Hi, my dear readers,
I'm sorry, but I only realized now that I skipped to publish this chapter – and it's such a fluffy and sweet one.
Here you go – a time of love for our two lovebirds.
I hope, you enjoy it.
Yours Starflight
Chapter 51 – Song of love
While Schmidt reached Frankfurt in the evening, and Hochstetter found himself in an over-crowded barracks in which 200 men were penned in, Klink and Hogan had a decent dinner. The colonel learned that Hilda would keep the baby in her care for the next few months – maybe even forever. The latter depended on the boy's aunt, if she would be willing to give up the infant for adoption, and if Hilda would find a husband. And both colonels already had a good idea who would be the candidate for the latter.
While Hochstetter cursed the whole world and tried to find a comfortable position on the hard make-shift bed, and Schmidt fell into a soft hotel bed like a stone, the two love birds fooled around and teased each other, of which quickly became more. Excitement changed into passion, passion into fire – and this time, it was Robert who conquered his lover in all meanings of the word.
This kind of love making was familiar for him – to be buried deeply in the other one's body and to feel those silken walls around his throbbing member was an old, yet also a new heaven, because it was WILL in whom he was sashed. It was the person he had fallen in love with. And to be one with him was pure paradise. And he heard in every moan and sigh, sensed in every move of Will's hands on his back and saw it in the bliss on his lover's face, that Wilhelm felt likewise.
Will was in heaven. Despite the fact that he had not been taken like this for many years and that his body wasn't used to this large kind of invasion, he relished in every moment of it – turning half mad with desire and bliss to surrender to the man who held his heart and soul. The second he glanced up at Rob's flush face, he became aware of the possessive expression that also spoke of pure rapture and caught the fire, but also devotion in those scorching brown eyes. He knew that he never would love someone more than he loved his witty fox.
Clinging to each other, lost in sensation and scorching desire, they reached for the stars only they could see and left the world behind. Completely out of breath, slick with sweat, and far too filled up with pure bliss to be reasonable, they came back to Earth so to say. The aftermath of ecstasy held them in a gentle, but firm grip for longer before they resumed their forbidden, but so delicious game again. Both could not get enough from each other. They were addicted to the way they made the other one feel, and both knew that this here was ought to be for very, very long – maybe forever.
It was late in the night they finally fell asleep – utterly spent, exhaust, but happy. The next morning, it was Klink who groaned and cursed because of a very sore butt, and it was Robert who pulled Will's leg now, yet the sympathy in his eyes made up for his teasing.
The movements, with which Klink walked over the compound for the roll call, were more than funny and got him some comments he simply ignored. He was in a far too good mood to get irritated because of a burning in his backside and a few rude whispers. At least none of the POWs assumed the truth, and the rumor that he had fallen out of bed spread through the camp – something he would not correct. It was better to be on the receiving end of a stupid joke than to be revealed as a man who loved another guy.
Hilda came at approximately eight o'clock like every morning and told Klink about her telephone talk with Manfred's aunt. Klink stood true to his word that she could take off some extra hours if needed, and he offered his support should she be in need for it. It earned him a brilliant smile and words of real gratitude before the daily routine began.
In Mühldorf, Hochstetter had his first 'working-shift' and quickly learned in a hard way that there were not any liberties allowed.
Back at Stalag 13, Hogan had another training session with Wilson in the rec hall. And, again, he had some trouble to do the training as good as the day prior. Yes, he had lost himself in Wilhelm this time, and not the other way around, yet his beaten body was anything but fully healed, and therefore, the passionate love making of the night prior demanded its toll.
"Where does it hurt, sir?" Wilson asked, while Hogan rose with a grimace from the mat.
"Lower back, hips…" He shrugged nonchalant and ignored the medic's piercing glance.
'Given Klink's funny movements this morning and yours now, I bet my last shirt that the most pain is in the front of your middle body, Colonel,' Joe thought wryly, and shook his head inwardly. Those two!
At the same time, Klink had a different problem that based on the same reason. To sit on his desk chair was not only unpleasant, it was almost hell. He had shifted front and back, to the left and to the right, but his butt did not stop burning. In the end, he called for Schultz and ordered him to bring him a sofa cushion from his quarters.
"Decent, Schultz! I don't want every man within these wires seeing you carrying a pillow to my office!" He called after Hans, who only rolled his eyes.
"Is' sho' recht," (Bavarian: It's okay) Schultz sighed, exchanged a half amused, half frustrated glance with Hilda, and left the Kommandantur. A minute later, he reached Klink's quarters, got the pillow, and put it in a bath towel. The large one that hung in the bathroom and was sopping wet spoke its own language. Shortly afterwards, he stomped over the compound back to the Kommandantur. Hogan and Wilson came out of the rec hall, and it did not slip Schultz's attention that the colonel, too, walked oddly.
"You two should not overdo it so much," he murmured, as he passed by the American officer, who stopped dead in his tracks and gaped with big eyes at him.
Wilson coughed to mask the chuckle that escaped him; knowing exactly what the Sergeant of the Guards was carrying towards Klink's office. He caught the far too innocent glance of his superior, as Hogan said with a sigh, "Schultz really is the big father type. Now he even worries that you and I do too much sports in my condition."
Wilson bit his lip and nodded very seriously, but inwardly, he was laughing his head off. The day Robert E. Hogan was at a loss for an excuse was the day the moon would wander backwards.
They watched Schultz enter the Kommandantur again, and Hogan had to fight the grin that was tugging at his mouth. He could imagine how uncomfortable Will had to be. Well, served him right. After all, the German had a lot of fun on Robert's behalf three days ago.
Klink groaned in relief as he sat down on the pillow, ignoring Schultz's amused smirking. The same moment, Hilda entered his office to bring the first reports she wrote for him, caught his reaction, and shortly pursed her lips.
"So, the rumors are true? You fell out of bed on your…well, bottom?" She asked, with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
He shot her a short glare, ready to deny the humiliating gossip, and remembered in the last second that this rumor was his alibi. Grimacing, he nodded with a grumble, listened to her soft laughter, and surrendered to fate. Let them all think whatever they want, he had had one of the best nights in his life, and that was all that counted.
"I hope you're doing better tomorrow, Herr Kommandant. I don't think that the harmony of the music will be the best if you still have problems with sitting down."
Klink frowned. "What has music to do with me sitting down?" He asked, confused. "And what do you mean with 'tomorrow'? Tomorrow is Fasching Saturday, but given this damn war, I'm really not in the mood to have a party with masks and to swing to music."
Hilda placed the records on his desk in front of him. "I'm also in no mood for Fasching, Herr Kommandant, but tomorrow is the monthly meeting of you and the other gentlemen you're playing music with," she reminded him. "It was cancelled in January because of the whole situation, and tomorrow is the second Saturday in the month – when you meet with the gentlemen regularly."
Klink stared at her thunderstruck. He had really forgotten about it. Usually he looked forward to those meetings; now they had slipped his mind completely. Sweet Lord, love and what it could do to a man!
Hilda cocked her head. "Shall I call them and cancel the meeting again?" She offered, but Klink shook his head.
"No, let them come. There is no reason to break our routine again. And, at least, to play classical music is good for the soul and heart. It's no duty, but a pleasure."
Schultz controlled his features in the last second to not give into his urge to pull a face. As much as his superior loved music, his playing was terrible. And in this regard, he asked, "Herr Kommandant, can I take tomorrow afternoon off?"
The Oberst frowned. "What for?"
"Well… you see… I have a friend in Hammelburg and…."
"Your friend wears the name 'beer' or 'Weißwurst', and then you come back with the mother of all hangovers. Request denied!" He bent over his reports to sign them.
"But… Herr Kommandant…"
"You had last Sunday off, and this is quite enough in one week. We're not here for fun, you know." He did not even look up while signing the documents with his typical, almost hastily movements.
"That says the right one," Schultz grumbled under his breath, yet he was heard.
Now, indeed, glancing up from the papers, Klink fixed him with one of his infamous stares. "Shall we speak about your talk with Hogan a few mornings ago, Schultz, and overstepping your limits how far you can throw yourself in your superior's private affairs?"
The large Bavarian looked confused at him, and then it dawned to what the Oberst was referring to. Of course Hogan had to talk about it with 'Willie'. Sometimes the American was really a chatterbox!
"I had only your best interest at heart, Herr Kommandant. I did not want that troublemaker to hurt you," he defended himself.
Klink, half bowing over his desk, glared up at him. "Yes, Robert convinced me of your well-meant intention. And this is the only reason why you don't get an ear full from me."
Hilda had listened with growing bafflement. 'Private affairs', 'that troublemaker not to hurt you', 'Robert'? "May I ask what is going on here?" She asked.
"No," it sounded from both males at the same time.
"Well, then don't." She shrugged, took the signature folder with her, and left the office; closing the door a little bit stronger than necessary. Klink watched her go and shot his Sergeant of the Guards another glare. "Very sensitive, Schultz. Of course she now begins to get ideas. Why don't you just shout it through the whole camp that Robert and I are together?"
Hans' eyes became wide. "May I drive your attention to the fact that you began with the whole topic, Herr Kommandant?"
"I spoke in riddles, but you have to use clear words so that Fräulein Hilda…"
"I did not say clear and plainly that you and Colonel Hogan are a couple. I would never mention it officially. You know I know nothing, and I see nnnnooothing!" He took his rifle and went to the door. "And hopefully I HEAR nothing tomorrow afternoon!"
Klink frowned, recognized to what Schultz was referring to, and balled his fist. "Schultz, you're a music-philistine!"
"I love good music," the Bavarian corrected him, almost regally. "Especially when the right note is stroked." He left before his superior could react to this little potshot, and heard Klink shouting his name in anger a few seconds later while he bypassed Hilda's desk and stepped out of the Kommandantur.
Inside the office, Klink huffed in offense, grimaced, glanced down on the reports, and rose to get himself a cognac. So much anger had to be flooded away, no doubt. And only as he had stood up, he remembered his sore butt – better to say, his backside gave him a paining reminder of its condition.
He groaned. Hopefully this day would be over soon.
*** HH *** HH ****
Schmidt returned to Hammelburg after a chaotic trip, because he had to change trains four times. The many destroyed and damaged railways, and especially the latter, gave the Reichsbahn (Germans State Railroad) a lot of trouble to keep up with any schedules. He was tired as he reached the HQ, went to his room to get rid of his tiny luggage, and entered into his office, where he took over charge from von Neuhaus. Thank the Lord this time there had not been anything happening that needed his attention.
He called Hilda in Stalag 13 and informed her of his return. He would stop by at her parent's house in the evening, and his heart beat increased as she invited him to dinner. He heard Klink's voice in the background and bid hastily farewell. He did not want to be the reason for Hilda to get into trouble with her boss should she spent too much time for private matters while being on duty.
Looking at the telephone, Schmidt pursed his lips. To hear Klink's voice had brought up another issue he couldn't forget: the mysterious Vienna café house in Berlin. He believed Frau Schwaigel that she did not know one in Neukölln and within the next boroughs. And his curious and trained mind that could smell a riddle or a mystery in 100-mile distance did not give it a rest.
Picking up the receiver, he called the townhall of Neukölln that was finally reachable by telephone again and tried to get some information about the café – for naught. And, as he realized, his telephone partners at the other end of the line were anything but understanding that he asked for a café house at the given situation in Berlin.
Pursing his lips, Schmidt rose, went to the window, and stared out into the snowy street.
Something was wrong here.
Something simply did not fit.
And he knew what this 'something' was. Klink had driven in haste towards a café house he knew 'from earlier times', but that obviously had never existed just before a grave air raid happened. An air raid that left a path of destruction through all of Berlin, but the borough they drove to was only grazed.
Coincidence?
Luck?
Or… a result of knowledge?
Klink had been called to the telephone at the People's Court and after he came back, he had been in great hurry to get them to this ominous café house in Neukölln – Neukölln that was not as strongly attacked as Berlin-Middle and the other borough where Burkhalter had wanted to take them.
Klink had driven like the devil was after them. Well, in this case, it hadn't been the devil, but hostile aircrafts.
What if Klink had learned about the upcoming air raid during the call he received? What if the 'garbage problem' had been a fake and, in truth, someone had called Klink to warn him? And if so, who was this 'someone'? What if Hochstetter had been right and Klink had a connection to the underground who warned him about the upcoming attack?
"You're seeing phantoms, Horst," he murmured. "Klink is eccentric in a certain way, yes, but he is an honorable man and no traitor." He turned away from the window and returned towards his desk. But a certain suspect had been risen, and he knew he would not stop thinking about it as long as the riddle was not solved.
If there was chance to learn who had phoned Klink, then the other questions would be answered automatically. But the only one who knew who had called the Oberst was Klink himself and the young SS-man of the telephone exchange office at the People's Court that did not exist anymore. The whole building had burnt down like he knew by now.
But… maybe the man who had received the call still lived. Maybe he had found shelter in the bunker a few houses down the street in time and had survived. If so, he – Schmidt – could get the answers he needed. On the other hand, if he contacted the SS-Headquarters in Berlin and asked questions about the employees at the People's Court, he certainly had to tell them why he needed the information, and he did not want to bring Klink into discredit. On the other hand, if the Oberst played a foul game, it was Schmidt's duty to find out the truth. Yet, there was no denying in the fact that – even if Klink was in contact with the Underground – he, Schmidt, owed said contact his life. Klink had made certain that they all got away in time instead of taking the heels and running off alone. Even if the Kommandant was in touch with the Underground, he had shown honor and trustworthiness by protecting his companions.
So, what now? If Schmidt would follow his duty, he maybe would be forced to arrest the man he owed his life to. If he ignored the inanities, he made himself guilty of covering for a traitor.
Schmidt groaned and closed his eyes. For the first time he did not know what to do.
*** HH *** HH ***
The rest of Friday went by uneventful. Klink was glad to be finally back in his quarters where he could use more than one pillow to sit down on, ignoring or answering Hogan's teasing with a scowl that was not meant seriously – and Robert felt compassion for his secret lover. He remembered very well how uncomfortable his butt had been even a day later after their first real love making, yet – this much was clear – both men did not mind too much. They even looked forward to a repeat. Both had never experienced such an intense whirlwind of feelings and sensations. This kind of true belonging, and they would love to have this incredible closeness again.
Well, in two or three days.
Just right now, Will needed some time to 'cure his butt', like he put it, but he could not fool Hogan. The Oberst's eyes gleamed with mischief, but also tenderness whenever he glanced at the younger man. His 'butt' was the last thing he cared about then.
They went to bed early this evening, and the next morning was a sunny one. Skies blue, sun bright, temperature bearable. Hilda came for four hours before she finished her duty for the rest of the weekend. While Hogan took some more training lessons with Wilson in the rec hall – accompanied by Kinch and Carter – Klink got ready for the music session with the other gentlemen.
In the early afternoon, they arrived carrying their instruments – and at a moment's, notice the compound was sans of any POW. Most of the guards went into the casino, cantina, or their quarters. Only those who were on duty remained outside of the wooden buildings.
Klink ignored them. He was in far too good of a mood to get irritated of this 'lack of music-understanding'. Welcoming the other four gents, they occupied his now tidy office where he had ordered more chairs be built a half-circle. The men set up the music stands, unpacked their instruments, and began to adjust them. They agreed on some classical themes, and the music began to fill the air.
Outside in the watch towers, the guards stood stoically and waited for the inevitable stress for their hearing. And then some of them began to frown or blink in surprise as the music that sounded from the Kommandantur was sweet and harmonic – without the typical mistunes their CO managed to produce from his violin on principal.
After a few minutes, the first German guards reappeared from the casino, cantina, or their quarters; curious who was playing there so well. In the rec hall, Hogan, Kinch, and Carter interrupted their training session as they heard the music from afar. Wilson had opened a window to let some fresh air into the hall.
"For once, this doesn't sound like someone stepped on a cat's tail," Kinchloe joked.
"Is that Klink?" Carter asked, a little bit out of breath.
"It seems so," Wilson nodded, his attention fixed on Hogan, who listened with a soft smile closely to the music. There was the saying that someone could play an instrument the best when being in love. Well, in this case, it really fitted. There was no doubt that the German officer's feelings for his American counterpart had changed his lack of any talent into something enjoyable.
In the Kommandantur, the piece was finished, and the gentlemen looked in awe at Klink, who stood there, held his violin, and had played it like never before. There was an inner peace and almost gentleness on the Oberst's face that none of the other males had ever seen before.
"My dear Wilhelm, you're playing like an angel," one of the men said.
Klink felt his cheeks flushing at this unusual compliment and shrugged. "I had a little bit of time to practice, that's all." He smiled awkwardly and looked down on the notes he had not needed at all. His thoughts went to Robert, and the warmth that filled him shimmered in his eyes – and had found its way through his fingers to the violin.
Without losing another word, he began to play again – his fingers and the violin bow elicited the instrument with new tones, following a melody only Wilhelm could hear sung in his heart and soul. It spoke of happiness and bliss, of tenderness and passion, of love and peace – a mirror of what a certain oversized American man-boy with the brilliant mind of a genius had woken in him.
The melody soared on gentle wings through the camp and brought more and more men out onto the compound. Uniform and heritage did not matter for now. Farraginous, POWs and guards stood next to each other – listening and smiling at the unusual, yet gentle and strong melody that woke the memories of the better and brighter times before the world was seized by insanity.
Robert had left the rec hall and remained between his friends. He knew who was playing there – and what Will was playing: a song for him – a song that melodized their feelings and what was a declaration of love on its own. And he felt his throat tightening as far too much emotions swept through him.
After several minutes, the last tones sounded away, leaving an echo of quietude, light, and yearning in the camp. There was not a single man independent of heritage who did not miss his dear ones or who remembered the better times years ago. Yet the melancholy was not a sad one, but rather a looking forward to the day everyone could go home.
Here and there, the first hands were clapped, followed by more and more applause. It did not matter in the moment that the most present men were POWs and applauded their jailor – or that the guards acclaimed their Kommandant, who only had begun to gain their respect within the last few weeks. Music had no limits and tore down walls and borders where human acts usually failed. Music could unite people, even if only for a few minutes, and this was exactly happening now.
Robert clapped his hands, not aware of the affectional smile on his face or how much his eyes shone. He knew that this melody did not officially exist and that Will simply had given tones to his feelings for him, and the depth of the older man's love for him made Hogan almost breathless.
LeBeau and Newkirk exchanged a glance with each other, looked pointing at their friend and superior and locked eyes with each other again. Uh-uh, this here was definitely more than 'only' an affair. This here ran deep – and they did not know if this should make them happy for their friend or upset. The chance the two officers would have a future together was not really big.
*** HH ***
Klink's unusual beautiful violin playing was the topic for the rest of the day. The other musicians had praised his 'incredible art', meaning really what they said. And the Oberst even felt a little bit embarrassed about the compliments – like it happened here and there by now since he and Robert were together. His vanity seemed to have vanished most of the time and also his arrogance. Instead, he displayed something close to modesty – a completely new behavior from him.
It was shown again during the evening roll call, as a dozen POWs and more whistled and applauded, calling things like "Great play!" or "That sounded good!"
Hogan had returned to Klink's quarters after the music (and his training), still wavering between of being touched and shocked. A part of him could not believe that the feelings of someone for him had elicited such beautiful music. That Will's love for him had gifted the older man with such a sudden change in his usual, not existing talent of playing the violin.
As Klink entered his quarters after evening roll call and hung his coat at the coat stand, Rob stopped behind him and slipped his arms around his waist from behind, nuzzling his secret lover's neck.
"You played this for me, didn't you," he said quietly.
Klink flushed and turned around with a sigh. "I don't know what came over me. I…I simply played what came into my mind. I hadn't any real saying of how the melody went. My fingers had an own kind of will, as it seems." He looked at Robert, wrapped his arms around him and murmured, "I thought about you and how we grew closer within the last few weeks – of our time together, regardless if we sat on the sofa talking or rolled between the sheets, blind with lust and need. The memory and the thrill of anticipation for what maybe still lays ahead for us found a way into the melody I came up with."
To his horror, Hogan felt himself blushing. To be the reason for someone creating a love-melody – to be the center of someone – was utterly new for him, and he felt his heart beat speeding up.
"I hope; you still have the melody stored in your memories. I would love to hear it again," he whispered.
Klink smiled and tipped with one finger against his temple. "It's in here. And maybe I'll write it down so that it can be played by more instruments."
"But with your violin as the first voice," Rob replied softly. "There is no other instrument possible because it represents you." He cocked his head. "And it needs a title."
"'Flight of the Two Eagles',"Klink said, without hesitation. "Because despite everything we've become by now – or call the other one – this is what we still are: Eagles."
"And they fly together very well," Hogan said beneath his breath, remembering Wilson's words a few days ago as he said he knew that the camp had a German and an American eagle now, and that they fly in harmony.
Will chuckled and nodded. For a long moment, both men simply looked at each other. Then – in mutual agreement – they bent forwards for a gentle kiss and relished in the warm peace that settled around them.
They only parted quickly as the front door was opened, and LeBeau appeared to have prepared dinner for them. The tiny Frenchman rolled his eyes as he saw the two officers quickly going separate ways. Swollen lips, flushed faces, shining eyes… Merde, the day they would have to settle back to the old living arrangements would be the day both certainly would be grumpier than his Aunt Sylvie. And this meant something.
*** HH *** HH ***
On Sunday, Wilson examined his superior again. After almost five weeks, the broken ribs had mended well – at least this was the result he came up with after propping Hogan's left side with expert fingers until the colonel began to swore and to ask him if he wanted to break them again.
The injuries on his back and shoulder had left some scars, while other wounds would be red for a few more weeks more until the deeper layers of skin and flesh would be properly healed, but otherwise he was as good as cured.
While on the Crimea, an important meeting of Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin ended, Hogan returned from the rec hall towards Klink's quarters accompanied by Wilson. He returned greetings, talked with a few men here and there, and discussed a few things with Kinch while being watched from other POWs from afar. It became more than clear that he had to return to Barracks 2 soon. There was no way in hell that his comrades (and especially Wilson) would believe him still to being too weakened and too injured to accept the Kommandant's hospitality for very much longer. And the thought to leave this new found 'home' filled Hogan with unease; not to say with sadness. Yet, he knew it was inevitable to move back in his own little quarters within the next few days.
"I knew that the hour would come you have to move back into the Barracks," Wilhelm said quietly in the afternoon, as Robert brought up this topic. "But…I really would appreciate it if you managed to delay the whole thing for a few days more."
Hogan groaned as he saw the puppy look Will was giving him. Rubbing his forehead, he whispered, "I don't want to leave, believe me. I don't want to be separated from you like this. Sleeping alone and yearning for your nearness. I had this unpleasant experience when we were forced to sleep in different rooms during the Gestapo investigation and when you were in Berlin." He glanced straight into Will's eyes, which were still behind the spectacles. The monocles would be ready on Monday, but in Robert's opinion, the spectacles suited his lover far better. But in the moment, they had something very different to discuss. He swallowed. "I would love to spend the rest of the war here in your quarters, but we both know that this can't be. Not only my men, but also every other single POW and every one of your guards would get the maybe right idea about our current living arrangement, and then all hell breaks loose."
Klink nodded and sat down into one of the arm chairs. "I know prudence demands this step. Yet…" He shook his head. "I don't want to be without you," he admitted softly. "I want to wake up beside you, have my meals with you, and listen to your voice. If you return to the Barracks, we'll see each other during the roll calls and your daily visits in my office, sure, but… that's not the same." He almost sounded forlorn.
"We still have our chess games – at least officially. I certainly get carried away while gambling with you and have, therefore, a good excuse for a late return to the Barracks." He winked at him.
Klink chuckled for a moment. "Well, this excuse would get lame after two or three times. And if General Burkhalter gets wind that you're out of your Barracks after curfew this often, we'll both face consequences."
Hogan sighed deeply. "True – but if I use the tunnels, no one besides my men know about my visits here." He suddenly snapped his fingers, and a smile spread over his face. "That's it. I'll tell them that I have to discuss missions with you or that you invited me to chess and…" He stopped within the sentence, and his beginning grin subsided. "And this still doesn't mean that I can stay the whole night here." He shook his head. "Dammit, I HATE the prospect of not feeling your arms around me during the night – or of waking up without you."
Klink reached out to him and offered him his hand, closing his fingers softly around Rob's as the American placed his hand in his. "To say the truth, I can't even imagine to live alone again," he murmured, before he set his shoulders into a firm line, showing a strength he did not feel. "Yet I know that this time comes soon. We'll find a way to see each other in private. Knowing your cleverness and my experience in this special department, we'll come up with ideas and excuses the others will believe – no doubt here." He smiled sadly, while his thumb moved in gentle circles over Hogan's wrist. "But for now, stay a few more days, please?"
Robert gulped, deeply touched. "Will, you're the Kommandant of this camp. If you order me to do something, I have to obey." He caught the pointed gaze Wilhelm gave him and groaned. "Yes, I know, I'm not THIS obedient, I get it."
"This is the understatement of the year," Klink deadpanned. "I'm baffled how your superiors put up with you at all."
"Hey, I'm not that bad!" Hogan more or less pouted, eyes sparkling again.
"No, you're worse," Will nodded, smiling again now, too.
For a long moment, they only looked at each other. Both really did not want to think about the upcoming new/old living arrangements – yet this would be a small problem compared to what began to loom outside the camp but would not stop at its wires.
None of them could foresee what would happen within the next few days – that this Fasching no one celebrated this year in Germany would leave haunted scars in most people. Not only within Germany, but also in many others who felt empathy.
*** HH ***
The two love birds spent the night with intense love making. The upcoming separation loomed like a sword over them. It made their love game even wilder and almost desperate until passion and lust washed away anything else beside the fierce need to feel each other with everything they had. Their bodies still had to become used to the side effects of everything, but on Monday morning, after both showered together – accompanied by taking care of each other tenderly – it was clear that their butts were not this sore like after their first times.
Klink went after morning roll call to his office and switched on the radio like he did so often now within the last few days. A radio broadcast of Reichsleiter Martin Bormann, the party-chef of the NSDAP, stirred up not only him, but certainly also many other people. Per decree, women and girls were called to enter the emergency service, the so called Volkssturm that was founded in October 1944. Until now, approximately six million men the ages between 16 and 60 years old had been recruited. Even women who did not have small children, sick or worked in facilities which were important for the Reich, were prompted to enter the service to support aiding offices. And, if there was no other way, new battalions would be built, casted with young, strong women.
Klink, who had listened to the broadcast, shook his head in horror. Women should not fight. They should not be forced to carry and use a weapon. And even least, they should not be sent to the battle fronts. "Goebbels and Bormann lost it – no doubt here." He whispered.
A knock came to the door, and Hilda peeked inside. "Herr Kommandant, have you heard that…"
The Oberst nodded with a scowl. "Yes, I heard the newest insane idea of our regime. Just imagine: women clad in pseudo-uniforms, trained for two or three weeks to know where the front and the back of a rifle is, then off they go to fight against well trained, real soldiers. The Volkssturm is until now a disaster, and it won't get better if women support it." He glanced at his secretary. "No offense here, Fräulein Hilda. I know that most women can stand their man so to say, but to send them into battle without a real training is murder."
Hilda smiled at him, knowing that her boss belonged to the old school and was therefore a cavalier. Then she lowered her head. "What if they summon me, too?"
Will's eyes widened, and the new monocle Schultz had got from the optician in Hammelburg only an hour ago almost, slipped. Luckily it fell down on a pile of files and remained unbroken. "They won't. You have a baby to take care of – and you're filling a very important job within the Luftwaffe, means, you're my secretary. If they try to recruit you, they have to get through me, so don't fear."
"Sorry, Fräulein Hilda."
Schultz appeared behind them, pushed the young woman gently aside and entered the office. "Herr Kommandant, have you heard…"
Klink lifted a hand. "I know, Schultz. They call the women to the arms now and…"
"That's not all," the large Bavarian interrupted him. "There was another publication. With immediate effect, all nourishment rations for the civil people are shortened more than 10 %."
Hilda gasped. Nourishment was already rare, but now even more than 10 % less was…a little catastrophe.
Klink cursed. Yes, the new order did not count for the Wehrmacht or the other military-like departments, but – dammit! – they all had family at home. Their dear ones would even suffer more now. His mother and younger brother were already thin like bean poles. The supplies in Düsseldorf had been reduced dramatically – and half of the town lay in ruins what forced the city government to shut off other necessary supplies like water, power and gas for several hours every day. A further shortage of nourishment was insane. Yet, this much Klink was aware of, Germany was running out of food. In the countryside, the people had still enough because of the kitchen gardens and the fields, but the many destroyed streets and railroads prevented that the goods could be transported to the larger cities – and therefore, the people in the towns were especially hungry. And now the rations were even more shortened. It was… inhuman.
"That means that they are going to take more of our harvest despite the fact that it wasn't this good all last year," Hilda said quietly. "My father said that we'll make it only barely through the winter."
Klink gave her a reassuring smile. "If it comes to the worst, you can take some things from our stock, so don't worry." She began to protest, but he lifted his hand again and said gently, yet strongly, "You provided us with milk, fruits, vegetables, and so on within the last years. So, if you and your family are in need for some basic food, I see no reason I shouldn't give it to you. We have more than a thousand men here – three hungry mouths more are really no problem."
As well meant as this offer was, Klink could not know that the future held even more drastic changes – even for Stalag 13.
*** HH ***
The news that women were called to arms spread quickly through the camp, and most POWs' reaction were one of disbelief and shock. Yes, there were women serving in the US Army and also in the British Army, but they fulfilled duties in the offices, at the telephone centers, in hospitals, and so on. It was unthinkable that a female was forced to take a weapon and to join active battles. And, above all, everyone knew that the Volkssturm was anything than a serious opponent. Rather the opposite. Miserably armed and clad, barely trained in combat, and mostly consisting of too old or too young men, the Volkssturm's only strength was its amount of members. But in open battle or protective fighting, their success was zero. Those who were captured were treated as usual POWs, and mostly being captured was the men's luck, because it meant survival. The prospect that now females should join this militia (that was lousily structured and lacked of any military discipline what was necessary to stay alive) made the men in Stalag 13 shake their heads.
"The bubble-brain must be more insane than I ever thought," Newkirk grumbled, smoking a cigarette.
"Or very clever. Imagine, you would face a woman in the middle of a fight. Would you fire at her?" Carter asked.
"I would try to disarm her, but proposedly killing her…?" Newkirk shook his head. "No, I don't think I would do that."
"There you have your answer," Kinch grumbled, burying his hands in the pockets of his parker while looking over the compound. "A clever move, I have to give this to the damn Krauts. Send women to the front and hope the Allies are gentlemen enough to spare them."
"Yet I bet my last shirt that there are enough guys who haven't this scruple – or worse, show them their 'strength' afterwards in another way," Baker said quietly, his face displayed his distaste and anger.
"What Hitler there does is another crime," Newkirk murmured. "First he recruits old men and mere children, and yet even young girls and women. Just imagine they would try to recruit our Hilda. That's just what we needed – or our Balding Eagle."
Newkirk could not know that his dark thoughts were almost prophetical.
*** HH ***
The rest of Monday went by. Where in earlier years the Rosenmontag during the Fasching had been celebrated with happy street parties, costumed people, and a lot of beer (or wine, depending on the region), this year no one was in the mood for it. Not even the people in the Rhine area. The times were too dark, too sinister, and too uncertain even for the most loyal Fasching devotees.
Hogan learned from Wilhelm during their lunch of the German brass' newest 'idea' and could only shake his head in disbelieving bafflement. It showed how desperate the Nazis were now by gambling even with the maintenance of their own people by risking girls and women like this. And it showed Hogan one thing more: Hitler would not give in – never. He would fight to the last breath. This much was clear for Hogan. And he was certain that the brass in London saw it likewise.
Apropos, Hogan was becoming more and more suspicious concerning the generals in London. He and his men had not gotten any tasks for more than two weeks now – and this made him wary. There was something cooking. The brass was up to something big, this much Hogan simply knew out of his experiences, and it he had a bad feeling. His gut was almost always right – and this time should not be any exception.
The next day, Tuesday, was a calm one and full of boring routine – at least until the evening. Schmidt visited the Schneiders again and brought some ration coupons for them, knowing that the little farm had to fee the most products to the distributing offices. Hilda's shining eyes were the best payment he could get – including the shy kiss she pressed on his cheek.
And while later Schmidt bid the Schneiders' goodnight, and Robert and Wilhelm tried to catch their breath after another round of fierce love making between the sheets, in the southeast of Germany, air raid alerts were given – an air raid that should change a lot for the future warfare, for the mood world wide, and the moral in general.
*** HH *** HH ***
The next morning in Stalag 13 began like always – at least for the guards and the POWs. For Klink and Hogan, it slowly became usual to wake up with love marks on their bodies and sore butts in and out. Yet both men felt happy and at peace while they did their morning routine (again together), and Klink finally left for roll call that still took place two hours later than the months and years prior.
He heard Schultz chasing the grumbling men out onto the compound, held a small morning speech, and dismissed the POWs back into their barracks. It was windy and icy cold today, and the Oberst saw no reason to keep anybody out of shelter longer than needed. For a moment, he really pitied the guards in the watch towers and along the fences, which froze their butts off and certainly yearned for their shift to end.
His glance wandered over them. In earlier times, younger men of the Luftwaffe had served here. Now, for two or three weeks, more than half of them did not originally belong to the army anymore because they were too old or invalid. Yet they had been forced to enter the service again – members of the Volkssturm, but at least they wore the correct uniforms. What could not be said about their 'comrades' at the front or at dispositions they had to defend. Most of them wore pseudo-uniforms or even civilian clothes with a brassard. That was all.
Sighing, Klink went to his office. Hilda certainly would show up within the next half hour, and then the daily routine would start. Switching on the light and the small radio, he afterwards slipped out of his coat. The reporter's voice sounded through the tiny speaker like so often and…
… And the world seemed to stop…
TBC…
Well, hopefully you liked it. I thought Klink loves to play the violin but he does it badly, because he has no inner harmony. The latter is history now with him finally finding true love – and, voila, his playing is beautiful. I imagined that this was an affirmation of love of its own and shows Hogan, how deep his lover feels for him.
The next chapter is the one I already published; the following one will be online during the weekend.
Sorry for the chaos – and I hope for some comments (*smile*).
Love
Yours Starflight
