Hi, my dear readers,
Thank you so very much for the many reviews you left. I'm really happy that the story finds more and more readers and even some fans.
I don't want to reveal too much about the new chapter, only that it is an emotional one with new background concerning Klink, Newkirk showing even more distrust and then… Well, let me put it like this. This chapter is the first one for which you maybe will need something cool to drink. It isn't too hot (this will come later), but the first step into this direction is made.
So, have fun,
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 26 – Crazy dreams
The Heroes, except for LeBeau who remained in Klink's quarters to prepare lunch, returned to Barracks 2. They were shivering because of the icy wind outside and were glad to reach the relative warmth of the hut. The door had barely had time to close behind them, as Newkirk began to vent his spleen. "This is madness at best! Klink an ally! Klink jumps on any bandwagon that could give him advantages or just keep his neck safe. And now, after he realizes that Hitler and his goonies are about to lose the war, he's a big friend all of a sudden. That is…"
"Weren't you listening?" Kinch interrupted him. "The colonel said that Klink has assumed and more or less known about us for two years now. Even if he'd have used snail mail to inform the Gestapo, they would have been here months ago."
"He'd only guessed about our missions – and the gov'nor confirmed it," Newkirk snapped. "I have listened!"
"Klink… knows about us?" Olsen, who lay on the upper stock bed, looked down on Hogan's main team, shocked. The other POWs inside the barracks stopped dead in their tracks; eyes wide, jaws agape.
"Calm down, fellas," Kinchloe tried to soothe them. "Yesterday, Klink admitted to Colonel Hogan that he had become suspicious of us two years or so ago, had by now figured everything out and was breaking his silence to openly offer us his help."
"He told us about this new project the Krauts have built somewhere," Carter began. "And he also…"
"That the ME-262 is going into serial-production and that there is a new complex facility somewhere in middle-eastern Germany is really nothing our boys wouldn't have found out by themselves. Basically he hasn't said anything that is really useful for the Allies," Peter groused.
"Oh, and you think that the newest Messerschmitt will be released by 1000 per month and is built in an underground factory is something our Intelligence isn't interested in?" Baker asked, perplexed. "This information gives London the chance to react before our boys face thousands of new enemies in the air. They're warned now!"
"And they are certainly also interested in the fact that the aircraft now has a longer range or that it is less maneuverable in lower heights. Or that it is still used as a quick-bomber, which slows it down because it is built for defense," Kinchloe added. "Peter, just forget your grudges for one moment and admit that Klink gave us a lot of valuable information."
"By the way, I'd assumed that Klink had known more than he let on for quite some time now. Didn't you?" Carter piped up.
Newkirk threw his hands up. "Yes, I have thought that Klink isn't as blind and deaf as he pretends to be. But now, after I got my worst suspicions confirmed, I… I can't really come to terms with it. At least not easily." He sighed. "Until now this whole thing between him and Hogan, whatever it is, was a kind of silent agreement," he growled. "Klink said nothing and we avoided his attention as much as possible. But that the gov'nor's now admitted everything to him is… is insane. Klink has us in his clutches now – I mean, really, really in his clutches. He can blackmail us, demand…"
"I don't think that he will abuse this knowledge to his advantage," Andrew interrupted him; shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "He won't do anything that will endanger Colonel Hogan, and…"
"Why?" Peter demanded. "What advantages does he expect? That he won't be put to court-martial when the Allies get him? Or do you really believe him when he says that he sees a friend in Hogan?"
"I know that he likes the colonel – a lot," Carter replied. "Boy, was Klink beside himself when he saw the entirety of the colonel's injuries when Wilson had to patch Hogan up. Or afterwards, as he kicked out this SS-Leutnant. I thought he would have strangled the guy if he took just one step closer to Hogan. And I don't think that this was an act. He… was really afraid for the colonel."
"And what shall we do now?" Olsen asked no one in particular. "Okay, if Klink has really been covering for us all those months, then we're safe. But if not, what?"
"Then start praying," Newkirk grumbled.
"The colonel knows what he's doing," Kinchloe cut in. "He's never let us down, he's never endangered us as long as he could prevent it, he stood up for us and came for us whenever one or more of us landed in deep water. If he trusts Klink, then he has reasons for it – maybe more reasons than Klink chose to share with us."
"Or he is too tired and too exhausted by now to think clearly," Newkirk hissed and rifled through his few belongings for a cigarette.
"I don't think so," Andrew said. "Yes, he's in a bad shape and I do believe that he will still need a while until he is healed, but his mind is clear, like always. And when he asked us to trust Klink, he also asked us to trust him, because if he trusts Klink but we don't then we've no trust in him. Right?"
Newkirk and Baker looked at him. "Could you please repeat this, in understandable English this time?" Peter asked; half baffled, half amused.
"Please don't – or I'll get a headache," Kinchloe groaned, before he addressed another topic, "By the way, Klink was right about one thing, at least. If we hold still for too long – maybe until the colonel is fit again – the brass in Berlin will certainly put one and one together, and then they have us. So we need to remind Burkhalter and the others that there is still an active Underground-cell in Hammelburg – and that is has 'nothing' to do with Colonel Hogan or us here."
"That makes sense," Olsen nodded. "Burkhalter is no idiot – regrettably."
"I'll call London and try to reach General Butler. I'll give him the information we got from Klink concerning the new Messerschmitt and the upcoming serial production. And I'll also ask him for an easy, but spectacular task. He may have a job for us." Kinch stepped to the hidden entrance, knocked at the upper stock-bed and was ready to climb down the ladder, as Newkirk held him back.
"Are you going to tell the general about Klink?"
Kinch shook his head. "No, this I'll leave up to the colonel. Shall he tell his friend that our 'idiot' main jailer might be another guardian angel within this camp."
"And who is the other 'angel'?" Carter asked.
"Who else than our 'Strudel'-King."
*** HH ***
After Schultz and the others left, Hogan tried to find some rest, while Klink stripped off his uniform and slipped into simple trousers, a shirt and his red housecoat. It was obvious that he would stay on the sofa with a blanket after lunch, and this was certainly for the better, because with some unease Hogan saw how the older man's cheeks sported a red hue, hinting that his temperature had risen anew.
After serving the two officers lunch, LeBeau left, too, and both men ate quickly, before Klink prepared some tea for Hogan and himself.
"You know, when I learned earlier that it was you who had initiated the explosion of the Berlin Express you had almost been forced to board, I… felt sick," Klink said quietly, while offering Hogan some sugar for the tea. "My intention was to make it as comfortable as possible for you when I insisted you travel with said train. And then it almost sealed your doom." He shook his head. "Do I really want to know how often you danced with the Grim Reaper while under my responsibility?"
Hogan sighed. "Dozens of times, yet I knew what I bargained for when I accepted the mission before I came to Germany. But… I never imagined that there would be an enemy officer who'd care for me." He looked straight at the older man. He saw the guilt in those blue eyes and continued gently, "It wasn't your fault, Will, it was mine. I was overjoyed when London ordered me back to the US, then I thought closer about it and wanted to take back my agreement, but it was too late." He cocked his head. "Yet I have problems understanding why you were so full of glee as you presented Crittendon, of all people, to me – why you even locked me in the cooler while literally rubbing your hands." His moistened his lips, before he softly added. "You said you've cared for me for a long time now, but a year ago you were glad to get rid of me."
'Why?' he thought for the second time this day. 'Why did you react this way?'
Klink looked down at his untouched cup. "Like I said, I wanted to get Hochstetter out of your hair so that you would be safer than before. And…" He took a deep breath. "You'd irritated me a lot the weeks prior and I wanted to get you down a peg or two. I knew that you and Crittendon don't get along and I thought it would teach you a lesson. You said that everything went out of hand, and you're right. It was the same for me. Crittendon told me of your planned escape – and I knew that Hochstetter was only waiting for the chance to finally get you. Fleeing would have been tantamount to suicide. Therefore I locked you up, then regretted my harshness and came to speak with you – maybe searching for a reason to give you back command of the POWs." He grimaced. "And then you showed me that even the cooler can't hold you. This, coupled with your intended escape, which would call the Gestapo on the scene quicker than anything else, made me decide to transfer you. And it almost killed you." – 'And that would have killed a part of me, too,' he thought. He lowered his head. "As it seems I did everything wrong."
Hogan had watched him closely and he saw the rue but also the sadness on the older man's face. 'This is your problem, Willie. Everything you try to do backfires on you, because you've an unlucky hand and, above all, too many people work against you. But not anymore. Not if I can help it.'
"To say the truth, the whole plan of my intended escape was nothing more than a cover-story. The Berlin Express was doomed and with it the Kesseling refinery, but if I'd escaped at the same time – to return to the States like ordered – no-one would have believed my escape was a coincidence. They would have left no stone in the camp unturned and then they would have found out about my men – and they would have held you responsible for everything. It would have meant certain death for you all. So Crittendon came up with the plan that I should be officially transferred so that even Hochstetter wouldn't find a reason to suspect me. Later, after the explosion, it was planned that I would be freed by the Underground. Like this, I would have had a tight alibi, which would also work perfectly for you here in Stalag 13." He chuckled shortly. "And then you wanted to give me a kind of good-bye-gift by arranging a ride on the comfortable Berlin Express for me. That was the reason for my shouting at my men about the way I would be travelling."
"It was your way of crying for help," Klink whispered. "So I wasn't imagining things: You were afraid." As he saw Hogan simply nodding, he rubbed over his ring of hair with both hands. "I'm sorry, Robert. I almost got you killed."
"It wasn't your fault," the colonel repeated softly; seeing that the whole thing had shaken Klink to the core. Sweet Lord, how deeply did the older man's feelings run for him?
Clearing his throat, he continued, "My men and Crittendon left the camp in secret and tried to stop the truck that would take me to the Hammelburg station, but Crittendon – who really has two left feet – screwed it up. Thank the Lord the truck got a flat tire, giving us additional time. Then my men caught up with us, freed me, fixed the tire and brought my escort to a meeting point with the Underground, who took care of the guards. And then we returned to the camp – the boys in secret and I officially. But Crittendon, always boasting, remained outside of the wires where you caught him, which gave you a reason to transfer him and not me to Stalag 15." He made a face. "The whole mission was pure chaos – because for a moment I'd forgotten what is most important to me: My men and my mission." He snorted. "Well, and second most important to me is this damn camp I really have come to regard as a sort of 'home' far away from home."
Klink had listened carefully and cocked his head. "You told me a lot of sentimental trash about you feeling regret for leaving Stalag 13 and longing to be back here. I laughed it off, because – all jokes aside – I do know that this here is nothing more than a prison. And men like you, especially, love their freedom. Yet… I hoped that you really did feel something other than loathing and disgust for the camp."
Hogan's brown eyes roamed over the Oberst's tired face. Commanding a POW-camp wasn't a dream-career, yet the colonel knew that Klink did more than just his duty. He indeed took his responsibilities very seriously and had learned to be proud of the camp. And, like Hogan had to admit, he felt likewise. They had their own little world here. It wasn't perfect – far from it – but it could be a lot worse.
"You maybe won't believe me, but I do regard the camp as a kind of home by now. There are a lot of things that change a place into a home. My friends are here, we're relatively safe, we've nourishment, a roof above our heads, daily routine and we even have fun sometimes. The world is becoming even more sinister and crazier week by week, but somehow all the evilness and darkness remain outside these wires. If everything outside is like a desert, we've an oasis here. We're not free, but we're also not in danger – at least as long as Burkhalter doesn't abuse the camp as a storage for German weapons and so on. And even then you try to shield us and also your men. Home means safety – and somehow this oasis here has turned into a large boat we all occupy. Hell, it's not for nothing that POWs and guards are talking with each other, sharing some harmless stories or cigarettes. And I'm certain that some of them would be friends, if it wasn't for the damn war."
Hogan's statements and calm voice gave Klink more strength than twenty hours of sleep. He knew that most POWs loathed him, yet it hadn't slipped his attention that there were dozens of them who talked to the guards – and the other way around. The tolerance that was sometimes displayed had given him a sense of peace – a peace they all longed for. Maybe, when the war would be finally over, a few of his own men and some of the POWs would remember the one or other situation in which they didn't regard each other as enemies. On the other hand, he knew that his wish was the father of this thought.
"I'm glad that Stalag 13 gives you a feeling of security and that you've learned to regard it as a kind of home, but we both know that this here is only a substitute. I remember how fondly you spoke of your home in the States and I recognized your longing to go back. I'm certain that every one of those men outside of my quarters are yearning for their home, too, but I'm forced to keep them here. At least I can try to help end this war as soon as possible."
Hogan cocked his head. "What you revealed this morning to my men and me about the imminent start of serial-production of the ME-262 was more than simply covering for us. You decided to take a more active part – and for this I want to thank you."
A snort escaped Klink. "Betrayal is always welcomed, but never the traitor."
"You aren't a traitor, Will. You're a fighter in your own way and you fight for a better world, free of insane dictators, oppression and daily murders. I see it like this – and my men certainly do, too."
"I hope so. I know that they despise me, yet the talk this morning went better than I expected," the Kommandant murmured, while he took the cup and began to twirl it in his hands. Hogan watched him and, not for the first time, he became aware of the other man's long, slender fingers. Klink had elegant hands, that much was for sure, and…
Hogan groaned inwardly. Obviously he really was about to turn crazy.
Clearing his throat, he murmured, "Well, they were more difficult than I feared. Yes, I do understand that they are distrustful, but…" He sighed. "I'm sorry if they offended you during the discussion."
Klink shook his head. "Everything is all right, Robert, don't worry your head over it. To say the truth, I didn't dare hope that they would give me a chance at all. They don't know me that well like you do and, to say the truth, there is still much I don't know about them. I've no clue what they had been through before they came to Stalag 13, what they had done before the war, whom they may have lost and who waits for them at home. We Germans started the war so it's our fault that they were torn out of their lives and are now far away from those they love; locked into a camp and fearing for their future day by day. And I've not given them many reasons to like me, even if I have tried to be fair and understanding to them. I know that they're only giving me a chance now because they respect and love you too much to reject your request." He sighed again. "Maybe I should have revealed everything to you sooner."
Hogan grimaced. "Well, it would have certainly spared me a lot of problems. I got the first grays because of too much stress and trouble." He pointed at his temples, where the first silver sparkles hid beneath the bandage.
A chuckle escaped the Oberst, who glanced up again; blue eyes soft. "Look who is talking. Why do you think I'm already balding, Troublemaker?"
Feeling the chance for a little bit of joking – something he needed just right now – Hogan asked innocently, "Heritage of your grandpa?" He caught Klink's scandalized gaze and added, "You know that most things repeat themselves in the second generation? If your grandpa was balding in his younger years, too, you have your answer."
"God prevent that I become like my grandfather," the Oberst groaned, while placing the cup on the saucer. "I'd rather blow my own brains out with the next available bullet. It would be better for everyone around me."
Hogan couldn't help himself; he had to snicker. After the tension he had undergone in the later morning, having something to laugh about felt like heaven – especially together with the man who wasn't any longer a pretend-friend but a true one. "Was he that bad?"
"He is still that bad," Klink corrected him. "94 years old – and still someone who could even make Burkhalter run away. I swear, every time I visit my mother and am unfortunate enough to meet the old crock, I'm happy to still be alive when I return to Stalag 13."
"Aw," Hogan teased, "he's still family."
"Ja, yet there is the old saying: You can't choose your family, but your friends." He looked back at his American counterpart. "I'd rather spend a whole day together with Burkhalter than one hour with my grandfather or my brother Friedrich. I'm absolutely happy when I know them to be far away."
"And your younger brother – Wolfgang?"
Klink chuckled for a moment. "Wolfgang is a completely different kind of person – a jinx. A good man, yes, but he has two left feet. And how is the saying? 'Luck is on the side of the fools'? As the factory he worked in exploded, he was injured. Not fatally, but his right side still gives him trouble and prevented him from being sent to the Russian Front or any other battle zones. Today they even conscript half-grown boys, but Wolfgang is off the hook because he limps and he is deaf on the right ear. Friedrich offered him a job, but Wolfgang declined. He doesn't want to have anything to do with Friedrich – just like me."
"Your older brother doesn't belong to your favorites," Hogan assumed, and Klink grimaced.
"You can say that." He shook his head. "My sister Auguste is the very reverse of Friedrich. She is a nice lady. After she overcame the mourning of our father and grew up, she became self-confident, yet warmhearted and kind. Of what my mother told me, she takes after my grandmother."
"See, second-generation," Hogan threw in; smiling softly. It surprised him that Klink was willing to share more details of his private life so soon – of his family. Maybe the older man did it to show him how much he trusted him, or the Oberst simply needed a change of topic, too. The last two mornings had been hard for both of them.
"Yes, in this case you're right," the German officer nodded. "Wolfgang takes after my grandmother and mother, too. And if you see him, Auguste and Friedrich you would never guess that they are siblings."
The colonel watched him closely and saw old irritation shimmering in his German counterpart's eyes. There was no doubt for its reason, and Hogan wanted to help Klink the way the older man had done yesterday: By making him talk so some of his burden could be relieved. "You and your older brother are really not on good terms."
"Far from it. Auguste married a businessman from Switzerland – Gabriel Adler. A nice man with a kind spirit. They really belong together. Wolfgang is a chemist and worked in said factory in Düsseldorf until it was blown up. LeBeau was right last summer, you know. You remember when he was hit by lighting and got all gypsy all of a sudden?" He lifted a hand as Hogan moved to speak. "I'm convinced that this was a trick to make me move the guards to a planned phony attack. Like this, you could destroy the new device in the tank that was stationed in the camp for a few days – and I played along." He caught Robert's sheepish smirk, rolled his eyes and took another deep breath. "But, nevertheless, LeBeau may have been correct when he said that it was Wolfgang's fault that the factory had been destroyed. He entrusted Mother with everything. Obviously, he mixed something wrong in the cellars. It's pure luck that the authorities blamed an Allied air craft ambush for the explosion. Otherwise…" He shuddered. "I destroyed the letter she wrote me. No need for it to maybe fall into the wrong hands one day. But what I wanted to point out is that Wolfgang doesn't want to cause harm to anyone, but misfortune follows him like a second shadow."
'So, you and he are the misadventurous ones,' Hogan thought. 'Seems to be a family streak.'
"But my brother Friedrich…" Klink snorted. "He is worse. No, he does not have two left feet, but what has become of him is daunting, to put it mildly. He is an ardent worshiper of Hitler, treats his workers like dirt and boasts about his good connections with the 'really important men within Germany'. And even now, after half of our country lies in ruins, he still blames the Allies and not the madman in Berlin, who doesn't give a damn how many lives it takes to achieve his desire to rule the world."
'That's another reason why you support the Allies – you want to be a better man than your big brother, who, by the way, could live his life as a businessman while you were forced to enter the Army. And I've the feeling that you older brother even taunts you about it,' Hogan thought. 'Sweet Lord, Will, why does everyone around you trample on you and your feelings? You deserve so much better!'
For a moment he had the strong impulse to round the table and take the older man into his arms; showing him that there were people who really cared for him. And the mere imagination did funny things to Hogan's belly: It clenched in a very pleasant way.
The colonel called himself to order. This couldn't be happening to him. This was only an overreaction because of everything he had been through within the last week or so. He liked women! And this… this thing that seemed to lurk somewhere in the most hidden corners of his being was simply a… a… Well, he didn't know what it was, but it'd better remain where it was! He had no use for it.
'Liar,' a voice whispered in his mind and he firmly pushed it away. Concentrating on the talk and hoping for a distraction, Hogan asked quietly, "What kind of business does your older brother run?"
Klink took a deep breath and leant back. "In earlier times he opened a factory for high society fashion – menswear only. Coats, business suits, tailcoats, so on. He made a lot of money and his company even survived the stock market crash of 1929. Afterwards his business ran even better – especially during Hitler's rise. The German economy bloomed in the first years after Hitler took over. Construction of highways, fabrication of small cars for everyone, new large buildings, expansion of already existing buildings… There were as good as no people unemployed. Men and women who hadn't been able to indulge themselves in luxury suddenly had enough money they could spend for their own benefits. And everyone wanted to show how well he or she was living. New fashion styles and expensive details were in great demand – silk, velvet, furs. My brother made a lot of money, but he's a clever mind. I've to give him this. As Hitler began his war, he knew that the times of high society would eventually come to an end, and that demand for another kind of clothing was growing rapidly. So he changed his assortment."
"He produces uniforms now," Hogan guessed, and Klink nodded.
"Ja. Today his company is one of the most important uniform producers in Germany. And, as far as I understood from my mother, most of his workers are forced laborers by now. The cut out and sewing are done by women – either for a breadline wage or they are simply prisoners, the latter for whatever reason. But those jobs that demand more physical effort are done by males. Friedrich not only has the whole sewing production, but also the fabrication of the different buttons and insignia and badges of rank. Operating the machines is tiresome and for these tasks he has male workers – mainly forced laborers." He grimaced. "If you regard it in a certain way, we both work with prisoners, but I try to handle mine politely and with respect. When I hear Friedrich talk about his 'workers', who can be 'lucky to still be alive or don't have to carve out their miserable existence in a prison or a camp', I get sick!"
Hogan watched him closely again. 'You are far too softhearted for your position, Willie, or for being a soldier at all. You really would have found a better place among a medical staff, but here you are – a colonel of the German Luftwaffe who despises the cruelty and inhumanity of your own government, and tries to make this whole insanity more bearable for everyone within his range of responsibility. And because your regards would mean your death, you're playing the idiot, showing fake sternness and dancing between the rain-drops. I never imagined I would think this, but I'm really beginning to admire you.'
Without being fully conscious of his own doing, he reached out and patted the older man's underarm that rested beside the emptied plate. "You are too good for this crazy world, do you know this?"
Klink waved his other hand; his usual vanity and pompous behavior had no place here, in that moment. "There are many other men and women who are even more 'too good for this crazy world', Robert. And I pray that a few of them will remain when the flames of war will be finally doused."
"I'm convinced of this, Will," Hogan answered slowly. "Yet, I think it will be a long way before the distrust and the wrath on all sides will decrease and maybe vanish one day."
"Hope dies last," the Kommandant nodded.
*** HH ***
The rest of the day both men rested – everyone in their own bed. There were many things they had to think about, but Hogan still sported the rest of the bronchitis and Klink was still weakened. So both slept most of the time, met for dinner and went early to bed again. And, like the last nights, Hogan woke up in the late evening as the mattress beside him moved. To his shock he felt a wave of joy and warmth, while his pulse quickened.
"Still awake?" came the whispered question from beside him.
"No," he murmured back. "I'm still asleep."
His heart-beat increased as a soft chuckle reached his ear, followed by a gentle, "Good night, Rob,"
"Good night, Will – sleep well," Hogan heard himself answering. He listened to the even breath nearby and felt himself relaxing. It still baffled him that Klink's presence soothed him like this, but it felt too good to think about it more. Sweet Lord, he was about to get used to having the older man sleeping beside him.
'If you aren't careful, you're going to have a problem when you return to your own quarters, Robert,' he chided himself and blinked in the darkness. Yet he couldn't help it; the proximity of the other man calmed him in a way he hadn't experienced before. And therefore it wasn't a surprise that sleep claimed him easily.
*** HH ***
Using the flashlight, James Kinchloe climbed up the 'ladder' and slipped into the otherwise dark barracks. Switching on the light during the late evening was too dangerous, because even with the shutters closed the light could be seen outside. And there was the general order of 'lights out' after nine o'clock pm.
Newkirk peeked down from the top of the stock-bed he occupied, while LeBeau braced himself on one elbow. Carter and Olsen also watched the sergeant, who closed the hidden entrance and straightened his shape, curiously.
"Message from London. The brass seems to have gotten very nervous because of the upcoming serial production of the new Messerschmitt they learned of by the plans Nimrod gave us, and they want to have as many details as possible – especially concerning where this flying beast is assembled. If they can't destroy the factory we're gonna have another big problem."
"Maybe our new friend Klink can find out something more," Newkirk grumbled. "That means, if he doesn't soil his own pants when he asks Burkhalter," he taunted.
"Klink demonstrated very clearly that he's got balls, as he saved the colonel two times; even risking his own life," Carter mumbled. "You should really learn to accept this."
"I'm not that dewy-eyed, unlike some other people," he shot Andrew a glance.
"Yet you should trust the colonel. And if he trusts Klink, then I see no reason why I shouldn't follow his example," Carter defended himself.
"There is more," Kinch cut in before another discussion could break loose. "We shall not only gather as much information as we can concerning the Messerschmitt – and London is delighted that we obviously have a new information source – but they agree with our idea to have a mission that isn't too risky, but is enough to kill any suspicions Berlin could get concerning Papa Bear's sudden absence that goes hand in hand with the colonel's healing process."
"Let me guess: They just can't agree with each other as to what kind of mission we shall have," LeBeau mused.
"Obviously. They'll contact us soon again."
"And mainly they hope that we've new information then," Newkirk assumed.
"Exactly!"
"Great. Just let us hope that Klink's abilities as a 'spy' are better than as a camp-commander."
LeBeau threw both hands up. "Merde, you're worse than me, and this is saying something." He lay back and pulled the blanket over himself. "Bon nuit, everyone. Contrary to some other people, I've a job at the moment and that demands a well-rested cook!"
Carter lay back, too, while Kinch began to peel off his clothes. "I really wish we were ten days or so in the future," Andrew mused.
"Why?" Kinchloe wanted to know.
"Because then even the last doubting Thomas would have learned not to doubt the colonel's regards and opinions."
Newkirk groaned. "I don't distrust the gov'nor's point of view, I only have trouble seeing Klink as a buddy all of a sudden."
"No-one is demanding this of you," Carter replied. "But you should know the colonel well enough by now to realize that he wouldn't put us in danger because of a mood. Hell, he tries to keep us out of danger even during missions, and goes alone if he thinks the risks are too high for us. He does everything possible to keep us safe – and if he thinks that Klink ensures our safety, then I believe him!"
Newkirk didn't say anything to it anymore, but he lay wide awake when the others were already asleep; hoping – praying – that his superior and friend hadn't fallen into a trap that would close over them all.
*** HH ***
It was warm and cozy – and even through his closed eyes he was aware of the soft golden light that shone in the semi-darkness of the room. Gentle hands ghosted over his exposed skin; tender fingertips stroked over his rib-cage while silken lips wandered softly from his chest to his belly; leaving a trail of rising fire.
He couldn't suppress the quiet moan that escaped his throat, while he instinctively grasped for his lover. His hands found lean, firm shoulders while muscles moved beneath his palms. Warm breath danced over his abdomen, soothed the tension of the still lasting bruises – and woke anticipation.
A shiver ran through him and he sensed a tightening in his loins, while he felt himself hardening. A soft chuckle echoed through the air. "Here is someone very eager," a voice whispered. A finger ran softly along his heated member and a wave of pure lust washed over him.
His grip around his lover's shoulders became stronger. "Please," he murmured; wishing – no, needing! – to feel those lips on the most vulnerable part of his body.
"In time, Rob," came the soft reply, before the hot mouth was back on his belly; teasing and fondling him in one.
Rob…
This voice…
Robert forced his lids open; heavy with passion. Above him was a wooden ceiling and from somewhere the quiet cracking of a fire was audible; matching the rhythm with which those clever lips were leaving wet tracks on his body.
His fingers slipped into his lover's hackles – they were soft and short. He felt blunt teeth nipping at his skin and, giving into the new wave of lust, he buried both hands in his lover's hair – hair that blended over into human silk at the top.
Lifting his head, he couldn't recognize much. His lover was nothing more than an almost invisible ghost, who suddenly looked up. The face remained unrecognizable – a bright hue in the golden half-darkness – but the eyes were clearly visible: Deep blue orbs looked with shining love and burning desire at him, while a strong, definitely male hand wandered over his hip…
Hogan woke up with a gasp. There was nothing more than darkness around him, but this wasn't bad. He lay beneath thick covers on something soft, it was warm and…
And there was an almost familiar long arm wrapped around his waist. The soft breath from his dream danced over his throat and for a moment he felt nothing else than security and comfort – shelter! – then he became aware of his throbbing member. And of the heat that ran through his veins. Not the hotness of fever or overheating, but the well-known ardor of desire.
Moistening his lips, he forced himself to wake up completely – and as the last remains of sleep released him, reality crashed down on him. His mind instantly knew who the secret lover in his wet dream had been, and there was no denying that he was incredibly turned on. And the worst was that said 'dream-lover' lay beside him and held him. Against his will a pleasant shiver ran down his spine.
'This… this goes too far!' Hogan thought, horrified. It was one thing to recognize another man's attractiveness – even if he hadn't seen the attractiveness of said man ever before! – and quite another to get lustful dreams of the guy. Sweet Lord, over a week ago he hadn't even called Klink handsome and…
Handsome! And from where, please, had this thought come now?
Klink was a balding man of middle age – almost fifty – with a bowed posture, lanky and sometimes clumsy movements, silly grins, intense blue eyes, gentle lips, elegant long hands, a tall, lean body and…
Hogan groaned as he realized the direction his thoughts were drifting to again.
This had to end! Here and now!
Willing his erection away with a lot of effort by thinking of unpleasant things, he tried to move away from Klink, who sighed in his sleep and tightened his hold around him – gentle and yet strong. Hogan growled in frustration; knowing that he couldn't move too harshly if he wanted to prevent the Oberst from waking up and, last but not less important for it, spare himself new pain connected to his broken ribs and healing bruises.
And, by the way, a part of him didn't even want to leave this cozy embrace. He stopped himself at the very last moment from thinking of it as 'pleasant'.
'Now it's official, Robert!' he rebuked himself. 'You've lost it. Utterly and doubtlessly lost it! And you've to get a grip on yourself, otherwise you'll have a bigger problem at hand than ever before, because there is no excuse for lusting after your own MALE jailer!'
He tried to relax again, but he was irritated with himself and irritated with Klink for being so damn alluring with his hidden yet so obvious feelings for him, those warm eyes and…
'STOP IT, ROBERT!' he inwardly screamed at himself. 'Not gay, remember? You like your friends, yes, you even love them, but not in THAT way, dammit! And you certainly don't have the hots for Klink, who… Whose touches are so alluring, whose tender care feels so good and…'
Hogan turned briskly on his right side; pressing his lips into a firm line to suppress an outcry as his ribs and his abdomen began to protest. He would never think further of this again! He wouldn't, end of story!
*** HH ***
There is a saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. As Hogan woke up the next morning, Klink was already in the bathroom and it gave the colonel the chance to get a tight grip on his confusing emotions. Klink had become a friend and nothing more! So, no need to panic because of a silly dream. A dream that was understandable, when he ruminated closer on it. He had been a prisoner for far too long and all he needed was to get laid. He had heard about other men who had been captured and developed feelings for their comrades or, partly, their jailers, just because there was no-one else they could turn to. And after all the nice and thoughtful things Klink had done for him, this here – these crazy reactions of his body and subconscious – was nothing else than the other blokes had been through.
That was it!
Satisfied to have figured everything out, Hogan relaxed and closed his eyes. And his contentment lasted exactly three seconds longer than Klink's arrival as the Oberst left the bathroom.
Hogan looked up, met the gentle smile of the older man – and his heart seemed to jump before it began to beat far too quickly.
No! Not again!
"Good morning," Klink greeted, good-humored. "Slept well?"
Hogan stared at him for a moment. That was a joke, right? A bad joke, because the American had barely found any sleep after this crazy dream!
Then, on the other hand, Klink couldn't know this.
Taking a deep breath and trying to calm his racing pulse, Hogan glanced at his German counterpart. The older man wore his blue bathrobe and was barefoot. And for the first time ever the colonel became aware of the other man's slender waist to which the thick material clung in a very pleasant way.
No! Please, not those thoughts now!
"Yes, thank you, and you?" the American replied; shocked at how hoarse his voice sounded.
Worried, Klink turned around. "Is it your throat again?" he asked. "Shall I call Dr. Birkhorn?"
"NO," Hogan said forcefully, and only as he caught the Kommandant's surprised gaze, he regained some control. "No, thank you. I'm just suffering from a dry mouth, that's all."
"I'll get us some tea," Klink said. "And then I've to make the morning roll call. I really don't want to go out into the cold, but if my prisoners are torn out of bed this early then it's only right that I do the same. And, by the way, it's about time to get some routine back."
"Ever thought about delaying the morning roll calls by an hour? Then everyone would be happier – you, your guards and certainly your POWs."
Klink glanced at him, scandalized. "Hogan, something called rules does exist. And one of them says that morning roll call in a POW camp has to be done in the early morning to reveal escapes if they happened during the night."
"Yes, understandable, but how early is early? And, by the way, there has never been an escape in your camp," the colonel argued.
"Yes, I know," Klink snorted. "Because my prisoners like it so much here that they always return." There was some humor in his voice.
Hogan rolled his eyes; grateful for the distraction and the fact that the little discussion had brought some normality back for him.
"There, you gave yourself an answer. And there is another reason to delay the whole thing."
"Enlighten me," the Kommandant mocked; obviously pleased by arguing with Hogan again.
"The weather. It's icy, windy and snowy – in the early morning even more than later. And you're responsible for the POWs' welfare. Do you have any idea how many of my men could catch a cold because they're torn out into this hellish weather clad in nothing more than what they wore when they were captured? And believe me, those blankets that belong to the standard equipment of a POW-camp are a small defense against the bitter cold. They barely shield us at all, even when we wrap them around us during morning roll call."
"The latter is forbidden, yet I tolerate it because I know that the men are freezing their asses off – just like I do," Klink said softly.
Hogan sighed. "I know. You are cold, we are cold. So why suffer when there is no need for it? Everyone stays in bed an hour longer and the risk of sickness decreases." He cocked his head. "Including the risk that you get another relapse, which would really be dangerous for you."
The older man watched him shortly, before a teasing smile appeared on his face. "Are you implying that I should lie down again and start my duty later?"
The colonel groaned. "Isn't that what I just said? I…" He stopped as he heard the Kommandant chuckling,
"I didn't know you liked my presence beneath the blankets this much."
Hogan gaped at him – and to his utter horror he felt blood rushing to his face; knowing that he was blushing like a schoolboy just right now. And, to worsen everything for him, his pulse began to rise again. No! Please, no!
"You've some points here, Robert," Klink continued; satisfied that it was Hogan for once who was speechless and, to the Oberst's delight, even blushing fiercely. And Klink prayed for a second that the reason for Robert's reddened face was as ambivalent as his own thoughts. "I think I'll speak with Schultz about a temporary delay of the morning roll calls – at least as long as the weather is this bad. But first, some tea for you and me – and maybe tomorrow we can both snuggle under the blankets longer than today."
He left the room and Hogan stared after him.
'Snuggle under the blankets'…
No, Klink didn't mean what Hogan had just thought he meant. The Kommandant was speaking of staying longer in bed to rest and not that they both would be cuddling and…
'Robert, stop it!' he pleaded with himself. 'This is utterly insane. Get a grip. You have never been drawn to another guy, and now – shortly before your fortieth birthday – you get a hard one because…'
He stopped his own thoughts. They would lead to nothing. He would need time to think everything through and…
He heard Klink working in the kitchen; realizing that he would be alone for the rest of the morning after breakfast – without Klink's nice companionship, which meant that…
Hogan rubbed over his face, encountering beard-stubble, before he groaned into his own hands. What the hell was the matter with him!
TBC…
Well, did I promise too much? Yes, they aren't together until now, but the first step from Hogan has been made – at least from his subconscious. And you can fight everyone, except for yourself. Yet our dear colonel will have a hard time to accept what has been woken in him. And there will be more dreams and reactions, so just wait…
Parallel our Heroes are going to have a new mission – with Hogan be forced to stay back, the Heroes still not trusting Klink fully, and Klink with giving more support than ever before. So, a little bit of chaos comes soon.
I also loved to write more about Klink's private background. In the TV-show his mother and younger brother Wolfgang are mentioned, on the other hand the photos on his desk also show a little girl between the two boys, so I also gave Klink a sister. His grandfather is also mentioned, who seemed to be anything than a nice man, so I made an own kind of story for him. And his older brother Friedrich, who is a character I created, will have a part in the story later. Maybe you liked the whole thing.
I hope the last chapter fulfilled some of your wishes concerning our two colonels, and I'm looking forward to your feedback (after you cooled down, mind you, *snicker*).
Have a nice rest of the weekend,
Love
Yours Starflight
