Hi, my dear readers,

Thank you so much for the big Feedback, and sorry for the delay, but the new chapter is so full of action, historical facts, details and loaded emotions, it had to be beta-read and edited a few times. I hope, it worth the longer waiting.

Just like I just mentioned, this chapter – even as a fiction – will include a lot of real facts, and I have to warn you that they show the ugly face of WW II. It's easy to forget the sinister background when you watch 'Hogan's Heroes', but – as I already wrote in prior prologues – I mix history into this story. Nevertheless, I hope you're going to like it.

Knowing that you all are on the edges of your seats, and fear for 'Willie' and the others, I don't want to keep you away from reading the new chapter.

So, be wary for a lot of action and emotional rollercoasters.

Love,

Yours Starflight

Chapter 43 – Firestorm over Berlin

"Dammit, Alex, this is insane!"

Hogan, wearing the headset, sat at the radio, while Kinch stood beside his superior and friend. It didn't slip the radioman's attention how incredibly tense Hogan was and how tightly he tried to control his burning anger.

Hogan had ordered Kinch to get ahold of London and demanded a direct connection to General Butler. Anyone listening in to the current conversation would never have believed that Hogan was now speaking with his mentor, who was also one of his highest superiors.

"Stop this raid before it's too late!"

At the other end of the line Butler groaned. "Robert, like I already told Sergeant Kinchloe and you, there's no way to abort the attack. Our boys are less than 70 miles away from Berlin." He sighed. "You said you warned your German friend and his companions. Maybe he was able to reach…"

"This is not about Klink," Hogan gritted out (even if this was only half the truth). Of course, he was afraid for Wilhelm – terribly. The prospect of losing him was like an icy stab deep in his heart, mind and soul.

'I love you…' God, those three words had hit home like nothing else before.

Yet Hogan also thought of all the people who were going to die – civilians who should be spared. "It's Saturday morning, for God's sake! All of Berlin is out and about. It's impossible for all of them to find shelter in time."

"I know, Hogan!" Butler sounded irritated now. "Don't you think we didn't consider this? B…"

"Obviously not, otherwise the brass would have chosen another schedule for the attack," Robert snapped, and took a deep breath to calm down. "Sorry, I got carried away, but what the Allies are about to do is inhuman!"

"This isn't the first time we've attack a town. It's not even the first time we've attacked Berlin. We know that Hitler is there and…"

"And because of one damn man you're sacrificing thousands of innocent people?" Hogan's voice rose a little bit again. "Alex, on a Saturday morning most women are out doing the rounds of market-halls to exchange their food ration coupons for whatever groceries they can find. The plants are manned not only with civilian workers, but with slave workers and prisoners, our POWs and we both know that the ARP-facilities are forbidden to them. They'll die in the bombing. What about the children? Every boy and girl between six and sixteen are at school right now – and most schools have no bomb-proof cellars. Where can they get to that's safe before the raid begins?" He got no answer and he could imagine the guilt-ridden face of his mentor. "Stop the raid – or at least give the people more time to find shelter. You're not about to attack a military target but a town full of civilians."

He heard Butler sighing: "Robert, we are very aware of the scale of devastation that can occur, but we have information that the Sixth Panzer Army will be using the rail lines at Tempelhof on the way to the Eastern Front. You know what delaying or derailing those tanks will do for our Russian allies, never mind what can be accomplished elsewhere by pulling the Luftwaffe out of position and into a fight with us. Add to that, Hitler, Himmler, Goering and Goebbels are all in Berlin today. If we only get one of them, then…"

"Those bastards are already hunkered down snug and cozy, where they can sit out the entire air-raid and its aftermath. The government area is full of ARP-facilities. But what about the people?"

Butler murmured something under his breath, before he said, "I can try to buy them some time. A few minutes, no more. We already lost a bunch of the 116 fighters flying escort for the bombers because of the German defenses, but large squadrons of the Luftwaffe are on their way to Berlin. Any delay of our attack can be crucial for our boys – after all they have to escape after they're done."

Hogan grimaced. "Send them to the north-east. The Baltic Sea and the border to the former Polish Corridor aren't that far from Berlin. I'm certain our 'Russian friends' there will be delighted to support our boys by shielding them against the German defenders, and then our guys can fly a northerly loop and return to good old England that way."

A snort escaped the US-general. "Sure, stop at a few German fueling stations on the way, our boys can certainly make a little side trip to Sweden or Norway. No problem," he said sarcastically. "Don't wrack your brain with our problems, Robert. I'll try to buy the Berlin people – and your friend – a few more minutes, but that's all I can offer. And at the next suitable opportunity, we are having a little talk about bedside-manners towards superior officers. London out!"

Hogan pressed his lips together and threw the headset beside the radio with a fierce "DAMMIT!"

"And?" Kinch prompted, looking highly uncomfortable, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. He had blanched as Hogan detailed the Berlin people's usual whereabouts on a Saturday morning – and of the children who were at school now. The colonel was right. Too many innocent lives would be sacrificed to the upcoming air-raid.

"He's going to delay the attack for a few minutes," Hogan growled as he stood. "As if that will change anything!"

"Every life that can be saved is one death less," James tried to comfort his friend.

Hogan gritted his teeth. "If Will dies, the brass can look for another idiot to do the job down here!" he growled.

Kinch didn't take those words seriously, but offered with sympathy, "Maybe Klink already took cover."

Robert checked the time again: 10:35 hrs. He gritted his teeth.

'I love you…'

The colonel took a deep breath.

"We talked 15 minutes ago. How far, do you think, he's able to run, or at best, drive by now – straight through the pure chaos that'll erupt as soon as the sirens blow? The air-raid is organized in two wide fans, beginning in the south-west and heading to the north-east – straight over Kreuzberg and Tempelhof, too, to disable the airport, and then over the entire government-quarter and the adjoining districts. Butler told me that much. We know the People's Court is in Berlin-Middle, near the government-district. Do you really think Klink and the others can get out of the way and avoid the main-attack in time?"

Kinch lowered his head. "I don't know, Colonel," he said quietly. "Klink can think on his feet. Maybe he and the others already found shelter somewhere. You did everything you could do to warn him and to buy him time. The rest…" He looked up again at his worried friend. "The rest is up to the Lord."

"I wish I had your faith," Robert whispered, as he turned away – looking into the dim light of the nearest lantern.

Will's last words to him still echoed in his inner being like a mantra: 'I love you'.

Yes, Robert had thought this much – hell, he had known it deep down – but to hear those special three words coming from his counterpart's lips, had reached his soul. The mere thought that this declaration of love might be the last thing he would ever hear from his secret lover, was enough to shower his mind in ice and to freeze his soul.

'Lord, please protect him. I beg thee, please protect him – and Schultz and young Schmidt. '

*** HH *** HH ***

At 10:40 h. the ARP-Command of the Reichs-Town Berlin ordered Acute Air-Raid-Warning. The longer tones of the sirens changed into the up and down wail that was feared by all and had become a fixture in the mind of every man, woman and child. It meant only one thing; an air-raid was imminent.

Klink tried to steer the car through the erupting chaos, as Gneisenau-Street changed into Hasenheide-Street. Precious minutes were lost crossing the Hermann's Platz (Hermann's Plaza, named after Hermann the Cherusci) which then changed into Berliner Street and then into Berg-Street which led to the townhall. They were nearing Neukölln, but they were still too slow.

Burkhalter had turned quiet, Schultz was whispering beneath his breath – maybe he prayed – and Schmidt had bent forwards from the backseat, craning his neck between the Luftwaffe officers, on the look-out for…

"Watch out!" Burkhalter suddenly shouted and Klink tore the wheel to the left, as a din of horns belched into the air. His reaction wasn't a second too early. A car sped out of a side-street to their right and couldn't stop in time, ramming the car behind them. The following vehicles drove into the already crashed cars.

The chaos grew, enfolding them into its grasp, as they passed two more accidents. Everything with wheels was heading south, weaving around disabled and slower vehicles, ignoring lanes, rights of way and any other traffic-rules. People were running out into the street in their panic to get to the next safe place. Horns blared, cars crashed into streetlamps attempting to avoid the running pedestrians, traffic-policemen fled the podiums, unable to impose any order to the fear.

The road headed directly south-east now – and the traffic became even more tightly jammed, as the crowds became more and more heedless of the cars; why worry about landing on an engine hood, when the Grim Reaper was lifting his scythe above them no matter what they did?

Another check by Klink of his watch: 10:53 h. They had lost precious time in this bedlam.

How much longer would they have before the first hostile aircraft reached Berlin? The thirty minutes Robert had given them were now gone.

"We're still too close to the center," Schmidt said hoarsely. "Any idea where the next bunker is?"

"Just watch the people. To where they're heading, there must be an open ARP-facility," Klink pressed out.

From afar they saw the townhall of Neukölln – a great building that was in the typical German Renaissance style after the first war. A large tower was its center, the façade built in the typical ornamented and decorated form of that past era.

"Why are they running back?" Schultz asked, eyes wide and face pale with fear. He pointed to the right where people streamed out of another side-street, and Burkhalter cursed quietly as he understood the shouted words which sounded through the thin window-glass.

"The bunker is full," he murmured, before he glanced at Klink. "Any other ideas?" he challenged.

In answer, Klink slammed on the brakes to avoid yet another car that had also come to an abrupt halt. Horns blared from all sides, but for naught. The traffic had stopped completely.

It was all over.

Nothing on the road could move – the twine of people, cars and bikes was too tight.

"The subway!" Klink gasped with his heart in his throat, as he opened the car's door. "At the townhall is an entrance to the subway they built 15 years ago."

"Of course!" Burkhalter yelled in relief. "The North-South-Metro. We've to reach the entrance. The tunnels are nearly ten meters deep in the ground, and therefore perhaps safe enough to offer real protection."

They left the car in the middle of the chaos not caring if it would survive the air-raid or not. Now, without the protection of the vehicle, the full blow of the events crashed down on them.

Women screamed their children's names, others tried to help older ones, family-members desperately attempted to stay together. Horns were still blaring, threats and shouts were exchanged, people were pushed out of the way and fell, others clung to each other while running. And above all the sirens howled their eerie song like the Banshee of the old legends who heralds death.

Klink and the others were getting bruised and kicked as they were washed away together with the throng of people. It seemed hundreds of people had the same idea and wanted to seek refuge in the tunnels of the subway. Even police and SS, who tried to bring some order to the mess, were ignored and swept away with the masses.

Somehow the three older men and their younger companion managed to stay together, grabbing wrists or coats to prevent being separated. Although the two staff-officers were well-trained, and they and Schultz had already fought in the first war, nothing could stop the icy fear that crept through their entire being. Schmidt tried to remain calm, too (after all he had survived the heavy bombings of Bremen), yet the whole situation reminded him far too much of his last experience as a nameless target of Allied bombers. Despite his hard training, he was scared.

Klink looked up at the tower of the townhall that had at last seemed near and whose peak held a large copper-statue of the Goddess of Luck, Fortuna. Maybe the Lady would hold her hands above them for a little bit longer. Wilhelm's gaze found the large clock beneath it: 11:00 h.

Then, he heard it: from afar the first explosion tore through the air, accompanied by the well-known droning of bombers.

The American Eighth Air Force had reached Berlin and began to unload their deadly freight.

Panic broke loose completely, no matter that the entrance to the subway was in reach. People thrust themselves forwards, jamming the entrance, as the crowd tried to squeeze in all at once. Several of them lost balance and fell down the stairs, while others around Klink and his companions stumbled in their haste to reach safety.

The detonations came nearer, and the four men felt the air-pressure change. Only a few meters ahead of them a young woman began to scream a female name in panic and tried to turn around, but she was pushed forwards heedlessly. And then they all heard it: the crying and sobbing of a little voice nearby.

While Burkhalter continued to run as fast as his fat body would allow, the other three stopped and looked back, but it was Schultz who spied the child who had fallen and was about to be trampled by the careless mob.

"GO!" the sergeant shouted towards the woman, who looked on in sheer despair at him. "I GET HER!"

He used his large bulk to push through the crowd, ruthlessly elbowing his way against the flood of bodies. He bent down and lifted a wailing girl in his arms. Holding her close, Schultz followed the masses, trying not to lose sight of his Kommandant. Klink and Schmidt tried to hold their ground waiting for him but were both pushed relentlessly towards the subway-entrance.

Will had heard the woman's screams, saw Schultz fight his way in another direction, and watched as only a few seconds later – a small girl of three or four years was in his arms – Schultz headed towards him again. The woman (obviously the girl's mother) had seen the rescue and was now sobbing in a hysterical mixture of fear and relief.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" the Oberst roared, as he made his way to the woman's side and grabbed her arm; Schmidt, a bastion, behind him – his black uniform pierced even the panicking minds of the people to give him some room. "Come on, Schultz brings your daughter. Don't fear!" Wilhelm shouted over the cacophony at the lady, pulling her along with him. She tried to fight him, but a surge of strength enabled him to keep her moving forward.

Suddenly they gained the entrance and were half running, half floundering down the staircase. Progress was slowed by those who had fallen and had managed to regain their feet, but the high whistles of falling bombs and the thunder of explosions spurred them on.

Finally, they reached the end of the staircase and beginning of the underground station platform. It was only 70 meters long and already overcrowded, both on their side and on the opposite platform. Klink knew that it was only a question of time until people would be forced into the tunnels, another danger – at least while the power was flowing. True, engine drivers were ordered to stop the trains the moment the alert was given, but in the recent past, some simply continued until the train arrived at a point safe from the attack, which had led to horrible accidents whenever people were forced to enter the tunnels in their desperate attempts to escape the bombings on the surface.

Klink spied Burkhalter not too far ahead of him but ignored him for once. Pushing the woman to the right beside the staircase – out of the main-flood of fleeing men, women and children – he looked up the stairs. The large figure of his Sergeant of the Guards was in the middle of crowd which still hastened down into the subway station, the small girl in his arms.

"SCHUUUUULTZ!" he screamed. "OVER HERE!"

The Bavarian had spied him and Schmidt, who was still beside Klink – pale but calm.

The ground began to shake, the air pressure changing, even here, under the street. No one present, not the trained members of the Wehrmacht, nor the SS, nor even the police dared to imagine what was going on upstairs.

Reaching Klink, Schmidt and the young woman, Schultz handed her the little girl, who instantly clung to her mother, weeping and crying out all the fear the fine instincts of a child had woken in her little soul.

"Thank you," the young woman sobbed, looking at Schultz as if he were a saint.

"You're welcome," he answered, out of breath. He almost stumbled as people behind him bumped into him. "I've five children and know how it is, when something is about to happen to them."

"We need to put more distance between us and the entrance," Schmidt interrupted the Sergeant as he pulled the mother and child along, shielding them both with his body against the continuing push of the crowd. Klink and Schultz followed him.

They found Burkhalter at one of the benches which were placed along the platform to offer waiting passengers a place to rest. Now they were a hindrance, yet also something like a bulwark that forced the masses to go around them. The general stood his ground, shot warning glares at everyone who came too near and waited for the others to catch up with him. He glanced at the young woman that Schmidt and Klink clutched between them, saw the bruised little girl clinging to her mother (who gave Schultz some more grateful glances over her shoulder) and knew what had kept the others.

"Adelheid!" A woman in her thirties appeared out of the crush and grasped the younger by the arm. "Thank the Lord!"

"The nice gentleman of Luftwaffe saved Amelie," the young woman wept as she embraced her elder friend, who gazed at all four men with gratitude.

"Thank you, mein Herr (sir). You saved my goddaughter." The older woman stepped on the tips of her toes and gave the completely surprised sergeant a peck on the cheek, then she steered Adelheid and little Amelie along the station platform away from the entrance. The young mother gave them all a last teary smile, before she was swallowed by the masses around her.

Burkhalter had watched the whole scene with interest, despite the fear that had seized him. Obviously, Sergeant Schultz had risked his neck to save a little girl. Sometimes war brought out heroes you'd never have expected.

A man in his middle thirties, clad in SS-black with the insignias of Untersturmführer (the equivalent of a lieutenant), stopped beside them and saluted. "Gentlemen, Untersturmführer Nolte, district Neukölln," he reported.

"Oberleutnant Schmidt, Headquarters Hammelburg," Horst introduced himself, with the sinking assumption that he was most likely the highest-ranking SS-officer in the vicinity. "General Burkhalter, Heer, Oberst Klink, Kommandant of Luft-Stalag 13 Hammelburg. Are there more of your comrades here, Herr Untersturmführer?"

"Inferiors, sir," the man answered, and Schmidt sighed inwardly. It was, indeed, up to him to bring some order in this chaos here.

Roaring thunder sounded suddenly through the entrance, followed by a wave of heat and dust. New panic was about to erupt, when Schmidt climbed on the bench, shouting for silence. But for naught. In their attempt to get away from the staircase, the masses pushed mercilessly against others who were on the station platform, forcing those closest to the edge into the tunnel and down onto the tracks.

The electric lights failed.

It was like a starting signal for another turn of mortal fear. Many screamed, only to fall silent after a few seconds. Shouts turned to whispers – as if with the vanishing of the light their voices had left them, too.

Schmidt saw his chance, calling out as loudly as he could:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please listen! I'm Oberleutnant Schmidt from the SS. My subordinates and I will try to help you, but you must remain calm. Everyone remains wherever he or she is. Sit down, wherever you are, pull on your knees and bend your head down. If you are wearing coats or jackets, use them to protect your heads and don't forget the children. Those who have been pushed into the tunnels, stay there too. There is no danger of incoming trains with the power gone, so…"

Another loud detonation ripped through the air and another wave of dust came through the entrance.

Schmidt jumped off the bench – no chance to speak to the people now.

Klink ducked out of reflex, quickly sat down pulling Schultz besides him, stripped off his coat and covered himself and his Sergeant of the Guards with it. Little stones and dust fell on him. He gulped and made himself smaller beside Schultz, while he heard Burkhalter wheezing at his back. He only hoped that the ceiling above them was strong enough to withstand a direct bombing or the impact and weight of any collapsing buildings.

From afar he heard a constant growling and thundering, like during a heavy thunderstorm or firework. It told him enough: The Americans were attacking with hundreds of bombs, setting parts of the town in flames which would transform them into a desert of ruins. He only prayed that the number of victims wouldn't be as bad as he feared.

A high whistle from outside sent a new bolt of adrenalin through his body and he knew what would come.

"Clap the hands over your ears!" he shouted to no-one and everyone, then followed his own advice.

A moment later a deafening explosion ripped through the air overhead. The ground shook, dust and debris rained down on all, oxygen was pulled away through the entrance as the erupting flames devoured the air above.

Wilhelm closed his eyes. asking himself how long this attack would last. He knew that Death walked through the streets in the shadows of the bombers.

Will tried to ignore the mortal fear that gripped him. He tried to think of Robert – of his dark, soft eyes, his impish grin, his strong arms, his tender hands, his gentle lips…

If he only could have seen his witty fox one last time…

If he only could take him one last time in his arms and tell him in person how much he loved him…

He would pay any price to be granted this one chance…

*** HH *** HH ***

The first assault wave almost lasted twenty minutes. Butler had managed to delay the first attack as promised, but only by a few precious minutes. Officially, the first raid began at 11:02 h and ended by 11:21 h. The bombing had begun in the south-west, but also a lot of the Boeing B17s attacked Tempelhof and Kreuzberg; many bombs also hit the adjacent areas. However, the main-flight headed towards Berlin-Middle.

Although the Allied bombers used primarily explosive ordinance and not the specialized incendiary bombs, the sheer mass and number of bombs started a massive fire; the strong wind increased the inferno, engulfing whole city blocks. The zoo was hit, freeing the animals which fled spreading more panic. To the north, the Zeitungsviertel (the so-called 'Newspaper-Quarter' in Berlin-Friedrichsdorf) was badly hit, as was the Ritter-Street which was the main-center of export-businesses. Whole market halls fell prey to the attacks, burying hundreds beneath their collapsing structures.

The intended main targets were, of course, the buildings of the government. The Reichstag, (still heavily damaged from the sabotage of 12 years previous), was hit as well as the Reich-Chancellery and many ministries.

The People's Court had been mostly evacuated as the first alert sounded, yet a few members of the staff remained to clear the building – or because they wanted to save important documents.

Among them was the Court-President Roland Freisler, infamous for his maliciousness and merciless actions against defendants and his high number of pronounced death-sentences. While the others fled to the bunker only a few houses away, he remained in his office to pack the files of political defendants he regarded as the worst traitors of all. He was killed during the first assault-wave. As he was found later, he still clung to the half-burnt file of the defendant Robert von Schlabrensdorff, whose trial had been in progress as the sirens began to howl, and certainly would have ended in the defendant's death-penalty. It was an irony of fate that Robert von Schlabrensdorff would years later become one of the first judges at the Federal Constitution Court in the newly founded Federal Republic of Germany.

In a final ironic twist, the doctor who was called to attend to Freisler (called away from aiding the victims in the street) was the brother of Rüdiger Schleicher – a leader of the Underground, Freisler had sentenced to death only a day prior.

In its own way, justice had finally been served.

The second wave of attack began at 11:24 h. – only three minutes after the first was over – and lasted just as long. Buildings, parks, streets and squares which had survived the first assault, fell now prey to the next set of bombs. Whole neighborhoods in the center of Berlin were set aflame and burnt down, either burying the occupants alive or killing their inhabitants outright as the buildings collapsed.

Police and fire stations, schools and hospitals, none were spared. The famous train station at the Alexanderplatz (Alexander-square) was destroyed, as were the stations in Potsdam and Anhalter.

The Royal Castle – built 1442 and extended in the 17th century in the typical Baroque-style – burnt down to the ground. The same went for the opera-house 'Unter den Linden', as well as for many other historic buildings and churches in the neighborhood, structures that had stood for centuries.

360 munitions factories were also destroyed, while another 170 were so badly damaged, production was completely halted.

As the last bombers flew away, they left a wide wake of destruction. Only later would the world learn of the air-raid's true magnitude. More than 2000 tons of blasting agents and more than 250 tons fire-bombs had been released.

Compared with the released bomb-material it hadn't been the biggest air-raid Berlin had to endure, but it was the costliest.

As the Wehrmacht and the regime were finally able to take stock many days later, the result was disastrous.

Some 2.300 buildings were destroyed, another 900 were condemned. Over 3,600 homes were damaged, 22.500 apartment units were uninhabitable, leaving more than 120.000 people homeless.

There was a huge discrepancy concerning the number of victims. While the NS-regime spoke officially of almost 2.900 dead, it became quickly clear that this was a lie to show the country the 'safety and strength' of Berlin even during a large air-raid. The truth had a far uglier and darker face. The US-military calculated and reported on 14th February in London (basing on reports of the Underground and own spies) that there had been 22.000 – 25.000 victims; among them many slave workers and Jewish prisoners who were banned from bunkers and bomb-proof quarters.

The fires burnt for 4 days. Many citizens were trapped in the damaged or destroyed quarters, the firemen helpless. Those trapped were forced to wait until the fire had burnt down and the stone- and debris heaps had cooled enough to climb over them.

The raid was, given their declared (and undeclared) goals, a success for the Allies: the railways were damaged, the arms industry weakened, large parts of the government-buildings damaged or destroyed (and the Russian were appeased and pleased with the other Allies' support). But the price was high – too high, as posterity later declared. More than 80 percent of the bombs had hit civil houses and facilities. And the real goal hadn't been achieved: Hitler and his staff were still alive and healthy – and the Führer didn't even think of surrender, but planned vengeance.

But all this was unknown to those who had found shelter in bunkers, subway-stations and cellars and withstood the firestorm. Yet many of these survivors were traumatized and marked for the rest of their lives – especially the children, not all of whom had reached safety in time. Whether caught outside or trapped in school cellars, they had seen schoolmates and siblings die. Even decades later psychologists were still treating adults who had survived this morning in Berlin as children.

*** HH ***

All this was unknown to the people in the subway-station at the townhall of Neukölln. As the thunder and droning quieted down, many started to stand, believing that the horrific attack was over, but Klink knew better – after all Robert had warned him that the air-raid was organized in two waves.

"Stay where you are!" he shouted into the darkness as he heard the telltale noises around him. "The most assaults are done in two waves! This here isn't over!"

"The sirens haven't given all-clear-signal!" Schmidt supported the Oberst's attempt to keep the people down in the subway. "Wait for the signal!"

Yet a few pushed through the others to get to the entrance. Two men of the SS stopped them, using physical force to keep them in place. Then – just like Klink had said – they all heard it; the next attack was on its way and nearing swiftly.

Wilhelm made himself as small as possible as the horror began anew, focusing on his memories of Robert to control his fear. He coughed repeatedly, as the air became filled with more dust, pebbles and other debris. To keep his lungs clear, Klink was forced to breathe through the material of his sleeve. His ears rang and his head hurt from the shrill whistles and detonations. The ground shook several times more, heat pouring down into the subway from above. One could easily despair and imagine they were on the precipice of Hell.

After a seeming eternity, the hellish noises began to quiet down. A few minutes more, and finally! the sirens, which were still intact, gave the 'all-clear' signal. The long howl echoed over a town that was one third in flames.

Slowly, not trusting the sirens, one by one people left the subway station only to face the disaster above. As Klink, Schultz and Burkhalter reached the surface, all three men stopped for a moment at the sight before them, then making way for those behind.

Looking along the street they had driven down almost an hour ago, they saw burning rows of houses. Part of the townhall had been hit too and fire raged out of the roof – evidence of the loud explosion Klink had recognized in time. The air was filled with dust, ashes, burning particles and the sharp smell of devouring flames. The injured and dead, either unable to reach shelter in time or had been robbed of it, lay on the street and sidewalk. Another detonation roared up as one of the burning cars down the road exploded.

Klink looked up. The skies were covered with black smoke caught beneath the clouds; the day was dark as the night. No wonder it wasn't until Klink wiped his face with his sleeve that realized he'd lost his monocle.

"At least we survived," Burkhalter said quietly beside him, as he put his cap down, combed his fingers through his short hair and placed the cap back on his head. His uniform was covered with dust, just like the clothes of all others. "I don't want to imagine what would have happened, if a bomb had hit the subway entrance."

"Then we would search our way along the tunnel to the next exit," Klink murmured, unvoiced but understood that those near the entrance would have died in that scenario.

Schultz stood silently beside his Kommandant; his mind was – like that of the most others – paralyzed. He had fought in the first war and had lain weeks in the trenches, until he could enter the first Luftwaffe, where he belonged to the ground-staff. He had survived canons, the first shells and tanks, and the first bombs, as small as they had been. But never he had experienced an air-ambush like this. His gaze wandered over the burning houses down the road, heard the moans and sobs around him, saw people wandering off with expressionless faces – and felt his eyes moistening.

So much anguish, sorrow and grief, so much pain and hurt – and for what? For a few men's and women's clinging to crazy beliefs and ideals, which had been proven to be wrong. He didn't blame the pilots who had flown the attack; he didn't blame the Brits or Americans – Hitler had declared this war on them, not the other way around. They were protecting their home-countries by fighting the madman and his fellows. It was the Nazis' fault that this horrible disaster had happened here in and other towns – as well as for every air- and ground-raid still to come.

He heard Klink and Burkhalter talking quietly with each other and distanced himself from them a few meters. He needed a moment and…

And someone bumped into him. He turned around and saw two young men, who looked with wide eyes and sheer fright at him.

"E-E-E-Entschuldigung, mein Herr," (sorry, sir) one of them said while he closed his coat firmly around him – but not quickly enough. Hans had seen a part of the yellow star that had become visible for a moment. Glancing up at the two males, he recognized the mortal fear that rose in their eyes. Slave workers and prisoners of all heritage – especially Jewish – were forbidden entry to any facility or room that was used as air protection. The regime held the opinion that those confined places were only for the 'good' and 'honorable' German people, not for the 'scum'. Anybody else, who got caught, had to be shot instantly.

So, it was no wonder that the two young men, who obviously had hidden in the subway-station, were horrified that a member of the Wehrmacht had caught them red-handed – with stolen coats no less.

Schultz hesitated, then – to hell with Hitler and his sick point of views! – murmured, "Run, you two. Try to get rid of this damn yellow thing. Enough houses are burning so you'll have no problem to let them vanish, but don't get caught while doing so. Head to the south, lay low and stay small. Try to hold on until this insanity will be finally over. The Russians are already in Poland and the Americans are about to cross the Rhine. I'm sure the regime's days are numbered."

He saw the disbelief, hope and beginning gratitude in their eyes, nodded at them, and was about to turn back towards Klink and Burkhalter, (who were still talking). Then he saw movement behind the two escapees – and blanched as he recognized Schmidt, who looked straight at him.

The Oberleutnant had also emerged from the subway-station in time to witness the little scene. Although the duo had their backs to him, Schultz's short hesitation after he had glanced at one of the men's chest, and his reaction now told Schmidt everything. He knew what those two, as thin as matchsticks, hid beneath their ill-fitting coats.

He looked from a startled Schultz to the two other men, who stared in renewed panic at him, pressed his lips into a thin line and came to a decision. Gesturing with his head down the street he told them mutely to go, knowing full well what he risked if anyone had seen the gesture.

One of them mouthed something to him, eyes bright with rising tears of gratitude, then they quickly melted into the crowd, mixing among the dazed survivors, walking zombie-like down the street…

Schultz gulped as Schmidt closed the distance to him. "Herr Oberleutnant…" he began, but the young man shook his head.

"No word!" he murmured. "I think we both did the right thing."

Burkhalter and Klink stopped talking and looked questioningly at Schultz, and he sighed, "Shall I look if the car is still functional?"

"Good idea, Schultz," Klink nodded, sounding hoarse because of too much inhaled dust and smoke like everyone.

Schultz nodded and hastened up the street into the direction where they had been forced to leave the car. Simultaneously, another officer of the SS appeared from a side-street, a dozen guards in his wake. Calling commands, the newcomers tried to impose some order to the confusion in the street. Relieved, Schmidt saw that the leading man outranked him. Thus, he was no longer responsible for calming the mess out here, and he could – maybe – drive back to Hammelburg together with the others.

The SS-officer – an Obersturmbandführer (equal to a major) – closed the distance to them as he saw them, introduced himself and asked if the gentlemen needed help. Schmidt gave him a short report of what had happened, and the other officer thanked him for taking charge even though Berlin was not the Oberleutnant's responsibility.

But when Klink mentioned that he and the others wanted to take the general back to the Ministry of Aviation, the SS-officer shook his head.

"Forget it," he said quietly. "We don't have much information right now, but one thing is clear: Berlin-Middle is cut off – just like the areas around it. Everything is burning north of here. There is no way to enter the attacked area without risking death."

"Any chance to reach the Führerbunker by radio?" Burkhalter asked, and the Obersturmbandführer shrugged.

"I don't know, Herr General. Our headquarters are heavily damaged, the Gestapo-Headquarter in Kreuzberg, too. I don't think that…" He stopped himself as the sound of new droning announced of the arrival of more aircraft. Many people panicked, but as Klink and the others looked up, they recognized some ME-262s and other planes of the Luftwaffe – obviously pursuing the Allies. Yet Klink doubted that they would be able to catch the attackers. The Calvary had come too late – like so often.

Burkhalter grimaced and cursed inwardly. Goering had been right. They should have used the ME-262s for the defense, not for the attack, but there was no way to convince Hitler otherwise. Sighing, Albert thought about the options he had for his person in the moment. There was no thought of returning to the government, and a stay in Berlin was unwise, too, since the chaos was sure to increase in the aftermath. Yet he couldn't simply return home to Hammelburg. Hitler or one of the Führer's staff could all too easily interpret this as a kind of desertion. The headquarters of the Luftwaffe was in Berlin – in the west, straight into the bombing-carpet the Allies had laid out. He doubted that the building was undamaged. So…

He was a member of the Heer – officially. So, there was another alternative for him. He glanced at Klink. "Should your car still be drivable, then take me to Wünsdorf near Zossen. The high command of the Heer has its headquarters there, and the facility also holds the Wehrmacht's communication center. I'll stay there and try to get in contact with Heinrich or Hermann, as soon as the telephones and the radios in Berlin are functioning again."

Klink nodded with a grumble. Zossen lay approximately 20 km to the south of Berlin, and it would cost him time before he could return to Hammelburg. Okay, the way square through Berlin, (had they traveled that path only yesterday?), was impassable – maybe didn't even exist anymore. Therefore, they had to detour around everything, and given the fact that they already were in South-Berlin shortened the route to Zossen a lot, yet every minute he lost nagged at him. He wanted nothing more than to return to his camp, get a shower, a big cognac and a soft bed – with Robert wrapped around him and kissing away the horror he had been through.

"Sergeant Schultz tries to get our attention," Schmidt said quietly beside him and looking down the street, Klink saw the Bavarian waving almost happily at them from afar.

"Well, our coach seems to be all right at least," he murmured, then observing the chaos of crashed and abandoned cars on the street, Klink came to a decision and addressed the Obersturmbandführer, "We're going to need some help to pass through this traffic-knot here. Any chance to give us a hand?"

"Of course, Herr Oberst," the man answered and barked a few orders. Saying good-bye, the two Wehrmacht-officers and the Oberleutnant walked towards Schultz, while a few SS-men began to steer and push the other stranded and damaged cars out of the way.

Klink couldn't deny that he was not only relieved, but almost happy to see that his car was covered with dust, but mostly undamaged. Other cars hadn't been this lucky, but his sat in an area where the destruction wasn't that bad. Further down the street in the northerly direction of Berlin-Middle – everything seemed to be burning and those houses nearer and not yet aflame, shimmered and smoked in the heat, but the southerly part of the street was still flame and mostly debris free.

They were about to man the car, when Schmidt suddenly checked his motion. "Do you hear this?" he asked Burkhalter, who had opened the door to the backseat.

The general listened and frowned, just like Klink and Schultz did. "There…" Burkhalter murmured. "It sounds like… baby-crying."

Schmidt turned towards the pavement and looked back up the road. Dead men and women lay where they fell or were thrown by the blasts and debris field. The evidence of how they all had met their demise was so clear that Horst's stomach rebelled from the sight and smell, but he forced himself to close the distance to them – because the crying became louder.

He stopped beside a young woman whose bloody head showed that she had been slain by flying debris – a few bricks lay nearby. The whimpering and crying came directly from here.

Gulping, Schmidt knelt and gently turned the dead body around. He gasped as he saw his assumption confirmed. The young woman had shielded her child with her body, dying in her desperate need to protect her baby-boy.

The infant was crying and kicking now with his mother's weight gone.

"Sweet Lord," Klink murmured, who stopped beside Schmidt and looked down at the child

"Hush, little one," Schmidt whispered, opened his coat and carefully picked up the tiny boy. "Hush, it's over now." He pulled the baby to his chest, held him there with one hand and closed his coat around the little body, offering warmth and shelter like this.

"Schultz! Look if the lady has some ID-papers with her," Burkhalter's voice ordered above Schmidt's crouching figure.

"She has no bag," the sergeant, who had joined them, said quietly. "She certainly lost it during her flight down the street."

Klink looked up the road and saw nothing else than burning houses and cars. There was absolutely no chance to search the pavement for the missing handbag without getting cooked.

"She wears the dog-tag of a man around her neck," Schultz said, as he in turn knelt beside the young woman, checking her pockets to find some other hints to her identity. He felt deeply uncomfortable as he carefully removed the chain with the broken dog-tag – the proof that her husband, brother or father had died in the war.

"What now?" Klink asked hoarsely. "I don't know where the next orphanage is."

"Even if we knew one, they are all overcrowded," Schmidt answered quietly. "At least that it what I heard a few times." He rose and held the baby safely in his arm beneath the coat; feeling the tiny fingers clinging to his jacket and tie. "I'll take him with me and try to get some information about his heritage." He nodded at Schultz, who still held the dog-tag in his right hand. "Keep that until we're back in Hammelburg. I'm going to do some research afterwards."

Burkhalter gaped at the young man. "You want to take the baby with you?" he asked flabbergasted.

"We can't leave him here, as you certainly agree. The houses around are about to catch fire, everyone flees to the south. The little guy wouldn't survive the next hour. Given the chaos in Berlin, I see no chance to take the little one to an orphanage, so he comes with us," Horst decided and headed back towards the car.

"But… you can't let him live in the Gestapo-Headquarters, and… and you're unmarried, so who shall take care of the child?" Burkhalter seemed to be completely at loss.

Schmidt stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "I'll find a solution. The little guy has survived this catastrophe, and his mother gave her life to protect him. To honor her sacrifice by taking care of her baby is the least we can do."

"He is right," Klink said firmly. "And I think I've a solution for the situation."

"Such as?" Burkhalter challenged.

The Oberst sighed. "Let me check it when we're back in Hammelburg." With those words he followed Schmidt to their car. He wanted nothing more than to return to Stalag 13 and to feel Robert's arms around him…

TBC…

Well, Klink and the others survived – and now they even have a very special reminder of the hell they escaped: A little baby-boy. And – boy – this will change a lot; at least for Schmidt and another person.

Like I mentioned at the beginning, the given details about this particular air-raid are historical facts. I know that it is hard to read about them, but they're a part of the whole horror, WW II was for all, and I hope it didn't trouble you too much.

In the next chapter, Hogan, the others, Stalag 13 and its current Kommandant will have a larger part again. And I can already promise that Robert and the major will clash again, while Klink and the others are reaching Zossen (an also historical correct location).

I hope, you liked the chapter despite its darkness, and – like always – I'm absolutely curious about your reactions and thoughts.

Have a nice rest of the weekend,

Love

Yours Starflight