Hi, my dear readers!

To all of you: HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I hope, you all had a joyful and funny turn of the year and that the hangovers weren't that nasty.

Thank you so much for the many reviews I got. You're the best.

In the new chapter, the healing of our beloved colonel begins. All right, there only tiny steps, yet it is clear to see that there is needed more to break Robert E. Hogan, even if he will going through a tough time. And Klink reveals for the first time that he has some clear ideas concerning the 'Hogan-gang's' activities.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 19 – Healing, part 1

Doing his morning toilette was more than exhausting for Hogan. And as he finally laid back in bed, limbs heavy as lead, he still couldn't believe that Klink put up with him and his condition like this – that the Oberst really supported him while he was getting washed and even offered to shave him because the American's hands still trembled whenever he lifted them a little bit. Yet Hogan had to decline the offer. Not that he didn't trust Klink enough to let him near his throat with a razor-sharp blade. There was no doubt that the older man really cared for him. But most parts of his face still hurt like hell and felt sore. The mere thought of scratching over the sensitive skin with something, anything, gave Hogan goosebumps. No, he'd rather have a loathed beard growing than endure more hurt. A beard wouldn't kill him and he could shave it in a few days.

Sighing in relief as the warmth of the blanket and comforter enveloped him again, he was too tired to think about the talk with Burkhalter much more – and fell asleep within a few minutes. He woke up two hours later. A tray with breakfast was placed on the nightstand, together with an empty cup and the table bell Klink had given him. Not really feeling hungry but knowing that he had to eat something, Hogan made use of the little bell to get some tea and only a few seconds later LeBeau appeared in the doorway.

"Mon Colonel," he said happily as he saw Hogan awake; beaming at him like a child beneath the Christmas tree. "I thought you would sleep through the whole day. Wilson was here an hour ago and gave you the next shot of penicillin, but you didn't wake up. And Klink phoned the hospital. Dr. Birkhorn will come in the afternoon to have a closer look at you and our Balding Eagle."

Still groggy, the American watched LeBeau, who didn't faint for once – now, after there were no tracks of fresh blood visible on the bandages anymore. "Merci, mon ami," he said quietly.

Louis smiled widely at him. "I'm so glad that you're doing a little bit better."

"Thanks to you I have the chance to get better, otherwise I would be two meters below now," Hogan murmured; feeling a smile tugging at the left side of his mouth as he saw LeBeau wearing an apron and a cooking hat. Somehow it gave him a sense of normality to see the feisty tiny Frenchman in the outfit of a cook.

"I haven't done much, Colonel." Louis threw a short glance over his shoulder towards the guest room to make certain that Klink wasn't listening, heard the Oberst snoring, and quickly entered the sleeping chamber. Sitting down on the chair, he continued his story, "I only got caught in the curfew in Hammelburg after I finally reached a member of the Underground, and had to wait 'til morning. And then, after I realized they couldn't do anything, I went to the hospital to get Klink." He lowered his head. "To tell the truth, the one who rescued and took care of you was Klink."

"You risked your life as you crept out of the camp," Hogan whispered. "Without you, Klink would have learned too late of what was going on and I would be dead now. Thank you, Louis. I'll never forget what you did for me."

The little Frenchman shrugged. "You would do the same for every one of us. Merde, you already did the same for us – risked your life to save us, I mean."

"I'm responsible for my men – and, above all, you are my friends. Of course I have…"

Pointing one finger at his superior, LeBeau smirked, "See, this is exactly the point. We are all not only a completely crazy bunch of 'Unsung Heroes', we're friends. And that's why bosches like Hochstetter will never win. The Krauts can't grasp what we share."

"There are enough examples who speak of the opposite," Hogan corrected him softly. "Think of several members of the Underground – or of Schultz and Klink. They are raised to mask private feelings, especially within the army, but of course they are able to make real friends. Klink risked his neck two times now to protect me – out of friendship. That says a lot."

Louis rolled his eyes, then he snorted and grinned. "I never thought Old Klink had it in him, but I've to agree. He really outgrew himself to save the day."

Both men smiled at each other, then the colonel turned serious again. "How did you really get out of Stalag 13 – with all the SS-guards in and outside of the area?"

LeBeau got his typical soulful gleam in his eyes he always got as soon as a beautiful woman was involved. "Mademoiselle Hilda helped," he said, which caught Hogan's full attention.

"Hilda helped you escape? I know she does a lot for us, but this…" He felt slightly alarmed by the thought that the young woman had risked so much for them. There wasn't a POW in the whole camp who didn't treat Klink's secretary with respect and politeness. Not only because she was pretty and young, but also because she always behaved kindly to everyone despite nationality and skin color. To think that she took such a high risk to help them – to help him! – woke unease in him.

LeBeau chuckled quietly. "She smuggled me out of the camp – in the sidecar." Within the next minutes he told Hogan what really led to his rescue. They spoke in hushed voices and listened closely to any noise that could come from the guestroom, but despite Klink's snoring everything remained quiet.

Finally Louis got Hogan some tea, helped him eat something and promised to make him a fine chicken soup for lunch. Obviously Schultz – better to say Langenscheidt – had managed to get hold of a boiling hen LeBeau was preparing for the two colonels now. It was well known that chicken soup supported the healing process if someone had caught a cold.

Around midday Klink woke up. Even if his nose was blocked he somehow could smell the strong scent of chicken stew. Still feeling like he had been 'run over by a truck' as Hogan loved to say, he left bed, put on his bathrobe and slippers, and walked to the kitchen. He was thirsty and miserable, but the sight of a whistling LeBeau in apron and cooking hat, preparing something at the stove, lifted his mood a little bit.

"I can't smell much, but what I smell is great," he said quietly; knowing that the little Frenchman was a lot more sociable when being complimented about his cooking.

Louis looked over his shoulder and for a moment his deeply rooted grudge against most Germans awoke in him, then he remembered that a) Hogan was only still alive because of Klink and that b) the Oberst was in such a bad shape because of his protecting and saving Hogan. Feeling his emotions softening towards the older man, he answered politely,

"Schultz gave me this boiling hen to prepare some chicken soup for you and Colonel Hogan. I'm sorry that there was no asparagus available, then it would taste even better, but I got some rice. I'm sure it will taste good despite the missing vegetable."

Klink felt himself smiling a little bit. "I'm convinced of it, LeBeau. Your cooking is always formidable."

Surprised by the sincere compliment, Louis couldn't help and replied, "Merci, Colonel. And, by the way, chicken soup helps a lot when someone has caught a cold."

"What? No Sauce Béarnaise this time?" the Kommandant asked almost ironically. "No garlic to wear around the neck? I'm surprised, LeBeau. Last time I lay on a sickbed with a cold you said that there is no better medicine than the special sauce from your grandmother." He walked deeper into the kitchen and got himself a cup of tea, while he continued, "And do you know what really befuddles me? As you guys smeared the sauce on my chest and made me wear this anti-vampire remedy made of garlic, I also got pierced by something in my butt. A spiral spring, like Newkirk said. The only odd thing is that Dr. Birkhorn's and Sergeant Wilsons' injections feel exactly just like this 'spiral spring' that mysteriously disappeared to never be felt again. It didn't even leave a hole in the mattress – but I'm sure you, Newkirk or Hogan have an explanation for it, too."

He looked back at LeBeau, whose jaw hung open and whose eyes were wide in alert. Chuckling to himself, Klink added, "I'm still grateful for what you all did for me that day, but some time you've to tell me how and where you got hold of penicillin."

LeBeau still gaped at the Oberst as he realized that Klink knew the truth. Of course he remembered the incident one year ago as Klink had come down with a nasty case of the flu – or better to say a cold, otherwise the medicine wouldn't have helped – that was about to prevent the Oberst from joining a meeting. Hogan had wanted to use the Kommandant's car to smuggle a female Underground-agent out of the camp where she had been hiding in the tunnels, and therefore needed Klink healthy, which made him order for penicillin to be sent by London. This medicament wasn't part of Stalag 13's medical equipment, and to cover the sudden appearance of the medicine, LeBeau had come up with the cover story of an old family recipe – a paste that had to be put on the chest and a garlic loop around the neck. While treating the Oberst, who had been completely distracted, Newkirk had given him an injection of penicillin into the butt – square through Klink's nightgown. The short prick had been blamed on said spiral spring. The next day the Kommandant had been doing much better, and when the Luftwaffe-surgeon appeared later, he had been healthy again.

Until now they all had believed that Klink had bought their trick, but given the Kommandant's little speech now, LeBeau started to realize that the Oberst had seen through them, but had decided to ignore it instead of demanding answers. Like he had done so often before – especially after the incident in the Hofbräu where he caught Hogan in a German uniform. Since then Klink had rarely pestered Hogan for explanations whenever something very strange happened, and even turned to him for advice.

LeBeau began to realize that Klink seemed to know a lot more than they had all thought, yet Louis was not ready to reveal the truth behind the cover story pertaining to the 'flu-sauce-incident'.

"You need tarragon for the sauce, and contraire to last year we have none at the moment. And I haven't seen garlic for weeks. So, good old chicken soup has to be enough," he shrugged.

Klink fixed him with a short stare, daring him to say more, but the canny Frenchman only looked at him with the perfect mixture of innocence and kindness. And especially the latter spoke volumes, because usually LeBeau's glances at him were anything but kind. Well, maybe he wasn't that grouchy anymore after he, Klink, had saved Hogan's butt two times (officially) now, yet the Oberst knew that LeBeau was against Germans in principle.

Klink had to admit that he was tempted to challenge LeBeau by throwing more of the hidden truth into his face, but he decided against it. He wanted to speak with Hogan first about everything he had witnessed or had found out concerning the not so innocent activities of the men in Barracks 2, so he changed the topic by employing a distraction.

"Has Hogan woken up in the meantime to eat something?"

LeBeau, glad of the change of topic, nodded quickly. "Oui, he ate more than half of what I made and drank some tea. But… I think he will need a lot of days until he's fit again."

"He'll get all the rest and support he needs," the German officer nodded, and emptied the cup he placed into the sink. "Thank you, Corporal, I'll hit the mattress again. Please wake me when lunch is ready."

LeBeau watched him leave the kitchen and drew a nervous breath. Klink knew about their little meddling concerning his cold and the secret penicillin! Louis would have to tell this to Hogan as quickly as possible – but when he managed to get out of the kitchen ten minutes later, the colonel was sleeping again. Sighing, LeBeau returned to the stove; determined to inform his superior and friend at the next possible opportunity.

*** HH ***

The possibility came around midday as the chicken soup was served. Klink ate at the dining table, but Hogan stayed in bed. His still too strained muscles didn't allow his arms to be lifted much without his hands trembling, and therefore LeBeau had to feed him again. Usually the colonel would have felt humiliated, but the tiny Frenchman was a close friend and even if his face and eyes didn't lack sympathy they showed no pity, and Hogan was grateful for it. Yet he would have had a hard time being fed in front of Klink. Not because the Oberst belonged to 'the enemy'. 'Willie' had proven that, yes, he belonged to a hostile army, but he wasn't Hogan's opponent. Rather the opposite. The American wouldn't forget how his German counterpart helped him out during the last day and night; even putting up with his morning toilette to give the younger man a supporting hand.

No, the reason why Hogan shied away from being fed in front of Klink was strange even in his own eyes, but he couldn't help it. Hogan had seen that Klink seemed to take any evidence of the American's injuries to heart, and the colonel had the odd wish to not give the Kommandant any additional mental stress.

Therefore he was glad as LeBeau offered him help by feeding him while remaining in bed. The soup wasn't this hot anymore so that any contact between the broth and Hogan's split lips wasn't that painful, and he had even developed some appetite that was, of course, quickly satisfied. Digesting nourishment meant additional effort for his body that was still very busy with healing itself. Yes, the body needed food to regain strength, yet it was also tiring, and therefore Hogan had had enough after a dozen spoons. But Louis wouldn't have anything of it. Determined he continued to feed his friend, until the colonel threatened him with court-martial if he would be forced to eat only one sip of soup more!

Grinning, LeBeau put away the almost empty bowl and began to fluff up the pillows – the perfect moment to tell Hogan the news,

"Klink knows that we gave him a shot of penicillin last year," he whispered in his superior's ear.

Startled and with his good eye widening, the colonel looked at him. "What?" he breathed in shock. "How so?"

With hushed voice LeBeau began to tell him of the short talk he had with Klink. Alarmed, Hogan pursed his lips; frowning.

"Dammit," he murmured. "Our Balding Eagle is cleverer that I ever gave him credit for."

The Frenchman nodded; tense. "What shall we do now?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," Hogan answered beneath his breath. "Klink had more than a dozen chances to give the incident away to the authorities – Burkhalter or Hochstetter. He didn't do it until now, he won't do it in the future. But one thing is for certain: We've to be more careful from now on. I think we underestimated the 'big shot'."

Louis cocked his head. "You mean, he won't blow the whistle on us?"

Hogan sighed. "He didn't deliver me to the Gestapo after he caught me running around in a German uniform last year and he didn't give us away after the 'flu-sauce-incident', like you and I just learned. An inner voice tells me that he will stay silent about us as long as we don't give him a reason to do otherwise." He lent back against the pillows. "In his own way he's really protective of us – even against his own regime."

Louis couldn't help himself; he smiled shortly. "You mean, he's protective of you. Old Klink has a soft spot for you – a big one given his actions within the last days."

"Nonsense," Hogan grumbled. "The Kommandant simply cares for the people that are his responsibility. That's all."

LeBeau grinned. "If you say so, sir. But I do think you're his favorite." He took the tray. "Just try to sleep a little bit more, mon Colonel. Sleep is the best medicine."

Deciding to let the topic drop, Hogan carefully pulled the comforter higher. "Besides your chicken-soup, there are only a few things which could do magic like this. Thank you, Louis." He smiled tiredly at him and watched the tiny Frenchman leaving the room.

Closing his good eye, the American tried to relax, but rest wouldn't come easily to him now.

Klink knew about the incident with the penicillin last year!

He also had to know that this medicament didn't belong to the standard equipment of the camp's infirmary – in other words, Hogan and his men must have gotten hold of it outside of Stalag 13. Therefore one of them must have left the camp or had someone outside of the wires who delivered goods to them. Both possibilities would have had any other camp-Kommandant on alert, despite the fact that the medicine had been for him. But Klink had stayed silent about it – until now, as he informed LeBeau in a roundabout way that he had seen through their little charade all those months ago.

What more did Klink know?

Why hadn't he given Hogan and his men away?

Why risk his own neck by saving Hogan and openly defending him?

Hell, staying silent about suspicious incidents was one thing, but standing up against the Gestapo was in a completely different league. And Klink had done the latter a few times by now, not only within the last three days. How often had he placed himself between Hogan and Hochstetter – both literally and verbally? How often had Klink dropped some random piece of information during a conversation or Hogan's weekly report concerning the POWs' condition and health, warning the American of upcoming problems like this?

Hogan remembered one morning roll call during which Klink had stated that a secret lightning attack against London was planned. Hogan had been able to warn London and the attack was fended, which had certainly saved thousands of people. Klink had given him the information openly, masked as typical arrogant boasting about the power of the Luftwaffe, yet it could also be understood as a warning.

That led to the next question: Did Klink know or assume that he, Hogan, had a secret radio? Well, one time Klink had even warned him that a radio detector was on its way to Stalag 13, and Hogan had been able to stop any radio traffic just in time, or he and his men would have been revealed.

So, if Klink at least thought that Hogan was in contact with London, why didn't he turn every stone upside down until he had found the secret radio or at least reveal the 'Unsung Heroes'? Why did he only investigate some cases which had been brought officially to his attention by the Gestapo, and even then his attempts were half-hearted and superficial? Other odd cases were left at that. Even more, he simply ignored many things. Yes, sometimes he groused and gave Hogan a speech. And if someone from the Gestapo, SS or Luftwaffe was present, he even threatened his senior POW officer, but those threats were empty ones. And the Kommandant often treated him to some cognac afterwards, as soon as the official representatives had left.

And to add to all those odd things, there was even something much stranger: Why did Klink allow him to manipulate him? Sweet Lord, only three mornings ago the Oberst had revealed that he knew about Hogan manipulating him, but he never really stopped him.

Why?

Why keep everything a secret and defend him, Hogan, inactive or active?

Yes, Klink was no Nazi, but he was also no traitor. He loved his fatherland dearly, this much Hogan was aware of, yet Klink protected Hogan and his men by staying silent about the destructive activities he had witnessed or maybe found out about.

This all made less and less sense.

Hogan had the urge to speak with his German counterpart about everything, yet he didn't know if he would maybe cross a line then – if he would force Klink to act if he learned that Hogan knew of his knowledge, because he couldn't allow that someone knew that he knew…

The colonel groaned. Hell, now his own thoughts made no more sense anymore. Maybe he really should try to find some more sleep – and while coming to this conclusion, Morpheus' realm really caught him…

And outside, in the guest-room, Klink had returned to bed after he had finished the soup, and smirked to himself. He had heard LeBeau and Hogan whispering with each other, and he had a good idea concerning the topic. He had given the Frenchman the hints on purpose – to give Hogan something to really think about. He had lost count how many sleepless nights he had endured whenever another strange thing happened and he simply knew that Hogan had his finger in the pie. His troublemaker should be the one who mulled over hair-raising knowledge gained for once.

Pulling the comforter higher, Klink found sleep easily – and only woke up in the early afternoon, as Schultz shook him carefully to tell him that Dr. Birkhorn had arrived.

And the good doctor wasn't alone.

As Klink left bed, clad once again in his bathrobe and with slippers on his feet, he was greeted by the sight of the surgeon and a very pale Hilda Schneider, who had shown the doctor the way to Klink's quarters.

Critically, Birkhorn looked at him. "You don't look any better than yesterday, Herr Oberst. Did you stay in bed?" he asked while shaking the officer's fever-hot hand.

"As often as it was possible given the whole situation," Klink affirmed. "Schultz, take the doctor's coat and show him to my usual sleeping chamber. He shall examine Hogan first. And then get Wilson. I'm sure Dr. Birkhorn will have some instructions for our medic concerning the colonel."

"Is scho' recht (Bavarian: It's all right / okay)," the large Bavarian nodded, helped the surgeon out of the coat, hung it up and then walked the man to the one of the two sick-rooms. Klink wanted to follow them, but then he remembered that his secretary was still there and turned towards her.

"I wanted to ask how you are doing, Herr Oberst," she said softly.

"It could be better, but I've had it worse," he said truthfully. "Thank you for your concern, my dear – and thank you for taking action during the crisis," he added. "It was brave but also fortunate that you called General Burkhalter and told him about the mess here." He nodded shortly at Schultz, who bypassed them and left to get Wilson.

Hilda watched the sergeant leave, before she lowered her head. "It was the least I could do – after all, it was my fault that Colonel Hogan was arrested and that the SS took over the camp."

Klink frowned in confusion. "Your fault? How, on Earth, could this be?" he asked baffled.

The young woman looked up at him again with troubled eyes. "Because I didn't fathom in time that Major Hochstetter had not deduced that you and Colonel Hogan escaped the ambush he tried to use to get rid of you and the colonel. I thought too slowly as he screamed your name in surprise through the phone as he heard from me that he couldn't be linked to Sergeant Schultz, because Schultzie was driving you to the hospital." She lowered her gaze. "An hour later he was here – together with the SS, he arrested and manhandled the colonel and put Leutnant von Neuhaus in charge. If I would have stayed silent about yours and Colonel Hogan's successful survival, he wouldn't have come so soon, but… I was so angry as I learned from Langenscheidt what happened – that this damn coward ran away while you and the colonel were still in mortal danger – I had to give him a piece of my mind." She looked from her long lashes up to her boss again. "It was my fault that he learned so quickly about it all and…"

"Hochstetter would have found out one way or the other – sooner or later," Klink tried to comfort her. He really liked her and appreciated her loyalty. To see her so guilt-ridden and sad made him uncomfortable, and so he placed one hand on her small shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Fräulein Hilda, so please stop blaming yourself. And, by the way, you saved the day by informing Burkhalter. Yet… may I ask you a personal question?"

The young woman nodded, and so the Kommandant continued, "Why did you call the general and not me? I was in Hammelburg and you certainly know that a little fever wouldn't prevent me from doing my duty – in this case saving our troublemaker's reckless butt again. So…"

"I did try to call you," Hilda interrupted him and anger began to brim in her eyes. "I called the hospital, but there was this damn witch, the night-nurse, who started snapping about how I could dare try to reach you 'in the middle of the night' – even if it was very early in the morning. I tried to make her understand that we had a serious situation, but she only raged that I should call the SS if we've trouble at the camp and then hung up. I knew that I had no chance to call you until later morning, when the shift of this hag had finally ended, but I also knew that Colonel Hogan was running out of time, so I called General Burkhalter and… Herr Oberst, is something wrong?"

Klink's face had flushed an alarming intense red. "The nurse… refused to put you through to me despite the fact that there was an emergency?"

As Hilda only nodded, Klink cursed in a way that made the young woman blush, before he whirled around and stomped to his sleeping chamber; once again ignoring the pain in his calf. Pushing the half closed door open, he stormed into the room – startling Birkhorn and Hogan.

"Doctor, I demand that there will be consequences for your night-nurse!" he snarled.

"Nurse Mathilda?" Birkhorn asked while he turned around towards the enraged Oberst, baffled. "I know that you and she had a little dispute because…"

"She prevented my secretary from informing me concerning a grave issue within our camp and the arrest of Colonel Hogan. She hung up the phone despite the fact that Fräulein Hilda told her there was a dire situation I had to learn of instantly! I'm not only the Kommandant of this camp, but also the highest ranking officer in this area when General Burkhalter isn't present. And we are at war! Yet your night-nurse thought that everyone, including units of the Wehrmacht, has to dance to her piping!"

"Herr Oberst…"

"If this shrew would have done her damn duty that not only lays within the hospital but also towards people outside of those walls, I would have been able to act hours sooner – and Colonel Hogan would have been spared a lot of pain and the terrible experience of being almost drowned." He pointed the American who was utterly thunderstruck by the wrath Klink displayed on his behalf. "Just look at the man," the Kommandant continued; voice hoarse and shaking with fury. "He's barely able to sit properly, not to speak of walking unaided or only holding a God-damn cup of tea! It never would have gone this far if this blasted witch would have known her place. I always thought employees of a hospital are there to help and heal people – and not to support torment and death!"

Birkhorn had turned pale, then he glanced back at Hogan – who was gaping at the Oberst; obviously flabbergasted because of the older man's raging fit. "If this is really the case, then I have to apologize, Colonel Hogan," the doctor said quietly, before he looked back at Klink. "Of course it wasn't Nurse Mathilda's place to decide if you shall receive a call from your camp or not. And if the liberty she took for herself almost resulted in a man's demise, then there will be consequences."

His glance found the three other persons who had appeared behind the German officer: Fräulein Schneider, Sergeant Schultz and a man wearing an American uniform in his middle ages. The two men glanced at Klink, no less surprised than Hogan was, and the young woman… She watched the colonel with damp eyes. Aha, you didn't need to be a genius to figure out that the young woman had feelings for the senior POW officer.

Hilda only had eyes for Hogan, who sat on the bed's edge, only clad in his pajama bottoms and looking… terrible! Her glance wandered over his beaten body, the bruises and cuts, the swollen face and… She felt tears rising and stifled a sob.

"Hilda," the colonel said quietly as he became aware of her; knowing that she saw in him more than a simple flirt. "Please, don't fret. I'll be okay again in a few days. I look worse than it is – and I'd gotten it nastier before."

Birkhorn snorted. "Where did I just hear the same adage? Ah, yes, I remember: From Oberst Klink, concerning his own condition." He looked back and forth between the two colonels, as he tried to loosen the tight atmosphere. "Is this an officer-thing or is it only you two that try to play down serious ill health?"

"Playing it down?" Schultz snorted. "Usually the Herr Kommandant calls for the priest when he only sneezes, but for a few days now he all of a sudden…"

"Shut up, Schultz!" Klink snapped – and promptly began to cough.

Hogan used the little intermezzo to wink at Hilda; trying to soothe her without giving too much away. She gave him a teary smile and bit her lips. Then the American heard his German counterpart coughing and turned his attention back towards the scene in front of him that began to unfold in its typical manner.

"You shouldn't rise your voice when you are sporting a cold or bronchitis, Herr Oberst," Schultz said at this moment. "This is something my dear mother taught me when I was little."

Still coughing, Klink glared at him. "She should have taught you to… to not anger… your superiors with… with idiotic comments," he wheezed.

"I only pointed out the truth, Herr Kommandant," Schultz defended himself; looking like an overlarge innocent child. "You know, usually I don't see and hear nnnnooothing, but this time I had to remind you what is good for you."

The Oberst was still gasping for breath. "What is good for me? To not be irritated is good for me!"

"How can well-meant advice irritate you, Herr Kommandant? I only wanted…"

"SCHUUUUULLLTZ, get out or…" Klink coughed again and shook his right fist in his typical manner.

"This is what you get when you're worrying about your superior officer," Schultz shrugged at Birkhorn, before he quickly rushed away after getting another fierce glance from Klink.

Hogan was chuckling now, feeling some normality finally return, and it filled him with relief. Trust the eternal banter between his German counterpart and the large Bavarian to lift the mood.

Birkhorn saw the American's amusement, but also how Hogan began to relax. He realized that he obviously just had witnessed a normal display between Kommandant and sergeant, and that it gave the colonel a strange kind of hold. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Hogan's condition had really woken his deepest sympathy, but as it seemed, he was well cared for enough to regain even some humor. Yet Hogan couldn't fool him. The man was in a terrible state – not only physically, but also mentally. Birkhorn had seen enough haunted eyes within the last five years to know when someone battled inner demons.

Klink, unaware of the doctor's worry, glared daggers at Schultz' back, turned around, caught Wilson's barely hidden grin, saw Fräulein Hilda smiling tentatively at him (still with a few tears in her eyes), recognized the first real impish spark in Hogan's good eye – and sighed dramatically.

"I'm happy that your Kommandant was able to make you all laugh!" he complained sarcastically.

"Willie, without you the world would be so much more grave," the colonel deadpanned with the hint of a snicker – and got the expected result.

"Hogan! No informalities! How often do I have to repeat this?"

"As often as is needed for you go straight through the ceiling because of it," the younger man teased; looking very innocent as he received a murderous glance from the Oberst. Yet Hogan didn't miss the warm amusement that lay deep beneath the masquerade in those remarkable blue eyes.

And from where, please, came this description? ''Remarkable blue eyes'. Really, Rob, now you lost it,' Hogan groaned inwardly. The hit on the head he had received from Hochstetter really must have caused some sort of insanity. This was the only explanation why Hogan felt an uncalled flutter in his belly and chest, as he caught the poorly hidden smile on Klink's face as the older man turned away to clear the stage by walking to the bathroom.

*** HH ***

Dr. Birkhorn examined both men thoroughly. Wilson had done a good job, but he was no doctor. The surgeon stitched two further gashes on Hogan's back, the injury at his head and also bolstered the left side of his chest by using extra layers of mull which would have to stay in place for two or three days, before it would be changed again. Wilson had been right as he said that none of the three broken ribs had been shifted and therefore there was no danger that they could pierce Hogan's lung. The surgeon also ascertained that no amount of water remained in the American's lungs, yet his cold had worsened to a bronchitis. Therefore he ordered for Hogan – and Klink – strict bed-rest for at least five or six days. He also examined the colonel's jaw, cheek and side of the nose, and to Hogan's relief nothing was broken. Birkhorn gave advice on how to soothe the swelling so that Hogan would be able to use his right eye again within a shorter range of time and advised the usage of a hot-water bag for the rest so that the bruised muscles could relax better.

Giving the senior POW officer another mixture of pain-killers and penicillin (and some sedatives), he was finally satisfied with the treatment, left instructions for Wilson to use the antiseptic ointment as soon as the open gashes had developed real scabs, provided the medic with further medicaments and then went to the little guest-room to examine Klink. Hilda had left shortly after the little chaos with Schultz; she was grateful that Klink – and also Hogan – did not hold her responsible for what happened, yet she still felt guilty. And this would last for a little bit longer.

Birkhorn listened to Klink's lungs, checked his fever and instructed Wilson how to treat the Oberst, who needed a different mixture of pain-killers and penicillin than Hogan.

Wilson had barely left when Klink was no longer able to hide his concern for his senior POW. He pointedly asked the surgeon of the younger man's condition – and the doctor became very serious.

"Do you want a true answer?" he asked quietly, and the Kommandant nodded while he re-buttoned his nightgown. "It will need time to heal him – weeks maybe," Birkhorn reported. "The bruises will fade within two or three weeks, but the wounds which resulted from the lashes he got will need longer to mend. And then… there is still the question concerning his mental state. Were there any… abnormalities in his behavior since you got him out of the Gestapo-Headquarters?"

Klink sighed. "Nightmares," he said softly. "Hogan suffers from strong nightmares and seems to mix fantasy and truth within them, but… he also tries to distract himself with black humor which is typical for him."

"And typical for someone in denial," the doctor nodded. "As far as I'm able to measure the colonel, he is a strong-willed man – not used to being weak. He's a fighter, and those people often have trouble admitting that they were forced into helplessness. Men like him bury what happened deep inside their minds, and there it can lurk and grow until it can find a chance to slip out – mostly during the strangest situations. Raging fits, depression or withdrawal into themselves are typical outcomes of such traumata."

Klink had listened carefully and lowered his head; dread spread through him. "I don't want to see him like this," he admitted softly. "I only know him as a cheerful, maybe a little bit too reckless but also strong man, who drives me up the next wall on a regular basis with his never-ending quips, teases, demands and attempts to bargain, yet I… admire him for it. He has never given in – not to pressure from my superiors and not to the darkness that has spread its blanket over the world and permanently tries to crawl into my camp." He moistened his lips. "He's the one who keeps this bunch of imprisoned soldiers together, lifts their spirits and has turned the oppressive mood within the camp in something close to pleasant since he arrived here nearly three years ago. And… he even brightens my days with his boyish behavior that so perfectly masks what a strong-willed, brave, honorable man he is." He looked up towards the closed door. "I want him back – this man," he whispered. "I cannot allow Hochstetter to win like this – not on Hogan's cost!"

Dr. Birkhorn had pursed his lips. After he had witnessed the Oberst's determination and touching mixture of fury and worry in the hospital as he learned of Hogan's arrest, the surgeon had assumed that there seemed to be more between the two opponent officers – that there was a kind of bond between them that defied the cruelty of war and their duty to regard each other as enemies. Klink had been half mad with concern, this much Birkhorn had realized yesterday morning, and the Oberst's raging fit only half an hour ago as he learned that the night-nurse' acting on her own authority had almost led to Hogan's death, was very fresh in the surgeon's mind. And listening to Klink now and hearing first-hand in what high regard the officer held his American counterpart gave the doctor a good idea that the two's relationship wasn't based only on enforced duty, but on deep rooted respect – and maybe more.

"I can be mistaken, but did I get it right that you two have… befriended each other?" Birkhorn knew that he had to be very careful. Friendship between two opponent officers could lead to their demise, and he didn't want to see something happening to the camp's Kommandant. Yes, Birkhorn was a member of the Underground and fought against everything that supported the regime, yet he had realized that Klink was a good man. Maybe this was one of the reasons why Hogan – the famous Papa Bear – had come to trust Klink. The way the colonel had relaxed as Klink had been with them in the sleeping room spoke volumes. There had been no tension from Hogan's side – rather the opposite while teasing the Oberst. And Klink had been amused too, even though he had rebuked the colonel for addressing him improperly. Birkhorn was well trained in psychology and he recognized if someone tried to hide something – especially if said someone was hiding something that poorly.

Klink pulled the comforter around himself, while still sitting on the bed's edge. "We've become friends, yes," he affirmed the surgeon's assumption. "I know that this can lead to trouble, but I know that this little secret is safe with you – after all, you're a doctor and bound to confidentiality. And, by the way, I see no crime in making friends." He rubbed his nose at the sleeve of his nightgown, before he asked, "Is there something I can do for Hogan?"

Birkhorn nodded. "Yes. Try to talk with him – or, even better, try to get him to talk. A hurt soul can only heal if it lets out the pain, and experience taught me that the best way to gain this goal is to talk. Listen to him, don't try to interrupt or stop him if he starts talking. Give him a chance to live out what he had been through. And, the most important thing, what he tells you has to remain with you. He needs to trust someone. Yes, he has his men and as far as I remember the deep worry the POW who informed you in hospital about the colonel's fate showed, I infer that his men are more his friends than his underlings, yet he needs you to win back or to hold onto his faith."

Klink wrapped his arms around himself. He was freezing again, but he suppressed it. This discussion was far more important than feeling a little bit cold. "Of course he can trust me. I won't betray his confidence in me. But may I ask why you think it's me who is this important for him?"

"The answer is easy, but also not nice," Birkhorn said while closing his med-bag. "He has been tortured by German members of a military department. You belong to the German army, too, but it was you who got him out and took care of him. The knowledge that there are some 'enemies' left who still show humanity – even comfort – will prove to him that he isn't captured in a hell that knows nothing else than violence and cruelty. It gives him hope."

Klink grimaced. "My camp isn't hell, Doctor," he said indignantly. "I try to treat the prisoners with respect and politeness. Yes, I have to be stern sometimes, but I also try to be fair. I allow them more than necessary, grant favors and look away to a certain degree when they are carried away in one or the other direction. I do understand the position they are in and try to show this to them. This is certainly more than the other Kommandants are doing."

"Yes, I understand this – and I can only appreciate your way of handling your prisoners," Birkhorn nodded. "But I don't speak of your camp, but of the world outside the wires. There are so many powerful men who only wait for a chance to eliminate Hogan and many other POWs, and Hogan got the first full blow of the raging hate they hold for him and his kind. He is strong, but maybe he has begun doubting humanity. And this together with the dark memories can build demons which could destroy him – step by step."

"The nightmares…," Klink murmured, and the surgeon sighed.

"Yes, the nightmares. They are the beginning of this spiral. But there is you – another German officer, who doesn't hate him or treats him like the dirt beneath his boot. I've seen the way he looks at you – with relief and something close to trust. There is someone left among his captors who looks behind the uniform and nationality. And that you treat his men in a likewise fair and polite manner, shows him that he isn't the infamous example, but that you're indeed a fair and good man. He needs this knowledge – this conviction – to go on until he's healed. So be there for him. Show him what you still try to hide: That you are his friend. I know that this can become risky for you and him, too, but I'm sure you two can pretend otherwise when someone from the outside is present. And at the moment it isn't important what others expect of you to be, but what you are for real: A man who cares."

"I do care about him," Klink said softly. 'More than anybody, maybe except for Schultz, can assume,' he added in his thoughts.

"I know," Birkhorn smiled and closed his coat. "And you know what? This gives me hope that not everything is lost – that there is still humanity and kindness left in these dark times." He wound his scarf around his neck, while changing the topic back to the original reason he had been called. "I'll give your camp-medic instructions concerning your treatment. Please listen to him. He is no doctor, but he is a good medical assistant. If you stay in bed for a few days and take the medicine, I'm sure you'll be back on duty in the middle of the next week. But if the fever doesn't let up within the following two days, please call me again."

Klink rose and politely offered his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Birkhorn, for your support – and your open words. I'll do whatever is in my power to help Hogan."

The surgeon smiled. "Somehow I'm convinced of it." He gaze found the Oberst's hand as he took it, and because his attention wasn't fixed on Klink's face like during the welcome greeting, he saw the sore knuckles. "How did you get these bruises? They weren't there when I treated you the day before yesterday or when I gave you the medicine to…" He stopped as he saw the half satisfied, half fierce look within the officer's glassy eyes. "Don't tell me you scuffed the Gestapo-guy who tortured the colonel!"

"I did," Klink growled. "And even my superior applauded it – well, symbolically, mind you."

The doctor stared at him – and began to laugh quietly. "This I'm calling courage. We all have the urge to punch a member of the Gestapo here or there, but that you really went through with it…" He shook his head in respect, but also amusement. "The colonel is lucky to have a friend like you."

"I know," was the answer in Klink's typical vain way, then he shortly bowed his head in respect. "Doctor, have a good drive home."

"Thank you, and get better soon, Herr Oberst." He went to the door and the Kommandant wanted to accompany him, but the surgeon shook his head. "Thank you, but I'll find the way alone. Please go to bed and cure yourself."

"With pleasure. Good day," Klink nodded, watched the man go and slipped back into bed. The talk with Birkhorn had given him a lot to think about…

TBC…

Well, there are the first real hints that the 'Balding Eagle' knows indeed more about our Heroes than assumed. There are a lot of episodes in the original show which point out that Klink has learned about Hogan the others more than thought – and that he doesn't give them away the authorities. And exactly here I tackled a part of the story. But until it comes to the ultimate talk between the two colonels, Hogan first has to heal more – and Klink becomes more and more a 'nurse' for him (and more).

In the next chapter you not only read about Schmidt again. The two colonels are beginning to grow closer – and I can promise you sweet and gentle scenes.

I hope you liked the new chapter, and – like always – I'm looking forward to get your feedback.

For all whose holidays come to an end tomorrow: Have a nice start into the working part of the new year – for those, who are still at vacation, have fun.

Love

Yours Starflight