asked, "Anything wrong, Carter?"

"N-n-n-no, sir, I only thought that… Boy, I almost don't recognize you… I mean, Kommandant."

Klink rose both brows. "Is this so? Because I consider Hogan's injuries to be a higher priority than mine? I've already been treated, Hogan has not. And, by the way, why do you think they called me the 'Iron Eagle'?" He pointed at the Iron Cross First Class that lay on the dresser. "Do you think I got that for naught?" He turned his attention away from the youngest of the POWs. "I only forgot for far too long that a man needs a backbone to gather courage before he can do what he has to do. But not anymore! I can't do anything against the insanity that rages through the world at the moment, but I will be dammed if I permit it to infect my camp. The men here, independent of their heritage, are my responsibility, and if bastards like Hochstetter think they can play their sick games with them like a cat does with a mouse, they are mistaken. I have had enough of this all. I'll keep the people in my camp safe and if I have to bite the dust because of it, so be it."

He took a deep breath as he caught the flabbergasted glances of Wilson and Carter. "Gentlemen, we've a job to do with our troublemaker here," he reminded them. He rolled up the sleeves of his bathrobe, while Wilson began to take out bandages, the medical sewing kit, as well as two syringes.

"Colonel, I'll give you some morphine and a light sedative. It will not prevent you from feeling the one or other pain during the treatment of your wounds, but it will relieve you from the worst."

"'kay," was the mumbled reply, and the three other men felt a short wave of relief. As it seemed, Hogan became more and more aware of his surroundings, which was a good signal. The warmth and the presence of the men he trusted was certainly another part of giving Hogan's mind a reason to work again.

Injecting the colonel with the medicaments, they had to wait a few minutes until the effect would take place. In the meantime, Carter helped Hogan sip at the tea; holding the cup to his lips and encouraging him to drink something. Klink watched them; wishing it could be him who took care of Hogan like this, but he didn't dare go this far with his unusual behavior towards his senior POW officer. He knew Wilson had already become aware of it and he didn't want to give the medic an even bigger idea of what was going on. So, he only spread a woolen blanket over Hogan's lap and legs to keep him warm, before he began to assist the medic by readying the bandages.

Kinchloe entered the sleeping chamber and brought the bag; reporting that the POWs remained calm for now, but waited for news. And, as it seemed, the SS-guards were very nervous by now while von Neuhaus was pacing in front of the Kommandantur; snapping at everyone who came near him. Obviously Klink ignoring the Leutnant's presence irritated the man a lot.

"I couldn't care less," Klink sneered. "I haven't called him, so he can wait until he's black like his uniform." With a nod, he dismissed Kinch; satisfied that at least a little peace was still lasting in his camp.

Then, after five minutes as the medicaments had taken effect, the three men began to work.

TBC…

Yes, just like I said, this chapter was full of 'tender care', and the next chapters will be gentle, lovely ones, too, even if our poor Hogan is going to suffer from all the aftereffects. But not only his friends will be there for him. Klink reveals more and more of his soft side, while he also spreads the protective wings of the 'Iron Eagle' whenever necessary.

In the next chapter Klink confronts von Neuhaus, LeBeau will hire a very special 'yellow-cap' that brings him back to Stalag 13, and our Heroes are even ready to play 'bodyguards' for the Kommandant – after all he saved their beloved friend. And to top everything Burkhalter gets a new proof how much the 'idiot' has changed. In other words: The whole camp will be in chaos.

I hope you liked the new chapter and the way 'Willie' is more or less unable to hide his love for his American counterpart. Like always, I'm damn curious of your opinion.

I wish you a nice rest of the week,

Love

Yours Starflight