Hi, my dear readers!
Thank you so much for the large feedback the last chapter got. I know, the whole episode of Hochstetter's trial was something many of you looked forward to, but also didn't know what really to expect – after all, true justice was a fairy-tale during this time in Germany.
I'm curious what you're going to say to the verdict that will be handed down to Hochstetter.
But I also know that something else business your mind: The cliffhanger.
Yes, something dark is coming towards Berlin, and the whole thing is historical. The exact times which are mentioned for the historical disaster, are real, as well as the mentioned weather, the Divisions, the numbers, the warning-systems and its time, and so on. I think, you already assume to what I refer…
Well, 'Hogan's Heroes' was a parody – one of the best I ever watched – but it happened during one of the darkest times of whole Earth' history, and (just like historical events within the TV-show were mentioned), I included a real horror in this story. So, please don't be shocked…
I hope, you're going to like the chapter nonetheless. I did a lot of research concerning the street-names in 1945, the locations at this time, and so on – believe me, today the streets are mostly wear different names, just like the historical buildings, and so on. So, I would be glad if you can imagine a little bit Berlin of all those decades ago.
Love
Yours Starflight
Chapter 42 – Rising doom
"I almost didn't recognize you, Klink. I never saw you dishing out like this – or standing by your man in such a strong way." Burkhalter then continued, impressed, "And the way you fobbed off Hochstetter's attempts to provoke or to daunt you… You really have grown a backbone, my friend." He slapped the Oberst on the shoulder, who flushed.
"It was nothing," Klink tried to play it down. "This is a question of justice – of right and wrong. Times may have changed, but truth remains truth – and Hochstetter overdid it. One and a half years of him are more than enough. He brings the entire executive branch into disrepute!"
Of course, when it came to 'true' and 'not true', Klink had to admit to himself that a few statements he – and Schultz – made were a little bit twisted or exaggerated. However, Wilhelm knew the regime's version of 'justice'; if you really wanted fair play against the Gestapo or SS, you had to use some tricks. Hopefully he and the others had played their cards well. The mere thought that Hochstetter might be not sentenced sent a shiver down the Kommandant's back.
Schmidt, who carried the empty pack over his left shoulder, smiled at him. "I'm glad that you still make distinctions between the officers in charge within the Gestapo and SS. Not all are bad."
Klink gave him a real smile. "Yes, exceptions prove the rule. You are such an exception, young friend."
"Indeed," Burkhalter nodded. "This was a nice surprise you had up your sleeves, Herr Oberleutnant. If I would have known about the written statements and you having the poker, I certainly would have slept better."
"I apologize, Herr General, for letting you remain in the dark," Schmidt replied. "I thought everyone would appear more objective if you didn't know about this surprise." He glanced shortly at Klink, who bowed his head the tiniest bit in silent agreement. It was better that Burkhalter didn't learn that he was the only one of them who hadn't known beforehand about the proofs Schmidt had brought with him.
"Well, at least it showed our dear Klink here getting into top-form," the general deadpanned, as his lips curled in one of his rarely true smirks.
Sitting down on the chairs in the waiting area, the four men continued to talk with each other, waiting for the judges to come to a decision.
"Herr General, Gentlemen, the judges are back and are about to declare the sentence," the court clerk said politely while he looked out of the courtroom's door.
Burkhalter looked at his wristwatch: 09:58 h.
"About time," he grumbled. "I really don't have all Saturday."
"I agree," Klink nodded. "I want to return to Stalag 13 as soon as possible."
They stepped into the courtroom, where Hochstetter and his attorney had remained while the judges had retired for the deliberation. The chief-judge, the SS-court-master and the prosecutor had returned and stood at their desks, and waited, until Burkhalter and the others had taken their seats. The chief-judge rose to speak:
"Defendant rise!" he instructed, and Hochstetter obeyed.
"Defendant, this Court finds you guilty of insubordination and disobeying a direct order of a Luftwaffe-general within a regular cross-functional cooperation of Luftwaffe, Gestapo and SS. Further you are guilty of rank-abuse for personal purpose, and of shown cowardice during a raid by the enemy. We cannot legally find that your actions during the latter resulted in the death of three of your underlings and a Luftwaffe-Oberst's injuries, but at the least your behavior eased the enemy's attempts to eliminate said Oberst and members of your troop. It's expected of a German man, especially a member of the SS, to hold his ground to the last and protect those who are his responsibility."
"Concerning the entire incident between you and the POW-Officer Colonel Robert E. Hogan of the US Air Corps: to investigate and interrogate suspects is the sworn duty of both the Gestapo and the SS. Inevitably, harsher methods are sometimes required to produce the necessary results, particularly when the country and its people are in danger. Yet you allowed yourself to get carried away with uncalled-for cruelty, based on your personal feelings of hatred towards the suspect. Such conduct is unbefitting of our German dignity and is unbecoming of a commanding officer of the SS and the Gestapo. This special abuse in connection with the attempted murder of the suspect, was in complete contravention to the earlier clearly given order of a Luftwaffe-general. This cannot be excused under any reasonable claim of duty but can be and is regarded as your wish for personal vengeance. Given those facts, the Court has made its sentence."
Klink was watching Hochstetter while listening to the chief-judge's explanation. The major had first turned white, then red and then white again, and Wilhelm felt satisfaction growing in him as he listened to the judge's words. A quick glance at Burkhalter's face showed nothing – at least to those who didn't know him like the Oberst did. The general was pleased, this much was for certain.
"Gentlemen, please rise for the proclamation of sentence!" the prosecutor said strongly.
*** HH *** HH ***
While the judges deliberated and the four witnesses sat idly talking outside of the Berlin courtroom, few were either idle or talking in and around Stalag 13.
In fact, it was messy – at least for most of the POWs and guards. Over 250 prisoners were spread out between the Hoffenstein Pass and the main road south of Hammelburg, shoveling away snow that the two tanks couldn't reach. 50 camp-guards and another 20 SS watched the prisoners like hawks as they worked without any breaks.
The mood among all both inside and outside the camp was low and almost dark. Yes, the POWs were used to working for their German captors when ordered, but Schultz had always been in charge and the jobs were relatively easy. And Klink really did comply with the Geneva Convention, since the prisoners were allowed breaks for water and food (in addition to getting paid for their work).
Not so Sandhaus. The men working would not be allowed any food or water until after their return to the camp. The presence of the black-clad SS soldiers added more stress to the situation, because it was well-known how 'trigger-happy' these men were.
The core team was split; Baker, LeBeau and Carter were part of the first snow removal shift, while Newkirk and Kinchloe remained behind in the camp. Kinch manned the radio while Newkirk watched the grounds in case Sandhaus left the Kommandantur to check on the other POWs. Unfortunately, their last defender, Karl Langenscheidt, had been placed in charge of the troops guarding the outdoor workers. Since they didn't know the remaining guards very well, Newkirk and Kinch had to be very careful.
Yet Kinchloe was glad that he had manned the radio – not knowing how crucial this one talk would be for everyone (and especially for the two colonels).
Hearing the incoming signal, James quickly activated the connection.
"Papa Bear to Goldilocks, we read you, over."
"Papa Bear, message from Bird Roc. More information about the hill-project needed. Any chance Valiant Tailor can get some more details?"
Kinch groaned inwardly; he had hoped London wasn't going to pump Klink for information every time the brass wanted something. And just now, there was no chance to ask their Kommandant for anything.
"Negative, Goldilocks, Valiant Tailor is not in his sewing-room, but in the Black Heart. I repeat, Valiant Tailor is in the Black Heart and will return tomorrow."
Kinch waited for the reply. He knew that London wouldn't be happy that their new source was unavailable for the moment, because the man in question was in Berlin – the 'Black Heart' – but the fact was unalterable. There was an unusually long pause, then London radioed anew.
"Come again, Papa Bear. Valiant Tailor is in the Black Heart?" The sound of the voice made Kinch wary. Something was very wrong.
"Yes, he's attending a meeting about right and wrong concerning Dwarf Nose," Kinch replied, having heard Hogan using this code-name for Hochstetter a few times while speaking with London.
"Papa Bear, bad news. Two big flocks of gulls are on their way to the Black Heart and will reach same within the next 45 minutes. Any chance to warn Valiant Tailor?"
Kinchloe felt lightheaded, as if the blood had drained from his brain, while his eyes widened.
Oh! My! God!
Kinch checked the time: 10:07 hrs. There was not much time left to act.
*** HH *** HH ***
Back in Berlin, all present had risen according to protocol and the chief judge read the verdict:
"In the name of law and our people's justice, as well as in agreement with the Court-Master of the Highest SS- and Gestapo-Court, the following verdict is handed down: Wolfgang Hochstetter, you are sentenced to 8 years of penal servitude."
"No!" Hochstetter gasped horrified.
"Since the German eastern territories are endangered by the Red Army, the usual penal camp in Danzig-Matzgau for former SS- and Gestapo-members is unavailable. You'll be handed over to a working camp where you at least can serve the German people by giving your manpower. Given the fact that your misconduct affected the Luftwaffe, the camp and project you'll support will be decided in consultation with the Luftwaffe as the wronged party."
Burkhalter couldn't help the ghost of a smile that played around his lips. He knew exactly to where he was going to send Hochstetter. He would see to it that the 'poison-gnome' reached this special destination – even if he had to ask his 'good friend' for this little favor. Hochstetter would curse the day he disobeyed his command.
"Furthermore," the chief-judge continued, "the defendant will be stripped off his rank and is ejected from the SS and Gestapo. He is also declared as unworthy to bear arms. The defendant's behavior, especially his shown cowardice and his insubordination, is to a high degree unworthy for an honorable, decent and brave German man, therefore he also loses all civil rights for as long as the penalty will last. An appeal is not possible. The session is closed!" His gavel hit the desk with a bang of finality.
"No! This can't be!" Hochstetter called. "I only did my duty and…" He stopped as his attorney spoke quickly to him. The two police-officers, which had guarded him the whole time, stepped to his side but waited as the defense lawyer said something.
"This I call a rightful sentence," Burkhalter murmured and rose. "I knew that we could rely on our justice!"
'For the first time since the mad-head with moustache took over control,' Klink thought, but he had to admit that he was glad. Okay, given Hochstetter's insubordination of a direct order, the Oberst had thought the former major would be sent to a firing square, on the other hand there was still the fact that Burkhalter's power was limited when it came to the SS or Gestapo. Therefore, the whole verdict was satisfying. At least Hochstetter would be out of his and Hogan's hair for the next eight years – or longer, because Klink didn't bury the head into the sand given the war's situation. It wouldn't last very much longer now, until the Allies would have the 'big bubble-beard' on his knees, and then he and all those who committed inhuman crimes would be punished.
"Joa-mei, he really is near a heart-attack," Schultz whispered beside him.
Looking one time more at Hochstetter, Klink saw how the former major was breathing heavily as he was chained with handcuffs. Then the guards took his upper arms and led him towards the door, bypassing Burkhalter, Klink and the others.
For a long moment Hochstetter's and Klink's eyes met – and the former major stopped abruptly, forcing the guards to come to a halt, too.
"You'll pay for this, Klink!" he hissed; eyes filled with rage and scorching hate. "You and your American pet will pay for what you did to me! We'll see each other again one day and then…" The guards began to pull him away, but it didn't stop Hochstetter from shouting over his shoulder, "I'll get you for this, Klink! You and Hogan – and if this is the last thing I do. I'll find you two one day – no matter how long it will last! And then you both will pay!"
His voice vanished as he was forced along the corridor. The defense lawyer smiled apologetically at the four witnesses as he, too, left.
"What an idiot!" Burkhalter murmured.
Klink tried to control his breathing to calm his frantic heartbeat. Yes, Hochstetter was an idiot – but a dangerous one. And, unfortunately, a very intelligent dangerous idiot. Klink didn't doubt that Hochstetter would try to get revenge on him and Hogan given the tiniest chance.
He felt a hand on his arm and glanced at Burkhalter, who watched him. "Don't fear, Klink," the general said. "The chance that he survives the working camp is very low. And if he gives too much trouble, then one word from me will be enough to initiate his end."
Forcing a smile on his lips, Klink chuckled, "I know, Herr General. And, by the way, eight years are a long time. Maybe he is chastened by then." Yet he highly doubted it. Hochstetter wasn't the forgiving type. Rather the opposite. He got all worked up about something he wanted.
On the podium the judges had gathered their documents, barely noticing the convict's vow of revenge (something they heard often, therefore it was nothing unusual), and spoke now with the prosecutor and answered questions by the trainees.
Burkhalter left his seat and murmured to Klink. "Let us greet them at least personally. It's more polite."
Wilhelm didn't feel like shaking hands with the judges, but he knew he had no other choice, so he followed his superior. Schultz and Schmidt accompanied them.
*** HH *** HH ***
"WHAT?" Robert Hogan looked in horror at Kinchloe, who had come up through the stove entrance into Klink's quarters half a minute ago, practically running to the bedroom to find his friend and superior.
"It's true," he nodded breathless. "It's a large-scale air-raid with more than 950 bombers from the 8th Air Corps, 1st and 3rd Air Division, heading straight towards Berlin. Over 160 fighters are with them to shield them from the German defenses. The first planes will reach town in about 40 minutes. Two attack-waves are planned."
Hogan blanched, the bruises standing out the darker. 950 bombers! He knew exactly what that meant: a wide area bombardment that went hand in hand with a lot of destruction. And, of course, the main target was the government-quarters – where the People's Court was located!
He looked at the clock on the nightstand: 10:12 am. Hochstetter's trial had begun at 08:30 am – in other words, it certainly was still on-going with Klink and the others present as witnesses!
'Will… Oh Lord, NO!'
He felt a wave of panic rising in him. Will's life was in utter danger.
"They have to stop the raid!" he shouted, while he pulled the blanket away; almost leaping out of bed.
"I spoke with Butler before I came here," Kinch reported. "He said the mission was planned long beforehand and can't be stopped anymore. Our boys already fought off the German air-defense. So far, about 20 of our planes were shot down, but the rest are heading towards the target."
Hogan was already up and limping towards the chair where his clothes lay. He had to do something. He had to warn Will – no matter what! "Has Newkirk joined the first work gang?" he asked while slipping into socks and shoes.
"No, he's downstairs, waiting for your orders." Kinch looked over his shoulder, "Olsen?" he called.
Hogan looked up in surprise the moment the "Outside Man" entered the room. "Pass 'em over, sir," Olsen said, "I'll cover for you here while you're downstairs." As an experienced member of Barracks 2, Olsen already knew what his CO needed him to do.
"You really think of everything, Kinch," Robert said while grabbing his bomber-jacket. "My second pair of pajamas is in the dresser over there," pointing to the furniture, "lowest drawer."
Olsen was already peeling off his clothes and handing them Kinchloe who would take them into the tunnels. If the going got rough, Olsen could always flee into the tunnels wearing the pajamas and switch clothes afterwards.
Hogan limped as quickly as possible to the hidden entrance. "Is someone watching the compound?" he asked.
"Harrison and Tallman are watching the Kommandantur. If Sandhaus looks like he's heading towards Klink's quarters despite his refusal to speak with you, they'll start an argument to distract him."
"Good!"
Not waiting for Kinch, Hogan climbed down the ladder into the tunnel. He refused to spare a thought about the weakness in his legs, heedless of the pain in his back and shoulder. He reached the bottom and hobbled as quickly as he could manage towards the section where the telephone-center was installed.
There was only one way to warn Klink; he had to call him at the People's Court. In no more than 40 minutes, Hell would break lose in Berlin. Maybe it was enough time for Will and the others to get to safety.
"Newkirk connect me to the People's Court in Berlin – quick!" he ordered the moment he reached his friend and the telephone-center. "Make it a priority-1-call from the camp." He checked his watch: 10:15 hrs.
Peter wasn't surprised to see his superior in the tunnels, half dressed. Once Kinch had told him of the upcoming disaster in Berlin, he knew that Hogan would move Heaven and Earth to warn Klink. He looked up at his superior's face, saw the fear in his eyes, and knew that their suspicions concerning the two colonels' relationship had to be true. The two men were more than friends by now. They were developing feelings for each other – maybe even more. But to his own wonder, he didn't mind.
Calling the telephone operator, Newkirk switched to German, "Hier ist Luft-Stalag 13. Verbinden Sie mich sofort mit dem Volksgerichtshof in Berlin, Priorität Eins!" (This Luft-Stalag 13. Link me instantly to the People's Court, priority one).
Hogan stepped beside him. "When you've got the Court on the line, tell them that we have a serious situation here and that Major Hoople has to speak with Oberst Klink immediately."
Newkirk nodded with a short curl of his mouth, as he recognized the name. Hogan had used it last summer when he paid off the two SS-officers with the phony money at the Hofbräu - in front of Klink. By using this pseudonym again, the Oberst would know instantly that it was Hogan calling.
He heard a click on the line and then a male voice told him that he had reached the People's Court in Berlin. Nodding at Hogan and Kinch, who just joined them, he began to make his demand to speak to Oberst Klink who was present as a witness in one of the courtrooms. Answering a few questions of the telephone operator he learned that the trial was already over but that the gentlemen certainly were still in the building.
"You can recognize the Oberst very easily," Newkirk said, ignoring Hogan's nervous pacing beside him. "He is tall, lanky, balding and wears a monocle."
*** HH *** HH ***
"Lord, it's really windy today," Klink complained as he stepped beside Schultz out on the street, gripping for his cap to keep it on the head. It was cloudy, cold and almost stormy – the kind of weather one can endure best when sitting on a comfortable sofa, sipping tea and reading a good book. Regrettably not one of these three things were available to the two Luftwaffe-servicemen, who wrapped their arms around themselves and marched in place to keep themselves warm.
Burkhalter had gone to the restrooms, while Schmidt had met a former comrade from Bremen in the vestibule, hanging back to chat with the man a little bit until the general returned.
"I could use a warm coffee just right now," Schultz murmured, before he frowned and said, "Herr Oberst, look over there."
Turning towards the direction Schultz had nodded to, Klink pursed his lips as he saw a security vehicle coming from the side-entrance of the Court. Behind the barred window he recognized Hochstetter, who looked over at him, bared his teeth and said something no-one could hear. Shuddering, Klink knew that the former major had repeated his threat and vow of revenge.
"What do you think, will he survive the working-camp?" Schultz asked quietly.
"I don't know," Klink answered softly. "I know it's completely wrong and unchristian to hope for another man's demise, but in eight years I really don't want to have to watch my back constantly if this madman is somewhere, waiting for a chance to kill me – or Hogan."
The car drove away, and the Kommandant sighed but brightened as he added, "Maybe this is the last I'll ever see of this poison-gnome."
He couldn't know how wrong he was.
Glancing at his timepiece – 10:18 h – he sighed. "I hope Burkhalter comes soon. This damn wind is more than nasty."
As if brought by that same wind, the door to the court-building behind them opened, and a man in SS black called out: "I'm sorry to disturb, Gentlemen, but is an Oberst Klink here?"
Klink turned around. "This would be me," he said.
The man, a young sergeant in his mid-twenties, smiled in relief. "Thank the Lord we got you before you drove away. We've your camp on the line. A Major Hoople wants to talk to you. He said it's urgent."
Wilhelm went rigid. Hoople– in other words, Hogan was in the line.
Dammit!
Was Robert insane to call him here? What could be so damn urgent that he risked everything by pretending to be an official member of the camp's staff?
"Hoople?" Schultz asked frowning. He had heard this name before, yes, but when and why? And, by the way, they hadn't a Major Hoople in the staff. They hadn't a major at all in the moment and…
He caught Klink's gaze, who then raised his voice, "Thank you, Sergeant, I'm coming!" Then he whispered hastily to Schultz, "No words to Burkhalter. It's Hogan who calls. Something has to be very wrong."
One hand on his back, stance slightly stooped, Klink hastened with his typical movements towards the young SS-sergeant and followed him back into the building. They went towards some offices on the ground-level, passed Schmidt and his former comrade, and finally stepped into a room where the Court's telephone-exchange was placed.
"Over there, sir," the sergeant said and pointed to the left side of the equipment, where another SS-man sat.
"You got him?" he asked his colleague, who smirked,
"The man with the monocle. There is no doubt that's him."
Klink rolled his eyes. Why was everyone making fun of his monocle? He didn't need glasses, only a support for his left eye. End of story!
Taking the receiver, he said firmly, "Yes, Oberst Klink is speaking."
Even though he was angry about Hogan's recklessness to call him here, at the Court, he felt his heart jump softly as he heard the beloved voice from the other end of the line. And he couldn't help it that his anger vanished as he heard his witty fox speaking in properly accented clear German:
"Herr Kommdandant, Major Hoople hier. Bitte entschuldigen Sie die Störung, aber hier ist etwas vorgefallen, das Ihre sofortige Kenntnisnahme verlangt. Der Befehlshaber des Lagers hat ein Müll-Entsorgung durch Verbrennenangeordnet. Bei diesem Wind kann das sehr rasch zu einem Feuersturm werden, der zumindest die Mitte des Lagers, wenn nicht sogar alle Gebäude erfasst. Die Sicherheit des Lagers, einschließlich Ihrer persönlichen Dinge, sind stark gefährdet. Ich bitte um Gegenmaßnahmen."
(Kommandant, Major Hoople is speaking. Please excuse the interruption but something happened that demands your immediate knowledge. The commander of the camp ordered a garbage disposal by burning it. Given the strong wind today, this can turn into a firestorm that could seize the middle of the camp, if not all buildings. The safety of the camp, including your personal belongings, are in great danger. I ask for counteraction.)
Klink frowned. This made absolutely no real sense. Of course, he knew that Hogan was trying to give him a secret message, speaking in codes, but – what the heck did he mean? Burning of garbage, middle of the camp, personal belongings, firestorm?
Hogan was definitely not speaking of Stalag 13, because in the middle of the camp was absolutely no room to make a big heap of garbage to burn it. And what about the firestorm? A firestorm was the most feared and destructive side-effect of a bombing because it built its own kind of wind-system. Especially when the target was in a valley. Wooden buildings fell easily prey to flames within a very short time, which increased the heat. Both occurrences put together were responsible for a strong updrift of heated air that devoured the oxygen, built a kind of vacuum and initiated something close to a tornado, without the typical twister, but no less strong and deadly.
Something like this couldn't happen to the area of Hammelburg, because the hills around the little town and its neighborhood were too widespread to make a stack effect possible. Cities, which had high buildings and small streets offered a better 'chance' for such an inferno.
Another possibility of a firestorm was a burning, fan-like area whose tip pointed into the wind's direction. The wind fanned the fires even more and propelled the flames spreading the fire more and more in its way.
But a 'firestorm' was also the pseudonym for a burning place – a village or a town.
A burning town…
Firestorm – the result of bombings…
Then the famous scaled slipped from Klink's eyes and he felt himself turning pale. The choice of words – 'personal' and 'great danger' – and the other emphasis could only mean one thing: Fire was not about to seize the middle of the camp, but the middle of Berlin.
Fire – in other words: Bombs!
An air-raid of the Allies lay ahead. And given the risk Hogan ran by calling him in person here, showed that the air-raid was to be expected soon.
Wilhelm's mouth went dry, while fear began to clench his belly. Still, he was able to keep a level head.
"Has the staff already begun with the preparation for the garbage burning?" he asked, using Hogan's choice of code.
"Yes, everything is going to be ready in approximately thirty minutes, or so," Robert answered, a soft quiver in his voice.
Klink gulped. Robert Hogan never really became nervous; he always kept a cool head. To hear the hidden fear in his voice now told Will how grave the whole situation was. Rob feared for him, and even if this told him once again how much he meant to his lover, this time he could have done without this emotional proof.
Then it hit him; the air-raid would take place in approx. thirty minutes. And the declared target was, of course, the center where the government and other official institutes were placed – among them this building. And he, Schultz, Schmidt and Burkhalter were in the center of the planned attack. Sweet Lord!
They had to leave – now! – and it would be the best if they drove into a direction that didn't lay in the attack's way. "From where blows the wind?" he asked.
"From the south-west," came the tight reply.
Klink swallowed. So, the bombers came from the south-west – the direction he would have to drive if he wanted to make a beeline for Hammelburg. In other words, the direct route was no option. Even more, the bombers would traverse the main-quarters of the town. He didn't want to imagine how many victims this would leave behind.
"Before I take any action – how big is this garbage hill?" he asked, feeling oddly separated from reality and calm despite the burning knot in his belly. Klink realized that he wasn't helpless – he still had his years of Luftwaffe-officer training in strategy – he could assess the severity of the upcoming air-raid if he knew how many planes were about to attack.
"It's large, sir." the older man could hear the stress in Hogan's voice now. "There will be two heaps, and they build together almost 1000 items. It really would be too dangerous for the camp, so I have to protest against this all."
Klink had heard enough. He felt nausea washing over him. A thousand bombers in two waves – it meant that a bomb carpet would be laid over Berlin's downtown. And given the strong wind, this attack, indeed, could elicit a firestorm that would cost thousands of lives.
He wasn't aware that his hand that clutched the receiver was shaking.
"Thank you for your information, I'll take the matters in my hand. We're done here and I'm as good as on my way back to the camp," Klink said forcing his voice to sound calm.
"The sooner the better, sir," Hogan sounded depressed.
Wilhelm gulped. He knew that there was no chance to leave Berlin within thirty minutes or so. The traffic and the distance to the town's edges would prevent it, yet he had to try to get as much distance between himself and his companions, and the downtown as possible. Unfortunately, there was the possibility that they wouldn't make it – that he and the others were going to die today.
Klink became painfully aware that this was perhaps the last time he ever speaks with Rob.
He felt his throat tightening, while he looked at the men in the telephone-center room. Two were busy with talking to each other, a third one tried to fob off a caller and the sergeant who had fetched him had already left the room.
This was his chance – his maybe very last chance in his life to tell his witty fox what he hadn't dared to voice until now. Turning away, Klink lowered his voice to a whisper – confident that no-one was eavesdropping – and murmured under his breath, "I love you, Rob! You're the best that ever happened to me. Shine on, whatever may happen."
"Will…" Hogan's voice was a near-silent croak.
"I love you," Wilhelm breathed. "Fare well!" Then he quickly turned around and placed the receiver on the phone. Taking a few seconds to collect himself, then he looked at the clock that hung on the wall: 10:21 h.
Time to act.
"Thank you for your service," he said to no-one and left the room – knowing that these men in this building will most likely be dead within the next half hour.
What a waste. Even wearing the damn SS-uniforms these young men had done nothing worse than work in the office of a Court.
Klink cursed the war and its inhumanity with everything he had, while he hastened through the vestibule. Schmidt wasn't here anymore, and Klink hoped he was already outside. He wouldn't leave this place without the young man who was an honorable boy with all of life ahead. As Wilhelm left the building, he saw his companions chatting with each other as they waited for him.
Burkhalter looked over at him as Klink reached the little group. "A call from Stalag 13? What has your favorite prisoner done now?" he taunted.
'Done? Robert didn't do anything – despite risking his life and mission to warn us, and maybe to save our lives, you idiot!'
He cleared his throat and said aloud, "My favorite prisoner?"
"Well, I mean Hogan, of course," Burkhalter scoffed.
Klink forced himself to chuckle and to roll his eyes. "What could he do in his condition, Herr General? No, everything is fine. There was a little misunderstanding concerning the garbage disposal, that's all."
He ignored Schultz' piercing glance.
Time… They were running out of time!
"'Garbage disposal'?" Burkhalter repeated and made a face. "Can anything run normally in your camp?"
Klink rubbed his hands in the nervous mannerism that had been typical for him until three weeks ago. "You know how it is, Herr General. If I'm not there, everything goes down the hill."
He had to come up with an excuse to say good-bye. Now! Or Schultz, Schmidt and he would certainly die!
Burkhalter snorted – and shuddered as a cold gust raced through the streets. "Well, it's dreadful weather, but this shouldn't lower our mood. Everything came out better than thought. Originally, I wanted to invite the gentlemen to lunch but seeing that it isn't even half past ten, I think it's far too early for it. Yet a good coffee and a second breakfast won't be so bad." He smiled at the other three. "Come on, Gentlemen, you're invited."
Klink pursed his lips. Of course, he could decline the invitation, offend Burkhalter and drive off towards relative safety. Burkhalter would return to the Ministry of Aviation and – well, Burkhalter couldn't reach the government seat on his own, because they all had driven in Klink's staff car; after all park spots were rare in this area. So, Burkhalter could call his driver and wait to be picked-up, but this would need some time – time the general didn't have if he remained here. Most certainly he would be killed.
Yes, he and the 'Sacher-cake' had their shares of disagreements, discussions, problems and more but…
But could he really turn his back on a man he'd known for more than a decade now, and leave him here to die?
No! He wouldn't be any better than Hochstetter and, by the way, Burkhalter wasn't such a bad guy. Not really.
"This is a perfect idea, Herr General," Schultz chimed in. "I could die for a warm coffee."
'Don't say this too loud, Hans. The Grim Reaper has good ears,' Klink thought with another shiver and made his decision.
No, he didn't want Burkhalter to die. If he could, he would try to save the man's life. And a further look at his watch told him that he hadn't much time left to do so: 10:24 h.
"I have a wonderful idea. I know a perfect café nearby."
"Klink!" Burkhalter sighed, anticipating the worst.
"It's a Vienna Café with the traditional coffee-specialties of Vienna, Austrian sweet desserts and more." He rubbed his hands again. "And given this awful weather we should visit it now! I'll pay the bill."
He didn't wait for his companion's agreement, but simply headed down the street where his staff-car was parked. The general quickly followed him and complained,
"Klink, just wait. It was me who invited you and…"
"And you, my friend, were such a nice host yesterday evening, so let me repay the whole thing by inviting you to a café that has a hint of the home you certainly miss," Wilhelm called over his shoulder as he sped up.
"Joa-mei, I've never anything against a good sweet dessert," Schultz said behind him. "Do you know something like this in the harsh north, Herr Oberleutnant?"
Schmidt was chuckling. "Yes, of course, even if they aren't as well-prepared like in Austria."
Klink stole another glance at the time: 10:25 h.
The hostile planes certainly had been spied by now. How long until the Reichs-ARP (Reich's Air Raid Precaution) would ring the alert? Burkhalter would demand to return immediately to the government-quarters which would mean their doom.
They reached Klink's staff-car and the Oberst slipped into the driver's seat before anyone could protest his unusual behavior. Burkhalter sat down beside him, while Schultz and Schmidt occupied the backseat. With little care for the traffic, Klink steered the car out of the parking-space, snapped something unkindly at a driver behind him, blew angrily on the horn and drove down Bellevue-Street.
"You're driving rakish, Klink," Burkhalter grumbled. "To where are we off?"
Klink's mind was running 1000 kilometers per hour. He didn't know a Vienna Café – not here in Berlin, nor anywhere else. But one thing he knew for certain; they would stand the best chance in…
"Neukölln," he said firmly. "We're driving to Berlin-Neukölln."
This quarter lay in the south-south-east and it was in the neighborhood, yet the chance to reach it within the next minutes wasn't exactly high. As soon as the sirens sounded, chaos would break lose, preventing them from making good time. But at least they would drive out of the main route the Allies would traverse, and maybe they could escape the worst.
The combined air-forces had chosen the perfect way of destruction by coming from the south-west, given the wind and the heading of the streets. Klink had to give them this.
He kicked the gas pedal, ignored a police-man's signals in the middle of a crossroad and turned the car into the Streesemann-Street, increasing the tempo.
"Are you in hurry?" Burkhalter asked, and Klink forced a smile on his face.
"I'm cold, I'm hungry and I'm really looking forward to a good coffee – not the trash we're getting in the camp by now." He steered the car down the road, turned into the Wilhelm-Street and headed to the south – away from the government quarter.
There was a lot of traffic what was no wonder – after all it was Saturday morning. All of Berlin were on the feet, so to say. Klink gritted his teeth and passed some other cars. He had to reach the Gneisenau-Street before the chaos began. The road would change its name a few times, but it led directly to the south-east to Neukölln.
Just then, the air was filled with the piercing sound of the sirens: a continuous tone that lasted for twelve seconds, took a break and was repeated.
"What the heck?" Schultz gasped.
Burkhalter stared with wide eyes out of the window upwards, as the second tone sounded. "Air-craft warning!"
Klink cursed and looked at his wristwatch again: 10:28 h.
"Dammit!" he snarled, trying to sound surprised. "Where is the next bunker?"
"Maybe this is a test-alert?" Schultz commented hopefully and gulped as the tone sounded for the third time.
"No, this is brutal reality!" Burkhalter murmured.
"The next bunker!" Klink demanded. "I don't know the still intact parts of Berlin like you do!" He glared at Burkhalter, who shrank in his seat and was rather pale.
"There are two nearby in Kreuzberg. One of them is at the Gestapo-Headquarters and Heinrich's office," the general said hoarsely. He moistened his lips. "Turn the car!" he ordered. "We've to reach the Führerbunker." (Bunker of the Führer that was built beneath the Chancellery of the Reich).
In earlier times, the Oberst would never have dared to speak against a strict order, but now he couldn't care less if he would die because of bombs, or because of a firing squad.
"No!" he said strongly.
Burkhalter's eyes were about to bulge out of his head; he could not believe his ears!
"I beg your pardon?" he gasped.
"The Allies are certainly attacking the government quarters. Given the fact that the Reichs-ARP sounds the ARP-sirens and not the Acute Air-Raid-Warning, the bombers will reach Berlin within the next fifteen minutes or so. We'll never make it in time."
Burkhalter gulped. "We've to return. Our knowledge and our ranks are needed by the people. Turn into the next street to the left and…"
"Herr General, given the direction of the wind the Allies will start their ambush from the south-west to achieve the utmost destruction. We both know of what I'm speaking. If we drove back now, we certainly will be caught in the middle of the ambush or, afterwards, will be trapped for days until the streets are passable again. Neukölln is maybe our only chance – or the quarters more to the east."
"And what's about these bunkers in Kreuzberg?" Schmidt pointed at a traffic-sign that showed they were near this town-quarter.
"The Allies certainly know that Himmler's office lays there. Additionally, Kreuzberg adjoins to Tempelhof. I bet my last shirt that the Allies will try to destroy the airport there, too,"
Burkhalter interjected. "Therefore, we would come directly into the bombers' way. The bunkers in Kreuzberg are out of question. Just like I said, the Führerbunker maybe not finished until now, but its construction has gone far enough to offer us shelter."
"And then we're trapped there – if the damn thing is already strong enough to withstand the bombing at all," Klink said and turned the car into the Gneisenau-Street. Traffic was already hectic, cars from side-streets entering the main-road without any consideration of the vehicles that were there earlier. Everyone tried to flee the center of the town, simply knowing that this was the main-target of the upcoming air-raid.
"Neukölln is next to Tempelhof. A few wayward bombs and we four are history!" Burkhalter snarled.
"The distance between Tempelhof-airport and Neukölln is great enough, I think. The Allies will try to fly in a fanned line like it is usual. They'll graze the area around Tempelhof and are going to concentrate on Berlin-Middle; ignoring Neukölln. There are no real facilities, only dwelling houses in this district. They are of no interest for the Allies." He gripped the wheel tighter. "Neukölln is our only chance!" Klink repeated, while he increased the speed even more. "And there we've to find a bunker."
Burkhalter really felt obligated to voice a protest of his inferior's insubordination, but he also knew that Klink was right. All duties aside, he – and the others – certainly would die if he insisted on returning to Berlin-Middle.
One thing was also clear:
"I have no clue where a bunker is in Neukölln," he admitted.
Klink's hand gripped the steering-wheel even tighter, cursing inwardly while he concentrated on the traffic that was about to go wild. People ran through the streets to reach the next bunkers or their houses which often had a deeper cellar. Others left their shops or facilities, running down the pavement which became more and more crowded. They passed a school where the teachers led the children out, also heading for safety.
Dammit! Saturday morning! There couldn't be a worse time for an attack. Klink didn't dare to think of the dooming shadows which were massing together above Berlin and certainly would cost thousands of civilian lives…
TBC…
Yes, the historical disaster I warned you about in the tiny prologue, is this special air-raid that happened at the beginning of February 1945, and turned into one of the most disastrous attacks except this of Dresden. I think, the Allied Forces didn't expect such a horrible outcome you'll read about in the next chapter, because this attack had the most civilian victims (besides the three-day-attack of Dresden).
And our dear Klink is in the middle of it… Just guess, how Hogan feels.
Especially after he heard Will telling him that he loves him.
I always imagined, how and when 'Willie' will tell Robert about his feelings for him, and I thought that this, maybe last given chance is the most sweetest but also most painful moment of all. I hope it touched you a little bit, because both men are no people of large words – not, when it comes to the real stuff, but Klink knew that he was running out of time and a chance, so…
Concerning the verdict that was handed down to Hochstetter: it bases on a true verdict in 1944 and was given to a SS-officer who handled his 'responsibility' with so much cruelness that (even the justice of this time) the judges had no other choice than to sentence him. Everything was explained with the 'common regard of honest and true German people' – an excuse for everything, because (honestly) who had asked the people what they think and want, or not? Yet Hochstetter's vow will have consequences, because our 'boys' haven't seen the last of it.
The next chapter will be about the air-raid. Schultz overgrows himself, Klink proves one time more that he has grown a 'back-bone', Schmidt becomes a certain kind of hero – and Hogan is sitting on the edge of the seat, so to say; even tangling with General Butler and the whole brass.
I hope you liked the last chapter, even if it was written in different style (with the whole time-designation, but I thought it makes the whole thing more real).
I'm looking forward for your comments and written thoughts, because I know this whole thing is hard stuff.
Have a nice rest of the week,
Love
Yours Starflight
