Hi, my dear readers,

Thank you so very much for the BIG feedback the last chapter got, and I'm glad that you were to taken with it despite its dark topic. I'm also sorry for the delay, but my current beta-reader is very busy. And because I'm as good as off for my summer-holidays (they begin tomorrow in the early morning) I'm publishing this and the next chapter without any correction. I apologize for any mistakes, but I think you rather live with them for now than waiting further two weeks, before the story continues. I'll replace this and the next chapter as soon as I get the beta-read vision, okay?

The new chapter is about the aftermath of the air raid that changed a lot for Schmidt and the others, but also has stirred up a lot in Hogan and his men. And Major Sandhaus has his own way to handle the news from Berlin, so get ready for a load of emotions you certainly undergo within this chapter.

Have fun,

Love

Yours Starflight

Chapter 44 – Old and new chaos

Arms wrapped firmly around himself, Hogan sat beside Kinchloe, who wore the headsets and listened to the regular update London was giving him – a favor from Butler. Robert felt cold and somehow out of place – as if the real world was beside him and he heard and watched everything from another point of view. One of the remaining POWs of Barracks 2 had brought him a blanket he used to keep himself warm, but it was for naught. The coldness in the tunnels was nothing compared to the ice that flowed slowly through his veins.

Over and over again he glanced at his wrist watch – an hour now. How long until this damn raid was over? And, what was far more important: Had Will made it to a safe place in time? Was he okay? Was he even still alive?

Hogan knew that he wouldn't get any answers for those three question in foreseeable future. Even if Wilhelm was well, he would need time to find a chance to call the camp – if he could do it at all. Yet Hogan prayed that…

"It's over," Kinchloe said quietly, while pressing the right part of the headset more firmly against his ear with two fingers. "London says that the last bombers left the area of Berlin and are heading to the north. German defense air-crafts are on their way to intercept them, but it seems our boys are to far-away to get in any danger."

"Results?" Hogan asked pressed; not really wanting to hear the answer. After almost an hour of bombarding he didn't need much information to imagine the town's condition.

"Our boys said that approx. a third of Berlin was hit and burns."

"Blimley!" Newkirk whispered, who had left the telephone station over half an hour ago. There was no chance that someone from Berlin would call the camp during the raid, so he joined Hogan and Kinchloe in the radio-room. "At least a third of the town? It's very windy today. The flames will spread even more until…" He shook his head. Yes, after the disastrous attacks of London done by German air-crafts, Newkirk held even less sympathy for the country he was forced to be in the moment, yet one thing he never forget: the many civil people which fell prey during such a raid.

"More details can't be given for now. To get a whole synopsis will last days," Kinchloe repeated the message that was given to him from London. "A personal word from Butler: He hopes that your friends are safe, Colonel."

Hogan growled deeply in his throat. "They would have been if he had stopped this damn ambush in time," he said furiously. "Dammit, I don't want to imagine how many victims this unfortunate time schedule has left! There have to be thousands of dead people!"

Kinch ended the connection with London while his superior was whispering harshly to himself, and put the headset down. Looking at Hogan, he felt deep sympathy for his friend. There was absolutely no doubt anymore what was going on between the colonel and his German counterpart. Those two always had an odd relationship – practically from the beginning – and a certain tension between them had risen within the last year that obviously had peaked into something else now. In earlier times Kinch would have laughed it off if someone told him, Robert 'Tomcat' Hogan would fall for another guy, but he would bet his last shirt that exactly this happened now. The two not only sounded like a long-married couple – this they did since the moment they met – they were likewise close.

And Hogan was burning for the Saxonian – a burn that now had risen dread in him at the mere thought 'Willie' could belong to the victims. Kinchloe really hoped that the Kommandant – and Schultz – had made it. Not only for Hogan's sake, but for their all's, because one thing was clear: Without Klink their operation was done for. And, as he had to admit, then the camp would really turn into a prison. What happened if Klink wasn't in charge had been clearly seen within the last 24 hours.

The same moment a head peeked through the open entrance in the bed over their heads. "Sirs? They're summoning the next working troop!"

"Dammit!" Kinch cursed. "That refers to you and me, Peter."

Hogan looked alarmed at him. "I need someone down here, who listens to the radio and mans the telephone station. I can't stay here for very much longer and…"

"You should be back in bed for an hour now, Gov'nor," Newkirk interrupted him with concern. Hogan looked like shit by now.

"Tell this London and fate," Robert grumbled, before he looked back at Kinch. "Any chance to send Baker back?"

"I'll try," Kinch promised. "I also inform Benneton before I leave. He's a communication-expert too, you know. He can watch the telephone, while Baker mans the radio if I can send him back, okay?"

Hogan nodded; feeling miserable. Will was out there in the burning town; maybe injured and cut off any help. And he, Robert Hogan, the so-called 'mastermind' of the most daring espionage-ring in whole Germany, lay in a damn bed, stared at the ceiling and could do nothing else than waiting. He HATED it!

He suppressed the shudder that ran through him and tried to control the chatter of his teeth. And, as he had to admit, his body's reaction was NOT only because of his fear for the man who had wriggled himself deeper in his heart than he ever thought possible.

"Sir, go before you relapse or one of the guards checks on you and finds Olsen in your place," Kinch said softly, but also firmly. His friend was cold to the bones, and you didn't need to be a genius to know in what this could result.

Throwing up his hands, Hogan had to give in, handed Newkirk the blanket back and limped down the tunnels, while ordering, "As soon as anyone of you hears the tiniest thing about Klink or the others, inform me. And I don't care how or when."

Newkirk and Kinch stared after him, and James was about to follow him to give him a helping hand while climbing the ladder back into Klink's quarters, but Peter hindered him by laying a hand on his arm. "We've to go or we rise too much attention. Come on, he makes it alone back."

Kinchloe shook his head in frustration. "Dammit, this is one of the biggest mess we ever faced: A maybe dead Klink, a love-stricken Hogan who maybe will suffer a deep loss, a true Nazi as Kommandant and our operation barely functional in the moment." He began to climb up the 'ladder'. "I really begin to hate this war."

*** HH *** HH ***

Klink's staff-car was heading down the road, and bypassed the townhall where the fire was spreading more and more. Klink, who sat together with Burkhalter on the backseat, looked at the entrance to the subway – the place they owed their lives. This part of the subway was already evacuated and many people walked along the pavement; some clung to each other, others were going alone, others were clearly under shock. The realization, what happened, would hit home later.

On the passenger-seat was Schmidt; holding the infant safely under his coat and in his arms. The tiny boy was still weeping here and there, but his eyes were falling close over and over again; the stress the little body and his innocent soul had been put through was demanding its toll. Horst had cupped the baby's head with one hand; his thumb moved in soothing circles over the soft skin of the small temple and the little cheek. He had no clue how to take care of the child, but he would do it. Yes, he would need help – this much was for sure – but maybe he could find some support from the nurses in the Hammelburg-hospital.

And he needed supplies for the infant: Nappies, clothes, a cradle, food. Sweet Lord, what did an infant in this age eat if no mother-milk was present? How old was the little guy anyway? He had no experiences with babies, so he could only guess how old his charge was – three, four, five months? God, he really was at loss, but he would manage it. Somehow!

They drove in silence and needed a lot of time until they reached the southern part of Berlin, because over and over again people used the street to flee towards relative safety, while fire trucks and ambulance-cars headed to the north; trying to help the survivals what depended on the chance to reach the hit quarters.

Burkhalter was very quiet, while he sat on the back-seat beside Klink. Finally he glanced at the Oberst and murmured, "Your refusal to turn the car and to drive back to Berlin-Middle, obviously saved us all for. Usually I should press charges against you for insubordination, but seeing that your disobedience based on clear thoughts, while I decided because of a gut-feeling, I let this deed go."

"Thank you," Klink said softly; knowing that he had been indeed in deep water for disobeying a direct order of his superior.

Burkhalter waved a hand. "I owe you my life – again. I haven't forgotten how you came to my aid while these two traitors in Stalag 13 tried to kill me."

"Hogan came to help you, too," Wilhelm reminded him, and Burkhalter rolled his eyes.

"Yes, that he did. Somehow this damn Ami has a soft spot for us." He looked shortly out of the window. "I wish, his comrades would have likewise feelings."

Klink sighed. "We started the war – and Hitler declared war on the US, not the other way around."

"An absolute crazy idea," Albert agreed, but out of another reason than Klink, like it was proved a moment later. "It was far too early. We weren't ready for the Americans. Our arms industry would have needed two or three months more, then we would have had a real chance, but so…" He shrugged, before he changed the topic. "Any chance that this Vienna café-house, you invited us to, survived?"

Klink shook his head and lied, "It laid more to the north-west, where the Allies attacked directly. I don't think that there was one stone left standing."

The general sighed. "A shame – I really would have loved to get a good Vienna Mélange again. I could have needed it after this damn trial."

Hesitating, Wilhelm asked, "What do you think? Did Hochstetter made it to the prison?"

"It's in the south-west. Therefore the paddy-wagon headed directly into the direction where the air-raid started. If Hochstetter was lucky, his guards took him with them as they certainly sought refugium in the next bunker. If not, he is history." He glanced back at Klink. "If so, at least you don't have to wreck your brain, if this 'poison-gnome', how you called him, will ambush you one day."

He couldn't know, how wrong he was…

*** HH ***

"The sirens are signaling 'all-clear'," a man in a black suite said as he returned into the bunker beneath the Gestapo-Headquarters in Kreuzberg that was placed at the Prinz-Albrecht-Street. It was an older building in the pompous style of the Belle Epoque and had been built 1901 as a museum. After its founding first the Gestapa and then the Gestapo used the house as the main headquarters, and had extended the building more and more, including a bunker that was installed behind the original house in the ground.

The house to the left had been the Prinz-Albrecht-Hotel, but had been closed in 1933 and were now the seat of Himmler since 1934.

Now, at this morning, everything changed. A large part of the former museum was in flames, Himmler's office and the buildings in the neighborhood were gravely damaged. The men and women, who worked here, had found shelter in the bunker and several important files and documents had been saved just in time before the air-raid started; then hell had broken loose above their heads and had quiet down now for maybe ten minutes.

At the man's arrival, the other people rose from their sitting positions and looked expectantly at him.

"And the building?" a Kriminalrat asked.

"Was hit. The higher levels are burning. Giesselmann, Vogt and Brandner are trying to save more of the important documents, but we shouldn't leave the bunker within the next one or two days. As it seems, a large part of Kreuzberg and the quarters in the north were hit very hard. All I could see were flames and smoke." He sighed. "At least we've enough nourishment here to hold on for a few days."

Curses were to hear, while others voiced deep worry for their families.

Only one man seemed to be unmoved of everything. He sat in an edge and was chained to the chair he occupied. Hochstetter still wore his black SS-uniform, but every insignias had been removed forcefully – the clear signal that he had been given an dishonorable discharge. No one took notice of him, while he looked with burning eyes at the next wall; face deathly white.

The paddy-wagon had changed the direction the moment the first alert was given, and had headed to the Gestapo-headquarters. The drivers had took him with them, but at first the entrance to the bunker had been denied for him – him, a sentenced prisoner.

How often had he been here, in this building, within the last elven years? How often had he exchanged information with colleagues, had sipped coffee in their offices or had nice evenings afterwards with them in the restaurants around? Others had lifted the hat when he walked down the street to this house, inferiors had shown him respect, men of equal rank had shaken his hand. And now they denied him first the entrance to the bunker, presenting him to almost certain death. A former colleague, he had an easy friendship with, had finally spoken up on his behalf and he had been allowed into the bunker – like he was an unworthy individuum all of sudden.

He didn't think how often this had been done to other people the Nazis regarded as 'unworthy'. He didn't think that he had done the same to Hogan only three weeks ago – denying him any chance to escape certain death by leaving him behind. He didn't think that he was a sentenced man now because of insubordination and also abusing of his rank and position. He only thought about the wrongfulness that he was now on the other side of the desk, so to say – that law had been turned against him. Not once it occurred to him, how often he had done injustice in the past – or how often the latter was in Germany day by day.

He only saw the unfairness that had been done to him in his eyes. That he was now here, in this bunker, and would be brought to a working camp where he would have to bust a gut for the next eight years – if he survived at all – was only the fault of the others; namely Klink, Burkhalter, Schultz and this traitor Schmidt.

But mainly Klink!

This foolish coward who all of sudden grew a back-bone, had LIED during the trial as he stated he had defended himself. It had been the other way around, end of story. Hochstetter remembered very well how Hogan's movements stilled and the short bliss of triumph to whip finally his nemesis from the face of earth, only to see all of sudden Klink in front of him, before the Oberst tore him away and punched him hard enough to make him seeing stars. Klink had attacked first, not the other way around! And this was also out of 'personal reasons', because this God-forsaken bastard was a traitor and had befriended Hogan – an enemy of the Third Reich!

If this damn bastard would have admitted the truth, he – Hochstetter – would have had maybe a chance to turn the wheel once more, but no. Of course Klink had lied to save his own skin, supported by this big ox Schultz. And Hochstetter knew exactly why Klink had done it. Not because they both weren't exactly on good terms with each other, but because of Hogan. Klink had wanted to protect Hogan – again – by getting him, Hochstetter, out of the way, and therefore he had moved earth and skies that the judges would see it his way.

Yes, Hochstetter was furious that Schmidt had brought more proofs with him – that his own guards had stated against him – but this didn't wake his fury like the thought of Klink. And Hogan.

Both were still free, even in the American's case, because Hochstetter simply knew that Hogan could leave and return to the camp to his liking. He was anything but a real prisoner. And after the war, he would speak up for Klink and would made certain that his friend wouldn't be put to any court material – if the Allies would press charges against the Oberst at all, after all he was one of their spies, too! Klink and Hogan would live their lives in freedom, while he – Hochstetter – would remain a prisoner.

They would pay for it! He didn't care how long it would last, until he could get revenge. He didn't care how long he would have to hang on, but he would survive this all here, and afterwards he would search for them. And if it would need years and more years to find them, he wouldn't give up until he had reached his goal.

'Don't think you're safe. I'll come back one day – and then you're dead!'

*** HH *** HH ***

"What?" LeBeau stared with open mouth at Kinchloe and Newkirk. He had been forced to join the first troop despite the fact that usually he had a job as a cook now. Sandhaus' opinion of this matter had been clear: 'There are more important things to do than cooking for this blasted Ami. He shall eat what he gets, or stay hungry. I do not care!'

"It's true," Kinch murmured and looked over his shoulder at the guards, caught Langenscheidt's gaze – who grimaced and turned away – and whispered, "At least a third of Berlin is burning."

"And Klink – and Schultzie?" Louis asked; feeling real worry rising in him. He had come to like the large Bavarian – and Klink… Well, the man was their protector and supporter now; had it been for approx. two years and more. Somehow during the three weeks he, LeBeau, had been at the Oberst's quarters and cooked for the two colonels, he learned to see the man beneath the uniform. He was indeed concerned for the two Germans' welfare. And, as it became more and more clear, this SS-guy Schmidt was a fine man, too. He really didn't want to see them hurt – or, worse, dead.

"We've no clue," Newkirk murmured. "The gov'nor called Klink at the Court where Hochstetter's trial took place, and warned him. But if he and the others made it…" He shrugged with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

"Baker," Kinchloe addressed the second radio-man, "try to appear sick. Cough, sneeze, be unsteady on your feet. You've to go back to the camp and watch the radio. Benneton already manned the telephone station. The colonel is beside himself with worry for Klink – and Schultz, too, of course."

Richard smiled shortly. "So, the two are really… You know?" As Kinch looked with a frown at him, Baker smirked, "Louis and Peter told me."

James grimaced, "Tattlers," he grumbled, before he shrugged. "We've no real proofs, but the two colonels seemed to be rather close by now."

"Okay, then someone really should keep his ears open, if our walking monocle survived," Baker murmured, before he added, "I return to the camp. I really don't need much effort to sway on my feet. This work is inhuman."

They glanced at the road they were freeing of the snow. A path had been shoved away by the two tanks, but the snow was nonetheless house-high on both sides of the street and needed to be shoveled away to prevent the snow from sliding down and closing the gap again.

"Is something the matter here?" Langenscheidt had closed the distance to them, and looked quickly at the other POWs, who had come to replace the one or other man, but mainly were forced to join those who already shoveled snow for hours now. He felt sympathy for them and he would have loved to send the first troop back to the camp, but Sandhaus' changed orders were clear: The second troop had to support the first one who only could return in two hours. Karl was furious inwardly. The current Kommandant was a slave-driver, nothing more!

"Baker caught the cold, too – and it's getting worse," LeBeau said, and Baker put on a good show of being barely able to remain on his feet, while he coughed.

Langenscheidt watched him. Okay, he had to admit that he still had some trouble of recognizing paleness or not by people with dark skin, but Baker really didn't look so good. And the coughing sounded bad. Yet Karl couldn't skip the thought that this was an act to get back to the camp – for whatever reasons. Baker belonged to Hogan's inner circle, and Karl couldn't shake of the assumption that this damn gang was up to something, but he didn't care. Not really. Until now everything turned out well in the end, why shouldn't it be different this time?

"Okay, go back to the camp, report yourself sick to Sergeant Wilson and hit the mattress."

"Thank you, Corporal," Baker wheezed.

"You're welcome. PRIVATE NOLTING?" he shouted and one of the camp's guards jogged towards them. "Take Sergeant Baker back to the camp. He caught this damn nasty cold, too. If Major Sandhaus complains about it, tell him that we make good process here and that I only obeyed the Geneva Conventions by taking consideration of the sergeant's health." He nodded at Baker. "Get better, Sergeant."

"Thanks, Charly," Baker coughed and followed the private, who led him to one of the trucks.

Kinchloe and Newkirk exchanged a look. One task was done!

*** HH *** HH ***

"Donnerwetter! (gosh / golly! ). Just have a look. The High Command knows how to reside." Schultz, who had driven them the whole way to Zossen-Wünsdorf, looked with big eyes at the buildings behind the heavily guarded fence and gate, where he had stopped the staff-car. He saw country houses with pretty roofs, timbre-framed facades and even small gardens. They built in a circle with a plaza in the middle. Woods and meadows were around them, another street crossed the one from the gates not far away. Everything looked almost idyllic, if it wouldn't be for the guards at the gate and the men in Wehrmachts- and Waffen-SS-uniforms which walked down the plaza.

No-one could even assume that this was the headquarters of the Wehrmacht's High Command since the late summer 1944, and that these houses, which once had been indeed nothing else than cottages, had been changed into strong bunkers. The rest was only a mask to confuse the civil-people and the Allied air-crafts. In truth this here was the bunker-facility Maybach I. Beneath the houses, were wells with drink-water and plumbing, air-filter systems (as protection against eventually gas-attacks) and diesel-engines which delivered the power.

Not far away was Maybach II which looked almost identically, and the Bunker 'Zeppelin' that once held only a telephone exchange for the Wehrmacht. Now it was the signal intelligence center of the whole army; disguised with the cover-name 'Amt 500' (office 500 – officially a post office branch). The bunkers underground held the most modern radio- and telephone equipment of whole Germany, as well as all technical fundamental requirement to offer the High Command everything that was needed to work and to live here.

Two guards came towards them; automatic pistoles aimed at them, while a sergeant followed them.

Lowering the window, Schultz saluted quickly. "Good day, Gentlemen, I bring General Burkhalter."

The sergeant stepped in front of the two guards and spied into the open window, recognized the staff-officer on the back-seat and saluted quickly.

"General, welcome to the OKW (Oberkommando Heer – High Command Heer / Wehrmacht). May I ask who are your companions?"

"Oberst Klink from Stalag 13 and SS-Oberleutnant Schmidt from the HQ in Hammelburg. We're coming straight from Berlin."

"From Berlin?" the sergeant asked; shocked. "Are the gentlemen well?"

"Yes, as far as someone can be well if he had to hide in a subway station while outside the bombs were falling," Burkhalter answered non-characteristic softly.

"How… how is the situation in Berlin?" the sergeant barely dared to ask.

"A catastrophe," the general replied. "The smoke and flames could be seen even here if there wouldn't be no trees and hills which block the view." He shook his head. "We've no idea how bad it really is, but one thing is certain: There was no chance for us to reach the government-quarter." He sighed. "Is Colonel-General Guderian here?" (hist., acting Chief of the OHK General Staff 'til March 1945)

"No, sir, he is… was… is in Berlin," the sergeant gulped, obviously shaken by what he heard. Then he turned towards one of the guards. "Call House 1. Tell them that General Burkhalter and two other officers are here – and that they come from Berlin." He let his glance wandering over the car that was still dirty with ashes and other tracks, and shuddered inwardly. While the man jogged instantly to the guardhouse, the sergeant said. "I'll take care that the gentlemen get their visitor-passes." He looked at Schultz. "Your name, please?"

"Sergeant Hans Georg Schultz."

The same moment the baby who had fallen asleep, began to move beneath Schmidt's coat and squeaked quietly in obvious confusion.

Instantly the second guard aimed his rifle at the SS-officer, who rolled his eyes. "I assure you, Private, a several month old baby is no real threat for this facility here." He couldn't mask the mockery in his voice.

"A baby?" the sergeant asked thunderstruck.

"What, do you think, are these squeaks?" Opening his coat a little bit, Schmidt showed him the infant, while Burkhalter explained, "A surviving citizen of Berlin we found beneath the dead body of his mother after the catastrophe. The Oberleutnant took care of the child."

The sergeant nodded. "I call the infirmary that a doctor can check the gentlemen and the baby through, and inform the cantina that some milk and purée is needed." He smiled at the infant, who snuggled closer to Schmidt's chest.

The guard, who had run to the guardhouse, called, "General Burkhalter and his companions are expected at House 1 as soon as possible."

'Of course, like this the High Command gets information about the air-raid first-hand,' Burkhalter thought; making a face.

"I'll let the visitor-passes bring to you as soon as they are issued, sir. You know the way to House 1."

"Thanks Sergeant," Burkhalter nodded, who had been here several times, and leant back in the backseat. He knew that this facility would be his home for the next days.

*** HH ***

They stayed there fore almost two hours, answered questions and told what happened. Parallel more and more reports arrived in the Headquarters, and one was worse than the prior one. The four men cleaned themselves as good as possible, brushed out their uniforms, and got a very late lunch with a lot of to drink (water and milk to fight the tracks of the smoke they had breathed in). The doctor, who was called to examine the four men – and the baby – found tracks of a small fume poising and their all hearing had suffered, but this would heal within the next days.

He also examined the baby for any injuries. There was none despite some scratches and bruises, which happened as his mother lay above him – protecting him against the fallen debris – yet the doctor wasn't sure if the baby's hearing had taken any damage. Time would show it. He also said that the boy had to be three or four months old and certainly was already weaned – or his mother had been about to wean him. Now, during the war, nourishment was rare and the own mother milk was the best way to keep an infant feed as good as possible.

Because a military base had no baby-supplies, they used a triangular bandage as a nappy and the doctor handed Schmidt some more of them so that he would be able to change them if necessary during their drive back to Hammelburg. Something close to panic appeared on Schmidt's face then, because he had absolutely no clue how to change nappies, but Schultz calmed him by stating that he could do it; after all, he had risen five children and had given his wife a helping hand often enough. One of the cooks made a purée from grey and mixed it with scrapped apple and banana. He also warmed some milk with water, and while the officers talked about everything that happened more, Schultz took care of the infant – to Schmidt's relief, because in the moment the young man was unable to cope with everything the baby was going to need.

At four o'clock in the afternoon, Klink, Schmidt and Schultz were ready to leave. Burkhalter offered them to stay overnight and to begin their tip back to Hammelburg the next day, but the Oberst declined. He wanted only one thing now: Back to his camp and then straight into Robert's arms.

They got a few spare canisters with gasoline so that they – hopefully – could drive to Hammelburg without having to stop at a filling station. Because they were forced to leave their luggage behind, they were also supplied with washing-utensils should they have to stay overnight in a hotel during their way back, and they also got bottles with water and nourishment, including a few portions of the purée the cook had made for the baby, and some milk.

Burkhalter assured them that he would make certain that their belongings would be sent to Hammelburg as soon as there was a chance to reach the bunker they had stayed in the night prior, and the luggage could be retrieved.

Two times Klink had tried to get a telephone connection to Stalag 13, what Burkhalter prevented. "The telephone lines are really needed for more important things in the moment, Klink. I'm sure your men were able to handle the garbage-problem!" the general scoffed in his typical way.

"But they certainly have heard about Berlin by now and worry for Schultz' and my welfare," Klink had protested; knowing that word of his survival would spread through the camp within minutes, what would calm down Robert who certainly worried his head off for him.

Burkhalter had rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we all know how much your men love you," he had mocked.

"They were happy as Hogan and I survived after the air-craft ambush, and even applauded as we returned to the camp."

"If this wasn't only because of Hogan," the general muttered mockingly beneath his breath. "The lines are needed for other, really important purposes in the moment. Your men will hold on until you're back!" he had said aloud, and this was the end of the second discussion.

Like this, the still dirty staff-car left the facility around four o'clock in the afternoon and headed to the south – and the black skies over Berlin and even the shimmer of still raging fires were to see for a very long time whoever of them dared to look back.

*** HH *** HH ***

"No word or track from them until now." A very tired Kinchloe had crept into Klink's quarters, and leant now against the door frame of the bedroom; arms crossed in front of him. During the hard work he had sweated, now he was chilled to the bones after sitting on the cargo area of the truck that brought him and a part of the other POWs back to the camp first. An icy wind was blowing and the men felt like living icicles.

Hogan nodded silently; feeling likewise cold even if he was covered with the warm comforter. He had spent the last hours with wandering through the little building or laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He felt locked up with the walls closing up at him – more than ever before. He wanted to drive to the north-east and search for Will (and the others). Of course, this would be not only utterly crazy, it also would be completely senseless. To find a single person in such a big town was impossible even without that said city war partly in flames. There was absolutely nothing he could do than waiting, yet he had the feeling of slowly going mad by 'sitting' here and hoping for a miracle, while even his hard military training couldn't prevent his mind of seeing horrible scenarios which could have befallen Will – and Schultz (and Schmidt, too).

His glance found Kinch. He saw his friend shivering and he forced his thoughts away from the haunting imaginations of a dead and maybe burnt body of his secret lover. He was still the commanding officer of the POWs here – and the chief of the 'Unsung Heroes', which were also his friends. And they were miserable because the slogged to their limits during this day.

"How are you and the others?" he asked quietly.

He couldn't fool Kinchloe. Okay, that Hogan was concerned for their welfare was something that seemed to be a living part of the colonel, yet it was obvious that his mind was somewhere else – with his German counterpart who seemed to be so much more for Hogan now. 'Sweet Lord, Robert, he got you good,' he thought with a mixture of amusement but also sympathy. Should Klink be among the many, many victims the air-raid left behind, it certainly would hurt Hogan in a way he didn't want to think of.

Clearing his throat, he murmured, "Tired like puppies, cold and hungry." He caught Hogan's alerted gaze and nodded at the unspoken question in his superior's eyes. "Yes, the last meal we had was this morning."

"Goddammit bastard!" Hogan snarled; being completely distracted for now. "I'll report him to the Red Cross. This is against every rule and…"

"Kinch!" Carter's voice sounded through the open entrance in Klink's living room. "They're making a roll call."

Groaning and grimacing, James turned around. "Are all of us back?" he called back.

"Yeah, that's the reason for the roll call."

"Go," Hogan murmured. "I'll think of something to stop this sick bugger."

Kinch only nodded; knowing there was nothing his superior and friend could do in the moment against the bitter and hateful acting Kommandant. If Klink would return, this beginning nightmare would be brought to a halt. If not…

He climbed back into the entrance, pulled the furnace above the hole and jogged through the tunnels back to Barracks 2, together with an exhaust Carter. As he stepped two minutes later on the compound, he instantly could feel the changed atmosphere. A deep and odd tension lay in the air, laden with uncertainness and a certain dread.

Looking up at the watch towers, he saw the guards quietly talking with each other – duty forgotten for the moment. Other guards on the ground stood there with shocked or expressionless faces, and Kinch pressed his lips into a short line for a moment. 'They know,' he thought. 'They heard about Berlin.'

He glanced at a pale Langenscheidt, who counted the members of Barracks 2 in the moment, and their gazes met. Forcing an asking expression on his face, Kinch cocked one eye-brow – after all, he already knew what happened. Karl shook slowly his head and murmured, "Later!"

The same moment Sandhaus came out of the Kommandantur, watched the sergeants ending the counting and demanded report.

"All prisoners are present," Langenscheidt announced, while closing the distance to the acting Kommandant.

"Very well," Sandhaus said; face pale, expression icy, eyes burning with fury. "Prisoner!" he said loudly, "A third of the road has been laid free, like I learned from Leutnant von Neuhaus. You can do better. Tomorrow we'll see, how much you're able to manage."

"Maybe we can work better, if we would got our rightful ration of nourishment – means, a lunch," Kinchloe commented strongly.

"Tomorrow is Sunday!" another voice shouted from somewhere at the left.

"I don't care what day tomorrow is – just like your comrades didn't care about the weekday this morning!" Sandhaus stated grimly. He stepped a meter closer to the first row of POWs. "Knowing that nothing is so quickly like rumors, I'll want to give you some information about the gossip's topic that already makes the round in the camp. This morning, around elven o'clock, American air-fighters attacked Berlin. It was a cowardly devious ambush without the tiniest display of humanity, seeing that at this time almost the most civilians were outside of their homes to follow their private businesses for the weekend, and the most children were at school."

"Just like it was in London as you Nazis attacked without any care how many civilian people would be killed!" another voice shouted from the background

Sandhaus flushed with fury. "Who was this!" he demanded. As no reaction came, he repeated more firmly, "WHO. WAS. THIS!"

To his shock – and Langenscheidt's amusement – one by one all POWs lifted their right hand. Gritting his teeth, the major needed a few seconds to collect himself. "As you wish," he growled. "Rations will be lowered, lights out at half past six and…"

"You're breaking your own German laws and rules, Major," Kinchloe spoke up. "I know that you Germans have a knack for collective punishment, but POWs are left out of this kind of penalty."

"I do not care!" Sandhaus snarled. "To your all information: Oberst Klink and his companions were at the People's Court as the air-raid took place. First information say that the court is still burning and is not savable, just like the most other buildings in the street. Given the fact that we haven't heard a peep from him until now, we've to expect the worst. Should the Oberst belong to the victims, I'll purpose for the command here, and I can already promise you one thing, Gentlemen, then you'll see which way the wind is blowing." He raised his voice as the first protests were to hear. "I'll change the tune, believe me! And to show you, what I mean, you'll have one hour to eat, wash and to find your bunks. In one hour, at six o'clock, the lights will be out and…"

"This is against regulations!" Kinch spoke up.

"One word more, nigger, and you can count the minutes in the cooler for the next days – if you can count so far at all."

"Herr Major…" Langenscheidt protested, but Sandhaus ignored him.

"You heard me: One hour. DISMISSED!" he snapped at the prisoners, before he turned his attention to Langenscheidt, who took a deep breath.

"Herr Major, those men are not responsible for the air-raid. For them the war is over for months – years even." He spoke quietly, but firmly. Before Sandhaus could answer, he added, "What are you doing here, is indeed against any regulation."

"I'll make the regulations here, Corporal, and I interpret the rules. If you have a problem with it, I can arrange for your transfer to the Russian Front."

"Well, this front isn't too far away anymore, isn't it!" Karl hissed; feeling his control slipping. "But one thing is for certain, Herr Major: I made a vow and I signed in for the compliance of regulations, like every other guard here in this camp. If you think you can break them because of your personal feelings and desire for vengeance, I've no other chance than reporting you to Berlin." He continued despite the fact that Sandhaus snapped something at him. "You wouldn't be the first camp-Kommandant who faces trouble because of violations of rules. This is still a state of law and…"

The major narrowed his eyes and interrupted him sharply, "Herewith you're removed from your position and released from duty. You're confined to your room until…"

"May I drive your attention to the fact that your driver lives in my chamber?"

Sandhaus took a deep breath. "Corporal, go to your current dorm and remain there. I'll take care of your case as soon as I learned if Oberst Klink survived or not. And believe me, I'll make certain that you face court material! Dismissed!"

Langenscheidt simply looked at him. "People who lives in a glass house shouldn't throw stones, because it was not me who broke law!" Then he turned away and headed for the guards' quarters; too angry to be worried in the moment.

Kinchloe had watched the whole scene with rising concern. Langenscheidt was their only real alley here in the camp for now, and to lose him could be crucial. Walking back to Barracks 2, he reached them at the last, but stopped at the door as LeBeau murmured, "The bosche is heading to Klink's quarters."

"If he kicks out the colonel, he'll face pure hell as soon as Klink returns," James murmured, before he sighed, "If Klink returns."

*** HH ***

Hogan heard the door to the little building opening and closed his eyes; pretended to be asleep. His ears caught nearing steps and he knew who was coming. The major had a hard gait and… The steps stopped beside them the moment a hand gripped his shoulder and shook him roughly. The little assault took Hogan by surprise and with a gasp he opened his eyes – shocked about the impudence. "What…?" he began.

Sandhaus stared down at him with open loath in his gaze. "Your blasted comrades attacked Berlin this morning and as it seems, your benefactor Klink fell prey to their assault. See that you've healed enough until tomorrow afternoon, because afterwards you'll leave this warm nest and you can heal in a wallow, for all I care. But one thing is for sure: I'll make you American swines pay for what you not only did to me and my squadron, but especially what you bastards did this morning."

"The own medicine always tastes bitter, doesn't it?" Hogan answered calmly and set slowly up. "Now you get a feeling how all those thousands and thousands of people felt as they lost dear ones and the roofs over their heads, because your insane leader wants to rule the world. And every cruelness you display will come back to you a dozen times and more, so be careful what you're doing!"

"I know this idiom, but it doesn't count for me. I'm not a religious man, Colonel. You damn Allies robbed me of any belief."

Hogan snorted. "For the case you haven't noticed, Major: Your leader declared war at us, not the other way around. It was your leader who held up his own neighbor countries with inhuman brutality and planned raids on my home. So don't cry if you get some pay-backs. And as a soldier you've to know that death accompanies everyone of your steps!"

The major sneered. "The last sentence goes for you as well, Colonel."

"I know, but given your youngest injury and your hate, I think you got a severe drubbing at the beginning of this year. Operation Bodenplatte, as I learned from General Burkhalter, right? (An attempt of combined Heer- and Luftwaffe-forces to regain ground in the Ardennes that began at the 16th December 1944 ended finally at the 25th January 1945 after several gravely disaster for the Wehrmacht.)"

Gritting his teeth, Sandhaus hissed, "Your comrades shot us down even from behind and killed many young pilots who had their whole life before them."

"Young men, who volunteered for the job and still applause Germany's insane leader and his goonies despite the fact that Hitler dooms everyone he and his government swore to protect. And if you think you can blame us for defending our homes, then you're not less mad than the tiny private with the moustache is."

The Major stared with fierce eyes at him. "Don't forget, Colonel, that your life and this of your men will be depend on this 'mad men', how you dare to call me. Your all lives are in my hand, not only today, but certainly within the next month and maybe years, too. If I were you, I would start praying, because believe me: If I get the command here 'til the end of war, you all will wish you'd never had come over the Atlantic!"

"A wish certainly you are going to utter before the war is over, because we'll send you damn Nazis to a place you really belong to: To hell!"

Sandhaus turned around one last time and smiled ugly at him. "But for your and the others here in the camp witness an eventually victory of the Allies, it will be too late for you. Another commander in a KZ-camp said: If the war is over at elven o'clock, you'll be dead at ten o'clock. And believe me: Should the Allies win, you all will not live to see the hour of their victory!"

The gravely threat hung darkly in the air, yet Hogan didn't let any fear getting through him.

"And just right now you got yourself a ticket to trial – even within Nazi-Germany, Major," he snarled. "Believe me, there are still enough honorable men within this country left, who will take care that laws are followed and upcoming murders are stopped."

Sandhaus chuckled. "No accuser, no trial. I rather make certain that you won't survive for another day before you can speak ill about me, Hogan, so be careful what you're saying!"

"Did you just threat to kill me, Major?" the colonel asked slowly with a dangerous tone in his voice.

"No, I just warned you," Sandhaus replied coldly. Then he walked away and left the quarters by banging the door close after him.

Hogan growled deep in his throat. He didn't take the threat easily. If Sandhaus wanted him dead, then he had to be very wary within the next days – at least until he could send the bastard as a new package to London, or until Klink was back.

Wilhelm…

If he really was dead (a thought that pained him too much to think closer of it for now), then he – Hogan – would have another task to manage. At least he would try to continue Wilhelm's work by keeping this camp together. He would protect the POWs and even the guards – at least those who had gained his and his men's respect. And if this meant to get rid of Sandhaus, he would arrange for it. It wouldn't be the first time he made people vanish who were a threat to his friends or to him.

Yet the major's open hate showed how many German officers and soldiers still thought. They had started the war and were furious if the attacked nations defended themselves and counterattacked. They only saw what happened to them and their families, but they didn't care how much sorrow and death they brought first over the others.

'If you think you can tyrannize us here, Sandhaus, then you're wrong. You're quicker in London than you can shout for help.'

He lay down again and looked out of the window. All he could see from his position was the sky – dark grey, with approaching darkness of the night and racing clouds which were hunted by the wind. The same wind that had spurred on the flames in Berlin, which maybe had cut off Will from any escaping route – if he hadn't found shelter in a bunker in time.

Hogan closed his eyes; imagining Wilhelm standing at this bed and packing his luggage. God, hadn't he practically begged the older man to stay here – here, where it was so much saver than in Berlin? Hadn't he had this damn gut-feeling that something was about to go horrible wrong? And hadn't Will promised him to come back this evening or tomorrow morning at latest?

'Woe you, Wilhelm Klink, if you don't keep your promise,' he thought with a childish hue of defiance that masked his fear for his German counterpart. 'Woe you don't come back and leave me all alone here. Then I'll get you one day when we're… how did you call it? When we're all on the great plaza up there?'

Hogan laughed with a tight feeling in his throat as he remembered those minutes at the train, as he had wakened Will to tell him that they were back near the camp, and no longer on a suicidal mission. Klink had offered him to call him 'Wilhelm' when they would meet in heaven again, before he learned from Hogan that the 'orders' had been changed and that the day of death hadn't come yet. Will had spoken in poesy before he got it that the suicidal mission had ended before it even begun, and in those moments Robert had seen the real man beneath the uniform – the vulnerable and gentle guy Will was in truth.

'There will be time to parade on the Great Plaza in the far future, Will, so – dammit – come home!'

He closed his eyes; sending silent prayers to the Heavens…

TBC…

Yes, Hochstetter is not 'done for', and Sandhaus really is a bastard, and sadly there were a lot of camp-commanders like him. His point of view and his way to handle the POWs are no exception, but something close to standard. Yeah, there were certainly some commanders, which treated the POWs with simple respect, but on daily basis they were anything but kind. In the case of my story, help is on the way and in the next chapter Klink will be back in the camp. Just imagine his reaction (*snicker*).

Another thing is the OHK in Zossen. It really existed and the rests of the bunkers, masked as country-houses, are still there. The Red Army conquered the base a few days before the war was over and claimed the whole technics which were completely intact. Later they tried to blow up everything, but the 'houses' were too strong. If you're interested you can look at the web under 'Zossen', 'Maybach I' and 'Wehrmacht'. There are a lot of photos so that you can get an idea of the area, Klink, Schmidt and the others visited within this chapter.

I hope, you liked the chapter and like always, I'm absolutely curios what you think of it.

The next one will be published during the next hours. Klink returns to the camp – more I don't want to reveal, but I'm sure you're going to melt (and to rub your hands in glee, too).

Love

Yours Starflight