My dear readers,

Like promised here comes the next chapter. It will be an emotional and sweet one of which I hope you're going to like. Our both colonels begin to grow closer now, and while Klink can give into his wish to coddle 'his' favorite American a little bit, Hogan begins to realize that he didn't know Klink that well as he thought, because he develops streaks of his German counterpart he had never assumed.

Have fun – and thank you for the feedback.

Love,

Yours Starflight

Chapter 20 – Healing, part 2

Both colonels slept deeply after Dr. Birkhorn had left. It was in the late afternoon that the quiet routine in the camp was interrupted by the arrival of an SS-staff-car. Five minutes later Schultz entered Klink's private quarters with the visitor and woke the Kommandant, who left his bed with some quiet curses on his lips, put on his slippers and his bathrobe and stepped into the living-room, only to stop his movements as he recognized the visitor's identity.

"Oberleutnant Schmidt?" he asked, baffled. "This is a nice surprise." He closed the distance while the younger man gave him a proper military salute which he returned.

"I apologize that my arrival disturbs your well-needed rest, Herr Oberst, but I brought Colonel Hogan's belongings which Major Hochstetter had taken away from him." He put a bag he'd carried over his left shoulder beside his feet. "I also wanted to know how you are doing – the colonel, too."

Klink, pleased by Schmidt's politeness and thoughtfulness, smiled at him. "I got a little bronchitis, nothing too dramatic," he played down the issue. Realizing that Schultz was still present, he dismissed him, before he continued, "Colonel Hogan is in a worse shape than I. And he would be even worse if it wouldn't have been for your intervention. Thank you for your courage – not only before my arrival, as you obviously intervened to stop the major, but also for telling the plain truth when General Burkhalter questioned Hochstetter in the cellars. I don't think that there are many men who would dare speak against their superiors, even if the latter are at fault."

"I've been raised by my parents to stay truthful, and I try to live to a code of honor, even if it isn't that easy at the moment." Schmidt shortly lowered his head. "It was not much I could do for the colonel, and I regret that I didn't take some action sooner." He offered Klink the bag. "Here are his leather jacket, his wallet and his wristwatch. One of the guards told me that the colonel wore more than only his shirt, pants and boots when he arrived at the Gestapo-Headquarters and I ordered his belongings to be brought to me."

Klink took the bag. "Thank you, this was very considerate of you." He placed the bag on the sofa. "By the way, my congratulations on your promotion, Herr Oberleutnant. I was very pleased when the general told me that he had left you in charge of the Gestapo-Headquarters here in Hammelburg."

"Thank you, Herr Oberst. This is another reason for my coming here. I wanted to make the first official visit to you – after all you're the highest ranking officer in the area and we both are in command of our stations. I do know about the dislike between the Wehrmacht and the Gestapo and the SS, yet I hope that we can build a good working relationship."

Schmidt's eyes were clear and hopeful, and for the first time Klink became aware of how young the other man still was. Yet he was already entrusted with great responsibility, and the Kommandant felt some fatherly sympathy for the Oberleutnant. Only twenty years ago he had been entrusted with a task of his own he hadn't thought he'd been ready for, and he simply knew that Schmidt would have to endure a lot of problems until he had gained the respect of the older men.

"Usually one of you guys means trouble, on the other hand you, personally, belonged to the Wehrmacht, too – and I haven't had the pleasure of working with a decent, honorable 'Black' until now. Maybe this has changed for the better." He offered his feverish hot hand to the Oberleutnant to shortly shake it in return. "To a successful cooperation," Klink said. "I think, everyone within this area would be facing a harder time if Leutnant von Neuhaus would be in charge now."

"He is… a difficult man," Schmidt agreed. "And I know that he doesn't accept me as his CO, yet his hands are bound by General Burkhalter's order – and especially by Reichsführer Himmler's agreement in this case." He lowered his voice, "Herr Oberst, I'm also here to warn you. Von Neuhaus had been openly speaking with ill-will about you after you kicked him out of your camp – and I take the Leutnant for someone who holds grudges for a long time. I fear you've made yourself a real enemy – especially given the fact that he admires Major Hochstetter and blames you for the major's arrest." He took a deep breath. "And that's not all. General Burkhalter took Hochstetter with him as he left three hours ago – and as the major was brought to the general's staff-car, he called me a traitor, because I didn't stay silent in the cellars, and he also called you a traitor. He said that you and Colonel Hogan should enjoy your 'victory' as long as you could, because he would be back and then he would settle the score with you two."

Klink watched him. Usually he would fear the Leutnant's ill-willed opinion, because if the Gestapo wanted to prove someone guilty of anything, they simply did it. Truth didn't matter. And the Kommandant knew that most officers of every army unit or intelligence department regarded him as an idiot or thought him to be a thorn in their sides, and would be happy to see him fall. Therefore he couldn't count on any help from them – maybe from Burkhalter, but the general's intervention yesterday was more because he was defending his territory, nothing else.

And he also didn't take Hochstetter's promise of revenge lightly. The man would go crazy whenever he faced a dead end in his research, or got raging fits if he didn't succeed. That he now would concentrate all his hate on those two men who had always defied him, which had now led to his arrest, was logical.

Yet Klink remained calm. Somehow this new found self-confidence, rooted in his love for Robert which he had finally admitted to himself, prevented him from getting anxious. Rather the opposite seemed to be the case: He would rather fight than cower in the next corner and hope that the storm would pass. He couldn't allow one of Hochstetter's promises of vengeance to influence his duty concerning his job, his camp, his underlings and the POWs by getting scared and panicking. And, as odd as it sounded, Hogan needed his protection – maybe more than ever before. By the way, given the many charges Hochstetter was up against, Klink anticipated that he wouldn't hear or see much of the man within the upcoming decades.

Therefore he simply nodded. "Thank you, Herr Oberleutnant. I'll take your warning to the heart."

Schmidt looked at him, relieved. "That's good." Then he hesitated again, giving away his uncertainty, before he asked, "Herr Oberst, is Colonel Hogan responsive? I want to pay him a visit."

Klink sighed. "I don't know. Dr. Birkhorn, the chief surgeon of the hospital, was here two hours ago and gave him a sedative. Let me check on him." He turned and walked towards his usual sleeping-chambers.

Schmidt frowned. "He's not in the camp's infirmary?"

The older man looked back over his shoulder. "No. After all Hochstetter did to him I thought it better to offer him shelter in my quarters which are warmer and more comfortable. It will speed up his healing process – and I can keep a wary eye on him. His injuries are certainly not only on the surface."

Surprised about the Kommandant's willingness to share his private quarters with a POW – senior officer or not – he followed the older man, who stepped into the next room.

"Hogan?" Klink whispered after a few seconds, but got no response. Schmidt, curious and a little bit concerned, closed the distance to the Oberst and stopped beside him. A gasp was torn from his lips as he saw the beaten figure laying beneath the comforter; supported by piles of pillows.

"Sweet Lord," Horst whispered. To say it carefully, he was horrified with what he could see. The American was so covered in bruises, patches and bandages, his true self was barely recognizable. He assumed that the colonel had been given not only a sedative, but also some pain-killers, yet the healing would be long and painful. This much was for certain.

"I can't believe that something like this is possible in the twentieth century – here, in Germany. Sweet Lord, this man looks terrible," Schmidt murmured. "And I don't dare to think of what I have heard concerning some work camps in Poland and South- and East-Germany." He shook his head while he lowered it. "This is pure insanity," he breathed before he caught himself.

Klink had turned his head and looked straight at him. "This is what happens if the Gestapo gets suspicious, be the accusations true or not. What Hogan has been through is beyond any humanity – and I know he isn't the first victim, and certainly won't be the last."

Schmidt took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm sorry that my attempt to help the colonel came almost too late. I'm aware that the unit I'm forced to serve in now doesn't know compassion or mercy, and therefore I don't want to speak in their name. But would you please give Colonel Hogan my sincere apology as a German citizen for what has been done to him within my country?"

Surprised, Klink nodded slowly. "This I will do."

"Thank you," the Oberleutnant said. "This here" – he pointed at Hogan – "isn't our people's way, but regrettably there are many men and women now who mistake responsibility with power, and power with scrupulousness. I'll try to be a better and more understanding commander of the local Gestapo-station than Major Hochstetter was, and I promise that I will give my witness report to the trial that the major is going to face. He will be punished for what he did to the colonel – and certainly to many other people."

"The promise you just made of being a better CO in the local Gestapo-Headquarters will not be easy to keep. The Gestapo has its own ways, laws and rules – especially the unwritten ones. It will be difficult for you to do your duty in such a way as to satisfy the brass, while at the same time doing what your heart and your upbringing tell you. It's a dance on the high wire, but I've faith that you're strong enough to master it."

Schmidt gave him a short smile. "Thank you, Herr Oberst. It's hard for men like you and me to stay true to the way of honor in these dark times." His gaze found the sleeping American again. "Please give the colonel my best wishes."

"Of course," Klink affirmed, gestured for the young man to leave first and closed the door.

They exchanged a few more words, then the two German officers bid each other farewell before Schmidt left.

The Oberst pursed his lips. It was the first time ever that he seemed to have an ally within the Gestapo-Headquarters – someone who didn't work against him or tried to make his job even more difficult than it already was. Of course, this could all be a trick, but in this case his gut told him that he could trust the young man. Someone who showed compassion towards an enemy officer accused of being a spy, tried to help and even stood up against his superior because honor and truth were more important to him than staying safe, spoke his own language. Klink knew that he faced a man who still lived according to the old values, and he was glad for it.

Taking the bag containing Hogan's belongings, Klink walked quietly back to his usual sleeping-chamber and stepped inside. One look at Hogan showed him that the younger man was still in dreamland, and with a tender smile Klink placed the bag on the chair in the corner and pulled the comforter higher over Hogan before he left. His own bed was calling him.

*** HH ***

The two men slept for the rest of the afternoon, and as evening came, LeBeau and Newkirk had problems getting some nourishment into Hogan, who remained half asleep while being fed. Wilson affirmed that Birkhorn had given Hogan another shot of sedative to give his body the chance to heal better during a peaceful sleep, and the American even smiled like a happy little boy as these 'naggers' finally left him alone so he could return to Morpheus' realm.

Going against the doctor's orders, Klink left bed a few times during the evening to check on Hogan, but to his relief the younger man was sleeping soundly like a child. At least until close to midnight. Klink had been asleep for close to two hours when he heard the shouts and whimpers coming from his usual sleeping chamber. Blinking wide awake within a few seconds, he found himself kneeling down beside Hogan on the mattress only half a minute later; trying to rouse his senior POW officer who was once again caught in obviously hellish nightmares. Now, after the effect of the sedative had worn off, his subconscious had strengthened again and was tormenting him with memories and imaginations.

After a minute he finally was able to pull Hogan out of the sinister dreamworld that held the colonel in an icy grip. Disoriented, confused and haunted, the younger man blinked groggily in the semi-darkness, felt two gentle hands on his shoulders and didn't need to take a closer look to know who was there.

"Klink?" he rasped.

"Yes, it's me," came the soft reply. "Sorry for waking you, but you were having another nightmare."

Still filled with dread, feeling cold and somehow out of breath, Hogan needed a moment to gather his thoughts, before he murmured, "I apologize for dragging you out of your sleep again."

"No problem," Klink answered quietly. "We already talked about dreams and their might yesterday, didn't we?"

Hogan sighed, lifted one hand with effort and wiped some sweat from his cheeks – a procedure that was unpleasant because of the bruises. "Yes, yet I'm sorry that my silly nightmares interrupt your sleep. You need rest."

"Just like you," Klink nodded; watching his senior POW officer in the dim light of the reading lamp he – again – had left switched on before he went to bed. Hogan looked exhausted and distraught – and the Oberst got an idea.

"I'll get something for us. Something that will calm our nerves and help with the damn cold." He left the sleeping chamber.

"Please, no Schnapps," Hogan moaned. "Otherwise I can say good-bye to my throat."

"Don't fear. I don't feel suicidal myself; after all we're pumped full of penicillin," Klink called back, coughed – God, his chest hurt – and vanished into the direction of the kitchen. Minute by minute he felt his limbs growing heavier and he froze like a little puppy, but he suppressed the urge to crawl into the next bed and sleep for two or three days. Hogan needed him. They both needed each other, like several times before – but just right now not for survival, but for overcoming the distress they had been through.

The coal stove was still warm from the dinner LeBeau had made, and a few minutes later Klink returned – carrying two cups with spoons.

Curious, Hogan carefully sat up on the bed and suppressed the pain in his back and side. "What's that?" His eyes widened as he looked at the white contents of the cup Klink offered to him. "Milk?" he asked perplexed.

"Not only milk," the Kommandant smiled and sat down on the bed's edge after he had switched on the little lamp on the nightstand. "Try it." He sipped at his own cup and watched the younger man, who put the cup at his mouth – sniffing at the liquid first before he took a sip.

"Warm milk with honey?" Hogan recognized the taste in wonder.

Klink slowly bowed his head. "My mother always made me warm milk with honey when I was a little boy and upset – or had caught a cold. It not only soothes down the urge to cough and loosens the muscles in the abdomen, it also calms your nerves and makes you sleepy. And often sleep is the best medicine you can get."

In awe the colonel glanced at his German counterpart. This was certainly the most private moment they had ever had together. Klink rarely spoke of his past or his family, and Hogan had only learned by eavesdropping via the 'coffee-pot' that the Oberst had an older brother and a younger sister. His father had died when he had been still young, his mother moved with her father-in-law and the children from Leipzig to Düsseldorf, and Klink grew up in the Rhine metropolis before he went to the military academy in Potsdam. That the older man had shared something this private – and rare – with him, touched Hogan.

"Milk is rationed, too – and I didn't know that there was still honey available on the market," he said quietly.

"Fräulein Hilda provides the casino and me with milk one time per week. Her parents have a small farm not far away. And the honey was a Christmas-gift from my mother. A neighbor of her is befriended with a beekeeper near Kappeshamm – that's the nickname of a district in the south of Düsseldorf downtown, where mainly vegetables are sown."

"Kappeshamm?" Hogan repeated. His German was really good, but this time he was at loss as to what this nickname could mean.

Klink chuckled. "'Hamm' comes from the Latin words 'hamus', which means 'hook'. The borough was called so because it is located directly at the great oxbow of the Rhine-river. And Kappes is the local dialect word for cabbage, which is mostly cultivated in this part of the Düsseldorf-area. Therefore the Düsseldorf citizens call it 'Kappeshamm'."

"Cabbage?" The colonel cocked his head. "You mean 'Kraut'."

"That's what it is called after being cooked. The plant itself is called 'Kohl' – 'cabbage' in English," Klink nodded and smirked; glad he was able to again distract the younger man from his pain and haunting memories. "I know that you and the others call us Germans 'Krauts', and most of us really have a knack for it if it is well cooked. Yet I want to see your face if we would call the Amis 'Steaks'."

Hogan couldn't help himself: He had to laugh – and groaned as his left side gave him hell, yet it felt good to have some fun after the strong nightmares he had endured. For a moment he saw something close to mirth but also satisfaction in Klink's eyes. The older man seemed to be almost happy that he had made him, Hogan, laugh. God, this was simply sweet.

Taking another sip of the warm comfort-drink, Hogan softly asked afterwards, "And through this beekeeper your mother got a glass of honey she later gave you as a Christmas-gift?"

"Yes," Klink nodded.

Hogan drank some more of the liquid, and felt how the soreness in his throat lessened. "As odd as it sounds, in these times it was an expensive gift your mother gave you." His gaze was gentle. "And then you share it with me? Thank you, Wilhelm."

The Oberst shrugged casually. "There is an old saying that suffering shared is suffering halved. I prefer the positive variant of it: Shared pleasure is double the pleasure. How can you get the most enjoyment out of something special? Together with a friend."

For a long moment both men only looked at each other and Hogan became aware how the first dark shadows, which still gripped for his mind and soul, began to retreat at those words.

A friend…

Hogan had not dared to voice it as Burkhalter asked him why he hadn't fled but had taken care that Klink made it back to Stalag 13 alive. Yet he couldn't deny it any longer: Klink had really become a friend to him – more than he ever thought possible. After his arrival at Stalag 13 almost three years ago, he had built a fake-friendship with the Kommandant to manipulate and to control him in the end. Heavens, in the beginning he had even winced whenever the Oberst told him that they could have been close friends if they had met under different circumstances. And by now the older man had really turned into someone Hogan indeed wanted to trust.

God, he did trust Klink – maybe more than was advisable.

The Kommandant still belonged to a hostile army and he had tried to reveal Hogan's secrets on more than a few occasions, but without real determination. Rather the opposite now that Hogan remembered his train of thought from midday. Klink had never endangered him. He had even been relieved whenever an accusation against Hogan turned into thin smoke, and Klink had never gone along with the threats he sometimes muttered when the American annoyed him too much. The Oberst had to keep control over the camp and the POWs, and so voicing stern warnings was necessary, but he had always protected the men within the camp and heck to their nationality and uniform.

So, even without everything the German officer had done for him within the last three days, he had indeed been a friend for quite a time now. And the knowledge of being safe in the older man's presence did miracles to the colonel's wounded soul.

"You could have been a good doctor, Willie," he said gently. "You're good at treating sick or injured people. You not only show empathy, you also have a good way of soothing and calming them."

A sad smile danced around the Kommandant's lips for a moment. "When I was a boy I wanted to become a doctor."

Hogan remembered what he had eavesdropped in Klink's office as Major Pruhst had been there last autumn, and how the Gestapo-officer beat Klink with Klink's own less successful career path over the head; sneering with mockery the whole time. The major had mentioned something about Klink wanting to be a doctor but being unable to proceed with this dream because of his school results. But the colonel had to pretend that he didn't know this, and so he asked, "What hindered you?"

Klink surveyed him for several seconds. He saw curiosity but also real interest in Hogan's good eye, and sighed, "Usually I don't talk much about my past – especially my youth – but I know that I can trust you with it." He shortly pursed his lips. He was unused of speaking about his childhood, because at a certain point it hadn't been a bright one anymore. He had been often taunted about it, but he knew that Hogan wouldn't make fun of him – not this time.

Maybe telling him a little bit about his youth was a good way of taking the younger man's mind off the hell he had been through and maybe, just maybe, it would get him talking, too. Dr. Birkhorn's warnings and advice were still very fresh in Klink's mind.

He took a deeper breath as he began to speak, "I was born in Leipzig and I first had a good childhood, but after I turned seven years old, my father died in an accident and everything changed. My mother hailed from Düsseldorf and after my father's death she wanted to return home – together with my sister, my two brothers, me and my grandfather. It wasn't easy for me. Different slang, different culture, different town. I was still mourning my father whom I loved dearly – and I missed my friends terribly. My mother had changed a lot, and my older brother acted up as if he was the new master of the house whenever my grandfather wasn't at home. My younger brother Wolfgang and my sister Auguste had become very quiet and shy after Father's death. My new schoolmates made fun of me because of my Saxonian dialect and the learning material differed a lot from what I had learned until then."

'So, these are the reasons for your lower education, Willie,' Hogan thought with sympathy; recognizing some parallels between the Oberst's and his own youth. Aloud he said, "And all this mirrored in your school-results."

Klink grimaced. "Ja, a lot. The results were too bad to be accepted at an university and to study medicine. But I also loved bookkeeping, music and literature. I thought about a career in an library or in the office of a theater – or opera-house – but my grandfather didn't agree. He had been in the army under Wilhelm I – just like my father – and since my older brother Friedrich already insisted on becoming a businessman and Wolfgang was too delicate to enter the service, it was up to me to keep the 'family-tradition'. I had no real say in this matter." He sighed. "And here I am."

"So, being a soldier wasn't your first choice," Hogan stated and emptied the cup; grateful that Klink's tale blew the cobwebs in his mind away.

"No, far from it. Yet… as the time went by, I began to like it. That means, until World War I started." The Kommandant lowered his head. "Many comrades and other officers still call it the 'great' war, but there was nothing 'great' in it. The new technologies – aircrafts, tanks, submarines – generated a completely different warfare than before. More destruction, more cruelness, more deaths, more inhumanity. Yet, at least, some old rules still existed – contrary to the insanity now. I was forged in the first war – maybe that's the reason why I rub everybody the wrong way today." He took the empty cup from Hogan's hand and placed it on the nightstand.

Laying back again, the colonel watched his German counterpart with real interest. It was the first time ever Klink had spoken of his past and it showed a completely different person than the one Hogan had come to know within the last three years. Yes, he had always known that Klink had more depth than was thought – the older man had proved it only last night as he spoke with him about the power of dreams – yet this side of the Oberst surprised him.

"Yet you chose the Luftwaffe – one of those new 'technologies'."

Klink snorted. "Yes, because this was the only free post left after I was 'convinced' to start a military career. Burkhalter was right, you know. I'm really a little bit afraid of flying."

Hogan frowned. "But you are a good navigator – and you weren't afraid as we took the P51 from London four weeks ago. We were a really good team aboard."

"And yet I was screaming like a girl when we had to parachute away after we realized that the plane didn't have enough fuel to reach our destination." The Kommandant rubbed his neck. "I really was afraid then."

Something like a bad conscience woke in the American officer. He had more or less taunted Klink in those minutes and had shoved him overboard; trusting in the other man's training to parachute to the ground. He had thought that Klink had been having one of his drama-moments, but in truth…

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I pushed you over the edge as the aircraft went down. There wasn't much time left to make a safe landing with a parachute, yet I should have responded to your obvious fear."

Klink shrugged "You made a decision for me – and it was the right one. Maybe I wouldn't have found the courage to make this step in time."

"You were shot down before, like Oberstgeneral von Richter, the Blue Baron, said. So it wasn't new for you to face an emergency procedure, yet you… almost panicked. And I thought…" Hogan looked for once really a little bit guilty.

"You thought I was being over-dramatic," the Oberst grumbled. "But I indeed had the jitters."

Hogan watched the older man closely; suddenly realizing the real reason for Klink's anxiety. "You are not afraid of flying, but of heights."

Klink nodded, then he blinked as he realized what the colonel had just said. "You mean, I'm not afraid of flying but of heights?"

"It would explain a lot. You were an excellent co-pilot during our flight – calm, businesslike, and in control. You only lost your nerve as you saw the abyss beneath us," Hogan murmured and glanced up at him again. "I apologize, Wilhelm. Had I known of your true fears, I would have jumped together with you. Then you wouldn't have had to face your fears alone."

Again the Kommandant watched him for a few seconds, recognized the seriousness of the other colonel's words and replied softly, "You really would have taken care of me during those moments, as silly as it sounds for a pilot to be afraid of heights and despite the fact that we fight on different sides? Thank you, Hogan." He looked to the wall. "Afraid of heights," he mused. "It would explain why I love it when I'm up there – in the skies. The clouds or stars above me, seeing the endless horizon…"

"Feeling free like a bird, stripped of any boundaries, and being a part of the air," Hogan sighed; yearning to be in a pilot's seat again. Okay, he had had his share of flights even during his captivity as a POW – during different secret missions – yet he really wanted to be back up there again. Especially now. It would soothe him, this much he knew.

Klink smiled absently, while he followed his own thoughts. "It always gave me peace to be in the skies – the world far beyond you and you riding on the wind's back."

Hogan looked baffled at him. "The last sentence comes from…"

"'Peter Pan', I know," the Oberst nodded. "I played him in school and flew a little bit through the air with the help of a line." He chuckled. "It was pure fun."

"You really played Peter Pan?" The American lifted his head; thunderstruck. "I thought you made this up last year when I asked you about your acting abilities."

"Ja," Klink grinned. "I know, this is a role that rather fits you more than me, but when I was a young boy I had my own wild times."

"Before you moved to Düsseldorf," Hogan assumed and got an affirming gesture from the older man.

"Ja – only a few weeks before my father died." The Kommandant sighed, shook his head and emptied his own cup that he also placed on the nightstand. "What about you? Major Pruhst mentioned your 'wild youth'."

Hogan chuckled. 'So, it's a giving and taking then. All right, Willie, you trusted me, I've to trust you – and quite oddly I really do.'

"I was born in Ohio, but soon after my birth my parents moved to Wisconsin and then to Indiana. I graduated school and… well, let us say that I had enough of being the 'nice boy' who always obeys and plays by the rules. It wasn't my nature."

"And still isn't," Klink threw in, teasingly.

Hogan smiled slightly. "You got me here." He sighed. "Well, not everything I tried went well and, to admit the truth, I had a few run-ins with the authorities. Mostly because I paid back those guys who thought it funny to abuse their larger bank-account or greater power at work to diss others who weren't so lucky to have rich families or hadn't been able to graduate school. Today I know that I overdid it here and there, yet at those times I didn't care that my doings broke laws." He shook his head. "If it wouldn't have been for an old friend of my father I don't know what would have become of me."

"He took you under his wing," Klink assumed, and the younger man nodded.

"Yes. He witnessed me and a few 'friends'… well… demolishing a shop, recognized me, heard the siren of a police car coming nearer, appeared on the scene and simply dragged me away. First I fought to get free. He was about twenty-five years older than me and I thought he'd be easy game, but – boy – was I mistaken. He overpowered me using grips I'd never experienced before, barked at me that I should quit and shut my trap instantly and pulled me with him. I was so baffled that I went along – around the next corner and straight towards a car."

"I can imagine your face then," Klink said softly; half fond, half amused.

"To say the truth, I got afraid," Hogan snorted. "I thought I had fallen into the hands of some gangster boss, but then I recognized that the car was an army staff vehicle and in the light of the street lamp I finally recognized the man from earlier times when he met with my father during my childhood. Colonel Butler all but ordered me to slip into the car, took the place beside me and his driver brought us to safety." He looked at the ceiling. "I thought he would bring me to my parent's house, but instead of this we stopped at a bar where he bought me a few drinks. We had a long and serious talk. Two days later I took his offer and showed up at the air force base where he was working. He helped me get enlisted in the local recruit center where I took classes for an army career; determined to be in the US Airforce one day, just like him." He glanced back at Klink. "And here I am."

The Oberst smiled. "He became your mentor," he stated.

"Yes," the American admitted. "A fatherly friend – 'til today."

"Is he still in service?"

"Yes. I don't think I reveal military top-secrets when I tell you that he belongs to the Allied High Command and is a general now." He took a deep breath. "Everything I learned, everything I am today, is only because of him."

Shortly pursing his lips, Klink cocked his head. "I know what you mean. I had a mentor, too. Colonel Schleswig. He was one of my instructors. He gave me a good piece of advice I try to always follow since then: 'Authority is a dangerous thing in the hands of fools'." He sighed. "He couldn't know that his words were almost prophetic given the insanity that started after Hitler took over." He stiffened and looked at Hogan. "I had never said the later before, it is grounds to be shot for high treason."

The American reached out and placed a hand on the older man's arm. "Nothing you told me will leave this room, Wilhelm," he said softly, and meant it.

Another smile tugged at Klink's mouth. "The same goes for you, Robert. Whatever you tell me will stay with me, okay?"

Both men glanced at each other; their eyes made a promise that was stronger than a voiced one. This here was private and concerned no-one else.

Pulling a part of the comforter around him, Klink continued his task to loosen the younger man up. If Hogan trusted him with private things from the past, he also would sooner or later trust him enough to speak about his captivity in the Gestapo-Headquarters. And the latter was very important, as Dr. Birkhorn had driven the point home.

"So, you didn't want to become a flyer from the beginning – just like me. Yet we both landed in the flying department of our armies. Where was your training?"

"In Florida," Hogan answered. "I spent a few years there. Have you ever been to Florida – or the United States at all?" he asked. As Klink shook his head, an almost dreamy smile began to play around the colonel's swollen lips. "In Florida it's always spring or summer, the air is rich with the smell of flowers and woods, and the water of the Gulf is most times warmer than in a bath tub. Even the rainy period is warm and full of natural wonders. Tower-high clouds in all shades of black, blue and white with pink and lilac flashes. And the cities… Miami is expanding rather nicely – a town full of different people of different heritage. Shops, bars and restaurants are along the seaside, the beaches with their palm trees are inviting everyone to take a rest, and the streets are wide and open. Or the Keys… They are lined up between the Atlantic and the Gulf like pearls – one little island more beautiful than the next one. With little colorful houses, houseboats and residences. The most beautiful thing is the sunset. It's white – not red or lilac, but white-golden. The skies are turning into a soft rose mixed with silver and gold, while the sun sinks into the shimmering waves." He sighed. "Or the Great Plains… You should see them, Wilhelm. An area as large as half of Germany, covered with high grass that waves gently in the wind like a green sea – here and there interrupted by hills…"

Hogan continued to describe his homeland – the territories he had been within the US. He talked of the landscapes, of the people and their quirks, and the weather. He spoke of the tornado he once saw – "Like the skies are ripped open and a finger of clouds is sent down to Earth. The word 'tornado' has its roots in an Indian word meaning 'Finger of God'. Well, it is like a finger – a dark one that brings destruction wherever it touches the ground." Then he told of the Rocky Mountains – so like the Alps, yet so much more towering and wilder.

And Klink listened. Having always had a vivid imagination, he could envision everything. Hogan's hoarse voice – warm with affection for his home – painted pictures in the Oberst's mind, and he thought he could even smell the rich aroma of the Keys or the hot and dry air of the Llano Estacado.

And during his telling, Hogan became calmer and relaxed utterly. The memories of his home seemed to give him peace, and Klink was glad for it. Not daring to interrupt the younger man, he took in every word and sentence Robert said – until Hogan's voice began getting quieter. Looking down at him, Klink realized that his American counterpart was about to fall asleep again, and he wasn't aware of the tender smile on his face. Feeling a wave of pure love washing over him, he watched how Robert finally dropped off in the middle of a word – eyes closed, face and body without any tension, breath even.

Waiting a few minutes more to be certain that Hogan was really deeply asleep, Klink finally moved from the spot he had been sitting for almost an hour. Bending forwards he switched off the lamp on the nightstand, snitched one of the pillows which still supported Hogan and crawled under the comforter and blanket. Last night his presence had prevented Robert from suffering new nightmares, maybe this night it would be the same.

Snuggling closer towards the man who held his heart, but making certain not to touch him to spare him any discomfort, Klink closed his eyes. Hogan's voice and the images of his home accompanied him into his dreams…

TBC…

Well, to think and to speak of home always give some strength and comfort – and I think Hogan is no exception in this matter. It also was fun to write a little bit about Düsseldorf, after all I was born there. Concerning Klink's past: There are a few hints within several episodes, which tell about the Oberst's youth and childhood. I took those information and connected them in a (hopefully) logical way. I hope, you liked it just like the rest of the chapter.

The next chapter will begin with a funny scene of LeBeau catching the two colonels sleeping side by side (just guess Louis' reaction to that). And then there will be a very emotional rollercoaster, because anything that happened is going to break out of Hogan. Klink will learn like this about everything Robert had to endure during his captivity in the Gestapo-HQ and also what almost had happened to him. It will elicited a reaction from the 'Iron Eagle' that is going to be only one but very important of the impetuses which later are going to make Hogan realize the feelings his German counterpart has to harbor for him.

So, be ready for a big up and down.

I hope you liked the last chapter, and I really would be happy to learn what you think of the first real private moment between our two colonels.

Have a nice Sunday and a good start into the next week,

Love

Yours Starflight